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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
This made Muggins mad. He sprang brisk
ly to his feet and wiping his n< se on the sleeve
of his gri-asv coat, savagely demanded in for
niation as to who had done it.
Loller was slowly picking himself^ up out
of the corner, feeling of his caput with one
hand and of his posterior bones with the
other, to see if any were broken, and at first
paid no attention to the man with the bloody
D0 “bid you do it?” thundered Muggins.
‘‘No, Mug, you are a fool, you know I
didn’t well enough.” „
“I believe I am a fool,” replied Muggins
testily, “for I’m danged if I do know who
did it. Did you?” he continued, turning
fiercely on Bagherry who had en.-conced him
self behind the big stone. .
“No it was’nt me, I dident do any tiling, ’
was the reply. . . .. .
“ Then all l'v- got to say,” asserted the in
vincible Muggins, again wiping his nose on
his sleeve, “ail I’ve got to say is that any
man who don’t iike soup is a goll-fired liar
and a thief 1”
As no one seemed disposed to give his esti
mate of soup just at that time, our hero ap
peared to be fully satisfied.
The absconding court was calk d bock, once
more convened, fined the lawyers and re
sumed the trial
“Now, Mr. Bagherry, take that seat sir,
and look at me,” said Briefleigb. “Didn’t
you swear here a little while ago that you
were a liar ?”
The witness was completely broken down
by the discomfiture of his attorney and the
excitement of the fight, and answered fee
bly.
"Well—yes-I ’spose so.”
“Would you believe a liar under oath,
sir ?”
“Don’t know that I would,” Bagberrv
murmured in a half dogged manner; he had
evidently surrendered at discretion, and was
now only anxious to get rid of the whole
thing.
Briefleigb swelled with importance and
leaned back in his creaking chair in cousci-
ous dignity
Loller looked as if he wanted to whip
somebody, and audibly pronounced his un-
f r unate witness an infernal numb kull.
Muggins was next called, and be took the
stand with a flush of honest triumph over
spreading every lineament of his ensanguin
ed face, as he told bis straight forward tale.
He bad heard Gump buy the horse, and
Bagberry proposed to go with him and de
liver immediate prossession.
“Where was the defendant last night? ’ de
manded Loller waking up.
“I don’t know,” replied Muggins.
“You don’t, eh; don’t you board at bis
house?”
“Yes; but I was away till midnight. 1
had been out on Cedar street and run from
there to the court house chasing ’
“Stop, sir—don’t answer that question,”
broke in Loller with a very red face and
amid the audible smiles of the listeners.
The evidence was soon concluded, when
Bnefleigh arose to make his speech with all
the empressment we can imagine of Web
ster or Legare when preparing to address
the supreme tribunal at Washington.
“May it please the court,” he modestly
commenced. “I have but a few brief words
I wish to say”—be had fixed himself for a
two hours’ speech, at least—“but upon so
momentous an occasion, when the liberty of
a citizen of this free and glorious country is
involved. When the laws of the land are at
stake. When its enlightened judiciary, of
which your honors are such bright and
shining examples, are called upon to act—
when—when. I say, I cannot refrain from
discharging my duty. We may look back
over the lines of English history”—here his
voice began to swell out into stentorian
tones—“and we may study the gathered wis
dom of a thousand years. We may probe
the mysterious recesses of the common law,
known to lawyers as the Lex non scripta,
and we will find that, and we will find”—he
had written out his remarks in advance but
forgot, at this point, how the thing came in
—“and at the bloody field of Runnymede,
the brave Barons of Britain burled back
ihe-twaanr et-ttoUfinglieh king and -fortyd
him To sign the ev^r memorable Magna
Charta. Nay more, should we roll back
the billowy tide of time and peer into the
mystic ”
“What’s that to do with the case, young
man?” pat m old Skinflint, as sour as a crab
apple, to the infinite disappointment of the
gaping crowd.
"Why, I haden’t got to the case yet,” said
Briefleigb, coming down from his lofty
height to a half whimper.
“The court’s heard enough on shat side.
Do you want to say anything ‘’Squire’ Lol
ler ? ’
“No; let that cats-paw slobber on if he
wants to,” he moodily replied.
“You are another,” savagely replied the
discomfited speaker.
“Order, men, or the court will fine you
both.”
“What will you fine me for ?” asked Mr.
Loller.
“The prisoner will be discharged. Ad
journ the court. Mr. Offand ?”said the mag
istrates hurriedly, apprehensive of anothef
row.
The by-standers tarried to witness the
anticipated collision between the irascible
limbs of the law, but that pleasure was de
nied them, for no sooner had the restraints
of authority beed removed and the ring was
being formed around them, than two spring
lambs could not have exceeded the mildness
of the so recently belligerent antagonist.
Gump was escorted in triumph to the long
low store-room on the north-east corner of
the square and stood treat for the crowd all
around, while Elthorpe, his brother-in-law,
benigantly listened to Brielleigh’s vivid de
scription of the trial.
“I stood up to you like a little man, didn’t
I old fellow,” said the young lawyer, slap
ping Gump on the back, “and didn’t I floor
old Loller with the law book ?’’
“Dat ish so, by Moses,” replied the Jew.
[TO BE CONTINUED ]
SIR
PAUL BRADMIRE.
A Tale Founded on Facts which Excited
and Profoundly Agitated the Aristoc
racy and Gentry of all Britain.
BY ALFRED DIKE.
(Author of “ Esther, the Jewess.”)
CHAPTER IX.
According to appointment, Felix and my
self dined with Braxton the next day.
“Now, said Felix, tell us all about our trip to
the grave yard yesterday, and why you took
us there when you could have told* us with
out going?”
“Well,” said Braxton, “I wanted both of
yon, and especially you, to see with > our
own eves what you did see, and to appear
in court as witness. Alice and my old hen
(as he called his wife) must be present,” and
be accordingly sent for both. When they
oame, he said to Alice, “Now it is the order
of court that you are not to cry one bit, for
you are about to triumph gloriously.” Then
he recounted the tale of calumny about the
flowers, and the place she went to every
Saturday.
When Alice heard this, her beautiful blue
eyes dilated, and became wild with aston
ishment looking rapidly every way, and at
everything almost at the same time, then
springing from her seat, she cried: “Go
with me—go with me ! and see what I did
with the flowers.”
But Braxton cried, “Hush, hush you little
fairy, you will disturb the court ” Then
laughing till the tears blinded his eyes, and it
seemed impossible to stop—he said, “Felix
knows all about what you did with the flow
ers, and I know, and Mr. Rright knows, for
all three of us saw you, and I had to bri
dle Felix like a restive colt to keep him from
breaking away and running to you.”
Alice looked at all three, wondering how
that could b a , when Braxton aa soon as he
could stop laughing told her how he had
managed the whole thiDg, and how aston
ished Fslix was to see her there.
But Alice here did not obey the rules of
the court, for she did cry, and burying her
face in her hands, sobbed, “O my mother!
was it love to tne dear, dear memory of thee
that brought this calumny on me ?”
“Tis,” said Braxton, “but don’t you see
how your guardian nut his foot upon it, and
stamped it out * Did you ever see your
guardian, aDgel ?”
“No; not that I know of,” she replied smil
fag.
Then laughing again as if he would smoth
er, he said, •Felix has seen him plain enough.
F-lix says he saw a beautiful ittle goddess in
each of your eyes, dressed in all the colours
of the rainbow, and away down in your
heart the loveliest cherub of all the angelic
hosts at home there; and the little cherub
whispered to him I am her gurdian angel,
and no one can enter here—I’ll fix that.”
“Ah, that last, is your part,” said Felix,
somewhat confused.
“I know it is,” said Braxton, “and I only-
added it to let her hear your acknowlede-
ment of all the rest. Now,” he continued to
Alice,“you see Fdix was right, and that
same little cherub has squelched this cal
uniny, and that is not all he has done. Now
you must read this, and mind you are not to
be effected by it in the slightest degree, for
we kuow all about it. just as we did about
the flowers; and this can do you no more
harm ihan to tell about the flowers. Now
let us see if you know who wrote this vile
letter, which was thrust under our door.
Al’ce took the letter and as she read on her
face turned deadly pale.
“Scop, stop! ’cried Braxton, “didn’t I tell
you not to be affected by it ?”
“O, my God!” she exclaimed, “it is r.ot
the matter, but the writer I am thinking of ”
Who wrote it ?” he asked, and all eyes
were riveted on her.
‘Let ittnot be told,” said Alice bursting
into tears, “let sink in silence and the mantle
of pity cover perfidy forever.”
“No, no,” thev all cried. “This would be
licensing the culprit to prey upon others,
who may not be so fortunate. You, in jus
tice, must tell who wrote it”
“O, how hard it is to know by infallible
evidence so startling and horrible a truth,
which none but the writer, herself, could
have made me believe.
I believe it though,” said Braxton, “and
can tell you it was Angelica Burton.”
“Too horribly true,” said Alice. “There is
no place for error, or for deubt here,
should know this hand writing, though the
effort was evidently made to disguise it,
even in China. . But that this is Angelica—
that she is capable of such a deed, and to
wards me, is utterly confounding and over
whelming, and the motive wholly inexplica
ble.”
“Ah that little cherub that Felix saw at
home, will not let yon imagine the evil that
is in that wicked, artful girl, but Felix says
he saw a devil hiding behind a blanket in
her heart, and room in it for seven other
devils, more than her guardian devil.
“This winds up all the charges, and all the
mysteries except one, and that you only can
explain,” said Braxton with a strio comic
face, “Mrs. Braxton was told to watch if
you at any time exhibited costly and unac
customed jewelry, such as finger rings etc.,
and as you all of a sndden show a sparkling
ring, you can explain this also.”
‘ ‘W hat f” asked Alice with some indigna
tion. “did any one really tell Mrs. Braxton
that ?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Braxton; “Miss Bur
ton certainly gave me that caution yester-
dav.”
Felix had turned and fixed his eye on the
ring with wouder, which threw Braxton in
to another fit of laughter.
“And Is it expeted that I am to teil how I
came by this ring ?”
“No, no; child, I and Mr. Braxton know
how you came by it, and he only wants you
to show off the giver,” said Mrs. Braxton.
“Why Angelica put Ihe ring on my linger,
herself, and begged me to wear it for her
sake.”
Felix jumped up, and going to Alice said.
h!5rt»’
“and I pulled it ofrfor font sake,
he threw it with all his force ont doors.
“O, Felix, what did you do that for I” she
asked—“Go and pick it up. I must send it
back to her. Don’t you see she will think I
wear it unless it is sent back ?’’
“I did not think of that,” said Felix, and
he went, and after a short hunt said, “here
it is, but bring me a pair of tongs to pick it
up witn.”
As he came fa, he whispered something to
a servant, who went out, presently returned
with a basin of water, soap and towel, and
Felix carrying them to Alice, caught her
hand and asked which finger was the ring
on.
“What are you going to do?” she asked in
wonder.
“To wash that finger the ring was on,” he
said.
“Oh, go away with your foolishness,” she
said.
But he would dip her hand fa the water
and washed it himself with the use of the
soap, and wiped it with the towel, while all
the while Burton was fit to fall out of his
chair with laughter, and his wife and Alice
were nearly as much diverted.
“Now, sir,” said Braxton, “you are to tell
Alice your whole adventure with your friend
Angelica yesterday, omitting nothing, not
even the kissing—but just as you told it to us.
This is due to Alice, to let her know how
much she has to regret in the loss of such a
friend. Would you not like to hear it, Alice?”
“Did be meet Angelica yesterday?”
“Yes, to be sure, he did—and spent the
day with her.”
“Well, yes, then,I should like to hear.”
F.-lix then said. “Now, understand that
but |for the treachery and cruelty of this
girl I would not suffer one word of what took
place yesterday to be drawn from me, even
with a cart-rope. I have never acted by any
girl as I am about to act now, nor would I
even now. under all the circamstaDces, were
it not to open Alice’s eyes as to her false
friend, and put her on her guard; for I would
not do even Angelica Burton harm unneces
sarily.”
Alice was looking attentively at him, and
her eyes filled with tears.
Felix then began and with perfect honesty
related circumstantially every item, em
bracing all the parties, Simon and Susan in
cluded. Alice listened with fixed attention,
and now and then would break out into un
controllable laughter at her recollections of
Simon, and seemed truly pleased at his and
Susan’s commendations of her. But when it
came to Angelica’s open declarations of pas
sionate love to Felix, she reddened soarlet,
and hid her face in her hands on the table.
Felix concluded with the kissing scene, and
just then the same servant who had been
told by Braxton came again with the basin
of water, soop and towel, and Braxton said:
“Now, my exquisite, as Simon said, 'sauce
for the gander,’ and if Alice’s finger needed
washing because she had that ring on it,
your mouth that kissed the girl needs wash
ing a great deal more. So 1 insist that Alice
wash your mouth with soap and water.”
And all but Alice insisting on it. Felix
said:
“Well, if Alice will not put any of the soap
fa my mouth she may wash it; for that is fair
p’ay.
Braxton then pulled Alice np and told her
she must do it, when, laughing till she was
nearly smothered, she washed his mouth
pretty thoroughly and wiped it with the
towel. Each one felt how much more de
lightful this genial, unbending hilarity was
than the stiff ness of cold formality according
to established ceremony.
Then Mrs. Braxton, going up to Alice,
said: “All is right—ail is ’appinees again,”
and kissing her, continued: “God be thanked,
dear, sweet girl, and God bless you foreyer.
I am so glad! Oh, I’m real ’appy! All the
trouble is gone, and the sunshine will come
on your face again.”
Felix was one of nature’s happiest handi
works. His genial good nature, kind heart,
merry spirits, and handsome person worked
their way into every one’s favor without an
effort. Then, as I have said, he had the nat
ural faculty of judging persons by their
countenances and their language, even when
the most guarded. He thus at onoe declared
Alice’s pure and amiable nature upon the
very first meeting.
On the evening of this day he found him
self alone with Alice. This be thought was
contrived by Mrs. Braxton, for Alice seemed
shy of being alone with him; and she had
risen to follow the others, who had gone oat,
when Felix caught her arm, and pulling her
back, said:
“No, Alice; don’t go away now—I have
something to tell you.”
She took her seat, but turned pale in doing
so, and her bosom heaved with quickened
breathing.
“Now,” said Felix, “see the little birdie,
how her heart palpitates. What scares you?
Are you afraid of me?—afraid of your own
Felix, who would shield you from harm with
his own life’s blood? I know you love me —
you need not tell me that, and you know I
love you with all my heart, and mind, and
soul; and you know vou are mine, and I
know you are mine. Now tell me, for you
must say it, is not all this so? I know that,
there is no guile in you, and you will speak
as your pure and truthful heart prompts
you.”
“Alas! Felix,” she replied, “that is too true
for any hope that can be founded upon it.
Do not think me insensible, or ungrateful,
but truth must be spoktn, and the right bs
followed, though my own peace be crushed
out by what shall follow. ’Tis so hard to say!”
she cried as she paused, and tnen burst into
tsars.
“Then don’t say it,” said Felix throwing
his arm around her, from which she in vain
endeavored to oull away. “Don’t say it; for
I swear it won't move me in the least to bear
it. Do you think I would tell a downright
falsehood Alice?”
“No, no,” she said; “I know you would
not.”
“Well then, I tell you, you are mine, and
I am going to have you; and if you say ‘no,’
I won t care for that any more than if you
hadn’t said it.”
“Oh. Felix,” she said, “there is a gulf be
tween us.”
“I don’t see it,” he replied; “but if there is
I will jump oyer it at ones. Don’t you know
the devil has been trying all sorts of games
to part us, and when we beat him at his own
game, are you for knocking under when he
tries another plan? Mind what that little
cherub in your heart says. He whispered to
me, ‘Felix, don’t you be a craven now and
back down, but go ahead: I’i! back you. She
is yours and you shall have her in spite of
the world, the flesh 'and the dev.l himself.’ ”
“Ob, don’t make me laugh,” she said shak
ing perceptibly.
“You want to erv, do you? but you’d bet
ter not, I can’t see you cry. I bad rather
be whipped any time. Now if you cry I’ll
k’g- every ont|of the tears away; I will—you
trj it now.”
He said this so earnestly that Alice shook
again. After a moment she continued:
“Felix, hear me. You are so giddy, but
hear me, for it is necessary. Your young life
now is all promise; the brightest prosnects
beckon you on. Your aunt and all that love
you have high expectations for you; and all
that is needed for the realization is prudence
and rectitude. Now how could you regard
me, Felix, is, bt lieving as I do, that I should
be the cause of violent opposition and of the
alienation of your aunt and of all who have
your interest at heart, and by being a clog
upon yon, should mar all your bright hopes
and prospects and daily see you struggle with
poverty and a heavy heart. We must look
at the stern reality of things and not be led
by florid and delusive hopes founded only up
on our wishes' It is easy to plunge into
wasting, consuming trouble, but exceedingly
difficult to get out of it. Now believe me
when I make the truthful confession, 1 love
you—yes, love you, Felix,too dearly to; drag
you down from the h : gh and bright pros
pects of your ascending life and see them
swept from your view and only desolation
eft. I can bear any sorrow and suffering,
rather than this. If yon will not think for
yourself, I must think a-'d act for you, Such
a union can never be. Your aunt and your
best friends look forward to a high alliance
of family and position and wealth for you,
and what anger and alienation it would
if von were to marry a poor.
'«&■ ? 1 ^rgffnilyvig&if ’grant*
anything, bat all will be only air or
words. The world judges of fitness only by
external advantages. Prosecute your for
tunes then to their highest promises and leave
me to my lowly lot' Let me die rather than
blight your life.”
“Well,” he said, “you can’t complain I did
not hear you this tima Bnt didn’t you say
you knew I wouldn’t tell a downright false
hood? and did you not hear me say that if you
said no, that would no more move me than if
you had never said it? There is a bird that
goes courting every spring, and all he says
is “whip-poor-will,” and he doesn’t say an
other word, and you can’t get him to say an
other word, but be keeps saying it over and
over till his sweetheart consents to take him.
Now I am like that bird, It is Alice first,and
Alice all the time. Alice is mine, and all the
people may make mouths, turn up their
noses, chafe, fret and turn their backs, but 1
am like that whippoorwill. I will say the
same thing over and nothing else. My heart
strings are knit to yours and yours to minp.
and we twain are one flesh. So much for the
flesh. Now, for the world whose judgment
you spoke of. You are commanded to come
out from it, and to be separate from it, and
are we to be governed by its smiles and its
frowns? Let the world slide then, or go to
Halifax. Now for the devil.”
“Hush, Felix,” she broke in, shaking again
with her cheery laughter. “Stop your levity
and be serious.”
“I never was m< re earnest in my life,” he
said. “But to finish with the devil. Didn’t
I tell you that the little cherub, your guar
dian angel, said I must not be a coward’ and
he would back me and bluff that father of
lies? And do you reckon I’m going to back
down after that? Nol You are mine and
you may preach no and repeat no, but it will
be work for nothing. Now jest see you lit
tle cherub you, and, as Simon says a “fact
simblen” of your guardian cherub, what you
wou’d make of me in your self-sacrificing
zeal. Hear, now—just hear! I must prose
cute my high prospects, pash my fortunes
and marry some proud lady of name and
wealth and roll in splendor and magnificence
whille my darling little birdie is to be left
ont in the cold to her fate—yes, my own,
precious one is to be forsaken by me, though
all that the world, the flesh and the devil
could give me were but a mockery and deso
lation without my own darling Alice. You
say you could not see me sorrowing in pov
erty, but if you cannot see me, a strong and
healthy man, struggling with diffi.ulti-s,
how could 1 see you though dearer to me than
self, struggling alone in the feebleness of
womanhood. Alice, persuade me not, and
believe me when I tell you I will be moved
by no entreaty, injunction or command to
leave thee or forsake thee. ‘Where thou go-
est I will go, where thou dwellest I will
dwell, thy God shall be my God, and where
thou diest, I will die and there will I be
buried.’ ”
Alice sobbed, resting her face on his shoul
der.
“Felix said: “I can’t tell a story. I told
you if you cried, I’d kiss away the tears,’’and
though she tried to stop him, he did kiss them
away Then looking, he said: “Are ail
the tears gone? No, here’s one,” then, ‘here’s
another,” till he put her to laughing again,
struggling to get away.
“Now,” said Felix, “I havn’t said any
thing about my dear, kind old Aun r . You
need not fear she will ever forsake me. IShe
raised me, and she loves me just like she did
when I was a little lisping pet, and she seems
yet to look upon me as a little child. She
will come to me and brush my hair, fix on
my collar, and dip her finger In a cup of wa
ter and wash the inside of my ear, and if I
don’t hold still she’ll smack me on the jaw.
Here Alice laughed out almost with a
scream, and asked:
“O, Felix, is not that a story 1”
“Upon my word it is the truth, every word
of it,” he said: “but she pets me yet, and by
a little coaxing and a little humor, I can get
almost anything out of her. She shall see
you and judge for herself.”
“How?” she asked. “You don’t suppose
I’m going to her house?”
“No,” replied Felix, “bnt she shall oome
here, and when she comes you must let her
fix your hair, and wash your ears, and smack
yon, and kiss yon too just as she does me.”
“Does she kiss you?” she asked when she
could speak for laughing.
“Kiss me? Yes, any time. Now I must
go. I told my aunt when I’d get b.ick, and
whenever I fail to be punctual, she sends a
half dozen messengers to search for me, and
when I get home, she scolds me and says I
scared her almost to death lest somebody had
killed me. Now,” he continued, “no more of
that stuff about high life hopes and prospects
and governesses; for 1 swear it is all thrown
away. I would not give you f< r all the world
besides;” and before she knew what he was
about he caught her face between his two
b nds and kissed her twice and then ran out
< n his way home.
Alice sac for a moment in deep thought,
then said:
“O what can I do with him? It kills me to
give him pain, ana then he will not hear me.
I know he will not be moved by any denial
of mine. What shall I do* ’
“Take him, for you will 'ave to do it, and
you know it,” said Mrs. Braxton, who had
slipt softly into the room as Felix ran out.
“You ’ave done ail you ought to do, and
more than any other girl in London would
’ave done. I do want you to ’ave him so
much, and to see you married to him. Don’t
fear. Felix’s merry, sunny face and good
heart make friends for him every where. No
fear of want for him.”
But Felix had to check-mate another of
Angelica’s games, which threatened more se
rious consequences. W hen he got home, his
aunt was walking backward and forwards in
her room in restless agitation and with a
troubled countenance. She was thinking of
Felix, and no misfortune could so distress
her as the blight of her fond hopes and bright
fortunes for him. He was the darling of her
heart, and ail her affections centered upon
him. As he said, she seemed to be unmind
ful, in her general treatment of him, that he
was grown to man’s estate, and yet clung to
the fond endearments of the petted child.
Felix sat by her side at the table as when a
little boy, and rattled on talking to her, some
times making her laugh till she cried, and
sometimes getting a smack, but he didn’t
care for the smack. What he liked she was
sure to have upon the table, and she would
tell him how much of any dish he should eat,
and when he should have no more, saying it
would make him sick. He sat by her and
often read to her, and made his comments as
he read which she often enjoyed more than
the book. She was so fond of him that she
watched over him, and felt as anxious about
him when away as when he was a child. She
was very wealthy, and spared no expense on
bis education, and indulged him in costly
dress, horses, and money, and seemed to de
light more in giving than Felix in receiving,
yet she watched ceaselessly over his morals,
and Felix never gave her a pang by one re
port of vicious associates, or a vicious act.
Tne old lady lived in her own way wholly
independent of the gay, flashy world around
her, despising the hollow show and parade of
fashionable life, yet she was very aristocratic
and in that sense very proud. No one looked
to family and family cast more than she did,
and any descent from cast in marriage was
almost as abominable to her mind as to the
Hindoo’s. Her whole being, then, had been
thrown into agitation ana horror by an
anonymous letter which she hao just received
and which informed her that Felix was about
to marry a poor and obscure goyerness in a
low and obscure fami'y, and that unless she
acted promptly the mischief would he done
before she was aware of it. She called Felix
in then, and closed the door, when, taking a
seat, she told him to take the one by her.
“Now, Felix,” she said, looking him fixedly
in the face, “you have never told me a false
hood, or attempted to deceive me even to
screen yourself from my displeasure, and I
expect i ruth now.”
“And no matter what the subject, aunt,”
interrupted Felix, “you shall have truth so
far as any answer of mine can give it.”
“Very well,” she continued; “then tell me
have you gone and engaged yourself to be
married without saying one word to me
about it?”
“No!” 1m npUri, “I am mat engaged to be
' mt all thjt 1 kpow of, aad I ought to
oiifyuur
“Read Mat,” aha mid, handing him the
letter.
He started directly he put his eves on it,
then read it with a flushed face and with as
much indignation as he was capable of, and
when he had finished, he looked his aunt in
the face and said:
“Dear Aunt Emily, could you who have
watched over me with more than a mother’s
care, and who know me so wed, believe for
one moment that I could forget my position,
my good breeding and refinement, and with
a taste for vulgarity, seek in marriage a low
and obscure woman for my wife?”
“Felix, it would kill me,” she vehemently
answered; “I could not believe it; yet if
there is nothing of it, why was this letter
written? What purpose is it intended to sub
serve? The writer must have had some mo
tive in writing it, but the motive, If all be
false, is utterly hidden from me, but is it as
utterly hidden from you?”
“No, aunt; it is all plain to me,” said Fe
lix, and I know the person that wrote it. It
is a long story, but you must hear all from
beginning to ending. 1 will not suppress, nor
pass over one fact in the whole account, that
does not slip my memory.”
The old lady Coleville jumped up and
kissed him, saying:
“Now you look like Felix—my Felix of old.
Yes, tell me every won!; hide nothing.”
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
DON JOAQUIN
And His Flag;.
OR THE
SPANISH BUCCANEER
BY LIEUT. FELIX.
year
CHAPTER XLII— (Continued).
Meanwhile Paul’s mother died. A
passed; Cecille gave me a little boy, who'was
called after me, and then I went again to sea.
Three years rolled by and I returned; and
the very night before I reached the planta
tion a dreadful tragedy had occurred. I
might, perhaps, have prevented it Uad I been
there. It seems that a few days prior to my
return, Mongel wrote to Paul—1 saw the let
ter—and it was painful to read it, for he not
only recapitulated his vices and follies, but
he charged him with being a ruined gambler,
who had brought his mother in sorrow to the
grave, and closed by swearing, in the most
solemn manner, that if be again dared to
speak to his sister, or dai ken their door, he
would shoot him like a dog. That night, as
usual, the little boat was pulled across the
river, and later, when it returned, there was
a fluttering white dress to be seen in the
stern. Scarcely, however,had the boat left the
bank than a skiff shoved off from the other
side, manned by four burly negroes, and
came swiftly over in pursuit. What after
ward occurred was related to me by two
servants, who had passed their lives with the
family. It appears that Paul, with Castilla
fa his arms, had scarcely reached the broad
hall of the house, when Mongel rushed in
with a sword in one haud and a pistol in the
other. Handy warned him not to attack
him, as his blood was up, and he might do
him harm. Castilla, too, implored him to
desist, but seeing him still advance, as she
partially shielded her lover, she told him
that the man she loved was her husband.
Blinded with rage, this last admission ren
dered him totally ungovernable, and he made
a lunge at Handy, but Paul parried his rapid
passes, though receiving some sharp thrusts
in his arm, and still supporting Castilla on
his left arm, by a quick spring he got within
Mongel’s guard, and seizing him by the waist,
wrenched the weapon from his grasp. This
only added fuei to the fire of Mongel’s pas
sion ; he leveled his pistol and fired. Tnere
was a faint cry with the report, and a groan
from Mongel as the sword went through his
body till the hilt struck hard against his ribs
as he fell upon the hail floor. But the bullet
from his pistol had pierced the fair forehead
of his sister, and she lay a corpse in her hus
band’s arms.
1 will spare you all the affecting details.
Byron, and will ouly add that Handy left,
the old plantation that night, and when I g. .t
home I found a letter, inclosing a paper
which constituted me his sole executor, ana
made our little boy his heir. I had but a
month’s leave of absence, and duty called me
away again. After another long cruise of
four years, I again returned. There was
wailing and weeping in my own home. My
poor Cecille had never recovered from the
shock; she‘drooped away like a lilly, her lit
tle boy by her side, and both died during my
absence.
“It was the hour of midnigh*, and I walked
out to the little graveyard where mr father
had been buried, and bending my steps to a
cluster i f magnolias, on a little mound by
itself, I knelt beside the green sod where re
posed all I had loved on earth. I do not
know how long I remained there, but pres
ently I hoard a groan near by, and a tall man
rose from where he had been stretched face
downward on the ground, and I beheld Paul
Handy. I scarcely recognized him at first,
for he looked fifty years older than when
we last parted.”
“Mr. Cromwell,” he said in a hollow voice,
“forgive me; I am a changed mar, and, I
hope, a b tter man. I have been drawn to
this little graveyard by the same motive
which brought you hither, and though I did
not expect to meet you here, yet I am glad
of it. Speak, Cromwell, and say you forgive
me, and you will shed a ray of hope and hap
piness into the heart of one who will suffer
unto the end. Speak!”
“Ah! Byron, old memories crowded
around me. and I saw before me the child
in the cradle, and our arms around each
other’s neck; as we played together, I for
got for the moment, the twin sister lying
there, bride, mother, and baby boys, and
standing there over the graves of buried
love, we fell into each other’s arms.
After a time, he said, “Mr. Cromwell, I
have brought a little helpless boy with me.
He is a little angel, and will take the place
of the other one. Whichever of us survives
shall inherit that estate. Come with me and
look at him.”
He led me to the other mound, and there
beside the magnolia tree, a beautiful boy
lay sleeping, wrapped in a sailor’s pea jack
et, with his brown curls escaping from be
neath a Panama hat, and the head resting on
one arm, on the grave beneath him.
“Be good to him, Mr. Cromwell,” Handy
went on, “for the sake of those we have lost
ourselves. His mother’s name was Rosa
mond.”
As he said this, he stooped down and rais
ing the boy in bis arms, kissed him passion
ately, and then gently put him in mine.
“Let him kneel sometimes at this grave,
my friend and pray forme.”
A moment later ai d Fail Handy had gone.
The little fellow awoke, and put his arms
affectionately around my neck and whisper
ed, “Mamma.” That dashing, brave young
fellow ahead there, was once that boy.
I took him to the house, where my good
mother and sisters went wild over him. and
there he passed a happy boyhood. Years
passed, and he grew apace the pride and i'iy
of us all; and as he evinced the greatest
fondness for me, and for the account i gave
him of my life at sea. 1 had him appointed
a reefer in the navy. Since that he has been
a great deal of service, been distinguished in
action, and on ship board as well as
on shore, loved by all who knew him. In
the mean time his father went away. He
wrote to me, and to his son, from all parts
of the world, and when I went to Europe, he
was my companion. While there he lived a
retired life. Never went into society, but
visited every marine hospital in every sea
port town from the Mediterranean to old
Aberchen in Scotland, for he is not only a
surgeon of wonderful skill but but a thor
ough bred seaman, too, and when he has
been with me on board of ship, there is no
one whose opinion on the weather, or other
nautical matters, I place more confidence in
than Paul Handy’s.
During all these years, his estates, under
tnYoperrisioirKf wtiidfesr brttirerr
have been redeemed from their load of debt,
and now he enjoys a fine income, or rather,
be spends nothing on himself; bnt devotes it
to orphan children and widows, to the sick
and worn out sailors. In the sventeen years
which have gone by, since he brought his
little boy to me, he has made several visits
to the plantation, but only when the young
fellow ahead was on leave of absence. From
a child, he often went and nursed the flow
ers beside the grave underthe waving magno
lias. And to this day he believes that his
own mother is buried there.
CHAPTER XLI,
As the cavalcade passed round the curve of
the peak Mr. Cromwell said:
“Byron, tell me who that large man is with
the black hair and eyes.”
“Why, sir, all I know about him is that he
landed at Kingston in a vessel from the
Isthmus of Panama, and is going to Cuba on
his way to London. He came to me, hearing
that I was the consignee of Captain Antrim’s
old brig, and wanted to know if he could bs
dropped at St. Iago, where he says he has
property or debts to collect, and since Cap
tain Antrim has no objection he has taksn
passage in the brig. He calls himself Colonel
Lawton, and be claims to be an Englishman.
At all events he is a great snuff taker; be
sides he is master of various languages. From
his own accounts he has served on the Span
ish main. A very amusing,entertaining vaga
bond be is, and I asked him join my people
on our last frolic to the valiey. Somehow, I
am rather sorry I gave him passage with us
in the old brig, for I don’t like his looks.”
“Nether do I,” replied the Commodore;
“but we must make the best of him.”
When they reached the villa, Byron said:
“Colonel Lawton, do me the favor to fol
low my servant, Bannous Clem, and he will
show yen and Captain Antrim and the young
gentlemen your quarters in the old fencing
room. Mr. Cromwell and the rest of us will
occupy the salon.”
One hour later the high salon was all alight.
There stood the gentlemen, Mr, Bun befag
a prominent figure in the background. There
came a rustling of robes, and as the door
swung open three ladies entered. Two fair
hands were placed in those of Commodore
Crcmwell.
“Oh, Mr. Crcmwell, I cannot say how
glad I am to see you once more. Allow me
to present you to my sister, Madame Cather-
la Delondo, and her daughter. Ah, my dear
Captain Antrim, we are here before you
again and you have come to take us away.”
“Let me also present my nephew, Lieu
tenant Hanby and Mr. Bun,” said the Com
modore, smiling.
What caused her to start, as she took the
little reefer’s hand, and impulsively clasp
those white hands together ? Why did she
then raise one hand to her fair neck, and, as
if in a dream, feel for the golden links of the
chain, for the locket which once reposed
there? How was it that she gazed in a be
wildered manner at the youth before her and
then turned her eyes hopelessly around in
search of her husband.
At this instant the doors of the dining-hall
were thrown open, and recovering herself
Madame Rosamond and the Commodore led
the way to supper.
After supper the ladies rose from the table,
and leaving the gentlemen, went into the
salon. Presently several of the gentlemen
joined them and there was music and laugh
ter and conversation until the “wee, sma’
hours;” then the party separated.
In a great square room which had once
been used for a fencing room were half a
dozen cots where Rosamond’s guests were to
sleep. The occupants of the room had re
tired and the light had been extinguished,.
Conversation was still kept up, especially by
the little reefer, who, having taken a nan
daring the early part of the evening; was
wide awake. Don Herngo chanted a few
convivial airs and then snored soundly; Cap
tain Antrim soon followed his example.
“I say, Mr. Bun, keep quiet, will you? I
want to go to sleep,” said Walter Hanby,
shsrpJy.
But Walter Hanby did not think of going
to sleep. He wanted to shut his eyes and
dreem of a tall, graceful girl with blue eyes
and light hair, who gave him such looks that
there was no sleep for him.
“Mr. Hanay,” said Mr. Bun, “I think of
getting married.”
“The deuce you do I And pray, wKo to?”
“Who to? Why, I haven’t made up my
mind yet; but ao you know that pretty girl
up there at the house has taken qnite a fancy
to me. and when you were presented to her
mother she gave me such a squeeze of the
hand ”
Here bis speech was cut short by a pillow
striking him in the face.
“A charming young lady, Mr, Bun,” said a
low.smooth voice on the c ppasite side of hii-^**’**'
' ‘She did seem to take quite a fan*~ c Mr.
Mr. Bun rolled over. racune, N. Y., and
cot, replied: aii fman. of Cincinnati, stated
“Yes, sir. anAeirsd to be the high contracting
beside you when _
wine over your coat ,-lt!??>o utHT! a ge license, and
your hair off.” ' would be nec-
“Look out, Mr. Bud,if that man be£ e service of
ouce gives a twitch at your curls he'll 'ift£S eded
something more than hair, perhaps a bloody ” t T
little scalp with it,” said Handy.
“Oh, dear,” was the onl) sound that came
back.
“Yes, and the other beautiful lady next to
the Commodore is her sister. She had a son
just the age of Mademoiselle, who was mur
dered by pirates off Jamaica ever so many
years ago, and Commodore Cromwell chased
them.
“Hold your toDgue, I say,” came from the
cot where Handy lay.
“Ho, ho,” said the military chieftain, and
if the room had not been so dark the way his
eyes opened and emitted a glure of sur
prise would have made Mr. Bun shiver with
fright.
“Yes. Colonel, I heard the Commodore tell
all about it the other night on board the
frigate, how an oi l Spaniard deceived my
father and sent him on a Tom fool’s errand
from Iago to the Isle of Pines, and after
wards how the frigate chased the pirate
schooner in a hurricane clear away to the
coast of Darien, when they blew her out of
water and killed every pirate on board. What
was the name of that Cape, Handy, where
the Pindar was destroyed ?”
“Be quiet, Mr. Bun.”
“No, I won’t be quiet.for the Colonel wants
to hear all about it. That’s a good fellow,
tell me.”
“Garrote Cape."
The listener slowly raised the mutilated
hand and put the finger with the sapphire
ring to his throat.
“Ho, Cape Garrote?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, sir,and Handy’s father once charter
ed a vessel and went all the way down there
to explore the place and was gone fifteen long
months.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” said the Colonel,
with a slight quiver on his tongue, “but did
your father go all the way down to the coast
of Darien out of mere curiosity? ’
“Yes, sir. he did go all the way there to
see if. by any chance, one of the pirates had
escaped; and he travelled, too, a good deal
about among the coast fishermen and the In
dians, making inquiries.”
“Did he pick up any information there?”
“I am not positive about that part of it,
but I think he got a bint that a Spaniard with
black hair and still blacker heart, had wan
dered over that country, and who had been
wounded in the head and hand; but the flsh-
ermeu and the natives could give him but
very meagre accounts So he continued on
down the Isthmus, on the Pacific side, by sea,
as far as Chili, when he went into the inte
rior to Peru, crossed the Andes, and fol
lowed down the Orinoco to Para, when he
sailed again for England.”
“For no other motive than mere curi
osity ?”
“Yes, I think he had, for he told me once
he had some old scores to wipe out with the
man who commanded the p rate schooner,
and if he was alive he felt quite sure he would
wipe them out and put the scoundrel to
death.”
“Truly, sir, but you interest me. But what
sort of a man in appearance is your father—
a surgeon, I think you said a moment ago?”
“My father is a gentleman of about fifty
years of age, though he looks much older, for
introducing him to you, Ooloael. He is now
on board our frigate at Kingston, and he
told me he would be up here to morrow or
the next day.”
“Ah, indeed; thank yon, Mr. Stranger, I
shall be pleased to see him.”
There was no more conversation that night.
The two young men fell asleep and left Col
onel Lawton to his thoughts, which were
somewhat as follows;
“Shall I assassinate my old surgeon, and
run the risk of being arrested and hung? No,
he thinks me dead, and I will go back to the
Island, redeem my treasure, and pass the re
mainder of my days in the highlands of Scot
land.”
Night passed, and before the fresh land
breeze had woke up to creep down the valley,
there was a mettled steed, with open nostrils,
galloping up the broken road with Colonel
Lawton, Sir Don Francisco Joaquin on his
back.
Morning dawned, and it was a most de
lightful breakfast up at the villa of Rose-
monds, as all sat under the wide piazza in
the shade, with the morning sun throwing
his slanting rays through the vines and clus
ters of rich purple grapes and orange trees.
“My dear wife,” said Byron, “we have
lost one of our guests. Colonel Lawton went
away at daylight, and left a message for me,
that business of importance, which he bad
forgotten, demanded his immediate return
to Kingston.”
There was no sorrow expressed by the la
dy or her fair sister, and even the men
treated it with indifference.
[TO BE CONTINUED ]
Histarical Hates.
Coke was inventen in i627.
Padlocks were used as early as 1381.
Life boats were invented in the year 1787.
Cato learned Greek after his sixtieth year.
Coaches were first let for hire in London in
1625.
Billiards were known in the sixteenth cen
tury.
Building of the Great Eastern was begun
in 1854.
Papyrus was used until about the seventh
century.
Alfred was the first Saxon king who was
anointed.
Alfred the Great invented the idea of the
lanthorn.
First gas works established at Wesminster,
1810-12.
Pliny mentions twenty-three different
kinds of apples.
Cotton has been used for garments in India
fir 3000 3 ears.
The population of London has increased one
million in the last twenty years.
At the end of the fourth generation incin
eration had fallen into disuse.
The first knit silk hose made in'Eugland
were worn by Qieen Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth used to embroider book
covers with gold and silver thread.
Caxton, the introducer of [printing into
England, was born in Kent in 1412.
Previous to 16.85 the Massachusetts colony
had no regularly framed body of laws.
No forks are found at Herculaneum,sO they
are not supposed to have been used in that
era.
Brick layers' hods, like those of the modern
times, are mentioned in the fourteenth cen
tury.
-•‘Give me my liar.”, were! the words in
which Charles V. used to call for a volume of
history.
Davy first communicated his discovery of
the Miner’s Safety Lamp to the Royal Socie
ty in 1815.