University of South Carolina Libraries
lewis m. grist, Proprietor. J An Jnkjpittnl ^atntljr ftctospapcri Jfor tjje ^promotion of % |jolttica[, Social, Agricultural unit Commercial Interests of tjrt S?cutjj. j TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOT, 21. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUABY 7, 1875. NO. 1. jin original jntont. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ZANITA, The Circus Girl. BY MRS. HENRY DEAS. CHAPTER I. A MAN OVERBOARD. It was a dark, wild night. Lurid flashes of j lightning swept, at intervals, athwart the hurrying masses of dense clouds that obscured the skies, followed in swift succession by deafening peals of thunder, that seemed to rend the firmament with their crashing roar. Each : flash lit tin. with a red erlare, the crested sur- j face of the leaping, tumbling waves, and the black form of a struggling ship that was | ploughing its perilous way across the breast of the angry sea. The "Ocean Queen" had set sail from Liverpool some days before, under the most fa-1 vorable auspices. A serene sky, a balmy ternperature, a fair breeze, had all seemed propi-! tious for the voyage, and the captain had j reckoned, confidently, on making a short aud j safe trip. But, alas! forty-eight hours before j the vessel was due in New York, one of the equinoctial gales, that in the fall of the year i rage with peculiar violence along our Atlantic coast, rose in sudden fury, threatening destruction to many a gallant bark, and placing in jeopardy many valuable lives and a vast j amount of property; for, by a strange fatality,\ an unusual number of richly freighted crafts j were, at this period, exposed to the violence of the storm, which had broken sometime earlier than common, and was, therefore, in a great measure, unexpected. With one only of these, however, it is our | present purpose to deal. The panic-stricken i passeugers of the "Ocean Queen," who but a ; few hours before had been looking forward with light hearts to the speedy termination of their j sojourn on ship-board, now thrilled with ter- j ror at the thought of a more sudden and fearful termination to this sojourn than they had j at an anucipateu ; iur mere uu wi?/Mr i ing the fact that danger was imminent, and the chauces of escape but few. And notwithstanding the caution of the officers, who used every effort to inspire with confidence the trembling souls under their charge, the alarm | spread with the rapidity of wild-tire, and fright! and confusion reigned supreme. A few cour- j ageous spirits there were, who sustained with fortitude the ordeal through which they were : called upon to pass ; but the majority proved j unequal to the test, and even strong men blanched and shuddered in their fear, like j helpless children. Husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, clung j together with a tenacity that seemed in its desperation to defy the power of death itself j to unclasp their embrace. Wailing sobs, bro- i ken ejaculations, frantic prayers, mingled to-1 gether with the din of the tempest, the creak- j ing of the laboring ship, the hoarse voice of: the mate shouting his orders to the crew, all j added to the general misery and destraction i of t he scene. Many a writer has described, many a painter hits portrayed, the horrors of a storm at I sea; but the most graphic description, the j * .in 1 4 most vivid coloring, cannot out ian snort 01 the horrors of the reality ; and none but those who have themselves passed through a similar experience can fully understand its awe, j or the numb, icy dread, that seizes upon the i heart at the approach of the destroyer in this, | one of his most fearful forms. Perhaps one i of its greatest terrors consists in the complete j isolation from all human help. We feel our- j selves cut loose from every friendly hand, drifting impotentlv at the mercy of the ele- j ments, mere feeble atoms in a giant clutch, I and around us a raging impassable boundary of cruel waves, shutting us up together with our despair. A yawning gulf lies between us and the fair green earth we long to reach, and the soul shudders at the blackness of that unfathomable abyss that is waiting to engulf us, and feels itself so hopelessly alone ! Amid the pallid groups huddled together ! in the cabin, sat a solitary, childish figure, i - - ? ? i/?1 A I looking strangely deserted ana ioriorn. ap-1 parently she belonged to no one present, for no one noticed her; and she crouched in a corner apart from everbody, clinging to one of the slender posts supporting the roof, in order to keep herself from being dashed upon the lloor. A white-faced, wistful-eyed little creature, apparently not more than four or ^ five years old, and bearing mutely whatever sentiments ofdistress or terror she might feel? shedding no tear, uttering no cry, only gazing pathetically around her with the questioning expression we see in the eyes of a dumb animal that finds itself placed in a peril it cannot understand. A touching little figure, appealing in its helplessness and desertion to the sympathy of every ordinarily feeling heart; but those surrounding her at present were too fully engrossed by their own fears and danger even to notice her. ; Suddenly, above the tumult of mixed sounds, came a sharp, loud cry?a cry that sent a new, nameless thrill through the frames of all upon whose ears it fell. Trumpet-like, it rang out through the storm? "A man overboard /" The first sacrifice exacted by the craving, hungering sea?the first victim offered to its fury. There was a hurrying of feet, a Babel of cries, questions, explanations, one or two 1 persons essayed to stumble up the stairs; but a sudden lurch sent them reeling backwards, | making tliein feel how vain all efforts at help must he in such a case as this. And truly all effort was vain, as any one might have divined front the beginning. In the pitchy darkness which encompassed them, it would have been next to an impossibility to discover the whereabouts of the unfortunate man, even had there been a chance of rescuing him front the jaws of the foaming, surging waves. lie was gone in a second?struck blind, somebody said, by tbe electric flash which revealed him for one fearful instant, a black, writhing form, plunged swift to destruction into the chasm below, whose uprising walls, meeting with a mighty crash, closed over liim forever. "Who was it?" was the (juestion that went, in an awe-struck whisper, from one to another. "One of the sailors, of course." "No, it was not a sailor," was 'In* next piece of information ; "it was a pas-eager?one who had gone out on deck only a couple of minutes before," "What was his name ? Did anybody know him ?" "Nobody in particular; his name was Thompson." "How insane to venture out there at such a time." "Poor creature! Ilad he any family? Were they on board?" "Yes; he had one child on board?a girl. Where was . lie ? Did she know ?" Nobody had seen her?nobody could tell. But suddenly the man who was giving them this information, caught sight of the lonely child clinging to the post, and made toward her. "This is she! this is the child!" he cried. "I've seen them together, day by day, ever since we started." All eyes turned toward the little creature ; all selfish considerations for the moment gave way to a universal pang of pity and sympathy. "Who'll tell her?" said the man, looking around, as lie touched her shoulder. She ; raised her appealing eyes to his kindly face, and read there a warning of evil and of grief. The eyes dilated more, the pale lips parted in a frightened quiver. i "I want him," she half sobbed, great tears welling up as she spoke, yet not flowing over. , "Whom, my little one? Your papa?" "He's not my papa," said the child. "Oh ! please, why don't he come?" "Not your papa? Thank God for that! it makes my task easier. What relation was he then? Your uncle?" "No?not my uncle. Where has he I gone ?" I "My child, have you 110 other friends 011 board?" She looked up, evidently not comprehending the question. "Where is he?" she reiterated, imploringly : "I want him." "Do you know anybody else here? Are you going to meet anybody that you know ?" "I don't know." "What is your name, my little one?" "Estelle." "Estelle?what other name ?" "I don't know." "Was it?I mean, is it Estelle Thompson ?" "No?only just Estelle." "Where do your papa and mamma live?" "I haven't got any." "Good heavens! this is the most pitiful thing I ever heard," said her questioner, looking around at the others. "What on earth?" Here a huge wave, dashing with violence against one of the windows, demolished the glass, and poured in a tlood into the cabin. The women screamed, the confusion became greater than ever; all further conversation was impossible; each person anticipated speedy destruction, for it did indeed appear as though nothing but a miracle could bring the ship to shore. The storm was more terrific than ever; the mast had already been cut away, and more than one leak was sprung. Still the brave crew toiled to the utmost, officers and j men working in fellowship to discharge their trust. Everything that human skill and force ; could accomplish was being done, though with small hope of a favorable result. Gradually i the violent excitement and grief that had pre- j vailed,subsided into the calm of despair; those who had at first been loudest in their lamentations, exhausted by their own agitation, settled down into a sort of dull stupor, apparently indifferent to their impending fate; while those whose fortitude still sustained them, endeavored to cheer and encourage their weiiMJi cwiiipuuiuMs, cimci uj nuj?vim <iun?, j or by audible and fervent prayer. Thus the fearful night wore on, each mo- i inent seeming to threaten immolation to the devoted ship. Yet still she struggled valiantly with the tempest ; and as the dawn broke the thunder began to die away, and a faint streak of light appeared in the eastern sky. CHAPTER II. ESTELLE. The sun rose in splendor, scattering the murky clouds before him, and flashing his golden rays over the still tossing, troubled waters of New York Bay, as the "Ocean Queen," crippled indeed, yet gallantly holding her own, crept slowly into port. No farther lives had been lost, and the whole extent of damage done was much less than had been anticipated. The grateful passengers made up a handsome purse, and presented it to the captain in token of their j appreciation of his almost superhuman efforts | in their behalf?the captain accepting it with j thanks?but immediately distributing its con- j tents among his men, who, as he generously , remarked, deserved it more and stood more ] in need of it than he did. It may he stated here, however, that he was not permitted so easily to discharge his obligation to them ; for a second subscription was immediately raised, and two days later, he was made the recipient of the handsomest service of silver that could be purchased in New York?a testimonial which he still preserves, and exhibits with pardonable pride to all his friends. Friends who had waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of the steamer, and who, during the storm, had almost given up hope of! ever seeing it again, flocked to the wharf to j welcome its precious freight of living souls, so ! narrowly rescued from a watery grave. Deep | and heartfelt was the joy expressed by the | wclcomcrs and the welcomed; fervent era-1 braces, eager greetings, warm congratulations might be heard and witnessed on all sides. I But, amidst all this tumult of happiness and | excitement, in which she had no share, where j i.~ ] was mi' imiu I The man who had first noticed her, and | who had broken to her, with all due caution and kindness, the news of the loss of her pro| tector and friend, had taken her in charge, resolving to befriend her, at least for the pres! ent, until some further arrangement could bo ; made for her welfare. He was only a plain j mechanic, in very moderate circumstances, ! but he had a generous and sympathizing i heart, and was deeply touched by the lonely i situation in which the poor little waif found | herself placed. He had a wife and three children in New York, who, he said, he knew would willingly cooperate with him in giving her temporary shelter and protection. The child made no resistance to the plan when it was proposed to her. Indeed, she appeared j strangely unmoved hy the novel and painful 1 circumstances of her position, testifying neither any especial sorrow at the loss of her former companion, nor any anxiety regarding her future fate. She still wore the same wistful, half-frightened look, mutely obeying all j the directions given her, without betraying, by look or action, either fear, pleasure or regret. Her new friend, whose name was Dar1 cy, was of opinion that she was confused, or, as he expressed it, "dazed," by the conjunction of startling events which had occurred. "It's no wonder her nerves are shattered, poor little lamb," he pityingly remarked. "When i she gets used to my family, and to her new life, no doubt she'll come round, and show her feelings like other children." uarey s cnantanie intentions regarding tne | child were not destined to be carried out. j Just as he was leaving the wharf, leading her | by the hand, intending to walk the short dis1 tance to his own house, he was hurriedly ac: costcd by an elderly gentleman, who came ! running after him in a breathless state. ; "Excuse me," he exclaimed eagerly, "but ' Captain Morton, with whom I have been con; versing, has just pointed you out to me as the j person who has kindly taken charge of the : little girl whose protector was lost in the 1 storm. Is this the child?" j "This is the child," replied I)arey, regard; ing his interlocutor with sonic surprise. "Po ' you know anything of her?" | "Know anything of her? Why,she's my : own sister's child, whom I've been expecting for a month?came down to the last steamer to meet her, but she didn't come?poor little i thing, her mother died not long ago, and she's sent tome to be taken care of. Here, Mamie, darling, look at me, won't you? I'm vour uncle John ; your poor dear mamma's own brother! Don't you want to conic home with me?" "My name isn't Mamie," said the child, shrinking a little closer to Darey. "My name's Kstelle." "Well, your mother's name was Mamie, or J at least Mary, and I always supposed yours i must be the same. Your name is Kstelle Harding, isn't it my pet ?" "Only just Kstelle." i "Poor little pet! how frightened you look ! ! Come with uncle, and he'll take you home to | such a pretty house, with a big garden and ; lots of flowers, all out in the country, and such : a sweet little cousin to play with! Won't; | you go ?" _ _ I By this time quite a number of bystanders | | had assembled to witness the scene, and j i Darcy suggested that they should adjourn to ! a private room in a hotel close by, where they = 1 could explain and arrange matters more at I J their ease. Thenew-comer willingly complied J ! with this suggestion, which was at once put j into execution, and the trio soon found thetnj selves safely sheltered in a neat little parlor | j from the annoyance of the public gaze. "Now sir," began Darcy; "are you sure that j , this is the little girl you are looking for? It's j I pretty hard to get anything out of her; not j | much satisfaction to be gained by asking her questions, as you see." j "My good sir," was the reply, "I'll explain | the exact state of the case to you, and you can judge for yourself whether my conjecture is I with or without foundation. It is now about i two months since I received news of the death 1 " ** TT V /_1 ?. .1 I I of my only sister, Mrs. naraing (sue marneu j young and went to reside in Liverpool) of typhoid fever. Her husband had died a twelve| month previous, leaving her with one child, a ! girl, whom, on her death-bed, she bequeathed j to my care, not being on good terms with her j husband's family, and unwilling to have the ! child given over to them. I got a precious j unpleasant letter from her old mother-in-law j on the subject, telling me of the bequest (which ! I could see she resented very strongly, having apparently taken a liking to the child) and giving me notice of her intention'to send her on. Of course, I replied suitably, and have ever since been expecting her, as I told you, I but have been disappointed up to this time, j She was to be sent under the escort of a man j named Thomas?" j "Thompson was this man's name," interposed Darcy. "Thompson, was it? I thought it was ' Thomas; but it does not signify?well, at any j rate, that was the arrangement, which, as you j see, was accordingly carried out. Most unfortunate catastrophe, that death of the poor fellow's, wasn't it? Leaves one so much in the dark, too?but still I can't feel any doubt regarding the child's identity; all the circumstances of the case go to prove it?don't you think so ?" "The probabilities seem strong," said Darcy, with a puzzled look.. "Still, as regards certainty?" "Oh! as regards certainty, of course 'tis a mere question of time to find that out; the explanation must arrive before long. Besides, I should suppose her clothing must be marked with her name?hasn't any one taken the trouble to find out?" * i J - . "An investigation nas Deen inaue; uut, strange to say, her clothes are merely marked with the letter E." "Humph! that's odd. And the man's trunk?papers, clothes, what not?is nothing to be discovered among them ?" "He had no trunk, I believe; he merely had a portmanteau, containing a wardrobe of a very plain description, and no letters or papers of any kind." "Humph!" said the gentleman again. "Very unfortunate?very odd! Still, I can't feel any doubt about this being the child in question?yet it seems singular that she shouldn't know her own name, doesn't it? She looks intelligent enough." "She's all in a maze, poor little soul, what | with the fright of the storm, and the man's i death, and all the strange faces around her," said Darcy, compassionately. "Talk to her j again, sir; iiiuyuc anu ji iuioin,i juu uwtv. | now." But all the endeavors of the gentleman to , elicit any farther information from the child j in regard to herself proved vain, and he was forced at last to give up the attempt as a futile one. "Well, there's but one thing to be done," he said, in a resigned tone; "and that is, to take her with me, in any case. I'll telegraph immediately to Liverpool of her arrival, and the answer to my message will set all doubts concerning her at rest. I need not say," he, added, grasping Darcy'shand, "how extreme-1 ly indebted to you I am for your kind inten- j tion regarding her. Had I not arrived in time j to claim her, your offered protection would j have been most opportune. By the way, I j may as well give you my card?there it is, sir ; my name is pretty well known hereabouts, i though I am not a resident of this State. I am spending some time with my brother, a few miles out of the city, and expect to return : [ in a couple of weeks more to my own home ! in South Carolina." "I thought you were a Southern gentleman, [ j sir," said Darey, smiling, "you find North- j erncrs rather more cautious in their ways than | you seem to be. I'm a Western man, myself;' | but I've always had a liking for the South." j | "Oh ! I'm cautious enough, for that matter," I good-humorcdly answered the gentleman,' i whose card bore the name of John Blandford, ; ! scrawled in a bold, free hand. "It would be j brutal not to take care of the poor little thing, i ! you know, just because I've 110 present proof of her identity. Well, sir, I am afraid you have been detained by this business considera- i I bly longer than you reckoned upon ; you ! 1 must be anxious to get home." I "I am, rather," said Darcy, smiling. "My ' j wife and daughters will be glad enough to get | | me back, safe and sound. They'd have been I down here, I know, if they had been sure the j I vessel was coming in this morning. I am ' | heartily glad, sir, to leave the child in such J i good hands as yours." j' They exchanged a friendly leave-taking,j and the mechanic hurried off, leaving Mr. J ' Blandford and his new charge together. "Let me see," said the former, consulting his substantial gold watch. "We'll take the 10/20 train up, that leaves in half an hour. You must be hungry, ain't you, little one ?" "No," said Estelle, under her breath. "Really and truly, now, wouldn't you like i some sandwiches, or a bit of chicken, or some i fruit and cakes, before we start ?" "No," was again the reply, in the same subdued tone as before. j "Some candy, then ? I know a splendid i ! candy-shop close by here. Come with me and J ; I'll get a pound or two for you." .She did not refuse this oiler, and taking her : small hand, Mr. Blandford led her out into i the street, and to the shop in question, where I it tempting supply oi sweets was put up uy nis | direction, and given into her custody. Just: ! next door was a toy-store, and seeing a wax i doll in the window, uncle John stopped and asked if she didn't like dolls. j j "I don't know," was the reply. "Don't you ever play with them ?" asked j j Air. Blandford, surprised, i She shook her head. "I never had one," ! she rejoined. "Bless my soul! Why, my little Carrie, a j couple of years younger than you, has the J higgest family of dolls in Christendom, and is 1 i always wanting more. Curious hringing-uj> jioor Mary must have given her," muttered i Mr. Blandford, as he entered the toy-shop. "Here, ma'am," said he to the shop-woman ; ! will you he kind enough to show us some of ' your prettiest wax dolls?good-sized ones? and let this little lady choose one." The individual thus, addressed measured with a glance the capacity of her customer's j heart and purse ; and proceeded with alacrity i to display the required articles. Estclle's! great black eyes opened a trifle wider as a | magnificent doll, two feet high, clad in blue I silk and spangles, was elevated upon the conn ter, and something like a smile for an instant I played upon her lips. "Do you like that, now ?" enquired Mr. I Blandford kindly, catching the transitory gleam, as he bent to look into her face. "Yes," was the unhesitating reply. Her feminine heart was not proof against such a temptation as this. "What's the price, madam ?" "Ten dollars, sir," said the shopwoman, graciously. "Shall I put it up for you ?" "Ten dollars, eh? that's pretty high?however, it's her choice, and I shan't disappoint her. Yres, you may put it up. But there's Carrie, now?I must certainly get something for Carrie ; though I know she's not one to be Sho babies pnmifrh already: so JV<ltUU<7. o j . I'll get her something else instead. That little painted carriage with tin horses ; yes, that will suit her exactly. Wrap it up for me, if you please, as quickly as you can ; time's going, and I leave by the 10:20 train. Thank you, madam?two-fifty did you say ? There's the exact change, I believe. Come on, dearie, we must be off at once. Can you carry that big doll, or shall I?" "I'll carry it," &yd Estclle, clasping it firmly in her small arms. "She's coming round," thought Mr. Blandford, relieved ; "I'm glad to see some childish symptoms at last." He hailed a carriage, and bid the driver convey them with all possible speed to the station he desired to reach. They got there just in time, and barely managed to secure comfortable seats before the train started. The whistle shrieked and they were off. "God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Blandford a minute later, in accents of dismay; "we've forgotten all about your clothes ! Now what in the world is to be done? Child, why didn't you remind me ?" Estelle stared at him, and something of her former apprehensive look returned to her face. "I?I forgot," she stammered, half-inaudibly, shrinking a little farther into her own corner. Mr. Blandford noticed the jresture ; half with wonder, half with impatience. "Good gracious, little one; don't look so scared," he said, laying his hand reassuringly on hers. "I'm not vexed with you?only with myself, for being so forgetful. Never mind ; we'll arrange about them, some way or other. Nurse your dolly, now, and be happy; we'll soon be at home." And Estelle hugged her new treasure close, as the train flew onward; but whether her thoughts were happy ones or not, it was difficult to divine*, from the fixed, solemn expression of her unchildlike countenance, which gave no sign of any emotion within. CHAPTER III. THE BLANDFORD FAMILY. Mr. Richard Blandford, the brother, or more correctly speaking, the half-brother of Mr. John, inhabited an elegant country residence, some eighteen or twenty miles distant from New York city. He was an old bachelor, and very wealthy; and like most individuals of this class, had his eccentricities, which, fortunately, however, were, for the most part, of an agreeable kind. He maintained a large retinue of servants, though he lived the greater part of the time alone. His brother's family generally spent several weeks of each autumn with him, "but his solitude was seldom broken by other company. Everything about his establishment, both within doors and without, was in the most costly and recherche, style. He employed a gardener at twelve hundred a year to keep his grounds in order; kept a close carriage, an open buggy, and six or seven fine horses; fared as sumptuously as Lueullus, and was noted lor possessing tne best winc-cellar in the State. To look at him, one would never have suspected him of being a Sybarite in his tastes. He was a short, fat, good-natured old gentleman, jovial and oflhand in his manner, and rather careless about dress, especially in hot weather, when his attire scarcely came up to the conventional standard of propriety. In July and August days he might he seen extended on a couch, in the shady end of his hack verandah, smoking a pipe, with a very loosely fitting shirt, open at the neck and turned up at the wristbands, a pair of enormous white trousers, embroidered slippers, and nothing more on?collar, necktie, coat and vest, and even stockings, being discarded as inconvenient superfluities, in this guise he would shuffle about the house and yard, and even partake of his meals, at which, however, his servants were required to appear in irreproachable costume, and to go through their duties with as much ceremony and decorum as though a whole company was present. No one understood better than he how to entertain ; and when he did take a fancy to give a dinner or a wine-party, his L'uests were sure to be charmed with the en tcrtainment and with him. Although he was J near sixty years old, he was by no means re-1 garded as beyond the pale of matrimony, by sundry elderly damsels and match-making mothers of his acquaintance, whose intentions concerning him, had he divined them, would have filled his soul with horror. But fortu-; nately for his peace of mind, he was quite in nocent of their aspirations. It was reported j that he had been jilted in his youth, and some j asserted that he had taken a vow of celibacy | inconsequence; but the truth of this state-! mcnt no one, of course, could absolutely vouch ' for. On the forenoon of the day which had witnessed the mooring of the "Ocean Queen" in New York harbor, Mr. Richard Blandford sat in a huge arm chair in the front porch, smoking his favorite pipe, and playing with j his little niece, Carrie. The latter was a flax-! en-headed, roly-poly, dimpled little elf of two j and a half years, the youngest and only sur-! viving child of her parents, and, as a natural ! consequence, considerably spoiled. No one contributed more lavishly to this process than j her uncle, who declared her to be the most i beautiful, clever, superlatively wonderful child in existence, and was never happier than when petting or romping with her. Of her j beauty there could be no doubt. No pictured cherub could be lovelier than that rosy-tinted little face, with its deep, heavy fringed blue eyes, open white brow, dainty, smiling mouth, and its framework of clustering blonde curls, just reaching to the curve of the soft, snowy neck. There was a charm in both her features and expression which by far exceeded the mere ordinary prcttiness and winsoincness, which adorn healthy and happy childhood, and promised for her in future years no common order of attractiveness ami grace. She was also a sweet-tempered, merry-hearted, af fectionatc little creature, warmly reciprocating the love that was lavished upon her on all sides, and was less subject to fits of the disease popularly termed naughtiness than might have been expected, considering the unlimited indulgence of which she was the object. She was dearly fond of her uncle Richard, and at this present moment was tumbling and frisking about over his knees with the playfulness and agility of a fat little kitten, and trying to grasp a small China doll, the youngest of the numerous family of which her father had spoken, which he kept teasingly just out of her reach, declaring that it was his child and not, hers, and that it would cry if he gave it up. : "I'll go way and yead my book if you's naughty, uncle Dick," she threatened at last, relinquishing her attempts in despair of sue-1 cess, and quite breathless with mingled laughter and exertion ; "and then you'll cry." "Of course I'll cry, if you leave me," said uncle Dick, in a melancholy tone. "Please stay, Carrie, and I'll be a good boy." "Well, I'll stay, if you give me my baby ; | and I'll show you some pictures too; shall I ?" "Yes, do," said her uncle; and hereupon producing "The House that Jack Built," in the very largest of type and extreme brillianI cy of illustration, she proceeded gravely to point out and explain the pictures, resting a chubby forefinger on each one in turn, as in : childish accents she lisped out the accompanying rhymes, which she knew by heart. While they were in the midst of this enter| tainmcnt, the sound of approaching wheels interrupted them; and Carrie suddenly looking up, and crying "Papa ! papa!" slipped out of her uncle's arms, and dropping doll and book on the floor, raced as fast as her short legs could carry her to the head of the steps, where she stood balancing herself on her toes in an ecstasy of delight at her father's return. Mr. Blandford alighted, from the carriage, only stopping to lift Estclle to the ground before he picked up his eager little daughter and almost devoured her with caresses. "Well, my pigeon! my little snow-ball! my fairy queen ! have you been a good girl all this long time since papa was away?" he ex claimed lonuiy, as ne kisscu ncrgmu line, nci downy shoulders and soft, clinging arms. Then gently sitting her down again he drew toward her the small, frightened-looking stranger, and joined their hands. "This is your cousin, Carrie?your dear little cousin Estclle. She's come a long, long way, across the big ocean, and is so tired, and so lonesome; and you'll play with her, and let her be your sister, won't you ?" "Yes," was the prompt reply, as she lifted her face to proffer a kiss of welcome to Estelle, who received it as passively as she did everything else. "Come in, poor little girl, and I'll give you half my babies and my pretty books, and half my uncle Dick, too, and then you won't be lonesome any more." "Hallo! Who gave you leave to dispose of me in that fashion ?" exclaimed her uncle, coming up behind her. "You've not had an unsuccessful trip, this time, I see," he added, addressing his brother, and patting Estclle on the head as he spoke. "Unique little specimen, ain't it? Not a bit like Mary." "This is another uncle, dear," said Mr. Blandford, kindly to the child, who drew back shily from the new face. "Poor little thing," he continued, in an undertone, "she's different from any child I ever saw; but I dare say Carrie's companionship will do her good." When a family council was held, and the r>irr>nnistfLnees of the case explained, Mr. Blandford found that he was considered to have formed rather a hasty judgment in regard to the little stranger being his expected niece; but it was agreed that he could not well have acted otherwise than he had done. At all events, a few hours would set the subject of her identity at rest; and the arrival of the telegram that was to come in response to Mr. Blaudford's dispatch, was looked for with no small anxiety. It arrived two days later, and contained but eight words? " Child not sent?very ill of scarlet fever." "Well, well! This is a nice and comfortable state of affairs," said Mr. Richard Blandford, who seemed rather diverted at the mistake than otherwise. "What could you expect, my dear brother, running and picking up the first little strange girl, without any relations, that you discover on board the steamer? What will you do with her, now you've got her ?" "Indeed, I don't know," said Mr. John, looking, as he felt, wofully perplexed and chavrined. "What would vou advise me to O - y do r Mr. Richard shrugged his shoulders. "Send her to an orphan asylum, I suppose," he rejoined. "Oh ! dear, I would not feel justified in taking such a step as that. I'll see what Emily thinks." Emily was his wife, a little, fair-faced, small-featured woman, very soft and gentle in her disposition, and without any very decided opinion of her own. She felt compassionately disposed toward the unfortunate litlitle waif thus curiously thrown upon their hands, and shrank, as did her husband, from the idea of an asylum. "Would you?couldn't we?don't you think, John we might keep her, anyhow ?" she ventured to suggest. "Byjove, Emily! I'm glad to hear you propose that," he burst forth, greatly relieved. "I was afraid you might object; but to tell you the truth, it seems to me as though Providence had placed her under our protection." "And therefore it would be wrong to refuse it to her. Think, John, if our Carrie were placed in such a situation, with us two gone, and nobody to befriend her! And if all our own little ones had lived"?here her voice faltered?"we wouldn't have considered that! we had too many. Even if your real niece j does come on later, three in the house won't: make it too full." "Bless you, little woman," said her husband,! heartily. "I think just exactly as you do ; J and we'll keep the poor child, and, please God, she shall never feel the want of her own father and mother while she has us to provide j for her. She'll be fine company for Carrie, [ too, won't she ? Audi think, if you don't! mind, we'll call her our niece, all the game as if she were; it will make our house more homelike to her." Thus the worthy pair decided the fate of the child, by an act of kindness and generosity which turned, as it were, the whole tide of her life, and laid before her a very different future from that which, but a few days before, had seemed her probable destiny. Mr. Richard Blandford did not wholly ap-! prove of the course they had resolved upon, lie hoped, he said, that the result would prove satisfactory ; but he must own that he had doubtson the subject. It was undoubtedly a risk to receive into the family, on such a footing, a child of whose parentage and previous surroundings they were totally ignorant. No otic could tell what hereditary taint, either physical or moral, might be lurking in her; or what danger might be in store for them in the shape of unpleasant interference from her relatives, were any still living. In fact, there ! were a dozen reasons why her connection with I them might prove undesirable, and entail ' upon them consequences which at present it was impossible to foresee. "My dear Dick," said Mr. John, more testi-' ly than he was in the habit of speaking, "all | that is mighty wise, mighty flue, and your arguments, no doubt, are those of prudence and caution ; but they don't impress me as you ; seem to think they ought. Now, I put it to 1 you ; do you suppose that any person with an ! ordinary soft heart could ever sleep in peace, | after turning a helpless orphan like that adrift I upon the cold charity of the world, when he . had a comfortable home, and enough to eat and drink and to spare, to offer her? As I| was saying to Emily, it seems to me that a special providence must have thrown her into \ our hands; and there's no telling what a com-1 fort and blessing she may turn out to he to us in the future." "Oh ! of course, there's no telling," replied his brother, drily. "I have no wish to dictate j to you or bias your judgment, and if you and Emily see fit to assume such a responsibility, it's nobody's affair but your own. I only hope the child may prove worthy of your bounty." "Freely ye have received?freely give," quoted Mr. John, reverently. "It has pleased Heaven to provide me with more than a sufli- j ciency of this world's goods, and surely I j should bestow a portion of them on the needy j and friendless." "That you might easily do, without adopt-1 ing her as your own child," thought Mr. Richard ; but he would not vex his brother's kind i heart by casting any farther damper upon his t plans. ! ? "Well, John, you have my best wishes for j S the success of your scheme," he said aloud; j 1 "and I must say that I think the child has j \ reason to be grateful for her good fortune." ' t "She's too young to understand much about ( 1 that," rejoined Mr. John; "nor do I wish her j 1 ever to feel herself in the position of a depen-1 j dant, or the recipient of charity. Let it be-1 t come at once a settled fact that she is one of! c ourselves, entitled to our protection and care; 11 she will soon learn to accept these as naturally j s as Carrie does, and with the establishment of! r this confidence, affection will spring up, and i 1 the latent good qualities of her nature become : 1 developed in the atmosphere of home kindness j i and happiness. You think me very simple- j t minded and foolish, I've no doubt, Dick ; but j 1 something tells me that I am acting right, | [ and won't repent of it." I f "I think you have one of the best hearts in I t the world." said Mr. Richard ; and the two j i brothers shook hands heartily, as they always j did after an argument of any sort, whether | ] their opinions remained unchanged or not. 1 Farther news of their dead sister's child < was still anxiously waited for. It was not, of ? course, to be expected that she would be able ? to come on to them directly, but Mr. John 1 Blandford hoped that by the time they were settled in their own home, she would be suffi- < ciently recovered to do so. i This expectation was doomed to be frustra- s ted by a sad piece of news. On the eve of s the day fixed for their departure for the South, i a telegram arrived containing information of t the death of the little girl, Mary Flauxman ? Harding, from that disease which, to children, ) proves so often a fatal one. ? Mr. and Mrs. Blandford sorrowed over this t intelligence almost as if they had known and l loved the child ; but the former declared that { he was now, more than ever, convinced of the 1 wisdom and propriety of their mutual decision i to adopt Estelle, who, it seemed, had actually been sent to them in place of the niece for I whom they had prepared so warm a place in i their hearts. - 1 The family now took leave of Mr. Richard t Blandford, and started by rail for Carolina ; 1 having endeavored, as they did on each similar occasion, to extort a promise from the lat- < ter that he would pay them a visit in the I spring, and receiving the invariable reply they 1 had learned, by experience, to expect?that j traveling always injured his nerves, stirred up ! I UJa IU1.1 vninnrl liia Hicrpstinrv sn t.hftt it ! 1 was an impossibility for him to accede to their < request; but that he would live in the hope 1 of seeing them again, as usual, in the ensuing 1 fall. 1 i CHAPTER IV. 1 A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. It was a bright, cold winter's day. The < sunshine lit up, with its cheerful glow, the white walls of the house at "The Cedars," Mr. < Blandford's pleasant country home, and , streamed in upon the bright carpets through j the windows,freely opened to admit it. Some housekeepers would have shrunk, from admit ting its cheery presence in such close juxtaposition to those painted roses and forget-me- , nots, to the soft crimson curtains, and the , polished, old-fashioned furniture of the front , parlors; but little Mrs. Blandford dearly * loved the sunshine, and let it come in whenev- < er it would. None of the household belong- ] ings were considered fine enough or precious I enough to be taken extra care of. All were j} pretty, comfortable, and appropriate, but ev- ( erything bore marks of the "use which is not , abuse." There was no stiff company-room t with chairs and sofas swathed in ghostly j Holland, from which the children's merry ( faces and voices were perpetually banished, and where ordinary domestic occupations j dared not intrude themselves. The signs of a j cheerful presence lingered everywhere, in the , often-read books, the stray bit of work or un- j finished drawing, the freshly cut flowers, the ( open piano, the chair or footstool pushed a little out of its place; yet there was no disas- , ter, no dust, no untidy litter, to offend the j most fastidious eye. People said the Bland- j fords' house was one of the nicest and most j < attractive in the neighborhood ; yet it was a j ( trr>rtr 11 nnrntonrlinnr lmilQP aimnlfiin 5tS flrchi- I ,l"J v..1j,,vvvu-...6 1 1 tecture, and by no means extensive, for Mr. Blandford, though comfortably off, was not rich like his brother, and could by no means have afforded to set up and maintain a grand establishmentlike "Silverlake" (Mr. Richard's place) even had his inclination prompted him so to do. Fortunately, both his wife and himself, were of unambitious tastes, and were quite satisfied | to live in a modest style. They had a sufR ciency of the comforts of life, and enjoyed ; them thoroughly, without enjoyingthe expen-! sive luxuries which were beyond their reach. ! ] It never occurred to Mrs. Blandford to feel a j i pang of discontent because she had but one jr nice carriage to ride in, instead of half a:? dozen equipages of different sizes and patterns, j i or to wish for three new silk dresses at a time < instead of oue; and Mr. Blaudford was quite ; 1 satisfied with his sleek pair of carriage-horses j < and his one handsome hunter, and did not < covet his neighbor, Mr. Smith's, fine stud, 1 which it cost a small fortune to maintain, i And yet he was generous to a fault, and would j 1 lavish his money freely to give others pleas- ' ure. Many were the fine clothes and ex-11 ? i t i.. I, pensive ornaments wnicn ne wouiu nave ue-,? stowed upon his wife, if she had not had the j good sense to decline them in favor of more i useful articles. As to Carrie's doll3 and toys,; 1 the amount they cost, Mrs. Bland ford declar-; ? ed, was equal to the housekeeping bills; but j this was an excusable weakness on his part, j t True to her promise, Carrie shared these, j without stint or thought of herself, with her! new companion ; for in respect of giving she ; 1 was her father's true child. Thus Estelle, ? had not been installed two days in her new i i home, before she could boast of as many pos-! t sessions as Carrie herself; and it was observa-! < ble, that when they were playing together, 1 she always kept her own things exclu-; i sively for her own use, while those which her < little playfellow retained were equally at the ! < disposal of them both. As to the large doll . i Mr. Blandford had given her in New York, i she would not let Carrie so much as touch it, I i because, as she said, she was "too little," and i might hurt it; and good-tempered Carrie < turned resignedly to her own favorite big i cloth baby, though not without a little mild 1 wonder at the unusual circumstance of any- 2 thing that she wished for being denied her. ( I It soon became apparent, indeed, that the 1 two children were quite different in disposi- I tion. Estelle had always a watchful eye to t her own interests, and a strong objection to 1 the least infringement on what she considered I her rights; and her first shyness having worn off, it was marvelous to see how quickly and j 1 easily these supposed 'rights'were established, j and how entirely she managed to adapt her-1' self to her new position?assuming, without! i difficulty, the character of a child of the \ house, and elder sister to Carrie, over whom f she began, erelong, to exercise a species of 1 small tyranny, which she had the tact, how- ; f ever, carefully to keep from the observation s of the grown folks. To Mr. and Mrs. Bland- j f ford she appeared merely as a clever, somewhat forward, but, by no means, unamiable j child, whose little imperfections were doubt- j \ less, in a great measure, the effect of faulty 1? training, and could be easily eradicated by a ! I few months of judicious management and j 1 care. I r There was one member of the establishnent who had, from the first, resented the in;roduction of this new addition to the family, md that was Carrie's old black nurse, Dinah, she secretly pronounced Estelleto be "a 'ceitul little ting," and her honest heart swelled vith indignation, when she found her admitted ,o all the privileges and indulgences enjoyed )y her own darling. She did not venture, lowever, to give vent to these sentiments, essecially as her mistress had given strict orders hat no difference was to be made between the jhildren, on pain of her displeasure. But not he less did she chafe at the innovation, while the kept a strict guard over Carrie, that she l,a imnncfl^ nn of InOQf whilft Under LI I fell L UUO UC iiu^rv/gvu vuj MV ?VMW?) ler surveillance, by the new comer. Estelle iad the wit speedily to find out the estimation n which Dinah held her; and while she hear* ,ily reciprocated the dislike of which she felt lerselfto be the object, she, nevertheless, took mins to ingratiate herself into the favor of me whose position of high trust and imporance in the nursery made it a matter of selfnterest to cultivate her good graces. But in branching off to these generalities, [ have departed from what was intended to le the subject of this chapter, namely, an ocmrrence which materially affected the life ind prospects of both the children, and made i complete and startling change in the house* lold at "The Cedars." It was, as I have already stated, a bright, dear winter's day; the air, though dry, was inusually keen and frosty, and as Carrie was iuffering from a cold, her mother decided that the should not, as usual, go out to play, but emain, under Dinah's care, by the nursery ire. This did not suit Estelle, who had taken i particular fancy to go down to a certain lond in a neighboring pasture, in order to lail a toy-boat her "uncle John," as she was ;aught to call him, had made for her. She fielded, nevertheless, with an apparently good jrace to the prohibition, which affected her as well as Carrie; for Mrs. Blandford would, by io means, trust her to go without Dinah, rhe two played together, for some time, with ;heir baby-houses and toys, while the old itirse nodded in the chimney-corner, rousing lerself at intervals to add a leisurely stitch or ;wo to a piece of work on which she pro " J I A icsseu IU uc cngagcu. A little before lunch-time, Mrs. Blandford :ame into the nursery, cloaked and bonneted for a drive. "I am going out with your master, Dinah," she said, as she stooped to give a *ood-by caress to little Carrie, who sprang up to meet her. "I shall not be gone probably longer than an hour; take good care of the children, and be sure and keep this room warm. Carrie,my pet, don't keep me now; papa is v aiting for me." "Don't go, mamma," said the little one, as with a spoilt child's privilege, disregarding the njunction, she clasped her chubby arras closer ound her mother's neck, rubbing her rosy jheek softly against the warm boa, which she lalled a "pussy cat," and loved to stroke. 'Carrie wants you to stay at home." "But mamma can't stay now, darling; and Carrie must be a good girl, and play nicely with Estelle, and mind all mauin Dinah tells ler ; and I'll soon be back." "Mayn't I go with you, aunt Emily ?" asked Estelle. "No, ray dear; I am not going anywhere where I could take you. Besides, you wouldn't leave poor little Carrie alone; would pou ?" "Oh! no, I forgot," said Estelle demurely. 'We're playing house, aunt Emily; and Carrie is my little daughter. Isn't that nice ?" "Very nice," said Mrs. Blandford, smiling it the grown-up air, which Estelle was fond )f assuming sometimes; and avoiding, as she was careful to do, all appearance of partiality, she kissed Estelle's cheek, while gently dismgaging herself from her little daughter's embrace. "Carrie, don't you hear that papa is waiting br me ? Don't squeeze the poor pussy-cat so lard, or all the fur will be spoiled, and it won't be nice and soft any more. There!? hat's my good-by kiss; now Jet mamma go at )nce." Was it a premonition of coming evil that nade the little one still nestle so closely in ;hat dear embrace, as though she could not aeareven the brief parting of an hour? Slowly and reluctantly she relaxed her hold, ind even when her mother had turned away ind reached the door, she sprang after her, ind held up her face for "just one more kiss." Mrs. Blandford again stooped and pressed her lips fondly on the rosy mouth, the dimpled iheeks, the fair, angelic brow; then hearing ier husband's voice calling to her from below, ihe hastily put the child from her, and with a last parting smile and nod, closed the door ind ran down stairs. [to be continued next week.] axf.nnotf.op Verdi.?When Verdi was cutting the last touches to "111 Trovatore" he vas visited in bis study by a privileged friend. The friend was one of the ablest of living musicians and critics. He was permitted to look it the score and run over the "Anvil Chorus" )n the pianoforte. "What do you think of ;hat?" said the master. "Trash!" said the ;onnoisseur. Verdi rubbed his hands and jbuckled. "Now look at this, and this," he svent on. "Rubbish!" said the other, rolling i cigarette. The composer rose and embraced lira with a burst of joy. "What do you nean ?" cried the critic. "My dear friend," cplied Verdi, "I have been makinga popular ipera. In it I resolved to please every body except the jurists, the great judges, the classcists, like you. Had 1 pleased you, I should rave pleased no one else. What you say asaires me of success. In three months '111 Trovatore' will be sung and roared and whisled and barrel-organed all over Italy." Dinner-Table Squabbles.?Perhaps lothing is more prejudicial to the proper assimilation of food than disputation. The nind becomes irritated, and instantaneously ;he stomach sympathizes. A dinner-table is ;he worst possible place for an argument ivhich may easily become heated and acrimolious. Nor should it be a place where children are constantly reproved, or their bad conduct suffered to destroy the comfort of the meal. Discipline in the household'is highly jecessary, but the wise mother will not make it a prominent feature at the table. Good lews, happy thoughts, innocent mirth and cheerful sayings are the most efficacious relshes, and should be used freely. An uncom :ortab!e meal, whatever may oe tne cause, js ilmost certain to produce iudigestion. And hough such small matters may be thought by nany, unimportant, they go very far toward he establishment of good health, and even he most robust cannot neglect them with immunity. A Kind Offer.?An item is going the ounds about a girl dying from tight lacing. \n editor, commenting on the fact, says, 'These corsets should be done away with, and fthe girls can't live without being squeezed, ve suppose men can be found who can sacriice themselves. As old as we are, we would ather devote three hours a day, without a arthing for pay, as a brevet corset, than iee these girls dying off in that manner. Ofice hours almost any time." Every Thing Wrong.?"Every thing goes vroug," said an Illinois former, wiping his (yes. "The grasshoppers enm, the hired man mroke his leg, wife died, the barn burned, and !'ve rid for three days, and can't find a wonan who wants to marry."