Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 6, Number 29, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 January 1876 — Page 2

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRE HAUTE, JAN. 15, 1876.

WH Y.

I did not love him. Long ftko Inxtead of Yes, I gave him No. v* I did not love him, bat to-day I read his marriage notice, Pray,

Why was I Had, when never yet 4 Has my ccart known the least regret

Over that whispered No And why, Rending over the notice, did I sigh?

No analyst can guess the eaase—• A woman's reason laughs at law*.

Sure, I am glad to know the wound 1 gave in ht-aled, that he lias found

Love's blessedness and peace and yet A woman never can forget

The man who once has loved ntid Today 1 s?ein to see him stand, 5 With every glance a mote cure**. Still pleading for the looked-for Vet.

His early love for me i« df ad— Another lives in that love's stead:

And if he loves her well, as men Should love their chosen one, why, then

He mast be glad that long ago Instead of es, I gave him JNo.

Perhaps that is the reason why

read the notice with a nigh.

JUSTIN HARLEY.

A ROMANCE OF OLD VIRGINIA

BY JOHN KSTKJ? C©OKE,

Author of "Dr. Vandyke," "Surry of Eagle's Nest," "The Virginia Comedians," fcc.

CHAPTER LXV.

TIIK KND OF A LOVE AFFAIH.

During tho latter part of this narrative, Harley had exhibited a certain do-

Srat

ree of emotion, lie had shaken at with the calmness of a man narrating events in which he has had no personal concern but his tone had changed, the speaker had becomo moved, and unconsciously had pushed his horse to a trot, then to a gallop. They now went on at thin pace—resembling two phantoms. Soon Huntsdon came in sight—a great hill, rising dim in the night.

There is a room in the Huntsdon house," said Ilarley, "which witqessed the strango and tragic incident with which my history will terminate, St. Loger. Lot us go there."

They were at tho door as I10 spoke, and, giving thoir horses to the groom, (who promptly appoared,) went in. Old James was waiting for his master, who said:

I wish you to kindlo a blazo at once in the pink rootu. James." Tho old servant stared.

In the pink room, did you say, Mas' Justin?" Yes, James. I understand your look but the time has come to re-open ^e pink room."

The old servant seemed to bo in a maze, but speedily obeyod—following his master almost immediately with materials for a lire, and tho lire in an iron carrier.

Ilarley turned into a passage leading to tho left wins, and opened the second door ho came to with a key which he took from tho ledge above it. It was an apartment of considerable size, furnished as a chamber, with a brown carpet, a large, ornamental bedstead, a center table and elegant adjuncts of comfort— the entire woodwork painted of a pink color. In ten minutes a cheerful lire •was blazing in tho wide fireplace. The blazo Momneil strango. All about this room indicAtod that It had not been inhabited lor many years.

Ilarley drew a seat for St. Leger toward tlio fire, and sat down in one opposite. Old James had retired in silo nee. "This is what we call tho pink room, my dear

St.

Leger," Ilarley said. "It

has not been opened bofore during the whole of our visit and it is possible that tho fact may have occasioned you some surprise."

I did not observe It—the house is so large." Quite large, but this is one of the host rooms in it."

The cornice and walls are certainly very elegant." And yet it has not been used for a great many years. There is also another chamber—the one adjoining this —which has also been shut up." "Ah?"

More mysteries you sco, my dear friend—nothing but mystery, mystery 1 —for peoplo do not close the best apartinenta in their houses from wanton caprice. Well, these two rooms are connected with one of tho most painful events in my life and not desiring to have the scene in question brought continually to my mind, I determined to shut up both, and use other parts of the liowsa.'

Ye*, yds." cifv, N I see you aro Interested," said ITarley, "from the animation of your tone, 1 shall therefore proceed to relate what book place in this apartment. 1 have come to the end of that part of my life which I may describe as the love-mak-Ing period, and I'leave it without regret for whatever people may say. bowover, little blame in a moral poiat of vioW may attach to a man who has been deceived, the attitude he occupies in his own eyes is mortifying to his pride, and the narrative of his misfortunes must be painful. It has been impossible for me to avoid giving you an account of these events, but I have tried, at least, to sum up the melancholy experience of tny earlv life in as few words as passible. I shall continue to do so, and will strive not to indulge any feeling of bitterness. You may see from my voice that I have none."

In truth, Ilarley'a tone was not only calm, but geutle. A

And now, my dear St. Leger, before coming to the last incident in his tragedy, I ought, I suppose, to supply some theory accounting for this young lady's cruel treatment of me. I am spared that trouble. The paper which I came into possession of so strangely, on that night when I met the strollers, has told me everything. I cannot show you that I cannot even show you the letter which I received recently from Goutran. They explain everything. Alas! we are too prone to measure human nature by a foot-rule and compasses. It will not admit of any such mathematical estimate. You may assert, without fear of contradiction, that twice two are four, and that twelve inches make a foot, but how can you measure human motives and define thetn Our actions in this world proceed from strangely-jumbled motives and intluences from' weakness, impatience with our surroundings, the tedium of daily life often as frequently from caprice, perversity, and the fatal domination of stronger will, pressing hard when the good genius is asleep or absent. At such moments women, especially, take steps which they wonder at afterwards—marry persons whom they never dreamed of marrying—a weak hour decides a whole life. But to come back from theso generalities to the actual instance. Ooutran was rich, plausible, persevering, and a man of tine person. He induced this

1113'

quiet ssdness spoke

in his voice there was no trace either of anger or indignation. •"l will pass briefly,H be continued, "over the time succeeding my great misfortune. I could ascertain from Miss Chandos* guardian nothing which explained the terrible step which she had taken. He burst forth into violent denunciations charges of treachery, heartless deceit, lies, falsehood from beginning to end—and I confess I did not take her part or defend l*r. But I was not thinking of ber. I was thinking of routran, whom I resolved to put to death if I could tind him. I tried to do wo, and failed. I am glad I did not mwt him: it was better tor him and myself too, perhaps, that be cojild not be found. I afterwards ascertained that, fearing no doubt some violent soene would ensue, be hurried through his marriage with Miss Chandoe, went to a northern port, and soon afterwards sailled fr Europe probably for France, where members of his family were living. I traced him afterwards, by chance rumors, back to Virginia, whither be returned, probably, from disorder in his financial aflairs, to dispose of his prop--ertr.

poor

girl

to become his wife, and she was the first to discover what a fatal error she had committed.

I speak without bitterness, you see —again and again I call your attention to that fact. How could I indulge rancor toward one who was deceived, doubtless who repented every hour of her life, the step she had taken, and never ceased to regret her treatment of me? Well, a last word in reference to Goutran. Nothing remains bidden in this world, and his subsequent career is now known to me, He seems to have labored under a sort of curse. He be eame a reckless card-player gradually drifted into the worst company grew intemperate in drink and finding himself, step by step, approaching tho brink of misery, began to threaten, and possibly otherwise ill-treat his wife. They had one child. You know who that child is, and will soon bo told how she came to be an inmate of Puccoon's hut and love for this child was the solo sen timent which struggled with the evil spirit in Goutran's breast. The end soon came. One day husband and wife had a bitter altercation. She ouraged him, perhaps, and he turned upon her like a tiger raised his arms threatened to kill her nay, even indeed, in the height of his rage, had announced his intent to do so and, overcome by nerv ous fear, she tied from him, taking refuge with a party of strolling-players, whom sho met on tho comjnon highway

That is a sad story—is it not, friend Not a cheerful comedy, with which one wiles away an idle hour! It is terrible —this picture of a husband threatening the woman whom he has vowed before God to love and cherish—this mother, abandoning her child!''

CHAPTER LXVI.

THE BURGLARY.

To come back to myself," continued Ilarley. "Such had been the unfortunate termination of all my romantic dreams.

I could not find Goutran, and having thus nobody to wreak my spite upon, I returned to Huntsdon, and proceeded to mope. It is a poor occupation, whether indulged in by high or low. I would ratbor be a ploughman, working cheerfully all day, and sleeping soundly all night, than a duke with a dozen castlos, who moped. I became sour, misanthropic, and never lost an occasion to indulge in sneers at men and women—especially at tho )atter. This was certainly notamiable, butthorc was some excuse for it, I think. I had had an unfortunate experience, had been tricked and superseded by the man with whom I had been brought upas a brother, and treated with contempt by the woman I had loved. Sol lived here in this large, lonely house, with no one but

j'oung brother, gl-ioiiij', miser

able, disenchanted, and old before my time. I never visited any one, and paid no attention to my affairs the estate was managed by my father's old and faithful overseer, Saunders, else it would have gone to ruin. I was going through one of those epochs in a man's life which harden and sour him—taking from him all the joys of life. I should", nevertheless, have returned. I think, to a more healthy state of mind. Three or four years had passed, and I was becoming far more cheerful, when an incident occurred which made me, until within the last two or three days, one of the most melancholy of human beings.

This incident I will now proceed to relate in a few words. "I had retired one night, and had slept for an hosr or two. My chamber was the one next to this, my younger brother sleeping up-stairs. Well, I became aware, dnring my sleep, of a noise at one of tho windows of the apartment wo are now in—a slight, grating noise, which could be produced by nothing but a burglar's file. In an instant I was awake, and had all my senses about me. The night was stormy, and I could hear the distant muttering of thunder through the closed shutters of my chamber. 1 could see from moment to moment the vague glare of lightning.

At first I thought I must be dreaming—an idea which is apt to occur to the mind of any one suddenly roused from sleep by an unexpected occurrence. Hut there was no doubt about the noise. There it was—low, continuous, muflled a file was biting at the old-fashioned bolt holding down the window some one was aiming to gain access to the apartment.

Ail at once I remembered that I had on that day received five hundred pounds sterling for a portion of my tobacco it had

been

locked up in the

drawer of the old secretary yonder, where I frept my valuables the burglar must have this money in view, ana in my "*our and bitter mood, I resolved to make the intruder rue his attempt.

I went to tho mantelpiece where I kept a pistol loaded, stole Into the passage, opened the door of this room, and reached it just as the bolt fell in two, and the window yonder by the bed was slowlv and cautiously raised. "The burglar was on the sill when I fired. My bullet had struck the man in the breast and as he fell back with a cry, putting nis hand to the bloody spot, I reoognhtod Gontrail.

I stood for a moment quite horrified at tny act. 1 had not realised that death mini follow my shot at a human being within only a few feet of my pistol's munle, and the thought ef Goutran had never crossed my mind. was utterly shocked, and would have gone instantly to his succor, but I heard hasty, staggering steps, then a man groaning

and

dragging himself up on horseback, and then the quick hoof-strokes of the horse as be carried his wounded rider off. In a few minutes the noise had oeated, and I looked round me with the air of a man walking in his aleep. I then proceeded to strike alight and examine the window the bolt wa« sawn in two, and the wish was raised. I shut

it down, went back to my chamber, and remained until daybreak in a chair, musing, suffering remorse.

Something told me that I had mortally wounded Goutran, and on the next day his fate seemed to be ascertained. His horse was found riderless on the other side of the Ulackwater, which was greatly swollen near the ford, in the vicinity of Puccoon's cabin. The wounded man must have attempted to cross, I concluded, was swept from the saddle, and had been drowned. Thus, whether my bullet had inflicted a mortal wound,* or only weakened him by lofts of blood, so that lie could not keep his seat in the saddle, I was responsible for his death, and horror seized ujon me. My remorse lieeame even greater than before. I will explain what I mean. There were pome old and valu

able jewels

enjoyed

Singular 1" said St. Leger. Yes, and his last words were equally strange. He commissioned my uncle Colonel Hartright to meet me, and say that 'In tho lilackwater Swamp There he stopped. These were his last words, and they filled

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

which had been the property

of Mr*. Goutran when sho was married to niv father she made no disposition of them at her death, and they had been presented by my father

my mother,

whon he wiis again married, and left by my mother to my younger brother, St. George. Well, about these jewels there had "been some bitter blood on Joutran's part. Mj' father had declined to surrender them to liini, and I in my turu did likewise. 1 locked thorn up, keepiug them securely for my brother.

Well, what heightened my remorse at having caused, as I supposed, the death of the man I had looked upon in my childhood as my brother, was the sudden discovery of tho fact that he had not intended, in entering the house, to rob luo of my five hundred pounds sterling, but to obtain possession of property which he believed to be, of right, his own—namely, his mother's jewels. He had writen a statement to that effect, to leavo behind hiui. He dropped it in his flight. I found it on tho next morning, just after discovering as I supposed, that ho was drowned, and from that instant, my dear St. Loger, up to the day when I found a paper leftby my uncle George for mo, I never

a moment's happiness or peace

of mind. I regardod myself as a murderer. I had killed the son of my .father's wife, and the provocation to this killing was not burglary, the attempt to rob, but the simple dosire to obtain possession of what ho believed to be his rightful property."

Well, this wasted me away the phantom followed tne, and I left Virginia and went to Europe, taking mj7 brother with mo and placing him at school in EDgland. I wandered all over Europe, restless, unhappy—the man you knew me. I was recalled at last bva letter from my uncle George Hart-right, the only porson to whom I had contidcd my wretched secret—the sole living human being of whose affection felt sure for he had always loved me. The letter of my uncle was as singular us he himself was eccentric. He wrote that he had something of great importance to tell me—something which I would give all I possessed in the world to know— and I must meet him at the Raleigh tavern, in Williamsburg, on night which he fixed, whon he would inform mo what this something was. Well, as soon as I rocoived the letter I set out from Vienna, and reached Williams burg on the appointed night. Mjniticle had died on that morning."

1110

Yes."

with perplex

ity. I could only conclude that my uncle had takon tho ftinciful idea that by draining the swamp—which you know covers a largo tract—I should become wealthy, and in this conviction I continued until the other day when—but I shall speak of that in a moment. "Observo," continued Harley, "that nothing had occurred up to this moment relievo my mind in any measure of the gloom resulting from my conviction that I had caused tho death of Goutran. You found me in Virginia as melancholy as when we parted in Europe and the singular meeting with— hor—Augusta C'handos, as I will still caliber, on our return from Williamsburg that niuht, certainly did not enliven me. I had supposed that she was dead—a report to that effect had reached me from some quarter—and this meeting with her, in so unexpected a manner, in the midst of such surroundings, startled and unnerved pie. I attempted soon afterwards to find her, with the view of removing her from her surroundings, for which I was utterly unable to account but the strollers had disappeared, and I gave up tho attempt —diverted from it by an incident which for the moment made me forget everything else. My uncle had died, holding in his hand a small key. This was taken possession of, but afterwards dropped by, Colonel Hartright at the Raleigh tavern, when he came thither to keep my uncle George's appointment with myself. The key was found and delivered to we, you will remember, to be oonveved to Colonel Hartright."

"He received and acknowledged it,but thought little of it. He tried it in all the locks at Oak hi 11 without success— lastly in a common silver-closet in the wall. Thisrioset It opened, and a paper was found and addressed to me, which jld me everything."

Your uncle George's stcret Yea be had prepared this paper in case of accident*. It informed me—to lie brief—that ({outran was not dead that he, my uncle George, had, in riding out, attempted a short cut through the Blackwater Swamp one day, to reach Oakhill tafore a storm, and that, having lost his way, and penetrated the depths of tho swamp, he bad seen and recognised Goutran, as he entered a sort of den which was plainly his habitation. My uncle stated that (knitran did not aeetn to be aware of his presence. He made Ills way out, and, rnowiug what a burden of gloom and remorse the in telligenoe would remove from my mind, wrote at once, and summoned me back to hear this something connected with £be Blaekwater Swamp, which I would give all I possessed In the world to know.

He was n«»t wrong. I would eliecr ftilly have beggared myself to know

that Goutran was alve, and the intelligence was tho sweetest music to my ears. Well, I had no sooner read my uncle's communication than I determined to go and ascertain if there could be any mistake. It was possible that he had been deceived by some resemblance. lie might have taken some poacher or vagrant for Goutran, and all my new-found joy might be turned to gloom again. My uncle had made the search comparatively easy. He had described tho snot where be had seen Gou-U-an. It.wairon a small island in an outlot of the waters of the swamp. I determined to go to the spot that very night, see Goutran—if the 'Man of the Swamp' (as our friend Puccoon calls him) were really Goutran—aYid do something, if possible, to relieve his outlawed condition, and rescue his wife from her low ass'iciates. I had fully determined to find her, if I had to devote my life to the search and as the only means of making her future safe, to procure a divorce from Goutran.

Well, I set out from Huntsdon about midnight—I could not rest nor defer my visit until morning, so great was my anxiety te ascertain if my uncle had or had not been mistaken—and made my way, with great difficulty, to the spot which was described in my uncle's state ment. I entered tho den—a hovel under ground. Afire was burning, and I recognized Goutran—Goutran in flesh and blood "A singular meeting "Was it not?" "Amicable?"

Not altogether. I will tell you about it at another time. Well, I heard, in tho first place, the explanation of his escape on the night of the attempted robbory. He had been carried off by his horse, and reached the ford in the lilackwator. In crossing be was swept from his seat, borne down by the current, and cast a?horo at somo distance below. When ho regainod consciousness, he was lying

011

Us +Y.

CHAPTER LXVH. f-

1IAKLEY KN11S HIS NAHKAT1VJI.

Lot me pass over this gloomy and really terrible epoch in my life as rapidly as possible," continued Harlej'. "1 became nervous, fearful tho least noise unmanned me. My dear St. Leger, listen to tho words of a man who has suffered tho agonies of Remorse. Clothe yourself in rags, become a day-laboror, eat dry bread, sl^ep in a hovel—live tho life of the poorest and meanest of the human species—rather than sleep in a palace, wear silk and velvet, have all men take oil* their hats to you, and have that vulture eallcd Remorse gnawing at your vitals! "I could seethe face of (.'outran day and night—pale, bloody and reproachful. I did not sleep without a light in my chamber for fear some friend, perhaps—some one I loved—my ovvn brother, peivlianeo—might in jest—in some manner—repeat Goutran attempt.

the margin of the stream very

much exhausted, but managed to drag himself to higher ground, and bind up the wound in his breast, which was not mortal, as he feared, although danger ous. He made his way afterwards,with much difficulty, to the cabin of some persons of humblo class living lower down the stream, stated that he had shot himself while hunting, was hospitably cared for by these poor people, and recovered. Having no other resource, he then took refuge in the depths of this strange swamp, where I found him supporting himself by hunting."

As Harley came to this part of the narrative, St. Leger's face had begun to glow. "But he began.'

A moment," Harley said. "I understand—you are thinking of Fanny. I am coming to that. Goutran told me nothing on that point at the time. Let me finish my'account of the interview in the swamp."

St.

Leger leaned back, resigned himself and listened. I had three distinct objects," continued Harley, "in visiting Goutran in his den. The first was to convince myself that it was really Goutran the sec ond to restore to liiin the jewels of which he had attempted to rob me and the last object was to effect if possible, a legal separation between himself and his wife, whom I supposed I would be able to discover. You will easily understand my motive for this. I sincerely desired the poor woman's ppiness, and the first step toward effecting it was to remove her from the control of a man who had threatened her life. Woll, having found that the man was actually Goutran, I delivered to him the jewels which I had taken with me, and then made him a plain business offer of five hundred pounds sterling if he would agreo to a divorce, or what amounted to the same thing—affix his signature to an acknowledgment t'.-.at he had treated her with cruelty, threatening her life, and jvould not oppose the proceedings for divorce. Strange to say, he exhibited the utmost repugnance to this, and at first positively refused. I thereupon informed him that by so refusing he was making me his enemy. I was the owner of the swamp in which he had taken refuge. I would seize him as a vagrant and poacher. The threat had a remarkable effect. I did not know why at the ime, but know now— that would have separated him from Fanny. In brief, he consented, and agreed lo meet mo at Huntsdon— you remember the night when we returned through the snow storm-»-and perfect the arrangement. I then left him, and set to work to do my own part. First I tried to find the poor woman. Thinking that sho had sought refuge with her former guardian, I rode thither, but she had not been seen. Returning on tho day of my appointment with Goutran, I wont to consult Judge Bland you will remember, on the law of divorce, and hurried back to keep my appointment with Goutran. He did not come, and when I went to loek for him in tho swamp, I found that he had disappeared. It was only when I visited his den again, on hearing from you that he had been seen once more, that I found a note there, in which he refused to agree to the divorce, refused the fivo hundred pounds and stated his intention of leaving the oountry." ««But

Ah said Harley, with a sad smile, "I had forgotten that. All this does not explain how Fanny became an inmate of Puccoon's hut, you would say. The letter received from Goutran through the post explains that. Tho story need not

AAer all, Ilarley," he said, "this man baa noble, or at least loving, instincts."

Assuredly. For tbe rest, be comes of one of the oldest and best families in France."

And am a believer in blood **i«t the inconsistent St. toger.

It tells in animals—why not in men f" replied Harley. "But you do net know all, friend. Goutrau la more than a plain gentleman.'* "More?"

He is the Comte de Goutran, the head of his family, and representative of tbe name."

The Comte de Goutran By the death of the late Count. He communicated the fact in his note, having discovered it through a letter addressed to him at his former place of residence." ".•*••••••••• "So Fanny

Is tho daughter of M. le Comte de Goutran and aM'seon as ber father made the'discovery, he resolved to take lier to Franco, which ber accident alone frustrated. Ho came, found that she was gone, and ascertained in somo manner what was unknown to me, even, that the mysterious inmate of Puccoon's cabin was his wife.

The poor, dear girl—let me call her such it is a kindly term—bad abandoned the strollers, overcomo with shame on seeing me that night, had made her way toward Huntsdon—receiving charity from poor persons like herself—with tho design of appealing to me to discover her child, had "haunted," as you said, the grounds here, and on that very night when wo returned through the snow-storm, tottered away in tho darkness, tell from exhaustion, and was saved from death by the excellent Puccoon. The rest you know—bow she came to lovo her own child without knowing that she was her child, how she is sate at last with a husband who is changed by suffering, and loves her, who will soon offer her a position in life such as she fell from when she married him.

Poor, suffering creature! God. the all-merciful, the all-seeing, can read my heart, and see that I have long ago, forgiven her—that I can say, 'forget the past do not let it trouble you. I have forgotten and forgiven it!'"

St. Leger stretched out his hand and grasped Harley's. 1 will not say you are the man I thought you were! You are the man I knew you were!"

Thanks, friend. Praise from you is grateful to me. Now I am weary, and a little agitated by the emotion I have felt at meeting with this poor girl us retire."

Oh, by gollv, I've forgotten it!" I asked Mrs. Smith for hers, tbe bridegroom, meanwhile, trying in each and all of his pockets to find the missing symbol. '"By golly, I have it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, producing a man's ring with a ponderous stone in-it, and offered it to me.

141prefer

a long one. When he tame to

seize his mother's jewels that, night at Huntsdon—let mo not use the word rob —he was ruined, and designed making his way with his child to Franco. He came to the neighborhood 011 boreeback, carrying tbe child—then very small—in his arms, tenderly wrapped in a cloak. What to do with her during the time consumed in the abstraction of the jewels was the puzzle but a means all .t once presented itself. He cauie at night* fall in sight of Puccoon's cabin, and rode up to it, designing to invent some plausiole story, and leave the child thereuntil his return. The-'abin was unoccupied, however, and he took a sudden resolution. .He would not l»e absent more than an honr or two the child would be s*fe from harm he placed the little one—who bad fallen asleep—in front or the tire, and rode rapidly toward Huntsdon. Then the burglary followed he was wounded, his horse carried him off, hU head turning, his frame powerless from loss of blood, he could not cheek the animal, and was washed away by the wave* ttftlio Blackwater. When he recovered, he stole back, saw I'uoooon sitting at the door of bis abin, dandling the child, and realising how much better off his little Fanny, whom he loved passionately, would be with tbe trapper than with himself, made no effort to regain posnesekm of her, contenting hlmselfwith the knowledge that she was tenderly cared for. gt. Leger listened to tbeee words with evident emotion.

this," I replied^and conclud

ed the ceremony with Mrs. Smith's wed-

V?henft was oyer, the bride and witnesses retired to tho bay window, while the bridegroom came up to me with his former mysterious manner.

Minister, isn't there a fee attached to this sort of thing?" Yes," 1 replied.

And about how much

Oh," I answered, "the bridegroom generally gives me what ho considers the bride is worth."

Well," ho said, meditatively, as he took out his pocket-book and selected a two dollar note, "now will that do, minister 1" j.

Very well," I replied. lie took a step or two towards the window, then drew out his pocketbook again, and handing me twentyfive cents, said,—

Put that with it, minister." I complied, and again he Inrned to the window, again paused, ai a third time taking out his pocket-book, raying "I guess, minister, we might as well make that square," handed me another twenty-five cent stamp. I concluded the bride must le rising in value to his eyes the nearer he approched her, but he "then walked t» the window, and, leading her from the room, the parties bade me good-night.

IM UK OF HOOD CLOTHES.

j, fltalph

4that

the sense of being perfectly well dressed glvee a feeling of inward tranquility which religionXs powerless to bestow.'*

Clergymen

CHII earn a few dollars, and introduce a first-clam paper, by canvassing for the Saturday F.vetiing Mall. Liberal commission* glv« «.

The

Let

[TO BK CONTINUED.]

CLERGYMAN'S EXEERIENCE. I was sitting one evening last fall in my stud}-, silent and weary, when a sharp ring at tho door-beli broke upon iny meditations, and reminded me that probably my day's work was not yet concluded.

Is the minister in I heard a rough voice ask of the servant. The reply was in tho affirmative, and presently a rap at tho door of my room thoroughly roused me.

My"C mo in," was answered by tbe appearance of a man's head at the open door, and the question,—

Be you tbe minister?" I am," I replied, as I turned in my chair to obtain a better view of the intruder, a coarse looking countryman enough, who advanced further into the room, glancing curiously about him, and holding his felt hat nervously between his hands. "What can I do for you

Well, minister, I want a job dne can yon do it?" It depends on tbe job," I replied. "What is it?" .. "I want to be hitched."

Alight broke in upon me at once, and I replied cheerfully,— All right I will do that for you."

Well," he said, brightening, "you seo Sal and hev made up our minds to get hitched, and I thought I'd give you the job, so I came to see you about it and now." starting for the deor, "I'll fetch Sal."

In about fifteen minutes he returned, accompanied by a rather comely looking young woman, whose broad face sparkled with smiles and blushes, and followed by a serious looking middle aged man 'and a woman whom I concluded to be his *vIfo. "This is Mr. and-Mrs. Smith, min'ster," said the intended bridegroom, and this is—Sal." 1 acknowledged the introductions, and after arranging the parties in their places, tho bridegroom meantime forcing a pair of black gloves upon his hands, commenced tho ceremony. All went on happily until the ring was required, when I turned to the groom and asked for it.

Saturday Evening

MAIL,

FOR

THE YEAR

1875-6.

A MODEL WEEKLY PAPER FOR THE HOME.

__ TERMS:

One year, (with chromo) f2 GOSix months, (without chromo)..... 91 00Three months, (without chromo). 56 cts.

Mall and office Subscriptions will, Invariably, be discontinued at expiration ef time paid for.

Encouraged by the extraordinary success which has attended the publication of THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, the publisher has perfected arrangements by which it will henceforth be one of the most popular papers in the Weut. f*

1 THE CHOICE OF

Two Beautiful Chromos

Presented to each yearly subscriber, from and after this date. These beautiful picturesjust from the hands of the French ohrom artists, are fultliful copies of oil pai-u tings by the artist W. H. Baker, of Brooklyn. Oner entitled

"Cherry Time"

Represeats a bright facod boy, coming fromtbe orchard, bountifully laden with the redripe fruit. The other, entitled

"Lily of the Fifeld"

Is a beautiful little girl, with one of the sweetest of faces, gathering lilies in the field. One is a wood soene, tho other has an open meadow in the back ground. They are of striking beauty.

For one dollar extra (#3.00 in all,) we will send The Mail one year and both chromos1 mounted ready for framing. These pictures are catalogued and sold 1M the art stores at FOUR DOLLARS EACH.

FRAMES.

We havVrtiade arrangements with »u extensive manufactoiy of frames by which wo can furnish for One Dollar a frame usually sold for Sl^O and 81.75. These frames aro of the best polished walnut and gilt. Here is the

BILL OF PRICES.

The Mall one year and choice of Chromo 82 00 The Mail one year and Bath Chromos mounted 8 00 The Mall one year and Both Chromos

FRAMED 5 00

TIIE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL is an Independent Weekly Newspaper, elegantly printed on eight pages of book pnper, and alms to be, in every sense, a Family l'aper. With this aim in view, nothing will appear in its columns that cannot be read aloud in the most refined fireside circle.

CLUBBING WITH OTHER PKUIODICALS. We are enabled to offer extraordinary inducements in the way of clubbing with other periodicals. We will rurnish THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, PRICE *2.00 PER YEAR, and elthe*" of tho above Chromos with any of the periodicals enumerated below at greatly reduced rates. These periodicals will be sent direct from tbe eflices of publication. Here 1h tho list:

SEMI-WEEKLY.

&"mi- Wrvkly New York Tribvvc, price £1.00, The Mail and Chromo 14 50

WEEKLY PAPERS.

Indianapolis Journal, price 82.00, The Mall audChrwnio W 60 jndiatutpotts Sentinel, price J2.00, The

Mall and Chromo 8 69 N. Y. Tribune, price Tho Mail and Chromo 3 50 T»lrdo BUule, price $2.00, The Mall and

Chromo 8 50 AT. 8un, The Mall and Chrunio 8 00 p,airle. hurmcr, price $2.00, The Mail and Chromo 3 65 Western Jtural, price 82.50$ The Mail and

Chroino 8 60 ^hicfiffo Advance, price S3.00, The Mall .md Chromo 50 Chicago Interior, price 12.50, The Mail and Chromo 4 00 Chicago Inter-Oomn, price fl.50, The

Mall and Chromo 8 25 Applclon'i Journal, price W.00, The Mall and Chromo 5 25 Rural Sew Yorker, price *1.00, The Mail and Chromo 4 25 Hearth and Home, price 83.00, The Mall and Chromo 4 60 MethodUd, price 82.50, The Mall and

Chromo

HttJ

Waldo him-nKMi.j

If a man

has

not firm nerves and has

keen sensibility, it is perhaps, a wise economy to go to a good shop and dress himself irreproachably. lie can then dismiss all care from his mind and may easily find that performance an addition of confidence, a fortification that turns the scale in aoeial encounters and allows him to go gavly into conversation where else he haid been dry and embarrassed. I am not ignorant—I have heard with admiring submission the experience of tbe lady who declared

puper slid Climmo 'take

Chromo.

Total

All those—(8H-00)—for W-00.

Harper'* Weekly, price 84.00, The Mall and Chromo 0 60 Harper1u Baxar, price 81.00, Tho Mall »i ml Chromo 6 60 trunk JjetUet TUwrfrated Newtpapcr, price 84.00, The Mall and Chromo 6 00 Lenlie* Chimney Corner, price 84.00, The

Mail ai«l Chromo 5 00 Hoj/t' and *iirW Weekly, price 8&50, the Mail und Chromo 3 78

MONTHLIES.

Arthur'* Home Magatine, price 8il^0, The Mall and Chromo 94 00 I+iermm'* Magazine, price 82,00, The

Mail and Chromo Ameritxtn Agriculturist, price 81 Jib, The Mail and Chromo /tetnoreit's Monthly, price 88,00, 1 year,

3 60 8 00

The Mail andChrwmo Uodcy1* Ixjtiij's Book, price 83.00, Tbe Cnromo

Mall and

4 36

4 60

Utile (torjKmtl, price 81.60, The Mall and Chromo v: Scribner't .\lonthly, price 84.00, The Mall and Chrmito ...7 Atlantic Monthly, price 84.00, The Mall and Chromo —-i Otd and Sew, price 84X10, The Mall and

8 60

5 20

6 20

too

600 6 60

Harper'* M"ffazirle, price 8iOV, The Mail and Chromo Gardner'* Monthly, price $2.06, The Mall

3 60

Young Folks Rural,The Mail and Chro-

2 75

7^°vr/^^,"pilTO^ Chromo St. yiehoVns, price 83jOO, The Mall sad

3 10

Chromo.... All the premiums offered by the above pnb licatlon* aro included in this clnhblng arrangement.

4 40

CLUBBING WITH COUNTY PAPERS. We have made arrangements to furnish THE MAIL, with Chromo, and any one of the Newspapers in the. neighborhood of Terie Hante all for 83.00.

JUST LOOK AT IT!

The Mall, price »Jg Yonr Couutjr paper, price 3 00 The Chromo, worth.- 4 00

AiMr»*iB P. W. WERTFALL,

011

jdghu send (or circular of iuuructloMs.

Publisher Saturday

Evening Mail,

TFRREHAUTE,