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2 probable,” was 'Genie's answer. “Why should he not love her ?—she is charm ing’, young, beautiful, wealthy, and of high rank. What more would you have V* “ I would have a guileless heart, a pure soul. She is not worthy of our Ar thur, 'Genie, and will you not promise me never to see her again ?” “ Why, how dreadfully in earnest you :ire, Reginald. What do you know of the Countess?” “ I have seen her often, ’Genie. Will you not promise me ?” “ Unreasonable,” pouted Genie ; “you know that 1 like her so much. Arc you jealous of my friends, Regie ?” “ Jealous ! no, indeed, dear ’Genie; but ido ngt like her. Promise me, darling, that you will not continue your acquaint anee with her. I have excellent reasons for making this request. Can you not trust me?” “ Indeed, Regie, you make me almost cross with your mysteries.” In truth, a shade had fallen over the fair face of ’Genie. “ Here is a woman who is perfect ly charming to every one, but yourself, and you ask me to deny myself the pleasure of her company. For what ? Why. for a whim ?” “A whim? Oh! ’Genic, you do not think so—you know that I love you too well to deprive you of any pleasure. I know that the Countess is charming. Do you know the name she bears in Flor ence ? She is called ‘ The Enchantress.’ I have even heard of her in Naples. Oh! shun her as you would an adder, ’Genie, for to me it seems that you already feel the power of her fascination 1” “ Oh! hush, Regie; you frighten me. I will do as you wish, and, to tell you the truth, Regie, I have noticed that Ar thur has no will but hers when he is in her presence.” “ Then wc must go away from her,” answered Reginald, promptly. “ I must leave you now, I have an appointment then, turning to Marmaduke, lie continued, “we must leave Florence to-morrow, Duke, and I must beg you to make all necessary arrangements, as I am going out this evening.” “ Going where, Regie ?” asked Duke. “ An appointmentand, taking his brother aside', Regie drew a note from his pocket, and put it iu his band. Marmaduke murmured over the words to himself: “ If Lord Reginald will call again, lie shall receive papers of vast importance to himself and family, from the writer. Let the time be Wednesday evening at 10 o’clock.” “ There is no name to this note,” said 'Duke. “Do you know who it is irom ?” Regie blushed slightly, as he answered: *'l do; it is not the first one I have received.” “ Not a love affair, surely, Regie ?” “ Indeed, no!” answered Reginald, in dignantly. “To be sure, the lady pre tend to have taken a fancy to me, but, even if she has, you should know me better than to suppose, for an instant, that my heart could waver in its alle giance to ’Genie.” “ Then you are engaged to ’Genie ? I thought so; and does this other lady know it ?” “ Yes; I told her that 1 could never love her, as I already loved another.” “ You told her that, and yet you will keep an appointment that she makes ? Be sure, Regie, she means mischief. If you go, I will go with you.” “ Let her mean mischief, if she will, ’Duke; I am not afraid of a woman,” said Reginald. “ Not afraid of a woman, it is true ; but you know not who else may be there. Enough ! if you go, I go too.” “ But, brother—” “ Say no more, Regie,” interrupted Marmaduke, placing his hand on Regi nald’s arm; “ you do not know these Italians as well as I do. Come, let us go; I will not enter the drawing-room, as I am an unwelcome visitor, but 1 will guard the door, and see that there is no treachery.” “ How very close it is—not a breath of air—the heat is almost stifling,” said Reginald, gaspingly, as the front door closed behind them. “ 1 was about to remark the same thiug,' , answered ’Duke ; “ ihere seems to be a peculiar sultriness in the atmos phere this evening, as though a violent storm were brewing. Let us hasten our steps.” Leaving them now, let us return to Arthur. Y hen he left his cousins so abruptly, he rushed into the street, with hasty steps, and, in less than ten minutes, en tered the dwelling of the Countess Ravenna. She is awaiting him in her private par* ; or, where none are to be admitted to night, save Arthur, and one other. Near one ot the windows, on a low sofa, re clined the Countess. Famed, alike for her wealth and beauty, she lacked not for society, even now. Though she sits there alone, her large drawing-rooms are filled with a merry company. She is a widow, ’tis said, without an heir, unless the fair, blue-eyed girl, sometimes, though rarely, seen in the house, is a relative. To-night the lady is robed in a dress of richest satin, of a golden hue, and over it falls clouds of misty lace. Her dark hair, reaching far below her waist, falls in heavy curls around her shoulders, and about her brow gleams a coronet of dia monds, enhancing the splendid beauty of its wearer. But, in the eyes of this dark beauty, rests her greatest charm. Now, they glow and sparkle! and now they melt into the softest and tenderest love ! they seem to charm, aye, actually fasci nate the beholder ! ’Twould be impossi ble to say how old this lady is, for, if she looks at you one instant with the artless look of sixteen, the next she throws back a compliment, or sneer, with the accom plished art of a woman of thirty-five. And now, Arthur advances with hasty, yet trembling, steps, and she rises to greet him. “Most welcome, Arthur. But, are you not late ?” The bewildering eyes arc fixed upon his face, and the soft hand grasps his. “Am I late, dearest?” and pressing the little hand to his lips, Arthur sat down beside her. “ I did not wisli to be late, for the time passes wearily when I am not with you. Oh! tell me, dearest Guilia, when will you give me the right to be always near you ?” “ Whenever you will, dear Arthur, if you will but do my will in one thing—if you will do me one service.” Arthur knelt at her feet, and, clasping her hands in his, looked up into her face, her blue eyes swimming in a tender light, while he answered ; “ Do you not know, dearest, that for you to command is for me to obey ? Speak, then, my Queen, and let me know your will.” “ And are you sure that you would do it, Arthur ?” “ Oh! you know that I would do any thirty for you, that conflicts not with my honor.” She bent forward until her long black hair fell over his shoulders, until her warm, fragrant breath fanned his glow ing cheek, while she whispered : “ And what do you call honor, Ar thur?” “Oh !” he replied passionately, “ I will do anything, everything, that you re quire; only speak, Guilia!” and his eyes were fixed upon her’s as if fascinated by the dazzling light that flashed from them. Holding his hand, she drew him to a seat by her side, never once removing her eyes from his, and, leaning her head upon his bosom, whispered, in a voice of softest music: “ I have been wronged, Arthur, and to you I look for vengeance on mine enemy.” “ You shall have it, Guilia; only tell me your will!” Still that steadfast look into his eyes, her own flashing and glowing with a dangerous light. Still nearer she drew to him, and, while her soft, warm lips were pressed closely to his, she murmured: “ Blood alone can wash away the stain, Arthur,” and pressed a small golden lnlted dagger into his hand. For an in stant, her eyes fell from bis, and starting from her embrace, Arthur threw the dagger from him, exclaiming, in an ex cited voice : “ What is it you ask of me, Guilia ? Good Heavens! is it murder? Do you ask me to stain my baud with blood ?” Again she glided to his side, again she clasped his hand in hers, and, in a mo ment, Arthur’s wild excitement had pass ed away, and he passively followed the motion of her hand as she drew him to a seat. Softly she wound her arms around his neck, and gazed into his eyes. In vain Arthur strove to turn away his head, his eyes were riveted upon her face. And then she spoke : “ Murder, Arthur ! Do you call it murder to crush a reptile that stings you in your path? No! Then call it not murder to stab this miscreant to the heart! lie has insulted me, scorned and defied me to my face ! If yon will not do this for me, with my own hand will I do it. But, you will do it, Arthur ; and while your hand is still red with his blood, I will place mine in it, and you shall lead me to the altar!" [to be continued.] Vermont— The Great Victory Growing Smaller. —The great victory in Vermont is growing smaller by degrees and beau tifully less. All that is now" claimed is 27,000 —a majority not greater than Ver mont gave in 1862, when the Democracy swept Ohio on State officers, and carried more than two-thirds of the members of Congress. And history will repeat itself this Fall. —Columbus (0.) Statesman, Sept. 9th. [Selected.] Broken Threads. i. As the shuttle swiftly flies Back and forth before our eyes, Blending, with its fingers light, Warp and woof till they unite In a fabric good and strong, Let us hear the weaver’s song : XI. Weaving ever, day by day, As the shuttles briskly play, Broken threads how oft annoy And our precious time employ ; Warning us by sharp reproof, Wo must watch the warp and woof! in. Wearing in Life’s busy loom— Mingling sunshine with the gloom— Warp and woof of deeds we blend Till life’s fabric has an end ; Broken threads how oft we find Burdening the noble mind! IV. Broken threads in life abound, In each station they are found ; May Faitli’3 kind and friendly hand Help us to adjust the strand, That, when life’s last tide shall ebb, There shall be a perfect wob. ' LAYING ThF GHOST “Will you try it? ” said pretty Laura Wilber to me. “Dare you sleep in the blue room to-night? ” “Dare! There are few things I would not dare fur you. I dare do anything that you ask.” “But I don’t ask it. I only want to know what you think about this story of the ghost, for I confess it frightens me to death.” “Will you promise to run with your heartshorn-bottle to my rescue if you hear me scream? ” “No, indeed, I’ll promise no such thing. I’m sure my knees would give way under me, and I should need all my heartshorn myself.” “Well, then, I suppose the ghost must got me, for I shall sleep in the blue-room to-night, and if I am carried off bodily or die of fright, I’ll leave my fortune to you.” “All right,” cried Richard Wilber from his sofa in the corner. “Get that down in black and white, Laura. I’ll draw your will, Fred; let us see the thing through.” And, laughingly, he went off to his writing-desk. “Now for it,” said he, “make your will, old fellow; I’ll draw it up in good form.” Accordingly, I dictated as Richard wrote. The will was made, signed and wit nessed, and Laura Wilber was named as the heiress of my large fortune in case of my death ensuing during that night. “I don’t half like it,” said she, as Dick left the room, to put away the document. “It’s all well enough for a joke, hut sup pose something to you accidentally, or suppose you should in reality seethe ghost?” Her blue eyes half filled with tears, and her sweet face expressed such hor ror, that I burst into one of my intoler able fits of laughter, that always over took me just at the wrong moment. “Don’t laugh,” begged Laura, “indeed, I see no fun in such objects. Death and ghosts are not to be made fuu of; and besides, I am afraid of Dick; he is a wild kind of man; he has lived in South Amer ica all his life, nobody ’’knows where, till he is but half civilized. Did you see how his eyes gleamed, and did you hear him laugh when you signed your name? It frightens me to joke about such things. Please don’t laugh?” “Well, if I were to stop laughing every time you were frightened, I’d soon be melancholly enough. But I won’t talk about ‘such things’ if the subject is so disagreeable to you.” “Burn up that silly will, then,” said she. “Why should you leave your for tune to me?” And a twinkle in her eye, told me she well knew why, but being a woman, she must coquette. “Why shouldn’t I, Miss Laura? I beg leave to assure you I do not intend to die of fright, but live to enjoy my own money.” “ Oh! ” was all the answer she made to this somewhat rude reply, but her down cast eyes said rather more. “Laura,” I began, impetuously, “who should have my fortune, if not you ? Do you not know that you possess my heart, and soul—then why not my for tune? ” “Oh, for pity’s sake stop. Now you are worse than even when you talked of death and ghosts. It’s of no consequence, thankie. Good evening.” And off she ran, laughing, leaving me alone. “Who on earth can account for a wo man’s whim?” I soliloquized. “Here is a girl as gentle as sunlight, as timid as a bird, full of love to all mankind, yet even she must try to flirt, even she will laugh at a fellow the moment he tries a little sentiment. She quoted Dickens,-too. Never mind, Miss Laura—we have laughed together many a time, and we will do it again, in spite of ghosts, and Dicks, and Dickens. I don’t like that Dick any better than she does, though. He is an impertinent fellow, and under all his assumed bonhommie, there is a concealed malice. I heard he wanted to marry Laura.—Well let him try it. Who’s afraid? Not I!” With these thoughts occupying my mind, I went up the old-fashioned stair way, which to me, was one of the chief beauties of the old-fashioned house of the Wilbers, in which I had been a guest for three weeks. Robert Wilber and I, bad been college chums, but this was my first visit to his home, and I had fallen in love with his pretty sister, before I bad been ten minutes within its walls. I had made up my mind to write a formal offer of my hand that very night, and as I thought it likely that all-important epistle would occupy me till the small hours, it mattered but little to me which room I sat in. So, making my way to my room, I took my writing materials, and marched oft'to the haunted room. It seems that it had acquired its name about seventy years before the period of which I write, and immediately after the death of old Richard Wilber, wdio, having lived a life of adventure, came home fi nally to settle on his estate, with a damaged reputation and digestion. The two conspired to make his life a torment to himself and others, and he hung himself to his bed-post, in the blue -100111, where it was said his ghost walked for many years. It was rumored that he had killed a man in a duel, and that his spirit would not rest on that account. The room had been avoided, but the story had nearly died out, when suddenly strange sounds were again heard at mid night, and one of the maids who ventured in the room late one night, was found in convulsions, and as soon as she was able to speak, declared that she had seen a figure leaning over the writing-desk, clothed in a long black cloak, and it came toward her with menacing, angry gesticu lations. She screamed and fainted, and knew no more, till she found the family around her. The stable boy also declared that he had often seen a dim blue light burning in that room late at night, and once he had seen the figure of a man pass the window, dressed in a long black cloak. All this terrified the household so that no one of the servants would dare venture into the room. Mr. and Mrs. Wilber laughed at the stories, but Laura was evidently secretly terrified, and it was to allay her fears that I had volunteered to sit up all night in the blue room, aud if possible, to “ lay the ghost.” As I entered the apartment, I was somewhat struck with the desolate ap pearance of it, but my thoughts were so occupied with the letter, I was about to compose, that I did not give the ghost a single thought. Drawing my easy chair to the table and arranging my writing materials before me, 1 soon became completely absorbed in my occupation. Gradually the house became entirely still; the distant slamming of doors, told of the final retirement of the family. The old clock on the stairs tolled out twelve, in long, solemn strokes, and then nothing was to be heard but the scratching of my pen, as I, sometime, hastily, sometimes slowly, filled page after page, only to be destroyed when written, for it was no easy matter to write this letter. Too much depended upon it,to treat it lightly; every word must be weighed; every sen tence duly considered; and what diction ary on earth can furnish the proper words for such- a letter? And what man on earth can know what will suit the wo man he loves, when she treats him forty different ways in as many minutes ? “Hang it,” I at last exclaimed. “I’ll speak to her to-morrow I can’t write ; it’s best to speak; but no--she will laugh again as she did this evening! But then, again, her sweet eyes told some tales this evening, too? Yes, I’ll risk it. I’ll speak to her to-morrow, and go to sleep now, my light is nearly burned, and, to confess the truth, writing love-letters is a sleepy business.” So, leaning back in my easy chair, I began to think over the best way to offer O v myself. Gradually a dreamy feeling over powered me, and, although I was des perately in love I found I could sleep, which was, of cour.se, out of all rule; but I was punished for it. I began to wander through the loveliest gardens in all dreamland, and Laura walked by my side. Her hand was in mine; I stopped to gather a rose, and gave it to her; but what a strange odor the flower had! Where had I ever perceived such before? It surely was not like a rose! Never mind. Oh, how soft Laura’s hand was! I raised it to my lips. Hark! what noise was that! Nothing—oh, nothing! How delicious the sunlight was! how lovely Laura’s blue eyes! how soft the pressure of her arm within mine! Put why did she sud denly grip me, as with hands of ; ro ip Ha! I strangled! Help! help! oh, help; Struggling with an invisible power. 1 feltniy strength depart; an overpower ing pressure on my heart held me Lack some subtile essence seemed to pervade my entire being, and controlled it; a dreamy recollection of the haunted room floated across my brain; I struggled again, sank back again and again, but still the dreamy languor that held my eyes closed, kept me back, while the pressure on tny chest, the throbbing in my head, and the wild beating of my pulses, increased each instant. Gradually, I began to col lect my senses; I opened my eyes. There before me, standing motionless in the dim gray light, was a figure shrouded in long black garments! For an instant my senses reeled; the hair of my head stood up; I shivered as though in an ague; then; suddenly rallying, I called out ; “Who are you? Speak!” There was no answer. “Speak! ” I cried again; ‘ I know you are no ghost, but a fellow mor tal, trying to play upon my fears; do not think you will succeed,” continued 1 ; and with an intention ot flinging myself upon the figure, and discovering who it was, I made a spring forward. But I was held back forcibly, and looking down, I saw in a moment that I was fastened in to my chair; my hands and feet tightly tied; a band around my waist, and another round my neck, completely secured mo. A faint, sickly odor pervaded the room: my candle had burned f out, but in the gray dim light of an early summer’s dawn, 1 saw the motionless figure still before me. Instantly a thought flashed through my mind. “Richard Wilber,” said I, “I know you; you have drugged me with ether, in order to terrify me; you have carried your joke somewhat too far, in fastening me to my chair; it was a coward’s trick to prevent me from administering the chastisement that your insolence deserves. Release me instantly; it is time your play was over!” Still no reply"! The figure remained motionless and speechless before me. “Do you think to terrify me? ” I cried, in exasperation at my helpless state; “do you suppose that I am coward and fool enough to believe you a ghost? Let this end iustantly, or by my soul you shall repent it.” The figure moved slightly, and held out its arms; so doing, it uncovered its face, and I recognized the gleaming eyes of Richard Wilber. “Look!” said he, holding up a small bottle; “I have here what may perhaps be the means of introducing you to some bona-fide ghosts, my friend, who may possibly b<T able to dismay your brave soul that you swear by. 1 have drugged you, and you are in my power, for I have but to hold this small bottle under your handsome nose, and in a minute you will be in Hell! Now, listen to my terms, to which if you agree, I will give you liberty again. Give up all idea of Laura: promise not to see her again, or reveal the transactions of this night, and you are free; but swear on this Bible to keep your word, or else take a whiff of my smelling bottle to refresh your soul.' 1 “Insolent fool! ” 1 cried, “you Lave not even wit enough to play the villain: do you think that we are living in the dark ages, or in the Castle of Otranto, where a man may be murdered and done away with mysteriously, and no question asked! Why, I have but to raise my voice, and the family would he around us in an instant. Mysteries are scarcely the order of the day, in a jolly old house like this. lam inclined to think you forget that we are civilized human beings in this part of the world/’ And I laughed as the absurdity of the position struck me. “I dont seethe joke,” returned Richard; there is no mystery about the matter. You are well known to have disease of the heart; any sudden fright may easily kih you, niv bottle tells no tales. I shall con fess to playing ghost, as a joke, not anti cipating the tatal effect; 1 shall be frantk with despair at the thought of what 1 had innocently occasioned, and it will be ah that pretty Laura can do to comfort me blit she shall; yes, by George! and you: fortune shall be the salve that will hea; my wound. Come, now, you see you au. helpless; agree to my terms, and awa> with you.” “Never,” I exclaimed, struggling vio lently, but hopelessly. ”1 despise you’ terms and you, and I will never consent to your cowardly proposal." “Take the consequences, then.” said he. calmly advancing toward me. “I don object, my boy; your money is mine. Laura shall be my wife.” “Indeed, Cousin Dick!” said a y • voice behind me ; “did you ever hear it took two to make a bargain i And to my infinite surprise, Laura m self stood before us, holding a light in he hand. , “Be kind enough to release your frieru. she continued; “it would scarcely be p>' sible to murder two of us, before the hon-t