The New York Herald Newspaper, June 19, 1869, Page 10

10 pasa NSS nner THE PEACE JUBILEE. THE COLISEUM AGAIN CROWDED. Reception of Mr. George Peabody by the Audience, FINE RENDERING OF THE PROGRAMME. Receipts Nearly One Mil- lion of Dollars. Boston, June 18, i869. axommEn Pance avDIENCE. ‘There has been about as much jubileeing in Bos- ton to-day as ever, aud there does not seem to be any perceptible dim!nishing in the crowd of visitors. The audience within the Coliseum was hardly as large as the day before, but every seat was filled, aud the spacious promenades were uncomtortably packed through the whole series of the festivities. Probably there were 50,000 or more altogether, and several thousand who were unable to obtain tickets lingered patiently outside to share, so far as was practicable in this way, in the thundering and har- monious musical strains proauced by the colossal orchestra and mammoth chorus, There was a great rush for tickets during the entire forenoon, and they were choice and scarce at a premium of from 100 to 200 per cent. 3s The scene inside the Coliseum to-day, as upon ali previous days, was truly grand and sublime, and there was constantly occurring numerous and inter- esting incidents. There were, fortunately, no mis- haps, and in consequence of the weather being cooler than upon any other day, there was an ab- sence Of fainting females, and the company of Boston @remen, who had al! the week done duty in bearing swooolng fair ones from the audience, found, like Othello, their occupation gone, PRESENCE AND RECEPTION OF GEORGE PEABODY. The presence of George Peabody, the worid re- nowned millionnaire and philanthropist, was made the occasion of a hearty and spontaneous demonstra- tion of welcome, Just as the festivities were about to commence he came in with Alexander H. Ric? and Mayor Shurtleff, together with other invited guests, and his appearance was the signal for a loud round of cheering, and after it had subsided the Mayor mtroduced the distinguished visitor im the following words:— LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—I have the pleasure of announcing to you the presence of Mr. George Pea- body, Who honors the Peace Festival this afternoon. You will not only recognize him as your most esteem- ed iriend, but also as the friend of the whole world. Mr. Peabody was warmiy received by the vast concourse, and when the enthusiasm was checked he acknowledged the greeting as follows :— My FRrenps—Your Mayor has indeed said well that 1 am your friend, and has kindly announced me as the friend of the whole world. However true this assertion may be, and I think he has praised me too bighiy, yet | assure you that, whatever may be said i regard to my friendship for mankind, my love for the Old World can never exceed that which I have for tle New. THE CONCERT. The concert commenced with Weber's Jules ‘Overture, a very different work from the dreary afar of yesterday. It went off pretty well, and was taken in good time. Some of tue fine effects of the violin passages were rather blurred and indistinct, and the brilliant coloring of the hymn “America,” which occurs in the finale, was dulled by the con- Tused rendering of the stringed instruments, There Was, however, @ great deal of spirit and clan evinced by the orchestra. Two movements, the second and last, from Beet- Boven’s fifth symphony, tn C minor, were next played by the orchestra, Here, indeed, fault must be found ‘With the programme. It 18 @ positive act of musi- cal sacrilege to mutilate one of Beet- hoven’s noble works in this manner. These works are characterized by such unity of idea and thought that to give a portion of one ts like unveil- ing half of some great painting. Besides, one of the motivas in the lovely Scherzo, which is repeated in the finale, binds those two movements together in such close union that either alone becomes unintel- ligibie. The performance, besides, was by no means fatistactory. The symphony requires delicate color- ing, Which was not given to it on this occasion, The performance cannot compare with the rendering of the same work at Thomas’ symphony soirees and the Philharmonic concerta. Miss Adelaide Phillips sang an Italian aria from Handel. She appeared ina trained robe of green sik, with roses im her hair. Her voice appeared fuller and more distinct than on her previous ap- pearance; but the selection was a dreary one for the occasion and ineffective. Better for her to have chosen from the works of Rossini, The simplicity Of its air was ite chief merit, She received an en- core, however. ‘ne choral to “God on nig ” from “St. Paul,” and “achieved 18 the Glorious Work,”’ from the ‘Crea- tion,” were faultiessiy performed. Another gem was the dine choral, “sleepers, Awake,” from ‘St. Paul.’’ The trumpet passages mingted with w and solemn vocal harmonies admirab! “Prayer,” from “Moses in Egypt,”” was well sung by the chorus, but the arpeggio accompaniment of the Violms was inaudible. Hut the grandest of all the works rendered by the chorus were “Thanks be to God" and tne “Halle- Yojan Chorus.” The former magnificent work, one of the grandest in the realms of oratorio, was given Wich a good balance of the voices and correctly, which is saying a great deal for the rendering of such a work by such a chorus. The time was taken too siow by the conductor, and there Was a want of that crispness and sharpness of tone which is necessary to bring out the beauties of the work in bold relief, But the glorious measures which illustrate so vivilly the rushing of the waters, and which bri ary barmonies | rendered. “Thanks Be to God” was in- riumph for the monster chorus. flammatus,” from Rossini’s “Stabat Mater, sung, tweive select voices singing the solo soprano part. It was redemanded tn @ storm of appiause, The “Gloria,” from Mozart’s “Twelfth Mass,” was aiso rendered: but, a3 on the first periormance, the voices dragged behind the instruments, Regarding the “‘iialleiujal Chorus,” I must say it totally failed in effect on account of the excessively siow time in which it wastaken. The audience, chorus and orchestra remained standing during its performance. During (be concert an excited individual stood up and cailed for the “Anvil Chorus.” He was sup- porte d in his request by the most tamultuous cheers rom the audence, It was mahifest that nothing short of artiliery and anvils would satisfy them; but there was no artillery, and the audience had to put up with the disappointment. Julea EB tg and Carl Zerrahn were the con- NEW YORK HERALD, SATOKDAY, JUNE 19, 1869.-TRIPLE SHEET. THE WEEKLY HERALD. ‘The Cheapest and Best Newspaper im the Country. The Weex.y HeraLp of the present week, now ready, contatns the very latest Buropean news by the Cable up to the hour of publication; also Telegraphic Despatches from Cuba, Mexico and other Points. It also contains the Current News of the Week; the Fashions; Ausements; Fagowe; Fgreigg Intelligence; Sporting; Religious and Literary In- teliigence; Washington News; Obituary Notices; Editorial Articles on the prominent topics of the day; Our Agricultural Budget; Reviews of the Cat- ule, Horse, Dry Goods ana Boot and Shoe Markets; Financial and Commercial Intelligence, and accounts of all the important and interesting events of the week, _, a5)” soFs agen TER HL TRRMS:—Single subscription, $2; Three copies, $5; Five copies, $8; Ten copies, $15; Single copies, five centseach. A limited number of advertisements in- serted in the WeexLy HEeRALo. __ THE DOUBLE LIFE. AQUINUS AND THE BISHOP. A SONNET. BY JOHN G. SAXE. Increase of worldly wealth is not alway With growth in grace in manifest accord; So quaint Aquinus hinted to my lord, The Bishop—when. upon a certain day, Surprised while counting o’er his apie hoard Of shining ducats in a coffer stores The prelate said, “fhe time, you see, has gone When dear old Mother Church was forced to say, (Acts second !) ‘Gold and silver have I none ! “ah !? quoth Aquinus, shrewdly, “so | dnd; But that, your Grace, was in the purer age, ‘The very same, be pieased to bear in mind, When with her joes brave battle she could wage, And say to sordid Satan, behind 1"? THE DOUBLE LIFE; OR, THE HAMPTON MYSTERY. BY MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. CHAPYER I. THE LADY BEATRICE. Had she lived before the siege of Troy, Helen, whose beauty summoned Greece to arms, And drew a thousand ships to Tenedos, Had not been named in Homer's fad; Her name had been in every line he wrote, MARLOWE. The Lady Beatrice Hampton, only child of the Ear! of Hampton, had pence her youth and early woman- hood, and was still unmarried.gShe had had no lack of suitors, for she had inherited from her mother an immense fortune, and was beautiful, witty, accom- plished, a reigning belle and a leader in ‘society. Her friends were puzzled at her adherence to celi- bacy, and no one was more puzzled than her father, whose greatest desire was to see her happily married, It was an unsolvable problem to the Earl that his daughter should persist in refusing the most eligibie offers, and she was looked upon, even by her ad- mirers, as a beautiful mystery, a delightful puzzle, @ marbie-hearted and ingomprehensibie sphinx. One March evening, in the drawingroom of his town house, Lord Hampton sat thinking of his daughter. The night was wild and stormy. The pleasant room presented a strong contrast to the gloom without. A sea coal fire famed in the polished grate. The great chandelier flooded the room with hight. Flowers, fresh from the greenhouse, with moisture yet upon their petals, were crowded with profusion mto vases, whose delicate sculpture would have fired an arust’s heart. The heavy, warm-hued curtains fell in folds to the floor, shut- ting out the darkness, and shutting in the light and warmth and fragrance. The Earl was tall and stately, with becoming port- liness of figure, and eyes as Keen asin his early youth, 4 complexion of unusual ruddiness, hair and whis- kers of iron gray, and manly features, whose ex- pression inclined to sternness. He had almost reached threescore years and ten, but he exhibited none of the feebleness of age. His mind retained its vigor, and his manners were those of the courtly old-school gentleman, He roused himself from them at last, and stretched out his hands towards the bell-pull, At that mo- ment the curtains dividing the apartments from a second drawingroom were lifted, and the Lady Bea- trice entered. “You sent for me, father?" she inquired, approach- ing him. “You desired to see me " “I did, Beatrice,” responded his lordship. ‘I have oe of importance to say to you.” The ly Beacrice stood leaning against the mar- bie manteipiece in an expectant attitude. She was a superbly beautiful woman. At least four and thirty years of age, she looked scarcely five and twenty. Lord Hampton iooked at her with a father’s pride, yet with a strange expression. This being, so cold to others, was equally cold to him. He wondered Af she ever experienced any womanly emotions, and pipe he wondered the Lady Beatrice broke the silence. “You have news from your friend Lord Adlowe, have you not?" she asked. “Yes; his lordship has retarned to England,” re- Plied tne Earl. ‘I received a line from him this morning, informing me that he arrived in town last evening. I called upon him and invited him to dine with us to-day. He is all impatience to see you. Itis of Lord Adiowe that Iam about to speak to you. ‘The Lady Beatrice bowed her head without speak- ing. Encourged by her attentiveness the Earl re- jamed:— ‘Lora Adlowe comes back to. us, after his five ears’ journeying, more than ever your slave. He has been for eight years your fatthful lover. It was He jo who made him anexile and a wanderer. as kept himself single, waiting patiently, never re- proaching you for your coldness, never forcing bis attentions upon you.”” jecause he never dared to !"" interposed the Lady Beatrice, with an icy smile. “I do not like Ormond Adlowe, father. He is false and bad at heart, his years of devotion to me notwithstanding. He has returned to renew his persecutions of me. He is tired of ge I suppose, and his coffers need re- plenishing. Of all my suitors J like him least. I Toust repeat what J have said so many times to you andtohim. Is never marry.’ “And why not?” demanded the Earl. “Tave you realized that time is slipping away, and that you are advancing in ae How long will it be before you will be pushed aside m society by younger rivals? I shail soon die, and you wil! be efi alone. I long to see you mistress of your own household, a happy wife. Can it be that you are still mourning for that misguided Geoffrey Trevelyan—the unworthy = of a nobie house, the middight robber of his uncle—" “Stop !" said the Lady Beatrice, a switt fush over- spreading her features. ‘‘1 do not care to hear Goet frey Trevelyan’s name. They say he is dead.” .,, Yes, he is dead,” said the Earl, thoughtfally. “Me died many years ago. in a foreign land—poor fellow! After all he was but a boy, and his untumely fate always saddens me. He had in him the stuif for a noble man, but was warped by h&rshness and evil associates, Had Lord Trevelyan, his uncle, whose heir he was, pursued him less vindictively for his crime, Geoffrey might have been living and honored to-day. Idon’t blame you for grieving for him, for you were his betroth wife; but he was unworthy and is dead. You were but a mere child when he disappeared. Surely you do not cherish a love tor his memory still.’? “Lam not romantic, father,” said the Lady Bea- trice, dryly. “You say that all men are not like him, meaning that Lord Adlowe 1s without Geof- irev’s weaknesses and fanita. Lord Adiowe is not weak, but his is not the strength I like. The truth is I chi to my freedom, father, | like to rule in society. like to be admired and worshipped; but I have no heart for my admirers to win. Phave no heart.” yhy must yon disappoint the hopes 1 have so long cherished, Beatrice ?” questioned her father bit- terly. “Hi you no love lor me, no respect for my Wishes? What would your loved ‘society’ say if it knew that you are a mystery to your own fat netors of ‘his concert. Both are eminent musi- | Why v . 4 en Lord Adiowe was here five years since he toid fear 9 New ora on “hay Save tata | Haha dou ere emiag a, ut 1. Me wor Hons of the orchestra, aud were tue most eflicient of | {are heen confirmed a hundred th tt Naa all tue players. THE SUCCESS OF THE UNDERTAKING. Thus tar, from the beginning, this stupendous en- has been @ glorious success, and all who on it only make themseives appear ridicu- «oe There has not been a skip ora break. That everything has gone aloug harmoniously and beau- tifully not only the scepucal but the open opponents of the undertaking admit, and ali combine m one common round of praise for hin who conceived and those who have carried it so far through to @ glori- ous confummation, Financially the result ts far be- yond the anticipations or even the hopes of its pro- Jectors and managers, and musically it has ectipsed anything ever known In the world. The receipts so for have come up to nearly @ muilion dollars, and the additional incomings to-morrow will probably swell them to that grand Ogure, more is, of course, the happiest man in Boston, the congratulations of his friends have been so pumerous that-he bas actually been obiized to leave the Culiseum by @ back door at the close of every entertainment. He has also received such an over- wheiming uumber of happy congratulatory letters and telegrams, from all parts of the coantry, that it lias required the continued labor of a private secre. tary to answer them. The Bostonians in general are also praised gh the visitors for the liberal manner in which they have been en- tertainea, and the representatives of the press are likewise gushing with gratitude for tne conveniences and courtesies tendered them, and the journais of the five or #ix hundred reportera and correspondents in attendance will provably teem with acknowledgments of the services of Mesara. Niles, Dunham and Doolittle, who have bad charge of their headquarters and done so much to facilitate rtorial jabors. The ie are filled ht & own observation, You do lead a double life. are one thing and seem another.” Beatrice started, lowering her gaze to the fire, as if she fearea her soul might look from ner eyes and play the traitor, “Ido not understand you !" she murmured. “I will endeavor to explain,” returned the Fary, ‘avely. “You are the mistress of my household. oa receive our visitors, preside at our balls and Parties, and fulfil your duties to society. But day after day, evening afier evening, you mysteriously but yourself up in your own apartments, seeing no ‘one, replying to no summons or messages, giving no evidence of life, It is as if your chambers were your tomb. I have frequently knocked at your door Without eliciting a response. The last time I was at- tacked by the gout I sent for you, an1 yet you did not come to me for hours, ana did bot even seud to in. poy So What is the explanation of N us, Beat ter stood motionless and silent. “I have tried to answer the question for myself." said the ni after waiting in vain forareply, “If it were possible for you to leave the house so contin- ually without my knowledge | should believe that hall your time was spent away from home. I have remarked that these seclusions do not occur at our country seat. Do you — these missing hours in opium-eater’s dreams? again ask you, Beatrice, what is the meaning of these seasons of dumbness and silerice The Lady Beatrice lifted her head, turning her face to the light. Her countenance was of marbie white- ness, save that in her cheeks burned @ acariet giuw. Her eyes were like glowing @una. Mer manner be- trayed an intense agitation and excitement, show. ing that her whole nature was in commotion, “I have no explanations to fing father,” she said, You & tremor of passion uw ing her cold tones. Dromenaders, and the theatres are also | « what suspect The mewspaver men are mostiy gathered | nothing to aad. Dense sey hing eae vag, ca in the Boston Museum, where there has been a co robal But do not forget that lam your daugh- imentary entertainment tendered them by Mi Keer Field, who was himself formerly a promin ot atlache: of the Boston press. Resceay FROM DROWNING.—Last evening Francis McConnell, a boy aged twelve years, fell from a Grand street ferryboat, was ho ding to the Thirteenth preoincs station house in an exhausted condition, ahd subsequently to bis home, No. # Man- Batten evreet. s 4 » $$$ i ach cc Me teem etn aie tenes S SRE NEESE SESS. “a a ne ne rea ERI aE ET STE CA I ee a Ca TL a A I ES TE ne Ce NEAR Oe a a nen o T, a8 proud as yourself. I know I would rather die than sully the name I bear, Let that suffice |” She stood erect in her imperial beauty, like one Without a trace of weakness in heart or soul. At that moment the curtains were again lifted and Lord Adlowe entered the apartment. There was & peculiar gleam in his eyes and a sin- | ay smile about his mouth; he had been a listener ‘0 most of the conversation between the father and aaughter. Lord Adlowe was inthe prime of manhood, He His one were evidently anxious and troubled, || was handsome and years of travel, with strange adventures in far off Nand had con ted @ halo of romance to his character, His complexton had been darkened by exposene to wind and sun. His hair was light and eyes were pale, cold and cruel, aud had im them at times @ Wicked light. Be eae gg ne IS HH He had returned impoverished in purse, hany \pered by debts, worn out by dissipation, with the fixed re- solve of urging to a consummation his claims upon beauty, his face wy er of the Lad hy ars es ¢) auushed with eh t eas gnd he came forward rap) extending both ee es did a fs Lore ampton, del ‘bhe Lady atrice permitted ner feturned suitor to clasp her cold, jeweiled hands, greeting bim Ce Ittely, even Kindly, her manner warming under his manifestations of extreme delight, She welcomed red slightly under lis gaze of him home and colo: eager admiration, > i . he Earl, éncour: by her gracious manner, be- gan to hope that his conversation had had the de- sired effect and that Me daughter mignt be persuaded t ho) to gratify his deares' a cacialpesageant™Ge F “You ust exctise abfiipt, nannounced ét- trance,” said Lord Adlowe, smiling, when the t- ings were concluded, “I toid the porter, who knew me at once, that | would announce myself, as I used todo, Ifind the place unchanged; not so, I hope, its hostess.’ He looked earnestly at his lovely hostess, whose manner had resumed its usual hauteur and reserve. “LT never change, Lord Adlowe,” she replied, sig- nificantly. “I! have always been your friend and well wisher, Iam still the same.” “Nothing more?’? whispered the guest, in a low and eager tone. ‘The increasing coldness of the Jady’s manner was sufticient answer, Nothing daunted by this recepiion, Lord Adlowe exerted himself to please. Beatrice unbent slightly as she became interested in lis remarks. His lord- ship had changed during Ms long absence; many of his former prominent tratts seemed subdued, and his hostess began to believe that she should find hia n interesting study. In the midst of her musings and speculations dinner was announced. The Lady Beatrice took the arm of the guest, and the three descended to the dining room, a handsome apartment, brilliant with lights and fire and flowers. The repast was seasoned with witty remarks from Lord Adlowe, ‘The lady listened, smiled and replied; but there was no heart in her words or her muth, The dinner over, the guest escorted the Lady Beatrice to the door, and then returned to his wine and the com- panionship of the Ear. “The Lady Beatrice is more beautiful than ever |"? he finally sighed. ‘And sne 1s scarcely less cold than when she drove me from her.’? “Do not despair, my boy,” responded the Farl, kindly. “Idon’t pretend to understand Beairice, but there is no ice that the sun cannot meit. 1 be- lieve she will yet reward your lopg and unwavering devotion—” “I Know she will! said Lord Adlowe, with a nile, and witha strange ligt leaping to his eyes. can find my way to her heart at last, my lord. In than six months I shall be your son-in-law. I will go up to the Lady Beatrice and endeavor to win her favor, while you are occupied wita your wine and cigars.” He excused himseif, and hastened back to the drawing room. The Lady Beatrice sat before the fire alone. She looked up at his entrance, greeting him with a smile. Drawing an easy chair as pear to ber as be dared, Lord Adlowe bent upon her a gaze of adoring love, The Lady Beatrice moved uneasily under his gaze, itseeming to her to be scrutinizing as well as ad- miring. She fancied he was trying to read her soul, and she took up the small hand screen she had be- fore held, saying, with an appearance of polite in- terest: “I understood my father to say, Lord Adlowe, that ‘on are stopping at a hotel. Is not your uncle, Lord evelyan, in town ?7? “No, he sat Trevelyan Park,’ was the response. “Tshail run down to see him to-morrow. 1 hear that my uncle is more miserly thanever. The town house is let, and he confines himself closely to the park, leading a savage and morose existence.” “It have heard the samme,” replied the Lady Bea- trice. ‘Lord Trevelyan has changed greatly during the past ifteen years. You will visit him to-mor- row?"? - “Yes, My uncle is very exacting and would hard- ly forgive me if he knew that I had visited even here before coming to him. People would talk, too, if [ were not attentive to nim,’ and Lord Adlowe smiled; ‘for at his death he will leave me one of the richest men In the Kingdom. You know that m claims upon him are second only to those of Geoff. rey Trevelyan, my cousin. Had Geoffrey lived I should have little to look forward to." “Lord Trevelyan is fonder of you than he was of your cousin, is he not?” asked tae Lady Beatrice, staring into the fire. “He professes to be,’ was the reply. “I hope he is, for he hated poor Geoffrey as if he had been a deadly enemy. Geoffrey had no tact to manage him, Poor fellow ! Geoffrey was not fitted to cope with the world. If he had lived he would have covered his name with disgrace—"? “Not so? interrupted the Lady Beatrice, a hot flush glowing in her cheexsand anangry light shining in her eyes. “Geottrey was a wild, passion- ate boy with great faults, perhaps, bat 0 with great virtues—* © “Do you number his assault upon and robbery of his uncle among the former or the latter’? qnestion- ed Lord Adlowe, with tronical emphasis. *ff Geof: trey were alive,” he added, impressively, “‘my uncle would leave no eifort untried to bring him to pun- ishment. Lord Trevelyan is very vindictive in his disposition.” “He might forgive and formet, since he believes Geoffrey dead,” said the Lady Beatrice ia a low tone and with averted face. “It is seventecn years since we heard that Geoffrey Was dead, is it not?’ asked Lord Adiowe, as if Tousingly, but with the keenest and most furtive of glances directed towards his hostess. “We received u Brazilian paper—I think it was “Brazilian; at any rate it was South American—with a notice of his death in its columns, We also received a letter from some Spaniard or Portuguese stating that Geoffrey had died at his house and had begged him with his last breath to write tidings of his fate. There was included in the letter a certificate of burial. Upon these data we believed Geotfrey to be dead.” “The evidence was conclusive enough, I should think,” said the Lady Beatrice, in a loud voice, “Of course It Was conclusive,” replied Lord Ad- lowe, “But I have doubts sometimes of its truth. What if the whole story of the death were an impos- ture? Geoffrey kuew that our uncle hated bpim enough to pursue him over the whole earth, He would not have dared return to England, for fear of imprisonment and disgrace. It is not probable that Geoffrey should have forged proofs of his death, changed his name, and settled down somewhere in a distant country to await news of my uncie’s death. Lord Trevelyan dead, Geoffrey can walk the earth again without fear, a rich and Utied man.” “A rather fanciful explanation, | think,’ said the Lady Beatrice, in 4 voice firmer than usual. “If it were true, and Geoffrey were to return, you would not be pleased, 1 suppose.” Lord Adiowe's face darkened at the bare possibil- ity of such an event. “Geoftrey’s return woud impoverish me,” he said. “ile is Lord Trevelyan’s brother's son, and of course the nearest heir. If Geoffrey were to come back at my uncle’s death he would mherit the Treveiyan title and fortune. But eighteen | ot silence, aud the proofs too—surely he is jead 1 He uttered the last words in a tone of relief. apprehensions had been quieted by the manner of the Lady Beatrice, years he had been tormented by occasional doubts of his cousin’s death, and he ally persuaded himself that if living Geoffrey Trevelyan would have communicated the fact co his former betrothed, He had watched her keenly and osely, and had become convinced that she believed frey dead. o he next words of the Lady weatrice confirmed is Op bie, cf His ¢ Was worn out by his long sea eties, He ventured out Im- pruden he day after landing, exposing himself to the Doonday sun, We know that Geoffrey went to South America, for he wrote & long letter within an hour of his going ashore. He wrote to his uncle by the sam t, but Lord Trevelyan declared ed the-letter, Some one the never ve intercepted tt. Lord Adiowe flushed guilttly. “ZT have aiways thought that Geoffrey had some enemy who incited his uncle against hiu,” pursued the Lady Beatrice. ‘When Geoffrey was a lad his uncle loved him. He grew to hate him as he grew older, but it must have been because some envious person «poke falsely against poor Geoffrey, making nis fanits into crimes, and inducing Lord Trevelyan to believe that the boy desired his deata.” Lord Adiowe moved uneasily in his chair. “We have chosen an unpleasant subject to con- verse tipon, Lady Beatrice,” he said, “Let us dis- miss it Irom our thoughts, Geoffrey is dead. I have come back to England to be your suitor. I cannot live without you, Beatrice,” and his voice became Tuli and passionate. “I have loved you for years, Give me a chance to prove my love. 1 will wait weeks, months——" “My answer then wonld be the same as now, Lord Adlowe, and it is now what it was five years since, 1 cannot marry you.” ‘I refuse to accept that answer!’ declared Lord Adiowe, with flerce emphasis, ‘You shai) yet look kindly upon me—yet promise to become my wife |" The Lady Beatrice looked at him haughtily, her eyes Hashing with anger at his persistence in offer- ing his unwelcome love. She met @ gaze, strong, ferce and passionate, She saw that he was in earn- est—that he would not take @ negative answer, She comprehended that to reject him now, as sie was tempted to do, would be to make him her implaca- bie enemy. She feit vaguely that he had it in bis power to work her woe, “You will take time for your decision?" he asked, in soft, persuasive accents, and suddenly changing his manner. The instinct of self-preservation was strong in the breast of the Lady Beatrice, It was awakened now, she knew not why. With a feeling of danger strong Within her she resolved to temporize with him, “I will take time, Lord Adiowe, to consider your offer,” she said. ‘Since you prefer to wait you shall have my answer some montha hence,” Lord Hampton entering at this jancture the Lad: Beatrice embraced the opportunity of escay with emotion, which both the gentlemen mi and which both interpreted favorably to ber suitor, ahe @ided quietiy from the room. CHAPTER Il. A SBARTLING DISCOVERY, Happy are they that hear their detraction And can put them to mending.—SHAaksreaR®. Lord Hampton and his gueg} drew their chairs ety entered rather snoppor the Earl, smt!ing. “I saw by your and manner that you had been renew! our sal to her, and | fancied she not of elygn you a declc Ary Tancy,”” responded Lora ht , Adlowe,” said Beatrice’s led oo 0 rice has promised to con- aunt oncrana que an answer when J shall eek for ie. ee eas Ciaran Baie eacouragement 3 33 ' men . x ciazeinie erg yer “The Lady ‘ " Beatrice meant it as such,’? 2 “I scarcely know what to say, I am so astonished,” declared Lord Hampton. Bet fore you came in this evening I spoke to trice about you and she de- clared. a8 she had done a thousand times before, that she should never m: Only jast week she refused the Duke. of ford, one of the best England. And now she encourages you ve that she will become your wife.’? “It does seem strange that I should succeed ‘Where 80 many have failed,” assented the guest, with a gat ed oo) “For the present, of course, we must keep the fact to ourselves. That taken my proposals into consideration fitkea tt necessary for me to deciare to you prospects.”? the Earl. “I have “It is not mecessary,” iv known you from your boy’ 00d, Adlowe, and am more than satisfied with the possibility of a near relationship between us. 1 know orno one whom I would so gladly welcome as @ son-in-law.” “Thanks; but the explanation must be made, nevertheless, First, Iam the inheritor of the ttle and debts of my late father;” and Lord Adiowe’s tones were decidedly ironical. “i have been some- Wiat dissipated, and travel and too great profuse- ness of expenditure have somewhat cramped my resources. That is one side of the picture. Contrast against it the fact that | am tae deciared heir of my uncie Trevelyan, and there it a handsome offset i my shortcomings. I am a great favorite with Lord Trevelyan, and miserly as are his hapits — he is always fenerous to me.?? “Lord Trevelyan has the fortune of a prince,’ re- plied the Earl. “When you come into the Trevelyan estates you Will be one of the richest noblemen in the kingdom. With your un-le’s wealth uniicd to Beatrice’s tortune you will have a colossal income, I should like to see the two fortunes wedded.” “And so should I,” said Lord Adiowe. ‘I love her, my lord, and I snail nave no object in life save to win her.’? “My influence shall be used in your favor,” de- clared the Earl. “lam getting old, and want tosee Beatrice settled before I die. You are the first per- son she ever permitted to hope for her favor since Geottrey Trevelyan died, and I believe that she will yet become your wife.” Lord Adiowe’s eyes sparkled and his face beamed with hope. He knew well enough that the Lady Beatrice detested him and that he could never win her save through her fears. He saw that ne had, in some inexplicable way, touched ae those fears in his recent interview, else she would have given him @ haughty and curt dismissal. To solve the mystery surrounding her was now his object. He had that mystery in his thoughts as he said, careiessly:-- “Will not the Lady Beatrice return to us this even- ing, my lord?” “I—{f think not,” stammered the Earl, his face flushing. “Beatrice has retired to her room, and she never likes to be disturbed.’” “But I uuderstood that she was to return.” “Oh, that makes a difference,” said Lord Hamp- ton, his brow clearing. ‘I will send @ Message—no, T’ll go myself and request her presence, Excuse me a moment, Adlowe.”” ‘ He arose and departed on his errand, Lord Adiowe stole after him to the door, listened, and then crept half way up the stairs, from which point he couid hear the proceedings of the Earl. Lord Hampton hastened along the nope hall to a suit of rooms immediately over the drawing room. He knocked apa the principal door, first softly, then more loudly. No one answered him. He turned the knob, but the door was locked. He called his daughter's name softly, yet in a penetrating voice, There was no response. There were otier doors along the hall, opening into the different chambers comprised in the suit of the Lady Beatrice, and at each one of these the Earl Knocked softly, calling upon his daughter's name. ‘Still there came back no reply. i The Earl's face was convuised with agitation. “What is this mystery? he whispered, leaning inst the door. ‘Is Beatrice wrapped in the thrall of some delirium producing drug or liquor? Is she awake? What is she doing?” Again he listened for a token of movement within the rooms. They were as soundiess as ‘a tomb. ‘‘rhere 13 no use in lingering here,” he thongat. “Beatrice Will not make her appearance again to- night. It 1s always so when she shuts herself up in this manner.’? He sighed 30 heavily that the insptration was al- most a moan. Then he moved from the door towards the stalr- vase, ““Lord Adlowe noiselessly mitted on before him, entering the drawing room without having been seen. ‘The Earl descended the stairs and paused in che Jower hali to command his features and to repress his agitation. He fancied he had succeeded, when he opened the door and entered the presence of his guest; and certalnly Lord Adlowe’s unconcerned manner went to confirm the opinion. “Beatrice regrets that she cannot join us again this evening,” said Lord Hampton, with an appear- ance of sincerity, ‘The dear girl was agitatea by her recent interview with you, and having‘a head. ache—" ‘les are necessary,” interrupted Lord the Earl instinctively hesitated in his peec! ‘IL shoula be sorry to disturb her under the circumstances, I will call upon her after my return from the oer? The Earl sighed. It was hard for him, with his clear tious of integrity and honor, to offer these false explanations. “Beatrice will not be visible before three to-mor- row,” he said. “These town diasipations tell upon her. Tam going to take her into the country as soon as the Warm weather comes. We shall be your neighbors then, Adlowe, for Trevelyan Park is not many miles distant from our country home, You Will stop at the Park, | suppose.’’ Lord adlowe replied tn the aMrmative. The Earl resumed his scat, and the two pursued their con- versation with an appearance of interest in it; but all the while the father’s heart wandered to the mystery of his daughter's str seclusion, and ail the while Adlowe studied upon the same subject. “Iflcould only get @ clue to Beatrice’s secret!’ thought the quest. Fate seemed inclined to throw the desired clue into his hands. The two gentiemen were in the midst of an apparent- ly absorbing discussion concerning a person for whom neither cared, when a liveried porter, whose duty it Was to stand near the entrance door, burst into the drawing room, his face the picture of wildest alarm. “If you please, mny lord,” he gasped, scarcely con- scious of what he was saying, “there is smoke com- ing from the Lady Beatrice’s dressing room. Some- thing must be on fire within.” The Earl leaped to his feet. “The room on fire!’ he ejaculated. “Yes, my lord. I'll give alarm.” No" commanded his master, sternly. “Say no- thing to your feliow servants. Stay in the lower hall.” lordship pushed aside the astounded servitor, dashed up the stairs three steps at a time, and rushed towards his daughter's rooms, Lora Adiowe followed at his heels. ‘There was smoke in the hall, issuing from one of the rooms of the Lady Beatrice. Clearly somethg was burning within. A group of servants, anxions and frightened, atood near the door. The Earl ordered them away pe- remptorily, and they dared not disobey nua. The; flied away through the various passages vowar their own domains. “Go down stairs, Adlowe,"’ said the Earl. “I am going to break the door in!” “T will help you!” was the brief response, The eyes of the two men imet, The Earl did not dare to say that he knew not what should meet his gaze when the door opened. He had neither tine nor inclination to explain. Submitting to the una- voldable presence of Adiowe, he said;— “Come, then; put Four shoulder to the door 1" Adiowe obeyed. The Earl lent his assistance, The door yielded and burst open, The two men rushed into the room. it was full of smoke, 80 dense that not an ovject within the apartment was perceptible. Coughing and choking, the Bar! crossed the floor and drew up the windows, estaolishing a draft of air. A Lord Adiowe quletly c.osed the door, and stood ainst It, “athe apartment Cleared rapidly, and the intruders soon observed case of the disturbanes. A fire was burning inthe zrate, and one of the live coals had snapped out, finding lodgment in the thick ptic of a velvet rag. Here it had smouldered aud burned with sickening Odor ald heavy smoke. The Karl Cay up the rug, rolled it tightly, stamping Out the fire amd then flung it from him. Lord Adlowe looked cuvously around the apart- ment. It was 9 dressing room fit nr an empresa. But the owner of ii this spindor was not there. Lord Adiowe darted quick, swutinizing giances to the various couctes and chairs, vut the form of the Lady Beatrice did not greet his Vsion, ig i One of the other room." he thought: “1 mean to see her before I leave then.) He had scarcely made this resolve when the Bari wea ire te extinguished, Adiowe. May thanks for your assistance, Levus return to the drawing i. rorabat the Lady Beatrice—"’ ‘Ja in one OF the other rooms, of course. edt her boudoir or bedchamber;” and Earl lookedtrom it to the left, the dreasingyroom occupyng @ position between the two rooms Deg. jhe must be suffocated with this smoke,’ Lord Adiowe, adhering to his resolve. “Per bape. 1s lying on the floor in @ swoon. rew even paler. He looked at his gnest Pa the Lady Beat But ‘he ‘couldn his iene ire yaaa raat, “Remain here, Adiowe, while I look in the bou- le moved towards the front room, opened the door, and passed in, Lord Adiowe, irm in hig wold pyrpopp, also ap- au straight, No form lav within the dainty, per. "™2¢d sheets: no impress of a figure was visible anywhere. “How strange!” muttered the father. ‘Where can Beatrice be? She must be in ber bathroom.” He knocked at the door of the bathroom. No one answered. He looked in. No one was there. “Not here !”” exclaimed the Earl. in complete as- tonishment, ‘Her doors are all locked, to give the pmppessign that she is here. She must have quitted the housé, But where could she have gone? And when? And how? He went to her wardrobe and closets, but the bon- nets, shawls, and mantles of the Lady Beatrice wate all there. He knew well the various articles of his daughter’s wrappings, but not a shaw) orcloak that ever seen her wear was missing. The only evidence that threw any light upon the subject was the discovery of the dress she had worn at dinner. The cr msn Velvet robe lay in a heap on Ee floor of a closet, as if it had been hurriedly cast ere, Lord Hampton renewed his search, looking every- where, but in vain. ‘The fact was incontrovertible—the Lady Beatrice was gone! “ This, then,” said the unhappy father, is the se- cret of my daughter's mysterious seclusions ! She pretends to be shut uv here when she Is in reality elsewhere. I comprenend now why she always re- fuses to employ a maid! The mystery is deeper than ever. Where is she? Why has she gone out so se- cretly? How did she go unseen ?”” He groaned 1n the anguish of his heart. Lord Adlowe, still standing in the doorway, looked as if a great, good fortune had fallen to him. He had gained a clue—simple and frall, but still a eee the mystery enveloping Lord Hampton's jaughter. The Earl straggled with his emotions, gained a facutious calmness and slowly returned to the dress- ing room. He found his guest standing near the door, evidently waiting the signal for departure. “Beatrice is not injured, Adiowe,” he said, quietly, not lifting his gaze. “She will not return to us this evening. Let us go down.” He secured the door, so that it could not be opened by any prying servant, aud the two descended to the drawing room. Lord Adlowe thought it best not to prolong bis visit, and took his leave. «The Hampton mystery deepens,” he muttered, as he descended the steps of Hampton House, setting out for the hotel at which he was temporarily stop- ping. “It is no vulgar and degrading habit that en- slaves the Lady Beatrice—no opium eating, nothing of that kind. She’s gone, and for years has been in the habit of absenting herself in this strange man- ner. Where does she go? Can it be that Geoffrey is living and that she meets him elsewhere, thus liv; ing a double life, as I so long ago suspected? I mast resolve these horrible questions. { must watch— hire a detective—give up my whole soul to this in- quiry, I must discover something that will force her to marry me !? The above is all of this story that will be published in our columns, The continuation of it from where it leaves off here can be found only in the New York Ledger, which 18 for sale at all the bookstores and news depots. Ask for the number dated July 3, and in it you will find the continuation of this beautifal tale.” The Ledger has the best stories of avy paper in the world; and Henry Ward Beecher, James Par. ton and Fanny Fern have articles in every number. Aw SMITH’S NEW YORK PALE ALE. \ Yrize medal awarded, Exposition, 1867. Brewery, 240 West Eighteenth sireet, between Seventh and Fighth avenues. * + *______iwportant—. ° TO EUROPEAN TRAVELLERS. PARIS, LONDON, BERLIN, VIENNA. A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY OF MODERN SCIENCE. THE SEINE. The river that supplies Paris with water contains large quantities of limestoue. Not only travellers and strangers, but the native ion of Paris, suffer the most distressing annoyance from its powerful diuretic and weakening effects ‘on the kidneys, bladder and bowels. 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MISCELLANEOUS, eae _DOUBLE | Posen ovouk carn narnnnnnnnnnnnnes Proached the entrance and looked into the room in {or MINERAL SPRINGS. cretion. was unccoupled, ADIRONDAUK ‘The suitor of the Lady Beatrice retreated as soon OR IRON as he made the discovery, while Lord Hampton —: stood bewildered under the gleamingégas-lamps. MINERAL SPRING WATER, When the Earl came ont Adiowe met him with an rr inquiry as to the state of his daughter. OF WHITEHALL, N. ¥. HE, ie. her nedchom hee, said the Earl briefly, } the strongest and most active mineral and medicinal water cy opened § the door, entering a sleeping cnet in Europe or America. Its effects are marvellous in the cute wi i hed the hed, parting the lace curtains. | of Bright's dsease of the Kidneys, gravel, diabetes melitun Wise L Adlons stood ry the doorway, watching him | srangury torpor of the liver, chrontc diarrhea, and all dim The tty lace-friliea pillows Were plump and | eases of the urinary organs, and in all cases of genera! de round, "the: witte satin easpread swogthy and bility, female weakness, and cervous prostration, 800 etme “Ses pada éular. WHITEHALL, N, ¥. Ihave proved the Adirondack Mineral Spring wateron @ number of persons of both sexes. Its pathogenitic effects are principally on the geuito-urinary organs. Hence itis @ specific remedy in many chronic diseases of the above mene tioned organs, among which chronic nephritis, cystitis, dia® betes, melitus, strangury and chronic blennorrhagia. Under my own observation it has proved curative ina number of instances. I hat ? by the use of this alone. This water |s also a sbalybeate, in which the tron is held im also cured an obstinate case of Impotence solution in a highly active form, it being combinate with care bonic acid, Hence it will prove beneficial in many of thous cases where there is poverty of the blood, such as anemia, chlorosis, &c. H. K. BENNETT, M. D. WuiTematt, N. Y., April 8, 1869, yy + y 8, & %, ny: &, £ Ne < < CHALYBEATE. \ ————. (PBB ADIRONDACK SPRING WATER, AT WHITEHALL, N. ¥., contains more remarkable properties than any other knows mineral water either in Europe or America, It ie a gpeatet diuretic than any otber existing remedy, WHITEHALL, N. Y. ‘The following certificate of Samuel Shumway, M. D., Pere manent Member of the New York State Medical Society and a member of the National Medical Association has been ree received by the Adtrondack Mineral Spring Company :— oe WHITEHALL, April 5, 1869. Having been acquainted with the Adirondack Spring Water from its first discovery, and used ft in my own pere son for the purpose of testing its pathogenitic effects, im other words, its power of producing morbid changes in the living organism and also ita therapeutical effects in disease. came {o the following conclusion, viz.:—Its general effects are stimulant, tonic and diuretic; in excessive doses pro- ducing headache, giddiness, oppression ‘of the stomach ang ‘an trritation of the urinary organs. In proper medicinal doses it promotes digestion, increases the flow of urine, gives tone to the capillary vessels of the skin and is a healthy stinn ulant to the secretory and excretory organs generally. Hendd its utility in a great variety of chronic diseases.” All diseases of the urinary organs, including the kidneys= when disorgantzation has not already taken place—are, 60 far as experience has gone, invariably removed by this water, | | All chronie cutaneous eruptions, blotches on the face, In- cluding that intractable eruption, Acne Punctate, have been entirely removed from the face, Chronic Rheumatism has yielded to its benign influence. That common and troubles some female complaint, Leicorrhoma, after restating the usual remedies, has yielded from the use of this water. A few remarks on the mode of using the water are appro- priate here. According to the analysis of the water made by Professor Collier, of Vermont University, it contalha more | | active medicinal properties than any other known mineral waters, Hence it should be used strictly medicinally an@ not asa beverage. It may be used externally to advantage In salt rheum and other cutaneous diseases, It is the§vest tonic known for the hair, Two cases under my own observation deserve particus lar notice; one, aman past middle age, aMicted with chronie rheumatism and the most inveterate eruption over bis whole f ace and scalp, and bald for three years, by the use of this water Is nearly well of the rheumatism and eruption, and bas afresh crop of hair covering the previously bald surface. Another man, nearly the same age, with chronic rheumatism and baldness, of eighteen years’ standing, ts relieved of his rheumatism and afine crop of hair is perceptible starting from bis previously bald sealp, In these cases the water was sed internally and externally. SAMUEL SHUMWAY, M. D. ~~ WaTRHALL, April 5, 1989, Having the une of the | pains A Be patients for vi been. wonderfully ef relief of some and the great alleviation of others. Among those who were cured by the use of the water — cases of diabetes (In which It seerna a nie cyte trangury, torpor of the iver, ia sae of neck of chronie | | | rheum, chronic eruption of the hi ch aa wives (fiuor ‘albua\slocrat ‘use menses, suppression of ‘Assong tne canee preety benefited were, one ease of ie on ceration of the corneny ‘one of failing off of the alr, ey disease of the kidneys, enlargement of the spleep, cb: a of the liver, "Tam fully convinced this water will prove a boon of health ho may be afflicted with any of the above mentioned EDWIN W. GORDON, M. D. From the Hon. George C. Burdett, of Troy. Troy, May 26, 1869. O. F. Davin, Req. = DEAR SIR more than five years I have been troubled with Kidney disease, and within the last year it became troublesome as well ar painful. About two mouthe since viaited your town on business and heard of some traly woa- derful ‘cases being cured by the use of the mineral lately discovered in your vill -I procured the water, 1 drank with most wonderful and unex Rane Orrice Puanrx Morvab Liem } NRURANOR COMPANY, HT INN | 445 BROADWAY, ALWANY, N. fs 18, 1869, ORNts—1 send you thie day, fay C ase, which ploase fill and return to No, 1 corner Clinton ave~ Due. After a thorough and of the differs jatar va tes baa ag rior mm hy fall and winter of 18681 overworked om errr fac ca Peel cos cetadl a ete i {Zire aouak the water” ‘Uhree’ times suis bere cera Fi: now weigh 170 polunda, and sonaider ia who will giadiy aval! themuecives of the va waters of the Adiron Yours very ¥. B. RULE. SEND FOR CIRCULAR, SOLD WHOLESALE AND RETAIL BY JONN ¥. HENRY, NO. # COLLEGE PLACER, X. fT. DR. SAMUBL SHUMWAY, OHICAGO, Ih A. GIBSON & CO, CLEVELAND, O10,