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r —'"—r -, >■ --■- ■ , - -w-.-s- > ' ’ •’ *• ' '-Y ' • *.Y ^ C^.lS; v > ..r^PBPiM M v^^a^war • 7'~" - - ■ ~ - • - : • ' • •-' ^.. C 4!fsi(i,!Vj *> ^i; ’ -▼'./. SH.i»5f23S ,f.mx 4 *l^BV XlSRY & REID, Proprietors. The Fabiily Journal.—News —Politics—•Literature—Agriculture—Domestic Affairs . ■ ~= ' . ' GEORGIA TELEGRAPH BUILDING. ^TABLISHED 1826.} MACON, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1868. YOL. XLIL-XO. 49. 07,482 A STOKT, I. •: was noton afirst impulse,-but after due jeetion, that I, George Dunning, articled : !c ia the office of Messrs. Bustler and j.;, solicitors, decided on retaining tbe •+-rf)tc which I found behind my desk. ;!v first impulse, I need hardly say, was to H v it to one of the firm, with an cxplana- I -'of the way in which I had discovered it. H :Lc money was certainly not mine; and I . j<c I wns a sufficiently honest man; if a I r one, to scout the idea of keeping what I . belong to me. So, ns I say, mv first I jijlit was to carry it to one of "my chiefs ' - : thing next morning, and tordate •v, moving my desk in a search after a fa- ;i ‘e pen which had slipped behind it and — wall, I had come upon this Bank of Eng- i aote amid the dust and scraps there ac- tualated. jict second thoughts brought doubt, and ; i»ps a grain of selfishness. Suppose, I I to myself, (the rest of the clerks were ' !or the night; I had the office to myself, V. olcnty of leisure for reflection,) suppose .j. money does not belong to Bustler and . j’ : .; more that to myself? They have only -.ated this office for about two years, and ,*e is dusty enough to have lain between • tik and the wall for eight or ten years. : dustier and Clark took the furniture as :.,ls, on moving in. It is possible tbe - raav have lain there all the time. If they ’ i io;t it, I should surely have heard some- I .:n4 of it. Ail things considered, I may have , :i,mt ;<> keep the money without forfeiting :.v t . iiiii to bo an honest fellow; at all events f' u , V; ;tC quira that right if I convince myself jiiut ti.o note never belonged to Bustler and Clark. ... i Thinking it out thus, I again scrutinized | .he valuable scrap of tissue-paper in my ..and. Upon first finding it, I bad tbongbt some trash as Tom, our office boy, was ;.'ciHti>nird to purchase in the street. Tom as fi. rover buying cheap pen-knives which i ould not cut; cheap cast-iron cannons which burst with the first discharge. * favorite bargain of Tom’s was to spend . per.uy in a curious assortment of useless ar- :.cw-s including four brass rings, a sham u-v.piu, a counterfeit sovereign, a printed a couple of ballads, aud a note for five r.Hurts•' tbe “Bank of Elegance.” Tiie’re- ’ n I thought my treasure trove might be one i’Mn's precious Bank of Elegance note*. Yet it was no sbnm paper money, mine; eta Promise to Pay, signed on behalf of Ac Governor and Company of the national : ' .Misbment. Number 07,482—and for five .aa.'ircd pounds. Trembling with the hope of so sudden an . -sioa to fortune—more wealth than I had ■ar owned at once—and with the fear of ii-.g it as suddenly, I reopened the safe :ltitli it was my duty to lock at night, and )k out the bill book. Herein I knew the :i.bers of all bank-notes were entered iiich passed through tbe hands of the firm, .limnbtir 07,482 had ever belonired to Bust; and Clark during the last five years,! .... aid find a record of it in a special portion . oe bill-book apportioDal to Bank ofEng- .ad note. I ran my eye down the money Inmns, looking out for five hundred pounds, fir hill setise of disappointment struck me ns ! rime upon the entry opposite a date of ■jitiL- eighteen moats back. Number 07,482 !i 1 pissed through the hands ofBnstler and Hsrk. Moreover, it stood recorded as having eon paid away to William Wylde; and there -...s a marginal note attached: “See letter : instruction from Theophilu3 Langbrace, t:.iuire,” with number and date quoted, litre was a mystery at tbe outset. Number :.!32 had been paid to William Wylde eigb- . on months ago, and yet I held it in my ..ml. I hunted up the letter of instruction stored to, among the tied-up correspondence i .i couple of years back. Tbe entry was rrect. I found the letter of Theopbilus Langbrace, one of the firm’s clients, authoriz- .Messrs. Bustler and Clark to pay William V.> hie the sum of five hundred pounds “in .^charge of all claims” onThcophilus Lang- i.ico, and further requiring Messrs. Bustler ltuI Clark to obtain Wylde’s receipt in full for the amount. I n-membe: A Wylde now. A shabby actor, who filled secondary parts at a transpontine theatre, and who frequented a tavern at which our office-boy Tom was too often seen. It was in Tom’s presence that 1 had met Wylde, in whom I saw little to admire or eveD to tol- erate A boastful, truculent man he seemed at the est, much given to gin and to an inordinate istim iiion of bis own abilities, which were - ire patent to himself than to the manager, dc had married, as I learnt from Tom on the -:.u introduction, above his station : in fact, was s lid that his wife bad been a lady, tbe slighter of our client, Theopiius Langbrace. How Wylde’s vulgar manner aud loud assert- .vuitsa bad fascinated her was a mystery ■ inch the lady would never answer now, for Ce was dead. It had been an ill-sorted -aiou, and Wylde, who had received some -vistar.ee from his father-in-law during big vile’s lifetime, fell into worse ways after her oath, and grew more drunken, more dissipa ted, and more arrogant. This, then, wa3 the person for whom the tote tor five hundred pounds had evidently - a intended, and who appeared in our -.uks «s having received number 07,482.— I a at he had never come into posession of -ij due, the obvious gift of bis father-in law, proved by the note in my posession.-— Tiie mystery was not to be clarcd up that t.ghr, it was certain ; sol determined *o wait ’Ll next dav, and question old.-Ui • -in. IL Old Graham was a clerk in ti e *'nipi< > *>f hostler aud Clark, a follow work's :unu-, T -'itli whom we young fellows hm i • •' 111 -union. He was a s.iy, li'tle,: >'-r« k • m*h', prematurely old man, whose r..iir*> »» :>:.d general timorousnessle<t uom. g uiyw '•non between him and the u-»». -<• «-"•( ffimte few acquaintances. Tnr ■i tnie i m*e j spoke of old Graham witn a lml; i»- tali' contemptous tone, as one whose • ; le did not consort with the ardently . -It *lm enjoyed existenco on eighty pouuti.- ;-ur. 11relieve I understood the old man '■tst of all my colleagues. We were good Irituds, lor beneath that shy and shambling txttrior bo possessed a kind heart, and he ii&d a treasure in his hfrmcof which the rol licking young bloods at Bustler and Clark s ttvw dreamt. I alone could estimate that I ^insure. I alone was a welcome guest in I bit modest ground-flour at Kennington, and a £ 3‘.-w how much beauty and gentle worth v 'Me represented in Kate Grabam. My inti- ’hxey with her father had taught me this, yhl the knowlede soon brought a warmer •'•tiing. Seeing how dear she was to him, ! -id come to hope for a time when I should ) u l>plaat him iu her care- and love. I knew “•at I was welcome in the household, (itcon- S; sted but of himself and her,) and I left the ‘ l5 - totimeand constancy. As matUrs stood, * was too poor to marry, until the discovery the five hundred pound note awakened a -ope which I determined should only be rea- “**d according to tbe dictates of strict ‘ J °nesty. .'. At muc o’clock on .the .morning after ih» punctual as St. Paul’6. I entered into a carei less conversation, aud at last broached the subject of the payment to Wylde. “You have been in tbe office a long time, Mr. Graham,” Isaid“do you happen to re member a man who used to come about here named, if I remember right, Wylde—Wm. Wylde?” He turned a cadaverous color, and bis fin gers .wande; ed aimlessly to his scanty gray hair. • • I . “What—what do you know about Wylde ?” he asked in a timid maoner. “I ? O, very little. I know he is an actor, that’s all. He used to get money paid him on behalf of one of our clients, did he not ?” I answered carelessly. “I—I don’t know; it is not my depart ment. I don’t pay money. I never heard of him,” said Graham, nervously. “No, I suppose not. Perhaps Mr. Murdon will kn o w,” I replied. Mr. Murdon , was our cashier. The old man grew more agitated than before. “You had better not ask him,” be returned hastily. “Mr. Murdon does not like to be troubled with such—with these aimless’ques tions. What business is it of yours ?” “O, none; I merely asked. Then be did get the money, I puursued, ppintedlv. “Yes, yes, of course—at least, I don’t know. I never heard of him; it is not my depart ment. Go to your desk.” It was evident be did know, but would uot tell. Under his nervous shambling manner that fact was apparent. Equally apparent was it that nothing could be got out ot him further than what he had unconsciously disclosed. I bothered him no more, but went on with my daily work, and toward evening, when the office was closing, I ap proached him again. “Are you going straight home, Mr. Gra ham I asked. “Yes George, yes; I am going home.” “If you have no objection, I will walk that way with you.” “Certainly; I shall be glad. Of course, George—come with me by all means.” We walked toward old Graham’s house at Kennington, discoursing on different topics, I careful not to alarm him with too hasty a reference to tbe subject of the morning, for I knew his nature, and how liable he was to take fright, and how it could be if sharply questioned. Besides, I did not care to of fend him. The regard of his daughter was too valuable for that. She met ns at the door, with a kiss for her father and a warm smile for me. What a bright-eyed, glad hearted, round little di vinity she was 1 With such a light in my home, I would not have envied old Bustler himself, with a wife iu May Fair of many pounds avoirdupois, and three stately daughters who might have sat sentries at the Horse Guards. And when she brought us into a trimiy-ordered parlor, which her taste had rendered attractive beyond the landlady’s rosiest dreams of luxury, and pre sided over a pleasant arrangement of the cups and saucers aud water cresses, a very Hebe j of the tea-board, I thought wistfully of Wrlilp’c bank-note the comfort it cou' darling's feet. iu the miclst of her agitation. “I am not your wife yet, Mr. Murdon,” she exclaimed, “and never will be if this tone continues. You are harsh, cruel, impertinent; you have not the right Ho treat me so, and.I .won’t be so treated! Don’t speak to me father; I would do; anything for you—make any sacrifice, but I cannot forego , all self- respect. When he looks and talks thus, I despise him,”- •• - ... Her magnificent scorn lighted up her face with a beauty I bad neaver seen belore. The big bully before her. was cowed for a moment and then rose trom his chair in suppressed j ruge. “O, very good,” he said between his teeth; “I’ll leave you to entertain your f riends here with your fine tragedy airs. AS for you, 3Ir. Graham,” turning to the-tfembling old man, ; “we can settle this matter between us quietly. You know where to find me. My lodgings are in Wylde street, number seven thousand four hundred and eighty .two. The sane as before: I never move.” '. * . Tbe words, spoken with significant empha sis, struck us like a knell. On me they fell with startling effect, coming after the discov ery of the last night, What could they mean ? Before I could recover, he was gone. “O Kate, Kate, Kate,” cried her father, “you have ruined me! O deary, deary me! What have you done ? how could you ? aud he shambled out after Murdon in manifest trepidation. I beard him overtake the cashier in the passage, and I distinguished Murdon’s angry voice.” I turned to Kate, who was pale and weeping. * “Kate, what dots all this signify ? Why are you going to marry this man ? What does be mean by bis reference to Wylde and seven thousand four hundred ancl eighty two ?” “Hush, hush, George—never say those words. 0, listen ! are they quarreling ?” I stole to the door and listened. They were speaking under their voices, but their excitement made some of the words audible. I beard the old man murmur, “As heaven bears witness above us, I never stole the money.” “I know nothing about that,” replied the cashiers scoffing voice. “I only know it never reached its destination, and I know the worth of the receipt I hold.” “And you swear to give it me back ?’’ “Oa tile day when you fulfill your part of the bargain.” I closed the doer softly, and returned to Kate. “Tell me one thing, Kate. This Wylde—this money—” ^ “If you love me, George,” she cried in terror, “never speak of Wylde or of money You do not know the danger struck a dignified attitude, and burst Into quotation, alter the manner of his tribe/ Ey ing me sternly, and then lifting bis eytbrows to his hair, he asked dramatically: . j “Came you from Padua, from Beliaxo.?”, “From both, my lord, Bellairo greets your grace.” answered that imp Tom, readily. Mr. Wyldq smiled loitily, and closed his eyes. “Which ?” he enquired, “whiih is the merchant here, and which the Jew f* I modestly replied that for myselfjinclined to mercantile pursuits in preference. Mr, Wylde waved his hand. ■ “Then must the Jew be merciful.”. Where upon ha took a seat and ordered refreshment. “It is unnecessary to relate by whet degrees Mr. Wylde attained his qlterior condition of intoxication, how he passed from ti»c jubilant to the noisy stage, thence to the desponding stage, thence to the fiercely morose stage. Suffice it to say that I kept him well supplied with his favorite refreshment, and we grew confidential. “I'll tell you what,, my boy,” said Mr. Wylde, when he had Racked the depths of melancholy; “if ever yon think of embracing our profession, think well Think twice. It’s a sickening life. Genius may starve in it. Gin—gin—I mean gesius is not patronized as it should be. Look a*, me. What keeps me down ? J’ve had experience enough; I know my busiress; there’s nut another man in the company that can beat rje at versatility. I’ve played Jeremy Diddlei. Romeo, and Long Tom Coffin in one bill. I’m not a fool. What} then, keeps me back ? Ill tell you. - It’s com binations. It’s professional jealously. It’s cliques. That’s what it is, my boy.” “Yet you have done well in your time,” 1 urged. “For example, yoi married well ?” 31 r. Wylde shook his he:,d mournfully. , “I married, sir, a lady, of family.. She was not clever, tut I waived that. She brightened my home for a spell; but shejs gone. After life’s fitful fever she sleeps well.” ‘And your wife’s family—” “My wife’s family, sir, broke out Wylde, j wrath fully, “are not to be mentioned by j friends of mine. A set of curmudgeons—an ungrateful brood. Why, they are base, com mon and popular.'^ “Did they never recognize your abilities?’’ “Never. A set of arrogant, stuck-up, con ceited—but there. Pah!” “It’s said,” I remarked confidentially—“it’s said in legal circles (you know bow rumors get about among us lawyers) that after your wife’s death her father came down with some thing solid.” “It’s a lie, then,” returned by Mr. Wylde, concisely. Did you ever get a remittance from him-- e or of money, j about a vtaj^or a year and a half ago?” ;er you might | “Remittance, egad ’ I’d like to see the old ad and mine.” j screw come down with a postage stamp. It bring down on my father's head and mine.” j screw come down with a postage stamp. “Well, I will not speak of it," I answered j wasn’t for the want of asking, though. By calmly; “but tc-il me something else. You j Jupiter, I tried all I kiiew, but the old flint do not love the man that has left ns ?” j was not to be come over.” “Love him!” i “Then the rumor about your getting five “And yet you are about to marry him ?” ( hundred pounds was false ?” “I must. I cannot help myself. You do j “False as—” not know.” j “I thought so,” was my reply; “I never w _ “Kate—dearest Kate! If this danger were | gave it any credence myself. Goodnight, ;,in mv pocket, and of alii removed; if this man’s spite—for it is spite! Wylde. I think you’ve been badly used; but ll(i pUrCu&SU IU iu iu t i j wlllvu ttUIUlMW UiUJ)U'uul«'tv —*—.S muII J *5 f • mivpr niinrl. !•/»«• AslvQtS Will I if he could work neither you nor your father : their due yet.” ' titter tea her father lelt us for a moment j any harm; would you-could you be brought The emjnent gentleman had a further stage together. It was an opportunity not to be | to love somebody else ?” j which I did not wish to await—that of bias- lost, if I would learn whether she knew any- j “She sobbed, but- did not reply. I took j plicmy. I bade him farewell, and went my thing of what was evidently within old Gra- j her yielding hand iu mine; I kissed away j way, thouroughly convinced of what I had ham’s knowledge, and what he would not! her tears ; and her father, returning, found j guessed all along, that he had never received disclose. j us thus, and broke into a passionate excla- j the money’s worth of Number 07,482. I drew mv chair dose to hers. 4 Kate,” I • mation. j Next morning I wrote an urgent letter to be"an, “I want to ask you something in con-! She glided to his side, hung over him, j Kate, praying her to meet me in a quiet city fidence.” I smoothed his gray hair, and murmured she j square at 1 o’clock; telling her briefly that She moved back liastiiv. “I am afraid, j would do anything in the world for his sake, j I had a way by which I could probably ben- George, we musn’t have auy confidences—at Father and daughter wept together. It j efit her father and herself, and on which I least,°if they are very particular.” , was no scene for an onlooker, and without a j wished to confer with her. This letter I des- “Why. Kate, dear’?” I asked m some as- j farewell I stole out into the night air to patched by hand. In the office I took no no- tonishment. “What do you mean ?” j cool my brain and to think. j tiee ot either Murdon or Graham, but went “O, don't call me that,” she cried in a dis- J The sharp evening air and a brisk walk about my duties quietly. On their parts they tressed way; ‘'there must be no more of that j homeward stimulated reflection ; and I be- I were equally reserved, and nothing of impor- be’.ween you and me.” j gan to go over the scene I had just wit- ! tance transpired until dinner-time. Then I “But Kate! are we not good friends ?” j nessed, and to decide upon my next action, j slipped out, aud went to the jjlace of-rendez- “0 yes, yes; but friends only. Don’t look j Events bad conspired to elucidate the mys- j vous to meet Kate, unhappy; I didn’t, mean to wound you; but; tery of number 07,482, but much remained! I found her waiting for me, troubled but indeed you must be guarded, lor your own j yet unreyea'.ed. That Wylde had never re-j possessed. We took a turn round the square, sake and mine, in the feeling with which you j ceived the note or any equivalent for it, was j and I besought her, in as few and forcible regard me.” ' 1 pretty certain from the first. That old Gra- i words as I could command, to tell me tbe “Guarded! Good heavens why ?” ! ham was cognizaut of some fraud which had j story of her father’s implication iu the bank- •‘Because,” answered Kate with a sob which j kept Wylde out of the money—and perhaps j note business, and the extent to which he was she strove hard to stifle—“because I am going [ had originated the fraud— was evident from | committed to Murdon. I told her that I had to be married.” ~ j his manner, and from the hold which Mur- j the means of treeing him from any pecuniary Iu the suddenness with which the blow fell don possessed over him. The riddle that re-1 liability under which lie had fallen; but, be- bole of escape offered him. He had not the courage to confess bis negligence, and throw himself on the mercy of. the firm; he took a final step, and from carelessness passed into Crime. After much bewildered cogitation with himself (for Kate knew nothing of his misfortune till long after), be decided upon pretending to have paid the money, to Wil liam Wylde, and producing a ficticious re ceipt from that worthy. But forgery belongs to the fine arts, and old Graham was a sad blunderer, being only a novice in the accomplishment.. Perhaps it was this inexperience that betrayed him— perhaps Murdon discovered the true nature of the case from subsequent application for money made by Wylde. At all events, the wretched old man was soon found out, and the. cashier’s sharp questioning wrung the truth out of him. The knowledge Murdon kept for his own use. Affecting to discred it the story of the accidental discovery of the note, he persisted in regarding Graham them in one of his drawers. There was no time then to rummage in his desk, but I rap idly took an impression of all his keys—only five in number—in wax, which I had kept prepared for that purpose. The mould I took to a locksmith, the son of my landlady, a man on whom I could rely. Trumping up some story about a fellow-clerk whose hon esty I suspected, and whose drawers I wished to search, I got him to make me a set of keys according to the pattern. The locksmith was not a man burdened with conscientious scruples; besides he knew me well enough not to discredit my motives in ordering the job,* He made the keys readily and deftly. Armed with these one evening, when the clerks were gone, I opened the cashier’s desk and subjected its contents to a thorough ex amination. - - ’ Not a paper, not a memorandum could I find having reference to the Wylde business; not a document relating to Number 07,482. There were only two out of the five keys uiug uiauaux I mu vuv w* suv uiu ixvju a thief as well as a forger.” Thus playing which fitted locks in the office—one the desk, ou his terror and misery, and intensifying J another a private drawer. The others ap “It is well you have made the announce- be found aud to betray him. Then, again j to ask this, and that the same love was the ment to our young friend here,” said the new Murdon had spoken ot a receipt, which old j guarrauty that I would only use the knowl- comer sarcastically; ‘'It is well that he and Graham had seemed anxious to regain, and j edge for her father’s good, all such interlopers should know they are the delivery of which was to be made con- | Atter some hesitation, and exacting many trespassing upon private preserves when they ! tingent on Murdoa’s mairyieg Kate. That j promises, she told me with such reluctance make free'with my property.” receipt was evidently irregular, and its irreg- j as was natural to a pure and loving girl forced I started up in undisguised trepidation.— ularity in some fashion compromised the old j to acknowledge a father’s guilt. The story “Your property, Mr. Murdon!” Icried. “Do ; clerk.' Bo lotig as it remained in Murdoa’s i dated eighteen months back, from the day on you mean to sav that you are going to—that; possession, the cashier held an engine by j which the letter of instruction had arrived vou have the right to'say this ?” which be could force the feeble old man into from Theopbilus Langbrace, Esquire, author- ’ I had never liked our sallow-faced cashier; j compliance with his wishes. ” !n * ' fMara Quarter smii riaru „„„ w,.m, at that moment I positively hated him. He : The next question was, how could I exon- was a tall, cornulent man of five and thirty, [ erate Graham and release Kate? By disclos- witli a yellow skir and yellow whiskers,wbich j ing the manner in which I had found the bank- would not grow on his cheeks, but wandered j note, Graham would be cleared of the snspi- aimlessly down his long neck, and ended cion of robbery, which suspicion, however, somewhere out of sight. He had an execra- was known only to the cashier. An expose aide taste in dress, for he wore pale yellow would certainly not benefit Graham with tlq;! dum oi Vi ylde s address, and directions to shirt collars which matched villainouslv with i firm, who were ignorant of any irregularity, j pay the money to him personally, and obtain lmhair and’face and a"rcen scarf. His'short,! and believed the money paid-. And my hand- i his receipt for it on a printed form which the coatee and ba™y trowsers hung from, rather : ing over tbe .note would uot clear the difli- i firm kept for payments generally; tbe words than clothed his ungainly stoutness. He had ; culty of tbe receipt; it would, on the contrary, j being added iu writing, “in discharge of all a halt when he walked. His features might provoke an investigation which might be ! claims.” This bank no:e bad lain on Graham's have been handsome but for a sneer which awkward for Graham, if, as I was forced to i desk until the clerk3 were preparing to leave always pL Je< i on them when he spoke, aud a ! imagine, he bad forced the receipt. Truly j the office. The old cleru had just recovered look of unit, p - ' he was silent. whose temper „ . - d annoyed otlieu. ' came upon a dingy public izing Messrs. Bustler and Clarke to pay Wylde five hundred pounds. On that day it was a national festivity, aud the office was to be closed early. Murdon, the cashier, wishing to get away for a private engagement, bad handed a bank-note for five hundred pounds to tbe oldest clerk, Graham, with a memoran- bleness of his men/ai powers consequent of his iiiuess, had caused him. utterly to forget power, wmeu is quitesuflicient for vour ; I determined tpsatisiy myseuruiiy cna point his commission. The bank-note had been ».,k. Toil this fellow the same, Kate,*and upon which I felt morally convinced already tossed aside, and had apparently fallen into —*«• was too deeply agitated to confirm ijiMilt nt words, es I look at her with a heavy The cashier swung himself HMPIPliPiPBHBIV . n ir, and admired the big check pattern on i bouse of call for actors was known. 1 high spirits at their release, Graham accom- M- i» us. “Well,” he asked suddenly “why ! Making my way into the bar-parlor, I re- j pauying the rest. Ou the stairsone of them d.ii’i jnugo?” ’ : C0! j n i Z ed through a haze of tobacco smoke my asked for a light for bis pipe; but nobody • 4 i don’t recognize your right, sir, to d e _ ! roistering friend Tom, engaged iu what be j had matches. Old . Graham good naturedly uia <1 it- Too are not yet the master it: this ! was wont to term cultivating the muses—in j volunteered to go back aud get.a bit of pa- house. If Jliss Graham here wishes—” other words, keeping up a smoking and drink-1 per, that the clerk could light his pipe at the “No, no,' George,” she cried tearfully; and i n « intercourse with half a dozen very shady j ga- burner on the stair-case lower duwn; and, addcrl ’in an undertone “don’t leave me with ‘ufiiitv’actors. - ■ I making Lis way back into the office, he found » That ardent young gentleman hailed tne j in the yellow obscurity the_waste-paper basket. She did not loVe him then. There was ; boisterously. ' some chillv comfort in that. I smiled and ! ‘Hallo, George, my pippm . Come to see sat down • bfe, eh ? Sit down and have a spider.” ~ “Egad,'if you don’t make a clearing, I’ll let. Declining the entomological beverage re you see whether I'm master or not,” ex-, Jerred to, I contented myself with ordering a claimed Murdon, his evil lace darkening.— . less elaborate liquid, and asked Tom if he had woiA * momoctoi<i th «d answered Tom. “He’ll _ | 4 0 You’re here at last—are you?” cried Mur-' be here presently ; he’s on in the second piece folds. To his dismay, he found in the charred don. “What do meau by letting a parcel of* to-nightas a Gory Ruffian He gets murdered I fragments of tissue paper a corner of the bank- puppies overrun the hou«e, and poison the »«* to® fourth act > acd wlU probably drop in note winch he now remembered he ought to car o; your daughter; eh P , , t,ieD ’ W.ltt.m W,M„. The nervous old man trembled. “I didn’t— , In about an hour’s time he appeared, not so didn’t mean—you know George Dunning,, drunk as usual, for the night was compsrqtive- sir?” , v ' ly,early—hardly eleven o’clock. He had only “Know George Dunning!” Murdon- ou- tekensufficieot to ^produce the first of many swered with a sneer, ‘’Yes, X do knew Etages of intoxication through-which thafac- George Duuning. X knowlte is not an a3so- complisbed artist was nightly wont fo pass. elate I should choose for my wife.” In his first stage fre was jubilant and loqua- The coarseness of. jiis inunner, evep- moro. cious.. «’ • .. ,A v :* * • V and twisted into a pipe-light the first bit of tissue paper that came to his hand. The clerk lit his pipe, and playfully thrust the extinguished bit of paper into Graham’s face. The old clerk received it into his hand, unconsciously retained it, walking a few yards homeward sfill holding it, and then, wonder ing what he was carrying, opened out the have paid away to William Wylde 1 The shock of. the discovery paralyzed him, and when sense returned he saw himself in imagination a ruined man, discharged from llis situation if not prosecuted By bis em ployer^, and turned with his daughterKate into the streets for a trifle of rent he owed. He had alwaysbeen a nervous man, a moral coward-; and his fear of consequences made bi the self-reproaches of the old clerk with the cruellest scarcasm, he brought him into a state of abjectness, which left the miserable man an easy prey in his hands. Then Mur don struck a keen and very bitter bargain. He would keep the defalcation a secret from the firm on one condition. The condition was the possession of Kate. How soon tho bargain was ratified by the UDbappy girl lierelf, I bad to supply out of my own knowledge, for here her story broke down in utter grief, but I knew her gentle, winning ways, her absorbing love for her father, and her self-sacrifice on all occasions where he was concerned. I could under stand the sharpness of the struggle before she yielded. Not until her father had told her how fully he was compromised did she consent to part with her own happiness in order to save him from a felon’s doom.— Then she gave up all hope in a fair future, and accepted the man she hated, her father’s enemy and tyrant, as her promised husband. Here her pitiful tale ended How was I to comfort her ? I could not tell her that the note was not destroyed, as her father thought; that I held it, though by what meaus it had escaped, or what had been burnt in its place, I failed to guess. For, though the money itself was safe, the receipt yet remained in Murdon’s hands, and any attempt at an eclaircissement would only bring down detection on her father’s head. I could only murmur some common-places of sym pathy and consolation, assure her that I hoped yet to ioil Murdon, and. re-establish her father’s peace of mind. And so I left her. That evening I again sought out Wylde, and tound him at his usual haunt, aud in his usual state. Diplomatically, and with much circumlocution, I worked the conversation around to the subject of money, and my gen tleman’s claims on his father-in-law. Sir. Wyldes’ present mode was less violent than ordinary, but more bitterly despondent. “What’s the use of trusting to that old buffer ?” he asked, dejectedly. “I was once led to believe that he would come down with a round sum if I applied to his lawyers. I —"nt, au- 1 «aw a yellow-faced scoundrel—a loathsome hounu »»».-. .. mn.—. ened to set the bailiffs on me, the menial, if I came again. I never troubled his degraded sight again. “When was that ?” “That was—let me see, thirteen months ago on the first of this month. Ha! not matter. He knew my weak point, a malison be on his caitiff soul. I was iu difficulties at thattime; I am iu difficulties now. If yon had half a crown upon you—” “I have much more than half a crown upon me, and you shall have it, if you give me an acknowledgement,” I returned. “I’ll give you,” said Mr. Wylde, gracefully, “my solemn 10 U on any sum above a sover eign. A gentleman’s I O l T , I presume, is as sacred as his bond.” “Exactly so. But I must have a receipt in full.” “You may have, Mr. Dunning, my accept ance, if you like, at three, six or nine mouths, presupposing that the sum is at least a fiver.” The magnifient air of probity with which he delivered his condition tickled me. “Supposing 1 could accommodate you with ten fivers,” I answered, “would you an tedate the receipt ?” “I would do anything, sir, honorable and accommodating. I would give you a mort gage on my personal or freehold property, or a lien on my next half-year’s salary, which ever you like. But what do you mean ?” Before replying, I called for more refresh ments, and helped him copiously yet judi ciously. “Look here, Wylde,” I said, “I have a reason in this, of course—a motive. I want to prove to certain parties, who shall be name less, that my income a couple of years ago amounted to a certain sum—call it x iinalge- bra; an unknown quantity. Now if I get a receipt from you for an advance, dating about eighteen months back, 1 have docmentary evidence which I can exhibt, and prove my position at that time. Do you see ?’’ “I see,” chuckled Wylde. “Like the ar rears of unpaid income-tax, only more valu able, being a gentleman’s bona fide receipt. Sly dog.” v “The money you shall have down—now. Will you give me an antedated receipt ?” “What’s the sum !” “Five hundred pounds.” Mr. Wylde upset his glass. “Bring forth the bond,” be cried heroically. “I’ll sign if it were dated five hundred years back!” .. I produced the receipt previously pre pared on one of the firm’s loose forms, and the bank-note Number 07,4S2. The latter Mr. Wylde eyed suspiciously, questioning its genuineness. But upon my showing him that the receipt was merely for this note, and the number specified, and that unless the note was good, the acknowledgement would be valueless, be abated his distrust, merely remarking that be should never believe bis luck until he had “cashed the flimsy.” But he affixed his signature without farther protest. And on my expressing a desire to have tbe names of a conple of witnesses to the document, Mr. Wylde, relieved at the demand as corroborative of the genuineness of the note, summoned the landlord and waiter, who added their names with cheerful alacrity, pleased at being called on to witness so tremendous a transaction. “And now,” said Mr. Wylde, when it was concluded, “I shall quit an ungrateful coun try, and seek to plant the standard of aft in the far West. When I have acquired the colossal fortune which awaits the true artist in that more enterprising clime, I shall punc tually discharge this debt, Mr. Dunning, which-1 persist in regarding as a mere tem porary obligation.” IV. The possession of the true receipt was an important step gained; the next and more difficult one was to obtain and destroy the forged acknowledgement. Toward that at tainment I now direoted my energies. Lkriew it.could be concealed innodrawers or desk accessible to the firm-fit was too val uable to be allowed to slip out ot Murdon’s private keeping. It was likely enough kept under lock and key in his own desk. Watch ing my own opportunity, I abstracted his bunch of keys one day when ho,was engaged, parcntly belonged to drawers or chests at Murdon’s private residence; and there, in all probability, tbe reeeipt lay. The next day I sent an excuse for non-at tendance at the office, pleading illness, and set about elaborately counterfeiting the hand writing of Murdon, authorizing his landlady to allow me to visit his rooms for the purpose of finding a deed which he had left at home. This forged letter procured me a ready ad mission into his rooms, the landlady content ing herself with suffering me to go up stairs unaccompanied. The coast was clear, for Murdon was down at the office, and I had all the morning and afternoon before me. I left no corner or crevice unexplored. I ransacked his clothes, books and papers. I turned ev ery pocket inside out, I peered behind the mirror on the mantle piece, emptied his dress ing case, tobacco- box, peered even into the cruet stand, prodded the stuffing of the chairs and sofa, and turned up the corners of the carpet. All to no puropse. My search brought to light other keys, which" sufficed to o; eu every closed receptacle in the place. But not a vestige of the receipt, or clue to its hiding-place could be found. After a long and fruitless search, I turned away with a heavy heart, convinced that, if he still held the receipt, it must be carried about his person, or else lodged in some distant keep ing, which I saw no possibility of reaching. Disappointed and dejected,! turned my steps toward Kennington, hoping to gain strength of heart and acuteness of invention from a sight oj the beloved face. For Kate’s gentle and reliant nature ever stimulated and fortified me—taught me endurance, taught me to hope against hope. I found her alone. Though she read in my countenance that I had no good news to bring as yet, her patient, uncomplaining voice nerved me as of old, and I regained confidence. After all, fortune had befriended us generously; for much was al ready done toward clearing her father’s name. I did not despair of accomplishing all in time. But time. There was the rub. Would time be accorded us ? As if in answer to the inquiry, her father’s knock was heard, and Kate, looking out of the window, saw that he was accompanied , ’” I irI nr ' 1nn Her terror rose. “O go-go “ bub uricu, , „ there will be a scene if he meets you here agam.- He is so violent, and then he has my father in his power, and father’s health is so shattered. Not for your own sake, but for mine, do, pray, avoid him.” Unable to resist her entreaty, I slipped into an adjoining room, and, as they ascended the stairs and entered the sitting room, I passed down. Murdon’s top coat, an ill-fit ting wrap-rascal which descended to his ankles, was hanging in the hall. He had divested himself of his overcoat, purposing to pass the evening at that house. There was a last hope that I msghfc find the receipt in one of the pocket3. Quick as thought I passed my hand into the pocket in the breast of the coat, and found a bulky pocket-book. It was full of old letters. But there was an inner receptacle. Victory! The receipt, with William Wylde’s counterfeited signature in a shaky, ill-disguised hand! A poor, blundering at tempt at forgery, this, which would not have taken in a charity boy. I stifled the cry of triumph which rose to my lips, pocketed the forged receipt, substituted the veritable one, and returned the pocket-book to the wrap- rascal. Then I calmly remounted the stairs and entered Graham’s sitting-room. Murdon was lolling on the sofa as I entered, and looked up with his supercilious, insolent stare. “Hallo, Mister Skulk,’’he began, “I thought you were ill in bed; but it seems you’re not too ill to poke your nose into places where you are not wanted.” Not noticing him directly, I turned to Kate with a look which she understood—a look which caused her face to brighten. Taking her hand as if to say good evening, I whis pered : “Your father is safe; back me up.” Bhe smiled, and I turned to the old man. ‘ “Mr. Graham,” I asked; “why do you suffer this underbred person about your house ?” The old clerk started, flushed and began to stammer. “That, George—dear me!—why, that is 31 r. Murdon—and—” “He is the worst-conditioned cur on the face of the earth,’’ I answered, deliberately. “He is a compound of insolence and false hood; a-tyrant within the power which he af- lects; a bully, but an innocuous bully, and no companion for you or your daughter.— That’s what 3Iurdon is Mr. Graham.” He started from the sofa with an oath. “If you approach me,” I cried, stopping him, “I’ll knock you down.” I knew him then for a coward, for be stopped short in the blow which he had mea- itated, and turned green aud yellow. He was a bigger and older man ttian I, but he held back and ground his teeth as I heaped insult on insult upon him, in my bitterness and my triumph, “You don’t know what you are doing, you braggart young fool!” he at length uttered, livid with rage. “You are ruiniug your pre cious friends here.” “You lie! I retorted; “there is nothing you can do which can harm a hair of their heads.” “Isn’t there ?” he cried. “I can send this old man to penal servitude; I can beggar his daughter; and I will.” “An empty threat—a bragging boast, as mendacious as all you ever say.” He shook a trembling finger at the old man whose state of terror I cannot hope to de scribe. “He is a forger,” hissed Murdon. A thief and forger.” “Pooh,”I returned. “What has he forged? Why do you waste words ? Where are the proofs ?” “I’ll show you what he has forged, if that’s any satisfaction, my young companion, and the proofs ’shall be laid to-morrow before other eyes than yours.”' And' he strode vin dictively out of the room. In a moment he returned with his pocket- book. . I was holding the hand of Kate, who stood calm and confident by my side. The old man had sunk into a chair, aud was wringing his hands. . ’ L There,” cried MurdoD, opening the book' your friend's handiwork, look at it; but keep yor.r fingers off.” “Look at it yourself, before you boast,” I answered. “Are the names of the witnesses forged, tob?” In an instance his face fell as be glanced at the receipt: He knew that lie was discom fited, and turned from yellow to white. The paper shook in his grasp, and with a bitter curse, ho would have flung it into .the fire; but I had seized him, and wrenched the re- ’ ceipt from hia clutch. “Drop that,” I remarked.- “No felony.— That receipt is not yours, but Bustler "and Clark’s, and-to-morrow I restore it to their keeping, and advise them to take better care of it.” Ha turned.to the door with a cry of baffled rage.: “To-morrow,” he shrieked, “I will have you kicked out of the office;” and, shaking his clenched fist he departed. But he did not keep his word. A fortnight afterwards he himself left, suddenly and on compulsion. It was rumored that’the firm had detected him iu a course of defalcation, long pursued with impunity. This is what the clerks whispered; but Bustler aud Clark said nothing. Six months afterwards Kate and I were married. Some weeks previously I had pro posed to leave Bustler and Clark also, for I had no further need of employment. The decease of a relative, some time since dead in Australia, had left old Graham a comforta ble annuity, and Kate even better endowed. She laid her fortune at my feet, and besought me to take it with herself. But Bustler and Clark would not hear of my going, and I ul timately purchased an interest in the firm, which is now known as Bustlej, Clark and Dunning. Whether Blurdon had obtained an inkling of the fortune in store for Kate—it had for some time gone begging, until the legatees were traced—I never learned. At all events, we heard no more of him, and believed he had left England. When our honneymoon was over, I one day questioned old Graham as to the pieee of paper he had actually destroyed under the belief that it was the "bank-note. He an swered that he never parted with the rem nant, and I could see it if I chose. When he brought it I examined it closely. Only a charred corner remained. “Why, this,” I exclaimed, “is no Bank of . England note; there is uo water mark—and see, what letters are those ?” A light broke upon me. It was the resi due of one of those confounded Bank of Ele gance notes which Tom had been so fond of juying, and, in its destruction, it had fatally resembled Number 07,483. The Art of Money-Making. WgAT A SENSIBLE MAN HAS TO SAY ABOUT IT. In a recent lecture Prof. H. G. Eastman said, on the subject of advertising, that those who had been most generous in their adver tising, and thereby the most successful in business, had been stigmatized as “humbugs.” Was Baruum's Bluseum any the less worthy after he successfully advertised it ? Was the Ledger any better before Bonner bought out one day’s issue of the New York Herald, than it was afterwards? Was Stewart’s store any the .less worthy of public patronage, after r.-*" n S f*—a vp nr for-> >non to adver tise, when the payment of that $22,000 gave $100,000 in return ? There is no such thing as “humbug.” A man is either a knave, a charlatan, or else he can be classed among business men as a man. The proper way to advertise was to adver tise one thing at a time. As for instance, su gar, sugar, sugar. People would have their attention arrested by that one word, and they would buy sugar. The result would be that a large business would be established.— But if people would advertise all they had to sell they would not succeed, because their ad vertisement would not be read. This was so with everything. If you are a dry gooda merchant, silks or some other article must be advertised, and that alone. An excitement must be made and business would follow. The merchants of Europe beat us in adver tising. They frequently spend $100,000 per year for advertisements. A. T. Stewart advertised his cotton goods alone all over the UnioD. 3Ir. Bonner once went to 3Ir. Bennett, of the New York Herald, and asked if he could have three pages in to-morrow’s paper for his advertheme'nt of the Ledger. The answer was, yes; if he would pay a ■ double price lie could have all he wanted, upon which 3Ir. Bonner said that he. would take the whole paper. The consequences was that the Herald, the next day, had nothing but Mr. Bonner’s advertisement of the Ledger in it. On one page in large let ters, it was stated that au article written by Henry Ward Beecher would be in the Ledger, and so on through the whole eight pages.— Sir. Bonner did not advertise all lie had to sell, but only attracted attention to the Ledger. People who wish to succeed must use their brains; they mustnOt depend upon manual labor. Advertise not only in the best place in the paper, but in the best papers published.— Advertise only one thing at a time, and take a whole pageibr it; or, if advertisements are short, put them in the best place, even if it costs four times as much. The great ad vantage of having a large column advertise ment in a good place iu a paper was that it covered other advertisements; people could not help seeing it. But advertisements must be frequent—a single advertisement would have no effect. They must be repeated till ‘ the name of the advertiser bacomes well known. Never have a poor job of advertis ing done. Cheap work never paid; get the best job-you can. Use the best material that can be had, and have no halfway work about it. Young men, if they wish to succeed, must advertise and continue to do so, until success crowned their efforts. Death of a Colored Legislator.—B. F. Randolph,' a colored preacher, who claim’s to represent the District of Orangeburg in the Legislature, was on an electioneering tour through the up-country, and came to his death by violence at Cokesbury, Abbeville District, on Friday afternoon. Randolph-/ passed over the Greenville Railroad on Wednesday, and made himself obnoxious to many of the passengers by his violent expres sions and threats, but was unmolested. He de livered an address at A bbeville Courthouse-’ the next day we believe. On Friday merning, he took the cars for Anderson, and on arriving at Cokesbury, entered the up-train, deposited his carpetbag and shawl on a seat and then*' • returned to the platform, when he was fired, upon by three unknown persons, shot through the head and instantly killed. Tho 'body • was brought down yesterday, in charge of the express messenger, and will be forwarded to Orangeburg, by this morning’s train, we: presume. This affair is regretted by the order loving portion of the community, and’every effort will, doubtless, be made to. discover the murderers.—ColumMa Phatnix qf Sunday. It is said, oa good authority', that Spain at this moment possesses no less than S0Q convents, wftli 15,000 nuns, there are 55 bishops, 2,500 cannons and abbots, 1,80d regular .priests, 25,000 vicars,' etc; -The- budget for the Chuiclrii twice as high in With a trembliag hand, .‘‘If jqu 'must know Spain ag in France. * - . ■ V • * WWj.