Imatges de pÓgina

hand, leaped on to the slippery rocks, and men were enabled to witness what was was soon lost to view.

transpiring within the precincts of their Five, ten, fifteen minutes elapsed, and late snug domicile. Fred began to chafe like a caged lion. The The cabin light was burning brightly, men could be seen pacing before the fire, revealing the forms of four of the principal and a solemn stillness reigned over land officers of the party. The Chinamen were and sea, undisturbed save by the muttering sitting around the table, busily engaged of the surf breaking lazily on the shores of counting out a bag of dollars, the joint the island.

property of Ned and Fred. The contents Fred was on the point of leaving the of their staterooms had been evenly divided boat to search for his friend, when Ned among the victors, and our two opium made his appearance, and scrambled hast- smugglers were forced to witness with ily into the boat.

stiled rage the havoc waged by the hungry “Have I been gone long?” he whispered. Manchoos upon sundry sina!l stores, deli

“ It seemed long to me. I was beginning cacies and choice liquors, originally laid in to get worried,” replied Fred.

for stomachs of a different build and ca“I have succeeded well on shore, and pacity. there will be a row soon. Now we must Chilled by the bath they had taken, with contrive to get alongside of the Scud, if we their wet clothes clinging tenaciously to can, unobserved."

their forms, the situation was anything but "All right, Ned, we'll try it; but I am all pleasant for the two adventurers. Lowerin the dark as to what you are driving at." ing his head beneath the port-sill, Fred

“You'll see all in good time, and I think rather impatiently requested to be enlightwill acknowledge again that it was a good ened as to future proceedings: idea of mine in requesting the boats to be “When do you intend to board ?" lowered."

“Wait !" was the reply. Cautiously the crew handled their oars, Suddenly a louil prolonged yell echoed forcing the light boat rapidly through the across the water, followed by an irregular water. Fred grasped the yoke ropes, while discharge of firearms. The cry was echoed Ned peered through the gloom, watching back by the Chinamen on board, who could the lofty spars of the Scud, that towered be heard rushing backwards and forwards, above the clouds of dispersing fog.

evidently highly excited. The balf-drunkGaining a position somewhat in advance en officers in the cabin started to their feet of the clipper, the crew laid their oars gen- and hurried on deck, while the hubbub on tly aside, and in obedience to Ned's orders, shore increased every moment. With indropped noiselessly into the water.

cessant jabbering, the Manchoos hastily “Now, Fred, keep your revolver dry, fol- manned their boats, and as the bustle and low me, and make for the boat that is still confusion reached the ears of Ned and his towing astern."

companions, he passed the order to be It was impossible to ask for any expla- ready to board. nation, and Fred's only alternative was to The mandarin boats, crowded with men, obey. With his revolver between his teeth, swept by the counter, pulling for the shore, he followed in Ned's wake, glided under and Ned, shooting his boat ahead, clamthe Scud's counter, and grasped the gun- bered over the rail on the opposite side, wale of the boat, in common with the rest closely followed by Fred and the crew. of the little party.

The men caught up whatever weapons One by one they drew themselves up, they could find, driving the few Manchoos crouching close to the bottom boards, while that remained overboard, while Ned rushed the forms of the elated Chinamen could be aft, and the sharp crack of his revolver seen pacing to and fro on the deck of the

rang out sharply on the rising breeze. In prize. Ned, assisted by Fred, gently hauled a few moments the Scud was again in the the boat up underneath the stern by means hands of her rightful owners, and wiping of the painter, where they remained envel- the perspiration from his forehead (he no oped in the deep shadow cast by the ves- longer felt the cold), Fred had an opportusel's quarter.

nity to look on shore, and ascertain the The cabin windows were open, and by cause of the sudden tumult. means of the rudder chains, the two young Flashing up towards the glittering heayens, rolled sheets of flame, barsting forth tled about the vessel. But the gunnery of from countless little windows ornamenting the Chinese is fully as bad as their powder, the sides of the pagoda, increasing each and no harm resulted from their efforts. moment beneath the breath of the rising Now, Ned, keep off half a point.” And gale. With frantic cries, the officers urged Fred glanced along the sights, the long their men to the rescue, and the Manchoos muzzle of the gun reflecting back the dancbent lustily to their oars. The light from ing rays of the burning temple. A loud rethe burning temple streamed brightly port rang out, reverberating through the across the water, enveloping the Scud in a hills of the island, and the storm of iron fiery glow from truck to keelson. One of hail tore through the ranks of the Chinese, the crew had taken the wheel, and the ves- stretching numbers of them on the sandy sel, hauled on the wind, was standing off beach in the agonies of death. The swivshore, dashing the spray merrily from her els added their thunder to the general consharp cutwater as she bowled along. fusion, and tho Manchoos, with impotent

“By the Lord Harry, Ned, but that was a howls of rage and pain, sought safety in bright idea of yours, setting fire to yonder flight, leaving their joss-house to its inevipagoda! You did the business thoroughly, table fate. and I am almost wild with joy. Ha! there The last flash of the burning temple shot comes a shot from the long-tailed imps. across the Scud's deck as Fred and Ned Suppose we give them a taste of our grape. shaped the course for Hong Kong. The It's our last chance, you know. Do you island was left rapidly astern, and our two take the wheel Ned, and swing the old girl friends hastened below to change their off when I tell you."

clothes, and congratulate each other over The Scud, with every sail drawing, was a full bottle of Martel. gliding steadily through the water, and Without further trouble the Scud reached Fred, with the aid of three of the men, her anchorage, and the prohibited drug trained long tom on the crowd of China- found a ready sale. But little difficulty men who were running wildly along the was experienced in disposing of the taut beach. They evidently suspected that little clipper, but Ned detected a tear in everything was not just right on board Fred's eye as they passed their old craft their late prize, and shot after shot whis- soon after, homeward bound for Boston.



Ah! the grand and silent forest

Where I caught at life's first ray!
Ah! the old house deep in shadows

Never lifted, night or day!
Let me leave this garish shining!
Do not hold me, I am pining
For another warmth--the lining

Of the forest old and gray.

Let me go! I cannot stay.
You have placed me in the sunlight,

And you whisper, “ It is well.
See! her eyes are growing brighter,

And her voice is clear as bell!”
Yes ? But O that I were lying
Neath the swaying and the sighing
Of the cedars, and replying

To the secrets that they tell!

Let me go! I must, I shall. Norwood, Mass., 1873.

Diamond, and pearl, and coral,

How they dazzle, how they glance!
Velvets, silks and rarest laces,

Fairy slippers for the dance.
Do not mock at my refusing,
No gifts were these of my choosing;
These I mourn not-but the losing

Of my sweet and mystic trance

Neath the gloomy cedar's branch. Tender words and soft caresses

On me freely you bestow; (grance,
Warmth, and light, and song, and fra-

All of these are mine, I know.
But I want instead the singing,
And the odors that the swinging
Cedar branches are outfinging.

See! I thank you, kiss you-so.
Yet I'm tired; O let me go!




“He shall never be anything of the sort !” MRS. CAVENDISH and her daughter are cries Irene, indignantly; "and it is not gone; the sportsmen are gone; and, with kind of you to laugh at me, Philip, when the exception of Oliver Ralston, whom you know I am fond of the child. I don't Irene has come to look upon almost as one mind Tommy so much. Thomas isn't a of the family, Fen Court is cleared of pretty name, but it was my dear father's, guests, and she is left once more to the so- and there are plenty of Thomases in the ciety of her husband and her sister-in-law, peerage; but I can't stand Brown." and the care of her little protege, Tommy “Sligo family,” interpolates her busBrown. The transformation wrought in band, with mock seriousness. this child by a few weeks' attention and O Philip, do be quiet! Of course, if it a suit of new clothes is something marvel- were his rightful name, there would be no lous. No one who had only seen him grub- help for it; but as he has no name at all, bing in the front yard of Mrs. Cray's domi- poor little fellow, I don't see why it should cile, or driving the truant pige in from the not be changed.” lane, would recognize him now. His hair, “Nor I. What do you propose to change cleansed from its normal state of dirt, is it to ?” several shades lighter than it was before, “I suppose, Philip— Now, I know I'm and lies in loose waving curls about his going to say a very stupid thing, so I give head and neck. The tan is gradually wear- you fair warning; but I suppose it wouldn't ing off his broad white brow, and his plump do to call him by my maiden name ?" neck, and arms, and shoulders, now fully “What, St. John ?" exposed by his low frocks, make him ap- “Yes,” confusedly, “Thomas St. John. pear what he really is-a very handsome After papa, you know.” child. Above all, he possesses the violet “My dear Irene, you have gone clean eyes that first attracted Irene's notice; and out of your senses about that child. Pick beneath the dark lashes of which he has a a beggar's brat from the guiter, and dub quaint half-shy, half-sly manner of looking him with your father's name !-with the up at her which makes her heart throb name of my cousin. I couldn't hear of it. each time she encounters it, though she What on earth would people say !" can hardly tell the reason why. But the “Let them say what they like. They name by which the boy is generally known must have something to talk about—" grates upon her ear; and her annoyance on “ They shall not talk about my wife! this subject is a source of never-failing No, Irene. I have permitted you to follow amusement to Colonel Mordaunt. He con- your own inclinations in adopting this boy siders it so thoroughly feminine.

-whether wisely or not remains to be de“Such a dreadful name!” she says, termined—but I will not hear of his being plaintively, as they are sitting out of doors endowed with the name of any one belongone evening, and watching the child playing to my fainily. Call him Montmorency, upon the lawn. "Tommy Brown! It has or Plantagenet, or any tomfoolery you may not even got the virtue of singularity to fancy, but let us have no trifling with what recommend it. Could anything be more is sacred." And so saying, Colonel Morcommonplace ?"

daunt rises from his seat, and walks back Why don't you rechristen him, my into the house. He is beginning to feel a dear?'' demands the colonel, laughing. little jealous of the interest evinced in “ Call himn Aubrey de Vere, or Lancelot Tommy Brown. Vane, or Percival Lisle, or by any other Irene remains where he left her, red and simple and unpretending title. He is sure silent. She does not attempt to detain to end by being a footman, or a drummer, him, or to call him back, for his words or a shopboy-nothing could be more ap- have left a sore impression on her mind, propriate."

and she is afraid to trust herself to speak.

It seems so hard to her that every one What a child it is! No, Tommy mustn't
should resent her desire to be a mother to take poor auntie's rose. (He may call you
this poor motherless baby, or to forget that auntie,' mayn't he, Isabella ?'')
so wide a gap exists between herself and “Well, if Philip has no objection; but
him. And she watches the little black of course"
frock and white pinafore, as their owner “ What possible objection could Philip
toddles about the grass, now making inef- make? The child must call us somiething.
fectual attempts to grab a moth that the He's going to call me ‘mamma;' I know
evening breezes have awakened, then that! Who am I, Tommy?-now tell me."
stooping to pick off the heads of the daisies “ Mamma!-you's my mamma,” replies
that the mowing machine has passed over, Tommy, as he makes another grab at the
until her thoughts wander to his poor dead earrings.
mother, and her eyes fill with tears.

“ You darling! But you will pull your
“I hope-that is, I suppose, tbat my poor mamma's ears out by the roots. And
brother—but what do you think, Mrs. Mor- yo! positively make my knees ache with
daunt?” remarks the sapient Isabella, your weight. Just take him for a minute,
wbo, book in hand, has been sitting at a Isabella. You can have no idea how heavy
respectful distance from the master and he is.” And, without ceremony, Irene
mistress of Fen Court, as though she had places the boy in the arms of her sister-in-
no right to approach them or join in their law. Miss Mordaunt receives him upon a

bard and bony lap, with a deep well in the “I beg your pardon—I wasn't listening," centre of it, as though he were a wild anirejoins Irene, as she quickly blinks away mal, warranted to bite upon the first occathe drops that hang upon her lashes. sion, and Tommy doesn't like the situation.

“I mean-he is not angry, I trust, or He is of a rebellious and democratic turn vexed, with what you said, as he has gone of mind, and has no courtly hesitation in indoors, you see.”

calling a spade by its right name. And
“What, Philip? Why should he be ? some of Tommy's right names, acquired
We were only talking about Tommy. Ab! outside the Priestley public-house, are very
you mustn't do that, dear," as the child

wrong names indeed.
plunges over a flower-bed in the ardor of “Let me go !” he says, wildly, as Miss
the cbase. “Coine here, Tommy-come to Mordaunt's arms, in deference to Irene's

wishes, make a feeble barrier to retain
But prompt obedience not being one of him. “I don't like oo !"
Tommy's many virtues, Irene bas to go in “O Tommy, Tommy, that's naughty
pursuit of him; and, having captured, she You must love poor auntie,” remonstrates
brings him back to the garden bench and Irene. But the child struggles on.
seats him on her knee. Miss Mordaunt I don't like 00—I don't like oo-oo's
immediately retreats to the furthest ex- ugly-oo's a devil!he winds up with tri-
tremity. It is the funniest thing in the umphantly, as he escapes from her grasp,
world to see these two women with the and rushes back upon the flower-beds.
child between them--the delight of. the “Really, 'Mrs. Mordaunt, I trust you will
one, and the distaste and almost fear of the not ask me to feel his weight again,” says
other, being so plainly depicted on their poor Isabella, who is quite excited by the

compliments she has so unexpectedly
“Now, Tommy, do sit still,” says Irene. received.
“What a weight the fellow grows! I am “It is very naughty of him," replies
sure he must be pounds heavier than when Irene, soothingly. “I must scold him
he came here. See! here's my watch. well; in fact, I would slap his hands if I
Put it to your ear and hear the tick-tick. did not know that his language is entirely
Hasn't he got lovely hair, Isabella ?” attributable to the horrible way in which

“ It appears to be very fine,” replies Miss he has been brought up. Poor little child !

Fancy how shocking it is that a baby of his
It's as soft as silk, and curls quite nat- age should even know such a word !”
arally. No, darling - not my earrings. “I trust that is, it would be very un-
You hart me. O, how he does pull! And pleasant for all parties, if he were to call
now he wants that rose out of your dress. my brother by such a name," remarks

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Miss Mordaunt, in her primmest manner.

“O, don't tell him, please !” says Irene, as she catches up the truant to carry off to bed. As she makes the request she sigbs. She sees so plainly that she will have to bear the brunt of all Master Tommy's peccadilloes.

Phæbe meets her at the bedroom door with a message.

"If you please, ma'am, Mrs. Cray's waiting in the kitchen to know if she can speak to you."

“0, of course! Tell them to show her into my morning-room, and then come back and take the child." And in another minute Irene is confronted with the laundress.

** Well, Mrs. Cray, is there anything I can do for you this evening?"

Thank you, no ma'am. The wasbing as you've been so good as to find me is a real help. And what with Tommy off my hands, and poor Myra gone, we're getting on tirely. And how is Tommy, ma'am ? They tell me below stairs as he've grown marvellous, bless ’im."

“0, he's very well, Mrs. Cray, and very happy. Did you wish to speak to me ?”

“Well, ma'am, I was wishing to take the liberty to do so. I suppose you've heard of my loss, ma'am ?"

* Your loss ? No!"

“My poor son, ma’am-my Joel! He's gone away.”

“Wbat! left Priestley?”

“ Yes ma'am. He couldn't abide the place now his cousin's buried, and his whole mind seems bent on finding out the man that's wronged her. He wanted to marry her himself, you see, ma'am, aud I do believe it's gone to turn his head." (Here Mrs. Cray's canvas apron goes up, as usual, to her eyes.) “ The last words he says to me was, “Mother, I'll find him,' he says, and I'll kill him,' he says, 'if I travels the whole world over for it,' he says.”

“0, but you mustn't believe all that people say when they are in such grief as that, Mrs. Cray! When your son is able to reason a little more calınly, he will never think of doing anything so wicked. You may rest assured that whoever wronged poor Myra will not be permitted to go unpunished; but the punishment must be left in God's hands."

That's just what I says to Joel, ma'am. I says, “Joel,' says I, whoever

done it, it's no business of yourn; and men will be men,' I says, ' and the girl was quite able to take care of herself.' But you don't know what Joel is, ma'am. He's as strong in his will as a helephant, aud you might turn a posty sooner. So that I feel whenever they two meet there'll be bloodshed and murder, and perhaps worse. And I shan't never be easy till he comes back again!"

“Where is he now, Mrs. Cray?”

“The Lord knows, ma'am, for I'm sure I don't. He went away last Thursday week, and I've seen nothin' of him since. And it's hard for his mother to be left in this way, and she a widder, with five littl’uns to work for, and her poor niece in the churchyard. It's very hard; very hard indeed!"

But I thought you said you were getting on so well, Mrs. Cray?"

“So I am, ma'am-thanks to you and the washing. And it's a real relief to have poor Myra laid comfortable underground, and to feel she'll never want for nothin' again. And that's what brings me up this evening, ma'am. I've been reddling up the house a bit, and turning out her boxes to see what would make up for the poor children, and I came across a few letters and bits of things of hers as I'm sure I never kuew she had-she kep''em so close."

“Are they of any importance to the child ?"

“That I can't say, ma'am, being no scholard myself; but, as you've provided so handsome for Tommy, I thought as you'd the best right to see them, and come to your own decision whether they should be burned or not."

“Thank you. I think you are right. Have you got them with you ?"

Here Mrs. Cray produces a red cotton handkerchief from under her shawl, which, unfolded, discloses a small packet tied up in part of a dirty old newspaper.

“ There they are, ma'am, just as I found them in Myra's box. There's a bit of hair among the papers, and a glove-which it looks to me like a gentleman's glove, but there's no saying, and gloves aint a proof if there were. So, not being able to read the writing, I didn't disturb them more than necessary, for I guessed you'd like to have 'em as they was--and taking such a hinterest as you do in Tommy, and they

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