Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 7, Number 39, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 March 1877 — Page 7

THE MAIL

A PAIER FOR THE PEOPLE.

pld Wiley.

Nolxrfy knew in the least what *o make ofi©ld Wiley. For ten years 4»e had been-an enigma, and to be an enigmain a -country neighborhood is to be in the test degree exasperating. The folio wiagds all that any lody had been able to ascertain in regard to him: that he was pafct middle age dbat his bait, beard, and mustache were

grizzled

tba£

he wore an old un uff^eolored suit clotheseummer and winter, and that he rode into tbe village of in tbo Valley «of Virginia, regmlarly once week from the direction of the Blue Ridge, a few miles distant, for the purpose of procuring bis maiL, which was uncommonly bulky, and -embraced a considerable numtler of faeeti^n journals and periodicals, as well as prominent publications in this county.

Old Wiloy was an ot ct of p3rennial interest to that estimable otaww of people who hang around village niuaand stores with a painful amount leisare cua their handt. They were a»*oostomed t* fix their eyes upon him witti* deep attention as he forded a little stream, overshadowed by sycamores, atcUe edge of the village and the general cariosity remained unabated as he rode «.p the street, past the mill, on his shaggy little pony, with the worn saddle, the dilapidated bridle, aod the mane which seemed to have been blown upon by a burricane, He came on habitually at a slow walk, and having dismounted and thrown his bridle over the rack in front of the postoffice, woald approach, salute the bystanders quietly and amicably, enter,

rocure his mass of periodicals, which stowed ki a sort of travelling sachel of black leather suspended around his shoulder by a steel chain, and then, saluting again in the same friendly and simple manner, would meunthis pony, and ride away as slowly as he came. He seldom spoko. When he did so, his voice was low, and had a peculiar tone, as of a man lost in a tit'of musing. His manner was perfectly courteous and calm, but it was not a communicative manner. He never alluded in the remotest degree to himself or bis owu a flairs, ana at the end of ten years was as much of an enigma as in the beginning. No one even knew where be lived—in the mountain somewhere, no doubt, as he uniformly rode from and back in that direction but the precise locality was a mystery. People had seen him disappear in a wooded gorge in the vicinity of a peak called the

I shall now proceed to relate a brief series of incidents which came to my knowledge afterward, and clearly indicated who and what this singular parsonage was. On an afternoon of autumn in 1875, Old Wiley rode into the village of affixed the bridle of his pony to the rack in front of the post-office as usual, saluted the loungers, procured his mail which he stowed away in his sachel, and then remounting, rode away in the direction of the Blue Kidge. His appearance had excited the habitual amount of languid interest in tha group Qn the steps ot the post-office, but one personage, standing a little apart from the rest, and ilxod his eyes upon the eccentric with a startled look and an exp« The person in question black-bearded, heavi

session of the deepest astonishment, ion ryolad from head to foot in rags, with holes in his rough boots, and carrying his wardrwbe in a red oottou handkerchief, which was swun? torn a stout cudgel on his right shoulder. Tramp was written all orer this man's feceand figure, and lie had the peculiar sidelong glance, watchful and waiy, whioh unmistakably marks the social oatlaw. His frame was powerful, his face red from iutomperanoe. There was something debased but almost terrible in his air that ho was not uorn. however, at the foot of the social ladder, any one could see at a glance. Ho was plainly that most feariul and hopoloss of characters, the man who has fallen in arriving at degradation.

Old

was a burly, -browed tramp,

Wiloy had not seen him, but the traoop had never for an Instant removed his eyes from the eccentric, following him, as he rode away finally, with the same look of astonishment. As the horseman disappeared, tho man said, abruptly, 10 one of the group around him.

Who is that?" Tho person thus addressed measured the speaker from' head to foot with decided hauteur, but seeing plainly that there were pondroui muscles under the rags, replied,curtly. "The gentleman's name is Wiley." "Wiley!" exclaimed tho tramp "and whore does ho live?" "You had better ask him—somewhere in tho mountain." the speaker added, again realizing the hugo bulk of Lis iuterlocutor.

Without paying further attention to "-any one, the tramp shifted tho Mick from which swung his bundle to the loft shoulder, pushed his ragged hat down on his forehead, and set forward in tho direction taken by Old Wiley, at along, rapid, shambling walk—the walk of the vulture. In Um minutes ho came in sight of the horseman, who was proceeding leisurely toward the Shenandoah, and, moderating his pace, he fol lowed, Keeping the eccentric in sight.

He was going on thus when the sound of wheels camo from a country road which entered the turnpike on the right by a rocky descent, ami this sound was at once succeeded by a crash. The tramp turned his head quickly, and saw at a glance the origin of this noise. A handtome family carriage, containing fvo ladies, aml'driveu by a black coachman, was lying half on its side, a linchpin having come out of ono of the wheels. The tramp topped and looked on. The ladies got out exhibiting the nervousness characteristic of their sex, but the aged coachman was heard re-assuring them then he propped up the axle, re-

finchpin,and

tlacedthe wheel, improvised a new in a few minutes the ladies again entered the carriage, which continued its way toward

The tramp had witnessed all, standing in tho middle of the road, and looking en with the same wary sidelong glance, especially it seemed, at the youuger oi the ladles—a very beautiful of about eighteen, with brown eyes and hair, a slender and graceful figure and an expression of the mostoontiding sweetness. From this face the tramp did not remove his gaie until it disap

peared in the carriage. He looked after the vehicle until it was out of sight, and muttered some words then be turned round to oontinue bis way in the direction taken by Old Wiley, when his attention was attracted by a white object lying in the road wttere the vehicle had met with the accident. A few of his long shambling strides took fcim to the spot, and be stooped and ulufcehed the object it was a letter,«videntfy dropped by one of the ladies.

Without hesitating, be tore it open and ran his eyes over it. As he finished the perusal, a singular «*pression pass* dover his faoe: it was o..e of fierce satisfaction snd sudden resolve. Holding the open letter in his baud, he looked after the carriage, then in the direction whence it had ootne, then alter Old Wiley. For some minutes be evidently hesitated then he oontinued follow Old Wiley.

II.

Old Wiley had ridden oaalowly, with his chin upon his breast, sod evidently Jost in reflection. From this he was aroused by a sudden sjdashing—his isbapgy little pony was fording the Sheoandoah. Having passed over, be turned to the rijiht, followed a bridlepath along the bank of the river toward the south, and soon reached a sort of

gorge

near a

spur ot'the "Blue

"Blue

Ball," but there all «nded. To sum up, it was only known that his name was H. Wiley—modified into "Old Wiley"— that he had no ostensible occupation, and that he was a great reader, as bis solicitude about bis weekly mail indicated. Had be any friends? It was impossible to say, for he rarely received letters from any body. The most inveterate gossips and members of the Pry family bad been unable to discover more than is here recorded, and what this respectable class fail to ferret out may be safely set down as well-nigh tindiscoverable.

Ball.

narrow path led .nto this gorge, ascended the pine-clad acclivity ot tue spur, and winding around, couducted tho rider of the pony to a smail plateau near the summit of the Blue Ball, whicti commanded a superb view westward of the

iver and vaiiey bon©3fcb. Oil tuis plateau stood a small wooden house rosembling a bunting-lodge, containing only two or three rooms. The doorstep was of stone considerably worn, and a rustic seat woven of gnarled boughs leaned against the wall on the right of the door. The plateau presented an attractive appearance. It was laid out in flower beds, evidently by a person with a strong love for this beautiful tribe, and on every side were asters, chrysanthemums, and other autumn blooms, brilliant in tho sunshine. Interspersed were cedars and mountain evergreens carefully trimmed into cones, and around the edge of the precipice—lor the little plateau lay on the summit of a large grani.o mass, with an abrupt descent of more than a hundred feet in front—a wicker-work fence, interwoven with cedar, formed the boundary of what resembled the eyrie of a mountain eagle.

Old Wiley rode up to the door, and as he did so an aged negro man with snowwhite hair came and too!?, his pony, which he lei off to a shed in the rear of the house. The master of the establishment then entered, found a cheerful, blaze awaiting him, and placing his sachel on a small tabic in the centre of the apartment, which was nearly covered by papers, sat down in an arm chair drawn comfortably up in a corner near the broad fire-place. The room was an attractive one, and had about it that indefinable something which is best described by the word home like but old Wiley seemed uneasy—to be haunted by some vague trouble!. As the door opened behind him be gave a sort ©f start it was, however, only the whitehaired old African bringing in the teakettle, whioh he placed upon the hearth. As he was going out bis master said. "Cato. do you believe in presentiments?" 'Sentiments? Yes, Sir," said Cato, respectful lv. ••You are sure of more things than you can see, sometimes?" "Yes, Sir." "Very well."

Cato then waited, but as his master said no more, retired whereupon the eccentric rose, took down a long telescope from the pegs sustaining it on the wall, and went out, seating himself on tho wicker chair near the door. Tha sun was just seiting behind a pile of orango clouds, and the mild light fell upon the beautiful landscape of field, forest, and river. On the opposite bank of the Btream stood a large and handsome country-house, on whose lawn, still green, two ladies were ttrolling. At these Old Wiley directed his telescope, gazing at figures for a long ttme and in silenoe. "It is absurd, ridiculous," he muttered "but I am perfectly sure that some misfortune is going to happen to some of us."

When he said "us" he kept his eyes so intently fixed an the ladies on the lawn that he evidently included them in the term. He slowly closed the telescope, laid it on the seat beside him, and rest ing his right el bow on his right knee and his left on the left knee, allowed his chin to fall into histwo hands, his eyes still directed toward tho figures in front ot the houso.

On a wooded knoll, half concealed behind a clump of cedar bushes, the tramp who had followed him up the mountain was seated on a block of granite in the self same attitude, watching him. ... ::\.L III

Two or throe days after Old Wiloy's ride fo that personage walked down to the river, and untying a small skiff, paddled to the opposite bank, where ne landed, and slowly directed his steps through a grove toward the stone fence Inclosing tne grounds around the house mentioned.

Having reached the fence, he wa? about to clamber through a gap in it when be saw a lady walking in the groutids aud as tho was evidently coming in the direction of the spot where be was concealed, he waited, looking intently at her. with his arms leaning on tho fence and bis chin on his arms. The lady was a person of about fifty, with the remains of great beauty, snd clad in black. As she came near, Old Wiley roae erect and called: "Ellen."

She stopped, turned quickly, and exclaimed, "You quite startled me, Henry. I had no idea that you were any where near i«e." "Well, you know I am an eccentric, Ellen—at least every body says so—and olten have no motive for my going or coming. I have one, nevertheless today." •'What motive?"

She bad approached, and was leaning ono white hand on the wall beside him. "My motive is to warn you that I have a species of presontiment that some thing hostile is in this vicinity—something or somebody. Have you seen or heard of nothing—of nobodv "Of nothing whatever, llenry. Remember that you were always fanciful." "So be it. And of no one, as well as of nothing "Of no one. unless this mysterious hostile person is a tramp seen by the servants once or twice near the house within a day or two." "A tramp?" "Oh, a mere stroller—one of the beggar class. Numbers of such come to beg or perhaps steal, you know but they are otherwise quite harmless. You must not be uneasy."

Old Wiley mused, remaining for some time silent. Then be said, thoughtfully: "Ellen, do you- ever reflect bow strange a life I lead—how singular it is that a uian who is still in the vigor of

bis faculties, who petbapa might be good for somethiu life, should bury hiuwelf here in these mountains, with no resources but hunting, newspapers, and day-dreamstowhileawayhistime?" "It is not strange to me It )a very noble." "Thanks. And I do not think

did. Perhaps I look to my own happiness, toe. I am rich, but would be lonely without you. Why not have you here within sight of ray mountain lodge? My gun, my Uooks, and my musing make one-half *f my life you and Emmy are the other and the better half."

The lady took in her white hand the bony andsunburned one of Old Wiley and affectionately pressed it. "I knew that, Henry." "But this tramp? Yoa see I return to him. Who and what is be? Where is he?" "Oh, give yourself no further thought of him. The matter is a trifle and, besides, he has disappeared.** "Well, I am glad of that. And yetBut perhaps I am fanciful. By-the-bye have you paid the mortgage?"

You mean on Glendale?" "Yes, the estate here. It was the sole burden remaining on the property, you are aware, at Mr. Hartright's death— about ten thousand dollais—whioh you informed me a month since you expected to be ablo to pay this autumn to Suiith and Weatherbv, who lent the money to Mr. Hartrigbt."

I have not yet paid it." I "It is imprudent to kef so large a sum in a country- house." "I know that, and I wrote to Messrs. Smith and Weatherby two or three days ago, asking how I should send them the money, but by some accident lost the letter." IW "Lost it?" Aft A us "Or mislaid it. Emmy and I drove to on purpose* toenail it, but when I looked in my reticule for it, it was not there."

Old Wiley again reflected, thrumming on the fence. Did his instinct whisper that if this letter was "lost" or "mislaid" it might have been found by some one? "And you have not since discovered the letter?"

I have not out it was not so important. I wrote again, mailing'the second yesterday. In three days, 1 suppose, I shall get a reply."

What response Old Wiley would have made to these words remains undiscov erable, for two hands were suddenly placed over his eyes by some on behind him. Now to have one's vision thus shut out by an unknown person—perhaps a foe, whose next proceeding .may be to stab or strangle you—is far from pleasant but Old Wiley's apprehensions if he had any, were speedily dissipated. Instead of a blow, a caress followed. Two warm :ips were pressed to the sunburned cheek, and a laughing voice exclaimed "Guess who it is!" "Not a very difficult problem Emmy," he replied, "as only one person in the world would be brave enough to kiss an eld fellow like me."

The hands were removed, and turning his head, Old Wiley saw before him a lovely girl of seventeen or eighteen, tall slender, graceful, witfci a face like arose iu bloom, except that no rose ever looked so bright and laughing. "I am very glad to see you, you dear old grandpapa," said the rose. "I was reading lately a story called, 'Ho always came in Sunshine,' and thought while reading it that you should have been the hero." "Sunshine? I? You are jesting, Emmy. The northwest wind! log! winter's cold! But I suppose I cfo look a little brighter than* usual to-day. Charles, who has been to finish his education, you know, at Heidelberg, will arrive in the steamer due at New York to-mor-row."

At these words the girl blushed from the curls on her forehead to the lace ruffle around her while neck, whereat the ghost of a smile touched Old Wiley's brown face. "1 am glad tc see, my dear," he said, seriously and tenderly, "that you have not forgotton something—that you have not changed during my dear Charles's absence, and intend to nave me really for ywur papa, if not jour grandpapa, as you say."

With these words Old Wiley laid his finger tenderly upon the bright head, ana administered an affectionate tap. Emmy repeated her blush her mother looked at the group with eyes fullofquiet happiness and the sudden carol of a bird in the foliage above completed the jovous scene. 'Half an hour afterward Old Wiley was slowly paddling back id his canoe toward the opposite bank of the Shenandoah. "So she is unchanged," he said to himself, in a low tone, "and Charles is still dear to her. She will marry him. God be thanked!"

As the skiff touched the bank be looked back toward the lawn opposite. "Three days," he muttered "I do not like that T6n thousand dollars is too large a sum for two unprotected women to keep by tbem in a country house."

TERRE HA TTTE SATURDAY EVENING Mail=

li*6

useless life, after all, or miss achieving an aim which at least is not Mean or

sor

IT. Courier, September

(From theM 10, 1875:) "We understand that daring" "attempt was made on Tuesday night to commit a robbery at Glendale, the residence of Mrs. Hartrigbt, near the Shenandoah River, in this oounty. As far as we have been able to at certain the facts, it appears that Mrs. Hartrigbt had by her a considerable sum of money, destined for a particular object, and her possession of this sum came, it Beems, In some manner to the knowledge of a loose character— a sort of tramp or beggar, who has been noticed lately banging around a stranger in the neighborhood. On the night of the attempted robbery we are informed that Mrs. Hartrigbt bad retired with her family at the usual hour, about ten o'clock, when the attention of some member of the household was attracted by a light in the sitting room, where the money was kept in a secretary. The alarm was given that some intruder had

Surglar,

&ined entrance Into the bouse when the finding his presence discovered, le reated without effecting the intendea robbery. That such was his intention is shown by the fact that two of the three drawers »f the secretary had been wrenched open and their contents tumbled about, and that the burglar was in the act, when discovered, of forcing open the third drawer, which contained the money. We hope to give further particulars of this daring attempt next week. Householders can not be too careful at this time, to secure their doors and windows, and to deposit money or articles of value in some safe place."

Of the incident referred to in these general terms by the country paper, I shall now prooeed to give a more detailed account in the words of the person who bore a conspicuous part in the transaction—Miss Emmy Hart right. This account is given by the yoang lady in a letter to one of her correspondents, a former schoolmate, snd is in these words:

I should, have answered your sweet letter, my dearest Mary, before waiting

~vw **^r*T-*r r-»"* A. r*% I*-* -f»*—y T» *,T^"T'r"f'f "Vf

so long, but I have been really eick and oampletely unnerved by something which took place here a tew cays, or rather nights, since—a fearful attempt to rob ana murder us all by a man who got into the house by some meana after mamma and myself had gone up stairs to bed. I am not even yet over the nervous effect of this terrible affair, as you may see by my handwriting, but I will try to tell you what happened. "It was about nine o'clock when, after reading prayers, wo left tne sitting room and mamma, who -had been complaining of a headache, went to bed at once.

As I did not ieel sleepy, I determined to finish a magazine story 1 was reading so alter dosing the shutters of the chamber, and drawing the ourtains close to keep the morning light out of mamma's eyes, 1 turned down the shade lamp as low ss I could see by, and bdgan to read. In what I supposed was about an hour and a half I iiad finished the story I was reading, or rather the part of it in the magazine—an wld num* oer which I bad brought with me up stairs. As, however. I was not yet sleepy aud was very much interested in the story, I determined to go down to the sitting room, where the magazines are kept in a pile on the piano, and get the next number, so as to finish the story. By this time mamma was asleep, and as 1

was

anxious not to wake her, 1 slipped ill' shoes—I had already taken off my dr

JSS

and put on my dressing-gown

—at:d opening the chamber door carefully, so that the creaking might not uhe innmina, I stole out softly. I did not take the lamp with ma, as it is a large, heavy one, Knowing that I couid easily find my way down stairs and grupo to the piano where the magazines were I therefore felt for the baluster, and tripped down without making the least noise, as the itaircasd is solid, and do9S not creak under the foet. In this way I reached the bottom, felt lor the knob of the door, and turning it slowly and softly, with the same idea of not disturbing mamma, was opening the door—it was already half open—when 1 suddenly saw a dim light in the room, and I heard a low noise, just like that made by some one trying to force a lock. "I need not tell you that this terrified me to death—I tremble still as I write. I must have uttered an exclamation or uiude some noise, fejr suddenly a shadowy figure rose in one corner ol' the room, near an old secretary, and then a bright light flashed in my eyes, aud seemed to fill the room. By the light I saw a tall, poweiful man dressed in rags, witli a black beard and a fearful-looking iace1

who bad in his hand a lantern oi tin or iron, one side of which he had sprung open. In his other hand was a knife, or something—I was too much lrightened to see exactly what. "And now, Mary, comes the strangest part of all. I knew at once that this man was. a robber, for 1 remembered that mamma had a large sum of money in the secretary, and I fully expected that he would spring upon me and murder me. 1 remember shaking from head to foot, and must have looked like a ghost in my night dress, only half covered by my dressing gown. I was all white down to my very leet, as I wore onry my stockings, having, as I told you taken off my slippers. I looked at the man, and he fixed his eyes steadily on me, as a snake does on a biid when he means to charm and destroy it, and 1 ftlt as if I was about to taint. I should have done so, I am certain, if the man had taken a single step toward me, but he did not. And now comes the strangest part of all. He held the lantern in such away as to throw the full lijght on me, looked at me without moving for what seemed ages to me, and then said,

You I gasped out something, and he looked at me more fixedly than before, not moving toward me any more than at first. It then seemed to me that he hesitated and was troubled by something. He looked toward the secretary, then at the window, which I saw was raised and open, and then back at me. Then he said, iu a low, hoarae, gloomy voice— I can,give you his very words:—

a ".Ever, darling, your

eame

here to commit a robbery. I am a mere thief. I came for the money which is somewhere in this house but I did not expect to see you. I have seen you belore. Yes, I am a thief but as you are looking on, I will not rob the house. I was better than I am, once. There is something left in me which—it is not iriticb—no matter—you need not be afraid of me—I- am going.' He then looked at me for fully a minute, after which he said, 'You may go to bed, Miss Hartrigbt. In an hour I shall be miles from ibis place. No! I swear I will be honest this time, since it is you who—' He did not finish the sentence, but closed the lantern abruptly. I then heard him leap out of the window, closing it behind him.

This is all, my darling. I tottered up stairs, waked mamma and the servants, and there we were, shaking aud starting at every sound till daylight. Never was iMoruiug uioie welcome. The whole affair seemed to me like some horrid nightmare, now that the sun was shining. But there was the broken bolt of the window and the locks of the secretary drawers forced open to prove that the whole wasareality. "We have not seen or heard of the man since. "Who was he? And why did he go away without committing the robbery because I was in the house? It is the mystery of mysteries. I certainly never laid my eyes upon him before.

gf "EMMAdevoted UAKTWOHT. "P. S.—There is no nows, We are ail well and getting over our fright. I forgot to say that a friend ot ours, Mr. Charles Wiley, whom you met here once, is coming bauK in a few days, 1 believe, from Europe, aud will probably pay us a visit."

V.E S* *}**f#*v^

The events above recorded came to my knowledge from an intimate acquaintance formed with Old Wiley and his son Charles. This originated in a \ery simpie manner. I bad ridden into the mountain to hunt wild turkeys, and in attempting to leap my horse over a small "gully" cr ravine, my girth slipped, and I sustained a severe fail, which broke my left arm. The incident took place within sight of the nmall mountain lodge whicu I have described, and I mauaged, with gieat pain and difficulty, to drag myself up the narrow path. Old Wiley was stauding at bis door, and promptly came to meet me. I informed him of my accident and, to make along story short, the fracture of the boue in arm resulted in a low fever which confined me in his small house for more than a month.

It was during this tedious and painful sickness that I formed the personal in timacy mentioned and having step by step become confidential friencU, the master of the mansion aud related to eaco other without reserve our respective histories—mine being sufficiently humdrum and uneventful, his very much the opposite, as the reader will perceive from reaumr of it which 1 shall attempt to give, as Car as possible in his own words.

We were sitting on the wicker seat in front of the house one autumn evening when I was convalescent. Charles Wiley, who had returned from Europe some weeks before, had goqe on a visit

to Glendale, across the river. We were thus all to ourselves, and Old Wiley said: "I have determined, my guest, in response to your confidence made to me, to tell yoa, Iu turn, what brought me to live here in this secluded retreat, as I neither like mystery nor to fail in giving you this mark of regard. I was born in Lower Virginia, and at an early age made the scqusintance of the preaeiti' Mrs. Hartrigbt, of Glendale, with whom I proceeded to fall in love. She was a very beautiful girl, a great belle, and, I may add, something of a' flirt. I shall net weary you bv entering into the details of mv love affair with her, for such my acquaintance soon became. In brief words, the result was unfortuuate. 1 was proud and high spirited she was capricious, a little spoiled, perhaps, admiration and flattery and' when paid her my addresses—somewhat sud denly and abruptly, I fear—she flatly rejected me. this event, instesd of causing me despair, outraged my pride aud aroused mv anger. I curtly informed the young lady that every human being was at Kberty to shape his or her destiny, that I would not beg any woman to love me, and with other expressions far more indicative of anger than of unhapplness, I left her in a mood as angry as my own, and soon afterward sailed for Europe, without again seeing her. I remained abroad some years, scarcely ever communicating with my family in Virginia. I then returned, with the full resolution of repeating the offer of my hand, for I had never ceased to love her, when the nrst news I heard on my arrival was that she bad married a Mr. William Hartrigbt a year bofore. "This intelligence nearly unnnnned me, and I became almost a misanthrope, living alone in my old family home—for I was an orphan without brothers or sisters—and moping. At last this life became insupportable. I went back to society, married in my turn, had two sons born to me, and then became a widower. Of one of these sons, the eldest, named Marcus, it nearly breaks my heart to speak. He early exhibited an uncontrollable tendency toward vicious indulgence. At college this grew upon him. I remonstrated in vain, a quarrel ensued, and at last he suddenly disappeared from Virginia, and I completely lost sight of him, having only my dear young Charles to console me in my loneliness. In due time he too left me, but to complete his education in Europe. He, however, returned for a brief visit, when he made the acquaintance of the Glendale family —for 1 was then living in this mountain cabin. 1 had come hither to watch over Ellen and Emmy Hartright,Jthe widow and daughter of my successful rival, who hqd diea some years before. "You.may regard this proceeding as eccentric. Well, I am an eccentric person, and can ouly explain my action by saying that I have never eeased to love Ellen Hartright—of her own sentiment fr myself I shall not speak. Enough that 1 came hither, purchased this small house, and have lived here for many years. What became toy chief happiness was that Charles and Emmy formed an attachment for each other—they are engaged to be married—and the wedding will probably take place in one month from this time. "I come now .reluctantly to sneak of poor Marcus—I say poor, tor I never ceased to love him, though I had bitterly upbraided him for his evil and violent courses. He has re-appeared."

As ho spoke, Old Wiley's countenance .jsumed an expression of mingled anmish and humiliation. I could see that

assumed an expression of mingled anguish and humiliation. I could see that newas both humiliated and cut to the heart.

A change has taken place iu him,' bewenton. "1 may as well tell you what cannot much loneer remain a secret—is in fact now known to more than one person—that my eldest son has become a common tramp, and has even attempted to commit burglary and robbery. He was the midnight intruder at Glendale, and only refrained from committing robbery for some rather mysterious reason which he did not divulge to me." .-.*«•-»• "Then you have seen bim?" "Yes, both I and Charles. His meet ing with Charles took place on the return one evening of Charles from Glendale. He had nearly reached the river, and was about to cross in the skiff, when a man armed with a club, and in rags from head to foot, came out of a clump of bushes, and approached him with the apparent intention of attacking him. Charles, who is a person of constitutional courage, turned round and faced the man, and their eyes met, when he recognized him, and exclaimed,' I'eu bro.her Marcus!" Marcuj's reply, in a trembling voice, was the one word, 'Charles!' An interview followed, and Marcus, instead of hostility, exhibited toward Charles the greatest affection, and even shame. Tears came to his eyes and he endeavored to explain^ as the result of a sort of evil fatality, the miserable condition in which his brother found him. When they parted, he said —I mean Marcus—'I have no right to expect that vou will take my band. I will not offer it, but believe me, Charles I am changed, and within a few days. I did not mean to waylay and rob you when I came out of the bushes I meant to beg, for I am starving. As it is you, I can not beg—that is all!" He then abruptly turned round and walked rapidly into the woods, where Charles lost sigat of him,almo8t before he could ca.l to him and offer the money his necessities demanded. He followed, but darkness had come, and he was nowhere to bo seen. Charles then came over the river, and told me of the meeting, ex' claiming, in a broken voice, 'Oh, father, forgive poor MarcuM forgive htm! He is changed!"'

Old Wiley'd voice shook as he spoke, and he stopped. "But your own meeting with him?" I said bow and where did that take place?" "Nearly at the same spot, three days afterwari—it is close to the fence sur rounding the Glendale grounds, at a point where .any one walking on the lawn can be easily seen bv a person bidden in the shrubbery. 1 often go thither, and came suddenly on Aim one evening, crouching down and looking fixedly toward Emmy Hartright, who was slr»wly strolling over the grass under the large oaks, here aad there stooping to pluck a wild flower, for she has a passion for them. In an instant I knew bim, whithout even thinking of Charles's description. Was it the instinct of the father who recognizes bis son at once, even though he be the prodigal who has fed on husks and comes back in ragB? The rags did not hide bim from me—he was a wretched object but under all I recognized my poor boy, and my heart yearned toward nim. He was thin and pale. His eyes were red and heavy. As he heard my footstep behind him be rose slowly, turned round, and looked at me fix»dly—not furtively or sidewise, as I have observed in tramps and beggars, but straightforward, and with eyes full of unspeakable sadness. "I have not the heart te repeat our conversation. It was nearly all on his part. I was racked by a complication of emotions—my old wrath, the sternness of the father whose authority had

been despised,and yet an unutterable^ pit} and yearning which scarcely allowed mete speak. He saved me tne trouble of ottering many words. In a rapid,, voice, fall of strange eloquenoe and thoa, he spoke of his early life, theinuoence which had led him into evil courses-.-and his subsequent Wanderings, sufferings, and vices. 'I was born/ he said, 'with this inclination to yield to tempta-|£ tionand gratify every passion, but tendency was encouraged in me by persons in our old neighborhood who*X~ laughed me into drink, gambling, and every vice. When I became a man I' was lost: ths tree warped from straight* growth when a twig is never straighteD-% jt?. ed again. I never knew my mother.^, You, my father, were absorbed in yonrp studies, and I thought you cold. I wasifeii' left to myself ana the wretches who,, made me vile, and they succeeded in their aim. When I went to college determined to reform, but it was tooV' late. I robbed a fellow-student at cards ., —though his money was afterward restored to him—and fled to escape a criminal prosecution. I have wandered ev-y erywhere, and lived the life of a beggar, I came here by pure accident, and in de-V spair attempted a robbery at that house yonder, as I had picked up a letter saying there was a laige sum of money in .the house but, thank God, the robbery wasnct committed. I can not tell you why. I—I—saw some one who— Wellr that is all. .God bless you God be merciful to me! Good-by, father!" As he jia'C said this he threw his arms around me and kissed me, after which ho rushed into the pines and was out of sight."

Old Wiley sobbed, and holding down his bead, uttered groan after groan. As ,4,, I listtffted to this expression of a father's agony, the landscape swam before my eyes.

Soon after hearing this affecting history I returned to my own home near the village of and lost sight of t*s»» the various personages whom. I have mentioned, until the spring of the year 1876. No marked change had apparently taken place in the fates of old Wiley and his friends, and the marriage of Charles Wiley and Miss Emmy Hart-

right bad not occurred, as I should certainly have been invited to be present, or at least should have heard, of the

f,-

event. The report finally came that the wedding was fixed for the latter part of May and desiring, as the fine weath- I er opened in April, to ascertain something in regard to my friends, I set out on boiseback to make Old Wiley a visit.

The result of this was that I was pres- 'rent at and witnessed the catastrophe of the events which I have endeavored to

record in the preceding pages of this brief narrative. iV As I drew near the Shenandoah I soon perceived that it was past fording and

as the long rope stretching from one enormous sycamore on the west bank to another as huge on the east bank, and used as a means of ferrying over the boat, was broken, I found it impossible

at that point to cross the river. This* was a disappointment, but Glendale re— mained as a source—I had made the acquaintance of the family after my sioknessatOld Wiley's—and toward Glen--dale, up the river, I accordingly rode. As I followed up the narrow river road along tho banks, often cut in the declivlty, and completely overshadowed by the great white-aruied sycamores whioh .,...... area striking feature of the Shenandoah, I soon became aware that a freshet was at hand. The Shenandoah was rising rapidly, and its current, already turbid and angry was mounting into waves, lashing the. banks and crested with foam. The Daughter of Stars," as Hhcnandnah signified in the Indian tongue, was getting past control and» casting a look as I passed the Swiftshoal

Mill, a flour and meal mill dangerously situated in a sort of depression, I gal-

loped on toward Glendale. As 1 approached the grounds around the bouse I could see, from *he fact that.**

But on tho Glendale lawn and alone the river bank below was hurry and' uproar. Persons of both sexes were seen in the wildest confusion and excite-,, ment and riding rapidly to tho spot, I saw what explained at a single glancethe cause of tnis general emotion. On a mass of rock in the middle of the Shenandoah, clinging for safety to a small syjamore which grew in a cleft, was Emmy Hartright. The water was rising and dashing furiously against the little locky island, which, generally far abovethe level of the stream, was now nearly covered. I could see, at the moment. when I ariived, that the foam of the -i waves, striking

against

5 5

sv..

persons were running to and fro and others hastening toward the river, that something had happened or was about to happen—something probably unfortunate. Then I glanced toward the river, and was appalled by the sightl saw. The freshet nad suddenly rushed' down like an avalanche, and the river was lashed to the wildest fury. The boughs of the trees, generally far above the water, now half submerged, and theracing waves were dragging them deep--' er and deeper, and driving tbem madly to and fro, or else tearing them off ana sweeping them away with drift-wood, rails, ana huge "saw-logs," which darted down the boiling torrent, for such was the only term that described tho strf am at this moment. Near, in its lawn, was Glendale opposite, on the Blue Ball, fringed with pines, rose the mountain.' lodge of Old Wiley, both looking peace- ,, fully down.

the obstacles in

ltheir path, was thrown upon the poor girl's person, and that the water waa washing ground ber very feet. I afterwards ascertained in what manner she had become exposed to this fearful priL

She bad gone down to the bank of the river in prsuuit of the early spring wild flowers, which were.her passion, but had not been successful in finding those which she specially admired and desired.' Having, however, a perfect acquaintanoo with the river bank, she remembered that on the opposite shere she had

in past times gathered

Kt:i

her

greatest treaa-

ures, and she resolved 'to cross and explore the bank. This was not difficult. A pretty little skiff belonging to Glendale was affixed to a trunk near she know perfectly well how to manage th9 craft with the light painted paddle, and without paying special attention to the rise in the river, which indeed at the time had been slight, she bad pushed our, paddled across, and begun her *ear- for wild flowers. This had gradually attracted her to considerable distance from the bank, and she was no little disturbed, on her return to the boat, to find that tho river was rising rapidly, and the passage back already dangerous. She hesitated what course to pursue, and at first seemed resolved not to risk the crossing but she remembered that this day was fixed for dinner company at Glendale, that Old Wiley bad already gone thither— Charles being, however absent from home—and she leaped into the boat, threw off the rope, and paddled with all ber strength toward the opposite shore.

She had underrated the strength of the current and the danger. The littlo kiff danced like a leaf of autumn on the waves, the girl scarce finding herself able to prevent it from being capsized. She used ber utmost exertiona.^ and best skill, however, and would [Continued on Sixth Page.]

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