"Let these men go," said the Alcalde, pointing to Moses and the other two who were just about to be hung.
The supposed robbers were released and the real offenders placed on the backs of the mules.
"Run!" cried Moses, "run! run!" And he and his two companions fled in headlong haste to the water's edge, and encountered Toney and the other occupants of the boat, who were just landing.
"Where are you going?" said Toney, as all three leaped into the boat and seized the oars.
"Home!" exclaimed Moses.
"Back to the States!" cried Perch.
"I wouldn't stay here a week for all the gold in the mountains!" shouted Wiggins.
"Come back! don't be fools! it was all a mistake," said Toney.
"You'll be murdered," said Wiggins.
"Oh, Toney, come with us! They will hang you if you stay here!" cried Moses.
"Don't make dunces of yourselves," said Toney.
"Good-by!" said Wiggins.
"Farewell! farewell!" cried Perch.
"God bless you, Toney!" ejaculated Moses, as he and Perch commenced pulling vigorously at the oars, while Wiggins laid hold on the tiller.
They rested not during the whole ensuing night, and in the afternoon of the next day arrived at San Francisco. A steamer was about to sail, and they immediately went on board, and in a fortnight were landed at Panama.
Having procured mules, they proceeded across the Isthmus to Cruces.
Here they entered a public house, and behind the bar beheld a bald-headed man washing a bottle.
"Look there!" exclaimed Perch.
"Mr. Pate!" cried Wiggins.
The bald-headed man looked up, and, uttering a cry of recognition, dropped the bottle, and, running from behind the bar, threw his arms around Wiggins's neck and hugged him fraternally.
When M. T. Pate rushed from the hotel in Callao, he had been rendered frantic by the ridicule of the merciless wags by whom he was surrounded. Blinded with passion, he was hurrying along, not knowing nor caring whither he went, when he ran over a buzzard in the street and fell flat on his face. Springing to his feet, he struck the bird a heavy blow with a stick which laid it dead in the gutter. These industrious scavengers are protected by law in the Peruvian cities, and hardly had Pate committed this outrage when he was seized by a couple of soldiers and carried to the calaboose. For many weeks Pate pined in prison, living on exceedingly low diet. He was plunged in the depths of despair, and supposed that he would have to end his days in captivity as an expiation for his offense. He could see but a single gleam of hope. An earthquake might come and shake down the walls of his prison, and he might thus effect his escape. But there appeared to be a dearth of earthquakes in the country just at that time. Pate had often, during a long drought, read the prayers in church for rain, and he now used the same formula and prayed for an earthquake. But no convulsion of nature occurred, although he would often put his ear to the floor, and eagerly listen for the rumbling sounds which usually precede a subterranean commotion. One afternoon an old American tar was put in the calaboose for riotous conduct while drunk. The sailor lay on the floor, in the same room with Pate, and slept soundly until about the middle of the night, when he woke up sobered and in the full possession of his faculties. Pate was on his knees, loudly and fervently praying for an earthquake. The old salt sat on the floor and listened until he began to comprehend, when he became much excited.
"Avast, you lubber!" he cried out, springing to his feet.
Pate paid no attention. He was so absorbed in hisdevotions as not to be conscious of exterior surroundings.
"Stop your yarn!" said the sailor.
Pate heeded him not.
"Shiver my timbers!" shouted the old tar, fiercely, "if I don't plug up your dead-lights!" And he seized Pate by the collar and thrust his huge fist under his nose.
"Murder!" cried Pate.
"Murder, and bloody murder, it will be, if you don't stop spinning your yarn," said the sailor.
"Who are you? who are you?" cried Pate.
"Belong to the ship Fredonia," said the tar.
"Did you kill a buzzard?" said Pate.
"No; I got drunk. They'll let me out in the morning. I've been here before."
"Will you get out? I'll have to stay here all my life."
"What sort of a cruise have you been on that brought you into this port? What did they put you here for?"
"I killed a buzzard."
"If you'd killed a man they wouldn't have minded it much. But they think more of their blasted buzzards than they do of their shovel-hats."
"Will I ever get out?" cried Pate. "Oh, that I could get a letter to my friends!"
"Are you an American man?"
"I am! I am! And in a dirty prison for killing a buzzard!"
"Give me your paw, shipmate! I'll stand by you. Good luck was the wind that brought me under your stern."
Pate and the old tar now had a long talk, and it was determined that the former should address a note to the American consul, which he did; writing with a pencil on a blank leaf torn from his pocket-book. In the morning the sailor was released, and carried Pate's communication to the consul, who transmitted it to the American minister at Lima.
The condition of the unhappy captive thus came to the knowledge of the representative of the great republic; who told the Peruvian government, in plain terms, that his country would not permit one of hercitizens to remain in prison during so long a period, merely for the paltry offense of slaying a turkey-buzzard. An angry correspondence ensued; and during its pendency, a heavy American frigate and two corvettes came into the harbor of Callao, and anchored with their broadsides bearing upon the fort. The decided tone of the minister who was a man of nerve and determination, and the presence of this formidable force, convinced the Peruvian authorities that his Excellency was in earnest; and being in no condition to risk a bombardment, much less a ruinous war with a nation so powerful as the United States, they consented to the release of the prisoner on condition that he should leave the country within forty-eight hours.
Pate now determined to return home without delay. He had long since become disgusted with gold-hunting; and the home-sickness, which came over him in the calaboose, continued after he got out. So he immediately took passage on an English brig bound for Panama; intending to proceed by way of the Isthmus to New York.
Having purchased a monkey to keep him company during the voyage, he went on board, and the vessel sailed. He had a pleasant passage until they were within a day's sail of Panama, when he met with a sad mishap. He was sitting on deck, dandling his monkey on his knee, when a careless lubber let a pot containing red paint fall from the tops. The paint was spattered over M. T. Pate, who thought that it was his own blood and brains, and under this impression, supposing that he would have to give up the ghost, fainted away. But a bucket of salt-water being dashed in his face by an old tar, he revived, and, looking around, perceived that his monkey was dead. The pot had hit it on the head and killed it instantly. He mourned over his monkey until he reached Panama, where he rested a day, and then bought a mule and started across the Isthmus.
At a short distance from Cruces, in sight of the road, is a large ship's anchor lying in the wood. How it came there nobody can tell. Many suppose that it was conveyed from the Caribbean Sea up the Chagres River by Pizarro and his Spaniards, when they were proceeding to Panama to construct vessels for the conquest of Peru;and that being unable to transport it any farther by land, they had left it lying in the forest.
Pate tied his mule to a tree, and, walking aside from the road, seated himself on the anchor and began to meditate.
"Here," said he, in a soliloquy, "once stood Pizarro the Conqueror. No daring robber, animated by the sordid love of gold, was that great man. He came to destroy the pagan superstitions of a benighted land, and to extend the blessings of civilization over an entire continent."
As Pate uttered these words, his guardian angel, who was anxiously hovering over him, wanted to warn him of his danger, but was unable to do so. A man of savage aspect had crept from a thicket in his rear, and, with a catlike step, was cautiously advancing, having a heavy club raised in readiness to strike.
"In those days," said Pate, "all was darkness and barbarism; but now, the benign influences of——"
The club descended. Pate beheld a whole constellation, and several planets at mid-day, and sank senseless to the earth.
When Pate opened his eyes it was late in the afternoon. Flocks of parrots were fluttering around him, and multitudes of monkeys were chattering and nimbly leaping among the boughs of the trees. He arose from the greensward with a bad headache, and discovered that he had been robbed. His money was gone, and his mule had disappeared. Without a dollar, he was in a strange land and thousands of miles from home. He staggered on until he reached Cruces, where he entered a public house kept by an American, to whom he related his misfortunes.
The man had just lost his bar-keeper, and employed M. T. Pate to wait upon his customers until he could earn money enough to pay his passage to the United States. And here he was found by Wiggins and his companions washing a bottle.
Wiggins and his friends furnished the unfortunate Pate with pecuniary means, and he accompanied them to Chagres and embarked for New York, where in due time they arrived, and immediately took passage on the Southern train. About a week after his arrival in Mapleton, Pate received a visit from the father of the fair Juliet, who informed him that his daughter, the wife of Romeo, had discovered that there had been a misapprehension on her part in regard to Pate's conduct.
"There has been a sad mistake," said Mr. Singleton. "You honestly believed that my daughter had beaten you, and did not intend to slander her when you so asserted."
"She did beat me, sir," said Pate, "and most barbarously. She knocked me down with her fist and then broke my arm."
"You thought so," said Mr. Singleton; "but it was a mistake."
"How could it be a mistake?" cried Pate. "Did I not feel the blow from her fist? Did I not see her standing over me, kicking me with her foot and beating me with a terrible club? Was not my arm broken? Did I not lie in bed for weeks? And then to sue me! And now I am a ruined man! I have not a dollar in the world!"
And the big tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his destitute condition.
"Mr. Pate," said the father of the fair Juliet, visibly affected by Pate's distress, "I am rich, and so is my daughter's husband. She is my only child and will inherit all my wealth. She don't want your property. Your farm has been purchased by us, and a deed prepared securing the title to you. Here is the deed, sir, and here is a check on my banker for a sum equal to the value of your personal property, which was sold by the sheriff. Good-morning, Mr. Pate." And Mr. Singleton hurried away, leaving Pate dumb with amazement.
After having been haunted by bad lack for a long period Fortune smiled upon M. T. Pate at last. The first thing he did, after being re-established in his former home, was to hunt up old Whitey, then in the possession of Simon Rump. Simon's angel had gone to Abraham's bosom, and the eldest of the female cherubs, who had now assumed the appearance of a full-grown woman, kept house for the bereaved Rump. When Pate called at the house he found his friend Perch seated by the side of the female cherub, who was evidently delighted with his society. Perch was entertaining the cherub with an account of his adventures by sea and land, and, like Desdemona,—
"She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful;She wished she had not heard it; yet she wishedThat Heaven had made her such a man."
"She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful;She wished she had not heard it; yet she wishedThat Heaven had made her such a man."
"She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful;
She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished
That Heaven had made her such a man."
The sagacity of M. T. Pate enabled him to perceive that Perch and the cherub were in the incipient stages of love, and he left them in that embarrassing condition and sought Simon Rump, whom he found feeding his hogs. Rump agreed to give up old Whitey, and Pate paid the ransom for his horse and rode home in a happy mood of mind.
Next morning, as he was riding his four-footed friend through the streets of Mapleton, he perceived Wiggins walking with the widow whom he had once led to the altar but failed to marry, owing to an unfortunate blunder. They had evidently become reconciled; and Wiggins was now performing the part of Othello, and employing the witchcraft which that dusky hero had used in wooing Brabantio's daughter.
As Pate rode on he met Gideon Foot, who informed him that Bliss had been blessed with an heir, and the boy was to be named M. T. Pate. Love had a sweet babe several weeks old, that looked like a Cupid smiling in the cradle, and very recently a pretty pair of young Doves had made their appearance in the town of Mapleton.
Pate rode home in a meditative mood. A strange feeling came over him; a feeling he had never experienced before; and as he sat in his lonely abode, absorbed inmeditation, it became stronger, and finally obtained the mastery.
"I see it plainly!" he exclaimed, in a soliloquy. "It is useless for man to seek to avoid his destiny. Inevitable Fate will pursue him wherever he goes. He cannot escape. My time has come. I must marry." He uttered these last words in great agitation, and trembled from head to foot. In a few moments he started up and exclaimed,—
"I must marry;—but whom?"
He could not answer this question, and held it under consideration for several months, without being able to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion.
During this period he witnessed the marriage of Perch and the cherub, and waited on Wiggins when the latter again led the blushing widow to the altar, and, on a second trial, responded pertinently and satisfactorily to the interrogatories propounded by the parson. His two friends were now in the midst of domestic bliss, while he was unable to solve the question, which was perplexing him during the day and interrupting his slumbers at night.
While in this condition of mind, he visited the metropolis of the State, and on a bright sunny day drove a young widow in his buggy to see a magnificent country residence, located a few miles from the city, which had just been completed, but was not yet occupied by the owner. With his fair companion on his arm he entered the building, and much time was spent in a critical examination of the various apartments, from the hall to the attic. The widow at last complained of fatigue, and seated herself in one of the parlors. Pate blandly requested her to excuse his absence for a few moments, and said that he would go down and explore the cellar. The lady waited for a long time and then began to feel lonesome, and finally becoming quite uneasy, impatiently exclaimed,—
"What in the world has become of him?"
Hardly had these words escaped her lips when she was horrified by hearing most singular and startling sounds coming up from the cellar below. It seemed as if a multitude of dogs, of every size and breed, had been let loose, and were all yelping and barking at the same time; whileamidst this canine uproar could be distinguished a human voice lustily shrieking,—
"Get out! get out! Help! help! Murder! murder!"
The lady was astonished and frightened, but had courage enough to rush towards the scene of action. But as soon as she had reached the head of the stairway leading to the cellar, a sight met her eyes which compelled her to retire; for modesty forbade her taking any part in the strife, although her companion was vastly overpowered and sadly in need of assistance. On the stairway stood M. T. Pate; having just escaped from the combined assault made upon him by a large number of dogs which had been temporarily confined in the cellar by the proprietor of the mansion. The whole of poor Pate's under-garments had been torn from his person, and there he stood in a tailless coat and a stout pair of boots, thanking a merciful Providence for the preservation of his life. In this condition he did not dare to appear in the presence of his fair companion, and communication was carried on between them, by each taking a position in a separate apartment and calling to the other in a voice raised to a high key. After a prolonged consultation conducted in this manner, the widow proposed to leave one of her under-garments in the room which she then occupied and retreat to another, while he came in and put it on. Poor Pate thankfully accepted the loan which the kind lady offered him; being driven to this shift to hide his nudity. He and the widow were compelled to remain in that lonely mansion until the shades of night covered the earth, when he drove her in his buggy back to the city. He left her at her door and proceeded with his buggy to a livery-stable. Here the sight of his strange habiliments created great amazement among the hostlers and stable-boys; and when he started up the street in his robes he was arrested by the police and carried to a station-house; where he spent the whole night weeping and wailing on a hard oaken bench. In the morning he was taken before a magistrate, where his strange story was listened to with wonder mingled with much merriment; and being entirely satisfactory, he obtained his discharge, as well as the loan of a coat and a pair of pantaloons.
On the following day Pate called upon the widow and restored the garment borrowed from her, after the brutal assault upon his person in the lonely mansion. She blushed when she received it, and sank into a chair overcome with emotion. The heart of a woman is an inexplicable puzzle. Newton, with his mighty mind, could comprehend the movements of suns and planets and calculate their density; but woman was to him an incomprehensible problem, even when he pressed the hand of a fair lady who sat by his side, and felt that he could make so free as to thrust her finger into the bowl of his pipe. Who can tell what caused the widow to bestow her affections on M. T. Pate? Perhaps, after he had so nearly fallen a bleeding victim to canine ferocity,—
"She loved him for the dangers he had passed,And he loved her that she did pity them."
"She loved him for the dangers he had passed,And he loved her that she did pity them."
"She loved him for the dangers he had passed,
And he loved her that she did pity them."
Upon no other hypothesis can we account for the fact that after he had been in constant attendance on the widow for several weeks they were married. A few days afterwards a carriage drove through the streets of Mapleton, in which sat M. T. Pate and his bride. The event was announced in the local newspaper, which also contained an obituary notice of the death of Samuel Crabstick, who had left a will, by which he bestowed the riches he had so carefully hoarded on his niece, the beautiful Ida Somers.
By the will of her uncle, Ida was in possession of a large estate. The fair young girl was without a near relative in the world. Colonel Hazlewood kindly undertook the management of her property; and, at the invitation of Rosabel and her mother, she made her home in the mansion of the Widow Wild. On a certain day we there find her seated in her room and engaged in composition. Her little fingers run rapidly over the pages, and soon finish aletter of several sheets of gilt-edged note-paper. She gazes intently at her own name, written in a beautiful hand at the bottom of the last page, and then she kisses it. Having so done, she folds the letter, and then opens it and imprints another kiss on the same spot. Now, why did the young lady kiss her own name written at the end of the letter? Love has its unerring instincts, and Ida knew that as soon as a certain young gentleman opened that letter, and saw the name at the bottom of the last page, he would rapturously imprint a multitude of kisses on that particular spot. How did the young maiden know this? Had she not received a number of letters, and as soon as she saw "Tom" written at the end of each, had she not looked around to ascertain if any one was observing her; and then had not her ruby lips kissed the beloved name again and again in rapid succession? Thus Tom had been kissing Ida and Ida had been kissing Tom, for the last six months, with a whole continent between them.
The kiss was carefully sealed up in an envelope and conveyed to the post-office at Mapleton. The iron monster attached to a train of cars, rushing through the hills and over the valleys, carried it to New York. A magnificent steamer transported it over the Atlantic's waves, and across the Mexican Golf and the Caribbean Sea to the mouth of the Chagres River; and from thence it traveled in a canoe to Gorgona and Cruces; and then rode on the back of a mule to Panama, where another steamer received it, and plowing through the billows of the Pacific, entered the Golden Gate, and took it as far as San Francisco; and from thence, on another steamer, it proceeded up the bay, and entering the river, arrived at the city of Sacramento; and then rode on the back of another mule across the prairies and among the mountains, and was safely deposited in a post-office in a mining-town, where Toney Belton was awaiting the arrival of the mail. We thus see how many means of transportation were required to convey a young lady's kiss to her lover.
But where was the lover? About three miles from that post-office, on the side of a ravine, stood a young man clad in a pair of loose trousers and a red shirt. Heappeared to be engaged in culinary operations, and was, in fact, cooking flapjacks. His rifle leaned against a tree; his wool hat lay on the ground; the sleeves of his red shirt were rolled up to the elbow; his long beard was parted and tied in a knot behind his neck, so as to escape being scorched when he stooped over the fire; and he grasped the handle of a frying-pan, used instead of an oven, and watched the effect of the heat upon the material lying in the bottom of the pan. And now he lifts the pan from the fire and gives it a peculiar toss, and up flies a flapjack in the air about three feet above the pan, and, turning over as it descends, is caught and ready to be baked on the other side. Just as this feat was accomplished, a voice cried out,—
"Here, Tom, is a letter!"
Tom dropped the flapjack on the fire, and, in great excitement, ran to the spot where Toney Belton had just dismounted from a mule. The mule kicked at him, but Tom dodged, and, receiving the letter, hurried behind a pine-tree, and, seating himself on a rock, opened it. He turned it over, and seeing the signature, he kissed Ida several times in quick succession. Thus was Ida's kiss, after having traveled more than ten thousand miles, safely conveyed to Tom's lips.
Tom Seddon read the letter and was the happiest man in the diggings. When he came to the last line he kissed Ida again. Tom read the letter over five times, and at the close of each reading his lips approached the paper and tenderly pressed it. When he came from behind the tree, Toney had eaten all the flapjacks which had been baked. He told Toney that old Crabstick was dead and that he must go home.
"And so must I," said Toney.
"We will start to-morrow," said Tom.
"We will start from the mines to-morrow," said Toney.
"I wish you had a hundred thousand dollars," said Tom.
"I have more than a hundred thousand dollars," said Toney. "Read that." And he handed Tom a letter addressed to himself. Tom read it, and then ran to theplace where his wool hat lay on the ground, and, seizing it, threw it up in the air.
"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouted Tom. "You can now marry Rosabel!"
"Our sand-hill has been sold," said Toney, after Tom had concluded his enthusiastic demonstrations.
"And for five hundred thousand dollars!" said Tom.
"Good news for Charley when he comes into camp."
"It is time he had returned. He and Botts and Hercules have been prospecting since last Monday."
"They will be here to-day."
"Yonder comes Hercules now. What is that he has got? It looks like a coyote."
"No, it is a young deer."
Hercules walked up to the fire, and, nodding his head, threw his game on the ground.
"Where is Charley?" asked Toney.
Hercules pointed with his finger, and the Professor was seen approaching.
"Where is Botts?" asked Tom.
"He is dead," said Hercules.
"Dead!" cried Tom.
"Got killed," said Hercules, laconically; for he was tired and taciturn.
"Got killed!" exclaimed Toney. "How?"
"He'll tell you," said Hercules, pointing to the Professor, who now came up.
"It is true," said the Professor. "Botts is no more. He met with a violent death."
"How did it happen?" asked Toney.
"He fell a victim to his ungovernable temper," said the Professor. "On yesterday morning he and I left Hercules cooking some game, and proceeded to amining-town which we saw at a distance. Botts rode on a mule and I walked by his side. As we entered the town, Botts called out to a man whom we met,—
"'What place is this?'
"'Yuba Dam,' said the man.
"'What?' cried Botts, with a savage look. The man made no answer, but went on his way whistling. We had gone a little farther when another man approached us.
"'What place is this?' asked Botts.
"'Yuba Dam,' said the man.
"'What's that you say?' exclaimed Botts, glaring at the stranger with a ferocious aspect. The man was evidently of a timid disposition. He looked frightened and hurried on. Botts swore vehemently, and said that the next fellow who cursed him would catch it. As we went along we saw a man on the brow of a hill which rose abruptly from the river. The man had his back towards us, and before him, standing on its hind legs, was a kangaroo dog. The man seemed to be instructing the dog in the art of dancing.
"'I say, stranger,' cried Botts, 'what place is this?'
"'Yuba Dam,' said the man, without turning around.
"Botts uttered a howl of rage and sprang from his mule.
"'By the powers of mud!' shouted the man, facing about."
"It was Captain Bragg!" exclaimed Toney.
"Yes; it was Bragg," said the Professor. "Botts and Bragg eyed each other like two angry beasts. Both had weapons, but neither thought of drawing them. Each sprang at his enemy's throat. They were soon rolling on the ground and fiercely fighting. Botts was uppermost, when the kangaroo dog seized him by the seat of his breeches. A little bull terrier ran out from a tent and caught the kangaroo dog by the throat. Uttering howls of rage, and clutching each other by the throat, men and dogs rolled over and over, down the hill and into the river."
"Into the water?" exclaimed Tom.
"Yes; into the water ten feet deep."
"What became of them?" cried Toney.
"The dogs ceased to fight and swam ashore," said the Professor.
"But the men?" said Toney.
"They continued to clutch each other by the throat, and were swept away by the rapid current, and sank to rise no more."
"What an awful fate!" exclaimed Toney.
"Too awful to talk about," said the Professor. "Let us select some more pleasant topic of conversation."
"We have good news for you," said Toney.
"What's that?" asked the Professor.
Toney now informed him of the sale of the sand-hill, and of their intention to return to the States. A long consultation ensued, and by the time it had ended, Hercules had cooked the deer and it had grown dark. While they were eating the venison, two men encamped, and kindled a fire under a pine-tree, at a distance of about fifty yards from where they sat. After Hercules had satisfied the keen demands of hunger, he walked off, and, laying himself down by the trunk of a fallen tree, was soon in a sound sleep. Toney, Tom, and the Professor continued their conversation until a late hour.
"And now, Charley," said Toney, "as this is to be our last night in the mines, let us have some music."
"Give us 'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" said Tom.
The Professor drew a flute from his pocket and played the air which had been requested. As he concluded, a clear, manly voice, at the neighboring camp-fire, was heard singing:
The voice! the voice of music!The melancholy flute!Mournfully on the midnight air,When all else is mute!As if some gentle spirit,With softly trembling voice,Imprisoned in that hollow reed,Mourned o'er perished joys!Cease! cease that mournful music!Oh, cease that plaintive strain!It bids me feel as I would feelNever more again!The fairest hopes long blighted,And youth's bright visions o'er,And joys that shone so heavenly bright,Gone for evermore!These mem'ries rush upon meWith each sweet, mournful air;Then, cease! in mercy, cease that strain!Forbear! oh, forbear!
The voice! the voice of music!The melancholy flute!Mournfully on the midnight air,When all else is mute!
The voice! the voice of music!
The melancholy flute!
Mournfully on the midnight air,
When all else is mute!
As if some gentle spirit,With softly trembling voice,Imprisoned in that hollow reed,Mourned o'er perished joys!
As if some gentle spirit,
With softly trembling voice,
Imprisoned in that hollow reed,
Mourned o'er perished joys!
Cease! cease that mournful music!Oh, cease that plaintive strain!It bids me feel as I would feelNever more again!
Cease! cease that mournful music!
Oh, cease that plaintive strain!
It bids me feel as I would feel
Never more again!
The fairest hopes long blighted,And youth's bright visions o'er,And joys that shone so heavenly bright,Gone for evermore!
The fairest hopes long blighted,
And youth's bright visions o'er,
And joys that shone so heavenly bright,
Gone for evermore!
These mem'ries rush upon meWith each sweet, mournful air;Then, cease! in mercy, cease that strain!Forbear! oh, forbear!
These mem'ries rush upon me
With each sweet, mournful air;
Then, cease! in mercy, cease that strain!
Forbear! oh, forbear!
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Toney, "I recognize that voice!" And he sprang up and ran to the camp-fire. Two stalwart young men, in the rough garbs of miners, were standing with their backs to the blazing logs.
"Harry Vincent!" cried Toney.
"Clarence Hastings!" shouted Tom Seddon, as he rushed forward and grasped his long-lost friends each by the hand.
"What a madman I have been!" cried Harry.
"And what a crazy fool I have been for five long years!" exclaimed Clarence.
"I have been an idiot!" said Harry.
"And I have been a brute!" said Clarence, "to desert her as I did!"
"She is an angel!" cried Harry.
"What must she think of me?" groaned Clarence.
"Let us go back to the States!" said Harry, springing up impulsively.
"You can't go to-night. We will all be off in the morning," said Tom Seddon.
These exclamations were uttered by the two young men after a conversation, in which all that has been long known to the reader was fully explained.
In the morning, before the woodpecker's tap was heard on the bark of the lofty pines, the young men were on their feet, and making preparations for their departure.
"Where is Hercules?" asked Toney.
"He is sleeping by the side of yonder old log," said Tom.
"I will wake him," said Toney. And he proceeded to the spot pointed out, and came running back as pale as a ghost.
"What's the matter?" asked Tom.
Toney could hardly speak. He gasped out,—
"A rattlesnake is coiled up on his blanket!"
Tom Seddon was about to run to the spot, when Harry Vincent held him back.
"Hush!" said Harry. "Make no noise, or he is a dead man!"
He and Clarence then took their rifles and advanced cautiously to the place where Hercules lay in a sound sleep. The reptile was coiled up with its head nearly touching his shoulder. Harry put the muzzle of his rifle within an inch of the snake's head and fired.
Hercules leaped up and uttered a howl. He turned round and beheld two strange men standing before him with rifles in their hands. With a wild yell of terror the giant fled across the ravine, and along a road leading over a mountain.
"Come back! come back!" shouted Toney.
But Hercules continued his flight.
"Mount that mule, Tom, and ride after him, or the fool won't stop running until he gets to Oregon," said Toney.
Tom mounted the mule, and, after a long chase, captured the giant and brought him back to camp.
"Look there!" said Tom, pointing to the decapitated serpent.
"Was that it?" said Hercules. "He's a whopper!" And he stooped down and examined the dead body of his bed-fellow.
"Eighteen rattles and a button!" said Tom.
"Which indicate that he has lived twenty-one years," said Clarence.
"The snake had arrived at years of discretion," said the Professor.
"He showed very little discretion in selecting Hercules for a sleeping partner," said Toney.
"The firm of Hercules & Co. would be a dangerous one to deal with," said the Professor.
"To avoid it would have been prudent during the lifetime of his deceased partner," said Toney.
"What are you going to do with them?" asked Tom, as Hercules cut off the rattles and put them in his pocket.
"Carry them with me to the States, when I go," said Hercules.
"We are going back now," said Tom.
"Are you going?" asked Hercules.
"Yes," said Tom; "we are getting ready to start."
"I will go too," said Hercules; "I have got gold enough."
"What will you do with your gold when you get home?" asked Tom.
"Buy a farm, and then——" Hercules hesitated and blushed.
"Well, what then?" asked Toney.
"I will marry my little cousin," said the giant.
"That's right!" said Toney.
"Who is your little cousin?" asked Tom.
"Polly Sampson. She is a very little woman, but she is very pretty."
"Well, come help us to pack up, and we will all be off," said Tom.
"And you can go home and marry Polly Sampson," said Toney.
Hercules went to work with alacrity, and they were soon packed up, and on the road to Sacramento; which place they reached late at night, and on the following evening were in San Francisco. They were detained in the city of Saint Francis several days; and the business relating to the sale of their sand-hill having been completed, Toney, Tom, and the Professor went on board the steamer with their fortunes in their money-belts, in the shape of drafts on banking-houses in New York. They soon passed through the Golden Gate and were on the broad waters of the Pacific Ocean. The weather was fine, and the vessel was remarkable for her speed. In a few days they were running along in sight of the coast of Lower California, and about two leagues from theland. The Professor was on deck, with a telescope in his hand, looking at the desolate coast, when he suddenly cried out,—
"There are several persons standing on the beach."
"They are pelicans," said the captain. "At a distance they are often mistaken for human beings."
"Human beings they are," said the Professor; "and, good heavens! there is a woman among them. They have a white handkerchief elevated as a signal of distress."
The captain took the telescope, and, after looking through it, said,—
"You are right. There are several men; and there is a woman among them."
"This coast is uninhabited," said the Professor. "Who can they be?"
"Persons escaped from some wreck," said the captain.
"Put the ship about! Run her in towards the land! They must be rescued!" cried the Professor.
"I dare not do it; the water is shoal," said the captain. "We must stop the engines and lower a boat."
The order was given; the engines stop, and the boat lowered, and into it leaped Toney and the Professor; while six seamen manned the oars. The boat put off from the vessel; and the sailors pulling with a will, they were soon approaching the shore. Several men were seen standing on a rock, and one of them was waving a white handkerchief. They cheered, and were responded to by the loud huzzas of the party in the boat, which grounded within a few yards of the shore. The Professor's gaze was intently fixed on some object at the base of the rock.
It was a young and beautiful woman. She was standing, with her eyes upturned and her hands clasped, as if thanking Heaven for their deliverance.
The Professor leaped into the water, and rushed to the beach. He stood for a moment gazing at the beautiful girl. He then rushed forward and exclaimed,—
"Dora!"
As she heard his voice she started, and then, with a joyful cry of recognition, uttered his name, and was caught in his arms as, overcome with emotion, she was falling to the ground.
Major Stanhope, the father of Dora, and an officer in the army of the United States, had been stationed at San Francisco. His wife was dead and he had no child except Dora. They had resided in California about a year, when the gallant soldier, who had never recovered from the effects of a wound received in the storming of Chapultepec, found his health rapidly failing, and was soon removed to another sphere of existence. Dora's nearest relative, her father's sister, resided in the State of Virginia, and the young girl had taken passage on a vessel bound for Panama, with the intention of returning to the place of her nativity and residing with her aunt. The vessel was old and unseaworthy, and went to pieces in a violent storm encountered off the coast of Lower California. The boats in which the crew and passengers sought safety were swamped, with the exception of one, which reached the shore in a leaky condition; and if the Professor had not happened to take up the captain's telescope when he did, Dora and the six other human beings, who were thus discovered, would have perished on that desolate coast.
In a romantic valley of the Old Dominion Dora and the Professor had known each other in former days. The young man had tenderly loved the beautiful maiden, and his affection was secretly reciprocated; but on a certain occasion, while under the influence of temporary pique or caprice, Dora had rejected the man whom she deeply and sincerely loved, and they met no more, until, after the lapse of seven long years, fate brought them together on the shores of the Pacific Ocean.
The weather continued to be fine, and the day after Dora had been brought on board, she had recovered from the effects of fatigue and exposure and came on deck with a beautiful bloom on her cheeks. The deportment of the Professor was now strangely altered. He was nolonger the man of wit and humor, and during the remainder of the voyage never uttered a joke. When the young maiden was on deck, he was constantly at her side, and when she retired to her state-room, he would sit for hours in a mood of mental abstraction.
"What is the matter with him?" said Tom to Toney, as, on a certain night, they were pacing to and fro on deck and puffing their cheroots. "Yonder he sits, gazing at the moon, and won't talk to anybody. What do you think he called me just now?"
"What?" asked Toney.
"He called me Miss Dora."
"Did he?" said Toney, laughing.
"He did, indeed."
"It was by way of retaliation," said Toney.
"Retaliation? How?"
"You used to call him Ida."
"When?"
"When you were in Doubting Castle."
"What sort of a place is that?"
"You ought to know; you dwelt in it for some time. Poor Charley is in Doubting Castle. Let him alone. He will soon get out. I have observed the demeanor of the young lady when they were together, and I know, from certain unmistakable signs, that Charley will not have to listen to another negative. All is right. He will soon be the same jovial and agreeable companion he has hitherto been."
"He is a very disagreeable fellow now," said Tom.
"He used to say the same thing of you when you called him Ida, and would not let him sleep with your incessant somniloquism."
"I think we should call ourselves the Silent Philosophers," said Tom. "Harry and Clarence are thoughtful and taciturn, except when they are complaining about the slowness of the vessel. As for Charley, I believe he would not care if we were on a voyage of circumnavigation around the globe, now he has Dora on board."
"Our voyage on the Pacific is ended," said Toney. "Yonder is Panama."
"Where?" cried Tom.
"Do you not see the lights along the land?" said Toney.
The voice of the captain was now heard issuing orders, which satisfied Tom that they were about to go into port.
On the following morning, having landed on the soil of Central America, they started across the Isthmus. Dora rode on a little mule, and the Professor walked by her side, holding the bridle. Toney and Tom, with Clarence and Harry, proceeded on foot, Hercules bringing up the rear with a huge club in his hand. It was wonderful to witness the tender solicitude of the Professor for Dora. Along the road were a number of small houses, where the natives sold fruit and coffee to travelers, who came in crowds after a steamer had arrived at Panama. At these houses Dora's mule would halt, and the Professor would go in, and come forth with a nice cup of coffee; and as the young maiden put it to her lips her beautiful blue eyes would be peeping over the top of the cup at the smiling face of her escort with a most tender expression. He would then select the most delicious fruit and hand it to Dora, who would receive it with a sweet smile, which made some of the rough miners, passing, imagine that an angel sat on the back of the little mule.
Toney and his companions frequently halted to rest; and Dora's mule was far in advance of them on the road. When within a short distance of Cruces, they came to the spot where the anchor lay, near the side of the road. Here they beheld Dora and the Professor seated on the anchor and the mule quietly cropping the grass.
"Look yonder!" said Tom. And he started towards the pair seated on the anchor.
"Come on!" said Toney, with a peculiar look. Tomtook the hint, and, with his companions, continued to walk on in the direction of Cruces.
"All's right!" said Toney, in a whisper, to Tom. "The anchor is the emblem of hope."
"Do you think he will now get out of Doubting Castle?" asked Tom.
"I know it," said Toney. "Let us move on. Yonder is Cruces."
They stopped at the public house, where Wiggins and his companions found the unfortunate M. T. Pate washing a bottle. In about an hour the Professor arrived, leading Dora's little mule by the bridle. The Professor's face was radiant with happiness; and Dora's cheeks were covered with a multitude of the most beautiful blushes. Toney and Tom exchanged looks of peculiar significance.
The young lady rested at the public house; while the Professor walked with Toney and his companions to the river, where they hired canoes to convey them to Chagres. While they were bargaining with the negroes who were to row them down the river, the Professor uttered a number of jokes, which satisfied Tom that he was going to be an agreeable fellow again. As they were returning to the public house, the Professor took Toney aside, and informed him that, while seated on the anchor in the wood, he had again earnestly entreated Dora to assist him in his search for domestic bliss and connubial felicity.
"Well," said Toney; "and what was the result?"
"The proposition was decided in the affirmative," said the Professor.
Toney grasped the Professor's hand, and shook it violently.
"Shall I tell Tom?" asked Toney.
"You may, but with the injunction of secrecy," said the Professor.
Tom was informed of the event which had occurred on Pizarro's anchor in the wood, and he laid hold on the Professor and hugged him.
"Confound it, Tom!" said the Professor. "You hug like a cinnamon bear."
"I can't help it!" said Tom. "I am so glad! AndToney has a hundred thousand dollars. Hurrah! hurrah!"
"When we get home, let no one know that I have a hundred thousand dollars," said Toney.
"Why not?" asked Tom.
"I wish the Widow Wild to suppose that I have come home as poor as I was when I left," said Toney. "I will explain my reasons hereafter, and may need your assistance."
"Can't I tell Ida?" asked Tom.
"Rosabel and Ida must be informed; but with the injunction of secrecy. Do you promise to conceal my good fortune?"
"I do; I will say nothing, except by your permission."
On the following day they arrived at Chagres, and took passage for New York, which city they reached after a pleasant voyage, and on the next day were in Baltimore. Here the Professor left them, and accompanied Dora to her home in Virginia. Toney and his friends arrived in Mapleton at night. They urged Clarence and Harry to remain here until morning; but the two young men were impatient to reach Bella Vista, and, taking leave of Toney and Tom, were wafted away in the direction of the homes from which they had been absent during five long years.
When Clarence Hastings and Harry Vincent approached Bella Vista it was midnight. In their impatience, each young man had put his head out the window of a car.
"Good heavens! what means that light?" cried Clarence.
"The town's on fire!" exclaimed Harry.
On rushed the iron horse, and as they entered the town the street was illuminated by a conflagration.
Around the mansion of Colonel Hazlewood are collected excited crowds of people. Flames are bursting from the roof, and nearly the whole interior is in a blaze. The inmates had been aroused by the cry of fire, in the middle of the night, and all have escaped. No; not all! Where are Imogen and Claribel? Their shrieks are heard; they are in the burning house, and surrounded by the crackling flames.
"My child! my child!" cries the gray-haired Colonel Hazlewood in an agony. He rushes into the building, and attempts to ascend the stairway, which is on fire. Suffocated by the dense smoke, he falls back insensible, and is dragged from the door.
"Bring ladders! bring ladders!" is shouted by a number of voices; but no ladders are at hand.
"Oh, God! oh, God! must they perish? Can nobody save them?" are the exclamations heard on every side. Several men rush into the house and are driven back by the smoke and the intense heat. While all stand still, with horror depicted in their countenances, two men come running with frantic speed to the spot. In an instant they seem to comprehend the danger of the young females, whose shrieks are heard from an upper chamber. Into the midst of the smoke and flames they rush, ascend the stairway, regardless of the scorching heat, and in a moment are seen leaping through a window upon the roof of a portico, each holding in his arms the form of a woman who has fainted. A loud shout goes up from the crowd. A ladder has been brought, and the two men descend, and rush to the opposite side of the street with their lovely burdens in their arms, as, with a terrific crash, the burning roof falls in. Colonel Hazlewood, recovering from his swoon, staggers across the street to utter his thanks.
"Harry Vincent!" he exclaimed. And Imogen opens her eyes and beholds her long-lost lover, while Claribel is still unconscious in the arms of Clarence Hastings.
The happiest month of Tom Seddon's life had rolled round,—the month preceding his marriage with the beautiful Ida. Toney Belton also seemed happy, and so did Rosabel, and the only discontented person in the Widow Wild's mansion was the widow herself. Nothing had been told her about the sale of the sand-hill; and the eight thousand dollars, the amount of gold which Toney acknowledged he had gathered by hard labor in the mines, made but a small portion of the sum necessary to constitute a fortune for a gentleman. The widow was dissatisfied with Fate on account of her hard dealings with Toney Belton.
Rosabel knew better. Under the injunction of secrecy, she and Ida had been made acquainted with the good fortune of their lovers, and knew that they were in the possession of wealth. Toney had considerable difficulty, however, to induce Rosabel to co-operate with him in his plans for giving the widow an agreeable surprise.
"Why not go to my mother and ask her to consent to our marriage?" said Rosabel. "She would interpose no objection, and you could inform her of your good fortune afterwards."
"Rosabel," said Toney, "when your mother, years ago, said, in my presence, with peculiar emphasis, that no man should marry her daughter who was not worth a hundred thousand dollars, I made a solemn vow never to ask her consent."
"You did?" exclaimed Rosabel.
"Yes; not even if I should some day be worth a million. I cannot break my vow."
"I must consult with Ida," said Rosabel.
"Do so," said Toney.
On the following day Tom and Ida were to be married. Toney and Rosabel were to accompany them to the church; and the widow would receive them at her houseafter the marriage ceremony was performed. Tom and the widow were alone in earnest conversation.
"I would not swop with Adam if he were here with his Eden," said Tom. "There could be but one addition to my happiness."
"What is that?" asked the widow.
"I have a friend who dearly loves a young lady, and has loved her all his life; but he is supposed to be poor."
"Well, what of that?" said the widow.
"He has not obtained her parent's consent to their marriage," said Tom.
"Is your friend a worthy man—a clever fellow?" asked the widow.
"He is, indeed," said Tom. "I know of but one man who is his equal in all noble qualities."
"Who is that?" asked the widow.
"Toney Belton," said Tom.
"If your friend is like Toney Belton, he is good enough to marry an emperor's daughter," said the widow.
"But the young lady's parent—her mother—may not consent on account of his poverty," said Tom.
"Let your friend marry the young lady, and obtain her mother's approbation afterwards," said the widow, with much decision in her tone.
"Is that your advice?" asked Tom.
"It is," said the widow. "A parent is a fool to object to a man who can be compared with Toney Belton."
"I want my friend to be married when I am," said Tom.
"Well, let him be married at the same time," said the widow.
"But where are they to go until the young lady's parent becomes reconciled?" asked Tom.
"Bring them here," said the widow; "I will welcome them; and they can remain here until the foolish mother becomes reconciled."
"I will do so," said Tom. And he hurried away to inform Rosabel and Toney of the widow's advice.
"You will not act contrary to your mother's wishes?" said Toney to Rosabel.
"Certainly not," said Rosabel, with a sweet smile. "I have always been her obedient daughter."
On the day appointed for the wedding, a carriage, containing Ida and Rosabel, Toney and Tom, was driven away from the widow's door to the church. In about an hour the Widow Wild heard the sound of wheels on the avenue, and rushed to the porch. As Tom handed Ida out, the widow caught the beautiful bride in her arms, and kissed her with tender affection. She congratulated the newly-married couple, and then said to Tom,—
"But where is your friend?"
"Here he is," said Tom, pointing to Toney, who was getting from the carriage.
"What! Toney?"
Tom nodded.
"Is Toney your friend?"
"He is, and ever has been, the best and noblest of friends," said Tom.
"But is Toney married?" cried the widow, turning pale.
"He is," said Tom.
"Where is his wife?" gasped the widow.
"Let me introduce you to her," said Toney, as he handed the blushing Rosabel from the carriage.
"What? Rosabel?"
"Rosabel," said Toney.
"Rosabel married?"
"Yes."
"To whom?"
"To Toney Belton."
The widow was speechless for a moment. She then took Toney and Rosabel each by the hand, and said,—
"Now, tell me,—are you two married?"
"We are indeed," said Toney.
The widow kissed Rosabel, and then threw her arms around Toney's neck and kissed him. And then Mrs. Wild blubbered out,—
"Toney, why did you do so?"
"I thought you would not let me have Rosabel."
"Toney Belton, you were a fool! You might have had Rosabel five years ago if you had asked me."
"Did you not always say that no man should marry yourdaughter unless he was worth a hundred thousand dollars?"
"And were you not worth a hundred thousand dollars five years ago?"
"I?"
"Yes;—you. A man with nobility of mind, and heart, and soul," said the widow, "is worth more than hundred thousand dollars to the woman who marries him; while many a mean fellow, who has a hundred thousand dollars in his possession, is not worth a pinch of snuff."
About a week after they were married, Toney and Tom, with their brides, went to Bella Vista, and witnessed the union of Harry Vincent and Imogen Hazlewood, and of Clarence Hastings and Claribel Carrington. Upon his return to Mapleton, Toney received a letter from the Professor, informing him of his marriage with Dora. Dora's aunt having died, about six months before their arrival in Virginia, she had no near relative; and her husband had determined to purchase an estate near Mapleton, where they would, in future, reside. Toney was authorized to enter into negotiations for the purchase of the property.
While Toney and Tom were standing near the post-office, conversing about the contents of the Professor's letter, Seddon suddenly exclaimed,—
"Look!—look yonder!"
On the opposite side of the street they beheld what appeared to be a procession of giants and dwarfs. In front walked Cleopatra with little Love on her arm. Next followed Theodosia with Dove, who looked like a pigmy by her side. After them came Sophonisba with Bliss; and in the rear was Hercules with a very pretty but unusually diminutive woman. The giant could not stoopto give her his arm, but led her by the hand. The procession passed on, and entered the house of Gideon Foot.
"Who in the world was that little woman?" asked Tom.
"His wife," said Toney.
"Is Hercules married?"
"He was married about a week ago to his little cousin Polly Sampson. He bought a farm adjoining that of Moses, whose father is dead. Hercules lives out there with his little wife, and has, I suppose, brought her into town on a visit to his relations."
"And what has become of Moses?" asked Tom.
"Moses is also married."
"He is?" exclaimed Tom, in astonishment.
"Yes; he is married notwithstanding his dread of the female sex."
"How did it ever happen?"
"By the death of his father, Moses became a landed proprietor, and is the owner of a fine farm in a high state of cultivation. Several enterprising young maidens endeavored to make an impression on his heart; but he could not be induced to go into their society until, on a certain occasion, there was a rural festival in the neighborhood, called an apple-butter boiling."
"Did Moses go to that?"
"He would not have gone had not some waggish young farmers first put him in an abnormal condition, by the consumption of a considerable quantity of hard cider. The cider imparted a wonderful degree of courage, and Moses went to the festival, where he soon found himself surrounded by rustic beauties. Moses drank more cider and became more courageous. Finally, as he sat in a corner with a pretty maiden, he popped the question."
"He did?"
"The young maiden said 'Yes' with a sweet smile, and looked so pretty that Moses kissed her."
"Great thunder!" cried Tom.
"When Moses got sober he was greatly alarmed; but it was too late to recede. More than twenty people hadheard his promise of marriage. The young woman's father threatened to have a suit brought for breach of promise; and her big brother said that he would cudgel the swain if he proved false to his engagement. So Moses, dreadfully frightened, was led like a lamb to the altar, and now has a very pretty wife, and looks contented and happy."
Toney purchased the property for his friend, and in a few weeks the Professor and Dora arrived with the intention of making it their permanent home. Tom became the owner of an adjoining estate. The three friends, with their wives, frequently assembled in the parlor of the Widow Wild, with whom Toney and Rosabel continued to reside after their marriage. Not long subsequent to the arrival of the Professor and Dora, Clarence and Harry, with Claribel and Imogen, came to Mapleton on a visit. During the conversation of the evening, Tom asked Toney if he still adhered to the opinion which he once so emphatically expressed as they sat on the veranda of the hotel in Bella Vista.
"What was that?" asked Toney.
"That the right man is never married to the right woman."
"No; I do not," said Toney, with emphasis. And he looked at Rosabel.
"There must be a recantation of such opinions when experience has demonstrated their fallacy," said the Professor, with a look of tender affection at Dora. Each husband looked at his wife, and each wife returned the glance; and it was evident that the ladies and gentlemen present were unanimously of opinion that the right men had been married to the right women.
"And what has become of the Mystic Order of Seven Sweethearts?" asked Tom.
"The organization has been destroyed by a power which man has never been able to resist," said Toney.
"What is that?" asked Rosabel.
"Love," said her husband.
"Amor vincit omnia," said the Professor, as he arose from his seat; and, bidding his friends good-night,conducted Dora to their carriage. As they rode homeward, Dora inquired the meaning of those Latin words, and they were translated by her husband; and she now learned that even the stern old Romans recognized and acknowledged the
Omnipotence of Love.
THE END.
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He has engaged in his task with the enthusiasm of an American scholar, and completed it in a manner highly creditable to his judgment and industry."—The New York Tribune."Every one who has at heart the honor of the nation, the interest of American literature and the fame of Franklin will thank the author for so requisite a national service, and applaud the manner and method of its fulfillment."—Boston Even. Transcript.The Dervishes.History of the Dervishes;or,Oriental Spiritualism. ByJohn P. Brown, Interpreter of the American Legation at Constantinople. With twenty-four Illustrations. One vol. crown 8vo. Tinted paper. Cloth, $3.50."In this volume are the fruits of long years of study and investigation, with a great deal of personal observation. It treats, in an exhaustive manner, of the belief and principles of the Dervishes.... On the whole, this is a thoroughly original work, which cannot fail to become a book of reference."—The Philada. Press.New America.By Wm. Hepworth Dixon.Fourthedition. Crown 8vo. With Illustrations. Tinted paper. Extra cloth, $2.75."In this graphic volume Mr. Dixon sketches American men and women sharply, vigorously and truthfully, under every aspect."—Dublin University Magazine.The Old Mam'selle's Secret.After the Germanof E. Marlitt, author of "Gold Elsie," "Countess Gisela," &c. ByMrs. A. L. Wister. Sixth edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75."A more charming story, and one which, having once commenced, it seemed more difficult to leave, we have not met with for many a day."—The Round Table."Is one of the most intense, concentrated, compact novels of the day.... And the work has the minute fidelity of the author of 'The Initials,' the dramatic unity of Reade, and the graphic power of George Elliot."—Columbus (O.) Journal."Appears to be one of the most interesting stories that we have had from Europe for many a day."—Boston Traveler.Gold Elsie.From the German of E. Marlitt,author of the "Old Mam'selle's Secret," "Countess Gisela," &c. ByMrs. A. L. Wister. Fifth edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1,75."A charming book. It absorbs your attention from the title-page to the end."—The Home Circle."A charming story charmingly told."—Baltimore Gazette.Countess Gisela.From the German of E. Marlitt,author of "The Old Mam'selle's Secret," "Gold Elsie," "Over Yonder," &c. ByMrs. A. L. Wister. Third Edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75."There is more dramatic power in this than in any of the stories by the same author that we have read."—N.O. Times."It is a story that arouses the interest of the reader from the outset."—Pittsburg Gazette."The best work by this author."—Philada. Telegraph.Over Yonder.From the German of E. Marlitt,author of "Countess Gisela," "Gold Elsie," &c. Third edition. With a full-page Illustration. 8vo. Paper cover, 30cts."'Over Yonder' is a charming novelette. The admirers of 'Old Mam'selle's Secret' will give it a glad reception, while those who are ignorant of the merits of this author will find in it a pleasant introduction to the works of a gifted writer."—Daily Sentinel.Three Thousand Miles through the Rocky Mountains.ByA. K. McClure. Illustrated. 12mo. Tinted paper Extra Cloth, $2."Those wishing to post themselves on the subject of that magnificent and extraordinary Rocky Mountain dominion should read the Colonel's book."—New York Times."The work makes one of the most satisfactory itineraries that has been given to us from this region, and must be read with both pleasure and profit."—Philada. North American."We have never seen a book of Western travels which so thoroughly and completely satisfied us as this, nor one written in such agreeable and charming style."—Bradford Reporter."The letters contain many incidents of Indian life and adventures of travel which impart novel charms to them."—Chicago Evening Journal."The book is full of useful information."—New York Independent."Let him who would have some proper conception of the limitless material richness of the Rocky Mountain region, read this book."—Charleston (S.C.) Courier.
Forgiven at Last.A Novel.By Jeannette R.Hadermann. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.75.
"A well-told romance. It is of that order of tales originating with Miss Charlotte Bronté."—N. Y. Even. Post.
"The style is animated, and the characters are not deficient in individuality."—Phila. Age.
The Old Countess.A Romance.From the GermanofEdmund Hofer, by the translator of "Over Yonder," "Magdalena," etc. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.
"A charming story of life in an old German castle, told in the pleasant German manner that attracts attention and keeps it throughout."—The Phila. Day.
"The story is not long, is sufficiently involved to compel wonder and suspense, and ends very happily."—The North American.
"An interesting story."—The Inquirer.
Bound Down; or, Life and Its Possibilities.ANovel. ByAnna M. Fitch. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.50.
"It is a remarkable book."—N. Y. Even. Mail.
"An interesting domestic story, which will be perused with pleasure from beginning to end."—Baltimore Even. Bulletin.
"The author of this book has genius; it is written cleverly, with occasional glimpses into deep truths.... Dr. Marston and Mildred are splendid characters."—Phila. Presbyterian.
Henry Courtland; or, What A Farmer can Do.A Novel. ByA. J. Cline. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.75.
"This volume belongs to a class of prose fiction unfortunately as rare as it is valuable.... The whole story hangs well together."—Phila. Press.
Rougegorge. By Harriet Prescott Spofford.With other Short Stories byAlice Cary,Lucy H. Hooper,Jane G. Austin,A. L. Wister,L. C. Davis,Frank Lee Benedict, etc. 8vo. With Frontispiece. Paper cover. 50 cents.
"This is a rare collection."—Chicago Even. Journal.
"Admirable series of attractive Tales."—Charleston Courier.
"The contents are rich, varied and attractive."—Pittsburg Gazette.
The Great Empress.An Historical Portrait.ByProfessorSchele de Vere, of the University of Virginia. 12mo. Extra cloth. $1.75.
"This portrait of Agrippina is drawn with great distinctness, and the book is almost dramatic in its interest."—N. Y. Observer.
True Love.By Lady di Beauclerk,author of"A Summer and Winter in Norway," etc. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.25.
"Is a pleasing little story well told."—N. Y. Independent.
"This pleasantly told love story presents pictures of English society that will repay the reader."—Pittsburg Gazette.
"Many of the scenes of her novel are drawn with truth and vigor.... The interest is sustained throughout the story."—Hearth and Home.
Carlino.By the author of "Doctor Antonio,""Lorenzo Benoni," etc. 8vo. Illustrated. Paper cover. 35 cents.
"It is beautifully written, and is one of the best delineations of character that has been written lately."—Phila. Day.
"It is a capital little story.... A simple and wholesome story charmingly told."—Brooklyn Eagle.
"Strange and deeply interesting."—N. Y. Hearth and Home.
Walter Ogilby.A Novel.By Mrs. J. H. Kinzie,author of "Wau-bun", etc. Two volumes in one vol. 12mo. 619 pages. Toned paper. Extra cloth. $2.
"One of the best American novels we have had the pleasure of reading for some time. The descriptions of scenery are spirited sketches, bringing places before the reader, and there is nothing strained, sensational or improbable in the cleverly-constructed incidents. Even the graduating week at West Point, though a hackneyed subject, is presented with the charm of freshness as well as reality. This is a thoroughly good novel."—Philada. Press.
Askaros Kassis, the Copt.A Romance of ModernEgypt. ByEdwin de Leon, late U. S. Consul-General for Egypt. 12mo. Toned paper. Extra cloth. $1.75.
"This book, while possessing all the characteristics of a Romance, is yet a vivid reproduction of Eastern life and manners."—N. Y. Times.
"He has written us this thrilling tale, based on miscellaneous facts, which he calls 'A Romance of Modern Egypt,' and in which he vividly depicts the life of rulers and people."—Chicago Advance.
Beyond the Breakers.A Story of the PresentDay. By the Hon.Robert Dale Owen. 8vo. Illustrated. Fine cloth. $2.
"All readers of taste, culture and thought will feel attracted and impressed by it.... We have, for ourselves, read it with deep interest and with genuine pleasure, and can say for it that which we could say of few novels of to-day—that we hope some time to read it over again."—N. Y. Independent.
Compensation; or, Always a Future.A Novel.ByAnne M. H. Brewster. Second edition. 12mo. Fine cloth. $1.75.
"It is an interesting work, and particularly so to those who are musically inclined, as much useful information may be gained from it."—Boston Post.
"We recommend this book to all who are not longing for agony; for such patrons it is too gentle and too delicate."—Phila. North American.
"The writer exhibits a happy talent for description, and evinces a rare taste and genius for music."—Boston Recorder.
The American Beaver and his Works.By LewisH. Morgan, author of "The League of the Iroquois." Handsomely illustrated with twenty-three full-page Lithographs and numerous Wood-Cuts. One vol. 8vo. Tinted paper. Cloth extra, $5.
"The book may be pronounced an expansive and standard work on the American beaver, and a valuable contribution to science."—N.Y. Herald.
"The book is an octavo of three hundred and thirty pages, on very thick paper, handsomely bound and abundantly illustrated with maps and diagrams. It is a complete scientific, practical, historical and descriptive treatise on the subject of which it treats, and will form a standard for those who are seeking knowledge in this department of animal life.... By the publication of this book, Messrs. J. B. Lippincott & Co., of Philadelphia, have really done a service to science which we trust will be well rewarded."—Boston Even. Traveler.
The Autobiography of Dr. Benjamin Franklin.
The first and only complete edition of Franklin's Memoirs. Printed from the original MS. With Notes and an Introduction. Edited by theHon. John Bigelow, late Minister of the United States to France. With Portrait from a line Engraving on Steel. Large 12mo. Toned paper. Fine cloth, beveled boards, $2.50.
"The discovery of the original autograph of Benjamin Franklyn's characteristic narrative of his own life was one of the fortunate events of Mr. Bigelow's diplomatic career. It has given him the opportunity of producing a volume of rare bibliographical interest, and performing a valuable service to the cause of letters. He has engaged in his task with the enthusiasm of an American scholar, and completed it in a manner highly creditable to his judgment and industry."—The New York Tribune.
"Every one who has at heart the honor of the nation, the interest of American literature and the fame of Franklin will thank the author for so requisite a national service, and applaud the manner and method of its fulfillment."—Boston Even. Transcript.
The Dervishes.History of the Dervishes;or,Oriental Spiritualism. ByJohn P. Brown, Interpreter of the American Legation at Constantinople. With twenty-four Illustrations. One vol. crown 8vo. Tinted paper. Cloth, $3.50.
"In this volume are the fruits of long years of study and investigation, with a great deal of personal observation. It treats, in an exhaustive manner, of the belief and principles of the Dervishes.... On the whole, this is a thoroughly original work, which cannot fail to become a book of reference."—The Philada. Press.
New America.By Wm. Hepworth Dixon.Fourthedition. Crown 8vo. With Illustrations. Tinted paper. Extra cloth, $2.75.
"In this graphic volume Mr. Dixon sketches American men and women sharply, vigorously and truthfully, under every aspect."—Dublin University Magazine.
The Old Mam'selle's Secret.After the Germanof E. Marlitt, author of "Gold Elsie," "Countess Gisela," &c. ByMrs. A. L. Wister. Sixth edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.
"A more charming story, and one which, having once commenced, it seemed more difficult to leave, we have not met with for many a day."—The Round Table.
"Is one of the most intense, concentrated, compact novels of the day.... And the work has the minute fidelity of the author of 'The Initials,' the dramatic unity of Reade, and the graphic power of George Elliot."—Columbus (O.) Journal.
"Appears to be one of the most interesting stories that we have had from Europe for many a day."—Boston Traveler.
Gold Elsie.From the German of E. Marlitt,author of the "Old Mam'selle's Secret," "Countess Gisela," &c. ByMrs. A. L. Wister. Fifth edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1,75.
"A charming book. It absorbs your attention from the title-page to the end."—The Home Circle.
"A charming story charmingly told."—Baltimore Gazette.
Countess Gisela.From the German of E. Marlitt,author of "The Old Mam'selle's Secret," "Gold Elsie," "Over Yonder," &c. ByMrs. A. L. Wister. Third Edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.
"There is more dramatic power in this than in any of the stories by the same author that we have read."—N.O. Times.
"It is a story that arouses the interest of the reader from the outset."—Pittsburg Gazette.
"The best work by this author."—Philada. Telegraph.
Over Yonder.From the German of E. Marlitt,author of "Countess Gisela," "Gold Elsie," &c. Third edition. With a full-page Illustration. 8vo. Paper cover, 30cts.
"'Over Yonder' is a charming novelette. The admirers of 'Old Mam'selle's Secret' will give it a glad reception, while those who are ignorant of the merits of this author will find in it a pleasant introduction to the works of a gifted writer."—Daily Sentinel.
Three Thousand Miles through the Rocky Mountains.ByA. K. McClure. Illustrated. 12mo. Tinted paper Extra Cloth, $2.
"Those wishing to post themselves on the subject of that magnificent and extraordinary Rocky Mountain dominion should read the Colonel's book."—New York Times.
"The work makes one of the most satisfactory itineraries that has been given to us from this region, and must be read with both pleasure and profit."—Philada. North American.
"We have never seen a book of Western travels which so thoroughly and completely satisfied us as this, nor one written in such agreeable and charming style."—Bradford Reporter.
"The letters contain many incidents of Indian life and adventures of travel which impart novel charms to them."—Chicago Evening Journal.
"The book is full of useful information."—New York Independent.
"Let him who would have some proper conception of the limitless material richness of the Rocky Mountain region, read this book."—Charleston (S.C.) Courier.