Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 6, 1897, Page 6

iC CHAPTER LX, Meanwhile, at Fuljoy’s Isle, in Mary- land, nothing was et known or suspected of the events transpiring at the old plantation house in Louisiana. From the time that Mr. Dynbar had deft the neighborhood, for the purpose of inserting advertisements in the ci gapers offer’ munificent reward for the rece y of the lady, the friends of Astrea had passed their days in the slow stg of “hope deferred.” week they nad received letters from Welby Dun- bar reporting no progress toward dis- ¥ ie had 1g cove Once Madame de Glac' got reville a letter of con- lolenc York. Upon another oc eville had received from his rer a letter full of sympathy. he answered in the spirit in it was written, At last Captain little note from LKitie e arrival in New York, and also the immediate de- parture of the whole family for New Orleans. The same mail brought a letter from Mr. Dunbar to Madame de i the news, and that he would take advant- uge of this journey to prosecute the search for her lost daughter. nce these |: two letters the friends of Astrea had heard nothing more from their attorney or his party. Captain Fuljoy, with the patient en- durance of righteous old age, tried to ‘ear up under this protracted anguish of suspense; but his friends perceived with sorrow that he failed every di Celonel Greville, with the e icity of youth, struggled long against the effects of imprisonment and des- but at last » succumbed to their power, and rapid ted away. Mi with the t “springs eternal” in a wo- at le: 1nd the prophet- on of a mother’s soul, kept up ser spirits, and foretold the final suc- > eh. She went frequent- ly from one of the sufferers to the oth- | er Lo cheer them up. Meanwhile, some publ opinion were going on. Some weeks had passed since the “tragedy at FPuljoy’s Isle,” as the events of the bridal day there had been called, and the community had had time to recoy- | er from the first effects of their hor- ror, surprise and indignation. ‘The zt ilt of Colonel Greville was no longer a matter of unquestionable fact with averybody. Many seriously doubted minality. The conduct of Cap- in Fuljoy and the Marquise de Gla- e had also a good effect upon public | sentiment. They did not believe Col- ouel Greville to be the murderer, or that any murder had been committed. Jn the contr they held their son- in-law in the highest possible esteem fully declined. solonel got modifications of and affection, and they were con- vinced that the lost bride had been ab- lucted by certain other parties. So, the good people of the country looked forward to the approaching trial as | the only means by which they would sver be able to get the truth of this mysterious affair. The day of the trial arrived. From an early heur in the morning the court room was crowded by an eager audi- ence. Judge Pemberton presided. At 10 o'clock the prisoner, pale and hag- zard trom long imprisonment and se- vere nxiety, and clothed in the gloomy habilaments of mourning, was led into court. By his side, to susta hi by their 2 de ¢ This excited a bu among the spectato. “Surely,” it was whispered, “he can- | not be guilty, or the mother and the guardian of the girl he is supposed to have murdered would not be here in attendance upon him.” “And look! how affectionate their wmanner is to him!” “This will have its effect upon the Jury, in spite of all!” Meanwhile, the prisoner and bis par- ty advanced through the court. In that primitive country court room | there s no regular dock. The pris- omer was accommodated with a chair in front of the bench, and among his own counsel. His manner was com- posed and dignified, but deeply sor- towful. Madame de Glacie and Cap- tain Ful, seated themselves—the one pn the right hand, the other on the teft. Madame de Glacie put her hand in his, and looked affectionately upon him from time to time. 1 Captain Fuljoy sat ‘back, with his fmands resting upon his gold-headed zane that stood between his knees, his | broad chest expanded, and his gray head erect, looking defiance at the court. Occasionally the counsel of the pris- \ oner came and exchanged a word with one or the other of the group. And thus they remained while the preliminaries of the trial were ar- ranged. In criminal trials, in some cases, the evidence is so clear against the pris- oner that every one surely predicts his conviction; in others, it is so ob- scure that every one as surely antici- pates his acquittal. And in neither of these cases is much anxiety felt by the public at large; fer they think that they know the result of the trial ‘in_advance. But there is a third class of cases, ~where the evidence is of that question- | sable character, in which it might be prevised that a harsh jury would con- vict, or a lenient one acquit the pris- oner. Of this ¢lass was the case of Colonel of conversation Greville. ‘The circumstances that could | ‘be proved against him were so grave as to excite the most serious fears of ‘bis conviction, should the jury happen ~to be a severe one; while the rebut- “ting testimony that could be brought forward in his favor was so strong as -to raise the most lively hopes of his ONDEMNED_. -TQ-- WEALTH. | that cannot be made worse, may be ) made better. Therefore it was with a ; crowd to order. | crowd, | Captain Fuljoy and the Marquise de acquittal should the jury chance to be «a charitable one. The effect of this jo uncertainty was to fill the minds ot his friends with the deepest anxiety, and those of the public with the most eager curiosity. The preliminary arrangements being completed, the prisoner was arraigned in the usual manner, and pleaded, of ot Guilty.” “No, V'll be d——(1 was going to say) if exclaimed Captain Fuljoy, ng down his gold-headed stick with an emphatic thump. The crier called “Orde and the business of the trial proceeded. e’s attorney arose to open the indictment. He stood up with an air of modest urance, of deferential confidence. His opening address was intended to be one of the finest speci- mens of forensie eloquence ever yet heard. He cleared his throat, looked around upon the spectators, down on the prisoner, over to the jury box, up to the bench, and commenced: “You honor and gentlemen of the | ! It becomes my painful duty | to” “Cast your e’e o’er this wee bit writing said the Scotch _ bailiff, thrusting into his hands a folded paper that had been sent by the sheriff, who, at this crisis, entered the court room. ‘The state’s attorney looked surprised and annoyed at the untimely interrup- tion; but, catching the eye of the sher- iff, who was making his way through the crowded room toward the bench, and deeming a paper dispatched by him at that moment of some import- ance, he frowningly opened and read the centents. The effect was marked. His face flushed up, he glanced quickly at the messenger, at the prisoner, at the jury, and then, with a short bow to the bench, turned suddenly and hastened io meet the sheriff, who was still slow- ly advancing through the crowd, The eyes of the whole assembly were upon the two. That something unusual had happened, or was about to happen, every one knew. The crowd fell back to facilitate the meet- | ing of the two men. | ‘rhe prisoner and his party watched | these proceedings with curiosity and interest. To the despairing every event brings hope—for their coadition, & vague hope that this nearly hopeless | group gazed upon the meeting of the | state’s attorney and the sheriff. The last two mentioned were now talking together in low, eager tones. j After a short interview, they both ad- vanced toward the bench, and the j state torney spoke: “Your Honor, I beg leave to with- ; draw the charge against the prisoner at the bar, and enter a nolle prosequi. I hold in my hand an official dispatch from the mayor of New Orleans, an- nouncing that the missing lady, Astrea Greville, live and well——” He was interrupted. With great cries of joy the prisoner ; and his friends started up and threw | themselves into each other's arm: The audience sible excit The covtagion spread. was in a state of irrepre: ment. There are crises in life when time, place and conventional proprieties a all carried away in the tide of ove whelming emotion. For some mo- ments no one thought to call the Nature had to take her way. Meanwhile, the judge was reading the official dispatch. At length | he spoke to the erier, who called out in a loud voice that rose above all the noise in the room: “Silence in the court while his honor gives judgment!” | And silence fell like a spell upon the | ‘The prisoner is discharged from custody, and the court is adjourned.” And, having said this, he descended from the bench, and warmly shook hands with Colonel Greville and Cap- tain Fuljoy. The sheriff at the same moment eame up and placed the dispatch in | Cclonel Greville’s hands. saying: “This document contains information about your wife which will be most which the public at large have so lit- tle to do, that his honor deemed it | wainecessary to read it aloud in open court; the bare fact of her existence, proved before the authorities at New Orleans, being cause sufticient to just- ify your immediate discharge. Here is the paper; and pray accept with it | my warmest congratulations.” “And mine, also! disappointed me of delivering one of the finest speeches I ever penned. However, it will do quite as well, with a little alteration, for the next case,” said the state’s attorney. ‘Thanks! thanks! But, oh, tell me, is my wife really well and safe?’ “Yes; read for yourself.” Other friends were now crowding around Colonel Greville with congrat- ulations, that might have occupied | him for the next three hours, had not | Captain Fuljoy interfered by saying: | “Gentlemen, Madame de Glacie is in | need of repose and refreshment after | all this fatigue and excitement. Per- | mit us to take leave of you and attend | her from the court room.” | And, with a deep bow, the gallant | old sailor took leave of his friends, | gave his arm to Madame de Glacie and | led her forth. Colonel Greville attend- ed them, followed by the good wishes | of all his friends. They walked back to the inn, where though you have | Glacie had taken lodgings. And, after a slight refreshment, during which ! Captain Fuljoy’s carriage was brought ‘ around, they set out for the island; | olily to spend one night, however. | That afternoon and evening was | employed in hasty preparations for | their journey. The next morning they hoisted the red flag, to telegraph the Busy Bee as she passed; took their passage upon . her, and in due time arrived at Balti- | ore, and set out by the Baltimore & » husband, they embarked upon the steamboat “Southern Queen” for New Orleans. CHAPTER LXI. It was a glorious afternoon in early autumn. Mrs. Greville and her fam- ily had returned to the old plantation house, and were now out upon the front ‘piazza to enjoy the cool and balmy air of evening, and gaze upon the golden refulgence of the setting sun and the silvery radiance of the rising moon. The softness of the hour and the beauty of the scene inclined them all to a luxurious pensiveness. Lois and Welby arose and walked side by side, slowly up and down the lawn in front of the piazza, talking in a low tone, and doubtless discussing their future prospects. Mrs. Greville reclined in an easy chair, and Ettie Burns sat upon a cushion at her feet. Mrs. Greville’s white and jewelled fingers were straying idly among the shining black ringlets of Ettie’s little head, as it lay lazily upon her lap. rea sat apart at one end of the pis ,» absorbed in reverie. Astrea vus now, perhaps, more beautiful than she had ever been in her life be- fore. Her complexion was blooming with health, her eyes beaming with hope,, her hair clustering in short, bright curls around her brow, which was fair as snow. She wore a dress of fresh, rose-colored barege, trimmed with fine lace, and a_ necklace of pearls encircled her throat. She was occupied with thougkis too happy and sacred to be shared with any one. Therefore, she sat apart in silence. She was daily expecting the arrival of her husband, her guardian, and “last, but not least,” the mother with whose existence she had been so recently made acquainted. She had been thus expecting them for several days; but expectation had not as yet had time to cause anxiety. She was even now an- | ticipating their arrival on this very evening. Her happy reverie was at length in- terrupted by Venus, who, since she had been raised to the dignity of lady maid, had diligently performed the du- ties of her office. Venus now came out resplendent in a silver-gray silk dress, a white muslin apron trimmed with embroidery, and a lace cap, with cherry-colored satin ribbons flying a yard and a half behind her. She held nm her hand a fan of marabout feath- ers, which, with an air of much im- | portance, she offered to her mistress. But just at this moment a sound of carriage wheels drew every one’s at- tention from Venus and her graces. Mrs. Greville pushed Ettie’s little black head almost abruptly from her lap, as she arose to look out. Lois and Welby paused in their walk and talk, and gazed up the avenue. Astrea started from her seat and fixed her eyes with devouring interest upon the approaching carriage. It was a very capacious car drawn by two strong horses, and ing much luggage piled up behind and on top of it. As it drew near they saw that it contained a lady, an old gentleman and a young one. There could be no mistaking the party. “They have come! They have come!” exclaimed Astrea, in the clear, ringing tones of joy, nearly upsetting Venus | and her streamers, ds she sprang past | and flew out to meet her fri iends. In another moment the carriage had drawn up, Colonel Greville had alight- ed, and Astrea was folded in the arms of her husband. Great joy, like great sorrow, bas but one vent—tears! As- trea burst into agfood of tears, and sobbed convulsively upon his bosom, And while Colonel Greville held her there, murmuring inarticulate words of leve and comfort; and while Cap- tain Fuljoy and Madame de Glacie im- patiently awaited their own turn to be ed ard cried over, Mrs. Greville advarced with an open hand and smil- ‘ace to receive her guests. Captain Fuljoy shook hands with his | old acquaintance, complimented her on her ycuth and beauty, and then begged leave to present his friend, Madame de Glacie. : Mrs. Greville greeted the foreign lady with great cordiality, took her at- fectionately by the hand and led her up to the piazza. Then Ettie Burns sprang forward, exclaiming: “And now I won’t wait a minute longer for anybody! Here I am, Cap- tain Fuljoy! here is your own little Ettie again! You know I couldn't live without you, and that is the reason you have come!” The old sailor, smiling broadly, lift- ed Ettie in his arms and kissed her, saying: “If it had not been for you. Astrea might never have been found!” - “No; I am worth ten attorneys, am Meanwhile, Colonel Greville, having breathed many tender words into the ears of his wife and dried her tears, row whispered: ‘My sweet Astrea, here is your mcther waiting so patiently to em- brece you! Turn to her, dearest!” And Astrea, with a vivid blush, | withdrew herself from the arms of her and sank into the out- stretched ones of her mother, exclaim- ing: “Mother, dearest mother, it is deep joy to meet you! Oh, do not think that your child is uploying or undutiful, because—because——” “Because she first saw only her ius- band! I do not, my darling. I remem- ber your father, Astrea. And now, my child, here is another one who is long- ing to greet you—one who has filled a parent’s place in your life, and to whom half yeur filial love and duty is due,” said the lady, gently lifting her daughter’s head, and directing her at- tention to Captain Fuljoy. “Ah, my dear guardian! my dear guardian! did you think I could forget you for an instant!” exclaimed Astrea, turning to him. “No, my little Daney! 1 always feit sure that while you live you will love the old man. God bless you, my child! God love you!” Mrs. Courtney Greville advanced with a smile and offered her hand to her step-son, saying: “After all these years of misappre- hension and estrangement, my dear Fulke, I am happy to believe that we are friends at last.” “Forever, my dear madam!” sn- swered Colonel Greville, raising her hand to his lips. Mrs. Greville then led the way into the house, and ordered her servants to attend her guests to their several chambers. ¢ When the latter had, changed their hio railroad for St. Louis, where «traveling dresses, they reassembled in esa 34 | dog; whose dog are yeu?’ the front lor .where the tea-table 8 spreat ere they were joined by Welby Dunbar, who was, for the first time, presented to his counterpart, Fulle Greville. The meeting of these two men, whose accidental resemolance to each other was so great, called up first a look of wonder upon each face, and then a burst of laughter from each pair of lungs, which was caught up ard echoed by the whole circle. “You do not wonder now at the great misteke of years, Fulke?’ inquired Mrs. Courtney Greville. “No,” laughed the colonel. “T tell you what, maiden aunt,” said Ettie Burns, “you will have to tie a badge upon Uncle Welby’s arm, so as to distinguish your sweetheart from Astrea’s husband!” “I shall trust to no such device, Et- tie! He might easily get rid of that! No; I shall do better than that! I shall have an iron collar, with the owner’s name on it, soldered around his neck.” “Capital!” exclaimed Ettie, clapping her hands with glee; nd be sure to add this line: ‘I’m Lois Howard's “Ettie!” said Mrs. Courtney Greville, severely. “Splendid grandma, if you scold me befere folks, U'N—eat fish with a knife!” This produced another peal of laugh- ter, for. people are easily amused when they are happy. “You are quite incorrigible, Ettie,” said the lady. Bat her rebuke was lost in the sounds of mirth, amid which they all gathered around the tea-table. After tea there were mutual explan- ations.. Astrea was called upon to re- late her adventares for the satisfac- ticn of her husband, mother and guardian. She softened as much possible her story of wrong and sut- fering, yet it was heard with the deep- est grief and indignation. To chase away the gloomy feelings left by As- t:ea’s narrative, Welby Dunbar was requested to relate his experiences as a fish boy. His story had the effect of a farce following a melo-drama. Peals of laughter greeted his descrip- tion of his arrest for the erime of oys- ter-crying; his trial by the court of schcolmasters; and his condemnation to wealth for life. “he happiness in the parlor spread to the kitchen. Upon the strength of it, old Aunt Cybele roasted some apples, and old Uncie Saturn made a bow! of apple- toddy. Venus condescended to sip a little. But poor Sam! Ever since Venus lad cast her shell, and fluttered forth such a “splendiferous” butterfly, poor Sam had been taken in and almost done ter! Like the humblest spaniel, he had followed her about, watching her, waiting on her, fetching and car- ryirg for her, worshipping her, and yet never daring so much as to breative his acmiration. But upon this auspicious evening. when his heart was merry with the ecntagious merriment of the family, when his soul was valiant with apple- toddy, and his head was turned by the charmer’s silyer-gray dress and cher- ry-colored streamers, he took adyant- age of the first moment that he hap- pened to be left alone with Venus, popped down on both his knecs be- fore her, clasped his hands, turned up the whites of his eyes, and prayed her to marry him immediately, beeause he could not wait! Venus was outrageous. She east upon him an annihilatory Took, ex- claiming: “Go ’way from here, nigger! You done took leave 0’ your wooly head senses, ain’t you? Who's you a-tatkin’ to, sar? I'll hab you to know, sar, ’m alady maid. An’ do you think when L can be a lady maid, an’ wear tine clothes, an’ wait on Mrs. Full Grebille, who is a beautiful young lady, as how I'm gwine to demean myself wid get- tin’ married, to be a slave to a great, big, ugly man? ’Deed you is siek if you think dat!” How mvtch more scorn Venus might have poured out upon her unlucky 2d- mirer can never be known, had not Aunt Cybele and Unele Saturn just then returned to the kitchen. They caught sight of Sa.n just as he sprang up from his knees. “Hi, what de matter ’lomg o’ he?” cried the old man. “Hey! what Sam been a-doin’ of?’ asked the old woman. “Sayin’ of his prayers! He turned good all of a sudden,” said Venus, with a toss of her head, as she left the kitchen to light up her mistress’ bed- reom. Meanwhile, in the parlor, the mutual explanations having all been made, and laughed at or cried over to their heart’s content, our party of reunited friends freely discussed their future plans. Captain Fuljoy and Colonel Greville wished to return immediately to Ful- joy’s Isle, where, in the bosom of her family, Astrea might enjoy the com- plete repose which the excitements of her late life seemed to render so ad- visable. But at length they yielded to the entreaties of Mrs. Greville and consented to wait to be present at the marriage of Welby Dunbar and Lois Howard, which was to be celebrated on the first of the ensuing month. With this agreement they separated for the night. According to the programme, on the first of October Welby and Lois were married. Upon acccunt of recent events, the wedding was a very quiet one. The ceremony was performed at 10 o’clock in the morning, in the drawing room of the old plantation house. The Rev. Mr. Palmer officiat- ed; Ettie Burns was the only brides- maid; Captain Fuljoy was the grooms- man; Colonel Greville gave away the bride; and Mrs. Courtney Greville presided at the marriage breakfast that followed, at which only members of the family and the officiating cler- gyman were present. Immediately after breakfast the really “happy pair’ set out in a hand- some traveling carriage for New Or- lezens, whence they intended to take the first steamer for Demerara. ‘he rececn for this was that they had ex- hausted the old world, or at least grown tired of it and it was too late in the autumn to think of carrying ovt their first purpose of traveling through Canada; so they had determined, by way of a change, to make a tour of South America. At most weddings there is only one persen to be deeply pitied—the bride’s mother, left at home. Ah, no matter how prosperously she may haye mar ried cff her daughter, or how well she may like her son-in-law. it is all the same! Out from the’ door, -with her departing Caughter, bas gone her heart —#nd ket bosom is emptied of ¢% life! Mrs, Courtney Greville was 2 prac- tised woman of the world. Smtlingly she had looked upon the micriage rites and presided at the wedding breakfast. Smilingly she had re- ceived the parting embrace of "Velby, and kissed Lois, who was also smiling through her tears—like a burst of sun- shine through April rain. But when the carriage had rolled away, and she had returned to the desolate house, she sank down into the nearest chair, overcome, pallid, gasp- ing—too agonized for tears—her wrung bosom only making this low moan: . “Oh, pitying Saviour! how much, from first to last, even the happiest mother must sufter!” Old Captain Fuljoy heard and saw all this, and—could net stand it! He seized his hat and exclaime “Tl go and fete "em back—FN sad- dle Saladin and ride after "em! Vil overtake ’em before they get to the toll-gate! I'll make ‘em turn their horses’ heads and come right home again! I won't have it! D al was going to say)—this way of making everybody else miserable because they are happy!” “Stay! you would not do such a thing! You must not, not for the world! They must do what society re- quires of them—a bridal tour is am im- perative necessity. This is nothing but morbid feeling in me—a weakness that I must shake off. Lofs and Welby, the beings dearest to me im the world, are happy; and [ will be happy said Mrs. Greville, rising and dropping her grief as she might have dropped her black mantle. “That is right, splendid grandma! paleness doesn’t become your complex- io. t all!” said Ettie. Y poor little pet! yow will also be leaving me some day!” “Never, splendid ndma! not for all the husbands im the world—oh! 1 mean, unless my dear old captain asks me. I would not refuse’ him—no, i deed, indeed, wouldn't 1!” said’ Eitie, earnestly, “There, Captain Fuljoy, you have had an offer!’ smiled Mrs. Greville. “Yes; and from the dearest little dar- ling in the world. But, Ettie, my child, I am already married, although you don’t know it—I have a wife in Heaven! She has been waiting forme there these many years Ettie, dear, I am above eighty old; this is at least sixty years old for you; and it would bea great wrong for me to take you at your word,” replied the honest old lo} who evidently took Ettie’s offer very seriously. “That is a pity, now; fer shall be an old maid!” sh esaid. This little badinage made a diversion of Mrs. Courtney Greville’s ides that she did not fall +into ejection again that day. And the next day she had business to occupy her though*s. Captain Ful- joy and his party Lad decided to si Greville until she had settled up the business that had brought her to the South, and then the whole party were to go together to the North, and Mrs. } ie wv to remain their guest at} Fuljoy’s Island until the return of her son and daughter, when the: tliree last named would proceed to New York and take up their residence at the ho.se in Madison qua Welby Dunbar, previous to his m age and departure, had put his mother’s af- fairs in such good train that little re- mained to be done. The plantation v the negroes upon the estate emancipate those who were ling to emigr were sent to Libe- those who were d Ned by age ckness were provided for; Uncle Saturn and Aunt Cybele w made heppy with a cottage, a garden, a cow anc some poultr nd those who de- sired to remain in the neighborhood to get their own living were: recom- mended to good employer All but Sam! That luckless lover could not make up his mind to any measure. To use Uncle Saturn’s expression: for this perverse course—“Sam would neither gee, whoa nor come hither!” The last day of their stay at the old plantation house came—they were to depart the next morning. Driven to desperaticn, Sam was also goaded to» action—he followed the old captain until he saw him alone, and then, going down on both his knees, with clasped hands and upraised eyes and streaming tears, he said: “Cap'n Full-ob-joy, sar, have: massy on me, who is full ob grief! I knows you're a’ tender-hearted gem’n, 10’ wouldn't like to see me hung up by de neck till I is dead!” H “What the d—1 (I was going to say) have you done to get yourself hung, you wretched boy?’ asked the captain, |} in alarm. “Nuffin’, sar; I’s in Ind wid Wenus! An’ if I don’t get Wenus, I shall hang myse’f on de fust tree I can fine!” “Oh! that’s it! Well, my poor boy, what can I do for you?” inquired the kind old man, whose heart was open to the humblest or absurdest ery of distress. “Oh, Marse Cap'n! sar;. E does: want to go ‘long o’ Wenus so bad!'an’ ef you would only take me: along as: your ser- vant, sar, I wouldn’t want no wages, sar, nor buflin’; but only to be along 0” Wenus! My life lay im Wenus, sar, "deed it do, an Wenus go, my life go!” “Well, does Venus like yow?” “No, sar; not as yet! "pears like she hates me on de yeth; she can’t bide de sight o’ me!” “Then, why the @—t (I was: going to say) do you run after her? Let her go, and you look aftar some other girl!” “Oh! Marse Cap’n, sar, "tain’t no use, sar! Dere ain’t no gal im de whole country as wear sich caps an’ sich ribbins as Wenus wear! An’ my life lay in her, sar?” “In her caps, yew mean, you great blockhead! She set her eaps at you! What captivating caps they must be, } to be sure!” i “Dey is, sar! dey jes is! an likewise |! de red ribbins—whieh dey is some- |; times rosy an’ sometimes cherry; av’ den, de little white ap’ms, an’ de balo- rals, an’ de lace-up boots! When 1 thirks of "em all, an” how dere a-goin’ to leab me, I has a ehokin’ in my treat! Oh, marse, for massy sake, don’t “fuse me ob goin’ ‘long o’ We- nus!” “But what is the use of your going with Venus if she won’t look at you?” “Oh, sar, "cause I knows, how ef 1 keeps on a-keepin’ on, she can’t hold out foreber! If I don’t get tired and stop, she'll have to turn an’ gib in! An’ if so be you will only take me as your sarvent, an I libs ix de same fimily wid her, I will keep on, an’ 1 won't get tired, nor likewise stop till I get her—~” “And her eaps!’ Well, my boy, such an earnest lover as you should be en- couraged. And though [ nave as many servants at home as i can, possi- bly employ, yet—well. yes, L will take you, also.” a “Loramity bless yet, sit! Now, den, I shall get Wenus, r don’t!” eried Sam, jumping up beside himself with joy. Shortly after this happy arrange- ment of Sam’s with the captain, the whole party set out for the North, and in due time, after the wsua? vieis- situdes of travel, arrived safe and well at Foljoy’s Island, where they they were in a couple of months foin- by Welby and Lois, who re urned hearty and happy from their “¥outh American trip. Early in the New Year, Mrs. Gourt- ney Greville and Mr. and Mrs. Wefby Dunbar returned to their home i New York. é Upon their arrival they met an int portant event: A pirate had been captured after a action with one of our sloop: which most of her crew had been brought into port and lodged in the .Tombs, to await his trial. Wtlby Dunbar was solicited to defend him, but he declined the brief. This man, whioe proved to be Merrick, the slaver tain, socn afterward died: of wounds in the prison. Befer Tre made a full confessi both his crimes and hi Among the crimes he mentioned first abduction of Astrea de as an infant, in which he v ed by the Mary us de G Tvist: Druries: and hi tice of Astrea vTich he w. ectrees Victorine amd the abdt econd . the bride. isted by the Fren nd his own pirate crew. His confession Jed to the eventtal apprehension and punish- ment of all these maletactors exception of the Marquis de who escaped the gallies by dying of diptheria. After the demise of her brother-in- Iaw, Madame de Glacie put estates situated in Italy and into the hands of # responsible agent; and took up her permanent abode at Fuljoy’s Islane_ There Captain Fuljoy, Colonel Gre ville, Astrea, and Madame de ¢ Tive together, forming one united happy family. Captain Fuljoy has purchased Burnstop, and assigned it as x residence to the two old maiden ladies, Miss Mehitable Powers and Miss Priscilla Pinchett, whom he has pensiored off. These two, beirg per- fect opposites in every possible spect, fit well into each other's char- ucters, and live together in great harmony. For instanee, little Miss- Pinchy leves to eommand, whil Miss Hit Ioves to obe 2x quick tempe Miss: Pinchy likes to st Hit to sit still; conse¢ Miss Pinchy does the house and Miss Hit the sewing: finally Pinchy likes to talk and M listen? therefore they agree so fect well that all who know say that it is a great pity one not been a man and the other man, so that they might have n and set an exampic of conju mony to the whole world. But if th marriage cannot place others for the very latest intelligence received from Fuljoy’s Isl- and announced that the constancy of Sam had conquered the coldness ot Venus, and that they were united in the holy bonds of matrimony the com- ing Easter. And the last Tet‘er from Mrs, Cour. ney Greville informed her of the en gagement of Ettie Burns to a talented young Tawyer, who was goin inte sping, Miss take partnership with Welby Dunbar, whe is pursuing his professional business with untiring industry and eminent SUCCESS. (THE END. PRAYBUL PARAGRAPH. Disgrace and Pain. @teveland Plaindealer disgrace up at the “What's the trouble? “Daphne Slater tft ir new hat in a chair and T sat em it.” Ruin the hat?” “Ol, I @idn’t mind that so much, she'd: left her Ratpin in it!” I'm in eternal but Tr Luck Anyhow. Fligende Blae‘ter:. Alpine imber, clutching the side of # mountain—Cour- age.. now! One mnve attempt! If I make it T shall be the envy of my friends for- ever. If 3 fall: I wen't have to go to the office to-morrow. & Spicy Veature. Indianapolis Journal: “Any spicy feat- ures in the new play?” “Well,” the lady answered, “John had his mouth full of cloves.” Suggesting. a Needed Improvement. Chicag@ Tribune: “Captain, you have a room in. this steamer where passengera can go: who want to smoke?’ “Certainly,. siv.”” “You have a place where passengers. can go who. want te drink whisky?” “Yes, sir.”* “Thore who fee) like gamblin, by themselves: also, can’t they “TI suppose so, six.” “Then why den’t you have a separate- room: for that blamed piano, so passen- gers who den’t want to hear it won't have to?” an flock: Chief Drawback in Art. Brooklyn Life: Critic—The trouble about pictures is— Antist-That mo one that has money enough to buy one has taste enough. ta want one. grea Ezzing Him On. Puck: Miss Srisk—I do not think it ap- propriate that Cupid should always be picture@ as carrying a bow and arrow. Young Pokelong—Why—er—er it se to me to—er—be quite fitting. Miss Brisk—No; he should be armed with a pop-gun. Explained. Somerville {Mass.) Journal: Patron— Why do they call it impressionist art, anyway? : Artist—Oh, because the fellows who da it labor under the impression that it is art, | suppose. His Confession. Puck: “Tell me, dector,” asked the am. bitious young disciple of Galen, eagerly, “what was the most dangerous case you ever had?” YH be shot if [° roa “In confidence, now that I am about ta retire from/practice,” answered the vet- eran ‘pl that {¢ was my medicine case” 4. hyfician, frankly, “I will confess »