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ttt 8 ? DELAMEKE; OR- Corinne the Sphynx! BY PAUL C. LE BUEUJi. CHAPTER VIIL The light of day had dully faded from the chill, grey sky, and the sombre twilight settled gloomily down upon the village when Mr. Glen- ville, buttoning more closely around him his heavy overcoat, made his way leisurely toward his room in the Irving House. He wore upon his face the look of one whose plans are of a successful nature—of one down upon whom prosperity is bearing with full sails. Supper having been announced a few minutes after his arrival, he proceeded to the dining room and took his seat at a table. This was not the one at whioh he usually sat,—it was in a different part of the hall. He had scarcely seated himself and was looking aoross the room, when, as the adverse or propitious fates would have it, his eyes encountered those of a no less distinguished personage than Colonel Fenton, who was about to seat himself. Seeing Mr. Glenville, however, he came over and joined him. This was not agreeable to Mr. Glenville. In fact he had ohanged tables that night for the especial purpose of avoiding this man. He had a way of looking at him occasionally whioh he did not relish. It puzzled and annoyed him. Mr. Glenville belonged to that unreasonable class of people who do not like to be puzzled and annoyed. But whether in the parlor or the billiard room, he never glanced toward Colonel Fenton without finding a pair of keen, black eyes fixed piercingly upon him, sometimes with a kind of half smile of assuming superiority,and sometimes with a gaze of sinister speculation; always with a look of annoying and unexpected intensity. This had been ail the more intoler able to him from his conscious inability to re sent or resist it. Of late, however, Colonel Fen ton’s oondnot toward him been less pointed and extraordinary and partook of the genial sim plicity of an obliging new acquaintance. But he was afraid to trust him, or look for any con tinuance of good behavior from him. He had not known him long. Until lately they had not lived under the same roof. Yet this proximity had brought about between them a degree of acquaintance which, however, neith er of them seemed desirous of extensively culti vating, and which evidently was not likely to ripen into the intimaoy of ardent friendship. Still, as ohance or providenoe threw them to gether they talked and chatted amicably upon the fashions and politics of the day, and parted with mutual, unmeaningly uttered,good wishes. As the Colonel's eccentric stare had worn grad ually off into a look whioh he might have be stowed upon an ordinary mortal, his manner approached more nearly that of a disinterested friend; but still, on this particular oecasien, Mr. Glenville was surprised to receive from him a challenge for a game of billiards. Mr. Glen ville was a very strict and consistent church member. He did not like to be seen playing billiards. His oonsoienee would not allow him to be seen playing such a game. Reports might get afloat. Young pillars of the ohuroh shonld not have anything afloat about them lest the whole structure totter and fall. Still, to refuse so simple a request made in so simple a man ner, would be rude and altogether foreign to Mr. Glenville's clever and obliging disposition. Moreover, this man who seemed to have a fac ulty for seeing thiDgs which were intended not to be seen, had seen him at this very game not long since, at a time in whioh he did not look for spectators. To decline now upon conscien tious scruples wo&fWibe inconsistent,whiigh >was also foreign to his nature. Tnererore eould not but agree to the unwelcome proposal. Accordingly, the meal over with, they pro ceeded to the billiard room. They found it de- seited, for it was early yet. The crowd of idlers and loungers had not yet arrived. This was some consolation if Mr. Glenville needed any. There would not be many spectators. Ball and cue lay where the last piayers had left them, in the flaring gaslight on the table. The bar-keep er lounged in as they entered, passed a few words, but seeing them taoiturn from inclina tion, or silent from absorption in their game, went back again to his counter to attend to the wants of whatever late customer might ohance within. Colonel Fenton seemed to have something np- on his mind that night—seemed more man usually silent and preoccupied. He played bnt indifferently well and was no match for his more collected opponent. Mr. Glenville was enjoying the game highly, and felioitating him self upon his skilful strokes and lengthy ‘runs,’ when his companion, with that keen, watchful gaze which had grown so annoying to him, asked suddenly and without any previous or in troductory remarks. •You have a brother I believe, Glenville, some where, haven’t yon ?’ The gaze, and the question with its startling abruptness so disconoerted him, that the ball which he was striking went spinning off at an angle to the course which he intended for it, eliciting from him an emphatio undertone. •No;’ he answered in a vexed and slightly peevish tone, ‘my brother died soma time ago.’ •Ah?' said Colonel Fenton. And he seemed to be endeavoring to read Mr. Glenville’s in most soul with that old, familiar, sinister gaze. A saroastio retort struggled to the latter's lips, bnt by strong effort he repressed it while the former continued: ‘All his property then became yours?’ ‘Yts.’returned Mr. Glenville with ourtness and impatienoe. •Pretty good sum too, I imagine,’ proceeded the other in a tone whioh his antagonist hardly knew whether to consider as an interrogation or an assertion. Accordingly he was silent, and Colonel Fenton, as if the burden had been lift ed from his soul, suddenly relapsed into an easy and more friendly manner, and seemed to enter with more zest into the sport. Whether he played better,or whether his con versation had diverted his opponent’s attention and interest in the game, he soon had the sat isfaction, if satisfaction it was. of seeing him fall rapidly behind. In short, Mr. Glenville was beaten in that and the two foflowing games.and finally throwing down his cue, and forcing a laugh, he said: ‘I can’t play tc-night; my mind is wander ing. •Perhaps you would like to have your revenge in a game of cards,’suggested his companion, who for some reason, did not seem desirous of soon parting company. Mr. Glenville, taking the friendly proffer for the triumphant banter of a victor, readily assented. ‘Let's go to my room then, said Colonel Fen ton, ‘I will give you an opportunity.’ Mr Glenville looked at his watch. ‘Thank you for your courtesy,’ be returned hastily, ‘but I have an engagement, untfconght ot till this moment, which I am obliged to at tend to.’ En^agemeirtJnot aooept y0 *r ehallenge to night.’ ..... O' •To-morrow night then f •Well if you insist upon it, be it to-morrow right,’ replied Mr. Glenville; ‘shall I bring a come alone,’ wa3 the answer. Mr. Glen ville looked at him in surprise, but, without re sponding, quickly turned and hf- the room. theCoL regarded him lor a moment with a look as of baffled expectation, and sauntered oat inte the street Not finding it very diverting here, after a muttered imprecation upon ‘this cursed little town’ for its lack of amusements, he pro ceeded, in a thoughtful mood to his room whioh was not very far removed from Mr. Glenvillo’s. Arrived here, he lit a oigar. put his feet upon the center table and leaned backward for cogita tion; In thiB pleasant attitude and occupation he had not long been engaged before a knook resounded at the door. So preoccupied was he that he hardly notieed it, but oalled out careless ly as to a servant: 'Come in,’—without turn ing. The door was opened, and some one step ped lightly into the room. Still he did not heed the intruder until a hand was laid npon his shoulder. Then glancing upward and see ing the form of a man behind him, he leaped suddenly to his feet, and, thrnsting his band into his bosom, drew thenoe a short, dangerous- looking pistol, and turned upon the intruder, ‘By heaven 1 Bandal,’ he exclaimed as the well-known features of that gentleman met his gaze; ‘yon startled me,' and then thrust the weapon back into its hiding place, ‘So I see,' said Mr. Bandal as he marked the action with triumphant satisfaction. There was something of similarity between these two men. They both seemed calm, cool and calonlatiDg—seemed to weigh everything they uttered. But this was al). The likeness extended no further. Colonel Fenton, even to the most casual observer, was the master spirit. The calm, half cynical remark of his guest irri tated him, but suppressing whatever momentary resentment he might have felt, he salmly asked: ‘Anything unusual lately, Bandal? 1 ‘Not exactly—no.’ ‘I am simply honored by yon then, with a friendly visit? 1 The question contained some sarcasm. ‘Yes,’ was the monoeyllabic response. Colonel Fenton turned in bioebai?, and re garded his visitor with a contemptuous, silent stare. ‘Pray make the beet of it then,’ he said. He had aot offered Mir. Randal a chair,, but the latter now seated himself uninvited!, and with a feeling of being altogether at home. •I suppose we will have to smokuover it,’ cod tinned Colonel Fenton, Mr. Sandal thrust out a long, bony band, took the proffered oigar, fumbled uneasily over it aud betrayed otherwise by a ftdgetty meaner that be bad something to- say. ‘What is it, Randal?’ asked the other impa tiently. ‘Curse it, why don’t you speak out at once, if you have any thing.' worth talkangabeot,’ ‘Maybe when I have said 1 lit you won’t relish it ’ In the name of heaven, let’s hear it, man. Ie the world coming to an end^?’ Maybe, so far as you are ooneerned,’ replied' Mr. Randal sullenly. Colonel Fenton now regarded him with inter' est, and rising from bis seat, went to the door, looked out a» if to be sure there were no eaves' droppers, and then eat dowmagain drawing hie chair a trifle Moser to that ef bis companion. So yon really have something worth saying, have you ?' Yes, and yen will do weikto heed it’ If I never hear it I oertainiy shall not have am opportunity of doing it.’ In plain weeds then,’ said Mr. Randal im pressively, ‘people have begun to suspsot one- Arthur Fulmer,, alias Colonel Fenton, alia*'Ar thur Glenville.’ Pooh ! you are lying now, Raadal. I talked to my own brother this-very night, and he no more dreams of my existence than you. do of getting to heaven.’ But I have the best possible information that- detectives are even now, or will scon be cn> your track.’ A look of swift' surprise swept for an instant across the cheek of Colonei Fenton, bui be re sponded unmoved:: I have been knowing that far the iaot two- year s .’ Mr. Randal was crestfallen. ‘Well, you at least see that 1 know more off your affairs than.yon thought I did,’ he said. And what does it signify?* Much; aud if.you don’t leave the game yo® are now playing, you will find it to your son- row, for I tell you they ars on your trash,.’ What if they are; they oan do nothing wheat they find me.' They can put a hempsd- collar around- you® neck.’ Really, Randal, you gaow poetic—you. inter est me.' Don’t play off any of your fine airs en ms, ‘ said Mr. Randal in a tone of irritation which the other enjpyed even to laughter:, ‘they are thrown away. I don't appreciate them. And don't imagine I know nothing abeut you, Ar thur Glenville. 1 know what you are, and who you are and what you have done. ‘ For instanoe, ‘ particularized Colonel Featon tauntingly. ‘You know that I have been carry ing on a nice little game of counterfeiting with a select crowd of jiolly fellows, among whom, was the honest, sober Mr. Randal, alias—‘ Never mind about that now,' interrupted Mr. Randal. ‘Of oourse I know that. But I am speak ing of other things—about that Staoy affifcir It would be healthier for you if you let that subject drop and never mention it again,' said Colonel Fenton, while his face grew dark with sudden anger. ‘It was an affair of self-defense and I stand justified in the eyes of God and man—and devils too, I would say if I did not know that those of yonr stripe still blame me. ‘ ‘Talk on as much as you please, 1 said the vis itor doggedly, ‘but you would leave tomorrow if you would take the advise of a prudent man. 1 ‘Curse you and your advice together, I weuld- n‘t be the coward you are, Randal, far a thous and lives, for I would be miserable through every one of them. You are frightened at every shadow. But make yourself easy. I am not go ing to tarn state's evidenoe and inform on you if I am taken. That's what yon fear and that's what brought you here. ‘ Mr. Randal looked oonfused. ‘So yea see I know something about your af fairs, ‘ continued Colonel Fenton. 'But as for my leaving here, that's out the question. I‘m going to marry and retrieve my fortunes, and be a big, hulking Christian like my most godly brother. Oh, I tell you I am going to be a most model man. I am going to sing psalms, and write treatises on moral philosophy, and ‘ ‘I don't see anything to laugh at,‘ said Mr. Randal peevishly interrupting him. ‘Since you will have your own headstrong way about it, stay. I wash my hands of you and all your do ings. ‘ ‘I am obliged to yo*, Randal, ‘ replied Colo nel Fenton sardonically. ‘When I need your protecting assistance I shall cull on you. But since you will be prying into my actions, I‘11 tell you this much. I‘ve got about enough moDey to last me two months at the rate I am going on, and it is my cool, deliberate inten tion to marry before :hese two months are gone. 1 ‘I have heard of a man's being as mad as a March bare, 1 said Mr. Randal, with an attempt at sarcasm, ‘but I never saw it before. Pray, tell me what is the lady's name.' •You have heard, I suppose,of a certain young heiress of late about here ?‘ ‘Old Ethmer‘s daughter?' ‘Yes, ‘ Mr. Randal looked at his companion in silent amazement. , ‘You kLow I always succeed in affairs of this kind,' said Colonel Fenton. ‘No, I don't know any such thing. "Why man, ■he's as fur above you as the stars of heaven are. ‘ ‘It is not such a terrible thing to gain a wo man's love.' ‘It may not be snob a terrible thing to gain the lore of such women a) you haTe been accustomed to, but this ene—pshaw, man, you are playing off a joke on me. ‘ ‘You must have a cursed pcor opinion of me, 1 said Colonel Fenton angrily. ‘No, not at all,' replied Mr.Randall. ‘I hope you will make me a bridal present when you get married.' The other did not relish this ridionle, but proceeded: ‘1 am going to see my pious, long-faced broth er soon, tomorrow night, perhaps. I shall dis close myself and my projects to him.' ‘You will do well not to do any saeh thing.* ‘Why? 1 •Well, he's just about fool enough to be hon es', and will not further you or your plans.* ‘Oh, the ties of bleod are strong, you know; and besides, I hava some private sentiments about Geoffrey that the world doesn't entertain.' After some farther explanations, the two parted. After getting rid of so agreeable a com panion, Colenel "Featon betook himself first to reading and then to bed. CHAPTER IX. Gta the night succeeding that is whioh hap pened- the events of the last chapter, Mr. Glen ville and Colonel, Fenton, according to agree ment, sat alone in the room of the latter. The apartment was Urge, and was fitted up with considerable regard to taete and comfort. But this Mr;- Glenville scarcely noticed, How this man lived in private was to him a matter of complete indifference. His feelings en this oc casion, however, were decidedly odd, for, to say bothing of) the .^consistency of a man ef- his standing and respectability meeting with anoth er in private, for the especial purpose of enioy- ing a social game, there, vuin the manner of his host, a suggestion of constraint and of pre paration as-for some denouement, which- did not contribute materially to his ease. He was not a bashful man, a timid man, or a man easily de terred from a settled purposopbut he did not feel at home. However, that whioh tended in some degree to promote cheerfulness of feeling was the sight of two bottles of fine old Bordeaux which stood invitingly npon a centre table one on eaoh side of the lamp. Before producing the cards Colonel Fenton began in a oaieless tone: ‘You said last night I believe* Glenville, that your brother was dead? 1 ‘Yes,’ returned Mr. Glenville wonderingly. ‘Drowned, I believe?’ oentinued the other. •Yes.’ Colonel Fenton played in sconce for some moments with hi» watch-ohain. Finally he ask ed with sudden energy; ‘What proofihave you that thin-is true?’ ‘Sufficient to convince,' re-ponded Mr. Glen- ville with increasing wonder. *5Hnoe you ap pear to be so much interested in his fate I sup pose you have heard of the manner of his death?’ T am eery much interested is his fate,’ an swered Colonel Kenton with a significance which the ether failed wholly to interpret. ‘I have heard some story to tho effect that be was drown ed while trying to make his escape from—from a sheriff s posse or some snob enterprising gen tleman. ’ ‘You have heard aright,’ said Mr. Glenville with a gentle sigh, at whioh, for some peculiar reason, his eempanion soaroely forebore smiling; ‘the account is correct.’ ‘Have you any proof beyond the mere asser tion of these men?* persieted Fenton. At so unexpected a question Mr. Glenville gazed at the speaker in absolute amazement, and there arose in his mind some doubts as to his perfect,sanity. These doubts were not a little increased wjben he remembered the strange, intense geze he bad observed of late in the eyes of bis companion. That same look was there now and rested on him as steadily as the nox ious gaze of a Basilisk, and, with eyes drawn irresistibly toward it as if under some seoret spell or fascination, he replied;: ‘Yes, there ia further proof. My brother was fond of rings, and always wore upon his finger a peculiar kind of one with a very large stone setting which was given him by a crazy Italian harper. He thought so much, of this ring that he had his name engraved in it. A few weeks after his death, a short distance below the place where he was drowned a skeleton was found in the river, which still were upon its fiDge? a ring precisely the same size of my brother’s and sim ilar in other respects, except that the stone was gone, having been probably rusted oti of its place by the action of the water.’ •Was the name in it? asked Colonel Fenton eagerly. ‘No; that had been also rusted out. ‘ ‘Was it a ring like this?’ asked Colonel Fen ton. He drew from his vest pooket a little bun dle of brown, paper from whioh he toc-k a large ring with an, amethyst setting of unnsual sine and held it out to Mr. Gl»nville. Upon the in side was inscribed the name of ‘Arthur Glen ville’ in unmistakable characters! With tremb ling hands. Mr. GlenviLe examined the familiar piece of jewelry and read the well-known name. •Where did you get this in heaven’s name?' he asked rising fearfully from his st*t, while his eyes dilated iu astonisment. ‘From your brother himself.’ ‘Not dead?' ■Never in better health.’ ‘Where is he?’ asked Mr. Glenville in a voioe hoarse and painful with emotion. ‘You see him before you,’ answered Colonel Fention likewise rising, and folding his arms oalmJy aoross his breast. Mr. Glenville grasp ed the mantle for support and gazed with hor ror npon his companion as upon one who had risen from the dead to confront and confound him. Recovering himself and resolved neither to believe nor to admit so terrible and so unwel come a faot he said sternly: ‘You are an impostor, sir.’ As an answer to this oharge Colonel Fenton deliberately, and without a word, pulled oft his beard, and pointed to the hideous looking scar, which, a short time previous had so terribly frightened Corinne. Mr. Glenville dropped in to his ehair and eovered his face despairingly with his hand. Thus after years of plottinr, planning, and struggling, a disgraced brother had arisen from the grave to dash to earth the sweet cup of joy which fate was holding, yet untasted, to his lips. To Colonel Fenton or Arthur Glsnville, har dened and ursorupulous as he had grown in years of wandering through a dissolute, desolate life, there wss something so utterly selfish, sad and joyless in this aotion of a brother who gave him no kindly word of recognition, or of greet ing, after his return to life, it almost might be said, that he smiled in bitterness and anger. This brother npon whom, heretofore, he had looked, at least, with indifference—nay, had sometimes looked with a species af pride as be ing an arch-villian in all respects equal to him self, be determined should henceforth be an object of aversion and oontempt. Perhaps the most desolate feeling that ever eomes over the heart of man is when he looks around him through the teeming ranks of life and finds no soul that looks with sympathy on his lot— when from out the crowding millions around him be can single out no friendly bosom in which to confide in the dark hour of gloom. ‘Yes,’ Geoffrey,’ said Colonel Fenton calmly and coldly and with an undertone of irritation and disappointment, ‘I am Arthur Glenville, however unpleeasaut the fact may be to you. If you still doubt me, I can tell you all the secret history of the family and a great mauy of yonr own private little escapades which, it were bet ter for you, the world should never know. But I see yon are satisfied as to my identity. Of course you know well how to be silent on this subject to ethers. My present name, by whioh you will still continue to eall me, has been as sumed, as you oan readily suppoee, for pur poses of my own oonvenienoe.* ‘What do yon want, and why have you come back to thwart me after so long a time ?‘ aeked Mr. Glenville sullenly His words apoeared to have the effect of di verting Colonel Fenton’s mind from a oertain gloomy channel in which it seemed inclined to run, for he answered immediately more in his usual tone of levity and taunt: ‘That sounds more like business, my worthy brother, You have struck a ke -note—a respon sive chord in my breast. I want various things. Such is the lot of life. I want some assistance. Such is the lot of sinners. Among other things I would like to have a thousand or two dollars to carry out some little projects of mine.’ ‘It is of no nse to begin with such a high hand,’ returned Mr. Glenviile in the same dog ged tone. T have no money, and you know it is out of my power to raise so large a sum.' ‘Before I took to traveling uiider assumed names,’ said Colonel Fenton refleotively. ‘if I correctly remember, my little portion of patri mony amounted to about five thousand dollars. This has fallen into your bands. I know not what you have done with it. But I kuo-w it is honestly mine. Give me down on3 thousand cash, and I will’ make you a deed to the other four, and interest thereon for the last three years.’ ‘1 conld not raise that amount either by fair means or foul,* objected Mr. Glenville. ‘I am inclined to think differently,’ was the response of Colonel Fenton. ‘In fact it is my belief that you could immediately if you weal'd. Bat say nine hundred ?’ ‘What do you hope to make by such insinua tions, Arthur ?’ ‘A little money if possible,’ replied Colonel Kenton. 'But as I see you are bent upon driving a 1 ard bargain with me, I will put it eight hun dred.’ ‘I must have time to-think the matter over.’ ‘Now or never,’ urged Golonel Fenton. ‘Have yen ever heard of such a thing, as honesty or generosity V •You forget,’ said Gltnville darkly and with a> significant sneer, ‘that & word from me to cer tain authorities would entirely relieve ms both of yonr claims and you? company.’ ‘You dare not,Geoffrey Glenvilie,’ vehemently broke forth Colonel Fenton with sodden, stern and passionate defiance, and with clenched teethand eyes that glanoed with eager, fierce suspicion at his brother as if to see how muoh of his words were intended as idle threat and how Btuoh as indicative of'intention—‘You dare not, for, by Heaven, the day you. do it is yonr last on earth !' Mr. Glenville quailed before the fiery energy of the outburst he had unexpectedly elicited, but said with forced oalmness: •Of coarse I was jesting,. Arthur, about the j matter—it is eyen to my own interest to keep silent.' ‘Jesting on some subjects is dangerous some time*,.' retained the other. ‘Bat I know well that it is only motives of interest that will re strain, you. You imagine, and correctly too, I presume, that you oould never get into your clutches the property of that pale, hypochon driacal young fool at Dslamere, if her parents knew I was alive. In fact I< can’t see by What species of jugglery you hare induced them to favor your suit anyway. ‘ ‘I will tell you then,' explained Mr. Glenville with a confiding, conciliating air. ‘The yonng 1 h. H harftalf in ‘unilinor* t.ha.fi. ia. A.I1 I nPA.i lady herself is ‘willing 1 and. that i» all 1 need care for. The old folks were ’ terribly opposed to it at first, and old Delamere insulted me in various ways, but it was of no use. I knew too well for what I was playing to give op the game without a hard struggle; and. the young lady, you know, has a little spice of the is-vil in her, herself. ‘ Bo I imagine,' said Colonel Fenton. ‘I saw her a day or two ago and accidentally discovered myself to her. ‘ ‘The devil yon did!' exclaimed Mr. Glenville, betrayed into involuntary profanity by his dismay. ‘And what did she do?• ‘Screamed, or fainted, or did a little of both. But I do not know even yet whether she recog nized rae, or wnether she was simply frightened at seeiag my beard dangling in the air. I don't .think, however, we have anything to fear from her. ‘ ‘What hold have vou on her to keep her silent? asked Mr. Glenviile. ‘I told hex I was a desperate man, and plainly intimated that I would make mischief ou the biggest kind of soale if she ever breathed a syl lable about what she had sees, ‘ and, at this jeu d esprit Colonel Fenton vented his feelings in a burst of laughter. Then, growing more grave, he oontinnei: ‘But ray offer—what are you go ing to do with it ?‘ Mr. Glenville deliberated a moment, and then replied: ‘It's impossible, as. I told you at first, Arthur, i’or me to raise so large a sum as you mention at present, but if you ean wait until after my mar riage, I will accommodate you with the last mentioned amount.' ‘There are too many slips ‘twixt cup and lips. 1 answered Colonel Fenton. ‘Of oourse when old Delamere's property becomes yours you ean oonsider yourself a made maD, but old Dela mere does not seem, from all I have heard, to be over anxious to put you in possession.* ‘It is tne best l oan do, ‘ said Mr. Glenville decisively. ‘As I told you a day or two ago, my lady-love is to take a little trip out to the moun tains soon, and I shall be on hand to surprise her, and to harry up affairs with her.* ‘Ah, well,* replied Colonel Fenton gloomily, and as if tired of the subjeot; ‘take my birth right for whatever you please; but I swear to you, Geoffrey, I am wearv of this life I am lead ing. I feel cut off from all that is pure and honorable and worth living for in life. If my oharacter now stood as clear from anything crim inal before the world as it stands even before my own conscience, I could be a happy and an honorable man. You think I am growing senti mental or hypocritical, but I teil you these feel- rags have come upon ms within the last two or three days. There are many grand things to strive for in this world, but with my character seared and blackened, they are out of my rea"h. I have half a notion to begin life over again iu some new land where the faoes acid memories of the past oan be forgotten. Let's have some wine. It will chase these foolish fanoies out of my head.' (TO BE COXTIXUID.) Boston now has 202 schools, 1,260 teachers and 56 967 pupils. School officers are paid $1,117,027. There are in Boston 6-1,766 chil dren between the age3 of five and fifteen, so that the percentage of non-attendants is light. It is admitted by the members of the Board of Edu cation that there have keen too many evening schools and that the special school exhibitions are of little value. The traditions among the North American Indians, af the early settlement of this country, threw no possible light upon their real origin. They themselves said that they originally sprung from the ground! AT TKff (’0SFESSI05AI» BY MARIA LOU EVB. Young Gabriel at the altar knelt— A priest in holy vestments olad; His face was such as women love. But troubled now and very sad. The wooden crucifix he kissed, And "Christ forgive me” humbly prayed. "The love that should be His alone, Bestowed upon a sinful maid. His face was something more serene, Yet still it wore a troubled look, As In the dim confessional, His wonted place, he humbly took. “All, how can I, a sinful man, Bid others for their faults atone, Or penace for their sins impose, Which are aslnothing to my own?” Matilda fair, by morning light, To Mary’s chapel, trembling hies:— “Ah, Gabriel, thou holy priest. How would thy sinless soul despise The maiden who would dare to love A minister of heavenly grace,” She murmured, as she closer drew The vail about her lovely face. She enters now the chapel aisle. And for a moment kneeling there. Before the blessed virgin’s shrine, “Ave Maria," all hey prayer, "Ah, Mary, mother, help me now My sinful passion to confess, And my poor efforts to renounce My erring love, in pity bless.” How, in the dim confessional, She seeks her beating heart to stay, And to confess her secret sin, At length her trembling lips essay:—^ Nor dreams what form is bej^i^ Jouble- Divided by that wall ai; an d thog6 at Nor that hie heart is sfi. Point laea in With human weak.se and pearl jewel- “Oh.Holy Father,;i l* eB in the bwr - Iu flattering accents stP j. “The priest who showed me ltfAw, gjj^ As if he were a sinful man.” The “holy father" answered not. The calmness he had won by prayer, Now lost amid a tumult wild Of eestacy and of despair. That sweet confession from her lips! The waxen candles burn more dim, And Gabriel almost lorgot That human love was not for him. And then he struggled with himself, And bowed his head, in silent prayer For strength, his sacred vow to keep; For strength, his heavy cross to bear. "What counsel can I give thee now, Sweet penitent and lovely maid? For I am but a sinful man.” In tones of thrilling sadness said. "The heart that once was pledged to Heaven, Has wandered to the earth gain. And when my wings would upward soar, It binds them with its silken chain. Matilda. Ah, what Stoic's heart Would not thy loveliness disarm; What talisman, so beauty-proof. What sacred armlet or charm? Sweet maid, forgive, nor only blame The priest, unfaithful to his trust; I oould but speak, as thou hadst done, Before we part, as part we must. Matilda dear, on both our hearts The same hard sentence, I impose; Yet, would that Gabriel might bear His own and his Matilda’s woes:— „ Cur eyes must not behold again Each other, till your.earthf stains gone, We lay these weary crosses down. And put our crowns of glory on.” Before the crucifix they knelt, And bowed their heads in silent prayer. Then, clasping hands, each looked and looked In other's eyes, in mute despair. j j “I cannot guess what love may be,” The priest said, very sadly, now, “Where it ts not a deadly sin, The breaking of a sacred vow.” "Without my Gabriel, I may live, But i would see him when I die: O, say, sweet priest that thou will come, When on my dying bed I lie, My last confession to receive, And for my parting spirit pray.” "Is Gabriel’s heart so stern?” he said, Command sweet maid and I obey.” They parted by the crucifix, Aud though he wore a look of pain, And though his step was something slower, The lover was the first priest again. But sweet Matilda, from that day, Was not Matilda, now, of old, The color faded from her cheek, And all her ways grew sad and cold. And still she drooped, until at last, The hour, long wished-for, had arrived, And Gabriel beside her knelt— Before her parting soul, he shrived, “Wait for me love,” he whispered low, ’Tis easier now for me to bear, And thou wilt be my spirit bride, For love Is not a weakness there.” While Gabriel prayed, Matilda died. he looked upon her face, once more, Then to the old life, sadly went— More, peaceful now, the look he wore — Until at length, the fretting sword, Tho fragile sheath had worn away; And Gabriel went to meet his bride, Just at the closing of the day. Philadelphia ‘Sunday Press :' All around us we hear the busy note of preparation.—Within a fortnight the profession will be on the road, both figuratively and literally, for sinc9 only about half a dozen theatres will maintain regu lar companies, it is obvious that the great ma jority of tbe knights of the sock and buskin will be turned into strolling players. In some places the dawn of the new season has already broken, and artists are at their work, which they will not abandon until the summer comes again. These are fortunate ones. The great mass does not get to business much before the middle of September, and many combinations do not go out until October. But numerous as thesestroll- ing companies are every actor has not succeed ed in getting a berth in one of them. Far from it; plenty of good, useful actors, not distin guished, to be sure, nor marvelously talented, but reliable and satisfactory, are still without regular engagements, and many of them will remain so the winter through, picking up a precarious living by doing odd jobs at this house and that. And when the total idleness whioh hot weather always brings comes again, there will be nothing at all to rest upon, and only a resort to the same old make shifts will keep the roof in its place. May Davenport will appear at Theatre on the 25 th. Miss Mary Anderson is said to be blondine type of beauty. The number of unemployed actors in delphia at present is said to be legion. instinct print