Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 8, Number 52, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 22 June 1878 — Page 6

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PHE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

PAPA IS COMING HOME.

Five IltUe ttosn against the pane. Five pairs of eye* peering down the lane^ Trying to see tbrar the mist and rain,

If papa is coming home.

The clodc on the mantel has Just struck four. Which tells they're to wait one half hour more Before the train, with its rattle and roar,

Will bring their papa home.

Five little bees, clean and sweet, Dimpled fingers and dancing feet, Well-brushed jackets and aprons neat,

For papa is coming home.

Over the track with its light so bright, Jldes inTts rapid night. The long train let

For papa iscoming home.

And fire little children «re happy to-night, minghi

The whistle sounds, the gate's aswing, Footsteps clatter and voices ting, Red lips kiss and white arms cling.

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For papa has come home.

When the Ship Conies 11 Home/

BT WAIITEB BK8ANT AND JAMFCS KICK.

Anthors of "The Golden Butterfly," etc.

44

CHAPTER III. ST. PXTKB'S ISLAND,

We looked about us. The day was upon as, and the BUD, just risen, was already hot in our laces. The sea was calm, with a light breeze blowing from the trade quarter. The ship had disap DQiirod 'No sail in sight, nor any shore,' said Ben Croil, looking at bis pocket com pass. 'Heart up, prettyi' That was what be always raid. 'There's water on board, also provisions, though not what we might wish for the likes of you. thought it might come to this and victualed her. There's land on the weatber bow, if the Lord let's us reach it. Land—an island. St. Peter's Island, where we'll be picked up when we get M- there. Mr. Wameford, sir, let me hoist the sail.' We carried a mast, aud one •mail sail. Ben managed the ropes while steered under his orders. But first we rigged up, by means of the spare oar, some rough kind of covering to protect our passenger and then we sailed on in silence, wrapped in our thoughts, while the boat danced upon the waves, leaving its little track of white loam be* hind it* A peaceful, quiet and happy day. Helen tells me tbat she was not afraid all that time, nor was I. We were in a little open boat on the open sea we were dependent for our safety on the continuance of calm weather: we w»rn dependent for landing an.\ ii 1

Ben's knowledge of tlie *..a a collection of the chart. He knew the latltude and longitude of the boat, making allowance in deal reckoning for the time when we left the ship, and he also *3 3tr.ew the latitude and longitude of the nearest land. I drew a rough chart from fail information on the back of a letter wbioh Helen had in her pocket. It had two places marked on it—the position of

A* the ship Lucy Derrick ajb noon, September 15,1851, and the Island of St. Peter. wa^a rough-and-ready \my of reckoning but I managed to place the posil ,t tton of the ship as near as possible wnere

we left her, and Ben began to study the chart. 'Now, whether to put her head nor'west by nor' or give ner an extra point in a northerly direction, beats me quite. And there's ourrects which, in these littie fair weather crafts, we ain't able to 3 guard against, and the wind, which I beata her on and off like. But St. Peter's

tiles

over there. Heart up, pretty. We'll Jfetoh land to-morrow, with the blessing of the Lord.'

It was Ben who served out the rations and measured the water, #f which we bad a keg, besides a bottle of rum, and two or three bottles of wine, which had found their way among Ben's stores.

The sun went over oirr heads aad bein to roll down into the west, and }ere was tft) life upon the waters except ourselves: no blras, no great or little llsh, nothing to break the solitude. At a little after seven the sun went quite down, and In half an hour we were in (iftrRD6S8i

The breeze freshened but Ben kept up the sail till I told him tbat I was drop ping to sleep from sheer weariness, Then ho took In the canvas and resumed place in the stern. Like a thoughtless and ungrateful wretch as I was, I threw myself into the bottom of the boat, Audi should have been asleep in less than Ave minutes, but for our lady passenger, who called the crew to prayers.

She was our chaplain as well as our guardian angel her sweet voioe went up «if to heaven for us all as she sang the eveniog hvmn. Then there came over me— the first time for five years—tbat old feeling which is always new, that whether I lived or whether I died, all would someday bo well and with this feeling upon me I laid my tired head down upon the boards, aud was asleep In a moment.

It was far advanced In the night when I awoke to relieve Ben. He bad stripped himbelfof bis coat, and laid It over the shoulders of the sleeping girl, and was sittingin his shirt sleeve*. As [stepped lightly over her form to take the strings from iiis hand, he whispered to me: •Mate, was that true—them words as Boston Tom spoke in the boatf' "I have been a convict,' I replied.

4

How did he know that?' 'I can not tell you I wish to tieaveu I could.' •What did he mean by aaylng he wnuld tell you who really done It? p.nte what 7'

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Done the forgery for which I was couderaned. Iaiu inuocent, Bah Croil. Before God, I am innocent.'

He was silent a while. 'I can't see ray way plain. One thing's got to boaaid. We may to« about in those seas till our water's gone we may I get cast away we may be wrecked. I f. tint so old but I can make a fight for vM. life yet, and I aint so young but what I may look to be called first. You may 'fe be innooent of that there forgery, or you may be guilty. No ooneern of mine.

Innooent or guilty don't matter now and which evor way it were, Mr. Warneford, the gdUt of puttln' another 1 man's name to a bit ef paper ta like the guilt of a baby crying at jbewrong

Ume compared to the ntlt of ill treat-„the lnjt the sweet yoong lady.' 'I prat God/1returned, 'that He will deal with me In HU wtati, if Isballdeal with her unworthily—that he will jfcialab me afresh for the deed I never oom•f tnttted, If I prove myaelf unworthy of thid charge. 'That will do,' said Ben 'and now we understand each other, I think I'll tarn

In. Keep her head so. 8teady. net him Bleep till the day was high. •m When the first cold breeseof moralng touted oar lady's face, she opened her eyea, and presently sat up beeldeme, ana we talked.

Toat lsu sat, she talked. 8he toldi me aboat herself, how her mother was

dead in England, and her father had taken her out'to Australia Ave or six years ago. He was a barrister by profession, but he bad no'practice, and very little money. he went to Melbourne. bought a little piece of land with a log house on li tice there only no

it* niece andtried tp praclenteeemfcto nlm,

would be off to the digging* to makehls fortune, while his child was sent off home out of the way.

All this history took a length of time to tell, and before it waa done old Ben woke up with a start. He looked round the sea as if to make quite' sure that we had not gone to the bottom in his aleep, and then nodding cheerfully to his charge and to me, began to scan the horizon to the north and northwest. 'Land!' he cried, pointing to what seemed a little bank or cloud, as big as a man's hand, rising out of the circle of which we were in the centre. 'Land ahead of n*. Land thirty mile* off. Heart up, u*/ pretty, and a double ra tion for breakfast. Now, JJr. Warneford, the breeze is light, but we'll up sail and make what running we can. Maybe by noon we must get the sculls out.'

Our capitivity in the boat had been too short for us to feel any of the sufferings or disappointed hopee which make the story of a shipwreck so often: tragic. We bad suffered nothing beyond exposure en a summer sea for .. about four-and-twenty hours. But the certainty of speedy deliverance paled my cheek, and Jbrought the tears to Miss Elwood's eyes. 'Let us have morning prayers,'Bhe ssid, 'and thank God for this del! anoe.'

Bon CroU nodded. At the same time he cut an inch or so of tobacco for afresh filling, and winked At me as much as to say that we were not out of the woods yet.

We were not, indeed. The land, as we drew nearer, seemed a long and low islet, without any Aiills, ana covered with some sort of low iyinir etation. It was less than thirty es from us, because While it was seven in the morning wbtn it became visible, by ten we were within a mile, beating about for the best place of land ing. 'The island of St. Peter?' said Miss Elwood. 'I never heard of that island tell me about it, Mr. Croil.' 'No one never heard about it,' said Ben, 'except them as made the charts, because no one never goes there. But they pass by, dio the ships, and they will pick us up. It may be to-morrow it may be in a year's time it may be in ten year's time. The whklers have been known to touch there, so there must be water and where there's water there's birds, and where there's water there's ft«b and so what I says again is, heart 11, my pretty. Luff, Mr. Warneford.'

There was a little creek, ap which Ben steered the boat it opened into a round bay or borbor, capable of holding half the ships in the world. On either side was the land, not in cliffs or hills, but In a low table land. In one place a little cascade, ten or twenty feet bigb, fell into the blue water, with a rainbow hanging over It, and in another we saw the remains of a rude log house, built out of boat planks. To this spot we steered, and landed on a point of gray sandl up which we two*men pulled the boat high and dry above the tide. There we disembarked our young lady The first thing to do was to visit the log house. The door bad fallen from its rude hinges, which had been of leather there had been a' rough kind of window shutter, which now lay on the ground and the roof, which could never have been weatber tight, was built up with flanks, of whioh half a dozau bad been )lown off. «,

We looked inside. 1 On the floor lay a skeleton. Dressed in rough sailor's clothes/ the uands in gloves, the feet in great boots—a skeleton. He lay with bis bead upon hi* arm, as if be had given up the ghoet painlessly. Beside him were a chair, a rude sort of table, and a bed. Shelves had been rigged up In the walls of the house, and on these stood stores. There were bottles still full of rum, tins of irovisions, casespt biscuit, cases of can-

proviai dies—all sorts of things. We stood looking in horror at the spectacle of death* which greeted us on our larding, as if it were a bad omen. 'Dead,' said Ban CroU. 'Dead this many a day and no ships touched here all tbe time. Well, he's left bis house to us, Mr. Warneford we must bury bim somehow.' 'And are we to live here—here—In the same house?' cried Helen. 'Oh, it will be like living in acharnel house.'

So it would: but what were we to do? Finally we hit on a compromise. We would take down tbe frame work, when we burried the skeleton, and rebuild the house farther away. We looked in tbe dead man's pockets—there was not a scrap of paper to identify him by, not any morsel of writing anywhere, to show who he was and wnat had been bis history.

Ben Croil took tbe boots, the overooat, and tbe gloves,as well as a watch, and a purse containing some English money. Then we dug, with tbe aid of a two-incb board, a grave in the sand, and laid the poor bones to rest until the Last Day. When we came back from our dreary *b we found tbat Miss 101 wood had been weeping, at least the tears stood In her eye? but she brushed them away and made herself helpful, running backward and forward to tbe boat and brlngtug up everything that she could carry.

Our house was not finished fcr several days but we made a tent for her, and slept in front of it ourselves, so that no barm might come to her except over our own bodies.

In the daytime we were very busy building. We found a bag of tools, part of the bequest of our poor Robinson Crusoe, which came In bandy, as you may believe and on tbe fourth day we had as neat a house, twelve feet nigh, and in tbe inside fifteen by ten, as you could expect to find. There was but one room but we made twa at night, by a curtain made out of tbe boat's sail. And when the house was finished, we aat down and asked ourselves, What next?

Miss Elwood, while we were building, explored the whole island. There was not much to explore. It waa, as near asweooald make out. a mile long by^ broad. There were two one of which formed the whioh poured its water into bay where we landed. There were ^multitudes of aea birds running aad fly* ing about theplaoe, whoae eggs we took for our food.

There waaa sort of wood in one place, the treee of which were so blown down and beaten about by the wind tbat none of them were more than ten feet high, while the branches were Interlaced and mingled together in inextricable oonfasion. Tbe middle part of tbe Islet was, fet fact, lower than tbe edgee, and covered with grass: and at the western point there stood, all by iteel(a rock about forty or fifty feet high, round which1 hovered and fiew perpetual myriads of birds. 1 (band away to the top of this rod^

rERRE HAIJTE SATURDAY EV E-NliSij MAIL.

and planted tbere our sighsl of distrees —a long white streamer dying from the mast 6r the boat, whieh we managed to stick pretty firmly into a eleft of the took...

Thia rigged up, w«, settled do^rn _|o onr new life. Tbe manner of it wans follows:

in tbe bay—notfor from latid, you may be sure, because Helen begged us, with tears in her eyes, not to risk being car* ried out to sen, and leave her alone upon the laland. When we had luck we would bring home enough fiah lor dinner and for breakfast loo. On such days we were sparing with our stores. Then for dinner, besides the fish, we had sea birda' egga, strong in taste, bat not unwholesome, boiled or fried and sometimes, to vary diet, we knocked down the birds themselvee, and roasted them. FOr firewood we had our little coppice to cut and hack at.

Our aupper waa the same as our din ner and as the eveninge soon grew cold and ehilly, we used after aupper to ait all three together round the tire of logs, and talk tin Ben gave the wood to turn in. Then evening prayers and aleep till dawn.

Sitting before tbe lire in tbeee long eveninge of winter, when we did not care to waste our little stock of candles, it waa natural tbat we should get to know each other, and it atood to reason that I should be asked to tell my etory over and over again.

At first I could see that old Ben dla trusted me. A convict, he thought, must needs be a thief. Elae bow abould he be a convict? He trusted me, however, with tbe young lady he oould depend upon me for my abare of duty, Butthatatory of innooence waa, for a long time, too much for him and it was a joyful moment for me when,one evening, Ben held out hia hand to me. 'There,'he said, 'I oan't help it I've tried hard to help it bnt I can't. My lad, you are as innocent aa I am. Yoa could not ateal if you were to tiy. Show me the man as says you ooaldl'

I went through it all from the begin ning, picking up a thread here, and a forgotton detail there. Miss Elwood, listening, waa putting it together, until she knew as much as I knew myself.

Ben Croil, taking amall interest in the detaila,contented himself with the mak) facts. It was enough for him that a great crime bad been committed, and the wrongdoer never punished. While we talked in those long winter evenin he sat ailent in his own corner with his head against the wall, until the time arrived when he oould smoke tbe onehalf pipe which he allowed himself for a daily ration.

And the story came to thia. I tell it here because it was told so often during our stay on tbe island.

On Friday morning, August 18, 1846, I went as usual to tbe office in lower Thames street, being then a clerk, in the firm of Batterick Baldwin, of five years' standing, getting on for one-and-twenty years of age, in tbe receipt of a salary, handsome for my age and stand* ing, of a hundred and twenty pounds a year. I lived juat south of the Borough, between the Church and Kennington Common, having my little sister Ruth with me in lodgings. Ruth was at school all day, but had tea for me when I reached home, which happened, unless a press of work kept me longer, not later than si x. After tea 1 went through her lessons with tbe child, and at nine o'clock she went to bed.'

In those daye it was reckoned a bad sign for a young city man to be out late at night, or to smoke, or to frequent taverns and there were no music halls or such places. Day after day that was my aimple life. A week's holiday in the autumn gave me a run with Ruth to Herne Bay or Gravend, just to smell tbe sea. There were a few old frienda of my father's, whom we visited at regular intervals. I knew nothing of the dissipations and vices of tbe great city, and waa as unsuspicious of them as ir they did not exist. That waa my life. Tbe lite of a bard working city clerk, hoping by long years of patient work to rise to tbe higher levels of good salary and complete confidence. Aa I have said above, I had already risen above tbe heads of some, my seniors in point of sge.

Friday morning, August 18,1846,1 waa at tbe office door when the city clocks began striking nine. I was at my desk before tbe lest stroke of the laet clock bad ceased. At ten I was sent for Mr. Baldwin, tbe chief partner, wanted me. He was busy when I went in, and hardly looked up. He had a message of some importance to give me, whioh it would have taken time to write. He explained the Circumstances at full length, and instructed me as to tbe form in wbioh I was to set them forth. He was a precise gentleman, and liked to have things put in language as definite as possible. When I quite understood what I was to say, and how I waa to say it, I asked him if there waa anything else I could do for him. He looked around, and taking an envelope which lay at his elbow, half opened it and handed it-to me. .'You may cash that little check for me, Warneford, if you will be so kind,' be said. 'I will take it in gold.'

I took tbe envelope, without looking id at the contents, and went away.

After executing my flrat commission, and receiving a satisfactory answer, I returned to the office, and my foot was on the threshold when suddealy re-

It

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iky.

membered the cheek. thought, because Mr. Baldwin waa in tbe clerk'a office, and with him a gentleman, who, I remembered afterward,was one ol the partaera in the firm Of Sylvester, Gayley A Co., our bankers. I ran to the bank, threw the envelope across the counter, and said, 'Gold, please,' as I pulled oat my handkerchief and wiped my fqrebead, for the day was

The olerk opened the check, looked at me with surprise for a moment, and then left the counter, when he first w«nt to the door, and aaid something to tbe porter, and then walked Into the inner room. He came back to me, after two or three minutes, and aaid, 'Yoa must go intfde please go quietly. It'a all ap at laat/

Nbwldedaiethat I knew no mora what ha meant than child, bat I supposed ftere was some meesage for Mr. Baldwin, and I want Into like inner room, filled withclerka, wfaere the real Imslnsas of the bank waa transacted. Every man looked at me oddly, ml walked to the and at whioh the partnera and managers were to be fraad. One iff them aeeased ta ha waiting lot mm pointed to a chair. 'Sit down,' be aaid, and wait.' 1

Tbe tone of hie voiee waa not eoooarring. bat I obeyed and waited. Vol a single thoaght croaeed my brain that tberewaaor ooald be anything wrong.

In ten minutee or eo a jpoliBeinan appeared, add I nnderrtoedT I waa to go with hiiw.

I thoaght it ssaet be a witness, aad It „as not till I was at the Manaon House that I knew that I was emoted on a charge of forgery.

I laughed: Tt waa so abend, that I leashed. for Mr. Baldwin,* I arid.

They put me in the.doek for the preliminary JBXHurination. Mr. Baldwin gave evidence. He waa shaken and agitated he .would not. look me in the face. He Uhke do'wii once or twice with emotion, bnt hie evidence waa clear. It had been diecovered a day or two before that a system df eiabesslement, by way of forgery, bad been in practice for several moutha. The eignature of the firm Lad been forged by some one who knew how to imitate the handwriting of Mr. Baldwin. A sum—in all amounting to upwards of nine hundred pounds—had been thus fraudulently obtained. To atop the forger, Mr. Baldwin bad been asked by tbe bank to add a private mark to hia name.? On thia morning he bad placed in my hands, he e$id, an envelope containing a okeck for twelve pounds, with his signature having the private mark, and be bad aaked me to that check at the bank. He ewore positively tbat be had drawn that check, and no other, the day before—the oounter-loil proved that—yet the check I presented vras for eighty pounds, and it bad nottJie iv*te mark.

Obaerve, liow.hov the evidence grew more and more "-umatantial. I had one check given I presented another. Doubtless I must hsve torn up the first on the way. Then an important circumstance. I came back from exe cuting my commission, bat did not cash the check. I got as far as the door of the office I waa eeen to look in and retreat hurriedly. Mr. Baldwin was in tbe elerk'e room with one of the partners of the bank, I walked fast, or rather, ran to the bank. I presented the check in a quick, anxious way, and I asked for the whole amonnt in gold, Naturally it was assumed tbat I was going to abaoond with the prooeeds of my last forgery. In fact, no question at all was raised as to my guilt that was concluded from tin very beginning. The Lord Mayor refused bail, ana I was sent at once to the prison,wbich I only left in order to be tried and convicted.

Tbat was tbe etory* I told it again and again, while tbe wood fire' crackled on tbe hearth. Miss Elwood asked me for every detail ahe talked the matter over and looked at it in all ita lights, but she always came back to one point. 'Mr. Balwin gave you a check whioh he bad drawn tbe day before. How 'could he awear that the envelope bad not been changed by some one else?'

And there was another point. It was assumed, thousb the charge was not pressed, that 1 bad been the forger in the proceeding frauds. Now no clerk could awear that I had preeented any other of the forged checks. Also it was proved in the defense that my life -waa quite quiet, Innocent, and simple. Every hour of my day was laid open for the jury. No motive was disoovsred for toe circumstance, no secret source of extravagance was ascertained and. it was found tbat the frauds bad been committed by means of a checkbook— got Heaven knows where—not that in the possession of Mr. Baldwin. No attempt was made to find out bow I could have obtained another checkbook.

But the»e were trifies light as air in comparison with tbe weight of circumstances against me.

Always Miss Elwood came back to tbe »ame point. 'Who could have changed tbe envelope with Mr. Baldwin's check?1

I do not say tbat the discussion of my story occupied the whole of our time on the island of St. Peter. We had work to do all day, and were often glad to turn in soon after dark. In the summer we walked and talked outside,snd we were always looking for tbe ship that was to give us our release.

At first we looked with uncertainty. Every morning I climbed up the rock, and looked round on the broad bosom of tbe sea. Every morning I made tbe same gesture of disappointment. In a few moutha we got to look on deliverance as a thing possible, indeed, but far off. After two years we no longer dared to hope. In the third year we sometimes looked at one another with eyes which said what the tongue dared not utter, 'We are prisoners here for life.'

Our stores by this time had well' nigh vanished, save for a few bottles of wine kept for medicine, the only medicine we had. Old Ben waa fain to amoke a tobacco compounded of herbs whioh he gathered and dried. We bad learned by thia time tbe resources of out island,snd knew exactly what variety it afforded, and what was best for us to eat. There waa plenty, such as it was. The birds did not desert us, nor the fish there were eggd, there was a kind of wild let* tuce, there was an abundance or fresh water, and there was still a tin of buscults for Miss Elwood in case she might take a dislike, as happened once, to' tbe eimple food of our laland lifo. We fell into tbe way by degreea of arranging our daya as if there was never to be any change. For myself I almost think now that, out for one thing, I did not want any so far I was concerned. Tbe one thing wis that I had eome to an understanding with Miss Elwood. It grew up by degrees. It was long before I ventured to tell ber what I felt. The words were forced from me one .night when, old Ben being asleep on hie stool witb his bead againat the fire, my sweet mistress was mpre than ueually kind— if it were possible for her to be kinder at one time than at another—and I waa more than usually .forgetful of my condition. rremember—as if I should ever forget that moment!—that I took her band aa it lay upon her lap, and held it In mine while-I looked in her face and in her soft, sweet hazel eyes, I saw by tbe look in those eyea that ahe knew what I waa burning to say, and I wfcited for the least token, any hint, that I waa not to cay it. It was a night ih our winter, the English ifuly outside the but the wind whistled and tbe rain fell.

I

told, her In three words what I bad to aaj, and I was silent again. She said *—a.

nothing, and I kissed her hand. *Speak to me, darling, speak!' pered 1f itlsoniy to forbid me again to tell you wbst I feel.' •Geone,' abe replied, bending low toWard me, so that I felt ber sweet breath, ana caught the glow ol the Are upon her blushing cheek, 'we hsve been together more than two years we have learned to read each other's

I whlaever

I paseed that night In aleepleoa thoaght. Had I dona wrong In apeak* my mind? And yet If we were to j»d oar iivee la thia forlorn and castaway condition! Oould Helen marry mo Umvmtak In Melbourne or In Londont With what faee eo»ld I aak t. how go to ber father how data even tolWmy Qj^towaidlmrt hwejlt a what I thought waa right for aa both to do. I ajoull not accept thejpeat eeprifleeofancngai^aiilftamfier. I had U- __ ipeeaily, ahe ahoald be free if none came within a yen, we would marry on the laland but Should we before that time be taken from tbe place, we would only marry ahoald it please God to make my innocence plain before all the world.

She accepted my condidons. She said that abe would marry me when and where I pleased, but for.the sake of her father. If wrgot safe to England my character abould be cleared, if that might be, for my.owu sake, 8be knew me/abe mid, and that waa enough. we were happier, I think, after that. I began almoat to hope even that no ahip might come before the end of the year but one day—it wanted bat a rinonth of the time—I saw. with a heart full of conflicting emotiona, a whaler, ateering straight for our island

Ben Croil rushed up to theeignal rock, and began waving hia atreamers with frantic ahonta.

Helen and I looked at each other, and the teara came Into my eyes. 'Helen,' I said, 'I am going back again to the world aa a returned convict. I have loet you forever.' 'No, no!' ahe cried, throwing herself Into my arms. 'Never, George. Wo will work together to solve this mysterv and if it,ia never solved, my love and my husband, tbe Lord will find out a way. Only wait and trust and if tbe worst comes to the worst—if we are nuver to marry—we shall be brother and sister always. But in all thia wide world.do not forget that there ia only one man whom I can ever love.'

And here 1 lay down the pen and leave another to- tell the atory of how the aword.of honor waa restored to me.

mr CHAPTER IV. DANCING AND DEPORTMENT. So for in the heart of the city as to make one doubt whether it has not

got

clean beyond the heart and gone over to the other aide, stands a street of private houaea,

at Bight

of whioh

the

rare

and casual stranger wonders what manner of people they be who dwell therein. Their only knowledge of London squares ana the aristocracy must be derived from America Square, to which" tbe street is a neaf neighbor. Their knowledge of life muat be taken from the Docks hard by, and from

the

Thamea, which bears, within a stoneathrow of their doors, its fresh freights from India and tot Cathay.

They have the Tower of London for a subject of perpetual contemplation and by contemplating Thamee atreet, tbey may sometimes make acquaintance with the exteriors of tboae who come from the unknown glories of the weeternland —from the golden Belgravla and tbe dncal meadows of fair Tyburnla. But wherever they fare in aearch of the unknown and the picturesque, their livee are settled where their is a steady oalm intbe midst of turmoil. The outer world seems to belong not to them, nor Its troubles its fiercer joys tbey know not the battle rages round them, but not in their midst and tbe citiaena who dwell in Yendo atreet. area peaceful folk, mostly poor, and nearly all contented. Half way up tbe street, on the left hand aide, is a house which, exactly like the rest in other respects, differs from them in a look of extreme neatneaa, which, witb a freshness of green paint,makea it stand out from the neighbors as a house which claims the attention due to respectability of a high order. On the door ia a large braas plate, on which ia inscribed, 'M. Lemire, Professor of Dancing, Calisthenics and Deportment 'and on a large card in tbe front window appears tbe same statement, followed by tbe daring assertion that 'References are permitted to the highest Nobility, Gentry, and Proprietors of Schools in the Kingdom.' Side by side with this placard waa another of smaller diinentiona, with the aimple words'Lodgings'upon it for Professor Lemire added to bis artistic pursuit tbe business of letting lodgings, whenever lodgers shon Id be Induped^ ojr the voioe of fame, or by. a oalm oonaideration of the advantage of the situation, to settle for a time in' the neighborhood of America Square.

It ia proper to explain that hitherto— that is, since the hoisting of tbe placard, which was In a manner a flag of dlatress —no lodger had yet knocked at the door, except one, and be bad been, financially speaking, a failure. So tbe professor, albeit retaining the placard, thought, little of tbe lodgings, and looked to bis' art for bia daily bread.

Art, however, at the East End of tbe city makes a precarious livlihood. There were a few private schools, where tbe professor's services were required at a Very moderate remuneration, and a sprinkling of pupila could be got to getber to form in winter a class, to which he yearly looked forward with hopee alwaya doomed to disappointment. The dapper little dancing master made out of all a very slender income indeed, and tbe family tablo waa frugal all the year round.

The profeesor was, in this year 1855 of which we write, between forty and fifty years of age. Hia father and ills grandfather bad been dancing masters before him, in the same neighborhood, when there were yet wealthy merchanta liv ing there, and dancing waa a serious accomplishment. Hia son Rupert, he said, should try Other fields but for him —bis lines were fixed.

Professor Lemire waa of Huguenot deeeent,and among tbe family treasures waa an old sword wbioh had been drawn at tbe great siege of La Rochelle bat all tbe warrior blood must have been exhausted at the period when the professor saw the light, lor a mote soft hearted, tender and sympathetic creature

worshiped

BOO

la. My

beloved, if yoa have learned to love me, who am that Iehoold not learn to love

JOt

on in retnrn? Tell me what la right to No, not now—not to night think it over, aad tall me to-mortow.'

did

not

exist. He waea small, thin and wiry man he bad a clean shaven faoe, bright black eyes aud black hair, be dressed ic black too, witb clotbea fitting tight* to hia^laatto limbs and be had one pet vanity—he whs proud of his Irreproachable linen. Madame Lemire was an Engliebwoman, who had conquered tbe youthful professor's heart by aa extraordinary devotiois to bis own art, in whteb, however, bar success waa but moderate. She waa taller and a great heavier than her hasbancLwhose geniu* •she

The children wen all named In aocordanoe with ancient Hagnenot custom—either after old leaden of the cause, or after the Bible. Tbe boys werenam«d Rupert, Garpard, Molee, Elle, and so on tae girls warn Antoinette, Charlotte, Rebekah and Marie. Tbey were carefully Instructed In tbe

alao trained to consider that the queen and empress of an arte was the art of that t* danoe well was a gift gloM tia few* tmt to ba aimed at by all aadtbat their father wia the greatest

The ^e^n^mlKpS,' proml»®d tosmpam tola atra. Before be could walkheeoulddanea,

could treat every limb in hia body aa if it were an independent organ, free to act exactly as it pleased, and unfettered by aqy of the ordinary He was taller by-four or

{ong

rofessor

inary 1 *veinches than

hia father. He'was eighteen years of age. There was nothing in this whole mystery of dancing which his.father had to teaon him, there was no harlequin at Christmas pantomimes at whom he did not secretly sebff in considering bis own powers.

He regarded dancing as the highest ofallarts.as has been said and yet there was one thing wanting. Muoh as he loved the art, ne loved the ocean more, that Is, he burned to love It more, because he had never seen it and it went to hia parent'a hearts to scge the boy of so much promise rejoice in putting off the tight professional pants, and rush to the docks among the ships and Bailors, clad in a suit of blue flannels, trying to look like the oldest of salts.

Tbe eecond in order to Rupert was Antoinette. If it may be spoken qf Mademoiselle Lemire with all respect, she was for elasticity and mastery over her joints almost the equal of Rupert. She was seventeen, and her function was to go to the ladies'

sohool

with her

father, and help in teaching the girls. She was a great fevorite, because, when ahe could get a clear stage, and no eyes but the girls' to watoh her, she would execute all sorts of impossi

ble

things in

dancing by herself. A clever girl she bad received from nature a mobile and aympathetlc face—a faoe which exactly reproduced that of the first Lemire, hanging on the wall, the banished Umjfci gnenot this old fellow with the fa which tried to be grim and was brimming over with fun.

In fact, Antoinette, who was, like Rupert, a dancer born, resembled Michel Lemire, formerly merchant of Salutes, as muoh as a daughter can resemble her father. As for the other children, they were like each other in being one? and all passionately fond of dancing. When ordinarv children would have played gamee,the littUuLsmlres played at dancing. When there was no school the,

taufebt bia ohildren. All day the sound of the kit was heard from the daks room, and the beating of tbe ohildish feet upon the floor, as one after tbe other practiced, and was instructed.

There was one other Inhabitant of the house, a young lady, a girl of Report'a age, that is, one year older than Nettie Lemire, ana three years older than poor little Charlotte—tbe cripple of tbe family—a bright-faced, brown-eyed, maiden, of tall and lissom figure, bright of eye, ready with speech and smile, happy in little things, tbe real daughter of the professor,the right band of tnadame.

Her name was Ruth Warneford. Eight years before tbis date, when she Was a child ten years old, she was brought to the house by a servant, who sala that he came from the house of Batterick A Baldwin, that this was the child about whom the correspondence had taken place, and that the box contained all her things. So she was left. At that time a dreadful thing had happened to the child, but she was too young yet quite to realize kow dreadful a tblng it was. She bad lost ber only brother. Wben sbe grew older and began to understand things, she comprehended tbat he had disgraced himself and was sent to prison but no one told ber tbe story. It was Mr. Baldwlo, tbe man whose name George Warneford had forged, who took ner. friendless and deserted, from the lodgings in Kennington, and sent her to Professor Lemire to be brought up with his children.

He left her there because be found sbe waa well treated and happy and when she grew older he gave ber a caution— whioh appeared to the little girl harsh and stern—never to breathe a word of ber brother, never to think of him, an never to hope to see bim again. Tb| child obeyed, and among the other children only spoke of her brother, if she spekeofnimat all, as one who bad 'gone away.' Sbe was grown un now, and she knew, alas! whither be bad gone. He bad not passed away from her heart, but he was become a name, the mention of which touched some forotten chord, and brought a feeling of ueffable sadneas upon her soul. But tbat was seldom.

Ruth waa at work now,*

you

she was also as tender

hearted. And she waa prolific no fewer than twelve children graoed tho board on which tbe family meals were spread, and often spread in an unsatisfactorily mstiaer.

Before

be oould

talk be abowed eapabllKlee with Me leg which brqpgfatteamoffoy to hie fathers evaa. Lone before be anew that speech

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Kupert Lemire oould reach afoot and a balfabove his own height wth either toe, right or leg ooaJd lift either legndt ene leg only, m|nd you-nover the head of every boy his own heigttt and

4

She was a

governess, earning ber own little income, and paying tbe good people wbo were her second parents her own share of tbe household expenses. Mr. Baldwin wished her to be Independent. 'You will be be bsppier so,' he said 'work is good for tbe soul. I hear nothing but good of you, young lady work bard, and eat the bread of industry. If you fall into ill health, If you meet with any bad fortune, If you fail through any misfortune, com* at once to me. I wish to help you, for the sake of your father, and of one'—here tbe old man's voice* faltered for a moment—'one wbo was dear to me years sgo, and wbo promised great things but tbe promise was not kept. God bless you, Ruth Warneford!'

Tbe girl understood tbat it was her brother—be wbo was gone—whom Mr., Baldwin had once loved, and she went away shamefaced. So tnat tbe jvhadow of this crime rested upon many hearts. Tbe wreok of one poor human ship upon tbe ocean of life somehow drags down witb It so many other* tbe sudden storm in wblcb George Warneford went down, disabled Lalf a dozen gallant craft.

So Ruth Warneford became a visiting

Kiverness.

The neighborhood of Amer-

Square would not at first sight appear to offer tbe most desirable opening for sncb a profession. But then if your ambition Is bounded by the sum of eighteen-pence an hour at the outside if

do not mind tmdging a mile or two from bouse to bouse if yeu are ready to begin work at eight, and to leave off at six if yoa do not look for puplla mqre genteel than the children of respectable tradesmen and If you have youth and hope—you may find America Square by no means a bad place as abase of operations. Ruth not only toiled all day when clients came, 1 but, wben business was slack, filled up I the time by teaching the younger mem- I ben of tbe Lemire family and tbe earnings of the girl were useful, and helped oat tbe income of the family.

Indeed, bad it not been for Ruth, tbe dinner of soup and vegetables must have been exchanged for tbe dinner ot dry bread for times were growing very hard with tbe professor. A dreary life 4 tor the girl! bard work from morning 1 till night dad yet she endured It, and wsa happy. She bad no holidays, and never want anywhere still she was bapny—happy unt| one day came which sbsttered ber llttlecestle of delight.

It happened through her taking the poet—which sbe thought great promotion—of organist to Etbelred^s Ghurcb. fiora ooirronnro.]

AN ounce of prevention Is better than 1 pound of cure. A dose of Dr. Bull's ... your Baby in ator SfeCJEOU UV I/UUIOIM lumumui. wuv w* ftber diseases with which Babiea suffer,