Olive Logans's new Christmas story
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]jC$t F F: S :i kt !I f d 6 1 - 4 at i l t3 of{{ F4 Y tf r _ yby (i( ff t }} xixs rt Ia xv i 1! Z tt r es t f# i% i :j i} 14 6v i 1 &cc OLIVE LOGAN'S NEW CHRISTMAS STORY. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. I. INTRODUCTORY AND EXPLANATORY AND THEREFORE, PERHAPS, BETTER SKIrPEI). II. ABOUT SOMETHING. III. ABOUT SOMETHING .LSE. IV. ABOUT NOTHING. V. ABOUT NOTHING-SrORTER. VI. SLIGHTLY SENSATIONAL. VII.. SOMEWHAT RELATIONAL. VIII. CONTAINING GOOD NEWS FOR ALL, ESPECIALLY FOR THE READER, AS IT IS Tixt ENI. NEW YORK: THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, 119 & 121 NASSAU STREET. 1867. it I I page: [View Page ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. : , Y I F , S T:. INTRODUCTORY AND EXPLANATORY, AND THEREFORE, PERHAPS BETTER SKIPPED. F F k 1 ., G t' = 13 G i ' f k Ry B t f 1 't scene before her by repeating the one word --Iboo-ful ! boo-ful !" It was beautiful. Like all spotless, pure and heaven-sent things, it was beautiful. So long as it remained uncontaminated by the touch of man, it lay in its unldefiled glory like the down from an angel's wing. And now that the moon was rising in cold and myste- rious beauty, casting her steel-blue rays on the blanched objects at her feet, the freezing night air seemed to shut out sounds as though they were too worldly to intrude on this ghostly scene, over which the orb of night presided with queenly grace. lBut this was after dusk, when the darkness had sent good working-men home (all except John), and bad working men and bad idling le out u; and had bid the weary seamstress rise and seek relief from the fatigue of sitting, by encoun- tering the fatigue of walking ; when the reputable shops had closed and the disrel)uta- ble ones had opened ; and when, spite of the efforts of restless spirits to turn day into night, and quiet into tumult, the general feel- ing was one of rest. During the day it was different. Then all had been noise and hubbub and clamor. The snow had fidlen on the paveeiint and in the street as well as on the house and tree- tops. But, alas ! on the pavement and in the street it had been crushed and crouched and blackened, till it no more resembled its sister-covering on the house and tree-tops than the noisy, bustling day resembled the calm and peace ol night. Tme hurrying foot- steps of hundreds of men and scores of wo- men had trampled it down until the once spot- less snow, as if ashamed of its degradation, now ran in liquid blackness to the gutters be- yond. Men, slipping and sliding over the un- certain surface had " cursed the snow " and it- tered oaths at it as if it had been a living and sentient thing ; and women, contemplating the bedraggled fate of sometime spotless petti- coats, had stamped their feet with vexation, IT was late one night in January (more years ago than I think it necessary to men- tion), and the snow had been falling heavily all day. The beautiful white flakes had set- tied down like an ermine robe on the ho'ise- tops opposite, and hung, making a spotless fringe of rich, colorless chenille, on the bare, gaunt limbs of the trees in the park. Our ash barrel (which had not been removed from before our door for some days on account of an unpleasant difficulty between the street- surveyors and the street-conveyors), was frosted all over with this white coating, and looked precisely as if it contained a huge wedding-cake covered inches deep with lus- cious sugary icing." Our little darling girl, Baby Lollipops, who was four years old and had never seen the snow, or if she had did not remember it, called out to me in a clear, sharp, high little voice, musical as the clang- or of a silvery bell, " Oh, Mamma, look ! somebody's dawn and emptied de flour barrel all over de celler-door !" And when I took the little sprite up, and, lifting her high in my arms, showed her through the window- panes that numberless " flour-barrels " had cast their contents over the grocery-man's wheel-barrow, and the barber's pole, and the stationary news-boy's awning-covered tent, and the lamp-post on the corner, and the stone carriage-step before the Highuns' door, and had even left a thin ridge on the old- fashioned "scraper " before our own, she clapped her chubby hands together and laughed with glee and kicked vigorously, thereby endangering her personal safety as she sat perched on my shoulder, holding on to my front .hair for security-and all the while she passed baby comment on th novel '' F X {p #j S! i t *¢ Y a .i: ? fa Is - JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. . S" Y f y °y , a 7 9 1 x - a page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] g ' F i t S k. }j r r uS4! . s] f i V ., i ;, z j _ , r ' f !' 1 - : " , , r_ f{ j tj } 4 i F 9 : ,, , d i i } 4 s t y l 3 I$ i }f iP= .g k g 7 and tutted and pished with true feminine as- f perity. The declining sun, had sent his e adieux to earth in the shape of two cutting f winds which met and mingled, and called i themselves a Nor' Easter; and Nor' Easter laughed at the people as they muffled them-s selves closer in their outer wrappings, all in- I effectual to stave off the cutting, insidious breath of the winter's night; and then, sud- denly Nor' said to Easter " Halloa ! what's this black water trying to escape us and run l away down into the city sewers ? Let's freeze r it!" And so the poor snow of the pavement and the street was caught in the act of try-I ing to escape, and frozen into a thin, filmy substance, all cracking into flaws and fuller of dirt than before ; while the spotless snow of the house and tree-tops looked down wonderingly at her fallen sister, with some pity for her in her heart it is true, but still turning up her nose at her vigorously, for society's sake. It was past eight o'clock, and John had not come home. The chops were done brown and even scorched, and the biscuit-crusts hard as a board, from staying too long in the oven. The butter, which had been frozen stiff by the cold weather was now running in oily streams over the hearth-stone where I had placed it to soften. Again and again I went to the window, and shading my eyes with my hands peered out intently into the darkness of the night. I was not exactly worried. Oh, no! It was an express under- standing between me and my husband that I was not to worry about him if lie happened to stay out late. The chances of his being run over by a street-car and killed, and the chances of his being detained an hour or two longer at his work were about in the propor- tion of one to a hundred. Therefore, I must never worry, And I did not. Oh dear no! Only I wished he would come, that's all! I had just seated myself at the table des- pairingly, having resolved, after many doubts as to the propriety of such a course, to take my supper without him, when suddenly I heard the sharp click of a night-key in the front door, immediately followed by the dear, springy, elastic step I knew so well. "Well, darling, did you think I was never coming? '" said John in his cheery tone, hang- ing his cap and overcoat on a peg near the door. "Whew!" he continued without wait- ing for a reply, "whew! isn't it cold? Give me my supper, pet, I am as hungry as a hound." "Baby's been abed these two hours. What kept you so late, John?" I asked, bend- ing down to take the butter-plate with my right hand, and shielding my face from the fire with my left. " Tell you in a minute. Why don't you give me a kiss ?" I raised my lips to his, and he caught my chin with his right hand and placed his left fore-finger in close proximity to my nose. " Now, Nell," he said reproach- ully, "you've been crying ! I see it. Your yes are as red as "-and finding himself at adult for a simile, he could only say-" possi- ble. They are. You've been worrying about me when you should not. You know you shouldn't tease yourself in this way. My poor little wife worrying herself to death about a great, worthless-fellow like me." " No, John," I answered, for the purpose of reassuring him. " You are mistaken. I haven't worried myself about you-oh, no-- not in the least ! " I think this was about the most unmitigated falsehood I ever told in my life. I had wor- ried myself about him until I was fairly sick, and no number of doses of valerian except that single one of seeing John enter the door, as he had now done, would have been effect- ual in calming my agitated nerves. I don't believe people's hair turns gray from agony. For the last two hours I had seen my John run over and killed by every individual and respective horse-car in town, as well as maim- ed by two trucks, and drowned off one fer- ry-boat, and yet my hair was as brown and silky as ever ! Never tell me! I don't be- lieve a word of their stupid stories! "In the first place," said John, stirring his coffee and then drinking it down without taking the spoon from the cup: in the first place I've worked like a horse to-day, and old Williamson is just tickled to death with nie. He says to une, says he, 'By George ! John Morris, you'll be a rich man some day, sir, if you keep on.' And I don't wonder' lie's pleased, for, oh, Nelly ! she is beauti- ful!" " Is she, John? " said I, for I knew to whom.he alluded without questioning. "Yes; if you could see her sitting the water like a duck, and with her slender masts cleaving the air and pointing to the sky as though to remind us that up there lived the Great Boss-the great, great One, Nell, whose poor frail journeymen we all are. Kiss me, my girl." I knew this was coming. John .always had to be kissed whenever he grew moraliz- ing, reflective or theological; his great warm heart was flowing over with love, and his dear nature was one of that entwining har- acter which finds joy in every outward ex- pression of affection. " I'm going up to kiss Baby !" And with- out another word he departed on his errand, leaving me in an agony of fear-lest lie should wake her and give me a sleepy, cross child to nurse during the rest of the evening. He soon returned, however, having accom- plished his purpose without any disagreeable consequences. " To-day we put up the figger-head. It's a woman. They call her Amandy, because that's the name of old Wxilliamson's daughter; and he told the carver-fellows to make the figger-head look like bier. But, Lord bless you, it's oceans too pretty for that proud 4 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. JOHiN MURU thing, with a stuck-up nose. It's a regular beauty. Nell, it looks like you." "Nonsense, John," said I. But I was mightily pleased nevertheless. If he had said I looked like the ship itself, I should have been pleased; because I knew that anything about a boat or a boat's gear was handsome to a man who loved his trade, and whose trade was that of a ship-carpenter, as my husband's was. " Well, all that kept me late ; and just as I was coining away, worried myself because I knew you'd be worried about me, I met Mr. Williamson, who called out to me by name. ' Morris,' says he, ' here's a letter that I think is for you. The address is writ- ten in such a scrawly little bit of a hand' (rilliamson's fist, you know, is as big as an elephant's) ' that I can scarcely make it out. Still I think it's for you.' It was for me, Nell," continued John; " It was a letter from California." 'California, John ! Who do you know in California? " "It was 'from an old aunt of mine, who went there years and years ago. I have but very little recollection of her-except that she was kind ,and gentle to me when I was a boy. She was my poor mother's favorite sister. Poor mother! Kiss me, Nell. Well, Aunt Julia married and went away ; and the next ,I heard of her was that her husband had died, and left her a great fortune. Soon after that we heard she had foolishly em- barked all her money in a speculation which proved disastrous, and she'now writes to me to ask me if I can't give her a home for the rest of her days, to shelter her old age from suffering and want." "And how did you answer, John? " I asked. "I haven't answered at all yet. I waited to see what my little wife would say about it." Iccrept up to him stealthily and, getting very close, placed my nose under his soft whiskers, thus bringing my lips almost in contact with his ear. " Your little wife says that so long as she has a roof to shelter her, or crust of bread to eat, she will share both with any kith or kin of John Morris's." I shan't tell you any more that he said, for he always overrated everything I did ; nor how he kissed iie and put his arm around my slender waist (twenty inches my waist i ibbon measured--ha ! ha ! just look at me now) and called me " his darling-his true little wife- his own dear helpmate !" It was a good deal of undertaking for us, dears, for we were both young, and expenses were heavy. All we had in t he world was John's wages, though,.to be sure, we were rent free, for the little band box of a house we lived in b~eloni-- ed to me, having been left me by my grai- father. We hail, too, otir little child's future to think of:4t had alwavs been niy hope to be able to leave her something. But all coii- t1S'S MONEY. 5 siderations, even those of our child's pros- pects, must fade before the touching appeal made us by this friendless, aged woman. Well, a letter was written and despat hed -a letter inviting poor Aunt Jiuia to come and stay with us as long as she lived, and en- closing her the money to pay her pai:age to New York (John had to work at outside jobs to get it), and in course of time she came to is-in course of a long, long time. One could not get to or from California as one can now, in a matter of three weeks or so. It took months. The winter had gone and the snow-flakes had melted, and the Alay blossoms had faded, and then the June roses came, and with them )oor Aunt ,Julia. She was a fragile, delicate woman of piast sixty, with mild blue eyes, whit h positively beam- ed, as my John's did, on every hinnm crea- ture on vbich they rested. 1er voice was soft and low and mellow; and, alas ! alas ! I saw at once what she said in her letter--hat her home with us and on the earth, iideed, would not be for long. Aunty and I got on famously. Baby evi- dently regarded this new comer as a valuable importation brought expressly for her enjov- ient. During the summer lays Aunt .Jilia's life passoe1 pleasantly as heart could wish. She and baby sat in the summer-house, which John proudly called a " Bos-key," somebody having told him that that was the Frendh name for it. John built it himself, and I trained the vines to run over it and shade it- and if you'll believe me, in September, when the grapes weie ripe (we had a vine in our own yard), the great black bunches hung through the lattice-work, and danced before your eves and mouth as if they vere act mal- -ly inviting you to eat them. And, oh ! how luscious they were, too ! So ripe anl sweet and juicy. Aunt Julia spoke very little of her life in California, and out of delicacy I rerr'ained from mentioning it. On one subject she was very bitter. Before she had applied to John (knowing him to be poor) she hadt asked two others, the sole remaining anembers of' her family, to take her. They hail both relseid. John came gladly forward. That was not h- ing new for John. John was ready to assist everybody so far as his restricted means would allow ; but Aunt Julia (qhuh it inorin e this fact, was as deeply grateful to her'ntphiew as if the single act of'gotodncss in dhin's lif' had been performed for her and hr alone. As the winter advanced upon us, poor Aiiuntv's health grew worse and worse from day to day. Her eyes had failed her, and she could, therefore, neither read nor write noir sew. "' What shall I do to amuse you (luring the Christmas week, Anoty?," I ask- ed. "Talk to me, dear-talk to me ! yu talk like a hook. 1 hove to heam' you tiall. T lalk to sic." "But I've got nothing to talk about now, lit ill l1T% 1 Rf T C a page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. It s ty i = EEE Fj I F{' i F 4S s = 4 s t b' X: S yy s F s r t t, ij f + 's j Aunty. We've talked over everything you know," 11 " Then make up something fresh, dear- make it up." " I'll tell you what," said John, whose voice sounded exactly like his aunt's, except that her's was very piano and his thunder- ingly forte-but they were both in the same key and both sweetly harmonious, at least to my ear! "Nell, you're such a wonder- ful hand at telling stories ! I hear you tel- ling them to Baby all day long, about 'Once upon a time there was. a little girl and she had a mother;' or, 'Once upon a time there lived a good man'-a circum- stance to be faithfully narrated on account of its rarity. Now suppose you devote every evening of Christmas week to telling Aunty and me a story ! Hey ! What do you say to that ? " " That would be delightful," said Aunt Julia. "Will you, Nell?" asked John. I said of' course I would, if I could amuse them. I would do anything for that purpose. They both knew that. "ha! Ha!" laughed John, slapping his leg as if this were a capital joke, "My little Nell giving us an Arabian night's en- tertainment. By jingo ! aint it jolly? I say Nelly, will you.write it off during the day?" "No," I replied, perking up my chin with a consciousnessof rather a high order of talent, hitherto unrecognized,; "no, I shall compose them as I go on-that is, ex- tempore." " Do so. Bravo !" shouted be again, this time rubbing his hands together in quite a frantic manner. "Do so. Do it, X-' anyway, and then it will be all the better for Xmas-don't you see ? Pick it and peck it, and mark it-don't you see ? and then it will do for everybody-and me! " The next evening was the first of the Christmas week. I had been thinking over our project all day, and when Baby was put to bed, and tea over, we all sat down quietly, and I was about to begin my story. But, bless you! before ever I opened my lips I saw that John had got at least a half o' ream o' paper before him, and more newly sharpened lead pencils than I ever before saw collected together, and was ready and eager to write down every word I said. I protested against this, but in vain. John would have his way. "I'm a reporter for a newspaper," he said, Aunt Julia laughing at his impudence. "I am obliged to report your speech, madam. Every great party has their speeches reported in the news- papers-particularly--if not more so, in ours. Our newspaper, Madam; our gigantic organ with a Hoe's Stop. The Daily Blower. Circulation, three million !" " Now, John, this is too bad !" I ex- claimed, "You'll put me out !" "No I wont," he replied, "I'll put you in a book when you've done. Come now, don't be cross. What's your first story about? " " Never mind," said I, still unmollified, and wishing to give this " reporter" as little " information " as possible, "it's about- something." " I imagined it would be," said John. II. ABOUT SOMETHING, "You must give it a name, Nell," said my husband. " Come, now, christen it at once, and Aunt Julia and I will stand as spon- sors." "'I don't see why I need give it a name, John," I replied. "I haven't thought of one." "Now look, here, Madam," said John Morris, "if I do you the honor of taking down your stories with the ultimate view of- ahem-publishing them in book form-when I get money enough, the least you can do is to act on my reasonable suggestions. Every author does that." " Very well," said I, " if it must be, it must, Call it Roger Thornfield's Discovery. What did he discover, Nelly ?" asked my husband, laughing a little at my dignified manner, so different now to what it was when I was cooking batter-cakes. "Listen, and you will find out;" I answer- ed gravely CHAPTER I. " BY Jove, Hartley ! I believe you are going to be the lucky one after all." What! do you think she really likes me?" " Likes you ! You don't mean to say you haven't yet asked her if she loves you? " "No; and I don't intend to do so! The answer was given in such a tone of- decision that conversation at once dropped, and the two men pursued their way in silence. The chill air of a November night blew around the sharp angles of the street corners as the first speaker-a gay, volatile youth of twenty-stopped at a door whose polished surface, bright silver knob and knocker, with appropriate continuance of spotless marble steps, was the fac simile of the next house, and the one next to that, and indeed formed one of a row of bewildering similarity. " Bless this stupid town !" exclaimed the younger man, inserting a small night-key in 7 the shining lock-" everybody abed at half past eleven! Good-night, Hartley." "Good-night," answered Hartley ; and turning up the collar of his overcoat, to pro- teet his ears from the cold and damp air of the foggy night, he quickened his pace till it became nearer a run than a walk, and in less than ten niinutes' time was warming his fin- ger-tips at a cheery fire which threw out so bright a glow that gas-light was quite unnec- essary in the room-one which formed the first of a suite of bachelor apartments. A very handsome man this Mr. Arthur Hartley, now that his overcoat has been re- moved and his hat laid aside, showing his high forehead, and his glossy hair, and the soft tinge of his delicate, olive complexion, and the fine silky black moustache and whiskers encir- cling the well-shaped chii. Something of an Italian face-soft but not effeminate ; an eye which could flash as well as plead; and a mouth a model of sweetness at times, now set-with heavy lines, and drawn harshly down at the corners. A man of about thirty-per- haps a couple of years more; but in his mo- ments of light-heartedness ten years of this seemed to vanish, and the face of a youth just Afage"was older than the face of lr1 A1tur Hartley. . The occupant of the suite of bachelor apartments was evidently not in a happy frame of mind ; for, flinging himself moodily in a comfortable easy chair, he gave vent to his annoyance by a series of ill-repressed sighs. Of course she loves me-" he muttered in a low tone-" of course she loves me- anybody can see that. She loves me madly, devotedly, insanely. Curse the luck ! It seemed a strange thing to curse the luck which brought the love of a beautiful young girl; but doubtless Mr. Hartley had reasons of his own for speaking as he did, and for continuing in the following strain: Curse this stupid hole of a town too-if it were anywhere else I might-no, that 1 could not exactly do; curse the town ! New York's the only place in the world fit to live in! " This was rather hard on London and Paris, and Vienna and Brussels, the. which cities are generelly supposed by their benighted in- habitants to be quite fit to live in ; but as in this country one's thoughts are free, Mr. Arthur Hartley was quitd entitled to the liberty of his opinion, particularly as it hap- pened to be expressed in the solitude of his own apartments and not before witnesses. . I suppose I must go to bed now," said Hartley, casting a glance at his watch and closing the hunting-case with a snap which fell.onthe ear like the sharp click of a diminutive pistol-" only halfipast twelve and going to bed ! Oh Lord ! how supremely virtuous I am getting ! I wish I could see what is goimg on in New York." That lie could not perform this visual feat seemed to be another cause of complaint against a life in Philadelphia, and Mr. Hart- ley entering an inner room, began divesting himself of his coat and waistcoat in a drearily discontented manner. " I wonder if I dare go to see her to-mor- row. Dare ! One dare do anything with a woman who is madly, insanely in love." He paused. Is she in love with me ? Another pause. "Yes, to be sure she is," answered Mr. Hartley to Mr. Hartley. " I wish I were as sure of everything as I am of that. Madly, insanely, furiously, outrageously, absurdly in love with me. And I can do anything I please with her. He chuckled at this and repeated the words-" anything I please with her." Mr. Hartley did not quickly compose his restless brain to sleep. Ite tossed in the bed, and crumpled the white covers, and twisted the highly-fluted pillow-slips in his hot hands. aid chuckled exultingly at the last little idea which had come across his fertile brain. He repeated it in his waking intervals, which were many during the night ; and the trim little chambermail, who rapped at his door at 8 o'clock I the next morning and announced boots and hot water, uis- tinctly avers that she heard Mr. Hartley em- phatically asserting that he could do--" any- thing-he-pleased-with-h-er." CHAPTER IL. I IT is generally considered a fine tling to be born rich ; and a fine thing to he horn handsome ; and better, perhaps than either, to be amiable and loving and beloved. All this was Ruth Villemain, and a very lucky girl she esteemed herself, when at the age ofeighteen, just entering upon life,-its pleas- ures and. its woes, she saw how unmnistak-. ably superior was her position to that of most girls about her. Her parents, both rich, died before Ruth had reached her sixth year, and froni that age till woman- hood the girl had been made to feel how great was the power conferred by fortune ; and when, with this, dawned upon her the knowledge that great personal loveliness was hers as well, it might have been overlooked and pardoned if herl head had been soiiie- what turned by the brilliancy of her position. But it was not so in the least. A more beautiful character, joined to a more lovely form and face, it would he dificult to find. iundeedl, part of her beauty , was decrivedl from her charm of manner. Such a shy, f 3 't l t.: _ F; i T f I 6 page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] , .f $ r , zE 3 , t j y. . , Ft I, t : # e ; i t " f t ft s x 2 t l : , , i=. ,, 4, t;, ° { ; . + ' S 3 t ft i ; ! y r .3 rE f , ( t JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. tender little way she had of supplicating your friendship by a loving glance from her soft, dreamy blue, eyes ! Such a warm smile dallied on her rosy lips, parted just enough to show the pearly whiteness of the teeth inside ! Her form, too, more mature than is usual with girls of her years, was molded with a correctness seen but rarely now-a-days in this, our age, when, bodily distortion is the rule to which women must fain submit. There was nothing very brilliant in Ruth Villemain's mental qualifications. She had been a good little girl at school, and learned her lessons and got good marks and been obedient generally ; and later on she had taken prizes for lessons, and then at length graduated. Not brilliantly at all, but she had graduated; and, so considered, she had performed the necessary and disagreeable scholastic duties incumbent on a young lady of her position in life. She said she did not rely on her brilliancy to be loved, but on the hopeful theory-that loving every one herself, all would love her in return-as we are told that like invariably begets like. And it did in her case, very, very fully. Not one of the many persons who knew her even made the effort to withstand her power -the power of love, and truth, and virtue, and honor. She had had many suitors and had reject- ed all who had offered themselves ; but this with so much gentleness, tenderness, even affection, that not one among them had seen fit to be indignant, or scornful, or anything but just forever and ever her devoted friend and loyal knight. There were many who were this, too, without having offered them- selves ; and among these was one Roger Thornfield, a thoughtful, young man of twen- ty-five, who had known Ruth Villemain to his pleasure, as a child, and now knew her, to his sorrow, as a woman. To his sorrow, because he too felt the influence which none could escape who came in contact with her; to his sorrow, because he knew that the day was not far distant when some preux cheva- lier would come prancing by on his figurative milk-white steed and capture the pretty little Pastoral maiden, Ruth Villemain. As yet, however, Ruth did not seem likely to be captured. The figurative milk-white steeds pranced on the scene and off, and there was an end of them. Seeing this, Roger Thornfield's great heart grew light and joyous, and one day, survey- ing his comely young face in his mirror, a smile flitted across his lips-a smile of joy- and he said gayly-" Can it be possible that dear Ruth could-could-" Here his feelings were evidently too much for him, for his heart came high up in his throat and choked his utterance. Ah hope! hope ! springing eternal in the human breast, what flattering tales hadst thou been wrhispering to poor Roger Thornfield ? WI~hate ver they were, they soon faded and -died,'for Roger's countenance lost its bright- ness, and an expression of anxiety-almost pain came across the pale but manly young face. "It is a hard thing to be poor," he soliloquized sadly-" a very hard thing to be poor-harder for a woman, of course, than a man ; hard enough for a man, too, under any circumstances ; but undbr these which sur- round me now, to know and feel that the iron hand of poverty has me, and will have me forever in its grip, while the woman I love is heiress to two fortunes, and can scarce- ly be approached by a man in my position without the fear of his being considered a fortune-seeker, and as such discarded, of course-oh, it is hard-hard-hard to bear." That the man felt what he said was evident; for he buried his face in his hands, and a few hot tears trickled between his fingers, leaving their traces too on the yet unfurrowed cheeks. "Come what may," said be, rising, "I will tell her that I love her. I will see what answer she will make. She cannot-it is im- possible that she should for one moment doubt the disinterestedness of the love of her old friend, Roger Thornfield." How well he knew the path from the little unfrequented northern thoroughfare. contigu- ous to unpleasant railways and verging close-, ly on the confines of nowhere, bounded on all sides by roystering beer-gardens and bare-headed, ill-kempt children-from the place in fact which was his home, to the fine, wide, well-graded thoroughfare running from river to river, where stood the .house, one of the legacies of Ruth Villemain, and now oc- cupied by the girl and an invalid aunt-a suf- fering and rather ill-tempered lady, who had been transplanted from her native soil in the interior of the State, to the utterly uncon- genial atmosphere (to her) of Philadelphia life. " My dear," said the poor lady, in a con- stant state of protest against .balls, and op- eras, and dinners and theatres-" my (lear Ruth, we never do this sort of thing in the country." " No Aunty, I suppose not," replied the girl laughing; " hut don't you sometimes wish you could?" Roger Thornfield's timid ring at the en- trance door was answered by a man servant, who had been lolling in easy indifference on a hall-way chair. Is Miss Villemain at home? " inquired Mr. -Thornfield. "I don't know, sir;- but I'll see," was the answer ; a palpable falsehood, for even as the words were being uttered, Ruth's merry laugh was heard in the drawing room. The well.trained servant showed no token of being diseoncerted at this incident, but, quietly entering the room where Ruth wvas siting, inquired, in his usual lazy way, if " Miss Villenmain was at home-to Mr. Thornfield !" Miss Villemain answered in the affirmative JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. at once ; but before the man had time to take the message Ruth stopped him. Wait a minute, Williams." The man bowed and stood still. "Oh no, no, Mr. Hartley," answeredRuth, mn reply to some whispered words from that gentleman, who was sitting near her. " I can't send away my old friend Roger Thorn- field." Mr. Hartley bit his lip, and looked 6ut of the drawing-room window into the conserva- tory beyond. "Show Mr. Thornfield in," said Miss Villemain ; but even as she gave the order she looked up uneasily at her com- pamon. "'I suppose you consider me very unrea- sonable, Miss Villemain," said the latter, when the servant was out of hearing dis- tance. Yes indeed," answered Ruth, laughing, very unreasonable to expect me to discard poor Roger, who never did you any harm-" " Upon my word," said Hartley, assuming a sneering expression not very pleasant to see, " how poetical you are getting ! You really recall souvenirs of Mother Goose !" " What is it. "Never did him any harm- 'Ah, yes .. ',-What a naughty boy was that To drown poor pussy cat Who never did him any harm, - But killed the rats in his father's barn-' "Mr.. Thornfield ! "announced the servant, opening the drawing room door to admit the gentleman who had been the subject of dis- course between Mr. Hartley and Miss Vil- lentin. " I am fortunate in finding you at home," said Roger ''hornfield, bowing.to the pretty girl who extended her hand kindly to him. Yes indeed," she replied ; "~ one has so many engagements out, during the season." "Bless ie ! " ejaculated Hlartlev with a surprised air; '' is there a ' season in Phila- delphia? " '' To be sure there is, you rude man. I positively cannot allow you to villify our dear old town so mnch. Mr. Thornfield, Mr. Hartley-Mr. Iartley, Mr. Thornfield. Indeed, I don't know which of you is the greater personage, and therefore amn in doubt which name to mention first in ' introduc- ing'"- He is the greater personage who en-. joys your greater friendship," said Thorn- field, glancing i ip at her, full of the love which was the ruling sentiuient of his life, and had been for ten years back. A comipimueint from you, Mr. Thorn- field! " said Ruth, smiling. " I never expec- ted it." It wvas quite evidenit Mr. Hartley also didh not expect it, for lhe looked excessively bored, andl even ill teimpe~red, at Rogrer Thcornfield-. 9 There was an awkward pause for a few seconds, during which lRoger Thornifield looked very love-guilty, and Arthur Ilartley continued to look very bored. At lenrth Mr. iartlev rose and said, " liss Villemain, I take myleave." " Must you go ? " said sher rather an x- iously, or so it seemed to, oger. l 1I Ceeme fist.," rieihid IHa rtley, withIia slight inclination of thme head iateiiection of TLhornfield. Ruth blushed as she remiembelr-ed ll' om)- ventional mile, and how completely she had overlooked it in her desire to keep 1lartley by her side. She rose, and her soft haud lingered a little while in his as he was goine loe' Tihor- field looked at them as thn stood Itogetl-i, and, although he was not aniv too well leased at finding a stranger with uth on the very dav lie had come to maulo his love-avowal, he was too generous a fellow to deny in his owwn heart that this new com r was a most ril liant specimen of early manihood. I lnuu- some, that was evident ; witv, douiht less - rich, perhaps-altogether a verv f-sinatin person. Was Ruth fasiinateI Oh ino, no, thought poor Roger,itt -ainot Ie. It seemed something like it though, for when the door closed miRuth spranu to the window and ptlling aside ihe enriiain, ie claimed " Oh, dear! C(ome look at Mr. Hartley's tirap, Mr. 'L'horn tiitl] " T Rorm':'ast a glance-at t hi a- m -i mig 1i- page in which Mr. IIartley jinpe l taking. the reins from a knowiignroom iiattired in a livery of irreproachahlhvgod taste " hIe is saving soinithlin u," said Ruth, as Mr. Hartlev'touched his ht, aid ldaushed oll at a rattling pace. I wish I knew what Ihe said," sighed she, coming :way t i'um1 t e win. dow. The groom coubl have toll her; for lo told the smart chiamie uurmid at M1r. 11'aiiiIs lodgings that when t1,hat gentlemnan1 let1 2li Villemiin's ho repeated o om- - ree timeu-s over, that lie could do-" any-thin-be pleased-wit h-her ! S(Charming person ; did you not think so, M r. Thliornfi' eil ' sam ithis'sili' ith, s ing hiers(lf abistractedlrl i it li piano, -itl neirvinisly running heriinige's over the Ie - "Ruth," answered til young iiiani looking steadfastly in lieri face, " we have know each other ten years, aid this is the first lay I ever heard you call me 3/r. /wgida/cl Will von tell me the reason of it :'' " ihvi. there is no reson at all-thatis not partielarly-only hebe strangers, It 'does not sound'so v-r fimuiiliar. I can't ex- plain to everybody, can 1I, tht I've known )i Roger Thornutield ten year s an that heauns' I've knownt Roger T'Ihorei-dII t eli i-ars I i(: II Rhiger Thornimfie-ld IRo(flr' Tr/ui/ li Tl'heiir - does that satisfy youi 2- lHe was tnot t logtie szat inlid ; limt hb-u tonie, haltbpe-tonlamitI, half-johking, rec-ass m - 8 0{ page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. 11 him in part, and succeeded in bringing his chair closer to the piano stool. " Ruth," said he, drawing a long breath. " I've got something very serious to say to you." "Oh, Roger !" exclaimed the girl, giving a sudden twirl to the stool, thus bringing per- self face to face with him ; "oh, please don't say anything serious. I can't bear anything serious. Now there's Aunty-she's always serious-you are serious. I must say I do like Mr. Hartley, if for no other reason than that he is never serious. He is always light- hearted and happy and gay. I love people who are light-hearted and gay." Poor Roger ! He stood little chance of being loved just then by this token ; for his pale young face was the very picture of despair. "Ruth," he continued, nothing daunted, " I must speak to you to-day. That is, if you'll let me. May I?" "Certainly, Roger," she answered naively. What about-? " " About---about-Ruth, did it never strike you how very dear you are to me ? " "Yes, Roger," she answered ; " you are very good to me-so is every one about me; they all love me-even Aunty, I believe- that is, when she is well enough." " But, Ruth, I don't want you to class me with the general throng. I am a plain man, and can make no flowery speeches. I think you know that I am honest and upright and sincere. So much I will say, although it sounds like self-praise. And, Ruth, I love you very, very deeply. I have done so ever since I knew what love was-yes, and before that period, too, when you were a sweet young child, and I was not many years your , senior-even then you were dearer to me than any living, breathing thing on the face of the earth. Now, since I have come to be a man, I know that my whole life is cen- tered in you, and that to possess your love would make me happier than any king who wields a scepter. I can't be eloquent, Ruth- it is not in me; but I feel-1.feel what I say, God knows how deeply ! Therefore, clearest, if you can find it in your heart to give me any hope that at some future time, by devotion or self-denial, or what you will. I may, oh, Ruth! possess your love, you can change a life, which hitherto has been nothing but one of sadness and misery, into anexistence as bright and joyous as that of birds flitting about in the unchanging sun- shine of a tropical clime." His voice had quite died away before he looked up in 'her face for a reply. None came. " Ruth," he repeated, after a pause - Ruth, will you not answer me ? " Her only answer was a burst of tears, which frighitenedl pour Roger to such an ex- tenut that lie rushed to her, and throwing hinm- self on his knees before her, begged her for- giveness for what he had said. " Roger," she replied at length, wiping away the tears. "Ihave nothing to forgive-- indeed it is I alone who am toblame. I should have shown you-" " What? " he exclaimed, rising and pac- ing the floor excitedly-" that the difference, between our relative positions is too great for me to aspire to your hand--that you are rich, and I poor? " "No, no," she answered quickly;- " noth- ing of the kind. Oh, Roger ! why did you not speak thus to me three months ago ? Then my answer would have been different. Of all the men I have ever known you were the one whom I always preferred until-until-" Her voice sank, and she lowered her eyes as Roger Thornfeld stopped pacing the floor and fixed a piercing gaze upon her face. "Until what, Ruth?" he inquired at length. She made no reply. " Oh. Ruth," he said, " don't give me only half confidence. Kill me if so it must be, but do not let me linger in agony. Slay me at once." " You must help me then Roger," said the girl, sadly. ' "Is it," he said, in a tremulous voice, that you love some one else?" "Yes, oh yes," she answered-" so dear- ly ! so very, very dearly." He shrank away from her as she uttered the words, and bowed his head in silence. "You insisted on knowing, Roger," she said, perceiving his distress. " " It is better I .should know," he an- swered. "Will you extend t9e confidence ?" " Yes." " His name is - " Arthur Hartley." " What!" he exclaimed, springing up as if an electric battery had touched him. " The man who has just left us? " She bowed her head in token of aitrma- tion. " Why, Ruth," said Roger. " I never heard of the man before to-day. Who is he P" " I don't know," she replied. " What is lie?'" "I don't care."- "What is his parentageP " " I never inquired." " His antecedents?" " I have to do with his future, not his past." " Then you are fixed in this ?" "Yes, Roger, fixed as fate." " You love him " " Oh yes, Roger, more, much more than I can ever tell you." She clasped her hands together and cast her eyes upward, standing for sonicnioments rapt in the eestacy of a young girl's first love. This being, it was tnot strange that the emotion which was racking the breast of poor Roger Thornfield passed without com- ment or observance on the part of Ruth Vil- lemain. That is Aunty's voice," said she, as the tones of a lady, complaining of the servants, were heard in the hall-way. "1Yes, Ruth, and I am in no mood to meet Mrs. Whining. You must forgive me for all I have said to you to-day. Believe me, if I had known your state of feeling, I never should have intruded upon you wha t must have been a very annoying avowal. But this much I will add to what I have already said: howsoever coldly you may regard me, my love for you will never change. It will last as long as I last, Iuth, and that perhaps will not be for a great length of time. Ruth, you are without -male relatives of any kind. Will you let me-me, your old friend Rog- er Thornfield-will you let me be your brother ?" It was not a great deal to ask, but Ruth hung her head and was silent for a moment. At length, she answered, "4Brothers are-are so annoyingly zealous sometimes,. Roger." "Do you fear that zeal which shall be di- rected in a certain quarter, Ruth ? " " No," she answered, vehemently. " Be as zealous as ycu like; investigate, inquire, probe, look into-do what you please." " And if the result of all this is unfavora- ble?" "6Roger," answered the girl with great gravity, and for the first time. seeking his glance and meeting it boldly, " 1 love hin; nothing can change ie." And you will marry him?" "Yes-if he asks me. He has not done so yet." There was nothing to be said, and Roge said nothing. But he pressed her small hand very tenderly as he left her, and, with hit eyes blinded with tears, rushed past Mrs Whining in the hall, without even so mie as bowing to the lady. How frightfully rude these healthy peo ple are ! " said Mrs. Whining entering th drawing-room with a languid step. "Now my dear Ruth, there is your friend who ha just left you-Mr. Rosefield-oh, no, I meai Thornfield-and a very nice person too,I dare say, only lie is so very healthy--so in tolerably strong, my dear. Not that I alto gether blame him for it, but he is made o iron, Ruth. I have not the slightest doub that a post mortem examination on the bod of that young man would disclose nothing but iron. Did you hear how lie banged th front door, my dear? AL me ! a few mor such bangs as that will lay me in my grave Won't you lie down on this couch Aunt?" said Ruth, drawing tup a divan. " Yes, dear-and if you would he goo enough to fan me--that cushion-put it little hiigher-also salts ; here, inrmy dress pocket-thank you ! Not quite so violent with the fan. There, like that-yes, thank you. Do you know Ruth, dear, you are a charming girl-so many delightful qualities you know. But you have one which is per- fectly invaluable to me. Can't think what it is, do you say? Well, I'll tell you-you never thump chairs." A bitter smile crossed Ruth's featiris, as the langid lady sank back again on the couch, crushing the rich paraphernala of her toilette and making a coverlid of her gaudy Cashmere shawl. Ruth plied the fai con- stantly, however, and once or twice placed the flagon of salts under the delicate nostril of the invalid lady. To tell you," said the latter, opining her eyes, and holding on high a thin white fin- ger literally sparkling with gems-'' to tell you how I appreciate a person who does not thump chairs is quite out of my power ! Why, do you know what my brother-your poor dear father, Ruth-do you know what he (lied of ? Ile died of the thunip of a chair. He did, truly, my dear. Ile wasn't very well one day, and some wretched healthy person cane in to see hiu, and thumped a chair, whereupon your father instantly cx- pired. Can you now understand why it is so unpleasant to me, to be in contact with healthy people?" But, dear Aunt," said Ruth, in a tote of apology, and as if the avowal was one which reflected great discredit on herself. " I am a very healthy person," Yes, you are, Ruth. But at least you are a considerate person. It was the same way with my husband, Mr. Whining; he was a very healthy person ; save for that, he was a gentleman. He saw it was impossible for r so much health to get along with so much ill- Iness, and one (lay was thrown off his horse, s and died from his injuries. Ile never could . have died in any other way, dear, he was so h strong. It was rather unfeeling in hii, pci- haps, to give me the violent shock of seeing - hin brought home dead ; but the horse slip- e pel, it appears, and therefore it was iiot alto- gether Mr. W-'s fault. I tilt his death, of s course, very noueh ; but I must say I should n have respected his memory more if he had I not been so very healthy. Why, do you - know, my dear," continued the widow, partly - rising, supporting her dehicate frame on her f elbow, and lowering her voice as if she werc t telling some thrilling "'sensation " story, "'hlie y never took a blue pill in his life ! g Ruth bit her lip to preserve her gravity, e which was always sadly imperiled when e Mrs. Whining began the recital of her ret- " rospective wrongs. She felt, however, that , it was incumbent on her to coincide in de- nonnmg this reprehensible 'onli on tIn' d part of the .defunct Mr. Whminig, anid was a wondering in what terms she slioult om)1 10 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. her feelings, when her aunt spared her all " Is my room properly aired, Louise," asked further trouble by continuing: -Mrs. Whining. " In my opinion, people are very unwise " Oui Madame," was the reply. to marry. Marriage, Ruth, is so unpleasantly "You did not thump any chairs or bang healthy. It entails, -also, such numberless the door while I was out, did you? disagreeable events. The proprietorship "Non Madame."- of a joint apartment, for instance ; could "Very good. But oblige me by answer- anything be more annoying? You go to ing in a lower tone. Indeed, when your an- look for your personal effects, and you come swer is to be a monosyllabic affirmative or across the unpleasant personal effects of a negative, why utter any sound whatever? man. Boots abound- hats flourish, and When you wish to say 'yes' just nod your trowsers hang their slow length along in head, with a slight courtesy. When you every cupboard. And then the man himself, wish to say 'No' shake your head also Ruth ! A great rough, healthy being, who is with an accompanying courtesy. Do you legally licensed to kiss yow whether you like understand me.?,,- it or not, and pull your head down on his 44 Omd Madame." breast, thereby rumpling your hair !-an un- " There, see how little attention you pay pleasant financial machine too, who labors un- to my instructions! 'Why did you speak. j dera perpetual state of " shortness " " down However, give me your arm and help.me up town," which of course produces a corres- stairs. Stairs, Ruth, are a very unpleasant ponding " shortness" in your own financial part of a house, but that's neither here nor operations " up town." Oh, marriage is so there. What I wish to say to you is this; unpleasant, my dear-that's the only word though to be sure I am a poor creature, de- for it-so very, very unpleasant." pendent on your bounty, (but know of Ruth said it must be unpleasant, but as she course that my society is more than an ade- had not tried it she did not know. quate return for all that I receive) still I "But talking of unpleasant things," said love you, Ruth. In the intervals of my med- the invalid, her dull eyes actually brighten- icine, when 1 have nothing else to do, I ing with the interest of the subject, "did it frequently think ofyou. And I often won- ever strike you what a very unpleasant part der what will be your fate. Knowing man- of the community little babies are ? I mean kind as I do, my dear, I can only hope even prior to the age when banging doors and pray that you will not marry. If you and thumping chairs forms the amusement do, marry an invalid-a sick man, who will of their days, and to a certain extent the keep his bed and won't bother you. Of all pastime of their nights ; previous to that husbands, dear, I should think an invalid they have stomach aches, and on their first would be the least unpleasant. But my entrance in the world, on the making of advice to you is, never marry at all, Ruth their first toilette, pins prick. them, then -never marry at all." they cry. I wonder, now, if some mathe- Ruth Villemain heard the words and sat matical genius or philosopher-or rather pondering over them for fully an hour after some philanthropist-could not demonstrate her aunt left the room. In substance Rog- to babies that crying is of no use in their in- er Thornfield had given her the same advice fantile woes ! It does not relieve stomach -and now in her shuffling, drawling way aches, neither does it remove pins. There- her aunt had reiterated it. These two peo- fore, why cry? Do you not think this fact ple of all the world were perhaps the only could be shown to any reasonable baby, ones to whose counsel she would hearken, Ruth, dear? " or to whom she would give her confidence in " I am afraid, aunt, the philanthropist return. Why was it therefore that their ad- would have great trouble in making the ba- vice fell unheeded now, when before it would by understand what he was talking about." have been received as words of wisdom? " And therefore, my dear, therefore do I Because the mad fever which we call love, say that babies, of all the human species, are had seized the girl's brain, and wrought the most unpleasant portion - babies and there delirium of the wildest kind. She men, dear. Women, even healthy women, 1 loved Arthur Hartley ; for him she had re- can tolerate. Ali me! I shall be ill from hay- solved to sacrifice everything-everybody-- ing talked so much. Would you oblige me by if needs were. What was: poor Roger ringing for my maid, Ruth'?. Pull the bell Thornfield compared to himP What, her twice-she will know it is for her. If there aunt? What, all the world !- is anything I can't bear, it is a great healthy Perhaps then, after all, there was not so man servant tumbling in to know what you much braggadocio about it, as Mr. Hartley want." -at that very moment sipping wine with a A white-capped, coquettish little French friend at a fashionable restaurant-muttered maid answered the summons, and with the between his teeth, thinking of Ruth, that he dexterity of long pi'actice began assisting the could do- lady to arise. " Any thing-he-pleased-with her." JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. 13 7t 2 x f 'k i . d 5 3 1 1 , 7 i i1 i ,i z r i a _j .{ i t Y 3 i S j Y J 5 1 9 i 2 a 1 s a 1 t f a i 9 i 2 y3 { i s z } } . CHAPTER. III. ROGER TIIoRNhIEL left Ruth's presence under the influence of two very strong feel- ings. The first was of course his love for lier-that neither her refusal of him nor her passionate avowal of love for another could change in the slightest degree. All hope of ever aspiring to the bliss of being her hus- band had vanished. She had said it could never be, and thus he knew he might not even hope for the future. But oh ! it was heart-breaking to remember she biad said, that had he pressed his claim three months before-ere this man Hartley had crossed her path --her answer would have been different. Fool! fool that he was ! Why had he not been less tardy ? He loved her then as dearly as now; he had failed to speak, a new sentiment had filled her breast, and now Roger Thornfield's doom was sealed. Next to the overweening bitterness that this knowledge brought. came an unquenchi- able desire to know something more of the muan who had succeeded in obtaining the love of this pure and beautiful girl. It was evident his history was unknown to Ruth Villemain ; she in her blind love had never inquired into his past, and would doubtless re- sent what she called " annoying zeal," if she saw any show of " probing Hartley's antece- dents " on the' part of her old friend. This, however, did not deter Thornfield from nak- ing an imward vow that lie would not rest quiet, day or night, until he obtained some knowledge of the character of the man whose wife Ruth -his sweet young friend, the woman t(e so devotedly wor-shipped-lhad avowed herself willing to become, and that too, merely for the asking. How was this to be accomplished IHow was it possible for poor young Thornfield, without resources of money or power, confin- ed by business the greater part of the day in the quiet and respectable city of Philadel- phia, to learn aiiy thing of the habits or haunts ofthis gay New Yorker who had mere- ly visited Philadelphia for a "1 joke " i nthe first place, met Ruth Villemain by accident, and since that time made a few flying visits to the town avowedly. (so le told Miss Ville- main's friends), of being near the lady whose charms had had so potent an effect on the handsome Hartley. Trne, he had taken a bachelor's suite ofapartments and comfortably installed himself, so as to avoil those "' hor- rid caravanseries " the hotels, when he did come to Philadelphia, which was seldom, Thornfield's acquaintance im New York was of the most limited character. A few steaily- going mercantile men who did business with the house in Philadelphia to which Thorn., field was attached, heads of .fa milies whose lives wvere passed between thie busy str-eet "down town," where they- tr-ansacted busi- ness, and the quiet little cottage somewhere out of town to which they retired after busi- ness hours. It was hardly likely these peo- ple could furnish any information of the handsome butterfly man whose gaudy wings had attracted Ruth. On application, Roger found what he had fully expected-that no one knew any thing about Mr. Arthur Hart- ley. Since the day of her confession to him, Thornfield had never crossed the threshold of Ruth Villemain's door He ftlt, as vet, that he was too unnerved to meet her. Besides, what availed such meetings ? Iartley's hold on her affections was without doubt strength enino every day, and Roger, powerless to show this man iii another form than that in which he showed himself, knew well that any foreboding of a lack of honesty or upright- ness uibacked by authentic proof, would be laughed to scorn by the infatuated girl. Thornfiehl's love for ler was one of self-deny- ing purity, and had lie once been convinced that this man Hartley was worthy the enviable position he was to occupy as the husband of the young heiress, Roger' Thornifiel would have been the first to go to lis long-time friend and congratulate on her choice. For now it was currently reported that Ruth and Hartley were engaged, and would shortly he married. The news had spread like wild fire, and been received first with astonishment, then with disbelief; and then, when disbelief was no longer possible, with great disdain, by Ruth's aristocratic friends. Who was this man ? Who knew him ? Nobody; and strange to say, Thornfield's niisgivimgs of ins previous good character were sliared by every one who iet hii. By every one ex- cept Ruth who, it was said, became more and more attached to hii every day. Thornfield's sole pleasure, now that this great blight had fallen on his life, al his visits to Ruth had ceased, was to seat himself opposite her door on a stone bench in the Park, which fronted her house. Here he cou see ier coming and going : driving witb lartley every day, aid accoipamiie(l by hi and her aunt, Mi's. Whining, goimg ab out some gayety every evening. llartlev's visits were constant; and every oeit who hal ex- pressed himself-or herself-inm uinavorahle terms of the aflianced husband-was pretty well e'xeuilded f'rom the house. One eveinmilg Thornfield sat at his post, regardless of a rinn which was coming down quietly 'imt steadily, and drenching him from head to foot, when he saw Hartley drive up to Ihbe door, hng the reims to the groom, who cleared away at a rattling pace. I tartley was evidently in" for a ong evening of it. Poor Ruth," imiutfered Roger between his teeth. Absorbed by his bitter reflections, Ihorn- fieldl failed to observe that the stone( bench on which lie sat, held another oceuplanit Ibe- sidle himself. This occupant was a young - i t S t _ _ +, # r t t f ,i y 1 i C page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. woman with a handsome painted face, a pair of bold black eves, and a luxuriant, untidy head of hair. Her dress was composed of costly materials, but the rain of to-night and the neglect, perhaps of weeks, had rendered it the reverse of handsome. She made one or two efforts to attract the attention of the sad-looking young man who sat gazing fixed- ly on the house across the way, but finding they were fruitless, she moved along the bench noiselessly, and, without speaking, laid her delicate white hand lightly on his shoul- der. Roger started and looked around to find the bold, black eyes peering deep into his, and the painted, handsome lips within a finger's length of his own. Instinctively he shrank from this woman and turned his back on her. The rain was pouring down heavily now, and spite of the aversion which one glance at her had caused him, Thornfield could not help feeling compassion for a wretch whose only home probably was in the pitiless streets. His eyes wandered to the right and to the left, in front and back of the bench where they sat ; beside themselves there was not a human being to be seen. Across the street, Ruth's shutters jealously closed, her- self inside with the worthless man she had chosen, while the pure young heart which loved her through all, Roger Thornfield, the friend of her youth, sat on a cold stone bench in the dripping rain, side by side with a painted midnight tramp ! He hoped she would go. But that he did not wish to speak to her, lie would have of- fered her charity and told her to go. While he was deliberating whether ne should say so much to her, she spoke to him. "I want about half an hour's conversations with you. Can I have it?" " No," he said, " I'll give you charity if you want it, but go away from me." " I don't want your charity, as you call it," she answered bitterly. " I suppose you mean money. God knows it's little enough of any other charity I get." He did not answer. There was a pause for a moment-broken by the woman. " Why don't you go there any more ?" she said, pointing to the house opposite. "Where?" said Thornfield.- " Oh, you know well enough what I mean. To the house opposite.- I have been hanging about this park longer than you have, and I know you t.sed to go there often, and one (lay you came away looking very wretched, and you have not been there since. Has he driven you off?" Thornfield rose to go. "You're a fool to try to get away from me," continued this woman in a low tone; "I could tell you something now you'd give your eyes to know." "What about," asked Roger, still walking on while the woman followed at his side. "What about? Why about him, to be sure. What do I care for anybody else? " " About that man, do you mean ! About Arthur Hartley?" said Roger, whose inter- est was now fully awakened. Arthur Hartley ! That's what he calls himself, is it? Yes, about Arthur-what was it-oh yes, Hartley ! and a very pretty name, too. That's his Philadelphia name." " Has he any other, then'? " asked Thorn- field with breathless anxiety. "Oh ho!!" said the woman with a coarse laugh. " That wakes you up, does it? I thought you didn't wan't to talk to nme-a poor wretch out all alone in a dark, rainy night. Where shall we go? In here?" They were standing before the door of a lady's restaurant," one of the best in Phil- adelphia. Roger looked up and shrank back. He shuddered at beimg seen in the company of this painted creature with the dripping dress. " I'd rather not," he said hastily. "I'd rather go somewhere where we can talk pri- vately. If you are tired or hungry go in. Here is some money. I'll wait for you out. side." "I never feel either fatigue or hunger when I'm after my revenge. I don't want your money, I tell you ; I'm after my re- venge." She clenched her bands together as she spoke, and, in the stillness of the dark night, Roger heard the sharp grinding of her white teeth. " Where can we go?" he said, hopelessly. "Why don't you take me to your rooms," she answered roughly, " you have got some rooms somewhere, haven't you? " Roger thought of the quiet lodgings kept by a pious Quakeress, a widow woman with half a dozen young children. No, no, he could not take her there. " I suppose you would not like to go to the garret where I hive," said she. Thornfield hesitated. This woman might Nbe leadinghim into a trap. She might be leagued with a gang of robbers and ruffians. Should he go with her-to his doom, perhaps? Why not ? What had he to lose? 'The little money he earned from month to month con- stituted his only earthly fortune, and as for his life, what was that worth to him since Ruth Villemain loved another ? " I will go with you," he said. They walked off silently, for their way was through unfrequented thoroughfares where no cars were running. A weary journey over hillocks of bricks and dibris of demolished houses-through back alleys, whose -effluvia was oppressive and overwhelming"- out beyond the town to the open country-and at length the woman stopped before the door of a wretched looking hovel. " Go m," said she pushing the door on its rusty hiinges- - Roger' Thornifield, the model young man of 's } 5 it 'r the great business house of C-- & Co., groped his way up the creaking staircase closely followed by the painted midnight tramp he had met in the park, on the rainy night. CHAPTER IV. THAT same rainy night, after Mr. Hartley had driven up to Ruth's door and flung his reins to the smart groom, he entered the large drawing-room of this fine house, and enquired for Miss Villemain. " Be down in a minute, sir," said Williams. "Dear ue, sir! your overcoat is quite wet! Ill take it down stairs to dry." The man, leaving, the room, met Mrs. Whining, to whom he gave a respectful bow. "My dear Hartley," said the lady advanc- mug to meet the handsome New Yorker, "1I1 knew it was you! I said to Ruth: 'My dear, do you hear how lightly that door is shut? That's Hartley. Hartley never bangs. I never knew Hartley to thump in my life. Hartley is a treasure.. Outside of a bedrid- den party, who can be made over to paid nurses at'once, I don't know of any one who will annoy you less, as a husband, than Hartley. Hartley, to use some of the horrid slang of the (lay, Hartley is the Ace of Clubs.' " "My dear Mrs. Whining! " exclaimed Hartley, "how black you are making me! Why am I the Ace of Clubs, pray? " I don't mean that," replied the lady sinking into an arm-chair. " I've got it con- fused. I knew I should. I mean a' trump.' I never played cards but once. It bores me to fix my mind on stupid little pieces of paint- ed pasteboard. On the solitary occasion of which I speak, it was observed that the Ace of Clubs happened to be frequently the trump. So I got it confused. Pray overlook the mistake." " Will Ruth soon be down? " asked Hart- ley, who seemed restless and uneasy. " Yes, in a minute. - Her maid was at her hair when I came down. 1 would not have that maid if she would come to me for noth- ing. Such a noisy creature, and sticks the hair pins into one's head frightfully. My maid is bad enough. But they are all alike -they will talk. I hate talking. I never would go to the theatre if I could help it, ex- cept when they play pantomimes and ballets. No talking, you know. Even then, thery play horrid, noisy, distracting music. What a very unpleasant thing music is !" "How confoundedly long Ruth stays!" said Hartley, rising from his seat and pacing the floor abstractedly. "That's her maid's fault! The poor girl is positively the abject slave of that woman when- she's at her hair. If Ruth tells her to hurry, she sticks pins in her head. If she tells her of that, she pulls hter hair out. ' Acciden- tal,' did you suggest ? No such thing; it's malice-pure spite." Hartley made no reply, but kept looking anxiously at the door. " Hartley ! " continued Mrs. Whining, if you had the remotest idea how nervous you make me by gazing at the door in that distressed manner, I am sure y-ou would de- sist at once. I'm going now. Iheeanse I hear Ruth's rustling dress on the stairs. I hate silks because they rustle, which is unbear- able." " Don't let me chase you away, Aunty," said Ruth, entering with a happy smile, an'd extending her little dimpled hand to Hartley. Dear, I wouldn't stay for worlds ! You are going to bill and coo here, and that I posi- tively cannot stand. All the emotions-even the pleasurable ones-are most distressing to my nerves. Joy, for instance, is such a noisy emotion ! I can't bear it. Grief, when very subdued, is much less offensive. Please kiss me very lightly, Ruth. I so dislike a hearty good-night smack, what wretched vul- gar people called a ' buss.' Ta-ta, Hartley. Good-night. I'll see you to morrow." She never saw him again. " My darling w fc," said Iartley, as the door closed on Mrs. Whining. Not yet, Arthur," said the gil, seating herself on the sofa beside him. " But soon, very soon." He was silent. " Arthur! How pale you look to-night! What is the matter ? " Nothing, dearest," he replied, passing his hand over his forehead, on which drops of perspiration were standing, though the night was not a warm one. There is something wrong. Ai, Arthur ! can you keep anything from me, your own little Ruth ? " ie put his arm about her waist and, leaning over, kissed her fresh young lips. " I would tell you at once, dearest, ex- cept that it is a horrid business affair-" " Business, Arthur ! " she repeated, '' I thought you were not in business." 'Well, it is not business in the usual ac- ceptation of the term, and vet it is business, too, of a certain sort. In 'act, it's ablout- about--" About money ? " she asked. Well, yes -about money." I knew it," she said, "money is always causing trouble." There was a pause for a moment, and then the pretty girl wound her arms tenderly about Hartley's neck, and, wlhispering in his ear, said- " Arthur ! " Well, Ruth." "Let me furnish this money." "Nonsense, chiildl -- you dloni't know how large the sum is." "I'm suic I don't care how large it is I 14 page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. Ive got plenty of money. There were some heavy payments made me last week. Come, say you will take it from me." 'If she had had. more experience of the world, especially the world of badness-if she had been less infatuated with this man, she would have seen at once that this was the very point to which he had been leading her, and that he now smiled triumphantly at her folly. " First let me explain the affair," he said. "You see, Ruth, I'm unfortunately endowed with a little bit of mechanism they call a heart-deuced tender, you know. Perfect fool I've been, or I should have been-well, rich as-What d'ye call em-Crosus-this day. Still you know-I would not change my heart, would you? No, of course not; I thought you'd' say so. Well, about three months ago, one of my school-mates-good fellow as ever lived. only will get perpetually into scrapes-came to nie and said, ' Arthur my boy! I want your name on the back of that paper. Just for form's sake, you know. You'll never hear a word about it again, and it will help me to negotiate '-you understand, don't you, Ruth-how business men accommo- date one another? Oh, don't you? Well, I'll. explain it some day or another to you How-, ever, having full belief in his honesty, I en- dorsed the note, and 'pon honor, the bill falls due to-morrow, and I've just this minute heard that lie has run off to Europe, and that they'll come down oi me for the money- fifteen thousand dollars. Isn't it dreadful, Ruth !" " How can men be so dishonest." said the girl, drinking in his foolish story with perfect belief in its veracity. " The worst of it is that my father-never mentioned to you that I had a father? Why yes, my dear girl, I did-did'nt I? Well, that's funny ! Of course I've got a father. Where does he live? Oh, at New York-and New England. He'll be mad enough to kill me when he hears of it, and ten to one wont come down with the dust at all, but just let me sweat for it. Oh, this is why I never mentioned him to you. At least I think it is. Did'nt want to hurt your feelings, you know. But lie's as mad as blazes because I'm marrying a Philadelphia girl; wanted mne to marry a foreign woman with a title. Stupid pride, isn't it? I always said so-es- pecially for Americans. All well enough for uropeans, who hold so much to that style of thing. In the meantime just think of it- fifteen thousand dollars!" "Let me draw you a draft for this money, Arthur," said Ruth, rising and crossing to her rosewood Secretaire. " Oh, you darling girl" said Hartley, hug' ging his affianced bride with great fervor, but kissing her rather abstractedly, for lie was thinking about this money and the means o~ getting it. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. " Stop Ruth," he said, "I tell you what will be better than that. It will look rather funny for me, I'm afraid, to be drawing a lot of money on your draft. People are so cursed ill natured ! Just like 'em to say 'What the dickens is Hartley drawing her money for, before they are married ?' No stopping their beastly tongues. The way we can manage it is this -if you really insist on my taking this money." She assured him loving- ly that she did., "Well then, I'll come for you in a back to-morrow at ten, and then we can drive to the bank, you can draw your money-ah, and give it-ah-to me-and I'll take the eleven o'clock train, arrive in New York at two, up town and make my payment before three, and then I am all O. K. Excuse slang, darling. One contracts these horrid phrases among-ah-you know -business men." " And when will you return, dear Arthur?" asked Ruth. "Oh - return-shortly of course-very shortly. The next day or same evening-yes to be sure, the same evening. And you know Ruth, soon as ever I have a streak of luck- no, I don't mean that, but when (lad pays up my-my half-yearly income, derived from-. oh, dear child, this must be stupid to you, and I hate business, too. But what I mean is that--the money shall be returned to you." She would not allow him to speak of that, she said, and if the truth must be confessed, he seemed very glad -of it. He referred to the subject once again during the evening. Think it will excite attention, your drawing such a large amount, Ruth? " he asked. " No, I have no one to question me, nor of whom I must ask leave. But if those payments had not been made last week I don't believe I could have got so much money at a moment's notice." Mr. Hartley devoted- at least half an hour to desperate love-making, which was in- terrupted by Williams, the man servant, who, after rapping lightly, looked in with rather a nervous expression of face quite unusual to the easy going valet. " Please Miss," he said, "here's Mr. Thornfield outside very excited, saying he must and will see you to-night, he don't care how late it is." Ruth looked at Arthur, as if to ask what reply she should make. Arthur replied for f her. " Tell Mr. Thornfield he can't come in." " Mr. Hartley says you can't come in," said Williams to Thornfield, who stood in the hall outside. " Does lie ?" yelled Thornfield, pushing past the man, rushing into the drawing room t and planting himself before Hartley. " Now let Mr. Arthur Hartley (as he chooses to f call himself) say the same to me !" I{ ~II .i I iF t 3 i 3 l t 1?e 2 xF i t y 7 r 1 s 3 s rt r 'd Y 1 { t t1 3 i i l i 3 3 t q f J " My dear Miss Villemain," said Hartley, turning coolly to Ruth, " is ths-ah-your Quaker friend-or, ali-an Italian brigand ?" ".Mr. Thornfield," said Ruth coldly, " will yon be good enough to explain this conduct? " " I will, Ruth," said Thornfield-" Oh my poor girl, how it, will make you suffer! Read that letter. Ruth-it will convince you of this man's perfidy better than I can. It tells its own story." Ruth took the letter and looked at it. " It is in your handwriting, Arthur," she said. She thought she saw his lips tremble and his cheek blanch slightly - nevertheless his tone was firm enough as he replied: Is it? Then read it, Ruth. -Read it-if it is in my handwriting." She read aloud: "DEAR CAROLINE: "6.Why will you make an idiot Qf yourself in this way? Can you not see that I am playing a deep game with this-girl, Ruth Villenmain. Come on, and spoil all by your foolish jealousy, do ! What if you have heard I was cooing to marry her ? How can I? " My idea is to worm a good big sum of money out of her, get clear off, and then let her whistle for her ' bridegroom.' Don't you see ? " I enclose you twenty-five dollars. Go buy yourself a pound of sweetmeats at Mail- lard's and when I make the haul in question I'll buy you a handsome diamond ring at Tiffanv's; so keep that cursed black Indian blood of yours under control, and believe me when I tell you that, spitfire as you are, you please me better than any woman I ever met." " No signature," said Ruth in a trembling voice. "By George, I'm sorry for that," said Hartley, taking the letter deliberately from her hand ; " if' my signature had been at- tached, I should have placed this in the hands of the proper authorities to-morrow ; but as it is; "-and he scanned it very closely, for Mr. Hartley said he was quite near-sighted- " as it is, I pronounce it only a very stupid forgery." " A forgery ! " repeated Thornfield and Ruth in the same breath. " A-forgery !" said Mr. Hartley, conclu- sively. " You lie!" shrieked a fierce voice from outside. There was a struggle, and a noise, as of a scuffle. The door was flung open, and the handsome, painted woman, whom Roger Thornfield had met in the Park, stood in a defiant attitude, with her dripping dress, and her untidy hair, in Ruth Villemain's drawing room. " Do you dare to deny me,our ee! you base wretch PC screamed this woman, ad- dressing herself to Hartley. It only required one glance at him as lie shrank cowering among the Cushions of the sofa, to see that she was what she proclaimed herself. His self-possession had entirely left him now. It was evident that this woinati's influence over him was great-either good or bad-it was great. George Hackley," she said, frowning darkly at him, " you are the meanest wretch that walks the earth. You're a giilher and a thief and a liar. I was an Imocent girl when you got hold of ime. See what I amn now. I didn't care how much you cheat- ed men. I helped you at it. Bmmt you shan't ruin any more women if I can pre- vent it. You've sent one to perdition-that's me-and that's enough. Come, get up, and go with me. You'd better. Bad as I aim, I'm the only friend you've got." The man seemed to feel this, for he ober- ed her passively, and without casting a glance at either Ruth or Thornfield, he skulked, like a coward cur, out of the house of which he had been but a few moments be- fore virtually the master. " I've done you the best turn you ever had done you in your life," said the woman turning to Ruth ; " the more you hear of him the -more you'll thank me. But I did it willingly, because you're a woman. As for you, Mr. Thornfield, I'll never forget you. You've treated inc with decncv-as I've not been treated sine-" pointing her fin- ger the way in which Ilaitley had gone- " since I met him. I feel grateful. I wish you good-bye. You seem an honest, vell meaning young man. Keep away fromil such women as I aim, and you'll remain so." She left them. When Roger turned to Ruth lie found she had fainted. le rang the bell, placed her in the hands of her frightened imai, and their returned to his distant lodgings. It was three years before Roger Thorn- field saw Ruth again. .She and her aunit left for Europe the day after the affair, and RHog- er made up his mind she. would marry abroad. He applied himself valiantly to his business, and by dint of industry, talent and persever- ance, lie became head of the house in which lie had formerly been employed. Ile heard that Ruth had lost her fortune through the dishonesty of an agent. Le did not know if this was true, but one day he met her quite unexpectedly in the street, and asked her. She said yes, it was true she was re- duced to comparative poverty. About three months afterward, he asked her another question. I scarcely know what she replied to this, but if you feel interested in the matter you numihit go on to Philadel- hia and ask her. ou must inquire for dIrs. Rog'er Thiornfield, though, or you will not be likely to find her. 17 page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. and all-plough-man and plough-horse, and shop-keeper, and post-mistress, andihouse- III. wife, and children, and little dogs, and even some rather high-minded eats roused to ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE. a sense of their own indolence by seeing the activity of' every body about them--all were "WrAT'S your story about to-night, busy. That was the time for the utilitarian Nell? " asked John, so soon as tea was over, coe. and we had all got comfortably seated. But for you and me, who have enough of It is the story of how a woman loved, bsiess and utilitarianism in town, and who WZ1 dli~tdtete, n like to run down into the country occasion- was doubted, tested, and-- Aunt ally and throw olf our cares, and scribble a That the sequel ill show, Aunt. John, few verses about " lover " and clover," " Thabteswit s and " rill" and "hill," who are prone to think l've (ubbedit ourselves very ill-used the first day we come, because fate has decreed that- we shall not Tinnie's Ordeal.* inhabit this Arcadia the year through; and It wvas between five and six o'clock onewho before the end of the first week of our evening ill the month of May, and theivell- staying there, have so completely changed origanisel inhabitants of the'little village of our ideas that we are wishing the time of Mar-towii were one and all engaged in their our vacation over, so that we may get back evening meal. Not that the :evening meal to town again-you andlI would see Mars- was in common, or that any one family had town at its best in the evenmg.b whatsoever to do with the evening meal of the It strtick Robert Htolden as being a very neighbor; far from it. But in a quiet, hum- pretty place as, later onthis quiet afternoon drum llPlace like M\amstown, there was very in May-, lie wendled his way up the village- drmn to ae a li M teow , a s very street, having as vet not so far lost his city lcd in al i ost every case, by a similitude ofh a habits as to be able to muster up an appetite ed, m mIt h d been a lovely d y. The forafive o'clock "tea." cool, fresh breeze of the morning wafting h e leaned to rest on the heavy stick which across the fields the delicate odorofn ewtin he carried in his right hand, and surveyed born flowers, had been chased aay, it i- the scene around him. Before him was the true, by the heat of a noon-day sun, whic church where his mother had been married, was not so unbearable in itself as it was and where beneath one of those grey-stone rather threatening in its promises of the slabs she lay at rest forever ; in front of the scorching rays it- was going to send, in a church the tiem-lionored tclag-staf which he month or two later; but as early as three had so often attempted to chimb), as a boy, o'clock in the afternoon the glorious orb of and been rewardedi1fr hisnatniftl efforts light, seemingly satisfied with the undoubt- by as many tumbles down on to the sof, ed taste of is quality which he had gracious- grassy carpet beneath. The hr-stffhad ly vouchsafed the Marstown villagers, re- been in great requisition ringg the past tired majestically behind some heavy clouds, four years, and ha. never borne the Starry and was seen no more that day. Standard with a prouder air than the day And now that the daylight itself was fad- o which the hero of the village-the great mgi omut, and the soft gloammng settling (down fnancia persounag wo hastoind the only tranquilly on the white-fronted houses of man inf the county who bad joined the army Marstown, throwing the tall church-steeple in ays aist u t ta" itn, an never gloom first, and never stopping till even the left it until he took tea with somef cousins grassy lanes were a tone or two darker in of his in Richmond; that old flag-ta bcreak- shadow, and from grass-green had become ing in the wind never flaunted out the brilliant green-invisible, now was the time to see hued banner so gaily as on the glorious dlay Marstown at its best. Not the time for a when Robert Hoilen retired to the (juiet strict utilitarian to see it at its best-oh, no ! town -tei polai'ly not quiet, for drums The time for that was several. hours earlier, were beimg beat fois glory and children beirg when the men were in the fields, and the ditto for naughtiness, and fire-crackers were little store-keepers of the one village-street spitting an sputtering at Robert"s feet, and busy with what petty traffic the place afford- every man and woman in the plate was a-od ed; when if you only took the trouble to bless "-ing hiii, and poor olden was a hap- cast a passing glance into neat kitchens, the py man for ihe tiume, site of at deep doors of which stood invitingly open, you trouble which e must bear every week and were sure to see busy housewives engaged every month, and every day. and every hour, in soimro interesting stutly of gastronomical until the moment should come for him to join combinations, coupling theory wit p ractice his mother im te bhurcheystd lean in a thoroughly scientific manner. And one thnkin of tvi strobl aste he stood aig The reader is requested to overlook the very ap- panu wak parent anachironism of this story. Ia. wvanot all for nothing that L(obert ++ ,t ; ; _' =-. ;; tf 'f % ke J { } y t i :+ } . , f(1(/ 1 F 1'y jr jjjjj!! E{ijj Y t1 S JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY- Holden had been a thirty-days man, and that his thirty tlavs had lasted till he entered Richmond with Graut's army. His uniform had got very rusty and shabby long before Gettysburg ; and at Gettysburg he received an ugly wound in his thigh, which fortunately didn't make amputation necessary, but whieh in healing had shrivelled up one of his legs antil it was some inches shorter than the other, making him limp painfully, and having at the same time a distressing effect on his general health. In about a month after he was about again he was detailed fhr picket- duty, andt o! a bullet from nowhere, seem- ingly, shattered his left arim, aind made hin again an inmate of a military hospital. The arm had to go ; and now Robert Holden, with only one arm, lame, and hearing withal the hurthien of unceasing ill-health, walked ip the principal street of' Marstown and silently bemoaned his fate. In some respects his fate seemed a pleas- ant one. He was by all odds the r'hest man in Marstown. His father had amassed something whiich, even iii these days of al- most Sardaiapalan.luxury, looked Very like a fortune. The last voyage his father had taken (for he was a sea-captain and had per- ished with his vessel, one stormy night, off the Bahama Islands) ; even this voyage had brought its pecuniary fruits to the then young lad, -Robmert Uolden. His mother had left him a fine farm, in the adjoining county, which brought i a good round sum as a yearly rent. The ground on which the grocer' and d'ry-goods store stood was his; and all that rich land there to the left-oh, far hevond the fi'nce-that too was his; and last, hut perhaps best, the house and grounds, both in such capital condition, where Holden now made his home, were his. Of hate, too, a greater source of happiness than any lantis, or houses, or cows, ompgres- cery stores, seemed opening for the crippled hero. His nature was a very self-contained on'e, and to the ,age of twenty-five, his love for s mother had been all-sufficient for him ; and then she died, and then came war, and now Robert Holden found himself in his thirtieth year with some few gray hairs shin- ing here and there among his soft brown curls (for he belonged to a family who grew gray very early), and until very recently had never thought of love and marriage. The man's nature was a retiring one ; there was a dearth of marriageable girls in the village ; there is not much of what is lovely in woman- kimd to be seen in the neighborhood of an army; so after all, it was scarcely to be wondered at that Robert Holden hadremain-l ed heart-whole. He was not heart-whole now-far from it. but that was something which had happened within the last three months. It was the sumaplest story in the world. He had seen thme pretty new school-mistress, and had fallen in Jove with her, and had told her of his feeling very honestly and plainly, and she hadl given him to understand that she loved him iiire- turn, and tuey' were engaged. This was all very grritif'yii, hut still theme was on drop) of bitterness in the honey en1. Poor an opinion as the kind-hearted Rob ert had of himself it was impossible foi -ili to be quite unaware that lie was the best match " in the village- that fin6:magimI in her position it was the greatest Pw( ile lathck to ( met snch an offer ; and try as he voiubh to Sehieve the vows of her love which she pos- itively asserted she would pnoe som(e lay, Robert IHolden looked at his mainih foim and siglingly' asked himself what there was in such a mlan as he, heside the noey in his pocket, which cold attret- so h1 i 11ant amd beautiful a woman as M i'ni e IDas ii. IHer history was rather a peetlia' one, as well as being very sad. IM1mmro i hmi o died early, ard her father, a hmi'd-hm'iukit, inoney-getting, pushing, fit-ig, 11ii sit I iet' mi New York merchant, had itm hle Itas .ile guardian to the pretty' little :Ethtigutr.,She had been educated in il'rancee, 11 at amer hwr education had been coimpleted hail hu1me hurried over the Continentby li hmr iim)u'tiinots father, and brought hack to go ti br ngh the perils of rich young ladyhood in the :first circles " of New York. She hat had her own carriage, and her sadd le-horse, ath her groom; and one or two 'proposals of mainr- riage, which were rejected hecao nti ot 'in- sitdere'd advantageoi n' inounrh tfoihtie stvli-h Miss Davison ; and suddtenly, in the miiist of all this grandeur, there 'ame iiua vagite smu' thing, which seemed to be genmerall v inown as a " Smiash," and away went Cindere'hla's pumpkin carriage, and the rat-horses, aunt her nmi'i-footmm'en. All was over. Two years of grindinmig poveit y foilwed, and at the indn of' that time a fairly nest b te : a tmip in t ire- lv (11(dmutit iedleiavimug a beauitiftil vun girl, without a friend or a dollar, ahmte il the world to struggle for herself'. 'l''irugh one of' her former teachers, she heard of t his place of school-mistress in the village of' Marstown, and thither she went. It was not possible-it was not i Ihumimima nature, that she sihoulhdlike smuih a poor, timliet, hmmimomhm'mmmmn littlt place, afe the'hmihhiaimt lifin she had led. Even after that terrible break ig tip, when riches and all the luxuries they brimg had vanished into thin air, she still lived in a noisy, hustling, brili mit. wickedmimo- tropolis. 11er friend, Mrs. Pithoile, mirhitmit her because she was poor now ; but shmecould not shut from lher sight, the animated s'ne which Broadway, in all its dilterenmt aspects. presents. And now to live day afterda and year after vea' in a dull, noiseless, hi mmote little Massachusetts vilage, surroumded) by Pupils 'omnsistinig of a half-score ragged, saicyn, thuick-headedt riniis, wvho hoved hemr in time bottom of their per'ver's' little hearts but whmo mneverthieless saw no reason why they should not thrust their healthy little tongues 19 .s e ; f, i E vt t ' to t r f , ;:, , . j t ; page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. I Stil out at her whenever she set them the most necessary task. This life was death to her so Minie told Robert lloien--untilhe catoe. Then all was different ! Did he believe her? God knows he wish- ed to do so ! But still-still-- He was ruminating upor it as he reached the door of' the little store which served the triple office of dispensing stationery, news- paper literature and sugar-plums to the Marstowners, and in one corner of which there hung a sort of mysterious and suspend- ed etagbre divided off intolittle pigeon-holes. This piece of furniture was nothing more or less than the Marstown Post-Office itself. The Post-mistress was selling three cents worth of molasses candy to an uninteresting female child, as Robert'entered and asked if there was a letter for him. 6 Yes, indeed ! I guess there is a letter for vout, Mr. Holden," said the Post-mistress, dragging off a huge bit of coarse, brown pa- pert and laying the sticky molasses-mess in- side--" a letter-there's two ! There now, run home, sis ; tell your mother if she wants any lemons again I've got some now; she needn't go to the grocery'-store ; and two letters from big towns too, I tell vou, Mr. Holden ; and say to your pap that I'm sorry he bought some of those yellow enn-vellopes that don't stick-lots of people complained of them ; I'l change 'em if he's got many. Yes, that's all ; and Mr. Holden, on the big one there's three cents due. Robert crushed the letters in his hand as lie looked at the post marks and saw that neither was from the adjacent town where Minnie Davison had gone to spend a week with the family of one of her pupils. Acquit- ting his debt to the post-mistress, he sallied forth again, and, resuming the thread of his broken, unspoken thought, he walked slowly back to his own home. Minnie had prom- ised to write to him; why had she not kept her word ? He opened one of the letters; it was from a relative in Boston-a young man occupying a rather important position in a Bank. He complained of ill health. and in- formed Robert that he was going to run down to Marstown the next week, for a fort- night's relaxation. The other letter was from New York. The writer was a gay, rich voug mnan, who had been very patriotic for a short time, and stayed in the army till the gold on his shoulders began to tarnish; then he resigned. Robert Holden wrote back to both to conme down to Marstown as soon as possible, and stay as long as business or other engagemen' s would allow. Both invitations were accepted, and on the following Tuesday Marstown, the unsensa- tional, was aroused from its usual apathy by the arrival of the two dashing young city gents. Curniously' enough they tnt iin then cam-s and wvithtout previous in trodlutction, comnpar ed notes, each discovered who the other was and so Robert was saved the trouble ofl ,il JOHN MAllRlIS'S MONEY. bringing about an acquaintance which had already brought about itself. Of course they bot h1ld heard the story of'the school-mistress. Iobert Hohlen was too important a person- agi, ani his probable marriage was too im- portant a business, to remain long a secret. To George Wilson, the Bostonian Minnie Davison was a stranger; but it s- happened that Algernon Deene was one of the '' offers " which had been rejected by Minnie's father, in their former days of grandeur. And thus it came that Algernon had some fine mis- givings about the school-mistress, which he felt it his duty to communicate to lulden. Pray don't mention that subject, Deene," said Robert, impatiently, when, a lay or two after their arrival, Algernon pro- nounced Minnie Davison's name. Did you understand me when i said that I knew her formerly-knew her well?" Yes," answered Holden ; " what then ?" And that I proposed to her once ; and she rejected me? "Yes ; and again I say, what then? You surely are not petty enough to bear spite." "' Spite! My dear fellow, if there is one atom of spite in the nature of Algy Deene, why you're the flust person who ever discov- ered-it, that's all I can say. But the answer to the ' what then !' of your question is this -are you sure you are not mistaken in the girl?" " ' Deene !" "Oh, come now, don't be tragic. I tell you I know her-know her well. She was a dreadful flirt when she-when the old man had money. " So she has told me," "I don't mean to say there was anything wrong in it, mind; or anything different to other girls, in the same situation ; still, she was very fond of society. " So she has told me," said Holden again. S I don't know how she made omt after the old fellow smashed, but I rather think that sobered her a little. Of course, shie's a brilliant woman and a beautiful one, and one you could very well be proud of, but my great fear is (you must see that I have only your interest at hieaut in speaking in this manner, Bob) my great fear is that-that -by Jove, it's such a delicate manner I real- ly don't know how to put it." What Deene means is this, Robert," said young Wilson, putting back his meersehaum, and closing the bright morocco case with a- snap. "That this girl, being so fond of so- ciety, having suffered great poverty after having held such a different position previous- ly, that it is highly probable she has made up her mind to marry any one on earth who wants her and has got money." "'Any one on earth!' Upon my word, ,Wilson, you place me in an ennobling eate- -gory'," said Holden with a hot, red face. "on't, for heaven's sak-e, tlon't get an- gry, Bob," ehimetd in Algy Deene. " I tell 21 you women are all ali!ze. She is no worse, and very likely far better, than many of her sex. But it's just this, she is full of health, youth and beauty, while it so liappens that you are -are- " Full of infirmities," said Robert, bitterly, slaking his empty sleeve, and touching with his stick the acting leg. .'' It's not so much that," said Deene, " as it is your delicate health. Let me ask you how you would relish being obliged to"' do' three balls a night for a space of four imonth5, during winter,, to be followed by summer's equalt I parts,-Newport and Saratoga-well nixedd" "Ilidenremembered how, even now, the slightest imprudence of, late hours or wine as sufficient to make him ill for a couple of days. You take it for granted that we are going to be ' fislionahles,' " said Ifolden, Come iiow," retorted Deene, " has she not exacted of you a promise to live in New Yok, her placeiof predilection ? " . I certainiv told her she should live there she liked ; she exacted nothing from me." Suppose you were to tell her that you were (I~ternined never to leave Marstowi-- no, she'd be sure to think she could coax you out of that-suppose you were to tell her that you had lost every dollar, and were now as poor as a church ioise. Do you think she'd stil le true to you -P ., i rIo." answered Robert, with conviction inhis tone. Wo uldyou like to put her to the test?" o ."shouted Holden, springing lip. Deene, this -conversation has gone far no1-1lh. I love Minnie Davison, and have "idenee in her love for iiie. Whatever 01m1 o i(itives are, I can no longer permit a (ouversatioi which wrongs the woman of my -hoice. Let it stop here." Minnie Davison's name was not mentioned for several days. Deene, whose.motives were indeiiably of the purest, was too fond of lol(Iento take umbrage at the impetuous ply vhich terminated this conversation; and like a thorough bon enfant as he was. Aigs-soon put the school-mistress, and love Making,' am dissensions of' all kinds, quite outNof his head- Not so with Iolden. Spite of his vaunted ofidence in Mimmie's lose, I)eene's opiiiion is to the unitiess of the match was im great mieasume shared by himself. Ile loved this oman with all the fervor of a tirst affection, and atl there not existed that blighitiug doubt of the truth of' her love fori hin his happiness would have been altogether without alloy. It seems so hard, so wroiiging, to douit her; anilvetdoubtlier lie did. It, was [Lolden himself who reverted to the forbidden sih-eet.' Ieene." saitl lie, ''Ifear I was very rude time other day whiemi we were speaking of' Miss aivison, but v on seemed to make it quiite an. inpnossille condition of afiairs that I should be loved for itself alone." " Why, you dear old fellow." sa ill l ne. " I think it just iiext to impossible tht you should not he lovcd for noirself alone. I don't see who can help loving ' ou-I can't, for one. I don't douht Minnie I)avim loves yvoui-and loves you,-as you say, i' yourself alone. But this is the psit i, Bob. Do yo think she has love eoemyh for you, and strength of imiinild ilnough in her- self, to live the quiet, re'lusi siot of Iit' necessitated by the delicate state of your health ? Don't you think that even with lots of love to begin with, von' lditl.ren'ceil of tastes will lead by-and-y toi vir th pulling contrary ways, like a dinmtenti'l double team in a fretting har'iii', ulint i at last the wagon of mtatrinonyv, w; I eid by goimg to-to--you know what I iiie:imi-to-. in fact---thuntder " The worst of it is," said George Wilson, who had hitherto kept silence, "' that yiu can't believe any wonian who walks tll i'aith, when she swe irs shie loves you." Gomrge Wilson had recently had soine biitter exper-i enee with a woman who walked the earth in the city of' Boston, and was therefore not very lemiently disposed toward the sex. "And you sie this girl has sutich partic- larly strong reasons for making an advanta- geoumati'h ," added Deene You torture me to death," moanei poor Ilolden throwing himself helplessly ito a hair. What amn I to do ? " Put her to the test, as I suggested the other day," said D)eene. "Ilow ?" " Why look here, Bob. Supposing she were to receive a more eligible ot-r-a rih- em' moan t hinm you a're-a fashioniable fellow, who' d promise her more society tihan she ever had in her gayest lavs--it woul be the best of all tests, to see if her love for you would cause her to rejec't hin." " Who is t he're to make such an offer ? Deene was silent. " Do volt iean 'yourself?" "Why not myt'self, as well as another ? " ' She i'efused you once, man. That was under very different t-i 'cirium- stances, miy dear filwiv. She was then rich old Davison's beautiful daughter; not lm- nie Davison, a poor schoolmilistress at Mars- town. . I have -inherited toy mother's piropi- erty sinee then, whih gives mie a good fifty thousand more than I had, ant lmy ilsilne-,ss has increased wonderfilly during andt since the war." " Well, if vou propose to her, and- and-" Ilohlen's voe ti tinlled and sank into a low whispuir-'" and she accepts you- you will marry her " . uileu , s Iin I ho no sumili t Iing.i "Algeruton Dectene,"' shouted Ilolden, "Now Bob," sai the imperturbable L T A. Pt , I t + s r _i skit A+ {{ .yitt page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. I' i r Deene. " Don't get excited--don't be ab- surd, whatever happens. Why should I mar- ry a woman who had just committed so das- tardly an act as to play false to the best fel- low that ever lived ? You'll thank nie some day for the ungrateful and disagreeable task I'm cutting out for myself here. For if she remain true to you, you'll be happier for this test--and if she prove false to you, why then also, you'll be far happier for the test. That's logic, isn't it? Will you give your consent?" " Do what you like," said Holden, help- lessly. " I suppose you mean it for my good." You must give ine a little help," said Algy. " I can't manage it quite by myself. When doyou expect her back from Boonsville, or Snoozewell, or Goosequill, or whatever the town's name is ? " "To-morrow." " Ah ! Just oblige me by sitting down at that desk, will you? " Holden obeyed like a child. "Now write her a few lines to the effect that you have lost everything in the world." Holden looked up into Deene's face with an expression of blank amazement. In the world," continued the undis- mayed Algy ; - that your health is worse than ever, and that her life, if she joins it with yours. is likely to be one of constant privation and of the greatest seclusion. Tell her that, much as you love her, you feel it your duty to release her from her engagement unless she is fully prepared to encounter the dull and un- interesting life which is the only one possi- ble for the woman who shall be your wife." " This farce is as degrading to me as it is insulting to her," ejaculated holden, writ- ing as lie was bid, nevertheless, carried along by the resistless current of Algy's reasoning. " Now my dear ft low," continued the latter, seemingly unconscious of any inter- ruption, " just oblige me by going away from Marstown. You and Wilson can go hunting, or fishing, or to the-excuse me,I but anywhere just to leave me the field to myself, you know. Get off to-day, will you ?" Holden arose and left the room without a word. Wilson lingered. " I'm afraid this is going to be a serious business," he said to Deene. " 'Serious!!' nonsense! I am going to write a story about it-call it Minnie's Or- deal or Miss Davison's Test-or something of that sort." " I wish I could feel as easy. as you seem to do. It resolves itself into this, Deene- if the girl deserts him, it will break his heart, and if she hangs on, we shall have made a couple of donkeys of ourselves, that's all." . The next day, when the sun was begin- ning to get low Algy D~eene in most irre- proachuable tenue, strolled down the main II JOHN MORR street of Marstown, turned off into a shady lane, and rapping at the door of a poor- looking farm house, asked for Miss Davison. Minnie, hearing a man's voice, flew quickly down stairs, expecting to see Robert Holden, The bright flush of happy expectation faded froi her face, and gave way to an expres- sion of bewildered astonishment at view of the elegant. stranger. "Have four years made such a fearful wreck of him that Algernon Deene is no longer recognizable, Miss Davison ? " "Mr. Deene ! How good of you to come to see me I I really did not know you at first. I was not expecting you, you know, and indeed you are somewhat changed." The truth was, that Algy Deene was one of those men who grow handsomer and hand- somer up to the age of forty. Minnie looked in amazement at the bright, rosy face which, without losing any of its youth in the last four years, had gained greatly in manly ex- prion. "Time is a sad dog, Miss Davison," said Deene, seating himself on a cane-seated chair, which was so hard it absolutely re- quired all Algy's good breeding to suppress an ejaculatory " oh !" on coming in contact with it. " Time is not a ' dog' at all, Mr. Deene," said Minnie, laughing. " He is a fine old man with a long white heard, and a scythe in his hand-at least so the picture-books say." " You are still the same in everything, I see ; robe, complexion,-- all!" " No, I am not," returned Minnie. " As to ' robe,' I think you remember that I used to be clad in purple and fine linen; now my linen is not fine, and my best purple calico fades dreadfully in the wash-tub. * Com- plexion' may be better. I think it ought to be. The essence of six balls'a week is a very pgor cosmetic, Mr. Deene; it can't compare to country air and country hours as the true bloom of youth-of nature." " Then you never sigh for the city, Miss Minnie? " asked Algy. " Oh, yes I do-that is to say, I did. At one time, and indeed until very recently, it seemed quite impossible for me to ever getused to this most stupid of little villages. But we have talked quite enough about me; tell me about yourself. What on earth brings you to Marstown? " " i came on a visit to my old friend, Bob Holden," answered Deene. "'Your old friend !' Is Mr. Holden. a friend of yours? How glad I am to hear it;" said Minnie. " Yes, we are old friends, and I promised myself a delightful time with him, and should have had it, but for this dreadful stroke of ill-fortune which has knocked poor Bob com- pletely off his legs." 1j1" l-fortutie," exclaimed Minnie Davison springing up. " Ill-fortune to Robert Hol-- den ! What is it ? Oh pray tell me !" " Why, haven't you heard yet? Oh to be sure not. Hoh htas taken such care to keep it close. Why the fact is, Miss Minnie, Bob has lost every dollar he had in the world !" As Algy Deene told this cool falsehood, the expression of his distingud face was as innocent as that of any child. And yet his fashionable code of honor would have been a blow for the man who dared call him a liar ! A somewhat singular inconsistency-quite in vogue in Algv's set. Lost his fortune !-- Robert Holden poor !" echoed Minnie Davison. "Poor! Poor's not the word for it. He's just next door to a beggar," continued the skillful Algy. Minnie Davison burst into tears. "I'm so-so sorry for him," she sobbed at length. And so am I," said Algy in a sympathiz- ing tone; " very sorry, and if you wont take amiss the bluntness of an old friend, I will say to you that the only cause for congratu- lation i see in the whole affair is-well, I may as well out with it at once-that you are not married." " He told you of our engagement, then," said Minnie. "Yes, and I think he's very glad this hap- pened before matrimonyy" "l)id he say so? " asked Minnie. N--no-tnot exactly that. But still I know he felt what a blow it would be to vou. You have suffered such great poverty, Miss Davison. You don't mind my brusqueness, do you?" , " I have suffered dreadfully from poverty ; I ant suffering now," sighed Minnie. " But don't talk of ne-what will Robert do ?" "Oh, he can get a clerkship, I suppose- or be somebody's secretary, no doubt." "tRobert Holden in a clerkship ! Robert Holden somebody's secretary ! " "XWhy not ? Better meni-I mean as good men have had to do it, and scores of them too. before his time. But these delicate hands of yours were never meant for any household drudgery. Minnie, you were not born to be the wifb' of a poort man." " Dear Mr. Deene, you are very good," said Minnie rising. " You will pardon my asking you to leave mue now, will you not? " "tOh certainly, Miss Minnie," said Algy, in reality very glad to get away ; " will you permit me to come again? " "Very gladly." " When ? " " To-morrow." " Bob was right," soliloquized Algy as he turned mnto the mai street. " I am an un- principled ruffian. How I lied to her! And how she swallowed ever'vthing! Never once asked how it happened,-but took every word I said for gospel truth. Well, women are green ones, there's ito mistake about that." Algy was more struck with Mininie's beauntv the second day than he had been the first'; IS'S MOSEY. 23 for to his taste the pallor which this great blow had spread over her fice was far more beau- tiful than the ruddy glow of health which had bloomed there the day before. I icr long brown lashes were wet with tears, and, as Algy entered the wrtel~e little parlor of the farmo-house, he fotind hot h her ittittde and speech indicating the greatest dejection. " I have more news for you to-day ; " said Alg seating himself heidihe her. Yes ?" said she, eagerly, " What is it?" A letter from Robert." le held it up, and she snatched it quickly. She read it aloud. . It ran thus- Mr DEAR MINNIE :-It is with the ut- most grief I announce to you the complete loss of my fortune. I need not tell you that I feel it my duty to at once release you from your engagement of marriage iiatde to mne under such very different circumstances. It is-the highest proof of love I can give you thus to relinquish what is far dearer to me than fortune or friends, or all the world be- side. But I must give you this proof, and I feel doubly constrained to do so by the knowl- edge that my health was never worse than at present; this, coupled with my wretched pe- cuniary position, will entail upon the woman who consents to be my wife the greatest self- abnegation in all that relates to society and the varied charms of a city life; for, without doubt, 1 shall be tied to this miserable vil- lage for the remainder of my (lays. Minnie, I shall take it very kidly if you will write me a word on this subject. I know your answer in advance. Despair has told it tme. But nothing can sting me so nmuch com- ing from you-nothng so much as silence. Your loving, R. II. "Bravo, Bob!" was Algy's mental criti- cism on this piece of epistolary literature. When he looked up he found Minnie lean- ing back, with closed eves, in her chair, look- ing so ghastly white that Deene thought she must have fainted. Ile seized her hands and began chafing them violently. " Don't be alarmed," she said ; "' it is nothing. It will soon be over." There is no more in that letter than I told you yesterday." " No ; but seeing it in his hand-writing, and poor Robert's way of putting it touched me a little, you know. Where can I send the answer ? " " You needn't trouble yourself about the answer for a week. Bob is off, and writes tme he will be back then, when lie hopes I shall be able to hand hiv your reply." " I shall have it ready; " said Miss Davi- son, shaking her head sadly. "Minnie, how it grieves en to see you so distressed ! Then there was a long pause and at length lDeene said in a low voice, "Do you know Minnie, you were vei'y cruel to mue once? " ": . _t 4 YS 'T ;, x 1. ,; , ' f S + t 1 page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY., I tt ii i " Have you not forgotten that yet?" asked Minnie. 'No indeed-not I-and never shall until you cause me to do so by some very great act of kindness. You know I loved you desperately, do you not?" "I suppose you thought you did, or you never would have proposed to me." " I loved you very, very devotedly, and your rejection of ime nearly broke ny heart; and Minnie-why should I conceal the truth ? I love you now more, much more than ever." " Mr. Deene! " exclaimed Miss Davison, "is this an insult ?" " Is it an insult to ask you to become my wife " She looked at him with astonishment de- picted in every feature. le continued, without waiting for a reply : " You are now off with this unfortunate af- fair of poor Bob. He releases you himself; and quite the correct thing in him, under the circumstances. And indeed, dear Minnie, it would not have been a very suitable match for you at the best; 'pon my word, it wouldn't. His ill health, his fondness for this stupid vil- lage where they don't even have the decency to manufcture anything even of so prosaic a character as shoes -like Lynn, you know, for instance-which are useful in the main, though unpleasant to the olfactories when new. On the other hand, myself, gay like yourself, fomd of society, in splendid health, with plenty of money, and loving you very earlyl, I repeat Minnie that I offer you my hand and-you know what I mean-my heart." . " 1 am very much astonished at this," said Minnie Davison. I don't want to hurry you,'pon my word I don't. Take time before you answer. I'll give you a week, if you like. Only promise me- you'll think about it." . I promise," said Minnie. It was very well for Miss Davison that there happened to be vacation at her school that week, otherwise Mr. Deene's attendance would have interfered sadly with her duties; for he was with her almost constantly, every day fromnoon till long past sunset. The week passed quickly to both, and now the day had arrived for Robert Hiolden's return. " Have you written Bob's answer?" said Algy that evening, holding her hand, as they stood leave-taking at her gate. " Yes, here it is," said Minnie, drawing the letter from her pocket, and placing it in his hand. " You won't say positively whether you will have me or not, Minnie." " You really have given me such a short time for reflection. What's a week after all? But I tell you what," she added, "you will know very well when Robert reads out that letter' how I feel toward you, and what your chances are for the future." JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. "'Dear, beautiful girl ! " exclaimed Algy, pressing her hand violently. '' Ah, Minnie !f won't you give me a kiss before I go? " " No," she said with pretty archness of tone; " I don't think that would be right just yet." " There's no objection.to my kissing your hand, is there ? " There was no objection to his kissing her hand, and so he kissed it. Holden and Wilson had arrived an hour before Algy returned to the house. Holden did not trouble himself to make any conpli - mentary inquiries in'regard to health or weather, but blurted out instantly: "Well, what's the news?" "My dear fellow, you are a goner." "For heaven's sake, drop your senseless jargon and tell me plainly-is the girl false to me ?" "Read for yourself, my boy," returned Algy. " And read out loud; mind,. that was one of the conditions." Robert seized the note roughly, tore open the envelope and read: "MY DEAR ROBERT: " When I was more aceustoned to soci- ety. and knew exactly when men were saying what they did not mean, and when they meant what they did not say, I should perhaps have been better able to comprehend the exact bearing of your letter. But now that I have become to a certain degree unsophisticated and weak, it is difficult for me to understand whether you really wish to release- min from my engagement of marriage to vou or whether you desire a release from me. This makes your letter a most delicate one for me to answer; for I fear, reply as I will, I must appear to you either very indelicate or very heartless. Heartless I never have been--nor indelicate either, I trust; and now my only course is to be simply truthful, at whatever cost. " Robert, I thought you knew from the first day I told you I loved you that I loved you to the exclusion, of every human being at that time, and meant to continue to do so for all time. _What imports it to mie that you are poor! I love Robert Holden--not the farm that Peggs rents, or the grocery shop, with Mrs. Flynn in arrears. If your health is bad, so iuch the more reason for me to be near to render you those little services which you require. Don't think mu immod- est when I say that your dear image is in niy mind from morning till night ; and in my dreams, from night till morning again. I love you deeply, truly ; better th:m any man I ever saw; better than any I ever shall see. I would rather be your wife if you were a common laborer in the fields than the wife of Algernon Deene (who has had the ineffable imlper'tmnence to propose to me again, and that too, not five minutes after I got your let-. 1 , - 25 ter) were lie fifty times a millionaire. I will on very, well indeed-at least that is my not release you Reo rt, until you write to. opinion." me frankly that such is your desire. Defer Thus encouraged I began. our marriage, if you think it necessary, though I see no reason why I may not con- " I don't see, grandmamma, why you should tinue my school-teaching as well then as always force us to coax you so before you now. -Do as you like, my darling; but do ever tell us a story," said Annie pouting. not-oh do not take from me your love, " But my dears," remonstrated grandmain- for I only live because I am your own, own ma, " you keep me at it so constantly that I MINNIE." neglect other duties just to amuse you." I think, to amuse her grandehilren Algernon Deene gave a long whistle. should be the first duty of every right-mind- " I knew niy girl! I knew my girl ! I told ed grandma," said Will, a saucy lad of six- you so," said Robert Holden, triumphantly. teen. " And as for Countess Thingemy's "Well, my dear fellow, at least give me Thingemv-bob cloak, you have promised to the credit of having had the best inten- tell us about that more times than I can tions-" count." " Certainly, Algy, your were all right " That's no sign that it has been often," But, so far as '"good intentions' are concerned, said Annie, making ratheria pointed allusion did you ever hear of a certain place being to Will's arithmetical deficiencies. paved with them ? "" If I promised," said grandinamma, pick- ing uip her knitting and resigning all hopes Robert and Minnie still live in the country of a visit to the kitchen and laundry for that at Minnie's express request. The house is morning: " if I promised I wil do so at very comfortable, and it is so quiet there once. I'm always as good as my word." (for baby is very good, and loes'nt cry " You are better than your word, grand- much)-so differ ent, you know, to the noise ma. You are better than anything. You and bustle of the city. Minnie never finds it are the best grandma I ever knew. Perkins' dull ; for, with her husband's society, and his grandma can't hold a candle to you ; for books and her magazines, and her baby, and though she gives P. lots of money, still she above all, Robert's love, she declares she scolds hin like-like-I don't know what--" knows the exact geographical position of concluded Will, in hopeless despair of find- Utopia, for she inhabits it. Perhaps she is img a simile. very silly to be content to pass her life in a " Well, after I begin no interruptions, stupid Massachusetts village ; but so long as please," said grandma. she is happy, there is no use trying to wake " Not an eruption," replied Will, who had the once brilliant New York girl from her been reading some of the funny papers. dream, is there ? " Well, dears, the first time I ever heard of the strange creature, who went by the name of the Countess Carry, I was quite a young girl-almost a child, it seems to me now ; but I think, nevertheless, I must have been nearly twenty. Twenty appears very IV. young when one gets to be almost seventy, as you will find if you live so long, ny dears. ABOUT NOTHING. I was living then with my mother mo a very ,. . fashionable street-don't laugh, lleise-a M story to-night John," said I taking square or two below Canal street-and as it a little sip of water to wet my lips: " has for was generally known that we were not only title: rich people, but people of good blood as well, we were treated with much defiereiice 'The Countess Carry's Canary Bird by all our neighbors. In fact, our doings Cloak.' and our sayings absorbed the attention of all John burst out laughing. about us, when one fine (lay our brilliancy '. I knew it would come to that," lie ex- was destined to receive an eclipse by the claimed. advent of the Countess Carry. Come to what, sir ? " I inquired, some- No one knew exactly who she was, and what inlignantly. she took good care no one should find out, ; Why, to talking about women's duds, and perhaps fi-on the very mystery which cloaks and dresses and bonnets-and-and surrounded her she attracted teln-fold the hoop skirts !" , notice she otherwise would have done. She "If you teaze inc I shan't open lmy lips," never appeared in public except when she I replied, pootiig ; for I was a novice at this went for a drive im her great. heavy, coro- story-telling business, and anything like netted coach, the blinds of which were care- ridicule completely upset me. fully drawnl downi dulimg the entire time the " Nonsense, child," said Aunt Julia. "' Be occupant was inside. quiet, Johni. Go nNel oly ; you are getting I don't see what good it did her to drivo page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. ' ., ; -ti f i_ 't t i [' ; .i, ) ' t qi t .er i a :x ,k { f out; for surely never a breath of air pene- trated those heavy, yellow silk carriage cur- tains ; and as for view-why of course that must have been quite shut out, unless she permitted herself to enjoy it when she got out of town, on the Bowery. The house which the Countess Carry had taken stood directly opposite to ours, and, from the day she entered it till the day she left, I never saw any of-the shutters open. People said she kept her lamps and candles burning all day long; and that there was truth in this, I myself know. I will tell bow, presently. She lived quite alone with a solitary attendant in the shape of a shriv- elled-up old man, a foreigner, who drove her coach, and groomed her horses, and cooked her dinners, and did her chamber-work, the neighbors said, after the fashion of foreign men-servants. The Countess herself was a foreig wr. Oh, yes, to be sure; we have no titles- ou know that; and had not then, any more than now. It appears that we were even in the dark as to her true name. Lawyer Watkins, who lived next door to us, said it was the Count- ess Quarrie, or the Countess Corrie, or something like that. But we always called her the Countess Carry, from the day she came amongst us till the day she left. You can easily imagine that the curiosity which such a woman awakened, coming in the midst of quiet people like ourselves, was intense. Not that she was otherwise than quiet; she was as quiet as the grave itself. Except for the noise of the rumbling coach which rattled down the street twice a day-once to go and once to return-never a sign of life, never a show of being, issued from the Countess Carry. But it was the very mystery which envel- oped her-the deathlike silence as of the grave, which seemed to throw a pall over the existence of a human being full of life and health probably, that awakened the wonder of the neighbors, and gave rise to a thou- sand wild-theories concerning the strange self-immuring of this foreign lady. A story gained ground that she was in- sane, and that the old man-servant was her guardian or keeper. There was not any lbundation for this, however, and it seemed scarcely probable that a person who had free ingress and egress to her carriage every day (for the man-servant always bow- ed her out and bowed her in at a respectful distance) should not call or cry out to pass- ers-by if it were true that she was under re- straint of any kind. Another was to the ef. feet that she was a beautiful young creature who had been abominably treated by a wretch of a husband-another was that she was a beautiful young wretch who had treat- ed a good husband abominably, and been deserted both by him and the man she de- ceived him for ; another was something else, and another something else again-and at last speculation about her ceased, for noth- ing could be found out. Whether the heavily- veiled, gracefully-draped figure which glided daily into, -the c arriage was young or old, beautiful or hideous, rich or poor-or, for the matter of that, male or female-who could tell? Some of the more determined neighbors had. called upon her in the early days, but the old man-servant who took their names at the door said that Madame the Countess felt very grateful for their courtesy, but beg- ged to be excused from receiving their visits or making any in return.. And so. little by little, the mystery, still unsolved, of the Countess Carry died by degrees. That is to say, lively curiosity died because the novel- ty of the affair had worn off; but the embers wonderment, unquenched, were only smould- ering, and might easily be revived with a breath. You know, my children, how very fond I am of birds. Everything relating to these beautiful feathered tribes-the lively denizens of mid air-has the greatest interest for me. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if my special curiosity was awakened on reading the following advertisement in " Hoxr's NEW YORK JOURNAL " (and a very nice paper it was, my dears, though of course it is a thing of the past now). The advertisement ran thus: " WANTED. Any number of canary birds alive or dead; highest prices will be paid. Address C. C. at the Post Office of New York, America." " There's a chance for you to make some money. Maria," said my mother to me, on reading it. " Indeed ! " replied I, tossing my head. " It's very probable I should think of selling my canary birds that William Allston brought me from-from-China." I was an ignorant little puss, dears, as most girls of my age were then. But I knew that your grandfather, handsome Will All- ston had brought me six beautiful canaries from some foreign country where he had been with his ship-THE REBEL COLOST-an 1 I knew that I prized them very highly, both for the sake of the birds, which were indeed rare at that time, as well as for the sake of the sailor lad to whom I was engaged. I think about a week had elapsed after the ad- vertisement ceased appearing (for it appear- ed many times) when I was busily occupied cleaning my bird cages and giving the mock- ing-birds a new kind of seed which had just come out, and trying to keep the English larks alive by another treatment, and survey- ing my Robin Redbreast admiringly, and perkimg out my lips with little morsels of pared .apple on thmemi to my darlings of all, the ca- naries. when chancing to turn imy eyes to- wards the house opposite I saw a female figure standmig at the window, minutely watching my actions with a telescope, or a large spyglass, or something like that ! I knew it was the Countess Carry ; but she had got to be rather an old story now. It was a nuisance, wondering who she was. and what she looked like, and never being able to find out. So I finished my birds toilette, pushed the aviary into the sun, and left the room. I called it my aviary, (lears. I suppose it was very pretentious in me to do so, for it was onlh- a great cage, about as long as that jpano, dividedd off into compartments for the different birds. That was my aviary. I had scarcely got down into the breakfast parlor, where I generally sat in the morning and worked at useless and ugly emhroiderv, such as was in style then, when Sdsan. our little English maid, rushed in, and told me that " Please Miss, that strange lady-the Countess Carry--is in the drawing-room, and asking to see you ! Here was 'astounding conduct ! This extrao rdinary creature, who had refused the visits of the first people of the neighbor- hood-heads of families and their stuck-up wives-coming of her own accord to call on little Maria Wentworth ! I really felt quite nervous, and gave my white neckerchief a new fold, and my hair an elalhua«i re-ar- rangement, before I mustered up courage enough to go in and meet her. She rose as I entered, and, throwing back her heavy veil which, though she sat alone and in a darkened room, still covered her face, advanced toward me. She held out both hands and, drawing me on to the sofa beside her, kissed me first on one cheek, then on the other, before she spoke a word. Then I had time to scan her features. She was old ; oh, yes, past fifty, I should think ! IHer hair was gray, but her eyes, though evidently wear with mental cares and physical suffer- ing, were bright, soft, and beautiful ; her fea- tures were regular to perfection ; and though I was a little, inexperienced girl, with scar'e- ly any knowledge even of the beauty of my own sex, I could not help seeing how marvel- ously lovely this woman must have been in her prime. " You are astonished to see me," she said -after a pause, speaking in such defective English that I could scarcely understand her. Of' course I answered that I was very glad to see her. " You are a sweet enfant," she said, " what you call one little darling !" Then she kissed me again. I did not know what to reply to this. By- and-by she spoke again. "You are fond of birds? " Oh, very," I answered, aroused by the introduction of my favorite topic. "Are you?" " Some birds I like." she replied. Some I hate," hissing out the word iin an extraoir- dinarily vehement manner. " Indeed, I ]hate them all except one kind, and those I love to distraction." What kind is that ? " I asked wonderi(ing- lv. She looked about the room as if to assure herself that no one but myself was listening, and then leaning over towards me, she whis- pere'd mysteriously- - Canaries." Those are my favorites too," I replied. "c I anm never so happy as when I n 1 caring for them, and ministering to their lit tle om0- forts, and keeping them from sickness-for birds do get sick, von know." Yes, but I don't care for that. I don't care if they die. I like them just as well dead as alive." "What !'" said I, horrified. " You like them as well dead as alive! " Better," answered she in a ehm.klinu tone " it saves so much trouble." " I don't mind the trouble," I replied, in- dignantly. " I would clean their cages, and put fresh water into their baths a dozen times a (day, if it were necessary." Yes," said the Countess Carry, " that's all very fine. But when they die naturally it saves one the t rouible of killing them.I don't like to kill them. It pains one just as much to (10 it as if it were a homnuant being one were killing. Still," she continued, with a sigh, " it has to be (lone." I thought now of the report which hbad been circulated to the effect that she was insane, and I fully believed it. I was beginning to be terribly frightened of her. Suppose she were to imagine I was a canary bird, and that killing " me '' had to be done !" The bell-pull was at an immense distance across the room, but the Countess ('arr was leaning back on the sofa, with her eves eloseil, the long lids sweeping the haded (-heek, antd the soft ripples of her silvery hair shading her wrinkled fhrehead. how lovely she looked thus ! Spite of time and age, and suffering and infirmity, she was emphatically the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She sprang froii her recumnbent position so suddenly that it gave me a shock which sent my poor little heart quite into my mouth. She started on a new "' tack " this timne. " I)o vou like dress ? What we call, vou know, la toilette 2" " Yes." I answered hesitatingly, " I sut)- pose every voung girl does." " Young girl ! Faugh ! what are voung girls ? What do they know about toilette ? No, no, no, no ! It is we-ah-les granles dames de la court, who look well with dress- we must have it. I1 nuns la femt!" " Every woman, then," I'ventured to re- mark, " every woman mu strives to be as beamuu- tifuully' dresseit as she c:n." SYes," shne said again chuck hung ; " b ut let them strive as5 they will, they will never have anything like mine. So original, so JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. 27 page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. very beautiful, so delicate to the complexion -ah how belle I shall be !" You are that now, Madame," I said, with truthful admiration of her beauty. " You think so? "she exclaimed, evidently pleased. " But wait till you see me-will it ever be finished? or shall I die first ? Ah, mon Dieu ! " I had not a word to say, for what with her rambling discourse and her dreadful French- English, I could scarcely understand what she was talking about. " Let me see your birds," said she, with sudden animation. I did not want to take her where thev' were. I had a sort of inward warning that I m-st beware of this woman; but I was afraid of' her; positively afraid to disobey her, and I really believe if she had asked me for the carving-knife, so that she might cut mv throat neatly, I should have rushed off with great alacrity and brought it to her. "Where are they ?" she asked. "cUp stairs." I hate stairs," she murmured. " I hate stairs and people, and creatures of all sorts, except-canaries." " Perhaps you had better not go up," I suggested, hoping she would decline on ac- count of the stairs. " No, no," she answered, " No, I will go where they are. I wonder if there are any canary birds in heaven ! I suppose so. Alh mc ! " with a deep sigh, " it must be a beau- tiful place if there are. I hope 1 shall go there. I think I shall. I have never done anything very wicked. It is not very wicked to kill poor little canaries-still-" (sighing again,) " It is painful," I determined that this flighty Countess Carry should not get very near my canaries. Whether or not it was wicked to kill them was an open question. My own opinion was that it was frightfully wicked to do so. However, she should have no opportunity, so far as mine were concerned, to commit this wicked or innocent act. I opened the door of the bird-room, as we called it, and saw that my little canaries were all there, all right in the cage. I pre- (eded the Countess, and intended to-keep in front of her the whole time she was in the room, but, bless you! before ever she crossed the threshold, and as soon as she caught sight of the cage, she uttered a piercing shriek and fell down on the floor in a (lead swoon ! I tried to raise her, but could not. I call- ed for help, but no one cane. That stupid Susan had gone out, and so had all the family, leaving me alone in the house. I chafed the Countess' cmld hands trying to revive her, but there she lay, prone like a dead thing, in the passage-way before the door of the bird- room. Suddenly a frightful thought crossed my brain. Was shte dead : Q'uck as light-- nling I sprang over her priostrate form.i and in a minute after I was pounding away at the it 1 : house opposite, the door of which was open- ed by the foreign man-servant. " Come," said I, seizing his withered arm. Come across the street to our house. Your tmistress-t'm afraid she's dead !" Grand Dieu!"lie muttered, raising his bony hands and shaking theta abovc his head-, " is it possible ! " a By this time a crowd had assembled, and, as I returned with the old man, our house be- gan to fill with gaping creatures, wandering about the rooms after they had fully surveyed the prostrate form of the wretched woman, who lay exactly where I had left her, having apparently never stirred. The old servant lifted her tenderly in his arms, carried her across the street, banging the door in the faces of a dozen inquiring people ; and little by little the excitement faded out and quiet was restored. Mamma returned to-the house and put me to bed with a nervous headache, and - there I stayed till the next morning. The first thing I thought of on waking was my birds; and so, loading myself with seed and apples and fish-bone, which we kept in the pantry, I threw on my wrapper and went to the bir'd-room. Oh my darling children ! It makes inc cry now to think of it Alt my beautiful cana- ries were gone! I knew that woman hadtaken them., I could have sworn to it. Evary bit of passion in my nature was aroused, and I felt I could almost kill this hideous female fiend who had first stolen my beautiful pets and then, no doubt, in her mad folly, killed them. I cry now, but I couldn't cry then, for all the devil in me was awakened. I had lost all fear of her, and her insanity. I walked across the street, and pounded lustily at the ugly green-panelled door. I think I must have been there ten minutes before any no- tice was taken of the noise I was making- enough to rouse the sleepers in Trinity churchyard. At length the old. man peered from a'window above. " What you want?" he asked. "Comedown here at once," I screamed, " and listen to what I've got to say." In a moment he opened the door-only partly however, and determined to oppose any effort which might be made to force an entrance. I saw that. " Let me in," I exclaimed. " I want to see your mistress "Ahje regrette; but impossible. Madame la Comtesse-poor lady, so very ill-very near to die; but she get better. Where are my canaries ? You dreadful old man, you knov well enough if you would but tell." "Ala Mademoiselle, and I who can not comprehend but so'very bad the English-- and sonie other day when Madame will be hetter-permetez that I present my respects to Mademoiselle." So saying he closed the door' iin my face. 28 The same scene or one very similar occurred every day for a month. There was no use remonstating with mre on the folly of my deternunation. I had re- solved to see the Countess Carry once more. At the end of a month I su1c'cecde(I in my de- sire. I was standing in the hall-way of' metr rattle-trap of a house, when she suddenly burst out from a room at its remote endl. Though the door of this room had only bemi open for a moment, I saw that, broad sun-light as it was outside, the windows and curtains were closed and the room lit up with candles. There was a musty odor issued from it, and it appeared to me that on the air was borne a curious sort of floating down not unlike that which covers the breast of swans. The Countess brushed her dress nervously as she approached iiet; perhaps she was afraid some of this was clinging to her gown. " I wait my hirds," I said, roughly-" iy canaries. Where are they? " "Poo' child," she said in her bad English, is you often--what yon call--razy." "Madam," said I, " this is no'laughing matter. I am not crazy. Th dI'lay you were at our house I lost mny six beaumtifil canaries. You cannot wonder, after your singular con- versation that day, coupled with the disap- pearance of' my birds, that I should suspect you; and I ask you again, where are my canaries ?" "IMy child, was I or was I not to faint in your house '" " You (lid." I answered. And you suppose I amuse myself by to f4l down, to cut my head, and then to get up, take your birds, and fall to faint again P " I don't know what you did, or what you would do," I replied savagely. " But it is necessary to remember that I have plenty of money. Money buys every - thing-you know that. I can buy canaries." "You can't," I retorted, " you can't. You put that advertisement in, and no one had any birds to sell you. You know that as well as I do. Canaries are most difficult to get.- They come from a far distant country -China- or - or Amster lan -- or -'some place." What shall I say?" she replied shrug- ging her shoulders. " If you want money from ne I will give money. I know noting about your birds. Ilow should I? What money'will you have ? " " None," I replied. " I want nothing but toy birds, and aj t cannot het them I will go away from you." "Cas't cela," she answered, " that is best. And alt-one word. Do not come here not one time more. I hate you very uch. I might kill you. I have no knives. Constant takes all the knives away from mtin'. But I have scissors. Ah, smon Dien! One oust have scissors for my work. Dom't you think I could kill you with miy seissor's? " " I dare say you could," I answered, " I dare say you have already killed tiny pe'r- sonlS, you wi'k'l woman " No, no," slie replied coolly ; " yoU tmae a mistake. I have never killed any person. Ilirds-that is different. lo not like to lii that. But que o'ordez-vous? It has to be done." )isgusted with herjargon amd t he sent itmient of it, I left tIhe house'. I neer saw the Countess again but on (nt'e occasion. It was at the Governor's ball. Of coure we weie invited, aind as no one seemed to believe tme when I asserted that she was a ravmig mad-woman, she was imvited also. I shall never forget how beautiful she looked . Iier hair was powdered until it was a lead white, and that was greatly the fashion theen. No doubt she was rouged slightly, and per- haps her eyelids blackened with no uliun but it' this was the case it was most skillfully lone-executed probably by a master-hand. Her costume was composed of the richest materials, her diamonds were positively daz- zlinig to the eye, while over hem shoulders was fing a delicate lemon-coloreil cloak of some Curious and, to mte, unknown tissue. At first I thought it was satin-theni t struck mute it was fur; ani when I drew nearer, what on earth do you suppose I fbuanl it was made of? Of the feathers of hundreds and hundreds of poor little canary birds Oh, mmy hears, I positively raved ! 'Ihis then was the grave of' my six little darlings. All gone-sacs hiced--killed to sati-fy the vaumty of this horrible, passe, wickel old commit flrt! She was dancing in a beautiful, stately manner with the Governor, anl I walked straight utp to hmun and touched himi oi the shoulder. Mamma tried to hmold1 mem' back, but I would go. I)on't," said I--"dom't, youi' Exce'llen'mi'y -don't dance any mnore with tlat wicked oldo woman-that-that nu'de'ess! Sueh a scene of' coifision as ensued ! Papa and mamma hurried me away. IThey were afraid something dreadful woild happen to me for my bobdness ; and, goimg houmm ithe carriage, they settled to send me to the country the next morning, out of this wonmtm:1t's reach. But, bless your hearts ! before ever the sun rose the next mormng, every v('st ige of the Countess Carry, her oh1 man-servant, an oher eauia'y-biwd cloak, had disappeared froimi lthe rattle-trap house with the green-pane lled (loo'. She had taken ship for France. And now comes the strangest part ,of all. Before the year was out I got a letter f'om her. It 'ran thus " Petitei Mserable I am very gooll cnfant, or I should have killed yot for wvhIat you did that omiglint.. But 1 have mnever killed any huuumani beimg vet, amnd hope I shall niever' lie ohled to do so. I thinmmk I ('aim get ont without killing anmy one. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 JON MORRIS' MONEY.JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. I have killed quantities of canaries. Yes, dear, I killed Yours. I squeezed their throats so they should make no noise that day when vou thought I was fainting on the stairs. Was it riot cleverly played, that farce ? You see, for fifteen years I have been working at a beautiful garient. Re- ckerce in the extremtte -- a cloak composed entirely of canaries' feathers. It would have been a pity to disappoint me, would it not, I had set my heart on it for so long? Such an original idea, too ! My relatives in France say I amt insane, and for that reason they sent me over to Atme-rica for eange of air'. Bali ! such tr'aslh. They sent that good ca.- tille Constant with me. lie is idiot, but obedient. Sometimes I think of killing hint because he has yellow skin, the same color as my cloak. buch impertinent rivalry of my favorite color, anl by a servant ! " Did I not look beautiful that night ? The Governor was jist telling ine how ravishingly belle I was when you stepped up to him. You .poor little cat ! Which do you think looked most like a mad-woman at that mo- ment, you or I? "Apropos, was not the cloak becoming! That delicate shade. cl, like citrons. Your birds just finished the collar. - I don't know how I should have completed it without them. Only think-fifteen years' work. I think you ought to lie delighted. " Take the bank-note for two hundred francs, which you will find in this letter, and huy yourself a new gown. That will be more valuable to you than any birds. " Do as I bid you at once; and remember all your life, you stupid little republican, that you have had the honor of receiving a letter from a titled lady of France. " LA COITESSE CLARISSE DE LA QUARRI." I was so outraged by this impudent letter that I was just on the point of throwing the wicked old thing's bank-note into the fire, but mamma stopped nec by saying that I had better keep it, as it would bny many little things that I wanted for my wedding outfit. William Allston and I were married in the spring, and what do you think your grand- father gave me for my wedding present ? A dozen-a whole dozen-beautiful young canary birds ! V. ABOUT NOTHING-SHORTER. "What shall I write you down-ahem !- to-n iglt, Nell?" asked John.-" MY CLI- rNT FROM BROOKiYN ? " " Your client ? Well, upon my word-the deas of woman. Eht! yourr client ! So you're a lawyer, are you? What'll you be next, I 'wonder? " " Very angry at you, sir, if you don't stop teazing me." " Do be quiet, my dear boy," said Aunt Julia. "Silence in the court-house!" Yes," continued John Morris, "the eat's a going to speak. My Client from Brooklyn. A lawyer's office is not a very attractive place, Its only merit, if a necessity can be called a merit, consists in its exquisite neat- ness. Those innumerable bundles of pa- pers, systematically arranged, correctly la- belled, and jauntily tied with the much abus- ed red tape, those mysterious tin boxes, whose contents are happily unknown to the uninitiated, and spring-lock drawers, which open but to the master's key. That key I possessed. Of those drawers-of that room, I was the master. At No 21 Wilsop street I was monarch of all I surveyed, and itis but fair to say that my kingdom none did dispute. I hope it will not be understood by this that I was a poor starvehing, with an empty purse and a full green-bag. Nothing of the sort. I was overwhelmed with business, and if it had not been for the merest accident I might have sent away, and never seen my client from Brooklyn. She had called several times and sent in her name-Miss Wharton; but I was busy each day, and sent out polite regrets, and the desire that she might call again. She did so, and again I was occupied and could not see her. But, on a certain Monday morning, I sat alone in my office, conning over the papers in re Daily Comet. The Daily Comet was a newspaper which had been set afloat by a capitalist who was assur- ed by the would-be editor that there was never such an investment offered as that which- was now presented to his admiring gaze. And, indeed, this was quite true. Never was there such an investment for simk- ing funds. The paper, deeply in debt before ny client took hold of it, had an odd peculi- arity of getting more so the more money furnished it; so, after bearing this literary atlas for a period of ten months, my client threw up the concern in disgust, and vowed lie would have nothing more to do with it. This, however, was easier said than done. It flavored of a good joke-his saying he would have "nothing more to do with it ;" for the Daily Comet was not a load to be shaken off lightly, as he found, to his cost. The Old Man of the Sea never clung to the sailor's back with more tenacity than did the floating debts of the Daily Comet to my unhappy client. In vain he writhed and groaned and tried to repudiate ; creditors seemed, like the victims of jealousy, to make the meat they fed on, and no mushroom growth of a night ever sprung up with more rapidity than did this Daily Comet fungi, poisoning the happiness of my unfortunate friend-. "i 4 i f it E I f 4 t 11 j' i+ On this particular Monday morning then, be it known,,I had an engagement in my office. with the gentleman in question, and I had left word that on no condition was I to be disturbed by other parties. The hour fixed for our meeting was ten o'clock, and I had specially enjoined my client to be pune- tual ; but spite of my request, ten, half past ten, a quarter to eleven arrived, and still no Cornet man. I rose impatiently, and called one of my clerks. " Rodgers," said I, "I can't stop any longer for Mr. Indette. Tell him to call again, At five." The clerk answered "yes'er," and hand- ed me, my umbrella from the corner,,(for it was raining cats and dogs, as the saying is). 1 put on my hat and stepped out into the passage. It was rather dark there, and my eye-sight is none of the best, but I immediately saw a slender figure shrink back in. a corner as I emerged noisily from my rooms. I hate 1 mystery. I hate'it of all things; and given a rainy morning in the (dull, suicidal month of November, a thark passage-way in an oflices- buildinig, a shrinking female dressed in black, looming out of a cobweby back-ground, and what can you make of it but a mystery of the most mysterious sort ? I was determined to probe it. Yes, probe it I would; and that quickly. "What do you want, my good woman?" I shouted, asif she were very deaf. I had somehow conceived the idea that she was old; so I called her " my good woman." Women are generally more " good " at an advanced period of life than where they are young and pretty, and have temptations cast in their was'. The " good woman" came forward timidly, and then I saw that she was a girl of about twenty, with a fresh, blooming young face, but with a seared expression of eyes, as though she were laboring under a great fear of some terrible catastrophe about to happen. " I want to see Mr. Alexander Bywood," said the " good woman " looking about as if such a desire were highly reprehensible, and would presently meet with the punishment it deserved. " That's me," said I, with a patronizing air. I should have said "that's 1," shouldn't I'? I know it. We lawyer-folk ought to be mighty particular about our grammar. But we're not. We fall into error as well as un- legal people, once in a while. " Indeed, sir," said she in a tremulous voice and looking more frightened than ever; "could I-if it will not take too much of your time-,consult you about a little affair- very trifling to be sure-but I have come several times to see you and never succeeded --and it's something of a trip too-I live in Brooklyn." I confess I was cross that morning. The oetman had made roe hose a good hour of my time, and I had a vague idea that this was a client who was never going to pay me any- thing. 1 had no positive engagement out, and the Connet, in its eccentric flight, might dash in upon me at any minute ; so I resolved to go back. I put my latch-key into ire key- hole of my private office, and let my client from Brooklyn enter. Before she seated her- self she deftly slipped some notes into my hand, and I saw at a glance that they count- ed up into a larger fee than I generally re- ceived for a first visit; so it was evident she was not going to be an unremunerative client. The knowledge of this mollified in a little, though I took up the notes with a disdainful air, and placed them far away from rme at the remote end of my desk as if they and their like were thoroughly beneath the notice of a great person like myself. This was far from being the case; for I was buying myself an expensive house in an up-town street, paying for it by tri-yearlf' instalments, and all fees, large or small were of the greatest use. Having pretty well satisfied her, I fancied, that I was a very important individual, with whom there must no fooling, I rocked myself back in my chair, clasped my hanls at the back of my head, and staring determine(lly at the ceiling, told her sharply to " go on." She went on. She went on very nicely. Poor young thing ! she went on with a most trying and delicate story, in such a clear, concise, modest little way, that before she had half finished her recital, my dried-njp parchmnent-like bit of a heart was all aglow with interest in my client from Brooklyn. It was an awful task, her getting out that story. But she did it, never omitting a de- tail that might enlighten me ; the same as a conscientious witness in an infanticide case " outs with " everything, from the iiminut est particular in regard to the birth of the child down to every known detail of its imuritder. Miss Wharton's story was to tihe following efleet- Her mother had (lied when she was too young to remember much about her, and her father, who had been in business in New York, had retiredlto Brooklyn, on a comfortable in- come, within the past three years. Ile was now little better than a hopeless invalid, however; and deeply grounded rr the hearts of both father and child was a reverential af- fection for the deceased mother. This quiet condition of affairs had gone on uninterrupt- edly until about two months back, when the peace of the family, or at least of Miss Whar- ton, had been seriously disturbed. Such disturbance was caused by the appearance of a strange looking mran, who, after having (logged the girl's footsteps for many days. at length succeeded in so working on her fears as to induce her to give him a few minutes hearinrr and in that hearing she learned his story. His story was to the effect that his name, coupled with his rank, was Captain Louis Be!- ~tit, ar d ti airy~ i i}{ x+ F N Lid I -F11-1 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. 31 page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. i~ 1i a# , if JOhIN MORRIS' MONEY. karp; that shortly after her mother's mar- riage, himself and she had met, and accord- ing to the Captain's story, fallen desperately in love with each otner. After the captain left the port of New York in his merchant- man, bound for the West Indies, he had re- ceived sev"'al letters of the most criminating character from the infatuated Mrs. Whar- ton, and the Captain now put it plainly to my client whether she did or did not think it was quite worth her while to hand him over one- half the monthly allowance her father was in the habit of giving her for the laudable purpose of inducing him to keep his tongue between his teeth. It appears Miss Wharton showing extraordinary firmness for her, had held out against this impudent demand until he told her plainly something which he kindly said he wished to spare her, and which was that she, Caroline Wharton, was his, Captain Bel- kamp's daughter! Of course this was a ter- rihle blow to my client. What one might call a staggerer. But she rallied enough to ask him what proof he had of such a thing. "Oh, proof! He had proof enough. He had destroyed all his darling Mrs. Whar- ton's letters-all except one, which told the whole story. Did Miss Wharton wish to' read it ?, " No, no," she replied shuddering. "Very well," answered the Captain, "very well, only when you do, my lear, there's a verbatim copy of it," and he slipped the paper in her hand. "The original I will part with for- let me see-I would give it to you, mind, for five hundred dollars. In the meantime, dear, only half your monthly income will prevent my going to-oh-old Wharton-and destroying his belief in the- of course-you know-defunct angel. And as for you, my dear, it seems to me that the ties of consan-, what-d'ye-eall-'em-guini- ty, ought to induce you to give that much of your paltry money to your poorfather !" She shrank away from him thoroughly horrified, and for two months had paid him over half her income. This foolish acces- sion to his demands had of course embold- ened him to further importunity, and he was tow loudly calling for two hundred dollars in cash, in default of which he was to go within a week .to Mr. Wharton, lay the criminating letter before the sick man, and then take upon himself the pleasant task of going about to her friends in Brooklyn and informing them of the stain on Miss Whar- ton's birth. In this moment of sore distress (for she really could not get so much money and pay it out without fully accounting for' it) she thought she had better consult a law- yer, and came to me. I was infuriated at the conduct of this man Belkamp. In all my professional experi- ence I had never heard of anything more base and vile, than pursuing this innocent young girl in so savage and indecent a man- ner. Those timid eyes of hers would have penetrated the heart of a stone-and this man who pretended to be her father-I did not believe a word of it! Looking at it either way, the wretch must be the greatest dastard that ever walked un- hung, supposing it were true ! What a hor- ruble act this, to be making capital out of the letter of a woman, who had doubtless loved him with foolish and blind devotion ! and if it were false, was it not unheard-of and hid- eous cruelty to be playing this sharp game on a guileless and inoffensive girl? Somehow, I had fully persuaded myself that it was a lie from beginning to end. "What a brute !" Iexclaimed, walking ex- citedly to the window. " What a complete brute ! Why, law .is far too good for such scoundrels as he! My advice is to hire some one to kick him." r Oh, no sir! " she answered hurriedly, "oh, no, pray don't think of anything of that kind ; you don't know, indeed you don't- how terribly vindictive he is ! Is that really your legal advice ?" Poor child ! I suppose she thought she had paid her fee to a curious sort of lawyer, whose first advice to her was to drop law and adopt kicking. " Where is that letter?" I asked, without replying to her question. SWhat letter?" "Why-the letter that this man has-or at least the copy. You said you had it." Ah yes, she had it. She had almost forgot- ten it. She had never read it. She had always shrunk from acquainting herself with more of the facts than she was already pos- sessed of. Read the letter, expecting to find' it of a very criminating character, but I was disappointed.. It was criminating in a nieas- ure, certainly. It was a silly woman's silly love-letter to her " Darling Louis." There was but a single line of reference to my client. " Little Carrie TT'harton is well, and often asks after the gentleman who gave her the doll." Miss Wharton blushed deeply at these un- derscorings; her sensitive nature leading her at once to infer that this was a subtle hint of a common knowledge between the party writing and the party receiving. Of course, I observed to her that we had no certainty that such underscorings existed in the original document-this copy being in the precious hand-writing of Captain Louis Belkamp; and even if they did, might they not have been placed there by the hand of that honorable party himself? No, she was disposed to see it at its worst. Her mother-and she pronounced the word mother nervously-her mother had in sarcasm called her Carrie Wharton, because she had no right to that name, and- " And she called him, in sarcasm, the gen- tleman, because lie has no right to that name also, I suppose." , " What is to be done ?" she asked in des- nair. 33 " Done ! why, it's as clear as daylight. I'll have the fellow arrested for illegal attempts to extort money from you-that's what I'll do." A perfect volley of no, no, no's, at this. She would not hear of it for a moment. Such a course, no matter how effectually it put an end to Captain Belkamp's extortion in the future, would give the affair a notorie- ty which she was determined at any cost to avoid. "-Only think how much sufI'ering it would cause poor, poor Papa; " and she blushed as she used the word. " Even sup- posing the letter a forgery; and the whole affair a fabrication," said my client, " it can- not fail to be almost as harmful to us as if it were strictly true. Every one has enemies, you know Mr. Bywood, especially men who have been or are in business, as well as mar- riageable girls," and here the timid eyes were lowered. "Papa and I have enemies, I presume-not that I know of any-but there are some doubtless, and they, would fasten upon this and hurt us just as much with it, as if the stories were all true, as I said before. Therefore; my great desire is to try and conciliate this matter, Mr. By- wood; conciliate it. I assure you papa would die if lie were to hear a word of such a dreadful affair." I thought if any old man were silly enough to die just because a scoundrel was extorting money from his daughter, he ought to be permitted to do it as expeditiously as possi ble. But I did not say this to Miss Whar- ton. " Would you therefore, Mr. Bywood, so far oblige me--I should take it as a personal fa- vor " (and I knew she was willing to pay for favors) "as to consent to see this person- this Captain Belkamp, and find out if some arrangement can't be made by which I can obtain possession of that letter." " He can fudge up another in twenty-four hours' time," sad I.d " No, not another like that," she said. And then she confessed to me that, though she was not very familiar with her mother's handwriting - Mrs. Wharton having died so many years ago-and though she had only obtained a hurried glimpse at the let- ter in this man's possession, she nevertheless felt convinced that the document was an au- thentic one, and was in thct what it was claimed to be by Captain Belkamp. a1I don't see what good there was in your coming to a lawyer, Miss Wharton, if you're going about it in such an unlawyer-like way. Why did not you address yourself to any-any male of your acquaintance." ' I have very few male friends, Mr. By- wood, and none of those few would I take into my confidence. Oh, can you not under- stand that I wish to avoiti the scandal of it; that I want to keep thme kn'owledge of the ex- istence of such an affair away-altogether I said before, if conciliatory measures can be used- " " Conciliatory devils," T cjaculated, now myself becoming very unlawyer-like. "'' The scoundrel ought to have his neck wrung." "'Then I am to understand yom will not see him? " said Miss Wharton, i'ising. " Wait a minute. Whbenf are you going to see him again ? " "I have piomiused to meet himi in - Park, Brooklyn, to-morrow at two o'clock." Very well. 1 shall be there." She seemed very grateful, and as she was leaving I offered my hand. Not expecting this, the movement had fallen abortive be- fore she extended liers. I, seeing this, prof- fered mine once more, only to miss hers again ; and it was not until Rodgers opened the door and announced Mr. Indette that I laughingly seized her hand. gave it a hearty shake, and thus took leave tor that day of my new client. On the morrow I crossed the ferrv accord- ing to her directions, and made the hest of my way to the Park she had mentioned. I was not familiar with the streets of Brooklyn. and was therefore obliged to enquire a halt' a dozen times before I fund the place of' rendezvous. Once in the Park it was all plain sailing: for seated on a stone heLnch, not a dozen yards from the gate, was the beau- tiful girl dressed as before in black, side by side with a shabby individual, whoi I at once recognized as her persecutor. Thinking me merely a passer-by, I sup- pose, Captain Belkaunp was doubt less somu("- what astonished when I stepped up to M iss Wharton and said- My dear young lady, would you oblige me by leaving me alone with this gentle- man? " She obeyed me without a word ; but wit II a look of gratitude on her sweet features which I shall never forget. I have seen a good number of scoundrels in my time, but of all the thorough ruffians I ever laid eyes upon I award the palm to Captain Louis Belkamp. Ile was a slouch- ing, skulking brute, with bleary drunken eyes, ill-kempt hair, and a straggling, irreg- ular beard. A thorough hang-dog counte- nance ; a face of itself that ought to have sent him to the gallows. " W ell," he said impudently' after T had surveyed him at my case and doubtless ex- pressed my disgust of hint by facial contor- tion, " well, what do you want with me? " I can answer that question in four words," I replied bluntly ! "'I want that letter." "Oh, indeed,'" exclaimel Captain Bel- kamp. " Oh, in'-deed ! she's beenI blowing, has ,he? W ell, she'll wish she hadn't. 'That's all I can say. She'll wish she hadn't. WhO ar'e yotu, that you dare speak to miii in this tone, sir'. Aue you a lawyer or a police- mni ? " ArL I r page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] il~ If } iIi L F iii"t 34 JOHN MORR " No matter," I replied "I am a man. I am not a timid girl, like Miss Wharton. - I want that letter." "And how, pray do you pro-pose to get it? By money?" lie asked eagerly. ' No, I do not, you rascal," I exclaimed; " You've had the last dollar you shall get from Miss Wharton. Yes, and the last cent." "Oh, then you mean to get it by coaxing," said Captain Belkamp with fine irony. "No, not by coaxing," I replied quietly. " You don't mean to say you'd try to get it by force; " he stuttered. " Well," I replied very coolly, " that's as may be. It seems to me as if I were a poor feeble old man like you (given to drink too,, which makes the strongest man powerless), and had possession of a document which I knew a muscular fellow like myself"-and I twirled my stick rapidly-" a muscular fidllow like myself wanted, I think I'd be likely to keepout of his way o' dark nights." "Why, you wouldn't knock me down, would you ? You wouldn't dare do it. I'd have the law of you." "Ah, ha ! But how about our having the law of you! eh ? What do you say to that? Threats, you know-threats-extorting mon- ey-aid so forth. You old scoundrel, that's what I ought to do now; and I would if I Lad my own way in the matter. I'm acting clean against principle and precedent and prudence in this affair. And you know it. But I'm obligedto do it because I promised. Only I say-keep out of my way o' dark nights." "Now look here," said the Captain, trying the " conciliatory" himself, " what's the use of being so ill-tempered about it? Why not give me something a little handsome-and take the letter-and be done with it, for good and all." " Not a cent ! " I shouted emphatically. "Not one. Understand that at once - and-" repeating what I saw had been an effective phrase-" keep out of my way o' dark nights." " Now, there's no use of you're being so violent. Mr.-whatever your name may be. No use under the sun. What earthly good would it do for you to attack me of a dark night, as you say? What good would it do you?" "I might obtain possession of the letter," I said. " No you wouldn't. You wouldn't do any such thing. You wouldn't, I tell you. I dor& carry it about me." He saw immediately that he was giving me a dee to its whereabouts by this avowal, and it was evident he at once repented hav- ing made it. " I aught not to have told you that," con- tinued the ruffianly old scoundrel. " But I had to 'de it. I wanted to prevent your be- IS'S MONEY. having ugly toward me, which wouldn't do the slightest good. I repeat-not the slight- est." "I'm not so easily humbugged as you think, Mr.-Captain Belkamp. And I've dealt with too many wily old rascals like yourself not to know how \they will lie, and swear to their lies, to throw an adversary off the scent. I dare say you've got the letter now in that breast-pocket," I said, moving up toward him a little menacingly. " I wish I may die if I have," he whined, in a maudlin tone, at the same time empty- ing, not - only that but every pocket- about his clothing. " I haven't it at all. Look yourself. Examine every scrap o' paper I've got about me. Why, you must know it's hardly likely that a poor old fellow like me -who is as weak as a reed, and gets drunk as you say-it's hardly likely I'd carry around such a precious document as that. Worth money to me, that letter is, and came, of course, from my dear-well, she's dead now, poor thing. Why, I was robbed the other night; got a little how-come-you so, and the next morning found that I was robbed. Stolen every dollar from me, sir; money too, that Miss-that "is, my dear daughter, you know-had given me! Too bad, wasn't it? No, no. Catch Loo Bel- kamp being such a fool as to carry that let- ter around." "Well, if you haven't got it about your person, you've got it~ secreted somewhere," I said. " Certainly I have. Cer-tainly I have. But where? That's the question, WHERE ? " I rose to go, for I was getting so out of temper that in a couple of minutes longer I felt I should pounce on this blackguard and give him a sound drubbing, which would have done "no good," as he said-and might have done a great deal of harm, in the way of leading to an exposure, which my client so seriously dreaded. As I was walk- ing off, Captain Belkamp spoke again: "If you want to know where the letter is " (and involuntarily I stopped), "I'll tell you. It's in Bank. In the. bank of a dear friend of mine. He'd go through brandy and water-I mean fire and water,-for me. So would his Safe. It's in his Safe. Great strong safe. Five locks. Secret keys. Letter scaled up-my seal-tied with red tape, Ha ! '"Ha! Where is that bank? Don't you wish you knew ? Where is that Safe P Don't you wish you knew? Where is that LETTER? Don't you wish you knew -wish you knew-wish you knew ?" He rubbed his villainous old hands to- gether, chuckled in a sort of low laugh, and. supporting himself on a heavy notched old cane, shambled away. I returned to town, and took no steps in the matter for more than a week. I wanted the Captain to believe that I' had dropped the affair, seeing the utter hopelessness of JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. ever obtaining possession of the letter for which (for the sake of her mother's rep- utation and for her own position in society) I knew and he knew, Miss Wharton would give every dollar she could muster. At the end of ten days I again went to Brooklyn. It was a very easy matter to find out where Captain Belkatmp lodged. The land- lady was a talkative old woman, whom I frightened into secresy by my legal bearing, and the assurance that though she had un- wittingly been so unfortunate as to harbor an escaped state's prison convict in the per- son of Captain Belkamp, I would gracious- ly protect her from all harm if she would carefully aid tme in my plans, and abstain from giving her lodger the slightest hint that the " dogs of law" were on his track. This she promised; so frightened by my story' that she was nearer dead than alive. But I told her that her sanitary and social condition would be better after I had ousted her lodg- er-but this I said must be done cautiously. Finding the man was out (but whether he would return late or early the landlady could not tell,) I ordered Mrs. Daff to give me the pass key of her rooms, so that I might take a minute survey of Captain Belkamp's pretises. She gave it, without the least hesitation. Captain Belkamp's room was qnite at the top of the house, with a sloping ceiling, and two low windows looking down on the shabby street. His bed, a fit lair for such a dirty wretch as himself, had not been made since its occupancy of the preceding night. At the foot of the bed stood an oaken cup- board or wardrobe, and this piece of furniture I carefully examined, for, spite of Captain Belkamp's story about the letter being de- posited in the " bank" of a " dear friend" who would go through " brandy and wa- ter" for him, I somehow felt convinced that the "bank," and the " safe" and the " let- ter " itself were all within the four dirty white- washed walls which now encompassed tile. If it were true that lie had deposited it, then of course the figurative search for the needle in the haystack were no more use- less than mine. But I felt that the story was a fabrication from beginning to end. Head men at the banks do npt usually select their friends from the low grade of society in which move such persons as Belkatmp and his -ilk. I felt that the letter was concealed in this room. I was proceeding in my search, peering imto every nook, examining every corner, when I was suddenly stopped by the loud voice of Mrs. Daff on the stairs. In a mo- meut I understood that Captain Belkamp had returned unexpectedly, and that she was try- ing to prevent his going up. " What the devil are you trying to keep nie out of my own room for? " I heard him shout at the pool frightened creature. SI'm doing nothing of the kind," she answered. " I say I was cleaning up there, and went in there with my pass key, which I left in the door. And that is all. And was thinking, only thinking, that you night think it just the least bit strange that I sliouhl go in your room when you was out ; and if you'd just step away for ten minutes Ill have your room cleaned beautiful and all tidy, so as you'd hardly know it--wil you: All this in an extremely high key, evidently intended to reach my ear, and spoken by my ally below. " No, I'll do nothing of the kind," he re- plied angrily, "° and as for your pass key Ill take it. Curse it, I won't have anybody pry - ing into my matters, and going into my room when I'm absent. Get out of miy way, I tell you ; Im going up." I heard her heavy footsteps descending kitchen-ward, and his mounting leisurely to the little cell in which I was regularly caged. Here was a dilemma for a respectable anl well-to-do lawyer! ilere a disgraceful situation ! Why had I conic here to this low dirty place, to do the low dirty work of a po- lice detective? Why ? Because I was desperately. madly, insane- ly, outrageously in love with my client from Brooklyn. I would have done anything for her-anything to obtain her gratitude. I wanted to get this letter for her myselt-my- sef-without a finger's turn of aid froni aniy detective or lawyer or private individual in the world-or Brooklyn. In the meantime lie was mounting-mounting-and now had reached the last step of the staircase. Qiiek as thought I sprang into the wardrobe a il closed the doors, holding them together in- side. This was my only move. He might not want to get open the wardrobe; if lie (lid-why I must just make the best of it. Knock him down, perhaps, and char away. But I (lid not want anything of this kind. I wanted to keep quiet. As yet I had not discovered anything to give ie t'he slightest trace of the letter, and had the old wretch once become aware that his private quarters were likely to be entered at any moment by his enemy, lie would have rc- moved the precious paper of course at once. As I crouched in the cupboard, my limbs stiflleting with the posture, and i clist heavimg with short gasps from the confined and imptire state of the atmosphere, I felt then on what a wild-goose chase I had started. I looked like the culprit-a regular jack-ini- the-box, lie like the free man, siiokmig his short pipe, and walking deliberately u p and down the narrow room. One great hem buoyed me up-might lie not now go to thm letter, thus showing me the hiding place For I cotild disteintly see all his miiovetmints from ao crack in the wood of the cupboard. I was beginnng to get tired of tis game of hiide-and-sck. 'rhe C'aptaoin hadu conie page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. I pf Oil)1 pilt I " back to his room, evidently for the purpose of reposing himself merely ; for he smoked one pipe after another, lolled on the bed, got up again, loafed up and down the floor, gazed stupidly out of the window, whistled a nautical air, and then finally began making a fresh toilette, prior, perhaps, to going out again. His ablutions were of the simplest character, consisting of a slight "dab" with a wet towel on his forehead and cheeks, and a half second's immersion of his finger tips in a basin with a limited supply of water. Then the Captain took off his shirt, and fling- img it on the top of a very diminutive pile of soiled linen, proceeded to unlock his trunk in search of a clean garment. The trunk, of course-the trunk ! The letter must be in there ! I watched him eagerly as he laid out t he trifles it contained, and then after select- ing the second shirt, perhaps because it was it better condition than the first, he laid them back again one by one. He had emptied it, I could see, to the very bottom, and there was not the slightest vestige of writing or- papers ! This was a disappointment. With mute rage I saw the old fellow complete his toi- lette, leaving off the ragged-bottomed trow- sits which lie had worn when lie entered, and putting on a somewhat better pair, which hung over the chair back, and whose pockets I had previously searched; he slipped on the same coat, gave a coquettish brush to his hair, and then devoted his attention and the efforts of a ragged silk handkerchief to the smoothing of his hat. I conjectured at once -and my surmise I ultimately proved to be true-that he was getting himself up in this seductive style for the purpose of waylaying Miss Wharton. I could have killed him where he stood. I am not sanguinary as a general thing, but I could have murdered that man in cold blood. For was he not persecuting, tormenting; fiendishly annoying my love, my beauty, my darling, my client from Brooklyn? At length he went. I could hear him lock- mng the door outside and removing the key- the pass key, which he doubtless pocketed according to his threat. Thump, bump went his feet and his cane, step by step, down the tackling stair-case. Thump, bump,-faint- et, fainter, fainter. I ran to the window and saw him in the street. And for myself! Here was I, a highly re- spectable person, the counsel for the great Mr Indette of the Daily Comet, besides be- itg the attorney in numberless prominent suits for numberless prominent persons, lock- ed up in a dirty garret by a half-tipsy old sailor! I examined the lock of the door. I could not possibly force it. It was too strong for that. But I immediately remembered tmy ally below stairs, Mrs. Daff, whmom I did not doubt would soon come to my rescue. I did not want hser yet. No, not yet, by any means. I wanted to be alone and undisturb- ed, so that I might hunt for the letter. I began by ripping up the old carpet con- fined here and there by small-headed tacks, and thrusting my hand under as far as it would go. No letter. This work was tiresome in the extreme, for I was without tools of any kind except my small pocket-knife. With this I ripped open the mattress, and probed there. With no suceesss. Pillows likewise were obliged to undergo the same Vendal treat- ment. And all for nought-all for nought ! Again I turned to the trunk. The lock of this gave way with one strong pull; the rot- ten wood ejecting the poor old lock, and look- ing as 'if greatly relieved by the operation. I need not have given my time to this, for I had seen before that there were no papers in it. But I wished again to assure myself, and I did-that there was nothing in it. About the chairs there was not the possibility of concealing even the smallest article ;'the seats were of cane-not stuffing. The table which also served as wash-stand, contained in its little drawer (which came out half-way and then stuck there, refusing to go either back or forward) a rusty razor and a leather strap. Even the Raven would have been obliged to confess that there -was "noth- ing more, only these-and nothing more." Bynmerely raising myself and lifting my arm I could pass my hand along the ceiling. In some places the plaster was broken, and it struck me that as the letter was a small ob- ject it would be easy enough to insert it in any one of these little woolly irterstices, standing greatly in need of a coat of white- wash. " A coat of whitewash !" I repeated. to myself in thought-" they need a coat and a pair of trowsers of whitewash!" that was my joke, and a very good one I thought it. A coat and a pair of trousers of - A coat and a pair of trowsers--and a pair of trowsers-a pair of trousers! By Jingo! Why didn't I think of them before ? That was not the pair I searched before he came in ! Certainly not. That was the pair he took off. I seized them and turned both pockets in- side out. Not a thing: not a vestige of any object ! Still, not discouraged, I passed my hand ovbr the seams, coolly ripping them open in such places as they appeared thicker than need be, carefully investigating the filthy mud-crusted hems at the' bottom. Nothing-nothing. I flung them from mite in disgust and despair. As they lay with their two black bag-like portions inaptlyy called "legs ") sprawled apart on the bed before me, I saw that up to this moment I had overlooked something im- portant. There was a third pocket which I had not examined. It was a watch or fob- pocket, and close to the waist-hand peering quietly out, as otte might say, was the tip of a folded paper. My heart actually stopped beating; or so JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. :7 it seemed to me, for I was fully satisfied that ges I had committed was greatly lessened by at last I had succeeded in finding the much- the present of a five dollar bill. desired object. Stealing noiselessly toward Making my way at once to the Park, I it, as if it had both the sense of hearing and saw, as I expeetcd to see, my darling girl the power of getting away when alarmed, I seated on the stone )enech with her eves red advanced to the bed, pulled out the paper, with weeping, and the old scoundrel by her opened it with trembling hands, and found it side, laying down the law to her with vehe- -blank ! mont wavings of the knotty stiik. le smiled I can never describe my rage and disap- affably as I approached,, and bowed with pointment. I tore the paper in half, flung it mock suavity. on the floor, trod on it, crushed it beneath " Alh, in-deed !" he exclaimed. 1)o I my heel, and paced madly up and down the have the pleasure of seeing you once again floor. Oh ! to be baffled in this manner! I, Believe me, sir, I am truly yours ! My dear such a highly respectable person, and work- young lady-or rather, my dear-daughter,' ing in such a good cause ! ie, such a low- (and the girl's lip trembled as he spoke), lived old rascal, worrying the heart out of " this is your friend-this is your very good my little darling-my .pet -my beautiful friend,'Mr.-ah-what was it now, Mr. (aim- -Brooklyn client ! mon and Spinach-Mr. G4ammnon and Spinacl I stopped, and picked up the torn frag- -Mr. Threat-Mr. Bluster-Mr. All-talk- ntents before me, and examined them once and-no-cider-Mir. Bombastes-Furioso !" more. This was not the letter--oh no-no " Yes." I replied, with as much coolness such luck as that. But in one corner of the as I could command, for 1 felt an irresistible paper, written in a miserably cramped hand, desire to knock him down every time I ap- was a memorandum, which I had overlooked. preached this hoary-headed old villain. "Yes, It was this:- Miss Wharton's true and devoted friend, who 9 (Counting all). has at last sttecee(led in obtaining-the letter!" 5 (Good). I spread it out before them both as I spoke, 9 Counting all, 5 good ! What on earth and 'pon my word of honor as a gentlemani was the meaning of that? 9! 5! To what ttnd an Anmerican attorney, I never saw a did these figures refer ? more magnificent coup de h7'a/re ! 'h'le I felt convinced they had some bearing on girl actually flew to my side like a bird freed the letter. Some hint-sonte reminder of Ilfrom its wiry prison ; and the timan, rising to the spot in which it lay hidden. 9 ! 5 ! I kept Ihis feet, tittered a loud groan as he assured repeating tthe words, and gazing about the i himself it was really the authentic doetment room. I tried to count the tacks in the which I had obtained possession of, al dragged-tip carpet, the feathers, emptying then fell with his whole lengt b on the - out of the ripped pillow-cases, the straws stone bench, completely inert and power- from the mattress ticking- less o I raised my eyes, and a new light burst ''Oh (hear, dear, darling Mr. Bywood," upon me. Across the lower end of the room, said ny girl, laughing and crying together- there was nailed a rack for hanging clothing, " you are the loveliest, nearest, sweetest, originally composed of twelve large wooden darlingest lawyer I over knew. how (an I pegs. On the eleventh peg there hung an ever repay you ? " old hat, but all the others were empty. I told her how she could some imoniths Four of the pegs were gone, having doubt- afterwards-not then. less been pulled down, by an overweight of '" You're a thief! " said Captain hBelkamtsp, hanging garments ; and thuns the fifth good rising and fixing his bleary eyes upon my one was the ninth peg, counting all! face-'' a thief and a-a-burglar, to break With a sudden wrench, I dragged it away, into ttty room and steal that letter. Wont and there, in the centre of the wooden peg, you pay mse for it ?" which had of course been hollowed out, on " Not a cent, you brute," I exclaimed, purpose to receive it, was hid the letter! '' not a cent. Pay, indeed ! Well, that is a Yes, there it was ! An old, thin, flimsy good joke, 'pon my word." document, so weather-stained, and pocket- " Well, sotmethitig for charity, then." worn, that it barely held together. It read Miss Wharton's pocket book was out in a word for word, like the copv I had seen and moment, but I-put my hand on her and pre- was signed like the copy,'" Carry!" The vented her opening it. underscorings too were there, but it struck Oh, how cruel you are," he umoaned, me that they looked (lone with fresher ink beerily " how cruel. But com now. I'll than the rest of the letter. I was not cer- tell you what I'll (1o if you'll-if you'll give tain of this, and indeed it didn't much mat- me five dollars. I'll tell you souetling ter, as I had got the letter. you'd give fifty dollars to know." And now, to get out. A few kicks at the 1 would not give five dollars for the fifty door brought Mrs. D~aff with the key of dollars worth of information. another room, which opened this one 'very Well, three ?" easily. 11er htorrer at the sight or thse rava- '' I would not give three." page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. It' yI at } s Li I" "Two and a half? " No answer. One?" Before I could stop her, Carry had slipped a dollar bill in his hand. I observed that Captain Belkamp got safe- lv out of kicking distance before he spoke. "Well, then listen. This young lady was just three years old before I ever saw her mother! " With a little chirp of joy Carry pressed (lose against me and looked gratefully up into my eyes as if she fully considered that the fact of her being the legitimate offspring of her lawfully wedded parents was due entirely to my single and unaided efforts. I received her tribute of thanks without disclaimer. "And now, if you promise you won't dis- turb me, but just let ie go my way and you yours, I'll tell you something else about it." I would promise nothing. I felt guilty to the last degree in allowing this fellow to go scot free, probably to again prey upon some innocent party. But Carry wanted secresy ; what could I do? I did not answer; but I knew that Miss Wharton was nodding her head, and wink- ing, and encouraging him to go on, as who should say, " Tell what you like: I'll be re- sponsible for him; " meaning me. " That letter was not written by your moth- er at all." "What!" we both exclaimed. " No. Don't be angry. It was written by a cousin of hers, whose handwriting was very similar. She was Unmarried, and we were engaged, but the whole thin fell through after I went away. She used V fake little Miss there out fbr a walk some- times, and one day when I met them I gave little Carry a doll. I did indeed, you un. grateful girl! What is the paltry one hun- dred dollars I've had from you, compared to that ? Dolls were very expensive sixteen or seventeen years ago. Wont you open your heart now, and-" I could stand it no longer. I made a sudden thrust at him ; but he, doubtless di- vining my purpose with an alacrity of which I did not deem him capable, flew out of the Park, cleared the corner, and was soon out of sight. We never saw him again. I think he must have left the country, for Mrs. Daff, to whom he owed a fortnight's lodging, institu- ted a searching inquiry for her missing lodg- er. It was thoroughly unsuccessful, how- ever. Things went famously for me after that- things in the way of business. I pulled the Comet, tail and all, through lots of dificulties, amd made such good arrangements with the creditors that Mr. Indette generously gave ime twice the fee I should have asked;- and Idntmind asking a pretty big one, either., lhen caine th e Willis will case, and so .I very soon paid for the expensive house in VI. SLIGHTLY SENSATIONAL. I'm glad of that," said John; " the sen- sational is the only care ! " " How learned you are becoming, John ! " I exclaimed. "Ain't I though? That's, Shakspeare ! Only more so. Ah, Nelly ! you havent't dis- covered half my talents yet ! " "Begin Nelly," said Aunt Julia. major Jim. My name is Peter Barclay, and I am senior partner in the house of Barclay & Co., dry goods dealers, No. 10 street New Or- leans. I am not of a nervous temperament, nor am I in any way timid or cowardly. I was forty-five years of age last June ; but the events of which I am going to speak hap- pened nearly twenty years ago. At that time I was head book-keeper in the house of which I am now the principal, having bought of my former employers with money which was willed to me by an uncle JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. the up-town street. Of course my darling married ine-bless her. She said she fell 'n love with me the first day she ever saw m, at the time when we had all that missing-fire sort of business in our first shaking of hands; but, dear me ! I was in love with her at least twenty minutes before that ! I think I've told you all. Oh, by George! yes; there is just one thing. No, on second thoughts, I'd rather not mention that. It seems so stupid. Besides, Carry would be vexed, if she knew I'd told it. You wont mention it, eh? Honor bright now! Make me look such a guy, you see -an old fellow like me, as I am now at forty- five, with a red face and a bald spot on the top of my head, as big as the palm of your hand. Ha ! ha! By George ! yes-that's it; you've hit it. She is-she is jealous! Stupid of her, isn't it? Such a pretty creature as she is, and such a fat old cur- nutdgion as I am! But she doesn't see my defects. Oh .dear, no. She kisses me so sweetly every day before I go to the office, and calls me all those mythological fel- lows, Beau Brunmmel, you know, and D'Orsay and Apollo and Adonis and the rest. Ahi, come now, don't laugh. That's really not kind of you; and-I say, one word before you go ! As you value my friendship don't say anything of this to Carry, for I've made her two promises--one is not to reveal her weakness, and the other is to humor that weakness by never again serving a lady- client from Brooklyn. of mine, who died in Australia. some eleven cc or twelve years ago. I was a poor lad when 11 I first went to them; but I think my employ- In ers respected me, and that they had coni- i dence in my honesty the story wvdl show. In It happened at that time that our firm had th business relations in New York with a party te who owed them what is widely knwn in the commercial world as a " bad debt," and this ti bad debt, amounted to several thousands of i dollars. They had tried hard to collect it- tried in every way-and failed signally. They w had tried lawyers and doctors, and threats and persuasions, and vows of vengeance and y promises to " knock off" a good round sum, tl but to'all their manouvres the bad debtors in New York smiled sweetly at the mad n creditors in New Orleans, and continued as much in debt as before. fi This being the state of the case, it was at t last proposed to send me on to the Metrop- olis, to -ee if the actual presence of an au- thorized deputy, coming fresh from the spot, t would not have the desired effect. I had n full power to receipt for the firm, and the t only fear was that I should get nothingtof receipt for from the recalcitrant Newv York- ers. I took passage on one of the fine "packet-boats " plying between New Or- t leans and Cincinnati, and, after rather a te- dious trip of five days on the river, found -c myself at the picturesque landing of the c Queen City of the West. We had arrived too late for the midnight traim for the East,s and there was nothing for Inc to do but to ,wait until the next morning, at eight o'clock, when the express train went out. Many ofI my fellow-passengers slept that night on the boat; but I was tired of the narrow berth in which I had lain and tossed for five nights,1 and, late as it was, I got a strapping negro to shoulder, my trunk and carry it into a public-house on the wharf. This house was called the " River Queen Hotel," and was a favorite with those men who earned a livelihood on the river. It borO a reputable name, and the charges were moderate. Both of these facts made it a de- sirable place of resort. I had stopped there once or twice before, and the landlord (an ex-clerk on one of the steamboats) rec- ognized me as I entered. " How de do, sir! How; de do ! coming to spend a few (lays in Cmenciratti?" Ie rubbed his hands together cheerfully as he spoke, but, little as I knew the man, it struck me that beneath his apparent good spit its there lay some unspoken trouble which he was trying his best to conceal. No," I answered; " I am going East to-morrow by the first train ; but I wanted a good night's rest in a bed before I started: so I came here." aSuttaily, sir suttainly," he returned, still arth potr did so, and thie landlord ac-- ompanied meto the room assigned me, and usied himself with some trifling details for y comfortable occupancy of it during lat, ght. Everybody spoke of' hin as a good- earted, well-meaning man, and, knowing is, I asked him blankly what was the mat- r with hin to-might. "Did you observe that -there was some- iing the matter with me when you canme S?" he asked, suspiciously. " Yes, I did," I said : ' you started lien I opened the door." " Did I? Well, I guess I'd better tell ou the whole of the story, or you might think there was something wrong i ne. I might. That's true enough." W hat nade you start when I opened the door . " Because," he answered, slowly, 11the ist glimpse I got of you I thought you was he Coroner!" T" Ie Coroner ! " " Yes, the Corioner. We've sent for bilim, hough I don't believe he'll conic before morning. There's been a dreadful accident o-night. One of iiy custoners-a real good e'ller-bias been dlrown~ed. His eyes filled with tears as lie spoke. " Drowned ! I exclaimed. how did hat happen ?. I don't know a thing about it. lIe was down stairs, di ikiiig at the bar, about eight o'clock this ienmg, and I mixed hin a mint-julep yself just before lie went out, saying he was going for a walk on the wharf. Seems to me it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours after that when two mnci brought in his dead body. He had been drowned." " Do you think it was an accident, or foul play? " I asked. " I think it must have been an accident. Perhaps the liquor he'd taken made him kind o' unsartin where lie was going. 1 dont think he had any enemies. lie was as good- hearted a chap as ever lived. Poor Major ,Jin !" " Vhat was his name'? Major Jin. '1hat's all I know. That's what everybody called him." " What was his business ? " I asked. "1 Well, I've always thought lie was a sporting-man. Still, I'm not sure." A " sporting-iman " was a sort of co niph- mentary synonym fior a ", gambler." I e- lieve the term is obsolete now, " I only know," he 'continued, feliingly, that he was as free with his money as if' he'd been a prince. Poor fellow !How liam - some ihe looks, laying down there in the back parlor, with his new brown overcoat lined with gray silk, and his big eluister -iiamointl imn stuck in his shiut boson! And tho landlord passed the back of his hand across iDd you try to restore him when you first ouYes; we tried everything.. We had ,f y j ; r ;t ', n f r ; i F i . ' 's 1 t x ! yrF , f + F 39 page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. two doctors in, but it was too late. Poor fellow ! I suppose the Coroner will be here the first thing in the morning." "Don't forget to have me waked at half past six." No fear. Good-night, sir." "Good-night." Ile left me. I confess I did not think much more about the drowned man after the door closed on the landlord., I am not at all a heartless person, but Major Jim was a stranger to me ; I had never seen him ; never should do so; I was tired and sleepy, and had only a few hours for repose before me; so, hastily doffing my clothing, -I tumbled into bed, and was soon fast asleep. How long I slept I cannot tell, but my slumber was an uneasy one. I dreamed that I had collected the bad debt in New York, and was returning home with the money, when Iwas set upon by thieves, overpowered, and robbed of every cent. I awoke sud- denly, and, sitting up in bed, I looked around the room for the robbers. It had been a dream, and thdre were no robbers whatever. It was not yet daylight, and the fire was still burning brightly enough to make all the objects about the room as visible as though it were morning. I was just composing -myself to slumber again when the door, which I had locked and bolt- ed inside, opened noiselessly, and gave ingress to a man,-a man in a brown over- coat lined with gray silk, and with a great cluster diamond pin stuck in his shirt ! He walked over to the fire and began to dry his clothes which were dripping wet! I can't say I felt afraid. I knew at once, or thought I knew, who it was, by the land- lord's description. It immediately struck me there had been some mistake about his death. "Say, stranger !" I sang out, "what are you doing in my room?" "4Drying my clothes !" he answered, with- out turning around. Who are youJ" "Major Jim!" " Oh, I'm so glad!" I exclaimed. "The landlord will be delighted. Then you were not drowned after all!" "Yes, I was!" he said, still without turn- ing. " Yes, but I mean not dead. Not (drowned-dead !" " I am dead! " he said. " Oh, nonsense !" "If you doubt it, look at me!" He turned his face to me now, and to my dying day, I shall never forget the sight ! The eyes were open, and were distended, glassy and staring. The jaw had dropped, and was fied in that position. Across the .forehead there was a deep cut, from which thick, black blood was sluggishly issuing. and the soft brown locks were covered with green slime from the river! " Do Iou doubt it now ?" he asked, almost in triunaph. N-o," I answered, horror-stricken, He approached the bed, and placed him- self in an easy posture across its foot, while I sat bolt upright at its head, with every drop of blood in my heart frozen into ice. "I suppose I'm not a very pleasant coin- panion just now," he continued, " though when-when I was alive, what man on the river was as good company as Major Jim? If I was kind o' lucky at 'seven-up ' or at ' euchre,' nobody ever seemed to feel hard agin me. Ahi! well, that's all over now !" And he heaved a sigh which .so greatly awakened my pity that it almost dispelled my fear. Still I did not speak. "You may be surprised at my coming in on you in this way," resumed the ghastly " sporting-nian "-Alas! the " sport " was sorry enough now !-" You may be surprised at my coming in, and waking you up when you was sleeping quietly, and not thinking of the poor chap-me, you know-who, at this minute is laid out down stairs in the back parlor, with two men watching him!" "Are you a ghost," I murmured, faintly, " or a madman ? " "Idon't feel myself justified in answering that question ; so, with your permission, we'll lay it on the table as they do in Con- gress, you know. All I've got to say to you is this: I've come here to do you a favor, and if you want to know how, listen! If you don't, say the word, and P11 be free to go." Although I would have given a kingdom if I had had it to get rid of this nocturnal visitor, I nevertheless mastered my fears, and begged him toremain. " It appears, I'm obliged to tell the secret to the first man that sleeps in this room. If he-refuses to avail himself of niy knowledge, then I've got to tell the next man that sleeps here, and so on until some one takes advan- tage of it. It's about money, and for that reason Pd rather Korley should know it, for Korley is about as good as they make 'cin now-a-days.". Korley was the landlord. "If Korley had slept here to-night, I could have told him; but, poor fellow, lie's down stairs watching my body, while you, an outsid- er-a person I don't care a red for -have the awful streak of luck of hearing the secret. " I have not heard it yet," I said, " No," he answered; " but here it is. Do you see that hearthstone ? " "Yes," I answered. "It is cracked." "It is not only cracked but broken. Bro- ken clear through. With any strong article for a wedge. the biggest blade of a knife for in- stance, you could lift half of it up as easy as rollin' oflf a log. The right half of it-what do you think you'll find under the right half of it ? Come, now, guess ! Guess wha t a luck ' fell ' like myself-a high old sport, who's been, travelling up and lown between here and Orleans for the last ten years-guess1 what he'd have to hide under a hearthstone Guess ! " . ' "Money?" "Ha, ha ! " he shouted ; and his laugh was so loud that it seemed impossible that those below should not hear it, and come rushing up. " How funny it is that you should have guessed it right the very first pop ! Yes, sir ! it is money-mon- ey that I have earned by the sweat of my brow and the manipulation of pasteboard, during the last ten years. All in gold, too ! all sorts-beautiful Spanish doubloons, and American eagles, and French lonoys, and En- glish sovs ! Splendid ! I didn't want to put them in no bank. No indeed. There ain't one of them that won't break before the year's out. No, sir! none of vour rotten shinplasters for me ! All gold ! Now don't you consider yourself a most all-fired lucky coon, sir." " Why ?" I asked. " Because you are the first man who sleeps in this room-and therefore all that money is yours !" I confess to a sort of warming up in the region of the heart and pocket at this an- nouncement. What I, poor Pete Barclay, with fifteen dollars a week salary, the possessor of the large winnings of ten years, belonging to a successful " sport!" It took away my breath. " Get up and look at it," said Major Jim. I drew on some of my clothing, got out of lied, lighted a candle, and walked over to the fireplace. There was the stdne just as be had said, cracked through. The fissure was wide enough for me to insert my finger. I probed about curiously. There was earth beneath. I wondered at that, as this was not a room on the ground floor ; but then I remembered that the wharf ended in a steep hill, and that all the houses on what we -of' New Orleans call the levee, were backed by a bank. This explained the earthwork. You see,' said Major Jim, taking the candle from my hand and spilling the sperm about, " I found myself in possession of a lot of gold, and I didn't want-to bank it. I didn't think it would be safe in bank. This room was mine. Nobody else ever occu- pied it. Korley wouldn't have let it to you to-night if I hadn't been dead." (And lie looked up at ine with his stony eyes steadily, and with perfect composure). "'So I bought an earthern crock, and I put my gold in it, and I buried it under this hearthstone. Every ' pull' I made on the river, I'd come up here, lift up the stone, and cuddle away my new beauties with the iest until it is now almost chock-full. Just think of' it! Chock full of gold. And all yours ! Ain't you a [ucky coonP" I felt that I was lucky. My horror of this dreadful dead Major ,Iim had vanished, and the innate cupidity which burns in every man's breast had become thoroughly i'arouseil to the extinction of every other feeliin. " How shall I get the stone up ? " Iasked, breathlessly. IInmvenm't you got a pocket-knife ? " he responded, almost as excited as myself. I've got a pen-knife." Perhaps that wil do; if the blades are strong, I'mn sure it-will." I put my hand in my pocket and drew out the knife. " Open several of the blades together, for strength," he said. I opened all the blades which hinged tho same way, and, inserting them under the stone as a wedge, gave it as powerful a lift" as I could. The blades snapped off like hits of thread leaving the handle in my hand, Quick as thought I tried the other side, only to repeat the experience. Disgusted, I flung t hel knil' from me and began wildly clutching at tie stone with my fingers, lacerating them paini- fully in the effort to lift the stone. " I always used a great s strong screw- (Iriver, which answered the purpose splen- dilly. I can't think where I put it. Y ou see when so severe an accident happens to : man as what's happened to me to-night - gettinmg drowned you know,and thmnp. against the boulders at the wharf until I was stone dead-it's apt to make one forgetful IIeedless of his remarks, bent on obtain- ing the treasure, I shrieked to hi into help inc move the stone ; aid, as he .stooped to do So, there came a thundering rapping at the door. Major .Jim laid his lank finger on his bloodless lip, and whispered hoarsely : " Go see who's there ! " I walked to the door, and opened it sufli- ciently to see that it was the house porter, cone to wake me according to my orders. '' It's past halfpast six, sir; in fiart, nearly seven. I overslept myself this morning g~. Better hurry up,, sir, if you want to c:mlsh this traiii. I'll conic in and take your trunk." " Wait, wait !" I shouted. "I'll let you in in a moment. Don't attempt to come in." And I pushed the door to, and holteil it again. I rushed to the fire-place, to speak to Ma;or Jim. Ile was gone. Not a trace of the drowned " sport," to be sen At that moment the sun, which had barely risen yet out of the murky fogs of hi river, hit ip the heiavens suddeidy, andi showed moo thme reality of time commnonplace sand thn ahm- suidity of the siipernaturah ! Hal I hieei dreaming ? There were thme spots of sperm JOAN MORRIS' MONEY. 41 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] Ik II4 Ji tr tr 4? f rif I lE' 41r E4{N JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. spilled about on the cracked hearth-stone, "AI saw his ghost, I tell you, and from the broken pen-knife, myself half-dressed, what he said to me, I think you'd better sleep the vivid " truth-seemingness" in my memo- in that room to-night." ry of the features of a man whom I had never " Me ! In a room. where a ghost comes- seen in life-what did it mean ? the ghost of poor Major Jim ? No sir-ee ! "You'll be left, sir, if you don't hurry Not much, I won't. I wouldn't do it for- up," said the porter, outside. for a pot of gold!" My senses now returned to me. I walked Without waiting to say good-by, I ran out to the door, threw it open, and hurriedly of the house, and never stopped till I found began making my preparation for departure. myself seated in the cars going East. Poor Major Jim!" said the porter, as he To my great surpt-ise gnd gratification, I shouldered my trunk, many's the dollar bill collected the money in I New York, much he's slipped into my hand for carrying his more easily and more expeditiously than I trunk out, and in this room." had expected. The bad debtors happened So this was his room. How did I know it to be " flush" through payment of some of was his room before the porter spoke? Kor- their own outstanding accounts, and they I -y had said nothing about it. treated me with that politeness and liberality I gave tl eman some money, and, taking which characterizes the New York mer- my travelling-bag and umbrella in my hand, chant. I got a draft from them for the walked down stairs. In the bar-room, I met amount due us, on a 'well-known banking- the landlord, house in the Crescent City, and, my business t norley," said I, " did you sit up with being' now terminated, I turned my steps the body of the drowned man last night ?" homeward. Yes, I did," be answered, with a look I should have stopped at Cincinnati, even if of surprise. " How did you know that ?" I was not obliged to do so, as I was. My mind Without answering his question, I asked was now fully made up on one point-if no one anotheir.else had occupied the room in the ten days I "aid the body--move-last night-at any had been away I was determined to profit tite?" by my former experience, and dislodge the Move I" he echoed. "Why, you're broken hearthstone, in search of the treasure. crazy!"ve .Korley was out when I arrived; but I e yLet me see the body," I whispered. asked immediately to be shown to room No. This would bQ confirmation. Here was a 12. Entering the room, my first thought man I had never seen. I might have dream- was of the hearthstone. I walked over to it. ed about him, but it was scarcely likely a What a metamorphosis was here!. In vision seen in a dream would be correct. place of the broken stone, there now lay a Korley opened the door of the back parlor new slab, without flaw or crack ! Strongly and-there was the very man! cemented, too, on every side! While I was The brow overcoat lined with gray silk, surveying it with amazement, Korley en- the great cluster-diamond pin stuck in the tered. bosom of the beruffled shirt, the neat pa- " What's the matter?" asked he, seeing tent leather boots, the cut across the fore- my look of disgust. head, the dank weeds, green and slimy, " Look here, Morley," said I, " what did clinging to the brown, soft hair; the eves, you have a new hearthstone put here for?" closed now, but staring stonily nevertheless " Why, the most curious affair happened through their lowered lids straight into the I two nights-after you left, Mr. Barclay Let depths of my awe-stricken heart! I could me see, it's nearly two weeks ago now, isn't not look. I fled from the room. it ?" What had I best do now? That the mon- i"Yes," said I, impatiently; " what was er was there-up-stairs, in the very place he the affair-what happened? " had described, I could not doubt. Should I " Why, two nights after you left, I put a go back and get it secretly, or should I tell traveller to sleep in here, and the next morn- the affair to Korley, as Major Jim had said ing he walked down stairs, paid his bill, got he wished the landlord to have the money ? off, and when the chambermaid came in here "Korley," said I, while I was paying my to do the room, what do you think she bill, " that was Major Jim's room you put found?" tme to sleep in last night! " " What, what?" " I know it was. It was the only room " That that broken hearthstone had vacant in the house." been pulled up, and broken again by who- Well," I said, slowly, " something very ever did it, and underneath, imbedded in curious happened to me while there." the earthwork, there was a great earthen- "How curious ?" he asked. ware crock-" " iWhat would you say if I were to tell "Filled with gold?" you Id seen Major Jim's ghost?" " It might have been at first. It was "0O Lordie !" ejaculated the susceptible empty when we discovered it. But near the Korley, his teeth ehatterinig already. door there, we found two pieces of mon- I JOHN MORRIS'S MONt Y. ey-an American ten-dollar eagle and a Spanish doubloon." I groaned aloud and dropped into a chair. Why had I not stayed? Why had I been such an idiot? I could have killed myself. Should I tell Korley? No ; he, too, had let the treasure slip through his fingers. It was more merciful to let him remain in igino- rance. "So, as the stone was too badly broken to be put back, I had a new one laid in." I could not speak to him. That afternoon, I went on board the Au- tocrat, bound for New Orleans. Korley was with tme to the last. " Did I tell you the Coroner came that morning, almost immediately after you left, and gave a verdict of "accidental drowning." Then we buried him. Poor fellow! We had to sell that diamond pin he wore, to pay his funeral expenses. He had no money, not a cent, and yet people used to say he cheated at eards-dern 'mi all ! XVWe're ofi!" A simultaneous shout from myriads of voices-young and old folks, rich and poor folks, white and colored folks,-a creaking of machinery, a prolonged whistle from a steam- boiler's pipe, and the huge boat moves slow- ly away from the shore ! Korley springs off on to the wharf, waving his handkerchief in token of adieu, and the last I see of him he is standing in'the door- way of the "River Queen Hotel." I can give no elucidation of the events I have related. They happened just as I have told them. If it was a dream it was a very vivid one; and if it was a vision, wasn't I an idiot, a donkey, not-to take advantage of it? I have thought over it now pretty continu- ously for twenty years. If any of my read- ers feel like devoting tle same length of time to it they have my full consent to do so. Twenty years is a long time, isn't it? I am foity-five years old now. In many respects I thik I am a better man than I was then; liit, howsoever that may be, in regard to th afihir of Major Jim, I'll be hanged if I ai in the least degree a wiser one ! VII. SOMEWHAT RELATIONAL. In other words, My Cousin Frank," said I. " A relation in two senses of the word." " ow so? '" asked John. Why if he is-' my cousin Frank,' he is a relation of mine; and as it is a story, that is a relation of mimne also. Don't you see ?" "I that where the 1augh comes in ? " '~tis-" 43 John got up gravely, shook hands with me with tears in his eyes, and mournfully re- sumed his seat. I repeated the title. My Cousin Frank. 46 Say what you ple 01(oldfelhow, it's Slow, deuced slow," said m coui, throw- ing his newly-lighted cigar oit of the win- (dow with such force that it contmiiiued its course on a straight line for many seconds through the sweet spring air, which greeted oit' nios- triloi, redolent with tie weight of June ross and (lfoulils. I could not agree with him, although lie brotugit all sos of ar'gmnent. to testify to the truth of his assertion. It was an incontrovertible fact. that we had left New~ Yor'k while thme capital yetlbore its gay~- eties like Wrolsey, his "' blmshing honors, thick upon it -" that we had conic to a sec(e place early in June ; that we ulidnhot knmw a soul " amid were totally tma('(1maintedl with a " body " within fifty miles of our present place of residence ; that there were 110 -hs, no theatres, no sigis of am opera, no halls, no lops--literally nothing, Frau k said, to emliven td ulliess of EvermtonPoint.W e differed as widely om this head as we id on those of our physical and mental structure. I considered the place little short of an earth- ly paradise-if such an anomaly ean exist- amd had made arragemnemits to spemd the summer oin the p~icturesquie baniks wtimh skirt the waves of the silverylHudson stream. Our present domicil was amalm.ost prince- ly residence, built bit a few years ago by one of our then new rich, who shiotly after becamesa prominent member of tme numer- otus class of' new poor. Secluded imi a muchl- aneholy towi in Germay, the family who once held state withi these walls was ekimg out a miserable existence, whose sole support consisted of the remit of' this house, time iiad speculator, the father, who had raised them so suddenly from poverty to wealth, and more suddenly still lowe'eh them from wealth to poverty again, having sunk beneath the weight of miisfortunie and of' sicktiess-iiot of the body, hut of the niind--adndemantd- ed no longer any domain on earth save a quiet and perhaps forgotten resting lace in a cemetery where burial lots are cheap. had he , died before his splendid Soap-bubble- fortune had burst, he would now be hying in Greenwood with perhaps an obelisk, or other flaunting lucre-bought thing, bearing upon its marble surface a list of virtues which onl- rich men possess, rearing its imiperislmal$le head far above the perishable clay which ciumibles imto dust beneath. It was mot a pleasant story to have hanging about every nook and corner of our su:imier retreat, surely; but who, now-a-days, is so foolish as to busy himself ahoumt the amntecedenits of thle place which for' the notice lie inmhiahits P Mat- ter's it aught to you that omi thme deck von niow tread on one of' our oceami palaces was emi- 42 page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. -411 y f' {I fi acted a midnight crime ?-that at this point a troublesome heir to property was pushed from his hold, and then (after a few minutes' lapse of time) a loud cry of " man overboard -my eldest brother overboard "-was raised ? Who knows of such things? Who cares to 'hear them ? What good could we do if even w'e did know and hear? No; let it all pass. Let the Everton family die of starvation in the German village if such is their destiny, while I run riot in their princely halls if such is mine. But I am not a man to run riot; every- thing in my nature rebels against that ex- pression and against its enactment. Not that I am an invalid; but in my youth I was always delicate, and now in my manhood, little as I care to own it to myself, I am not strong. 'Tis true every person I know (ex- cept one) extols my face, my figure, swears I am a very Hercules for strength, a very Apollo for grace ; but, thank - Heaven, my looking-glass is no flatterer (caring little and knowing less whether the image it reflects is that of a rich or a poor man), and it tells me my cheek is sallow, my eye lustreless, and1 my form thin and emaciated. My physicians have often recommended a life residence in the more genial climes of Europe, or on our own far Southern coast.; but I cannot go. Perhaps as the story progresses the secret of this will divulge itself. I said above that my cousin Frank and my- self presented the two extremes of man- nature. All that cringing sycophants said of me was true of him-tall, manly, athletic; " an eye like Mars, to threaten and com- mand, Hyperion curls "-all the graces that poets and young girls dream of were the birthright of Frank Harley. We formed a striking contrast as we trod together the smooth gravel walks of Everton, or, mount- ed on English thoroughbreds, scoured the woods surrounding. He, straight as an In- dian, elastic as a' gazelle, soft-eyed and ruddy-complexioned as a girl. I, round- shouldered, careworn, melancholy, though two years the junior of the dashing fellow who was my almost constant companion. And yet such is the ingratitude of mortals, to hear his story you would think I was the lucky one, andlhe the poor, wretched miser- able who felt that a great wrong had been (lone him in bringing him into the world, and numberless frightful acts of injustice com- mitted since that interesting period. I can hear his complaint now; it always ran: " Devilish unlucky dog I am; not a penny of my own in the world, while you-thousanms upon thousands." Faugh ! money, money, nothing but money; the very sound of the word nauseated me. Frank Harley's father and mine were two biothiers, belonging to a family whichi boast- ed, even on this democratic soil, of being purely aristocratic ; their aiicestors belonged to that select few of English nobles who set-. tied here and possessed princely domains- whole duchies and principalities of grounds -but who fled back to England when our Revolution broke out. Some member, how- ever, remained here, and this was our pro- genitor, who when he died left something more tangible than his name to his posterity. Thus Frank's father and mine were both rich men at the outset-of life; but before long my father had made himself thrice richer than when he started, and Frank's father had wasted his patrimony till actual poverty stared him and his young wife in the face.. Then a great ex- pediency was thought of-the babe about to visit this mundane sphere, and who now complained so bitterly of his ever having been called upon to - make that entrance, should be named, whether girl or boy, after the bachelor uncle, Francis Harley, who would, of course, in gratitude for said con- descension, immediately constitute the as- yet-unborn member of the family his heir or, heiress. But two months after the arrival of the little savior of the fortunes of his father's house the bachelor uncle became a bachelor no longer, and, in course of time. in answer to Heaven's (all, and in direct antagonism to my uncle's fervent prayers, I came, and now, at the age of twenty-eight, stood be- reft of all relations in the world except Frank, possessed of my father and mother's combined fortunes, of a weak constitution, and the paternal name of Francis Harley. My cousin was, I believe, christened this, too; but it would have seemed as ludicrous to call him Francisas it would to call me Frank. He was frank, gay, dashing, bril- liant. I was Francis-cold, melancholy and ill-favored. I must not forget the other differ- ence between us, which always formed the staple of Frank's conversation when we were quite alone and not likely to be overheard. I' was rich. le was poor. We lived together, and had done so for years, he consenting to this arrangement because of no reason on earth but of my being "tke deucedest nicest fellow going," and I falling in with it because it suited my fancy to have something that I could claim kindred with near inc in solitude or pleasure. Sometimes I grew vastly tired of him, and often have been on the point of. making a different arrangement; but as often have gazed into his face and seen the look of his father there, which brought mine back to memory, and then I said no word of my plan in regard to separation. " Now, isn't it slow?" reiterated Frank, throwing himself at full length on a damask- satin divan, and kicking the sofa cushion out into space. I picked it up from the floor and brushed off the dust which his foot had left there. It was of no great value, a worsted thing, made by some woman's hand; but I placed it cairefuilly on a chair. Then I an.- swered him: a' Why, Frank, I see nothing ' slow' about it. We have horses, carriages, boating, fish.' 45 ing; later we shall have gunning, long walks, all the new books to read, all the prominent New York jouf-nals and periodicals to devour, a luxurious house to live im, and magnificent grounds to surround us." " Yes, but we don't see a single body from morning till night: we don't know a human soul within fifty miles." To this argument of bodies and souls I could but remain silent, having no proof to the contrary to adduce. " Why don't we go to some of the fashion- able watering places?" le knew well enough why we did not. I had left the city for health, and I did not think it very probable that scarce commodity was to be found in one of the watering pla- ces, where so much stronger liquid than wa- ter is drunk-especially under the guidance of my friend Frank. The house here is taken for six months," I said evasively. That's nothing," he answered. True, it was nothing to him. " We are forced to pay for it for that length of time," said he, using the first person plural, with delightful cool- ness; "'.but, by Jove ! we are not forced to live in it." True, agaim; but I still held out for my present place of sojourn. .He harped at the different watering places with unceasing vig- or, however, until at length I said, impa- tiently:-. Go there alone, since Everton- is so un- pleasant to you." A hot blush, part of anger and part huml- iation, suffused his handsome features. How could he go to .those expensive places with- out me ? My conscience smote me for my hastiness, aind I at once said: " Well, Frank, give the orders to the servants. We will start next Monday." That was Friday, and a chile1 who longs impatiently for a new toy could not have pined with more eagerness than Frank did for the arrival of the day of our departure. It came at last, however, as everything does in this world--joy, pain, health, sickness, death-and, like all these, fell short of the expectation. I felt that in leaving Everton I was leaving quiet, rest'of mind, tranquility of heart -, and that, in seeking the gay haunts of pleasure's votaries, I was rushing onward to misery, anguish and despair. Nay, smile not at the thought. A sick man who lives within himself sees the kaleidoscope of hu- man life clad in far less brilliant hues than he for whom woman's heart yearns and her eyes overflow. What was woman's heart to mme ? What did I know of that incomprehensible piece of mechanism? Frank had no such misgivings as myself. If he had been on the direct road to Canaan, lie could not have looked more serenely hap- py than lie did when comfortably ensconced in the railway car which was steaming on to Saratoga. IIe had provided himself with numberless elegancies for tih t rip-lilt comforts of which I was utterly destitute- having a marvellously fine light gray silk coat, to protect his under one from dust, a jaunty hat, which became him much, and carrying in his hand a bag containing, I af- terwards discovered, as many nec'essaries of life in the shape of knives, forks, brandy flasks, &c., as if Saratoga had been a dist ant wilderness and we were going to founnd a colony there. Travellers spoke to us, and paid nmh (deference to Fraik, leaving me and my thoughts to keep each other con- panv. "Laura Asheton will be there," said Frank, carelessly gazing out of the window after a way traveller, with whom he had been carrv- ing on an interesting discussion on the rela- tive beauties of English and American girls. Where ? " said I, all the blod in my heart rushing up to my face, and then desert- ing it, leaving me pale and icy cold. " At Saratoga, to be sure," answered my cousin, "' Everybody will be there ; aren't you glad you came?" Glad ! 1 was intoxicated with joy; mad with delight. She was to be there--I should see her. how did you know this, Frank ? " I asked. I got a letter from hem' aunt this morn- ing, and she mentioned it." Strange that Mrs. Warner should write to my ('ousiln. Frank," said I again, just as le was composing himself to sluimber, " are you sure that letter was for von? " " Here it is-perhaps it was written to you. On the whole, I think it was, for there is an allusion to money in it. .Nobody ever alludes to money to Ie, as I have none to allude to. le handed me the letter, which was ad- dressed to " F. Harley, Esq." It was but natural that Frank should open it, and vet his having done so angered moe. It eontain- el but a few words, saving that Laura had been recommended to drink the Saratoga water, and asking me privately (of course without Laura's knowledge) to advance her quarterly income. My father had been Lauri'a's guardian at one period, and had invested hem' monev in some railway stocks, which paid a very hand- some percentage ; but for umany years now the railway had ceased to exist, and ah muon- cys which had been invested therein were among the things of the dead. But for all that I had kept on paving the amount she had been in the habit of receiving, often ad- ding to it, under pretence that the road was doing better. She thanked me occasionally for the interest I took in her affairs, but of course suspected nothing further. I lay no claim to the title of' generous for this-my feeling for her was of a different staimpj. I would have beggared moyse'lf for hem'. And 44 JOlIN MORRIS' MONEY. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. 47 46 JunLNir t1 now the secret which prevented my going South or to Europe is out-not such a very mysterious one after all. I was in love with Laura Asbeton. I could not leave the coun- try she was in. It was night when we arrived at Saratoga, and found our way to one of those wretched caravans-ries yclept a hotel. I toiled pain- fully up to the topmost story of the house, to reach tIe only room which was still vacant, leaving Frank to ingeribe our names on that ponderous calendar of inrtal (few immortal) cognomens, the register hook. The next day I made researches for Laura and her aunt, but found they had riot arrived. My next duty was to send Mrs. Warner a draft for twice the sum she had requested. This done, I wended- my way toward the ho- tel. There I found Frank conning the pages of a pigmy newspaper with great and evi- lent interest. At last a smile of self satis- faction broke forth, and with a low laugh he exclaimed: "xThere it is; look at it, Francis." It was nothing more or less than the an- nouncement of the arrival~ of F. Harley, Esq., under the head of h distinguished visitors." " Did yon ask them to put your name there. Frank?" I asked. tFMy name ! " ie ejaculated. " What do they care for my name? I'm not rich, am I? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet;' but Frank Harley, were he suddenly dubbed Rothschild, would occupy a far did ferent status in the financial and social world to the one in which cruel fortune has now placed the individual.in question." " What interest can it be to hy one at Saratoga or omt of it to knew that I am here? " I said sullenly. "The interest of the public is a newspa- per's capital," he answered. "My being here is of interest to no one." At this moment we were interrupted by the entrance of the clerk, who came rushing toward us, and, with great volubility and no little condescension, informed us that the " Ambassador s-et of rooms on the fi'st floor" would be at our disposal the next day, as the ministerial party now occupying them were to leave by the early morning train. "Very well," said my cousin, waving off the officious personage with a gesture worthy an emperor. " Have them ready as soon as possible, and then send up some porters to assist our valet to move our trunks." The official retired somewhat abashed, but, on the whole, serenely happy. He wa a pleasant man, looking as if he had beer first well scrubbed with a scrubbing brush and then suddenly immersed in large and snowy vestments of the material known as "duck." In this state of spotless purity ir regard to clothes he remained during th whole period of our stay. . "Did yous bespeak that suit of rooms " Yes, to be sure. Who ever heard of F. Harley, Esq., being stewed alive in a box of a room on the fifth story ? Now these apartments we shall have to-morrow are something like--they are grand, noble-- they're dear, to be sure, very dear; but that does not matter. For see the advanta- ges. We can entertain in these rooms- there are some professional singers here now -for a mere trifle we could give a splendid musical soirie." " When you give that, Frank," I said, smiling, " please don't invite me." "What a deuced low spirited, uncomfort- able sort of a misanthrope you are, Francis," he exclaimed, petulantly. Though it was scarcely fair in him to make this rebuke, J felt what he said was true. I was fast becoming(hypochondriacal. Well, that was my fate ; but was it not a huge piece of selfishness in me to trammel this joyous, frivolous spirit which restlessly flut- tered its wings against the iron-bound cage in which destiny had placed it ? " Well, Frank," I said, "'don'tlet me in- terfere with your plans for enjoyment. Be as gay as you can while you can. If I feel like it I will drop in at your festivals occa- sionally." So saying, I filled up a check for an adequate sum, and, after signing, handed it to him. He was all smiles, all thanks, all praise ; pleasant words to hear; but as often before it had (lone, the sound of the voice seemed to me false and hollow. The bright eve wasprendered brighter still; but it struck rue that the increased brilliancy came from, the greed which the money awakened, not from gratitude which the act called forth. After. he had left me I cursed myself for a mean-spirited, narrow-minded, suspicious nature, and resolved to harbor no more such ideas about Frank. N Laura and her aunt arrived the next day, and alighted at the hotel where we were stopping. I met her in the vast space they call the "ladies' parlor," whither I had flit- ted, hoping to see her numberless times dur- ing the day. She came at length, however, accompanied by her aunt, in response to the card I had sent up to them. I watched her as she walked across the long room, and noticed that she was blushing, deeply enhancing her beauty thereby, and that she glanced ner- vously at every gentleman she passed, look- ing for him who had summoned her. Heav- ens! could so much emotion be caused by the knowledge that she was soon to meet s me? My heart bounded with joy. She Sassed me ; for I sat half hidden by _a win- low curtain. As she did so I pronounced I her name. She started and turned, and her look of blushing happiness was changed for oneof disappointment. on'Why Fancis, is it you ?" she said care- lessly " I thought it was Frank's card." ,I said nothing. ,"aYou ought to have some distinguishing mark on.your cards, so that one might kno whc itis that calls.". Was this the greeting she gave me afte three months absence? Was this the en counter which I had longed for, yet shruiil from for very fear of her too great powe over me? 1 don'tt know what we could have put o our cards," I answered, in a tone as careles as her own. .Whynot senior and junior ? " she asked laughingly. Oh no, that would never do: people might think that Frank was your You forget that lie is my senior, Laura.' True. She had forgotten that. .You ought to send up your cartes de( visite when you call," said Mrs. Warner. A hot flush suffused my features at this suggestion. The difference in the individu als rendered even mistaking the photograph Sof one forthe likeness of the other an utter impossibility. Perhaps I was morbidly sen- sitive on the subject of this great disparity in personal advantages between my cousin and myself; but it never troubled me except when I thought of Laura. By the by, where is Frank? " she in- quired. Driving, I believe. I have not seen him this morning." Will he soon be back ? " I suppose so." At this juncture Mrs. Warner took occa- sion to thank me for the promptitude with which I had attended to " that little matter of business; " and thus, after the interchange of a few common-places, ended my first in- terview at Saratoga with Laura Asheton. Perhaps I ought to explain how we became so intimate as to drop the titles of " Mr." and'"Miss" and call each other by the Christian name. Frank and I had'lived with Mrs. Warner for several years during our youth. Frank was an orphan, I mother- less, and my father placed us under the charge of this good lady, than whom none better fitted to have care of the moral cul- ture of two growing boys. Our intellectual requrmernents were more than satisfied by competent teachers, who give us lessons at the house. My father was always prejudiced against boarding schools, and my health was certainly fostered with more care by Mrs. Warner than it would have been by any matron of an establishment of the "Dothe- boys Hall " order. Frank was educated by my father in the same manner as myself. I have often wondered why my father never left him any money ii his will ; but to this lay I can remember his telling Frank, and rie too, for that matter, that the former was an ungrateful, worthless fellow, whose only chance for heconming a solid, steady man was being thrown omit into the world and left to struggle for himself." This he had never done since my accession to the fortune. and w it was one of my pet plans to marry Frank to the girl he loved, however poor or lowly r she might be, and then on his wedding day - hand him a check for as many thousand (101- k lars as he had years, providing he married r before he was fifty (which there was every probability of his doing). - I (cold do' this n without seriously interfering with my own s yearly income. It was in this manner that we three children, then called each other Frank, Francis and Laura, and to this day we have adopted no other mode. r I don't know whether Laura Asheton was considered a beauty by anybody but myself. She was a tender-eyed, pink-checked, amiable looking girl, elegant im her dress a1d figure, lmt laying no claims to the leseripitiye ad- jective " fist," being as directly opposite to " rapid " in every particular as well might - be. I heard a ghastly pale lady say once to her that if she were dressed in costume Laura would look only like a peasant girl, and nothing niore, wih Ithose rcd cheeks. ,Ahi, lady ! if Arcadia's peasants were like Laura, how fain would I leave the at uos- phere of American bon ton to fhy to those leafy bowers and dream away my lif- Frank returned from his drive in due course of time, and, on entering the roolmi made a vigorous attack, in which the safety of the bell-pull was greatly comiiproiied. " Bring me up a bottle of Veive (liquot," said my cousin to the waiter who answered the summons ; " the real thing -1do you hear? - no trash l ie off 1l' bgeie. Clear onut, will you This to the lhibernian who was wasting; precious moments in the inspection of the airanigemeits of our drawing-room, which had been enlivened a little by the introduc- tion of some few objes d'art, bronzes, etc. Theatrical slaves, when they fly to do the bidding of the genii who conmnanid them, could not have disappeared faster than the Celt iid on hearing Frank's peremptory order. He flew, and presently the chiamipagne flew all over the cloth of the centre table, much to my annovance ; for I am a neat person naturally anm cannot bear to see destruction of any kind. Wanton carelessness positive- ly pains Me. By Jove, sir," suddenly ejaculated my cousin, after paying his devoirs to the bottle, which I refused to salute, " she's the most gorgeous woniain I ever saw. ' She's all my famnicy painted her, she's lovely,' etc., etc. Have you seen her ?" Yes," I answered, looking out into the hot, dusty street, at the jaded creatures who came here under pretence of seeking country air, and now pitving. now despising them for their sheeplike pioclivities, in thus herd-- ing together in untoward places, because, forsooth, fashion willed it so. " Where did you see lier? " dhemasnided Frank brieathlecsshy, as if it had been a pies- tion of life amid deatth. ORRIS'S MONEY.v page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. 49 48 JOHN MORRIS'' MONEY. " She came into the drawing-room to see me." I answered, quietly. "I sent up my card." A prolonged stare, in which both eves and mouth opened to their fullest extent, then an uncontrollable burst of laughter, were the signs of wonder and mirth with which my cousin greeted this remark. " Well, well, I've always heard that still waters run deep; but to think of a quiet, re- tiring fellow like you having the ' cheek' to send up your card to a woman you don't know. And she came down ! Of course she did ! She'd heard you were one of the richest men in this country." " Woman I don't know-' cheek,' " I re- peated, in no very amiable tone' of voice. "Who are you talking about ? " Who are you talking about?" "About Laura Asheton." " The devil take-that is, I meant to say, I wasn't speaking of Laura Asheton. I was talking of the new arrival who has set every- body on the qui vive-the renowned French lady, Madame de Viron." I listened, but heeded not his wholesale praises of this lady ; she had only been at Saratoga two hours; yet Frank at that mo- ment could have written her biographyif the pigmy newspaper had chosen to ask it of him. "She's a young widow, just twenty-three; was married at some barbarously youthful period to an ancient brick, who considerately departed this life two years ago, leaving her an immense fortune all in her own right. Her mother is travelling with her, and they are visiting this country on a tour of pleas- use, and will return to Paris in November." It was not until this theme was well nigh exhausted (my patience had been long be- fore) that Frank thought of the person who so constantly occupied my reflections. "So Lolly has arrived, has she ? Did you say anything about sitting next them at din- ner?" I frankly confessed that while with them I had never so much as thought of dinner; at which avowal of imbecility Frank gazed at ie with an expression of pity for my weak- ness and sorrow for my incapacity, which was, positively speaking, " And this is the man -I know he was inwardly saying-" who is rich, while I, such a man as I, am poor." "I must see about it then," said he, more scornfully than the heinous circumstance seemed to me to warrant. I accompanied-him down stairs, heard him give the order, saw him fee the waiter, and then we strolled out together fora walk. It was a little before the dinner hour when we returned and repaired to the drawing-room to await the coming of the ladies. Laura and her aunt were among the first to appear. The beautiful blush which I had observed on her face in the morning again suffused her features as her blue eyes fell on Frank. Why, Lolly, how do you do? " said he, gazing over her shoulder at a bevy of ladies -who were entering the room, and- scarcely glancing at my beautiful peri, whose hand he was holding. " So you've come, have you ? I told Francis everybody would be here. Why, bless me, how cold your hand is! You can't be well. System out of or- der, eh? The water will do you-good." So saying he dropped the little hand, and left her to encase it in a tiny glove, as she had - (lone to its mate already. I knew the cause of the cold hand. I knew all the symptoms -contradictory, extraordinary, inexplicable -which the emotion of the heart will awak- en in thxe body. I knew it, and then cursed myself. She loved Frank Harley-it was as plain as day-the boy who had teased her as a child, whom she knew as a man to be fickle and faithless. She now hardly dared to lift her eyelids to him, investing him with. that sanctity which was the reflex of her own pure feeling, and not in any manner a part of the man's nature. By some singular coincidence--perhaps not so mysterious to Frank as to the rest- the new arrival and her mother sat directly opposite us at dinner, and thus I had a good opportunity of scanning the features of the " renowned " French lady. My first im- pression was not altogether a favorable one ; that is, my first impression of her face. Au rested, all was charming. Her dress was a pleasing mixture of grave colors and gay, and of a cut which, though youthful, still partook of a matronly character, suiting thus at once her years (yet few) and her position in life, which was advanced,- as she had been wife, and was now widow, at an age when many of her sex are yet maids. Her figure was full of grace ; but it struck me that the face, which all lauded for its piquancy, many. for its prettiness - which Frank apostro- phized in a rather singular, but perhaps not inappropaiate, phrase, as " deuced lovely "- was more marked by an expression of com- bined boldness and cunning than I could have wished. Still, the more I looked at it the more attractive it became, and before the' dinner was over I agreed with Frank that Madame de Viron was a very fascinating person in appearance. " Fascinating! She's bewildering! hbe- witching ! I say, Francis, did it ever strike you that our friend there on your right, Lol- ly Asheton, is a deucedly insipid girl? " At another time I would have struck him to the earth for such an expression. My first impulse was to do this now ; but then a sec. end thought, quicker than lightning flash, came to me, whispering, " Let him think slightingly of her. When she finds he does not love her perhaps she will transfer her af- feetions to you." I do not say I clutched at this idea eagerly. I have over been too poud to be0 mean, and what meanness could he greater than to underrate a woman you es- teem under such circumstances as these ? I did not reply to his question, the very sub- ject of our remark causing a diversion by oh- serving that everybody had gone, and as the dinner was over she saw no reason for not falling in with everybody's example. Every- body was gone except the French party op- posite, who sat sipping their wine slowly and sensibly, after the European fashion. The two companions of the lady who had so cap- tivated Frank were her mother, between whom and her daughter there existed not the slightest resemblance, who was called Mad- ame de Monsel, and a short, chubby, slightly oleaginous gentleman. whose name I never caught exactly, but who, like the ladies, re- joiced in the aristocratic prefix of " de." We left them in the dining-room, and, Laura and her aunt accepting a drive with me and Frank, we lost sight of Madame de Viron for-that evening. On the next a hop was to be given at the hotel ; and Frank in- formed me in the morning that " this night or never " he would be introduced to the fair French lady. I did not ask him how this was to be brought about, and was utterly amazed afterwards to see that he had some- how or other scraped up an acquaintance with the French gentleman, as my cousin left me to discourse with him. After they had- taken " a drink " together and indulged in other friendly procedures, Frank cane up to me and asked me in a low tone if I wanted to use the phaton and horses that morning. I said no, and before the monosyllabic word had well passed my lips Frank was back again at the Frenchman's side, and begging that person to join him in his morning drive. This offer was graciously accepted, and the last I heard of the pair the Frenchman was loudly complimenting Frank on the beauty and good taste of his equipage, assuring him that it was far too stylish an affair for this country, and, to be properly apprecia- ted, should be rolling along the smooth ave- nue of the Champ Elysees. They both pass- ed me without a look or gesture, and I went to seek Laura. I found her, and, accompan- ied by her aunt, we took a stroll through the town. Her manner was, as usual, perfectly kind to me-a mixture of sweetness and friendly familiarity which oppressed me. How gladly would I have exchanged this for the blushing nervousness she displayed' to- wards Frank ! She inquired where he was, and seemed very uncomfortable when I told her who his companion was in the drive. ''Frank is rather remiss in his attentions to old friends," said Laura, with unfeigned annoyance. - Ah, my dear," said her aunt, " I always told you Francis was the kinder of my two boys." I pressed my good friend's hand for thanks, and looked up at Laura to see if she coinci- (led in the sentiment, Alas ! her thoughts were far away from me ; for at that moment 4 Frank came dashing by in the photon, and the Frenchman directed his eye-glass to Laura's flushed face in so decided a manner that my very blood boiled at the sight of his now fast-retreating form. "Insolent fellow!" I exclaimed, "Who? Not- our Frank, I hope?" By all the saints in the calendar, the girl had seen but him, nor even noticed that the Frenchman sat by his side ! Once home, I shut myself in my room, and, engrossed in the reading of a book upon which I forced my mind to dwell, heard naught more of the actors in my drama till long past nightfall, when an unusual hurry and bustle was heard on the staircase, and "sounds of music began to issue from the dancing hall below. I then remembered the hop, and determined to go down-not to join in it, but to gaze at Laura in her ball dress. I knew she would be beautiful, and reason whispered me to shun her on that very account; still I could not resist the temptation, and, after a half hour of indecision, I found myself at the door of the dancing-hall. I settled myself in a seat behind the door, or partly so, and, glancing across the room, beheld Laura sitting with her aunt, and listening with downcast eyes and happy, happy smiles to the platitude of Frank, who stood bending over her and whispering, fairly whispering, in her ear. They made a fine picture thus together, the handsome features of both enhanced by the excitement, and perhaps by the subject they were talking about, and for the first time in my life, for the first time in all the years I had known him, I felt that I hated Frank Harley. Hated him, not with a mean, pitiful spite which would wear itself out, but with the deep, undying hatred of a man who has been attacked and worsted in that which he holds most dear. Yes, there was the sting! I was worsted. If I had felt that he and 1 stood on equal grounds, as we did when we were boys, I could have fought the battle bravely, and if vanquished have succumbed; but to feel that he had conquered without even having so much as made an eflort to obtain the prize which now lay quietly with- in his grasp ! Why, why had he the advan- tage of me in every particular? And yet I -no, Laura Asheton was not a imercenary girl-perhaps if she had been it would have been better for my peace of mind; for I would have loved her less for that defect. My mind was diverted from the scene which was passing before inc by hearing my name pronounced repeatedly quite close to ine-my name or Frank's, I knew not which. But how did you find out he was so rich, mon cher?" asked the younger French lady of their male companion ; for it was he who had pronounced the name of Iarley. "Everybody says he's worth more than a million of dollars. Dollars ! (10 you under- stand ; not francs." "Ah, mon Die!" exclaimed the lady, with page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. a little scream of delighted surprise; " intro- duce him at once, cher ami." This little conversation was carried on in French, and I presume that, even if they saw me, they deemed me far too unlettered to understand their courtly language. My surprise at the disclosure of Frank's sud- den accession to fortune was enhanced- by seeing that gentleman himself approach, and, after introduction by the Frenchman, he be- gan paying the most false, most shallow, most egregious compliments to Madame de Vir- on which it ever ceuld have been that lady's lot to listen to. Disgusted at his in- sincerity, I left my retreat and went across to Laura. I observed that she refused all invitations to dance now, and I therefore deemed the moment a fit one for a tete-a-tete. "You are-not dancing, Laura ?" I said, interrogatively. "No," she answered, " I don't feel much like it; but what good genius brings you in such a scene as this, Francis ?" "4The same who I hope will accompany me but of it. Will you go back on the piazza with me, Laura?" She gathered up a large shawl or cloak which was hanging on the chair behind her, and casting it over her shoulders formed an admirable relief of dark blue to the delicate tinting of her face and hair. She- took my arm with perfect freedom, and, when answer- ing my questions, looked into my face with a guileless; indifferent expression, which was greatly in contrast to the trepidation and fluttering she had displayed when Frank spoke to her. "Laura," I said, walking with her quite out of earshot of others who were engaged in the same pursuit, "1 this is rather an unto- ward place for a serious conversation; yet circumstances which have lately transpired force me, as it were, to have an immediate explanation with you." "Dear me, Francis, what a portentous tone. What has happened to you." "1There has happened to me the greatest misfortune which it has yet been my unhappy lot to sustain." " Oh, Francis ! my dear, dear Francis! bow sorry I am for it! What is it? What can it be? " She accompanied her endearing words by a look so full of sweetness and sincerity that, coupled with her angelic beauty, I forgot all I had previously seen, and in a moment 'of idiocy fancied that perhaps, after all, she did love me. "'Laura," I exclaimed wildly, ",can you, do you, love me ?" "Love you, Francis? you know I do. If you were my own brother I could not love you better." " But only as a brother, Laura? Only as a brother'?" " Of course, Francis, as nothing else." "Not as a husband, Laura? Tell me- speak quickly !" _ "No, oh! no, Francis, that could never be'!" " And why not-why ? " " Because I love somebody else. if you must know the truth." And that somebody is-" Frank Harley." A groan burst from my lips. 0, Heaven ! must this man stand ever between my best hopes and their fulfilment? If he had rob- bed rue of anything but her-her whom I had loved so long, so wildly. "i Laura," I said, with an effort to be calm, "listen to reason. Do not be insane in this. Frank is not worthy of your love. Oh! I am not pleading for myself now, but for you; your happiness. He does not love you." He does, sir. He swore it to me to- night, there in the ball-room." My head fairly swam at this evidence of his hypocrisy. 1, who had but now listened to his avowals to Madame de Viron, was half bewildered at seeing this pure girl so firmly convinced of his love for herself. And he, the man, what did he deserve? Naught but contempt-he was unworthy re- venge. "Oh, Laura, be warned !" I exclaimed; " how I could undeceive you in regard to that man if I chose." " In doing so you would- betray your cous- in's confidence, for which you would meet with his anger and my lack of esteem. Good night, Francis." She left me and joined her aunt, and I rushed up to my room, where I remained a close prisoner for a week. My servant, used to my vagaries; refused admittance to all, even to Frank, above all to Frank, and I had no opportunity of watching his pro- gress. either with L'ura or Madame de Vi- ron ; but I cherished in my heart such a ha- tred for him, for his fickleness, his fi'ivolity, that 1 dreaded to meet him, fearing that, in the excess of my rage. I- would do hirm an injury-him, the only living thing on earth in whose veins coursed kindred blood. Sorry to disturb you, sir; but there are two ladies, standing outside who wish to speak to you," said my servant, in a low tone, fearing to disturbb my reveries. " Who are they, Williams? " I asked. Mrs. Warner and Miss Laura, sir." My first impulse was to start and rush to them ; my next, to falter like a man who had committed some crime which in a mo- ment of weakness ie has confessed, and now stands convicted of.. I managed, however, to open the door; and there saw them dress- ed in travelling costume, evidently on the eve of departure. " We couldn't go -away without wishing you good-bye, Francis," said Mrs. Warner, holding out her hard to me-. "Are you leaving Saratoga?" I asked feebly. " Yes, by the next train ; and if we don't hurry we shan't catch it. Come, now, say good-bye to Laura." All my old love returned with redoubled ardor at sight of her, and with it something of my old strength. May I speak with you for a moment ? I inquired-" only for a moment, but pri- vately ?" " Oh, yes indeed, F'rancis," she answered. I've been so unhappy thinking you were -angry at nre." Great Heaven ! was the girl mad to keep saying such things, which, while meaning nothing, on her part, totally unmanned me? She withdrew with me to the emrnlrasure of a window, and there I asked her blutly, with- out a word of preparation or apology for my brusqueness, whether she still loved Frank. " Yes," she replied, " more than ever." I groundil y teeth in an agony of disap- pointed love ; and yet what else could I cx- pect? " And you think ie loves you ?" " I ascertain of it." "'Laura A.;fbeton, answer me one question more. Are yorn unler air engagement of mra r'riage to my~ (cousirn ?" y Not a positive (r defirite one, but one that is unrder'stood. Fr ank is poor; so am 1 - before lie can inrarry he must contrive to obtain a position of some sort." Thank God, there xxas this imepedimrenrt in their way. I rebelled in the thought that I, Nu i h one stroke of my pen, coubl make the happiness of both these people-orre of whoi I loved, the other whom I hated. I wouli enrich Frank, I thought, and thus at least obtain hier gratitude. No, no, I could not sell magnainrty even for such a price. I heard irmy cousin's voice on the stairs, and -knew that he was coming to bid them make haste ; so, not caring to niwe(t him, I cast a parting look at Laura and entered my room, shutting themn and hini out. Would that I could hive barred the door to my own weary- ing wearing thoughts as well In the evening, on returning to my apart- ment, to my anger and surprise I found rmy 'ousin installed there-awaiting lie. Francis," ie begah, in a would-be sweet tone, " I have been cut to the heart by vour treatment of ine lately ; I have, indeed. I have done nothing to merit it; I haven't, really. I never was soi sorry for anythring in inmy life as I anm by your giving rme the cold shrorrlder in this manner." "What do you want of me?" I asked sullenly, rightly divining that that was th cause of all this won(lerful affect ior\. Francis, don't talk in that sharp tonue it's not a bit li ke yorur' usual (rue. You know, Franceis, ill or wvell, I have always renrainedt with 'yoo, for rio reason err heart1 except that you're r thre nicest fellow-" ."What do you want of inc ? " I r'eitta- el still more savargelv ; for the hollow imalskr hauldi' dropped from his lace now, anl I ax w the fawinig, sycophantic features in their true hideousniess. '' I hate tuo ask you, for you lave ul nays been so very liberal with mie ; but the firact I'm going to be omnrried,-and if' xyou uwuduld just give ie the- to e. u-rnsrgritaurt u iu of fie thousanl dollars, I would lm x .r \n and teach ru x'chiiren to revere theoo' b eth tomr ot' their irtber." Ilis children-Laura Asheton's 'hilr'n! and I the poor tool that must mnu'eels furniish the means" for the marriage I It was to inmlh to bear. The roorms' s:1n ilonodulif, mIy eyes seemd iij'ted with blood. Thell was a struggle betweur uus; for I fll _nulixy upon lmu, and all I remeibe'irnow'x' is hi,, poltroon like, 1befoet hi'e was tonbedl , c"0 u - paratively spleakinug, he cei '" elhicIt"' ::111 slunk away. I t't''rmlined to h-ave the place the very next day, anid baith' rmy s('un - ant prepare for ' departure. As nra b' hr it posel, I saw nothing of 'r:it, lull just h fore the hour of closing I presented Ilmil'it' at thre. rin'ipal bank of the town maxx'nr ;l lor- ed iun one of miy cheeks for a tritlin'" suo- just enough to pay the bill at ithll hot{l and leave a surplus for travelling e'xpIns'S. Moire)' goes fast, sir', at Saat oga," said the cashier opening his eyes vwid hrwher Ihe saw miy check. " Yes,'' I Ianswered, wonuerinrg what it wI' to himi, iunt nt wishing to re rude. " Get that yfixe thousand dollars all right this morning, sir? " int'?' ired the eisrhuci'. 1 gave : stare of surprise l;out, ' mbc tr- ing that in other instances than cast ,ut' 'ien' hodilydangh r prsenuct of' iunud is i rethi'i, I said- " id yu cahlr a check of rmine u6r ,00 this miorrninrg ?" "-Yes, si'. It was yor sigut re ; 111 right, you know. Your' cousn1tin'ew th m1oney'." " Let mte S1 tie cheek," I sid. Ile had no ditlicuilty in tinrdinkg it, :1nid I saw at a glance that the signatulre was a trg ' , execute tx' by my eonursii iFrank. I 'areud rut t 'rustling of' the w ml 'n d for the urn' o u yr;i ;u' 1 t III( worst part of m ryat nan''re ht:l heni (t rnnat ever snice ouri' st r1ug l' on'fI t iof t it t itt r and a xn iekhed joyl' took lossessiotn of ri:' n I r'ele'te d thrat I hb ll lmI hrrol b t hahi would separate fhhnir ete'ra:lly fu rm h w mn to uwhr, I fnld, I 1uatha a n: by reasonof mii' mmlut inrg coinst uta x to fuh I would take tins dfreuruicurnt, 'li t aloudn as a for'gen' ;p'1r'ive "'rk of tIt' e lilbei'tyl ire xxais now rt'vlling iM. irrI thun itriuuphll. Who c'o'ould ntell wthxlerm'rijur hi;u-' for ' hhIuu laura mnigiht nut tIt'o me 11'. rnr am rry fr t ' e f in ' nlo' frit; In 'r s nt hlp Ithem'. a till' I'd' ti thre dings otf h thre past. Whoiu amronga Is firs iot had lhi wickd nmomrents?2 JOh N MC)RRIS'S MONEY. ,l page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 JOHN 11ORRIS'S MONEY. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. " I want you to give me this check," I said: "please balance my account and let me have it." The man made no objection to this, and in a short time handed me my bank book, with the cancelled checks. I walked away triumphantly, with the con- victing document in my pocket, vowing in- wardly that through it I would be revenged on Frank Harley. At the ladies' entrance of the hotel I met the mother of Madame de Viron. She was weeping bitterly, and it was some time before I could comprehend the cause of her grief. At last it came out out. Frank Harley and Madame de Viron bad eloped together ! They had last been seen together in a carriage after Frank's re- turn from the bank, and nothing further had transpired in 'egard to them, although many' hours had since elapsed. I was bewildered-perfectly thunderstruck ! Had I known that it was the French woman he wanted to marry I would have given him double the money he asked for-aye, triple its amount. " Americans are honorable, are they not?" asked the mother; "6he will marry her?" " I don't doubt it," I replied. While we were yet speaking there arrived a telegram for Madame de Monsel. It was from her daughter, announcing that the mar- riage ceremony had just been performed, and begging forgiveness for their cavalier style of leave taking. Ah, thank Heaven !" sighed the lady, " how glad I am it has turned out so. I as- sure you she loves him truly. It was not his immense wealth that dazzled her-indeed it was not." " I should think not," said a lady near, who knew all about our family, and had known us personally for some time; " she must have been dazzled by very little if that was the case. Why, do you mean to say that your daughter didn't know that Frank Harley hasn't a penny ?" " What!" screamed the old French lady; "do you mean to say that Francis Harley isn't a millionaire ?" "So he is, madame-this Francis Harley -but his scapegrace cousin hasn't a penny to bless himself with." Another shriek from the French lady, salts produced, handkerchiefs in demand, and I left. I had had scarcely time yet to realize all that had passed. There was much bitterness in the news to me; there was sorrow for Laura when she should hear it. But one good cane of the e%.il in it all-the mad, blind fury, the beast-like rage had passed away, and there remained nothing in my heart against him but pity for his fault, pain for his position. I had vowed to have revenge through the forged check-I would take it now. I enclosed it and another for a like amo' nt in a letter of congratulation to Frank and wishes for his happiness. I knew little then of what I learnt afterwards. By the Lord, Harley !" said my friend Stevenson, whom I met in Broadway shortly after this occurrence, " this- is a jolly dis- graceful affair Frank's got himself into." " What affair?" said I, fearing a repeti- tion of the check business. " What affair? Why, marrying that in- famous Anette." " Who's Anette ? " I asked, wonderingly- "Why, that French woman, Anita, alias La Precieuse, alias Madame de Viron, alias- ".Stop! stop!" said I; "that will do." I wished not to hear the details of her life. I knew by this description that disgrace of' the blackest kind was entailed upon the name. Laura took the news very quietly. She said that her love had been rooted out sur- prisingly, and instantly on hearing of his marriage, leaving no lingering pang to cast a blight on her youthful pathway. I never spoke to her of the check. . I hardly dare tell the rest;. for I have shown myself such a passionate, unthinking, unreasonable man that I fear 'twill jeopar- dize Laura's good taste when I say that by- and-by she bestowed on me the love I had coveted so long. She found out, through no indiscretion of mine, all about her real posi- tion in a financial sense, and gratitude caused her to entertain a warmer feeling than friend- ship for me. She tells me that perhaps this feeling is not that blind, uncertain affection she once entertained for Frank, but 'tis a- flame which will still be burning brightly when the ashes of the other have lain smoul- dering for years. I heard from Frank three months after his arrival in Paris (for they sailed for Europe immediately after their marriage.) Soon discovering what his wife was, he left her, not until she had avowed to-him that it had been a settled plan between herself; the wo- man who personated her mother, and the man, to go to the United States and entrap some rich American into marrying her. The similarity of names between him and myself caused the mistake, and, finding that he was not the millionaire, she was as happy to be rid of him as he was glad to have no more to do with her. With the little that remained of the five thousand dollars I had sent him, he was on the point of sailing for Australia, where a lucrative situation had been offered him. He sent his love to Laura, and trusted that she still bore in mind the pleasant though "limited flirtation " which they had had at Saratoga. We went there againthis year-for all those events occurred in '65. We occupied, as 1 had before, the Ambassador's su-el of rooms, andI found again the identical clerk, clad as before in spotless duck, and looking ruddily happy from over thme bosom of his elaborate shirt. His worldly fortune, too, was evident- ly in a more flourishing state than before; for now he wore a diamond cluster ring, where of yore he wore one which we will say was gold, the device ,of which was a large shield whereon might be read the touching announcement that it was given by "P. B. T. to F. A. W." He jocosely in- sisted on our having the bridal chamber; but Laura shrank from the notice which that would entail. She had her wish in that, as she has in all things, and as she shall have as long as I have an arm to wield in herde- fence, gold to humor her fancies, and life breath to give power and animation to the heart whose every throb beats responsive to her own. VIII. CONTAINING GOOD NEWS FOR ALL, ESPE- CIALLY FOR THE READER, AS IT IS THE END. THE recital of this story had only brought me to the end of the fourth evening of the Christmas week. But-I was not destined to continue my pleasant task. On the fifth day Aunt Julia was taken down with a high fever, and when we sent for Doctor Dos'em, he shook his head gravely, and said there was little to be done. It is but justice to him to say that lie did little enough. John was dis. satisfied with him, and sent for another doc- tor who lived in one of the finest streets in town and charged a dollar a minute for his time. He was more expensive, but not less unsatisfactory than Doctor Dos'emn. "6You see," said he with a choice of lan- guage which sounded anything but choice- to ime at least, "1 Nature, in this female, is about gone under. What can waterier med- iker do agaynst a gin' out nature ? If you're brought this woman to me about twenty-five years ago, when she had a certain amount of vytality in her, you'd seen what I'd a' done then, mighty (quick ! As it is, however, that prescription will calm her nerves-keep down what we call hysterier-and--(five dollars first visit, yes sir)-if she gets worse, you might send for ime, though I think I shall go out of town to-morrow." We tried another and another. Really con- scientious men these, whose practice lay among people who had nothing to say about any subject but the one of' the illness which had visited a member of their flock, and whose at- tention was perforce centered on the patient. All to no avail, The service-bells ushered ini the Chiristmii morn, and from the little chiurichi across the way we heard thme people singing loud an- thems of joy for the birth of the son of God. We sat by Auntie's bedside--John and I- holding her veinous hands, our two chil- dren down stairs kindly cared for by a neighbor from the corner. Our little girl plead staunchly to stay near Aunt Julia. But our irresponsible baby Johnnie, only a few months old, screamed and kicked and was naughty generally ; so both children had to go. At noon, the sun rose gloriously in the heavens, and the bells pealed out gladly again, and the happy-hearted stream of joy- ous humanity emerged from the church and had pleasant thoughts, in which perhaps the knowledge of a turkey at dinner was not the least consoling, especially as phun-pudding generally formed an adjunct, and fiery "snap- dragon " gleamed in advance before juvenile and scholastic eyes. A little equestrian statuette of Godfrey de Bouillon, which John gave me in the first year of our marriage, stood on our mantlepiece, and, though it was so familiar to me that for months I had scarcely turned my eyes toward it, on this day I fixed my gaze upon it steadfastly, and it impressed me strangely. They tell me (for I have it still) that it is a copy of a life- size one which adorns a public square in Brus- sels. It must be worth crossing the Atlantic to see. The air of fervent piety, valor an(d devotion stamped on these features most adl- mirahly indicate the character of the heroic conqueror of Jerusalemu, who meekly refused to wear a crown of gold in the city where his Redeemer had borne a crown of thorns. Feebler and feebler grows Aunt Julia's pulse. Fainter and fainter is heard the breathing of our patient. ''Oh ! my aunt, can 1 dho nothing for you? " moans my John, burying his head beside hers on tie pillow. Nothing, my boy. It is almost over. Did you not hear what the doctors said ? Nature is tired in mie and must rest. More than that, it must finish. The works are broken, my children-the clockk must stop." John sobs loud and heart-rendimg. '1hue silent teas course down my cheeks and bedew her thin, white hands, while the watch ticks with oinconcerned precision on the table beside her'bed, marking the time for Aunt Julia to die. " God bless you all ! " she whispers. "' Ieo will care for me. lie whose birthday this is, I mean. Kiss the (children for me ; and tell Ambrose and JosephI forgave them for turning their backs, and refusing to shelter the poor old woman ; lbmt," and a faint smile played on her lips, '' I think they will be sorry." The moon rose again in its cohl beauty, .throwing once more its mvtcrioums steel-blime rays on the pure snow of theo buse and tree- tops, amd on its hlackemed an :mmmldefiled ] sister of time street. Thme e'lildre'm were ini lbed homers ago, amid now fast aslee'p, nd thme kimid neighbor from thme corner' 1had long page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 JOHN MORRIS' MONEY. since gone home ; and just as the ticking " craft's," machinery, or the hope of being of the never-tiring watch pointed with its able to better her "bild ; " and when our slender hands to midnight, and the clock in boy Johnnie grew up a little, and began to the church-steeple opposite proclaimed that develop characteristics of his own, what chan- hour to those who, sleepless, heard it, I nel do you think his tastes ran in? The raieed myself noiselessly and peering into channel of the sea, dears, the channel of the Aunty's face, saw that at that moment, too, sea ! the suffering of her physical frame was over, Then-on his pretty little bed-room wall, all and the tired spirit at rest. hung with white paper, and on his slate, and John had to be kissed continuously for the everywhere where it would receive the in- space of three years ! I think I told you of procession, le drew ships and ships, and then this little peculiarity of his. Whenever any, again ships and ships, and still more ships sorrow or grief fill upon him the entire and ships, and after that ships out of all available force of his household had to fall whooping. Ships, with hulls and bottoms, upon him as well, soothing his spirit with and spars, and sternsons and stemsons, and consoling kisses. Our little girl who had much more beside. And finally, one day lie had five years' apprenticeship was quite an marched in to the drawing-room where adept ; but, little Johnnie, who understood John and I were sitting, and said " Father I nothing about it, and evidently considered want a ship of my own. Buy me a yacht, caresses bestowed upon his bald head a will von " great infringement of personal dignity, be- ' - " Buy you one ! " says John pulling the haved, I ama sorry to say, in the most re- pretty lad of fourteen down on to his knees. fractorv and undutiful manner to his father, ' Kiss ie, my boy. I'll build youone. Yes even going so far as to remove his tiny knit- sir, build it.' What do you think of that? ted sock from his rosy foot, casting it unfil- We'll build . it together -- you and J. I'll ally in Papa's face, seeming to say "There's teach you how. I'll show you what a fine my gauntlet, and down I fling it ! Pick it up workman I was, when I first married that if you dare." good flit lady-your mother-there (kiss me And now comes the most astounding part Nell), and what sort of jobs I used to turn of all, It took me exactly six months to out before you were born, sir - born, or believe it so I can't expect you'll take it in thought of." (as it were) all at once What do you " Oh, father, how good you are . " says think came out after Aunty's death ? That the boy, twining his arms about his father's she had left a fortune-an immense fortune, neck, much as I used to (do in years gone vhili her husband had made in 'California, by. (I do it yet when we're alone, but I'm and which she had increased nearly three- such an unromantic figure now, girls, I don't 1611 by judicious and happy speculations ; much like to talk aboutit.) and this fortune-this large fortune, maul- " Good ! " says John. " Nonsense, Sir tiplying into the hundred-thousands, she kiss me, sir! I'm not good. I'm a brute to had willed unconditionally and unreservedly, you. And I don't love you not a bit-oh the very day she received our letter, " to her no ! and I'm not at all proud of you for be- dear nephew, John Morris-minus one hun- ing your father's own son and showing ne dired thousand dollars to be by him bestowed that, like myself, you love a ship better than on Ellen Ann, his wife ! " your dimmer." Ah yes, to be sure, as you say ! It Well, if you'll believe me, these two crea- doesn't astonish you so much as it would if tures set to- work like two common journey- vou had known us under different circum.n- men and worked and toiled an dlthumped, stances. You have been so long accus- and came home at night looking like two tomned to hearing John spoken of as the tattered atid torn ragamiunlius, with appetites " rich Mr. Morris," and me as that ", wealthy like canmibals and sprits as high as high Mrs. Morris-not a bit proud," that you at could be, laughing g and roaring, and talkimig form little idea of the joy, tempered with about " afts " and '" sterns " and " hatch- tlankfLlness to God, dears, without whose ways," and " inislhiis,' until, if I hadn't grace riches amd worblly honors are as had the carriage the same as ever, and this nought, which milled our quiet household at house, you know, I -should really have-been this unexpected news. iik of my dear, temuptcd to believe that we hil got sudden- darling husband being relieved from the ly poor again and that John and our boy wearisome labor of the hammer and the were paid ship earpe'iters at so much a day mace ! Think of the first luxury of the --which "so much" was, alas ! so little then ! sweet far niente ! (I got that out of a book, I don't mmd it myself for l'm a sort of but I'know what it means) to a man who old-fashioned body ; hut our daughter, who is had toiled with body and miind, day in and four years older than her brother niid conse- day out, almost from childhood ! qiuently jusmt of thme age for "' society,"-she Blut, dear moe ! all his riches couldn't take said she really/ felt ashamed about it, andI away h is 01(1 love for ships. All the poli-- she dimd wvonde(r wvhat time hlighns must think tics'ini the wvorld1 did nmot interest him one when they saw Mr. Morris amid his son comn- third so munch as a new invention in a Hug home like two laborers from work!I JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. But when the yacht was finished, and we all place, John has given mlse a co f o took a sail in i, and pronounced her motion c'imed om timte gpier, ard cip ofii, mb delightful (though I was as sea-sick as possi- -l ited papmr, ai gold, and ble. but smiled grimly at John and let himgrtm t wierySati moroco a , withe believe I was ejoving it inmmuensely) then place-and '1i1-girlm, everybody agreed, even our girl, that it was s de persists in cmaimig tmlmi), e mrimrs'j by very pleasant to have a private yacht, espec- herself.AuthnJolin ), 'siesed sc-d his ially one that one's private feather had lub- fthmr nearly wild with glee. It isa.s his licly built. ery w dtih ge . is aa little -but. pn yorlltistinsip, fully immamned (of, course not wom:nw; Buit, up1on my tr orti, all this fmim'I've ))elmi our sex is too liuiiuuipom'taimt forl that ), which so occupied telling vou about other things toonnicahastawforthdaiai t),il mmmaih hmtwhich that Pve never said a word in regard to thIe ed amd ba lertd and mfiumlei maT wit hieis stories. Well, John published them. Yes, own h l-a sunn redise fnayis ithem' ibt published them, at his own expense. All the ostensibly -a (supis gfor ha' e I' publishes refused them, Ivith deep and heart- tend to 1), vastly h astl, amid iif reu I pm. rending thanks for our having presented the But ho wlitv skylitthle thin is tle m e MSS. to them. They said they were every- to stal on the taleor thun ls t mde thing in the world except-somethinig whit-h "c keeim gon the'b ovr themm;mi i they ommght to be.- But when John said he sidt', is mo"e than I km"ow" " " would pay adl the C1 expese him1self-ohda el ( oeta Ik~r!Unti my11- ,&M~ vomt} 'al i xeio i tfor dear ! tellIs inelie will sock it ini mmdmik, tim' ill k it, that was a different matter. Then anybothy in a sock-I fluyit whic i'hm a d imk odo it would have published them, from Mtessr's' tion wmimh twillsmakeitstoaimmitmlii h"ter- Big-Bug andl Co., No. 2, Book-Publishers .hich 1 shall mie1tilgratefaupl Square, down to In-Significant Brothers in T' u a t Tumppeniy street. -"' hehil th-lu s ammi Immiinii John says they look beautiful in print-mv their newly- stories do ; but t hat's only his flattery I know casts ftisem shadow . Omi hmrfi fi I can scarcely hope that you think so, too, walls, auths,JohthemmdrI,mlmu bwolmrm Come now, one word-tdo vomi 9 You can't sit iiistm and it mandii o bi, believe what pleasure it would give me if I We scarcely spakd it' pWimn. Juhi thought you liked them. It's all very well low voices psaks ne wlid.iii mi in amloh for one's husbadil, or one's wife, or one's leet ivel-t' is a l hl a d og- children, or one's parents, to think well of sh-solovinghy !---ou:i ndy wit6hm i smimitly, their relative as an author, lmtfhe true m ox And thus, slowlyI-it smilemii 1mmighim in''ehs Dei for is, as well as for those who trust to ipo s ms wl bt d liiss im 'sai re e y the elective, deia's, is the mighty voice of the diaI whom; kmmmtemida bliile wit thii people alone.io i'my .' m mnid w , lnhi mistm Ald here another year has passed away, ver-liit tin' ghiiim1imismit h ht hit'5 ad Christmas come once muore. Sweet Str - aii t'emimi beautiful day, fraught with holy, tender aniford d stowi imi huni m omit hein touebing memories for every sinnaier saved coe de m- atthev through'Icortm-.ian'dmpeace and love for em-ch tomr, through Ilium).mammi for amhl mmmia oum' Imint hre'm'm-mmm ( 'hiistmi ms, I have had lots of presents. In the first and n o ah days-now aid fore'vr me THlE END. a)-o n oee oe page: 56-57 (Advertisement) [View Page 56-57 (Advertisement) ] Price ' Cents. OLIVE LOGAN'S NEW CHRISTMAS STORY. JOHN MORRIS'S MONEY. I. INTRODUCTORY AND EXPLANATORY, AND THERF!;OR"s PERHAPS, BET- TER SKIPPED. II. ADOUT SOMETHING. III. ABOUT SOMETHING .ELSE, IV. ABOUT - NOTHING. V. ABOUT NOTHING--SHORTER., VI. SLIGHTLY SENSATIONAL. VII. SOMEWHAT RELATIONAL. VIII.. CONTAINING GOOD NEWS FOR ALL, ESPECIALLY FOR THE READER, AS IT IS T:n: END. NEW 'YORK: THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, 119 & 121 NASSAU STREET. 1867. I'