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IX A RATTLE SNAKE'S HEX.
ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
[A child two years old was lost in the woods near
Port Jervis, and for three days the woods were
scoured in unavailing search for him. He was un
conscious when found, in a den of rattlesnakes, four
ot which were killed before he could be rescued
He had undressed for the night, and iiis clothing
was under his bead.]
Two small feet across the sill
Wandered forth, the great trees under—
Two small hands that pluck their till
Of buttercups, and eyes of wonder,
Following with bewildered will
Fire-flies, now here, now yonder.
Underneath the little foot
Toads and lizards glide away:
Sharded beetle speckled newt
O'er his white feet careless stray,
And the young child's hand is put
On the serpent in its play.
From the dead branch hoots the owl—
Skims the bat athwart the shade.
Stealthy creatures round him prowl.
And he greets them not afraid—
Hoes not wouder at tiie howl
Borne from out the rocky glade;
For the child is brave and strong,
Used to waterfall and hill,
And bis curls the whole day long
From the sunshine take their fill—
Used to hear the darkling song
Of the lonely whippoorwill.
Little one in piteous plight
. Does not even breathe a sigh
At the coming on of night.
And the great rocks looming high—
But he creeps beneath the height,
There to lay his garments by.
A FIGURE, COSTUMED AS THE BLACK PRINCE, STOOD AT THE DOOB WATCHING THEM AND LISTENING TO THEM.
Pillows soft- the little head
Fearless in thatfearful den:
Slumbers on his rocky bed
Where the serpents from the fen.
By a wondrous instinct led.
Lose the'r venom touch, as when
Mary with the Christ-child came
And the head of evil bruised—
Taking out the sting and blame
To the wretched aud abused—
Washing out the guilt aud shame
By a new love interfused.
Ob! thou child without a fear—
Sacred creature of the earth!
Greater thou than any seer.
By the instinct at thy birth;
By thine innocence so near
God's dear hand who led thee forth.
Phrenological Journal.
TEMPTED.
BY LYNN CURRY.
The scene a ball-room, flower decked, and brightly
lighted, a throng of dancers upon the floor, whirl
ing slowly to the music of a waltz. Among them
Gordon Stratton, and his partner and fiancee, Fior
ence Vincent. Gordon's handsome blonde head,
was bent over the fair, smiling face, and as the mu
sic grew more soft and sank into one of those dreamy
mazes that bring forth all the sentiment of young
hearts, he drew her closer, keeping step with the
•languid melody,and bent and whispered something
in her little pink ears, that brought a blush as rich
as summer roses, to her oval cheek and a happy
light to her brown eyes. But his look hail not so
much happiness in it. Several noticed his distrait
manner, and wondered at it. What had Gordon
Stratton to make him unhappy ? R ch, popu'ar
and engaged to the lovely Florence Vincent who
thou.h «he had no money, was a queen by right of
her mate dess beautv’and the huh pos tio h *r a he
had held as firs Senator, then Governor of Ins na
tive state. Reverses had come to him, he was now
old, broken in fortune and in health, hut he was
still honored, and looked up to and his beautiful,
accomplished daughter was a reigning belle. When
at last, it was known that she w as to be married to
the young banker, Gordon Stratton, the world pro
nounced it a proper match.
The waltz hud ceased, Gordon quietly drew Flor
ence’s arm in his own an i they passed into a -mall
conservatory adjoining the ball-room. Seating her,
he leaned against the wall looking down upon her.
With an effort he spoke at last:
•Florence, 1 have something to say to you; some
thing that will change the whole course of our
lives. He said these words almost fiercely, his
hand closing upon the rich blossoms, among which
it wandered crushing anil breaking them. Her
face blanched, her voice filled with a sudden ter
ror.
‘Gordon speak to me, tell me what it is.’
He was trying to control himself,to speak calmly,’
at la-t he said:
‘Florence I am a ruined man I am not worth a
dollar after my creditors are satisfied. 1 have
known th.s for three days, yet could not find cour
age to tell you. But. tomorrow all will be known.
At tills very moment the daily paper is printing
the news of mv ruin through the speculations I
have involved mvself in. My uncle is the only one
I might ask help from,and you know how usele>s that
is, he says he told me so all along; but kindly offers
to pay my way to California w here I can begin
life anew.’
Florence listened to him in silence, with a face
from which all color had fled. Dearly as she had
ovel him. she loved also luxury and position. She
had been rai-ed to them, had felt the loss of wealth
keenly and had taken a pride in the thought tiiai
she should l>e the mistress of the Stratton mansion
(almost as grand as her former home) and not only
reign a social queen, but. be ab!e to give her father
the heme and the comforts to which he had once
been accustomed. And her father ! She knew he
would feel her lover’s loss of wealth more keenly
than she did, and ne would never consent to her
marriage with him. He had a childish horror of
her marrying a poor man.
Gordon watched her expressive face in anguish
and hittemes of spirit' The old adage rung in his
ears. ‘When poverty comes in at the door, love
flies oat at the window.’
‘Dont, think, under these changed circumstances,
that I am going to ask you to keep your promise
and marry me in April, Florence,’ lie said. ‘I am
not so mad, 1 will never marry a woman, to make
her life narrower and poorer than it was as a girl.
No, I came here tonight for a different 'purpose. I
to ^vy-vr. «'L
looking i'Lto your eyes, holding you to my heart in
the dance!, and then to part with you, for years, or
forever. Yes, I came to say good bye - I leave
for California tomorrow. I have an uncle, my
mother’s brother in the banking business in San
Francisco, who—Why, my darling!’
He broke off suddenly, for Florence overcome by
conflicting feelings threw herself in his arms in a
wild passion of tears. ’
‘Oh! Gordon, Gordon, bow can I bear to lose you?’
was all she i aid. He soothed her with difficulty.
In her deep sorrow at fin ing he was going away
so soon and so far, she forgot her worldly teachings
and begged him to take her with him. She would
help him work, she was willing to be a poor man's
wife, since the poor man was Gordon. He was
deeply moved, but he would not accept the sacri
fice. He knew her better than she knew herself.
She had not yet come in contact with poverty.
Friends had shielded her from itso far—her father’s
old friends, who were not yet tired of giving a
home to imn and his child- What did she know of
work and privation, of poor, meanly furnished
rooms, coarse f re and coarse clothes ? No, he
could not marry her now.
‘But I he time will come and come soon, when I
can take you as my wife my darling, without fear,’
he sa.d, stroking tier rich brown hair. ‘Your love
shall be my stimulus. 1 feel energy in every vein.
I will he successful, or die trying, and you will wait
for me dati ng; you will be true to me, as I will to
you. Promise me.’
She g ive the promise with all her heart—gave it,
wilh her brown eyes, lifted through tears and her
voice trembling with emotion. She was sincere
then, whatever might come afterwards.
CHAPTER II.
Yes, she was sincere then. She loved her hand
some, proud lover with all her heart, and she re
solved to wait faithfully until she could be his wife.
But time biings changes. The months, the years
went by, her father’s health declined, he became
paralytic, his friends grew tired of suppor.ing tain,
lor the first time Florence felt ihe bitterness of de
pendence: their slender income would hardly dress
her; the fine old laces were threadbare, the r ch
s Iks could be turned no longer and Florence so
dearly loved ilaiui y apparel. She was weary of
waiting fur Gordon’s re urn. He had not succeed-
so rapidly as his sanguine anticipations had him to
look tor. There had been drawbacks, and money did
not come m so freely even in the ‘Golden Land.’
Meantime Florence had other suitors. Fond of
soe.ety, gay, beautiful and brilliant, she could not
fail of being admired. Among those who sought
her. was .. uil..e Howell, a man of weal hand talent,
and of the highest social position. Notwithstand
ing Iiis middle age, he was a line looking man, tall,
well shaped, courtly but cold in manner. Florence
admired h s talenrs and his polished bearing; lie was
an old friend too of her father’s,under whom he had
had his > ui\ion in law and politics. Gen. Vincent
was the Judge’s warm advocate in h.s suit with
Fli irence.
‘Why do you not marry him?’ he asked in his
querulous, childish tones. ‘You would if you had
t ie proiier feeling for yourself and for me.' I am
tired of l.ving this way, I cannot stand it to be
kn irked about so. I have done enough for you, and
spent money enough on you to have you show some
httie consideration for me in my old age. You
might have a beautiful home, a husband who ad-
mires you ubove everything, and every comfort in
bfe, aud have a shelter to give your poor old father
for the few years he has to trouble you. But no;
children rare nothing for their parents. They think
oiLv of their own pleasuie.’
‘E ither,’ Florence said, her voice faltering and
her eyes filling with tears, ‘you know I am not free
lo marry Ju ige Howell. I nave promised to be the
wife of Gordon.’
‘Gordon will never return to claim you; his let
ters are already growing colder and less freqnent.’
‘Oh, father 1’ cried Florence indignantly. ‘How
can you say such a thing!’
Yet her voice quivered and the color rushed to
her cheeks, for she had in her own heart chided her
lover for the inlrequency of his letters of late.
It ended in her marrying Judge Howell, and be
coming mistress of his lovely home. She was
not unhappy, her husband was kind, though
never demonstrative, and his stately, pre-oc
cupied, almost stem manners seemed to forbid
any warmth in others. She had the satisfaction of
seeing bar father made oomfortable for a while at
least. He died peacefully and calmly one year af
ter her marriage; and Florence felt as if the one ob
ject of her life was gone, when she had him no
longer to care for. The dull void in her heart some
times ached actively, and her ■ ics grew so white
that her husband insisted ‘ ^-if*-niHi^r to travel a
They were gone some m<Jm, )<vhi_ri they return
ed the tlush of the Indian slimmer was over the
world, and the city gayetiw had begun. The first
news that greeted her was that Gordon Vincent had
returned. She met him soon after—met him so
calmly that lookers on believed they had both ceas
ed to remember their early love affair, except as a
youthful flirtation.
But each felt the other’s hand tremble and saw
the shadow pass across each other’s eyes. They con
versed a while ns mere old acquaintances, hut each
acknowledged in the other a riper charm of beauty
and a richer grace of mind and manner.
They met again and again. Society was very
gay that fail and winter, and all its giddy eddies
seemed to circle around Florence—the queen of
of pleasure and beauty. Her husband imposed no
cheek on her gayetv. He was immersed in business
andseldom went with lierto the balls, parties, operas
and plays that occupied her evenings. Sometimes
he watched her with a grave look on his pale, un
emotional face, but he said nothing. Florence’s escort
soon came to be Gordon. He had gradually come
to taking his old place at lierside where his presence
seemed nat ural, for thej’ were a handsome pair,and
the best dancers among that pleasure loving com
pany. Both seemed to plunge almost madly in the
whirl of gayetv. Gordon had said that he was to
return to the \V’est, as soon as Christmas was over,
and he seemed to seize on the present as if it was a
cup to be drained to the dregs in a little while. It
began to be whispered that he and Mrs. Howell had
renewed their old infatuation; suspicious glances
began to follow them wherever they moved and
tiiere was one who watched the pair," thus uncon
sciously drifting upon the rocks of ruin, with jeal
ous, revengeful eyes. This was a Dr. Harold Bar
clay—a man of good business habits and plausible
address, but hypocritical, traitorous and with
fierce sensual passions well disguised under his
gentlemanly exterior. He had been infatuated
with Florence, and seeing her so young, beautiful,
fond of pleasure and unprotected in society by the
presen e of the “old gray beard” as he called her
husband, he ventured to think he might win her
favor. She had met his warmer advances with a
proud coldness that exasperated him. especially
when he found that another was more favored.
It was Christmas night, and all t he elite of the
City were in attendance at. a grand masquerade
ball. Florence was there, simply dressed. Sheh.-id
no heart to wear the gorgeous costume of a Pei-sian
princess, which had been prepared tor this occa
sion. She put aside its amlier silk and creamy
laces. She had no heart to wear it, since she knew
that to-night she must part with Gordon forever,
that to-morrow he would go afcvav, never to return,
he had told her. Before tonight, she had stilled
her accusing conscience by s^yii.g to herself, ‘he
is an old fr.end, I like him, he is smarter and nicer
than any one else; I did him a wrong once, I will
make amends by making his visit here as pleasant
as I can, and lie.ng as friendly as possible. He is
my dear friend, nothing more.’ And he had said.
‘She is another’s, but 1 can admire her beauty. I
can worship her grace, her sweetness, without dan
ger, as 1 would a rose or a star.’
To n'ght, they both knew belter; thevknewthey
had been playing with edgsi tools. They knew it
in one moment of wild, mutual insight into each
other’s hearts.
Tney were waltzing to the same music that had
thrill-d and softened them so ihe night of their lust-
parting—five years ago. He held her so close, he
could feel the wild throbbing of her heart, and her
tresses, ‘perfume wet,’ brushed his cheek. Tney
were silent until ihe music sank to that soft, tender
pulsing cadence he recalled With such a rush of
passionate longing. He beut down as then to her
delicate ear.
‘Do you remember—?’ be whispered. She raised
her drooping bds, their eyes met in a look that re
vealed all. The burning blood flowed over her
face and neck, then receding left her white and
faint.’
‘I am tired, dizzy—let us stop,’ she pleaded.
He carried her into the conservatory.
‘Thank Heaven we are alone,’ he said as be threw
himself on a lounge and drew her to a seat beside
him. ‘We are alone, and I must speak—forgive
me, Florence, I can no longer keep back the love
that swells my heart to bursting. I must tell you
all. though you should drive me from you with
scorn. I love you, I cannot live without you. I
will take you with me to-night, or 1 will die at
your door. These are mad words you think; but
by heaven, they are true ! I know that you love
me, I saw it to-night, and I will not lose you
again. I will dispute your possession with anyone
—even with him to whom you are hound by legal
ties only—you are bound t<> me by ties of truth and
nature, by love ‘hat is stronger than law.’
’r' 1 r,r , " v" i >li'»f\n l‘t vi'tlk lOl 'xiiV ' A ,1^1 -J.
wild words unheard except by tfie.me into ..a. Ac
ear they were poured. Hie was mistaken; a figure
in the dress i f the Black Prince had followed them
stealthily from the ball room, and now stood, be
side the door, peering in, watching them, listening
greedily to Gordon’s words, to his desperate
pleading and to her whispered half promise at last
to go with him back to California and leave the
husband she did not love, and who only cared for
her as one of the appendages of his costly house—
the puppet which should exhibit his wealth aud do
the honors of his house.
Two hours later, Florence was alone in her own
room hastily packing a portmanteau with the few
valuables she would tuke with her in her flight from
her husband’s home. Among them were the old
jewels, heirlooms in her family, with which her
father would not consent to part even when they
were so poor- As she lifted a loeket, i-et With
pearls, the case flew open; out fell a lock of brown,
silvered hair—her mother’s hair—her mother's
sweet, noble face looked out at her from i he painted
ivory.
She fancied there was sorrow and reproach in
those true eyes. She picked up the dropped tress
of soft, silvery hair. It was tied wiih a white r.b-
bon, on which was written, in her mother’s small,
neat hand, ‘For my little daughter. God bless her
and keep her from temptation.’
It seemed like a voice from the tomb. It struck
home to the heart of the woman who was about .o
sacrifice honor and duty on the shrine of love. She
pres-ed the picture and thetressof hair to her breast
and prayed there as she knelt by the portmanteau
with the jewels scattered about her—prayed for
strength to resist the temptation that assailed her
heart with its wild, sweet pleadings—prat ed not- in
vain. She rose up strong—the path of duty lying
plain before her.
When she met him that night at the appointed
place, she gave him her hand and said sadly.
‘Gordon, it cannot be. Forgive me; I was most
to blame for letting it go on so I see now how sin
ful it was. We would never have been happy. We
must not meet again. Good-bye, God bless and
comfort you, deal - Gordon.’
He said not a word: he held her hand and bowed
his head over it in s'lence a moment, then he turned
quickly and was gone.
Two In >urs afterwards he was a corpse. An acci
dent wiocked the irain twenty miles from the Ci y
and a number of lives were sacrificed. The man
gled bodies were brought back to the city, and
news of the accident was sent to Mr. Howell, the
Mivor.
He was up; he had been up all night; and now in
the pale gray of the morning, he looked as haggard
as did his beautiful wife who had been walking the
floor of her dressing room softly, not knowing there
was in the hou-e another as sleepless as herself.
‘Good heaven P he ejaculated, on receiving the
dreadful message. ‘I will go at once,’ he added.
He heard a low moan behind him and turned quick
ly-. There stood his wife, le tiling against Ihe door !
that opened into her dressing room, white as the !
robe sbe wore. He went to iier, and put his arm j
around her tottering figure.
‘Poor child.’he said with a tenderness rare to '
him. ‘Tiiis awful news has come upon her so sud- ’
denly. No wonder it has shocked her.’
He signed to the messenger to retire. When he
had gone, he took his wife in his arms, and soon re
stored her to consciousness. She opened her eyes,
remembered what had happened and bursting lino
passionate weeping, turned her |,a ad away from
her husband. But he drew it I ack upon his arm,
and gently hathed her brow witn cologne.
‘You are too kind,’ she murmured. ‘If you knew
all ’
‘1 do know all. Florence. I know the trial you
have passed through to-night. I know how you
were tempterl and how you have resisted the temp
tation. I was too neglectful of my young wife. 1
should have watched over her better. But I was
buried in business. I have let money-getting ab-
sorb my life too much. An anonymous letter
warned me that you were talked of with Strat on.
I treated it with contempt; then a man—Dr-Barc
lay—came tome; he came to me yesterday and in
sinuated that the world said I was blind to let an
other trifle with my honor. I repelled him with
scorn, but I determined to see for myself. I went
to the ball last night, disguised in the armor suit of
of the Black Prince. I followed you and Gordon to
theimusic room. I overheard what passed there. I
concealed myself at the appointed place of meeting
and heard your final decision. Florence, child, my
heart was filled with sorrow not anger. I saw that
I stood in the way of your happiness. I prayed
last night that death might remove that obstacle,
then I determined to go away—to settle the greater
part of my fortune upon you, and take the rest and
go off, leaving you to be free in course of time to
marry the man you loved. Death has frustrated
this purpose. And now, my poor Florence, I can
only give you my heartfelt sympathy.’
She clung to his neck sobbing; she could not
speak.
At last he said; ‘Would you like to see hint once
mi re.’
‘Yes,” she whispered, “but ’
'Go and calm yourself I will have him brought
here. He shall he buried from this house. His fa
ther was niv friend.’
An hour afterwards Mayor Howell led his pale
wife to the room where Gordon Stratton cairn and
beautiful in death, lay dressed for burial.
His body was not mangled—‘lie “ jir-v that had
caused his death was a fracture of he s cull at
the back ot the head. It was not seen as he lay
there on a pillow of white roses. Mayor Howell
'ed his wife up to the body and then withdrew,
closing the door, and leaving her alone with the
dead lover of her girlhood.
Then it was Florence knew the magnanimous na
ture of the man she had married without love. Af
terwards as she studied his character, its generosi
ty. delicacy and tenderness dawned upon her, and
she no longer thought him cold and stern. In time
sb grew to love him as deeply if not as passionale-
ly as she had loved young Gordon.
HOME OF FAST HORSES.
Negro Boy Riding a $100,000 Animal After the
Cows.
Kentucky Special to New York Sun.
Riding along the Frankfort, pike the other after
noon, we drove to the Harper farm. The quiet,
dwarfed old dwelling of thi Harpers nestles near a
grove of large trees about a mile irom the road Tae
farm contains five hundred and seventy-nine acres
of excellant land, part pasture and part woodland.
There are only about forty head of blooded stock,
on the place Mr. F. B. Harper, the present owner,
grew up In the old borne. One Harper wa* klbed
here by guerrillas, and iwo were murdered in their
beds a few years ago. The murderer used an ax
Mhich had been worn down blunt Ssah-immer.
G'o one lias ever b'-en openly charged with tlie mur-
I (jfr. and tli“ mysterious tragedy Issilll talked about
afuthele -mei-whispers Mr. R F H-SPer 1»
^spectacles, and talks slowfly in a Irienillyyiim
Young Frank Harper, a nephew, assists in running
the farm. Frank was absent in Louisville with a
siring of horses getting ready for the spring races.
We had been informed that the old gentleman was
very reticent, aud were, therefore, agreeably sur
prised when we found him willing to ialk shout
his famous horses.
Leading the way to the weafher-benten and di
lapidated stable a few rods in front of the house.
Mr. Harper directed Harry Hurley, a frizzled, sun-
dried old negro, with a face like a spinx. to bring
out‘he horses. The negro walked under u narrow
shed that extended along in front of the barn doors,
without saying a word, disappearing through the
stable door' He.soon reappeared, leading Longfel
low by the halier. While Hie hands me stallion
was prancing around, Mr. Harper looked on with a
beam ot satisfaction lighting Iiis face. “Tnere ” lie
siid, ‘‘i« one of 'he only two horses in America that
ever ran a mile in 1:40, The other one is in there.
He ran in 1:09%. Longfellow is in sp'endid physical
condition, but he will n-ver run again on the turf.''
Ail of Mr. Harper's colts and fillies are by Longfel
low.
“Longfellow was old Uncle John’s pet,” said Mr.
Harpe .“but Ten Broeck was always mine.”
Aft'r’admiring the horse a few minutes longer,
Mr Harper said :“ they want Longfellow to goto
Tennessee next year, to Gen. Harding s: but it lie
,'oes lie won’t be mine, they II have to tiny hint
” This was said in a manner that indicated a prince
ly price. He then turned to the African sphinx
saying • “That will do, Harry; take him back n.i
bring out-the horse ”
Harry whirled around as silently as an automa
ton and led Longfellow hack t<> his box. Entering
an adjoining stall, he soon returned, leading Ten
Broeck. The king of race-horse is now seven
years old. -' she came bounding into the sunlight,
iiis bright bay coat shone tike satin Iiis eyes were
full of fire He raised the snhinx from his fe tevery
time he threw his arched neck mi the air Mr. Har-
p r looked at the hor-e with pride; then stepping
to Ihe writer's side, lie said: , ,
‘•There’s a horse that lias made the fastest six
races ever run in this country.”
After allowing time to admire the horse, Mr.
Ha-per continued: , . .
“My uncle wauled to run Ten Broeck when he
whs a youiiftstcr, but I saw points nboui bim tn:vt
convinced me he would turn out a great horse, so
I fairly begged him not to spoil him. and he finally
consented. ’
‘ Was he a large colt?” , . ., ,
“No- Anyo e that saw hint then wouldnthave
given fifteen hundred dollars lor him. He was a
little runt, and used lo feed with the suck.ing
calves. Even at two years old he was so small that
I was ashamed of him.”
“You take good care of him now, I suppose.
“Nothing extra The hovs often ride him aft r
the cows, and go to the postoffice on hi- back. Mv
neighbors cuss me for allowing it but the hoys do
as they please with him, ’
Here Wesley James.a good-natured young < arke-
and the trainer of ren Broeck, who stood back of
Mr Harper, grinned from ear to ear.
“When Ten Broeck was a two-year-old, contin
ued Mr. Harper, “lie was b-Ht.en in his first race by
Bill Bruce, at Lexington,in G74. After that race; i
st-iil asserted that he was the best horse I had ever
la d my hands on-even betie ihan Longfellow.
After gazing at the horse intently again, Mr. Har
per said- “He began to spread out and improve
after that race. Hi- joints deve'oped. There is
sonv-thing peculiar about his formation. Aon see
he stands over six'een hands one inch high. - Well,
lie is exactl > the same in length from his hips to his
breast. A pa.liter or race horses says he is the only
horse he ever saw whose shoulders are longer than
his head. '1 hey are usually the “lime length-’,
“What, condition is the horse in now?”
•‘He is just as good a- he ever was, and can run as
fast as ever this fall. His lungs are as sound and
his legs stronger. He can run now without any
training. The horse has never shown yet V-at he
an extent that lie could r.ot ungirt the saddle alter
the race He can change bis feel, move his head,
and swing from side to side quicker than any horse
x ever saw. thus relieving the strain on his muscles
without Rising time. And so says Ber Bruce. Mr.
Bruce declares that there is no horse in the world
like him.” . „ „
“Would you sell the horse Mr. Harper?
“Well, some English Duke may come along some
dl A “eclrtvisUor is said to have asked Mr. Harpe?,
‘Will you sell Ten Broeck?”
“Yes.” he answered, * for my price.
‘•What is your ppice?”
“One hundred thousand dollars.
“fmlght^s well own a good horse as anybody*’
was Mr. Harper’s reply.