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WILD WORK;
A Study of Western Life.
BV MARY £. BRYAN.
CHAPTER XVIL
k half moon hung in the sky: the summer
air was full of the scent of night jessamine and
oleander, the little town of Cohatchie seemed
asleep, for few lights gleamed from its scattered
houses, and in a grove not far from Col. Alver’s
pretty home, a whippoorwill thrilled the silence
with its cry. The still sweetness of the night
wrought even on the restless pulses of Floyd
Reese, and her step became slower as she paced
the walks in the rear yard, with the perfume of
iiowers coming to her, and the shadows of the
shrubbery falling now and then over her figure,
clad in thin, dark gauze, with a black lace man- ]
tie over her head, through which gleamed her j
fair brow and throat and her wonderful bright ]
eves, as she passed into the moonlight.
"No one was astir in the house, and the lights j
were out, except the lamp that twinkled in her
own room. Mrs. Alver, whose health was deli- |
cate, had gone to bed at the persuasion of Floyd,
who bad made her a cup of tea and insisted on
her drinking it and lying down.
•Col. Alver will not
said. ‘I heard him
Itose and send her to ojjen the door for hi&, or
I will open it myself. I shall sit up late writ-
that must not be. Reform must stop short
of blood, or I will draw out of this movement.’
•You can not. You are pledged to the move
ment. Y'ou have set it going. It must achieve
its mission. It carries all your hopes—remem
ber that before you let your weakness get the
better of you. What if these men suffer ruin ?
They have ruined thousands. What would even
their death be? A small, small sacrifice to
freedom. No great wrong can be righted with
out some sacrifice. You must not think of the
sacrifice. It is yonr duty to look only to the
purpose you have in view—to keep eye and aim
for that. Not to mind what worms you may
crush.’
The moonlight, by some wierd quality of its
own, brings out the evil in a face better than the
less subtle daylight. A ray, glancing through
the vine leaves, fell across Floyd’s face, and he j
thought how hard and cruel it looked. He |
turned from her.
‘You are no woman ; you have no heart,’ he
said.
‘No heart! You say this to me—you for
whose sake I have steeled my heart and merged
every feeling into sympathy with your inter
ests ?’
There was no hardness now in her melting
glan ce.
Yes, you who despise me as weak because
‘ The head of this movement has more brains
and more force of will than Yent ever carried
in his big cranium.’
‘ You thiuk Alver is the head ?’
‘I think so. What is it your friends want
you to do ?’
* That is a secret; but it may as well be told
to you. They wish me to negotiate to have
troops sent here directly, or at least some time
before the election. They anticipate trouble; I
do not—at least none I cannot hold my hand
against, without the aid of troops.’
‘You will likelv be gone some time; what
will the parish officers do in the meantime—
your brother and Devene’s, your sisters’ hus
bands, and Edgeville and Howard.’
‘They will attend to their duties as usual.’
‘And this excitement?’
‘ Let it take its course. It will die out. You
look doubtful. Do you fear anything ?’
‘I think these Officers will be called upon to
resign their places.’
‘ Which they will not do. I have instructed
them to stand to their rights. These lawless
agitators may threaten them; but they cannot
cowe them as they may do those craven fellows
in N. parish. They will hold their own;! Clear streamed into Cohatchie, just as the sun
they cannot he put out of office lawfully. Their j set shone on the low, red waters t>i the river. A !
per well, and the fellow looks a little careworn
and reckless. He attends well to his business
though, and makes a capital sheriff. He is brave
as they make them- -worth a dozen of that bul
lying humbug, Yeut I am sorry to thiuk he
really loves that little flirt—Auzete Blair.
• Howard too looks down in the mouth, but it
isn’t love that troubles this sage States’ Attor
ney. The old fellow is scared. He has dreams
and presentiments, he says. He fears some ter
rible catastrophe is ahead, and says there will
be wild work in this parish soon. He infects
me with his gloomy feelings a little, and I think
—but you have already called me a croaker, and
I shall have you saying with Lochiel, ‘ False
Wizard, avaunt.’
‘ That I am not badly inoculated with How
ard’s fears, you can see by the fact that I feel
easy enough to write you gossip, and that I shall
soon leave and go to the city on business that
has been too long delayed.
‘ I shall wait four days longer however on the
lookout for developments. Yours, P. ’
CHAPTER XXII.
A company of merry picnickers from Lake
enemies dare not resort to violence; thev know
that swift punishment would follow. Even if
this soft night, the scent of flowers in your : they arrest, imprison them, they will only ruin
hair, the sweeter perfume of your breath, your j their cause and help mine. But they will not
warm, beautiful presence close to me here, soft- i go so far as that. Yo* shake your head Picken-
~ ‘ you mean? What
there was any
brother and my
Then it is only a momentary weakness. You ) friends, I would not budge an inch from here.’
Ivin ' down ! warm, beautitul presence close to me nore, suu- ; go so iar us mac. snake youi
>t come home until late’ she tens my heart-makes me feel a moment’s sym- j son; what in God’s nltae do you
J tell vou s0 J wi q wake : pathy tor the young loving pairs that may soon do you apprehend i ft I thought
to out-n the door for hife. or : taste misery and ruin.’ . „ | danger to the lives_ of w>* brol
steamboat lay at the landing; the gay party,
who had not yet had their frolic out, sprung
out of buggies and wagonettes and went down
to the landing. •
The Captain—a well-known favorite—jovial
man whose fastidious taste was her only sub
stitute for conscience, but fear forced her to
‘ShallI kill myself?’ she thought as she hur
ried from him. ‘Shall I jump over this boat’s
side, and end this torturing fever of life ? Or
shall I kill him, after I have made use of him to
effect my purpose.’
She decided on the latter.
That night, after her escort had parted from
her at Alver’s door, she went up to the master
of the house, who sat on the gallery, moodily
smoking a cigar, and asked —
‘Have you taken that fellow out of the lock-
up?’
‘Yes, I paid his fine—a heavy one. there
was no alternative. His brother was after me,
cursing and threatening to expose everything.
I’m disgusted with them both. Their cursed,
blundering stupidity yesterday has nearly ru
ined all. Devene saw through it, and knew
they were put up to provoke a fuss. I am sure
he did. The wretches got uruuk and'blumlered
like idiots.’
‘They are not fit for the business any way. I
have found a man who is better suited to our
purpose.’
‘You have found a man ? Who is he ?’
‘He is a man I knew in Texas. I have met
him to-night —luckily, just as we needed him.’
‘And you told him ?’
‘Nothing yet. I have appointed to see him.’
•How do you know he will keep silent? You
mg
J have no thought of giving up your purpose?’
The step of a horse approaching in a quiet
I have not. It is now knit into my very life.
w°lk was heard, and Floyd stopped by a sum- All my hopes are staked upon it, even that of
i love. If I lose, I know you will despise me 1
If I win—but you have never yet given me a
promise—never one womanly token of affection
—not one touch of that ripe mouth, not one
throb of that white breast against mine—noth
ing.’
zner house, over hung with multiflora vines,
and stood just within one of its green-arched
door-ways. The horse-man stopped at the
-table back of the yard, dismounted, led in his
horse, and emerging, locked the door behind
him, owned a gate at the lower end of the back
vard and came up through the shrubbery. He
stopped by the summer house when Floyd
waited.
‘I am here’ she said softly from the shadow.
‘You are late.’
•Yes it was nine before the meeting broke up,
and the road over the bills is terribly rough.
‘What success?’
•A« good as I could hope for. The meeting
was largely attended, but many are nolding
back. Slaves ! Witchell has bought them with
a few bushels of corn and a little meat, or else
emptv promises.'
•Did you address the meeting?’
•I spoke again and again, was called for with
enthusiasm. They seemed tired up to any
•joint, I could wish. There is certainly a won- j
ierfnl change in the last few months. The j
people have broken through their paralysis of ;
will. Hopeless submissiveness is gone. They j
begin to believe that Witchell is not necessari
ly their destiny, and they his slaves. At last a
majority feel this way, and are ready to band :
together, to resist the Radical clique, but all I
the poorer class on the Hills belong to Witchell, ;
body and soul, and these, with the negroes, ;
will beat us at the polls, even if the voting is ;
fair, which it wont be. Tent pretends he is
bringing the negroes over, but I see little sign
of it. He never tried to do it, before Witchell
dismissed him from his office of sheriff, and
now he cannot. Curse and expose Witchell as he
does with all his wordy fury, he can no longer
lead the negroes. He has lost his prestige of
office. They look on him with suspicion. They
are shrewd enough to suspect that all his de
nouncing of the Radicals is mere spite.’
‘Still you may use him other ways. He is a
slippery tool, and requires that you keep your
baud firmly upon him. Did you urge the meas
ure you promised to propose ? The time is ripe
for it. The radical convention is closo -«t. hanil’*
mu. ... j. uia pro; ' I the
measure. I brought it out in artful climax.
After I had shown how we were tied hai.d and
foot by tyrannical laws, enforced at the point of
the bayonet, how we were made to accept the
But I will,’ she whispered, shrinking back
from his arms, and catching his hand firmly in
hers. ‘Have 1 not promised? This is no time
for love dalliance; but when the fight is won—
when the parish is free from its tyrants—when
Witchell is hurled from his seat in the Senate,
when Alver is placed upon it—Alver, whose ge
nius and force of will, shall make him the po-
‘ Your staying would not help them.’
‘ Then you do fear something ?’
‘ I do not know what to fear. One can never
tell how excitement may culminate.’
‘ See here, I believe you are a shrewd man
and an honest one, Judge Pickenson. I be
lieve you are my friend, in spite of some harsh
comments of yours on my conduct. I seldom
ask advice; I have always steered my own
course; but right here, I own myself at a loss.
If I stood alone, 1 would not hesitate, but there
are others whose fate hangs on mine. Counsel
me how to act.’
‘You will net take my advice.’
‘I may, or I may not. Let me hear it at all
events. ’
and gallant, invited them all aboard. His boat 1 remember I have a hold on these Nolan men to
would go no further than Cohatchie, as naviga- ®°“P e ^ fheir silence. I happen to know oi <- ’a
tion was getting bai, and he had secured a good j Cmfax business of theirs. ,
‘And I happen to have a similar hold upon
1 this man. I know of a secret episode in his
getting
return trip from this point. He would take the
party up stream however for a little excursion _ ... „ , » T ,
of a few miles and return by moonlight. They ! I Wl11 toll you more another time. Lnong ,
had good music on board; they could dance on j that yon can beheve_ me, when I tel. you he is
deck or in the cabin. He knew Miss Reese ! tue right man for this work. He is cunning as
wanted to dance.
He looked at her admiringly as he spoke. She
was always the handsomest iu any group of fair ;
women. To-day her radiant face betrayed noth
ing of the anxiety and disappointment that !
gnawed her heart. Two of her plans had mis- |
carried in succession. But she did not despair. J
Half an hour afterwards, as she was waltzing j
with the Captain of the steamer, she suddenly j
caught an eye fixed upon her, from under a |
slouched hat. She gave a quick, furtive look at !
the shabby figure leaning against the wall. That
litical power of the State—then all the kisses of ^
these lips, all the throbs of this heart, shall be j make money. You will not be molested,
too poor to thank him him for having been so | ‘What! You counsel me to such cowardice ?
true to himself, so brave, so deserving the wor- j Resign our rights at tie bidding of a set of law-
ship of a proud woman.’ I less men, such as I-have defied often, and am
His eye, ordinarily so cold, glowed with blue, j ready to defy again.’
1 ‘This may be a different order of men, a dif-
| ferent sort of movement. It may have a leader,
| cunniDg as he is determined.’
‘ If he has a grain iif sense, he will know that
Resign your office, and let your brother and j gray hair, that mouth covered with coarse, yel
friends resign. You can still live here and | low-whice moustache, she had no recollection of
them. But that eye, whose bright, dark, evil j i, mar planet. He
well as bold, and liquor has no more effect on
him than water, so he will not get drunk and
over do thematter as these Nolans did.’
[to be continued. ]
About the Moon.
by :n;s. sr. eox ise ckossley.
Modern science has developed startling reve
lations, not a few of them rather irreconcilable
to our former theories, or antagonistic to pet
fancies. A philosophical reprobate, without the
fear of science before his eyes, hurls a pbillipic
against some hypothesis concerning our lovely
ule of corrupt men, who insulted and robbedi ^ 1S ‘ Alver has headache.
u&, I asked what should be done?’ The laws,
the government give us uo recess, *Shoul8 we
not rise up as a body and shake ourselves free
from this incubus? Should we not force these
men to resign even at the ipnxzie of the shot
intense tire under his light lashes.
‘Meantime,’ ne said, drawing her to him. She
did not struggle. She fixed her eyes calmly,
half sternly upon him.
‘Meantime, he will forbear caresses and give
his mind to the work in hand. Listen.’she
went on, stepping back from him: ‘The Radi
cal Senatorial Convention meets in three weeks.
It is a good time to bring this movement to a
focus. What do you mean to do?’
‘Call on our parish officers to resign. Demand
Witchall’s resignation,through committees from
the different parishes he represents. ’
‘And if he refuses?’
‘Threaten him, press it upon him.’
‘And if he still refuses ?’
‘We have gone no farther in our programme.’
‘But I have,’ she whispered. ‘Listen.’
The sound of the clock striking one—always
a solemn sound—made her start.
•Not to-night,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It is too
late. I must go in. I will go first; after a few
moments, you can knock, and I will open the
door.’
She glided down the shadowed walks in her
dark
slightly
her
sue
wnat lrauus we are v ihs wmsperea, laugh
ing, as he came in and took $ie lamp from her
Ladd. Then aloud—‘Be as quiet as you can,
violence is madness—Rhat it is sure to be pun
ished. It would be cutting their own throats.’
‘ Unless it had, or seemed to have a pretext.’
‘Then you think your people are plotting
assassins !’
‘ I do not, but when blinded by excitement,
they are capable of being led ignorantly into a
plot, conceived by a designing leader.’
‘I have instructed Omar and the others to
avoid giving the slightest pretext to violence—
to be quiet, forbearing; only firm in holding on
to their rights. I do not anticipate any dan
ger. If I did—Ed, what is that you are listen
ing to ?’
*1 hear a boat whistling round Squirrel
Point. Shall we signal h<jr? The rain is over.’
‘Yes; we may as well go to-night. I don’t
care to have my movements known, or my busi
ness suspected. Get a lantera and go down to
the landing, and signal them to stop for us,
Ed.’
look was at variance with the gray hair—that
eye, that hooked nose, that bony neck were ter
ribly familiar. She felt a strange faintness come
over her. She stopped in the dance, saying:
‘I have waltzed too much. I am a little dizzy.
Will you get me a glass of water, Captain ?’
Her partner moved away. The shabby figure
darted to a side-table, caught up a half-filled
glass of wine and brought it to her.
‘Here is something better than water,’ said a
voice that made her blood run cold. ‘Drink to
our renewed acquaintance, Mabel Waters.’
Mechanically, she extended her arm and took
the glass. It shook in her hand and the red
liquid was spilled over her white fingers.
* Wipe it off with your handkerchief. It comes
off easier than blood,’ whispered the hideous
stranger, with a meaning look. ‘ You stave. If
you did not know me before you do now, at men
tion of that word—blood. Como out to me on
the deck five minutes from now, I will find a
dark comer, where we two old friends may talk
ot old times and future plans.’
She made no answer. Terror and dismay had
blanched her face and paralyzed her tongue.
But she was used to self-control. She resolute
ly repressed her emotion. She gave him.a look
that signified she understood and would ob«sy
him. Five minutes after he had gone out and
■ -ys:
CHAPTER XX.
It was a chill, rainy night. Judge Pickenson
j sat late by his wood fire, comfortable to-night
i though it was midsummer. His family had long
„ . _ i retired, but he could not sleep. He was troubled
■And how did they receive this? • i with misgivings as to what had been the issue
‘They responded warmly, but I am.afraid of ! oi the day—the first day of the session of the
their timidity when the time comes to act. If j Senatorial Convention at N. He had not atten-
the movement could be unanimous, I would not ; ded it; he had determined to withdraw from,
fear, but Witchell has too many friends here j politics; moreover he mitioipated trouble. He
and ’n other parishes as well. When I spoke to j mingled too intimately with his people, not to
the White League in N.^ last week, and proposed ! be conscious of the strong fever of repressed,
honest in your advice, but I cannot think von
are right. It would be folly and cowardice for
me to resign. I am sure to be renominated by
this convention; I am sure of re-election, unless
something unforeseen occurs. I have a favor fi H t. No, you felt’ nothing but disgust for the
to ask, you are going to remmn here?’ ^ l swarthy, dirty overseer, hut ;>cu . . fod to use
‘For a whiie; imave business in the city, but i him. You loved pnotbe;’. o loved his
I will post pone it, I visa to watch the devel- j money and his high .•< - . world. You
opments here.’ ! thought if you looked •w- ‘ a: me on the sly
•Will you also'watch over Omar? I wish I j that I’d go mad for you and put your husband
could see him before i leave. The boy is very ! 0 ut of the way; and you would marry your rich
dear to me—dearer than anything now. And | lover. I understand it all now, though I didn’t
he is my mother’s youngest; her idol. If any- ! then. I was fool enough to thiuk you cared for
! These stupid divans have broached some queer
j theories about the moon—in fact, they abuse her
! terribly. Like old fogy doctors, in a case of fe-
; ver, they sturdily refuse to allow her a drop of
water, and cruel as was S a raj ah Bowlah to the
English prisoner at Calcutta, they assign her a
I place void of an atmosphere. If this bo true,
then there can be no sea-views or sea-bathing iu
the moon. No cataracts, no cascades, no min-
j eral springs, and, of course, no watering-places
I and summer hotels. Flirtations, of necessity,
| must be lew and far between, we suppose, espe-
| daily when we consider that the moon itself has
no moon, for we all know that this luminary
has ever been a favorite with lovers, though she
herself is a maiden averse to matrimony. Still
I she is no hindrance to others who patronize the
institution; on the contrary she never stands in
| the way of declarations of love, and has assisted
at some run-a-way matches. She smiles most
benignly on the extravagances of enamored
I young people, winks at their follies, and knows,
i but never tells their secrets. We firmly believe
that she has heard more than halt the solemn
vows which lovers have uttered since the world
began, has witnessed a large majority of first
kisses, and knows as well as Tom Moore did,
I that
: “There is nothing half so sweet in life as love’s
young dream.”
Had it not bo..ji for tffo delicious attractive
power of the moon, many are and have been
the married pairs that would never have been
, drawn togetner. Bashful youths gather courage
tial chat. What, you draw hack ? You . cringe , f r0lu moonlight. Cold natures are fired by its
as it my hand was a snakeIt’s not the first | subtle heat. Proud hearts are fused by it into
time it’s held yours, though I know v, ell that no j one, and ascetic resolves melt in the focus of the
love for me made vou let me hold this little soft : moon’s n
:bat that parish should force its scoundrelly
officers to resign, there was vehement approval,
and a resolution passed that the measure should
be put. in force. I believe that it will be. The
radical officers in N. Parish are not the chosen
of Witchell—the friends and the kin of this
man—cuise him!— who has such a devil’s power
of blinding ignorant people that he can make
them believe his black record is as white «s
snow. But will they oust him from office ? Will
our own parish dare to rid itself of the men—his
loots an : his blood—that he has fastened upon
it ?’
•It will ; it must. It must force them to re
sign before a month is over. Your White
League must be kept full strung. There must
be no let down. If N. thrusts out its officers, that
will give our parish courage. You have worked
well, you have gained much ground ; it is too
late to give up now. You must fight it oat.
These men must be rooted out, even if they
have to be destroyed. If they were made away
with, you would have nothing to fear ; no other
radical set would dare to live and rule here.
No other radical leader can ever take the hold
upon the people that Witchell has. Destroy
them—it will be a just deed—and leave the way
half secret excitement that had been kindled j
| within them, and that would certainly find some j
| vent. Whiie he sympathized with the people,
and felt that they had suffered great wrong, he j
looked with trembling at this excitement—so |
likely to run into wild excess, so ready to lend j
itself blindly to the plots of a cunning and de- j
signing few.
So he sat by his little wood-fire while gusts of I
[ rain pattered on the window. He had heard no I
news through the day, but he had the feeling j
j of restless expectancy, and he rose promptly, i
j as a quick knock fell upon the door. He open-
j ed it and admitted Witchell, and the elder of
| the two brothers Devene, the legislator, Witcli-
: ell’s most intimate friend.
I Witchell had gone to attend the Convention
the day before, though his friends had urged
him to stay away. He had gone as usual un
tie has had no share in it. He works iaithiully; , white—as white as yours turned just now when
obedient as a child. He must not resign. This > I called you by your right name. He didn’t
excitement will soon be ever, we shaii carry the I guess I was kiling the man for my own benefit;
election, and before another year, we shall win j fi e thought he had hired me to put him out ot
all these people over. They will acknowledge j his way. It was along ot him and his cowardice
I have beneiitted them. I have projects m my i that the kiiiing came out on ns; but I was too
brain lor their advancement. I know them and j smart for them. I got away, and ho swung as
their wants. I will werk for their interest as ! p e deservod for being such a fool. I meant to
well as my own. I wii£ make them remember j come back and get you. I had i compromisin’
with shame their foolish opposition to mej note or two of yours that would bring you to
though you auk me to resign. Resign! I ami i taw, as I knew, but when f slipped back, I found
just putting my foot more firmly on the ladder.’ | you ka j keen accused, mobbed, followed and
He spoke with feverish rapidity, unlike his fi a d drowned yourself, as they said, in try in’
usual calm, guarded utterance. His eye was i t 0 ford the river. I thought you dead from that
deal for better men.
Four months ago, this suggestion had horri-
hollow and fierce, his cheek care-worn, his
mouth restless, but determined. One could see
he was a prey to anxiety and harassing thought.
His freedom from the clog of woman’s weak,
clinging love, seemed to have brought him no
good. Were the Eumeuides at work upon him ?
| day to this, and here. I find you alive and as
i handsome, yes handsomer, sweeter than ever.
| You won’t get away from me again. You don’t
j like the prospect. I see it in your looks. I
know I’m not particularly fascinating, especial-
moon’s rays as easily as lead in a poacher’s la
dle.
But, to return to the philosophers. The moon
without water ! Then that country cannot be
cursed with cotton manufactories, steam en
gines, or founderies. The agitation of the tar
iff' question must be dry business. The climate
cannot be adapted to slave labor, and the lunars
must, therefore, bo democrats to a man. But
they must also he a dirty set. Tue ladies never
asiBbasins,
,-pots, um-
are never
in the catalogue of a Lunarian auctioneer. They
1 don’t mix their grog, but cake it neat—the only
I neat thing they can take. Drowning is a
casualty never recorded la their bills of mortal
ity, and damp streets are cot to be dreaded.
Priestnitz though would have regarded the moon
: as a place singularly unwholesome, and yet
‘ quite unlit for the establishment of a hydropath
ic hospital, and it mis: present a most unprom
ising field of labor to the American Baptist
; Board of Foreign Missions.
It has been proven somewhere that the moon
is a person, it, therefore, becomes important to
, ascertain its sex. Our mind is made up on this
! point. The poets Lave always spoken of her as
' a lady, but it is no more than fair to notice
| some of the objections that have been urged
| against the probability of this hypothesis. It
, is well known that the gentler sex, to a woman,
armed, and had been terribly annoyed to find ! was this the first sting of Retributions scorpion ?
ly with this grizzly wig and bleached mous- 1 a re admirers of the moon; and as ladies gener-
on the road a posse of negroes and white’s wait
ing to escort him. He had dismissed them, j
saying he feared no danger, and wanted no !
guard.
As he entered and walked in silence to the i
fire, Judge Dickenson saw that Witchell’s conn- i
tenance[was pale and lowering, while Devene i
laughed mirthlessly as he threw off his wet cloak
| and drank down the whisky, that Witchell, who i
It would take great suffering to humble that
proud ambition, to break that stubborn will.
Such suffering was coming to him. This pres
ent anxiety was its forerunning shadow.
CHAPTER XXI.
A few days afterwards Judge Pickenson wrote
to Witchell:
u „„„ t ‘You have recieved the news of your re-nom-
fied him. It did not do so now ; so morally un- j seldom drank liquor, had declined. j ination. It was a foregone conclusion. You
dermming had been the gradual, subtle infiu- j ‘Something has happened,' said Judge Pick- j have also heard that it Res happened in our sis-
ence of this woman. Then he felt now the ex- i enson, ‘Is the Convention broken up ?’ ! ter parish of N. as I predicted it would. The
citement of one who engages in a game or bat- | ‘No;’ Witchell answered, ‘but the members j officers have been forcedtto resign. Myron and ,
tie, ana leels the finale denouement drawing , have got it into their head that it will be—that j Judge Boone fled here -fin hot haste and took !
nicrh. He only said— 1 _ » _ c- t a oimiini.
1 tache; never mind, you’re pretty enough for us
| both, and I’ve done enough to earn you. Then
1 'ce 'jot them notes yet.’
‘ You wouldn't flare use them,’ she managed
1 to say huskily. ‘That would be to betray your-
! self. There’s a price set on your head.’
‘And on yours, too, my beauty. We can
ally are not prone to speak in praise of beauties
of their own sex, it has been presumed, there
fore, that she cannot be of the feminine gender.
Some ill-natured person has attempted to ex
plain this fondness of ladies for the moon, by
reminding us of tue popular notion that the
moon has a man in it. A scandalous, malicious
shake hands there. We know eaoh other’s se- and impertinent suggestion.
ni ^n‘ onl y sai <l | a trap is about to be sprung of which I am the
'-° destroy them wouid be to ruin our cause, i object. Nothing would do them but I must
it would be to rot in prison. leave, and they put the demand as the ground
the y 3 6®uaed to bring their destruction i of their own personal safety, which they think
upon themselves. The people are fully charged j endangered by my staying ’’
with indignation ; it needs but a spark of ag . ! -But uou-von th,nt t.w«
gression on the radical part to make it take fire
crets; neither dare quarrel with the other.
That’s a good enough bond for close friends.
I’ve just come from California. I wasn’t caring
where I drifted to, but now I’ve seen you, we’ll
not part company; I’ll take you with me. Won’t
you go?’
He pulled her close to him. His sensual
She tried to free
and clear the atmosphere with an explosion.
The end would justify a little irregularity in
the means—would it not?’
‘In Witchell’s case, yes ; he deserves death.
I am sorry for the others—for one or two of
them at least. I think they are innocent.’
‘Innocent! when they work into Witchell’s
hands f When they are his tools, his confi
dants. ’
•His tools they may be, but hardly his confi
dants. That brother of his has not wordly
sense enough for a shrewd man to confide in.
He seems a gentle-hearted, social young fellow.
I saw his bride for the first time yesterday. They
were standing in the gallery of their little home,
feeding some tame mocking birds. She is a’
small, demure looking creatnre, and looked np
in his face, as I passed, with innocent adoration^
Devene, too, is going to marry ; a Southern giri
who befriended him at Morefield, where he find
gone to collect Witchell’s swindling taxes. It
would be a pity for these young creatnres to be
waked out of their happy honey moon by a
k storm of ruin—perhaps blood—in which the in
nocent would suffer with the gailty. No:
But you—you think there is no ground for
their fears?’
‘They may be a plot—the work of some few
reckless agitators. One thing gives me reason
to believe it—Yent’s conduct. He can no more
keep a secret, that he can help being a traitor.
To-day, he approaohed me with overtures. He
wished to know if there was not a hope that I
would reinstate him into office. I gave him to
understand plainly there was none, whereupon
he turned off, mattering some threats, which I
unperfeotly understood. I seized his shirt col
lar and shook him till his big oaroass quivered.
I demanded what he meant, he stammered; then
recovered his assurance, and lied out of mean
ing anything. But I know the man. There is
some devilment fermenting in him. He with •
handful of others, may have plotted to do some
mischief to the Convention, because of his hat
red of me. I think that is the full magnitude
of this movement. It is not extended; I have too
many friends.’
‘But there is strong exoitement against you
just now.’
‘It will come to nothing. Jt is stirred up by
a clique of office-seekers with an eye to the fruits
of office with Yent at their head.’
passage for Shreveport. A similar movement savage eyes gloated on her
was urged here, but it fell through. I cannot
help thinking a plot of some kind was broken
up about the time of the Convention. Under
stand me; the people are honest and open. They
wont lend themselves to plots if they know it.
But I fear they’re being led blindfold, as I said.
‘ However, I am beginning to laugh at my
fears. I see no new demonstrations of excite
ment. Things are undoubtedly settling down
to greater quiet. Our officers are calmly attend
ing to their business. They are cautious and
guarded in speech aud conduct.
‘ Omar seems to rely with confidence on his
friends, and to feel no alarm whatever. I took
tea with him and his little wife last night She
is a dainty, quiet, neat little lady, and makes
his home a charming place. I am sure she is a
nice housekeeper. Her tea-cakes melted in my
mouth. Devene was there with his bride—a
handsome, high-spirited girl—southern in look
and temperament, and passionately fond of her
good-looking, easy-going husband. You have
heard (have’nt you?) the romance of their oourt-
ship. She was the daughter of the landlord of
the hotel at Morefield, where Devene went as
tax collector. It was she who prevailed on her
father not to open his doors to the mob that de
manded admittance in order to give the collec
tor of taxes a stormy reception, and she con
trived his escape in a woman’s ingenious way.
‘ Edgefield’s love affair does not seem to pros-
As an offset to tue arguments adduced by
those who take the mascuiiae side of the ques
tion, a cyuical, crusty old bachelor has cited
the well known iiues of Addison —
Soon as the evening shades prevail.
The moon takes up the wonderous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Rep eats the story of her birth,
herself from that disgusting embrace. ( and then triumphantly asks, who but a female
‘ Loose me ! loose me this instant! How dare could talk all night, and every night, and not
you ?’ I get tired.
‘How dare I? That’s a pretty question; you , But we shall believe the poets. Tne moon
know why I dare. Yon give me the right, and | then is a lady, and a beauty. Besides, she is
you know it. You put it in my head to kill old ( ‘somebody’—one of the higher classes—in fact,
Waters to get you.’ | of the ‘first-class.’ She moves in a very eleva-
‘ It is false. ’ ted sphere—is aristocratic, nay, of royal blood.
‘ You didn’t tell me to do it in so many words, j Her origin and ancestry are truly ancient,
bnt you put me up to do it all the same, and j Moses tells us very briefly and politely, that she
you knew it at the time. I know now, it was is the twin sister of the sun.—he, you know, is
that you might be free to marry the other fel-
low,—but he should never have had you. I’d
seen you both swung first Say, are you going
with me ? Better promise at onee. Or I’ll call
up the crowd and introduce Mabel Waters to
them.’
A thought flashed into the woman’s mind.
‘ Yes, I’ll go with you, Cobb, Bhe said,’ on one
oondition„ You must do a favor for me. I can
rely on no one but you. It is something yoa
can do, without risk.’
* Not another bloody job, I hope. What’s it ?
Let me hear.’
•You shall hear it Not now. There is some
one calling me. They are hunting for me. Let
me go. For pity’s sake, loose me.’ *
‘ One Mss then,” and the thick, ugly mouth
preseed itself on her quivering lips, on her
cheeks that grew dead-white with disgust and
hatred. It was gall and worm wood to the wo-
a king—and that her birth-day is the third of
January, in the year 0001. Since that time,
with the sun for a partner, she has been con
stantly dancing attendance upon the earth, rul
ing the night, while her brother, like the Grand
Vizier of Algiers, has regulated the affairs of
the Day. Once only have the twain rested from
their labors. At the request of Joshua, who got
somewhat belabored in a skirmish with the Five
Kings, some years ago, the sun stood still over
Gibeon, while his sister reclined in the valley of
Ajalon and fanned herself! We cannot tell cer
tainly whether the moon has ever been able to
recover from this delay, and oatoh up to the
place in which she would have been if the de
tention had not occurred. But au ingenious
and learned Hibernian philosopher has very
plausibly suggested, that she is still behind her
time, and that this is the reason she does
rise earlier in dark nights.