Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. grist, Proprietor. J |w Jiulcpcndcnt Jjamitij Uciuspaprr: ,for flif ftomofioii of flic |)olitjtal, ^otial, Sfgriculiiiral and (f-oimncrtial Jntcrrals of lite .South. |terms?$2.00 a year in advance. VOL. 35 YOBKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1889. 3STO. 33. Jl |>crial ftom mwm. CHAPTER L I MUST begin by referring to a few trifling events which have no direct connection with my story, otherwise it will f hardly be understood why I behaved as I did when the crisis arrived. I know that many of my friends have accused me of culpable weakness, and even of conniving at crime; but then they do not know all the facts of the case. I am a colonial merchant, by name Gerald Quinton, and at the time I am going to speak of I was 83 years of age. My father had been dead about fifteen months, and I was still living with my mother and my one unmarried sister in the pleasant old gray stone house at Clayhill, which I had looked upon as my home all my life long. I was my mother's only son among five daughters; and, if 1 was not as conceited a specimen of humanity as one could meet in a day's march, the fact was due to my father's wise foresight in sending me here, there, and everywhere for a year or two's residence at one or another of his distant branch houses, instead of keeping mo at home to be spoilt by the women. Now. however, I had promised my mother not to roam again unless under the pressure of actual necessity, and had taken uiy place as the resident head of the house of Quinton, Hill, Craxhammer & Co.. of Milliter street, EL C., Montreal, Port Elizabeth, Melbourne, Bombay, etc. This matter of self introduction over, I come to a more difficult part of my story? the introduction of my heroine. She was the only daughter of the leading Clayhill doctor, and her name was rv-nthin TVofuinli.im SVionnflhrnthpr. two years younger than herself. Cynthia was 23 and Horace 21 when my story begins with the death of their father, Dr. Debenham. I had gone down by my usual train, the 4:25 from Liverpool street, and was surprised, on leaving the carriage at Clayhill, to see my sister Jemima waiting by the door of the station with a worried, anxious look on her face, which was most unusual. "Hallo, Jem," I exclaimed?she was named Jemima after her godmother, a rich maiden aunt; and her only consolation under the affliction was that the obnoxious name was capable of this manly contraction?"what are you doing down here at this time? Isn't this the hour usually devoted to tea and scandal, served up hot?" She did not answer me; and, looking , at her more closely, I made the astounding discovery that she had been crying. I hurried her into the dog cart without another word, and waited beforo asking my next question until wo were clear of the straggling stream of passengers. "What is it, old lady? Don't break down out here if you can possibly avoid it What has happened?" "Dr. Debenham is dead." I "Dead? Good heavens, how shocking! Why, he went up with me this morning, Jem, and seemed in splendid spirits! Was it an accident?" "No; ho came down by the 1:30, took a fly. and went straight home. Cynthia was surprised to see him back so soon, and wanted to get him some luncheon; but he said he didn't want to bo bothered, and almost Bhut tho study door in her face. She said she thought there was something rather queer in his manner, and felt anxious, thinking the 6un had Ikh'H too much for him, or sometiling of tho kind. So, instead of going away, sho sat down in the hall to be near him. She was tired, having been in the garden all the morning, and, sitting there in the silent hall, was almost asleep, when she was roused by tho sound of something heavy falling inside her father's study. Without stopping a moment to think, she rushed in and found him lying face downwards upon tho floor. They did everything they could, but Mr. Jennings declares ho was dead when he fell." "And what do they say it Is?" "Heart disease; but thcro is to bo an Inquest" "Poor Cynthia!" "She is wonderfully calm," said Jem, with the tears running down her good natured brown face. "If Bhe had cried and made ever bo little fuss, I should not have been bo upset; but her patient, mournful white face is more than I can stand. She grieves terribly about Horace. He and his father parted in anger the last time they met, and she thinks the memory of their quarrel will bo so terrible for the poor boy now." "A good for nothing young scapegrace!" I muttered, with a complete absence of sympathy. "She need not worry herself on that score, Jem; Horace won't grieve much, unless his own interests are touched very nearly. Who is with Cynthia now?" "The mother. Wo want her to come home with us to-night." "She'll not do that, I'm certain, Jem; she won't leave tho houso until after the funeral. Cynthia is not tho girl to spare herself when thero are duties to perform, and she will think it her duty to stay at the house in Park street until everything is over. Then there's Horace, too, to look after. Can he get here tonight?" "He can get up to town from Oxford; but I'm afraid he'll miss the last train down. Here's Park street. Will you come and see Cynthia?" I shrank instinctively from this suggestion. 1 loved Cynthia very dearly; ami 1 believed she loved me?in fact, she had almost admitted that her duty to her father and brother was the only obstacle when 1 had asked her?six months before?to be my wife. Anything I could do for her good, I would; yet the thought of going to Dr. Debenharu's house just now was repugnant to me. "I'll come if I can be of any use," I said, feeling some self contempt at my own weakness; "but I don't suppose she will seo mo, Jem." "Perhaps not; but it will look kind; and, even if you don't see her, you may bo of use." So we cot down, left the cart at the top of the street, and went in at the smart chocolate colored gates, and round the neat drive to the 6ide door of the doctor's prosperous looking house. I could scarcely realize that he iay dead within, cut down in the primo of his manhood by this awfully sudden stroke! The scarlet geraniums and the rosea were in full bloom on the front lawns?vivid patches of color in the July sunshine; and, on the tennis lawn at the side of the house, tho nets were still up. i Jem and I had been playing there tho night before, and I had picked a pebble off the grass and put it on the top of tho summer house. I remembered some remark tho doctor had made about the stone remaining there until I took it down again?I was reputed to bo the tallest man in Clayhill. As I turned into the house I saw tho pebble still where 1 had put it, and the trifling incident brought home to mo u swift realization of tho words, "In the midst of lifo we aro in death." I had to wait a fow minutes in tho little side passage to recover my self possession before I risked meeting poor Cynthia. She saw mo just for a few moments. "Your mother has been so good, Ger aid!" she said gratefully, raising her patient hazil eves to mine. "But I can't come to you. as she wishes. There is Horace to be thought of. you see; he will suffer bo terribly over this! Wo shall want to bo alone together until tho first wrench is over But you'll know I'm grateful all thy same, won't you?" Jem was right! This calm, self contained grief was a thousand times more touching than cries ami sobs would have been. As she stood there, with tho tears quivering in her steadfast eyes and her lips set in tho saddest curve I have ever seen, but without a sound or movement I about her suggestive of tho indulgence of grief, I felt as if some 0110 had suddenly elutched mv throat in a grip of steel. I raised her hand to my lips in passionate sympathy, and left her with my mother. Before that week was out Cynthia Debenham had need of all tho sympathy we could give her. When the affairs of the dead man were examined, they were round to be in no almost nopeiess sutte of muddle. lie had dabbled in financial schemes; and 011 tho day of his death he had lost about twelve hundred pounds. This discovery left no doubt in my own mind that his money troubles had had a large sliaro in causing his sudden death. Horace, when he found how things were, wanted to offer the creditors a composition; but Cynthia succeeded, after days of patient persuasion, in talking him out of this idea. The brother and 6ister came to us the evening after the funeral, and discussed their future plans in the twilight after dinner! "Horace wanted to secure a few hundreds out of the estate and emigrate," I Cyn.hia told me, as we sat a little reI moved from tho others; "but I knew it was a hopeless scheme. What do we know about farming or sheep raising? Wo Bhould certainly bo swindled out of our little capital, and come home at the end of a year or so absolute paupers. Besides, there is bur father's good name to be thought of. Mr. Sedger tells me that, if we are satisfied to leave everything for the creditors, we shall be able to pay them in full." "But," I remonstrated, "the creditors : themselves would not expect such self | denial as that. It would be preposterous J to leave yourselves without a penny in : the would!" "We slm'n't quite do that," she answered, with a certain quiet, gentle decision in her voice which I knew of old to be absolutely without appeal. "We shall take furniture enough to make two or three rooms comfortable?the breakfast room chairs and couch and so on? and start housekeeping on ur own account hi a very humble way in town. Horace has decided to accept your offer, and to enter the office at once. Gerald." "That's all right as far as it goes; and I'm glad of it!" I said grumpily. "But what about you, Cynthia? It does boys * A _ 1_ *. _ Lfi.. 1 4. T J u 1:1 gooa 10 ruugn it ix uit; uub x uuu t ujxv the notion of your doing it You don't know what life is like in a fourth or fifth rate suburban lodging house, especially when you're cramped for money, as you would be." "Now, don't bo hard on my poor little plan!" she whispered pleadingly. "You don't know what trouble I've had to talk Horaco into it; and, if ho once gets a notion that you are against it too, I shall have all my trouble over again. I assure you, Gerald, it is the only honest course open to us! As for being cramped for money, that can hardly be possible with the hundred and fifty a year you have offered Horace and the sixty or seventy I shall earn!" "You earn? How?" The tone of her voice was more pleading than, ever as 6he answered softly: "I mean to get an engagement as daily governo-: in a family." "It is all a pack of romantic nonsense!" I exclaimed, angrily. "Why can't you make yourself contented hero with my mother and Jem for a few months until your firnt mourning for your father is over, am' then come to the home I will preparo for you?" "You are so good, Gerald! But Horace" "Why should your life be sacrificed to Horace?" 1 cried again. "If he can't livo alone on his salary, let him come and make his homo here and ho a son to my mother when 1 am no longer with her." Iler face flushed vividly, but she suppressed her emotion and answered quietly enough.: "Do ycu think wo could consent to live on your charity like that? Even while you propose it you know well enough how impossible it is for Horace to accept such an offer." "Then let him live en garcon in these lodgings you speak of, and you come hero to my mother until? Ah do, Cynthia!'' I cried imploringly, as I saw her lips tightening resolutely. "Let me beg of you not to expose yourself to the petty wearing discomforts of such a life as you propose. You can form no idea of what it is like!" "It is all very well for you to talk about living en garcon, with your knowledge of tho world and your extended experience, not to speak of your thirty odd years of wisdom. But with Horace a lonely life in London would be a very different thing. Think of the poor boy?ho is really not more?after a long day's work in tho office with nothing to go home to but empty rooms! Would he go home to them? You know he would not. I don't want you to think I imagine that the mere knowledge of my presence will always keep him steady, but I do believo it must have a certain influence for good with him. It will make him a little careful in choosing the men ho brings to his Iwme, for one thing, and that in itself is worth making some ft*. c if. 1.1 1 sacrifice ior. aiy jfoor momer always recognized Horace's one rock ahead, his moral weakness; and his godfather, Capt. Sillicotes, used to 6uy that ho carried plenty of canvas, but was short of ballast. That's what I am going to bo?his ballast. The day before mother died 1 promised her faithfully that I would tako her place as far as I was able, and I must keep my word." I knew every sentence she had spoken was distilled wisdom, and yet my very heart and soul seemed to cry out against this sacrifice of our two lives. Knowing well enough that 1 was beaten, I yet put forth one last faint plea, but without any hope whatever for its success. "And what about me, Cynthia?" I asked, still holding her hand in mine, so that she should not escape and leave the question unanswered. "Have I no place at all among your unselfish schemes? Is everybody's good and comfort to bo thought of but mine? Am I the only person for whom you have no consideration?" She flushed again, with evident signs of distress, and tried to withdraw her hand, but I would not let her. "You cannot comparo yourself to poor Horace," she whispered, so low that I had to bend my head to catch tho answer. "I know all this is hard on you, Gerald, and you will never know how 80rry I am to bo tho causo of troublo to you; but I'vo thought it all out very r>?ir*?fiillv rmd havo enmo to tho conelu sion that ray first duty at present is to my brother. Look at his position. Last week he was at tlio university, with a decent allowance from his father; today ho ha3 i clerkship in prospect, and years of drudgery before ho can hopo for any mcasuro of success. In this comparative poverty ho has no ono in the world to stand by him but ono well intentioned but inexi>erienccd woman. In choosing between you how can I refuse to stand by him in his loneliness and disappointment? You liavo wealth, position, friends and relations, while he" "That is enough!" I interposed, shamed out of ray selfishness for tho 7uoiuent by her great hearted generosity. "You are right, Cynthia, as you always arc. But, if I could have ray choice, dear, I would givo your brother all the wealth and position in exchange for you, and think It the best bargain I had ever made.'" Her pale face lighted up radiantly at this. "You've done the best stroke of business in your power for the boy," I added jokingly. "You'll Bee at what a surprising rato he'll climb to tho tallest stool in tho counting house of Quinton. Ilill, Craxhaminer & Co. And then, as soon as he's in receipt of a sufficiently large salary to support a wife, I shall marry him off hand; and then"? The last word left my lips in a tone of triumph which there was no mistaking, and she smiled in a manner that was as good as a spoken assent. "Well," said Jem, as wo joined the other group, in which Horaco had !>een holding forth to my mother and sister on what he should have done at the Antipodes if ho had been allowed to follow his own inclinations?"well, Oerald, have you been able to talk that obstinate girl intn n ruriiinnn bin frnmn r*f mind? ITflve you converted her from thisgovcrncssing mania?" "Au contraire, she has converted me. Jem!" "I should like to hit you," said Jem, shaking her little brown fist close to Cynthia's nose; and then, changing her mind, she put her arms round my darling's neck and squeezed her tightly. "You poor, pale, beautiful old thing." she said, with an odd little catch in her voice?"what an example you uro to the rest of usl" CHAPTER II. When I went to pay Cynthia my first visit at her new home at Kentish Town. 1 it seemed to me that of all tho vile places in London she had certainly chosen the vilest. It was cheap, and convenient for Horace's journeys to Billiter street, she told me, and also for her daily appointment as governess to tho two little daughters of a very great man on tho Stock Exchange, who lived in one of the largest houses near Regout's park. Tho rooms themselves were light and ' airy, and Cynthia's cunning fingers had j already given them a look of home. "You will be able to put up with it for . an hour or so in the afternoon, onco or twice a week," 6he said, in her most downright stylo; "because I shall take care to have everything always at its best by 4 o'clock, on the chance of your coming. But you would soon find the difference if you were to spend the whole evening here, and sleep and get up and dress the next morning. Every day since we've been here the people down stairs have had bloaters for breakfast; 1 don't think you would care to make your first meal off the odor of your neighbor's. Then tho street organs begin so early here; I think most of the men's daily rounds must commence at this end of the town, for we've had two or three organs every morning at breakfast." "I think I could stand the organs better than the odorous breakfast," I said, with a grimace; and she laughed and declared she had almost ceased to notice it now. Things went on like this for three months, 1, in my selfishness, running over to Kentish Town ns often as I possibly could for an afternoon chat with Cynthia, and never thinking to ask if it were convenient for her to have rao there so frequently, when Christmas time came and brought with it a disquieting discovery. Cynthia was looking worn and harassed. I had not seen her in the clear unmerciful glare of morning sunlight since she left Clayhill, In September, until she went back thero to spend the blessed respite of her Christmas holidays with us. Wo all three went down together?she, Horace and I?by the usual train on the Christmas eve, and there wa3 so much mutual pleasure over the meeting and | such an amount of news to bo exchanged among the ladies that even my mother, one of the most observant women in the world where people's looks are concerned, was deceived by her visitor's animation during the evening of her arrival. But when Cynthia entered the breakfast room on Christmas morning, with the sunlight shining full upon her face, I stopped half way as I went to meet her, with the dear old greeting on my lips, and stood looking at her In sudden speechless dismay. I stopped half way as I went to meet her. "What is it?" she asked, alarmed at my manner. "Has anything happened? Is Horace" "He's all right," 1 said, going on towards her and putting my arms round her and embracing her tonderly. How was it I had not seen this change In her before? She had always been pale, so I did not set much store by her present pallor; but what had brought that look of distress to her face?that wild, anxious expression into her eyes, that sadly pathetic droop about tho corners of her lips? All through breakfast time I asked myself these questions over and over again, with ever increasing anger at my own past blindness in not having noticed tho change before. My mother and Jem saw it, too, 1 knew, but they made no remark on tho alteration to Cynthia herself; and I wondered why they were thus silent. I took Jem asido after breakfast and spoko to her about it. "Haven't I noticed tho change?" sho cried, echoing my words ironically. "Why, I went back to tho mother after I had been to wish Cynl'.iia a merry Christmas in my nightdress this morning, and told her I didn't know where your eyes ! had been for tho past three months not i to have seen it coming on. Whatever you do, don't say anything to her about ; it! Sho was quito distressed because 1 | told her sho didn't look well, and sho J forced such high spirits all the rest of tho j timo I was in the room that I could havo j cried over her." "Iler unvarying cheerfulness bcforo moall this time must have been assumed, Jem. You know 1 can't see her until after 4, becauso of this confounded governess business. Sho doesn't leave Melford's until half-past 3, except on Satur- ! days; and sho asked mo to leavo her that ! afternoon for Horace, so I liavo not seen her by daylight for months until this morning. What's to bo done?" Jom looked round cautiously before sho answered. "Wo have arranged it beautifully. ! Tho mother is going to havo symptoms ] of sciatica to-morrow morning, and Dr. ' Jennings is to bo sent for to apply tho battery. Of course, hearing Cynthia is here, ho will want to say 'How d'yo do?' and befoi -1108003 her I shall toll him how anxious wo aro about her. IIo'll manago to tako her mcasuro pretty correctly, without letting her into tho secret." That was not a very cheerful Christmas day for mo. Wo had decided, on account of Cynthia's mourning, to inako our party a 6trictly family affair; but, oven if tho great old houso had been full I of guests, I should still liavo carried that ' dead weight of caro in my heart?a weight which increased with every glanco at Cynthia's faco throughout tho day. After dinner, when Horaco and I wero alone, I tried to sound him about his sister'a health; but he either would not or could not give ino any information. Being conscious of a hostile bias in my judgment of all Horace Debenham'a sayings and doings, 1 was always trying to counterbalance it by giving him the benefit of the doubt, when there was room for doubt at alL So, when he told me he hud not noticed any change in Cynthia, that she never complained, never seemed ill, and was always in good spirits, I tried hard to believe he spoke as ho really thought, and that in very truth he had not noticed tho alteration that had so scared us all. "He is such a disgustingly sellish young beggar," 1 told myself?"as long as the poor girl's illness did not prevent her from attending to his little want9 ho would let her die l>cforo his eyes, and never notice it." Tim nn*? rloir u'ltnn -TrmnhirrQ I contrived to be in the library with Cynthia. As this was not to be an acknowledged professional visit, I felt there could be 110 impropriety in my being present. Jenningsund Dr. Debenham liad been old friends, so there was considerable cordiality on both sides when ho and Cynthia met. I stepped back a few paces, watching and listening; and through all the medical man's chattiness I could see how keenly observant he was of Cynthia's every movement. "And how do you like the govcrnessing?" he asked presently. "Do you find It congenial work, or is it rather against the grain?eh? A little bit like going back to the treadmill every morning. I expect." Cynthia opened her eyes widely at this view of her occupation. "Oh, no!" she cried. "I quite enjoy it; I would not be without my work fox the world. My pupils are two of the most delightful little women you could meet anywhere, and I believe wo are o constant source of pleasure to one another. Mrs. Melford wanted me to spend Christraan with them, but of course" "Quite so," interposed Jennings jocularly?"hero was metal more attractive ?eh.Quinton?" He glanced at me swiftly, and then turned his eyes again to Cynthia's face, saying abruptly; "Then it certainly is not the teaching that makes you so terribly wakeful at night." At these words a deep flush suffused her cheeks and forehead, and there wag a sudden expression of alarm in the glance she gave Jennings. She at once suppressed all signs of emotion. Ixowever, and laughed rather nervously. "Who told you I was wakeful?" she asked, with a playfully defiant air; and then, without giving him time to answei the question, she broke ofF into a whole string of inquiries concerning this, that, and the other person, and completely blocked the subject of her own health. When Jennings went, I left the room with him, meaning to ask his opinion in the hall; but Cynthia followed us with some forgotten question?remembered, 1 believe, on the 6pur of tho moment, to prevent Jennings from saying anything to me. She evidently did not suspect the existence of our plot, and wanted to keep him from imparting his judgment to any of us. I was too anxious to wait until my next meeting with the doctor, so I put on my hat, and walked to tho gato with him. "Well," I said, as soon as wo wore out of earshot, "what do you think? Isthero anything really wrong with Cynthia'e health?" His answer, in tho form of another question, set mo wondering. "What is it that is worrying her?" "Nothing that I know of, or can guess at." "And yet sho has a worry of some 6ort, Quinton?a worry that is ever present with her. Can't you get her to tell you what it is?" "How can I? You saw yourself how sho shied tho moment you spoko of lu r health." "Oh, her health, from a purely physical point of viow, is right enough 1 I mean sho would bo in perfect health but for this mental disturbance. She has one of tho soundest constitutions I havo known. I wish you could find out what it is that is bothering her so " "I'll try," I returned rather hopelessly; "but I'm afraid it will bo of no use. If sho had meant mo to know she would havo told mo voluntarily. But, if she does not Ulean mo to know, it is not of much use my trying to find out." "Well, something ought to bo done," ho said, with an emphasis which convinced mo ho thought rather seriously of tho matter. "She has evidently had a heavy strain on her nerves for somo time ?a haunting trouble, I should fancy; and tho strongest mind cannot stand successfully against that sort of thing. I don't liko that insomnia! How does she look tho first thing in tho morning?" "Why, that is just what first opened my eyes!" I cried, startled by tho doctor's words. "Sho looked terribly ill when Bho camo down to breakfast yesterday morning; her faco was quite haggard and drawn." "I see," ho said thoughtfully?"scarcely any sleep at all, and what sleep she does get is so t. rmented and worried by dreams that sho had almost better ho awake. Well, you see, Quinton, this is a matter beyond tho reach of pills or draughts. I could certainly give her something to send her to sleep, but it would do her no real good. What you want?and it is tho only thing that will be of any use?is relief to tho mind. Let me sec?this is Friday, and she is not going up to town until Monday afternoon, you say. I'll look in again on Sunday, but" His lips drooped expressively as he shook hands, and I watched him march away down tho snow covered road feeling desperately wretched and helpless. What was I to do?or, rather, what could I do if Cynthia still choso to maintain this obstinate reserve? However, I determined to mako an effort to discover what really ailed her, so after luncheon I ordered the dog cart, and told Cynthia to get ready for a drive. She tried to get out of it at first, but I was determined, and at length sho gavo way. Sho had pleaded tho cold as as an excuse, so, when sho camo down ready dressed, I sent for my mother's fur lined carriage cloak and insisted on her wearing it over all her other garments, and saw myself that the foot tin was really hot before wo started. Wo talked on every <iay matters until wo were fairly through Clay hill and out on tho open road beyond, and then I worked round to my topic. "Docs tho cold get in anywhere?" I asked, turning round to seo that tho bearskin was well tucked in on her side, and noting gladly tho increased bright ness or ner eyes ana mo sugnc ungo or pink in her cheeks. Sho smiled eloquently as sheauswered: "Not anywhere; you've not left a chink for 'my lady wind to set her foot in.' It's delightful coming out with you, Geralfl?you takosuch caroof one." "The drivo is doing you good already," I said, jesuitically. "I can feel it is!" sho cried, with a joyous laugh. "The air Is so exhilarating, overy breath 1 draw seems to givo mo fresh strength. I feel that I want to shout with gladness." "You ought to havo moro air than you do, Cynthia. I don't believe you would have thoso wakeful nights Jennings spoke of if you spent moro tirno out of doors." Sho paused beforo roplying, and I almost fancied sho argued with herself during thoso fow moments whether it would bo wiser to tackle tho subject boldly and finish with it for good or to let it drop. Whether sho discussed tho matter or not, sho adopted the former course. "I'm glad you mentioned that," sho said, speaking slowly at first, but moro quickly afterwards, as 1 uttered an exel lation of incredulity; "very glad, because I can say to you what might havo offended Mr. Jennings if I had said it then. You know that i9 all a myth about my no't sleeping?at least." she explained, as I turned to her with a reproachful glance, "it is a myth in the way he put it. He spoke jis if it were j quite a serious matter?as if I never got any sleep at all, while the truth is I have < merely been kept awake more or less the last fortnight by violent neuralgia." "Then why didn't you tell Jennings that?" I asked, looking steadily at her. For a moment she faltered, and a sad little tremor passed over her face; it was almost an admission of untruth, and 1 was going to overwhelm her with an < avalanche of entreaties for her confi- < dence, but she was too quick for inc. "Can't you see for yourself why 1 did not tell Mr. Jennings?" she said, with a < forced gayety that was very pafnfiK to i sec. "Ho would have dosed mo unuier- i cifully with nauseous messes, and I < wanted to have my littlo holiday down i here in i>eacc." i "Cynthia," I remonstrated, laying one hand upon hers, and, after glancing ahead to seo that the road was clear, let- I ting the maro do pretty much as she lilriwl "wnn't vou tell me ullftut this I trouble that lias crept into your life, i dear? If the force of circumstances keeps ua apart, that is no reason why i we should not help each other in every \ way we possibly can. Let mo help you I now." I Iler lips quivered, but she kept her self control wonderfully as she answered i me, with her eyes fixed upon the hori- ' zon: I "You have helped me, Herald?no- I body could have helped mo as you have; 1 you have been the soul of generosity 1 and forbearance always. 1 don't need any help from you now, dear." "Not in this new bother? Let rae * share it with you, Cynthia!" I "It is all nonsense, you know," she declared, shaking her head gently. "There ' is no new bother that you can help me in. Now let us forget all this nonsense 1 and enjoy our drive. Wake Nancy up, Gerald; 1 like to move quickly through the air?it's like drawing two breaths at ' once to feel the wind flying past one." I felt I could do no more after this. 1 Looking back I often try to find out ' where the mistake ln*gan, and if it origi- 1 natcd with me; but 1 cannot see what 1 else I could have said or done. In spite 1 of all my love for her it was evident that 1 Cynthia would not give mo her confl- 1 dencc. 1 CHAPTER IIL At the time these events were taking place I was a shining light in the Society i of Freemasons, and on the day Cynthia left Clay hill?the Monday after Christ- I mas day?1 had to attend my lodge in I town. It was an important occasion, and | I was likely to bo kept thero very late, so I brought up my bag with mo in order that I might dress in Rillitcr street and ] go back thero to sleep, as was ray usual I custom when unable to catch the last train to ClayhilL i In my new anxiety, born of the dis- I tressing change in Cynthia, I had determined to see more of Horace than 1 j had hitherto done. I thought ho had I nerhans told his sister how little notice I < took of him during business hours, and I < blamed myself when 1 thought that my neglect of the boy had possibly some I sbaro in her worry. 1 rated myself i soundly for my want of charity in letting the memory of his past selfishness prejudice mo against liini now, when he had shown his willingness to do his best to keep his father's name untarnished before i the world. On this particular Monday morning, as ho and I drove together in a hansom from tho station to Billiter street, 1 tried i to open tho way towards a more genial feeling. "I'm going to stay at tho office tonight." I said; "we've got a heavy evening's work on at our lodge, and I Bhall not bo ablo to get away in time for the 11:30." "Got your dress clothes there, I suppose?" ho answered, touching my bag with his foot "Yes. By the by, wo don't dine until 7; I 6hall be having a pretty square lunch at 2 o'clock. Will you have some with me, Horace?" "I shall bo only too glad if you will make it ail right with old Levcns; he's so awfully down on us juniors if we're five minutes over our time." "I'll seo to that," 1 said, as the cab drew up. "I'll tell him I want you." 1 remember wo wore very busy that day, as we always wore after a vacation of nearly a week. Indeed 1 myself was so much pushed for lime that, liad it not been for my appointment with Horace, I should have had some food sent in from tho nearest restaurant and eaten it in the pauses of my letter writing. However, in the circumstances, that arrangement was not to be thought of, so 1 managed to get out for an hour somehow, and made up for it by sticking to my work until the last minute. At a little after 0 o'clock Horace came into my private office with some letters for mo to sign, and immediately afterwards his special bogey, Levens, came came to ask mo for a cheque I had promised to some charity. I took my private cheque book out of tho table drawer in front of me, filled in the cheque hurriedly, passed it to hint, and then went on signing 11oraco's letters. "I say, Horace," 1 said, when I had nearly finished, "you might wait and help me to get into my evening coat; I'm so pushed for time, it's just as much as I shall do to save my character for punctuality; and they are so precious particular." "All right!" ho answered. 'I'll come back us soon as I've given RichardB theso?he's waiting to run up to the general with them." "Tell him to take a hansom, or he'll bo late," 1 called after him; "and he can bring it back for mo." Then 1 began to clear my tablo as quickly as I could, and, whilo I was doing so, I heard tho clocks chimo the half hour after 6. Without stopping to finish my task, 1 dashed up stairs and began to dress as fast ius 1 could Horace followed mo in a few minutes, unpacked nty hug, and helped mo into my things Richards, who lived on the premises, was hack again by the time I was dressed, and was waiting in the hall, with tin* keys in his hand, to lock up. After office hours we went in and out by a small side door, which led into the dwelling part of the house, from which the offices were separated by heavy doors have way down the hall. When these doors were locked there was no communication Initween the business and tho private parts of tho houso. So Richards waited to let me out at the front door, tlw\ nnK /vmiM nnf rrr?t iir\ ta the narrow alley leading to tho side entrance. "Will you eomo as far as 1 go u]>on your road. Horace?" 1 asked, as I slipped on my overcoat. "No; I won't l>other to stop you to set mo down." he answered. "Resides, I have to get my coat. Ta-ta! I hope you'll be in time." As tho cab moved olF 1 saw him turn back into tho dark doorway of tho outer offico again, and Richards behind him reaching up to light his taper at tho hall bracket, evidently with tho intention of giving Horace a light to find his coat. 1 had hardly realized this to myself when I suddenly remembered that I had left my private chequebook lying on my office table. I was certain of it! When I heard tho half hour chime I had waited for notldng, and I knew 1 had not put it away before. In fact I had left it on tho table on purpose, intending to fill in another check to take with me as my donation to the Masonic school; but I had forgotten all about it in my hurry. However, there wjis no great harm done, I .issured myself; no one would go into the room between now and to-morrow morning except Richards and his wife, and they were trusted servants of many years' standing. In spite of all my efforts at feeling comfortable, however, there was a lurking senso of uneasiness in my mind as often as I recalled that glimpse 1 had of Horace Debenham plunging into tho darkness of the outer office?which led through into mine? and slow, steady old Richards stopping to light his taper at tho hall bracket before following him. It was in vain that, as often as this idea presented itself to ine, I brought myself up sharply and anathematized my narrow minded prejudices, and so on. The thought would recur and I could not get rid of it. bully myself as much as 1 liked. It was quite a relief when iny solitary drive was over to find myself among a iiuiuImt of friends and acquaintances, and to bo able to put the ugly suspicion aut of my mind. Having once got rid of it. it did not recur until the next morn Ing, when, oddly enougn, my ursctnougni ivas of the cheque book. I looked at uiy watch and found it was half past 8. ho I rang my bell and asked Richards if he had seen anything of the liook when ho had shut my room up the night before. "I did not go into your room, sir," he Answered. "I locked the door without going inside. Mr. Debenham went in to retell his knife from your table, and 1 locked the door as 60on as he came out." "His knife?" I queried; and then I remembered he had used it to erase a wrong initial on one of the letters he had brought me to sign; but th cmcrabranee did not bring me much satisfaction. "Is Mrs. Richards in the offices yet?" I asked "Yes. sir, this half hour past." Then just run down and see if my cheque lx>ok is on my table?there's a good fellow." I lay in a state of unpleasant expectation until his return?an expectation that was fulfilled to the letter There was no cheque Inxdt there! 1 got up and dressed, feeling much too worried to keep still, and was down in the outer office when the first clerk?Mr. Levens?arrived. Ho looked very much astonished when he saw me; but, before lie had liuio to say more than good morning, Horace Debenham came following on his heels He, too, looked astonished at my unusual earlincss?and confused, too. I thought, when I told him 1 wanted to sjieak to him for a few moments in my room As we passed in I was conscious of Levens' keenly curious glance following us; he was inclined to be "down on Horace," I knew, and possibly he hopqd that the youngster was in for a reprimand. As soon as Horace had closed the door behind him, to my untold relief ho took my cheque book out of his pocket and put it upon the table. "That was what you wanted me for, wasn't it?" he said coolly. "I saw it lying here when I caine in for my knife last niglit ufter you had gone, so I thought I had Iwttei take it home with mo for 3afety I expected to have been hero before you hud time to miss it." None but those who havegono through a similar experience can understand how thankful I felt. It would liavo been bad enough to have lost the book in any circumstances. but to have lost it in such a way that suspicion pointed to Cynthia'B brother as the thief would havo been insupportable. I thanked him for his forethought; and was still standing with the book in my hand when Levens camo in with tho first batch of letters, having just unlocked tho letter box. Ho glanced at tho cheque book curiously, and, under the impulse of the moment, made more communicative by tho relief to my feelings, I told him what had happened. I never saw a man so affected out of all proportion to tho cause of his emotion as he was. "And Mr. Debenham had it in his care all nightl" ho said, in a tragic tone. "Well, I think you're lucky to have got it back safe, Mr. Quinton?not that I should like to say a word against the lnd himself: hut he roes into such aueer company that it would not have surprised me in the least if his pocket had been picked of it." "What do you moan by queer company, Levens?" I asked, with a sudden idea that I had perhaps stumbled upon Cynthia's secret worry by accident. "Why, betting men, and so on. I overhear the juniors talk sometimes, and it seems to me that Mr. Dcbenham mixes a good deal with bookmakers and such rabble, for I often hear him give what he calls a private 'tip' fromSo-andSo to one and another of them." "That's bad business," I said, indifferently, turning to my letters as I spoke; and ho took the hint and went 1 did not open my letters for some minutes, but sat thinking over this news of I loraco's associates "That was what you wanted me. for, wasn't it f" This was worso than almost anything, this crazo for betting, I knew, for I had gone through the experience myself. I would almost rather have heard that Uoraco had fallen into any other form of vico than this particular one of backing horses?not becauso it is in itself more ki?t Uonneo Ifa lmlrl nn ita vin* Ut'iUUUO, UUI> UVV/UUdU iM uv<v> v.. . ? tim is so tenacious, and because of its wide spreading sido issues. Thero was no doubt left in my mind now on tho subject of Cynthia's troubles ?she knew of this weakness of her brother's. I did not speak to Horace, but 1 got away from tho otfico as soon jus I could that afternoon and went to her to tell her I had found out her secret and to arrange some plan for reclaiming the young idiot. When I was announced she seemed less self possessed than usual, I thought, and her agitation increased when she heard my story. "You aro wrong on one point. Herald," she said, when she had heard all I had to tell her; "I knew Horace was in difficulties, but 1 did not knew how he got into them. I never had a suspicion ol tho cause?1 only knew he was in desperately low spirits and owed moro money than lie could possibly pay; but ho never told me it was betting that had caused his troubles." "But, all tho same, lie has managed to make your life ono of perpetual torment to you." I returned angrily, as I thought of tho worry tho young rascal had been to her. "1 know all about it, my dear girl; you need not try to defend him. I can quite understand how he has come homo when his horso had been 'nowhore,' how ho has cried out against futo, and snorted and fumed and paced tho room, and sworn ho was a ruined man, and declared thero was only one way out of his misery?to put an end to himself?and all tho rest of tho cheap twaddle. Now, confess to me, Cynthia, that you havo raised money for him moro than once?" "Yes," she said quietly, averting her eyes and looking ashamed of herself. "I could not let him bo so worried while 1 had the means to help him." "And I supposo you have parted with soiriq of your mother's jewelry?" "I diil not want it now, you see." she answered "How much havo you lost?" I asked, feeling my rage increasing within mo at every reply she made. "(Jo and fetch me all you have left, Cynthia; 1 will keep it for you?ho shall have no more." "I havo nono left, Gerald." It was quite as much as I could do to keep back the exclamation that roso to my lips, hut I did. Sho shamed mo into calmness What right had I to storm and rave when tho chief sufferer was patient? 1 took a few rapid turns up and down the room, and, when I had thoroughly regained my self control I spoke again. "Is lie in debt now?"?"Yes." ino word was scarcely more tnan a sigh, but I knew what it cost her to say it. "How much?do you know?" She looked at mo without speaking, and her lips quivered. "Don't be foolish, Cynthial" I 6aid, going over to her. "What is a little money to mo compared with your comfort and happiness? You ought not to feel it so." She tried to speak, but her face worked convulsively, and sho put up her hand and covered her eyes for a few moments. I smoothed her pretty hair gently; and, when 1 heard a sob como from behind the sheltering hand. I felt I wanted to murder some one?Hor..?'o for choice. Hy and by, when she took her hand from her eyes, and murmured something al>out being silly, I drow forward a chair and sat down in front of her. -Now I am going to talk business," 1 said very solemnly. "This betting is a serious matter, and 1 don't know how best to set about curing Horace. If I could give him a real good fright it might perhaps havo some effect on him. Will you let me wait here until he cornea home? And if you will leave us together, 1 will go at him hammer and tongs, and threaten him with instant dismissal unless he gives me his word of honor not to stoop to this folly again. When I've given him a good shaking up I'll finish by Bottling his present debts. What is tho amount?" I took my cheque l>ook from my pocket lis I spoke, and began to fill in, so that Cynthia might have timo to recover herself. When I had written in "Pay to Mr. Horace Debenham," and signed my name, I turned back the last tally to look at the date. There was none on it?neither date nor any other particular. It was quite clean! With a feeling of horror and despair 1 turned back tho next tally, and found it was, as I expected, the one I had filled in tho night before and given to Levens just before I went up to dress! Then where had the missing cheque gone? The cheque book had not l>cen out of my possession since Horace had given it to me that morning. The inference was plain?the cheque corresponding to this blank tally had been abstracted during the time Horace had had tho book in his possession. Together with this thought came another?the recollection of the words he had spoken when he returned the book to me?"I thought I should have been here beforo you had had time to miss it.'' I understood now how much more there was in thoso words than appeared on the surface. If ho had reached the office in time to restore the book to the place he took it from before I had discovered its absence, I should never have heard that he had taken it home. I dared not look at Cynthia for fear she should seo any sign of my horror in my face. So I kept my head bowed down over the book and forced myself to ?0 on filling in the date in a methodical manner. Then I cleared my throat and steadied ray voice carefully, and asked her for the amount. "Forty pounds," she answered; and her voice was anything hut steady?poor soult Even as she spoke, and before 1 had time to fill in tho amount, I heard Horace's key in the lock of the door below. I left tho sura unwritten and caught her for a moment in my arms, holding her close to me?almost as if I had somo occult premonition of what was to come. "Remember," I whispered, "you are to leave us presently." Tho next moment her brother was in tho room. [TO I IK fONTINUKI) NKXT WKKIi] Itotcs of travel. PIMM PAKIS TO VKNIIiK. TAKING IN SEVERAL OF THE MOST INTERESTING ITALIAN CITIES. Mr. McClain visits Genoa, Pisa, Naples, Pompeii, Vesuvius, Home, Florence mid Venice, and Tells What lie Saw at Kach of Those Places. tN>i*resj>oiideiie<t of tint Yorkvlilc Ki.<|iliri'r. Vknick, July 111.?1 left Paris for Italy last Monday night at!) o'clock, and when daylight began to dawn, Tuesday morning, was on the south ern frontier of France, away up in the Alps. When I left the city it was hot and sultry, with the thermometer up in the nineties. The change next morning was a remarkable contrast. In less than twelve hours I had passed from the heat of summer to the (lead of winter. All around were the snow-capped mountains hiding their heads above the clouds and presenting no mean exhibition of the beautiful scenery for which the Alps are so famous. And looking down from the snowy heights, you see beautiful green valleys dotted with gardens and vineyards laden with midsummer fruits. In fact, it is just a f/m- tlioiicind fret between Auirust and December. It takes two locomotives to pull the trains through this mountainous country, and they have to puff and tug quite manfully to do it. At.some places the incline is very great, and progress is correspondingly slow. It was not a great while after daylight before the train passed through the Mount Conis tunnel?eight and a half miles long?and we were in Italy. The most noticeable feature of country in this locality, both in France and Italy, is the large number of women to he seen working in the Holds?performing ordinary farm labor. On inquiry why this was the case, I was informed that the men were mostly in the armies and there was no one else left to do the work. It looks pretty had, doesn't it ? Hut this state of affairs has been kept up for so many generations hack that the poor creatures don't know any better. The iirst important stop after crossing into Italy was at Genoa, the birthplace of Columbus. (Jenoa is quite an interesting city, prcsentinga great variety of architecture, beautiful streets and fine scenery. It is called the "city of the Proud" on account of its numerous palaces. This city is built 011 the side of the mountain sloping down into the Mediterranean sea. The houses are quite peculiar, too. Many large palaces show up marble fronts four or tivestories high, while the rear side abuts against the sides of the mountain in such a manner that you can step from the roof to the ground. On account of the disadvantageous location of the city, most of the streets are narrow and crooked, though some of them are wide enough and present a grand appearance, being literally lined with stately palaces. The stores are very tine and the principal industry of the city is the manufacture of jewelry by hand. The population is about lfiO,(KM). Among the principal sights of the city area magnificent monument to Columbus, numerous picture galleries, nromincnt among which is that of the Piazza Rosso, or Red Palace, and a beautiful park called Villetta do Negro. In this park is a natural cascade, falling down the mountain, from cliff to cliff, for sev oral hundred foot. (Jenoa is a very wealthy city. The people are fair complected." The men are handsome and intelligent and the ladies are beautiful. This is not the part of Italy that the tourist with the hand organ and the monkey conies from. I'll tell you about where lie is found later on. Leaving this city, the railroad skirts thetiulfoftionoa and the Mediterranean sea for many miles. You are hurried swiftly along over long I stretches of distance, and on one side you can see nothing but precipitous i mountains risiiur nbruntlv from the railroad track thousands of feet above you, while on the other you look down on the dark hlueish looking water lashing itself against the rocky walls below. The narrow shelf along which the railroad runs is often less than twenty feet wide. After a while you strikethe open country and got an idea of how the people live and what they are doing. The farms are highly manured, well worked, and it certainly astonishes the American to see what enormous crops are raised. Corn, wheat and grapes seem to he the chief products. \ou see Ihe women out in the yard threshing wheat with a Hail or tramping it out with oxen. The public highways are well macadamized and delighti fully shaded with rows of trees on both sides along the whole length. Some of the houses are built of ordinary stone, plastered on the outside, some entirely of poles, and some of marble, the famous Carrara quarry i being in this vicinity. In this locality are also great orange groves and large numbers of mulberry trees up1 on which the silk worms are raised. Also numerous truck farms, raising all kinds of vegetables. A noticeable feature of the truck farms is that each of them has a large well in the centre, with a mule to draw water, to lie used in the case of drought. About four hours after leaving (lenoa 1 arrivei 1 at l'isa. This city is famous for its leaning tower, which i is one of the curiosities of the world. | This tower is built of marble, is 17K feet high and leans thirteen feet out of plumb. It really looks dangerous, hut all tourists make the ascent to the top, which is effected by means of a winding staircase on the inside. The : leaning of the tower is thought to have been caused by the settling of the earth during an earthquake. In the nave of the cathedral at Pisa still swings tho great bronze lamp which I gave (Jaililco the hint of the pendu! luni. While in this building the guide called my attention to the remarkable vibrations of sounds peculiar to this place. lie sounded a few notes with his mouth, and I could count seven or eight distinct echoes ; before the noise entirely died away, j The echoes resemble the noise made by a half dozen brass horns at a dis. tance, sounding the same note on a I different key. A short distance north ; of the cathedral is the Campo Santo, a huge inclosure41 i feet long and 117 I feet broad, containing the "holy ! ground"?52 shiploads of earth, brought from Mount Calvary. At this place are to be seen the originals of the paintings, the "Last Judgment" and "Dante's Inferno." Remaining all night at Pisa, I set out very early next morning for i Home, and for about half the disj tanee saw some very level lands and i nice farms. The remaining stretch ' is mountainous and hare. We stopped at Rome about an hour, and tak1 ing dinner continued our journey to Naples. The villages en route are small and scattering. The principal domestic animal in these parts seems to he the cream colored pater familias of the bovine family, many of them having horns three feet long. There are some mules, but their fathers are more common, and are used for carrying packages that look about twice as large as themselves. Fruits and grapes are the principal crops in this section, though there are some nice patches of corn and large fields ofjute, which is now being harvested. Juteisoncofthe prettiest crops I have ever seen. It grows just as thick on ' the ground as it can stand, and from j six to eight feet high. In harvestI ing it the men work in twos. t'atehI ing hold of from four to six stalks at a time, they pull it up by the roots and lay it out in straight rows to dry or cure. Then it is stacked in the 1101(1 11KC WUCUl smiw. i III> v> in i\ in generally performed by men who work in the fields clad only in one garment, and that a shjrt. Most of the field work here, however, is done by women similarly clad. This is the section that the organ grinder Italian comes from, and there is a vast difference between the natives of this vicinity and the (Jenoese. The poverty and filth among the natives near and in Naples is horrible. At night you see them stretched out on the sidewalks sound asleep, and thousands of them don't know what it is to own a bed. And they don't look very nice or smell any better. Nextmorning at 4 o'clock our party boarded the train for Pompeii, fifteen miles from Naples, and we spent several hours among the ruins of the buried city. Among the curiosities to be seen here are petrified bodies of the gladiators, mother and daughter joined together, skeleton in the bed when life was smothered out, skeleton of a horse found under the walls of the city, dogs, cats, chickens, etc.; the mosaic pavements, prison, temj pies of Venus, Jupiter and Mercury, numerous beautiful paintings in oil and portraits in mosaic, and hundreds of other things that space won't admit of mentioning. A day spent looking at the ruins, however, and the visitor does not wonder at the destruction of tin; city. There are abundant traces on every hand which most satisfactorily explain the reason. From here we took carriages for Vesuvius, and after about four hours' drive up the mountain, arrived at an incline railway that took us the rest of the distance, within 400 yards of the crater. All along on the sides of the mountain are vast beds of sul phur, varying in color from a l>ri<;lit yellow to dark brown. Just as the car stopped, the old crater seemed to he trying herself for business, for just then the eruption began, and I there were about twelve or fifteen in about an hour. It is the most subJ lime sight a man ever saw. StandI ing on the brink of an awful chasm, i you hear deep rumbling sounds like distant thunder; then a whizzing and putting like the snorting often thousand mighty monsters; then a tremor and a mighty shake like the whole earth was going to drop from under your feet; next an awful rushing of smoke, accompanied by a deafening report, and hundreds of tons of tire and lava shoot up from olid to Kioi) feet in the air. This, and vou have but a hint of what it is. The whole cone of the mountain is rent with huge fissures into which you may look and see nothing but tire or a bottomless abyss. The sulphurous fumes issuing from these fissures are almost stifling, and can be borne but a short while without fresh air. The mountain is almost a perfect cone, with an opening in the top about four hundred feet in diameter and one hundred feet deep. In the centre of this opening is the crater, a yawning chasm about one hundred feet in diameter, and how deep no man knows. The view of Naples and the surrounding country from the top of the mountain is very fine indeed. Arrived at ltome, 1 proceeded to visit some of the sights of interest, first going to St. Peter's eatherdrsil, which is the largest church in the world. It is 000 feet long, 4o0 feet in breadth, and the height of the nave is 1 "><) feet, whi le the interior of the don ic is I.'Io feet above the earth. I climbed up to this point, from which a splendid view of Koine is to he obtained. On the roof of the church is quitea little village of houses, laid out in regular streets, and occupied by custodians and workmen. It is claimed hy the Romans that half of the bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul are buried in this church. I asked the guide particularly about this, and after giving several evasive replies, he finally told me that lie wasn't here 1 ,">00 years ago, when they were supposed to have been buried, and realty could not tell of his own knowledge whether the bodies were here or not. The mosaics and frescoes in this church are wonderful. There is one of Christ's baptism, hy Raphael, that contains 1,:{()(),()(Mi pieces of stone, and is said to have required thirty years, in its execution. Another of "Doubting Thomas," with his finger in the wound in Christ's side is a marvelous piece of work. A large bronze statue of St. Peter, 1,(>(MI years old, is also to be seen here. About half of llll' U)US Oil OI1U iOOl IUIVC" own jvk*?od off. While looking at it I saw a young man walk up, how and devoutly kiss the toe. Not far from here is soon tho "Koala Santa," a flight of lis marhle steps said to he from tho house of Pilate and brought to Rome in the year .'120 by Helena, mother of Constantino. No one is allowed to ascend them except on their knees, which tho devotees are constantly doing, invariably kissing the top one. Just opposite this place is an obelisk said to have been erected at Thebes, I">!)7 II. C., and brought to this place by Constantino in the year .*lo7. From here I went to the Vactican, which is the most extensive palace in the world. Its length is 1,101 feet by 707 in breadth, and contains 11,(MM) rooms. Next, just outside the city walls, is St. Paul's cathedral, in the interior the most beautiful church in Rome. Here are all the portraits of the popes down to the present day? 2T>:{ in number?all in mosaic, and each costing 0,0(M) francs, representing a total of$.'}!)"),(MMI. It is claimed that Timothy and the other halves or Saints Peter and Paul arc buried here. 1 next went to the Pantheon, the hathsof Caracallu and the Catacombs, where the early Christians sought refuge from persecution. At St. Mary's church I saw Michael Angela's famous statue of Christ. The foot of this statue is covered with brass shoes to keep the toes from being kissed away like those of the statue of St. Peter. The mount on which St. Peter was crucified is pointed out to the tourist, who is shown the "exact spot on which the cross stood." Also a dungeon in which Saints Peter and Paul were confined, and a spring of water which is said to have sprung up in answer to their prayers. From here I visited a cathedral which contains the bones of (5,000 monks. These bones are ornamentally piled up?arches made of ribs, columns of skulls, a hanging lamp made of various bones, and the ceilings frescoed with the same material. There are numerous other places here that 1 might tell about, but they are probably more interesting to see than to read of. The antiquity of the city is fast disappearing and giving place to modern improvements. A great many houses are being repaired and a great many new ones built after modern styles. While in the reading room of the hotel at this place I was approached by a very pleasant spoken elderly gentleman who introduced himself as Albert (i. Porter, envoy extraordinary and minister plenipo tentiary to Italy. I had quite a conversation with him, and he seems to be a jovial, nice, good fellow. He gave a very laughable account of some of his experiences in Itome, and especially of his awkwardness in bowing in and out of the presence of the king, whom he describes, however, as very congenial and agreeable. From Rome I went to Florence and spent some time in this beautiful city among the sculptures and paintings for which it is so famous. It would not do to go into details about them, however,for there are too many places to begin and no place to end, for here are thousands and thousands of works of all descriptions by all the art masters of Italy for the past five hundred years. From Florence I continued on to Venice, passing en route Rologna, where the Rologna sausage is made! Arrived at Venice, you enter the city by rail over a stone bridge six miles long. This is certainly a most novel city. There isn't a horse or mule in all its limits. The city is built on 120 islands, and 147 of the streets are canals, over which there are 378 bridges. The whole city was originally a great marsh, and all of the houses are built on piles. All traveling is done either on foot or in boats? gondolas?and the city is as silent as a grave yard. There are hundreds of interesting sights to be seen here, and it would take the visitor more than a week to get even a smattering idea of its wonders. I have made numerous notes, hut haven't the time to write them out. 1 won't close, however, without telling about the pigeons of the city. In Venice there are thousands and thousands of these birds, to which attach curious superstitions, and about which there is something most remarkable. The pigeons are thought to he in some way connected with the prosj>erity of Venice, and are the proteges of the city government, being fed every day from the piazza of St. Mark's cathedral, and a heavy penalty is in dieted for killing or nasi resiling them. They fly around the city three times every day. Fact! It is said in honor of the Trinity. And it is believed that the presence of the pigeons is a sign that the city will not be swallowed up by the waves. They are fed every day at 2 o'clock, and they never forget their feeding time, which is announced by the ringing of a bell. Sometimes the hell rings too soon, and sometimes too late, but the birds are always on hand at the exact minute. It is claimed that they can set the clock as .-1 il.-" mlmii accurately as uicsuu nam, imu n nt-n the ringing of the hell is sometimes omitted by way of experiment, they Hap their wings, scream and raise quite a commotion. The story that they can set the clock is said to have been verified over and over again for the amusement of visitors and the satisfaction of the authorities. Kkkp Stii.i..?Keep still. When trouble is brewing, keep still. When slander is getting on to its legs, keep still. When your feelings are hurt, keep still, till you recover from your excitement at any rate. Things look differently through an unagitated eye. In a commotion once I wrote a letter, and sent it, and wished I had not. In my later years I had another commotion, and wrote a long letter ; but life had rubbed a little sense into me, and I kept that letter in my pocket against the day when I could look it over without tears. I was glad I did. Less and less it seemed necessary to send it. I was not sure it would do any hurt, but in my doubtfulness 1 leaned to reticence, and eventually it was destroyed. Time works wonders. Wait till you can speak calmly, and then you will not need to speak, may be. o:,~ "ww* thili.r Olltlll't* IJ> l 1IV." 1HV/.-7C ? V vii.?.h conceivable sometimes. It is.strength in its very grandeur. It is like a regiment ordered to stand still in the mad fury of battle. To plunge in were twice as easy. t&r Mr. Rouse, an eccentric Now York millionaire, who arrived in that city twenty years ago a poor man, spells it "the ability dofar." There may he a lesson in this. Jf Mr. Rouse, instead of going to New York and engaging in business, had gone to college and learned how to spell "almighty dollar," he might not have been worth so many of them to-day. The probabilities are that he would have been a professional base ball player instead of a successful dry goods merchant.