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-rr mJm 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.