Mardi Gras
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]C, BY TIM LINKINWA TE R. COPYRIGHT SECURED. NEW ORLEANS: P- F. GOGAR~TY, PUBLISHER, 151 CAMP STREET. 18v"/1. ei SaltZo in4' 2llun1 YZimeg. page: Advertisement[View Page Advertisement] PATENT ARTIF1~IAL LII~ AND ARIYL8 WiARR&!~1TED( FOA~ F1~V~ YI~AR~ 578~Magazine street,-578 A. McDermott, Manufacturer, NEAR ST. ANDREW STREET, NEW OIRLEANS. 59 CAMP STREET, Now OrleanI3, La. )JRTJGGIST AJSFD OTI~3EO~A~R~ CORNER MAIN AND OHARTRE~ ~TRIEETh, NEW ORLEANS, Sole Proprietor, Manufacture] and Agent for the following justly celebrated Remedies The Wai'ata Guaco Bitters is a good tAnic and stomachic, composed entirely of the vegetable substance of Guaco. Being very agreeable to the taste, it can be taken by the most delicate peison~- It rids the system ot all impurities and proniotes health and ~ igoi. 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ALSO, A New Preserver for all I~inds of Fever. *r~i ~ ISIDOR ASCRAFFENBURO, cii APJ!~ 0 IYEALRIi IN ~ BOOTS, SHOES ANB BROCTA~S, No. E~37 Magazine Street, (YEAh JACKSON,) TIEW ORLEANS, LA. -4 ~ 4- Corner St. Andrew & lYlagazine sts. Finest an4 cheapest stock of Slices in the City Ii. 5. CAYLAT. J. FLYNN. CAYLAT .& FLYNN, CASH DEALERS IN A~I~ D~$TL~ BY TIM. LINXINWATER. CHAPTER I. "We will thank Heaven And then we'll see maskery." In Catholic countries the Carnival time, es- pecially the week immediately preceding the advent of Lent, is devoted to Social enjoyments -balls, parties, theatres and the like enter- tainments are indulged in by almost the entire population. it comes in the early spring of the year, and the pleasures of the winter season are now brought to a brilliant termination, preparatory to the commencement of that sea- son of austerity, observed by the "children of the Churcl~ ~ as a reminder of their own weak- ness, and to bring them to a proper feeling of humility in contemplating the life and suffer- ings of H~mn~ who assumed our weak humanity, who fasted and was sorely tempted, that we, through his example, might gather strength to pass through the troubles and cares of this world with a fortitude and resignation worthy of His name. In no oth~r part 9f our own country, are the ceremonies of the Carnival so well observed and heartily enjoyed as in New Orleans, where a large majority of the people are of the Ca- tholic faith and where there is also yet a very strong element of the French or "Credo" in the population, who have given to the place many of the customs of the mother country, customs which their fellow citizens of other nationalities are not slow in imitating, or im- proving upon, and fully enjoy. Mardi Gras, a French term sign Fat Tuesday, is the last day of the season of pleas- ure, and is always marked by the wildest scenes of gaiety, and is given over to amuse- ment by almost the entire population of the Crescent City. In the Church the day is known as Shrove Tuesday, being the day on which, in olden time, the faithful were wont to wake their shrift, preparatory to "receiving the ashes" on the following day, Ash Wednesday, thus entering the season of fasting and prayer with propc~ humility and devotion. In a quie~ cottage, in what was then the "far up to n" district of New Orleans, many years ago, ~lr. George Macourty resided. A neat open fence enclosed the front of the grounds, though which the passer-by was tempted to pause and look at the graveled walks boarded with beds of violets, with a col- lection of choice roses, the beautiful camelia, and fragrant magnolia. A few feet retired from the street, with a small grass plot inter- vening, was the house, with a wide gallery in front ~nd along the side. There was not only an air of quiet comfort about the place, but a degree of beauty and elegance that gave evi- dence that the owner was on the road to op- pulence and wealth. George Macourty was a commission ruer- chant, whose principal correspondents were English, from whom he received large consign- ments of ale, porter, whiskey and other ar- ticles of foreign make in that line of trade. He had now been established for himself about five years, his predecessor having retired from business just before the crash of '37. Mr. Macourty was a young man, of medium height, with light hair, and an open, good na- tured countenance. A man of good education, business talents of a high order, and a private character of honor and integrity, he was al-, MARDI GRAS; A. TALE OF AJ~TTE BELLT~.T2~ TIM2E~S. page: 4-5[View Page 4-5] 4 JIJA1?I)J ready considered one of the most prominent citizens of the place. H~s wife, see Cecelia Mary Christie, a native of the north of Ireland, was a lady of superior education, brilliant ac- complishments, and refined tastes. She was taif and dignified in appearance, with large, bright, black eyes, an abundance of glossy hair, black as the raven's wing, and a face that was full of intelligence and radiant with rare beauty. Th~y were devotedly attached to each other, and were loved and respected by a large circle dif friends. During the morning meal Mr. Ma- courty was persuading his wife to attend the Mardi Gras ball, to which she half consented. After breakfast she accompanied her hus- band as usual to the front gallery, to say good bye to him when he was leaving for the day's business. As they stood there he said; "Well, Cecelia, 1 think you had better go. It will be a splendid ball, McDonald and his wife, MacVain, even old Mr. Cummings will be there, and I know you will enjoy it." "But the baby, George? I think you forget her." "No indeed, I do not," he replied smiling, "but stirely Aunt Lott4r ca~.i look after her." "Just as you like, my dear," his wife re- plied, "I know Lotty ~Yill take good care of her." The patter of little feet wa~ heard behind them, and a bright little child of two years ran from the side gallery and with a cry of joy caught her father's hand. "Papa go? Papa store? Ceely go I" said the child. "Kiss papa, good bye," he said, bending over her, and putting back the long, hiringg curls that half hid her bright, animated face, while the child, with a merry laugh, turned her rosy lips to him. "Kiss mamma-kiss Ceely," said the child, and he playfully obeyed. "You will go to-night, Cecelia ?" "Yes, dear." "I will not come home until six," he said "and then I will not go back in the evening but we will get ready for the ball." As he turned to go, a gentleman passing by with a polite bow and friendly smile, said "Good~morning." lie was a tall man, witl broad shoulders, a full, well developed chest and limbs in such J)erfect proportion as mad~ him an observed and admired figure. his hair (IJL4S; __________ closely trimmed, was of so (lark a red that in these days of polite description it would be called auburn. his face was full, with high cheek bones, while a smile that lingered around his closed mouth was a mixture of good nature and sarcasm, leaving the beholder in doubt whether to encourage or avoid the acquaintance. Such was Percy MacVain, a man of wealth and education, a native of ire- hind, who since his business l,,id ~allcd him to New Orle~n~ had been one of the leaders in social as wefi as commercial affairs. "Why, Mac, what are you doing up here I" ~~id Macourty, "conic in, conic in, I'm glad to~ see you." "Thank you, George," said the other, as he walked up to the gallery. "how are yell, Mrs. Macourty? and how's my sweet-heart ~" he said, stooping to kiss the baby. "how do you do, darling?" "Ceely's well," the child replied. "1 was just looking around this morning& 0~ said MacVain, when the other had answered his salutations. "I think it would be a good idea to buy some property in this neigl~bor- hood-I mean it would be a good investment." "Not only that," replied Macourty, "but it will be a good place for a future residence." "Au old bachelor," said MacVain, the smile deepening on his face, "has no nie for any such provision." "You are claiming to be an old bachelor too soon," Mrs. Macourty said good naturedly, "in the old eo!mutry a man of thirty like you, is only a right smart lad." "Well, if I am not an ohP bachelor now, I soon will be," he replied, "especially in this country. But I must be getting down town, although as this is Mardi Gras day, I suppose there will be little business doing. Do you. go to the ball to-night I" "I think we will go," replied Macourty, as he repeated his good byes to his wife and baby, and prepared to accompany his friend to the business part of the city. During the day there were a large number of people walking the street in mask, but the greater portion of them mere young men or boys. These generally carried bags of flour, from which 'they sprinkled the passers by, without much respect for persons. In the afternoon Mrs. Macourty took a seat ~ on the front gallery, watching the few mask. ers, who strayed away from the principal part I A TALE OF ANIlE DELL UM [hALES. 5 of the city~and passed her residence. Her little "Pehaw! none of your low superstitions," child played on the gravel walks near her, cried the man, "take the boat to -night, go at sometimes running to her with little shells to once to New York and locate near the city. claim her admiration, and again shouting in You know the country well and there can be glee at the characters in costume that went no danger~" along. Anindian chief, in war paint, with "I will obey your instructions, "was the curt an imniense plume of eagle feather~, passed reply. along, but his war whoop was not as good as "It is well," he replied. "You are not known his disguise, and failed to Create terror in the in this part of the country and can never be hearts of the hearers. Two or three cavaliers, suspected. Change the child's dre~s, give me booted and spurred, with gay colored mantles the one she has on, and I will cause it to be and plumed hats, came next. With these the placed somewhere, that will mislead the;n." baby was greatly pleased, calling to her The child cricd and resisted,, but the change mother, "see, mamma, oh-pretty." After was soon made, and she was again assured that these came a courtier of some oh~en court, with she would soon see hei~ papa. a cloak loosely thrown over his shoulders, and "These traps," said the man, laying aside a long sword carried at his side. There were the cloak and sword, "you can throw ir~ the numerous other characters, some on horse- river when you get well on your way. Write back, some in carriages, but most of them on and'kcep me informed of your movements and foot. To give direcUons in some household du- remember for your trouble you shall have ties Mrs. Macourty went into the house, leaving money enough to settle you for life." Look out her little daughter busy playing amon~s~ the and see if there is any one passing." 9 flowers. Scarcely had she closed the door be- "No, this is a lonely spot, and there is no one hind her when the courtier, with cloak and in sight." long sword, appeared at the gate, opened it "Good h~e. Take good care of the child and quickly advanced to the child: and let rue hear from you often." The car- "Oh! see, see the man 1" cried the child, not riage halted for a moment and Percy MacVain in the least frightened, stepped out and walked quickly away. "Ceely, come go get seine cakes," he said, The boat was ready to start, one plank had stooping over the child. Ills face was masked, been drawn in and the hands were at the oth- hut she recognized his vo:ee, and dropping the er when the carrii~ge drove up. Taking the shells and flowers from' her little hands, she child in her arms, closely muffled up, Sarah eagerly answered: hurried on hoard. followed by the negro driver "Ceelygo-get cakes-get mamma cake too." with the small trunk and packages that made "Yes, yes, darling," the man replied. Taking up her baggage. Ia a few minutes the steam- the little one in ~his arms he passed out of the boat backed out from the levee, and followed gate, and going down the street turned the by the loud cheers qf the crowd on the shore, hrst corner, where a carriage was waiting. was soon rapidly cutting th~ water on her trip Placing the child in a carriage beside a woman northward. Sarah sought a stateroom and closely veiled, the man entered it himself; and there remained with the kidnappe,~4 child. told the driver to move on. The carriage was "Where Ceely going i" asked the child driven rapidly away, turning many corners, through herstifled sobs, "where's mammal Ccc- and passing through side streets to avoid pur- ly go papa," and then she would break into an- suit, if aiiy should he attempted. other spell of bitter crying. Sarah used all "Where Ceely going-don't-let Ceely go," her persuasive powers to console the child but cried the child, in vain., "Go away, Ccely wants mamma. Go "There, don't cry, Ceely, we will go se~ pa- away, where's mamma," and thus the little girl pa," said the man, and then turning to the wo- scolded, cried and begged for deliverance, un- man he said, "you understand, Sarah, the child til her young nature was overcome by exertion must be well taken care of. Spare no money, and grief, and she sank to sleep on tl~e narrQw and it' your supply ever runs low let me know, berth of the steamboat. Through the long and more will be sent." night the baby sleptbut her rest was not traii- quil, the trouble that filled her little heart "i'll do what I can," replied the woman, "hut came forth in uneasy cries and smothered sobs I don't like it. There is trouble at the bottom." that at times convulsed her whole frame. page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] A TALL' OF ANfIB BELL UhIE TIMES. 6 3fAkDI (i1?AS; blot or stain to mar their escutcheon, should ehPd, he took the litti to distant friends that they too might reject an offer of marriage from me, whose it to Mrs. Macourty, ~ CHAPTER II. their aid. Her household duties occupied but a few minutes and then Mrs. Macourty returned' to Mr. Macourty came home, and offered such family iS as good and noble as her ownto marry with grief at the sight her seat on the front gallery, and called to her consolation to his wife as words could convey, with an American parvenu, whose very name she knew, that Cecelia little girl. As she received no answer, she As she was certain the front gate had been iiiarks him as of a mongrel race, the mixture was spirited away. Th of half-a-dozen fo"eio thought the child was busy with the shells closed all the time, the conviction came upon un bloods." that she must have bee and flowers and went to look for her. Not all minds that the child had been stolen, bat He sat doiVn beside the harp, and for a few after having been rol finding her she went into the kitchen and ask- for what purpose, or by whom, no one could moments ran over the strings with the magic touch of a master of the instrument, then push- Old Mr. Cummings ed Caroliue the cook if she had seen her. Be- imagine. coming auxious abo~i t the child, she called to In a handsome brick house, in the lower part ing it from him, he continued Ws walk. ~I've very active in all the struck her heart's core this time and although lost child. Phillip w Lotty, the nurse, a~d a reguh~r search was of the city, over the door of which was suspend- she will never know who has done ~t, I will minded boy, possession~ made, every corner was visited, rooms were ed the sign "Rooms to Let," Percy MacVain have my revenge in knowing that she has suf- years and often sugge ha thrown open and every one about the house d his apartments. The front room, or par- fered." taken, new places to be gave their assistance. Lotty ran into the br, was 'on the first floor and the windows Suddenly there came before his mind a V~5 efforts were vain, howe street, up down h square, asking of eve- opening on the street were shaded by hand- ion of the innocent babe thus rudely torn from found, farther than th and ~e a mother's arms, lie saw her sweet smile, nearly everybody belies ry body if tbey had seen the lost child. some lace curtains, supported by gilded cor- "What is the matter, aunt Lotty," nices. The floor was covered with rich ear- heard her merry laugh and remembered the little asked, a petting, two large easy chairs, four mahogany confidence with which she had come to him, boy of six or seven years, as th damask covered chairs, and a fine large sofa~ b~ welcomed him as a friend. Then he heard' came up to him. b'~b in baby , were distributed about the ro~in. Between l~er cries of distress, her pleading for release Two years passed b2 "Oh! Marser Phillip, my ~y - y -. the front windows there was a piano of the CHAPT] and her childish calls for the loved ones at thought that he might Oh! Marser Phillip de dear little angel! Miss latest pattern and beside it sat a harp, while honie. As these scenes grew more vivid, in Sarah Murrey, and ac Ceely !" cried the woman, wringing her hands. at one side of the room was placed an elegant spite of his efforts to drive them off, his anger whom he had gratified "What about her, aunt Lotty I" eagerly "~ sideboard, covered with silver-ware, goblets gave way, visious of his own childhood crowd- As the summer came uc quired the boy. and decanters of the richest styles of cut glass. ed in with them, he sank into an easy chair patient~ to make the prc "Oh! she's done gone, she's don gone! Namerou~3aintings, some of them choice copies and was soon lost in a deep reverie, in which had not made when on "Gone! where to, aunt Lotty?' exclaimed of the old masters, and fine engravings, adorn- feelings of regret, and the not entirely extin- for fear that something the boy. ed the walls, and a handsome timepiece, with guished sentiments of honor and manhood, tection. The cotton se "Oh! I dauno, she's gone," as the re- other ornaments filed the marble mantel-piece, took an important part. over and he resolved to P1Y The back r~om was the bed-room, and was fur- On the following day Mr. Macourty contin- so tbat his clerks could Mrs. Macourty by this time I ad satisfied rushed with the same style of comfort and ele- ned his sea~eh for his little daughter. Letters such business as requi herself that the child was not in ti e house and gance. with full descriptions of the child, the dress summer season. lie bac same out to where the nurse and hillip were "Well, it is done and an old grudge is repaid," and jewelry that she wore, were sent to the po- of late, many invitation standing. "Lotty, go down to your master s store, ~ said Percy, as he pnced~ through the parlor, lice and municipal anth9rities ofSt. Louis, Cm- had been neglected, the meditating on the events of the day. "The~re cinnati, New York, Boston and other important some to him and he ho~ said," and tell him we cannot find decelia. He will be no ball for he, ~ lie paused citiesand a large reward wa~ offered for her dis- of a fashionable tour we will know what it is best to do; hurry now, before the sideboard and taking up a decanter cover. A traveling show was performing in the self-possession and good my good girl, hurry." filled one the glasses with the lilaor it con- city at tue time, and Mrs. Macourty conceived ed along the street, a d "She must be near here," said Phillip, as the tamed. "As for Sally," he continued, "she is an idea that her child was there a prisoner, off the gloom that oppreu girl hurried away, "she could not go far." as true as steel. 11cr f5lks served in the family 11cr husband with the proper authorities call- his mind, and he resolved "I do not see how she got out of the front in the old country for generations and there ed on the showman, a very honest, good heart- it. He had received mar gate," said Mrs. Macourty, thoughtfully, more was not one amongst them more faithful than ed man, who listened to their story with sym- Mardi Gras entertainment to herself than to Phillip. Sally." lie took the glass and draining its pathy and readily gave his consent to have his which had been allowed "Perhaps she has been stolen," replied the ~outents said, "Here's health to thee, Cecelia, quarters searched, although he evid ently A'elt on his table. The most 1 boy. and sweet dreams for thy companions in this grieved at the doubt thus throiva upon him, been given l'y Mrs. Robc "Ohm! my God! Oh! 1-loly Mother forbid !" night's rest. Ha! ha! ha! So much for your The search being over, the kind-hearted man, though it was now long~ exclaimed the lady, becoming more excited as scorn of Percy MacVain." took full items of the appearance of the little his steps towards the fir the idea forced itself upon her. "Who would Again he strode up and down the room, lash- girl and promised that if he met her on his Donald, to tender his cxc stefil her? What would they do with my baby? ing himself into a furywith the fierce thoughts travels he would at once let Mr. Macourty hear ability. lie was ushered Oh! where is she? Cecelia, my darling!" that crowded his brain. "To think," he said, from him. On Saturday some boys who had elegantly furnished parli The search was continued, in which all the "That Cecehia Christie, the haughty aristocrat, lucen off fishing, found a child's dress torn and the house soon joined h neighbors joined, looking and inquiring every- who with pride traces her descent through muddy on the banks of the canal, and one ef her in the old cruu4ry, ~ where they went. The police were notified, long generation of wealth apd nOl)ility as high them having heard of the abduction of the school-mate and company the station houses searched, and messages sent as any that ever lived in Ireland, without a 7 e garment and brought vho was overwhelmed of it. It was the dress, had worn theday she uends came in and said n thrown into the canal bbed. The canal was ut nothing was found. ud his son Phillip were efforts to trace up the as a bright and clear ~ ideas far beyond his sted new routes to be examined. All their ver, as no clue could be child's dress, and so red that she was dead. Sn III. ~r, and Percy MacVain now venture to visit e the child, through his spirit of revenge. arer he grew more im- )posed visit, which he his last summer trip, night lead to his de~ ason was now nearly close up his accounts, as usual, attend to red attention in the I been moody and dull a to social gatherings city had become frk~ ~d that the excitement uld restore his former spirits. As he walk.- etermination to threw used him strength~ne~ Ito make asocial xis- uy invitations to the its this season, all of to remain unanswered brilliant of these had ~rt McDonald, and, r~l- ~ nat Easter, he turned uc mansion of Mr. Me- us~s for past unsocia- in o the spacious and ar, where the lady of im. He had known here she had been a on of Mrs. Macourty~ page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 ~he was a small lady, mild and pleasant, with ~ kind heart that won her friends, and made her welcome in every circle. Her health was good, but she looked delicate, and this had given her friends the idea that she was not well, and extra care must always he shown for her, lest somethingg should happen. This caused herself and her husband to spend much of their time in traveling. "I thought you had taken orders and retired from the world," said Mrs. McDonald, as he finished rehearsing the usual excuses for not calling before. "Not yet~, Mrs. McDonald," ho replied. "I knew that if you were in love, it must have been with some of our Protestant belles 1" continued the lady. "And why did you think that I" he asked. "Because I never see you in church," replied )frs. McDonald. "It must be i~early three years since you were at St. Patrick's." "Not quite so long," he replied, an~oycd at the mention of church, "Yet I am proud that my absence has been noticed 1" "Yes. I have heard some of our young la- dies," she said, "wondering where Mr. Percy MacVaIn kept him~ielf." "My thank~ are due to the ladies for their kind interest in my welfare," he replied, "and as an evidence of my appreci~rtion of their good will, I shall be more social in future." "Now that is well said, and as a further proof of your desire to please, you should give us a wedding." "But where shall I find a partner I" he in- quired. "Why, there is Miss Lucy Morton, how would she do?" "A beautiful lady, tall and commanding in appearance," was the ironical reply. "Bducutcd and refined," continued the lady. "Just from the Louisville refinery," said he. "Rich, and of good family," Mrs.. McDonald continued. "Plenty of money, and of illustri- ous ancestry," he sarcastically replied, "her fa- ther was a shoemaker and her-" "Why Mr. MacVain 1" exclaimed the aston- * ished lady. "Is it not so I" he replied, and then to give a gloss of good hu~!or to his remarks he said, "American aristocracy, you know, Mrs. Mc- Donald, the coat of arms-a shoemaker's hench or a tinker's furnace, with a bow of wooden u utm egs." "This, is a republican country~" replied the lady with dignity, "and we have no si~ch proud and unjust distinctions here." "No? Well my observations of American so- ciety had led me to Jelieve they were very fond of aristocratic titles and exclusive in their 'sets ~ "I pave seen nothing of that kind I" replied the lady. I but you are here, located like a star in y~ur particular circle of society, and you see very little beyond it, but I move through all classes, and there is no country where ti- tles are more cherished than in this, whether it is General, Colonel, Major, Governor or Judge, the title is pertinaciously claimed, and the general tendency amongst the people, is to look down upon their felloWs and exclaim, 'I thank theo Oh! Lord that I am not as other men!~~~ "Really, Mr. MacVain, your long seclusion must have roused your judgment," the lady replied, "you owe it to yourself to be more so- cial in future, and shake off this unnatural bit- terness." "I meant no offense," said ho, "and as you are, like myself, from fair and beautiful An- trim, I did not expect you to champion the American nation." "I have spent many pleasant years here," replied Mrs. McDonald, "and have met many true friends, therefore, I do not like to hear them unjustly spoken of." "Prosperity always has friends, Mrs. MeDon- aid," ho replied, dropping once more into the cold and sarcastic tone that had of late suited his frame of mind; "money makes respectabil- ity here, and without it, the descendant of any of the heroes of the old revolution, 'is a nobody, while the cobbler, or pork-packer of yesterday, if he makes money, comes into the fii'st society, no matter how rough and uncouth his manner, or bow ignorant and illiterate his mind." "That the poorest citizen may by energy and talent rise to the noblest positions," replied. the lady, "is only an evidence of the superior- ity of a true republican government." "Although I cannot endorse your opinions, it would be ungallant in me to try 'to contro- vert them," he replied, "and I suppose the memory of a brilliant season, lends a charik to your views of society here." "We have had a season of mingled pleasure and sorrow," said Mrs. McDonald, "the death MARDI GRAS; A TALE OF ANTE BELL UJ1[ TIMES. of Mr. Cummings, followed as it was in so exchange of friendly adieus, ~IacVain depart- short a time by that of his wife, was a very, ed. As he walked along the street, hin sad event, both of them such excellent people, thought~ turned towards the home of Mr. Ma- such good and kind friends to all around court. They had always been friendly with them." him, and alttiough his offer of marriage had "Mr. Cummings was a gentleman of the old teen rejected by the lady, she had treated him school, high minded, refined, and the very since as an old friend, while her husband had soul of honor," said MacVain, "and his wife, welcomed him when he visited their house in an exemplary womi~n. What became of their. the most cordial manner. As h~ reviewed the son P' many happy hours be had passed with them, "He will return with Mr. Gumming's brother, both before and since their marriage, he felt who has come on from Brooklyn to attend to assured that he alone had treasured enmity the settlement of the estate." and unkind feelings. He was a bold spirited ~"Poor Cummings, he was unfortunate, one man, quick to auger, and deep in revenge, but loss after another, until at last I suppose there when that feeling had been satisfied, his bet.. is little left." ter nature returned, and he bad often heaped "Mr. McDonald says there will be nothing benefits on those whom he had before consid- after the debts and expenses are paid," replied ered enemies, as if he would cover up his evil the lady. "Mrs. Macourty wanted Philip to acts with a load of kindness. With an im- stay with her, she feels so attached to him for mense fortune at his command, he was careless the interest he took in the search for her of money, and when applied to for charity child." gave with liberality, and witl~out question. "Yes, I have heard-it's very natural," replied Proud and aristocratic, he was acknowledged MacVain, disconcerted at the mention of the as a leading man by those of his own circle in injured lady's name, society, and by those in the humble walks of "Poor Mrs. Macourty," continued Mrs. ~e- life, he was treated with deffei'ence and~e- Donald without noticing his manner, "she has spect, which he received with the ease and iiever been the same since the little darling grace of one entitled to it by right of rank ~nd was stolen. She will not believe the child is education. The burning desire for revenge dead, but mourns for her all the time-pale, against Mrs. Macourty, which he had carried thin and nervous, oh! she has changed so in his heart for years, and which he had satis- much." fled by kidnapping her little daughter, bad "I have no doubt of it," he replied, still un- long been on the wane; the act which had ful- easy on thu subject, "but she must feel-better filled the wish, had weakened the strength of since they have another child to occupy her the feeling and he had begun to wish that he mind." could do the injured lady some act of "Yes, I know she does," said Mrs. McDonald, kindness to make amends for his cruelty. Ho and a beautiful girl, too, but then it looks like was now fully r~solvod to visit Sarah Mur- Cecelia and that constantly reminds her of the 'rey without delay to see the child, and several lost one. If the child had died, you know-but times the thought passed through hi~ mind you are not going I" that in the fall he would have her returned to "I think I have made quite a visit," he re- her parents. As he formed these plans and plied, preparing to leave, for the conversation turned them over in his mind, he cI~me .to the had turned on a. subject that he could not fol- corner of Canal and Chartres streets, where a low with composure. "I am going north in a lady and gentleman were standing looking in fews days," he continued, "and hope that I the window. As he was passing, the lady look- may have the pleasure of meeting you at some ed up, and he recognized Mrs.Macourty. Rais- of the fashionable resorts during the season." ing his hat, with a hasty "good evening," he "We shall spend the summer at Biloxi," re- hurried on. All that Mrs. McDonald had told plied Mrs. McDonald; "we have a place there, him of the failing health of Mrs. Macourty you know, and I much prefer it to the fatigue was more than true, her pale face overshadow- of traveling and the annoyance of changing ed by a look of deep grief, through which from hotel to hotel on a lout tour." there was no ray of hope, sent a thrill through After a few more casual remarks, and an his heart that was akin to fear. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 MA EDJ.I'J'.L2 When he entered his room, the gas was burning, the furniture was arranged with care; but indifferent to all this, he (Irew an easy chair before the firepladb, although the weath- er was warm and there was no ficed of a fire, seated himself, and save way to the vjsious tht the incidents of the day created in his mind. "I was a fool and a villian," thus ran his thoughts, "to commit such an act. If I had killed the child it would not have been so bad, but this endless torture thit I know Ce- celia feels and which I begin to sdare, is too much. If she should die? My God! and I her murderer, bloodless, yet bloody! A curse on "this brooding mind, that, once injured never rests until some mea~i damning act of retalia- tion overpays the debt! What was it to mc, who Cecelia selected, since she rejected me? Am I a man, and yet follow like a snake for revenge on tin offense that I would b~ ashamed to acknowledge bad even ruffled myAemper? What a foul blot it wouldbe on my name if ,once it was known-Percy MacVain a kidnap- per! Oh! fool that I was-but I will set it all right, the child shall be returned, and they shall have proof of her identity, even if I my- self, must face them with a full stat~ went of "the facts." He remained thus musing for a loll g time, formed plans for bringing the kidnap ~d child back to ~her parents, dwelt long on the joy this would bring to her mother's he~~rt, and enjoyed for a time a relief from the cjre that had oppressed him, by anticipation of the pleasure that would flow from his act f rCsti- tution. Going then to the fronPwiudow, he d ~scovcr- ed a package laying on the piano, and, jAcking it up, he carelessly opened it, saying to him- self: "A package from Muller-the coat-looks ~vell. Muller is a good tailor and an industri- ous man, deserves encouragement. Yes, that's just the thing." As he spoke the paper fell upon the ilorri, and be stooped to pick it up. "A 'rroy paper, the Troy Budget, yes, but old." As he was about to throw it down again, he started as if electrified while he read: "ThEn: On the 2d inst., ldiss Sarah Murrey, a native of Glenarni, County Antrim, Ireland, formerly of New York city, and for the past two years a resident of this place." "Dead! impossible !' exclaimed MacVain, then, reading the notice again, he said: "Yes, it must be her. I know no other Sarah Mur- 4. TdLE OP ANTE BELL Ui1f TUlIPS. 11 rey from our place. Dead and amongst stran- gers, and the child-my God, what wilibecome of her? And my letters, if they have fallen into some s~marper's hands, what a wreck he may iliake. Two months dead, and I not know it-nh! well, if any one had found the letters they would have written to me befQre this, but what of the child? It is strange Sarah did not tell those around her to send me word. How came she in Troy, when all her letters were dated in New York, and I thought she lived there. This is ~ysterious. Can she have played me false, abandoned the child and used for herself the money I sent I" His anxiety to visit the North was now greatly increased. Winding up his business as hastily as he could, paying attention only to such matters as he could not leave to his clerks, he was in a few days prepared to start for Troy. -4.---- ChAPTER IV. The Cu~rnings' estate turned out badly. The old gentleman had been for ninny years a leading merchant of New Orleans, and was successful in amassing a very large fortune. Lie was kind and generous almost to a fault; being himself strictly honorable and just, he was confiding in nature and jud~cd every one, to be above deception and fraud. When the financial crisis of '36 and '37 came on, he was in the full tide of prosperity, and his paper belonged to the "gilt edged" class. To him his friends applied' for assistance when in trouble, and he aided them without'stint or limit. To some he loaned money, and for many others he became endorser. Then there came a time when those who met their financial en- gagements were the exc~ptioTh ~o the general rule. As fast as the notes which he had en- dorsed were presented, Mr. Cumming~ paid them, sacrificing, to raise the money, his stock in trade, real estate and everything available. To crown his misfortunes, an intimate friend, interested in some of his business transactions, ran away with nearly a hundred thousand dol- lars and was never heard of afterwards. Be- fore these accumulated disasters, his immense fortune melted away, as rapidly as snow be- neath the sun of June, and so it happened that, after the estate was settled~ nothing was left to his son Philip, but the worthless book accounts and protested notes of his father's once extensive business. I Philip had lived with the family of his uncle ant was a tall, slender man, with long, curling in Brooklyn for three years, during which hair, a light moustache, blue eyes, and a good- time he attended school, and in the leisure looking face. He was a man of dash and gal- hours performed such services about the house lantry, knew how to be attentive and polite, as were required. It very often happens that but had presumption and impudence enough children do not appreciate the kindness of to push himself forward. He was a ready relatives with whoni they are placed, when un- talker, and made whatever assertions suited fortunately bereft of parents, and so it was his purpose, with a bold and decided manner with Philip. The little services that he was thatprevented contradiction, if they did not capable of performing became irksome to him, carry conviction with them. and he began to think ~he was lQoked upon as "Here, Phil.," said Mr. Droll, "run over a servant in his uncle's family. As this feeling the way and tell Bill to send me a paper of to- grew within his heart, he resolved to strike bacco, Anderson's S6lace-and tell him if it is out boldly for himself and he informed his not fresh I'll chew it up and never pay him." frmncle of this determination. Mr. William "There's one of the ten dollar valencien col- Cummings was a clerk in a leading New York lars gone out of this box," said Mr. Sellwell, dry goods house, with a moderate salary, en I opening the box and counting them over. which it required much management and "I sold it yesterday," said Mr. Droll. economy to support respectably his wife and "Then why didn't you mark it off?" four children. He was a kind-hearted maii, "You mark off your own sales, my boy, and and had done all in his power to make Philip you'll do well." at home and console him for his loss. He waa "Thnt'~ all very fine, Mr. Sinimons," said much surprised at the boy's determination to Sellwell, "but if the old man saw that, there'd leave a comfortable home, and reasoned ~viHi he a row." him on the folly of his course. These remon- "He be d-d. I've forgotten in a week strances so far prevailed with Philip that he more about the business than he ever knew." consented to board with the family, upon con- "Who'd you sell it to, Pete I" inquired Se'll- dition that his uncle should accept half of his well. wages in payment for it. For the first few A littl~, squint-eyed woman in black," months Philip worked in a clothing store near "You had a good day yesterday, didn't you, the Catherine Ferry, and afterwards went to Pete I" the dry goods house of Barege, Muslin & Co. "Good day! Of all the mean, squeezing, jew- on Grand street. This was a large establish' iig old crones I ever saw, yesterday turnout ment, employing forty or fifty hands and doing was worst. They caine from Jersey and Brook- an extensive retail trade. Mr. Muslin was an lyn, and every one of "them came right to me. old friend of Uncle William, and took Philip There was that fat woman in the sky blue silk, as a package e and confidential errand boy, pay- with her daughter in a gray poplin, did you ing him two and a half dollars per week, the see them I" half dollar being the result of the aforesaid "Yes, what did they twant ~ Seliwell asked friendship and to make a distinction between carelessly. Philip and the other young lads in the store. "The old woman says, 'Have you any Jaco- One morning in early June, about a year after net edging P says I, 'Yes meni, a very fine lot,' Philip had commenced work, he was brushing and I took down the box. She commenced to tip the embroidery department, preparatory to haul them over, pricing this, squinting at that, the business of the day. Mr. Peter Droll was and criticizing the other. I saw in a minute head of this part of the store, and Mr. Samuel ~vhat sort of a person I had to deal with. She Sellwell, wan his first assistant. Mr. Droll was says, 'I want it to trim a baby's dress, and I a short, thick-set man, with black hair and a think a yard and a quarter will do.' 'Oh! no, heavy beard. lIe was about forty yeara of age, mamma,' says the young one, 'a yard ana a and had been in the business nearly thirty half,' then they had an argument whether it years, most of the time in the lace, embroidery should be a yard and a half or a quarter. and trimming stock. He was a quiet, genteel 'Show me how much is a yard and a quarter,' man, a great favorite with the ladies, to whom says the old one. So I showed her a little he was "so polite and respectful." His assist- over a yard, making it short, so she would take page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 .A*LARDI GRAS; ATL FATfBL h[TlE.1 the half. Then she talked about prices, won- dered, oh'd ! and ah'dI and finally took a yard and a half at eighty cents." " What was it marked, Pete?" " Sixty cents !" .' During this conversation the men had fin- ished their arrangement of stock, and Philip returned with Mr. Droll's tobacco. Mr. Muslin called him to go to the postoffice. ,Going down Grand street to Broadway, he caught on to the rear of a stage going down town, and, keeping out of sight of the driver, rode as far as the Park. He now mingled with the crowd on the street, and, as he passed along, stopped every now and then to' look in the windows. While standing admiringithe jewelry displayed in one of the windows, and speculating on the length of time it would take him to master fortune enough to become the owner of one of the ele- gant watches that tempted his gaze, a gentle- man and lady paused a moment before the win- dow and then passed on. Thelady was a small -person, with a kind and beautiful face, and leaned lovingly on the arm of hier companion, a tall man, with an upright air and a steady step that looked military. His round,full face was covered with a heavy, dark beard, neatly trimmed, his fine grey eyes beamed with good* nature, and his whole appearance denoted that he was a man of wealth, and enjoyed the use of it most when alleviating the wants and suf- ferings of his fellow creatures. As they crossed the street towards the Astor, House, a little girl, with a basket on her arm, accosted them wifth the request, " Please buy some matches, shoe-strings or pins." .She might have been eight years old, certainly not more, a child of slender form, pale and care-worn face, the hag- gard look of which wfts relieved by a pair of large, bright, black eyes. Her hair was black as the raven's wing, and thrown carelessly back, the long, matted locks falling over her shoulders in uncombed disorder. Her face was not handsome, but attractive; possessing a charm that the beholder could not resist when looking upoip, yet for which he could not ac.- count when she had passed out of sight; The lady and gentleman looked kindly at her, and, gently refusing hei wares, went on their way,. In front of the old church below, another little merchant sat with a basket of apples before her. She was apparently about the same age as the one they had just passed. Her form was strong and well developed, a round, smiling face, on which the bloom of the peach and the white of the lily shone out in such proportions as indicated health and gave beauty to the possessor. Her mild, blue eyes were shaded with long, drooping lashes, that, as she looked down, touched the velvet softness of her cheek, and her light, brown hair lay in coquietish ringlets on a broad, fine forehead, or fell in waving abundance from a well shaped head-. The weather was warm, and the sleeve of her neat, calico dress was tucked back, showing a round, well moulded arm, on which the dim- ples came and went as, with care, she dusted and arranged her little stock. The lady paused, and, in the quickness of the movement, brought her compa'nion around, facing the girl, as she exclaimed, " Oh! what nice apples, are they not, Robert 7" i "Very pretty, indeed," replied the gentle- man. . . " Will you buy some, madam 7" said the girl, looking up when she spoke. As she looked at her childish face, full of animation ,at the prospect of selling her apples, the lady said, in a low voice, to her companion;: " What splendid eyes, Robert, and a face so innocent and beautiful." , " A good looking' child," he quietly replied, and then answered the girl by asking the price of the fruit-. " These are five cents a piece," she replied, pointing to one basket, " and these two and three cents." " These are very fine," said the gentleman, stooping over the first basket, " and these are good. Any of them would eat well." " Buy some, Robert," said -the lady, as he stood up again-. " How much will you take for the lobi" said he, smiling as he spoke. "For all of them!I" exclaimed the girl. . " Yes, and to deliver them for 'me, it is no~t far." "I think-well, two dollars and a half-if you please sir." . " You will bring the apples this evening, at five o'clock," said the gentleman, dropping a five dollar gold piece into her hand and giving her a card; " thi-s is my card, Parlor B., Astor House. You can bring me the change, too." "Yes sir, thank you sir," was the reply of the delighted girl. " You can find the place ?" " Oh ! yes sir, I will be there." . WUVIJ~a I y dVI irecU- nod. tion, with an interest that showed they were " And what would your mother say 7" strangers in the city. "I'm 'bliged to you,".- she replied, with a When Philip came to where the apple girl sneer, " but I ain't troubled with anything of sat, he stopped to speak to her, for, in passing that kind." and repassing so many times, there had begun "Shame to speak so of a mother," said-Philip. an acquaintance between them. -"Nobody wants any of your gab," said the "Mary, I want an apple," said Philip, offer- girl, "come now, Sis, just you follow my ad- ing her two pennies. * vice, go with me to-night and PIl show you "I can't sell you quny now," she replied, with some jolly fun." a smiling, quizzing look. . "No, I can not, replied Mary, decidedly, "I "Not sell any !" he exclaimed, would not be so deceitful, besides my mother "No," she replied, laughing at his astonish- would not let me be out at night." *" I shall look for you at .five," said he, as he started away with the lady, " good bye." " Good bye and than you, sir," replied the girl. . ' " Why did you buy so many apples, Rob- ert P" asked the lady. "Well, Mary, you seemed to take such an interest in the girl," he replied, laughing, " that I thought I would set her up in busi- ness." "I suppose they will keep," continned the lady. " The apples !. yes, all we will ever see of them." " What do you mean, Robert I" - " I mean that she will never bring us the aplesC." " Oh ! you wrong the child, Robert." " You will see," he replied, " I do not expect her to bring either the apples or the change." " Thea why did you leave it with her I" " To show you, Mary, how little you can judge of these wild children of New York by appearances. Now here is one, innocent look- ing and--well, beautiful, if you will, and yet I'll guarantee she will' never be seen by us again.n", " Then itkwas wrong in you to tempt her," replied the lady. ' " Perhaps it was," he replied, with more seriousness, " I never looked at it in that Slight.n" "I did not think you :would judge so harsh- ly," said the lady, "and I still think she will do what is right."n. "I hope she will come, Mary,"~ he replied, "for since you mention it, I think it was not right to tempt her to do wrong." ed look, " you see I've been doing a wholesale business." " What's th6 matter, beauty," said the match girl, who now came up. Mary looked surprised at the new-coiner, and after a moment's reflection, asked what she meant. -"Wihat do I mean l" replied the other, "why what are you packing up for I Are you going to leave Broadwayi You'll find your beauty will get more customers here than elsewhere." "You are candid," replied Mary, her face coloring, half in anger, " I am not going to leave Broadway, however, but I have sold these apples, and, therefore, need not stay here, but will get more and come back." " Where's your customerI" asked the other, and then, making a deep reverence to Philip, she asked, "Ilas this young gentleman bought you out ?" " No, I haven't,'" replied Philip, sharply. " The gentleman who bought them, has gone on towards Wall street," replied Mary, "and I am to leave the apples at the Astor House." " Oh ! he hasn't paid you for them," said the match girl." " Yes indeed he has," said Mary, triumphant- ly, " and I have two dollars and a half change to take to him," " And you're going to do it ?" " Of course I am." " Well, you're a green 'un, I'd like' to catch myself doin' such a thing." " Why, what would you do 7" " Do! I'd clap the money in my pocket, move to another point, sell my apples again, and keep the whole of it." " Oh! you wouldn't be so wicked !". " My eyes! wouldn'tIf Well, you wait till you've seen as much of rough and tumble as I have," replied the match gii'l, with a knowing "They walked on, discussing this and other | subjects, admiring the fine buildings, and page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 MA R]) "Oh! you've got a mother," replied the other, as she started off; "well, by-by, doughy, i'll see you again.~~ "The gentlenman gave me his card," said Mary, showing it to Philip, "and I would not disappoint him for the world." "You are right, Mary," replied Philip, as he took the card. "Robert McDonald, New Or- cans," he exclaimed, "why, I know him, he is such a good man and his wife is a sweet lady." "It must have been his wife that was with him," said Mary, "and, as you say, she is a real angel-looking lady." Philip now thought of the postoffice, and' bidding Mary good-bye, he hastened on. After getting the letters, he caught on behind a Grand street stage, and rode up, arriving at the store just as Mr. Muslin was beginning to get impatient at his long absence. The match girl continued on her way, offering her wares to those she met, with a careless indifference that showed long usage to the roughness of the world. Turning into Dey street, without noticing where she was going, she ran against a gentleman coming to Broadway, and, without apology or being in the least dise&ncerted, said, "Buy some matches~ sir!" "No," was the sharp re~~ly. "Well, you needn't st4ke fire," said she, with a sneer, "nobody's 4oing to cry if you don't." "You are an impudent g ri," said he. "You're no gentleman ,"~he replied, with a toss of her head, "or you couldn'tt speak to a lady that way.'' " This is the first ~ said he, smiling, "that I ever knew a lady tp be a match girl." "I'm a match for you, ar~y how." "Ceme now," said he; "don't you think it is wrong to act so bold and unwomanly." "Don't give me none of your lectures," said she, drawing near to him, "I had enough of that thing when they called the mission last "But don't you think," said he, looking at her quite earnestly, "that if you were quiet and genteel you would sell more of your goods I" "Lord bless you, no P' said she, with a knowing nod, "you men loves t~ be run against, fooled with and talked to, and I tell you I don't carry my tongue in my pocket.~~ "How old are you I" "Don't know," she replied carelessly, "some says I'm nine and some seven, so I splits the difference and calls myself eight." U~JfAS; A fIL4LE OP ANTE "Where does your mother live ?" he was about to enter one of the plain brick "Ain't got no mother, nor father, and, for houses halfway down the block, when another that matter, no friends, neither. I goes and person accosted him, with, comes as I likes, and it's nobody's business, so "Good morning Mr. MacVain." long as I pays my way.~~ "Well, Williams any news I" "Humph! you're a. strange creature," said "Oh! no, sir, just the same old ~ he, musingly, "what's your name ?~' "I wish you h~d been with me to-day," said "Icall myself Cecelin, the wanderer." MacVain, "I think I have at last found the "Cecelia!" right person." "Yes, that's a pretty name, ain't it I" Which !-the woman ?" Cecelia, about the right age too," said he "No the girl," replied MacVain. "I wish you musingly; I wish Williams was here." to watch me ~0-morrow on the corner of Broad- "What's that you say I" asked the girl. way and Dey4 streets about noon. You will see "What else is your name besides Cecelia ?" me talking with a match girl; when we separ- "Well I think that's enough," she replied ate, follow h9r and see what you can make of pursing up her lips and looking wise,"-but her." some folks don't, so they add Benson, and I Percy MacVain entered the house, and going lets em do it." into his own room, Sat down to study in his "Yes-'-Cecelia Benson-Benson, I don't re- mind the features of the strange child he member any friend of 5arah's by that name," had met, to trace in her face some likeness to said he thoughtfully. "Benson-there are plen- Mrs. Macourty, for he now believed that he ty of them in the old country, but none that had at last found the ki~Inapped child. she ever kuew." Forfour years he had almost entirely neglect- "What are you talking about I" said she. ed his buSiness to follow up this search. In "I was thinking," he replied. E~ Troy he had found, after a long inquiry, the "Oh! well if you're going to think, I'm off," house where Sarah had boarded, and the land she replied, "but you ought to buy some lady gave him all the information she could. matches now-cos we're good friends, eh! ain't Sarah's trunk was there, and this he was al- we?" lowed to search. A very good wardrobe, a let- "Yes, yes, certainly," said he arousing him- ter from son~e friend who signed her first name self; "now here is four bits." only, and which contained no items of interest, 'Tour bits," said she taking the money~ a gold watch and a considerable sum of men- "that's what we call four shillin', but itseall the ey, were the only articles belonging to the de- same, it'll pass." ceast~d in the house.. MacVain had written "Well I don't want any matches now," said her a great many letters-what had become of he, "but meet jue here to-morrow at twelve them? The landlady said, and one of the ser- o'clock and I'll dive you another half dollar vants who hhd been hn especial favorite with and take the matches." Sarah, corroborated the statement, ttat Sarah "Will you now ?" she said, "that's clever of received a great many letters, some with for- you. What's the world coining -to? There's a ciga postmarks, am3d others from different gentleman trusts Beauty with five dollars, parts of the Union, but that she had carefully which anybody would think was alun~y trick, destroyed them all, sometimes burning them and here's another gives inc four shillin'! My as soon as received. They had often remarked eye, I'll have to join the Mormons or turn a this peculiarity and were quite sure that she Millerite, the world's a coming to an end sure, had preserved no letters; they did not know and I must get some religion\ somewhere !" - why she had done so, i~ having been none of "You are a wild child," said the gentleman their business, and they asked no questions. reprovingly, "but you will meet me to-mor- She had no child with her, none had ever visi- rowe?" ted her, and they had not heard l]er speak of "Oh! to be sure! I never was known to dodge any; in fact she seemed to avQid society, and a good thing," said she, as she went away, "and kept her affairs to herself. In the search especially a soft one like this." amongst her clothes, MacVain, had discovered, The man continued his walk up Broadway for what escaped the notice of the others, a pair of some distance, then turning into a side street~ infants shoes, but little worn, and these he BELL UII( TIMES. placed in his coat pocket, never doubting that they were the same that the ~i1d had on when carried away. There was no clue to the matter there, and after spending several months in the neighborhood, he went to New York. An advertisement for a thorough and oompetant detective, which he inserted in one of the daily papers, brought about an inter- view with Mr. Henry Williams. Williams was a native of the city, a man of excellent char- acter, but one who in his early days, had. been "through the ~ and knew every crook and turn in it. He had served as a spe- cial officer in the service of several banks and railroad companies, and had made the "secret service" his especial study, and in working up' some famous cases had gained a wide reputa- tion. MacVain wanted now his whole time, and when he stated the compensation he would require, closed with him at once and detailed to him a history of the case, suppress- ing only the real name of the child* sad his own agency in her los~. Since that time Wil- liams had spent his time in working up the history of every wan~eriug girl that by any reasoning he could think was the right one. Besides his regular salary, a large reward was to be paid him on the successful termination of his service, and he had become, from long study, deeply interested in ~he case. Seve~l tunes he had thought he 'vas on the road to success, but after spending weeks, sou~times months in hunting up the history of the girl he had picked out as tl~ lost child, he would discover her parentage or place of birth, friends and relations, and would have to com- mence on another track. He was, therefore much pleased to find there was at last a good prospect t~or success. He as well as MacVain, rested easier that night, with the hope of an early ter~nination to their long and tedious hunt. CILAPrER V. When Mr. McDonald returned to his rooms at the Astor, he was well tired out with his long walk, andlaying down ona sofa, he advised his wife to take a good rest before preparing for ihni~er. She sat down in a large arm chair and declared herself completely tired out. While he untied her bonnet and loosened her shawl, he told Robert that she wished he had brought vith him some of the nice apples they had page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 10 MARDI GRAS; bought, as sh~ felt hungry. lb advised her to ring t~e b~jl and order some lunch, observ- ing with a smile, that the apples would not eome until live o'clock. Mrs. McDonald made no reply, but taking her bonnet and shawl went to the center table to lay them oat of her hands. "Look, Robert !" she exclaimed, pointing to a large pile of apples heaped upon the table; "will you have one 7" she asked triumphantly holding up a splendid specimen. "I am right well pleased," he replied, "that you are right and I will eat one with a good relish." "You see, Robert, the girl is honest." "Is the change there, too 7" he asked. "No, but I will guarantee that it will come." "I have no doubt of it. At live o'clock the girl will bring it, I expect, so as to be sure that I get it. And so they rested themselves, took their dinner and returned to their parlor to read the magazines with which they were provided. At five o'clock a servant knocked atthe door and being told to come in, said a girl was waiting to see Mr. McDonald-and obeying that gen- tleman's wishes, he admitted her. She came forward modestly and saluted the lady and gentleman with an easy grace, 1and resuming her erect position with an air of~imple dignity, said that she had delivered the ~pples early, so that she might buy more and resume her place on the street, and she had now called with the change, which, as she euciduded her cx- planatioi~, she placed in Mr. McDonald's band' "You are a good girl," said Mr. McDonald kindly, "and deserve to be encouraged; take this change and keep it, it will help to in- crease your stock, or get some article you need." "I thank you, sir," she replied, "but I would rather not." "Not take it 1" exclaimed the astonished gentleman. "No, sir, if you please," and then she added with a dignity far beyond her years, "I. have only performed my duty, and therefore ails en- titled tono reward." "You have acted honestly, my child," said Mrs. McDonald, her face glowing with pleas- ure, "and in a world of temptation, such ac- tions deserve both commendation and reward." "My wife is right," the gentleman said, "take the change." "I cannot, sir, but I thank you all the same." "Why can not you take it, you are welcome to it 7" "My mother, sir, always tells me to accept of no money, that I have not honestly earned." "What is your name?" asked Mrs. McDonald. "Mary Collins, ma'am." "Hdw old are you, Mary 7" "I was eight years old last Shrove Tuesday," said M4ry. "Indeed! you are a Catholic, I suppose.~~ "Yes, ma'm," the girl modestly replied. '~That's a good girl," replied Mrs. McDonald. ~'I am sure you are a great assistance and con- solation to your mother." Mary then bade them good-bye and started for home. Going down Eulton street, she was soon in the crowd of 'people who were all hur- rying towards the ferry-house. There were females of all ages, from girls like herself to lecrepid old women, from the hat factories, book-binderies, cloak makers, tailor shops and stores of different trades where they were em- ployed to sew, fold, cut out or do other work. There were crowds of men and boys, of all ages and belonging to every class and trade, the shop boy with his basket or can, in which the lunch that made his noon day meal was carried, the porter, carpenter, and black-smith covered with the dust and smoke of a hard day~s toil, the clerk, ,ner'Shant, broker and profes- sional man, in all the styles of dress known to a city, from the plain Quaker, with his broad b imined hat, to the cnnse~ientiid clerk in the la est style of garments and shining beaver hn~t. All were hurrying, like the waters in a sw~lien river, towards the one point of exit fro~u the great city, seemingly unconscious of th~existenc~ of those around. Near the mar-* ke~ a man was standing, apparently waiting for the arrival or passage of some one. lie was tall and commanding in appearance and dressed with scroupulous neatness, rich in ma- ter~al, without auy of the show or flash of a fo~ or man of the town. Was he studying the phases of human nature in the passing crowd? In this rushing, bustling throng there were hearts as lonely and isolated, as if they were lost in the forest of the west. The man of wealth and ease passed along, and at his side were those oppressed with care, want and misery. The young girl, tender in years, whose face, pale and thin, yet clouded with a look of boldness and wordly knowledge, gave evidence A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TIMES. of the pinching poverty that had driven her away from the pier, a from home, where childhood usually nestles, time ma(le a rush and to struggle for existence, was followed by the moved further out t lady whose affluent circumstances afforded her threes and putting alIthat heart could ~Vish or money buy. There jumped on. Then em they go, the rich and poor, the lame, blind and iug through the gat sick with the strong and robust, the educated height of his speed, th and refined side by side with the unlettered, stream, but nothing rough and uncouth; youth and age, an ac- amongst the crowd tive, living stream, whose numbers would al- shudder of horror an most lead a stranger to believe that the city uttered an involuntary would soon be empty. more, the daring youi As they went by, Percy MacVain, for he was tile boat and careless the svrangei~ standing there near the market, chain. looked with eagerness at the features of every "Why, Philip," said young girl that passed, to discover some line "what a reckless jut or trace or movement that would give a clue near missing the boat.' to the object of his weary search. Por three "Oh, no, I didn't, ~l years; whenever in the city, it had been his sure of my distance." custom to place himself near some of the lead- "But some of these d ing ferries every night, and watch thus in the "Such jumps are mad crosVds that left the city for their homes, "I don't see why yo hoping to discover the lost child. But this so,"she replied. evening his wish was changed, he believed "There was no risk, that in the little match girl, he had found the you go in the gate and object so long and patiently pursued, and he this boat and that is w had now taken one of his old~tands, to see if When the l'nat read she would pass that way. He felt a relief of they went ashore an niin~ he had not known for years, and was which was now li"ht quite conscious that during some of the dreams people taking an even of joy, yet to come, which had con'e over his to some trifling purcha mind that evening, the match girl might ing into Myrtle aveum have passed without his noticing her. Mary iii near Fort Green, w noticed the stranger, and as she was passing street they were soon looked up at him, when by an unlucky chance ~raine buildings, at the her foot slipped, and she stumbling forwards, stopped. It was like before she could resist the force of the slide story house, with a sine fell upon the pavement, and the apples in one doors and windows w of the baskets were scattered over the side- shutters on the latter lj walk. She was up in an instant, and busy in out and gone. There~ gathering up the fruit, in doing which she side, communicating wi was assisted by MacVain. Confused and deep- showing that some atte ly blushing at her awkward accident, she said, neatness and convenient "Thank you sir, don't trouble yourself." A crowd of children wer "It is no trouble," he replied, as he looked several of whom came admiringly at her beautiful face and caught a Mary and were kindly a glance of her full~lue eyes, "you had an ugly had promised her, wh~ fall, did you hurt yourself ~" out, that he would bri "Oh, no, sir," she replied, and receiving the and now saying that h~ last apple that he had picked up, she thanked day, he bade her good- him again, and hurried away. As she entered his uncle's house. Mar3 the ferry-house she joined the crowd that was and went into the room, hurrying to the boat that was then on the a candle, an old woman point of leaving. The boat moved slowly She was a person of lou 17 ud those a little behind sprang on board. As she hey come in twos and forth all their powers s young man came rush- ~s and running at the o boat was far out in the * daunted he leaped- )n the boat there was a d fear, while the female "Oh," but in an instant ig man lighted safely on sly stepped across the Mary, as hecarne to herb up that was, you came ary," he replied, "I was ays you will fail." Le every day," he replied. a should risk your life Mn~ry," said he, "I saw I was sure yo~i were on hy I did it." ~ed the Brooklyn pier, d up the main street, ed and crowded with ing walk, or attending ses in the stores. Turn- they continued on un- lien going into a side before a row of small third of which Mary the others, a low, one dl stoop in front. The re rickety and old, the icing nearly all broken ~as a little alley at the th the small back yard, ntion had been paid to Lee in building the row. e playing on the street I forward and spoke to answered by her. Philip ile they were walking ng her a book to read, would do so on Sun- night and started for opened the front door where by the light of * was yet busy sewing. stature and in former - C page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 0 1i years had been stout and robust, but age, ex- posure and sickness had left, as it were, only the skeleton of her former self. Her face was mild, and bore a pleasant look, though now pale and care-worn. Her hair was thin and sil- vered over with long years of care, and many disappointments in life. Her dress, well worn, had been brushed, mended and turned, and her whole appearance was that of a person who had seen good times, and even yet struggled bard to keep up a respectable appearance,. Stooping over, Mary kissed her and tenderly inquired how she felt. e , "I feel better, my child," she replied, taking off her glasses and wiping them in a mechani-. cal way as she spoke, "as the summer comes on I gather strength, and hope for even better yet." "I am glad to hear you say so, mother," the child replied, "I am sure when your health is good we will get along finely." "Yes, dear, but I can hardly expect ever to be strong again.n" "Do not say so, dear mother," the child re-- plied earnestly, "what would I do without youi Think of all that and cheer up.n" "I do; think of it often," said her mother, "and in truth it is the only reason why I would wish to live.n" "See, I brought you some nice jelly," replied Mary, "and a mutton chop for your breakfast, I am sure you will relish them." "You are always thoughtful, Mary, dear." Mary then busied herself in preparing their little supper, of which she ate with the hearty relish of youth, and the neat arrangements, with the excellent manner in which the food wais prepared, made even her invalid mother enjoy the meal. After the dishes were washed and put away, she took a book and read for a short time, after which they said their evening devotions together and then retired to rest. CHAPTER VL. -As the twilight shadows gathered over the city, work-shops, stores, manufactories and offices poured forth their operatives, workmen -and managers, each one seeking the direction of that oasis in the desert of life, called home, where for a, few short hours of night their bodies should find rest and their 'minds be re-. lieved of the load of care and anxiety brought I re ut s. a y g 19 looking at the new corner, "if you want a seat, Sally, take a box, for that's my chair." "I guess I pay as much as any of you in this room," replied the large girl, "and I've as good a right in here." " Oh! you're always around when there's anything good to be had for nothing," said Cecelia, "get up out of that chair, you sponge'" " Say that again, and I'll--" " You'll what I" said Cecelia, angrily, " What'll you do? Turn the North River in on us i" by the thoughts of the uncertain morrow. In the throng that moved up town, Cecelia Ben- son, the match girl, pushed her yray along, el- bowing this one and jostling another of the crowd with a careless indifference to their feel- ings or opinions. She passed out of one street into another, until, turning into one of the short streets that cross Centre, she entered one of a row of high brick buildings, around the door and alley way of which a crowd of rag- ged children, and older boys and girls were gathered, talking, laughing and disputing with each other. As Cecehia ,came forward they stopped their play and conversation, some as if in fear and others in admiration of tlhe new corner. One, a boy of about fourteen years of age, with a coat, the tail of which was very long, and the arms very short and of- ten patched, addressed her. "I say, Ceal, how much did you make to- day7" . -"None you're business, Jake," was the short reply. "You need'nt bite about it," said Jake-. "Well, you need'nt poke your nose in other people's affairs," replied the girl. She entered the house, followed by the boy and one of the larger girls. Passing through the long, dark hail, in which the nd and dirt of passing feet for months had accumulated, she went up the winding back stairs, rickety and worn,' while here and there great pieces of tlze plas- tering had fallen out. All the way up, the walls were so blackened with the smoke .and dirt of years, that it would have been hard to even suppose they were ever white. Still ascending until she reached the fifth and last story, Cecelia went along a dark entry, at the end of which, through an open door, she en- tered the small room that constituted the home of herself and three of the other young girls of the place. In one corner of the room a large sized mattress was rolled up, and the clothes belonging to it werepiled over it with- out care or order. Two single mattresses were placed side by side in another part of the room, and the coverings of these were arranged ready for their occupants. A medium sized pine table sat before the small fireplace, and served both as a dining and centre table. The room contained two chairs, and some small boxes that answered the double purpose of holding the wardrobes and other possessions of the occupants, and when necessity required, MARDI GRAS ; A-TALE Oh' ANTE BELL UA TIMES. 1 "If I ain't, I've got the money to buy it with." As she spoke she took a small pitcher off the table, and, turning it over, gave it a good shake in lien of washing it; "here, Jake, go down to the Corner and get some beer, a loaf of bread, and let them put a rare done dime steak in the loaf." "Let him get some cheese, Ceely." "Well ,ge t some, Jake," she replied, " and don't be gone all night-and, look here, Jake," she said, calling him back,- " don't drink none of th9 beer till you get back." While he was gone the girls cleared the table and placed the chairs for themselves and a box for their messenger. He was back Very soon, and with him came a girl fifteen or six- teen years of age, who very coolly seated herself I in one of the chairs, and ordered the boy to spread out his purchases'. "Well, I like that considerable," said 1411y, , were used as seats. .Around the wall we hung or pasted up, numerous pictures ci from the illustrated papers of the day, to from books, or picked out of the dirt boxes front of dry goods and variety dealers' store A candle, half consumed, was burning on th table, seeing which the girl said,. "Somebody's precious wasteful, to light candle and go off and leave it a burning. Hop it's. one they paid for themselves.'' A heav breathing attracted her attention, and turnin around she saw one of her companions layin on one of the small mattresses. "Betsy, Bel sy," she said, shaking the sleeping girl ; "Bel sy, you're on myi bed andl you ain't undresse neither. Say, look at you, with your dirt feet on my new quilt." "Go away, and leave me alone," said the oth er, half aroused from her shumber. "You're drunk, Betsy," said Cecelia, "an( you're in my lied." "Don't care," drawled out the other. "Oh! you don't! Well, I'll see,"; replied Ce celia, now thoroughly angry. As she turne to search for something'in the shape of a whii or stick to wake up Betsy, she was interrupted by the entrance of Jake and the girl with him, This girl was one of those who occupied the large bed, and was a favorite, with Cecelia. " Look, Nelly," said Cecelia, " there's Betsy in my bed, as drunk as she can be." " Oh ! never mind her," relied th il "hv yuaythig good to eat, Ceely I" t- "Take your old chair 1" said the other, start- d ing for the door. y "Come back here, Sally," said Cecelia, wiping out a tumbler with the skirt of her - dress, " come, have a glass of beer andi some- thing to eat." dThe girl came back iind seated herself at the table on an empty candle box. The conversa- tion almost ceased during the time they were . eating, each one helped themselves and the beer was circulated until finished. The boy was the first to finish his meal. Getting up from the table, he went to the mantel-piece .and took up a pack of well worn cards, the dirty backs and frayed edges of which spoke of their long service. Again seating himself at the table, he began to shuffle and deal the hands for an imaginary game. " Let's play a game of seven-up," said the oldest girl. "Oh, no, Sally, let's play euchre," said Nelly. " Poker is the most amusenest game," said Jake. "Well, now, I tell you what it is," said Cecelia, "nobody plays that can't show their money before they commence." " You're terrible pertickler," replied Sally. " I don't care," said Cecelia, as she cleared the table, " I ain't going to play for nothing." 'd I'm willing to that," said Sally. "Yes, but let's see the documents," the other replied, " them as looses never pays un- less the money's up." As she was determined on this point, each one produced the money they /had, Nelly and Sally about a dollar and a half each and Jake a dollar, at which Cecelia triumphantly count- ed up her capital of nearly four dollars, re- marking that she knew all along that none of them could match her. page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 "Take the pitcher, Jake," said Nelly, throwing out a five cent piece, "and get some more beer before we commence." "I am tired of beer," Sally exclaimed, laying out a dime, "put in all round and let him get some whiskeyy." "Whiskey's too common," said Ceceliri, making her addition to the refreshment money, "let's have a bottle of claret." Claret was decided upon, and Jake soon re- turned with a bottle of that article. The game was commenced at once, and each one entered into it with a coolness and calcu- lation that showed they were no new hands at it. The, bets were made freely, and, for the parties eng~iged, heavily; thQ fortunes of chance, whether for or against, were taken with apparent indifference, while the wine was passed around often. After they bad been playing an hour or more, Cecelia and Sally only were in oh the hafrd, the former quietly covered the money with her hand and, said, "You forfeit this money; you are cheating, as~ d I claim the pool." 1" What do you mean by that I" indignantly replied the other, reaching out for the money. "No, you don't," said Cecelia, "just take them two cards out of yont sleeve, you can't come that on me." Finding herself caught, the other girl dropped the cards on the floor, and tried~ to ex- plain that she had lost them while dealing the last hand. Cecelia kept the money, some liquor was sent. for, and the game continued. It was after midnight when they stopped play- ing and retired to sleep, fortune having favored Cecelia, who had won nearly all their money from the others. Aftershehad gone to bed, sleep refused to come to her relief; the liquor which had stupilied her companions seemed to have excited her nerves and driven away the possi- bility of sleep. She thought' of the events of the day, laughed heartily as the idea of some of the scenes passed through her mind, and wondered what MacVain wanted with her the next day. Then the idea of a pleasure trip oc- curred to her, and she resolved to go down to the fishing banks on the following~ day. She remembered a boy she used to know who sold papers on a railroad train, and she thought that it must be a pleasant life to travel about from city to city, with so many changes of scene and hurried along by the bustle and ac- tivity of the traveling crowds. Being of a restless, changing natnr~, these thoughts, us they dwelt in her mind, made such an impres- sion on her, that she determined to leave the place at once, and seek new adventures amidst new scenes. Why should she remain there? Without mother or further to control ~r guide her young mind, no relative to whom she could gb in joy or grief, not even a friend for whom she felt more than the friendship of the pass- ing hour, she began to think her present life irksome, and longed for the coming day, that she might put her new i~esolve into actions. She slept but little; nuder the excitement of the dreams that haunted her mind, she could take but fitful naps, from which she ev~r and anon would start up, and look out anxiously for the first sign of the coming day. When at last It broke forth in all the gorgeous loveli- ness of a June morning, she hurried down stairs to the back room, which was occupied by a junk dealer, who was also lessee of the entire house, renting the rooms to the differ- ent occupants, by the day, week or month, taking care in every instance to get paid in advance. No extra lodgers were allowed in the house; visitors, even, though they shared the bed occupied by their friend, were obliged to pay for their nights' lodging,' or it was charged to the person who invited them. This rule was rigidly enforced, as Mr. Sanderbund said, to "keep up der dignity mit der house." When Cecelia entered she found him, by the dim light of a lamp, examining the purchases made by his wife, during his absence on the previous day. "hhumph! vet you want I" he asked. "I'm going to leave," was the curt reply "Vy ~ Dat ish a nice room." "I didn't say it wasn't." "Vell, it is so cheap as wet they ask enny vere else," said he. "I don't care anything about that," Cecelia replied. "Vet is der matter?" he asked, for she al. wayS earned a fair amount of money, was good pay and never higgled at his prices. "You vill not geta more better place in der sitie." "That's all true, I suppose," she replied, "but I'm going to leave the city." "Leave der sitie !" he exclaimed. "Yes," she replied,'With mock dignity, "I'w goingto spend the summer with my cousin, the senator." "Vell, I spose dat ish all right," he replied, U U MARDI GIMS; 21 A TALE OF' AN!PE BELLUM TIMES. ,, pill ish paid and you shall go yen you likes." "Yes, but rriy bill is paid for the full month," she said. "Veil, if you likes, you stays der full n~onth I no turn you out." "That's as much as to say if I go before my month is out, you will refund nothing I" she said, inquiringly. "No, I can not pays you pack," he said, hastily, "dat vas against der rhul6s." "Just so," she replied, "but we will not quarrel about that. I have got some things up stairs I want to sell you. I suppose you will buy them I" "Ya-as. I pays down and I pays you so much as nopody else wduld do." With this they proceeded up stairs to the little room, where Sanderbund purchased the few bed-clothes and other articles that-Cecelia could not take with her. She was too much engrossed with the idea of leaving the city to stau~l witll him about the prices, so that he got the articles at his own terms, congratulating himself that, if he lost a good tenant, he would make something on the bargain that closed their acquaintance. Rolling her scanty ward- robe up in a small bundle, Cecelia left the house before the other occupants of thc room, stupified with their frolic of the night before, were aroused from their slumbers, and thus, alone, all her possessions in the little package, the child started out for a new battle with the world. No feeling of loneliness oppressed her heart, for she had always been accustomed to take cure of herself, ahd follow the dictates of her own will. She felt a. relief at the idea of entering upon new scenes, and, having resolved to try Boston, she tripped gayly along to- wards the N~ haven depot. I~IacVain was at the appointed place long before the promised time, and wated patiently hour after hour for the little match ~irl. He could not account for her not comm ~, never dreaming that she was far on her road to an- other city. Mr. Edward Crape was the junior partner of the house of Barege, Muslin & Co. lie was a slender mar', of three or four and twenty, dressed in the latest style and the best ma- terial. lie had a very light mustache, the only show for a beard that had yet blessed his hopes, and repaid his assiduous attention to that part of the "make up" of a man. This hair was always parted in the centre, a fact which did not detract from the disagi-ecable appearance of a low forehead, and a sbort~ well turned-up nose. About dry goods he knew very little and cared less.; he was a nephew of Mr. hlarege, a fact that accon uted for his interest in the house, where he had been for many years. lie went from one de- partment to another, introducing customers to the salesmen, and making suggestions to them about the arrangement of their stocks, hints that were generally thrown away, as the men knew more about* the business than he did. lie was not shop walker, but acted as an as- sistant to that important individual. His es- pecial delight was to order and direct the boys of the establishment, who, while they despised him, dared not disregard his orders. To show his authority and domineer over those around him, was consistent with his small nature, and these youngerr employees were the only ones who would listen to him without rebelling. "Mr. Droll, you had better display a coin men poipt this dusty weather," he said one day, "the fine ones will get damaged easily." "Certainly, sir, that is only reasonable," said Peter, adding, in an under tone, "Wonder if the fool thinks he can learn me any thino"' They had been busy, and Mr. Droll had not had an idle moment since the morning. He was a great favorite with the ladies, especially such of them as liked to dilly-daily over their purchases, admire this, and compare with that, talk about the fashions and discuss that ever ready subject-the weather. "It is a very pretty lace," said Mrs. Gabble, an occasional customer of the store, who was~ " well to do in the world" and delighted in shopping. "Elegant, Mrs. Gabble, real article, very fresh and new," replied Peter, while, in an under tone, he added, "been in the house seven years, and I'd like to get rid of it-if it would only hold together until she sewed it on, that's all I'd care ~ "Which do you think would be most suit~ able, Mr. Droll I" inquired the lady, hol~iug up two pieces of the lace. "That in your right hand," he said, with a smile and a deciding nod of his head, con tinn- ing, soto voce, "how should I know, she didn't tell me what she was going to do with it." "I believe I'll not mind it to-day," said Mrs. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] A TALE OF ANTE BELL LUlL 17IME~S'. MARDI GRAS; Gab'Ae, "I want it to match, and I haven't got a sample with me." "Very well, Madam, any t~me, we always have a good assortment," replied Peter, in his most bland and gentlemanly manner, saying to himself "I thought SO! She don't want to buy lace, more'n a calf wants buttermilk." "Oh! Mr. Droll, I almost forgot to ask if you had bobbinet for shawls I" and Mrs. Gab- ble took her seat again. "Yes, mn'am, we have,, they just come from the custom-house yesterday." "Let me see them, Mr. Droll, if you please." "With pleasure, Mrs. Gabble, and I'm sure you haven't seen such goods before this sea- son," and Peter turned to select the box, say- ing privately, "Eb, gad, what a bore, I pity poor Gabble." "Oh, is'nt that flue, such an elegant texture, just like a cloud," said the lady, admiring first one piece and then another, "what is the price of this?" "That is worth four dollars," replied Peter. The piece was marked to sell for three." She won't buy it, and, if she does, she'll jew me down." After looking at the entire contents of the box, and admiring them all, Mrs. Gabble re- turned to the first piece she had looked at. "Is four dollars the best you can do for this?" she asked. "I declare, I believe she does want to buy," said Peter to himself and then continued, aloud, "Well-let me see-to an old customer like you-under the circumstances-well, i'll let you have it for three." "Three dollars I" she said, with hesitation. "Yes, ma'am, and it is very cheap," then he continued, in an undertone, "now, haggle away, you contemptible old crone." "Well, I'll see-I'll be over again first of the week," she said, rising to go, "and I think I will take it then." "If you want it," Peter replied, determined to make a sale if he could, "I wil 1 give it to you to-day for-two dollars and a half." "Not to-day, thank you, Mr. Droll, it is very fine, and reasonable, too, but I'll wait till next week," and Mrs. Gabble graciously took her departure. "Good day, Mrs. Gabble," said Mr. Droll; "such an infernal set of shoppers I never did see; talk, twaddle, talk, jewjew, jew, may the deil fly awa wi 'em." Three or four customers followed Mrs. Gab- ble, were waited on by Peter, whpse equanimity was by this time restored. lie was a kind- hearted man, firm in his friendships, with many peculiar ways and odd sayings. A long experience in the business had given him a tact of understanding his customers, almost at first sight, and with those who came to buy he was quick, fair and just, and with "profession- al shoppers" he could get along better and make more sales than any other man in the house. Mr. Crape brought forward a lady aria introduced her to Mr. Samuel Seliwell as a particularfriend of his~ who wished to get a lace point, and requested that gentleman to "put them down low." "A lace point," said Sam, taking down a box, and drawing one out with a flourish, "is the easiest thing in the world to sell, because the quality tells at once, and they sell them- selves-at least ours do. These we imported direct, paid for them on the other side before t iey left the door of the mauufa~ctory, and we, therefore, got them cheap. That's the way we do business. We say to the manufacturer, "We want these goods and here's the money." That always brings them at the lowest pos-si- ble price. 'PiUs point is worth-well, it is worth five hundred dollars-ab, well, madam, but look at the lace, see the work, just ex- amine the pattern. That point was made ex- pressly for Queen Victoria, but when it was finished, for certain reasons, she thought it did not suit, and our buyer, happening idong, picked it up at three hundred dollarss, for which price we now offer it." The point was really a handsome article, and wi~s marked to sell for one hundred and twent~-flve dollars, but Sam talked away about its beauties, its foreign history, and their good fortune in securing so rare an article, with an air of sincerity that would have un- pressed almost any lady with the idea that she was fortunate in being allowed to see it. "It is vcr~ handsome," replied Mrs. Miller, looking at the article with admiration, not un- mingled with awe, "but I do not want so ex- pensive an article." "Here, madam," said Sam, exhibiting an- other, "is a real pusher lace, very fine, from one of the most celebrated makers of France- a rare pattern, the first of the kind ever in- troduced into this country." "What is the price sir 7" inquired Mrs. Mil- icr, looking an if she was almost afraid to ask the question. "One hundred dollars, madam, and certainly the cheapest article in New York at tha~ price. We had eight hundred of them, all different patterns, but of the same quality, and this is the only one we have left." "It is more than I cr.re about giving,~~ was the reply. "Ali) now we come to itV and Sam drew another out of the box with a triumphant flourish, "this is the Lama, very stylish, we have been selling them at sixty-five dollars, but this one I will put to you at fifty.5 Mrs. Miller examined the article closely, de- clared it very handsome, but hesitated to say more. After this Mr. Seliwell ~hibited four or fi~ others, displaying them in the besV light, and enpatiating on the beauty and elegance of each one. "Now here is one," said Sam, in a confiden- tial manner, "that Mr. Muslin put aside f.r a friend of his-it is a vcry neat pattern, line quality., and will wemir a life-time. You see, this woyk is very light and airy, that vine is beautiful, the col~ is elegant and will never turn-we've sold over chr3e hundred of them this week." "how much could you let me have it for 7' "Well, now-let me see-it is marked-Mr. Droll, what do we sell ehcse ME points at 7" The private mark of the house was Cum- Lerlar~f1, so Peter promptly answered, "Thirty- fre dollars." -' Yes, madam, thirty-five dollars," said Sam, ' but, as it is you, I'll call it thirty, and run the risk of a scolding." Mrs. Miller took the point at that price, paid the money, and was politely bowed out by Mr. Sellwell. In wrapping u~p, the mark had been shown to Mr. Crape by the foreman of the packing room, and Mr. Crape, as usual, was led by curiosity to the cashier's desk, where he learned the price that Mrs. Miller had paid for the article. "Mr. SeIlwell. didn't I tell you Mrs. Miller was a friend of mine," said he, approaching that genthiman in a great passion. "Yes, I believe you did," carelessly replied Sam, as he folded the points and put them away. "The point you sold her was marked twenty- two dollars, and you charged her thirty, si;!~ said Mr. Crape, his rage increasing. "Well, if you wanted a point given away, you should have waited on her yourself," re- plied Sam, returning a box to its place on the shelves. "I'll have you know, sir, that I won't have such things in this house." "Oh, come now, don't kick up such a riffle about nothing," said Sam, stopping in his work to address Mr. Crape. "If you speak to me in that way," was the. rep!y, "I'll discharge you." "When 7" coolly asked Sam. "Now, right away, sir," said Mr. Crape. "Well, thia ain't the only dry goods store in New York," said Sam, taking down his hat, "and this will suit me as well as any day." "Go to the office, sir, and have your account settled," said Mr. Crape indignantly. "Well, you come along," said Sam, and the two walked into the office, whore Sam, request- ed to have his account made up. Mr. Barege, was in his great easy office chair, and looked up with surprise, when he heard one of the best salesmen in the house request a settle- ment. He inquired the cause of the disturb- ance, and Mr. Seliwell related what had hap- pened, with an occasional interruption from Mr. Crape. "I'm surprised, Mr. Sellwell," said Mr. Bar- ege, "that you should charge such an outrage- ous price." "The goods were marked low," replied Sam, "and well able to stand the price." "Well, I've no objection," said Mr. Barege, in a half reprovii~g tone, "that you should ask a fairprofit, but fourteen~ dollars out of thirty! Don't ~lo it again, Mr. SelIwell." "All right, sir." "By the way," said Mr. Barege, "you were ~bsent three days last week, Mr. Sellwdll." "Yes, sir," replied Sam, with a solemn look, 'my aunt in Jersey City was sick, and there being no one but servants there, I staid to Look after the old lady." "Ah! how came yo~ti on Broadway, Wednes- lay evening 7" "Wednesday? oh! yes," said' Sam, suddenly ~emcmbering, "I came over to get some mcdi- ~ine. The article ordered by the doctor could not be found in Jersey." "It must have been a new medicine," replied Mr. Barege, "since you had to go to a lager page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 MARDI URA~; A TALE 01" ANTE BELL LUll TIiJIES. beer saloon for it! That will do, you can go to your stock, Mr. Seliwell, and I trust your aunt will not be sick again soon "Thank you, sir, I hope not," said Sam, very gravely. Mr. Crape, defeated in his attack on Seliwell, came out in the store and meeting Philip, who had been watching with interest all these dif- ferent scenes, thought to take revenge on the boy by ordering him to clean the windows. "That's not my work," said Philip "Oh! it is'nt, well I'll see," replied the irri- tated gentleman. Fortunately for Philip, Mr. Muslin, called him at this time and sent him off on an errand down town. Mr. Droll had been troubled with a cough for more than a year, which at times was so severe as to seriously frighten his friends. On this day he had suffered from it more than usual, and Seliwell, while he related to him the scene in the office felt worried at the signs of consumption that wore plainly traceable in his old friend. "Confound this cough," said Petet', "I believe i've got the consumption." "Oh! nonsense, Pete," replies Sam, conceal- ing his real feeling~, "you have caught cold, rake a good hot apple toddy when you go to bed to-night and you will be better to-mor- The next day was Sunday, and in the after- noon, as he had promised, Philip started out to pay a visit to Mary. lie took with him three or four of the best books he had, which he in- tended to loan to his young friend to read. The day w svery pleasant, calm and still, the very air s~en3ing to know that the day was boly, and t~ hang with a mellowed brightness over the ci y of churches; a few fleecy clouds were movi g slowly through tl~e heavens, while the un gave a cheering brightness to all around, without an oppressive or glaring heat. Phi ip was so pleased with the serene and happy scenes about him, that without no- tiziing his progress he passed the street he should ha e turned into, and did not discover his mistake until he arrived at Foi~t Green. Turning to retrace his steps, he was hailed by a familiar voice and was then joined by Mr. Droll, who inquired where he was going. Philip urged his friend to join him in paying a visit to Mrs. Collins' house, and dwelt so ad- miringly on Mary's beauty and goodness, that Mr. Droll consented. Mary answered their 'knock at the door and received them with a childish ease and grace that pleased Mr. Droll very much, and when Mrs. Collins welcomed them in' her kind and gentle way, he felt himself quite at home. Philip and Mary were soon engaged with the freedom of children, looking over the books he had brought, examining the modest ornaments of the room, and discussing the different sub- jects that occurred to their minds. Mr. Droll and Mrs. Collins, were equally interested in the conversation that passed between them- selves. He was a native of Aberdeenshire, Scotland, and she was from the Glens of An- trim, in the ever green Isle, and a comparison of the two countries, with 'a relation of the many incidents of childhood that still dwelt bright in their memories, made the time pass pleasantly away, and caused them before the evening was over to feel a friendship for each other that it might have taken years to create, under different circumstances. The visit was s~ agreeable, in fact, that Mr. Droll was pleased with the invitation given to call again. his Sunday walks thereafter usually included, a visit to Mrs. Collinsand frequently during the week he would stop in for a few moments. At these times he took great pleasure in assisting Mary with l~er studies, and often brought her books that he thought would be useful or en- tertaining. He was fond of music, and as an amateur, was considered an excellent per- former on the piano, violin or flute, the latter of which he sometimess brought with 'him, and varied their amusements with music. Philip usually acco i~panied Mr. Droll in his visits to Mrs. Collins, or was there before him. He now took more interest in reading and iA studying with Marytlian he had ever done at schooland as Mr. Droll always included him in his in- structions, often jokingly said that he was now attending college and that when he grad-. uated he expected to get a Droll diploma. CIJAPTETI yirr. Although it is a common saying that "the age of miracle~ has past," and we no longer~ find the kings and rulers of Christian coun- tries, or their statesmen and lawgivers, wise judges and men versed in science and lit~ra- tine, consulting sooth-sayers and astrologist~, asking of them the unveiling of the future, and MARDI GRAS; yielding to their predietitins implicit belief and to their mandates a blind obedience, yet we find the descendants or Successors of thi. mysterious men of science who flourished in the middle ages, still practicing the arts and wiles of the profession. Whether it is that imposters and illiterate persons have degraded the once noble art, or that the world has be- come so practical as to regard all pursuits as mere trades and matters of business, or that the superior intelligeuce of the age has dis- covered it to be the veriest humbug, which ought to be exploded, certain it is that the professors who pursue it are no longer looked upon with that respect and superstitious awe that characterized their lives in "the good old days." Yet there are many of them who do a very lively business, and amass immense for- tunes-the test in these latter days of success and deserving character. They have their fol- lowers, who pay profound reverence to their powers, their' visitors from curiosity, and through the credulity, hopes, fears and ridi- cule of the world, hold their authority and reap their harvest. Madame Clementine Pavalio,, was one of the most celebrated fortune tellers, and astrolo- gists of the city. She understood her calling to a nicety, and while she advertised extensive- ly, her cards and circulars were so well word- ed, and her appeals so judiciously made, that even those who ridiculed the idea of belief in such a science, were drawn through curiosity to visit her rooms. She claimed to treat her subject scientifically, and with new and im- proved apparatus to assist her, she read the past, present and future, assisted in consum- mating matrimonial engagements, gave a like- ness and told the disposition of the future husband or wife of the applicant. She des- cribed the friends and pointedout the enemies of her visitors, and warned them of the dan- ~ers hanging over the future. She oft~n gave information that led to the arrest of thieves, and defaulters, and the recovery of articles stolen; many of her exploits in this line bad been important in their results, and these with the facility and accuracy with which she had read the past lives of some of her most im- portant clients had gained for her a wide rep- utation and left a deep inipression on 4he minds of a few of the most incredulous. If they had been allowed a peep behind the scenes, as we shall presently take, their wonder would have been much abated. tier residence was a brown stone front house of imposing appearance, near Broadway, on an up-town street, and the silver knob to the door- bell, was encircled b~- a handsome band of the same metal, bearing in plain, but not over- grown letters, the name, Madame Clementine Pavalio. On one side of the spacious hail, b~ which the house was entered, there hung a ina~nificent oil painting of Puck, starting oii a mission to' girdle the earth, while opposite * there stood a marble statue representing for- tune in the, act of emptying her horn of plenty. The consultation room, which looked out upon the street, was large, with high ceilingsand the high windows that reached nearly from floor to ceiling were shaded by elegant lace and da- mask curtains. The furniture was of elaborate pattern, rosewood and satin, of the finest quality and newest styles. On the mantle- piece, which was loaded down with costly or- naments, there was an upright card ease of motherof pearl, supported by a pedestal of pure g~d, and in this the cards of fortune were placed, after being shuffled for dealing. On an elegant marble top center table there stood a miniature globe, on which all the countries of the earth were delineated with accuracy and in the best style of art. A large pier glass was placed between the windows, opposite to which was the horoscope of destiny, so con- trived that while the visitor unsuspectingly looked into it, the astrologist quickly took their photograph, whlch could be afterwards used, either to gather more particulars about the principal, or to send to some distant cor- respondent, as the likeness of a future partner in life, On one of the sofas in this room a man was cisurely reclining, while n&ar him in an arm chair the renowned fortune-teller was sitting. lie had evidently just come in, and stretched himself wearily out, while she in a compass sionating tone said, "You seem weary, my dear." "I am weary, and what's more, I am worried and disgusted with this interminable search. It is first one track and then another, and en- ~irely different one, all leading to-nothing." "Well, my dear, you get paid all the same, don't you I" "Yes, oh, yes! but that is not nil a m~in works for. I get paid liberally, but then' I could make just as much working up the pri- vate cases that would come to me, if I was free to take them, and then there would be variety, 4 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] / MARDi ~K2o and the satisfaction of success. Now here I've had this one case since the year after we were married, and I am no nearer success than when I first took it." "It is strange," replied his wife, who wore her high sounding foreign name only for busi- ness purposes, but w~s Mrs. Williams in pri- vate, "that Mr. MacVain does not tire of this fruitless search." "Not he 1" exclaimed the detective, "I never saw such a man! Disappointment only sharp- ens iiis desire for success, and drives him into new channels and on to new plans.~~ 'lYhy is MacVain so anxious about the re- covt~ry of this child; was she a relative of his?" "ho-I thix~k not. There's some terrible n:y~tery about it and it is fast wearing him to the grave. I 1~hiuk from the way he talks and th&weight it is on his mind that he either stole the child or had it done 7" "He did? What could induce him to do that 7" "I ~dou't know, perhaps money-may be it was done to conceal the child's birth, though if it had been that she would have been stolen before she was two years old. He~s the deep- est man I ever got hold of; you can't find out much that he don't want you to know, and if you do think you've struck a trail, you never know whether you are right or not." "If h~ would come here, I might l~ad him by prophesy 1o do as you wish." "Yes, but he would not come here. He would h~ot at the idea of consulting a fortune- teller, and I would not hazard my reputation with him by such a proposition." "No, it would not do for you to do that-] only wish he would come of his own accord As it is, why don't you throw up the engage ment 7'? "I can't do that very well. I've hinted thai way several times, but MacVain is never wil hug to listen to such a thing, and he has beer so liberal with nie, that I could not honorable drop the case against his will. This matcl girl he thinks is the child he islookingfor, an.: that belief has raised his hopes higher thai ever before.". "And you cannot find her 7" "Find her! You might as well look for: grain of chalk in a barrel of flour, as to be] for one particular vagrant amongst the them ands that infest every alley, lane, and tene GRA~9; went of the city. Besides, I never saw her, and MacVain only saw her once, and way have given me a very poor description of her." "Yet it is strange you can find no trace of her." "It is, indeed, and baffles inc entirely. I wish MacVain would drop the case. I would wil- lingly give up the chance of earning the hand- some reward that is promised on the successful conclusion of our search." The door bell was rung at this moment and to avoid the visitor, if it should be some one wishing to consult the Madame, Mr. \Yil- hams retired into an adjoining room, and the servant announced that a gentleman wished to s~e the Madame. She was ordered to admit him, and a moment afterwards ushered in Mr. MacVain, which' astonished the fortune-teller, the more, because he had been the subject of her late conversation with her husband. Recovering from her surprise, she invited him to be seated, and awaited the disclosure of his business, in dignified si~euce. MacVain east a searching look around ~he room, noti- cing the magnificent furniture and elegant or- nanients with indifference, bu when his eyes fell on the instruments of her science, a sneer culled his lips as he said: "I suppose you think I have ome to consult you about the future, to ask y u if my star of destiny shines brightly and ge you to unfold the past, present and future, t my wondering eyes." "It is neither just or wise," she replied~ heartily, "to mock at that which we do not understand and have never tested." "Do not think.that you can impose on 'he replied, his eyes flashing with resentment at her rebuke. "You could tell me nothing of - the past that would be pleasant to hear, the present 's open before me, and the future is hung with a veil as impenetrable to you as to - myself-no, I want none of your eight seeing or witchcraft." "I know you too well," she replied, careless- ly, turning the miniature globe on its axis, "to I suppose that you come with any belief in my powers-Percy MacVain is a cynic in human affairs, a neglected, almost an apostate in re- ligion, and believes i~i nothing firmly-except ~ his own infallibility~" "MacVain started with surprise when he heard his own name thus announced, and the flush of anger deepened on his face as she pro- nounced her estimate of his character. I A TALE OP ANTE BELL LTi1! TINES. "You were born rich and proud," she contia ned, apparently indifferent to his resentment "wayward,, self-willed and unrestrained, you grew up, with a mind stored with the wealth of science, literature and the flue arts, a posi tion in the highest social circles of the ~world, and a fortune almost unlimited; you have used your advantages for your own gratification and pleasure, never caring whose heart was torn or life blighted, so that your ends were gained.~ "'Tis false," he exclaimed, stamping h~ feet angrily. "I did not come here to be insulted wit~h your Impertinent surmises about my character." I was surprised at the amJunt of knowl- cdg she displayed and her words were the mor galling as they were so nearly true. " told you,~~ he continued, endeavoring to eon ol his feelings, "when I came iii that I wa ed no history of the past, no comments on the resent and no guesses at the future. I cam to ask your assistance in an entirely dif- fere t-" "Yes, I know," she said interrupting him, "you wish me to help you in finding alittlegiri who was stolen from her parents in New Or- leans, and who it is your duty to see returned to her home." MacVain could not conceal his surprise when Madame Pavalie gave this further proof of her knowledge of his affairs, and although a man of strong mind, he was for the moment shaken in his disbelief of her science, lie therefore quietly~answered: "Well...-and if I did I" "I cannot assist 'you now," she replied, "the time has not come yet." "Oh! you cannot," he said, the old sneer re- turning to hi~ lips, "I thought you could rea4 the future like an open book." "The dispositions and intellects of men dif. for," she replied, again slowly turning the lit- tle globe and measuring her words as she spQke, "so it is with the scroll on which is written their future destiny; some lie open be- fore the true astrologist as plaiu as a hook. others are obscured~ by occasional clouds, while a few are shrouded in an impenetrable veil that not the most acute science can lift. Those who pretend that the destiny of all men can be read by them, err, either through inten- tion or ignorance, yet there are very few of this latter class." 27 - "With the fine points of your science I have nothing to do," replied MacVain, "I want your assistance to find this lost child." "it would be useless for me to try now," she replied, "the lines of your destiny and of hers lie far apart and diverging. You have seen a girl of the same name, a match girl; she is not the child you want to find. No, you need not shake your head. I am right, and if you find this watch girl you will then know that I am." "Well, you give no encouragement," he said, "and would seem to aim at dissuading me from a farther search." "Your further search will prove ~ she replied. "I may tell you more at another time, but just now your chart of destiny is not very plain." "You know that I do not believe in your reve~atiohs of the future." "That I cannot help, my reading of the past you know to be true, time will jirovo my cor- rectness ahout the future." "'And you say that I will never find t~he child?" She did not reply for some minu~cs, but sat intently studying~the little globe as it revolved, then going to the mantelpiece she took down the card case, and as ~lie pack it contained was slightly soiled, she took from the drawer ofata- ble a fresh one. These cards were made in the highest style of art, the edges were gilded and the backs ornamented with fine steel engrav ings of mythological subjects. After shuffling them well, she placed them in the case beside the globe on the table and again took her seat opposite to MacVain. As the globe slowly re- volved she drew the cards from the case, and laying them out on the table, read to him in a studied manner: "The woman with whom you plated this child." she said, "died without leaving you any clue as to what had been done with her. The child is ~vel1 and has grown very rapidly. She does not now live in this city. Yen have met her and spoken to her." MacVain started an~ then leaned eagerly forward, while she continued, "you will meet her again and often, hut you will not know her. Your inquiries will be without success, and you will meet her where you least expect it." "I will speak to her and associate with her 7" he inquired. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 MARDI GRAS; "You kave spoken \to her," she replied, and .mfter a pause added, "and will speak to her, but will not know who she is. There-see tb~se cards are all black and mixed suits; I am not therefore able now to tell more with cer- tainty." "You think then," he asked, "that I will never find her ~" "That you will see and speak to her again, is certain," she replied, but I think yon will never know her. Ah! the queen of hearts and jack of diamonds, that is blood! Beware! there is a cloud here, and if you continue, it will lead tq great trouble-yes, to bloodshed." "Madame, if I believed what you have said," he replied, "I should be the most miserable of men. But I a n confident of success I must be successful, or until I sin so, I can never be happy." "If you find er at all," she answered, "it will be many y ars hence, but I do nut think you will find er, and, therefore, advise you to give lip the ifort." "Not I! by t me light of my soul, I will pur- sue the search s long as life lasts, summer and winter, warm a d cold, through all Christen- doin, I will leo myself and have my agents busy until suce ss is gained, or death relieves inc from the task." His eyesfiashed as he spoke, his lips con- tracted and a look of unalterable firmness set- tled on his face. "Perhaps you will assist me," he said, as he arose to go, "if so, I will pay you well." "No, no, no, I can not," she replied, drawing back, "there is blood between you and her, and I doubt if ever you will succeed. The danger that awaits you may engulf those as- sociated kvith you, and, therefore, I decline the offer, no matter what the rew~ird." "Very good, as you please," he replied, smiling at her earnestness, and then he laid on the table a sum of money that, he thought, would be sufficient to pay for the interview. "Good bye, Madame, I may call and see you again." "I hope you will," she replied, as she re- turned his bow, and a servant conducted him out. CHAPTER XX. The ties of home are strong and almost uni- versal. The heart turns from the cares of the world, the rude jostling of the busy crowds, the continual jingle of money and the pursuit of the ever needful dollar, from the over tasked brain, the weary limbs,~ and the dull, drowsy plodding of the day-from all such over-hang- ing clouds the heart turns a way to seek bright visions of joy, amidst the groves and walks, the vine-hung cottage, or, it may be, the ever- recurring, hot and cheerless side-walks, and piles of brick and mortar that mak6 up a city, where once, in a happier time, home was known. The feeling is confined to no class or nation; rich and poor alikeare haunted by it,. for it seems to be innate in the human breast. As "distance lends en6hantment to the ~ when looking upon the works of nature, the majestic hills, the spreading valleys, and the limpid, running water, so time softens the memory of the past, and there are few passages in life, however hard and toilsome, which, viewed aftenthe lapse of years, have no pleas- ant visions intermingled with their trials, that make the heart exclaim, "Ah, those were the g od old days!" Thusthe mantle of oblivion is cast around the sorrows of life, obliterating th ir pain, or mellowing them down, so that th joys that came with them stand above and ov rehadowing theinfi with a tranquil, holy li ht, that causes us to look back with mingled pan and pleasure. A few years hence, and to- da will be counted in "the good old time," an if we could but realize this fact, so as to se son our lives with contentment, how much greater would be the pleasures of this life, how much lighter its burdens. When Cecelia first arrived in Boston, she was delighted with all she saw. The new scenes, strange faces, manners and customs, made a variety that, for the time, engaged her whole attention. She soon became acquainted *ith other children of her own class, and with some of these took up her abode. In this way she passed the next few mouths, making ex cursions to Cambridge, Roxbrury, Maiden and the neighborhood, always peddling some sort of wares with very great success. When the summer had passed away and the autumn was deepening into winter, this roaming about be- came less agreeable, often trying and painful, and she began to talk of New York as home, and of returning to it. With her it needed but the resolntion; no ties bound her, no dear friends by love and kindness, caused a sigh of regret at parting. 28 29 A TALE OP AXTh BEJ1L LUll [LIME1S. 'I'rue, she had no brilliant memories connect- "I don't think ii will," said Nelly, ~/' fox ed with her life in th6 great ~ity. For her no they've had one or two fights already." hearth ston~ had ever been warm and bright, "Well, we'll give 'em one good night any or hallowed by the love of a mother, the how," said Cecelia, "as I've just got back, it's watchful care of a father, or the merry joys of no more'n fair I should stand treat, so you tell brothers and sisters. To all this she was a them and the girls to come up here this even- stranger, yet even her dark life had its rays ing, and we'll have a little supper. Te~m of light a* d comparative pleasures. The dark o'clock is early enough, as I want to take a little roo rh atSanderbnnd's possessed a charm walk through Broadway by gas light, just for tbr her thoughts, which were ever reverting to old times." it, and the boon companions which she had With this agreement the girls separated, met thcie she no~v remembered with a feeling Cecelia going to the little restaurant at the akin to love. 11cr present life was too quiet, corner to order the articles she wanted for the and she longed once more for the old haunts, evening'ss entertainment. the bustle and throng, the never ending tide of The night was bitter cold, the wind sung strangers and the boisterous revelries that bad drearily around the corners, and swej)t with combined to make up what there was ofpleasure full fury through Broadway. The clouds hung in herpast~existen~e. Like the majority of those heavily in the sky, portending a fearful storni, raised in d ur grcat city, she had come to thimik warning the citizens to seek shelter in their that "other places may be very good in their homes. Percy MacVain, who had remained in way, but-there is only one N~iw ~or1c." the city much over his usual time, still cherish- The inmates of Simuderbund's house were ing the hope of finding the girl Cecelia, and surprised, one morning in early December, by then, by further investigation, settle the quas- the return of Cecelia, which, to them, was as tion of her identity with the lost child, was to sudden and unexpected us had been her de- leave for his nome on the morrow, and had re- parture. She ~vas placed in the same room and solved to spend that night In visiting the ten- with the same Companions, excepting the girl ement houses arr4 low resorts and inqnii'o fbi Betsy, ~vho had been moved to another room. the object of his search. He hail visited seve- "Where have you been all this time I" asked ml of the ferries, and spe~mt hours in watching Nelly, a~ th6y sat together, partaking of the the tide of people who ~vere hurrying to their breakfast which Ceeclia had sent out for. homes across the river. It 'vas nearly nine "Oh! all round! I went to o'clock when, after visiting several np4own ton, Salem and saw Bunker Hill and all them plae~, where he thought he might meet with things, I had a nice time, I tell you." success, he came into Broadway and walked to- "You bin' to stay here now l" inquired wards the Battery. Cold, dark and cheerless Nelly. as the night was, there were crowds of poor "Yes, I in, for, after all, ain't no unfortunates passing along the street, eagerly their~ place scanning the face of every man they met, like New ork." hoping to receive a small pittance, that would "That's so," replied Nelly, "I've often heard relieve them from distress, for this one night, them as h~ d gone all over say the same thing." at least. Sonic were clad in nay colored l)op- "So B~t y has*left you I" asked Cecelia. lins and merinoes, with flashy ribbons oil their "Yes, b t she lives down stairs." hats, and streaniing out behind, their shoul- "Why d d she leave I" ders covered with shawls of every celor and ~'" Oh, sh 'a hitched. You 'member Jake, yes, texture. Others wore soiled and time-worn of course on do; well, him and her made a silks1 cut in last year's fashion, and carried match, and she's livin with him." fans in their hands, as if in mockery of the "What a jolly go!" said Cecelia, "ain't they season. Some were yet in summer costumes, well matched, though? lie's a sleepy-headed light bareges, ehene poplins and debates. booby, and she's a lazy good for nothino-" Others appeared in calico dresses, and cowed "And they can both drink as l6ng as any- shivering before the cold blast as if the thin body else will pay for it," said Nelly. calico was all that protected them from the "Oh, it's a nice match, but it won't last rude winds. Some were old and careless, long," replied Cecelia. * making their appeals for aid with a brazen ef- page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 MA.RD frontery that knew no shame, others, advanced in years, were yet mare modest in their de- meaner. There were young girls, tender in years and delicately formed, who seemed to be gliding, more swiftly than the others, down that dark and terrible road of ruin, below shame, lost to honor, eyond hope, far, far be- yond the pale of la~ and affection. One of these he noticed particularly, a. little childl, with a thin, pale face, where .hunger and neglect had left; deep traces, the dark eyes shining out from the ashen paleness that sur- rounded them, with a fierce, unnatural light, her thin calico dress driven close to her form 'by the chilling wind that swept down the street, and as she went by, a ,small voice within his breast seemed to say,| " Is it here, Percy MacVain, that you would look for the victim of your malice Is the delicate child, torn by you from the embrace of a loving mother, one of these Have you taken her from a home where every influence would tend to virtue, honor and refinement, that she might fall into this road of misery, want and crime But for you she would have been sur- roundediby luxury, protected by kind and af- fectionate parents, and have become the; pride and1 joy of her home-seeis she now one of this throng f. Think, oh man, of thg angel you have torn from the influence of rel igion, from the love and reverence of God, .and placed on the high road to -degradation and shame !" - As these thoughts coursed through his brain, ever returning when he strove to shake them off, one of the women stopped him, and asaed for charity in God's name.. Pulling forth a dollar, he gave it to her. Thanking him, she went on, and he, prompted by curiosity, fol- lowed. Going up Broadway, before reaching Canal street, she turned to the left, and de- scended into the under-ground story of the corner house. The room he entered" was entirely under- ground, the story above was occupied as a no- tion store, this was a bar room, fitted up in handsome style. Passing through this, Mac- Vain found himself in a long room, resembling a cave, which was immediately under the side.. walk of Broeadway. It was occupied as a shooting gallery, and as he stood there, sur-' veying the rough appearance of the place, a young man, holding up a pistol, good natured- ly asked him if he would take a shot. This was Mr. Samuel Sellwell, who, having finished I GRAS; his day's work, was out for a little recreation. MacVain surveyed the stranger for a moment with a distrustful look, but the good natured face of Sam overcame his repugnance to recog- nizing such chance companions. " I seldom shoot at such a mark," he replied, pointing to the figure on the iron screen, "but your challenge comes with so much confidence that I will try it." " Oh, I don't pretend to be an extra shot," replied Sam, "but I like the amusement of the thing." "Very well," said MacVain, pointing to the keeper, a lame man, who went about with a long step and a short one, "this gentleman shall call for us, and we will fire in turns at the word.?' , " At the word!" exclaimed Sam, " I never fired that way in my life." .- "It is the only way to have any amusement," said MacVain, " and I never shoot in any other way,-but, as you say you prefer a steady aim, you can fire as you like, and I will fire at the call." . Each one had three shots, and, as it was agreed that Sam should try first, he took his place, and, after a short aim, fired. One of his shots struck the pivot, ringing the bell, and the other two were less than a quarter of an inch from it. MacVain fired at 'the word,- -without care or hesitation, two of his shots ringing the bell and the other touched the spring, but too lightly to stir the bell. " Well done, well done," cried Sam, " let's try it over." " That's not good shooting," said MacVair, " at least down our way we would think it poor-only one shot was fairly in the centre." "I don't think you can beat it," replied Sam. " Oh, yes I can," said MacVain, smiling, " that would never do in pigeon and squirrel hunting." " If you are dry,"~ said Sam, confidently, "we will take something on it that you don't beat it this time." " I am no~ much in the humor for drinking, replied MacVain, who yet felt as if he us vindicate his skill with the weapon, " but I will take your challenge." Sam took his place, aimed with extra care, an4l rang the bell with his first two shots, but success and eagerness to do well made him aim a little unsteady, and the third shot missed the centre by the smallest fraction of distance.' I "That was very well done, for a steady aim,'" said MacVain, who now took his position, and as tihe word was given,rfired with a quick butl ::areful aim. His three shots rang the bell, two of them striking fair in the center. " By Jove, that is good shooting!" exclaimed si A TALE 01F ANTE B3ELLUM1 TINES. N 31 Sam'. "First rate! splendid !" exclaimed the keep- er, with an admiring look at MacVain-. " What will you drink, sir I" asked Sam-. "Exduse me," replied MacVain, "I really don't feel like taking anything." "Oh, that will never do," said Sam, "you must take something. Come -now, it's a cold night, take a hot Tom and Jerry; of all the places in New York, this is the -best for Tom and Jervy." "Very well," said MacVain, yielding reluct- antly to Sanm's importunity. They rang the bell and gave the order to the servant when he came, Sam in his good nature including the keeper in the order. The foam-. ing beverage, smoking hot, was compounded just right, and they all pronounced it the best they had ever tasted. After finishing his glass, MacVain said 1 ea must go, and Sam replied that he had stayed long enough himself and would go a short dis- tance with him. As MacVain return d to the bar room, he looked about him again, wonder ing where the woman had gone that he was following when he entered the place. - " You are a stranger here P' said Sam, in- quiringly. " I am not a citizen of New York," replied MacVain, " but I have spent a great deal of time here." |- " Come this way," said Sam, taking his arm and drawing himn towards the side street, "Il show you a sight, the like of which you never saw before." They passed through the door into a long, narrow passage or hall, under the sidewalk of the side street. Along this was ranged a dozen or more stalls or small apartments, separated by a thin board partition, and all having a door opening into the hall. In each one of these there was a' long, rough table, with benches running a round it for seats. When MacVain entered this place he started back with horror at the sight that met his eyes. The hall was crowded with women like those he had seen on Broadway, who had taken refuge here from the cold of the street. Some were laughing andL relating their experiences of the night with loud words and rude jests, others were singing the rough street songs of the day, others were'in the stalls, indulging in such drinks and refreshments as their scahty means would afford, while many were loung- ing around, waiting for the appearance of some one from whom they could beg the means to pay for something to satisfy their hunger or thirst. 'When the men entered a crowil gathered around them, asking for. some refreshments. All sorts of drinks'and an endless variety of dishes were suggested by* these, each one urging her clai heaconsideran ngrd Mac- witnessed. "Take care, get out of the way," said a young girl, pushing the others aside and pre- senting herself before him, " this is a friend of nine, and I know he'll stand treat for the crowd, if you will only keep quiet." .M God ! Cecelia, you here !" exclaimed MacVain. " Yes, it's me," replied the girl, much sur- "prised that he should remember her, then half fearing that he would demand a return of the money she had cheated him out of,. she re- gretted having spoken. t6 him. If she had known how little he valued money, or yet, if an idea of why he felt so strong an interest in her had crossed her mind, she would have had no such feeling. Remembering how his sombre manner had impressed the girl before, and be- lieving that it was the cause of her not return- ing to him the following day, hie resolved not to awaken her suspicion by questioning her too closely, or frighten her away by a reproof for being in such company. Assuming a care- less freedom he was far from feeling, he ordered one of the waiters to take the orders of the crowd, and requested Sellwell to join them. That gentleman was astonished at this change in his companion, with whose reserved and dignified manner he had been deeply impress- ed. Nothing in the city was new to him, how- ever, and-he accepted the invitation with a cordial approbation. " How have you been 1" asked MacVain, ad- dressing Cecelia. "I've been bully, never was sick in my life," repied the glirl, "ot palive in Brooklyn 1" he said after a page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 38 MAL4DI "No, I don't," she replied, an then the feel- ing of distrust returning, she dded, "I live in Williamsburg." !' Oh I you do I" said MacVain, thinking that he had gained one point, "what part of Wil- liamsburg I" "Two squares from the ing's County Hotel," sbe replied. MacVain did not want to qu stion her too closely, lest he should anger or frighten her, and, therefore, after a short time he withdr-ew, followed by Sellwell. "That's some of New York under ground," said Seliwell, as they stood on the corner of the street. "A disorderly crowd," r~iplied MacVain, "and much to be pitied." "That's so," rejylied Sam, glancing at his watch. "A quarter to ten, well, I'll bid you good night, sir." "Good night," rejylied MacVain, and they ~mparated. CIIAPTElI X. Soon after MacVain left the saloon, Cecelia remembered her engagement with her friends at Sanderbund's and- took her departure also. The room was in the same order, or disorder, as when she occupied it before. The few ar- tides that she bad disposed of so Sanderbund bad been rented to the other occupants of the room.. The old table was well covered with dishes for th~ evening's entertainment, oysters in several.st~les, beefsteak, a chicken salad, with an abundance of bread, claret wine and brealt aown br mom. draught ale, being the principal attractions' "Jake, how much does it cost to go to New. to which was added, later in the evening, a Orleans I" asked Cecelia, when the noise sub- 'large bowl of smoking hot whiskey punch. sided a little. The company consisted of Cecelia's old friends, "Depends on how you go," replied Jake. "It ~'elly and Sally, who were still inmates of the you manage right, you can sponge your way room, and Betsy and Jake, who cuinae up from nearly all through, and if you pay it will their room on the next fioor~ When all were cost-well, ~may be eight4r or a hundred dol- seated at the table, Cecelia invited them fo lars." make merry and help themselves, a request "What do you know about it~?" said Betsy, which each one proceeded to obey without fur- who had been taking liberally of the whiskey ther ceremony. - 'punch "I'm glad to see you back, Ceely," sai~Jalte, "I know, 'cos Dick told me," sa d Jake, "and with his mouth full. yo~b~ttOr bold your jaw, you ha ." "You're eatin' as if you were," said Betsy, "Oh! yes," replied Betsy, be~ een a cry and contemptuously. a storm of'rsge, "get upaquarr 1 now, you're always picking me, pdiug fault. Come, Betsy," replied Cecelia, "let him "Hush up now~," said Jake, "y u're 4runk- eat, that's what I want him to do and you too." as usual-" About one o'clock in the morning, the wind lulled a little, although still very high and the air seemed to grow more intensely cold, every thing was freezing hard and fast. The police- men drew their great coats close about them and bugged close to the corner and friendly door-ways. Such citizens as were yet on~ the streets hurried on their way, bending over as they went, thus to catch less of the wind, and drawingg their bodies close together, so it ~eemed, to avoid the piercing cold, while their breath turned to ice, covering their comfor- Less, mufflers and collars as they went quickly ~n. Save by these few passers, the streets were quiet, and for once the great city seemed :o be u~sleep. Suddenly there came a gleam of light against, A hILE OF ANTE GRAS; "Am I? Am I?" ~iried Betsy, "drunk as usu- "What are you going to d~o this winter I" al hey? Who earns the money-say how much Nelly inquired, as she emptied her glass. have you made these six weeks? who paid old "I don't know yet," replied Cecelin, "hut I Sanderbund the rent last month, yes and this s'pose PH sell something and gouge what I one too i" can." "Are you going to stop ?" criedJake, seizing~ "If I had money," said Jake, after a deep a chair. drink of the ale, "Pd go ~ "No, I ain't," replied the girl. " What would you do South I" inquired "Won't you ?" sa'd he, raising the chair Betsy. over his head, when Cecelia stepped in he- "Do? I'd beg, or sing, or meddle something," twoen theni. he replied. "Not here Jako," she said firmly. "i've heard say," said Sally, thal folks whot "Not hero," he repeated, surprised at the in- went down to Mobile, Charleston or New Or- terruption. leans did mighty well. "No, and if I was Betsy, nowhere else." "That's so !" exelaimid Jake, "why, I know "What would you do I" he inquired with a a feller that went South last winter and. come sneer. back with over five hundred dollarsQ' "I'd break your head or stab you; you never This was a new idea to Cecelia. She had would strike another woman, that's certain !" tried Boston and the neighborhood, but a place replied Cecelia, her eyes flashing with anger. where five hundred dollars could be made in a "Well, you and I ain't got no quarrel," he single season, seemed to her like a fable, replied, shrinking back from her piercing look; "Which is the best place to go to I" she "i don't ~want to offend you, I'm sure." asked. "Then ~hake hands with Betsy," replied Ce- "They are all good ,", replied Jake, "but I celia, "and let us drink once more t6 every- expect New Orleans is about the best. J~ick body's good health." said it was the liveliest place." Peace being thus restored, they all applied The conversation became general and em- themselves once more to the punch until the braced such a variety of 5111)jCCtS as they were last drop was gone, when after many good conversant with, amongst which the theatre, wishes Betsy and Jake retired to their room, circus and nei~ro minstrels were the niost and the others pretty well overcome with their prominent. After they had all satisfied their potations sought their rude beds in the cor- appetites, the whiskey punch was placeil before ners. them, and, as in the most aristocratic assem- As the night advanced, the wind grew more bhrges, the fun grow fast and furious.. They furious, and the clouds that whirled through told stories, related jokes and sang songs, the sky gave promise of a speedy storm, which laughed, shouted, and finally Jake danced a the severity of the weather told must he snow. 7)JVrT TTIr ~17T73I7,~LY XJJJIILLJ UI~L £ILILL.~dAJ. the sky, scarcely perceptible at first, and then a glare shown over the district near the Tombs, while from all around the loud voices of the~ watchmen raised and reiterated the cry 0? "Fire? Fire? Fire I" Then came the ding, 4ong, clatter, bang, of the bells, and in less time than it would take to tell it, half-a-dozen engines, followed by the brave and devoted men who were to man them, were rushing through the streets, with the speed of race horses, indifferent to the pier- cing cold. Now down Center street they come, then around the corner, and in a moment more the first stream of water 18 playing against the walls of Sanderbund's tenement Louse. Another and another company came quickly upon the scene, until the whole available force of the department Was on the ground and hard at work. "Now boys, hurry up, for God's sake don't let us be last," cried a man, fire bat in band, running along the line of men of a Hook and Ladder Company. The company dashed along, onwalid, faster and faster until they arrived at the scene of the fire. "Now loosen them ladders quick," said the foreman, the same man who had encouraged them on the road down. "Where do you want them, Seliwell ?" "Get 'em oil and we'll see," answered the foreman -our old dry goods friend, Sam Sell- well. -' Bring one of yer ladders over here, Sam," said the forenian of one of the engine com- panies, "here's a woman in the third story." The fire had commenced, it seemed, in the lower story, and must have worked with won- derful rapidity, for all the lower doors were closed, and excepting the woman at the third story window, no sign of life bad yet come from the house. The flames were already shooting out of the windows of the second story and lt~pping the lower part of the house in a great sheet of fire. "The devil himself couldn't stand that heat," said one of the men as he attempted to rabe the ladder against the burning house. "For God's sake hurry," cried the woman, appearing again, and now with a child in her arms. "Up with the ladder, up with it, hurrah now," cried Sam. "Then there came a wild shriek of horror, pain and agony and the woman disappeared, page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 2A4 MARDI and in a 'moment more the flames were seen shooting wildly up against the ceiling and around the wood-work of the room she had oc- cupied. Those who ha4 composed the little party in Cecelia's room, had retired to bed more than an hour before and slept heartily after the in- dulgencies of the night. Jake was first to hear the poise and hardly knew for some moments, what to make of it. When fully aroused he sprang from bed and in doing so aroused Bet- sy. "Where are you going, Jake I" she asked. "i'm going to get out of this," he answered in a hasty, angry tone, "don't you hear, you sleepy-head, the house is on fire I" "On fire, oh! my God I" exclaimed the wo- man, springing up,- "what 'will we do, what will we do?" "Do! got out of this," he said starting for the door. "Take me, Jake," she cried, catching hold of him, "take me along Jake." "Let me go," he said, trying to shake her off~ "Oh! don't leave me, Jake!" she pI.eaded,~ "what will I do-don't leave me, oh! for God's~ sake, don't leave me." "Let me go, you fool," he cried1 pushing her rudely from him and hurrying down the hall. When he reached the stairs, he ran down them, in his hurry passing two or three steps at a time. When he reached the curve of the stairs his foot sljpped, and stumbling forward he came head foremost on to the floor, which, rotten by years of use and weakened by the flames that had been burning against it, now gave way beneath him, and as he uttered a foul imprecation on his soul, he was hurled below, striking a burning rafter here and a projecting plank there, until at last, senseless and almost lifeless, lie wa~s stretched out on the heap of burning timbers ou the ground floor. Betsy had followed him to the stairs, witnessed his fall ar~d as the flames shot an- grily up thi~ough the hole made by his passing body, she could go no further, but stood call- jug in a wild frenz~r, "Fire, fire, fire." Through all this not a movement had been heard on the upper story of the building. Ce- celia slept soundly, and dreamed of the scenes she had passed through during the summer. Then her mind wandered to the storied fields of the South, and visions of maugoes, bananas and tropical flowers, ladened with heavy per- GRAS; fumes, filled her dreams. At last there came a confused noise, she thought some onewas call- ing her, then there was the sound of many voices, and she started from her bed, half asleep, to hear Betsy's horrid cry of "Fire, fire." "Nelly, Sally, get up," she cried, pushing the sleeping girls with her feet whil6 she hnr- riedly put on some of her clothes. "Nelly, makeup! Nelly, Sally, don't you hear I" "What? what is it Ceely I" they both in- quired. ~ she replied, "hurry up, the house is on fire! Listen! My God! we will all be burned up !" They all beard the cries iu the street, the dull, measured stroke of the engines as the men worked on them, and the crackling, hiss- ing noise of the flames as they raged and rolled nearer and nearer, while ever and anon, above all, came Betsy's cry of "fire, fire." Cecelia rushed out into the ball, where the smoke and heat were almost overpowering, and comprehending the position at a glance, called P1 Betsy, who was yet standing by the stair-way below. "Come here, Betsy, if you stand there streaming you will never escape. Come here, quick, up with you and we will see what we can do." She then ran to the end of the hall, threw open the front window and called to the men in the street below. The occupants of the other rooms on the flooi~, men, won~en and children, to the number of thirty or forty, were now coming out, crying, screaming, wringing their hands and running to and fro. The scene was terrible below them, the fire raged' fiercely, approaching nearer each mo- ment, the crisping and hissing of the flames was painfully distinct, the smoke swept through the hall in choking, blinding clouds and the heat grew more and more intense. There seemed no chance of escape but by the front windows, and to leap through them would be certain death on the stone paved street below. "Bring that long ladder here," cried Saw, as Cecelia appeared at the window above; "hurry up, let's make one more effort to save them." The ladder was brought and placed agaimt the burning house, but thc heat was so gredt that the men could scarcely stand by it. "Who I in h-can go up there ?" said one of the men 'just look at that flame, it would roast a fel Icr 1,efore he could get up." "Stand aside," said Sam, preparing to as cend.; "it never shall be said they burned tc death without an attempt at rescue from us.' "But look, Sam," remonstrated the man, "who could go through that I" "XVho ever saw a true fireman afraid, wher hurnan4ife was to be saved," said Sam, firmly, "I say, George," he continued, addressing a man with one of the pipes, 'just turn youi stream on me and keep it there all the wa~ The man obeyed and Sam began to mcend Soon two other streams are turned on him and his ladder, and l~is progress was watched with breathless interest by all of the immense crowd assembled. On he went, now he comes to where the heat is fiercest, and hesitates for one brief moment only; but what a thrill went through the crowd, and on he goes-now he nears the window and-he is inside. A sad- den thought seized the fire bound victims and with one accord they rushed for the window to throw themselves out upon the ladder. In vain did Sam talk to them, calling on them to wait, to go with care or help each other to es- cape. Seine in their hurry missed their foot- ing and fell, children were pushed entirely out, and thus hurled to the street below. A few clinging to the ladder were bruised and tramp- lad on by others above them, or burned by the flames that darted up and flashed around them. 'J~he firemen kept their streams steadily on the ladder and thus kept a few from perishing. Atla~t the ladder was clear once more and his companions called loudly for Sam to come down. Cecelia had retired when the rush began, and now that it was over, she approached the win- dow and looked out from the giddy height. Through all this time she had been terribly quiet, so quiet that it seemed as if reason had left her; and as she looked out ol' the window her courage failed and she turned away again. "Come, I'll help you," said Sam, "let me step out and then you hold on to me and we'll go down together." "No, no, I can't," she replied shuddering, "to fall there would be certain death." "To remain here is certain death I" exclaim- ed Sam, and he caught her firmly in his arms and stepped forth. Th~ shout of delight that A TALE Off ANTE BELL TIM [lIMES. CHATTER XL The sun rose clear and bright gilding the church spires and house tops with a flood of light, cheering wherever it penetrated, and dis- pelling all thoughts of the storm that had seemed so imn~inent the night before. it was a calm winter's morning, and, although the trees were leafless, and the grass was withered and brown, the warm rays of the sun made a pleasant mellow light, making it seem like a day in that loveliest of seasons, Indian sum- mer. The busy hum of the returning current of merchants, clerks, needle women and labor- ers, as they came from their homes across the two rivers, or from the upper part of the is- land, soon grew strong, and the preparations for the day's business werenoticeable on every- where. The boys at' Barege, Muslin & Cu's., were sweeping out and dusting, the porters made great piles of calicos and domestics and hung out attractive shawls at the doors, the clerks who cam& early were arranging and asserting up their stocks and everybody ~1'out the store was busy. "We'll have a fine day after all," said Mr. Droll, who was marking a lot of handker- chiefs that had just come in. "Yea, we are likely to do a good trade," re plied Sam, with a look at the agreeable warmth outside, "and the more the merrier," for I just want a roaring trgde to keep me alive to-day." "You're 'owly,' to-day, hey 1" said Peter, "were you at a fire or frolic last night ?" "A little of both, especially the fire busi- ness," replied Sam. "Eh I gad, you ought to have been there, you never would have wished to see another fire." "What was it, Sam." "A tenement house, chock full of people, not more than a dozen of whom were saved," replied Sam. "Such a sight! My God! to hear tAre poor people shrieking fbr help! 'nell, all his brother firemen sent up, as Sam appeared on the ladder, was hearty and prolonged.. All the streams of water in the neighborhood were turned upon him at once and as he des- cended step by step, cheer after cheer was giv- 0n, and when he reached the ground in safety with the rescued girl, the members of his com- pany relieved him of the burden, and he was almost overpowered with praises and congrat- ulations. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] MARDI rye got to say-good morning madam, mourn- ing collars I Yes, madam, a fine lotY At this moment Philip came in, and being late, was met at the door by Mr. Crape, who angrily inquired where he had been; but Philip seeing Mr. Muslin near the lace took, stepped over to him and made his explain tion. "I was up nearly all night," he said," ith a friend who hiss been very ill for a long time, and died this morning.~~ "Indeed, Ptsilip," replied Mr. Muslin, 'I am sorry to hear it. Any of your uncle's fa ily?" "No, sir," said Philip, "an old lady who lived neat us, and as they have no one ~o a's- sist, I should like to be absent until to-m~rrow "Very well, Philip," replied Mr. Muslin. ." What is the news ~ asked Mr. Droll, as he came forward. "She is dead," replied Philip. "Poor old lady, ~ am very sorry," said Mr. Droll. "Hew is Mary I" "She is very quiet, but seems to feel l~er loss very much." "Yes, yes, poor girl," replied Peter, "it's a terrible loss to her." "I am going to see about the funeral," said Philip, "and I'll sit up there to-night." "I'll come over," replied Peter; "'~ will be with you about nine o'clock and keep you com- pany inyour wisteb." Mrs. Collinshad been failingvery rapidly, and the physician who had been waiting on her, had long known that he could do nothing more than give her temporary relief from pain, and make her death more tranquil and easy. When Philip called the previous even- ing, Mary saidthathermotherwtLsmuch worse, and when he went into the room he was sur- prised at the change which had taken place since the morning. He insisted upon remain- ing during the night so. that he might help Mary in the trying time that he knew was now close at hand. Mrs. Collins looked up, when he spoke, and recognized hium with a smile and a kind salutation, after which all were quiet again. She was quite free from pain and breathed softly and freely, except a slight rat- tle now and then, which seemed to annoy her more by its strangeness, than by any pain it gave. About midnight the death look became more distinct, her eyes wandered uneasily about the room, and Mary, thinking that she GRAS; A IALE OFAATT wanted. a drink, gently raised her up, and of. to stay all night, and others to spend the even fered her some, but sh~i still continued to look ing. The furniture was arranged with care anxious. an(I the few ornaments of the room were re "What will YOU have, dear I" asked Mary. moved or covered up. The remains, dressed is "I am-going now-Mary-I know-I c~i~ a black silk dress, were exposed on a large ta. not live- ~' ide covered with drapery of white, over which "Oh! no, no, no, dear, do not think of that," were strewn flowers and evergreens, arranged said ~Iary. in wreathes, bouquets and festoons. Around "Yes, Mary-I must-I cannot put it off"- the corpse wax candles were burning, and at and she looked at Philip. the head a large crucifix was placed. Many ol "What is it, mother dear ~ said Mary ten- the callers 111)011 entering made the sign of the derly. cross, and kneeling, said a prayer for the rest "No-I am not-" again she paused and of the soul of the deceased. looked anxiously at Philip. "Will YOU have the priest, mother dear ~' For an hour or two after Mr. Droll arrived, visitors were coming and going, each one sny- asked Mary. . ing some kind word or offering some consoling "Yes-yes-quick, Mary-quick." reflection to Mary, who sat by one of the little Mary requested Philip to go to the Cathedral front windows, her heart too full of grief and for one of the Fathers, which he did at once' sadness, for relief through the medium of During his absence Mrs. Collins talked to Mary tears. She felt that now she was alone in the as much as her strength would permit, ad- world, there was no relative to whom she vised her about her, future life, and unburden- could go, no friend upon whom she could rely, ed to her the few thoughts that had laid buried or from whom she had a right to expect corn- in her mind for years, and gave her an outline fort or assistance. Alone in the world !~ The of the history of the family, many of tbe facts strong man loses mother, father oy~wife, and and incidents of which w"re new to Mary. he feels alone in the world. The woman, with When Philip returned with the priest, she a mind folly formed, trained and educated, was quite calm again and received the Father loses these ddar friends upon whom she has with evident satisfaction. leaned for support and kindness, and she feels After this she fell into a gentle sleep, so that she is now alone in the world! And these peaceful and calm that the watchers were al- are terrible. But Mary was a mere child, most persuaded that she was getting better kindly and tenderly cared for, raise&to love and would soon be out again, and cherish home and home influences, taught About four o'clock she awoke, and requested in the paths of virtue and goodness, her mind that she might be allowed to sit up in bed. trained to adore and venerate the Church, Mary raised her with tender care and held her 11cr Redeemer, and God. how unprepared for head in her arms, while Philip arranged the the battle of life was that innocent, confiding pillows so that they would support her when child! The change from this home, humble and she was laid back again. While in this pesi. idain as it was, to the rough, designing, Wick- tion, she looked lovingly into Mary's face' ed world, would he great-very great. smiling upon her, and say~ng with the depth As the night wore on, the watchers becamn~ of true heart-feeling, "God bless you, Mary, more sociable and passed away the time in dear," she quietly passed away; her face bore the peaceful repoSe of an infant's in deep conversation. her back upon the snowy "The old lady looks very ~ said Mrs. sleep, and Mary laid B~ddice, ~n broad shoulderedgoodnatured lady, pillows-dea'l. The neighbors came in early in the morning who kept a small vi~riety store over the way. and kindly assisted in the arrangements, lay- "As true as life," replied Miss Catherine, an ing her out in the parlor of the little house, Irish servant girl, who had known Mrs. Col- and preparing Mary for the funeral, which was un's folks in the ~'ould country," "nice well-to- to take place$he next day. do people they were too," she often said. When Mr. Droll came over in the evening he "She wa~ an excellent lady," said Mr. Drofl, found all these preparations concluded, and as he took a seat near theni. several of the neighbors who had come in, some . "ye might well say that, sur," replied Cath- B BELL UJi( TiMES. 87 37 erine, "she was a well eggiearcd woman, as was her mother before her." "You knew her at home I,' inqulued Peter. "I didn't know herself much," replied Cathe- rine, "she was older tl~n me. I remember well when she was married to Mr. Collins, and a few days after left to come to lihis country. I was quite young then, but I never shall f6rgea how handsome she looked and how beautiful. Miss Sarah Murrey was as the bridesmaid. it was the handsomest sight lever saw." "I have talked with her often about the old country," said Peter. "Her folks had a nice farm, and everything comfortable," replied Catherine, "and *were well connected, the mother was a born lady. I knew the younger children, and lived once for a short time with the family." "She came to this country while she was young, I have often heard her say." "Yes, her husband was mixed up in poli- ties and was crazy to come to a free country," replied the girl. "Thousands have left their home~" replied Peter, "for no other reason. The persecutions that have cursed that country have been a great benefit to this, by sending out many a good and brave man to seek a home here." "Oh! that's true," said the girl. "Now there was the young Squire, he was suspected of having something to do ~'ith trying to get up a revolution and was compelled to sell out and leave. Ab! that was a flue estate, a whole country side which had belonged to his family for generation after generation. He was ~x fine looking young man and never a tenant was distressed by hini or his fathers." "It was a sad thing for an old family to be broken up so." "So it was, sir, and one of the best in the country,~~ replied Catherine. "Before the union, as they call it, they belonged to the no- bility of the land, and for their opposition to English rule and' the abuses heaped upon our country, their titles were taken away and their estates cut down, and after all the young Squire was compelled to leave. I don't re- member the charges brought against him, but I have often heard the people talk about him and Sarah Murrey. She was semptress for the family, a very handsome and intelligent girl, and the folks used to say she was in love with the young Squire, but of course their positions in life werbe too different to admit ot' their page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] n,7~ ~i nna . 88 J]LLLIY.L~L union. After he sold out and came to Ameri- ca, she came out here also." "Did they get married I" asked Mr. Droll. "Oh! no. He lives way down south some- where, and she lived here. It is only a short time since I was speaking to Mrs. Collins about her~ she and Sarah were always good friends. Sarah died very suddenly, while spending some time in Troy. I don't think she ever saw the Squire after she came out here. If she did no one ever knew it." "Very sad, such breaking up of families," said Mrs. Boddice, who had sat quietly listen- ing to this conversation. "it's awful," replied Catherine, "but friends are friends in life and death, and Mrs. Collins told me that she knew Sarah was dead before ~he heard of it through the papers, because she saw the banshee." "You don't believe in the banshee, do you I" asked Philip, who now joined the circle. "Not believe in the banshee I" exclaimed Catherine, "there's nothing truer than the banshee. Sure my own cousin saw her. You see, cousin John was much in love with my sister Mary, a lovely ~jrl, the darlin' of the family. I~ was no wonder that John loved her, for everybody done that, and so he wasn't to blame. But you.know the holy Church for- hiSs such marriages, and me mother wouldn't ha' listened to it at all. Mary loved John, and in truth he was as fine a young man as ever struck a blow for the ouldeountry or emigrated to free America to 050'pO ol)pression and wrong. One morui~g John he comes up to Mary, as she was standing at ~he front door, God love her, and he says, 'Mary, darlin', I'm gem' across io the good country, and won't you come along I' 'John, I can't, because mother would never forgive it.' 'Sure, Mary,' he says, 'an' after the knot's tied and all over, your mother will say God bless you.' 'Now, John, dear,' says she, an' heaven rest the dar- tin', 'John,~ says she, 'you know the Father would not marry us.' 'The oi~ild man will do it,' says John, 'an', if tie don't, the Squire will.' 'John, John,' says Mary, her eyes standia' out wid horror, 'I didn't think, John, you'd speak so disrespectful of our Holy Mother, the Church.' 'Is it I,' says John, 'would say anything against the Church? not I, my darling, but sure if we played a little trick on them, and got the Squire to do the job first, they would add their 'blessings after. wards.' 'No, no, John,' she says, 'I never can do anything behind backs, like, an' you better try an' find some one more deserving of yonr love, John,' and so, after a long talk, they sep- erated, both of them feeling very sad indeed. John he came to America, and from that very day Mary kept failing in health, just pining away like. Now, one morning, it was a Sun- day morning, and John was latin' abed later than usual, mind, he were here in New York, and w~ were in the ould country. In his room there wus a pair o' stairs, which led up into the room over head. lie' looked up, as he lay there in bad, and who should he see but me sister Mary, i~ comm' down the stairs. He was surprised and sat 'up in bed, and she, looking him right in the face, kept on dowil stairs, came round the foot of the bed, up to the side of it, and stood there, looking steadily at him. Her fuce was very pale, but natural, and her big brown eyes seemed filled with compassion andlove for him. That way shestoodformore'n a minit,'and then-she was gone, how or where hecould not tell. At thatvery moment, inthese arms of uLine, me sister Mary, Our Holy Mother pray for her, took her departure for a better and happier world." This story, told in a low, full tone of~voice, and with an earnestness that left no cixunce to doubt tl]e speaker's sincerity, told, too, in the presence of death itself, made quite an impres- sion on all present. "The old country is full of legends of inter. est," said Mr. Droll, after a brief silence, "and in my own country it is the same.. There's not a crag, or peak, or rocky pass but has its wild story of former days. In our town there lived, and, for aught I know, lives there yet, a sturdy old fellow, by the name of Hugh MeFall. Ho was a brawny, roaring boy, a good worker at his trade of blacksmith, and when at his forge could make the sparks fly with the next man s~ho came along, no matter who he was. Hugh was a good man to his family, a wife, a gentle, klnd.hearted creature, and four or five healthy, blooming children, and for all the country round there was not a man more esteemed as a mechanic, nor more welcome as a friend, than jolly Hugh MeFall. lInt Hugh loved his pot and his glass, and, after a few weeks ef steady toil, 'on an extra good job, he was sure to wind up at the public house of the town, and there spend his money, and an hour or two, or may- hap a whole night of drinking and carousing A TALE OF ANTE BtLLUM TIMES. with a lot of boon companions. He was an ly bright by the excitement and trouble inveterate card player, and would play day or through which she was passing, made a deep night, Sunday or Monday, and never knew impression on the watchers. In a quiet man- when to stop. This cost him nearly all nor, which showed how great was the emotion his earnings, and at times his poor family she had subdued within her heart, she asked would be distressed for food. One Sunday them to go into the back room. night he 4as coming home from drinking and Here they found prepared for them ii lunch card playing, and had to pass through a p0- of coffee, bread and butter and boiled ham, tato field for a near cut. When he came which they partook of heartily, chatting da- te the stile where he had to cross the fence, ring the time about the weather, fashions and a strange man, very well dressed, was standing general topics of interest of the day. Return- there, apparently waiting for him. 'Good lug to the parlor, after a look at the corpecand evening, Mr. McFalI,' said the stranger. 'Good some 'casual remarks about the life-like looks evening, sir,' says Hugh, 'but you have the ad- of Mrs. Collins, they once more took theirseats. vintage of me.' 'Oh, that's nothing,' replied Mary had resumed her seat near the window, the stranger, 'I have that of a good many peo- and, although the night was well nigh gone, l)le. I know you well, however, and would sl~e gently but firmly refused all entreaties like to play a game of cards with you.' 'Not that she should retire to rest. to-night,' says Hugh. 'Oh, come man, it's a "That people do sometimes revisit the earth bright moonlight night, and we may as well after death," said Mrs. Boddice, that' subject have a little fun,' replied the stranger. 'No, having been introduced by Mr. Droll, "there I'm going home,' insisted Hugh. 'You hotter are many persons who will testify, persona try me a while,' says the stranger, 'I'd like of such character and standing that their cvi- the fun just now.' 'But I've been playing,' deuce is beyond question." replied Hugh, 'and I'm going home.' 'I have "We have a thousand such tales in Scot- heard you were the best player in the town,' land," replied Peter, "but I thought those says the stranger, as he produced a pack of who saw th~ wonders were like Burns, when cards, 'and now you back out when I asl~ you counting the horns~of the moon, 'but whether to play.' The sight of the cards, coupled with she had three or four, he cudna tell."' this banter, was too much for hugh, and so "That is the popular idea," said Mrs. Bed- they sat down by a large, fiat stone that lay in dice, "people hoot at such 'things because it the 'radden~' or foot path, and began to play is fashionable to do so. What I am going to Money was staked by both, and piled up be- tell you rests on too good authority to be qu~s- side them on the stone. Hugh won and lost, toned, except by those who are deteriiiin~d and so did the stranger, when, after they had not to believe. In our church, down here1 *e played for nearly an hour, Hugh accidentally had a sexton, who served there for many years. dropped one of his cards, and, when he stooped Old Joe was ~nown everywhere and esteemed over to pick it up, his eyes came near flying by all who knew him. He was a pious, up- out of their sockets, for, lo, and behold, the right man, as near a saint as human nature stranger had a cloven foot! Recovering him- can be. He would deny himself evey comfort, 5elf, Hugh, who was a Catholic, hastily made live on the least possible moiety, that he might th~ sign of the cross. 'What do you mean by save his salary and the alms that were given th~ut V exclaimed the stranger, getting up in a him, atid with this money he would hunt out rare. Hugh. devoutly repeated the action, the deserving poor~ and assist them, and few, saying the words aloud, when the stranger at very few people ever knew of his charities. once vanished and Hugh hastened home. From ll~very morning, long before daylight, he would that day he never touched a card, or got drunk be in the church, doino. the stations, saying again, but many a time he told of his game of some litany or prayer, a'~d throughout the day cards with the devil." and night much of his 1~ime was spent in the Mary had been absent from the room for some same manner. So well ~nown were his pious time, and returned as Mr. Droll finished his sto- habits, and so highly ~as he esteemed, that ry. Herblack clothes, pale and care-worn face, he was frequently requ~isted by people of the and sorrowful expression, as she lo4~ked at parish and from other parishes, too, to pray them, her eyes made peculiarly and unr~ atural- for their deceased friends, or the conversion or U page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 M ARDI return to the Church of sinners. These charges were always accepted by Joe with evident satisfaction. I think I see lkim now, that good old man, so tall and straight, with no extra ~esh on him, a muscular mar~, used to austerity and penance in his personal~ habits, but with a face full of expression, s kind and gentle, and the finest, most expressive dark brown eyes I ever saw. One of the members of the church died and was buried it's no use wound- ing feelings by mentioning ames, for he has a large family living here yet, but I will call tim Mr. B. About six w~eks after Mr. B's death, as good old Joe was saying the stations early one morning, he felt something run against him like a man. He got up and looked around, but nothing was tobe seen. He knelt again, and was again jostled, and this continued s~ that he could scarcely say his prayers. This continued for several days. Whenever Joe entered the church he was run against, pushed and jostled around so that he could hardly attend to his duties or say his devotions. Finally he went to his confes- sor, and asked his advice, giving him a history of all that had happened, and the good Father advised Joe to speak and ask what was wanted. He had no sooner returned to the church than the same demonstrations were commenced, and, making the sign of the cross, he demand- ed, in God's name, what was wanted, when, right there before him Mr. ~. appeared, just as he had often seen him in life. 'What do you want?' asked Joe, again blessing himself. 'I want you to make a restitution for me,' said Mr. B. or what had been him when he was alive, 'and I can never rest uxitil it is done.' 'Very well, what shall I do I' asked Joe. 'Go to my house, and in the box where I kept my private papers you will find a watch, a fine gold watch which I never used, because I came by it unjustly. Tell my wife to give it to you, and take it to Mr. Th, to whom it belongs.' Joe not only promised to do this, but also to pray for the poor sinner. He went to the house and told Mrs. B. what bad happened, and they to- gether looked for the watch and fuund it. It was avery valuable article, and Mrs. B. refused to give it up, saying that Joe had been dream- ing and she did not believe Mr. B. had come by the watch dishonestly. While she was talking her husband appeared in the room and directed her to give the watch to Joe. She did so, of course, atid toe, took it to Mr. D., who at GRAS; A TALE OP AIYTZ once recognized it and was glad to get it "It is the only ferry that I have neglected," back again. The family were very much dis replied Mr. MacVain; "I have sledorn watched stressed about the matter for fear it would be- there, the very place I should have been most at." come known, which it never would, if some of them had not had long tongues and told it' When they had fully talked the itiatter over, However, very few people have heard .t and I they crossed the Grand street ferry together suppose it will go no further." and inquired in the neighborhood indicated by The first faint light of morning was by this Ceceltit, but could find no one that knew any time appearing in the east and the friends got thing about her. There was a man who kept up and walked around the room, through the an extensive store for the sale of groceries, vegetables, and some of the neigh- yard, and finally took their departure. At ten meats and v o'clock a few friends assembled, and the un- hors said that "he knew everybody," and to pretending funeral procession took up its way him the two gentlemen went. After thinking to the cemetery, where the last solemn services the matter over, as if reviewing his extensive of the church were performed, and the ground acquaintance in procession in his mind, this received the mortal remains of one, who when man shook his head and said that there was no living had well and faithfully discharged her such girl anywhere in the neighborhood. They duties to her family and to society, and with now returned to the city again, perfectly at a truth and sincerity, as well as frail human loss to understand the new disappointment. nature may, had'sought to follow the teachings Mr. MacVain remembered that the girl had and precepts of her Divine Master. answered him freely and without hesitation, and he was at a loss to know why she should deceive him. Lost in a deep study over the CHAPTER ~L conduct of this strange girl, he did not notice Early in the morning of the day after his that they were again in the city until ac- visit to the Broadway cave, Mr. MacVain left costed by a poor woman, in a torn dress, coy- his' rooms to look for Williams, to acquaint ered with dust and charcoal marks, who asked him with the events of the previous evening, for alms. His first impulse was to draw forth He found him at the Star, a well known Eng- a small sum of money and give it to her, but lish eating and ale saloon, where they took \Vi1liai~ns interfered and asked the beggar breakfast together and arranged their plans where she lived. for the future. "Oh, sir, I did live at Sanderbund's, but you "I managed the ~business well," said Mr. know it was burned up, and my poor Jake was MacVain, lost in the fire," answered Betsy. "I knew, the moment you came in' implied "That was the tenement house that burned Williams, "that you had good news." last night," said Mr. MacVain. "The meeting was very unexpected," con- "Yes, sir, it was," replied Betsy, "and an tinned Mr. MacVain, "and I was afraid to ask awful.tg'ht it was." her, in a direct manner, any questions at all. "Were there many people lost I" a~ked Mr. But, by seeming indifferent and careless, I got MacVain. all the information I wanted." "Yes, sir, nearly everybody in the house," "It was a very fortunate adventure," said replied Betsy, "and we would all have been Williams, "and will enable us to brinS this burned up if it hadn't been for Ceely." trail to a speedy termination." . "For who I?' exclaimed both gentlemen. ~ "Yes, so it will," replied Mr. MacVain, "we '~ Ceely-she lived in the story over me," C will go over and hunt her up, and I will then replied Betsy. leave the case in your hands. By getting well "What more than Ceely was her name 7" ~ acquainted with her you can learn her history Mr. MacVain inquired. and be able to tell whether she is the child I "Ceely Benson-but did you know her, sir?" t "Where is she now 7" asked Mr. MacVain, am looking for." "Oh, all that is easy enough, now that we without noticing the other's question. know where she lives," said Williams, "though "I don't know, sir," she answered. it is denied strange that I never met her on the "Mr. Williams, let us go to my room," said b ferry." Mr. MacVain, "you come with us," he added, si I addressing Betsy, "and give me what infor- mation you can about Cecelia and I will re- ward you liberally." This arrangement was agreed to, and the three proceeded to Mr. MacVain's apartments. Here Betsy gave a history of~Ceeelia's move- meats from the first of her acquaintance with her, and finished by giving it as her opinion that Cecelia would go to Boston again unless she found a good place in the city. She wil- lingly volunteered to assist in hunting her up, and the next four or five days were~ spent in visiting such places as Betsy thought Cecelia would go to * In none of these could they hear anything of her; she had not been around and no one had seen her. Mr. MacVain supplied Betsy with new clothes and money to pay her expenses, and advised Williams to employ her during the next few mouths to help him look up the missing girl. "I must go home," he said, speaking to that gentleman, "my business demands my. pres- ence in New Orleans, and I will again leave the whole matter in your hands." Williams hesitated some minutes before re- plying, as he had determined to try to g.ive up the situation, if possible, and was now studying how he should b4ng it about. "Really, Mr. MacVain, I fear that, when we find this girl," he said, "it will only be another disappointment." "Why do you think so?" asked Mr4 MacVain, whQ had not allowed himself to doubt the [dantity of the girl. "Well, I can not see the reason for suppos- ng that she is the child you are looking for," ~eplicd Williams. "Why, her name, age, and desolate condi- ~ion, without friends or family," said Mr. Mac- Vain, "all this is in favor of the supposition." "The name I dbn't think much proof, it is iot a very uncommon one," replied Williams, and, as to the other circumstances, we have allowed up a sedre of more promising cases ~nly to be disappointed at last." "Well, sir, while you are looking her up, if ~ou see any one else that you think is the hild we are in search of, yen can pay atten- ion to them," replied Mr. MacVain. "As to iving up the case, that is out of the question. will follow it as long as I live, cost what it may, e~nd as it may, no exertion of mine shall o wanting to bring it to a successful conelu- [on." 6 ~' IThILL UM TIMES. .41 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] A ~L1LE OFJYTI~ 42 MARDI GRAS; This was said in a manner 80 emphatic and high, ~ne forehead, made more prominent by sans on the subject, knew nothing of the val- decided that Mr. Williams was convinced it the fact that he was getting a little bald in no of money; add to this the fact that every hard-up steamboat-man, out of-place clerk would be useless to argtie the 'point any fur- front; his hair, which was thick and heavy on and broken down countryman, went straight- timer. He, therefore, promised to do all that the rest of his head, was kept trimmed short could be done, and, on ~ following day, Mr. and neatly combed. He wore a moustache, way t9 Dick for "a little loan for a mouth or MacVain start&l fo; bern home. and the remainder o~ his full, round face, was two until times would mend," and that the Leaving business iw ',he proceeded to shaved clean and bore a look of kind, open- twenty-five, fifty, hundred or more dollars Buffalo, where he to jf the lake packets heartedness that was charming to see, while which he was sure to lend, after hearing their for Chicago, thence, '~ ~age, to Peotia, and hl\s dark brown eyes were full of merriment, tale of woe, in nine cases out of ten never from tlie~e by boat down the Illinois-river to sparkled with the light of wit and humor. l~o came back, and the fact that he never" put his destination, man was better acquainted from, the Balise to money in his purse," to 8tcly there, will be easily Having transacted his business, Mr. MacVain Ci cinnati or St. Louis, than Dick Cheerful, accounted for. Mr. Thomas Cane, was an: went on board the new and elegant steamer, an at home he was a favorite with everybody, elderly gentleman who had seen much of hard Western Wave, commanded by Captain Joe N party was complete without him; no ama- times, and "man's inhumanity to man," had Brown, om~e of the most poj~ular men on the te r concert was perfect without his voice; umade his fortune by steady, Persevering indus- Mississippi river, wht6h has always been fa- an the masquerade at which he did not ap- try, and knew just exactly how many cents it 'mona for polite and accommodating men. The pe r in some grotesque character was voted a takes to make a dollar. But he was a kind- boat was built to combine speed, comfort and la e affair. His wife was his companion in hearted man, indulgent to his clerks, whom he freight capacity, and Was now in herJlrst sea- al these amusements, and enjoyed his popu- treated as members of his family, and knew eon As Mr. MacVaiti stood leaning on the la ity, and felt far more pride in it than Dick how to be charitable and generous when he guards ot~ the passenger deck, watching the did himself, for, in fact, it was so natural for believed the object a deserving one. Mr. Plant crowd on the levee below, hurrying to and fro him to be pleasant'and agreeable that he could was a tall thin man, who prided himself much as the hour for the departure of the boat drew see nothing unusual about it. ' on his learning and business qualities. By near, a hand was laid familiarly on his shoul- He was a native of Nathes, where his father some strange chance he had gained the entire der, and a cheerful voice exclaimed was a lawyer of considerable ability and repu- confidence and esteem of AIr. Cane, and was £ It's a long time since I saw you a little tsation, having been District Judge and a mom.- admitted to the firm without a dollar of e:mpi- while." ber of the Legislature. Although enjoying a tal, at a tim'q when the standing of the h~use "~Vhy, Dick, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. good practice, the judge ~vas too loose a mann- had been' established and success rend red MacVain, as he grasped and warmly shook the ger to get much ahead of the world, generally certain. He lived high, was familiar With other's hand, "how are you, old boy. I de- living fully up to his income. Dick took to the' "Boston," "Poker" and their companions, was dare, of all men, you' are the last I expected to river in his youthful days,, as "natural as a a leader at the club, visited' the watering see, and the most welcome." duck takes to water," and having run away places, and indulged every whim or passion "Thank you, Mac, thank you, I have been from school when fifteen years of age, was that crossed his mind. All this he carried un- hearty, how have you been yourself I" replied shortly afterwards discovered filling the posi- der an austere deportment, was ostentatiously his friend, "where have you been so long I" tion of barkeeper's boy, on a packet plying be- honest and a great lecturer on other men's fol- "Knocking about here 'and there," replied tween Cincinnati and St. Louis. After this he lies. For many years-his expenses were more MacVain, a tinge of melancholy crossing h~5 was "Mud Clerk," on the coast packet trade of than his income, although his share in the face, as he thought of what had been his busi- New Orleans, and then for severiil years, was profits was the same as Mr. Cane's. By fortu- ziess, and how fruitless all his exertissas 'had first clerk on some of the most popular boats nate outside transactions, at which he played proven; "but I mast now ask where you have that plied between New Orleans and Louis- high, and the failure of which would have for- been 1" ville or St. Louis. When twenty-one years old, ever swamped the whole COncern, he made "Been to York," was the reply; "our house Dick married M~ s~,,Susan Andrew, and two some large amounts of money, which being bad a claim against t~e underwriters on a years later took m~p his residence in the Cres- Placed to his credit, suddenly brought his ac- cargo of cotton, and went on to settle it. cent City, having accepted the position of count with the firm up to an equality with I've 'been away two Ul uths and am an~.mous to book-keeper and cashier in the wealthy and that of Mr. Cane. lie was' a bachelor, and get back." influential commission house of Cane, Plant sneered at domestic atfrictions and family ties. "All well, Diclr V' inquired MacVain, and Cotton. Ills extensive acquaintance, lie looked upon poor men as necessary evils, "Why, yes, when I heard from them Sue thorough business qualifications, and honor- and when applied to for relief by some unfor- said her health was good and tl~e children able character, made l~'is services almost in- tunate, he was often known to answer, "poor, were as lively as crickets," replied Dick, valuable to the firm. His salary of four, was indeed, what's that to me, the d-fehlow ought Richard Cheerful was a man about twenty- gradually increased to six thousand dollars to be ashamed to beo-" Ne years of age, 0' ver having known eight of medium height, with per aunnUl, but he w~s one of those men who adversity, selfish, conceited and pedantic, his ~ stout, substantial limbs, broad shoulders and could never allow a wish of his family to re- God, his world, his all, might be named in fu'll c~xest. His head ~as well formed, with a main ungratified, and they having had no les- two words-"Alfrcd Plant." BELL UJ[ TL1[ES. Mr. David Cotton was a hard working, quiet man, whose extensive acquaintance and thor- oiigb knowledge of business, had gained him a subordinate ylaco in the house, ~vith a small share of the profits. Dick's account with the house was gen orally over-drawn four or five hundred dollars, ex- cept at the end of the commercial year, when by extra pinching and some "shinning" he managed to square it up in time for the annual balance sheet and business statement. Richard~ Richard," old Mr. Cane would say, in a h ~lf reproving, half sorrowful voice, "this won't~ do, there's your account five hun- dred dollar~ over-drawn." "If you ~4~ant the money, I'll hand it in t~- morrow," Dick would reply. "It's not that, Richard, it's not that," the old gentleman would continue, "but really you ought to save your money." "I am going to do so," and a quizical look would cross Dick's face. "'Gang ta die neire filled the kirk yard,' as the Scotch say," would be Mr. Cane's answer; you're getting old enough to look before you and should prepare for a stormy day." "What's the use of borrowing trouble," Dick would reply, 'it's~ hard enough to get what a fellow wants without hunting up disagreeable things." The lecture would usually end with a hearty laugh, or a dubious shake of the head from the old gentleman. Amongst the passengers assembled on the ~\Testery1 Wave, there was a gentleman who bore himself in an erect, mfhitary manner, seemed to measure his steps and walk with as much precision, as a first sergeant drilling a. green squad, and calling out, "left, left, left." Re wore a fierce moustache, with bushy side whiskers in English style, his hair was black, and long, and combed with much attQntion, a diamondd pin sparkled in his cambric shirt Front, and a heavy gold chain, with many harms and trinkets attached, indicated that Lie wore a watch.. As the l;oat ~vas backing )ut to commence her downward trip, this per- ion approached Dick, and giving him alook of ~ecogn~tion said: "Mr. Cheerful-I believe." "Yes, sir," replied Dick, with a look that aid, "who are you." "I had the pleasure of meeting you at the )clta Club last spring,~' said the other. "i'm 8 I page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] 44 MARDi GRAS; A !ZALF OF ANTE BELL UiI( TiMES. New Orleans man myself-Spades is my name' (iXlonel Spades, atnei our service.~~ "Glad to meet you, Colonel," replied Mr Cheerful. When Dick rejoined Mr. MacVain, that gen- tieman asked: "Who wa~ that you spoke to there, Dick?" "He says he is a New Orleans man," was the reply. "Spades, Colonel Spad4 is his name." "Ahi yes, certainly," said 4r. MacVain, "I remember him now, I saw him at Niagara," then sinking his voice he said, "his business is keeping a tiger." "Just so!" replied Dick~ "you can easily tell by the cut of his jib, that he belongs to the fancy. Captain Brown was a man of great experi- ence and one of the most cautions men on the river. The water happened to be very low between St. Lonis and Cairo, and the. Captain kept the lead going nearly all the time. Fre- quently he would stop altogether, and send a yawl in advance to look for the channel and place buoys for the pilot to steer by. The first night being rather dark and cloudy, the boat was laid up until morning. Some of the pas- sengers thought this was acting too cautious, but they were satisfied of the' wisdom of the :neasui'e when on the way to Cairo they pass- ed some six or eight boats hard and fast aground that hdd left St. Louis two or three days before the Western Wave. After passing Cairo the boat began to show her qualities, a good weight of steam was pat on and away she went, passing every other vesse that came in sight. One day as Mr. MacVa n sat reading in the cabin, Dick came in fro the guards. There had been another grand heer- ing, fuss and commotion, by which Mr. Mac- Vain knew that they had caught up t and passed another boat, probably the six h or seventh that they served in the same wa "What boat was that, Dick ?" asked Mac- Vain, looking up. "Oh! a Cincinnati tub," replied Dick "the Indian Queen." "Something of a name," said MacVain. "Yes it is," replied Dick; "from the way she is running I guess she will get down to Or- leans about a week after we do." There were two men on board, who were going to Texas to buy cattle. They were farmers from Illinois, large and powerful men, dressed in homespun. They had already made several successful trips and were now return. lug with sufficient funds to buy a large drove of cattle. Mr. Elder, th9 youngest of the two, had seen much border service and had served through the Mexican war; and the other, Mr. Allensworth, was well suited in limb and nerve to be his companion, in a business that involved much danger, and many fatigues and privations. The boat was no sooner under way, than Colonel Spades began to look about for part. ners on the trip. Mr. MacVain, although ex- tremely polite and courteous, was too digni- fied and reserved to permit any show of famili- arity; and Dick avoided his advances with good nature excuses. The Colonel soon hit. upon the two drovers, and by ingenious man- ceuvering, before the first night was over, en- gaged them in ~ game of cards, in which they played against himself and the bar-keeper. But they played too cautiously, never loosing more than five or 'ten dollars at a sitting, and the Colonel was constant in his endeavors to get some of the passengers into the game in- stead of the bar-keeper, with whom it was evident he had a private understanding. rEhe boat wa~ nearing Bayou Sara, and the Captain said that they would be in New Orleans by ten o'clock next morning. A' game of straight poker was going on between the four, who' usually played in that set, and several of the passengers, Dick aild, Mr. MacVain, with the rest were standing by watching the playing. Later in the evening, the barkeeper was called away, and Colonel Spades, looking up at Dick said: - " Take a baud, Mr. Cheerful." "No, I thank you, Colonel, I'nuinot lucky in such speculations." "I guess you can play a 1)etter game than I can," said the Colonel. "I'm too near ~ said Dick, laughing, "to commence a spree, a man within twelve hours of home, ought to be sobering off." "You'll do," said Mr. Elder, "come, take the hand, and I'll see you through." "That's a bargain," said Dick, taking a seat at the table; "you must draw it mild, Colonel, remember I am a green horn." Colonel Spades was not pleased with the ironical tone in which this was said, but with- out answering, dealt the cards, and the game proceeded. Dick played with less caution than tho two drovers had been doing, and once or twice was caught for a nice little sum. He watched the game closely, and while he took his losses with the best of good humor, no movement of the plays escaped his no- tice. This was done in a careless manner that led the others of the party, as well as the look- ers on, to believe that he was playing without calenlation or management. It came to the Colonel's deal, and emboldened by Dick's man- ner, he put up a blind of twenty-five dollars, at which the two drovers protested, and then threw up their hands. The hand dealt to Dick was a good one, and he continued play- ing. I'll see yo.u, Colonel, and go an X better," he said carelessly counting out the money. "There's your ten, and twenty better," said theColonel. "And twenty better" said. Dick, perfectly cool. ri~liC Colonel very adroitly slipped a card oat of his sleeve into his hand, and then watching an opportunity, discarded one from those he had previously held. This moi~ement was not lost by Dick, bat he said nothing, and looked so calm and indifferent, that Mr. MacVain, who had also seen the trick, felt uneasy, and in a ~iuiet way, did his best to attract the"atteution of Dick. '1 see your twenty, and go you fifty better," said the Colonel. As he placed the money on the table, and changed another card, and this time he was observed not only by Dick and MacVain, bat also by Elder, who at once deter- mined to expose him. The Colonel had now got his hand fixed to suit him, and inwardly chuckling at his adroitness, he launched bold- lyont. "I'll see you, Colonel," said Dick, drawing out a roll of money, "and go you fifty better', 1 "Well, I declare," said the Colonel, elated at his success, "I'll go you a hundred better." "And I sweep the boards," said Dick, suit- ing the action to the words by drawing all the I mopey over to his side of th~ table. "What do you mean, sir ?" cried the Colonel, springing up. "When I play With an honest man," said Dick, firmly, "if I lose, its all right, but when I play with a scoundrel, I take all the chances, and I never allow myself to be cheat- ed, if I know it." "I'll h~ve satisfaction, sir," cried the polo- I~ 'ad, placing his hand under his coat, as if s' 1 feeling for a weapon; "give up the money at once." "When this little dog stops barking," re- plied Dick, placing a pistol 'before him on the table, "maybe P11 give up the money." "Bravo, for you," said Elder, striking the 'table with his fist, "that ar's well said, fur I see him change the cards with my own eyes." "Oh, if every one is against me," said the Colonel, looking around, "of course I can do nothing-but I'll see you again when I can have fair play." 'If you had knowumeasweflas you pre- tended to," replied Dick, "you ~would never have tried such a lame game on me-I've run this river too long to be imposed on by such child's play." "I'll report you all over Orleans," said the enraged Colonel, "as a cheat and braggart." "Look yon, Colonel Spades," said Dick, facing the gambler with a fierce, determined look, "I know you well, and nothing you can report of me will affect me in the least. All I've got to say is that yew must be careful what you talk about, for I'd just as soon give you a dose of lead for breakfast as not. Be careful who you trifle with, and never try to gull an old Miss~issippi steamboat.man, nor to bully him into silence when he catches you trying to steal." Colonel Spades' courage melted before Dick's flashing eyes and menacing look, and he slunk away to his stateroom, like a whipped cur. It was abQut ten o'clock next day when the boat reached the Stock-Landing, where Dick ~ot off, and took acab forhis own house, where Lie was anxious to be once more. Mr. Mac- Vain and the other passengers remained on board until th~ boat landed them at the levee below, where they were all much pleased to Arrive. Since he had left his home, Mr. MacVain had jeen constantly iii search of the miming child, fruitless search, full of disappointment, aux- ety, and gloomy, prospects, and he felt a com- )arative relief when he ox~ce more sutered ~ew Orleans. CHAPTER XIII. When Cecelia escaped %rom the crowd of :ind-hearted men who had received her when he defended from the burning building, she page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] A46 MARDI scarcely knew what to do. Hecr clothes, ex- cept the scanty covering that she had thrown on when awakened from her sleep, were lost in the fire, but fortunately her small eapital in cash was contained in thepocket of the dress she had saved. Not knowing where she was going, except that she-was leaving behind the scenes' which the experience of the last few hours had made terrible, she started across the city, and entering the ferry-boat, was landed in Jersey City just as the sun began to illuminate theroll- ing waters of the river she was crossing. Pass- ing along the street, she attracted the attention of a woman who was cleaning out the saloon of a small public house. The woman looked at her with much interest and seemed to be kindly disposed, so that Cecelia, stopping, asked her for a drink of water. " Where do you come from I" the woman in- quired as she handed her the drink. - " I came from New York, but just now," an- swered. Cecelia, humbly. "I came near ettng burned up last night." " Dear me! you don't say so!1" exclaimed the woman, "was there a fire over there last night I" . " An awful fire, mcem," said Cecelia, "and ever so many people burned to death." "Oh! how terrible! And were 'you in it 7" " I was in the fifth story of the building, mnem," said Cecelia, in a weak voice, "and was saved by the firemen." " They are a noble set of men, a flue lot of men," replied the woman. "Was it a tenement house 7"- " It was, mew," replied Cecelia, and I lost. everything I had, but just the clothes I have on my -back." . " And they don't seem to be enough to keep you warm." "No, mew, they dqn't," said Cecelia-. "Perhaps I have g t an old dress I can give you," replied the woman; and so she went into thehonse and soon returned with a dress, not much worn, which she rolled up and gave to the girl. 'Returning thanks= for her kindness, Cecelia went on her way. She had now con- ceived a new idea-a plan for replacing her lost clothes, and spent th~ balance of the day in begging from house to louse for old clothes-. At each place she rehearse d the incidents of the fire, with a cunning of position and a pathos of expression, that would have been creditable to her as an actress on the stage,. eat on her journey., As she was returning to the depot, the clerks in a small dry goods store were trimming the doors.. She stoppedto look in the window, and the young men, having made a pile of blankets, finished it off with three or four shawls. One of these, a dark ground, with a bright red border and heavy fringe, the girl admired very much. It was a warm shawl, of fine quality, and shethought it would be very comfortable while traveling. Watching an opportunity, when the two clerks, who were laughing and talking over some party or entertainment which they had attended the night before, were off their guard, she loosened thie shawl from the rest, and, placing it under her arm, she hastened 'hack to the depot, and once more took her seat in the train. . The cars were rapidly filling up ; porters were~ running around in the mad endeavor to "I hope I shall, sir. I don't want to stay here, sir, because I have no friends here. My aunt, that I lived with, died two months ago, and I have had no home since, and I must get out to my mother." g "You are a very small child to start on such a journey alone," said the conductor, after a steady look at her, during which time he seemed to be considering' 'ihat to do. "I sup- posie you can't help being small, however, an~d I admire your pluck, so you can go as far as Philadelphia, I don't go any further." At Philadelphia she went directly to the cars for Baltimore. Before the train started the conductor came round, and seeing her, a rough- looking, poorly clad child, asked where she ras going and if she had a ticket. To him shie old the same story as to the warmer conduct- a a d r4 p GRAS; A .TALE 01? ANTJ In several places she received food, and in one do more than they could ; ladies were hurried or two money. At night she' gathered up her in, some timidly, others boldly took their seats; bundles, which she had left in different shops news boys were running about crying their along her route, so that those from whom she papers, and the place was, for the time, trans- begged might not know that she had any formed into a perfect pandemonium. The girl thing more than what, covered her. Loaded looked out of the window. The preparations down with these gifts, slhe sought an out-of-the- were nearly completed. A few last adieus way inn, and took a room for the night, com- were being said, the freight was all in and the plying with the rules of the place, by paying platform nearly deserted, when she noticed in advance. Here she overhauled her bundles one of the clerks she had seen in the dry goods and selected therefrom a very respectable as- store standing by the door ' and anxiously sortment of clothing, for she had received not looking around, as if( in quest of some one. only dresses, but cotton and woolen ndercloth Then he came leisurely towards where she ing, stockings and even handkerchiefs. Some was sitting, and her blood almost ceased to articles she cast aside as too much worn to be circulate as she imagined that he had recog- kept, while others were too small to fit her.. nized her. As he advanced, his eye ran from Having made up her bundle, she next turned car to car, and then he stepped quickly for- her thoughts upon her future plans. What ward, as if he would enter the train, when the should she do-,and where, should she go i bell rang and they moved away, slowly at first, These questions she asked herself over and but with increasing speed, until the depot and over again. To' return to New York seemed city were left far out of sight-. almost impossible, after. the terrible scene of " Your ticket," said the conductor, stopping the fire, and to go again to Boston, was not ~before her'. 'suitable to her wishes. After much delibera- " Please sir," she replied, ."I haven't got tion, she resolved to try and beg her way to any.'" the South, of which Jake had given so flatter- " The money, then," he said, shaking a roll ing an account. .of bills in a careless manner. . The following morning she carefully fixed "I haven't got any money, sir." up her clothes and started for the railroad "What are you doing here, then 1" he asked, depot, where she loiterd around, watching for rather roughly. * some one whose face would give her encour- " I wEnut to go South, sir, if you please. My agement to speak.. After looking fior some mother, sir, is in New Orleans, and I want to time without a satisfactory result, she placed go to her, and I haven't got any money." her bundle on a seat in the Philadelphia train, " Do you expect to get to New Orleans with- and went out again to procure something to out money 7" he asked. or, but her story was not believed. The con- ductor accused her of trying to run away from home and ordered her off the cars. Finding that prayers and entreaties were alike unavail- ing, Cecelia left the depot, and sought a cheap. place to stay all night. Here she remained several days, and had almost determined to give up the effort to get South, when she met the conductor of the'Jersey road and told him what had occurred. The kind-hiearted man drew out of his pocket a time table card of his road, and wrote on the back of it: " The bearer of this; Cecelia Benson, being without friends in this part of the country, with the pluck and' perseverance of a true American, has started on a journey to find her relatives in New Orleans. -As she'has no money, the gentlemen connected with the rail- roads and other public conveyances on the route, are requested to pass her free, and give her such advice and assistance' as may be within their power, consistent, with their duties. WILLIAM JONES, Conductor." " There. sis, that will pass you plump into the Crescent City," he said, " or I much, mis- take the good feeling of our craft." " Oh! thank you, sir," replied Cecelia, "and I shall soon be with my mother again." "I hope yotu may," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "I sincerely wish you saecess. Good-bye, and when you get down there drop- me a line to let me know how you get along," "I will do it, sir. Oh, thank you," she said, accepting the gold piece he held out to her. The conductor's pass acted like a charm un- til she reached the stage road, where she had1 to take a stage to cross the Alleghany moun- tains. The coach was already filled with pas- ;engers and the agent said that she must wait. 4"How soon can I get on 1" she inquired. "I'm not the proprietor," replied the man, 'if he was here he migh t send you on at once ; s it is, you will -have to wait--I don't know Low long, may be a week or two." "Don't the stages run every day ?" she- sked. "Sometimes they do, sometimes every other Lay," he replied,. " but dead-beads must .wait until there's plenty of room when i'm around?' " Don't you sometimes ask favors of this oad?" she said, again showing the conductor's ass, "Well, suppose we do I" replied the man. J3BELLUMI TIMES. 47 page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] A TALE 01? AATVE BELL Uhf TJMEk3. MARDI GBA~9; had no trouble in keeping up with the coach, from which several zn~ "The next time you do so, will you wait a as far as the eye conid see in all directions, and in fact were often far, in advance of it. to assail the driver wit] week or two to get an answeiV' was covered with it like a pnre and spotless Night came on again, and they all kept their military descended from The man looked at her for a few minutes, mantle, and as the sun fell on this shining our- places in the stage most of the time, butit was the door, announced to surprised at her sharp reasoning, and then face, or here and there broke through the laughingly said: "Well, you're a cute one. If openings, 'casting fanciful shadows on the so bitter cold that they suffered very much, could get supper here you were a boy, you would make a bright ad- ground, the road now running along the banks althoUgh well muffled Up in heavy clothing, by a good fire-news wh edition to Congress, or some other assembly of of a little stream, the frozen surface of which shawls and blankets. - be suddenly deserte(l. Next mo the kind, when you grow up." shone like burnished silver, o~ where, covered rning the sun rose on a discontented, The room which they "lam only asking," replied Cecelia, "what by the snow, like beds of fleecy down, the worn-out company of travelers. The horses tu a plain Iflnnner, but my friend Mr. Jones said would be readily road then turnir~g off into the deep forest, and were denounced as old and broken down) the ful. The fire-place wa granted, and if it wasn't, that I should report again back to the margin of the stream, the contractors of the route were set down as old arrangement, in which, and it was declared log at the hack, and to ~ girl was' lost in silent admiration of the fogies and speculators "It is all right," answered the man, "these scenery and her face glowed with the pleasure that the accommodations afforded were a sham fronts supported by ti little favors are usual from one route to an- produced by the novelty of her position and and an outrage. Cecelia and her friend,, the irons which were comm other. I'll send you over tomorrow or by the ev4r changing par~orama before her. stout, full-faced gentleman, by whom she sat fire snapped, cracked a Monday, and in the meantime you can stay "A beautiful aisdromantic scene," said the old in the coach, were the most cheerful of the lapping the great back: at my house, so there will be no bills to pay." gentle~ an, "how prettily the river winds company. This gentleman had traveled a chimney, sending forth~ "Let her come in here," said an elderly gen- through~ the woods yonder." great deal, and took the evil with the good in seemed more than usual tleman, leaning out of the coach window, "we "Is tlat a river ?"~said Cecelia. "I thought a perfectly unconcerned manner, always having frozen friends. can crowd a little. Let her come, she will not little streams like that were called brooks. some pleasant or interesting story to relate to See, it i so shallow that the rocks stick up beguile the time, and Cecelia seemed to catch "It's mighty cold 'in take much room and we' will be warmer for throng the ice, and I am sure if there was no some of his good nature. When night came. into something like a sitting close together." "If there is no objection," said the agent, ice I 00 ld wade across it without wetting the again the weather had become more intensely a approaching the stage, "I would be very glad tops of my gaiters." cold, and the Passengers huddled clone to- tamped his feet on the "Nevertheless, it is a river," replied her gether, Wrapping their shawls and blankets up the warming process. about their limbs, and putting into use every this," said the ldl~' to have her go." companion, "and nearer the sea is a noble article that wotld add to their comfort. though maybe this'll "There was no objection, and so Cecelia was one, too. It is one of the most famous in our ano~,a, placed in the coach beside the gentleman who country and holds a bright place in our early They'll have sharp eym that ever catch me in such a box ngain,~~ said one gentleman. "I wouldn't live on th had spoken in her favor. The driver cracked history." his whip, an4 away they went, drawn by four "Yes-does it I" said Cecelia, not caring to "~ never was so hungry in my life," said the second grumbler, tni good horses, which, being fresh,'traveled the show her ignorance of history by venturing to another. "That fellow said WO would get get them oft; "if I was first few miles at a good pace. In those days a name the stream. ' supper at six o'clock, and it must be ten now." "Wa-at I calkerlate r this," sai trip across the mountains to Pittsburg was "Yes, this is the Potomac, famous in song and "I think he ought to drive faster," said a wus places nu quite a tedious journey, and consumed from story,~~ he replied, "on the banks of which li ttle lady, in a gray woolen shawl, with a little miffed at the aspei three to ten days, according to the state of stands the capital of out country, and around big tippet around her neck, "people could al-' tive place. '~ You'd like the roads. It was through a bleak and cheer- which romance has thrown some of her most most walk as fast as we are going." here awhile. "It is a perfect shame," said the first gentle- "You are right, landlo less country, where there were few marks of enchanting legends." the progress of civilization. The road ran The first day passed thus pleasantly,, some- man; "they advertise it as the best route in man; then, turning to ~ through 'valleys overshadowed with gigantic times ia conversation and at others in silent the United States, and I am 'sure it is the you ever drink any whisi trees, or lined with deep, impenetrable forests, meditation. At night it was extremely worst." of vines, briars and brush-wood, interspersed cold, and the stage tossed about so that "I don't think the road is as bad as the one question. with groves of young trees; now it toiled up a none of the party could sleep much. The between Chicago and Peoria," said Cecelia's "Well, you had better steep, mountainous pass, ran along th~ edge of next day the niountains became more abrupt friend. "This is a poor season of the year to "I guess not, sir, I 'don some high precipice, and descended into the and the horses toiled and struggled up their trav~ul for pleasure." taste.'~ valley again with an abruptness that rendered sides, making but little progress. At regular "PMasure !" answered the other, "there's no "Taste! why, it will it difficult for the horses to keep their feet, or stations the horses were changed and the such thing on this route." candy," he said,- laughin for the driver to lock the wheels secure enough travelers were allowed time for meals, and on "I have no doubt it is a pleasant trip in sum- confusion, "if they do~ to keep the stage fromrunning down the team. such occasions Cecelia's little pocket money ntier," replied Cecelia's friend, "when the roads living in this country, th Aa they were driving up the valley, Cecelia, enabled her to purchase what she wanted, and' are good, the forests covered with verdure, the whiskey is, and keep it, tc who had been raised amidst the din- and bustle procure refreshments with the rest. Oa the brooks running, and all nature rejoicing." take a good punch, it wi] of a great city, regarded everything with in- road the passengers frequently got out, and "I'm glad you can imagine such~ scenes," life into you, and be pleas terest. There had been a very light fall of walked, both for the purpose of reducing the said the first, "for myself I don't think-" "Well, sir, I suppose so snow, and the branches of the trees which load, and to keep themselves warm. Progress The stage made a sudden dash forward and "Of course! now, that's then steppe overhung the road almost forming a canopy, to the poor horses was so difficult that they d before a common country inn, bring a light whiskey pun sn came out andl)egan h questions, That dig- his box and, opening the travelers that they and warm themselvea~ ich caused the coach t~ entered was furnished look~~d neat and cheer- s a great, wide-jawed ras placed one immense pile of smaller ones in e old-fashioned and- on in those days. The nd roared the flames, log and leaping ~ip tl~e a heat and a glare that ly pleasant to our half these parts," said the party, getting thawed pleasant mood, as he oaken floor to hurry ' d it a heap colder nur nsilinggood~naturedly~ to commence with." o top e" this hill," sai4 ~ging at his gloves ts~ paid for it." there's a mighty site d the landlord, just & rsions cast on his na- it better ef you were rd," snid the cheerful celia, he asked, "did my ?" led, surprised at the take~a little," he said. 't knew how it would be fine, bette? than g at the little girl's a' t have, very good ey know w~at good so. Come, you better II warm you up, put sant to taste." sensible. Landlord, ch~ have it hot an& 7 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] nicely ~easoned, and fetch one for me-only you need not mind about making it light." The punches were brought, and Cecelia sipped at hers and then made a wry face, as if she did not like it. "Come, now, that will not do,"' said her friei~d, "try again, it will do you good, a ~nodera1~e amount of the real Virginia moun- tain de will hurt nobody." Ceceli tasted again, then a little more, and again, i ntil her glass was empty. After a while I ey had supper, a good, substantial meal, w 1 and cleanly gotten up, such as the country nus of America used to furnish before railroad and telegrc~phs were so common, and civilizat on and refineimient were so generally diffuse 3d ver the count my. Instead oi~ the vil- lainous oot water, ton~,h beefsteak, dry look- ing turkey, sour bread andindigestable dough- nuts of the railroad hotels of to-day, Vhey had good amber~colored coffee, smoking hot, with real cream in it, biscuits, hot and light as a feather, fre~h butter, sweet and good, chicken, ' fried nicely brown, with a ri~mh gr&7y, broiled vensi~n, with the natural flavor preserved in it, and that once never' missing, now seldom 'seen, dish, pork and hominy, which was gotten up in a style that would have cast no Blot on the reputation of the cook. Ample time was allowed for the meal, and when it was over the travelers returned to the sitting room. "Now, then, gentlemen and ladies," said the driver, "we are all ready." "You're not going on to-night," said the head grumbler. "Yes, sir, that's my orders," "replied the driver, "and besides there's no telling how soon there may come a storm, and I don't want to be snowed in." Taking another look at the comfortable fire and a last warming of toes, the passengers re- sumed their seats in the stage. They were so r~.ucb fatigued with their long journey that neither the noise of the stage, or the roughness of the road kept them awake. The coach rolled forward, then righted up, pitched all on one side, nearly turning over, and the next turn would bring the other side over, and the passengers were thrown first one way and then another, pushed into a jumble in one corner and then back again. Through all this they slept, only waking up for a moment, when some extra great lurch was made by the vehicle. The muornin~ of the fifth day brought them to 'the end of the stage route. Before separating, Cecelia's friend, to whom she had related the same story that she told to Conductor Jones' with such improvements as suggested them- selves to her mind, endorsed the conductor's pass, adding' a request that all who could as- sist her on ~he journey would do so. The name he signed t~ this was one of the most popular and belove ~l in the western country, and since has received the nation's honor and reverence, although 4se bearer of it has bee~a "gathered to his fathers." ~At Pittsburg Cecelia applied to the captain of the Indian Queen, a small boat, which was advertised to leave for New Orleans immediate- ly. After reading her pass and the endorse- ment of it by her late fellow-traveler, the captain gave her permission to etime on board. It was so late in the season, he said, that he was fearful that his boat would get frozen in before they reached a warmer climate , and, as he had a good lbad on board, he left that evening. After 'a trip of eleven days, the good boat arrived safely, and, with twenty-five cents in her pocket, Cecelia landed to try her fortune in the Crescent City. ChAPTER XIV Mary returned to her home with a sad heart, for there was no one there to welcome her, and cheer her life with love and kindness. The many privations that she had borne, the ta ski of work that she, although tender in years~ had performed; her perseverance in the en- deav~r to earn the little money that had been their main support, nud her denial of all pleasure and amusement to herself, she had felt a pleasure, because they added to the couP fort of her who had been in all things a kind and 1~ ving mother. But that support was now gone, or, although her mother had been feeble, and i~nable to do much, her presence corn- mand~ d respect for the house, her i ufluence was t~e tie that held them together as a fami. ly. L~he house must now be closed, the furni- ture sold to pay the rent and funeral expenses and she 'must go out into the world to seek mm living amongst strangers. Mrs. Boddice, had remained behind, while the others followed the corpse to the city of the dead, and when Mary returned, all traces of the sad event had been removed. The furniture stood in its no M441fDI GRAS; A TALE OF AlYTE J~J&LL UM fUMES. 01 oustomed arrangement and shone with the by, when I'd be getting feeble-and my health brightness of recent dusting and cleaning, is not very good, anyhow-it might chance The geraniums stood in the nearly closed win- the ebiel would mind the day' I was good to dews, the books lay on the centre table, as hor, and be kind to me in the day of trouble. they had always lain, the sea-shells ornament- What will I do? Start her in a little store of ed the sides of the' hearth, everything was her own? No, no, that will not do. She's placed with careful attention to their former young and must have some education." positions, that the house might look natural In this way, he talked to himself all the af- to the sorrowing child. When she entered the parlor, the feeling of ternoop, hardly able to decide what.course he desolation became more oppressive, there was wouVd pursue. Mr. Sellwell tried several times engage his a solemn stillness in the room, a cold, cheerless to attention, but without' success, and finally gave it up, saying that "Old Peter feeling in the air, a dark mist hovering aver everything, the mysterious spell that bind~ the was either in love or gone clean daft, and in heart, nud fills every movement, thongiit and either case it was a hard matter for the old action with thrilling, divine emotions, when fellow." within 'the circle of home, was broken, and the In the evening 'Mr. Droll 'got off early, and objects once loved, admired and cherished, had after calling at his boimrding house, went over now lost their charm, and were but so many to see Mary. objects to remind her of the hopes, of the past 1' "Well, Mary," he said, "what would you now dead forever. This was t~ be her last ike to do ?" night in the od place, tor she could not bear . "I do not know what I shall do, sir," she to remain there alone.' Mr. Droll, had volun- replied. "I suppose I can make a living selling leered to dispose of the fur~iiture and g~t a fruit. Sometimes I have made out very well place where she could board, and was to re- at it." turn in the evening to tell her what arrange- "Yes, that's ~ he replied, "but don't ntents'he had made. When he went b~mck to you think if you could go to school 'that you the store, the subject was uppermost in his would like it ~ mind, and in the intervals between waiting on "Oh! Mr. Droll, 'bow can I go to school," customers, while re-arranging his stock, she replied; "mother said often that when her he turned the matter over and over, forming health improved I should go to school, but-" now one plan and thea another. He had be- The memories of the past that crowded upon come deeply interested ha the child, and was her were toe much for her young nature, and anxious to do for her somnetbing that wouM be she gave way to her long pent-up feeling in a lasting benefit. He was a quiet, unassuming bitter, scalding tears. They were the first nman, kind and just to all with whom he came that she had shed since her mother had blessed in contai~t, and, although economical in his her with her dying words, and now it seemed own expenses, was liberal towards those who as if her whole fiame was convulsed, as the needed, and in his judgment Were worthy of deep sorrow of her heart came forth in strong, assistance. impassioned sobs. Peter had seen ladies "If she is left 'to herself-that will not do- angry because goods were too high for them, she is too handsome a child to be left to street sorrowful for the want of money, indignant at peddling-no, no, she would become the dupe fancied slights in the store, proud, haughty, of some villian. True, it will be expensive to dignified, angry, all this he had seen with the ne, but what do I live for. My brother has customers in the store, or the ladies at his his f~imily around hini, and with mother in boarding house, but to ,real sorrow and grief the old home in Aberdeenshire, they are com- he was a stranger. He could do nothing now, portable and happy-please God, I'll take a but offer gentle remonstz'ances and kind words walk in them, some day, ~ an inter- of consolation and reassurance. Her tears eruption would occur, and after the customer were a relief, and when the fit subsided, she was gone, he would return to the subj~ct. "I was more calm and confident'than she had yet am getting too old to care to marry, and why been-a change that pleased Mr. Droll shouldn't I take care of this bairn, its no good much. very laying the money by to rust-perhaps by-and- "Come now, cheer up~~ he said, "you sbal1 page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 not suffer while I can earn money, and you shall ~o to school too." are very kind, very indeed,"~aidMary, with a decision far beyond her yeart, "but I must darn my way through the. world." "That sounds strange in a little child like you," ho replied, "and I beg of yen to banish the idea at once." "Mother taught me much, Mr. Droll," she said, "and by reading I have learned a great deal, and I am much better advanced than you think." "So much the better," replied he, "you can board where I do-Mrs. Reed told me this evening that she had a room you could have, and there is a very nice school near by, where you can attend-you will be comfortabIC~and, I trust, happy." "But the expense would be heavy' she re- plied, "and I would netlike to tax your friend- ship so much." "Never think of that," he replied, "sure I have some little money laid up in the bank, and I am earning more than my expenses- what is the value of money if we Can not do good with it?" "Indeed, sir, I thank you," she said earn'~st- ly, "but I cannot accept your offer and allow you to spei4 your savings in that way." "I tell you, Mary, I do not need the money, and I am sure I could make no better use of it than in giving you a chance to get-an edu- cation, that will fit you for that struggle with the wor-id which will come soon enough. Say no more on the subject but consider it settled that you are to come over with me." "But Mr. Droll, just think-" "Nay, now, it is my wish," he said, " and in- stead of saying Mr. Droll, you may call me Uncle Peter-just think, for a moment, how comfortable you will ~ "If I could hope to ever repay you,~~ she re- plied, "it would be different, but to be so great a tax on y~i, and never make any return for your kindness would be too much." As she stopped speaking, Philip Cummings came in, and greeting them kindly, took a seat near them. To him Mr. Droll now appealed for support of his proposition. "I want Mart to board at Mrs. Reed's afld go to school for a while," he said to Philip, "and I will pay the expense. I have no one but myself to te~ke care of now, and I would be glad to have her do it." "My dear, kind friend," skid Philip, enthu- siastically shaking Mr. Dro~ l's hand, "this is generous, indeed, and the best arrangement that could be made." There now !" exclaimed Mr. Droll, tri- umphantly, "didn't I know it? Now you see m~r plan is endorsed by Philip." The proposal suitc(t Mary ver~' well. Mr. Drqll had gained her confidence and esteem by his uniform kindness, and she was ambitious o( an opportunity to improve her mind, but her mother had impressed4 upon her the idea that it was mean and degrading to accept favors from strangers, it was like taking chari- ty, instead of working for what she wanted. "Your offer is very k~nd," she replied, "but mother always taught me it was more honor. able to get a living by labor, even though it was scanty and poor, than to depend upoi' stran gers.~~ "But I am no stranger," urged Mr. Droll, "I was a friend of your mother's, and I am sure, if she was living, she would approve of your going under my care. I have no relative in this country, and am able to pay the little ex- pense that your schooling will be. I am only doing as I would wish some one else might do, if a sister of my own was left unprotected. As for your paying me, you can do that in being kind and good, and persevering in your studies, as fol' the money, the satisfaction of doing that which I believe is right will be a daily recompense. You must urge no more ex- cuses, come with me, go to school, and excel all your companions in your classes, and you will always find a good frk:~d in Uncle Peter." "I am sure our good friend is right," said Philip, '~ and I hope you will accept his offer." "It will lie a very great satisfaction to me," continued Mr. Droll. "Your mother I esteemed very highly, she was a lady of fine feeling, sensible and good, and to take care of her only child, and assist 'her on the road of life, will be a constant pleasure." "I hope I appreciate your kindness," replied Mary, "and I understand the many advantages that I shall enjoy ur'4er your protection and care. It may be that some time in the future I will be able to reward you, at any rate I I will do the best I can to please you by atten. tion to my studies." "That is well said," replied Peter, his face beaming with pleasure, at his triumph, "1 am sure you will do admirably." 4 V. 53 "So she will, I know," said Philip, equally pleased that the difficult problem was solved, "and it will be a step she will never regret."' They conversed long on the plans for the fu- ture, and were equally well pleased with each other. Mrs. Beddice sent her servant girl over to sleep in the house and keep i~tary company~ a thoughtful attention that settled another difficult question for them. On the following day Mary removed to Mrs* Reed's, taking with her a small trunk of cloth- ing and a few articles that she did not wish to part with. The remainder of the contents of the old home was disposed of by Mr. Droll, who charged himself with the settlement of the whole business. Mary at once entered school, with instructions to the principal from Mr. Droll that she should enjoy every facility for improvement, as he was ~yillingto stand all reasonable expense in the mi~tter of hei educa- tion. At first Mary took up only the lessons common to an English school, but in a short time French, music and embroidery were added to these. In all of these, except French and needle-work, Mr. Droll was well versed, and spent his evenings in assisting her to perfect herself in the tusks assigned to her. Philip was a frequent visitor, and joined with interest in the conversations that their occupation brought up. CHAPTER XV. After returningher thanks to the Captain of the Indian Queen, Cecelia stayed out into the city to find some cheap place to live in. The little child dressed in odd fitting clothes, with the great shawl wrapped around herd and her bundle of clothes under her arm or on her shouldem~, attracted much attention a~ she trudged along the streets, looking curiously around at everything that was new or inter- esting to her Many people stopped to look back and wonder who the strange young creature was, and, once or twice, some kind hearted person, thinking that she probably belonged to semi' epsigrant train; and had lost her way, spoke to her, inquiring where she was going. Once a round faced, good nature looking gen. tleman, took the cigar from hi~ mouth as he was passing, and, smiling pleasantly, was about to say something to her, when another gentleman came up, and greeting him with MABDi UBA s~; A L4LJJ? OF AATTE BELL Uilf TLIfES. friendly warmth, began with "'Pen my soul, Dick, I'm glad to see you back! When did you get home T flow have you been ~ and the two passed on, chatting pleasantly together. At last she found herself on Chartres street, then the street for dry goods, millinery and fancy articles. A few steps from Canal street she stopped to admire the goods displayed in the window of a- large dry goods store, and w~s wishing that she had plenty of money to buy some of the silks and other pretty articles, when she observed a lady coming down the store towards her. She was tall and queen- like in figure and carriage, her luxuriant hair, richly black and fine, was combed in bandeaux, her features were beautiful and regular, her eyes were black, full and sparkling, and. her faqe, a little pale, bore an expression of digni- ty and refinement, that commanded respect and admiration from all beholders. The clerk, who had politely followed her to the door, bowed as shepassed out and said "Good evening, Mrs. Macourty.~~ Cecelia thought that she had never before seen, a lady so beautiful, and the pleased ex- pression of the child's face must have~been noticed by the lady, for she stopped a moment to look at the strange figure, and then went over to where the girl was standing. They stood there silent for some minutes, when Mrs. Maaourty asked her if she thought of making a purchase. "I wish I had the money," Cecelia replied, "to buy that green silk, its so pretty." "Yes it is," said Mrs. Macourty, looking at the queer costume and large bundle of the child's , "whore are yen going?" "I don't know, ma'am." "Where do you live I" "I don't live any where, now," replied Ce- celia, looking up into the sweet face that bent over her, "I just come here from New ~ "From New York !" exclaimed Mrs. Macour- ty, "and all by yourself, or had you friends with you V" "No nia'am, I didn't have any one with mc." "Why did you come here, so far awy from your home I" "J have no home there neiV," said Cecelia, "my mother is here, and I come to look for her." "You come 1o look for your mother? Well I hope you may find her," as she said this she turned as if to go away, and then, after some page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 154 MARDI GRAS; thought, she continued, ", where are you going to stay to-mnghti " I don't know ma'am, I haven't found any place yet." . Mrs. Macourty thought of the many evil ways that were open to such an unprotected child, of the rebuff and scorn she might meet in seeking a lodging place, and then said : " Come with me, child,' and I will give you shelter for to-night." The, girl accepted the invitation without hesitation, and they crossed Canal street again, to take an omnibus for up town. Noth- ing much was said luring the ride-Mrs. Ma- courty was thinking of the little ones at home, Annie, a bright eyed child of six; George, a bonncing boy of four, and Idlaggie a rosy checked cherub of two years of ago.- These had cone to comfort her, and fill her heart with love and her mind with anxious care, since the loss of her first child. But all their smiles and winning ways could not sever her thoughts from the darling, 'who had been so mysteriously snatched from the home-circle. Years had passed, years of doubt and hope, of anxious inquiry and earnest prayer, and the grief of that loss was as fresh and fervent as when it first occurred. Mr. Macourty felt the blow terribly, but he-was in the whirl of a successful business, and the reasoning of friends turned his mind to other subjects, or persuaded him, as he endeavored to convice his wife, that the child was, dead. But a mother's. love is deep and lasting ; no reason will sway it, no time blot it ot; even though repelled and scorned it turns again and again to-its idol. Mrs. Macourty would have been happier if she had known that her little one was dead ; then her heart would have turned to the little green mound, or the marble, tomb that hid from, her the object of her love, and her grief would have been relieved by the cer- tainty that before the Thirone of Grace one angel voice was pleading for her. No reason- ing could persuade her that the child was dead. For days and weeks the question was ever present to her, " What is 'she doirgg ?" Visions of the dear babe, growing up in want, ignorance, amidst crime and misery, without the knowledge that there was a God, or that sin brings degi'adation, would haunt her mind and hang over her life like a pall. And as she rode homeward with her little stranger, she Wondered if her Cecelia had fallen that low, nd for the sake of the absent child she re- solved to aid this young wanderer ia her search for her mother. At the gate they were met by the children, who were delighted to see their mother home again, and Annie shook hands very agreeably with the little stranger, and volunteered to show her all the toys and make her comfort- able. Maggie, with her sweet face full of mnerri- ment, came laughing and'shouting "Me appee, mamma, me appee." , " Yes, darling, I brought you an apple,'" said Mrs. Macourty, catching her in her arms -and kissing her. She was so like her lost baby, in her looks and her childish ways, that her mother was constantly reminded by her of little Cecelia. . After laying asid her street dress, and ar- ranging her toilet, she returned to the sitting- room, where Cecella and the children were busy inspecting the playthings that Annie had brought out. " Who did you live with in New York?" Mrs- Macourty inquired.,, " I lived with a lady named Brown," replied Cecelia, "but I did not hear from my mother for more than a year, and so I came out here." " What is your name in Mrs. Macourty had been too busy with her own thougl~ts to ask the question before. " Cecelia,!" exclaifmed Mrs. Macourty, start- led by the coincidence of the name. " Yes, ma'am, Ceceha. Benson. My father died when I was very young, and my mother had to work very hard for our support." Mrs. Macourty was reasured by this appar- ently straight and circumstantial story, The excitement was all gone, and although she wondered at the strange accident that should bring to her home, one of the same name and about the same age as her own lost child, she did not doubt the story at all. . - in the evening Mr. Macourty returned, and was met with kisses and loving words by his wife and children. He had grown stouter than when we last saw him, wore a heavy heard, and looked more settled and manly, but the seven years had improved his looks, for he seemed younger than before. His wife told him the stranger's story, and dwelt much on the fact that her name and age- were the same as that of the child they had lost," 5A A TALE OF ANTE BDsLLUM TIMES. ~ 5 " Youa don't think that is our child I" said he-. " Oh! no, George, not at all," replied 'Mrs,. .-Macourty, " she says her mother is living in this city. No I did not think that-but she is so poor and friendless, I-I thought-" here she pansel. " Well, my dear, what did you wish I" " I thought that we might let her stay here for ah'il ," she said, "until she can find her "ut as you like," he replied, and so the matter was settled. After supper the little ones were sent to bed, and Cecel'a Was placed in a small room iiext to their's, with a door connecting the two rooms, thr ugh which she watched the other children as they prepared for bed. Annie knelt before an altar ornamented with a small -statuette of the Blessed Mother and child, and, blessing herself, said her prayers, after which she taught Maggie to do the same. George was less reverential in his devotions, dropping on his knees before the altar, he made a very large sign of the cross, and rattled off his prayer as if he were racing against time. This was a new and novel sight to Cecelia, whose only pi-ayer was the Obr Father, which she knew but imperfectly, and had seldom used. Mrs. Macourty soon came upstairs, however-, and requested Cecelia to come and say .he'r prayers. Cecelia was good at imitation, and she now went forward, knelt before the altar and blessed herself as nicely as if she had been used to doing so all her life. She then recited the " Odr Father," the mistakes she made were kindly corrected by the lady. Next morning, as they were seated at the breakfast-table, Mr. Macourty asked Cecelia if the lady wa's kindi that she had lived with in,.New York.- " Oh ! no, sir," she replied, with a well-acted shudder, "she used to beat Sme, and treat me very bad." " .Poor child, how you must have suffered,"' said Mrs. Macourty, "what a terrible thing to think of leaving a child to strangers." e -" Yes, ma'am, she used to vent all her bnad- ness on me," replied Cecelia, looking mnourn- fully around, "ebut that was not the worst." " "What else was there ?" asked Mr. Macour- i ty, in a dotibtful tone, for the stranger had not made a very favorable impression on him. s " They were Protestants, sir," said Cecelia," ' 55 with an injured look, "and would not allow me to go to our church." "She would not .let you go to mass ?" said he, still more doubtfully. . "No, sir," she replied, "she wanted me to be a Protestant, and used to whip me when I asked leave to go to church, and so I ran away." " She had no right to interfere with your religion," said Mrs. Macourty, who believed Cecelia, and admired her courage in adhering to her church. A few days were spent in looking for Cece- lia's mother without any thing being heard of her, and' then Mrs. Macourty said it was a shame that the girl should stay at home idle. Cecelia was sent to a private school in the neighborhood, kept by a lady of much experi- ence and ability, who promised to see that the girl was well cared for and aided in her studies. When she returned from school in the even- ings, after having dinner, she Was allowed a time for play, and was then called in to pre- pare her lessons for the next day. But Cecelia did not fancy such employment, and, instead of studying her lessons, she looked at the pic- tures, played with her slate and pencil, and idled her time, except when Mrs. Macourty sat beside her and watched what she was doing. When visitors came, as they did almost every day, she was called in to see them, and intro- dluced as Mrs. Macourty's adopted daughter. Mrs. McDonald called one day, and took a very kind interest in the young girl, asking her questions about school, play hours, about her books and coianionis, and spoke to her very encouragingly and with much approbation. "You lbave adopted her ?" said Mrs. McDon- ald, after Cecelia had left the room. " I notice she calls you ma." " Yes, we intend doing all we can for her," said Mrs. Macourty. -" Poor thing, she seems. to have no friends or relatives, and so I told. George I was goinrr to make her one ef the family, and he replied that I could do as I iked." " Robert says that I may adopt a chid when- v-er want to do so," said Mrs. McDonald, 'and I have often thought seriously of doing t, but have found no one that I liked exactly." " I am afraid that, if you wait until you are united exactly," said Mrs. Macourty, smiling, you will be a long time making a choice. We page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] t all have our faults, but if you took a child I think you would soon come to love so well that you would not part with it." "Oh! I certainly intend to do so," replied Mrs. McDonald. On another afternoon, as Cecelia sat thumb- ing her books, Annie came in, her face full of pleasure and her eyes dancing with excitement. "Come into the parlor, Cecelia," she said, "come into the parlor ~ "No, I won't," replied Cecelia. "Oh! yes, do I" said Annie. "Mr. MacVain is in there, and be is such a nice gentleman. He always brings us something good, pictures or oandL~, or apples, or something good! Come in now, quick !" "I shan't do it, I tell you," replied qeeclia, who was out of temper about her lessons. Almost every day at school she woul4 get a scolding about her lessons. The teacher ex- cused her poor recitations for the first two or three months, because she knew that the child had Dot been used to confinement and study; but when this time had passed she '~vonld sometimes get out of patience, and such scenes as the following occurred nearly every '~Why, Cecelia, you do not know this les- son," said the teacher. "Did you study at ho~ne I" "No, ma'am, I'did not." "You did not! well, why not ~" "I don't have time," replie~t Cecelia. "I have to set the table, wash the dishes and help with all the housework." "You do? And Mks. Macouty does not tell you to study at home 1" "No, ma'am, she don't," replied Cecelia4 "She says I must learn to york, so that I can sup- port myself." "That is all very proper," replied the teacher, "but I don't see why she sends you to school, if she will not allow you to prepare your les- eons, at least partially, at home. But I sup- pose she knows her own business." Mrs. Macourty's store-room was well and liberally supplied, and, as she had the most implicit faith in the servants, it was seldom locked. Cecelia saw this, and, al~hongh she was given money to spend on toy~ and other articles that children covet, she thought she 'would increase the supply. To do this she 'would take from the store-room a flew bottles of wine, cordial or liquor, some soap, starch or other articles, and, hiding them among the bushes in the yard, she awaited a favorable' opportunity, when she would take them out to some corner grocery, and sell them for a quar- ter of what they were worth. Sometimes she told the keeper of the shop that her ma was short of change, and sent her out to sell the articles, and again she would say that her ma had given them to her, and, as she did not want them, she would sell them. In summer she had two months' vacation, and then returned again to school. After she had lived with Mrs. Macour~ about ten months, the time seemed too dull and inactive for her, and she ran away. She had taken a great fancy to Mr. and Mrs. Cheerful, and went to their house. As an excuse for running away, she told them that Mrs. Macourty did not' give her enough to eat, that she had to be a servant for the other children, and that she had been frequently whipped in a cruel and unmerciful manner. Mrs. Cheerful listened, with wonder to the outrageous stories she told, and did not know exactly what to make of it. She had always thougl~t that Mrs. Macourty and her husband were such good people. Mr. Cheerful, when he caine home, was surprised to find Cecelia there, 'and listened to her story with ill-concealed doubt and anger. "You must think we are fools," he said, when she had finished, "to come here telling me that story. Mrs. Macourty is a perfect lady, incapable of harming anyone, or treating anyone cruelly, and her husband is a fine, hon- orable man. Come, you can't stay here. Get ready and I will take you back there. If you want to run aw~y again, do not come here." Mrs. Mahourty had been in a perfect fever all day about the child, and could not imagine what had become of her. When Mr. Cheerful brought Cecelia back again she was much shocked at the tales she had been telling about them, and asked why she had done so. Ce- celia pretended to be very penitent, cried a great deal,, and promised not to do so any more. After this Mrs. Macourty took her back again and the next day she returned to school. The decided manner of Mr. Cheerful disap- pointed Cecelia very much, and from that time she avoided him and his family as much as possible. She pronounced his singing horrid squeaking, his conversation dull and ill-na- tured, and d~iclared him the most disagreeable 66 ' 9 56' MARDi UBAS~; A IALE OF ANTE BELL UAL HAtES. 57 man she had ever met. She was not long, however, in finding new friends outside of her adopted home~ Mrs. Marie Le Crasseux was the person to whom Mrs. Macourty gave all her sewing that could not be ~done at home. She was a woman much tinder the medium height, small and delicately framed, pale and thin, with large black eyes, the lustre of which increased the unnatural appearance of her thin lips, sunken cheeks, and sharp, straight nose. She looked like a woman who would faint at a spider and sink under the fatigue of ascending one short flight of stairs; yet there are probably few women whose lives are so full of trouble and care, constant work, worry of mind and wear of body, as this poor, broken- spirited woman's 'was. She did much of the sewing, especially the fine work of the neigh- borhood, and long after the last omnibus had rattled by on its way up town, after the last straggler from the theatre or opera had sought repose, and the carts 'and market wagons were wending their way to a new day's business, long after her liege' lord had been tucked into bed and snoring, her needle was flying fast, and night after night, by the dull and gloomy light of her lamp, she pursued this weary, lonely, unending work. She had a large family, and her days were spent in cooking, washing, ironing and mending for them, with now and then a chase to this or that lady's house to return finished garments or to get new work. Some member of her family was always sick, and requiring, medicine and at- 1 tension. With all these duties devolving upon her, she, at least, might with much reason cx- 1 claim, "A woman's work is never done." Yet she found time to attend church and perform her duties as a Christian, was sometimes social 1 with her neighbors, and exhibited a wonderful 1 amount of hope and cheerfulness. Her hus- I band was an amiable cross between' the tiger c and the wolf. Mons. Antoine Le Crasseux was I born in one of the border provinces ef France, s and settled in New Orleans in early manhood. C lie was the senior of his wife by fifteen years, ~ and exercised his authority as lord and master 5 ere the honey-moon had completed its first t quarter. H6 was about five feet ten in height, I~ but stooped so that he looked much less than l~ that. Stooping forward, his shoulders were 0 rounded to almost a deformity, his head t drooped until his chin nearly touched his u chest, the long beard, which covered his hard, il dry face, flowed almost to his waist, and his black hair fell in a loose, uncombed shower of "matted and combined locks" around his neck and shoulders. He was no advocate of the external application of cool, clear water, often going for weeks without washing his hands and face, while, as to bathing or clean- ing his person, he often boasted that he had not done so since leaving his native village. Ho was a moulder and pattern maker in iron work, very tasty and ingenious, a perfect mas- ter of his profession, at which he found, in one of the largest foundries of the city, constant employment at the best wages. He was a "Jack of all trades" with talent and capacity sufficient to rank with the best workmen at any of them that he turned his hands to. As a carpenter, cabinet-maker, paper-hanger, up- holsterer or decorative painter, he had worked with success, at such times as the business of the foundry would be dull, or when he, in a fit of ill-temper,, would leave that place. With all these advantages in himself as a workman, and with a wife who drudged and toiled steadier and more abjectly than any negro cook in the city, he was always poor. His family lived in the smallest, mosttumble-down house, in a neighborhood of small, tumble~ down houses, and but for his wife's perseverance in patching, mending, turning and darning. they would have been continually in rags and tatters. In his family wa~ included his nephew, Felix Le Crasseux, a young man of about twenty yeast of age, of medium height and build, with long, sandy hair, a light beard of the same color, ~a florid, badly freckled face md grey eyes, over which hung shaggy, red- lish brows. Some of his front teeth were missing, and those that were yet left were )adly decayed or covered with tartar. In oint of cleanliness he was a little improvement ~n his worthy uncle, but scarcely enough "to )rag of." With'this delightful family Cecelia .oon became intimate, and spent many of her evenings with them, relating her woes and in- renting horrid tales of the persecution she uffered in the family of Mr. Macourty. To hese stories, hadehe dared brave her husband, ~[adama Le Crasseux would have given~the lie, mt as he listened with satisfaction, throwing ut exclamations, sometimes in Fr ~nch, some- imes in English, of approval and encourage~ sent, sh~ kept silent, while the nephew, a Lull, sleepy-looking fellow, half fool and half 8 57 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] knave, swallowed the whole as gospel truth. After an evening spent in such conversation, Felix would escort Cecelia back to Mrs. Ma- vourty's, where she would greet everybody in the most affectionate and confiding manner. She was always careful, when retiring at night, to kiss all the family, with mamAy de- monstrations of love and respect, and when in her room her Ave 3farias and Pater Nosters were so loud and earnest that they could be head by the passers in the streets. Thus the second year and much of the third passed sway when an old friend joined the family once more4 CHAPTER xvx. Two years had rolled by, and the autumn frosts were once more giving the leaves a va- riety of rich colors, and the winds, as they ii whistled through the woods, were covering the ground with a leafy carpet, leaving the trees bare and cheerless. The travelers who had thronged Saratoga, Newport, LongBranch and through the Canadas were on the wing for home. The western and southern merchants had replenished their stocks with the latest fashions and patterns of fall and winter goods~ and their grain, flour, pork, cotton, rice and other products were now coming forward to restore the "balance of exchanges.~m The great American metropolis was daily becoming more crowded and gay; those who left for dis- tant homes being more than replaced in num- bers by returning citizens and crowds of visit- ors from all parts of the world. Oar old friends, Barege, Muslin & Co., bad been doing their full share of the business of the city, and, rich at first, were rapidly nearing the point of immense wealth and influence. Philip Cummings was now a juuior salesman, that point where the occupant is neither one thing or the other, now an office boy, then a messen- ger, a salesman, and so on, fihlin~ all gaps that occur. He was a favorite with the seniors of the firm, who prophesied that he would be a bril- liant salesman in a short time; but with the junior, Mr. Crape, he was less fortunate, that gentleman still keeping up an old grudge against him. Peter Droll, kind-hearted, gen- erous Peter, was rapidly going down hill in health, and had been obliged to miss many days from his work. The seniors of the house manifested much interest in his case, because he knew the business thoroughly and was a valuable hand, but mainly, let us hope and be- lieve, through kind and Christian feeling. "Mr. Droll," Mr. Barege had often said, "you must take care of yourself. Go down to my house at Elizabeth. There's plenty of good, fresh milk and butter, pleasant walks and shady groves to loiter in. There's a good team and a comfortable carriage always at your service. Come, nQw, don't be foolish, man,~ and shake your head 'at me. Got ready and go over and stay three or four months, just as long ~s you please. It will not costyon anything, and you will be porfect~iy welcome." "Look here, Mr. Droll," Mr. ~Iuslin would sometimes say, and always kindly, "you are not able to stand the worry an~ fatigue of business. Take a trip off wost, ~r south, re- lieve your mind of all care, go *h~re you will s~e the most life and be comfortable. If you run short of money, you know-w ~y just drop a note to me privately and I'll lo~n you what you want, and when you get back 4 few mouths from now, you will soon catch up ~gain." Amongst the clerks of the hous~ there was much shaking of heads and regrets expressed that Mr. Droll was "in a bad way." "Look here, my Scotch Seminole," Sam Sell- well would exclaim, in his off-band way, none the less sincere in idudness and good feeling than othei s who were more choice in their wprds, "look here, Pete, you're trifling with this thing too long. You don't hold a very strong hand, and the first thing you know your pile will be covered, and wl~en the game is called, and you show your hand, you'll find old Death holds all the aces, and there'll be no show for you at all. Take time now to roen- perate and you may euchre the old fellow in spite of his cunning." To all ".'~se friendly solicitations Peter re- 'turned cyasive answers, promising to consider the matter. He was of a retiring nature and feared that he would give trouble to others if he accepted the advice given him. There was another and stronger reason for his refusal to go away. His ward, Mary Collins, was pro- gressing rapidly in her studies, and stood among the best scholars in the Institute, where there many that were older than she was. Her music was pronounced excellent, and her voice was wonderfully clear, full and melodious. She had carried off a majority of the prizes at the last examination, and re- A TA JiB OF ANTE BEJ2LU]I[ TIMES. MARDI GRAS.. ceived the speciaL compliments of the examin- that had settled in his constitution, that fcL ing committee. For years before his acquaint.. destroyer, consumption, which was slowly but ance with Mrs. Collins, Mr. Droll had lived al- surely undermining his strength and bringing most entirely secluded from society. He had him nearer to the grave. Mary watched him few acquaintances, and these were among the with care and her heart was filled with ap- ~ea with whom he was thrown in contact by prehension on his account. S~e heard others his business. He had found in Mai~y a respectful urge him to take a vacation from toil and aux- and obedient child, careful to please him and iety, and often joined her solicitations to theirs- attentive to his wants, especially of late when that he should do so. he had been so unwell. His heart, which "What do you say, my little pet 1" he said had been for years a stranger to finer feelings, to her one evening. "Do you want to get rid found in her an idol in which all its store of of Uncle Pete 7" love could be worthily bestowed. He loved " Oh, no, Uncle? it is not that," she replied. her as a father or elder brother, and was never "You kno!r how badly I would feel to pait tirep of hearing of her triumphs at school, or with you. But your health demands a relaxa- her praises in the homes that they ~visited to.. tion and this is of the first importance to me gather. Mary had joined the choir in the I c~tnnot bear to think of you working your ~eigl~boring church, where she was considered life away when a few months, perhaps only a valuable assistant, and Mr. Droll always few weeks, would restore your health." went with her to Mass and Vespers, and seated "And what would become of my little neice?" himself In the gallery near by, where he could he inquired, as he kindly drew hack her long not only hear the tones of her sweet voica, but curls, "what would you do while I was gone?" might also watch her beautiful face, which "Don't think of thut, Uncle. I will get seemed filled with inspiration as she joined along very well. I ama sure I can," she replied with heartfelt devotion in the grand anthems of praise, She had not been Ionj~ with the "I will try to get a class in the Institute o~a choir before sho was given a leading part at music class. Believe me, the thought that you High Mass la the ~Jredo, Gl~'k~, are relieved fro~n the worry and care of busi- Agnus Offratory and ness, the hope of seeing you return improved Dci, and at Vespers in the Magnifi cat. in health will give me strength to do any Mr. Droll had been brought up a Presbyte- worlr." nan, but was not dIsposed to interfere with "It will not do," said Mr. Droll. "When I the religi9us preference of his niece, as he called Mary, but encouraged her in performing go I must take you with me. I wrote to the all her duties in the Church of her choice, folks at home that I was going to bring you "It is bad, very bad, to see a man without a over there, and I have had three or four letters settled religion," he often said, "but it is far since urging me to do so." worse in a woman. Not that I think the obli- "In Scotland! Will you take me with you 7" nation to worship God is an~ stronger on one eh~ eagerly ask~d. than the other, but there is an ennobling in- "Yes my dear," he replied. "This is Oc- fluence, a delicacy and refinement about a tober-well, by January I shall have money truly pious woman that is beautiful to see, enough to go." and which is felt and respected by the rough- "How much money f~o you require, Uncle?" est of men. A woman without religion is like "I went down to see Captain Evans, of the a vessel in a storm on a rocky coast, without ship Oakwood, to-day," said Mr. Droll. "ne rudder or anchor, and is liable to be wrecked will take us over to Liverpool for a hund ~ed at any time in the storms of passion and sin and twenty-five dollars, and for another h4n- that are continually raging in the world." dred we can go from Liverpool to A~erde~n If he left the city to go to Mr. Barege's coun- He leaves on Saturday of next week, and if I try residence, or on a trip, as suggested by Mr. had sixty dollars more we would go, but lie will Muslin, what would become of his neice? His leave again sometime in January, and then I salary, he knew, would be suspended during shall he ready." his absence, and he would be deprived of the "Go with him now, Uncle," she replied. "You means of paying for her board and education, go and leave me here. I shall feel so happy Therefore he straggled against the disease to knOw that I am not keeping you away from page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] those you love, and with whom your strength will, no doubt, return." "I should like to see the old home again," he replied, a slight accent of sadness in his voice, "and if it is God's will, I shall dose soon, but I cannot go without you. It will not be long untilwe can go over together, and then-" "Then what, Uncle Peter I" she said, seeing that he hesitated to complete what he was say- ing. "You will be with our folks, and, if anything happens me, you will have a good home, with kind friends," he replied. "Brother John has promised to lie a father to you, and if death comes for me, I will feel tnore contented at the parting." "Don't talk about death, Uncle," she re- plied, wiping away the tears that were filling her eyes. "You will be strong yet, apd live many a day to guide me with your wise ad- vice, and cheer me with your words of kind- ness.~' "If it is God's will, Mary," he said, kindly caressing her head. "I hope he will spare me to see you comfortable and happily settled in life, but it will do no harm t& provide for the worst, and so I feel that I must get homeY The next day was a busy one at Barege, Muslin & Co.'s, and everybody about the place was on the alert to fill the demands of the throng of customers. A little past noon, as Mr. Craps was standing near the lace depart- ment, he observed Philip, who was showing the shawls and sacks to a very stylish lady in a dark brown silk dreqs, with furs and cape to match. After the lady went out without buy- ing anything, Mr. Craps came forward and reproved Philip for Lrying to wait on the lady, telling him that he should have called one of the elder salesmen. While they were folding up the articles to return them to the boxes and shelves where they belonged, Mr. Crape missed a shawl and asked Philip where it was. "I don't see any such shawl here," said Philip, turning them over and searching througlj. the pile. "It certainly was there a few minutes ago," replied Mr. Crape, continuing the search with nervous anxiety. " It may have been,, sir, but it is not here now," said Philip. "May have been !" exclaimed Mr. Craps, getting angry. "Didn't you show a s awl marked fifty dollars, withvine embroidery and a large flower center, to that lady." 60 "No, sir, I did not," replied Philip, "But I know you did, for I heard you say to her 'fifty dollars,' and that was the only one of that style at that price." "I told her that the lace point was fifty dol- lars," replied Philip, but I did not show her a shawl at that price." "You needn't try to get out of it in that way," said Mr. Crape, who 'was by this time in a towering passion. "Get out of what I" said Philip, aroused by this remark. "Oh,.it is. a great deal more convenient," said Mr. Crape, sneeringly, "wben a young man has a stylish lady friend to allow her to steal a nice ~ha~rl than it is to buy one for her." Without the least hesitation, before Mr. Crape had finished speaking, P~iilip srtruckhim in the face with all the force he was master of. Before a second .blow could be struck by him, or one returned by ,Mr. Craps, three or four clerks 'interfered and separated them. The event created a great sensation. Many of the men rushed forward to see what was the mat- ter, while those who remained in their stocks eagerly inquired of others what was going on. a fight within the sacred precincts of the was something that few of them had ever dreamed of; they were horrified at the idea; and that one of the boys should dare strike a member of the "firm," was even more wonderful. The c~ilprits were ordered back to the offlve, where both of the seniors were pres- ent, and before this "high court" they were at once arraigned. "What does this mean, Mr. Crape? A nice return for my kindness to you, Philip," said Mr. Barege, turning from one to the other, "a pretty state of affairs, indeed. A brawl, a bar-room scuffle, here in the store, with a crowd of customers present." "What was it about, Philip I" asked Mr. Muslin, who was perfectly eQol and quiet. "What was it about I" Mr. Barege broke out again, "that's the question. How dare you kick up a row here ?" "Mr. Crape can tell you all about it," said Philip, motioning towards where that gentle- man was standing silent and sullen. "Well, sir, we are waiting to hear from you," said Mr. Baregc~, turning to his nephew. "I am going home to change my clothes, and bathe my face," replied Mr. Crape, wiping the blood from a small scratch on his cheek~ I A TALE OF A'~TE J3ELLUM TIMES. "when I get back I will answer your ques- tion." "Very well, sir, very well," said Mr. Barege, "you can both go until this evening, and then we will hear what you have to say." "For myself," said Philip, stepping forward, "I have very little to say. I am very sorry the fuss occurred in your store, but if it was to do over again, I should act as I have al- ready done, and if we had not been parted I should have done my best to give him a thor- ough whipping. I shall not come back this evening, as I have determined tp leave you, for while I appreciate ymr kind r~ess and thank you for it, I cannot live any lodger with him." As he concluded, he pointed contemptuously at Mr. Crape. This was another surprise, and one that was well founded, for Philip had been kindly treat- ed by the senior partners, and if he remained, had a good prospect as a salesman in the fu- ture. After a short consultation together his employers concluded that it would be best to let him try for a time to get a situation else- where, after which they had no doubt he would be glad to return to them. His account was niade out and Mr. Muslin, while paying him the amount due him, offered his advice on the course that he should pursue for the fu- ture. Philip replied to him respectfully, and with proper deference, and after saying good.~ bye to the seniors, and to some of the clerks with whom he was on friendly terms he left the store. As he walked down Broadway, thinking 6f the events of the day and forming plans for the future, he saw two men standing on one of the corners, engaged in earnest conversa- tion, one of these looked so familiar, that he soon remembered that he was Mr. MacVain. As he came forward, Mr. MacVaiA said to his companion. "Another season spent in this fruitless search! It does seem strange that no one of her old companions has ever heard from her.' "It is very discouraging, ~ replied his companion. "I have watched for her in' Boston, Albany, Philadelphia, all over, in fact, and have been assisted by Betsy and two of the best detectives in the country, all without any success." "This old detective, Joe Bodkers, that you say is such a good hand, what does he say V~ inquired Mr. MacVain. I AlA EDI GRAS; "Its a regular puzzler, he says," replied Mr. Williams, "he thinks the girl ipust have died from the effects of the fnght at the fire, or from exposure afterwards, or may be that she was not rescued at all.' "As for that," replied Mr. MacVain, "we have the testimony of Betsy, who is positive that she saw her brought safely out of the house." "That's true, sir," said Mr. Williams, "but if she was saved, where did she go to so sud- denly? You know that is the last that was seen of her." "I have no doubt she was saved," replied Mr. MacVain, "but where she has gone is a mystery I hope we may yet unravel." "Nothing will be left undone, that can as- sist in bringing success," replied Mr. Williams. "I think I shall go home next week," re- plied Mr. MacVain, "these lon~ seasons, which others devote to pleasure and recuperation, hut which are times of racking anxtsty for me, are wearing me out, and I shall hereafter, make them shorter. I hope that you will per- severe, and sodn meet with success." During the latter part of this conversation, Philip had remainedd at a respectful distance, too far off to 'hear what was said, but as he saw the stranger go away, and Mr. MacVain turn to go down town, he stepped quick to overtake him. At first, Mr. MacVain did not recognize him, but when Philip told his nauie, he was received in a very friendly and cordial manner. During their walk, he related to ~lr. MacVain much ot his life since his arrival in New York, and expressed a wish to return to New Orleans. His friend promised that if he did do so he would aid him in procuring a sit- uation, and offered to assist him with aloauo~ money to pay his passage. This Philip thank- ed him for, but said it was not necessary as he had saved enough from his wages, small though they had l2~een, to enable him to return to his native city. When Mr. Droll returned that eveningg to h~s home at Mrs. Reed's boarding house, Mary met him at the door, and with a peculiar look of pleasure, mixed with girlish mystery, welcomed him after his day of labor and ex- citement. After their tea, a meal served in the plainest boardinghouse style, they returned So the parlor, and Mary played for him some of the fashionable airs of the day, then sang an old Scotch favorite, which' he always admired, 61 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] and praised very much. But it was evident, there was something on her mind, she had some secret to tell, or some new triumph at school to surprise her dear uncle with. "What is it, Mary I" he said, as she left th0, piano and took a seat beside him. "Another medal at school, eli? You will lead them all before long, I know you will." "It is not that, Uncle," she replied, looking wistfully into his face. ~' What then, dear I" he asked, with an en- couraging look and smile. "Shut your eyes and hold fast all I give you," she said playfully, her fine blue eyes full of anticipated pleasure. Mr. Droll complied, and to his surprise received in his hand six ten dollar gold pieces. "Why child, what does this mean ?" he asked, as soon as he had sufficiently recovered from his surprise to speak. "You-said, Uncle," she replied, "that if we had sixty dollars, you would go with Capt. Evans, and so I got you themoney.~' "But how did you get it I" he anxiously in- quired, "if by m~# refining and wishes to go home, I have induced you to do anything not strictly honest, or to beg or bemoan your- self-" "Uncle, uncle ~ she exclaimed, and her beautiful face flushed with pain, that he should have such thoughts of her, even for a moment. "Forgive me, Mary, I know that you are all truth and honor," he said, as he looked into her distressed face, "but I was surpmiscd that you could get such a sum." "The money came honorably into my hands," she replied, "it is the last legacy ot my poor mother, but had I prized it a thous- and times more than I did, I would have part~ ed with it and felt happy in doing so, since it will enable you to take a recess of which you stand so much in need." ~!y dear Mary," he said; kindly patting her head, "perhaps you have done wrong in parL irig with this money, if your mother left it to you, for a time of distress and want, f~r I think we might get alopg~ without it for a while yet." "No, no, dour uncle," she replied, coaxingly, "keep the money and let us go new. When you get back next fall, you will I trust, be fully restored to *health. Just think what a happiness it will be to me to see yen strong and well once more, and to think that I aided a little, if ever so little, In bringing about so desirable an end as the restoration of your health," "It shall be as you say," Mr. Droll replied "and I will go to-morrow to close the bargain with Capt. Evans. He is a very nice man, a native of Maine, and under4ands his business thoroughly." This matter being thus settled, )4r. Droll gave Mary some account of the disturbance at the store, and of Philip's leaving there. While he was speaking, Philip came in. "There is the bad boy now," said Mr. Droll' as he came in. "If I thought such was really your opinion, I should feel very sorry, indeed," said Philip, as he took a seat near them. "What will you do now, Philip I" Mary in- qtlire(l. - "Oh! he will go l;ack again in a week or two," said Mr. Droll. "You are mistaken for once," replied Philip, "I am going to New ~ "To New Orleans !" exclaime&Mary. "Yes, it is my native place," said Philip' "my father was a prominent merchant there for many years, and had many friends, I will try my fortunethere." "I am sure you will succeed, Philip," replied Mary, "if you continue to be as steady and at- tentive as you have been here." "I shall try hard for success," he said. "I thank you, Mary, for your good opinion, which I assure you I prize beyond all other consider- ations." "My advice or commendation are of little value," she modestly replied, "but I hope you will gain golden opinions from those to whom you go, and that you may ever remember that there is One above whose service is more honor- able and whose rewards are far greater than those of earth." "Where ever I go, Mary your good counsel, your words of encouragement and kind friend- ly interest will ever be remembered," h.3 replied. - "I am glad to hear you say so, Philip," she answered with childish simplicity, "we have spent happy hours together, and it will always be a pleasure to me to know that I am kindly remembered, especially as we are soon to go to a country strange and new to me." I A TALE OF ANTE BELL UAf TIMES. "You are going away!" exclaimed Philip. "Yes, we are going to Scotland," replied Mr. Droll, "I shall tell them at the store, to-mor- row, and ges ready to go on the Oakwood next week." The evening was spent in discussing their plans for the future, and with many expres- sions of friendship and mutual good wishes they at last separated. Having nothing to de- tain him, and being anxious to get back to the scenes of his childhood, Philip left for New Orleans on the second day after. The eventful Saturday caine, the time inter evening seeming even shorter than our friends had anticipated. The good ship Oakwood, Capt. Evans, master, was ready for sea, and the last preparations were being hurried to completion. Mary was already on Jinoard, and Mr. Droll, who had gone on shore to procure a few nice articles for food that he thought 'they might want on the voyage, wasjust returning, when Mr~ Seliwell, the last of his friends who came down, shook him warmly by the hand, and, almost &rying, bade him God speed. - "Good bye, Pete, good bye, old boy," said Sam' as Mr. Droll reached the deck of the vessel. "God bless you my hearty, and may you come back fat and sound as a buck." Mr. Droll returned the salutations of his friend, and as the vessel left her modring, went below to Mary. "Here we are Mary, all right," he said, cheerfully, "your room is next to mine, so that if you are sick or want anything, you can easi ly call me." "We will be very comfortable, uncle," she - replied, "and I hope we shall have a quick and pleasant trip." "I hope so, dear," he said, "we start in good trim, anyhow, as we have a hundred dollars in gold, our passage is paid, and if we should run short of funds-why, I can get sixty or eighty dollars for my watch. Come let us go on deck, and take a look at the old place, it i9ill be the last we shall have for several months." They stood on the deck as the vessel passed out of the river and down the narrows, and aL t though they had many a time before, seen the '~ boats running in the harbor, had often passed ~ the picturesque' valleys, and groves of Staten a Island and The gray walls of Fort Hamilton o those objects, and everything around possessed a an interest that they had never felt before. f I MARDi GRAS; There they remained looking back unti]. city~- fort- and island faded from their view and everywhere around them, nothing could be seen but the darl~ blue waters of the Atlantic~ -4--- CIIAPThR XVII. The house of George Macourty was one of the best in the city, having inherited a good reputation from the founder of the business. By close attention, and strict integrity, Mr. Macourty had extended his trade slowly and surely, meeting every engagement promptly, dealing with his patrons in a fair, just and honorable manner that ensured him their fu- ture custom. There was no dash or brilliance, no wild speculation about his business, but all the details were carefully attended to, cease- less energy and never tiring perseverance were- employed, and success had followed. He we'- now able to keep a large cash balance aiway-. on hand to meet the drafts of those who con- signed goods to him, to take advantage of an~ llnctuations in the markets and to cover ar~ the contingencies of his business. Beside~. this, he owned considerable real estate, and wn~ the holder of sto~~ka, bonds and mortgages t~ a large amount. His business was now so ex- tensive and profitable that each year the bal- ance sheet showed a haudsomeaddition to hi' fortune. * It was a morning in November when a young man passed along the street, evidently in search of some place he had seen before, for a~ lie walked on, ha read the signs over the doot-" af the stores, and occasional paused t~observ~ what was going on within. Ev9rywbere th~ evidences ~f a prosperous business were to be men, boxes and bales of goods were arriving md departing, clerks were engaged in selling mud shipping, slid all through the streets bus- ~le and activity prevailed. In front of Mr. ~aconrty's store there were long rows of casks )f ale and wine, boxes of foreign liquors, and )ales of imported goods. A clerk was receiv- ng goods as the draymen brought them from he ships, another was marking the packages hat were sold and yet to be sent off, and two irarehousemen were moving the goods about s they directed. The young man asked one f the clerks if Mr. Macourty was in, and was answered in the affirmative, that he could be~ mud in the office up stairs. 63 page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] The merchant was in his easy office chair' reading the morning paper, and so intently engaged that he did not notice the young man's entrance. "Do you want another clerk, sir ?" inquired the young man. "Not at present," replied Mr. Macourty, without looking up. "Could you tell me where I would be likely to find a place I" "Really I conld not," replied Mr. Macourty, carelessly. The book-keeper, who had been busy over his books, looked around and with a smile, kindly said, that he did not know of any vacancy at tbat time. "Good morning, sir," said the young man, and wfth a disappointed iook he turned away. "You want a situation ~ said Mr. Macourty, suddenly throwing down the paper. "Yes, sir, I am looking for a place where I can earn a living, and am willing to work," replied the young man. "What can you do ?" inquired Mr. Macour- ty, in an absent-minded tone, for something about the young man's thee had struck him as being very familiar, and he was trying to think where he had met him before. "I write a good hand and am tolerably quick at figures, I-" "What is y9ur name ?" said Mr. Macourty interrupting him. Philip Cummings, sir, my father Peter Cummings " "Why certainly," exclaimed the gentleman, again interrupting* him, now 'shaking bands with hiji, and looking very much pleased; "I ought to have known you at once, Philip. I ~m glad to see you, very glad to see you, come in here and sit down. Why ~rs. Macourty will be delighted to see you I am sure, you must go with me to dinner-certainly, I de- clare, you look very natural, but have grown very much. Mr. Browsee-Philip," he said, introducing the book-keeper, "Philip is an old favorite of ours," he continued, "and the son of a much loved friend. Take a seat, Philip, and tell us all abont your adventures for these -let me see-it must be sekv en or eight years since you left us 1" "Yes, sir, it is," replied P~iilip. "How is your Uncle, and ow did you leave the family-well-eh 1" "Very well, indeed, sir," said Philip, "my uncle is an excellent man, a~d treated me as if 04 I had been his own eon; in fact, they were all very kind to me, and I owe them much love and gratitude." "I am pleased to hear you say so," relied his friend, "there is nothing more commend- able in a young man, than a proper estimation of the kindness of those to whose care he has been indebted. You want a situation? Well, I will try to make room for you, it will be a poor place at first but you can work up, you know." "I shall do my best to do so." "I think you can make him assistant entry clerk, Mr. Browsee," he said, thei~ addressing Philip he continued, "you will have some en- tries to make, letters to copy, go to the post- office and bank, get bills of lading signed, and so on. Mr. Browsee will initiate you. Your salary will be fifty dollars month, and if you improve, as I am sure you will, it will be in- creased. I want th~ best of help about me and never quibble about salary when I am pleased with a clerk's services." Philip expressed hi~ thanks to his friend, and after a short time spent in conversation, the business of the day was resumed, in which the young man at once commenced to take his part. Mr. Leonard Brow~ee, who was immedi- ately over him and from whom all of his in- s1rt~ctions and orders would come, was a man about twenty-five years of age, tall and' slen- der, affable and gentlemanly in his manner. He had been with Mr. Macourty for the past five or six years, and had discharged~ his duties faithfully and with untiring energy. His con- stant application to business and watchful care of his employers ~aterests, had gained his confidence and esteem and the management of the books, cash and office, affairs of the house were now left entirely to him. Constant con- finement, long and laborious office hours, and the ever present ambition to become more and more useful in the business, had gradual- ly worn out the strength of Mr. Brow- see, who was at best never very strong, and he was now an invalid, often more ~lt for the sick ward of an hospital, than the active du. ties of the office. His employer frequently urged him to take a vacation, or to throw some of his duties off on the other clerks, but he felt justly proud of his position in the house, and the high estimation placed upon his services, and would never consent to leave his I I A TALE OF AYTE BELL UAI TIMES. MARDI GRAS; post, for even a short time, for fear of loosing attending school but with little improvement, some of the influence that he possessed. Ho and the prospect seemed to be, that she would was not a married man, but had a mother and never make more than a very ordinary scholar. thret, sisters, ~vith whom he lived, and who It was not that she lacked the capacity, for if were supported by him. For them he was al- a new ballad 'canto dut particularly funny or ways thoughtful, and anxious to gratify every full of slang, if she visited the theatre and the wish or desire that they expressed. play was grotesque or ludicrous, it' there Was When the hour for dinner arrived Mr. Ma- any tale of scandal going, these she would court called Philip, and together they went learn, and repeat word for word, with appro- up to his residence. He thought the place private embellishments in actions. The visitors had improved very much since he ~vas there ~t Mrs. Macourty's were persons who moved before, and as they passed into the parlor in the best society, n~id Cecelia was always many new beauties about the hous~ met his invited to call on t l~ em and associate with view. Mrs. Macourty met her liii baud as their children, but she would seldom do so. If, was her uoat with ~ kiss of welcome, and Ofl the other hand, the milk man invited her ta he, pointing to Philip told her th~t he had ride in his cart, or Mr) Le Crassezix asked her brought a young friend to dine wi~h them. to speiid the evening at his house, she was al- But a woman's eyes are sharper than a man's, ways ready and anxious to comply. and her heart once impressed with an iuiage, Mr. Le Crasseux was working in the foundry, either in love or hatred, retains it through where he was getting extra pay as a first class long years of absence or neglect. workman, for the orders on hand for iron "Philip, my dear Philip," she cried, throw- work were very intensive, and it was neces~ ing her arms around his neck and kissing him Sexy to work over time in order to fill them. £he men were sitting around the foundry one again, "why Philip how delighted I am to see d you. How well you look-and almost grown ay about a month after Philip returned to New Orleauswhen Toni Binney, who had re- to be a man-I am so glad yun are back again. ceutly married, ci~me in. It was the hour al- "Thank you, my good, ~iind friend," said lowed for dinner and they were chatting so- Philip, tears of pleasure filling his eyes, "your cially, each one, as he caine in from his [neal, welcome completes my happiness and makes taking his seat in the crowd and joining in the me feel at ~ conversation. "Here's Tom back a-ready," said Billy The children, Annie, George and Maggie. to his companions, " his bride must were now presented to Philip and Cecelia winking came in soon after, and was also introduced have received him coolly, or he wouldn't have been in a hurry to get back." She recognized Philip at once, and diving the "Oh! he takes his sweet-meats in small afternoon found an opportunity to have a dozes," put in Joe, a strong stalwart fellow long talk with him. She inquired about the "so that tim novelty will last longer." changes in New York, what ha4 become of "Go on fellers," said Torn, good naturedly~ Jicauty, as she called Mary, and why he had "have your joke, you can't phase nie." come out to New Orleans, "No but the marrying did," said another. Next morning Philip was at the store early 'SWell I never see a feller as nervous as you and from that time was very successful in fill- was that day," said Billy. ing the position given him. He obtained "i believe he was sort o' scared," said Joe, b'olird at a comfortable house and was soon at laughing, home again. He frequently visited Mrs. Ma- "And you'd a thought he was afraid of court who treated him with the kindness of leaving some of the foundry dirt ~n himself," a mother and took a lively interest in all that said Bill, "I'm blessed if he didn't scour and he did. Under her guidance he was soon a scrub hiniself as if he'd been an old tin pan." regular attendant at mass at St. Patrick's "That's so ?" exclaimed Joe, "I'll be hanged. Church. To him Cecolia, with whom he had if he didn't take two baths that day." every opportunity to become acquainted, was At this lhere was a hearty laugh, in which as great an enigma, as she was to others who Toni joined, frankly admitting that he had. thought they knew her well. She was still done so. .9 05 page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] "Well you were greener than I thought for," said Le Crasseux. "I suppose you didn't bath twice the day ~you was married I" said Tom turning to the flew speaker. "That I didn't, nor once neither," was the reply. "You didn't!" exclaimed Bill, "well I wouldn't tell it." "I don't believe in no such ~ said Le ~rasseux doggedly. "I don't see any foolery about keeping one's self clean," said Tom. "Well I do," replied Le Crasseux with a sneer, "I dont believe in washing your healMi away. I haven's taken a bath since I landed in America." "Whoop-pee !" exclaimed Joe, "well I'll be shot if I wouldn't be ashamed to own it." "I am not, however," replied Le Crasseux, 'with emphasis, "I haven't taken a bath since I wae a boy and I don't mean to take another." "You are a dirty dog," said Joe, indignantly. "You are not fit to associate wth gentlemen," said Bill. "You are a disgrace to the city," said Toni. "Go on; what do I care what you say," said Le Crasseu~, contemptuously. "You haven't taken a bath since you were married I" asked Joe. "No; nor.for years before," was the reply* "And you say you don't intend to ?" again asked Joe. " I don't intend to and I won't," said Le Crasseu'r. "Well, you shan't stay in this place and make that boast," said Joe. "Come on, boys,' let's give him a taste of cola water." Without further words, Joe seized npon Le Crasseux, and the others assisted in carrying him to a back room of the foundry, where there were long,~ deep troughs filled with wa- ter. While Joe held him, in a grasp that de- fied all his turning and struggling to getaway, the rest of the men pulled off his shoes, coat and other clothes, when they lifted him up and placed him in the water; or~e now ran for soap, and another for the coarse roller towel used for their hands and faces. Le Crasseux was then well soaped and r~abbed, and hi~ head thoroughly washed, after which he was rubbed down with the crash and allowed to dress. He came out a new man in looks, but 66 with an additional quantity of vinegar in his disposition. When he returned to his home that night a thunder-cloud of anger hung over his dark brow and made his face even more forbidding than nonal. He had not the courage or spirit to show his resentment to the men at the foundry, but spent his afternoon in sullenly brooding over the treatment he had received at their hands. Ilia wife saw at once, when he entered, that there was something wrong, and fastened to put the children out of the way and give him his supper. The impending storm was averted; however, by the entrance of Cecelia and Felix, who had been taking a walk together. Cecelia was a great favorite with him; they were kindred spirits; he always took great pleasure in hearing her wild stories and encouraging her in making complaints against her adopted parents. There was, too, a friendship springing up between his nephew and the girl,,which he encouraged, hoping that it would lead to their union for life. Cecelia had a surprise for him, one that he hardly knew whether to feel pleased at or not. After a long recitation of her wrongs, the slights put upon her and the oppression under which she suffered, in telling which he encouraged her, although he believed them false, she announced that she 'had left Mr. Macourty's house, and asked him to give her a home, until such time as she could get work to do that would support her. He did netlike this, because he did not believe she would try to get another place, but, once with his family, would become a fixture, and further, he knew it would damage her pros- pects for the future, in which he felt an inter- eat, on account of the plans he had formed for his nephew. "DQn't you think it0wou~d be better to try to get along with them for a few mouths longer V' he asked. "I can't do it, sir," she replied, with a down- cast look, "I can't stand it, sir, I must leave them." "I never heard of such persecution,~~ said Felix, who wished to have her in his uncle's house, so that he would have a better oppor- tunity to pay his attentions .to her, "it is a shame for people to act so and put on such airs abe it religion." I A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TiMES. "I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Le before. The weather was clear and the wind Crasseux. fair, the noble vessel ploughed through the "Oh! of course you don't !" exclaimed her waters of the onean in fine style, giving good husband. "Well, I don't," said his wife, firmly, "Mrs. promise of a quick trip. The next day Mr. Droll found himself too Macourty is a kind lady, and has been a much exhausted to venture on deck. The day mother to Cecelia. Don't have anything to do was spent in reading or playing checkers, and with the girl, for I tell you the don't tell the the evening twilight faded into the darkness truth." "Bat I will protect htr," he replied, "so you of night while they talked of the past, of the needn't say anything more." church where she had sung in the choir, of "If she comes bore it will make Mrs. ~ Philip and his return to his native city, and court angry, very justly so, too," said his other topics, the memory of which gave them wife, "and I shall loose her sewin''~ much pleasure. "That's all right," he replied, "your sewing On the day following her friend was so don't amount to much. If she wants to get much better that Mary felt greatly encour- mad, let her do it. This is my house and as aged, and talked gaily of their visit to Scot- long as I've got one I'll give Cecelia a home." land and the pleasant times she expectedd to The opposition of his ~vife only confirmed have there. She sang to him many of those Le Crasseux in his determination to favor Ce- dear old ballads, that touch the heart in their celia, and it was consequently decided that she simple melody, ~and fill the mind with harmo- should make her home with their family for nious feelings by the depth'and beauty of their the future, sentiment. In the evening they walked around the vessel, watching the sun as he sank in golden glory behind the limitless spacer of wattr, and were filled with pleasure CIIAPT1~R xviii. at the serenity and beauty that surrounded sailor and her them. When she retired to rest at night, Mary The Oakwood was a good felt relieved of a heavy load of anxiety and master was thorough in the knowledge of his business. flvery part of the vessel was kept soon fell into a quiet a~d happy repose. *)elfectly clean and in proper order, every man How uncertain are the pleasures, and fleet- f the crew had his duties to perform, and was ing the joys of life! Who that has watched particular to do his work well. Mr. Droll and with some dear friend through the varied his ward were the only passengers on board, scenes, the lights and shadows, the failing and in point of room were as comfortable as if strength and rallying bloom, the deceptive they had been at Mrs. Reed's. The table was turnings of consumj~tion, and cannot tell of not so satisfactory, although even that would the bright hopes and heart-breaking disap- have been acceptable to those who were in pointments that attend every stage of the good health and willing to live ii plain style terrible disease? Now comes the palid during the few days of an ocean passage. The cheeks, the short, hacking cough, the last outlines of the shore had hardly faded feeble step and the heavy, drowsy feeling, and from her view when Mary began ~o feel that with a mind overtaxed with pain you seem to terrible nausea which, to those who live on the see the grim messengerr of death standing land, has always been the greatest shadow ready to ~mtrike down his vielfim. But there overhanging a sea voyage. For three days she comes a silver lining to the clouds, the warm was very sick, and seldom left her room, glow of liiereturns to the face, the step be- When this passed oils she found that Mr. Droll comes elastic, and the walk upright and buoy. wa~ much worse, than when they started and J ant, the pain leaves the chest and the eyes had only ~cept around to encourage her. In the glow with a brilliance that seems almost evening, when they went on deck, it was with ethereal. Hope returns, the disease has difficulty that he ascended the stairs, and he changed for the better, health will come again oat for many minutes completely exhausted, and our friend will be spared for many years. then a spell of coughing followed, that was j Vain and delusive hopes, for, even in that nore violent than any she had ever witnessed I moment of brightest visions, the destroying I MIARdDI GRAS; 67 page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] A TALE OF ANTE BELL UMf TIMES. 6MAiGA; angel, with noiseless steps, is approaching more surely to his prize. ~ In the night Mary awoke and heard Mr. Droll in his room, which was next to her own, coughing -violently, and breathing short and hard between the, spells, as if ins great dis- tress. Hastily throwing on her dress, she en- tered his room and found that the spell had brought on a hemorrhage, and he was now throwing up large quantities of pure arterial blood. To her, the minutes seemed hours and dragged slowly along through time while the attack lasted. The cough shook and con- vulsed his whole frame, while he was almost suffocated by tlie blood t1zat- filled he, throat, ever and again coming out in a frightful stream. At last he fell back upon the pillow, weak and exhausted, a deathly palor spread- ing over his face, and the throbbing of his pulse comirrg so soft and slow that it was al- most lost altogether. When it was near morning another attack came, nearly as se- vere and long as the first. After this he fell into a sleep which lasted until after 10 o'clock-. As they did not go to breakfast the Captain came into the 'room, and when he saw Mr-. Droll he shook his. head omino,usly and went out again. In a few minutes he returned' took the invalid's band and felt carefully for the pulse, looked carelessly around the room, and -was leaving again when Mary asked what he thought of Mr. Droll. " Well, he may last as far as LiverpooI," he said, shrugging his shoulders. " Mag last ! Do you think him so low Cap- tain I" anxiously inquired the girl. "Just as low as he can be and live," he re- plied. " I didn't much think he could stand a sea voyage, but I never thought it would take him so sudden." . "Is there nothing that could be done, sir I Do you know of anything that would do him- god " she asked. " Humph! not a thing-he's very low- pbably won't last through the night-but te confounded disease has so many turns that you can never tell," anI with these words he left the room. - Mary watched patiently by his side until he awoke and looked languidly around the room. When he saw her he smiled and then closed his eyes again, as if he was too much worn out to keep them open. She watched him again, silently and saddly, and when he again awoke, asked how he felt. " Much better,!' was tbe reply, but the feeble tone of his voice anl the traces~of pain on his death-like countena cc made a different an- swer. Mary went to the cook-room and got a cup of coffee for herself, and after some difficulty procured for her uncle a cup of tea and a little toast. There was no fresh meat on the ship, not even a chicken, and she was, therefore, obliged to take such refreshment as she could get. But she found Mr. Droll too weak to take anything more than a sup of the tea, after which he slept again. He was much refreshed afterwards, and with a look of grateful love asked Mary to go and lie down, saying that he feared that she would be worn out with watching. This she gently refused to do, but remained with him, paying such little' attentions as she could. The day passed quietly aivay and but one little hemorrhage came on during. th~e night. Thus the day's and nij~hts passed with no other change than that the invalid was growing weaker all the time. Mary was constant in her attentions. No daughter could have been more gentle and loving. Every care was taken by her to keep the room in cheerful and clean order, to make his bed comfortable and his position easy. Such articles of nourishment as they had provided, or could be obtained on the ship, Miary prepared for him with her own hands, and out of very little succeeded in making dishes that were pleasing and accept- able to him. In these labors she .neither re- ceived assistance or encouragement from any one attached to the vessel., The Captain seemed to avoid all communication with tiem, for fear of being troubled to do something for the sick man.' After a night of broken rest, short spells of sleep, interrupted by spells of coughing, made worse by a slow fever tht~dstldon him Mr. Droll was taken with another fit of spitting blood, which frightened the young watcher so that she hurried out to hunt up the captain and beg his assistance'. " What's the use i" he replied, .impatiently. " I can do nothing for him. If he holds cut three days longer we shall be in Liverpool, and then may be you can find a doctor who will try to cure him." 68 69 "Are we so near the end of the voyage' altar to return praise to Him who watches she inquired. over the orphan and the friendless, offer up " Yes, I think so," replied the captain, with some petition for nte," he continued, while his a look at the s~ky. " We have a fair wind and face glowed with the pleasure of calm resigna- good weather, and ought to make it in that tion and his eyes seemed to be filled with the time." light of hope. "You know so well how to '"Oh, I am very glad to hear it !" she earnestly pray, you are so pure and good that Our Fa- replied. -'. , ther will hear you, and although I have been " Yes, but when you get to Liverpool," he taught a different religion from yours, I trust said, " if you want a doctor you will require that He will forgive me if I amn wrong." money to pay him." '" There can be but one true Church, Uncle," " We have money, Captain," she replied, she replied. " Our Saviour established only "plenty of money to pay all expenses." one, and that has endured, and will endure, "Have youi Well, you are till right then," through all ages." he answered, in a careless tone. Finding that ." I have often thought of that, Mary dear," the captain would do nothing for her friend, he said,'"and sometimes had almost deter- Mary left him and returned to the room, mined to become a member of the Church with " Mary dear," Mr. Droll said, when she took you-but it is too late now, dear, too late now.' her seat beside the bed, " you have been a "God is just, Uncle, kut He is also merciful," good girl, and I hope you will always be happy. she replied. "For your sins and errors you lMy greatest regret now ,is that I cannot leave can offer Him sorrow and contrition, and these you as comfortable as you deserve to be." He will not despise. Try to awalten in your "Don't think of leaving me, Uncle," she re- heart deep feelings of love for His goodness plied, putting the hair back from his forehead and mercy, and a sincere regretfor the offences and smoothing his pillow, " we shall soon beo committed against His holy will, and with pa- in Liverpool, and then you will have such tience and resignation await His call, with full nursing and care that you will recover your confidence in His( boundless mercy." strength and be able to travel up to Scotland.'" " With your help, Mary, I will try," he re- " Ah, I never shall see Scotland again," he plied. said, with a sorrowful look. "My poor mother, Thus encouraged, the young girl took their if I could only see her once more, how happy' prayer book, knelt by the bed side, and with I would be! Dear, ever kind mother, this will fervor read many of the beautiful, solemn and be a sad blow for her." appropriate' devotions. At her request be fol- "Nay, Uncle, do not feel so low spirited," lowed her through the creed, the act of con- she replied, suppressing with difficulty the trition, the Litany of the Holy Name of Jesus, grief that filled her heart. "You are no worseanthAdrtoofheCs.Atrtise to-day than you have been, and once we reach sank once more into sleep, a sleep which was the land you will soon recover." more calm than he had enjoyed before foi some "I my nt lok wrse" h repied "bt ~time. While he rested- she placed by his side I my nt lok ors," e rplid, bu Ia plain wooden cross that she always carried, feel that I am much weaker and rapidly sink- which she prized very much, because it had ing. I cannot last much longer, and although be lse o e ytego ahro h I should like to have yen remember me, Mary churc weres sedrb the goo wither mofthe der I dontws-tt e ihsdeso e When he awoke he asked for a drink of water. pinmng, but rather with the pleasant glow like "ar nou ld"h .ad in a'ola that which the thought of some good deed, voc.Thavou chilaad, suhn goo slep, lar' some happy hour or some quiet moment of rest "YiesUc I hdought yood slee Mrestin gives to the mind." well.,"thuhtyuweeretn "I shall always cherish your memory, Thie sun was sinking now low down to the Uncle, as the best and kindest of friends," waters, and from the little window of his room she answered, while, in spite of her efforts to he could see the waves as they danced in the keep them back, tears of sorrow ran down her golden light of an early autumn sun-set. cheeks. He looked upon the beautiful scene quietly "Yes, Mary, and when you kneel before the for a while, and then struggled to raise him- MARD1 GRAS; page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] self upon his elbows, that he might vie it better, but his strength was gone and he s nk again upon the pillow. Mary saw the cif rt, and, hurrying to him, fixed the pillows nd then raised him almost to a sitting positi u. "God bless you, Mary dear-pray for m ," he said, and then, raising the crucifix he pressed it to his lips, his eyes closed, his I ps gentlyparted, and a smile of sweet satisfy c- tion spread over his face as he fell back on he pillows-dead. Mary looked long and wistft~ ly into his face, which was as calm as if he were only asleep, and, as she arranged the bed and put his hair back, captain Evans entered and asked how he was. "He is dead, sir," the girl quietly r~plied. "Indeed! yes-that's so," replied the cap- tain, as he took the lifeless hand in his and felt for the pulse that was now stilled forever, "yes, he's gone. Well, you leave the room now and I'll fix him up." "I cannot leave him, sir," she said. "Why, you can't fix him," replied the cap- tain. "It's not fit work fox~ a delicate young thiiug like you." Mary ~ave such directions as ~he thought of in relation to the arrangement of the corpse and then left the room. When she returned he was dressed in a neat suit of black clothes, with a nice shirt and well-tied cravat; his hair had been combed back from his forehead and his face cleanly shaken. She felt grateful to the captain for this kind attention, and be- lieved that beneath a rough exterior he car- ried a good heart. Mr. Droll's watch guard, a plain black ribbon, was around his neck as he always' 'wore it, with the end in his vest pocket, and, as she wished to know the time, she' pulled it out, but the watch was gone. She thought the captain had so ar- ranged it, in order to keep the watch from being buried with him, and recognized in the act another evidence of his watchfulness and forethought. During the night she watched alone with the corpse of her friend, and thought through the dark hours of the night of how great to her was the loss of this only true friend, who had been to her like a father. She could not think of the future, of what she would do, now that he was gone. The present, the dark, storm- clouded present, hung over her withthe gloom of a pall, and she could only think of her kind, 70 indulgent friend, uncle and father, as he lay there before her in the cold and rigid form of death. There was one friend she thought of and whose presence would have cheered the gloom that surrounded her. During their long acquaintance Philip Cummings had joined in her studies and sports, had sympathized with her in her troubles and trials, and had always taken an interest in whatever engaged her. There had been no set ways or speeches be- tween them, no artificial plans to win con- fidence or esteem. They had played, studied, sung and walked together without any thought of being more than friendly and agreeable. When they had d~ffercd in opinion on any sub- ject, or in wish about any recreation, they had. spoken candidly and without any attempt at an agreeability they did not feel. Yet a friend- ship, a mutual esteem, and a deep interest in each other's welfare, had sprung up between them, which was all tl~e more deep and sin- cere, and was likely to prove the more durable, because it sprung up unheeded ~nd unsought by either, She thought often during that long night how grieved Philip would fc9l when he heard of the death of Mr. Droll, who had been so kind to them both, and how sincerely he would, sympathize with her if he was only present. Early next morning the captain came in, attended by one of the men, who carried some ropes. He was surprised to find her there and more so when he learned that she had watched all night. "Well, I think it's all nonsense to watch with a dead man," he said, with a careless, rude manner, "just like it would do him any harm to remain alone." "It may be foolish," she replied, "but it is customary, and, I think, is but a poor tribute to the memory of a dear, lost friend." "Well-well-as you like," he replied, im- patiently. "I suppose you want to say goid bye to him; if so, hurry up, so that we can put him over before the sun gets very high." "Put him over, Captain I" she exclaimed, "you surely are not in earnest." "To be sure, I am," he said. "Didn't you ever hear that people who die at sea are buried in the water." "Such things I know occur on emigrant ships and in ~ but you are Dot pressed for loom, and, besides, two days more, or three, at most, will bring us to Liverpool." U A TALE OP ANTE BELLUM TIMES. MARDI GRAS; "Can't see that that makes any difference," Mary did not go on deck again that day, but he replied, employed the time in the sad duty of arrang- "But, Captain, he has friends Who will want ing and packing away the articles that be- the body, and will gladly pay you br the longed to her uncle. When she went above trouble of keeping it," she urged. next morning she found the captain superin "Your canny Scotch are not over liberal tending the work of the crew and giving with their ha'pence," he replied, "and wilinot oi~ders to have the vessel put in or(ler before mind it ia fact I have no doubt they will they entered the port. He acknowledged her thank me for saving thorn the expense of a presence by a mere nod and continued his funeral." work. As he passed her she expressed a wish '~You speak very lightly of your fellow men," to speak with him, to which he replied by the she replied, with dignity, "and very irrever- demand "What do you watit ?" cut of the dead. I am surprised that one who "Captain, there was money in my uncle's is so constantly in danger should speak so trunk, she said, with some hesitation "and I carelessly of the trials of others." canno1~find it now." "WeU, Miss, if you are through, we will "Well, what have I to do with that I" he proceed," he said, with a sneer. asked, in a rough manner. "Think for a moment, Captain," she urged "1 thought you might have seen it, sir,",~he upon him, "only two days more and we will replied. reach Liverpool, where you can have the body "You and I are the only persons that havQ cased and his friends will take it from you. been in the room," he said, turning angrily That will be a great joy to his mother, a con- around, "and I did not see the money, nor do solution to his brother and a favor they will I believe there wa~ any," forever feel grateful for. Do not put him over- "I saw it, sir," she replied. "I counted it board! Have some consideration for the the day before my uncle died. There was one wishes and prayers of his friends." hundred dollars in gold-three twenty dollar "'It can't be done," he replied, firmly and piae~'s, two ten and four five dollar pieces.' decisively, "the body must go over now." "It is a game, nothing more," he answered, "Since you will not listen to my prayers for with a sneer. "There was no money there, the body of my poor friend," she said, sadly, but you think you will make a hundred dollars "you will at least let mp conform to the rules out of me. You can't do it. You needn't try of Christian burial." it won't do." To this the captain reluctantly assented. "You may have seen his watch, Captain, for The body was wrapped in a blanket, bound up cannot find that, and yod certainly remem- with cords and then removed to the deck, her that he had one 1" she anxiously inquired. where it was exposed until Mary completed "Certainly I saw his watch," he replied. the ceremonies of the Church over him. "Well, sir, do you know where it is ~" she Kneeling on the deck beside the corpse, she inquired, hopefully. "Why it was buried with him !" lie exclaim- read the Litany of the Dead and the solemn ed, "didn't you see the ribbon about his and beautiful office of burial, while the men neck." stood by with heads uncovered and respectfully "Yes, sir, I saw the ribbon," she replied, bowed down. When she had finished, she "and the watCh had been taken off. I ex- f~tooped for a moment ever the body, kissed amined it myself." the cold lips, a last and final leave-taking of a "That's a lie, for I know the watch wa' good and generous friend, and then st6od back. buried with him," he replied, fiercely, and The captain gave a sign and two of the men then ordered her to go below, and not try a;': stepped forward and closed up the folds of the more swindling on him. blanket. The corpse was then carried to the When they reached Liverpool, the Captai side of the vessel, and slowly lowered into the told Mary that she could remain on the shij~ deep blue waters of the ocean, which, parting, until Mr. Droll's friends could be heard from, received him to their bosom, and then forever a permission she was obliged to accept, as ~she closed over all that remained of poor, gentle, was left without money. In due season Mi~. loved and loving Peter Droll. John Droll answered her letter in person-He page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] A TALE 01? ANTE BELLUM TiMES. 73 greeted her very kindly, and listened with in- terest to her account of the long and patient Suffering, last illness, death and burial of his brother. To his demand for his brother's mon- ~ey and watch, the Captain returned the same answer as he had done to Mary. Finding that hie protests and arguments were useless Mr. Droll told the Captain to have the baggage put ashore and they would leave him. "I want the passage money for your brother and this fast young lady," replied the Captain. "My brother wrote me the day before he left New York," replied Mr. Droll, "that he had paid the passage money." "Well, sir, I don't care wii at he wrote you. The passage money has not been paid," replied the Captain. "He would not tell a lie alout it, Captain," said Mr. Droll, "and I can show you the letter." "I don't want to see the h4ter,~~ replied the Captain, "I want the monet, and I will have it." "The passage was paid," said Mary, feeling in the pocket of her sack for the papei~, "and here is the receipt." "The receipt she produced was in the hand- writing of Mr. Peter Droll, and was for the passage of himself and niece, but in the hurry and excitement of getting ready to leave New York, he had s~egZected to get it signed. The Cap- tain's triumph was complete, and without fur- ther argument Mr. Droll asked the amount 91 the bill. "Well, as there has been some misunder- standing," replied the Captain, "I will let you off with twenty pounds, although it ought to be at least forty, as I had the trouble of nurs- ing and attending him in his last illness !" To this Mr. Droll made no other reply than te pay the money and order the baggage put on shore." * When they arrived at the hotel where Mr. Droll had stopped, he procured a room for Mary, where she was comfortable and could enjoy a little repose. "You must be worn out my dear child," he said to her, "and we will thereforeremain here .a few days, so that you can get rested and re- cover from the fatigue and excitement of the events of your voyage. After that we will go up to Scotland where I can promise that you 'will be cordially welcomed." CHAPTER XXX. The stekidy perseverance with which he un- dertook the duties devolving upon him and the tact and ability that he displayed in business, soon gained for Philip the entire confidence of his employer. He had a decided advantage in being a favorite with Mrs. Macourty, who treated him as she would have done a son, and never tired in her praises of him to her hus- band. In addition to this his father had been an esteemed friend of Mr. Macourry's, and a man who had stood without a blemish or re preach in social and business circles. Many of his evenings were spent at Mr. Macourty's residence, and here every thing was done to make the time pleasant to him. He accom- panied Mrs. Macourty and Annie, sometimes with George and Cecelia, in her visits to their friends, and was thus soon introduced into a large and agreeable circle of aequantances, from whom he received numerous invitations to parties and social gatherings, that took up much of his spare time. On Sundays and oth- er holy days, he occupied a seat in Mr. Ma. county's pew at St. Patrick's, and was atten- tive to his duties, earning an enviable reputa- tion everywhere he went. Mrs. Macourty of- ten talked with him about her little daughter, in whose rescue he had manifested so much in- terest at the time ~he was kidnapped. He sympathized with her sincerely in her grief at that loss and entered fully into the hope that some day, the child would yet be recovered. It did not matter how long she talked on the subject, he always listened with interest, and kept up his part of the conversation in a man- ner that showed his heart was in the matter. Under these circumstances it was no wonder that her heart warmed to him, and that he soon became with her almost as dearly loved as one of her own children. One of his first acts after entering the office of Mr. Macourty, was to write to Mary, and inform her of his good fortune. This letter was written with great care, read, corrected and re-written, for now that they were separ- ated by so many miles of distance he felt more delicacy in addressing her, than he had done when they were together. After finishing the letter to his satisfaction, ho directed it to her at the town in Scotland where he knew she was going with Mr. Droll, and carried it to the post office to mail it himself. Months rolled I 73 away and there came no answer. Had she for- gotten him? This question recurred to him frequently, and began to possess far more in- terest than he had ever thought it would. He remembered the pleasant hours they had pass- ed together, the child-like innocence of her manner, her cheerful disposition, and her words of encouragement, and the thought that other friends now filled her mind, and had caused her to forget him, weighed heavily upon his heart. He would often run over the list of those he now visited, and compare them with her, but there w~s none so beauti- fuland good as she was. At last, his letter came back to him. It was returned through the Dead Letter Office, with the simple en* dorsement, made by the Scotch post-master, "no such person resides here, or is known in this neighborhood." What could t~is mean? He had agreed with her before they parted that his letters should be directed to her per- sonally, and now the first~ one, had come hack, without having been called for. For several days he carried the letter in his pocket, fre- quently reading the postmaster's remark on the back of it, a~id pondering over the singu- j lar manner in which Mary was acting. Then in a fit of anger and mortification he tore the letter up, and distributed it in little pieces as t he walked along the street, determining in d his own mind that she did not wish to hear h from himand that it was beneath Iris dignity~ to trouble her any more. This amiable frame of mind lasted for several weeks, during which he made himself pleasantly miserable, by brooding over the uncertainty of earthly af- r fairs, and the changeableness of female nature in particular. He then began to think with more reason about the matter, and remember- a lag the guileless sincerity and candor of Mary, came to the conclusion that something unex- pected had occurred, a shipwreck perhaps, and he therefore wrote to Mr. Peter Droll, directing the letter to the care of his brother John. a During this time he was attentive to his businesss, and in his leisure was sociable with the many now friends he made. The with- h drawal of Cecelia from the house of her adopt- ~ ed parents, was an unexpected surprise to! 0 him, a step that he was at a loss to account V for. Mrs. Macourty was much annoyed at the ~' circumstance, and troubled to think of the fa- ure that s'ch 00 nduct would lead to. Her P husband felt less interest in the matter. He a .~WARDI GRAS; argued that they had done all they could for the child, and as she continually showedd by her action's that she was incapable of uppre' citing their kindness, it was their duty to le~ her take care of herself. But his wife felt an interest in the wanderer, and wished to per- se'vere in the effort to redeem her from her wild, uncouth ways. She was very indignant at the Le Crasseux family, and when that lady called she was received in a very cool manner. Mine. ]~e Crasseux protested that she was op- posed to receiving Cecelia in her house, and that she had neither encouraged or believed her stories. After the matter was explained to her Mrs. Macourty felt sorry for the little woman and fully Oxcused her from all blar~io in CecePa's flight. After an absence of two months Ce~ielia be- ~an to think of the comforts of the home she had left, and requested permission to return~ &t first Mr. Macourty refused to give his con- lent, but the rezoning of his wife and the ~pecial pleading of the children, with a good ~'ord from Philip, changed his resolution, and he girl was once more taken back into his ~rmily. While at Mrs. Macourty's one evening, Philip earned that Mr. MacVain had called to see hem, and had required for him. The next Lay he called at that gentleman's office to seo Lim, and was very kindly received. "So you are with Mr. Macourty ?" said Mi~ lacVain. "Yes, sir, I am an assistant in the office," replied Philip. "I am very glad to hear it," said his friend, it is one of the best houses in the city, and s you have a footing there, with attention to business your fortune is made." "I am very well satisfied," replied Philip. "Yes, yon ought to be," said Mr. MacVain, for Mr. Macourty is an excellent man, kind ud just, and fins the reputation of paying as liberal salaries as any one in town." "He pays splendidly, every man about the ouse is paid a good salary, besides which they eli me that a Christmas never passes without ach one receiving a liberal present in money, dth kind messages that are as grateful to the ~elings as the present is acceptable." "That's very nice, and just like him !'~ he re~ lied, and a shadow of sadness came over him s he thought of the deep injury he had done 10 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] this excellent man," I do not know a better, man than George Macourty." As Philip was leaving, two Sisters of Chari- ty entered, and quietly waited until Mr. Mac- Vain was at leisure. "Good morning, ~ said that gentle- man, in a kind and encouraging manner, "what can I do to serve you." "We are raising funds, sir," one of them replied, "to paint our asylum. It has not been done for a long time, and is necessary both for the comfort of the orphans under our care, and as a means of preserving the building. "'We also need some winter clothing for the children." Mr. MacVain bowed again, and received from her the .subscription list from which he read, haf aloud, "Robert McDonald, one hundred; Dick Cheerful, twenty-five; Thomas Cane, one hundred; Alfred Plant, one hundred; George Macourty, one hundred; Len Browsee, fifty; Albert Biown, twenty-five; Sam Tel- her, one hnn ired; and so it goes," he said "no body under twenty-five dollars yet." "We have another list in this little book," ~~id the Sister, "on which are the names of such as can only give a little, for every sum, however small is acceptable." Mr. MacVain wrote en the paper, "Percy MacVain, one ;~I then added the names' of three of his clerks, who had been with him for a long time and managed his business for him, when he was out of the city. "Albert May- land, William Thomas, and Paul Ballanie, one hundred each," and directed his cashier, Mr. Maylaud to give him "four hundred dollars sand charge it to expense account." Philip took the small book from the Sister, and inscribing there "cash, ten dollars," banded the amount to her, and bidding Mr. MacVain "good day," returned to his busi- ness. The season was one of activity and prosperi- ty in commercial matters, and the city was very gay and lively all the time. In the sum- mer Mrs. Macourty went over to Biloxi, and her husband spent much of his time there also, leaving Mr. Browace in charge of the business. Mrs. McDonald atid many others of the city p ased the warm season on the lake shore, and Philip made several pleasant visits to them d ring the summer. ChAPTER XX. After a day or two passed in perfect quiet, Mr. John Droll took Mary around the city, pointed out the beautiful buildings, visited some of the places of amusement, and exerted himself to make the time pleasant and to draw her mind from the grief and trouble that op- pressed her. She was never tired of praising his brother, and would sit for hours relating incidents connected with their home in New York, dwelling with much pleasure on his kind and generous acts, his honorable reputa- tion with all who knew him, and the 'gentle and quiet interest he always manifested in her studies and amusements. "Well, Mary," said Mr. Droll, when they had been a week in Liverpool, "I think we may get jeady now to go home." "I have been thinking of that, Mr. ~ she answered, with some hesitation, as if she hardly knew ho~w~ to word what she had to say, "I am grateful to you for your kind at- tention, as, indeed, I ought to be, but I-the truth is, with all thanks to you, I have resolved to return to New York." "Return-return, why what do you mean? It can't be, no, no, don't think of it," exclaimed the surprised gentleman. "I do not doubt the sincerity of your friend- ship in your offer of a home," she replied, "but I have thought the matter over well, and I must go back." "I'll ~wait a week or so longer," he' said, earnestly hoping that she would alter her plans, "and perhaps you wiil change your mind. I promised Peter in my letters to him, for he always wrote about you in every letter of his, that I would receive you and take care of you, as I would a child of my own. I do not say it to make you feel any obligation, but as an assurance to you that you will be wel- come, myself and wife will do all that we can for you, and as the companion and adopted child of nl+ poor brother, you are sure of a warm place in my mother's heart. Therefore, I hope you will not disappoint us, you are al- ready counted as one of our family and they will all be sadly grieved if I return without you.' "My kind, generous friend," she answered, with great earnestness, "I am unable to sa~ to you in words how much I thank y~u for this offer which I 'cannot nopept. I am an Amen- I A TALE 01? ANTE BELLUM TIMES. __________________ MARDi GRAS; can, and I long to return to my native country, but as further argument to induce her to go shoulA I return with you to Scotland I might with him to Scotland would be useless, he re- never get home again, but here I will claim quested Captain Tollis, to take good care of the assistance of the agent of our country, her, and with 'many good wishes left Mary on and through his influence get a passage." the ship. Her homeward voyage was as "Upon my word, Mary," said Mr. Droll, pleasant as she could have expected under the somewhat nettled at her patriotisni, "I think circumstances, and was without any partien- your experience with Capt. Evans would lar event to make an extended notice inter- somewhat shake your faith in American gen- eating. They experienced a little squall which tleinen." lasted for the greater part of two days, with "Thefe are meax~ and dishonest people in which exception the weather was fine and every nation," she ~quietly replied, "and of favorable. Captain Tollis, a native 'of New course I cannot claim exemption from the rule York, was a large, powerful man, with a full for mine. Yet such men as the Captain are beard slightly mixed with gray. His face was the exceptions, for as a class, there are no men open and convivial in expression, and hi~ eyes more honorable, high minded, just and gener- seemed brim full of mirth and humor. There ous, more delicate in their* attentions to was beneath his careless joviality, the refine- strangers or more kind to the poor and friend- 'ment and natural nobility of mind and less, than the men of my own country. I wiligo thought, which gave him the tact to under- to the American Consul andhe will give me pro- stand those with whom he came in contact, section and a passage home. I beg of yon not axid to appreciate and respect innocence and to think hard of me nor judge me ungrateful virtue, and to assist and comfort the poor and or thankless. When I left home with my distressed with a delicacy that made his at- Uncle, we thought, that by next fall we should te~3tions acceptable to the most retired and return. There are reasons why I am anxious dimdent of his passengers. He was during to remain in New York, at least for a time, the whole voyage kind and attentive to Mary, reasons that I am sure you will say are suffi- furnishing her with books to read, and doing ciently strong to justify my determination to all that he could to make the time pass return home, and as a justification of my pleasantly. action, I beg of you to listen while I give you As soon as they arrived at New York, Mary an outline of my past life." went to Mrs. Reed's to secure a room and "I do not ask it, Mary," he replied, thinking board. The kind hearted Captain insisted from her manner that the subject was painful that she should lea7e her baggage on board to her, "I am sorry I cannot change your de- until she had made a bargain w~th Mrs. Reed- termination, but since I can not, you must al- and it happened that it was fortunate that she low me to do what I can for you." did so, as that lady's house was full and she Mr. Droll at once 'made inquiries for a good could not accommodate her. After many in. ship for New York and secured passage for quiries and applications at different houses, Mary on the Rockport, which' was then ready Mary was supplied with a place at Mrs. Scraps to sail. At parting he' gave Mary the receipt on a cross street that was then considered far for her passage home, and offered her fifty up town. It was' a dingy looking brick house, pounds in gold, that she might not be without with granite steps, well worn, and a basement money on her arrival in New York. But Mary below that looked like a dungeon. The win- felt perfect confidence in her ability to earn dow blinds were dust covered and hung on her own support, when she was once more in hinges that creaked forth a doleful cry when. her native country, and the early lessons ever touched. The front doors and hall way, learned from her mother, made her'f~eel a deli- were grease bespattered, and the grease by cacy about accepting any more assistance long exposure had acquired a bard, burnished than her circumstances made necessary. Mr. appearance, that would have shown with Droll was urgent, however, in his offer, and striking effect, but that the balance of the seemed to feel slighted at her refusal, she house was rapidly approaching an equal state of therefore accepted from him ten pounds in dingy dirtiness. The furniture, originally gold, plain enough, had become marred and defaced Mr. Droll parted with her with much regret by long use, the appearaAce of every thing page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TIMES. '76 77 MARDI GRAS; about the place denoted that the inmates lived, or rather "got along" with as ~Iittle work as was possible. Mrs. Scraps was a very tall woman, with a sharp, thin figure, a small mouth, with lips that were drawn close, and cheeks sunken and colorless. Her eyes were sharp and darting, and seemed to read the thoughts, at times, of those who applied for no. accommodations, for by these quick glances she decided whether she would get paid or not, and was usually correct. The class that she enter. tained~was made up of clerks, sewing women and others whose incomes were too small to in- dulge in many of the luxuries of life. Mary was furnished with a small back room on the second story and in it spent her time while in tbe house, feeling too sad after the events of the past few months to associate with the other boarders. There was not much sociabili- ty about the house, nearly all the boarders, knowing the hours for meals, came in just in time, and aftet~ hurrying through with their repdst.lcft again, but there were a few who frequented the parlor, from whence Mary of- teji heard the sounds o~ loud talking, laugh- in~ and singing, varied occasionally by a per- formance on the piano, which though old and ou~ of tune, was yet capable of producing that which would pass for music to ears not thor. ou~hly educated. After thanking Captain Tollis for his atten- tions, Mary had her baggage removed to her ro~,m arid there sat down to write a letter to her friend, Mr. John Droll, informing him of her safe arrival in New York, and the thought- ful attentions of C4iptain Tollis, informing him also that the Captain was an American. She now began to seek for some employment which would yield income sufficient to pay her expenses. She applied in many stores for sewing without success, some had already en- gaged their full compliment of hands, others were .well supplied with manufactured articles and a few considered it "between seasons," and would give out no more work for a time. Thus two or three weeks passed awny, every day was spent in making applications, now as a teacher in some school, but here she was re- fused generally on account of her youth, again she would answer an advertisement for seamstress or nurse, or ask for a position as sales-woman in some millinery or fancy goods establishment all without success. One d~iy she stepped into an intelligence office, w ich she had often passed before, and had beg a to wonder if it was not possible that she might get something to do through that me mm. The old man who kept the place, Ic ked surprised to see in his shop look- ing for ork, one so young, good looking and evidently carefully brought up, and asked what sh could do. After hearing her qualifi- cations, he said that for a fee of fifty cents in advance he would register her name, and. if possible procure a situation for her. Mary re- plied that she might call again and went on her way. She had not gone far, before a hand was gently laid on her shoulder and a voice at her side inquired, "I beg your pardon, Miss, but are you looking for a situation ?" The stranger was a man of thirty or thirty- five years of age, with moustache and neatly trimmed whiskers, light complexion and an easy self-confident, air, not too ln'u8quc to be agreeable. "Yes, sir-I would-be glad to find a place," replied Mary. "What can you do? What sort of a place would you prefer," inquired the man. "Well, really I would not refuse any means of honestly earning a support,~~ she replied, wondering what he wanted her to do. '~ Exactly-but you have a choice I" he asked. "I think I could teach," she replied, thoughtfully, "I have had a very good educa- tion, but they all say I am too young." "Not at all !" he exclaimed, "If you have the education, your youth will be no objection." "I ant very glad you think so, sir," she re- plied, "for my money is nearl~r gone, and I am anxious to do something." "You have some money I" ''Oh! yes, sir, a little, forty~ or fifty dollars,'' she said, encouraged at the t~no of his voice, "but of courBe I am anxious t~ get something to do before that is gone." "Very right, you're perfectly right," ho re- plied, "and I am glad I met y~u, for we want industrious, energetic persons like you." "Do you want teachers, sit I?" she inquired. "We want persons in every branch of indus- try, arts and sciences," lie replied, with digni- ty, "I am Andrew W. Hudlestone-you may have heard of me. I am agent for~ the Great Western Emigrants, Benefit and Protective Industrial Association, we are engaged in 76 I, sending the poor and unprotected from this hot-bed of misery and crime to the bountiful fields of the far spreading west. Already this year have we rescued from hunger and starva- tion, if not from a far worse fate, thousands of residents of this over crowded city." "Can I call at your office, sir I" she inquired. "Office, Miss," he said, in injured tone, "we have no office 1,ere. In this sinful place we want "no 16c:sl habitation," although we have a "name~~ that has already become the terror to the wolves of this city. No-no -in the beautiful city of Pietyville, near Innocence Grove, in one of the most fertile valleys of that beautiful country we have established our head-quarters, and now in every directio11 we are spreading our influence, everywhere the busy hum of the industry of a happy pee- ,ple may be heard." "I could teach, besides English," said Mary, anxious to make an impression on so dis- tinguished a person, "needle work, embroidery and music." "You are just such a person ~is we want," he said, "you will prove in your dress and manners an excellent example to the children of Pietyville, and I have no doubt but that you are competent as a teacher of all you have np~ned. Yes, ~ on are just what is needed." "I-I don't know how to get there," said M ry. 'I have a company who are going inaday or two," he replied. "There are Dearly a hun- dr d of them in all, and I will call on you and gi e you all the particulars. i'll call this ev nin'~" 'The expense, sir-how much does it cost to g there" she inquired. 'The passage and other expenses will be about eighty dollars." "I have not got that much, sir," she replied. ~ worry over that," he said, blandly. "We pay your expenses to Pietyville out of the association funds, and when you get there twenty or thirty dollars a month Will be de- ducted from your ~alary until the amount is repaid. But yoi~ see that will be easy on you, as we shall probably pay you seventy-five dol- lars a ninth, and furnish you with board," "That i~ a very large salary," she answered, delighted at the brilliant prospect before her. "Oh, we pay well in the west. It is not like here in this corrupt place," he replied with enthusiasm7 "and the best enterprise in the whole country is that of the Great Western Emigrants Benefit and Protective Industrial "I am very glad to hear it, for according to your terms even the poorest person can go there," said Mary. "Yes, miss, no matter how poor they may be so they are of good character," he replied, with a severely honest look, I' but we admit none but those who are strictly honest and re- liable. No money is necessary-of course it is well to have some money along in ease of ac- cident-but it is seldom that emigrants have to use it." They had been walking up town during this conversation, and when the gentleman said that he could not go any further at that time, Mary gave him her address, and he promised to call at Mrs. Scrap's and see her. This he did frequent ly during the next three or four days, and dwelt so enthusiastically on the ad- vantages offered by the Great Western Emigrants' Benefit and Protective Industrial Association, that Mary settled with Mrs Scraps and prepared to leave for the serene and beautiful city of Pietyville. The expressi~inn called for her baggage, and she took an omnibus and soon reached the- Hudson River Railroad Depot, the point from which the new additions to the western city were to depart. Here she was met by Mr. Andrew XV. Hudlestone, who excused himself for not calling for her in person, by sayingthat his timo had been so occupied with the other emigrants and the details of their startingthat he had not had time. "There, sit down here." he said, when they were in one of the ladies' cars, "the other members of our company are in the forward cars, but they are so crowded don't think you could find a scat now. When we get on to the Central road we will get a car to ourselves, and I will introduce you. I'll be backin afew minutes." saying which he departed to take care of the baggage and get the tickets for the company. There was a busy crowd around the depot, and the children that flitted o and fro selling cakes, candies, fruit and papers reminded her of the time when she was an apple girl on the streets of the groat city. Hard and trying as were those days, she now looked back to them with pleasure, and shuddered to thhik of the 77 MARDI GRAS: page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] MARDi GRAS; A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TIMES. 78 79 trials through which she had passed since that time~ The car filled up rapidly and she knew by the movements of those around her that they were about to start when Mr. Andrew W., Hudlestono returned. "I declare, there never was anything so un- lucky," he said, "my cashier, instead of meet- ing me here, as. I directed him to do, has gone to the upper depot. It's too bad, for I am short of money and cannot get the tickets." "That is unfortunate," said Mary, anxiously. "What will you do 7" "I am only sixty dollars short," he replied' in a low tone, "and if you have that much let me have it, and I will return it at the upper depot." "I have not got so much," said Mary, pro- ducing her portmonnaie, "but you can have what there is." "I will try and get th~ rest of some ot' those in the front car," he replied, as he started in that direction, after counting her money. "I have fifty-two dollars here." He left the car and in a few minutes more they started for the upper, depot. She waited his return, but as he did not come, ~he thought he would join her at the upper depot. When they arrived at that place there was a few minute~ of noise and confusion, and then the steam engine took them off at a rapid rate. Still the agent of the Great Western Emigrants' Be efit and Protective Industrial Association di~l not come. "Your ticket, miss," said the conductor, stopping by h ~r seat. "The gentle an with my ticket is in the other car," sh answered. The polite c uductor bowed and passed on. 'The train flew on ~niles and miles away from the great city. Here, on one hand, was the beautiful Hud on, rolling grandly to the sea, with rocky cli A's on the other shore, here and there a residence looking out from the forests that lined the bank, and on the other side of the road walls of hewn stone, high peaks, run- ning brooks and prosperous villages. "Tickets !" shouted the conductor, as he entered the car. ~9ary did not know what to du. She had no money and Mr. Hudlestone I had not returned. "I have no ticket, sir," she snid to the conductor. "The gentleman who was to have brought me one has not re- turned." The man looked at her for a few moments as if studying her features and deliberating on what he should do. "Where were you going I" he inquired. "To the west, sir," she answered. "And who was the man you were going with I" he asked, still looking curiously at her, to see if she acted honestly. "Hudlestone, sir." "You gave him your money 7" he inquired. "Yes, sir, I loaned it to him, but he said he would give it back at the upper depot in the city," she replh~d. "Have you known him long 7" "Only a short time, sir," she answered. "He said he was agent for the Great West- em Emigrant's Benefit and Protective Indus- trial Association, and I was going to their city in the west. He said there was about one hun- dred other emigrants on this train going to the same place." -' I am sorry for you," he replied, "for you never .will see your money or that sharper again." "What do you mean 7" Mary anxiously In- quired. "I am sure the fellow was an imposter," he replied. "He has got your money; that is all he wanted, and you will never see him again." "What will I do 7" she asked, as the truth became so plain. "I have no money and no friends. What will I do 7" "Well, miss, I can't say,~~ he replied. "This is getting to be a common trick with the sharpers, and ought to be stopped by the police. It has left many a poor person without iends and money." "I would never, have suspected such a nice 1 oking gentlemm~n of so base an action," she s id, "and now-dear me-what can I do 7" "You had better go back to New York," a id the conductor, kindly, "I'll see 1~hat you a e passed back free of charge.~~ Mary accepted his offer with many thanks a d after a weary journey found herself once more in the boarding-house of Mrs. Scraps. That lady was not much surprised a~ her story. She sneered at her verdancy and hoped it would learn her a lesson. CHAPTER XXI. Once more Mary began the dreary round of application for work, something that would give her a living. Her money was now all gone and the confidence that the possession of even so small a sum gave hew, was wrecked with its loss. "Teacher-hum-yes, there's one vacancy," said Mr. Sa7eall, an ex-Onion merchantt, as he looked over his eye-glasses at the youthful candidate. "Don't think you'll do-too young -no use." "You do house work ?" said Mrs. Wilson, as she threw herself on a sofa and eyed the girl in a calculating way, "no-I don't want you. You would get sick and be on my hands I don't know how long." "I am really sorry, cissy,~~ satd the good nature Mrs. Plump, "but I have just engaged a nurse for the baby. It's too bad, a young thing like you, so well brought up, so lady- like and tidy, should have to live out." "Governess! Take you for governess in my family!" said Mrs. Greeneyes, "a handsome young girl like you-no indeed! My husband is doubtful enough anyhow, but with you here-no, I don't want you. Go. You look brazen enough to make me sick I" And so it happened that there was always something in the way, until, heart-sore and almost worn out, she applied for work to a manufacturer of ready made clothing. The man looked i~t her for a few minutes, evidently considering whetherr it would be advisable to try her or no~. At last he produced a bundle of vests that~ had been cut out during the day, and directed ~her to do the best with them she could. Sh~ tooi~ the bundle and hurried home with it. Mrs. Scraps was pleased to see that she had obt~dned work, for she had begun to feel uneasy about her pay, which was nearly three weeks behind. Mary worked industriously at the vests, ansi when she returned with them on Friday the proprietor of the store, after a careful exami- nation of them, said they would do and paid h~r for the work and gave her more. The al- ~, owance was small, but she hoped, by close application, not only to pay her expenses, but, little by little, to clear what ~he was already behind. I've changed you," said Mrs. Scraps, when she returned~ "Changed me?" said Mary, not nndergtand- ing what wa~ meant. "Yes. I n~oved you on to the third floor," replied Mrs. Scraps. "A gentleman who boarded with me two or three years, and then left, came back to-day and wanted his old room. He is a very nice man, Mr. SeUwell is~ and as you were in his room I had to move you up to give it to him." Mary could make no objection to this as she was in debt to Mrs. Scraps, and was, in a measure, dependent on her; but she felt zunch grieved at the careless manner in which she was treated, and the rough indifference shown to her wishes and comfort. Hurrying to her new room she put down the work she carried, and taking a chair, leaned her head on the bedside and gave way to the sad thoughts that filled her mind~ She was alone, and felt with crushing weight the troubles and trials that. surrounded her. Her thoughts flowed back over the time when her mother welcomed her return every night to their little home in Brooklyn, to~ the happy days spent with her uncle, kind ]~'eter Droll, and of a~l the friends, then so kind, Philip only remained, and he w~s in a distant city. She had not heard from him and migbt never do s~, yet she thought it would be cheering to know that at least one friend remembered her. Recovering frofli her despondency, she re- solved to work more constantly until free from del~t to Mrs. Scraps. Early and late her needle was going, and the time given to her meals was begrudged, so intent she had become on the hope of showing Mrs. Scraps that she could be independent. Sometimes, as she passed up and down stairs, she heard others enjoying themselves in the parlor, or met Some of the gentlemen on the steps or in the hall, but she went quickly on thinking of her work and the object to be gained by it. This con- finement soon began to affect her health; her cheeks were pale, her eyes black and sunken, a nervous fever, with terrible headaches op- pressed her, and ~it times she was obliged t~ rest from her work. One dark, rainy afternoon she ventured out to return some articles she had made, and when returning a sudden shower came up, and, before she could get, shelter, she was completely drenched with wa- ter. By the time she reached home she was in a violent chill, which lasted. for a long time and left her in a high fever. On the following day she was unable to get up at all, and when Mrs. Scraps came up about eleven o'clock she found her very sick. She was given a little 78 page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] A TALE OF ANTE J3ELLUhL TiMES. SO tea and left to herself until dinner time when a plate of soup was sent up, which she could not eat, and at night the tea was repeated. For three days this attention continuedbut, on the fourth, the girl was so much worse that Mrs. Scraps sent her son Johnny for Doctor Keep. When the doctor saw the invalid he shook his head dubiously and said that he ought to have been sent for at least three days before. "Uncle Peter, you must go," said Mary, opening her eyes and glancing wildly around. "Don't think of me; I will get along." '~She is out of her head," said Mrs. Scraps. "Yes, she is a very sick girl," replied the doctor, and, after some further consideration, he wrote the preserijtion and gave directions about her diet and nursing. As they came down stairs some of the gentlemen who had just finished dinner were standing in the ball. "Get some ice and keep her head cool; gWe her a little ice-water to drink," said the doct r. "Let some one stay with her all the time and give the medicine regularly.~l "Couldn't she be sent to the hospital 7" asked Mrs. Scraps. "No, madam, not at all," replied the doctor, positively. "If you moved her now it would be sure to kill her, and without great care she eann~t recover oven here." "Who is 'sick?" asked one of the gentlemen, after the doctor had left. '~The girl that had your room before you came back," said Mrs. Scraps. "Indeed! I am sorry to hear it," said the gentleman. "Yes; I am sony, too," replied Mrs. Scraps. "Johnny, g~ get a carriage.~~ "What for, mother 7" the boy asked. "To take the girl to the hospital," said Mrs. Scraps. "You certainly do not intend to send her away now," said the gentleman. "Why not, Mr. SelIwell 7" "She is too sick," replied Mr. Sellwell. "Didn't you hear the doctor say it would kill her to be moved 7" "Ths; and he said that she mtst have a nurse," said Mrs. Scraps, "and nourishment, medicine and all that sort of thing." "Well, of course she must," replied Mr. Sell- well. "Certainly! Oh, to be sure !" said Mrs. Scraps, angrily, "but how is she to get them? I can't get them. She owes me now for board, and I am not bound to take care of all the stray children of New York." "Well, but-Mrs. Scraps-" "John, get that carriage," shouted the land- lady, stamping her foot impatiently. "Not 50 fast, Mrs. Scraps," said Sam Sell- well. "You shall not send her out doors for want of money as long as I am here. I'll pay the btlls; so lot her stay." "You must be getting rich," said Mrs. Scraps, with sarcasm. "Not to hurt," replied Sam, "but you know I always pay what I say I will, and so far as that goes my word's as good as Mr. Barege's. I don't know this girl, wore than I've seen her two or three times passing up and down stairs, but as long as I've got a dollar no poor creature shall be turned out of a house I'm in for the want of it." "That may be very well for you, Mr. Sell- well," replied Mrs. Scraps, still much out of humor' as you have nobody but yourself to look out for, of course you can do as you please but I can't afford such luxuries." "I say I'll pay' the bills," said Sam, with eznphas~s, "don't that make it right 7 Get a nurse for her and send for what is wanted. To- night I'll bring you twenty dollars, gud more hereafter if you need it." "You'll pay all the expenses 7" inquired Mrs. Scraps. "Yes, I'll pay you the girl's board, too," re- plied Sam. "What money I am short I can get from our company. So, now, you must see that she is well cared for." "I'll do that," said Mrs. Scraps. "Mind now," said Sam, impressively, "if I find you neglecting or slighting her I'll leave your house and never do another hands' turn for you. Just see to it.'~ "Very well, Mr. Sellwell, I shall do all I can," said Mrs. Scraps. It was three weeks before Mary was suf- ficiently recovered to leave her room. Mrs. Scraps had informed her of Sam Sellwells' generosity, and with a few polishes to her own exertions in Mary's behalf, said that Mr. Sell- well was the best man she ever knew. In the evening Mary went down to the parlor and was introduced to her benefactor and some of the other boarders of tl~e house. "I cannot express to ~rou the sense of grati- 81 MARIJJ GRAS; tude that I feel," she said to Sam, "for your nation that she had returned toNew York. He kind interest in me. I shail always remember gave a bright account of his own prospects in it with thankfulness, and if health is restored New Orleans, and asked her to come out there, to me, I hope to be able to repay the expense assuring her that she could find a good situa-~ that you have been under for me." tion, and of the pleasure it would give him to "Don't-don't say any wore," replied Sam, assist her. feeliiig more embarrassed by her thanks than In reply she briefly stated her present occa- he would hays felt in risking his life at a fire. nation, and expressed her pleasure at his good "It is a pleasure to see you better. I hope you fortune. The correspondence thus begun will get strong soon and meet with kind friends lasted for over two years. About that time and success everywhere." the school in which she was engaged was "I trust that I may, and my first effort will broken up, and~in looking for another sitna- be to pay you." tion, Mary's attention was called to th0 follow- "Excuse me, but I don't want that," he re- ing advertisement in *one of the morning pa-, plied, "I am proud of the use made of this pers, which she at once resolved to answer: little bit of money, and unless you am selfish, WANTlcD-As'trnveling companion to a lady you will not deprive me of the pleasure, by now here on a visit, a young lady of educat~ou, affable ii mperament, refined manners and good repaying it." character. To such an one the greatest in- "I hope I may get a situation soon," she ducements will be offered. Apply at Parlor B, said. "I would like a music class, or a posi- Astor House. tion in some good school." "Do you understand mnsic 7" he said. "Yes, music, drawing and embroidery were taught at the school where my uncle, Mr. CHAPTER XXVII. Peter Droll, sent me," she answered. The fig trees were budding forth, the peach "Mr. Peter Droll, Peter Droll !" exclaimed and orange trees were in blossom, the gardens Sam, "not Peter Droll that was a clerk at were full of fib vers and the people of New Barege, Muslin & Co.'s." Orleans were enjoying their early peas, cucum- '~ Yes, sir; did you know him 7" she asked. hers and other choice vegetables, although it "Know him! yes indeed I did," he replied, was yet in the month of February.' Mr. Dick enthusiastically, "he was in the same stock Cheerful having kissed the folks at home with mc. He was a good man; a real, fine, with an extra smack to the baby, put his hat old-fashioned gentleman." on, and, drawing a long whiff at the cigar he "He was, indeed, sir," she said, pleased to held jauntily between his teeth, started for the hear him praise her uncle, door, wlie, hi progress was suddenly arrested "Where is he now 7" he inquired, by th'e remark from his better half that she "He is dead, sir," she answered, s~rdly. wanted some money. "Is it possible! Well I did not think he "Money! Sue-I haven't got any money," would live long," he said, "poor friend Pete, he replied, smiling. he was a good fellow and I am sorry for him." "The children want shoes, and it's time to Mary then related to Mr. Sellwell the par- buy spring clothes," said his wife. ticulars of Mr. Droll's death, in which he was "Well, go get th~m," he replied, carelessly. very much interested. Sam now interested "But you told me, Dick, not to make any himself in getting a situation for Mary, and by more debts." the time her strength was sufficiently recovered "That's so !" he 'replied, suddenly remember- to allow her to accept it, he had secured a po- ing his resolution to make no more bills on sition in a private school, where she was to credit, "by Jove, I can't help it now- I sent teach a class iLl the usual studies and give to Mr. William BelJen, of New York, my usual music lessons., present to my aunt, and I paid old Shavier one A few days after she entered upon the dii of the note's he held, and that's taken all the ties of this situation she received a lettenfrom money, so we'll just have to run our faces Philip, who stated that he had just received a again." 'letter from Mr. John Droll, giving the news of It was so easy in those days to get whatever the death of their friend Peter, and the infer- was wanted and "have it charged," that many 11. 81 MAR@l GR AS ; page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TIMES. 83 MARDI GRAS; 'who were counted more prudent than Dick were in the habit of "running their faces," and Dick, after a sh~ug of the shoulder and a thoughtful roll of his cigar, troubled his mind no more about the matter. When the new clothes wer~ put on he praised the patterns, admired the styles and claimed the "beverage" on each new article. On the same morning Mr. Macourty was walking up and down his elegantly furnished office in deep thought, Mr. Drowses had been sick for several weeks, and had returned to his desk 6n the daybefore, but in such poor health that it was evident that he ~onld not permanently resume his duties for some time to come. Mr. Macourty was much attached to him and felt very s'olicitons about his recovery, but thus far all overt4 res looking to a trip for recuperation had been~ refused by his clerk. ~Ie had not made his 4ppearance, although it was nearly ten o'cloc~r, and Mr. Macourty had concluded that he w4s worse, or had prudently remained at home. ~s he took another turn in his walk, ho ever, Mr. ~rowsee entered the office, mnfile~l up in a great coat of beaver cloth, with a large plaid scarf aroi~nd his neck and his hands covered with warm woolen gloves. He w~ s looking miserable indeed, and took a seat w~th the air of a man completely exhausted. "Good morning, Len, how do yoti do feel ?" eaid Mr. Macourty, cheerfully. "I am getting better, sir," was the reply. "I have been thinking of you," said Mr. Macourty, seating himself near by and laying his hands kindly on the others knee, "and I have concluded that you must go off for a trip." "I don't think it necessary," replied Mr~ Browsee, with an effort to kok easy, "I am getting better." "I hoye you are, Len, I believe you are," re- plied Mr. Macourty, "but next month is March, the worst time in the year in a damp climate like this for an invalid, and I am anxious that you should pass it in Havana." "The fact is, Mr. Macourty, I am not able to do ~ said Mr. Browsee, ,"my house is not quite paid for yet, there's a thousand dollar n~ortgage on it, and I cannot leave it unpaid for." "I know your building has taken your money," replied his employer, "but leave that to me," "My mother and sisters-l have no cash to leave with them and-" stAll these objections are easily overcome, said Mr. Maconrty, kindly, but with a manner that settled the question "you can go from here to Havana and from there across the water, to Italy. Wherever you go with our letters of introduction, you will find friends, and our correspondents will cash your checks for whatever money you require, which will be paid at sight here-you need not shake your head, they will not be charged to you, but to expense account, ani your salary I will pay to your mother the same as if you were here-don't say a word, I have thought the matter over well and that's what I say. Why, my fricnd,~you have served me faithfully for years, early and late, hot and cold, you have always been at your desk. I am not one of those who consider a clerk as a machine to be worked as long and as hard as possible and then kickedout? I value your services very highly, but I value you as a man and a friend more than as a clerk, and I am anxious that you should regain your health and be once more strong and hearty." "But the books, Mr. Macourty," said Mr. Browsee, so overwhhlined with his employers kindness that he could scarcely find utterance* for the words. "Philip will have charge of the office," was the reply, "he is young yet, but I think he will get along. I have great confidence in him, he's very steady, and ambitious too." "You are right to feel confidence in him," said Mr. Browsee, "but he is young for so re- sponsible a position." "Yes, so he is," Mr. Macourty thoughtfully replied, and then added cheerfully, "but that is a fault that will lessen every day. He does very well. I have already given him the power of attorney and he took off th~ last balance sheet without an error, as clean and nice as if you had done it yourself-and I could not say more !" "I am very glad of it, sir," said Mr. Brow- see. "I have advanced his salary to twenty-four ~u hundred and he feels greatly elated," contin- ued Mr. Macourty, "and will work hard to bring things up regularly-so you see, we will take care of the business while you are gone, and when you come back you shall have an interest in the house." "Mr. Macourty I-really sir, I don't know blo, for the purchasing of it. I tried to manifest how to thank you," replied the clerk, no anxiety about the matter, and think I sue- "You will please me most by following ~ needed pretty weil, as I gave him only one hundred and twenty-five dollars for the cross, directions in this matter," replied Mr. Ma- which I think it is fully worth. I then asked court, "don't hurry back, take your time him how he had got it and all the particulars, and if a year or two's absence restores your which are not ~v~ry full or encouraging, but may be briefly stated as follows: the cross health, the time will he well spent for yourself, was purchased of a girl, pretty well grown, your family and inc." probably ten or fifteen years of age, After a further discussion of the details of cannot tell exactly, was a good looking child and seemed to have been well brought up, Mr. Browsee~ t~'ip the merchant took his hat looked in good health and stated that she was and went out to get posted in the markets and going to leave the city, said she had always and see what was going on. As he had some owned the cross, that it had belonged tii her at that mother, did not say where she was going, nor business at the Bank of Loui~iana, who with, if anybody.~ He has not seen her time the "Ajax" of the banking circles of since, but thinks he would know her, but the South, he passed through the post office to about this, is not certain. I told him it was see if there was anything there, a habit that important that I should find her, and that if he was instrumental in tracing her up, I would business men generally have, give him one hundred dollars for his trouble. The clerk, knowing him well, without being I told hfm the particulars of the case, and asked, handed out a letter liost-niarked Mobile, being a man of good feeling, he Thok a deep interest in it, and said that independent of an inquiry about an expected shipment of any hope of reward he would do all that he claret, and a small package, that might have could. Hoping that what I have doue will contained a photograph or something of the meet your approbation, and awaiting your further orders I am kind. He turned it over, wondering what it Your obedient servant. Jon Bonxans." was and then broke the seal and drew forth a This letter he read over several times, and small package around whioh a letter was fold- then carefully examined the cross that h~d ed, taking this off there remained a box, such as is used by jewelers. This he opened and come with it, while he was filled with emotion at the sudden re-appearance of this piece of with an exclamation of surprise, drew forth a small gold cross, richly studded with dia- amily jewelry, opening afresh the question monds and bearing the inscription ~ M. c. of the whereabouts of his lost child. As he February l6~h 1822." It was some minutes stood there, a flood of memories of the past before he was sufficiently composed to open crowding his mind, Mr. MacVain was passing the letter and read. by and stopped to speak to him. "New York, February, 7th 1854. "Good morning, George, is there any thing Dear Sir-Some years ago your daughter new ?" he asked. suddenly disappeared from your residence, "News! yes, Percy! astonishing news," was believing that she had been stolen, your wrote the excited reply, "after years of fruitless to me, placing the matter in my hands to search, I have at Inst trace her up, giving a description of the dress got a of our lost and jewelry she wore at the time. After a long child." and fruitless search I gave the matter almost "Indeed ?" cried MacVain, startled at the up, thinking of it once in a while as incidents unexpected announcement. connected with my profession recalled it to my mind. A few days ago ~vhile searching "Yes, here is a cross that was given to my a Pawn-Broker's shop for some articles re- wife, and bears the date of her birth. It was a ~ently stolen, I found in one of them, exposed present from her grand mother, and aur little for sale, the enclosed cross. The pecu~arity of the workmanship and the beauty of finish girl was often allowed to wear it to please her," struck me at once, and I asked permission to said Mr. Macourty, "here read this letter, look at it. My surprise was great when I Percy, and see what you think of it." found on it the inscription "C. M. C. February 16th 1822" which I remembered you had given Mr. MacVain read the letter with deep in. me in your letters above referred to. Feeling terest, an interest which was heightened by assured that this was indeed one of the pieces the exertions that he had made through so of jewelry worn by your little, daughter when she was stolen, I entered into negotiations many years to discover the child. The main with the broker, Isaac Emanuel, who, by the points of the letter strengthened his belief way, is a man of good character and very relia- that the match girl was the child they were 83 MARDI GRAS; page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] A TALE OF ANTE PELLUM ThIJES. 84 looking for? and he resolved to o'o to New York summons, given in a female voice, to "come and see Bodkers and the pawn-broker, and get in," Mary entered the room and advanced a all the particulars about the case thot he few steps towards the lady, who arose to meet could. her, and then paused in the pleasant confusion "There is some hope here, eh 7" said Mr. of a sudden surprise, for before her stood the Macourty, as his friend finished reading. lady to whom she had brought the apples so "Yes, it is a ray of light," replied Mr. Mac many years ago. Vain, thoughtfully, "the child left the city- Mrs. McDonald stood with the air of one that's bad-but may lead to something-well who has met an old and dear friend, the famil- it should lie followed UP." iar lines of whose face touches the long' dor- "Certainly-I shall write to him at once," said mant chords of the heart with pleasant emo- Mr. Macourty, "and tell him to prosecute the tion, while the lips refuse to utter the name, search thoroughly. I will send him money and the mind races over the scenes of the and tell him to spare no expense. What a past, vainly endeavoring to identify the visitor blessing it would be if we could find her!" amongst the friends that lived in the years When they separated Mr. Macourty went that are gone. home at once, to coninunie~Lte the news to his "Do you wish to see me?" inquired Mrs. wife. All her old hopes were fully revived by' McDonald, still admiring the beautiful face the return 6f this familiar keep-sakethe story and faultless figure of her visitor. of the lost child was t6Wagain and again in "Yes-if you please," replied Mary, much the neighborhood, and for a time, Mrs. Macour- agitated at the strange meeting. "I come ty, fostered thebelief that she would soon see to answer an advertisement." her darling again. "Oh! yes-certainly, take a seat," and Mrs. "Bodkers," said Mr. MacVain, musingly, as McDonald placed a chair near the one she bad he left Mr. Macourty, "he is a friend of Wil- arisen from and now resumed. ham's. This cross, may be the end of hope, or "Is the situation filled 7" Mary anxiously the beginning of a long trail to search up the inquired. child. Left the city he said-yes that is why "Oh! no it is not," Mrs. McDonald replied, none of them could find her. She has cvi- "do you wish it 7" deftly been compelled to sell that cross to "If I am a suit~ib'le person, I should like it raise a little money after the fire at Sander- very much," Mary replied. bound's house- -the sad experience that I have "What is your name 7" asked Mrs. MeDon- had in many years of ceaseless energy in this ald. pursuit leaves but small hopes that George "Mary Collins." will be successful. At any rate, I'll gc to New "Mary Collins-Collins-excuse me, but York and start a new search in person, for I your f~ce is very familiar." would give property, life, and everything, for "You have forgotten me," said Mary, "but I success in hunting up the child, and repairing could never forget your sweet face, and kind, that great injury." encouraging manner. Many years ago, in this very room, if I am not mistaken, I brought you a basket of fruit and some change. You were pleased with the poor apple girl, and said CHAPT1~II xxiii. such words of kindness that I could not forget them." The clerk at the Astor House directed one of the servants to show Mary to parlor B, and as "Yes, yes, I remember, we have often spoken she ascended the stairs she thought of the of that incident, my husband and I. It was time when she had visited the same place as natitral that I should not remember you, for an apple girl, and remembering the kind rc- then you were a little girl, now you are a caption she had then received, wondered if she young lady," said Mrs. McDonald. would be so fortunate on the~present occasion. "I am glad you remember me now," replied The servant pointed to the door, and then, Mary. seeing her hesitate, stepped forward and gave "Yes, it is not that," said Mrs. McDonald, a gentle k'aock on the door. Answering the musingly, "the face is strangely familiar-well I I it must be some imagination~" then, she con- t nued, "~iary, your mother, I remember you speaking of her, how is she 7" "She has been dead for many years," was the sad reply. "I am sorry to hear it, Mary, very sorry,'? said Mrs. McDonald, "the greatest loss we can meet here on earth is the loss of a mother." "Yes, Madam, her loss was a terrible one to me." "' You have received some education 7" "Yes, Madam, through the kindness of a dear friend, now, unfortunately also dead, I have had very good advantages." During the next hour, Mary related in a simple, straightforward manner, much of her past life, and in the narrative Mrs. McDonald became much interested. After awhile Mr. McDonald returned from a morning walk, and was introduced to Mary. lie remembered, when it was mentioned by his wife, their first meeting very well, and greeted Mary very kindly. "Excuse me, Mary," said Mrs. McDonald, rising and going to another part of the room, "come here, Robert, I want to speak to you." "Well, what is it 7" said he, smiling as he joined her. "She has come to answer that advertise- ment," replied Mr. McDonald, "but you promised that when I wanted to, I might .ddopt-a child, and I have now selecteil this girl -that is, if she will consent." "Have you thought well of it? he asked, thoughtfully playing with her hand." "Yes-you know she is no stranger to us,' replied Mrs. McDonald, "we know her to be honest, her manner is good, she speaks and acts like a person of refinement, she is hand- sonic, and above all she is pure and innocent." "I think so," was his deliberating reply, "yes, I think so, and I approve of your 1 choice." "But it must be as no step-child, Robert," I said his wife, "if we take her she is ours and must be received and respected as our child, and when we go back to Louisiana we must i complete the adoption according to the laws of our State." "Very well, my dear," said her husband, I "all that I consent to, and may God bless and I prosper your choice." When the proposition was first made to a MARDI GRAS: Mary she humbly but firmly refused it, Mrs. McDonald was surprised and grieved at this unexpected return for her kindness, but had set her heart so strongly on the projectthat she' ur~ed the child for her reasons, setting forth in glowing colors all the advantages of the home and position she had been offered, "Your offer is one that I will alw4s grate- fully remember," said Mary, while the tears coursed down her cheeks, "and that I would accept if I could." "Tell me why you can not," said Mrs. Mc- Donald, persuasively, "whatever you say shall be confidential," "I'll leave you to talk it over," said Mr. Mc- Donald, as he arose to leave. "No, sir, if you please," said Mary, "let me say to you both what I have to say, and.Pwill then leave the decision entirely in your hands." With much agitation and often stopping to wipe away the tears that filled' her eyes, and suppressing as much as possible her feelings Mary told her story. "And is that all my child," said Mrs. Mc- Donald, putting her arm around Mary's neck, and kissing her~repeatedly. "I am done, you know all, replied Mary, through her tears. "There is nothing wrong or dishonorable about what you have told us," said Mr. Mc- Donald, himself deeply moved, "nothing for which you are to be blamed, and, in fact it is only an additional reason why you should ac- cept our offer." "Yes, my dear child," said Mrs. McDonald,~ caressing her, "you must stay with us. You will find relief from all the cares and anxieties bh~t have oppressed your young life." Their plans for the future were fully discus- ued. Mary was to be their child, to ~e known and treated as Mary MeDenald. ~fter their cou~sultation was over, Mr. Mc- Jonald called a carriage an~ with Mary pro- ~eeded to Mrs. Scraps' to remove Mary's bag- ~age. It chanced to be the dinner hour, and n the hall they met Sam Sellwell and Mary introduced him to her new father. "I am glad to see you Mr. Sellwell," said dr. McDonald shaking him cordially by the mud, "your kindness to Mary, whom I hav~~ :nown for many years, and have now adopted s my daughter, will never forgotten." 85 page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TIMES. 86 8 A~ RS "Don't mention it sir," said Sani, hiighly dq- lighted at Mary's good fortune. "I have tried to do a man's duty, and if you remember me, now and' then with kindly feeling I shall be filly repaid." "Remember you! You are a whole-souled, good fellow," replied Mr. McDonald, shaking bands with him again, "I shall be glad to have you call on us at the Astor House and if you ever get down to New Orleans, you will be welcome at my house as long as you choose to stay." Mrs. Scraps was all smiles and politeness, and wished Mary all sorts of good luck, while Sam helped them into the carriage and bid them a cheering good-bye- . The McDonald's remained in the 'cty for two or three weeks, during which time uch addi- tions were made to Mary's wardro e as were required to fit her for the new sphere-in ocie- ty to which she had been called, and her adopted parents soon found that she was or- thys of their highest love and esteem and that in conversation, music, deportment, and al the finer accomplishments of her sex, she w uld reflect credit upon then and became a br ght ornament to the circle in which she w uld move. After they left the Astor House hey went down on the Jersey coast to spend a few months., Mary, although she wrote to Ph'lip, did not mention her new position, any further than to say that she had been very fortunate- "Philip Cummings, New Orleans !" said Mr* McDonald, as he took her first letter 'to rmail it, and with'a sly twinkle in his eyes, turned it over and over, "I did not know you were acquainted with Phil." " Oh! yes, sir," she replied, modestly blush- ing," he was a clerk with Mr. Droll, and spent many of his evenings over with uis." " Ah!I yes-well that's so," he replied, " I re- member h'e told me last winter that he was a dry good's man here. Phil is a promising "ou he h as l mod in hi eers, sir," she answered. "there's not any mn at his age that holds the per pro of such a house as George Macour- ty's and on such a fine salary." " Philip deserves his success, sir," she re- "lSo he dos said ho, laughing, " I am not saying he don't, am Ii But ho could not have fallen into better hands, for FIl make no ex- ceptions, my old friend George Macourtyis the best, most liberal, most honorable~ merchant I ever knew.n" " You may well say that," said MrA. McDon- ald, "he is a good man in every respect, a good Catholic and lives up to his religion, which is more than some men can say that I . know." -a - ' "Now you needn't be hinting at me," Mr. McDonald, good naturedly replied. "I am sure I went on Easter, and that ought to satis.- fy y6u.n" " I did not say a word about you, Robert," said his wife, laughing, " I think you are coming out fnely." . . "And will be a good boy, bye and bye," ho added. " I expect so," she replied. CIIArTgR XXIV. Mr. MacVain had been two months among his train of detectives and followers in New York, looking for traces of the lost child. Williams had made inquiries again and again in every direction, and Bodkers repeated his opinion that "it was a puzzler," and to Mr.' MacVain's offers of reward replied that he could not do more if he was to be made Presi- dent by success. Mr. Emanuel, the pawn broker, gave as little satisfaction in the mat- ter. He was sure he had purchased the cross from a girl, but it was many years ago, how many he could not tell. He thought she was about t welve years old, but she might have been a year of~ two more or less, as he was not a very good judge of people's ages. Her hair -might have been black, but he thought it was brown. It was not unusual for him to buy pieces of family jewelry ;it was an everyday occurrence. His customers comprised all classes. Sometimes they were old and infirm, and seemed ready to part with life, now that theli- keep-sakes and heart-treasures were going; again they were young and the value of friendship and the halo of association had not 'yet been impressed upon their hearts-. Some entered timidly as if dreading the morti- fication of an exposure of their poverty, while others pame with an easy nonchalance showing that they were no strangers to such places. 86 Some were dressed in the tawdry finery of a ,butterfly, that told plainly their character and calling, and it was a strange study to notice with what different emotions these parted with, it might be, the last lingr that connected them with once happy and honorable homes. Others were clad in the simplest dress that innocence and poverty, often refined by the memory of brighter days, could wear. In this crowd of young and old, high and low, modest and 1;razen, making a continual, never ending round of characters, why should he notice one customer more than another If he had known-ah, yes--if he had even suspected that such an interest would have been mani- fested in the girl who quietly accepted his offer and left witpiout particularly attracting his attention, he would have been more care- ful in noting her looks and actions. Disappointed in his hopes of getting at least one defliiite point to start from, Mr. MacVain resolved to quit the city for a time and visit some of the fashionable resorts, so numerous around, and convenient to, the great city. At Long Branch he found a large crowd of visitors, many of whom he knew, and here they all seemed devoted to a continual series of pleasures. Tired of chatting, music and dancing, he started one morning 'early for a -walk through the country. Through lanes, over.pa'stures and beneath the shade of forests, he strolled on, not minding where his wander- ing would lead him. He came at last to the' banks of a basin or inland bay, back of the long, sterile strip called Sandy Hook, and the placid look of the water pleased him well. A boatman in a small skiff was just preparing to leave the shore and he asked him where he was going. "To Little Silver," the man replied, pointing to the opposite shore. " Do you wish to go over I" Feeling in a mood for adventure, Mr. Mac-, Vain answered in the affirmative, and, seating himself in the boat, was soon gliding over the mirror-like surface of the water, which was so clear and placid that the pebbly bottom could often be seen. Rounding the point, the boat shot up idto Little Silver creek, a small run- ning stream, on the banks of which were several fine residences, groves of fruit trees, 8 lands and lawns with large shade trees, and in the distance, fields of luxuriant gi-ain. C Passing from the grassy bank of the creek to ~ the main road, a broad, old, country road, Mr, MacVain walked on beyond the few houses on the point and was once more getting into tha open country, when he observed the approach of a lady, and slackened his pace that he might observe her as she passed. She was young, near the age so often~ sung about "sweet six- teen," her form was perfect, tall,.dignified and queen-like, with such a walk and manner as might have graced the kingly courts of the days of "belted knights and fair ladies." The expression of her face was a happy blending of firmness and decisive character, with purity and child-like innocence; her mouth -was small, with rosy lips firmly closed; her eyes were large, and of that blue which, in medita- tion or calm repose, look dreamy and melting, yet when aroused to feeling and under excite- ment, sparkle with a brilliant and dazzling light. The bloom of her complexion would rival the first blush of rosy morn, falling upon- the velvety softness of the mellow peach, and around her presence there wa4 an air of re- finement, cultivation and worth, which capti- vated the admiration and respect of all behold- ers. As she passed he stood spell-bound as in a dream, while thp bright vision of some youth- 'ful fancy was realized in her. He waited a while and then followed at such a distance as not to attract her notice. At a distance, as he again approached the few dwellings on the point, he saw a. gentleman coming-towards him, and, as he joined the lady, MacVain recognized his old friend, Mr. Robert McDon- aid, and, quickening his steps, he soon came up with them. " Why, how are you, my dear Percy, I am glad to see you '? exclairlied Mr. McDonald, topping in his walk. " Well, very well, thank yen," answered Mr- MIacVain, casting and inquiring look on the Lady. "My daughter, Mary," said Mr. McDonald, noticing his friend's look. "Mary, this is my friend, Mr. MacVain, of New Orleans." " I am proud-to meet you, Miss McDonald," said Percy, with a puzzled air, as if he did not know what it meant. "As a friend of my father's I am pleased to ee you," Mary replied, with dignity andgrace. They conversed pleasantly until they reached ne ogf the houses on the side of the road, when Mr. McDonald said: "Here is where wer 87 MARD1 GBAS; page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] A TALE OF *NTE BELLUM TIMES. 88 89 ~ABD1 GRAS; are staying. Mary and my wife preferred ~' quiet country house to a fashionable resort. Come in and see my wife; she will be very glad to see you." Mrs. McDonald welcomed Mr. MacVain in a friendly manner, and some time was spent in conversation, after which they had dinner, ai~d then, going to ~the parlor, Mary played for thorn some of the most popular music of the day, varied, by request, with some of the old, familiar melodies, the popularity of which ~bids fair to last through all time. An excursion was then propmcd, and, pro- curing a line, large boat, th~y took a sail down '~h~ creek, around the bay and back to the wharf again, ais4ving just in time to hear the ~estio old bell clatter out the summons to sup- per. "By Jove, Mac," said Mr. MacVain, "I like your quiet retreat so well that, if I thought it i~ossible to get a room, I would come' over and s~ay a few days." "That's a capital idea," replied Mr. McDon- ald, much pleased. "Old Mr. Binger can give you a room, I am sure, and if you come over we'll have a jolly time." Mr. Binger, the landlord, was consulted, and a room was assigned to Mr. MacVain. A car- riage was then furnished in which he returned to Long Branch, and, having settled his ac- count there, he appeared, early next morning, among his friends at Little Silves." "Come Percy, we are going crabbing," said Mi~. McDonald, as he appeared on the porch of the house, a great straw hat on his head, and a long pole, with a net at the end, over his shoulder. The ladies appeared in sea shore hats) and the company went down on the wharf. Tl~e net was handed over to Mr. Mac- Vain, with . instructions that, when the crabs caught the bait, he should slip the net under and bring them up, which kept him busy, as there were three lines out and the crabs were not slow at biting. At first he was a little awkward. Once, while catching for Mary, he came near falling into the water and taking her in with him. He soon became, how- ever, as expert at this and the other sports of the place as any of the visitors, of whom there were some forty or fifty at Mr. Linger's. Days aud weeks rolled ou in this secluded. spots where all followed the bent of their own i~nclinations. Now fishing, bathing or boating oa the creek or bay, at other times riding though the country, the scenery of which was interesting and beautiful, and at times these rides~ would extend to Long Branch. Here Mr. MacVain asd the McDonalds met many of their friends from the South, to whom Mary was always presented as the daughter of the latter, and many pleasant dinner parties and excursions resulted from these visits. One of Mr. McDonald's favorite trips was to cross the creek in their boats, taking with them a good lunch, and to ramble off into the pleasant woods until tired, when the servants would bring up the refreshments, which they would arrange on the ground. Then, seated beneath the grand old trees, the party would spend an hour or two in pleasant conversation, relating quaint or amusing stories, at which Mr. Mac- Vain had a happy and telling manner. He would often join Mary in singing some song or favorite melody, making the forest iing with the music of their voices. In the evening they would take a sail; or stroll through the gar- dens, or, remaining in the house, the time would pass rapidly away while they amused themselves at whist or euchre, or joining with other parties in the house,, dancing, 'music and conversation would soon fill up the hours. In the pleasures of the present Mr. MacVain had buried the cares, anxiety and remorse of the past; and in the enjoyment of the society of his friends, for the time, at least, the dis- appointments of his long and fruitless search for the lost child were forgotten. A new existence had dawned upon him, and it seemed as if the spring-time of life had re- turned, shedding its rosy hues on all that he saw. He was Mary's constant companion and joined with sympathy in her every mood, sang, laughed, danced and played, or with medita- tive air promenaded the shady lawns, oi~ sat in their - boat listlessly beneath the tranquil light of the moon on the silvery waters, drinking in the melody of her voice as she discoursed of religion, science and literature, ~r of departed friends, or as, with depth of feeling she, in harmonious tones, breathed forth in song some devotion to the IMessed Mother, or with enthusiasm awakened the echoes of wood and shore with the full melody of the grand anthems of the Holy Church. As he watched her 'in these varying moods, it seemed as if, going back through the dim vista of departed-aye, lost-.years, he once more stood within the halo of his youthfu days; the simple chapel, where, by his mother'i knee, he had so often knelt in devotion; tha' fond mother's smiles and caresses; her prayer for her often hoadstring boy, the only hop and consolation of her life; all came back t( him, and he longed once more to feel th~ soothing influence of that religion, which ha~ been his guide and coi~solation in those youth ful days. When his mind returned once mor and he looked into Mary's blue eyes, so full o depth and ethereal beauty, or flashing bright with mirth or soul-stirring feeling, when h( looked upon her clear, fine forehead, he rounded, dimpled chin and her mouth small lull and beautifully formed, he thought of th love his heart had known so many years be- fore, and wondered if it was indeed warming again to a new, and, he thought, not less worthy object. He had proposed to stay for a few days at Little Silver, but the days lengthened into weeks, and he still remained, often proposing to go "next Monday" or "Wednesday" but always allowing some new excursion to defer his departure. Servant's are shrewd observers of the ac- tions and motives of their employers, and in this the old time negro servants were equal to any that ever were "in service." With the Mc- Donald's there were three colored servants, John, a likely boy, of forty years, or thereabouts, who attended to the baggage when-they were traveling andzacted as a general body-servant; Linda, some five or six years his junior, great talker, and Sarah, a young girl, about sixteen years of age, who had especially attached her- self to Miss Mary," or "young missus2' These were all negroes . of the blackest type, and possessed that pride, superstition and rever- ence for "master's family," which characterizes the real negro. ~ ~ God, I b'leve Mis'r MacVain are in love with young missus," said Aunt Linda, as the three sat together in front of the kitchen. "Him! you tink young missus look at him I" said Sarah. "Why not? he's a nice gentl'm ain't he I" inquired John. Why,. he's done bin old 'nuf to be her fad- ~ said Sarah. "I ain't a gwinu te say dat young missus tink of him," said Aunt Linda, emphasizing her views by gestures with her arms and nod- 1 ding of her head, "1 dunno bout dat, but I tell you what, he tiuk a heap o' her. I dun see ~ fur dat." "He's berry perlite, as a gen'l'm ought be, but I dunno 'bout-" said Sarah. "Don't tell me; ain't I seen white folks 'nuf to know I" said Linda. "Can't I see? I know dat he tinks heap ob her-ebbery whare she - goes dar you. sure to see him, and de 'ten- sions what he pays her, it's just 'nuf to make it plain dat he lubs her shua !" ' I say he's too ole," said Sarah, with a toss of her head. "He ain't so berry ole, neifer," John an- swered. "He's a rite young man, an' a mitey han'som one, too, an' he's got plenty money 1" * "What's young missus want nv munney? Ain't massa got heaps ob it I" replied Sarah, indignantly. "What you tink she care ~ niunney', when inassa an' missus bofe dun tole her dat wot's theirs is hem? A ba'(cl young angel like her ought to ~et a nice young man when she marries." They continued their discussion until called to serve those to\ whom they were attached. Linda thought Mr. MacVain was in love with Mary. John, who had been favorably ioi- pressed by sundry quarters and half ~ll.r pieces from Mr. MacVain, thought tkat it would be a very good match for Mary; while Sarah, as the one nearest to Mary, thought he was too old and indignantly denied all proha- bility of such an event. When Mr. McDonald ordered the trunks packed for a trip, as he said, to show Mary something of the world, Mr. MeVain became one of the traveling party. They visited St. Catherine's Wells, Montreal, Niagara and Sara- toga, viewing the novelties and curiosities ef these well known summer resorts, and enjoy- ing the change of scenery and the gay society found at them. One morning after their return to the Astor House, Mr. McDonald having nearly completed his arrangements to go home, met Mr. MacVain, who requested him, to go into the reading room to hold a few moment conversation in private. "You are going home soon ?" inquired Mr. MacVain. "The first of next week," replied his friend, wondering what was coming. "Miss Mary will go with you I" "Certainly, for although, as you know, she is an orphan, I have adopted her as my daugh. 12 88 89 page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] ter, and as such I wish her to feel and ac, said Mr. McDonald. " When I get home I shall com- plete the adoption according to law, and those who wish to be my friends must know and re- ceive her as my daughter." "I have your permission to 'visit her when you get home ?" " Why, Percy, -what a question I of course you have." "lBut, you do not understand me," replied Mr. MacVain, "I wish to become a suitor for her hand." . " This is a subject on which I would tolerate no trifling." " Trifling! I never was more serious in my life," said Mr. MacVain,."I1 ive your daughter sincerely and would ipake he~ my wife." " Humph, Percy, you are too old for such a young girl." " I am not too old to love sincerely;" replied Mr. MacVain, in a calm, dignified tone. " I' can honor and protect her, arid if I am a little old, my feelings are but the deeper and more unchangeable." "Well, 'pen my honor, I ever thought of that before," said Mr. McDon ld, " but it may be for the best. You are one of my most inti- mnate friends, and I have always esteemed you highly, Percy, so I will say that if you can win her you may have her-but her will is to be perfectly free-, her actions and choice unfet- tered." "I have your consent to try i" inquired Mr. McVain, unh pleasd. *" Yes, yes, you have; but, mind, I give you no encouragement and no unfair advantage. The field is open and if you win you shall have my blesing, but if you loose you must take it like a man."'- CHAPTER XXV'.- The absence of Mr. Browsee, who was look- ing for health in foreign countries, brought Philip prominently forward, and he soon be- came well known amongst the merchants and business men of the city. The cofidence re- posed in him by one so well known and highly respected as Mr. Macourty, gave him at once a standing and weight in the community.. He was soon a favorite with the young men who approximated his own age, and amongst them. 90 they formed a circle, where plans for mutual amusement were brought up and carried out. His especial favorites were William Malureath, the favorite clerk of one of the private bank- ing houses of the city; Louis rontane, the son of a wealthy broker, and Carl Amber, whose father was a prominent cotton-factor, and with these there were some ten or fifteen others all regarded as -the most promising young metn of the city. They went in a crowd and were al- most inseperable; they broke the chrysalis of youth and took the airs and manners of men at about the same time. At first the pleasure of a good havana cigar, a stroll through Jack- son Square on Sunday evening, a game of billiards or ten-pins, with an occasional visit to the lake, made up the sum~ of their indul- gences, but as one ventured a little further. on in the road of pleasure and dissipation, the others soon came up to and passedhis standard, 7 until they were known as a "fast crowd," at all the saloons, livery stables and public places of the city. Philip became lukewarm in attend- ance at church, dodged in and heard a low mass or heard none at all, called less frequently at Mrs. Macourty's and made shorter visits, and .avoided speaking about the manner in which spent his time. Mr. Macourty mentioned to his wife his fear that Philip was going astray, but she looked upon Philip as a sbn, and, with the confidence and love of a mother, would credit no report of the kind. In May the family went as usual to Biloxi, and Philip was left to himself; not only as to the eccupa- tion of his leisure time, but also in the man- agement of the business, Mr. Macourty return- ing to the city for a day or two, now and then, just to see that everything went right. Du- ring this summer the, young men formed the Crescent Dramatic Club, with rooms on Ca- rondelet street, and here games of cards and chess, with a varied assortment of reading matter, were provided. It was a copy on a small scale and in modest style of the Pelican, Commercial and Delta Clubs, established by . their seniors. Philiphadcorrespondedregularly with Mary, but in the fall, just after Mr. Ma- courty's family returned to the city, he was surprised to receive a letter from her request- ing hian not to write any more until he heard from her again. What could this mean Had the news of his dissipation reached heri He half feared that it had, but resolved to wait and see when she would break the silence'. A TALE OF ANTE BELLLUMl TIMES. MARDI GRAS; 91 About a month afterwards he went to Mr Macourty's to spend the evening and was r ceived by Mrs. Macourty in the same kind an friendly manner, as had always been her en tom. No allusion was made to the change his conduct, because~ she believed that if hi was really going astray, he would be reclaime sooner by kindness than by having his fault continually spoken of. The children were ou visiting at Mrs. Cheerful's when he arrived but soon came in. " Well, how is Mrs. Cheerful ?" said Mrs. Ma courty, after the salutations of meeting ha passed. . " Oh! she is well and all of the children too," replied Annie, in a joyous manner, " an Mrs. McDonald's home, we stopped there as w were coming back." " I am glad to hear she is back,'' replied herm mother. " How is she ?" "She is very well," said Annie, "and you ought to see her daughter!" " Her daughter ?" exclaimed Mrs. Macourty, " Yes, ma, her daughter," replied Annie, " Mary McDonla. Oh ! she is' the sweetest girl you ever saw, so winninng in her manner, so good natured. I declare I loved her the moment I saw her." , " Well, Annie, you are an enthusiast any- how," replied her mother. " Ask them if I am not right," said Annie, pointing to the other children. - " She is really a beautiful young lady," re- plrie George, " and worthy of all Annie's praise--.. " A young lady," said Philip, " I did not know Mrs. McDonald had a daughter.n" "She has long been talking of adopting a child," replied Mrs. Macourty, "and I pre- sume this is some one she has taken in that way." "She has made a splendid choice," said George. : S"Indeed, she has," said Annie, her eyes sparkling with delight, "she is worthy of being anybody's daughter-you ought to hear her sing!" "I shall certainly go down and see this prodigy," replied her mother. " Who is that ?" asked Cecelia, just then coming in. "Mrs. McDonald's daughter," answered An- nie. s. " Didn't know she had a daughter," replied e- Cecelia, carelessly. d " She has probably adopted her as such," s- said Mrs. Macourty, n "I don't see what she wanted to do that for," e replied Cecelia. "It's strange what luck in d getting homeslsome gutter rats have." ;s "Fie, fie, Cecelia, you should not speak so," *t said Mrs. Macourty. ," Come down with us to see her to-morrow evening," said Annie, " and you will think as -I do." d" I don't want to go. These folks that are picked up from nothing and suddenly get into ,good positions put on too many airs for me." d" You have not seen' her; wait till you have before you judge so harshly," said Mrs. Ma- courty. " I don't want to see her," and Cecelin seated herself at the piano and began totturn over some music. " Mrs. McDonald told me to ask you, pa and Cecelia to come down to-morrow evening," said Annie to her mother, " will you go ?" " Yes, my dear," said her mother, "and we will tax Philip's time to come and go with us." Philip would rather have been excused, but considered it good poic toacp -h ivt- tion, and on the following acceningthe wnt with them to Mrs. McDonald's house. The parlors were well lighted and several friends of the family had called in to see them after their summer tour. Mrs. McDonald and Mrs.1 Macourty hving brens schoolmatre were was now most cordial. Mr. MacVain was also present and the children were especially de- lghted to see him. "Come up stairs," said Mrs. McDonald to her old friend, ."I want to introduce you to my daughter." "I shall be pleased to see her," replied Mrs. Macourty. '" Phe'children have done nothing but praise her since they were here." As they started to go out, the door opened and Mary entered, and with a graceful, self- possessed manner advanced to meet them. "I am happy to meet you, daughter," said Mrs. Macourty, as she gave Mary a loving kiss. "I have heard good reports about you from my children, and I am sure you are deserving of them." " Thank you, thank you," replied Mary, page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] A TALE OF ANTE BbLLUM TIMfES. warmly returning the salutation. "I hope that we shall always be gqod friends." Philip, whose astonishment at finding Mary 50 unexpectedly was very, great, now came foi - ward. "I hardly know whether to greet you as Mary," he said, in a voice scarcely audible from the emotions struggling within him, " or to bow to a ne\v acquaintance in Miss McDon- ald." " Between old friends, Philip," she replied, extending her hand with a pleased look, "nevi circumstances need bring no cold formalities." Mr. MacVain, who had been surprised by the recognition between Mary and Philip, watched' them attentively, as they were together often during the evening, and the iook of tranquil happiness, or merry, joyous pleasure that shone at ties on Mary's face, as Philip, in his best mnood, chatted of the fashions, related anec- dotes, criti'cised the new books and plays, or joined in Pie song or dance, as he looked upon her during these changes he feared that hehad discovered in Philip a formidable rival. Mr. Macourty came later, and with him' Mr. Mc- Donald, and the evening pas d pleasantly -to all. - ' " I was glad to see Philip there," said Mr. Macourty t his wife, after they had returned home. '/ , " It seems they are ol friends," replied his wife. " Mrs. McDonald says they have cor- responded ever since Philip came here." "She is a charming girl," said Mr. Macourty, " my heart warmed to her the megnent I saw her.",. "And mine ! I never met any one with whom I was so well pleased." "I trust that she will have a good influence on Philip," said Mr. Macourtg, " and win him back from the fast crowd he has fallen in with." "I don't-think Philip is very wild," said his wife, while the anxious tone, of her voice told that she feared he was. " He has been going it pretty loose," was the reply. ," His .salary is drawn nearly a month ahead, and there are unmistakable signs that he is going the road to ruin." " I hope that it is not so bad as you thnk" replied Mrs. Macourty. Philip was pleased to find Mary grown so much and for a time was very attentive to her, but thie influence of the club and an imagined change in her manner to him worked upon his I mind until he became almost a stranger at Mr. McDonald's. One evening as he entered the Crescent Club, carelessly sauntering in smoking a cigar, he heard some of the mem- bers talking of Mary and praising her earnest- ly. The universal favor in which she was re- ceived created a feeling of jealousy with him. If he had met her in poverty, struggling to maintain herself, he 'Would have rushed to her assistance and would have made any sacrifice for her. He found her now surrounded by every comfort, in the midst of'elegance and refinement, with friends who were deeply de- voted to her and hosts of admirers ever ready to flatter and praise, and having looked'for-. ward to their meeting with the hope that he , would then guide her actions and monopo- lise her society, he became sensitive of every 1ook and word. 9ne of the visitors of, the Club was Col. Sp des, who, having received an invitation frou one of the inembers to call at the rooms didl so and continued hie visits regularly, not an evening passing without his spending a par i of it there. He was not long in starting parties in games of cards at which the betting was often very large, and through which he always passed largely the winner. He man- age~l his points well, flattering the members ang paying deference to their judgment, so that he was soon a favorite with the whole Club. His bland and affable manner, gentle- manly bearing and handsome dress, with a continual talk about his horses, plantation and negroes, his money in bank and estates on the Hudson, all of which were dwelt upon and yet in a manner .that avoided the appearance of boasting, made a deep impression on Phillp, and, as the Colonel was particularly friendly to him, the card parties were seldom made up without himn. When Philip was-short of money in settling, his losses, the Colonel accepted his note,, de- claring with marked politeness that it made uo difference, any other time would do. At last the season closed and the Colonel an- nounced in the Club that he was going to see about his estates in the North, collect his divi- dends in New York, and see the world at the, fashionable resorts, and the news was received with much regret by the members, who were sorry to loose the gallant Colonel. It required some financeering on'Philip's part to raise the six or eight hundred dollars that 2 r t s1 h p he was behind with the Colonel, but he felt happy blending of domestie, loving qualities, too much pride in his name to think of hesi- with the gay apid brilliant accomplishments tating about the matter. He therefore bor- that ornament the social circle. ~he was tall rowed the money and took up his notes. and well formed, with a mild, .weet fage, a broad, fine forehead, luxuriant auburn hair . and sparkling, bright eyes. In company she helped Dick when he sang, her conversation CHAPTER XXVI. 'was light and vivacious, or, when appropriate, "Dick, the children want to go to the lake,,, sober, earnest and well expressed. She enjoy- said Mrs. Cheerful, as her husband stood h9ld- ed that which was gay and& amusing, or sym- ing the burning match ready to light his cigar.- pathizgd earnestly in whatever brought cut the They had just finished their breakfast, and the nobler and more serious feelings. At home she little ones stood around anxiously awaiting was the center of the circle of lore ; happy Mr. Cheerful's reply. and contented, attention to 'every duty and "I'dd like to go myself," he replied, with a every want. It would have puzzled, a good comical shake of his head. applying the match judge of human nature, had he studied the and ivig afewvigrouspufs a hi ciar. question, to have told whether she or lier bus- " Now, papa, can't you say yes I" remonstra- bandired te them;se, tuhe eerffehredony ted Edward, the oldest of the boys, and jusdgmetorwie, the ;feeliny ewer dieed in, Charles, Nelly, Julia, Susan, even do wn to lit-udmnorwsetefeigasbidas tleDavd, rie i a hors, Plasedopap."deep as the waters of the Atlantic, and never " You have sent- the remittance for yourcaetthsirc.Tecilenwetand aunt, havn't you I" inquired Mrs. Cheerful, from early infancy to ready, immediate, un- " Oh, yes, long ago," replied her husband. questioning obedience, and the foundation "I'm tolerable~easy so'far as money goes. All being thus early laid, as they grew up, a look, I ow isa tousad t ol Shaier an hea motion of the head or raising of a finger, [onw n hii ne a sthongaas t hvieresndis was all that was required. pa 'idn." s m n y sl nga heitreti "Going to the lake," was a great recreation "Well, don't you thipk we can go ?" she for the family, o ie that was indulged in two ~sked. or three times each summer, and was alluded "I expect so," he said, Ftooping down to play to throughout the year with great delight, with the children. * " Hurrah ! bully ! won't I catch the crabs," "When ?" she next inquired, shouted Edward, starting off to the play room " Why, my dear Sue, iuy time you like," he to get his kite strings. eplied, "I'm agreeable to ,a day's fun any "I doin' tech tawfish," said David, as he ime." toddled after him. " I will ask Mary McDonald to go with us," "Ma can I take my doll I' asked Nelly. hie said. .--" Well, I don't think I would, it might get " All right, ask who you like," he replied, broken," replied her mother, and that ended " I think Philip would__" it. " Yes, do ask Philip," he said, interrupting Every thing was enthusiasm and bustle with er, "he will be a good -addition to the com- the children, all of them being anxious to do any, and we'll go next Friday." something to prepare for the expected trip "ULn Papa ! not Friday, because then we Their mother directed their efforts, encouraged an't eat anything but fish," cried all the chil- the glow of pleasure, assisted the boys in the ren. construction of crab nets, told the girls what " Well, don't you go to the lake for a fish clothes to arrange for the occasion, and allow- inner," he laughingly answered. , ed every one to have a part in the prepara- "I think Wednesday would be a good day,'" tions- Nelly having called to ask Mary to go is wife quietly replied, with them, the proposition met with the hearty "Wednesday it is, then," he answered, and approval of Mrs. McDonald, who said that Mary 'ith a kiss'all round he left for the offi e. would be on hand in time. Mr. Cheerfiti went Mrs. Cheerful's disposition and life was a round to Mr. Macourty's office to invite Philip, MARDI GRAS ; 9 93 page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] A TALE OF .ANTE B3ELLUt .TIMES. 94 9 AD RS who was delighted 'to have an opportunity of forward and with a blande smile, extended joining them for a day's pleasure. his hand, saying : When Wednesday came, the baskets were " Good morning, Mr. Cheerful, glad to see carefully packed with an assortment of good you, sir." things; boiled ham and fried chicken, with "I don't know you," replied Dick, in a short,' a nice leg of mutton baked, blackberry and forbidding manner. lemon pies ; a large pound cake, in tLhe making " Colonel Spades-I had the pleasure of of which ea-ch one of the girls claimed to have traveling with you--" had a part ; a fine lot of small cakes, with -" Yes, but when a trip is over," replied Dick some nice ginger bread, three loaves of very in the same cold tone, "I never acknowledge a light home-made bread, crackers and cheese, traveling acquaintance-unless 1e is a gentle- sardines, pickles and sauces, knives and forks' man." Putting full emphasis on the last sen- plates and tumblers. Then there were four tepice, Dick looked the Colonpl full in the face, bottles of good old claret, and four fatter, then turned to the gentlemen he had been con- more portly bottles, the corks of which were versing with, and bidding themigood morning, expected to fly with a bang, '"when the wire entered the car. The repulsed Colonel shrug- was cut ; a bottle of cordial and one of sherry, ged his shoulder, looked. around with a sneer- and still another labeled "sazerac," which was ing smile, and then went away. Philip was taken along to scare away any such unwel,. at a loss to know what this could mean, what come guest as cholera. 'There 'were fishing spite Mr. Cheerful, the most jovial of men, lines, baits, and nets, with a basket tio could have against his friend the polished carry the spoils in, and bathing clothes for the military hero, but the train soon began to whole party. Samson, the porter at Cane, move, the children stood up at the windows Plant and Cotton's, a stout, .go'od natured ne. and shouted out their delight, and in conversa- gre, who "thought the world and all of Massa tion with Mr. Cheerful and Mary, lhe soon for- Richard," had asked permission to- go along, got the incident. On they went, now passing and the baggage was divided between him the suburbs of the city, then Gentilly station and Rachael and Josey, Mrs. Cheerful's ser- and the Jewish " City of the Dead," after vants. The house was closed up for the-day, which the route lay through a swamp, with and if anybody had called, they would' have willows and half grown trees, cane brakes and found rgobody at home, but the faithful dog wild vines, making a dense, low growth that Spot, who stretched himself out on the front looked impenetrable, a rid,,e of about six miles gallery to watch the premises ntil their re- brought them to Milneburg, the end of the turn. They were all .dressed in plain, neat Pontchartrain railroad. By Mr. Cheerful's clothes, for they were going to enjoy them. directions they sat still until the train ran selves and, like sensible people, wore nothing down on the long wharf, when bag and bag-. that would be easily spoiled, or which they gage, they hurried out on to the trestle work, would feel much regret, if torn or damaged, and walked out towards a small house, over The children laughed gleefully as they entered the door of which, on the glass sides of a lamp, the omnibus, the negroes and baggage having was the sign " The Last Chance." been put on top, and Charley told Mary what " Ah ! Signor Angelio, how you was sipace I a pile of fish he was certain he would get, and see you last time," said Dick, shaking hands Nelly amused Philip with an account of all with an elderly, good natured gentleman, evi- she had done towards getting ready. At ev ry dently a Spaniard, and landlord of " The Last jolt of there omnibus the girls would laugh a d Chance." the boys cheer until they reached the railro ad "I bin vere well, Meester Cheerful-I glad to depot, werhre they alighted with alacrity aiid see you and your good folks-dey all wellI" entered one of the cars of a train standi ig " Oh! splendid-here they are-the whole there almost ready to start for the lake. ~t crowd," Dick answered gayly. Angello made nine o'clock the train would go, and after se - a profound bow to the, ladies, and then con- ing that everybody was seated,-Dick went o it tinned addressing Mr. Cheerful'. to get the morning paper. Philip saw hin~ ~t "You wanta de room for rest yourselves, the depot conversing with two or three oth r come -in-you vere welcome." He assigned gentlemen, when his friend Col. Spades caz e one of the rooms of his -house to the party, I OA and there the baskets were deposited. Mr. Cheerful gave Angello some money and asked him to get some ice for their party, and on the next train it came do wn from the City. In a short time the whole crowd were out on the wharf fishing for crabs, and great was the delight when little Susan shouted, "Come here quick, Papa, Philip come here, I got one," and she had; it was about the size of the now strange and antique coin, then commonly used as a half dollar. Dick laughed and said it made no difference, big or little the children enjoyed the sport. Every hour a train came down from the city, and then they would stop to see the crowds that came to take the boats for Mobile or the lake coast, or who came, like themselves, to enjoy the fresh air and the ride. About noon Mr. Cheerful called them in and a lunch of crakers, cake and cheese, with some wine, was partaken of, and a supply handed over to Samson and the colored girls. After this they strolled out to the end of the long wharf, 'Where, under the shade of the roof, put on to protect freight, they spent an hour fish- ing for croakers and red fish. A gentleman a little nearer the end of the wharf, was having splendid success, drawing the fish in at the rate of twenty-five or thirty an hour. Edward and Charley were jealous of the stranger's success, for nothing but provoking bites and nibbles rewarded their exertions. .- "Come, let us go bathe," said Mr. Cheerful, this is fun but it lacks variety." The bath refreshed them very much, the water was low I and the 'children romped and played in it, shouting to their hearts' content. It was then about two o'clock and the servants took one of Angello's tables and aritanged the 1 dinner. What appetites the children had ! I And the older members of the party, were I able to pay flattering attentions to the pro- visions! The claret was very fine, and the I corks of the fat bottles flew out with reports like pistols, the pies were excellent and the cake was perfection. After the dinner, the ~ children 'with Samson and the negro girls, a formed another expedition 'against the crabs, and Mrs. Cheerful took a seat in the shade ' near them. Dick lighted his cigar and taking ~ a seat where the cool breeze blew upon him, raised his feet on 'another chair, spread the d paper out for a quiet read and was soon asleep. Philip asked Mary to walk out on the ~ wharf, and~ they stopped a while to see the n Mobile boat get in the last freight, and depart on her voyage across the lake. Passing on to the head of the pier, they took seats and watched the waves as they rolled slowly in, pouring over the break water in the distance. " This does not look much like New York Bay," said Philip. "No," replied Mary, "it looks more like Lit- tle Silver Bay." "Are you going to spend the summer there?" asked Philip. ;" I do not know," she answered, " but it is probable that we will be there at least a part "of the time." *"May I write to you, Mary 1" he asked. " Your letters are always welcome," she an- swered. " I have been wishing, Mary," he said, ,with hesitation "to speak with you privately--there was a time, when we were children together, Mary, that I could talk with you freely, but' there seems to have come a strangeness, a re- served manner that forbids me to speak.'t " I am sure, Philip," she replied, with much candor, " that I do not know what has made yen think so. It is true you have not been very frequentlyrat our house, but I presumed it was because you had found better company." " Better company," he exclaimed, " you know I could not think that." " Nay, then your actions have said it," she replied, with dignity, " I always treated you as a friend, but-perhaps you remember the, poor apple girl and feel it too much of a condes- cension to visit her." "How can you say that, Mary 1" he asked. " If it was not so, she replied, with 'some bitterness, " how was it that you, the only Person in the city acquainted with me at that time, have been such a stranger at our house?" " I wish that I had been more attentive," he. eplied. " Don't think that I would have you forego ther pleasures to call on me," she said, in the ame cold tone of voice, "I merely thought it trange that one who was such an old acquaint- ~nce, and pretended to be so strong in friend- hip, should leave me almost entirely to stran- crs. It has chanced that they were more thair :ind, they were nil that I could ask-yet you id not know that." "Maryi my dear Mary I" he exclaimed, " I ~as wrong-I thought, that surrounded with' ew friends you did not care for my atten- MARDI GRAS: page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] tions, that I was not wanted and so I remained away. But my heart was with you, Mary, for since I first saw your sweet face, and knew your mn dest, virtuous, noble disposition, since I first daw those bright eyes 'and heard the melody' of your voice, since then, Mary, no matter where I have been, far and near, with one constant feeling, my heart has been yours, a true, devoted offering, ready to do all and dare all for your sake." She was silent, and after a pause he con- tinued,. " Tell me, Mary, do you love me I" "'We have been friends, Philip, but I fear we can never be more than friendsY' "Why, Mary, oh! tell me why 1" he ex- claimed, pleadingly, "I love you with all my heart, then tell me, will you be my wife I" "I cannot answer now," she said, restrain- ing her feelings'. "Mary this is no new feeling," he replied', drawing- still nearer to her, and speaking earnestly, "it came without my bidding, grew in my heart, and day by day became-stronger. At. first I did not recognize its meaning, I thought it friendship, but as it became deeper' I felt that it waslove, true, enduring love, and now, 'without you I shall be forever lost. Say that you love me Mary, or that I may yet hope to win your -love and claim your heart and hand." " Philip, I cannot now ilnswer you," she said, avoiding his look, "there is a deference due Mr. McDonald, who has been like a kind -father to me, and he must first be consulted', but should he give his consent, I could not marry one who has forsaken his God and reli- gion for the wine-cup and gaming table." I~f he had been struck by a bolt from Heaven, Philip would have niot been more .surprised'. For a moment he sat pale and speechless, then the hot bWood rushed to his face and brow, and he staited up flushed and angry. As their looks met, there was in her face firm, high re- solve expressed, that conquered his feelings and he sat down beside her again-. " Am I going to destruction 7" he asked in a ow voice, "an~d is Mary interested in my fate? Tell me that you love me, bid me. live and act for your peace and happiness, give me hope of a bright day to come, in the future, and you may command me as if I were a slave." " Philip, I can scarcely express what I wish 96 to say, for I might too deeply wound your feel- ings,'" she replied. , "Speak, Mary, I will listen, and if I can, I will do all that you wish, " only tell me that you love me, and. all will not, can not yet be lost." - "Philip, I reebe, she said, speaking slowly, as if struggling with the emotions rising in her breast, "the happy days we passed together when we were children,,the fleeting, thoughtless, joyous hours when to- gether we studied under good Uncle Peter. We were alone, and almost friendless then, and I was more so than you, and your polite.- ness, blindness and sympathy awakened a friendship in my heart, which was deepened into love by after years of trouble, when al- most my only consolation was'your letters, full of noble, manly feelings, of cheering, hopeful advice and comfort. When Mr. Mc- Donald acted so .kindly to me and both him,- self and his wife, may God bless them, insist.- ed that I should take their name and be their daughter,the pleasing surprise thatit would be to you, Philip, was a happy dream to me, I thought that you loved me,and counted the days that must pass before we should meet. We met at last, and in your words and hooks I found con- firmation of my dream, but alas! how short was the happiness. Your visits became less frequent each week until they ceased almost entirely. Yet this I could have borne ; yes, had you loved another and. received her love in return, I would have crushed the feelings of my heart, and would have been happy to see you so. But no ! It was not that. You were throwing away health, honor and self- respect in wild dissipations-the reports came to me often-not to me in particular, but they were the talk and regret of all your old friends. Think, Philip, of the happy hours when we knelt together in church as children, think of the kind friends whose hearts are sad at your wild life, think of the shame and dishonor that must inevitably' be the end," and as her 'feelings became too -strong to be entirely gov- erned, she continued, her fate bathed in tears and her voice almost choked at times, " and think too, Philip, more earnestly and sorrow- fully, of Our Holy Rledeemer, who suffered for us on the Cross, whose wounds are opened anew by your sinful life, think of His agony and bloody sweat, hear Him call to you from . that awful mount, where for us M{e gave up I I 07 MARDI GRAS; A TALE OF AJVTE BELLUM TIMES. his life in t he greatest agony, scoffed and " Oh! dear, my foot is so sere," said Charley, jeered at by the wicked multitude, and remem- as he went towards the ears. ber that by a life of sin, you join that multi- " I believe, I cut myself b dly On the bar-. tade in spirit and aid them in their revilings of nacles," said Edward. the Holy One-9h! Philip, pause before it is "P'm tired most to death," said Nelly, with too, too late." a long yawn, "Mary,, Mary," he cried, endeavoring to -They were finally seated in the cars, and draw her to him, "hear me, I will do all you with a scream and a whistle from the steam- ask-I have been wild-I have wounded your horse, away they went, through the swamp, heart, but I will do so no more-Look at me, canebrake, and thicket, dimly discernable in Mary, and say that you will forgive me and the close gathering twilight, then into the ove- me-say it, dearest." lighted city streets, until at last the depot was " I love you, yes, Philip, with all my heart,'" reached. Here they had to wait for an omni- she replied, and yielding to his caresses her bus to take them up town, and Charley seating head sank on his shoulder, and he kissed her himself on the door-step of one of the houses, time and again. leaning on his mother's parasol, presented " You shall be pained no more, dearest," he splendid model of a worn out child. said, earnestly, " from this day, I will study " Oh ! me ! I wish that omnibus would how I can please you most, I will carouse no come," exclaimed Julia. more, gamble no more-I will strive to do all " Maybe they've stopped running, its so, that you could wish. My love for you shall late," said Charley, with a half groan. guide every word and action." " Wouldn't that be nice 7" said his father, " And the Church, Philip," she said, almost laughing, but just then the bus came up and too happy to talk. they $11 got in, and reached home without, " All, all, shall be as you wish," he replied, munch more difficulty. They all slept soundly "but I will not mention this to your father, that night, and for many a long year that until by my actions I have shown him and all pleasant day at the lake was referred to with our friends that I am redeemed." pleasure and enthusiasm. " As you like, dear Philip," shie replied. Mr. Plant thought it was extravagant in They lingered, for some time in happy con- Dick to go with his family to the lake in that versation, when they once more returned to way, but Dick, somewhat nettled at .the re- Angelo's to join their friends, mark replied: "As long as I live they shall " Well, well, you are a nice couple," said Mr. have enough, and that of the best, and every Cheerful, who had but .just, awoke from his amusement that I can give them, and I don't siesta, " I thought you had run away or gone care a button what you say. When I am gone. dowa amongst the fishes to become mermaids it will be time enough for them to wear lgng and companions.''" . faces and be sad." 'The children were still in the glory of crab- During the next week, Philip visited Mr. fishing, and were now joined by the others. McDonald's frequently and avoided the' Club The hours flew on and the sun began to sink and other public resorts. He was very happy 1ow in the horizon, casting over the smooth and had firmly resolved to regain his former and calm surface of the lake, long rays of sil- good name, with those whose opinions were, ver, (lancing light, that deepened in places to worthy of consideration. When the McDon- sheets of burnished gold. The gentle breeze ald's left for the north he went to the boat to that swept over the waters, cooling the air, see them off, and remained watching until they. and delighting the senses of those who had were .out of sight. Mr. Macourty's family corge there to escape the dust, heat and confu- soon went across the lake, nd Philip was left sien of the city, was so light.that it did not once more to himself. disturb the tranquil look of the picture. At last, calling his troop together, with the CHAPTERI XXVUI. baskets repacked, Mr. Cheerful prepared to Tewahrwshtadcoe n h return home. -He thanked Angello for his at- 'Tewahrwshtadcoe n h tentions, and gave him some money to pay for members of the "Niew Orleans Can't Get Away his trouble. Club," always a Emkge club in numbers, and, 13 a page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] A TALE OF ANTE BELL UM TiMES. 98 99 MARDi GRAS; substantial and steady in character, were availing themselves of every means for getting a Freath of cool air and a little respite from the dust and heat of the city. Business was dull, and so~Philip, closing the store early, turned the key in the lock, and passing it over to the head porter, walked leisurely of4towards Canal street; The sun was yet nearly an hour from his western bed, the~nost pleasant part of the day. "Hello, Phil, how-d'y-where have you been V' exclaimed Louis, as they met on Camp street. "rhavn't bebn anywhere, Lou." "Why, I haven't seen you at the club in near- ly a month !" "No, I've been reading." "Yes! Keeping quiet eh? Where are you going now ?" "Just knocking around." "Let's go to the lake." "Can't go now, Lou." "Pshawt why not ?" said Louis, '~corne along-let's get a horse and buggy and go down. Come, we'll go around to Tattersall's and get Uncas-he's the, fastest horse that travels the Shell." "I can't go this evening, Lou," he replied. "Yes, you can! By Jove, I struck the Havana to-day for five hundred and I'm going to stand treat." "The mischief you did !" exclaimed Philip, "yost are in luck." "Yes, I got five hundred yellow boys," re- plied Louis, jingling a handful of gold "come on, we'll have a horse that nobody can throw dust on." They then went to the stables, and ordered a buggy with the favorite horse iJucas, after which Louis proposed a "mint julep," to which Philip could make no objections, having ac- cepted the invitation for a ride. As they came out of the saloon, Carl Amber came along, and inquired what Philip had been doing with himself of late. After a few mo- ments conversation, Carl proposed that' they should go to Bob's and take a drink. "Come on, by the time we get back 'the horse will be ready," said Louis, and the three went off to get the proposed drink. Philip felt at first a pang of regret and Mary's face came pleadingly isp before him, but he banished the vision, with the self assurance that he had of- ten taken a score of "smiles" without feeling them. When they returned the handsome turnout was ready, and, seated behind the favorite horse, they were soon going rapidly down the shell road, one of the best drives in the coun- try. At the Half-way house they stopped to rest the horse and here another glass was in- dulged in. There were scores of people there they both knew, with whom they shook hands or exchanged friendly salutations. Before leaving, half a dozen more invitationsto drink were received and accepted, when theyonce more took the road. At the lake a bath was the first indulgence, after which the pistol galleries and saloons were visited and as i~ usually the case, they gave and receivednumer- ous invitations to drink. A fish and champagne supper followed, over whic~t they lingered, in- dulging freely, until past the noon of night, and then returned to the the city, driving furiously along, heated with wine, not much caring\ what might happen them. The ext day Philip's head was sore, unusu- ally s4 for the conviction of his own con- science\ that he had done wrong, made the natural effects of his night's dissipation, much more 4 yore than they had ever been before. He sat down and wrote a letter to Mary, ac- knowle~lging his fault and promising to avoid such te~nptatione in future. A dozen copies of this were written and destroyed before he had one composed that suited him. As he read over again the last effort, which pleased him exactly, he began to think. "What a fool I am -she'll never know it-besides, what if 'she does? I am no baby, to be tied to her apron strings! It was wrong-yes, well It was-but what's a fellow to do? She is enjoying herself and having a good time gsnerally-am I to set- tie down like a drone here, rolling np my eyes and saying my beads till she returns? No, sir! Phil ain't made for that! What's the harm in having a little fun? I'll have it, hang me if I don't-when a fellow is married its time to put on a long face." The letter was torn in to very little pieces and thrown with the other copies into the waste paper basket. He then went into the sample room an4 opening a half bottle Mumm's Imperial, he drank it to "the health of every- body in general and our friends in particular." Another letter was then written to Mary, it was full of love and endearing phrases; it di- lated on his lonliness and was full of prayers for her happiness and her safe return, and ex- pressed the hope that she would have a gay and joyous season. lIe mailed the letter him- self, thinking as he did so, that he was play- * ing the hypocrite and so he washed the feeling down with a "cobbler" at the Gem. lie became once more a regular visitor at his Club, and drank harder and played more recklessly than aver before. The club was formed originally for the pur- pose of encouraging the members in the study of the drama and to give amateur perform- ances on the stage. All the regular theatres were now closed, and the proposition was made to commence their representations. In order to enlist the sympathies of the public, it was necessary to make it a benefit~ for some charitable purpose. Mrs. Drone, who had been familiar to the New Orleans theatre goers for many a year, and had been in her time a capi- tal "heavy old woman and faithful nurse," was living in one of the back streets of the city, sick and destitute. The papers had noticed her several times, calling upon the charitable to assist her. William Malwreath proposed that the "Cres- cents" should tender her a benefit; the propo- sition took; a letter tendering her the benefit and one from her thankfully accepting the compliment, were drawn up and puhlishcd in the papers, tickets were issued, the Varieties was engaged, stud two of the men employed about theplace were secured for door-keeper and box-uzlerk. When the night came the weather was fine, the dress circle was full of 1 beautiful ladies, in light and elegant summer costume, au~d the balance of the house was crowded to overflowing- The play selected was the "Honey Moon." The principal characters were given to William Malwreath, Carl Amber and Philip, while a young and accomplished actress, then just commencing a career that has since proved brilliant and successful, person- ated Julianna in charming style. Everything went off with decided eclat; the actors acquit- ted themselves creditably; the audience was de- lighted, and the papers next day complimented the club on their great success. t Three days after, a meeting was held to hear a report of the result and to direct the nett ~ proceeds to be paid over to ~rs. Drone. The I treasurerr and Committee of Managers had col- lected4n the outstanding tickets and money, and reported that, after paying expenses', there remained to Mrs. Drone the sum of seven dol- lars and sixty cents! Here was a nice report; everybody was surprised and they looked from one to another as if to ask what should b~ done. "Mr. Presidentt" said William Mal- wreath, rising, after a brief silence, "we have heard the report, and are too well acquainted with the gentlemen who have subscribed to it to question their accuracy. But this will never do, Mr. President, for the public. We have given a benefit to Mrs, Drone; the house was crowded; tIle public will expect a report, and no outsider wilr believe that the expenses have so nearly eaten up the receipts of so full and splendid an audience. Besides, Mr. President, it would not answer for this club to announce a profit of the paltry sum of seven dollars and sixty cents! We would be the butt of a thou- sand jests and never hear the last of it. I move, therefore, that each member be assessed in the sum of twenty-five dollars, to be paid to-morrow evening, and that the sum so raised be sent to Mrs. Drone." The resolution was ur~animously carried, and the pap~rs of the following Sunday contained Mrs. Drone's card, acknowledging the receipt of several hundred dollars, the net proceeds of the entertainment given for her benefit by the 'Wreo ~ents." During the. summer three or four other per- Cormances were given for charitable purposes, bringing on the boards~ such plays as "The merchant'ss Clerk and Tl~e Wife." The theatre was always crowded, thd acting fair and every- body well pleased. The financial results were, however , the same as at the first entertain- nent, the tax on the members following surely in the wake of each one. - Mr. Macourty was much troubled at Philip's ~onduct, and gently remonstrated with him on bwo or three occasions. Philip listened with respectt to the counsels of his friend, but they roducyd no change in him. His work was al- rays done, no duty was neglected or allowed lass performed beyond tM proper time of ts execution. "What right has Mr. Macourty o question me about my private life ?" he rca- oned with himself. "I do my work; I do it veil and promptly, and that is all he has any ight to inquire about." And so the time passed on; he frequented 98 99 MARD1 GR AS ; page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] the club, drove to the lake with fast horses an d faster dompanions, and daily became more and more involved in debt, and nearer the brink of ruin's precipice.". CHAPTER XXVmI. The McDonalds' traveled slowly, taking the journey by easy stages and stopping wherever interest or inclination prompted them to do so. Mr. McDonald and his wife loved their daugh- ter truly, and felt the greatest pride and grati- fication in the admiration that she-commanded at all the places they visited.' Whatever was beautiful and attractive, in dress or ornament, was pro ured for her by Mr. McDonald, who never ti :ed in his efforts to make her the most distingu shed of the throng that -visited the summer resorts that season. From Soratoga to the, hite Mountains, thence to Montreal apd down to Niagara, they went, stopping at each place until the desire arose to seek a new field of pleasure. -Philip's letters- followed them wherever they went, and to-Ma'ry, breath- ing noth ng but love and devotion as they did, proved great consolation. To Mr. McDon- aid, who was a shrewd and observant man, and naturally felt the deepest interest in what- ever concerned his daughter, the pleasure with which she received these letters, and the I promptness with which they were answered, told him the story long before Mary raised courage to confide in his wife, and tell her love for Philip and the agreement between them. He felt a deep pang of regret, therefore, at a letter he received while at Niagara, but con- sidered it his duty to show it to her. She was in the parlor of their suit of rooms, and, as he passed through, he handed her the letter, saying : " There's a letter I havo just received from an old friend, and it contains bad news for you."' -She wondered at his meaning, and opened the letter to see what it contained. It was from a New Orleans correspondent, and gave the news and gossip about the growing crops, the course of tradp, deaths and marriages, and' the usual assortment of items that were cur- rent in those " dull, piping times of peace." There was one passage that rivited her atten- tion, and that she read over and over again, I until her head was near bursting with pain. 10 It ran : i"The summer jhas given our lads a chance to indulge their inclinations to dissipa. tion. Th ere's a delightful crowd of them who, having exhausted the novelties of the club', fast horses and low companions, have now taken to the stage. They played ' The Wife' at the Varieties last night, with -Louis Fon-. tane, Philip Cummings and William Malwreath in the principal characters." Could it be possible that Phzilip, her Philip, once so correct and honorable in every action, had so soon forgotten his solemn promises to her? She could not believe it, and yet here was the evidence that it was so, from an old and highly esteemed friend of her father. His letters were regular, elegantly written and composed, and she could not believe that he would act thus to her. It became her constant thought, haunting her and making her life al- most unbearable. I After they had been a few days at Niagara Mr. MacVain came there also, as he had pre- viously done at Saratoga. With him they again visited the scenes of interest around that grandly beautiful wonder of nature. The burning spring, table rock and Indian village were visited. The different spots of interest on Goat Island were pointed out, and many of the wild stories connected with the place were told by Mr. IMzacVain. As they went over the island, Mr. MacVain and Mary became separat- ed from the rest of the party, when he pointed out to her a seat beneath the trees and pro- posed that they -should rest there until their friends came up. Mary knew that he was con- stantly in communication with their home, and longed to ask him. if he had heard any- thing about Philip, but felt that her interest in the subject was so great that she might, in the conversation, say more than she wanted to'. Mr. MacVain's thoughts were quite different. He had wished for an opportunity to propose his own suit, and believed that he had now found it. " A ild scene, this," heS said, pointing to the falls, 'and one from which we might draw a lesson an the life cf this world." "?Ye , it is, indeed, an appalling sight," she replied "Such volumes of water, the constant roar, and clouds of rising mist, the surrounding scenery, and the wild legends, extending far beyond the time of the white men, all lend a grandeur and a mysterious charm to the place." 01 I 9 101 'I A TALE OF ANTE BELL UM TIES. .MJA RDI GBAS ; ",The waters of the river," said Mr. MacVain, "flw slowly and peacefully on for a time, passing pleasant fids, grand old forests and quiet homes. As it nears this place its speed increases, until, with a sudden plange,'it passes over the rock down to the abyss below. Thus Swe travel on life's troubled river, now, leisure- ly and observing as we go life's pleasures around us, and then, without warning, comes the dark abyss of death." . " Such lives there are," Mary replied, " yet I should be sorry to think they were so numer- ous as the world asserts they are. To the thoughtful and wise,-the wise in the ways of Him who guides all--the current of life will be as steady and calm at the last us in the begin- ning of the voyage." - "Not so has been my life," hea replied, with an earnestness which startled her. ".I have been tossed and thrown about without an ob- ject or a hope, following no higher rule than the caprice of a wayward mind. Yet therlhas been awakened in my heart a hope of a better life, a longing for a distinct, high and noble purpose, and to you I owe this feeling. Since we first met there has been an influence, an irresistable charm that has drawn me towayds you. With all the earnestness and devotion of I my soul, Miss McDonald, I love you, and I now ask you earnestly, sincerely to be mine." " Mr. MacVain, I regret-" she said, rising to go. "Nay, I beg of you, stay and an wer me I now," he said, interrupting her6 "Yon shall have such a position in society as the proudest might envy, every wish and desire of your heart shall be gratified." "Mr. MacVain, I beg of you to go no farth- er,'? she exclaimed. - - " Think of what I offer you," he continued. " You shall have all that boundless wealth can command, and the true, unchanging love of my heart shall always be yours." r S"Mr. MacVain, I have looked upon you as my father's friend," she replied, " and as such, my friend, but it can never be more." ,r ."Think well of -it," he said, still pleading a with her, " can I never h pe to be more than a d fnen., . . ,,n "It is impossible," she replied, " I shall al- a ways value your friendship, and I hope we may c always. be friends, but we can be nothing t~ more'.a "I hope we may always be friends, we can be nothing moree" he repeated, as if in com- munion with himself alone. " Are these set phrases with your sex, or has some fiend learned you these words, that you might re- peat them to me ?" and the old sneer came upon his face again as he continued, " words that I bitterly remember to have heard before, and you repeat them now with the same look and tone with which they came then," and his fea- tures relaxed, a look of paiful melancholy covering his face. " Ah ! that magic tone, the gracious touch and queenly bearing that have thrown a spell around me, stirring up the dor- mant feelings of youthful days,.awakening, alas, a hope that is forever shattered and gone I" It was almost frightful to see the strong feeling of agony that worked upon his face, and made his commanding form shake and bquiver like a~forest leaf before an autumn bast. "Mr. MacVain, Ibeg of you to think no more of this," said Mary. " You said we might be friends," he said, as with an effort he mastered his anger, and re- solved henceforth to try and be a better and truer man, "so let it be. If I can ever assist you, command me. Let me he to you as a brother, and believe me, no brother was every more devoted and faithful to a sister, thian I pledge myself to be to you." "I thank you for this assurance," she replied, frankly and kindly accepting his proffered :and, "and I assure, you, in return, that I hope you may be, through life, happy and- prosperous in all things." They now returned to the bridge, where heir friends were awaiting their return. MIary had hastened the valk and was greatly elieved to escape from the embarrassing p)osi- ion. To Mr. MacVain the disappointment was ter- ible ; it was the wrecking of the last hope, ad in his younger days would have brought ark and threatening feelings to his heart, but ow he schooled himself to think of it calmly, nd to yield without anger to his fate. He be- ame more attentive and respectful to Mary han before, and endeavored to look upon her, s he had promised, as a sister. page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] Summer having passed, autumn-luxuriant in fruits and flowers, blessed with the harvests of the season, came, with pleasant weather, invigorating and cheerful. The fields of snowy cotton, thrifty cane and waving rice, once the grand staples of the prosperous South,-~were yielding their products, and the prospect of sharing in the profits of the commerce which these articles would give impetusto, recalled to their homes, "so-called," the floating popula- tion of New ~ rleans, and with the returning current there came crowds of strangers from all parts of the country, anxious to participate in the business and enjeythe hospitalities and gaieties of that place, then the moSt sociable in the Union. Absenteeism! How much misery, neglect and retrogression has resulted from this curse of tLie South! Her fields have yielded prolific crops, the barter and exchange of which have scattered wealth, with a lavis~i hand, on all wh~ have come within .the circle of their in- * fluence. After gathering wealth, with aston- ishing rapidity for a few years, her "iso-called" citizens take their earnings to enrich and beautify some Northern or Weste: n home. From the plains of the West to the Shores of the Atlantic, from the Ohio .to the Lakes, there is scarcely a full or valley, or the banks of a stream, that has not been improved with the riches drawn from the I South in this way. While millions of dollars belonging to South- ern men, or to those who claimed to be such a *few years ago, are invested in the railroads and steamships of the North, the few enter- prises of that nature started for the benefit of their own cities are allowed to languish and decay for lack of capital. And who so ready to call out against the "lack of energy and enterprise ~' in the South as these "birds of passage,~~ who use *the money made in their business as Southern merchants or planters to build Northern railroads, improve country seats in the North, and who spend thousands of dollars annually in visits away from their own States 'I When the MeDonalds' returned, Philip lost no time in calling upon Mary to express his pleasure at her safe arrival and to hear an ac- count of her trip, the different changes in which he had already heard by letter. Their first evening was passed very pleasantly, although she had fully resolved to remonstrate with 10~ Philip, and demand that he shor~ld respect his promise to her, Mary allowed the evening to pass without a word on the ~ubjeot. When, in the course of a week or two, she found that everybody was talking abo~it Philip's mad ca- reer, holding up their hand and opening their eyes in "holy horror" at hi dissipation, with a 'true womanly affection s e clung closer to ~him, pauiated and excused his faults, and ex- erted all her influence, quie ly\ and secretly,1 to win him back. Every day s e knelt before the altar of the Blessed Virgin, in the old church, and offered her prayers for im, that he might yet see the evil of his wa s and be brought back to the path of truth, h nor and religion. In this course she was strengthened by Mrs. Macourty, with whom she spent much of her time, and to whom she became m~re endeared on Philip's account. Mr. Macourty had twice intended to get some one in Philip's place,.but his wife's entrimtics had deterred him from doing so. "He is a good-hearted boy," Mrs. Macourty said to Mary. "He is not naturally bad, and kindness will win him back. You and IMary dear, must save him." ~' My dear George," she said to her husband, "remember that Philip is young, and in time he will get steady enough." "It will not do, Cecelia, he must have a les- son," he replied. "My dear," she continued, "kindness will have a better effect than harsh measures.~~ "Why do you favor him so much ?" he asked. "He is the son of a very dear friend," she replied earnestly, "his father was kind to us when we were young, and-he was the play- mate and favorite our lost Cecelia." "I admit all this," he said, "but such con- duct does not look well in the confidential clerk of a commercial house.~~ '"What has he done so awful I" she in- quired. "What has he done ?" he replied, a little impatiently. "He drinlrs, gambles and keeps 1~ad company." "Well, that's bad enough, but you will not cure him by harsh measures, and cast off he shall not be with my consent,'t she answered spiritedly, and then added, in a joking, mis- ehievious way, "you need not be so hard on him; you were not always so steady yourself. I have heard some queer stories about young A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TIMES. 4 2 103 JJIARD ~4e ge Macourty, anel you did not make such a b d man after all 1" T is was unanswerable, so lie gave her a kiss, sai she "always did have her own way," and Ihi ip was spared for a time. P ilip did not improve much; his friend, Col rid Spades, had returned for the season, and ~ as now constantly one of his companions. When Christmas drew near, Philip thought he would have something out of the usual routine, and invited his friends to a Christmas Eve party for batchelors. At nine o'clock in the evening Colonel Spades, Carl and Louis, who were the special guests of the evening, arrived. All the other employees of the store were gone, and Philip had arranged his supper of turkey, ham, pies, cakes and other eatables, with a large supply of liquids, inthe sample room, which was next to the office. After paying their attentions to the lunch provided; and drinking a number of toasts, some "regular," and others quite "ir- regular," the party seated themselves around a table, a new pack of cards was produced and a game of "draw" commenced. The betting was at first very moderate, arid the game was interrupted by the arrival of three friends who had been invited to "look in during the night." More refreshments were taken, and a number of toasts duly honored. The friends went away and the gamO of poker was renewed~ the betting being more free than before. The calls of friends were frequent, and at every call the game was suspended, to receive them with becomiuj hospitality, and resumed as soon as they had left. Wine and liqu~ra of all kinds were within reach, and the guest was only asked to "name his brand," and it was prodtieed. After midnight the party became wildly merry; songs were sung, jests and stories were told, and the bottles passed around rapidly. One of the party had re- mained cool and collected; he had appeared to drink more than his companions, but bad, in reality, taken very little. This was Colonel Spades. He was affable, gentlemanly and sociable. He was at times a looser in the game of cards, but acted as if indifferent to the for. tunes of the night. His time had now arrived, and, while amusing the company with well- delivered anecdotes, he increased the bets, stocked the cards, and had soon won all the ready money his companions had about them. Then canie the credit game. He still continued I GRAS; to win, and accepted from his friends their due bills for their losses. When the company arose to leave, the Colonel held Philip's notes for sixteen hundred dollars, and* the notes of the other gentlemen for a large amount. They reached the street a yelling, reckless crowd. The Colonel affected to be as much "gone" as his companions. One of the young men, with a loud shout, seized thc Colonel's hat and placed a pack pf fire-crackers in it with the fuse burning brightly. The crackers popped and banged, knocking the hat around, ruining it completely, while the young men shouted and laughed in high glee. The Colonel laughed with the rest; the loss of the hat was nothing to him, for h~ had made enough du- ring the night to pay his expenses for a sear or more. "Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" wentthe Colo- nel, "now, gentlemen, I will have to leave you, for I have no hat, and I can't go bare- headed." He was glad of the excuse to leave them; so, wishing them all a "Merry Christmas" he. went his way. One now proposed a game 'of billiards, another tenpins, and Philip threw up his hat to see '~vhich it should be. The result was in favor of billiards, and they repaired to a popular saloon on Gravier street, where they spent two or three hours at that game. When they again reached the street, they parted, exchanging the conipliments of the season, and Philip returned to his own rooms, a handsomelyy furnished suit, on Perdido, near St. Charles street. When he entered his par- br he was surprised to see Mr. MacVaiu seated on the sofa, quietly reading the morning paper. "A merry Christmas to you, Philip," said he, rising and offering his hand. "The same to you, sir, and many a happy return," replied Philip, giving him a warm shake hands. "I am glad to see you in good spirits, Philip, for I came to speak a few wotds to you on a par. tienlar subject," said Mr, MacVain, at a loss to know how to introduce the conversation. Philip's brow darkened and his lips com- pressed as he heard this, and he took a seat, waiting for his visitor to continue. "You are going the road to ruin and dis- honor very fast," said Mr. MacVain, "and I come to you as an old friend, to rerrnmatrate with you, to warn you of where this life will page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 'lead you, and I now ask you, Philip, to think seriously 4~f the matter." Philip f~s toned his fine, large black eyes, which w~re now flashing with anger, on is visitorr, add, after looking him fall in the fa e for a few ~n moments, inquired: "Have you be a to church ~this morning, Mr. MacVain ?" "No-I have not, Philip," answered MacVain, with hesitation, as if sorry to ma e that admission. "Don't you think you had better 'scour yo r own tins' before you trouble your neighbors' " inquired Philip, with a smi!e of sarcasm. "I do not pretend to be faultless. I am f r from doing my duty, as I am free to confess," dplied Mr. MacVain, "but I have seen enough of this world to know that the company you are keeping and the use you are making of your time will lead you to shame and disgrace." "You will excuse me, sir," said Philip, in a formal, haughty tone, "if I beg to be allowed tomanage my own aff~tirs, and respectfully de- cline the advice of my "old friends." "You are more hardened than I expected to find you," said Mr MacVain, coldly, "but I believe it my duty to speak, and I shall do so without asking your leave. For two years or more you have been the companion of gain- blers and rowdies-" "Let inc-say, Mr, MacVain," said Philip; in a threatening manner, "that I hold you respon- sible for what you say, and shall demand such satisfaction as erie gentleman accords to an- other for your insulting language." "You may send me a challenge if you like," replied Mr. MacVain, "but I shall not notice it. I have come here resolved to keep perfectly cool and you cannot anger me, but if you can look back to this interview, a year hence, and feel That I have said anything unjust or untrue, I will then either apologize or grantyon what- ever satisfaction you may demand." "I suppose, then, I have nothing for it but to listen," said Philip. "Ask yourself if you have aQted right. Look at the ~lebt your gambling has brought you into. Oh! you need not start-I know what I am talking about," said Mr. MacVain. "What sort of a companion is Colonel Spades for a young man like you ?" "Colonel Spades is my friend," replied Philip, angrily, "and I will not allow him to be tra- 4luced behind his back." I "Your. friend I' exclaimed Mr. MacVain, "a black-leg, a common gambler, whom I have seen many a time behind a fare table, detected stocking his cards at poker, and the keeper of a rouge etnoir table. Nice friend, this, for any gentleman. how long do you suppose Mr. Macourty will stand this conduct? Are you not afraid he will discharge you I" U Mr Macourty is not the only merchant in New Orleans,"replied Philip, haughtily, "nor is this the only city in the country. When he wishes to get rid of me he has only to say the word." "That's all very well," replied his friend, "but did you eiter stop to think how it would sound to have it said that you were discharged for drinking and gambling? Did' you ever ask yourself what sort of a letter ofrecommenda- tion Mr. Macourty could give you? I knew your father for many years; he was a kind friend to me arid I owe him much of my pres- ent prosperity. He was a man liked by every- body. Go now to any 6f our old residents and ask who and what he was, and they will an- swer that he was a merchant of the strictest integrity, a man of pure and noble principles, a citizen of the largest liberality and sound judgment. He lived and died respected by all who .knew him,, leaving behind no blot or blemish on his memory. You are his son. Wherever you go he is brought back to the minds of those who meet you, and they say: '~That's the son of Pe~er Cummings." Tell me, will your present conduct reflect credit on that father's name? Will you add to the honor and high reputation of your family ?" Philip was completely disarmed by the course of remonstrance taken by Mr. MacVain, and while he wished that he could reply, he felt in his heart that his friend was right, and he, therefore, remained silent. "This is a good day, Philip, to turn over a new leaf," said his friend, "and I hope you will determine to cut all those loose compan- ions, and begin at once with high and noble aim, a new and better tife. I know that you are in debt, and it will be wounding to your feelings to leave these haunts of dissipation without first paying all you owe. I have, therefore, to say that, if you will promise me to be steady and honorable in the future, I will let ~ou have the money to discharge all those obligations." 105 MA RDI GR AS ; "I am n'~t yet reduced to accepting charity1 Mr. MacVain," replied Philip. "I don't offer it as a charity," said Mr. Mac. Vain. "Y~u can repay me at such times and it such sums as may be convenient to you-yes and, if it will be more agreeable, you can pa~ me interest." "I decline your money s'nd your a4vice,' said Philip. "One would thinkthat I was the only young man who ever 'bent an elbow or turned a trump, If I do this or that, the gos. sips are immediately going around, working their jaws and rolling their eyes." "I am sorry to find you so 'blind to your own interes'~s," said Mr. MacVain, rising to go. "There's many a friend of your honored fa- ther will be sorry to see the old name brought to dishon r, and there's none that will be more ready tha myself to extend the hand of friend- ship and o all that can be done to assist you -should on hereafter change your mind" Philip courted his friend to the door, and returned is friendly grip and compliments of the day i a cold, formal maimer. "A ver~r pretty state of affairs," he said, so- liloquisin ; "a man but drinks an extra glass, or loses a fev~ dollars in passing an evening pleasantly away, and everybody has his name in their mouths. I wish they'd let me alone." It was now nearly ten o'clock, and he started for the office; not that there was any business to transact, for Mr. Macourty always made it a ~complete holiday for his clerks, but then they all went down some time during the morning to receive their employer's congratulations. Each one knew that he would find a letter con- taining many expressions ot~ kindness, and a substantial proof of their friend's appreciation~ of their character and services, in the shape of a check, varying in amount according to the value and standing of the recipient. As these checks were drawn by Mr. Macourtey on his private bank account, Philip never knew be- forehand how much was coming. When he entered the store, Tom, one of the warehousemen, greeted him with the usual salutation, and, to his inquiry if there was any one in the office, answered in the negative. Going up-stairs, Philip found a letter on hi~ desk in the familiar handwriting of his em- ployer, and in it he found a check for five hun- dred dollars. He looked in the envelope, turned the check over and over, opened the 104A A TALE OF A.NTE J3ELLUM TIMES. envelope wide once wore, and then fell into a brown study. "Five hujidred dollars! Last year it was a thousand, and business has been better than it was then. Five hundred I that will just ahout pay my little bills, the tailor, shoemaker and so forth. Its queer, there used to be a letter of congratulation, but looking into the envel- ope again, "there's nothing here, not even a scratch, notasimple 'Merry Christmas."' That looks ominous-well, I don't care, they can all go to the devil if they don't like me and 'my friends." Notwithstanding this bravado he felt crest. fallen and miserable. He returned to his room and laying down on his bed he was soon asleep. After five or six hours of rest he got up, an~reflecting on the events of the day, he resolved to put a good face on the matter, lie dressed himself with great care, and after a dinner at a neighboring restaurant, called at Mr. McDonalds. Here he spent an agreeable hour and then proposed that Mary and Mrs. MeDonaki should go with him to Mr~ Macour. ty's, an invitation that was accepted at once. He was looking splendidly, all traces of the carouse of th~ previous night had dissappear- ed, and his spirits were free and gay. They spent a pleasant evening and when he at last parted with Mary at her own door, she was happy and full of hope. CHAPTER XXX. Philip was at work early next morning. Al- though he had not been absent from business at all, he had not worked as perseveringly of late, as had been his custom, and he was, therefore, a little behind in his writing. In addition to the usual routine, it was n9w time to take stock, make up interest accounts and prepare to strike a balance on the books, to ascertain the result of the past year's opera- tions. He was much troubled about his inter- view with Mr. MacVain, who had always been very friendly to him, and whose action on the day previous, his good sense convinced him, was prompted solely by a desire to serve him. He felt that he had lost his temper, and that in this Mr. MacVain had the advantage of him, having been throughout perfectly cool and gentlemanly. After much reflection he came to 14 page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] A !lL4LE 01? ANTE BELLUM TilIIES. 106 107 MARDi WAS; the conclusion that an apology was due to hb friend, and that his own character and honci demanded that it should be made. He, there fore, wrote the following note, and sent ~t t4 that gentleman's office. "NEW ORLEANS, December 26th 1856. I'ercy MacVain, Esq: Dear Sir-Believing that an apology is dm you for my ungentlemanly reception of youi advice, tendered to me yesterday at my rooms~ I beg leave to say that I regret the use of any expressions that may have been harsh or wounding to your feelings. I am well assured that your action was prompted by friendship to myself, and, although I could not accept your advice, I feel that it should have been received with courtesy and respect., With as- ~nrances of my high esteem, I am Your Friend, PHILIP CUMMINGS,5 To this letter he received an immediate an- swer, couched in the most considerate and conciliating language, ending with the assur- ance that his friend would be pleased to serve him at any time. During the following week, Philip worked steadily at his books and accounts, never leaving the office until late at night. The rooms of the Crescent Club wore bril- liantly lighted New Y~ar's Eve, and crowds were continually going and coming, exchang- ing friendly greetings. Col. Spades was seat- ed in one corner of the front room, apparently intent on reading the papers, but the anxious glances he threw at the clock now and then, and the close scrutiny that he gave each crowd that entered, showed that l~e was ex- pecting the arrival of some person. "Half past nine," he said, out of patience at last, "and Mr. Cummings has not 'come yet. He has not been here since Christmas Eve, for I have watched for him every night. If he thinks he can bluff me, he's mightily mjstakeu. I have got him on a string now and if I don't make a handsome thiqg out of him-I am a fool-that's all." Well, if he don't come here I' can go to see him, and I will do it." Leisurely finishing the bottle of wine which sat before him, he took down his hat and buttoning up his coat, started for Philip's room. The servant there said that Mr. Cum- I mings had riot yet returned, and he walked away slowly soliloquizing as he went. "I~ot home yet-that's strange-where can he be I By Jove! He ulay 'be at the office-just where I want to see him-I'll go around there -I'll insist on having Mr. Macourty~s eheck or - note, for the amount, and as he holds the power of attorney, he will give one or the other to settle the matter. Ha! ha! I will keep whichever he gives me, and hold it over him. Then I'll*make him shell-out; as he is in a large house I ought to make at least ten thousand out of him, for once his foot is in- he can't get out, until he is detected-which may not be for a year or two. Musing thus to himself he walked around to Mr Macourty's store, and looking up saw there was a light burning in the office. He tried the door, it was not locked, he opened it and went in. As he reached the head of the stairs, another man who had seen him enter, opened the door and also went into the store. "What, at work yet I" said Col. Spades, in a "hail fellow, well uret" style, "thaL's too bad, and this New Year's Eve." "Good morning, Colonel," said Philip, leav- ing his desk, where he had been busily engag- ed, "take a seat.. I am getting it up fast now -never do to be behind-hand you know." "Yes-biz is biz," replied the Colonel, cooly taking a seat, "and that brings me to the point of my present visit-about those little due bills." "Yes, well-I think I can fix them soon," re- plied Philip, a little nervous. "There's one for six hundred from last month, and the other of sixteen hundred given last week-" continued the Colonel. "Making a total of twenty-two hundred dollars," said Philip, "well, they are good sir, and will be paid." "Oh! I don't question that !" exclaimed the Colonel. "I am sorry to trouble you, I am in- deed, but the fact is I am short-must raise five thousand, and I thought you would help me." Philip was disappointed he had regarded it as certain that the Colonel would wait op him until the end of the season, and in the mean time his luck might change, or at the worst, he would then try to borrow the amount. "I really am sorry, Colonel," he replied, "but at present it will be impossible for me to pay." "Just think a moment," persisted the Colo- nel," in your position, with so many wealthy friends, you can easily arrange it." I I I II I I I II I M- I I I I III I I i I MM 106 "I cannot go to my friends just now," re- plied Philip, mortified at the Colonel's impor- tunity, "by-and-by, I may do so." "By-and-by-is not now," answered the Colonel, with more firrenes, "these are notes of hand-debts of honor, payable at any moment." "But is has been customary," said Philip, "to give time on them." "Time-time," cried the Colonel, in a half sneering manner, "isn't from the middle of November till now, time 7" "I tell you, sir, I have no money," replied Philip, offended at the other's manner, "and I don't know how I can raise it." "Give me Mr. Macourty's note, I can nego- tiate it." "What, sir, commit a forgery 7" exclaimed Philip. "Not at all, you hold the power of attorney, you are authorized to sign his name, and be- fore the paper comes due, you can raise the money to pay it-qr, if you are short, I will help you," replied the Colonel. "It would never do," said Philip, "Mr Ma- courty has no notes out and the effort to nego- tiate one would-~" "Oh! leave that to me," said the Colonel, abruptly, "I'll put it where he will not hear of it, and you can pay it without a soul's knowing it was ever given." "It will not do, Colonel," said Philip. "No! well-you told me you always had a good balance in bank 7" "Yes-from ten to a hundred thousand," re- plied Phiiip. "Give me a check for the amount-tear it out of the back of the book-with a large bal- 4 ance like that, no one but yourself and me will know It." "Can't do it, Colonel-very sorry, but i will not commit a forgery to assist even you,~~ said Philip. 4 "Forgery! I tell you it is not forgery, you sign the name of the house teu times a-day- don't you I" replied the Colonel. 4 "Sometimes a hundred, but that is in the course of business, and it is for this that I I hold authority-any other use of the signature I -any that I know Mr Macourty would dis- approve of would be forgery-and I will do nothing of the kind," said Philip, firmly. "You will not I" inquired the Colonel, in an angry voice. "No, sir, I will not." "But I say you will-do you see this," and' the Colonel rising from his feet, held towards Philip a revolver., Philip's face flushed with anger and he made a movement as if he would seize a ruler "to knock his visitor down, but after a moment he replied with a scornful smile. "Put up your weapon, Colonel, I am no fool to be frightened by such a display. You are safe here too, for my character has suffered toomuch already by association with you, for me to wish to black- en it more with your worthless life. Put up your weapon or I'll boot you down stairs." 'ISo this is the way you pay your debts of honor 7" said the Colonel, replacing his 'pistol in his belt at his back. "Debts of honor! Debts of dishonor more likely," replied Philip, fiercely, "debts made by submitting to the cheats and tricks of a sharper, a worthless black-leg. You have~ showed your hand too soon-~-I see through you now, as I would through apane of glass. Idon't went to have anything more to do with you, but I'll pay those notes-.---when I get the mon- ey; I will send you word. I will pay them dollar for dollar, although I do not believe you won one cent of them honestly." "You don't want to know me any more! oh! no! I suppose not," sneered the Colonel, "I'll tell it in every club in town, in every saloon and house, and to every man I know." "Have a care, Colonel," said Philip, his face flushed and his eyes flashing with anger, "you may out-run even my patience." "I offered you a way to settle this matter," replied the Colonel, "but you decline it be- cause you do not intend to pay at all. But I'll ax you, I will call on Mr. Macourty and show him what sort of a cashier he has got-what a model young man you are. This was the Colonel's last resort,.and he expectedd it' to crush the young man into im- mediate submission, but h~ was mistaken. "Do so if you like," replied Philip, "Mr. Ma- 3ourty has been as kind as a father to me, md I would a thousand times rather trust myself in his hands than in yours. Go tell Am, but know this, sir-I will tell him myself, ~es sir, I will go to him myself, acknowledge he whole truth and offer him my resignation f the position I hold." "Very likely," said the Colonel, surprised Lt the turn matters had taken-" but why 107 MARDI GR A S ; page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] A TALE OF ANTE J3ELLUM TIMES. 108 should we quarrel over this-I have been hasty, you will pay, I know that-~so I ac- knowledge that I have done wrong and I ask your pardon for what I have ~ As he said this he advanced towards Philip, offering his hand, but Philip warned him back and answered: "No! sir! I will have nothing more to do with you, I am glad you called, your conduct has done mono to qpen my eyes, than all the lectures of all the friends I ever knew, could have done." "Well, we'll see," replied the Colonel, again assuming the offensive, "we'll see how you will stand in Mr. Macourty's eyes after my in- terview with him to-morrow." "Again I say I do not care for your threats, Mr. Macourty shall know the whole truth from my own lips, said Philip, "and from this hour I pledge my honor and name that I will never touch a card or play a game of chance again. Go now, and when you meet me, pass by me as if you had never seen me, don't dare to recog- nize me under any circumstances. As for the notes, I am not going to borrow money to pay them, nor will I stoop to anything mean or dishonorable to raise it, but I will pay you the full amount a~ soon as I earn the money to do it with." "Pay him-now, Philip, pay the rascal and let him go," said Mr. Macourty, who entered in great excitement. "My dear sir, let use explain-" said Philip. "No necessity for words now, pay him," said Mr. Macourty, interrupting him. "But sir, the amount is large and I am-" Philip began again. "I know all about It," he replied, "yes, sir, I know all about it," j~se continued, turning upon the Colonel, and shaking his fist at him, "I know who you are, sir, and if it was not that my young man, myson I will call him, is compromised in the matter, you should not have a dollar. Debts of honor I to an unscru- pulous cheat and scoundrel like you! Here, hand over the notes-ah! nise thing this- here's your money, and I regard it, sir, that every cent of it you have stolen-get out of here now, you have nothing more to expect here, and we have no use for you. As he spoke he backed the Colonel out of the door, followed him down stairs and closed the ~oor after him when he went out. "Well-he's gone," said Mr. Macourty when he returned to the office. "I don't know how to thank you enough for your kindness," said Philip, with emotion, and scarcely knowing what to do with himself. "Philip, my dear boy, I heard your pledge just now, and it pleased me more than an un- expected profit of ten thousand dollars would do," he replied, kindly patting Philip's back, "don't say anything more about it now, I know you feel grateful, but don't say anything -I'll take your thanks in your future conduct." Philip made no more promises or pledges, but he formed a plan in his own mind, and car- ned it out. His old comrades, with whom he was a great favorite, were surprised at his re- fusal to drink with them, and regretted very much, receiving his resignation as a member of the club. They were pleased to see him do well, however, and he lost neither their love or esteem by hi~ adherence to the rule he had made. The good people, especially a few kind hearted souls who always made it a point to know everybody's business iut their own, were surprised to see him in his old place, in Mr. Macourty's pew on the following Sunday, 'but as he made it a point to go regularly after that-the novelty wore off, and th'~y had noth. ing further to say-but to wonder ~f he would or would not, soon go off on another spree. CHAPTER xxxr. Mrs. cheerfull was preparing to go out to attend to some business. Her dr ~ss was of blachi bombazine, plain and nca 'ly fitting, made without trimming or ornament, a black crape shawl covered her shoulders, and a neat black bonnet, with a long crape veil thrown back, falling gracefully down, brought strong- ly out the fairness of her complexion, and her mild, sweet face, looked more beautiful under the deep mourning. Presently, Nettle came in to bring her ma a pair of gloves, black silk they were, the child too, was dressed in the most sombre garments ar~d a shade of sadness had settled on her fair young face. What does It mean? AhI poor thing, they mourn the loss of a protector, and their kindest friend-Mr. Cheerful is dead. The tramp of the little feet, as they rush to meet him on his return from work, each rosy mouth anxious to be kissed .109 MARD1 GR AS ; 108 109 MARDi GRAS; first, will thrill his heart no more. He will in a few hours he died. Then came the funer- come no more with smiles and encouraging al. "His friends and those of Cane, Plant words, kisses and caresses to cheer his wife in and Cotton are invited to attend without fur- her weary round of duties, which until now ther notice." she never felt to be trying and burdensome. Dick had been a great favorite, his good A The light blue smoke that ascen ~ed from his qualities were many and fresh in the memory segar, wreathing about his mei~ry face and of the people, so that ILi8 friends would have curling around his head, until th~ children in made a large company, but when were added, glee declared that Papa's head ws~s on fire, has the friends of the great commercial house of faded into the light air, and will come again Cane, Plant and Cotton, there was an immense no more, as he will return to gladden their crowd. The body was exposed in the parlor, hearts, never, never, never! in an elegant mahogany ease, with silver "Well, what of that, we must all die," as mountings, with beautiful floral, offerings ar- the amiable Mr. Alfred Plant would say. ranged around, and blessed candles, in finely But leaving a wife, so tenderly raised, al- worked silver candle-sticks, were burning ways so kindly provided for, upon whom he around the coffin. As the friends came, the la7ished so much love, and six young children n~sjority of them, being like the deceased, of -what will become of them? th~ Catholic Faith, made the sign of the Cross "Ahi but that's none of our business, we are and knelt for a moment in silent prayer, sup- for other men's families," as placating the Great Ruler, to have mercy on not responsible the soul that had so recently left its earthly Mr. Alfred Plant would reply, making 'good tenement. Their actions and words were as the proposition with the solid l9gie of political varied as were their looks and ages. economy. "God -~ Mr. Cheerful's death was sudden and unex- rest his soul in peace," said one lady pected. Some boxes of machinery, for a plan-' devoutly kneeling. Icr an Red River, had been consigned to the "He was the good, kind man entirely," said care of the firm, and as the water was low at an old wom~n, her tears rolling fast over her the time, the boxes were stored in the upper withered and care-worn face, "sure it was part of the store. When a rise came, the himself that always wore the heart-warming planter was not ready for the machinery, and smile." it was kept for several mont1~s, until his Two gentlemen come to the door and look buildings ~werc completed, when in accordance inqriiringly around to see who is there, they with his instructions they were shipped. then walk around the corpse. They were lowering the boxes, when Samson, "Look's natural's life," sai~l one. who did not notice .the quick running of the "Very much so, never saw one more like rope, stooped beneath the hatch-way to pick it," replied his companion, and with a solemn up some trifle that he saw there. They yelled nod of recognition to those he knew, he walked from above, and those on the lower floor shout.. out with his friend. ed to him to get out of the way, but he did "They've arranged the coffin nicely," said a not hear them, and the immense box came little lady in a brown silk dress, to her com- thundering down; just as it came within pinion, a tall, spare figure, with spectacles. reach, and in a moment more would have "It will do," replied her friend, "but they've crushed the poor negro beneath its ponderous got his hair parted on the wrong side, and I weight, Mr. 'Cheerful sprang forward,' and never saw such a bundle of a knot as they hurling himself against the box with almost have got in his neck-tie." super-humpn energy, succeeded in swinging Several gentlemen come in together, and it far enough out to save Samson's life, but at stepping forward take a kind and sympathis- the terrible sacrifice of his own. The great ing look at their friend, some reverently bless- effort he had made caused the rupture of a in~ themselves, and all of them much moved vital blood vessel, hermorhage ensued, and al- at ~he sight. After a few remarks about the though he was taken home, and a physician good qualities of the deceased they retire. called at once, the loss of blood was too rapid Presently Mary lvkDonald came in, looking and severe to admit of effectual assistance and pale and sorrowful. She had been with Mrs. page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] Cheerful since the death of her husband, had assisted in arranging the flowers and candles about the eoffiu, had worked on the inounring which it was necessary to hastily prepare for the family, and had performed many little du- ties, small in themselves, but unspeakably grateful to bereaved hearts, at such a time of mourning as this. Thea Philip came. He was one of the pall bearers, as was Carl Am- ber who came with him. They were as hand- some, intelligent and refined a couple as could be s~hisen in the Crescent City. They ap- pro~ched the coffin to look at their friend, spoke in low whispers and then silently joined Mary. Mr. MacVain soon after entered, and kneeling by the corpse, made the blessed sign, said a prayer for the dead, and then, with a quiet recognitiQn of those present, retired. Many others paid similar attentions to the mortal remains, exposed for the las~t time, to the eyes of this world's people. Then there was a stir in the hall, visitors gave way and with stiff and, stately walk, his head erect and the short curling bair combed haughtily away from his broad, cold forehead, Mr. Al- fred Plant entered the mourning circle. Cast- ing a look around the room to see who was there worthy of his recognition, he calmly advanced to the bier, looked at his late clerk for a few moments and then retired to, the gallery, where he was met by Mr. MacVain, with himself appointed as pall bearers. "A sad calamity, this," said Mr. MacVain, as they exchanged salutations. "Yes, it's a bad job," replied the other. "A n~ble fellow, he was," said Mr. MacVain. "That's what the world said," replied Mr. Alfred Plant, coldy, "and he was a very com- potent book-keeper, but unfit to manage his own affairs, he was careless, thoughtless, and extravagant. "It was a generous act that cost his life," said Mr. MacVain, surprised at the other's manner and language. "I think it would have been more generous to have thought of his children and let the cussed nigger be killed," was the reply. "It is a great pity, I am sorry for his fami- ly," said Mr. MacVain. "Yes-that's the sentiment of the world- weep and cry because people who live beyond their means finally find themselves poor," said ~ Alfred Plant, in a sneering, haughty man- 110 nor, "look at the extravagance of this turn out, mahogany coffin, silver plate and a dozen carriages, where's the money to come from to pay for such display. * "Indeed," replied Mr. MacVain, with a slight touch of sarcasm, "the generosity of your firm is so well known that I was sure the whole matter had been planned and arranged by your orders." "No, sir. I have enough to do to attend to my own affairs," wat the cold and dignified re- ply. "At such a time," said Mr. MacVain, as if apologizing for the family, "people are not apt to stop to think of economy, but think that the best is not good enough for their loved ones, and indeed I think it is a great ~nisfor- tune for his poor wife." "She's young and healthy," replied Mr. Al- fred Plant, in an off-hand manner, as if to dis- miss the subject, "and she's very good looking -she'll soon mairy again." Mr. ~!acVain made no reply in words, but his look was full of anger, scorn and contempt, quniling before it even the cool, calculating Mr. Alfred Plant who felt the rebuke and turned away. ~?rom that time they were never friends, Mr. MacVain felt a thorough contempt, but little concealed, while Mr. Plant disliked the other frdm a knowledge of his own inferiority. The house and yard was by this time filled with those who had come to the funeral, the relations came into the room, the Priest per-' formed the appropriate ceremony of the Church, the last sad farewells were said, the corpse was carried to the hearse, the 'company entered the' carriages and the cortege slowly and solemnly moved away to the St. Louis Cemetery, where, amidst the speechless grief of his fismily and the silent, heartfelt sorrow of many friends, the remains of Richard Cheerful were laid to rest. In after years the place was often wet with the bitter tears of the loved ones he left behind, and decorated with bouquets and flow- ers, or a simple wreath of evergreen, by the hand of some person, who remembered and thus acknowledged his unostentatious acts of charity and benevolence. Mr. Cheerful died in February, and it was now the latter part of April. His business affairs, as was expected, were in very bad or- der, his liabilities summed up a very large amount and the creditors were pressing in bheir demands for money. Of all those whom A TALE OF ANTE BELLUM TiMES. I b 111 2JARDI GRAS; I he had accommodated during his life, many of whom were largely indebted to him at the time of his death, only two had offered to as- sist his bereaved family. One of these was a baker, who had been started in his business by Mr. Cheerful, and the other was a widow, herself, poorly off, to whom he had loaned from time to time, small 8ums of money. The time had come when it was impossible for Mrs. Cheerful to satisfy the creditors by askin~a further delay and she was therefore prep~rsng to call on some of their old 'friends to ask their advice and assistance. She direct- ed her steps towards the office of Cane, Plant and Cotton where her husband had served so many years. Mr. Cane was in Europe, and had been absent for nearly a year, so that she knew her business would be with Mr. Plant. She had always received from him the greatest courtesy and respect, and had no doubt but that he would take an active and friendly interest in her affairs. Mr. Alfred Plant was walking up arid down the elegantly furnished private office, his mea- sured step was scarcely audible on the rich carpet that covered the floor, he was without his hat, and 'the smoke from his cigar, from which he gave at regular intervals, meditative puffs, curled in light clouds around his finely shaped head, as with his hands crossed behind him, he promenaded to and fro, lost in some pleasing dreaming, or conning over some new plan for business or pleasure. Mrs. Cheerful noticed that a stranger held Dick's o~d place, for Mr. Plant did not believe in rotation with clerks but always aimed to get the best man for the least possible money, and hating long regarded Dick's salary as too high, which he could not change before on ac- a count. of the opposition to the movement by Mr. Cane, he had filled the place with a new man who would not expect so much as an old hand in the house would have looked for, Mr. s Cane being absent he was able to arrange the v matter to suit his own views of "political e economy." As he made a turn in his walk Mr. Plant oh- ~ served his visitor and gracefully offered her a, ii seat, which she accepted. He was quite socia- ble and friendly, but in a ~igid, formal manner, a "Mr. Plant, I have com9 to ask you for ad- vice and assistance," she said after a few me- " mentsconversation, at the word "assistance" h he grew cold and dignified in the* extreme' "my business is in a very bad state; we were in debt when poor Dick died, and in order t~ satisfy these people, until I can earn money, I am cernpelled to ask a loan." "Yes-just as I supposed," replied Mr. Plant "what do you propose to do to earn money." "I was thinking, sir-of opening a school,'~ she replied, with hesitation, for she felt his cold manner, "I could give music lesson~, and have hopes of success." "A school! that's alv~ays a woman's resort that or a boardinghouse 1" exclaimed Mr. Plant~ impatiently. "What shall I do, sir 7" she asked, nervously. "Do! well, I don't know, can't you get a situation in a millenery store or something of that sort 7" he inquired. "If I do, sir," she answered, " I will still need ~assistance for a time." "And I must give it, eh 7" he said, with a sneer. "Well, sir-I th~ought-perhaps-" "How much did you want I" he inquired~ interrupting her. "I think with-about five hundred dollars," she answered~ "I could pay them all some- thing. I owe about fifteen hundred dollars-' "And Mr. Cheerful's account was overdrawn with us three hundred dollars," he said, again interrupting her. "Yes-well, it will all be paid in time," she replied. "In time! That's mere nonsense. You'll iever pay any of it," he said, angrily, "but I suppose you think that I am bound to support ~ou because your husband chanced to work for no. Paid in time! That's what all borrowers I shall do all I can to accomplish it," she re- died. "All very well, madam, all very well," he aid, haughtily, "but I cannot assist you. It rould be 'against the principles of political economy to encourage living spendthrifts by supporting the family of a dead one, and it rould be no kindness to you to encourage you i going into debt." "I shall try to work out of debt, sir," she uswered. "Yes, but you can't," lie said, abruptly. Your husband ought to have been ashamed of himself for going in debt, and now what a fix page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] A TALE OF A.NTE BELL UM TIMES. 12 13lAEDGAS you are left in; it was nothing but crimina1 extravagance in him to do it." " I did not come to hear the memory of my husband insulted," said Mrs. Cheerful, rising to her fect. " He was a good, kind, generous man." "Very generous," -said he, with a sneer, "to spend all he earned and leave you and your children tQ be supported by me'.,, "You have not done much towards it yet," she said, " and I do not wish you to do more)' " Oh, here is ten dollars," he replied, in a condescending manner, "and I may give more by-and-by.',' - "Keep your money, sir, none of it will ever pass through my hands," she said, in a calm, his thousands before ykuCheerfaind teardig- nity of a third class clerk, and he was, through life, in all relations, whait you cap never be-a gentleman.". As she finished speaking she turned and left the room, but had not gone far before he called her back. " She's a d-d pretty woman," he said, in communion with himself. -A little flirtation would be exciting for a change." " Here, Mrs. Cheerful-really-" he said, as she returned to the office- " if you must have this money-why-I will give it to you, and- I'll call to see how you get along ini a day or- two." " A peculiar light was playing in his eyes, and a hypocritical smile spread over his face,. With the innate feeling of self-protection al- ways the companion of virtue, Mrs. Cheerful drew back from him and indignantly replied: "Not one dollar would I take from you if the possession of it should purchase me ease and comfort for the remainder of my life. I am sorry that I wronged my feelings by coming. here. You have insulted and slandered the- memory of my husband, and I pray.God that His malediction may follow you for it. Keep your money ; treasure it in your heart ; draw your soul more into your miserable self, if it is possible, and live, as you always have, on your own admirations. But don't come near me ; never cross the threshold of my house, nor recognize me in the street. I would not even speak to a man for whom I felt the thorough contempt and loathing that I do for you." She was not like herself, her face flushed, her eyes flashed with anger, and her whole manner became haughty and dignified, as she looked for a moment at the baffled rouc and then retired, leaving him to his .own thoughts and fancies. CHAPTER xXII. The summer season being at :hand, the s' floating population " of the Crescent city, those who had made fair profits in business during the season, the capitalists and property- holders who had gathered in fine rents and dividends, and the clerks, mechanics and artisans, who had saved the splendid wages that had rewarded their labors, were preparing to go North or Westward to spend or invest their "balances," ihus leaving th Crescent City thousands of dollars poorer, and furnish- ing a cogent reason for the continued existence of the swamps and forests, and the non-im- provement of the hundreds of beautiful sites for country seats, gulf and lake coast resi- dences in the neighborhood of that city. . Mr. Macourty was'one of those who believed in home improvements. His surplus capital was invested in real estate and stocks of his own State and city, and his summer i-etreat was on the lake coast, as well improved, pleasant and healthy a location as could have been found in any part of the Union. -As he sat at the tea table, his family around him, they were talking over their departure for Biloxi, and each one had some happy sugges- tion to make about the arrangements "I think .you ought to send over a new piano," said Cecelia, "the ,one we had last year was about played out " I don't think you a'played it out,'" said young George, "for yen hardly ever touch a piano." " Yes I do," replied Cecelia, sharply, "I play as good as Annie." " Well, I'll see about it," said Mr. Macourty, drawing from his coat pocket a large package, neatly tied up. " What is that, my dear i" inquired his wife. " It is three thousand dollars, for Jones," he replied. " He will be here in the morning for it." " Why did he not go to the store for it 7" ''Well, he is not much of a business man and I 112 preferred coming here," he replied. " The deeds for the lots are all made out and signed, so I told him to come here and get'his money, ats he wanted it that way." . The conversation was continued until the meal was over, turning on various subjects of interest at the time. When they were retiring at night, Mrs. Macourty remarked that "Mrs. McDonald's family would leave on Wednesday for the North." - ."Yes; Philip is going as far as Montgomesy .with them," he replied. - " I am sure it will be a pleasant trip for hims," she said. " I am glad he is going,/' he replied. " He needs some recreation. It will do him good." h" He came out allright ater al, did, he not?' "My dear, I am as much gratified at the fact as you are." Iknow it, George," she replied. " Yes, if I'hilip was my own son I could not think more of him than I do," he said, eanest- ly, "and I am proud to say that he is all that I could wish, and, by the way, I got a letter from Len Browsee to-day." - ,"Ah! is -he coming home in". ." No ; he likes the country so well that he has written to have his mother and sistrs come over," he replied, " and I have been thinking of establishing a branch house there'. Len has recovered his health, he says, so that he can attend to business, and he likes thie idea of a branch house, which I have .no doubt would be very successful." " He is a careful, good man," said Mrs. Ma- courty, " and willnianage the business proper- ly, I know." -"Yes ; I think so, and snall make arrange- ments to send his folks over and remit him funds to commence business there." " That reminds me," said his wife, with a sudden start, " what did you do with that package of money 7" ..' "It is here," he replied, laughing, " and I I will stick it under the foot of the mattress.- No cne will ever think of looking there for it, even if such a thing was possible that any one I would come at all." - While they were in the sitting room next j morning, Mr. Macourty reading aloud such x items from the morning paper as were of in- I terest, one of the servants came in and ani- nounced that Mr. Jones was waiting in the parlor. "y George, the money is up stairs yet !" exclaimed Mr. Macourty, anid he ran up stairs for it, but soon called out to his wife to know if she had taken it. Mrs. Macourty hurried up stairs and said she had not seen it since the night before. They searched the bed, armoir, bureau, everywhere, but it was gone. All the servants were questioned, and, the children were called in and asked if they knew any- thing about eit. The search was fruitless. Mr. Macourty knew that he had placed it between the mattresses at the foot of the bed and that he had not seen it since, yet it could nowhere be found. There was no way for it but to ask Mr. Jones' into breakfast and then take him downtownandpay im tere That evening Cecelia called at M. Le Cras- seaurK's, and, as was usual in pleasant weather, she and FeliZ went out for a pro nenade. Ever since her short 'residence at Le Crasseaux's it had been a settled thing with the neighbors that "it was to be a match." These rumors had reached Mrs; Macourty, who remonstrated with Cecelia, telling her that there were many, good young men who visited the house thai she would prefer to see her marry, pointing out Felix's indolent, unsteady character, his lack of energy and perseverance, and exercising all her Arts of persuasion to prevent the match. But Cecelia was only made stronger in her de- termination by, this advice, and constantly thought herself the most abused of human beings. Mr. Macourty had joined his wife in her opposition at first, but, finding the girl headstrong, bad privately told her that be thought it best to give Felix a little start in business and let them go ahead. This hia wife, being unwilling to give up her efforts to change Cecelia's mind, had kept to herself. -But Felik had never told his love. All that Cecelia knew was merely by inference fronm his actions and the talk of the neighbors. She had often endeavoredl to " draw him out * but all the satisfaction shle could get was that "he wvas too poor to marrkr, if he had a little money he knew who he wenuld ask to be his wife' Al- hiough it pleased him to have the neighbors oke him about C celia, he boasted that he had never told her t at he loved her, never had hinted at such a 1hing and did not know how- he could think i. 113 MARDI GRAS; page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] A TALE OF ANTE BELL UAJ TIMES. 114 115 MA1?DI aRAS: The fact was that the wily young Creole wedding suit, bat I'll keep the rest until we're thought Cecelia was a very nice girl, an~1 as he married." had no particular choice, he was waiting to see "Oh, you may lose it," he urged. "Give me what her adopted parents would do for her, the package, and. to-morrow I'll put all that when, if he was satisfied with the arrange- we don't want in the bank, where it w11 be ments, he had no doubt he could very easily safe." come toan replied, understanding with her. "No, sir, there's no use talkin'v " she Cecelia was now determined to have the firmly, "it will be time enough for you to have matter settled, and as they walked leisurely it when we are married." along towards Lafayette Square, she led him The more Felix talked the more explicit ~he over to one of the benches, and there, while the grew about the terms on which she would sur- moon shone out brightly and the evening render the money and he finally agreed to her breezes blew soft and cool, she renewed the arrangements. attack. During that night she removed her clothes "Wouldn't it be pleasant," she said. in a from Mrs. Macourty's and he took his from his confiding tone, "to have a nice little home of uncle's house, both parcels being left at the your own, where you could be comfortable and house of the milk*-man who served Mr. Macour- happy after the toils of the day." ty's fami[~ '4th milk. About twelve o'clock "Yes-that would be good." next day Cecelia. said she wanted to make "Wouldn't it be nice," she continued, lean- some calls, and Mrs. Macourty offered no oppo- ing on his arm, "to runoff to Mobile and get sition to her going. About half past two she married, then go North for a month or two and drove up in a cisrriage to the house of the milk* Then return." man, where Felix was waiting for her, and, "But that would take money," he answered, after putting on their baggage, they drove off carelessly. for thQ Pontchartrain Railroad. The next day, "How much would you want to commence about noon, they arrived at Mobile and before on'?" she asked, looklng~e~irnestly into his face. dinner time they were married. Cecehia was "Oh, to commence right, a man ought to greatly elate(l at her success in getting away have-" he answered, in a calculating manner, without being suspected of any such design, "well-twelvu or fifteen hundred dollars- and Felix was equally well pleased at the more than I expect to have for-a long time." prospect of soon having, what seemed to him, "Is that all ?" sbe asked, in surpi~ise. "1've an unlimited supply of money. got more than that." "You are my wife now, Cecelia," said Felix, "You have as they sat in their room at the "Battle "Yes; I've got three thousand dollars !" she House," "and I am sure our life will be one of triumphantly answered. true happiness." "Where is it'? how did you get it I" he in- "I hope so," said Cecehia, producing a bag quired, his whole manner changed and he be- ti a~ jingled pleasantly to his ears, "and asyou came a~once all interest and attention. are the man you had better carry the money; "Never mind how I got it," she replied, you will find our tickets to New York in there, "I've got it, and it's mine. I received it from too." an uncle of mine in New York and I want to He thanked her, and * eagerly seizing the bag, go on to see him." turned the gold out on the table and counted "Where is it'?" he asked again, it over. "Oh, you don't believe I've got it," she said, "Why, there is only a little over five hun- taking from her bosom the package that Mr. dred dollars here," he said, with a disappoint- ~[acourty had missed in the morning, "see, ed air, "I thought you said you had three here it is.,, thousand." "They look nice, don't they'?" he said, pick- "So I did; but we are going to New York, jug up two bills of twenty dollars each, "you ain't we'?" she replied. "Well, that's enough had better let me keep it for you." to take us on and back, and if we had more we "No you don't !" she exclaimed, hastily re- might spend it or loose it, aol just put twenty- turning the package to its hiding place, "you four hundred in bank before I left home, and can have that forty dollars to buy your that'll be there when we get back." "You are right," he said, feeling that it would do ~io good to say anything else, "and it was very wise in you to do it." As they were walking along the street next day, Felix lagging behind, Cecelia met Philip, who was returning to New Orleans, after ac- companying the McDonald's as fnr as Mont- gomery. "Why, Cecelia, what are you doing over here'?" said Philip, "I am on my way to New York," she replied. ~tThe deuce you are," he exclaimed. "Yes, six~, I am," she answered and, turning to Felix, who just then came up, she said, "and this is my husband." Philip was much surprised, hut, as it was none of his business, he merely congratulated them, wished them much happiness and passed on. Arriving in New Orleans, he informed Mr. Macourty of his meeting with Cecelia, and, for the first time that gentleman formed a correct suspicion of where his lost money had gone. Although he felt very indignant at the un- grateful girl, he said nothing about t~he matter, but concluded, as he told his wife, that he had got rid of her cheap. CHAPTER XxXLu. Mr. Percy MacVain, having met a severe disappointment in his courtship wi h Mary, had returned again to his search fter Mrs. Macourty's lost child, and displayed ~ en more energy than before. But the time had passed when he could reasonably hope for success. If living, the lost one was no longer a child, but a woman in years, and in all probability so changed that none of her relatives ever would know her. He called again on Mr. Emanuel, but received no satisfaction. The pawn-broker said that his clerk, a stupid fellow that he sel- dom left in his store alone, had told him the day before, when he Came in after a few mo- mdnt's absence, that a young lady had called and looked at all the crosses in the store, but went away without buying, as she said the one she wanted was not there. He thought that she was merely a "shopper," and had, I therefore, paid no attention to her appearance, and could tell nothing more about the matter. Mr. MacVain, in his own mind, entered up the ~Ludgment that this was the person for whom he was looking, but as she had been disap- pointed in her search, the probabilities were that she would not come again. Reluctantly admitting this view of~ the case he left the store and turned his steps towards the Astor House, where Mr. McDonald's folks were stay- ing at the time. As he walked down the street, a gentleman on the other side, turned to the lady with him and said. "Cecelia, there goes Mr. MacVain." "Mr. MacVain-who is lie ?" "Why, he's a great friend of Mr. Macourty, don't you know him'?" "No, I never would go into the parlor when he called there," she replied, "although I re- member hearing them speak of him." Feli4 Le Crasaseaux and his bride went on their way, she pointing out to him many ob- jects of interest that she remembered, and tell- ing him of some of the grand displays she had seen in the city. -When ML. MacVain called at Mr. McDonald's rooms, he found them all well and much pleased to see him. "Let me introduce to you my old friend, Mr. Sellwell," said Mary to him, and that gentle- man stepped ~forward and gave him a~ warm reception. "Happy to see you, ~r. MacVain," said Mr. Sahiwehl. "And I am glad to s~e you," said 'the other and, after a closer look~ he continued, "do you ever practice pistol shooting now ?" "What! upon my word! why, I didn't recognize you," said Sam. "I seldom forget faces," replied Mr. Mac. Vain, "although I am not as good at remem- bering names." "You are not married yet Mr. Sellwell ?" in- quired Mrs. McDonald. "Not I, indeed," said Sam, gaily. "it would be a sin to iiiflict such a punishment as myself an any lady"' "Now, that is the way people talk," replied ~Irs. McDonald, "when they are on the point )f committing matrimony." "Indeed, you are wrong, persisted Sam. "Mr. McDonald came in just then, and was pleased to see the visitors and joined in the conversation . "You have not made up your mind to visit rnr city yet," he said to Sam. "Well1 not exactly" renhied Sam. ~' 115 ALARDI GRAS: page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] A T ALE 01F A NTE BELJLUM TI MES. 11 1 AD RS fact is, I am afraid of your friend Yellow Jack, as you call him." , " Ah ! ha! yellow fever, eh 7" said Mr. Mc- Donald, " oh ! he wouldn't trouble you, he' know s our friends." : " I think I might have gone out there but for that," said Sam. w. do' hn elwfvra "I assure youwednttikylofvras. dangerous as many other diseases that you have here and elsewhere," replied Mr. McDon- ald. "It depends almost entirely on the nursing and attendance that the patient receives," said Mrs. McDonald, " Certainly," said MacVain. , "If you come out you shall have the best of care if you are sick," said Mrs. McDonald, " and , although I am not much skilled -in medicines, I am sure we would help you through a light with the saffron gentleman." " I will think it over," replied Sam. .After an hour or two passed thus in friendly conversation they parted. Mr. McDonald lind acknowledged Sam's kindness to Mary by several valuabl- presents, and had offered to- do more, but Sam positively refused to accept the favor, threatening, if the subject was again referred to, he would be very much insulted. The autumn brought the usual tide of re- turning citizens and strangers to New Orleans. Cecelia's first business on her return home, was to purchase, in her own name, a lot of ground, with a small cottage on it, which, with the furniture she bought, took up nearly one half of her reserve fund. Felix had a no- tion of cabinet-making, repairing furniture, etc., and she gave him the balance of the money to start a shop in thatline; before doing so, however, she required of him a marriage contract acknowledging the reciept of the money from her. She had got comfortably settled in her new home when Mr. Macourty called on her and congratulated her on her happy union. " The money which you took from me," he said, " you are welcome to. Had you come to me and told -your determination to marry, I would have done better by yonu; but, as you chose to help yourself, I shall accept the bar- gain as it stands." Finding herself detected, Cecelia made no effort to deny the charge, but thanked him for his kindness and invited him to call often. The neighbors were now satisfied. .The question of the match between Felix and Cecelia was settled, and they had very little further to say about them, and when they did talk, they found a match in Cecelia, who was able to hold her own with the best gossip of them all,. CHAPTER XXXIV. ~ All Saints' Day, one of the greatest holy days of the year's calander in the Catholic city of New Orleans, dawned cold and cloudless on the city, bringing to thousands of hearts and homes sorrowful memories of the loved and lost, and the whole city, as if with one accord, came forth to visit the " Cities of the Dead," and express their deep regrets and cherished loves for the silent ,sleepers, resting there from the cares and troubles of this changing world. '. To the stranger who chances to be within the Crescent City it is a strange, solemn, yet pleasing sight, to see the unanimity of feeling amongst her citizens that prompts them thus to visit'the homes of the dead, decorating thie places where their friends repose, and treating with reverence the humblest grave, whose oc- cupant, long since forgotten, perhaps with no, friends left to tell over his virtues, is now numbered with the long li of " unknown." No other holy day, or holiday, in the year's circle, so thoroughly enlists the hearts and sympathies of the people as this, the first day of November, known in the Church as All Saints' Day Business is almost entirely suspended, the clerks, even of the most exacting employers, are allowed ant hour or two, and the streets are thronged from morning to night by crowds of people of both sexes, of all ages, , conditions and nativities, going to and fro between the different cemeteries,. In the depot of the Carrollton Railroad there was a fruit stand, kept by a young Italian, then almost a stranger in the city. One end of his counter was cleared up, a white cloth with a neatly fringed border was spread over it, on whhinh lay a bunch of rare and beautiful flow- ers, and a long, tapering candle was burning' beside it,. " What does this mean P inquired a passer- . by of the young man., 116 I "For my mother, sir," the Italian reverently replied, "I cannot visit her grave, for she rests'in my own native country, " yet I can remember her here.",. What a touching and beautiful tribute to the memory of his mother ! Thousands of miles separated him from the soil that held her oherish'.d form ; the deep ocean rolled between them ; he was a stranger in a strange land; friendless and alone, yet his heart wyas full of the memory of the past, and, although he mnigh, not decorate the little green mound, he could not forget her affection and care. In his far distant native land her body reposes, but the spirit of that mother hovers in eternal love over the path of her affectionate son. . In all the cemeteries, Protestant as well as Catholic, Odd Fellows', Masonic and Firemen's, the graves were decorated, the mementoes, consisting of every ornament that love and do- votedness could suggest. The tombs a ere newly whitewashed, the railings enclosing those buried in " mother earth " were repaint- ed, the slabs and head boards were washed or newly varnished, fresh sods were laid and choice flowers planted around the sacred places'. On the tombs and graves were placed bou... quets of the rarest and most fragrant flowers, the funeral wreath, evergreens in crosses and wreaths, immortelles, flowers in vases, statuettes representing faith, hope' and charity, and an innumerable number of miscellaneous orna- ments. Everywhere the living were to be seen coming with their offerings, or already arrived, arranging, in the most appropriate and taste- ful manner, the decorations over the resting places of deceased friends, while thousands of visitors crowded every avenue by which "God's Acre " was intersected, divided and arranged. Mounds of earth, tombs of brick, granite and marble attracted attention on every hand, many of them the receptacles of some of the oldest inhabitants of the city, some of the families being wholly extinct.; Here were monuments and cenotaphs to 'the old citizens and cherished sons of the State, who, when living, had, by their acts, illutninated the page 'of history, or left a name for charity and the good deeds that enshrined them in the hearts of their fellow -citizens. Affectionate tributes were every where seen and many beau-. tiful inscriptions were displayed, one of w hich would with appropriate meaning apply to all:* "A household tomb, to faith how dear- Aar hae goe, part linger here; A household still." In the immense throngs that were going and coming, it would be impossible to describe all the beautiful scenes that occurred. But in the Cemeteries of St. Louis, the oldest in the city, the custom was best observed, here the observance of the day was a duty and devel- oped into a true Christian sacrifice. Three ladies, followed by a colored servant, with a basket filled with flowers, entered and going to an elegant marble tomb, the front of which rested on pillars of the same stone, .where art had modelled beautiful figures and inscribed a glowing epitaph, the ladies with delicate taste adorned the tomb with the flow- ers, and then devoutly knelt in prayer. A family group came in, and one, a little child of scarce four years, carried a beautiful bouquet of violets, tripping along, it at last stopped before a modest looking tomb and left the flowers for "little brother," who wnshimself a flower in Heaven. The mother knelt and tears chased each otlher down her cheeks,'as she thought of the little curly head that for a brief time nestled on her breast. And there comes, with light elastic step, form erect and cheeks glowing with youthful health and beauty, a lady scarcely yet reached her twentieth year, yet the sombre weeds of a widow, cloth her form, the long crape veil crape collar and bonnet, and all the other signs of recent bereavement are hers. She pauses before a recently opened tomb, the plaster that sealed it up is not yet dry, and here she kneels to weep and pray. The folds were not yet out of her bridal costume, when she donned the garb of a mourner, a maiden wife and widow, all in the short period of one month. We say that this grief will be assuaged by passing years, the smile will come again, the lips will become mobile once more, and the bloom of happiness will chase the paleness from her cheeks. Truly, we say, it is a mnerci- ful provision that time dries all tears, soothes the wounded heart and heals all sorrows. Pause a moment in the judgment. Here comes leaning his tottering I'orm on his heavy cane, a man, on whom the suns of near- 117 page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] A TALE OF AI'IE DEL iUM TIMES. 118 119 MARDI GRAS; iy eighty s mmere have shone. His hair, whito and s~ft as silken fio~s, falls over his shoulders, hi head is bent down, and his face has been browned by exposure and furrowed with trouble and care. He frequently pauses in his walk, for he is old and feeble, and he reads as he passes along the inscriptions by the way. Ah! so many die young, yet he is left to wander and mourn alone, for all of his circle have gone before him. At last he pauses before an old brick tomb, around which wild shrubs and rank grass are growing, and over its sides the green moss clusters here and there-we should say it was neglected and that the occupants were all long since forgot- ten, but that we see him there, and the immor tdlles that he has bought to hang on the old tomb. There are six wreaths, siniple and plain, but of different sizes, and there are six occupants ia this house of the dead. The largest wreath is in memory, of the wife and mnpther, who sleeps side by side with her five children, for whom the smaller wreaths are mementoes. Having arranged his offering, the old man leans upon the tomb and seems lost in reveries of the past, while t~ars course their way down his wrinkled cheeks; the pas- sers by, all things are unnoticed and uncared for by him. We quietly steal to his side and read the simpJe inscriptions on the old tomb, and start back surprised, for the last of those silent sleepers, was laid away to rest full thir- ty years ago! What! do human grief and human constancy last so long? Early in the forenoon Mrs. Cheerful and the children went to the St. Louis Cemetery, tak- ing each one a bouquet or wreath, which they placed upon the plain and unpretending tomb that contained the remains of Mr. Cheerful. A plain, marbieslab, bore his name, place and date of birth and death, and a modest tribute to his virtues as a husband and father .ind his upright character as a citizen. After decorating the tomb, Mrs. Cheerful, with the children around her, knelt and offered up their petitions to Our Heavenly Father for the soul of their loved one. These devotions over, they all arose and after a longtng look at the tomb, turned to go away. .i~ust then a gentleman who had been respectfully waiting at a distance for them to leave, came forward and placed on the vault an elegant bouquet. Mrs. cheerful happened to look back and wit- nssse~l the action, and recognized Mr. ~Mac- Vain, who, seeing that he was observed came forward and spoke to her, and then to each of the children itt a kind and friendly manner. "I was coming up to see you ~ he said as they walked on, "I only got home two or three days ago." "I am glad to see you Mr. MacVain," she replied. "I wished to speak to you," he said, in the most friendly tone, "about business. I have heard of your interview last spring with Mr. Plant and the unkind answer he gave you, and I much regret that I did not know of it sooner. Your husband and I were good friends, more so perhaps than you knew of, and it will be a great pleasure to me to see that his family are well provided for." "I thank you Mr. MacVain," she replied, "but I have commenced a school and hope to meet with success-" "Excuse me," he said, interrupting her, "I do not wish to be offensive or to intrude, what I offer is based on my high esteem of your ex- cellent husband, and the deep respect I feel for yourself. I have no doubt but that in time you will \succeed with your school but for the present ~ou will need assistance . I have heard the whole story of your troubles and truly sympathize with you for the vexations you have had, but you must not feel backward about accepting help from me. Should you succeed as you hope to and as you deserve, you can repay me, but otherwise it must never give you the least uneasiness." They conversed further about her business as they walked towards Canal street and Mr. MacVain promised that he wo~ild arrange everything properly and in such a manner that she would be troubled no more. Although Mr. MacVain acted in the kindest and most delicate manner and was thoughtful and respectful in all he said, it was a great mor- tification to her to be compelled to acceptassist- ance, but there was no alternative between that and seeing her children turned on the street, for ~r. Shavier who held Mrs: Cheerful's note for a thousand dollars had already obtained judgment for the amount. She had just laid aside her bonnet and shawl, after returning home, when Mary McDonald called to see her. 1 118 "I am so glad to see you, Mary, dear," she said, "for I have been in great trouble the past few days, and this visit to poor Dick's grave has recalled so many joys and pleasures that can come again no more. Oh! I am so glad that my dear, kind, good husband cannot know of the trouble and mortification, the ter- rible sorrow that I have had since his death, it would make him so miserable. He was always so thoughtful, so gentle and loving and now to think of him, in that narrow cell." Mrs. Cheerful gave way to the sorrow that filled her heart, for a time she sat almost mo~ tionless, her face burned in her hands, while she cried bitterly over her terrible bereave- ment. Tears did her good, and after them, she looked up relieved and more composed. "He is not in that narrow cell," said Mary, soothingly, "only the body, the earthly clay lies there, immortal spirit, the soul which God gave, relieved from worldly cares and ail- iments, is now rejoicing in the realms of bliss. We know that he was a just and upright man, living in the fear and love of our Heavenly Fa- ther. That charity for others which\he prac- ticed with an open hand will be returned to him now many, many times over, and as he' lived and walked in the ways of our Holy1 Church and died with faith and confidence in I the intercession of Our Holy Mother and the mercy of Him who died on the Cross, we know that he is now receiving his rich reward' with those who surround the eternt4 throne, where the love, power and splendor of the Holy Trinity are sung in anthems of praise, and the voice that we loved to hear so much here on earth is yet xi~ore clear and har- monious in that Heavenly choir." "There, Mary, darling, very true, but it so hard to lose one so dear t~ us," replied Mrs. Cheerful. I "It is natural and it is right th~t we should mourn the loss of those who are near and dear to us," said Mary, while her face beamed with I th~ holy faith that filled her soul, "yet we should remember that after a well spent life, our loss is indeed their gain, and while we feel poignant grief for their departure, we should turn with confidence to mother Church for strength and consolation, for truly the Ca- tholic f.tith is an anchor and safeguard to those who are oppressed with sorrow and be- reavement. Row nothingg to the torn heart ~tre a few moments of devout prayer and mcdi- tati' n in a quiet1 holy church before the altar of the Blessed Mary, or in the seclusion of your own room before the emblem of salvation." "God bless, you, Mary," replied Mrs. Cheer- ful, "you are always so comforting, you direct my thoughts in th~ way they ought to go and I sometimes wonder that one so young and gay can appreciate sorrow as you do." "I have seen it myself, have lost dear friends and have been in deep trouble too," said Mary~ and then changing the subject she continued, "but you wanted to see me." "I want you to help me arrauge Dick's pa- pers," replied Mrs. Cheerful. '1 never have mustered courage to touch them and there they are in his desk just as he left theni2! "When do you wish it done ?" "Any time, whenever you have leisure." "I will help you now, if it will be con- venient for you," replied Mary, and the offer was at once accepted. One of the children brought a hunch of keys one of which unlocked "Papa's desk," and1the turning over, examination and assortment of Dick's accounts, letters and papers was begun. Having been a book-keeper he had~kept every.~ body's papers straight but his own and they were all mixed through each other. Here were old bills from the time he served as "mud clerk" on the Mississippi, bills of fare and oth- er papers connected, with his trips as first clerk in the Louisville trade, letters from pas.- sengers who had traveled with him and re- turned thanks for courtesies shown them, ~the portraits of numerous passengers, both ladies and gentlemen, who had grown enthusiastical- ly friendly during their voyage, copies of old songs, violin strings, sheet inneic, half worn cravats, and some dozen or more due bills from men to whom he had made loans of money. "These you ought to give to Mr. MacVain," said Mary, as she came to some of the last mentioned articles, "a~ he has promised to at- tend to your business, he might get something for them." "Just leave them out tl~en, Mary," replied Mrs. Cheerful, "and I will show them to him." "Mamma, there is a geatleman in the parlor wishes to see you," said one of the children. "Very well, dear, tell him I am coining," her mother replied, preparing to go. "What is this 1" asked Mary, as she opened 119 page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] A TALE UF ANTJii a neatly done up package and drew out a formal looking document, "a policy of insur- ance?" "1 suppose it is," replied Mrs. Cheerful, "wS always had our furniture insured, Dick said it was best to do so," and she went to the parlor to see what the gentleman wa~ited. '~ Mrs. Cheerful ?" said the gentleman, rising and politely bowing to her. Yes, sir." "My n~me is Bloss, madam, Henry Bloss, attorney-at-law." Mrs. Cheerful felt her cheeks pale, and a chill passed over her as she thought of the ~iuit SIr. Shaver had brought against her, t~r the thousand dollars Dick owed him. "Be seated Mr. Bloss," she replied, recover- ing herself, "you wish to see me on business ." "Yes, madam." - "Proceed, I am ready." "You wrote, madam, some six weeks ago" l~e replied, "to Mr. William Belden of Ne York, advising him of your husband's death" "I did, sir, my husband used to send hi *,oney to be paid to an aunt residing nen New York. I should have written sooner b t I had forgotten hi~ address." "Yes, madam, he informed that you said o md wrote to me as an ~ld friend of his to at. reud'~ to the .business. I should have called sooner but I was in Bat~n Rouge on affairs of toy own." "Yes, sir! What business did he wish you Ic attend to I" "Then you really knew nothing about it? Why, bless my soul, here's a pleasant sur- prise I" "surprise! What surprise ?" inquired Mrs. CheerfuL "Is his aunt coming out here 1" "Aunt? There is no aunt about it," he re- plied. "The money that Mr. Cheerful remit- ~ed so regularly to Mr. Belden was not for his a~unt at all." "Not for his aunt! You are mistaken, sir." "No, madam, I am not. The fact is, that when Mr. Cheerful was in New York, some years ago, he had his life insured, and Mr. Bel- den acted as his agent in paying the annual premiums." "His life insured 1" "Yes, madam, that's what he did. Hegot ten thousand dollars in the Good Provision Company, of which Mr. l3~Lden is president, I BELL WI! TIMES. 120 and ten in the Family Protecting, and five each in the All Right and Forethought Com- panies-making in all thirty thousand dollars." "You surprise me, sir." "I expect so, madam. You see, Mr. Belden became acquainted with Mr. Cheerful through some mutual friends in New York, and intro- duped to him the advantages of life assurance. Mr. Cheerful, with his usual good judgment- for I knew your hvsband well-entered into the matter at once, and the premiums have been regularly paid ever since. Something like five or six hundred dollars a year it was." "Yes, I remember we~l," replied Mrs. Cheer- ful, "and he told me it was for an old aunt of his. The fact is, I had opposed his desire to get his life insured, and I suppose he thought it would worry me if he told me he had done it, although since his death I have thought I was wrong in keeping him from doing so." "Well, as soox~ as Mr. Belden received your letter he called on the other companies inter- ested, and he now writes me to pay you five thousand dollars on account, and send on the legal proofs of Mr. Cheerful's death when the balance of the money will be remitted at once.~t "I hardly know what to say. I am much surprisedd at this good fortune.~~ "If Mr. Belden had been written to sooner von would have had this money long ago,~' re- ,lied Mr. Bloss; "as it is, here is a check for lie five thousand dollars, and the balance will ~oon come. The business was arranged. Mr. Bloss're tired, promising to call again as soon as he heard from New~ York, and Mrs. Cheerful re- turned to Mary. "See, Mrs. Cheerful," said Mary, as she en-- tered, "theseare not fire policies, but life in- sura~1ce policies, and they have been regularly renewed. Here are the receipts." "I know, my dear," replied Mrs. Cheerful; "the gentleman who called just now came about that. Here is a check for five thousand dollars on account, and he says the remainder will be here in about three weeks, as soon as certain documents needed in the. ease can be sent on and answered." When Mr. MacVain called on the day fol- los~'ing, Mrs. Cheerful gave him the check and an account of the interview with Mr. Bloss. All the rapers were placed in his hands, with a list of the amounts she owed, including the three hundred dollars due Cane, PlaAt & Cot- ton, and all of thcse 'ebts were paid at once. By the advice of Mr. Mac Vain she purchased a nice little place where her family would have a comfortable home, and the remainder, with that soon received from New York, was well and judiciously invested. CHAPTER XXXV. At the time that our story opened the chronicles 6f the day were lamenting that the ancient spirit of the Carnival t~ime had disappeared an(l that Mardi Gras day, the grand finale of the season of pleasure had been given over to a c~ wd of roughed; that half grown youths, neitheV men nor boys, had usur- ped the obse~ance of a day that had once been a time ofjoyous hilarity, and had turned it into a rioting scene of rowdyism and buffoonery, inften throwing mud, bric1~s and other danger- ous missiles, covering the unlucky passer by with flour or worse still, white sand and lime, eudanmge~iug the life and lm~alth of their victims. The progress of our narrative has brought us to a more pleasant time, the over grown boys net with more propriety, and the rowdies have retired altogether or keep within bounds, and the ancient feeling that made the day one of so much pleasure, has returned with renewed strength. For two or three week-s mysterious- ly delivered envelopes, enclosing cards of rare beauty and tiste had been circulating in the Crescent City, commanding the recipimmts to appear at the Gaiety Theatre on Mardi Qras night, Tuesday, February 16th 1858, there to meet Comu~s, the God of Festivity and his Mistic Krewe. The secrecy observed by the Krewe and the fact that all the invitations were complimentary and not transferable, gave the affair additional interest, and the fair ladies and gallant beaux of the city were on the qei vice anxiously expecting, each one, that their invitations would come next. When Philip received his, he scrutinized it carefully and exclaimed "That's from Mr. MacVain, I'll I bet." Ii The Krewe, which has since become a cher- ( ished institution with the good people of our t Southern Metropolis, had made their first ap- pearance the proceeding year with so mouch ~ success, that their second festival was looked a forward to with great delight, and although a. thousand tongues asked, "Wno are the. Mistic Krewe of Comus I" there was not one to an-- swer with the certainty that he was correct. The knowing ones, nodded their heads, looked wise and pointed in the direction of the Delta. Club, but who ever they might be, all were- agreed that they were gentlemen of wealth, for that was proven by the expensive and brilliant costumes they wore and the freedoni. with which they dispensed their favors, that they were men of education and refinement, because of the good taste displayed in the se- Jection of -~ubjects for their parades and the appropriateness of all the appointments rela~ ting to their exhibitions, and that they were men of public spirit was evident from the fact of their endeavors to add to the enjoyment of the masses by their elegant torch-light pro- cessions through the streets, restoring to the festival much of that ancient glory, the de- parture of which had heeti i~ cause of regret to~ all. The day was warm, bright and beautiful and the services at the different churches were- well attended. As the morrow would usher in the season ~f Lent, given u~ to religious ob- servances, when all festivities and public amusements would be abandoned for the time? it is not strange that the Carnival season should culminate on Mardi Gras day, with all sorts of innocent amusements, out of doors and in doors, grotesque processions, prac- tical jokes and a universal abandon to festivity and merry making. The stores were kept open it is true, hut very little restraint was placed on the employees, and both mer- chants and their clerks, were mo~uf the day around their store doors, or on the street [ocking at the sights. Everywhere maskera were to be seen, singly and in groups, repres- ~nting an endlesss variety of characters, from mis Majesty of the Realms Below, to the gay ~avalier of ancient times. A troop of dusty savages, in war paint and magle plumes, mounted on spirited horses, rode rough the city, wheeling here and there, uttering the wild "whoop" and going through ~ther evolutions peculiar to the warriors of he forest. Numerous groups in express and baggage- vagons drove through the city, some dressed s clowns, some as knights, others as gentle- 16 4lAIRDI GRAS: 121 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] .nzen of court circles, old men in spectacles, .aigd Yankees in long-tailed coats. . The streets were fn11 of people, young and e ~ld, rich and poor, all seemed to enter with spirit into the amusements of the day. At the elegant rooms of the Delta Club, composed of the " solid men " of the city, the gathering was large and members were con- tinually going and coming, all of them dis- posed to make a holiday of the occasion. . " Hillo, Plant, how are you old bo.y," said a *gentleman just.coming in. . " Why, Dan, \I thought you were out in mnask" answered Mr. Plant. .. " Not 1! the programme of to-night will be *nough for me," ;he replied, "come let's have a bottle of wine, gnd drink to the church, the ~state and the people." As he said thiis in a jocular, totte, the wine was produced and Mr. Plant joined him. Dan ilock~ett, was one of the most social members -f the favored circle, familiar with every one, his familiarity was so well timed and genial as to be acceptable to even the most reserved and dignified. When. their glasses were filled Mr. Rockett observed Mr. MacVain enter, and -eizing him by the arm, drew him over to the &iar. " Come join us, Percy,~' he said, "we are doing the honors to the day''" Mr. MacVein joined them, and between him- self and Mr. Plant, a forma bow of recogni,- tion passed. , *" Isay, Percy, who was th at young lady I sawv you speak to just now on Canal streetV' inquired Dan. " The young one was Miss Annie Macourty." " No, no, the tall one, by jove she's a queen din slender and beauty." " That was Miss Mary MacDonald, Robert McDonald's daughter," -replied Mr. MacVain, -"she is to be married during the Easter holi- -days to young Cummings-. " Eh, Gad!I he's a lucky dog," said Dan, "for she is a charming lady in appearance, and will have plenty of rhino to boot. Here's to ,Phil's choice, and all happiness go with them." All drank but Mr. Plant who stopped at* his wine, held it up to look through it and again tasted it, Mr. Rlockett turned away to speak to another friend, when Mr. Plant said some thing a low tone which he did not hear, but which Mr. MacVain answered with, " That's a .lie, sir, and you know it." 122 "'You're a " said Mr. Plant, throwing the contents of his glass in MacVain's face, which was immediately an- swered by a blow from MacVain which felled him to the floor. Other gentlemen at once in- terrfered to prevent any further hostile de- monstrations. "Stand back, Percy-my God .gentlemen this won't do," cried Mr. Rockett stepping be- tween theip, "this place is sacred to festivity and good fellow-ship and there must be no fighting or quarrels amongst our members." " You shall answer for thip," said Mr. Plant, scowling at his antagonist. . ' ," Wherever and 'whenever you please,"~ was .the haughty reply-. 'lPl send a friend to your office in half-an- hour," continued Mr. Plant-. "Il be there to answer his silmmons," Mr. MacVain, cooly replied'. Friends again, interfered and both gentle- men left the Club escorted by others .to see that no further immediate trouble occurred. The crowds on the streets increased all the. time until as night came on the route through which the' Mistic Krewe were expected. to ' pass was lined by thousands of people waiting patiently for the grand maskers. Every bal- conf, gallery and door step was occupiedd -to its fullest capacity, the beauty, fashion, wealth and refinement of the city were out in thousands, .the -whole forming one of the grandest sights ever seen in the Crescent City. The weather was beautiful, a clear, calm evening, followed a warm, fine day and this encouraged even the staid old "stay at homes" who seldom turned out to see such exhibitions, . to come forth and witness the grand display. The Krewe assembled in Layfayette Square at nine o'clock in the evening with torchlights and music, no one knowing whence they hiad come. Here they were called upon by t e Mayor of the city, who was immediately taken prisoner and the procession moved off in the following order: Coms-the God of Festivity and titular pat- ron of the Order, leads the procession followed by Mornus-God of Mirth, / Janus-God of the Years, in a ear embel- lished with emblem of his character, and at- tended by the four seasons, Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. I I 123 A TALE OF ANfIE BELLUM TIMES. MARDI GRAS: Flora- Goddess of 'Flowers, in a car wreathed with flowers and drawn by butter- flies attended by SPonmona-,-Goddess of Fruit and Vertumnus-God of Orchards, , Ceres-Goddess of Agriculture, in an oxen- drawn cart followed by Pan-God of Shepherds and the Fauns, in gay revelry, around Bacchus-God of.Conviviality, in his leopard- drawn car and after him his intoxicated pre.- ceptor, - Silenus-God of Soakers, scarce able to re- tain his seat on his donkey, and attended by a group of Satyrs. .Diana-Goddess of the Chase, in a hunting Chariot, drawn 'by-stags, followed' by th~e Muses, Calliope, Clio, Erato, Thalia, Melpome- ne, Terpsichore, Euterpe,Polymnia and Urania, Testa-Goddess of Fire, with her symbolic pitar of flames, followed by , Harpocrates-God of Silence, Hfygeia-Goddess of Health,' Esculapius-God of Medicinse, Fortune-with her horn of plenty, and Plutus-God of Wealth, lead '' Destiny-on his winged dragon, attended by Themis-Goddess of Justice, and -o Nemesis- Goddess of Vengeance, Satur-n-God of Time, and his scythe and hour-glass, precedes . . Cybele-Goddess of Earth, in a Chariot drawn by lions. Next caine,- Jupiter-God of Olympus, in a winged car,' drawn by eagles. He was ruler of the Festi- val, attended by his cup bearers, Hebe and Ganymede, and his winged messenger Mer- cury m ounted on Pegasus. Following Jupiter Juno--Goddess of the Heavens, in her car drawn by peacocks, together with her attend- ants, Iris, the Rainbow, and Argus, the hun- dred eyed. Other deities' then followed ; Atlasi and Hercules, with their prodigious labors; - Mars, God of War, in an armed chariot, t Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, in a car drawn by owls, Vulcan, God of Fire, with his anvil ' and sledIge hammer, Venus, Goddess of Lovet and Beauty with Cupid, in a car drawn by swans, Hymeng God of Marriage. , V Arora-Goddess of Morning, in a car drawn by a winged horse and attended by the Hours ' precedes,t Phoebus Apollo-In the chariot of the sun- The God of the Sun was followed by, 2Nrigt-In a sombre car drawn by a bat, with the twin demi-gods Castor and Pollux, in her train, ~Eolas-God of the Winds, rests over his murky cave and is attended by his subjects Boreas, God of the North Wind; Enrus, God of the East. Wind ; Notns, God of the 8,outh Wind, and Zephyrus, God of the West Wind;- 2t~pune and 4mnphitrite--God and Goddess of the Sea, in a shell drawn by sea-horses, attend- ed by the Tritons. After them, Pluto and Proser-pine--God and Goddess of the Infernal Regions, on a throne drawn byV their faithful Clerbeius. The procession closed with Biecate and the Furies-- In this order the Kirewe marched through the principal streets, 1'he crowds of people re- ceiving them enthusiastically, and in numbers, brilliancy of dress, beauty asid elegance form- ing one grand ovation along the whole line of their march. The procession revived the my- thology of ancient days, presenting to lthe spectators, in the most beautiful shape, the Gods and Gopdlesses that- have for ce 're formed a theme for the pen, the'pencil and the chisel. The extraordinary character of the* masks, the beauty and elegance of the dresses and the splendor and novelty of the chariots, with other accomlpaniments, formed a scene, the like of which is seldom witnessed, .After completing their route the Krewe pro- ceeded to the Gaiety Theatre, whereacon pany of invited guests that literally filled th dress and upper circles, boxes and every avail- able space, were assembled to witness the tab- eau~x and join in the dance. Here the richness and beauty of the ladies' dresses, the sparkling o-f bright jewels and the light from yet more parkling eyes, formed a scene that surpasses n lovliness the power qf description.. At the appointed hour the curtain rose and he tableaux by the Mistic Krewe begin. ~hey were four in number, preceded by a eneral design representing the classic Pan- heon, .Tableau Fiirst-;represented the Minerva's ictory over Neptune, before an assemblage of he Gods, wherein -is unfolded the truth that ~isdom is :better than strength, and the olive ~reatha of peace and concord more beautiful han the steed of the warrior. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] A T A LE OF ANRTB E ELI TIES. 1- 12MADGA; Ta bleas -Second-represented the flight of time. This tableau/was sustained by' Castor, Pollux, the Hours, Time and Destiny'. Tableau Third-represented a Bacchanalian revel. This tablean was sustained by Bacchus, Silenus, Faunus, Fauns and Satyrs, Comus, the Seasons, Flora and Momus. - Tableau Fourth-represented Comus' Krewe and procession round the stage: "Come let us our rites begin, S 'Tis only dayli'ht thatmakes sin', n Which ilese un shades will ne'er report."' The termination of the last tabilean was a procession around th~e theatre, giving the spec- tators a close view of those whose elegant costumes and unique masks had so delighted and amused them. After that the merry dance commenced, the varquette of the theatre having been floored over to make a large ballroom. At midnight the Mistic Krewe suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, each deity returning ito the realm from which it had been called. In the gay and happy throng that filled theft walls of the old theatre, the most select, re-I fined and fashionable company that could bd chosen in the Crescent City, Philip and Mary were much admired and spoken of as among the most charming couples gathered there. This was in the palmy days of our Southern metropolis,' when the people were in the full tide of success, smrrotuided by wealth and comfort, elegance and refinement, and they were abcustomned to do well whatever they undertook, especially was it so in matters per- taining to the social circle. Their friends and the strangers who went amongst them were received with open hands and open doors, and welcomed with a profuse and heart-felt hospi- tality, not surpassed in any part of the world, and this was done without ostentation or any attempt at display. . After the young folks had enjoyed them- selves for an hour or two, Mr. McDonald mnt- mated that it was time to return home. Mr. Macourty gathered together his friends, and, with Philip and Carl Amber as an additional escort, they retired from the happy scene. After going home with the folks, Carl and Philip consulted together and concluded to re- turn to the theatre and join in the festivities for an hour or two longer. CHAPTER XXXVI. The company at the Gaieties Theatre ,was yet in the enjoyment and excitement of the dance, the brilliant assemblage and the soul- enchamting music, when Philip rejoined the merry throng and entered into the pleasures of the hour. In the -interval between the sets, when the night had nearly passed away, Mr. MacVain came to him and inghtired if he was engaged for the next dance, Philip was struck with the unusual palor of his friend's countenance and his look of firmness and de- termination. " I am not, Mr. MacVain," he replied, won- dering at the other's manner. "I want a friend ; will you go with me ?" in- quired his friend. " Certaitily, Mr. MacVain ; what is the mat- 'ter I" . S"Without making any reply, Mr. MacVain ~Ied the way, and Philip followed to the roomu (occupied by the former, nothing being said' by either during their walk. The rooms were lighted up and a fire burned in the grate, for thie night had become chilly. On the table an open case of duelling pistols was laying. ' ' " These look like they might do work," said Philip, taking one of the pistols from the case,. ")They are intended for that," Mr. MacVain quietly replied. ., "Sir' " " The fact is, Philip,'" said Mr. MacVain, " I have a meeting with Mr. Plant at six o'clock this morning, at the 'Oaks, aud I want you to be my second." " A meeting ! What is it about V" exclaimed Philip. .-- " A quarrel at the Club yesterday," replied Mr. MacVain. 'A He dared to sped~k insultingly of Miss McDonald, words ensued,,he threw wine on me and I knocked him down. He sent his partner, Mr. Cotton, to me, and the meet- ing was arranged." . " Which must niot take place," said Philip, "he insulted Miss McDonald, and, therefore, the quarrel is mine. I will keep the appoint- ment." " That would never do, Philip." "Yes, i1t is the correct way of settling this matter." "It will not do," replied Mr. MacVain firmly. "Give up that idea; come, promise me to give it up." I 12.t ''Bt Mr. MacVain, I am the one most in' terested." "It is my quarrel and mine only, Philip. Promise me, as a friend, that you will not in- terfere or try to provoke another meeting with this man.". "Since you are so positive against it, I yield," reluctantly replied Philip-. "Very well, I thank you for it," said Mr.' .laeVain, "now you can act as my man. You will find my will in that box," he contimuedl, pointing to a fancy box standing on the "What Not," i.n the corner, " and I desire, Philip, that you will put my body in a vault util your can build a tomb, and then remove it to that." " Your body! pray don't .talk so," said Philip. " Yes ; I should like to lie beneath the old sod, but then 'that cannot be, and, if it were possible - what would be the satisfaction- since there's no one there now that would re umeinber or care for me; no, no, it's better here and then there'll be sonme one to look after the placece" "My dear friend," said Philip,. with true 'feeling, " don't be, so down-hearted and sad it will all come out right." "Iam not afraid to die, Philip," said Mr-. Ma cVan wth erghisee' urigwt the excitement of the time. I can m eet himh as caln and composed as if I did not know it wvou eom.ld be fatal to me. '' It will not be fatal to you," replied Philip, " you are too good a shot, you will have it all your own way." " Skill and nerve will avail nothing against destiny," said Mr. MacVain-. . S"My dear sir, you are too down-dast," said Philip, going towards the side-board, '" come, take something to strengthen your nerves." "I tell you, Philip, I am not nervous or down-hearted," replid Mr. MacVain. "Feel my pulse; would a coward's beat so regular as that No-it is destiny-" ," I do not understand you," said Philip. " Listen. Our family, like all the old families of Ireland, is followed by the Ban- shee, or death warning-"~ commenced Mr. Mac.. Vain. "Do you believe in such superstitions P" in- quired Philip, interrupting him. "19elieve ! I know it," replied Mr. MacVain, firmly. " Look at me. I am not ignorant, nor foolish, nor yet superstitious, but I know what I have seen! When the troubles occurred. that drove me from Ireland, I left my mother there and came here, where I was soon engaged in business. Going into the yard of my store one morning, I saw my mother there, saw her as plain and looking as natural as I now' see you.' I returned to my office and told my cashier of what I had seen, and that I knew it meant my mother's leath. In time I received letters from home, informing me of the' 'sad event, which occurred at the very moment that the apparition had visited me." "Very singular, -indeed," Philip 'remarked. " Last night, or rather, night before last, for it is now nearly morning," continued Mr. MacVain, " as I sat here in my room, without a thought of my mother or home, I looked up from a reverie about you and Miss McDonald, and standing there by the fire-place, was my mother, just as I have seen her many and many a time in the years gone by ; but there was a look of sorrow and anguish on her face that was painful to see. I knew then that I would soon end mny earthly career, and, therefore, at once drew up the will which you will find in the box yonder.'' " This vision is susceptible of many, inter- pretations," replied Philip, "as, for instance-'' " Enough, enough, I know what it meant and that is sufficient," said Mr. MacVain. Now we will have some coffee and prepare for the grounds, for I must be there punctual to the minute." Not much was said during their morning lunch for which Philip had no appetite, having eaten during the night, and the new position in which he found himself, made him feel nervous and excitable. Not so with Mr. MacVain ; having completed his directions to hid young friend he was perfectly cool and col- lected. Het took the refreshments with a relish and then lighted a cigar, which he seemed to enjoy, leaning back in his chair and convers- ing with Philip on his approaching union with Miss McDonald. As they drove along the shell road in a cab towards the meeting grounds, they came up with another cab. in which were seated Mr Plant and his friend Mr. Cotton. Side by side they drove along, neither manifesting an in- decent hast to lead the other, nor an inclina- tion to lag behind. 125 31A RDI GR AS ; page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] A TALE OF ANTE )?ELLZJM ~ 127 MARDI GRAS; Arrived on the ground, Mr. Cotton and Philip held a short consultation, measured off thp ground, exainihed the weapons and placed their men. A solemn stillness folloWed, which was broken by Mr. Cotton, who came forward, and, addressing Philip where Mr. MacVain could hear him, said: ' Mr. Cum- inings, your principal has grossly insulted my friend, Mr. Plant, and, unless an apology is of- fered, the matter must proceed in ~e usual course.". "I have no apology to offer," replied Mr* MacVain, turning sharply on the speaker, "your message is one based on gross false- hood. Tell Mr. 1~Iant that I will allow this matter to stop only on condition that he shall at once make the proper retraction due me, and that in a place as public as that in which the insult was given." "That settles the matter sir; we mi~y as well proceed to business," said Mr. Cotton. "I am waiting," was the cool reply. It fell to Philip to call time, and, in a voice tremulous with the excitement of the occasion, he demanded: "Gentlemen, are you ready ~ To which both firmly replied, "Ready." Then the command from Philip came, clear and distinct: "Fire! One, two, three 1" At the word one the report of Mr. Plant's shot was heard, followed by that of Mr. Mac- Vain's at the next word of command, and the smoke from both floated off on the clear mOrn- jug as "three" was called. The seconds hurried to their friends. Mr. Plant said as Mr. Cotton came up: "Here, let's get back to town; i've fixed him." "Arc you hurt 1" inquired Mr. Cotton. "No! He made a clean miss of it-but Idid not," he replied. ~They returned to their cab and started. for tl~e city without paying any attention to the ot~er part of the field. As soon as the oem- maud was finished, Mr. MacVain turned to Pl~ilip, who hastened forward and inquired, "Are you wounded, sir V' ~'Yes. I fear badly-we must hurry back," Mr. MacVain's repI~. Without asking further questions, Philip ac- co~npanied him to their cab and assisted his friend in, who said to the driver: "flurry, my good fellow, drive as fast as you can." The driver, half frightened at what had oc- 128 curred, put the horse to his highest speed, and never relaxed in his urging the animal until he stopped in front of Mr. MacVain's lodgings. The wounded man was too weak from loss of blood to get out, but the driver assisted Philip and together they carried him in and placed him on a sofa. "Go get a doctor at once," said Philip to the driver, who started off immediately to obey the order. "Bring George Macourty here, Philip," said Mr. MacVain in a week but anxious voice, "tell him to come at once." "Yes, sir, I'll go directly." "Go now, Philip, at once-quick, quick !" "IBut, sir, I must not leave you," replied Philip. "Do ~'t think of me; go immediately-half an hour\ and you may be too late." Philip called in the landlady of the house, and, ste ping into the first cab he saw, told the own r to drive away as fast as he could. * Mr. M county was preparing to go to busi ness, an was much surprised to see his confi- dential man in such a state of excitement. When Philip briefly related what; had taken place, h made no delay in accompanying him to the r sidenee of the wounded man. At the door they met the doctOr, who answered their inquiries very decidedly. '~He cannot live through the day. The wound was mortal from the start, and he may die at any minute." When Mr. Macourty entered the room, Phil~- remained in the hall, leaving the two alone to- gether. Speaking with difficulty, and often pausing to gather strength, Mr. MacVain at once, fully and without prevarication, told Mr Macourty how he had stolen his little daughter sixteen years before, that his object had been revenge, that he had given her to Sarah Murray, to be taken to New York, his intention being to re- turn the child again to her parents. Thea fol- lowed an account of Sarah's death without leaving any trace of the child, and his own long, exhausting and frt~itless search for her. The surprise and horror of the good man at learning that one whom he had cherished as a friend had been his greatest enemy, wa~ very great. "I cannot expect you to forgive me," said Mr. MacVain, in conclusion. "I hi~ve done you an irreparable injury, and have nothing to say in extenuation of my conduct, but I assure you I that that one act has been the bane and~ load. stone of my whole life. Since it was commit. ed, and I began to realize the terrible wrong had done, there has never been a time when I would not have willingly forfeited my life to have redeemed the error and requited the injury against you and yours." "I am terribly disappointed in you, Percy, for if there was one man that I loved and re spected more than all others in my circle of friends, it was you," Mr. Macourty replied, "but may God forgive you-as I will try to do; and now that you have made all the repa- ration for this great wrong, that lies in your power to make, you must see one of the Fa- tAers and' try to make your peace with that Judge before whom you will soon appear. - "I'll think of it, George-I'll-" he looked around, and his friend was gone. Mr. Macourty soon returned with a priest, one who, by long years of devotion, had en- deared himself to the people of the parish, and by ceaseless, untiring energy, had built up St. Patrick's Church and placed it in the front rank amongst the churches of the country. Their conference was long, and when it was over, the reverend Father came out, his coun- tenance beaming with pleasure, for his task had been well performed and his labors crowned with success. ChAPTER XXXVII. Philip remained to attend to Mr. MacVain, and do what he could to make his situation comfortable. Very little conversation passed between them; the wounded man seemed to prefer communing with his own thoughts, and, therefore, Philip avoided distracting him by introducing subjects which, as most, were only of passing interest, The city soon caught the rumor ~f the duel, and it was repeated in a hundred different ways. One report was that a duel had been fought between Plant and Ma~Vain, in which the latter was instantly kifted, and, some words having passed between the seconds, that Philip Cummings had been mo tally wounded. Another insisted that hot Plant and MacVain were killed on the Ipo ; and yet another that both of the princi- pals as well as their two friends, were mortal- ly wounded. As to the cause of the meeting the reports were equally varied and unreliable. Some said it was about a c~rnsignment of cot-- ton, which Mr. MacVain claimed should have- been sent to him, but that, as it had been re- ceived by Mr. Plant's house, Mr. MacVain claimed that they ought to reserve enough of the proceeds to pay the balance due him from the shipper. Others asserted that the quarrel originated in a game of cards, and others that it was an old affair recently renewed by acci- dent. Mr. Plant appeared at the Cl~rb at his usual hour, and for the time forgot his haughty ~e-- serve and cold formality, to give a minute and rather boastful account of thu meeting, and many of his hearers felt a cold chill pass over them as he told, with the utmost 8augfroicl, the particulars of his aim, and gaveitashisopinion that his antagonist could notlive for four and twenty hours. His company was shunned and there were few respectable men who would have any social intercourse with him. Mrs. Mucourty was much surprised at the news brought by her husband, which opened ~new the grief of past years, and raised a hope in her heart that her lost darling would-yet be~ found. Her husband immediately wrote to the New York detectives, Williams and Bodkers, and the search was once more renewed. Mr. Macourty and his wife agreed, however, that they would say nothing amongst their friencis about Mr. MacVain's confession, as it would damage his character and reputation without being of any service to them, and, as Mr. Ma- courty said, "he has been a good man in many respects, and it becomes us, as Christians, to- let him die in peace.' The priest returned in the afternoon and re- mained with the dying man, comforting him with good counsel, aiding him in his prayers and administering to him the last sacraments of the Chuich. There the good man remained until all was over, and ~he eyes of the ~gifted and accomplished MacVain were forever closed in death. The long shadows were falling in tee city, as the sun retired on his westward course, and the bell of old St. Patrick's was pealing forth -the sweet notes of t~O Angelus on that calm, beautiful Ash Wednesday evening, when his immortal spirit left the perishable tenement of day, that had held it prisoner heie o~ earth. 127 31A RDI GRAS ; page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] The news of Mr. MacVain's death was soon known in business circles, and many of his old associates, the merchants and wealthy men of the city, called to assist in laying him out ~snd preparing for the last sad attentions to their friend. At the funeral, on the following day, there was a very large turnout; the old business men who ~ad been connected with the deceased in ainny commercial transactions, young men who had been assisted and encouraged by him, hundreds of poor people, who remembered, with gratitude, the band that had ever been extended for their relief, and never empty; many from the ever green Isle, who esteemed him as one who had always upbeld~the honor and reputation of their loved laud, and was ever proud of his nativity; men of science and culturee, who had recognized in him an equal and co-laborer; they were all there, viewing with each other in doing honor to the dead. The arrangements and ceremonies were all con- ducted according to instructions he had given before his death. On the following day Mr. MacVain's will was read in the pre ence of his confidential clerks, Wayland, Thomas and Ballarie, and Philip, Mr. Macourty and Mr. McDonald, who were called in, in pursuance of a wish expressed by the deceased, after the fatal duel. The document commenced with the state- ment that he owed no debts and had no rela- tives living. There was a respectable list of bequests for charitable purposes, and another to faithful servants and some poor friends. Then there was a suitable reward to Williams and Bodkers, for their services, followed by a legacy of teu thousand dollars to "Cecelia Benson, formerly a match girl in New York citv," the same to be advertised for a reason- able length of. time, and, if the girl was not then found, the amount was to be divided between the parties of the two classes before mentioned. This surprised some of the bearers, who were snot aware of Mr. MacVain's long search for Cecelia an the reasons that prompted it. Felix Le C asseaux was delighted with his good fortune , and was now confirmed in the belief that is wife was a great personage. The will concluded with the following clauses: "I direct t at my commission business shall 128 jie immediately settled up, and a balance sheet taken, so that the amount of capital invested therein may be definitely ascertained. "My business as a commission merchant, I give and bequeath to Albert Wayland, William Thomas and Paul Ballarie, who have been, for ~any years, my faithful clerks, and kind, true friends. I desire that they shall form a co- partnership and divide their profits equally amongst themselves, and, in order to enable them to continue the business with profit and without embarrassment, Idirect that they shall have the use and control of the capital now invested in the business, for the terni of five years, without interest or charges, at the end of which time they shall pay over the said amount to my executors hereinafter mentioned. "I direct that, after paying the before men- tioned amounts, all of .my property, real and personal, bonds, stocks an4 mortgages, Of whatsoever nature or description, shall be di- vided into two equal portions. One of the said undivided portions or halves of my estate I give and bequeath to my young friend, Mr. Philip Cummings, son of the late Poter Cum- mings, Esq. "And the remaining undivided portion or half of my estate I give and bequeath to Miss Mary McDonald, adopted daughter of my es- teemed friend, Robt. McDonald, Esq., of this city. "For the faithful execution of my Inst ~viil and testament, I appoint as my executors and administrators, with full power to act, in all matters, as may seem best in their judgment, my friends, George Mac ourty and Robert Mc- Donald, Esqrs., of this city. "With a full belief in the justice and power of Almighty God, and in humble reliance on His mercy, this document is executed, by my hand, in the city of New Orleans, this fifteenth day of February, A. 1)., eighteen hundred and fifty-eight. PERCY MACVAIN." Profound silence had been observed during the reading of this document, with the provis- ions of which every one seemed perfectly satis- fied. Immediately steps were taken to carry out the wishes of the deceased, and, in a few days, the new sign of Wayland, Thom,~s & Ballarie, replaced the one that had so long hung there, and had been for many years fa- miliar and respected throughout a large per- tion of the planting district of the S~uthern country. -4----- CIIAPTEII xxxV~II. The Easter holidays brought a season of mirth and pleasure, which the people, released from the vigils and fasts of Lent, enjoyed with great zest. The mysteries of Holy Thursday, the awful gloom of Good Friday, and the aol- I A ~PALE OF A~NTE BELJUM TIMES. ilLlrL4 ThAt emn ceremonies of Holy Saturday, increased and brought to a close the sorrow and. mourn2 ing of the Church and her children; a feeling of sadness and awe that had pervaded the whole city, almost entirely suspending, not only social pleasures, but conirnercial transac- tions. The overhanging darkness of the close of Lent gave additional interest and eclat to the brightness and joy of Easter Sunday, when the altars of the churches were decorated with all the ornaments and with grand floral offerings, rendered brilliant with the light of so many candles, when canticles of praise to God aiid love and joy for m~ risen Saviour, were chanted forth by the choir and filled all hearts with pleasing emotions. The day appointed for the union of Philip Cummings and Mary MoDona~d was now near it hand, and all the friends of the couple were busy with preparations and nervous with anxiety about the coming event. Mrs. Macourty claimed Philip as a son, and ~~as engaged in seeing that he was properly equipped for the occasion and drilled in his share of the ceremonies, which is sufficient guarantee that he was well taken care of. The bride and bride's maids were inflicted with a course of visitiut~ and receiving, order- ing and directing, dress makers and milliners, and the fitting, changing, altering and imnprov- ing, would have puzzled an uninitiated person to follow, without turning their brain and giving a lasting headache. But the ladies did not mind it-in fact, they rather liked it! It was frequently discovered that everything was ruined! This was cut too I short, that too long, and something else too narrow or too wide! Of one article there was too much and of another too little, and it was quite a certain thing that Gircaux would not ~ get their white satin slippers done in time! C But all these difficulties disappeared before 1 the energy and perseverance of the fair ladies t and their accomplished assistants. There was to be a mptial High M~iss at St. ~ Patrick's Church, at eight o'clock in the morn- ing, and a gathering of friends at Mr. MoDon- 5 aid's in bhe evening, after which the young a couple were to go to their now home, a hand- some dwelling ~, with large grounds, in the ~ upper part of the city. The invitations to both ~ a the church and the house were numerous. b Philip knew everybody and everybody liked V i2~i him, and the bride's family was one of the first in the city, so that the "oldf~milies," tho solid folks and staid old rcspectalAes were nIl on hand to honor the occasion. TLo church was crowded, and everyone was arixious to "see how they would look." At last the exciting moment came, and the procession moved up the center isle, Philip, with Mrs. Macourty coming first, followed by Mary, leaning on Mr. McDonald's arm; Annie Macourty with Carl Amber, followed by Welly Cheerful with Lewis Fontaine, Mrs. McDonald and Mr. Macourty, followed by ten or fifteen couples, old and young, particular friends of the families. The ceremonies were beautiful and impres- sive, and at their close friends came forward and congratulated the happy couple. Philip then led his young bride dowa the grand. isle, followed by the others of the bri- dal party, and a large crowd of friends. After again receiving good wishes and heart-felt blessings from numerous friends at the en- trance of the Church, the party entered the carriages in waiting and drove away. When the friends had returned to Mr. Mc- Donald'sand were gathered in the parlor, Mrs. McDonald embraced Philip and giving himii a hearty kiss welcomed him as her son. "You have my treasure, Philip," she said ' she has been always a good daughter which [s the best of guarantees that she will make a ;ood wife, but you are welcome Philip with ne, as a son." "Thank you, my good, kind mother," ho re- lied, "I shalt endeavor to hear well and truly he name of s~n to you, and that will include )eing a good husband to her." "Philip---m son, you are already dear to us ~nd I am surd that coming years will only in- rease the feeling,"~ said Mr. McDonald, warm- y shaking the young man's hand, then turning o his wife, sitid, "and now let us have some breakfast for I am sure the young folks are nngry-if they are not I am." "Mary, I have always cherished Philip as a ofi," said Mrs. Macourty, kissing the bride nd holding her hand lovingly in her own, ~andI therefore claim yeu as a daughter, I iced scarcely tell you that you will always be welcome in our home, for since I first saw you, ~y heart has opened to you and I have almost eon disposed to contest with my good friend he title of mother, when speaking of you." 17 page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] As this was said in an earnest, loving man- ncr the friends around were deeply moved, and Carl Amber, touching Mrs McDonald, said, "Di4 you ever see such a striking like- ness between strangers before ~" "Our Mary in her bridal costume," said Mr. McDonald to his wife, "looks just as Mrs. Ma- courty did the day that we saw George and her married. Don't it seem so to you I" "Yes, it does, indeed," she replied. Mary returned Mrs. Macourty's embrace with much feeling and began to reply but sud- denly paused, and looked steadily at he friend. "Your kindness to me, and this assurance of your love fills my heart too full for words to give an idea or the happiness I now feel, I knoiv that time-" "What Is It Mary-are you sick I" anxious- ly inquired Mrs. Macourty, as Mary continued silent. "No, no, not at all," Mary replied, hastily, "I feel very well." Philip and the other friends came forward when they heard Mrs. Macourty's question, and Mary felt embarrassed at their anxious faces, but gathering courage, she said smiling. "It was nothing-I was-the cross you wear- it is very handsome." "I will give it to you, Mary," replied Mrs. Macourty, taking off the ornamenii, and har~d- ing it to her, 'rand in doing so, I give you a gem which I prize above all others, for it was worn by my little daughter when she was 5~o~~fl*~~ "Can it he-are my' hopes at last to be real- Ized 1" exclaimed Mary. Mary, what do mean I" Philip anxiously inquired. Mary took the cross and examined it closely, while the varying expressions of her face, showed the deep emotions that filled her heart and were with difficulty subdued "When my mother was dying in Brooklyn," she said to Philip, i~hile all present listened with intense interest, "she whom you knew as my mother, and she was always kind and lov- ing to me, she called me to her and told me that she was not my mother, this scene I re- lated to our kind friends here when they un~ dertook the care of me, and assumed the posi- 'tions of mother and father, which they have so kindly filled." 130) "Yes, yes, I remember it all, Mary, dear," said Mr. McDonald. "I knew not who my parents were," contin- ued Mary, "for Mrs. Collins could tell me no more, than that I had been stolen from my home, and given to Sarah Murray, who died when I was quite young, and the only evi- dence that remained was this cross, bearing ~the initials of my mothers' maiden name-here you see them C. M. C." Friends stood mute with surprise at this sudden discovery of one so long mourned as lost, but when Mrs. Macourty threw her arms around Mary's neck, and covered her face with kisses, the ladies and children laughed and cried in turns, while the gentlemen shook hands with each other, and hastily wiped away the tears that would come in spite of manhood and an effort at serenity. Mr. Macourty embraced his daughter, and feelingly expressed the joy he felt at her dis- covery. "I knew there was something that drew me to you," said Annie, embracing her sister af- fectionately, "for when I first saw you I loved you, there was a secret charm that bound my heart that I could not understand. Then when you were going to marry Philip, I thought it might be that, for I always loved him, "and she cast a merry, roguish look at Philip, who was as proud and happy as it was possible to be. "Why did yen part with this precious me- mento of your lost home I" inquired Mr. Ma- courty, when they had all become more calm. "You remember our kind friend Peter Droll," she said to Philip, "it is to him that I owe my education, he was to me~a kind and indulgent friend, a brother or a father could not have been more so." "I know it well," replied Philip, "poor Uncle Peter, he sleeps beneath the waves of the Atlantic." "Yes-bat we thought-everybody said, that a trip to his home in Scotland would re- store his broken health," she sadly replied, .s she remembered how disappointed she had been in that hope, "and ho said that when lie got money enough he would start On the voy- age. At last, one evening lie said that if he had only fifty dollars more he would be able to go at once. I had this cross, it was very dear to me, but his life was at stake, he had A TAliE OF BELLUM ANTE TiMES. 131 MARDI GRAS; A TALE OF ANTE BELL UAf TIMES. never hesitated in acts of kindness towards and varying changes and events of thrilling me, and I parted with it, hoping thatJ would interest to every American home. be able to buy it again when we returned to Regarding duelling as one of the most bar- New York, as we had planned to do." barons customs tolerated by civilized society, '*We purchased it through an agent," said 't has always been a source of regret to Philip Mrs. Macourty, "and tried in every way4o find that he did not take decided steps to prevent out who had sold it at the shop where it wait the fatal meeting between MacVain and Plant. found." The name of I'er2cy MacVain is often men- "I sold it for sixty dollars, to a pawnbroker, tioned in commercial circles with respect and a Mr. Emanuel," Mary continued, "and one esteem. The friends that he injured by the day when we were in New York, I got the one great wrong of his life, have long since money from my mother," she pointed to Mrs. forgiven him and cherish now the memory of McDonald, "and went to the place-I remem- his many stirling qualities of head and heart. her it well, to buy it back. The man himself Little hands have been taught to decQrate his Was not in, und the clerk told me the cross had resting place with garlands of flowers and not been there since he came into the store, wreaths of evergreens, and when All Saints which he said was a long time." Day returns, with its beautiful custom of vis- "Yes, we heard of that visit in our in- iting the houses of the dead, there are few queries," said Mr. Macourty, "but we never graves ornamented with more elegance and dreamed, of course, that you were the person." taste than that where rests the talented bus It was after twelve o'clock before they wayward Percy MacVain. thought of breakfast, the recognition had Sam Sellwell holds his own against the tron- been so sudden, and there were so many things bles and cares ~f old fhtlier Time remarkably to be said, and so many to say them, that the well, and is now a clerk ~n one of the leading time flew away unheeded by any one present. dry goods emporiums of Canal etr~et in the At last, however, onp of the servants ventured Crescent City. He met the "Saffron Knig~ht," to rewind Mr. McDonald that the table was sometimes known as yellow fever, the first waiting, and they immediately repaired to the summer of ~ais residence there, and having dining-room where an elegant repast was I come off victorious, is now firm in the belief duly honored and appreciated. that the city of his adoption is the healthiest In the evening the house was brilliantly I place in the Union, and destined to be the lighted and filled with friends who eongratu- great commercial centre of the world, the lated the young couple on their happy union, Toledo theory to the contrary notwithstand- and many of them having heard of the events ing Mr. and Mrs. Philip Cummings have of the morning, expressed their pleasure to been visited lightly by the troubles and cares Mr8. Macofirty, that she had regained her lost of this life. Since their Nuptial mass, they (laughter, after so many years of suspense and have visited the baptismal font in the old sorrow. The party was one that was mu~h en church four times, and if the curious will there joyed and often talked of afterwards, by those examine the records, th~y will find the who were present. It was long past the "noon names recorded; Philip, Mary Cecelia, George of night" before the company separated, and and Percy. Philip and his young bride were duly escorted Mrs. Felix Le Crasseaux has ~in interesting to, and installed in their~ new home. family growing up to enliven Iher little cot- tage, to which an addition has recently been COxCLUSIO~. made. She takes the world easy and is in- clined to crnbonpoint. A few mornings since Every story ha~ an end, and this is perhaps the was enjoying a gossip with the milkman a good place to finish ours, else we might fol- standing in front of her door, en ekemise ci low the fortunes of our friends to the present liloum volanle, and from the patois used we time, a period of thirteen years; years that the should judge that "she speaks French like a reader ~ieed nlt be told have been full of many native." page: 132-133 (Advertisement) [View Page 132-133 (Advertisement) ] OLD ST. PATRICK,'S, BY TIMV LINKIN WATER, Thy bells are chiming While I am rhyming, . And the sound floats out from thy befry high, And awakens feelings 0O' the days and dealings ' That have left us memories that can never die; For with each vibration Comes a fond creation - To some one listening to thy pleasant sound, And tender measures each fond heart treasures Of scenes that passed on thy sacred ground. 'Tis of hours in childhood, Ere care or blight could . Within the bosom find home or rest, Of fis comunion, With infant purity sp sweet and blest, And memory sadly Recalls how gladly The heart respondedito thy bell's loud call On that bright mornifig when He, adorning. The soul with virtues, showed His love to all. 'Tis of manhood's vigor When war's stern rigor Called son and sire to the fatal stri , - And bugle hailing Awoke sad wailing - In hearts, though country was moe e dear than life; But with the grieving For the loved ones leaving There came a sound from thy turret gray Which 'said, "Young soldier, the brave are bolder,, If first their homage to God they p ." And in hour of battle, When cannon's rattle, And 'flash of muskets, and leaden shower, And hollow death groan, . Or lips last low npoan, Gave fearful record of death's revel hour, Some ring of saber, In that hour's stern labor, Amid the din, echoed like thy chimes, And the dying listened, and his glazed eye glistened, For the sound brought comfort from the bygone times. N.ew Qrleaps, May 5, 1871. And when homeward facing, Mistakes erasing Frm the step its firmness and hope from the eye, 'The pulses qluickened And the breath came thickened As thy dim old tower loomed against the sky'; 'Last friend at leaving, ' Ere defeat made grieving, And the first to welcome when the head bowed 1bw, Like a mother's blessing came thy bells, caress- ing The heart from sadness and the soul from woe'. 'Tis of holy marriage, When love responded to a-ffection's wish, And the heart still flutters SAs in thought it utters Agaiu the promise of that hour of bliss;- And though grief's teaching And experience preaehing Have oft since then overcast the way, The min4d still treasures, mid long past pleas- nyes, The tene of triumph in thy bells that day. 'Tis death now coming, Some life's term summing, Laudate .Domninum the goal is won; 'The drooped head raiseth, And the sad soul praiseth, Though tears flow fast as thy bells are rung. 'Tis the body mortal, .That 'neath thy portal Is borne in love ei'e 'tis laid away; The ehoir chanteth, " As the thirsty panteth For water, long I for eternal day." .Ah, joy and gladness, .Or woe and sadness. Each feeling shared in by mortal heart, Comes with thy chiuing, The feelings timing, As those who listen have had their part; And still thy ringing Awekens singing, Or sighs that softly the sad heart tells; And so we'll cherish, 'till memory perish, St. Pabricl's Church and St. Patrick's bells, I Street, F. JOHNSON, DR. S. M. ANGELL, UND E RTAKE R, ooeoathic Physician, 205 and 207 Magazine streetN.12Jlistet Is more fully prepared than ever to furnish everything requisite for funerals. Particular attention given to orders by letter qp NEWV ORLEANS. telegraph. An ample assortment of METALLIC CASES always on hand, including CRANE, BREED & CO.'S new t81ol tosaosfWolaMCilrl Oriental Caskets. Terms moderate. )811{111 )1 { 888 [WOg ]lCil'R E. ilEATIL MLARA. J. P. HEATH, HEATH, LARA & HEATH IMPORTERS AND DEALERS IN w IL I~ I~ I~1L ]~ ~1 - Pictures, Frames, Mouldings, Looking classes and Clocks, No. 99Camp Street, N. .B. All orders in our line will be fdled promptly, and at prices that 4efy. competition. Tnias-Strictly cashi on delivery, $m Qm2-E- WE-TEA.EE IE@U- No. 84 Poydras page: 134 (Advertisement) -135 (Advertisement) [View Page 134 (Advertisement) -135 (Advertisement) ] B R OTH E RS, -.-DEALERS IN- Household, Counting lRoom and Office FURNITURE AND CHAIRS, 33 and 35 Royal Street, N"EJ757 O3:4."..3A2Ts. A N E XTE N SI VE ASS O RT ME N T .-orF- P4802 9E20M NDgI~d, 21N ROSEWOOD, MAHOGANY, WALNUT AND OAK,. IN VARIOUS WOODS AND THEIR IMITATIONS. Orders from the country will be promptly and satisfactorily filled, ,and goods carefully packed to insure perfect safety in transportation. .. Strangers visiting our' city are invited to call and examine our extensive stock, SEWING MACHINE SALES F ORB 18 7 0. & K ~ in the year 1869 we sold, as our readers will re- member, 86,781 Machines, but we sold last year (1871) 127,833, ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY- SEVEN THOUSAND EIGHT H1ENDIRED AND THIRTIY-THREE MACHINES,) showing an ex- cess beyond the sales of 1869 of OVER FORTY THOUSAND, and as shown by official returns OVER FORTY-FOUR THOUSAND Machines more than any other Company. REA SONS WVHYf YO U LIHO ULD B UY Singer's New Improved Family Sewing Machine t i thesnlySEWNG MACHIEaan nxprencedoperson dcalearn troruse riy used. It does perfect work long after Machines of other manufacturers have become worthless. It sews finer and coarser goods, is quieter and quicker in its movements, using less thread, and requires less exertion on the part of the opera- tor than any other Sewing Machine. It is the only Sewing Machine a lady can use without injury to her health, as the goods are carried directly forward and away from the operator, and does not require the sitting in a stooped position, like other Machines, to guide the work. Compare the sewing done by it on leather, cloth, linen, Swiss muslin, or any other goods, with (the sewing by other Machines on like material, and the verdict will be that ,the "SINGER " is the only perfect SEWING MACHINE in existence. WM. E. COOPER & CO., GENERAL SOUTHERN AGENTS, Nos. 7 and 9 Camp street, New Orleans. ESTABLISIZIED IN 1833. Late C. C. Samnpson--JFormerly ~Sampson S A MP S ON The Singer still Triumphant!I page: 136 (Advertisement) -137 (Advertisement) [View Page 136 (Advertisement) -137 (Advertisement) ] THE INHALATION. TREAT -BY- *SIS~FID2 A I~LLI~ eM~ A~ ASSISTED BY 165 - OAJ~TAL STI~EIBJT - ie~ 9 ~w ~ OFFICE HOURS~-From 8 A. 1W. to 4 P. lYI. and 6 to 7 P. 1W. DR. J. H. MALONEY, DR. JOHN G. ANGELL, Dental Surgeon, OFFICE HOURS--From 9 to 1, and from No. 203 St. Andrew ~tree, 2 to 4 o'clock, P. 1~vI. Between Magazine and Constance, Olll~a ailli R~sid~llc~---No. 162 Jihia Str~t, N~AII CAMP, ~A~W ~ NEW OULEANS. j ~To Oil MILLER, 13 flISTRICT L 621 IN~E1 STFtEIThT IIETWEEN JO8EI~IILNM AND JACKSON STREETS, nflA.LflR 1N ~OE~I~IG~ .&N~D STA.PI~E DRY" C400DS.. MARDI GRAS; I [4 of Zn4 Jellrnq L BY I~IM LJNKINWATE~L 4- NEW ORLEANS: P. F. GOGARTY, PUI3LISHER, 151 CAMP STRJ~ET. 1871. page: 138 (Advertisement) -139 (Advertisement) [View Page 138 (Advertisement) -139 (Advertisement) ] P. F. GOGAR~TY, No. 151 Camnp -street. In order to accommodate Catholics and tepblic with a CATHOLIC CIRCULATING LIBIRARl/lie. has opened books for the purpose of giving an oppor- tnity to those wishing to become subscribers .to regstr their names and address. The subscription wilbe for one volume at a time, to be changed as ofteR as required, fifty cents per, mouth, in advance. r Pom persons not well known, a deposit of the value of the books will be asked, to he refunded when hooks are returned. JOSEPH MILLER, JR., LOUIS GRUNEWALD, No. 129 Canal street, New Orleans, Importer and Wholesale and Retail dealer in STlIl\TGS, E TC. Sole agent for the celebrated Steinway, Itnabe& Co., Pleyel, Haine's PIANO FORTES. Mason & Hiamblin's Cabinet Organs. For sale at factory prices, with foll guarantee. HENRY C. ANDREWS, Dry Goods Store, ines a ~arieti od No. 607 Magazine street, Opposite st. Elizabeth|Asylum. New Orleans. A Large Oval Frame for di1, - AND -. YOUR LIlKENESS INSERTED FOR NOTHING, At Petty's New Gallery, No. 151 CANAL STREET, 582 Magazine stt NE W OR L EANS. ZORN & BREMER, DERALERs IN No We ANAL, SThtEET Csole agents for the national steck nd Halict & wholesale depot of the favorite Pleyel Pianos. Pianos tuned and repaired. Orders from the countr' solicited. Satisfaction guaranteed. E. Ii. VIR GIN, T .. G- "t l DEALER IN DerIldJlleinii a Pto, Landreth's Garden Seedy &# RP&BR, No. 98 Gravier street, Between Camp and Magazine streets~ N.5StChresret NEW ORLEANS. . NEW ORLEANS. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1871, by J. CunTris WALDO, in the office of the Librarian (of Congress, at Washington. - -0 Cistern Maker, NoZ 53 ~agazne Sreet IZ a, 0 00 Co 0 C') 0 0, C 0, .4 69 51 C.MPSTRET, EW OLEA~T- I-.' .4 0 '4 0 I-' MRICAN IEE INM{CE CO1MN, No0, 10 CARONDELET STREET NEW ORLEA. __JOHIND. ,SCOTT, Manager. _____ IN PROSPERITY PREPARE .FOR ADVERSITY. MagicnW4F I ntt25~c* COMPL'F No. 10 Carondelet Street/New Ovleans. Deposits, August, 18'/1, over 2$600,000. -FIFTY CENTS AND UPWARDS RECEIVED. Six per cent. Interest allowed. Compounded Semi-annually. 51 CAMP STREET. TAXE CARE OF THE PENNIES, AND THE DOLLARS WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU And Gte Dpos- Cos'a-- Valuablesi Received for Safe K~eeping at Less than Fire Insurance Rates. SAFE AGAINST FIRE AND BURGLARS. Silver Plate, Bonds, Insurance Policies, Stock Certificates, and Valnables and securities of all kinds taken on deposit. Interest and Ooupons collected. Safes rented by the year. Prem ses shown to visitors. A lot of new Cisterns ot the best mate ial and workman- ship kept constantly on hand, and for sale at prices to suit the times. All kinds of Cisterns made to order and repaired. e Orders' promptly attended to. NEW ORLEANS, LA. 0 '4 I I o 0 p pso 0 0 A 0 00 00 0 0. rB. i~J V 4 o diii p 4' o I- 4 page: 140 (Advertisement) -141[View Page 140 (Advertisement) -141] ~.1 F. CA.TIIQLIO Bookseller and Stationer, Th1 CAMP STREET, Opposite St. Patrick's Church, NEW ORLEANS, KEEPS A GENEIIAL STOCK OF ScI&oo~ Books, Bibles, Prayer Books Standard and Miscellaneous WorkR. All the latest Catholic Publications, at publisher's prices. Beads, Medals, Crucifixes, and Religions Pictures. General Agent for all Catholic Newspa ers and Magazines. Base Balls, Bats, Bases, Score Boots and Croquet Game. -V. 8MtWG0 W8UtON~ Incorporated l845L~, No. 187 CANAL STREET. INTEREST PAID ON DEPOSITS. G. P. MALONEY, D. D. S., J. BOOTH, (GRADUATE DENTIST) A'~. 6/8 Xa~qdzine 8t~ eel, NEW ORLEA.NS, La., No. 1~6 Canal street, JS NOW PREPARED TO INSERT FOR &4LE A$~D TO RENT. /4o.'q $211 to $2~. OLD MACHINES BOUGHT, SOLD AND EXCHANGED. No charge for extraction where other Teeth are to A complete assortment of Sewing Machines, Thread,. he inserted. . Needles and Findings of every description. Particular attention paid to 1~epairing of Sewing Teeth extracted without pain. Machines. W. A. MAUPA.Y, F. G. & O.W. BARRIER, - DEALER IN - IMPORTERS OF ~f~zrd~i~ dud 4/Jield ~ FrellCll ~I1~ llll~hsli Dry. ~oo~s, No. 70 Gravier street, Between Magazine and Tehonpitoulas, (TOURO BIJILI)INGS) NE~ ORLEANS. J~1EW ~RLEANS. FRY & SMITH, Copper and Iron Workers 131 and 133 Magazine street, NEW ORLEANS. I4allllfactIwors of ~t~alII ~ Trails, OF THE NOSE APPROVED PATTERNS. Sheet Iron and Copper work in all its branches, made to order, and cheaper than any house West or South. 27 Commercial Place, NEW ORLEANS. Special attention given to the purchase and sale of city and country property. A large list of CHOICE PLANTATIONS, cotton and sugar. Also, about 50,000 &LIUeS of located and unlocated land in Texas. For further particulars send for their Ilulletin, dis. tributed free.
