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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.