The New York Herald Newspaper, November 28, 1874, Page 6

NEW YORK HERALD, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1874.-WITH SUPPLEMENT, ——— ALTAMIRA; OR, SEVERED LIVES.| A STORY OF A WILD LOVE MATCH. CHAPTER. I. ‘Two were seated in @ great dim room, | Mrony temrpaced by fits and starts with gleams | BMarengns. The large jows showed a@ pale, @ark sky, ip which bw’ Was giving place to fight, and across which the brown branches of the trees, rough with the buds of March, tossed ‘wilaly in @ hurricane of wind, burdened with intermittent blasts of rain—rain that dashed fiercely against the windows a handful ata time, then ceased till some new cloud was ready to dis- oni tte angry shower. Someth! fiercely per- and furious was in the storm. It looked and fort like something not addressed to the world in general, but aimed tndividually by some angry spirit of the elements at the ie Who lived here high up above the brawi K amid the brown wintry woods at Rosscri jouse. The drawing room was large, lofty and full of | old-iashioned furniture, which would have en- | chanted a connoisseur. The two ladies, who were | 48 oniy Occupants, were scarcely discernibie at | rst, though the frelight, gleaming about amang | ‘the still life, caught here a green reflection from a | wonderful cabinet Of rarest Verni-Mariin, and there entangled itself in the bevelled sides of a | strange old mirror, used to reflecting wizards, It | ‘was more easy to make out these accessories of | existence than it was to identify the two voices | Which occupied and reigned over this still and aarkling chamber. They were in one corner of the room, near the fire. One, the prevailing | voice, was aoft, but strong, with the vigor | im it of mature lite, just roughened here and there by a touch of age, which save | a8 an aigre doux of distinct character, and came from sn ample dark shadow in a great chaif, turned toward the fire. The other, | Which gave jorth only movosyliabic sounds of | assent or wonder, sweet and tender, but feevle, | Delonged to a smaller person near the first, and facing her—whose countenance, turned towurd the window, showed like a pale whiteness in tne dark, This was the central light, the bighest tone | am the picture, except gt og? gleaming of the sky | from the windows, and the fitful red fash {rom | the | fire. “Richard’s story,” said the stronger voice, | <aeen be supposed to ve very interesting to | any but ourselves. If 16 18 for mere curiosity, | ” “Curiosity !"—there was @ tone of reproach in | the so/t repetition—a reproach and an appeal. “Phat was unkind, I did not mean it. { meant imterest, friendship; but Mary, Mary, Iriendship is weak, and interest @ poor bit feeble echo of feeling to them that are all bound up in one life as I have Deen in my son.” Here there was a little panse, and then the ounger Voice answered, laltering, ‘i have known iim all my life. Lhave seen few men but him——” ‘This was preliminary to the sore which old Laay had begun to tell when I opened to you, ntle reader, the door of this great dim room, She was deep in it by the time we shadows en- among the shadows, to listen. And most ol Us Can figure to ourselves what a mother would ‘De likely to say of her only chila—the child not of tere her youth even, wnich puts a kind of equality be- | tween mother and son, and brings them together, | as it were, upon the tabie land of life, sooner or Jater—but the child of her mature age, and, tuere- tore, always a otnld to her. What she said of nim I need not repeat. The reader will make acquain- ‘ance with the man for himself, a dimerent crea. ture irom the Man as seen through his mother’s e gaid tie oid lady, who was old enough not oniy to Fetain @ Scotch accent, but to use Occasionally a ‘word peculiar to the Nortn—“but, Mary, you are mot a bit girlie unacquainted with the worid. You wii! recognize Richard in this that he married the woman. God forgive me! I’m ee tempted to think sometimes that vice is less deadly for this world than virtue, You know what most men Would have done ; they would have taken the gisl ag they would have gathered a flower, and either she nor one beiongiang to her knew better, nor expected better; but my Richard, God biess him, was a fool, Mary, he was a fool! His fatner gays so, and what can I say diferent’ He has always been @ fool in that way, thank God! He married the woman, and then ie sent to me when it Was all over, and nothing could be mended, to come and see, lor God’s sake, What was to be done.” “And you went??? “I went alter a struggle: I could not thole the | creature; tue very name Oo! her was odious to me, It was a ridiculous bame—a play actor’s name. They called her Altamira. What do you think of that tor Richard’s wife? I thought she was some shopkeeper’s daughter—some scheming, dressing, | woman, that had made ber scheme to | hatl-bre marry him because his fatner was Lord Esksiae— though Heaven knows it's a poor enough lordship ‘When all issaid. Perhaps we women are too apt to take this View; naturally, when such a thing happens, we think it the woman’s fault, the —_ doing. But Mary, Mary, when | saw the “rou freed her,”’ said the other, with a sighing ound in her low voice, ‘from the blame ?” “the Diame|” cried the old lady, with some impatience; then, sinking ber voice low, she said burriedly—*‘the girl was Do shopkeeper’s daugiter, Bot even a cottage lass, nor out of a ploughman’s house, or weaver’s house, or the lowest you can | hink. She was out of no house at sue was a tramp. Mary,do you know what that means?— @ creature hanging avout the roads and fields, at fairs ana races, wherever the roughest, and the ‘Wildest, and the most miserable cougregate—that ‘was Richard’s wiie.”” , Lady Eskside 1 “You may well say oh! As for me, if I had ever fainted in my Itfe 1 would have Jatnted then, Was a beautiful creature; but tre sigbt of her brought a sickness to my very heart. Sue was like @ wild hunted thing, irigntened to death forme and everything that was civilized—iooking out ot her wild black eyes to see how she conld escape— Shrinking back not to be touched, as if she thougnt 1 would give her a biow. Blame! you might as well blame a deer that tt let itselt be taken, poor, Donnie, panting, senseless thing! J blamed no- body, Mary; I was just appailed, neither more nor Jess, at the man’s folly that pad done it. Think of son of mine having so little command of himself. The madness of It, for it was no question of mak- ing @ lady of her, a woman that could take bis mother’s ‘place. She, had to be tamed first out of her gypsy ways—tamed like a wild beast, and Tanght to live in a house and wear decent clothes as she had never done in her life.” A low cry of dismay and wonder came from the Mswener’s lips, and a strange pang which nobody | knew of weot turough her heart—a pang inde- scribabie, mingled of misery, humiliation, and a Kind of guiity and bitter omg Soe though she ‘Was innocent enough. This was his choice, she said to berseif; and that sharp and stinging con- tempt—more paintul to herself than to the object o1.it—which a Woman sometimes permits herself to feei (or aman who has slighted her, shot throug the gentlest soul in the world. “] cannot tell yon,” eaid Lady Eskside, her voice sinking iow, so that her companion had to stoop Jorward to hear, “all that | went through. broke away rom us and got back to her people More than once. Our ways were misery and bon- dage to her. At first she had to pe dressed like a child—watebed like achild, Her husband had no Influence over her, and she was (rightened ior me; the moment she Was out of our sight her whole mind was busy with schemes to get away.” “But What reason—Wwhat motive’’—began the | other, jaivering. “None,” said Lady Eskside. “Listen, Mary, there was one thing. She was good, as people call good; there was no wickedness in her as a wo- map. ‘Was ignorant o!; harm. pen and whatever you may hear. 1 say it—Rich- ard’s mother—that cun have no motive to shield her, She wanted her freedom, nothing more. she ‘Was not an iil woman; nothing vad—in that way Was iu her head. She would have put uer knife into the Man Who spoke lightly to per as soon as Jook at him. She was proud in her way of belng Richard's wife. Sue feit the difference it made be- tween her and others. But sue was like a wild animal or bird. Sne would not be caged, and there War too deep an ignorance in her to learn. There ‘Was no foundation to oulid upou—neither ambition, nor pride, nor any jeeling that the lie of us ex- bat there was po harm—no pect to find.” “and was there no love?” The voice that made this inquiry trembled nd had a thrill i tt of Jeeling 80 mingled as to be indescribable—bitter- ness, Wonder. pity, and a sense of contrust more overwhelming than all. Lady Bakside did not reply at once. “Otten and often I’ve asked myself that questivn,” she said at length; “was there love? How can I teil? There are different kinds of love, Mary. You and Jeven would love very differently, let alone you and her. With you there would be no thought of anything but of the person loved-—” “Lam not at all in question, Lady Eskaide,” said the other, with the strangest delicate Laugnti- | ness. “| beg your pardon,” said the old lady, quickly. “You are right, my dear; there is no question of you. But «ill there are different kinus of love, while they were so much together; but it takes a | weariness and discomfort, to the dreaded door. long time to tame a savage; it takes a long time to = The aspect of the house was not encouraging, grait @ new stock upon a wild tree.” “and you have never seen her e. “( saw her when ber children were born. She was so far tamed th we id by the pe ye Sh ee Y said | rain, sat before the fire taikn Batural restramt of the circumstances,” Lady Eskside, “that I hoped she might be changed altogether, And she would talk a little— ot 80 Much as that one could find out how ber mind was working—but yet @ little—enough to swear by, and her voice was changed. It lost its wild sound and took finer modulations. You Know how particular Richard always was 1D all his ways—you remember nis voice }” ‘The other arew back her chair a little. Some- how the sudden reverence struck her like an arrow through and through. She tried with a choking, sobbing sensation to get out the word “Yea” member it! She seemed to hear it ae poohing eise, bt Kor "head acncd and swam and there was a ringing “ah!” Lady Eskside paused, with a wondering sense that something was going On In the dark | more potent than mere interest in her story. But after a while, a8 even @ story which is one’s own takes @ stronger hold upon one than the emotion Of another, however deep, she recommenced, go- ing back to herself. “Her voice had cbahged wonderfully. She spoke almost like an equcated rson—that gave me great hope. If thought, What with the children and what with this open- ing of new life in herself, that everything would be changed, and my heart was moved to her, When I leit I kissed the enildren, and for the first time I kissed her, and I promised to send her nurse—an excellent nurse I knew of—and came home quite hap yy. You recollect my coming home, and how prot ‘Was of the twins—the darlings. O Mary, Mary! little aia I knaow——” Mary put Out her nand and took that of her old friend, She was too much moved herselt to say anything. From this point she had a taint knowl- edge of the story, as everybody had. “The next I heard waa that she had disap- peared,” sald the old lady; ‘disappeared totally, waking the babies witn her. Richard went with me so far oh my Way home, and while he was ab- sent his wife disappeared. There is no other word for it; she disappeared and no one has ever heard of her again, 0, ‘ogg 9 what news for us all! There had en some gypsy wanderers, some Of her own class, about the pisos, we found out arterwards; and whether ney carried her off or she went of her own will abode knows. Sometimes I have thought she must have been carried away, but then they would not have taken the children; and some- times I have blamed mysell, and thougnt what I said about the nurse may have trightened her— God knows. We sought her everywhere, Mary, ag neither was the pore nies which the travelier re- ceived, In the poor little parlor, witn ite sanded floor, which was the better part of the establish- ment, two men, in wet coats steaming from the Joudly over their | little measure of whiskey, while Jean's voice rang | threugh the house as she went and came, in & | continuous and generally angry monologue. The | pew comer came up to her timidly, holding back the children, and asked in alow tone fora room with @ fire, where she and her children could rest “A room to yoursel’!? said | the mistress of the house; “set you up! | @re you better than other jolk, that ye canna | share and share alike? Sirs, this ade mista’en | her road. She thinks she’s at the il, where there’s plenty 0’ parlors and vate, rooms and | naebody to gang near them. re’s a’ the private Toom you'll get in my hoose. Eh, woman, canna ye stop the mouth o’ that grinning brat ¢ It’s cauid | and weet? Icanece that; but it needna deave | decent folk. Sit af from the fire and let the wo- | mao in, ye twa drunken brutes of men! What do Feng want there, dribbling and drinking and spend- iz your wives’ siller? Let the puir bit things get | near the fire. “a ‘Jean, youre the greatest randy in the parish,” sald one Of the men, getting up Th time to save himself from the ignominious posh aside which sent his companion, reeling, out of the way. The new comer drew her little boys to the fire, | took One on her knee and put ber arm rouad the | other, dryiog their little wet hands and faces | with @ corper of her shawl. They were subdued into quiet and comiort by the timé that Mrs. Mac- fariane’s servant lass, Jess, brought them their yea, oD @ battered old iron tray, with coarse | brown sugar and a jug of skim milk fanking the broken and smoky teapot. People in this poor woman’s condition of life are not fastidious, and the miserable beverage warmed and comforted the humble travellers. After some time and much further pariey with Jess, who was less peremptory and despotic than her mis- tress—though she, too, felt nerself the superior of 80 poor a guest—the woman and her children | Were aliowed to go up staire into @ dingy little | bedroom, a poor exchange for the fireside, which, | grimy as it was, had the comiort of warmth. Dear | Teader, your children or mine would—in our ap- | Prebensions, at least—nave died of such treat- | nent; but the tramp mother ts saved trom anxie- ) ties which trouble mothersan other circumstances. | She did all she could for them, and which of us | can do more? She had no dry clothes to put on | them; but she was not alrald of taking coid. She put them both on the bed, where they soon fell asleep, and covered them with a bianket. | They were damp, but warm, and rest was heavenly ittie wearied limbs, They were 3. yc Pernaps ttle not @ thing to remark to you,” | She | She | What wife meant, in any uigher sense, she | Always remember tiis, whatever may hap- | you may suppose. I went myself up and down | to their poor | over all the country, ana Richard went to | asleep as soon as their little heads touched the America, and 1 cannot tell you where. We had | pillow; and then she sat down by the bedside—to the police employed and every sort of person we | think. | How many processes get called by that name | which have little enough to do with thought! | The mother of these children had iived up to this time an almost entirely physical existenve— that is, she bad indeed gone through passions and miseries, and acted upon impulses which bad todo with the more ethereal part of her being. She had been moved to despair, which is (I humbly suppose, not knowing) a sensation be- yond the reach of any animal, save man; but never in all ter itfe bad she been moved before by a@ tremendous moral henge against her own will, ana in contradiction to all that she believed | to be for her own good and happiness, At other jan out the new wing | times she had eased the pain in her breast by could think o!, bat we bave never heard any more of her to this day.” “Nor of the children?” said Mary, drawing closer and holding still more tenderly her old iriend’s hand. “Nor of the children—two bonnie boys—O, my dear, two lovely boys!” cried the old |i with & sob, “I never saw euch sweet children. You may | fancy all 1 ave said to my old lord, when I came | home, about them: one was to have my property, | such as it ts, and the other the Eskside lands. A | ys |: We began to p! dying out. pi Nave always thought of building. O, Mary, ; sudden resolutions, sudden actions, all more or. now you Will understand how I can never laugh | less like the instincts 01 an animal, to get rid of when the gentlemen make a joke with my poor | some burden or trouble which oppressed her. old lord about the new wing!” But somehow—she could not tell how—an entirely “Dear Lady Eskside! but you must not—you | Dew tide had set in, mysterious and unaccounta- must not break down—for his sake.” vle, in her being. She nad been driven by an im- “No, [must never vreak down; andif I would | pulse which she hated, which she resisted, which I couid not,” said the old lady; “it’s not my na- | Made her miserable, to doa certain act which her ture. [must Keep up. Imust’stand firm till my | Wild and uninstructed mind took to be jus- lastday. But, Mary, though it 1s my nature, I | tice. Long she had struggled against it, have to pay for it, as one pays for everything. 0, | but gradually it had grown until it became the weary nights I have lain awake thinking { | too much for her and had driven her at last to heard her wandering ronnd the house, thinking I | the verge of the act which would make her miser- heard her at the window trying to get in. She | able, yet would be right. What a wonderiul moral knew nothing about Rosscraig—nothing; but, | revolution had been worked in @ creature so un- strange enough, [always think of her coming here, | taught asto seem without any moral nature at When the wind’s blowing as it blows to-night, | ail, before things came to this pass,I need not when the leaves are falling in autumn—O, Mary, | = And now she sat down, as she thought—to have you never heard a sound like steps going | think; not to think whether she would do it, but— ronnd and round the house ?”’ | which it was tobe? Her mind was wildly made “It 1s only the ieaves failing,” said Mary; and | Up, after many @ conflict, to submit to the wild then she added, suddenly, “I have beard every- | law of justice which bad seized upon her against thing that the heart hears,” her will. She was about to give up to “them Aha that’s more than the ears ever heard tell | that had the right to it” one of her children. of,’? said the old lady, “but, ob, to live for years | What she had to decide now was—which was it | and never hear that without thinking it may be be? them; never to see beggar bairns ona roadside | Poor goul! she had done much that was very without thinking it may be them; to go watching | foolish ant much that was wrong ie that be- } and waiting and wandering through your life, | cause she knew po better) in her life. She had startlug at every noise, trembling at every sud- | been a trouble to many better people than herself, den sound—God help us! what is that; what is | She nad spoiled one other existence as well as her that?” she cried, suddenly rising to her feet. | own, and thrown a cloud upon several hves—all “Oh, Lady Eskside |’ criea the other, rising, too, | Without knowing much what she was doing— and grasping her band with a nervous shuader. | Without meaning it—out of ignorance. Now here “It is nothing; nothing but the storm,” | she sat, absolute arbitress of two lives more, able | The old lady dropped heavily intoher seat again. 0 determine their course aimost as she “Sometimes | cannot bear it,” she cried; ‘some. Pleased, yet as ignorant as ever—as little times I cannot bear it! I get halt crazed atevery | aware of the real character of her responsibility, | sound.” | If ever woman meritea pity this poor woman | “The wind is very high,” said Mary, sootht | did—not only to give up one of her children, but | her, “and the Esk eee wild over the id to choose which to give up. Her brain, 80 dull, | and the storm tearing the trees, It must be the | yet so keen as it was, became, as it were, suffused | equinoctial gales. If you only heard them as we , With a mist of pain; ber head grew giddy, a film do, roaring and raging over the sea!” came before her ¢yes; asense of the intolerable For a few minutes the two ladies sat quite still, | overwhelmed her—tha. terrible sensation which | holding each other’s hands. The storm outside | makes your very being reel like a drunken thing, was wild enough to impose silence upon those | that you cannot bear that which you know within, and while they sat silent, conscious of the | must bear, whatever happens. She put down strange stillness within and commotion outside, | throbbing nead into her hands. To keep silent was it their imaginations that represented to | for that terrible moment—not to cry out and them another sound striking into the roar of the , Writhe, as this sword went through her heart, was storm? Who could be knocking at this hour? or | ail that she could do. how could such a sound be heard even in the on- She was a tall young woman, with a fine, elas- slanght of the storm? tic, well developed figure, looking about thirty, What was it? what could it be? Now, was that | Dut not so oid. Her ieatures were very fine and | the ioriorn peal ofa bell and now a gust of cold | regular; the great, restiess, unquiet, dark eyes air as ifthe door in opening had admitted the | flashed out of deep caverns which seemed to nave storm in person, Which swept through the house | been hoiiowed out by pain or passion rather than like a mountain Stream? and now a wild dash and | by time. Any delicacy of complexion or youtuful clang as if the same door had closed again, shaking | bloom which she had ever possessed must bave the very walls? Tighter and tighter Laay Eskside | been long gone, for her skin was vurned to one | grasped Mary’s hand, their own hearts beating | Unilorm tint of reddish brown—the coior of expos- oud over the storm, and then there came another | Ure, 01 health and vigor, bat of that vigor and | sound ludicrous in its methodical calm, which | health waich are purchased by all the severities startled them still more than the souads they bad , Of au outdoor life. No one could see her once with- supposed themselves to hear. | out wondering over so much beauty accom- | “Something nas happened, Mary!” cried Lady | panied by so little attractiveness, ‘She had Eskside, witncrawiog her grasp and wringing her | vagrant written in every line of her fine hands. “Something has lappened! some one has | form and miserable dress. But notwithstanding arrived, and Harding is coming to let us know.’’ | this, there was that in her abstract look—aiways “He is coming to light the lamps,” said Mary, | busy With something else than the thing tmmedi- making one desperate effort to throw off the su- | ately before her, 1n a certain careless calm of man- erstitious impression; and she laughed. The | Ber and indifference to all surrounding her— | laugh sounded sometning terrible, full of mockery | Which, I think, wouid Dave made the most aban- | and contempt in the midst of the always resound- | doned of men hesitate ere he offered any rudeness ing storm; the echo o! it seemed to breathe all | to this strange vagrant. Ske had a wedding ring around the room, calling Jorth diabolical echoes. | 0 her finger; that was no great matter, for it is | In the midst of these Haraing came solemnly into | easy to show the world that ensign of respect- the room. He was an elderly man, who had been | ability; but tnere was something more trustwor- many years in the house, and was deeply im- thy in her look and presence, the passioniess ab- pressed by the solemnity of his own position, He | Staction of her air, in her rough dress, with her came in without any light and stood invisible at | Outdoor look, her hard hands, her strange beauty, the door, another voice and nothing else. ‘My | scarcely on the wane, she was prctected from lady,” said Harding, solemnly, “sometning has | every snadow of insult by the stony purity of ber happened—something as is very mysterious, and | looks. Such @ woman might be miserable enough, We can’t understand. “Would tt be a great trouble | but wanton never. to your ladysiip if we was to ask you tocome down | _ There were dreary, red curtains half drawn over stairs?” the window, and the atngy blind was partially Sne nad sprang up nervously at his first words, | drawn down, leaving little light in the miserable She rushed now befure him down stairs—unabie | room, even had the sky been bright; and it was | torepy, unable to question—as light as a girl | how darkening toward night. 1t was the physical of twenty. thongh three times that age—followed cold, I thimk—that discomort which always makes trembling by tae other, Who was not hall so old , itseif doubly Jelt When the mind 1s weighed down hor half so full of jife as she. with troubie— which roused her to the sense that | what she had to do must be doue quickly. | CHAPTER I. | She rose up and wandered, tottering round Before I can ee explain what happened next | and round the bea, first to ons side, and wiat Lady Eskside saw when she rushed | then to the othe asking herself that down stairs, [am obliged to turn back fora tew heartrending question—Which! The children hours in the afternoon of this day, and ior some , lay there tn the pretty grace of childish abandon, miles, to a scene of @ very diferent kind—a scene | One little tellow had kicsed off unawares his ; 80 opposed to the other in allits circumstances _ muddy voot, whitch iell to the ground aud startled that it is strange to realize the close connection | her so that she put her hands to her panting side, between them; though the two were so closely | and did not recover the shock for some moments, linked together as to be incomprehensivle, one He Was the fair child of the two, and lay likea little without the other. The village of Lasswade lies | wuite angel with his dimpled hands stretened | on the Esk, at a much lowerelevation, and nearer | above his head in the perfect race of to the sea, than Rosscraig House. It was, atthe iuiant sleep. The other was almost as dark time I speak of, a much more primitive village 48 his brother was fair; nis black, curly than itis now. ‘There was no railway bear at that | locks were ruffled up irom bis bold fore- time, but a coach ran regularly on all lawful days, | head, his little arms lolded on his breast, his from the corner of Prince sireet to the Bull Ian in | rose Mouth shut close with unconscious resolute- | High street. But the aspect of Lasswade, though | hess—though it might be but tne mother’s sick considered cheerful and inviting by its Edinburgh | fancy whico saw the expression on the little face, visitors, Was Very dreary on this Marcb afternoon, | They were beautiful children both, with a general | When tue wind biew a iurricane, and the rain now | resemblance to each other, yet very unlike—one and then came down In torrents. Between these | 0 blonde and the other 80 dark ; one so delicately storm showers there came “blinks” of intermis- | gentle in bis aspect, the other bold aud hanasome, sion, when people who joved to see what was | like a little gypsy prince. Poor soui! what words ‘olng OM Came forth to their doors, aiter the | Cant use to describe the agony of cioice with fashion of the place; and it was this bum- Which this unhappy Woman hung over them? bie sprinkling of the population which, as | butsne madeno cuoice at all—how could she? many of them remembered later, witnessed the | Suddenly, in passionate, quick decision of her passage through the town ofa still humbler visitor, fate and his, #be snatched the dark chud | &@ poor woman who arrived shortly before the | mto her arms—not because she loved him a: kening in a miserable condition enough. Two | best, hor because he was the eldest, nor ior any small boys accompanied her, wet other reasonable motive under heaven. Only | splashed with mud and crylog with weariness because the otber—God heip her!—had kicked off | and with the baffets of the wind whica blew them — his boot upon the floor, In such a terrivie choice of their jittle legs. The woman was tall, wrapped | what but the most fantastic chance, the wildest in an old shawl of that indescribable no-color | Lazard, can tell upon a mind Gistranghty she of winch the vagrant cla bas @ monopoly. | caught him upto her with anxious care not to Her damp clothes hung limp about her; her poor Wake him, which contrasted straugely with the bonnet, wet and limp like her dress, clung to the assion and misery in her face. Once having aone | dark locks which bere and there escaped trom their | it, nature itself demanded that no moment should | cover. She Was @ stranger, ag ner weary and | be lost. She gatnered him closely tnto her arms, | inst the elements, but the forlorn human crear tare who tottered along underneath, swilt, but uD steady, beaten about by the wind, drenched by ¢ rain, too miserable to feel either, had lostall struggle. The lassitnde of soul which com | a great act accomplished was in her. She like a ghost across the bridge, where no one now was visivle, 8° much had the storm increased, and up the further end of the village street. Jean facfarlane was sitting with her guests in the little room down stairs, drinking with them and filling the air with her loud excited voice and tor- rent of words, There was no one in the passege or stair 10 note the dark figure gliding back to room Which no one had cared to notice since she entered it, It was dark, but she required no light. The other child, he who remained, her only one, lay still as she had left him, poe put down her face on his warm finshed cheek; she lifted him tenderly on her lap, and put on his little boot, and soothed him when be woke and cried in to her, ‘Mother's here! mother’s here!” she murmured, croontng to him, poor, wretched, hope- lesa soul, With the voice of @ dove in her nest ‘Then she took him in her arma, and going down Stairs stopped the dirty maid who was Jean Mac- farlane’s whole staff of service, and paid jor the poor refreshment she had had. ‘You're no going on sic @ night?” gaid the girl; “and whaur’s the other wee laddie?” ‘He has gone on before,” said the mother, ‘We are going to meet the coach at them when tak pity on the bairns, and bide tilithe morn. 1v’s enough to give them their death.” “T cannot stay, Good night!” cried the stran- ger, passing out. The good-natured lass, though she was dirty, looked alter her, shaking en un- kempt head, and twisting up as she did go an elf lock which had fallen out of the poor hold of her deficient hair ping, “Eu, thae tramps, what an awiu’ life!’ Jess said to herself, comparing her own position with that of the wanderer, with a thrill of superior comfort and well-being. She aused to jasten up the refractory lock before she followed to the door to look out ater the depart ing guest; but by that time the darkness had swallowed her up, and nothing was visible except the wild, sweeping rain, which came down in @ sheet, visible acrosa the blackness of the night like the warp of asable web, ‘Lord save us, sic anight to be out in, and Othae puir weansi” cried Jess, with a grim tear in the corner of her e ye. The stranger and child got into the coach at Loanhead, but they dia net reach Edinburgh in that respectable conveyance, Somewhere in the outskirts of the towu they managed to drop out of the coach, leaving the money for their fare on the aamp seat, which their damp clothes had soaked, “A queer customer yon, but an awiul honest woman!” the coachman said, with min- | glea wonder and admiration. It was still scarcely night, though so much happened since it began to grow dark, ‘The vagrant tound her way to some haunt of vagrants such as I do not know and have no chance of being able to de- scribe, and there passed the night safe from all search or possibility of pursait, encompassed by securities and precautions which can only be made perfect by a Class at war with society. She herself had done no crime so far as any one knew; but the instinctive suspicion of @ race accus- tomed to shelter from the eye of justice kept her safe, Notwithstanding the hue and cry that was raised after her she went on her way as secure a8 aby woman could be, and got back | to England with her boy, and disappeared among tbe mysterious fastnesses of her class, not to reappear or be heard of for years. Poor soul! | she had left no traces behind her by which she could be recognized. Bven in Jean Maciariane’s | house the instinct of caste was roused to cover her retreat. “A woman with @ wean? Am I to remark a’ the women With weans that come and ang afore my door—there’s ower mony o’ them, ower mony? I’ve something better to do than to glower at women,” cried the mistress of the place. “There was but ane here—a real decent erson, with twa bairns. She took them baith away with her, safe and sound. and got the ch at Loanhead,” said Jess. “What like was she? How am I tell that never saw her but in her ban. net? A’ that [ can teli you was that she sighed sair—mair like @ moan than asigh. She w: real decent woman," cried good-hearted Jess. And this was all her history and description—all by which she could be identified among others, The prolonged investigations that were made dis- closed nothing more. ‘This thrilling story will be continued from where it leaves off here tn the Sunday Mercury of to-morrow, November 29, which can be had at all the news depots on Sunday morning. The Sunday | Mercury exceeds in circulation the combined issues Of all the other Sunday newspapers, and “Altamira,” the story of @ wild love match, in- creases in interest with every chapter, WALL STREET SIDE SCENES. The Gold Premium and the Chances Connected Therewith—Vacts Connected with the Importation of Bonds. Alter a long period of stagnation the gold mar- ket has begun to attract attention in an unusually smart movement of the premium during the past couple of weeks. Thus, while the premium on last Saturday closed at 111%, yesterday it closed at 111%. Ana this in the face of the following exhibit just published. For the ten months ending October 31, 1874, the exports from Great Britain showed a falling off in goods invoiced to the United States at pounds sterling, Upon which it is presumed ad valorem duties were charged, of £4,691,417, of which £3,195, 596 was in haberdashery and millinery. An undoubted satisfaction for the Dress form Association of this country! Here 1s almost $23,500,000 of dutiable tmporta less than the pre- vious ten corresponding months. Add to this 735,406 tons of tron tn various forms of manufac- sure, inciuding 6,664 tons of unwrought steel, 21,000,000 yards o! carpet goods and 640,000 of wool- len cloths decrease ip importation, and we have gold, not alone to pay duties, but to buy foreign exchange to meet bills abroad. And these facts geem to tell. It can be safely said that Wall street desires a higher gold premtum. Conversa- tion with some leading bankers yesterday de- veloped the fact that @ higher gold premium would stimulate trade; it woula awaken the present lethargy and provoke ex- changes. An excellent argument so far as it goes. The burgiar who steal my plate provokes an exchange, too, because he dare Not hold it, and he creates a market for new plate, This 1s about the position of the gold speculators. It1s rumored in Wall street that the administra- object being to present this advance to the next Congress as an argument against the coming democratic majority. Whether this 1s s0 or not cannot be definitely stated, but this sure, that the existing conditions of Treasury administra- tion do not favor a lower premium, no matter what the desired policy may be. Mr. J. P. Bigelow, Chief of the Loan Bureau at Washington, img with him $10,000,000 government bonds as ex- changes for new fives. This is not calculated to strengthen the premium on gold here. AD opservation made to the writer yesterday by a leading banker of more than average shrewdpess and quick comprehension de- serves reproduction and might be framed with advantage. The reporter having submitted the gold movement and the reper aa importation ot bonds, propounded the inquiry what he thought of such @ situation, ‘‘Weil,’” he, “our gold market is like the Bank of England ‘as a regu- lator. When the bank is losing Specie tt advances itg rate of discount, and so draws specie to it; when It pays to import our bonds gold goes up and stops the importation.” TRE WOOL TRADE. Report of the Committee of the Trade Revision Committee. AD adjourned meeting of the gentlemen en- Chamber of Commerce, Mr. James Lynch in the chair. Areport of the committee appointed at a meet. ing Of tue wool trade beld in October last was read by Mr. Strang, which was an elaborate statement of the present condition of the industry, the disas- trous effect of the present tariff, and concluded as follows, which gtves the recommendation of the committee of this trade to the Chamber of Com- merce Committee on Revision of the Tarif:— FAILURE OF PROTECTION, These facts show most conclusively that the object ostensibly aimed at by the tarif of 1867 tection and encouragement of the wool growers—hag most signally failed, The wool grower must be blind indeed if oy this time he has not learned the lesson that he cannot prosper as long as the woollen interest does not flourish. Why should he not also understand that Some think only of the person loved, a#Isaid; bewildered looks testified, and the children who | wrapped her shaw! round him, and, leaving the but some are roused up into a kind of flerce con- | clung to her on either side seemed to coniuse her | Other on the bed, went swiltiy and suentiy down sclousuess of themscives through thele very love. | still more by their whimpering weariness, This | the dark stairs and out into the night. They ieel their own individuality not less | melancholy little group came over the bridgeinone | If any one bad spoken tu her or touched hert bat more in conseqnence of it. This Was | of the pauses oO! the storm, when a jew people had | believe the poor, distracted creature would nave That poor creature's way, Mixed with her | strayed out vo their doors to relieve the ennui of | gone mad or fallen mto dead unconsciousness, lor wild cravings for the freedom she had been sed to, aid the wild outdoor life she had in used to, I think she had a sort of half crazy feeling how uniike Richard she was, and this be- Came ali the stronger when { came. ‘My dear,’ Baid Lady Eskside, suddenly, “the most untrained Woman ieels Woat another woman thinks of her more than she feeis any man's criticlam, I ought And thought on this for years, and $1 put iny Own thoughts into her mind; it { cannot help fancying that sometimes, though | she did not understand me in the \east, poor ‘thin; je cauglit a glimpse of hersey through my eyes; amd what with this and what with ner iong- ing to beout of doors, she grew then she ran away.” The listeuer made no reply. I don’t think she eared to hear any excuse made lor the wild woman ‘who was Richard’s wile—whom HKichard had chosen instead of any other, and who had justified his choice, “| stayed as long as! could, and tried at 1 could,” ly Eskside continued, “and then there came a time when I fetg it Was better for me to go away, 1 told Richard @, and I advised him to take ber abroad—where she would nave novody to fy to. And so he did, and wiapdered about with her everywhere. [can’t think but what she must have made sqme savance. in sense, at least. desperate, and | the wet and stormy day by a little gossip at least, | nature was strained in her almost to the iurthest | Obie among these were Merran Miller, the black- | smith’s wife, a woman too fond of hearing every- | thing that was going on (people said) for the | | comfort of her house; and the old postman, Simon | Simson, whose work was over jor the day,’ When | her vigorous arins—she Was as strong as a man, | | the stranger approached this knot of gossips and | as light aud rapid a6 @ savage-ne was as @ | asked the way to Jeap Maciariane’s lon they all feathers weight. She went away with him une | | answered at once, giad Oo an event, with direc- | noticed, Wrapping her poor siiaw! round nim to | tions on the one hand and remonstrances on the | keep li irom the rain, through the muddy roads, | other. Old Simon pointed out the way with ofM- | in the scorm and dasky twilight. Merran Miller, | cious haste, coutrary to the wishes of Mrs. Miller, | the smith’s wife, shutting the door in the darken | who claimed thas ‘it Was no ’a bowse foram honest , ing, Wuen the rain began to blow in, saw the dark | | Woman.’’ Jean Macfarlane’s house was worse spoken of iariane had sent the beggar wile away; and Of | than any other house in Lasswade. Every (isturb- | what @ night it was to travel, even for tie ance that happened in the tranquil place came 9 her! “but what’s come o’ the vairns 7’ sne asked from that centre of disorder and lawlessness: and M to lodge there or to propose loaging there was of | on her kettle. The beggar wile and ber vairns iteel( a tacit ecknowledgment of vagrancy, or at were no concern of bers, least an absence o! that regard for ovher peopie’s | “The vewgar wie” went swiftly up by the dark limit; but no one saw or Interiered, or knew what | Was being done. She never looked at the voy | again but held him fast and harried on. He was@: child of seven years old, but small and light; im | opinions, Which is the first step toward respecta- | Esk side, beneath the trees, that walied overhead | like spirits ip pain. Sie was blinded with the Tain, not With tears, for her eyes were ary and | Te‘used to shed more. fer limbs trembled under | her, but her wild heart and purpose did not fail Alter a time she came back again slone, withont Still tossed against binty. It may be supposed, then, that the poor | Woman who openly asked to be directed to Jean Maciariane’s waa poor and as compietely be- yond all regard for the prejudices of soctety as tt Was possivie to be, She went on without pause or | hesitation, with an abstracted indifference ol de- | her buraen, The dark bro | need the wool grower teal figure pass, and said to berself that Jean Mac | like of ; hersell; then shut the door and went tn, and put | our industry cannot permanently flourish until it is re- Heved of the present heavy, burden of obstructive tarltt legisiation? By helping the manufacturer he would certainly help himself and secure # better reward tor hia lavor and investment than he could ever expect to derive trom the illusive protection of any tarift, Nor that any reduction of duty on Wool, of even the total abolition ‘of all duties, could ssibly diminish the vaine of his products by anything ike what the present duty on fine wool amounts to. "he fmmediate consequence of elther of these changes would ‘an equalization of prices ail over the world: wherever any consider American competition should appear rices would advauce: our manufacturer woald reap the benefit of such relief, notso much from the dimin- ished cost of his raw material as trom the freedom of choosing the best sources of suppiy tor his various wants and from the enhanced price which his foreign competitors would have to pay for ther wool, CONCLUSIONS, Pacts, indeed, as wel? as sound reasoning, call londly tor the abolition of all duties on wool, and in the light of past experience it is clear that neither the wool grower nor any other special interest ought wo p! as likely to uit in our country from a poli had the most encouraging effect in ail other parts of the | etvilized world, No periectiy safe and solid ground will | be reached until wool takes ftw permanent place on the | free list, and this must ve the goal of the manufacturer as well as of the wool grower—in fact, of the whole veggie. | “While desirous of urging these views upon all that t an interest In the question, and particu makers, we, nevertheless, | the great Uatue of free ‘trade In raw mi likely vo be sought out on the narrow gr 1 with which We have here to deal. We consider the damaging effets of cur wool tariff, however, so far beyond anything that | mvanor Which perhaps Was occasjoned by mare } the Dale sky, ad Kept on Theis DasdONMIe SLLURMIC | 14 nDivion ou Ober FAW mMalorialy aud Gai arucies of | Sip ANGATI—Yow are ereby Ondesed to sAsemMbIE Loanhead.” “Then you'll have to be awful quick,” cried the girl, compassionate. “Poor wee mant what @ night to beoutin! Here’s a piece to give | ou’re in the coach; but, oh, woman, | avery appreciable decrease in the demand for | tion favor an advance in the gola premium, the | jag Justreturned from Europe, bring- | to the Chamber of Commerce Tariff | gaged in the wool trade was held yesterday in the | 2. the pro- | the dark, and clung | i | | the necessity of reltef to oar uffering industry resaing, that we fee! ourse) Coupelled to coutae! an approximation st east to sound The argu: 4 against a total abolition of du- on the apprehension— (rs ogy |g as yet spare the rev- enue deri rom the #1 ;, 2, That a sudden release of woo! from the whole of the existing high rates of duty might of itself prove a change a0 violent as necessarily to occasion serious disturbance to the very interests we desire to see wy and etd aatits edema or lower duties on wootanty w us ¢ demand for lows Rnd thus ralse questions that could not be decided in & short time. ‘Admitting, for the time being, the validity of these uments, and despairing of securing at any early day what seems to us the wisest and best solution of the roblem before us, we are compelled to seek some solu- on Not chargaple with the above objection: It will be remembered that our Instructions from the Chamber of Commerce directed us to suggest mode Of relief as would not in: with ex ing rates of duty. If we are to be limited to such proposal make no other suggestion than that of changing from Ae duties and from specific and ad yalorem com- to purely ad valorem duties, adjusted according to ve. lass fro! from the ies main untouched. tent our wool tariff would essentially remain what it and incongruous law. and an im- manent prosperity of our manutac- ‘as to that of The benefit to our tariff would be so {usignificant that we cannot with any degree of earnestness recommends it. We believe, however, that we comply with the spirit of our instruc- tons if we report as the result of our investigation :— 1 That any effectual amendment of ORF wool tariff must inciude @ considerable reauction of the present duties on fine wool. 2 That such amendment must consist in the establish- ment of one aniform ad valorem duty on all wool, so as todo away with all classifications, & Thatan ad valorem duty of twen re percent would, in our opimon, be a just rate- ie that would give certain relief to our suffering interesis, and would, je same time, yield sufficient revenue to the govero menu All of which is respectfully submitted, JAMES LYNCH, L. J. STIASTNY, P. 0. SIRANG, D. A, RIPLEY, G. SCHWAB, ARAM MILER New Yous, Nov. 2, 1874. The report was adopted and the committee con- tinued to supervise the printing of the report and 1ts distribution, The meeting then adjourned. FIRE IN GRAND STREET Just previous to noon yesterday a fire broke out on the second floor of No. 191 Grand street. The butiding is occupied by Edward Kelly as @ board- | ing house, and is owned by Cruger & Co. Before the fames were put out they aud water had de- atroyed $1,500 worth of clothing and furniture, and had injured the building to the value of $1,500, The cause of the fire is unknown. SUDDEN DEATH, Alleged To Have Been Beaten. Coroner Eickhoff has under investigation the case of Mary Ann Hill, a woman fifty-eight years of age ana born in Ireland, who was found dead in bed in the basement of premises No. 457 West Twenty-elghth street. Some persons in the place allege that some four months ago deceased com- plained of having been beaten in an alleyway, but fatied to state by whom the violence had been tn- flicted. By direction of the Coroner the body was sent to the Morgue, where Deputy Coroner Leo, in order to determine the true cause of death, will make & post-mortem examination. a MARRIAGES AND DEATHS, Married. BEHRINOER—VAIL-COLBURN.—On Thursday, No- vember 26, at the home of the bride, by the Rev. James 8, Bush, Groner PF. BEEKINGER to MARIE VAIL-COLBURN. No cards, HaRT—RENN.—On Thursday, November 26, 1874, by the Rey. M. Riordan, at tae Church of Our mee 0 RNARD J, HART, Of Brooklyn, to M. N, Of Haverstraw, N. Y. LINDLEY—STILWELL.—On Tuesday evening, No- vember 24, at the residence of the bride’s parents, by the Rev. Bishop Foster, D. D., EDWIN G. LInD- LEY to EuLa V., daughter of Richard E, Stilwell, all of this city, RaYMOND—PRaTT.—On Wednesday, November 25, at Calvary Grane by the Rev. Wa, D. WALKER, | J. C. RAYMOND to GusSLE B, PRATT. Rutland Herald please copy. SWEZEY—KELLETT.—On .Wednesday evening, November 2, at 221 Scnermerhorn street, Brook- lyn, by the Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, assisted by Rev. 8. H, Olark, WaLTEu T. Swezey to M. MATILDA KELLETT, eldest daughter of tte late James Kellett, Esq. ‘TRAHERNB—OaLDER.—On Friday, November 20, at Spring Hill, Kansas, by the Rev. H. 0. Hovey, WARREN C, TRAHERNE and Emma H. OALDER, Of New Brunswick, N. J. Seine pavers please copy. VaN WINKLE—SHAKOT.—On Tuesday, November 2, by the Rev. Alired Davip J. VAn WINKLE, of Jersey City, N. J. to ANNA, daughter ot pe late David Sand Ann Sharot, of New ork, Died. ALEXANDER.—On Wednesday, the 25th inst., JOHN ALEXANDER, aged 36 years. Relatives and friends o! the family are respect- fully invited to attend the funeral, irom the resi- dence of his brother, Washington Alexander, 151 east Forty-second street, on Sunday, Novemver 29, at one o’ciock P. M. AISLRY.—At the residence of her son-in-law, G. W. Haight, Mamaroneck, N, Y., ELIZabeTu, po of the late J. B. Baisley, in the 80th year of er age. The relatives and friends are invited to attend the funeral services, on Monday, November 30, at the Methodist kpiscopal church, at hali-past ten o'clock, The remains will be taken to Westches- ter, St. Peter’s church. Train will leave Grana Central depot for Mamaroneck at nine o’clock, where carriages will be ia waiting, Brurt.—On Thursday, November 26, HENRY MaRTIN, son of Heury and Gasina Brutt, aged 8 years and three montis, Relatives and friends of the family are respect- fully nvVited to attend the funeral, from the resi- dence of bis parents, No. 884 Third avenue, on Buaday, November 29, at half-past one o'clock “CALHOUN.—On Thursday, November 26, after a at the Asylum, Masonic Hall, corner of Twen fast, at twelve o'clock, sharp, { ine purges a arp, for of attending the funeral of our late dir ni Henry E, Gilbert. Full uniform. Sir Ki on ot sister commanderies are courteously invited to unite with us, MARTIN CANTLON, Commander. JOHN HOOLs, Recorder. UNION OnaprER, No, 180, R. A. M.—COMPANIONS— You are herepy notified to attend @ meeting of the chapter at the rooms of Washington Chapter, Bleecker street, on Sundi tne 29th inst, at twelve o'clock, for the purpose of paying the last sad tribute of respect to the remains of our late M. EB. pompanion, Henry E. Gilbert, Services in the enty-fourth street Methodist Eplsco) churoh, JOSEPH MASH, H. P. WASRtNGTON Lopox, No. 21, F. AND A. M,—BBETH- BEN—You are requested to attend & special com- munication of the lodge at the rooms, No, 289 Bleecker street, on Sunday, November 2, at twelve o'clock M., sharp, to the last tribute of respect to Worthy P. M. H, Gilbert. Brethrem. Of sister lodges are bree to ot us. bad R. B, Corrms, Secretary. : HERBBET.—On Friday, Nove Bi ek 5! ne 0 lenry str Sunday, 20tn inst., at two if mee Brocklvy, £8 HERZBERG.—At Berlin, Prussia, on Sunday morn- ing, November 1, 1874, OuaRLES ERDMAND, ODLY son of Erdmann and Mary W. Herzberg. Remains * x jorning, November Many E. Hrcaine, in the 224 yearot her a ai Funeral will take place from her late residence, No, 33 Joralemon street, Brooklyn, on Sunday, November 290, at two P. M., thence to Calvary Oem- etery. The friends of her father, also the friends of her cousin, Rev. William J Lane, are reapect fully invited to attend. foGan.—In Washington, D. 0., on Wednesday, November 25, at the residence of his son-in-law, Mr. E. P. Gaines, the Hon, WILLIAM Hogan, in the 83d year of nis age. The funeral service was held in St. John’s churoh, Washington, on Friday. Interment in Trinity Cemetery, on Saturday, November 28. Carriages will be waiting on the northwest corner of Broad and Forty-filth street, at one P, M, Huarson.—On Friday, November 27, at his resi- dence, No. 229 West Thirty-first strect, James HuRson, after a short, but painful iliness, Notice of funeral hereaster. JaRON..—Alter @ short fllness Mme. MARIB JEANNE JABON, in her 80th year. Her friends are respectfully mvited to attend the funeral, which will take place at Staten Island, on Sunday, November 29, at two o'clock P, M. JuNG.—On Friday, November 27, ANNA GERTRUDE, daughter of Dina Jung, aged 14 years and 9 months. The tuneral will take place from No. 132 West Twenty-first street, on Monday morning, 30th inst., at half-past nine o'clock. Laupy.—On Thursday, November 26, ELIzaBETH @., Wile or Jonn u. Lauay. Funeral will take place from Calvary chapel on Saturday, November 28, at one o’clock P. M. Lipav.—On friday, November 27, JossPz 0. LIBac, aged 62 years, Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend the funeral, on Sunday, November 29, at two o’clock P. M., from his late residence, No. 44 East Ninth street. Belgium papers please copy. MARBSHALL.—In Brooklyn, on Friday evening, November 27, 1874, Mra. JULIA M., widow of she late Rey. Joseph b. Marshall, in the 70th year of her age. The relatives and friends of the family and those of her ees G. and George E., and of her son-in: ‘ank Squier, are respectfully invited to attend the funeral services, at her late resi- dence, No. 51 Bedford avenue, on Monday, the 30tn inst., at one P. M. MESSLOH.—On Thursday, November 26, after a lingering illness, GERHARDT H. MESSLOH, aged 43 years and 18 days, The reiatives and friends of the family are re- gpectfully invited to attend his iuneral, on Sun- day, 29th inst., at one o'clock P. M., from St. Peter’s church, corner of Forty-sixth street and Lexington avenue, MOHRMANN.—Suddenly, on Friday morning, No- vember 27, CLaka, only daughter of H. A. and Ganeeine Mobrmann, aged 1 year, 8months and 26 days. Tne relatives and friends of the family are re- spectfully invited to attend the funeral, from the residence of the parents, No. 451 Lalayette ave- nue, corner of Franklin avenue, Brooklyn, on Sun- day, November 29, at two P. M. Moong,—On Thursday, November 26, Jacos J. MOORE, aged 50 years, 1 month and 18 days. Relatives and friends of the family are respect- folly invited to attend the funeral, at his late residence, 687 Sixth avenue, on Sunday, Novem- ber 29, at ome o'clock A. M. MuRPHY.—At Yonkers, on belt November 26, James Murpay, in the 59th year of his age. Foneral Sunday afternoon, at halt-past two o'clock, from 8t. John’s church. Train leaves Thirtieth street depot at one P. M, MURRAY.—At his residence, No. 240 DeKalb ave- nue, Brooklyn, MICHAEL MugRAy, builder, aged 57 years, Funeral will take place from his late residence, on Saturday, November 28, at ten o'clock A. M., thence to Church of Our Lady of Mercy, whereta solemn requiem mass will be celebrated for the repose of his soul, (CINTYRE.—On Thursday afternoon, November 26, CATHARINE, Widow ofthe late James McIntyre, aged 69 years, Her friends and acquaintances are invited to at- tend the juneral on paturday afternoon, Novem- ber 28, at two o'clock, from her late residence, 228 Calyer street, Greenpoint. iCLAREN.—Op Friday, November 27, Jomy MCLanen, in the 75th year of his age, Notice of faneral hereaiter. NEVILLE.—On Tharsday, November 26, WILLIAM Srwons, aged 11 years and 10 months; on Friday, November 20, 1874, ABBY BROWN, aged 2 years and 2 months; eldest son and youngest daughter of Timothy F. and Johanna H. Neville. Providence (R. 1.) and Waterbury (Conn.) papers please copy. PELL.—On Wednesday, November 25, of disease | Of the heart, James K. PELL, in the 56th year of his age. The relatives and friends of the family are re- spectiully invited to attend the funeral, from Grace church, Broadway and Tenth street, on Sat- urday, November 28, at half-past ten o’clock A. M. ‘Tne remains will be taken to East Chester for tn- | terment in the family vault. short illness, JOHN U. CALHOUN, in the Gist year of | bis age. Friends of the family are respectiully invited to attend the funerat services, at the Collegiate Re- formed church, corner Forty-eighth street and Fifth avenue, on Monday, 380th inst., at three o’clock P. M. prior service for the relatives, will be held at his late resiaence, No. 13 West Forty-eighth street, at bali-past two o'clock P. M. CALHOU: On ‘Thursday, November 26, 1874, MARGARET MCKECHNIg, the beloved wile of Thomas rates native of Barrhead, Renfrewshire, Scot- land. Funeral on Monday, the 30th inst,, at one o’clock P. M., trom her iate residence, Rahway, N. J. CaRLISLR,—On Friday evening, November 27, at her residence, No. 2 West Forty-seventh strect, Maky, relict of the late James Carlisle, in her 761n year. Notice of funeral hereafter. ConsaLvi.—On Thursday, November 20, ALEX, D. Me eld son of the late Alexandra Antoni and Mary A. Consalvi, months and 14 days, The relatives and (riends of the family are re- spectiully invited to attend the Juneral, from the residence of his mother, No. 141 East Thirtietn street, on Sunday afternoon, at one o'clock. CRAWFORD.—On Friday, November 27, ANNIE S. CRAWFORD, aged 28 years and 11 months. ‘The relatives and iriends of the family, also the Members of Perry street Methodist. Episcopal churea, are respectiully invited to attend the fune- ral, !rom the church, at half-past ten o’ciock on Sunday. Davis,—On Friday, November 27, 1874, after a lingering {llness, CAROLINE OLtvia, Wile of Wiliam H, Davis, and daughter ol Abner and the late vane Charlotte Hulbert Davis. Funeral on sunday, November 29, at half-past tweive P. M., irom her late residence, 6¥ West Forty-ninth street. Albany papers please copy. DsvLIN.—In Brooklyn, on Thursday, November 26, FRANCI8 DEVLIN, youngest son of Jawes and Rose Devlin, aged 6 montts and 3 days. His funeral will take place trom the residence of his. parents, 13 Hadson avenue, on Saturday, No- vember 28, at hall-past two P, M., thence to Cal- vary Cemetery for interment. ELKAN.—On Friday morning, November 27, 1874, JacoB, beloved husband of Frances Kikan, in the 74th year 01 his age. Relatives and friends of the Hep are respect- fully invited to attend the funeral, on Sunday, November 29, at nine o'clock A. M. at the resi- dence of his son-in-law, M, Meyer, 230 East Futy- third street, FERGUSON.—LIVINGSTON Longe, No. 667, F. and A. M.—Members are hereby summoned to attend an emergent communication in Toscan Room, Masonic Hall, on Sunday, at eleven o’clock A. M., deceased brother, DayID FERGUSON. sister lodges are fraternuily invited to attend, By order of JOSIAH M, PURDY, W. Bl, Epwarp Foury, Secretary. FOWLER.—lIn this city, on Thursday, November 26, WILLIAM FowLER, of Elmira, son of Rev. Dr. P. H, Fowler, of Utica. ‘His friends, and those of his family, are invited to attend funeral services, without further notice, on Saturday, ten A. M., at the Fifth avenue Pres- byterian churen, corner of Nineteenth street (Kev. Dr, Hal's). Interment at Albany. FRANcIs.\—On Thursday, November 26, 1874, HENRIMTTA, Widow of the late Emanuel Francis, in the 47tn year ol her age, The relatives and iriends of the family are re- quested to attend the funeral from the residence of her son-in-law, Charies A, Linasly, No. 77 Ralph avenue, On Sunday, November 20, 1874, at two o'clock P. M. GILBERT.— WASHINGTON CHAPTER, 212, R. A. M.— Comrantons—You are hereby summoned to attend anemergent convocation at their rooms, No, 280 Bleecker street, on sunday, 29th inst,, at twelve M. Sharp, for the purpose of paying the last tribute of respect to our jate companion H. B, Gilbert, Past High Priest. Companions of Metropolitan Chapter, 140, and Union Chapter, 180, are respectfully re- quested to join with us, By order of the H. P. YORK COMMANDERY, No. 66, KNIGHTS TRMPLARS.— | vited to attend the funeral from aged 3 years, 6 | | Angeline Sma for the purpose of attending the funeral of our | Brothers of { Perry.—At Rutherfurd Park, N, J., on Wednes- day, November 2, at six P. M., ELizabsre, widow 0: Ezekiel Petty, in her 84th year, The relatives and friends are invited to attend the funeral services, at the Methodist Episcopal cnurch, a Rutheriurd Park, on Saturday, at eieven A. M, ‘I'rain leaves Chambers street at ten A.M. Interment at Greenwood. Long Island papers please copy. REap.—On Thursday, November 26, CATHARINE FRANCES GUINAN, Widow of Robert Read, aged 74 years. Funeral from her late residence, Belmont ave- nue, corner Monticello, Jersey City Heights, Sat- urday, at one o’clock. REYNOLDS.—On Thursday evening, November 26, BrmpGeT RBYNOLDS, Wife of Edward Reynolds, aiter a painful sickness, The friends of the family are respectfully in- her late resi- dence, No. 128 Madison street, on Sunday, the 29th inst, atone o'clock P, M. Rosrnson.—At Sing Sing, on Thursday morning, November 26, JaMks W. ROBINSON, IM the 86th year 1 nis age. Relatives and frien¢s are respectfully invited to attend the iuneral, from Trinity church, Sing Sing, on Saturday. 28th inst., at one o’clock. Carriages will meet the train that leaves Grand Central depot at 11 A. M. OWAN.—BRIDGET ROWAN, @ native of Eiphin, county Roscommon, Ireland, in the 63d year of her age. ‘The relatives and friends are respectfully in- vited to attend the funeral, on Sunaay, at one o’ciock, from her late residence, 326 East Twenty- sixth atreet, thence to Calvary Cemetery for in- terment. RUHL, —On Friday, November 27, 1874, WILLIAM RvaAL, in the 57th year of his age. Relatives and friends of the family are respect- fully invited to atiend the funeral, on Sunaay, November 29, at one o'clock P. M., irom his late residence, No, 229 Kast Eighteenth street, with- out farther notice. SCHUYLER.—On Friday, November 27, Mrs. CATHERINE SARAH SCHUYLER, daughter of Rev. Isaac Peck, Round Hil}, Conn. SHELDON.—At 39 West 128th street, on Wednes- day, Noyember 25, of diphtheria, Euma Bartow, aged epic 10 months and 25 days, daugnter of Dr. H, Lawrence and Emma Bartow Sheldon. Fnneral services at Church of tne Boy Trinity, Fitth avenue, corner of 125th street, on Saturday, at eleven o’ciock, Interment at Greenwood. Hartford papers please copy. S1ems.—On Thursday, November 26, at her resi- dence, 817 East ‘Thirty-minth street, GESIGNA | MaGRETA, the beloved wife of John Siems, aged 28 years, 10 months and 9 days. ‘The relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend the funeral services at St. Matthew's church, corner of Broome and Elizabeth streets, on Sunday, November 29, at one o'clock, The re- maius wiil be takeo to the Lutheran Cemetery. Smack.—On Friday, November 27, after a short fliness, SAMUEL, youngest son of Samuel aud 4 , aged 2 years, 9 months and 7 ays. Faneral at one o'clock on Sunday the 20th inst. SMITH.~-At Roselie, N. J. on Wednesday, November 25, ADRIAN W. SMITH, in the 53¢h year Of nis age. The relatives and friends of the family and mem. | bers of the Masonic Order are respectfully invited to attend the funeral, from his late residence, on. Saturday, November 28, at hal{-past one o'clock P. Me rain for Roselle, on the Ceatral Katlroad, leaves foot of Liberty street, New York, at 12:40, THURMAN.—In Brooklyn, on Friday, November 7, ab 68 Greene avenue, Mary, wile of Charles Yhurman, aged 57 years and 2 months, The rejatives and iriends of the iamily are invited to attend the lunerai, {rom her Iste residence, No. 63 Greene avenue, on Monday, November 30, at two o'clock P. M Oswego and Whitehall (N, Y,) persis piease copy. VANDERVERR.—At Freehold, N. J., on Friday, November 27, LkmMa ANN, wife of Jolin H. Vander: veer. Relatives and friends of the family are invited to attend the funeral, trom her late residence, on Monday, November 30, at one o'clock. WaLLack.—At Youkers, on Thursday, November 26, MARTIN WALLACK, aged 29 years, Funeral on Saturday afternoon, 28th inst., at two o'clock, from St. Mary’s charch. Younes.—On Thursday, Novemper 26, QALRN T. Yocnas, youngest son of Jawes and Mary K Youngs, aged ¥ montus