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J BLOODY LINKS; -OR,— The Devil’s Chain. BY EDWARD JENKINS, A Member of the British, Parliament, and the Au thor of “ Ginx’s Baby,” etc. Make a chain ■ for the land is full of bloody crimes, and the city is full of violence.—Ezekiel. “ I staggered and sat down. ‘ Good heavens!’ [ half-past four on February 1, and, on the other I said, ‘ Helen, is this true ? . side from the direction, there is a memorandum “I cannot describe to you, sir, *he horror with in pencil, sir: 5a m Elliston. Claymore to be re- which we three people looked at each other—it , called. Coke to be 1. Ad.’ You remember, sir, seemed as if some evil spirit had dropped down Admiral Claymore was recalled in February, and and with a wave of his wand set us all aghast your cousin, Captain Coke, was made vice-ad- with mutual repulsion. To lessen, probably, i miral? The letter was dropped out of your the painful restraint of this exposure, the poor pocket, sir, in Mrs. Bellhouse's room.” lady tore open the letter I had brought, and ran j “Look here, Inspector!” replied Delamarre, her eyes over it. Before she had finished she j uneasily. “You are a man of the world. You thrust it into her bosom and uttered a fearful know I am a man of the world. There is no use shriek. Then she ran to the window. We i opening up a gentleman’s private life, and mak- rushed forward to stop her, but only seized a 1 ing a great scandal for nothing. I can assure light shawl she had on, and which slipped off ; you I had nothing to do with Mrs. Bellhouse’s her sboulders. The next instant she had thrown j death. Throw the papers into the fire.” LINK THE NINTH. ! herself out, with a shriek more awful than be- j “Can't do it, sir. They have been in the hands Slow and weary passed the weeks at the humble I fore V * Write this down carefully, sir. I make j of the Chief Commissioner.” hospice of the Burslem curate Thmnal. critical ! my solemn declaration on my dying bed that; I he deuce they have ! danger and trembling suspense, the unconscious ' ne ^ ther 1 nor Delamarre contributed in any way “les; and he says he must do his duty, wanderer was watched with the earnestness of a j to tbat w0 “ an 8 deathl T( . fl . . H /, % e ls mnn ’ Sl f, ? 11 ml W be a case ot humanity which was possessed with the noblest “ Lut - Mr ’ B’ghorne, excuse me. It that is murde % Mr. Delamarre ! spirit of brotherhood. A strange long struggle i so ’ wb >’>.. , may 1 ask ’ dld - vou deslre to secrete i . Delamarre shuddered, and turned and looked of a feeble vitality and diseased brain with the i , , r n , rr ; , power that may put out the lamps of life and ! r ? ? ave my { rle ? dl £r. .^lamarre. He is thought. Often the good doctor sat by and fear- I one ° f the props to the Ministry -they are al- ed that the spirit ould slip away like a shadow. ! F eady , weak - f 1 thl8 bad c ? me J® 4 he must have ■ - ,7 ^ n( j p oo ’ | been disgraced, and then forced to resign. into the glass over the mantel piece. With per fect command of countenance, he could not but see that a light pallor tinged his face. We know he was innocent ol that terrible crime, but it ... - ,,, ixuu m e Jut „ _ w as a startling thing to hear the word uttered in curate, overworked bTdavTna ce^bJTwJ^rp i may tell my friends of it, but keep it a solemn connection with his name. After so many years irrows Of men fUronth «*ret * * * Neither of us has been recognized; ! of successful politics, so nessing the same scenery, feeling the same atmos pheric impressions, and hearing often the same conversation, we have sometimes chanced on the same line of thought and feeling. Then, Medway tells me she is a fair draughtswoman, and indeed once showed me some excellent sketches of hers, one or two of which, by the way, I got permission to use as my own in the Merry World." “ I knew (hat she sketched,” said McAlpine, in that half-cautious way in which one ventures on a confession he is not quite certain that he is ready yet to make. “ We do not see her at work, be cause she goes out so early. But I met her once coming back from the sea-wall at early sunrise, with a sketch-book, portfolio and camp-stool in her hands, which I persuaded her to let me take away from her.” “ You ought to have improved that occasion, Mac.” t- “ I could not. She was as cool as an iceherg.” for he is a gentleman of independent means—and thence took steamer for Barcelona, intending to make his way to Biarritz as soon as possible. But he was captured by the Carlists, and being given the choice of death or service with them, he very wisely chose the latter, thinking he might survive to press his suit to Gwendolin yet. A letter he sent to Biarritz reached her, though she was by this time in Milan. Now what does this strange girl do but write straightway to Dolores to say that she would come to St. Augustine as fast as she could, and stay near her to comfort her until her brother’s return from the campaign in Spain. Under her cousin Medway’s escort she came in deed, and here she has stayed ever since. As you may imagine, Dolores is perfectly devoted to her.” “ That accounts, then,” said John, “ for her coldness to other gentlemen. She has been struck by the Floridian’s passionate devotion and by the romance of the situation. It is a very taking “ Have you ever thought of the possibilily of 1 style of thing even to a clever girl like her. She her having a betrothed somewhere, and therefore j loves this unseen, then, or imagines she loves fighting shy of intimate acquaintance Mth gentle- | him.” and escape his saving hand, curate, overworked by day in with the diligent sorrows of men, sat through You many years of loose pleasure, so long a period in which outer re spectability had been concurrent with a disre putable private life—it did shock this man out of his self-possession suddenly to find himself face to face with an outraged society in the person of this stolid policeman uttering the word murder ! j He reflected over his position a long time before ~ ~ he turned again. He saw how awkward the sit- The curate ran to the bed. The youth was in uatiou was. He could think of no escape from a syncope. The good man saw some swift rest- | that which he dreaded most—a scandalous expo- orative was needed, and poured out, from the j sure—and his thoughts ran rapidly over the pro- — ^ , uuucu , hitherto untouched flask, a little brandy, with bable effects upon himself and the ministry, to The curate, sitting",VrTnvsilv* at ^the I wbicb lle touched the patient’s lips. The sick j whose existence he knew he was essential. It table, with a shaded candle, “nodding over the : man feebl >’ opened his eyes, in which, for an \ was impossible to see light through the bewild- the hours of night waiting on this unknown ! but m y terror ot discovery grew so strong, I had stranger, and listening for any word that might ! to runaway ; Through some strange acquain- give him a thread to trace his identity. Now i auue r s 1 bad t I or “ ed ln J he coarse , r of “ y wlld and then came hints of evil life that made the i bte ’ 1 succeeded in getting out of London un good man quail: now a coupling of the name of detected, and disguising myself, was passed “father” with saddening ipithets of scorn and ! *5 om ™«Aerto shelter, until I came across Bill anger, or of “mother” with gentle endearments, j Knowsley Oiten the sick man called for “ Euiily” with fond exclamations and words of regret. Yet he never dropped a surname. But one night, just after twelve o’clock, the sick man s incoherent mutterings suddenlv stopped. paper intended tor Sunday morning’s sermon, while the fire slumbered in the grate, heard a clear voice: “ Emily !” He started up, and bringing forward the light, man feebly opened his eyes, in which, for an instant, a strange light played. “Ah!” he whispered, “brandy! Would to God I had never known the taste!” Mr. Delamarre was one of Miss Bighorne’s ad- He was assuredly a most distinguished saw that a great change had come over the young sultor: Secretary ol Mate tor the Marine, forty- man. The chiseled face lay upwards, no longer 3even years ot a S e > , ot a ® agreaWe and winning distorted with pain or the fury of delirium, but 1 P resence - connected with exalted families, tranquil. It was like ' ’ " r marble face, and the marble was weeping. “Did you call?” said Mr. Wood. “ Wherd is Emily ? Where am I ?” “In good hands, my friend; in good hands, thank God. Emily is not here at present.” “ Not here !” said the sick man, turning his eyes toward the speaker, and searching the gentle, open face. “Does she know I am ill? How long have I been here ?” “For some time,” said the curate. “ And she is not within call ?’’ | “No.” “Then I shall never see her again !” said the bv * n B- Dut y Tr. Delamarres tame, as a man of youth. He turned away languidly and pain- ‘he town, was, as is usual, confined to certain fully, to hide his tears. I cliques, reputable and disreputable. Only vague “By God’s grace you will, mv friend. You j rum ors reached the ears ot lady friends, and are netting better now ” i these were most discreetly chastened. For, “No,” replied the sick man. I woke up, and 1 wUlle U “ generally true that evil report is apt felt at once that it was to die. How came I i H* S row a8 U progresses, an exception is some- jj ere ?» 1 times made in the case ot the nobility and up- “I found vou in my outhouse. You had i P. er cla88e8 - A peer’s son, or the heir of a million- sought shelter there one stormy night.” i ^ ire » Wl " have his lollies reported in euphem- “Oh ! I remember,” replied the patient, with a j lsms ’ and hls vlces P ainted wi * b a gentle hand, shudder,—“Bill Knowsley.” Miss Emily had never taken to Mr. Delamarre, “Bill Knowsley, young man !” cried the curate, an d her instinctive dislike to him had been con- startled out of his weariness for the moment, i firmed by Henry Bighorne, who once curtly “ VVhy, only this day I have read of that man’s I said to his sister: execution, for the murder of his wife and child- j “ Ware Delamarre !” # ren; I trust you had nought to do with it?” This was not an unnecessary warning, since “Nothing, thank God,” replied the other. “lithe elder Bighorne’s faith in the recuperative have sins enough to answer for without that. 1 powers of human nature, both moral and pby- was hiding at his house for special reasons, and j sical, when it was of the aristocratic order, was I fear the money that I gave him had something ; so great that he would willingly have run the ♦r. d" v>tf his crime. But you say he is exe- ; risk of the-Secretary's reformation, cuted. How long is that ago—how long have I j Gn the very morning of Henry Bighorne’s j been here ?” i death, Mr. Delamarre was leisurely dressing at i “Many weeks. Do not overtax yourself now. 1 his bouse in Dover street, at the early hour of I am a clergyman. Not knowing what may < ten, when his servant entered and announced that an inspector of police from Scotland Yard desired to see him. “ Wishes to see me, Laycock? He must have made a mistake. I am not the Home Secretary.” I told him, sir, there was some mistake, and ering chaos. Worse than all, in view of that ugly word, murder, Henry Bighorne had put himself out of the way, no one 1 aew where. On the other hand, a sentiment of honor forbade that he should mention Bighorne’s name, since the latter had done so much for him. .At length he turned calmly to the Inspector. “ Well, what do you want to do?” “ Well, Mr. Delamarre, the First Commis sioner ordered me to bring two gentlemen, in plain clothes, and leave them in the house for the present, till you can see your friends. Of course you won’t leave this room; and they will You are quite man of unquestionable talent, standing high with his party, and universally popular in so ciety. Emily mighthave been forgiven by some people, had she overlooked his glaring faults and accepted his hand. But while society ad mired Mr. Delamarre, it took the privilege of ■ remain down stairs in the hall, talking freely about him, and the gossip was not ] free to see any one. over particular about his private life, and not I “Hem!” said Mr. Delamarre, with a choking even careful to keep it private. When a man j sensation in his throat, which he wished to con- drives his Stanhope to Eichmond or Greenwich, | ceal. “It is very obliging of the Chief Commis- aud airs himself there before the public with j sioner! And seeing I appointed him when I was whatever company he may have, he challenges ; Home Secretary, it is grateful. But, my clear society to take note in what manner he his Inspector, don’t leave a couple of men like sher iff's messengers in my hall. Put them in the library.” men in these parts?” “Thought of it? Yes, often enough, and it seems to me only too likely to be the case.” “ Well, you-know “ ‘ Kelt of Gael Must swim or scale,’ and I suppose Kelt of Kymry, being of the moun tains also, must be used to similar rrocesses of get- ! ting through the world. You, the McAlpine, need j not hope for favor with the descendant of the Alps i and tne Pens unless you push your suit with some j zest and fervor. But you say you do not know I whether you are in love yet or not. Such being the case, let us get back to the Magnolia for break- : fast. I’m hungry by this time. Wonderful still- | ness a morning at this season has in this haLf- ( trop- ical land.” So saying, Towers caught up the oars, smiled at the dreamy, troubled face of his friend, and pulled for shore with a vigor one would scarcely have ex pected from him ou so hot a midsummer morning. It iru* strange that go late iu the summer there should have been a visiting party delaying in St. Augustine. It was stranger that a party so delay ing should not have been by this time op more iu- timnte terms. When English or Ameriaan stran gers find themselves in Cairo alter this opera sea son, or at Mentone in summer; when visitors chance to stay at St. Paul’s into the domesticity;- I do not know about that,” said Kate. “ She I is, at any rate, determined to console Dolores as | much as she can for a loss which her own charms are responsible for. But you men cannot under- : stand a woman’s chivalry.” “ l only know,” said John Towers, “that Lu- | cius McAlpine stands no chance whatever, and I ; am sorry for the poor fellow. But how about Med- j waw ? I can otter a shrewd guess now as to wny , he has of late so secluded himself, that a fellow never has a chance of a stray word from him.” “ Yes, you are rifht. lie is desperately in love with Dolores, and 1 am half inclined to think she likes him.” “ Everybody suited but poor McAlpine !” mut tered John. " You can withdraw in his favor if you pity him so much,” Kate hinted. “ Mr. McAlpine is a very charming gentleman, and knows how to look the lover.” “ Friendship might make the sacrifice,” said John, “ but his heart is too far gone another way for you to win. On the whole, we must let him be miserable, I fear.” “ Ouly let me try, and—. But here we are at the door, so no more nonsense, Mr. John.” John Towers thought Dolores wonderfully pretty, and watched her soft eyes in a way that would He rang the bell. Laycock appeared, looking very white and disturbed. “Show those two—ah—gentlemen, into the library, Laycock, and get them some breakfast. This gentleman, perhaps, will join them. We have an awkward affair on at the Admiralty, which requires their assistance.” The Inspector lingered a moment behind the servaut. “ It is not regular, Mr. Delamarre,” he said in undertone. But you give me your word of honor, as a gentleman, you won’t leave this house ?” “Y'ou need not fear,” replied the minister. “ You can rely upon my honor.” (TO BE CONTINUED. ) (For The Sunny South.1 MEDWAY’S rQFf&R COUSIN. BV C. WOODWARD HUTSON. happen, though I hope the best, I ask you, be fore God, to tell me who you are, and how you came here ?” “ Then you have not found out who I am, and ! Emily knows nothing ?” said the other in a sad 1 whisper; and he re-took to weeping. The cler- j that you were dressing. But he has your name gyman waited. Then he began to repeat softly 1 down, and he insists on seeing you at once.” ~ " , and the words seemed “Well, then show him up here.” one or two of the Collects, to steal like soothing music into the sick man’s heart. “Thank you,” he said; “I am very grateful. Those words revive sweet memories—but it is too late now. The few minutes I have to live, I must spend in thanking you for your goodness, and in making a statement of the circumstances that have brought me here. Have you a pen and ink?” The curate gave him a few spoonfuls of nour ishment, but he read in the youth’s face that his premonition was too correct, and hastened to the writing materials. “Takedown that my name is Henry Willes- den Bighorne, son of Mr. Eichard Bighorne, member of Parliament—the great distiller. Twenty-two years of age, of Baliol College, Ox- The inspector entered—a broad, serious-faced fellow—and gave a salute. “Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “ but information we have received, sir, interests you particularly. I thought I had best come up and see you about it alone, sir.” “Very good of you, Inspector,” said Dela marre, buttoning bis braces. “ But is it really so important that you must break into my dress ing-room to tell it?” “That is as you think, sir, when you have heard it,” replied the policeman, shortly—like a man who knows his position and how to keep “ Look here, Harleston, what in the name of goodness can induce that splendid-looking girl to stay so long iu a dull old place like this St. Au gustine ?” “What splendid-looking girl?” asked John Towers, lazily moving his elbow and turning half around to face his companion, who sat in the stern of the boat. ( “ Why, that cousin of Medway’s, Miss Caer—by the way, the queerest variety of the name l have ever kuowu. I’ve met with Cars and Carrs, Kers aud Kerrs, Quhairs, Quires and Queers, but have never known any one spell the mime C-a-e-r be fore.” “ The purest Welsh, I suspect,” said Towers, “ and the lovely Miss Gweudolin is double-dis tilled Welsh, no doubt, for seventy generations back. But how was L to know that you meant her by 1 that splendid-looking girl ?’ There are at least three might answer to that description at the Magnolia, not to speak of the reigning belles of it. , — — “ Well, let us hear this wonderful information the other hotels.” you have got hold of, my friend.” J “That’s true; but the very question 1 put “Yes, sir, certaiuly. Did you happen to I might have assured you who it was I meant. Who ford from which university my own father re- know a Mrs. Bellhouse, who lived at—St. Mar- I else has stayed here since April ? Why, she was moved me to the distillery, and to the life which tin’s Lane?” here before we came. Everybody else makes a “Oh!” said Mr. Delamarre, with a little laugh, j Hitting visit, and is off before you can get up a “You came to tell me something, and now you j good flirtation. Even you, Harleston, would have are cross-examining me!” j been down to the Everglades by this time if my “Well, Mr. Delamarre, if you know anything entreaties had not kept you here.” about her, it will come out; and if you do not, j “Yes,” said Towers, whom his friend so per- well and good; and drawing a pocket-book from • sistently called by the name he had once used as his pocket, he opened it, and took out an en- j nom de plume; “yes, Lucius, you may well compelling Minnesota winter; when Congress ad- * lilve made Kate very much disposed to take him . . . away at once, if she had not felt very sure of him. Dolores took them'out into the grapevine arbor, where she regaled tljem with some Amontillado, Seville ch'eese and almonds, and talked incessantly of Gweudolin. They were in the midst of their talk, when sud denly Gwendolin herself appeared, crying out : “ Oh, Dolores, he has come !” She pauseil; startled, on seeing that Kate Heather and Mr. Towers were with Dolores, and blushing a vivid aud painful blush, seemed about to turu away. But Kate cried out: •■Gwendolin, we all know. Don’t mind John, lie’s my -Johu, and you must think him a true j friend. Gwen., come teli us all about it. Oh, I’m ; so glad!” Dolores had for the moment almost fallen back from the bench on which she was seated, so much was she shaken and agitated by Gwendolin’s half- spoken news. “ Who?” she cried, recovering herself and rush ing into Gwendolin's arms at the same time with Kate, so that there was a tripartite embrace, which John Towers gazed on with some doubt as to whether they did not all three need support. “Luis,” said Gweudolin, with her beautiful face fml of tlie light of joy. “ Your heroic broth er, my darling Lola. Harry Medway had a te'e- grarn from him last night, but said nothing about it until this morning, when he knew that he would be here iu an hour’s time, lie has just gone to meet him. Lola, he will be here even while we are talkiug. The noble fellow ! what has he not been through—for me !” Tlie last words she said in a whisper. The next moment there was a noise at the dour, and a great and joyful cry of the servants. They rushed into the house—Dolores, Kate and Gwendolin. with dutiful John Towers at their heels; aud iu the hall at the foot of the staircase they met Medway with the returned Floridian, a Oarlist sol dier no longer. Dolores gave Luis oue eager em brace, and then putting Gwendoliu’s hand in his, sent them into the parlor close by. Harry Med way, crying “My turn now, Lola!” gravely led her back into the grape-vine arbor, begging Tow ers aud Miss Ilealher to make themselves at home in the library, with the air of one who claimed some right to exercise hospitality in that house, lie ouly looked back to say with a nod to Towers: “A queer girl, that cousin of mine !” is ended in this * * * * But I do not blatue him; please put that down. Tell him, that dying, I said I nourish no angry or unlilial thought, and took all the fault upon myself. He never was so weak as I have been. My sister, Emily, you cannot tell what a dear, lovely girl she is !— What a blessing it will be to you to get her thanks for your kindness !—tell her, too, that hers was the only name I could think about when I was dying. * * " “ I have no time for confessions; I feel myself growing weaker every minute. Write rapidly. Say that on the—— of February last, I went to No. St. Martin’s Lane, London, to cell upon a person there, named Helena Bellhouse. Do not be shocked. Sad as her life was, she was a born lady and a wonderfully clever aud engag ing woman, quite of an unusual character, and, though under a dreadful cloud, strangely am bitions to preserve some self-respect and be the best that she could be. God knows how little that was, for she was a hard drinker at times. It does not matter how I became acquainted with her. She was twice my age, but I took a kindly interest in her, and especially because she had told me of a beautiful child she had in the country, who was born in lawiul wedlock, and whom she was protecting from a bad hus band. She never mentioned his name. I help ed her as much as I could to carry out her plans, and latterly used to fetch the letters that came for her from the child or her guardians. She never told me, however, who she really was. I should say I had a most intimate friend, Capt. Conistoun, son of Lord Newmarket, to whom, poor fellow, I owe a terrible debt for initiating me into the mysteries of life. 1 also knew a gentleman of high position and loose morality, well known in London society. He is a Secre tary of State. He was a strange man, and had taken a fancy to this woman because she was so clever and ladylike. “ Well, sir, on that day of February, I went in the afternoon, just about dusk, to call on Mrs. Bellhonse, as she called herself. I had been to Notting Hill to get a letter she expected from her daughter. When I entered her room, MJ. Delamarre was there—a cloak and hat in which he used to disguise himself lay on the s n ta - Wine and spirits were on the table—they had both been drinking. She was excited. He seemed troubled and vexed. “‘Bighorne,’ he said immediately, ‘I have made an astounding discovery. Let me present .to you Mrs. Hurlingbam, the sister of your I friend aud mine, Captain Conistoun.’ velope, addressed in a female hand to Mr. Dela marre. “Mr. Delamarre!” he said, standing in front of the minister, “this envelope”—Delamarre snatched it out of his hand, and was about to throw it into the fire—“and the letter inside it, which I have in my pocket. You need not de- stroy_that,”he added quietly—“you cannot de stroy my evidence!’ Mr. Delamarre laughed, and said: “ Oh ! I was getting tired of the subject. And as the envelope is my property, picked up some where no doubt, I thought I would cut the mat ter short by burning it. But there it is, if you want to keep it. You are only wasting time, however.” “That envelope, Mr. Delamarre,” said the policeman, steadily, “ was found on the sofa in the room Mrs. Bellhouse occupied the day she threw herself out of the window. Y'ou remem ber, sir, at the inquest- : say that. If I had not found a No. 1 chess-player in Medway, and if the Merry World had not so suddenly taken a fancy for an elaborate series of pen-aua-ink sketches of St. Augustine past and present, I vow I could not have stood it. What you find to keep you here so long, I cannot imag ine. You don’t seem to care mueh for fishing, you dance as languidly as a snail’s ghost, and you don’t appear to have improved your acquaintance with Miss Caer, if it’s for her sake you've an chored here.” “My dear fellow,” cried Lucius McAlpine, “she mystifies me. I don’t know what to make of her. She’s as cold in her manner and as precise in her phraseology as a Northern beauty; and yet Med way says she has spent the greater pari of her liie in New Orleans. She hasn’t cousumption or anything of that kind to make her listless, and in deed she’s not listless. She talks with some ani mation on subjects of literature or art. She has journs and Washington is dead ^nd yet there are people stranded on the defunct whale, some de gree of sociality is forced upon theiy, and there is at least temporary hobnobbing. But Miss Oaer's coldness seemed to have had the effect of separating the pilgrims to St. Augus tine into groups that came into contact only with the ordinary courtesies, to part again as indiffer ently as people do who have gone through only a formal introduction to one another. We shall soon see, however, that, as far as some of the visitors were concerned, this was only seem ing. John Towers had been a writer of satirical sto ries when he was the “ Harleston ” McAlpine was fond of calling him. But he was a poet too, and the poetical vein was decidedly uppermost now. tie had a better reason for lingering in St. Augus tine than those he had Darned to his friend. The reader will divine it in a moment or so, if he has not already done so. He had a pleasant surprise at the breakfast- table. Winsome little Miss Heather, tripping past him on her way to the balcony, bent her head quickly dowu by his like a canary, and half whis pered : “ Yes, you can go with me to see Dolores.” Towers started up delighted, and soon, joined her on the balcony. She gave him her hand, but made a warning gesture with her bright little ringleted head to indulge iu no loverlike demon strations. “ I’ll run and get my hat in a minute,” she said. “ 1 want you to hear Dolores rave about Gwendolin’s beauty and grace. You should have fallen in love with that magnificent girl, sir. Her lustrous eyes were meant for a poet to celebrate.” “ Kate, my precious little dew-drop,” said John, “ there’s more sparkle, life and sweetnsss in oue sunshiny thrill of yours than in all the diamonds that ever glittered. But I want to ask you about the why aud the wherefore of MissCaer's intimacy with your Dolores, and I want to tell you of Mc- Alpine’s trouble.” “ Oh' Mr. McAlpine’s infatuation is well known to me,” said Kate, laughing. “ Don’t we all know the signs? What says merry Rosalind ? * A lean cheek ; a blue eye and sunken ; an un questionable spirit; a beard neglected’—but there 1 ant out, for he has’none ; ‘hose ungartered,’ for which he may put ‘straw hat battered ; sleeve un buttoned; shoe uutied, and everything about him demonstrating a careless desolation.’ But you, sir, you are no lover. You are—nay, I can go ou with Rosalind's speech and apply it to you every letter. Listen : * You are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as lov ing yourself rather than seeming the lover of any other.’ Ha! ha! ha ! ‘It covers you over like a cloak,’ as Sancho Panza says.” “ You’re a rascal, Kate, and slander yoor lover. I have uO reason for ‘ careless desolation,’ being as happy as the day is long. And as for loving myself, of course I do, and ten times as much as I ever did before, having cause since the hour when you confessed to loving me. I love myself only because l am bound to love everything you love.” “A pretty turn to give to Hobbe's philosophy,’ said ILite. “ But come, sir ; you talk too much. Let me get my hat, and ou the way I 11 tell you all about Gwendolin and Dolores.” So off she ran, pretending to rub off ever so hard the kiss he had imprinted ou her fuany little brown hand. Dolores was the daughter of an old Spanish fain [For The Suutiy South.] AUDIT THIMBLES. BV “COUSIN ANNIE.’ Stop sewing a moment, my little lady. There. Now can you tell me wtiat that bright little in strument is on the middle finger of your right hand, which pushes your needle so swiftly and smoothly through your work? “ Wny, of course you can !” you say. “ Any one can tell that. Even little Bright Eyes there by your side knows what a thimble is.” “ What else can you tell me about it ? Where did it come from ?” “Oh, yes, that’s easy enough to answer, too. I Why papa bought it for me at the jeweler’s on ! my last birth-day. It is only a silver one. : papa said that when I was two years older, aud i had learned to sew better, I might have a gold j one—a beautiful gold oue, like mamma's, which | Uncle John brougut for her all the way from i Paris.” “Yes, yes, all this is very clever, my little “ I know nothing about the inquest, inter- j fire in her eyes ant! .n her tones when the discus- rupted Mr. Delamarre. “It was a scandal which , sion is of certain abstract topics. But she lacks did not concern me. # _ I personality—either will not or cannot take an indi- “ Perhaps so, sir. But at the inquest it was | vidual interest in things around her. Sometimes stated that two gents were in the room with Airs, j there comes an absent look upon her face, and it BeUhouse that afternoon and at the time she is p i ain her though , s are mi f es awaJ . r fell out of the window. Also, that one ot those | m ake her out ” gentlemen wore a cloak and black felt hat, Mr. , .. You seem to have studied her a good dea l. Delamarre something like this cloak and hat, ! Perhap8 you have no , been persoQal en ’ ugh your . self, my dear boy. A little too much timidity sir, I suspect,” said the policeman, gravely, as he pointed to a chair in the dressing-room where two such articles appeared to have been thrown the evening before. Delamarre looked uneasy. “ Look here, Inspector, ” he said, “ you fellows are so accustomed to patting things together in accordance with your theories, that yon make extraordinary blunders. You state that yon found that letter on a sofa that stood in Mrs. Bellhonse's room. Well, if you have the letter too, you know that it was from Mrs. Bellhouse herself. I admit I was acquainted with her, and she occasionally corresponded with me. But you can easily suppose that I had handed it back to Mrs. Bellhouse, and she pat the letter there herself.” “No, sir; I think not. The envelope has the ‘London West’ post-mark, and was delivered at about you for an old soldier. “ I believe you,” said McAlpine, blushing a little behind his cigar. “ But you are going too far and too fast. I am not exactly in love,* c if that is what you mean. She repels me by that singu lar manner of hers. I am twice as much attracted to that sprightly, winsome little Miss Kate Heath er, who hasn’t half her beauty.” Towers winced. “ Miss Kate is a very sweet girl,” he said, “but I realty think Miss Gwendolin suits you better, if you can but find your way to her heart. You were wondering why she makes so long a stay here. 1 sometimes fancy the poems in the Merry World we were so struck with, on account of the little chance coincidences of thought and expression with my own contributions in prose, may be hers. Wit- A ft j j X CoIUv LX 1/ X XX Ow* iL UUUUI ill v XX vlll X vo vt.i txwov Ut.jr o.j v . . # She and Kate had been schoolmates and had be- lady; but can you tell me anything else about come very dear iriends, aud Kate often spent the ; ■ ■l' lrst tell me why it is called thimble, day with her during her stay in St. August-ne. | A bere - y° r u sbake y oar head ' Yoa do knuw - On the way, as Kate had promised, she told her I ^ u PF? 8e I . teil th « n ' . r ‘ le ™ rd at &rst t wa8 lover ail she knew about the relations between j ^mWe-smce changed intoUhrnble, a corruption Dolores and Miss Caer. “ You know, Mr. John,” said she, for that was the compromise she had made between calling him John and Mr. Towers, “ that Gwendolin and I were together at Madame Loquet’s during the three years papa lived in New Orleans—that is, we were together two years of that time. She was older than I, and left school a year before 1 did. She went at once to Europe, and I never saw her again until this spring, here at the Magnolia. •‘ Now, the year after she left was the first Dol ores spent at Loquet’s, and she and Gwendolin never met until the other day. Dolores was a of the two words thum and bell. It was called thumb, because it is supposed that when they were first made, some people wore them on their thumb—queer place for them, eh ?—and bell, be cause of tueir hell-like shape. So far as their invention is concerned, our friends, the Dutch, have that honor. The first account we have of thimbles being introduced into England is at about the year 16D5, whither they were brought by their inventors, the Datch--or j rather, by one man, a Dutchman, John Lofting, | by name, who commenced their manufacture at ; Pelington, a small town near London. Formerly, thimbles were made of iron, then stranger to all the girls when she first came, and I j of brass, and in time of steel, silver and gold, had her in my room and made a great pet of her. j You, my little lady, with that bright aud beau- so that we grew to love each other dearly. I talked to her a good deal about Gwendolin with a school girl’s enthusiasm for beauty and great intellectual gifts, and she wrote home to her brother in a rap turous sort of way about the Gwendolin she had never seen but heard so much praised. At last she actually borrowed a remarkably fine miniature picture of Gwendolin which she had given me as a parting gift, went to a distinguished artist then living in New Orleans, and got him to make a beautiful copy of it, which she sent to her brother. This brother, Luis, must be one of the most ro mantic enthusiasts that ever lived. The picture and the praise filled him with a prodigious fire of love. He wrote to his sister to know where she was last heard from iu Europe, found out through a letter I had just received that she was to be some time at Biarritz, set sail at once for Cuba— tiful little silver thimble, fitting your fiuger so snugly, would not have relished the idea much of sewing with a heavy, clumsy iron one, wonld you ? But just think ! when thimbles were first made, our forefathers—dear me! what am I say ing? our fotemathers, I mean—were glad to get them even of iron; for what a help they were! Steel, brass, and silver thimbles are made chiefly in England; but there are more gold thimbles made in Paris than anywhere else. There! you are yawning. Have I made the subject too dry for you? Well, put up your work now, and come for a walk, and some other day I will tell you more at length about thim bles. A man who has traveled much declares t*" ^ the Norwegians are the politest people he e met.