Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 6, Number 25, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 December 1875 — Page 6

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPU:.

SV'SAJSA'A WHITE.

O* AXSIS V. l'UCSTOS.

Folk* didn't think much about romance In the old colonial days Tbey ««ra doini God work for the future, and walking In primitive warn

iury wfiwniim

arid

M.-emed aa »ge lefore they board one wont from theatfray: Tb«n a rough but kindly neighbor, pausing P*»" with drooping bead. Said I hale to toil Susanna that William

Fit neb Isaead."

Tb»l'i all mother ever told us, but ber sisters u*ed to sajr That •'Susanna was never tbo same again afterthat dreadful day: She i»ever laughed, uor danced, nor mtng nor made merry with the

R»\.-

William to bis country and you iui:*t do the same. John love* you. you shall marry blm, a* they dil in days of yore. Ami raise up children to William,—the country needs them sore."

Wam Willi im not the best-loved abnt To h^ar wasto obey, Aad she made John French a faithful wife unto h«r dying day: iodi l»*wd her with tli* loving grace, if aot wit a worldly gain. And she walked la flUth before his face through trouble, woe, and pain. She never forgot her early love, but treasur «1 It a* the be*t, And kept bright the golden cincture which bound it to her breast, And to tlx- IshI Mistrusted, that somehow it should lie given, •That, though Hiie iiad been John's wife here ahe William'* *h«uld be in heaven.

And ttuftietold me the story when I was but child, And Ahe u»ed to say in ending, In her pleasant voice and lulld,

I always thouRhltbat mother, with her life of Mil and care— •Mar she nevar shirked a duty and bad constant hard fare, There were eleven of us children to be tanght, and rJatbHl, and ted, .Pravers wera never forgotteu, nor the Bible left unread Was a* Miuoh of a heroine, although ahe worktd from sua tosun. \t tnany whose stories have been told, and wrote, and rend, and suuj."

JUSTIN HARLEY.

A ROMANCE OF OLD VIROINIA.

BY joaw IKTF.X COOKK,

iuthorof "Dr. Vandyke,""Surry of Kagle's Nest," "The Virginia Comedian*,' Ac.

CHAPTER XLI\

PUOOOOX LOST

Puccoon was hunting deer on that nisht—the nlgbt of the snow-storm one iMucth before—through which Harley had ridden from Biandfield—through which the vagrants had groped with their lanthorn—through which the poor, thin figure ofa woman of twenty-eight had tottered. ever ftUtiter, into the forests ©fthe Blaikwater. l'uwxion was hunting by torch-light, as usual, but had seen nothing. The snow had not begun to ftill when he left his cabin. In feet nothing could have ocen lew to be suspected.

Having realized this f^ct, i'uccoon do1*Uh1 in his mind whether or not he should return home. "No," lie grunted, "not empty-hand-owl. The snow's all the better. They will see the light further. Tbo very night to hunt.

Ho went on, nuking a cin-le,a*d looking out. Not a sound—not a p*ir of oyes, shining in the Ug'jt of his torch.

1 mljlht on(W(iy

Panny,

This relieved him. He hurled the torch to the ground and put his bee)

^•'i know my *ay without you!" With which !*a«t Pur?coon strode

WM)W

•Svs'ben Puocoon bad gone half-a-mlle, Iramping «4e«dily through the mow, he •topped and looked around him. After whHi he b«gan to laugh—a laugh of huge dfatalu and »lf-contempt. ^1'm loatf" lie said. ^rils statement evidently struck him as involving au utter absurdity. ijfwt!" repeated, la the same tone.

He set fcrwanl again-the snow fkljtug tnom wni moro JcwwlT. Tb# night WM quite dark. He stumbled at timea, aod Kxvked aiwut him. He could not IM fltftv ft*et-

Utasnow glared, and tto-badaomeaasuraow. *t lms that he would not Wl Into a ravine or pit. tih**y!" be muttered. looked in front and saw a aort of

I shooid say, if than wsa

^fore aud more nleaw^l, P««w»ii waikodpn, nf»t .I verging fYora his path A^SsdnH. He reached it—was about riSi!? thr *h it—when the drift 8oa*4-iting moaned as bis toot

^Ttu'ieouud Paewoosoddenly pod—recreating the *ebleet

^pSS'ovStrtiedey^s meamredtte

human being, went, bat his with pity.

rest,

JaMt nynl and worked and oauie to be of youthful saints the bo«t|" Till Wllllsm'smoUiersald toher,—a staunch oal Puritan dame,— "I

WcUl,aed

the titpfP*- .M»nnh he bad etoopetl, A nwm0,1' te shroudTsnd

J5£tl «p tw^1,

wommn whotMd

«*»nk tj*1* rough and intoim^ Puccoon was

TERRE HAUTE

as fhr as his manners face flashed suddenly

A woman!" he exclaimed, in a voice 1 faltering, and fall of wonder, "a woman freezing to death!—and I've lost my way 11/1 only had my ram flask!"

Bv ill fortune be had left it at home. 3 I must go the quicker!" Having said this, Pucooon raised

ijr fft

walking in primliivp way*. ried her rapidly in the My mother o«eu often to tell ns or nor ousy, which he 8Upp»»tHl lu« '-ablti Tljiy&S&tto Indians, and He did know the* ay, wjtn want a constant strife: of itOiwUc#', oppression, imd i*x«, till their water was it? Tbero wore many conhearts were filled with mil ... fluents of the Ulackwater. Of lb' uprl*lng«»f the people, and the dreadfule*t day of all. When William French, Her lover, a man who served the right, Piowd moment for her God-speed, hurr lag, eager for the fljhl. For (mo- thev frn»t their spinning, and t' died till close of day Twss many miles from BuukerHlll,arude, untravt-U-il way: Rat they lieanl the boom of the cannon,and knew work hmi begun, And iiinywl a* only the tried can pray '•Father thy will be done." You all know without my telling, the histoa a

the

body of tho woman In his arms, fblt that her ncart was still beating, and—full of new strength and resolution now—car- .... direction In ti to le. ay, bnt for some time ho had heard running water. What

He went on, bravely plunging through the snow. The path seemed endleas tho half dead woman segmed about to die in his arms. "I most find out!" exclaimed Pncooon

He carried her to a spot where a broad-bougbod laurel protected hor from the snow, and laid her down. Then he ran In the direction of the water, reached it, recognised the banks of the JBlackwater half a mile above his hut, ami, hastening back, took up his burden again.

His courno was now plain. He went on rapidly, struck into a half-covered which ho knew, saw alight glimmer in the distance, reached the hollow in which his hut stood, and running (oat of breath) up the hill, knocked loudly at the door, which was opened by Fsnnv, pale and startled at tne sight of her father, snow-covered, and carrying what resembled a corpse in big arms.

A bright fire was blazing in the largo fireplace, and in front of this the poor creature was laid, Fanny excitodly chafed her hands, and brushed the snow from her clothes, and Puccoon succeeded In making her swallow some fiery rum. Under the influence of this lire without and within, she opened her eyes, snd a slight color oame to her cheeks. "She's alive! She's alive!" shouted Pncooon, londly.

The rough fellow then began to cry like a child.

CHAPTER L.

THE LADY OF THE SNOW.

•In three or four days—thanks to the assiduous care of Fanny, more especially—tho poor faint "Lady oi the Snow,' as Puccoon called her, with rude poetry began to recover her strength, return' ing to life, as it were, from tho threshold el tho grave.

Thoy lookod upon her with the deep est pity and sympathy—this rough trap per and simple-hearted girl. With the truest courtesy, they hadTnot asked her a single question. Her coming to the rude cabin had seemed to b« regarded by them as a matter of course. It is the human being in broad-cloth, with a bell to be rung at his door, and a servant to answer it, who looks upon the unknown as essentially the suspicious, and demands a letter of introduction. The Arab in his tent, and the hunter in his cabin, say: "Enter, friend, you are welcome!'

It seemed, indeed, the very simplest thing in the world to Puccoon and little Fan that thoy should give shelter, food, "and caro to the poor unknown "Lady of the Snow." And they took such good cure of her—Fanny surrendering hor own bed to her, and sleeping on a pallet on the floor—that in those three or four days a faint tinge of color came bads to her cheeks, and she oould walk without tottering. In the eyes of the trapper and his daughter she was beautifol beyond expression. Her face was thin and pale, but kept its delicate oval her eyes were large and soft, the forehead high. In the white hands, the small feet, and the slight figure, clearly defined by the black dress, oould be read refinement and delicate nature.

Often Puccoon thought, "Where did this strango 'Lady of the Snow' come from? Who is she?" But he never asked her, and it was tho lady who one morning said, in her low, sad voice, which had a flute-like tone.

A mile from hi* cabin, however, and deep in the swamp, he had felt a flake upon his hand. Ho looked up. It was saved my life. I ought to tell yon my suowlng, and the appesraneo of the sky sorrowftil story—how I came to be dying indicated to Ins practiced eye that the -""w snowfall would probsblv be heavy.

My kind, goodlriend. you have not asked me a single question since yon

in tho snow. I know that but you must not think hard of mo if I do not tell vouauy thing about myself at present.''

Puccoon burst forth: Ho didn't want to pry into a lady's matters. She was welcome!—welcome!

You feel thus and speak thus," said the poor woman, "because you aro a true and brave man, and have aaved my life and pity me! I oan never thank you enough! and some day you shall know all about me. My life has been a strange one. May I slay bore without

Two hour* afterwards, he bad had no totter fortune. He then fell Into a had saying moro now? I will help tanny, humor, mallgued tho deer, and determ- and teach her too, tor I am beginning to ined to go baok home antl Uke care of love her «learlv. I do not

w. ... 1,.,^™, ,h-. 1 .m I will

who might be uneasy, be to know that am here. I will tell you thought, at his ab*mco on such a night, why stwooe day. He vented his ill-humor, for want of •omething lett«r, on the "lightwood" until torch which ho carried. welxmio. a with yon 1" wu'l Tuocoon—"blast you 1"

anyone

grttr flying, it

You ean't find me any deer, and I rowful smile, that lt was growing grey

4 ,lthe

lb* would With nht-

thsSnow went

eight.) poor Lady of the Snow went qufetijjr to help Fanny in her simple

bThus tfcwrefationslH»tweanth«se humble people and tho unknown had been

WUb wnicu ixw"i ummii mivu« established without trouble aiona his gim la hla right hand, hie prehenaible tooting. She would stay shoulders stooping, hunter-wise, his and help fanny, and teach her. and see t»v«s peering into the darkneas. The nobody. She proceeded to ioui feUlng in a slow, dense mssa sedulous grxxi faith. The child bad^received only the common rudiments of an education. The I*dy of the Snow now began with her where she had left off, and taught her dsy by day. The Instruction was entirely oral. In this rude cabin of the hills b*g*n what we now style a course of lectures. With Hum seated on a stool at her leet, elasping her little hands across the ladv's lapj ...b with ing instilled Into ber

was sailing la a alow, dense msas white wall suuUing out every laud*

and looking up Into her face with eyes and rail of IntarMt, the teacher klndll.— I nail lied into ber pupil's mind the parta of the world's history, a clear and simple outline of geography, the theory of rain, of the tide*, of gravity, and passed to astronomy, which ahe illustrated by pointing out the constellations, partie ularly the pointers of the (treat Inp indicating the unchangeable star of mariner, by which ne traversed from

the

dime to

going

Mthless ocean, clime. And all —.— der wsa untoided simply, In short words without the employment of a single U*rm which Fanny did not uodeoAaod. Dsy by day the instruction went on hoar by boar the Lady of the Snow fbuod bar pupil's mind opening, sail er lessons grew mors detailed, snd mingled an uncea«ing undertone moral and reltekms comment. Fanny was reminded Incessantly that, behind all these woodet»-the tMMuence of the seasons, the revolution of the planets, the harmonious movement of the countless sy*«ne of the Uiw-wv the immutable and Eternal Spirit—Jod, the all-powerful, the allmerciful, the Creator and Preserver of mankind, who hadswt bis ow* Mvtaa Son into the world toaa^eall who ^kw«d and trusted in Him. The child bed taught to read, and new oaseed a dsy without reading her W

Am! ail tbla new world of woo-

pravlng but the religious lessons now fns&lled into her mind were no earnestly and so tenderly tanght that she felt her heart glow as she listened.

This was the manner tn which the unknown womsn a»d the child passed their hours in tbo rude cabin, it was not strange that they grew to love each other. Fanny bad found a person of her own sex—gentlo, refined, sympathetic,—to look up to snd love, snd tho lonely womsn seemed to have found even more. Her hungry heart dung to the child. Each hour her affection tor Fanny »eemed to grow and atreagtben. At last the time came when she seemed unable to bear the girl out of her sight, and she would follow her with ber sad eyes, in which a new-found \ov began to shine, as she moved to and fro, smiling or singing with tho light heart of girlhood.

Once Fanny wakod late at night, and opened her eyes. The Lady of the Snow had risen, and wa* bending over Ler with eyos full of the deepest tenderness. Fanny still felt upon her forehead the light Tmpres&lon of her lips.

Something woke me," said her friend, "and you lookod, as the moonlight fell upon your face, so like—so liko

Tho pale face flushed, and some tears came to her eyes. I had a child of my own once," alio faltered. "She is dead now. She was like you."

Fanny put up her arms and clasped them around the nock of her friend. You have another child now!" she said, ami 11 ng tenderly.

Thereupon the poor lady sank down on her knees, caught Fanny to ber heart and sobbed out: "She would have been—if she bsd lived—just your age!"

Such had Deen tho events—slight and humble, but important for Fanny's development in mind and heart—which had followed the rescue of tho unknown Puccoon.

Under the teaching of tho Lady of the Snow, Fanny had in one month grown to be almost a woman and it was during those lessons that, more than once, St. Leper bad made his appearance, abruptly interrupting them, and forting the unknown to retire quickly into Fanny's little room. Upon such occasions the lady exhibited great confttslon, and from tho manner in which she looked at the girl, seemed to be afraid that this singular avoidance of the visitor would excite disagreeable suspicions. But Fanny was too simple and loyal to feel any doubt, or caro to pry into her friend's secret. She aocepted with child

like trust the statement that the lady wished to see no one, and remain at the cabin in entire privacy, and having the conviction that there must be some good reason for her wish, would nevor even look her curiosity. r- »*J 0 il&H! .CHAPTER

PL CCOOJ1., .•

A month had passed thus in this sweet iterchange of affectionate cares between the pale, ssd Ladv of the Snow and Fnnnv. whose whole life seemed to be bursting into bloom under this new influence, vivifying as the sunshine and on the evening when Harley approached the cabin, they were enjoying the last hours of the Indian summer in a little enclosure behind tho but, where Fauny bad made her modest flower-garden.

The flowers were not tine ones, with Ion?, scientific names. An ornamental oHrd, with yellow globes, striped with ^lue, twlnad Itself around some touch-me-nots, whose white blooms were relieved against tho red trumpets of the cypress-vine, and a clustering profusion of purple morning-gloiies rioted— twisting themselves, in like manner, around the stalk of a single, towering prince's feather, which IKwed its crimson masses with proud courtesy toward its little mistress.

The Lady of the Snow had just shaken some of the minute ebon seed of the tall plant into ber hand, and was pointing out the wonder of tho growth of the stalwart stalk and tbo gorgeous blooms from so small a germ, when the footsteps of a horse were heard, and the ladv'turnod her head quickly. through an opening in the trees she saw and recognized Ilarley, who had evidently not seen them yet.

Justin Harley!" murmured the Lady of the Snow, in a low. startled tone "hois coming! He will soe me! He must not!—Oh! he must not J"

She took Fanny's arm, and hastened witn her toward the house, evidently unaware that tho girl bad heard the word* which she had uttered. "Then you know Mr. Harley?" Fanny said, speaking from the impulse of the moment. "Ye»! yea!"

Is he your friend I hope so. He Is ours." He is—be is my—but come, come, my chiJd. Do not ask me anything. Oh no! he must not seh me!"

She hurried in through the little door rear of th? house, exclaiming, "Do apeak ofjny Mng here ana hast--inUhimali ghamber, closed the flooTJtnt as Harfery rhado up to the hut. He had heard the sound of the voices, but had seen noone Fanny had opened at his knock, and the brief colloquy had taken .jplaoe, followed by Harleya dea

sha might sUy

girt And

Fanny then tapped at tbe door of the inner room, and said, in a low tone "HeIs gone!" I

And thereupon the door of tbe room was opened. The lady, looking exceedingly pale, and catching ber breath nervously, made her appearance, and listening to tbo rececding boof-strokea, sank down In a chair.

Thla—agitation—must appear very strange to you, my child," she murmured, "but—but—I have been very unhappy In my life, and—and— Mr. Har-

Her bead sank, and some tears tolled down her obeeka. Fannv's flowed in reepanaa, and sba went and put ber arms around her friend's neck. "DonHcry!" she said "you make me cry, too. I do not want to know your secret—if you have one. You love me, ano I love you very dearly, and that is enough!"

Tbe thin arms of thU poor lady clasped the child, and she murmured in a tnne so tow that it was almost Inaudible

I have something to live tor Alll!" Thereupon a few more tears caaoe, and calmnres succeeded. Fanny and the lady talked, and they were talking *111 whan tbe sound horses ieet was heard acaln.

HeMoomlng back!" exclalmad tbe

come—to sea to-

th«'." But your tother Is awy Yes. I will tall hlm.^

He mint not see me! Oh! I eannot My that too often!—be must not T' f'He shall not!"

Tbe lady hurried Into tbe little room again, tot lowed by Fanny, who had etoesu tbe front door of tbe cabin.

I will efcgy hare with you said Fanny: "you are trembling so ••Yes! yes! Stay with me. I fsel Stint."

Sba ran and lacked the Inner door at

•^ifAui not find your father, sod

It la Ob!

will think you are away or asleep, a deception, but an innocent one! •lav with me!"

The hoof-strokes were at tbe door, and a man was beard dismounting. lie is coming!" exclaimed the lady. "Oh! protend vou *reasleep! Don«t answer him! 1 must have you with me!"

I will atay with you—do not be afraid!" exclaimed tbe warm hearted child.

At the ssme instant a voice was heard, coming, apparently, from the woods in front of the hut.

Jest in time, squire! I'm glad I got back in time to see you. I want to have some talk with you, squire!"

CHAPTER LII.

HABLKY AJSD PL'COOOX IS in* HUT. It wss the voice of Puccoon, but something hsd changed it greatly. It was no longer the old, rough, sonorous ring —that of a man in high physical health. It was low, husky, and a cough interrupted it.

Pucooon had come from the opposite direction, followed by his faithful dogL gun on shoulder, knife in belt, but without game. He reached the cabiu Just as Harlev dismounted, and tied bis horse to a liinb of ono of tbe trees.

Glad to see you, squire! Glad to see you," said Pucooon, wheezing. "Come in!"

You seem to have a cold, Puccoon, said Harley, grasping his hand—"too numb night-hunting!"

Worse'n a cold I'm afeard, squire— somethin' in the chist. It's been on me for more'n ten days now, and it's gittin' a little oneasy."

In fact Puccoon looked downhearted. He went in, followed by Harley, and held his hands over the flre, in front of which Fannv had placed his supper "Can't eat much now. squire help yourself. Not hungry? Nor I. Where is my little girl, I wonder? Dropped asleep. I reckon, in there, waitin' for me. Well, I won't disturb her, sll the more as I want to talk a little with you, squire." "Talk with me, Pucooon?"s :ii

About her." Pucooon pointed with his rugged finger over his shoulder toward the small room. Ho had taken his seat upon a stool, politely yielding the only chair to Harley.

For some moments Puccoon remained silent, except that from time to time he burst into a husky cough, and put his hand on his brewt.

I'm rather skeery, I know, squire," he said, at length, "but I think I'm goin' to be sick, and men like ine And being sick a bad business they mostly die." "All fancy, Puocoon," said Harley. "You have a bad cough, that is all."

May tie, squire,—can't tell—but something mav happen to me." "Something may happen, as you say, to all of us, Puccoon."

And maybe to me, squire. I oon say it will, liut I say it may, squire!" "Well."

And then— Puccoon stopped and looked dispirited.

You see I'm thinking of my little Fanny, squire." "You mean that if you were to die Bhe would be without a protector?"

Jggt BOv SQtlire." "That shows your good heart, friend, and I honor you for your forethought. Yes, something may happen to yon—if not now, at some future time—and then little Fanny will need a home, and she must be provided with one."

Harley reflected far some moments, and then said: Listen, my dear Puccoon. You are an old and true comrade there is nothing that I would not do for your daughter, whom I am attached to for her own sake. I am going to Europe, but it is probable that Sainty will marry soon. Well, let Fanny come and live at Huntsdon, and make it her home."

Puccoon turned awav his head. Ills eyes filled with tears of gratitude. '•'You were always a good friend, squire!"

And yon a good comrade!" He stretched out bis hand and grasped Puocoon's.

Your little daughter shall never want a home, Puccoon, as long as I or Sainty have ono."

Puccoon coughed it was half from emotion. Tliat brings upsamething I ought to tell you, squire."

Something you ought to tell me I'm s-decelvln'you." Deceiving me, Pnccoon!" "Fanny Puccoon stopped.

Fanny ain Puccoon stopped again. Fanny ain't ray d»«ghtor, squire! There, it's out!"

Having said this, Puccoon began to tremble. Harley received the announcement with great astonishment, and bald: ,f

Not your daughter!" "No, squire! It breaks my heart to aay it, hut trouble's comln' on me. I think, and II I die, I don't mean to die a-decelvin' anyliody. much le*a you, that are a true friend, and offer to look after my child—for ahe t» my child Oh, yos! she is my child, tor all r*

Puccoon began to sob, and regained hia equanimity with difficulty. He then proceeded to tell Harley what to!Iowa:

Six or sevtsu years before, he had gone out huutlng, and remained absent sll day. He bunted day and nigbt then. His wife had just died, and he bad no rest If be was not tramping—tramping and wertng himself out, and coming home too tired and broken down to think about bis poor old woman, who bad gone tnd left him aftar they bad lived together so long. Well, an this day be had hunted hour after hour till evening, and seeing that night was coming, had gone back slowly to his desolate cabin, where be now spent his dreariest momenta, Imcaase there was not a sound to be beard there, and no voice to walootna him—nothing but the whispering of tbe tall cypress trees, snd the moan of tbe wind In tbe laurrl«, and they ware not cheerful. He had half a mind to lie down in tbe woodland sleep till daybreak, and not go to the cabin at all but be waa hungry with his long tramp, and thinking be would broil soma meat, and eat it, and stretch himself like a dog on tbe floor, and forget that there was no one but hlmaelf there In sleep, be went on toward the hut. When ne was within a tow feet, he heard something Uke a child's «*y. Then he stopped, wondering. He went on a few more steps. The cry oame again, and he Ml a-trembling. A third cry made him run In, and there was a little girl, seemingly three or tour

ri, seemingly three or tour years had been lying wrapped in a

cloth etaak. In front of the Are, ami bad waked, crying, "Papa! papa! ^bere

"EST listened with deep attention and unconcealed aaUmtabmeet. "And that waa Fanny!" eald Pa©, coon. In a low tone. "Fanny! Is It poaalble?**

As I'm a Christian man, squire, It waa Fannv And who left tb. child in you cabIn?"

I dont know, no more aqaire tbe babe unborn

Harley knit his brows In deep thought. A strange story!" he said. "And no one eVer came to olaim her?"

Nobody."

"She oould tell you nothing?" She could only babble soineining with her dear little mouth, squire! But I couldn't rnako anything of it. AU I could make out was something ber 'papa,' and 'a horse,' and then she waa sKeeied at the blood of a deer I had killed, on my coat sleeve—blood has skeered her ever senoe—and hid her in the cloak, and burst out crying."

And—yon say you could never find sny traces of her tother? He never claimed her?"

Never, squire—but Pucooon lowered his voice. I osn tell you her name, her clothes.** "Her name!"

I do uot know whore he is now. There may be many persons of that name, Puccoon. But you have not told me one thing. Why have you conceled tbe fact that the child was not your own

I couldn't! Oh! I couldn't tell it!" exekimed Pucooon. "She got to love me soon —sad I loved her —and thought maybe somebody would come and take her! And I felt's if I couldn't live without her, squire!"

Yes, I understand!" She wss all I had! I tended her, snd keored for, and I saw hor grow up and look so sweet and beautlfbl—and to think that some day some man might come and say, 'The child aint yourn!' So I kept quiet, squire. I never even told Fanny she wasn't my daughter, wouldn't told even you. if

THE

Her name is Fanny Goulran," whispered Puccoon. Harley started so perceptibly when Puocoon uttered these words, that even the trapper, absorbed as he was in his singular narrative, observed it.

Do you know—did you ever hear of any one by that name, Vquire?" Harley had opened his eves wide, fixed them on the rapper, and seemed to be struggling with some idea which fiUed him with wonder. "5

Fanny—Gout ran! Yes, squiro." "Goutran!" "Squire! you know this Goutran! Yau can tell me if

Harley felt that the eyes of tbo trap-

Eim—they

er wore seeking to drag the truth from were rivetod npon his face— and ho resumed his self possession by an effort.

Goutran Yae, I knew a person of that name once—a very long time ago." "But

t\V\

hadn't

bad this here cough—whicn. is shakin me, and well on to ldllln' me—and then what 'd become of her, without you knowed and was her frieud

Yes! yes!" "And if I died, I didn't want to die deceivin' you! So I told you, squire!"

A slight sound in the small apaitment oaught the quick ear of tbe trapper. "Take keer, squire!"he said,In a low tone, "they're s'.irrin'—that is Fanny! Pll see you again, squire. And—if I die —it is understood-—"

Harley took Puccoon's hand, rising as he did so. You know me," he said. "Sbo shall never want a home. Oh! no, as God 8)es mo, she shall be cared for, watched over, provided lor, as I would provide for my own daughter!"

He grasped Pncooon's band so powerfully that tho strong trapper winced. He then wont out of the cabin, mounted bis horse, and rode away, muttering, "Good heavens! That child—Fanny —is—F an an 0

The slight stir in the small apartment behind the cabin bad been caused by a sudden movement of the Lady of tbe Snow. Leaning against tbe door, she had heard all that Puccoon had said to Harley. $ SFI [TO BE CONTINUKD.] R*

herry Time"

AXD— -v

r:rfr "Lily of tke Field."

We are now giving to every 82.00 yearly Hubftcrlbcr a choioe of the above Chromos. They are catalogued and

Hold

In the are

atorc.s at HJJO per copy but will be given to all peroons wh send tu their namos as subscribers enclosing 12.00 the price of the paper for oue year. These pictures are pertoet copies

In every delicate tint and color of magnificent paintings oonllng hundreds of dollars. AU who have any idea of or love of art fall in love with them at first sight.

Look at tke Offer.

To every new yearly subscriber te The Mall, and to oach old subscriber who renews, I* given a magnificent chrorao, usually sold at $4, and the paper, costing 12, making Ifl worth In all, for only 12. Toll your friends about it! Uet the best paper published in the State for one year, aud an expensive picture—all for 92. —-—I j-.

An Extra Chromo Free.

T,°

We will send a copy of either of our premium Chromos to every prison sending us the names of threw new yearly solwcribers with the money, six dollars, also giving tl» pictures to each of the three subscribers. Almost any one can In this way eeeare Uils beautirul work of srt without It easting tbem anything. 4*

Get Both Chromos. _/

Any person wishing to secure si ones both of our new premium Chromos ean da so by subscribing tor The Mail two yean tn advance, paying asH therefor, or we will send the paper tor one year sad both fc"hromos mounted for the sum of or we will send The Mail one year sad both ptetarea handsomely framed in walnut and gilt tor

Traveling lea

gngaged in any business ean make their traveling expenies, by putUag la an occalonal word The Saturday Evening Mall, where they may tfop. "i!

Clergymen

Osa earn a tow dollars, and fatredaet Drst-cUus paper, by canv—Ing for the Saturday Evening Matt. Liberal commissions given. The paper snd Chromo take on sight. Send for circular of Instructions.

je* "ii im

Ladie* at Home

Out earn Crass IW to l»a week, eaavMdbg tor the Haturdajr Kvwnlag Mall and Its charming Chromos. See prospectus In another coiamn, and trod tor circular of lattroetloas. Or better suit,

send Two Xktf-

laie for ootgt and eomnutoee work immediately

Men who Hare Other Busiaeai

Are wanted to a44 that of eanrasMng tor The Mail. Liberal eaounuetena. M#ad «w

Saturday Evening •MATT.,FOB THE YEAR 1875-6

A MODEL WEEKLY

It was ot|

PAPER

FOR THE HOME.

TERMS:

One year, (with chromo) |2 00 Six month*, (without chromo)....^. fl 1)0 Three months, (without chromo) eta.

Mail and office Subscriptions will, invariably, be diaconlimuxl at cxplratioa af time paid for.

Eucouraged by the extraordinary sueeess which has attended the publication of THB SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, the publisher has perfected arrangements by which it will hencefbrtli be one of the most popular papers In the West. r~ !,'•-

THE CHOICE OP

Two BeautiM Chromos

Presented to each yearly subscriber, (Tom and after this date. Those beautiful pictures just from the bauds of the French ehrom artists, are faithful copies of oil paintings by tlie artist W. H. Baker, of Brooklyn. Oae, entitled

"Cherry Time"

Represents a bright faced boy, oomlng from tho orchard, bountifully laden with the redripe fruit, ,Th« other, entitled

li'i

"lily of the Field"

Is a beautiful little girl, with ane of the sweetest of faoes, gathering lilies In the field. One IKa wood scene, the other has an open meadow In the back ground. They are of strlklug beauty.

For one dollar extra (13.00 in all,) we will send The Mail one year and both chromos mounted ready for framing. These pictures are catalogued and sold la the art stores at FOUR DOLLARS EACH. fr^

V" V«'» SFITF,

FRAMES. J„.j

We have made arrangements with an extensive manufactory of frames by which we can tarnish for One Dollar a frame usually sold for fl.50 and 91.75. These frames are of the best polished walnutandgtlu Here la the

BILL OP PRICE8.

The Mall one year and choioe of Chro* **•-'-4 roe t2 09 The Mall oae year aud Beth Chromes mounted 3 0# The Mall one year and Both Chromos

FRAMED. 6 00

THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL Is an Independent Weekly Newspaper, elegantly printed on eight pages af book paper, and alms to be, In every sense, a Family Paper. With this aim In view, nothing will appear in its columns that cannot be read aloud In the most refined fireside circle.

CLUBBIXU WITH OTHKR PERIO DIC Alii.

We are enabled to offer extraordinary Inducements in the way of dabbing with ether periodicals. Wu will furnish TllIC(SATURDAY EVENINc MAIL, IMIICE «M0 PER YEAR, and elthe* of tho above Chromos with any of the periodicals enumerated below at greatly reduced rates. These periodicals will bo sent direct from the ofllees of publication. Here Is tho list:

SEMI-WEEKLY.

Semi-Wrtkly New York Tribune, price $8.00, The Mall and Chromo SO

WEEKLY PAPERS.

tndianapoU* Journal, prlco CL00, The Mall aud Chrsmo W 6® tndtanmpotU Sentinel, price 12.00, The

Mall and Chromo y. Y. Tribune, price |2jQ0, The Mail and Chromo............ 7VMP Made, prloe KiX), The Mall and

Chromo.

160

SCO IW

y. r. tot*, The Mall and Chromo prairie flarmer, price f2.0G, The Mall and Chromo Weftern Surai, price

VJSO,The Mall and

880 4 fie

Tiie Mali

*nd ChromoCMrnpe Interior, price KM, The Mail aadChromo^....CMoago Inter-Or^an, price 91.50, Tbe

o»

Maid andCbromo^....„ 8 25 ApmLetan'M Jowmal, price 14.00, Tho Mail lintl Chr

Chroma.

629

JturatAeu Yorker* price 83.00, Tbe Mail and Chrorao 4 29 Hearth and Home, price 88.00, The Mall and Chromo 4 60 Mwtkodttl, prloe 9SLae, The Mail and

Chromo 9 oO Marper'i Wee£k/, price 94.00, The Mall aha Chromo 6 80 JJmrptr'i Bator, prloe 84*00, Tbo Mall and Chromo-..--

rrank lOwtraUd Nrtotpmper, peine 94.no, Tbe Mall and Chromo-.... 6 00 UnUn Chimney Cbrner, prloe 9440, The

Mall ami Chromo 6 00 W and UirW Weekly, price 13.50, the IJall aud Chromo 8 75

MONTHLIES.

Arthur^ Home Magazine, price 92JS0, Tbe Mall and Chromo iWmon'i tftrgtulne, prloe 92/30, The

•4 00

Mall and Chromo American AmrieulturiM, price 81.60, Tbe Mall and Chromo-.....-jNmaiwT'f Monthly, price 9400, 1 year,

890

8 00

The Mall and ChromoOodey'i LoOy't Book, prloe t840, The Kill ftjulChromo,,... JJtOe Cbrporxtl, price 91^0,The Mail ani

4 88

4 60 960

Cfcromo.- -t— Serttmer'M Monthly, price 94J»,The Mail and Chromo. ........ AOantie Monthly, price 94JW, The Mail and Chromo—.— Old and Ifew, price 9440, The Mall and

6*9

Chramo.-.— Overland Monthly, prloe 9UOO, The Mall and C"hromo. Harper'* Ma^athte, priee 94J», The Mall and Chromo. Omrdener'i Monthly, priesKJOQ,The Mall aad Chromo Young fHkt Rural, The Mali and Cbre*

690

660

960

8 79

The tfurwery,pt\c*9UA, Tbe Mail aad Chromo... m. ykMao, price 9M0, Tbe Mall aad

9 10

440

Chromo «.— AU the premium* offered by tbe above pub lieatloos am Incladed la this clubbing arrangement.

CLUBBING WITH OOffNTY PAPERS. We have made arra axemen ts to tarnish TBE MAIL, with chrome, aud any one of UM Nswspapers la tbe neighborhood of Terrs Haute all Ibr C8J99.

JUST LOOK AT IT!

Tbe Mall, price. 93 Your County paper, prioe.t The Chromo, worth 4 00

Total 98 09

All th«a»—(9*J9-~ftK 9U». Addrsm r. B. VnTTALL,

i.l.l.i it A