stringently at the Hillsborough farmhouse as to the character of Esau Harper. That I was to get, in the absence of his clever brothers, no satisfaction out of the gigantic young fellow, I well knew, but I had no particular conception as to the reason.

'But, Mr Esau Harper, if I don't mistake'I began.

Lynch the Mister! I answer to the name of Esau Harper!' answered the giant. He did not speak in a surly tone, and I thought I detected melancholy in the ring of his voice. I jumped off my horse at once. Esau Harper,' I said, 'my name's George Fern, and I'm what you call a Britisher. I was actuary to the Provident, down yonder in St Louis, and now I'm bound, for life and death, to get somehow to Carthage, Montana, as fast as horses' legs can take me there. I have known your father, and he has asked me to come and stay here, and shoot-hunt, as it is called in America. I want all sorts of things-a horse, a line of recommendation to friends in the prairie, a night's lodging, a little advice about keeping my scalp on my head: won't you and your father help me?'

The young giant made no immediate answer. He tramped slowly up and down, in his heavy boots of untanned buffalo-hide, slashing at the rank grass with the pliant hickory-stick that he carried in his big hand. Presently he came quite close to me, and spoke, hoarsely this time. 'Colonel, I'm about sick of my life. My brothers are better off nor me, for they go trading here, hunting there; while the old man won't let me out of his sight. My old man is not like other chaps' old men. Father's a scholar, he is; and what's better, he can hit a buck in the eye, or gentle a horse, never mind what tantrums he's got. But father's took the whisky wrong, and nobody but Sister Nelly can face him. I'm out here now to warn travellers. There will be bones broken, and blood spilled, if you happen in to-night, sir: father's ugly.'

But I was not to be put off thus, though the overgrown youngster was evidently very much in earnest. I was not to be foiled thus, at the threshold of my enterprise, because a drunken semi-madman barred my route. 'Come, come,' I said, 'Esau Harper, you must see that there are travellers too much set on what they are about to be stopped by a trifle. I am sorry that Mr Harper is not his old self; still I must see him, and get his help on my journey.'

'You'll never journey farther than them cottonwood trees theer by the stables,' said big Esau, in a tone of sad conviction; 'for it's theer I'll have to dig your grave, onst you go in upon father to-night. And I don't want the disgrace of sheriff

in the house.'

I hesitated for a moment. There was something dreadfully realistic in the idea of being brained or stabbed by a frantic dipsomaniac, of a grave under the cotton-wood poplars, and of the subsequent exhumation of my remains, and the removal of the murderer to the county asylum, by order of the sheriff. But, come what might, I would freely risk my life to save Willy's, and as I thought of him in his prison at Carthage, my own intellect seemed to sharpen. Very little help was to be expected, obviously, from Esau, who stood in evident awe of his half-crazed parent. There was but

one tone to take with him. Where can I stable down my horse?' I asked.

'Here,' returned Esau, leading the way to a roomy out-building in which twenty horses and mules were rattling their chains as they munched the dry grass that in the South does duty for Northern hay; and if you are wise, you'll just sleep here, on the corn-straw, yourself, and I'll wheedle Nelly for a cake and a horn of Taos whisky.'

LETTERS FROM HOME.

BLEST wanderers over the wild sea-foam !
To many a heart, from day to day,
Faint with the thirst, unspoken, burning
For tidings of dear ones far away,
Freighted with words of tenderest yearning,
That have power to soothe like a mute caress,
They come, to comfort their loneliness.

To the palm-grown sultry side

Of Ganges, where the girlish bride,
From the deep light of Indian skies,
And all the wealth the orient yields,
Turns to the sweet pure memories
Of her childhood's home-the daisied fields,
Green leafy lanes, and mossy sod,
That her earliest baby-footsteps trod-

To the desolate dreary camp,
Where the soldier in the deadly damp
Of the trenches his perilous night-watch keeps,
With death abroad on the murky air
Around him, or under his rough tent sleeps,
And by the light of dreamland fair,
Beholds the parks and the terraced walls,
And the beeches that shadow his father's halls-

To the vast solitudes

And glades of hoar Canadian woods,
Where the emigrant, from year to year,

A lonely waif from his native land,
Through the winter twilight still and drear,
Watches beside the pine-wood brand,
Thoughtfully tracing in the blaze
Pictures of long-past boyish days-

To each, to all, they come,

Letters from home, with their precious sum
Of tireless love and sympathy,

And remembrance dear-like the plaintive strain
Of some beloved old melody,

Soothing the bitter speechless pain

Of a life-long parting to restful calm,

By the blessed strength of their healing balm.

The Publishers of CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL beg to direct the attention of CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice: 1st. All communications should be addressed to the 'Editor, 47 Paternoster Row, London.'

2d. To insure the return of papers that may prove ineligible, postage-stamps should in every case accompany them.

3d. All MSS. should bear the author's full CHRISTIAN name, surname, and address, legibly written.

4th. MSS. should be written on one side of the leaf only.

Unless Contributors comply with the above rules, the Editor cannot undertake to return rejected papers.

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Pater

noster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. Also sold by all Booksellers.

the vagabonds. They've insulted us, and for one, I don't feel like falling back without burning powder. But it's just as Minnesota says. We can't fight 'em all to any purpose. But we may beat 'em after all. Now, I move that we'll pick our man, and they'll pick theirs, and let the two shoot it out. If their man wins, we'll evacuate; if ours wins, we'll stay!

This novel proposition suited every one. Herndon amended it by suggesting that we should cast lots for the championship, and that the fight should take place with rifles at twenty paces. This was declared to be 'getting the thing into shape;' and we all cordially agreed to it. Ben arose, and motioned importantly to the envoy. That nude personage gravely rode up, received our reply with stolid decorum, and was out of sight in a minute. 'We'd better load up in the meantime, boys,' remarked Indiana; for if it don't suit 'em, they'll be after us in short order.'

The idea was voted not bad;' and we not only charged our rifles and revolvers, but flung our logs together in such a manner as to form a very efficient defence, if required. Herndon then kindled a fire, procured water, and commenced cooking dinner. In about twenty minutes, the envoy returned. Our proposition had met with great favour, he briefly informed us, but would not be accepted unless the distance was shortened to ten paces. He also stated that the contest would be expected to continue until one of the principals was killed, and that knives or tomahawks must be allowed to be used after the discharge of the rifles.

'That's pretty close quarters, boys,' commented Ben. 'I got a slug once on just such a time-table. But I guess it's all right, though. They know they can't shoot with us. Let's give the poor devils a chance.'

To this we all assented. For the tomahawk provision, we cared nothing; we knew the first shot would settle the matter one way or the other. The messenger then went on to say that the warriors of the tribe would be assembled to meet us in one hour, at the crest of a lofty eminence, which he pointed out to us, about half a mile distant-we to be punctually on hand; and he galloped off again.

Next came the task of casting lots for the post of peril. We began to realise that blood was to be shed. It was a solemn moment, for no one could predict the result of the encounter. Indiana tore up one of his mother's letters, and plainly writing each man's name upon one of the slips, placed them all in a hat together. Texican was then blindfolded, and deputed to draw for us; whoever's name was on the slip he picked out, was to be our champion. He drew his own.

'It's all right, boys,' said he, when the result was ascertained. You couldn't please me better.' Further than this he said nothing.

Then ensued a long and awkward silence, for we all had our misgivings. When our dinner was ready, we despatched it quickly, smoked a few moments without conversation, and then reticently mounted our ponies.

On arriving at the designated battle-ground, we found several hundred Osages awaiting us, all armed and painted, and most of them entirely naked, with the exception of breech-clouts. Two lances were stuck into the turf about ten paces

apart-these indicated the positions of the combatants. We were received with neither friendly nor hostile demonstrations. As soon as we dismounted, Texican, rifle in hand, walked calmly forward to the nearest lance, and halted. In a few moments, a tall young brave stepped out of the crowd, and stalked proudly up to the other. I was appointed to give the necessary signals. In order to disturb their accuracy of aim as little as possible, I was requested to stand half-way between them, and two paces back from the line of fire. There was no danger of being hit by such marksmen as they were. In my right hand I held a lance, from the point of which dangled a red flannel streamer; when I raised it, they were to aim; and when I lowered it, they were to fire.

And then we waited for Red Cloud, the chief of the tribe. It was an impressive scene. Texican leaned his shaggy chin upon his hands, on the muzzle of his long rifle, and with a gleam of malicious triumph, glared fiercely across at his foe. He was reckless of his own life, and felt sure of his prey, for his aim was death. The young Indian seemed to read his thoughts; but standing erect, with a graceful and careless indifference, gazed dreamily off to the southward, where the long blue lines of timber were lost in the misty beauty of the horizon. His eye soon softened with a tinge of pensive sadness. Was he thinking of the happy hunting-grounds? The other four members of our party stood in a cluster a little to the left of Texican, and narrowly watched all that transpired, for the American savage is proverbially treacherous.

Presently, Red Cloud emerged from a rude lodge near by, and clad in a long robe of furs, moved with stately presence to the front line of his people. With a dignified wave of his hand, he signified his pleasure that the tragedy should begin. Each principal recalled his thoughts, examined the tube of his rifle, and nodded to me. I raised the lance-they sternly took aim. I lowered the lance quickly, and two sharp reports instantaneously followed. The young warrior sprung wildly into the air, flung his weapon fully twenty feet away, and dropped dead at his post. The bullet had crashed through his brain. Texican thudded the butt of his rifle on the ground, and gave vent to a hoarse, mocking, and half-demoniac cry of triumph and revenge; then he tried to steady himself with his weapon, but staggered helplessly backward. Herndon and Indiana ran up, and caught him in their arms. His red shirt rapidly deepened in hue, and a dreadful alarm seized us. Still he laughed hoarsely, and tried to point to the motionless corpse of his adversary. We hurriedly gathered around him, and tenderly as children laid him down upon the soft green grass. Tearing open his shirt, we found a bright scarlet spot on his left breast, close to his heart. None of us were versed in surgery; we could not state in scientific terms just what particular veins and ligaments had been severed; but we knew by the location of the wound, and by his parched lips and pallid countenance, that death was upon him.

'It's all day with me, boys,' he faintly said, for he was growing much weaker every moment; but I've paid 'em handsomely for it. Give my rifle to Colton-I always liked him.'

We bent over the poor fellow with words of sympathy for his pain, and praise for his valour, and our enemies might have shot us all down

without our knowing it. But it was of no use. His breath quickly came and went. 'Water,' at length he groaned. We had none, and there was not a brook within half a mile. An Indian girl comprehended our want, ran to the lodge, and in a moment returned with a skinful. We placed the cooling fluid to his burning lips, and he took a long draught, but it choked him, and he vomited up a handful of bright crimson blood. We had seen too many men perish not to know by this that the lead had penetrated his vitals. He was bleeding internally. As soon as he could clear his throat to speak, he said feebly, and almost breathlessly: Don't you try to revenge me, boys. Honour bright. They've done the fair thing with us, and you act the man with them. You're to cross the river, and I'll— Don't forget the Texican.' The last of these words were rendered almost unintelligible by the blood that gurgled up into his throat. A film seemed to gather over his eyes. Where are my friends? Don't leave me to die alone, boys,' he moaned with a great effort, clutching blindly at us.

'We're with you to the last, old friend,' answered Colton, grasping his right hand. I caught the other. We may have been a faint-hearted lot, but there was not an undimmed eye among us. Soon he groaned almost inaudibly, a shudder passed over him, and he was dead.

Even the stony-hearted barbarians seemed touched by the distressful incidents of this sanguinary affair. Few of them could speak even broken English, but such as could advanced toward ts, and, by the aid of signs, endeavoured to inform us that their champion had expected to die, and they urged that it would be fitting to entomb two such brave men together. We received their strangely chivalrous proposal with a magnanimity equal to their own. With spears and tomahawks, they excavated a grave; and wrapping the combatants in the rich furs of the chieftain, we laid them down to rest side by side-friend and foe alike lamented. Then heaping a great pile of stones above them, to baffle the efforts of prowling wolves, we fired a volley in the air, and with aching hearts departed. And there they slumber still. One died for his friends, and the other for the honour of his tribe. The wistful summer winds sigh a sad requiem above the spot of their long repose, the wild-flowers blossom in vernal profusion around it, and the showers of heaven impartially descend upon the soft verdure that enshrines it.

A GOLDEN SORROW.

CHAPTER VII.-LAWRENCE DALY.

A FEW days after that serious revision of their affairs had been held by the young couple, Walter brought his friend Lawrence Daly to see Florence, and pass a quiet evening at the little cottage in George Lane. Florence had been rather down-hearted all day, as she had come to the conclusion, in sober earnest, that something must indeed be done. Her wardrobe was reduced to a very insufficient quantity; Walter was hardly fit to be seen;' and sundry small debts were accumulating, until the whole threatened to become a large debt. What should she do? They could not afford to live in any but a very cheap place, and very cheap places did not produce pupils

requiring to be taught French, Italian, music, and 'the elements' of drawing. Supposing she could make up her mind to the dreadful sacrifice of separation from Walter, people would not take a young married woman as a governess; and, if even they would, she felt that she was no longer sufficiently strong to endure the stated hours, the formal walks, and the constant presence of noisy, selfengrossed children. Florence had been crying a good deal, while she looked over her little stock of baby-clothes, and put them away; but her tears were not called forth by sorrowful remembrance of the hopes which had not been realised, but by the reflection that it would be so much better for her never again to have any such hopes; it seemed so sad and dreary that she ought not to wish for children. 'Poor little creatures! what would become of them?' thought Florence, as she turned the key in a drawer in which she had placed the little shirts and frocks away at the back, well out of sight, and began to cogitate again on that impracticable theme, What was she to do?

Florence could see a little way up the pretty lane beside which their cottage stood, and which was turned into an arcade by the rich foliage of the overarching trees, in the beautiful luxuriant summer-time. She dried her eyes, smoothed her pretty fair hair, added a ribbon to her ordinary dress, in honour of the festive nature of the occasion, and seated herself at the window, which commanded a few hundred yards of the lane. Her watch was not much prolonged; she soon saw Walter coming along, carrying his hat in his hand, and running his fingers through his curly hair, as he talked, with much animation, to his companion. In a moment, Florence was standing at the little gate, and Lawrence Daly was making up his mind, that if a very pretty face, with a sweet innocent expression, and the kindliest blue eyes in the world, could excuse Walter for such an imprudence as his marriage, he was excused. Florence felt the momentary shyness common to young wives on their first introduction to their husband's 'particular' friends; but it speedily passed away, under the influence of Lawrence Daly's bright manner, and his frank courtesy. It was not until they had made some progress in the meal which Florence had prepared, with sundry misgivings concerning its quality, that she had courage and leisure to observe what manner of man Lawrence Daly was. He was very handsome; that she acknowledged at once, and even did not deny that he was handsomer than Walter; the comparison being forced upon her as she looked from one to the other, while they talked and joked merrily. He was tall, and strongly built, but with an easy elegance of figure, which made each attitude seem his best, and any kind of attire becoming to him. His features were nearly faultless in outline, but not, therefore, insipid, because the faults, the over-height, the too massive weight of the forehead, the tallness of the head above the ears, while they broke the ideal correctness of the face, were welcome to the eye, which discovered in them the indications of superior intellect, delightfully supplementing the mere beauty of the face. His large, full, resolute eyes were of the darkest gray, and remarkably brilliant, and when he smiled, the sparkle in them was fascinating, so full was it of life, courage, and the power of enjoyment. A great quantity of golden brown hair curled closely

all over his head, and he anticipated the fashion of a later date by wearing a fine beard, and a long thick moustache, which had never been injured by capricious shaving. After she had looked at him for awhile, Florence arrived at the conclusion that he was the handsomest man she had ever seen; then that he had the most musical, manly, meaning voice she had ever heard; and finally, that he made her feel a delightful security, convincing her that with him Walter-whom she would not have consciously suspected of weakness of character, or need of guidance, for the world-would be quite safe.' Florence had not the least notion that she was a very sensible little person, possessed of a great deal of penetration, and far stronger in courage and principle than her husband; from the mere entertainment of such an idea as the latter she would have shrunk as from a kind of domestic treason. She had often hesitated to trust her own judgment, when it differed from his, and now that she felt so strongly attracted towards Lawrence Daly, she was rejoiced to know that there would be perfect accord between herself and Walter. But, though she was clear-sighted, Florence was not suspicious, and her enjoyment of the pleasant society of her husband's friend was not disturbed by any idea that he and Walter were talking on a systematic plan-that, during the tea-drinking, which seemed so entirely to Lawrence Daly's taste, they were leading up to the introduction of a certain topic, which it had been resolved to discuss, and for which it was necessary to prepare her. Daly had done a good deal of profitless desultory travel in his boyhood, and had carried back from it many bright, artistic impressions, which he related with force and spirit, very delightful to simple, inexperienced Florence, who did not detect that his purpose was to familiarise her with the ideas of distance, of locomotion, and of adventure. When the tea-things were removed, and Florence's head was bent over her needle-work, the two men exchanged glances, and then Walter Clint said:

'You remember, Flo., that we agreed, the other day, that something must be done to alter our circumstances for the better?'

'Yes, Walter.'

'And that I said I should consult Daly? Well, here he is, come down to help me to hold a council of war. I have told him enough to make him understand exactly how we are situated, and he will go into it all fully with us, if you like.'

'I shall like, very much, Walter,' returned his wife, looking, not at her husband, but at Lawrence Daly. If you have really told Mr Daly all, I am sure he must think our marriage was very imprudent; but I hope he knows how generous it was of you, and how helpless and unprotected I was.' Her voice trembled a little, and a tear fell on her work.

'Mrs Clint,' said Daly earnestly, 'my candid belief is, that Walter never did a less imprudent deed in his life; if I wanted any other proof of that than the scene before me, I should find it in the courage and the resolution which enable him to contemplate a painful way out of his difficulties, and a road, though a rough one, to independence.'

What is that way?' asked Florence earnestly, and she laid her work on the table, and pushed it from her. Walter unconsciously moved his chair

closer to hers.

'It is by leaving England for awhile, for a few years, as I am about to do, and going to a country where there is a rich reward for hard work and endurance.'

'I proposed to Walter that we should go to some of the places where they say such is the case, myself,' said Florence eagerly.-'Did I not, Walter?'

'You did, Flo.; but we don't quite mean it in that way.'

She was silent. She never could exactly recall afterwards how it was that Lawrence Daly explained to her that she was to remain in England, to be parted from Walter, while he went to the modern El Dorado, whose fascination was at that time in its first vigour and magic. He drew pictures for her of the grandeur and beauty of the land of wonders;' he explained to her that there, by the hard work and patience, the courage and endurance of a short term of years-they sound so trifling to a man, they signify so much to a woman-sufficient money might be made to enable Walter to return, to take up his profession in a creditable manner, without the wearing anxiety of total dependence upon it, placing her in the comfortable and assured position which he so earnestly desired for her, and rendering him independent of the caprices and unkindness of his father.

'It would be very nice not to be obliged to care, if he really did leave his money to a hospital, or to a housemaid,' struck in Walter at this point, with a feeble attempt at cheerfulness.

Florence remembered that he had told her Daly was going abroad to the other end of the world,' and she began to understand that the plan which they were breaking' to her was, that her husband should accompany him, as a partner in all his enterprises. She was of a submissive nature, not apt to revolt against anything only because she did not like it, and she felt instinctive confidence in Daly. Her womanly prudence made her more conscious than Walter, even though he contemplated this way out of it, of the peril of their position, and, with all her quietness, there was in her admiration of courage, sympathy with adventure. 'It would not matter much to me,' she had thought more than once during the last few weeks; but if things grew worse, he would be discontented and unhappy.' She did not put into words that fine truth, that love will not sustain men under adverse circumstances, as it will sustain women, but she felt it as applied to Walter.

Lawrence Daly was the chief speaker, and in his eagerness to cheer and comfort her, he let his vivid imagination loose, and drew gorgeous pictures of California-pictures in which the discomfort, the danger, the dreariness of the journey thither, had no place, for he reckoned confidently and correctly upon Florence's ignorance on those points. She listened with keen interest, for, though her heart was sinking at the thought of parting with Walter, she kept the truth from her, and let herself listen as though it did not exist. She had not consented; nothing was settled, nothing was real as yet. When, in after-years, Florence recalled that evening to her memory, it was with a dreamlike feeling, strangely inappropriate to one of the most important epochs in her life.

'Do you think of going to California merely because you are fond of travelling and adventure?' asked Florence, who wondered whether Daly knew