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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

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ROBERTSON'S CHEAP SERIES.

POPULAR READING AT POPULAR PRICES.

ALL FOR HER;

OR.

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

.A. ITO^^EXi.

• • • •

,it J iJ

*• As Man N6ver Loved Woman Before. *

COMFL ETE,

TOEONTO:
J. BOSS ROBERTSON, 55 KING-ST. WEST, COR. BAT.

1880.

fr^

^J^„ iiBL**.c;

I .

/?AJ»J^O«l

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

I'-A-RT I-THE SET.A.PO'TV.

1'.!^

CHAPTER 1.

UTTLB ST. JUDE 3,

Vespers were over at little St. Jade's.
Faithful ladies in sealskin, in a thin stream,
puiired out upon the sidewalk. Within, in
the dim light of a single gas jet, as yet un-
quenched upon the Evangelistic Eagle, red-
<tened by the sunset through a painted
window, a young girl, alone of all the
worehippers, lingered.

As sh'^ stood, glancing furtively from the
wheezy old sexton bolting the street doors,
to the low-cut vestry entrance whence the
last amen of the clioristers has just died
iiway in wail of (H-gan, like the din of break-
ers spent upon a lonely beach ; one could see
that she waited, not boldly as of right, but
timidly,as if the act were a confession she
liardly cared to make.

The vestry door opened. It vas only a
belated little chorister, but Olive Gray
tinahed and made pretence of dropping her
Ffyranal and picking it up again. A second
time the door opened, however, and she
looked consciously around at the wheezy
sexton again. She heard a low voice at her
oar say, ' Olive ;' and, in the darkness — for
tlie solitary g&s jet had been shut, and the
Minsethad sunk below the diamond panes —
he felt a large, heavy hand close tightly
over her own.

The large, heavy hand belonged to the
Keverend Mr. Brand, Assistant Rector of
St. Jude's On-the-Avenue, and curate in
charge of little St. Jade's, the most f'tV' of its
chapels. St. Jude's was a power in the city.
Oil Sundayn, its costly pews must have con-
tained some millions' worth of furs and
diamonds. The portly gentlemen at the
pew heads, for the privilege of sitting at
which they paid soOie thousands yearly,
represented untold commercial wealth down-

town, and untold orisons — the choicest St.
Jude's could pay for — up-town. For the
rest of the week, wherever they m-ght hap-
pen to be, the Lord was absolutely wearied
with petitdons to deal gently with such valu-
able sinaers ; and when, in vacations, they
or theirs crossed the neighbouring ocean, the
grand Episcopal 'Form of Prayer for Influ-
ential Parishioners at Sea,' was uttered
ceaselessly until tlieir return. St. Jude's
pulpit was the most eloquent that money
could buy,and alternated with glorious music
culled from the masters of Italian
and German melodv, in Benedicites
to all the works of the Lord. So, great
Saint Jude's with its Rector and five assist-
ants — with its site upon the costliest comer
lot on all Fifth Avenue — with its four Sun-
day services conducted at what would be a
largo fortune for the inheritors of tlie earth
who meeCly prayed in its modest Mission
upon Avenue A. was a power in the city.

Little St. Jude's was gr^at St. Jude's
most fashionable Cliapel. It was choice and
chaste in design, Pompeian — if the adjective
applies to a sacred place — in the diminutive

fterfection of proportions and the delicate
uxury of its stained glass, sculpture and il-
lumination. Xeed it be said that George
Brand was the typical assistant to preside at
this perfect little shrine ? the tj'pical young
New York, deputy Man of Gotl, alike culti-
vated and dreaded by mammas, patronized
by papas, and idolized by daughters ? He
liadadeep rich voice, which he certainly
did bring to bear with great eiTect upon the
collects, epistles and gospels : black hair,
parted irregularly in the middle, over a very
low forehead ; a pair of large piercing black
eyes, and a thick well trimmed moustache —
ITie difference between High Church, at this
juncture, had Ijeen said by the sacreligious
to be expressible in Collar. A Low Cliureh-
man was indicated — these held — by a collar

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAJ^T.

iiixl 110 cravat — a Broad Clian;lniiiiii by a
collar atul a cravat aiul a Higli Cliurohiuan
l>y a cravat and no collar. Brand was oer-
tiiinly dresaed in accordance with this rule —
for fi'niii hiu eloquent tliroat to the soles of
hi^ !>. t.), he was as black as an undertaker.

It was very dark, and so Olive allow ed
her slight hand to remain an instant in the
gieat one before drawing it gently away.
Curate and parishioner, they piissed together
down the fihaded aisle- he tall, strong,
stately in chest and limb : she slight, frail,
alinoat oliildish in her diminutive figure —
conversing (for the beuctit of Mr. (jolls)
al)oiit tlic service, the hymns, and tlie sharp
wintry wtiather. But not even old Golfs
was deceived, or failed to recognize the in-
fatuated girl and the elegant young parson,
wlio lost none of his heart under the familiar
infliction. As they emerged upon the street
and walked towards the avenue, along
which lights were already springing up, they
(juite ran against a shortish stick-ret man,
with a hat very much over his eyes.

' You had best take my arm,' said the
Rev. Mr. Brand.

' It's growing dark, and perhaps I may,'
said Olive, drawing a little nut of the way
of the stout man, and towards the divine.
So she took his arm, and they disappeared
in the dark.

The stout man stands watching them out
of sight, and then starts off in the same di-
rection. Ho does not attempt to follow
them, however, but turns down the Fifth Av-
enue, and stops before the steps of one of the
many little elegant hotels upon that clioic-
est of all thoroughfares. The hali boy who
answers his bell, leads obsequiously to a
pretty elcvat(jr, whence a suite of apart-
ments au quartrieme, as one would say
abroad, are gained.

It is an elegant, though somewhat dis-
orderly, bachelor's sittir^ -oom or library to
whieli the door leads.' Tlicrc is just enough
of sj lumetry in its airangeiuent to show tliat
the furniture, fixtures and ornaments ate
tho«e which a man of wealth und taste woul 1
gather in the course of a loitering life, not
confined to these shores, and just enougli
of incongruity to show that no woman hand
liad management or dominion therein.
Between two windows, commanding the
glorious avenue, was a case of books ; and
on two other sides of the room wei'c well-
lillcd dwarf boolishelves ; while on the side
opposite was a broad russet leather sofjv.sueli
as men who have no wives love to spread
their heels upon. At various irregular

fioints around the room were chairs of dif-
nsive model, calculated to suiYer tlio weary
and masculine form in almost any posture

which listlessness or indolence could suggest.
These, with a broad greeii-i;overed table,
piled with books, inkstands, pipes, and other
rubbish, completed the furniture of the
room. The walls were painted a delicate
utMitral, and were hung with such pictures as
a man and not a woman would purcliase, ex-
cept that a St. Cecilia and an Ecce Homo
.seemed quite out of place in the assortment.
A Uuge crucifix of ebony and bronze, with
two swords crossed above it, sunnounted the
mantel. Quite a numVjer of other swords
were displayed over pictures of saint ami
sinner alike ; while a brisk fire of Cannel
coal, in an ample grate, lighted up the
whole apartment and the deep red lambre-
quins over the window.

Divested of his wraps aud ulster, whicii
were heavier that the season would warrant,
Mr. Paul Ogden, gentleman, now in pos-
session of his own rooms, was not so stout
nor so shortisii, and not so oldish as he had
appeared on his way from little St. Jude's

t)Ovtal. Not tall, but slim and well made ;
le was a voim^ gentleman of thirty or
thereabouts, with light hair and eyes, and a
moustache.

• Mr. Paul Ogden enters, his dressing-room
to array himself for dinner.

At twenty-five, Paul Ogden had been
graduated successfully and successively from
Yale College and from oue of the great Law
Schools where it is correct for rich muu.s
sons to acquire a title to the Metropolit.ui
Bar and to a profession whose harsli duties
they never tempt, but whose prestige it is
good to secure. He found himself, there-
upon, with a not immoderate fortune, a
gcatlomanly air and person, a decided taste
for ease, and a cnriositj' concerning Paries,
Vienna, and certain other continental capi-
tals which are supposed to present to youtii,
blase of New York sins, new and charming
variations of dissipation. With youth
and strength enough to purchase
experience at every shop where in
found it spread out for sale, . and yet with
gciit!oiiuiuly soul enough to retain, — wliile
toucliiug the bottoms of all tiiat wealth aud
beauty could offer — the glow of history ainiil
the vestiges of a stately Past, he ate liis
breakfast in the city of *he Cicsars, climbed
the Alps in the track of the Napoleon, and
loitered among tliose relics of romantic and
feudal time in whicIi the island of England
surpasses all other lands.

True, he sipped his sour red wine under
the shade of tne mighty Coliseum. True,
the music of the great Cathedrals ran con-
fusedly in his ears, .sometimes, with the
music of less saintly resorts. True at Enji'
and Baden-Baden — (ere the conqueror of

ST. JUDES ASSISTANT.

iggest

table,
I other
of thu
ielicatu
urc» as
ise, ex-
! Homo
rtment.
3, witli
ited the

awords
ant anil

Caniiel

up the
lambre-

, which
rarrant,
in pos-

80 stout

J he had
;. Jade's
[I made ;
ihirty or
BS, and a

iug-room

lad been
,-ely from
veat Law
;h nieii'.s
I'lipolitiui
3h duties
jtige it is
If, there-
ortune, a
led taste
ing Paris,
utal capi-
to youth,
charming
th youth
purcliase
(irhere hi
yet with
n, — while
ealth ami
tory amid
le ate his
climbed
ileon, and
lantic and
f England

rine under
True,
ran con-
-with the
ue at Emi'
iqueror of

Oravellotte was virtuous and exiled cakes
and ale,) he lost his Lmis d'ow and drank
philosiophy in his Absinth? I He had lost
his heart. But who has not ? W^ho has
jiot found himself relished all the more for a
little seasonable siu ? Why, not even in
' heaven are absolutely sinless soula popular.
There is more joy in heaven over one real
wicked sinner who repents, than over whole
<lreary nincty-and-nines of models for whom
no tears were ever shed, no prayers were over
prayed, and whom no bliss of holy forcive-
1109S has ever enfolded. In order to feel the
true happiuc^ of forgiveness, we must needs
do something to be forgiven for ; and the
glory of present goodness loses its sheen
unless it stand out against a more sombre
background of badness.

With Mr. Paul Ogden abroad, we
tiien, have nothing to do. He was no
better than the rest of us. But he
did love his native land, and was not
ashamed of it. And, just one year before
this history opens, his steamer sailed up
along the green shores of Staten Island —
passing then in charm, to his and to many
otiier homesick eyes straining from that hur-
ricane deck, the sheen of fair Campana, or
sunsets over cool Swiss lakes. Home ! —
there is something in the sight of home —
even to the homeless — which brings warmth
and life into the heart ! How brave it made
Huratius when the spears and arms and
craven ranks of his enemies — thirsting for
the city and ior his poor life — faded from his
vision, and he only saw

••OhPalatinus-
The white walls of his home f

«nd 80 this boy, who loved his native land
(as who must not would he enjoy others ?)
stepped upon the stoned of brave New York,
satisfied — sated, and — shall we lisp it —
sad 1

Sad and sated, satisfied and sad. Ah,
gloomy recompense of pleasure, grim foot-
man, dogging the footstepa of youth, do
what we may, there comes this messenger
to us all, laden with his long bill for the ex-
perience we have purchased : and, wince as
we please, extortionate as the charges are,
we must pay in full. 'A is bad enough to
be wise — it is bitter enough to have the
knowledge of good aod evil which eve i our
first parents — models and masterpieces
of God, strong in the likeness of Deity and
of Eden, could not bear — thrust upon
us at all ; but to have to buy it at so great a
price ! Take it away — we never ordered
it, we wont pay your bill — only we must.

We are told that Ulysses wandered far

manners, and the
IM he foot the bilk?

and wide, and saw tlie

men of so ihaiiy cities.

Di<l he come back to Penelope tlisillusion-

ized, dissatisfied, bitter, cynical and blase

with all mankind ?

CHAPTER XL

liUdre— qui ncscit campestrlbns abstinet arniis
Indoctns <]ue pilm diaolve tr ihive quiesoit
Ne sprisso! risum tollant im. le coronte—
(1 nescit, vesus tamen auuet flugere i

De Artk Poet, 880.

Miss Isabella Singleton -was a virgin of
fifty sweet sunmiers, or thereabout — albeit
she herscl^lllnight have pleaded to something
I less — who was very reluctantly outliving her
tranquil faith in a certain young Duke or
Prince or Apollo Belvidere, who was on his
way from Spain to claim her as his bride.
That faith had been outlived, however, to a
certain extent, and Isabella now believed
that Literature (with a capital L) was her
liege, and upon him — so wholly was he hers
— lavished whatever of devotion, of sand-
paper, of midnight oil and of maiden grace
— to say nothing of ink — she still possessed.
So rapt was she indeed, that, for her posses-
sion, a fleshly Prince would have had
doughty tilt with Prince Literature, (a

trope originating
signed to express
with which she gave
strutted alone on the

with herself, de-
the faint reservation
thanks that Literature
campus of her heart. )

Horatius Flaccus once declared — in lines
which appear above this chapter — that
whereas certain study, discipline and labour
were necessary to produce good wrestlers at
the public games, nothing of the sort was
supposed to oe required to make a poet. Upon
a similar theory — if not upon Flacciis'a direct
authority — Miss Isabella became a poetess.

She became a poet in this wise. Her father
and mother were dead; the foimir having
lived up to his income and more, ne left her
nothing but debts, and her mother nothing
but a wardrobe. Isabella therefore found
herself, at their death, destitute of any sup-
port, and obliged to find some work, useful
or otherwise, for her fair hands to do. In
this strait she had written tT letter to a cer-
tain Mr. Piideaux.

This Mr. Prideaux was, at this time,
editor of a magizine, known as the Seahonrd
MoiUhly, published in the city, but popularly
supposed to be written at the little Jersey
village of Amity, about a hundred miles from
the nearest railway station in oommonication
with the metropolis.

The Seaboard at tiiis time, was the ac-
knowledged leader of literary taste in the

! >

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAFT.

il!

country ; what it coddled, it was en regk to
coddle. What it tuubbed, everybody snub-
bed ; anil when it took snuff, everybody
sneezed. At least two other magazines, in
the same town, had struggled manfully but
impotently against the SmhoartVa tyranny,
but bad now Deoonie its echoes and ciacquers
and under its dictation, meekly employed
the umtual adiniratiouists of Amity to write
it.s poetry and prose, paid them Seaboard
prices, and were content.

Mr. Prideaux was a natty little gentleman
of sixty or so, who dressed in the extremity
of youthful fashion, and was never visible
outside of his straw-coloured kid gloves and
his dark malacca stick with a gold oand near
its top. He was no weak-eyed eiiitor, whose
onion orbs had grown moist and filmy with
l)eruBal of maunscripta in masculine, feminine
and neuter fists, and whose shouldera, round-
ed from bending over quires of Aurelia's and
Clarence's, and Lottie Lilac's, and of half a
hundred of f > alliterative women of America;
to say noth) of reams from Bohemia, which
being pre-paid to a lawful destination, the
United States mail would peisist in daily
delivering at his sanctum door.

Mr. Pr deaux was an advanced editor. He
kept no waste-basket. He selected his own
contributors ; assigned the ]X)etry to one, to
another the philosophy, and to others the
stories, statistics, gossip, ate. He never read
anything, in manuscript or print. He had
a bilious old bachelor to sneer at the fash-
ions, a tragic old bachelor to lash himself
over the ill-jointed times, a hectic young one
tu poke withering fun at all books
t'lat issued from any but a cer-
tain press of city publishers (who also oddly
enough, published the Seaboard, and whose
monograph said hectic young bachelor was to
memorise at his peril) ; an old maid to write
the poetry, and a young one to prepare the
usual number of pages devoted to original
romance. It very rarely happened that nvj
other description of matter was required by
the Seaboard ; but if it were, there was some-
bodyat Amity ready to 'do 'it. Mr. Prideaux
had no other assistants.

We have said that the Seaboard kept no
waste-basket. Two very small boys instead,
at three dollars^a week, were emj loyed to
fill up and mail to all the strangers covering
manuscripts to the office, the following
blank :

* Mr. Prideaux begs the honour of informing

M that the manuscript

which he kindly furnishes the Seaboard
Monthly will \ye returned to h — address upon
receipt (under present postal regulations), of
thirty-six (36) cents.

'Mr. Prideaux returns thanks for the
pleasure of perusing the manuscript afore-
said." •

Upon receipt of the thirty-six cents, a tyvo-
cent poMtage stamp was placed upon it, and
the contnoution was placed in the post-
office. So that Mr. Pndeaux found himself
annually in enjoyment of quite a moilest
little income from this source alone.

When Mr. Prideaux received the letter
from Miss Isabella Singleton, informing him
of her bereavement anti consequent monetai y
distress, he had just leam-jd, with deep re-
gret, of the demise, at Amity, aged ninety-
three, of Miss Angelica Prosser, spinster.

Now this venerable old maid had made thu

Eoetry for the Seaboard ever since its estali-
ahment, in consideration of her house rent,
board and clothes, which, as her wants had
been few (she had never possessed any teeth
and liad lived on green tea), had been an ex-
ceedingly profitable arrangement for Mr.
Prideaux.- 'Bad,' he muttered under hi»
breath, at the thought of a possible incrensu
in his expenses; 'this is bad, very bad.'
but the very next letter he had opened had
been Miss Singleton's pitiful tale, and he liad
mentally closed with the opportunity on the
instant.

He cared very little who wi-ote the Sm-
board's poetry, so he got it cheap ; and tht;
lady being in reduced circumstances, lie
thought he saw his way to a bargain. Miss
Singleton's father had been a pedagogue at
one period of h.8 life, and Mr. Prideaux his
parlour boarder. He recognized an oblij.'a-
tion to assist his old tutor's daughter the
more readily that he could save money by
her ; and upon an interview, the matter was
arranged.

Miss Singleton herself, like most pedagogues '
children, had no educt^ion ; but then, neither
had Bums. She did not even recognize the
trammels of grammar, but said 'they was' ha-
bitually — but then Shakespeare, before heiv
had united singular verbs with plural pro-
nouns. She couhl not spell — neither coulil
Chaucer. She had no invention, neither had
Crabbe nor saintly old Dr. Young. It m as
settled, then, that she was to write all tl.e
poetry for the Seahoard.

Mr. Prideaux's instructions had been ter^e
and comprehensive. 'You're to be always
wanting to die, you see. Nothing to live for
—that sort of thing. You'll find Walker's
Rhyming Dictionary will come handy. I'll
send for Prosser's copy for you. It Ijelongs
to thi Seaboard. We want two pieces a
month That'll be ten dollars. You'll get
in with tlic * Slobberer' anA the * Swa»h Tuh,
t rough n?. That'll be tlurty dollars— aiii

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

you uught, with your babita, to got on on
thirty doUan a month. '

It wia the fint time iu Isabella's lung
niaiden life, that the had ever aeeu a live
uditor ; and she oonld only listen witli rever-
ence and awe. She waited for more instruc-
tionii, but, OS none came, she faltered, ' And
uiii I to send them to you for approval ?'

' B1«M you, no I' cried Mr. Prideaux, aghast
ut the idea of his reading poetry ur anything
i-Iae. ' Send 'em to the office. By the way

gad, its laoky I thought to tell you ! —
!ti'ud em to me, care of Downey and Com-
p:iuy — that's our gag. Don't forget that. If
vou send 'em tome m to the Seaboard, the^^ll
1)6 stacked, and we'll never be able to hnd
'em again !' \

Isabella followed her instructions to the
letter — and so succossfnlly did she yearn for
tiie grave as the one great boon of her exis-
tence, and so stoutly did she decUne, on any
:iuoouut, to survive any longer, tliat i'n due
time she not only completed her six poems
per mouth, but was often two or even three
iiiontlis ahead of the demand. The facility
uf rhjone she found to be one which culti-
vates itself and grows by what it feeds on.
From the simple coincidence of ' youth' and
'truth,' morning' and 'warning,' 'love' and
' dove, ' she advanced rapidly to ' youth' and
'in sooth,' 'momine' and 'bom in,' ',love'
and ' uf ;' and was able to do such verses as
the following :

' Dear God, I am so weary with it all.

I fain would rest me for a little space.
Is there no great rock where the snadows fall.

VNIiere I may cast me down and hide my face?

' [ work and strive, sore burdened and afraid.
The road is flinty, and the way is long ;

And the weak staii whereby my steps are staid.
Bends like a reed when bitter winds are strong.

' The lofty thought proves fruitless in the deed.
The prize I toll for seems a glittering lie ;

'i here is no comfort for the present need,
Xo gruerdon promised for futmity.

' 1 shrink in terror from the endless task,
I look with horror on the barren land.

And ask, as only hopeless hearts can ask.
The meaning of my days to understand ;'—

—while she plastered her curls or adjusted
lier whalebones ; and in less time than it took
to copy them off afterwards. She was de-
lighted to find, too, that, immediately fol-
lo\vinp the issue of the magazine, the news-
papers would be sure to contain one or more
I if her effusions, credited to ' <S'ea6oar(f, for
'I line,' or ' Slobberer, for August,' or • Staaah
Tub, for April ;' as the case was — a testimo-
nial, as she learned afterwards, not to tha
lire or fervour of Isabella Singleton, but to the
convenience of certain advance slips sent by

the proprietors of those publications to tlie
composwg-rooni of evei^ newspaper on
the list of Trowell & Plaster, aavertis-
ing agents in the city of New York, and
which came very conveiuently to the hand iu
filling up columns.

Isabella livotl, at this time, in a modest
house en Gay Street, a tl.orougb£are of about
a blook or two in length, where doors had no
knobs, blinds no fastenings and but one
hinge apiece ; where watenng-carts and po-
lioemen rarely came, and whose gutters were

I strewn with obsolete chignons, fragments of
crinoline, and bits of old shoes. A tnorough-

j fare that knew no delights save wandering

I minstrels from Italy, with organs and little
brown monkeys and dip-shod children. Her

I great-great-great-grandfather had been a
certain John Brand, who lived on a farm
near by or in what is now the city of Boston,
Massachusetts ; and she was therefore a long
removed cousin of tlie reverend Greorge
Brand, the popular curate-in-charge of little
St. Jude^ — although he was quite oblivious
of any such connection, and she had never
deemed it available for any practioal purpose.

CHAPTER m.

▲ T riB3T SIGHT.

When Paul Ogden had once more set foot
upon his native pave, and dined the sea
flavour from off his palate, he thou;(i'ht him-
self beginning a new life, in which there was
no new sensation possible. But he was mis-
taken ; for, one waning Sunday afternoon,
remorseless fate led him to little St. Jude's,
and he fell in love with a face.

It was a little, white, childish face, turned
upward under the shadow of an overhang-
ing gallery. But a red and golden beam of
sunset through the stained <uamond panes,
which Paul was just then following listlessly
with his eve, happened to light upon it, and
he felt in love with it.

Paul had been rather of a favourite with
women, and, like most men, who see them
in social swarms, had been idolized by many,
and told in unmistakable action that he
might wed whom he chose.

But he had not chosen. It is not unusally
the fate of such a man, after being beloved
against will and taste over and over again,
to finally run mad over some artless utile
girl, made to love, doubtless, but not to love
him, and to plunge into the blackest black-
ness oi despair, and to go the dreariest of
dogs, because ot her. So it was, at any rate,
in Paulas case ; and to those don he pro-
i^eeded, mrithont loss of time. Olive Gray
was one of those anomaUee tiiat exist in the

M. I

li.

T-5

ly,

1 1

ST. J UDE'S ASSISTANT.

very heart of whirling city life, of the fash-
ion, pomp and fatal diaHipation which we
call 'society ' in New York. In the niiilat
of the profusion, luxury, and, bo far 0- aha
knew, bonndlesM wealth of her father' .ome,
she was, at nineteen, a.s urtlesa, ainiple and

Eure an she had been born, or aa if ahe had
ved, in a convent.

She was devout and ekmeat in religioiis
observation. Hiie was a communicant of St.
.[udc's, and loved, from iier inmost heart, its
stately services ; altliouL'h, aa we shall pre-
sently aee, at thia period she was on Sun-
daya, a« well as on week days, an attendant
at little St. Jude'a chapel, where her slight
form might ever be aeen at matin and vesper,
I tent to the blessing which, they aay, never
tails to Holy Benediction. She oocupied
much of her time, too, under direction of
iier spiritual guides, and from inclination, in
real charities.

iier deft little hands brought timely com-
fort to the poor sick of St. Jude's dependent
sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. 8iie
had classes in its Industrial and Mission
Schools, and out of quaint old Testament
fables, to the little waifs and strays and
atreet Arabd she actually construed genuine
intelligible truths. At home, among her
dazzling, styliafa aiaters and fast, horsey
brothers, whose brows — knitted with the
custom of vast intereata — rarely relaxed in
homelike smiles except at the sound of her
voice or the touch of her hand. But, al-
though simple in taste as in features, slight
in form, and quiet in speech and action,
Olive seemed to be one of that small claaa of
women whom all men invariably admire.
There are two classes of women in the
world. First, the large class who want to
maiTy all men, and second, the amaller clasa
whom all men want to marry. I have yet
to learn that l>eauty, wealth, wit, worth or
style have anything to do with the distinc-
tion between theae two classes. All the
beauty, wealth, wit, worth and style in the
world will not admit a woman into the
second. She must be born there, and if she
is — without one of these attributes — there
she will live and die. To be — in the slang
of women — 'popular with men' — or in
maacnline parlance, ' nice, ' is in Uie blood.

We cannot give description to this thinsf
— whether it is in the eyes of the beholder
inatead of in the thing beheld, we will never
know. The coila of a loathsome seq)ent
sometimes hold a charm for the fairest bird ;
and something of the sort lies somewhere
between man and woman. Olive Gray,
little as she desired it, was bom in this
class ; and many men besides Paul Og-
den had vowed they would sacrifice their

heads to move the simple little thhig'a heart.
There ia one drawbaok, however, to tkea^
Bort of girla ; although they fall in love
alowly, they always do fall in love ultimately,
with curates.

When (leorgo Brand had been called (and
his call had happened to be in point of time
almost simultaneously with Paul's return
from abroad) to be Rector of little St.
Jude's, it liad been noticed that Olive.had
followed the throng of daughters who quitted
the larger for the smaller fold, and, deserting
the avenue edifice, crowded the chapel at
every service. Unfortunately for Percy, at
the mmu he fell in lore with her, ahe had
Boaroely a waking thought that was no
coupletl with religion. Girls who are in love
with curates, always suppose themselves in
love with rehgion. It is only the correllative
form of that hallucination which (ills the
sermons of young clergymen on the eve of
their nuptials with mystical allusions to Tlie
Bride — which, as everybody knows, is the
Church.

About this time Olive's duties at the mis-
sion school began to acquire, even for her, a
new and undennable charm. The stories ot
Jacob's Ladder and the Gates of Gaza began
to thrill her as she rehearsed them to tin:
wandering little beggars gathered about her.
David and Samson, Jonathan, Absalom,
Saul, Joshua, even the Rehuboams and Jero-
boams, began to h.ave a lovely side to their
characters, which, up to thia time, she felt
she had never appreciated. The matins and
vespers glowed with a glory she never had
absorbed before, and every little chorister's
head had a nimbus around it, in the dim at-
mosphere. But although Olive seemed to her-
self to love her careworn father and showy
mother — her elegant sisters and her dissi-
pated brothers more than ever, it was not
until long after, when, as we have seen, the
Reverend George Brand took her little hand
into his great one, and called her by her
first name, that she suddenly stood aghast at
the truth — namely, hat all the new charm
of the services, all the new meanings to Holy
Writ, and all the new love of father, mother,
sister and brother — meant the two large
piercing eyes — the dark handsome face, and
the deep rich voice of the Reverend Gteorgo
Brand ; and that without them, she would
care very little for a life on earth or for
fruition of her good works in Heaven. But
we have not yet arrived, in this preliminary,
at the evening when that gentleman took her
hand in his.

On the afternoon when Paul fell in love
so suddenly with Olive, the curate, unfor-
tunately, had been in charge of little St,
Jude's some Sundays, and the charm of his

RT. JUDK'fl ASHT8TAXT.

in love
nnfor-

ittle St.
of bia

presence had found plenty of Held for exer-
cise. After his ffttc had overtaken him,
Fftnl himself had become very attentive at
t}w cliapcl. He fonnd that the ve'iiers iost<(l
liiin, somehow, very ninch more than his
<iiHliio:i« at home or the div-ans at the Chjl>.
Tiiwro is nndonhtudly something in thu
ritual of the English Church which touches
."pots in reckless worldly hearts, where
propofntions, dilemmas ana syllogisms never
penetrate. And let us hope that, even with
ilio visible motive for his presence, Paul
brought some vital enchantment away from
among the surpliced prieHts, the choristers,
and the voft ntusic in the dim aisle !

Poor littlu Olive could not rusitit the suit
-of flo eminent asocial favourite as Paul. It
was nre8.sed upon her by parents, friends and
iiiinily, who were unanimously charmed witli
the idea of so brilliant a match for a simple
little thing, of whom — among her qiioonly
sisters, acknowledged belles and leaders in
society — they cherished ' no hopes. ' Her
father saw, in the palpable idolatry Of the
man, an assuranee, a.s he fondly Bupposed, of
the ultimate happiness of his daughter.
Such mistakes are far from unusual ; we
1 liike them every day. Nothing loth, then,
l.j unite their daughter to a handsome,
brilliant, rich, high-born, honest and tender
yuung man, nor themselves to so influential
a family as the Ogdens, Olive's parents
brought great pressure to bear upon her ;
And, as, far from disliking, she really liked
l^aul, and could not but be flattered by his
devotion, never suspecting herself at the
time to be, as she was, in love with the
curate, she gave her word and became en-
gaged. She submitted to the burning caresses
of her lover with an indifference that she
tried her utmost to conceal ; and she trjed
as well, with all her heart, to love him — but
when did love ever come for the trying ?
Poor little Olive ! Go where she would,,
congratulations were showered upon her
She tried to smile as she received tfiom, but
she had not learned to smile without glad-
ness. It seemed as if her heart had died out
of sincere pity for her lover, whoso ardour
she saw dailv increasing with her own illy-
disguised coldness. For his sake she tried
to put oflf, as far as possible*^ the dismal day
she knew must come. But come .it dicl.
Olive told him, one bitter evening, that she
did not love him — ^that he must go — and go
he did, as a man stricken with de^h. With
his brain maddened, and with uneven steps,
he went out from her door without a word —
1 shattered, broken, ruined man. The next
time he saw her she was with George Brand,
jostling, as we have seen, againsc him, on
their way from Lenten vespers.

To do hei" justice, Oliva had shed bitter
tears over the broken engagciiunt, but they
wc^re tears of Borrow for Paul, not of re-
L'ret for herself. She was very unhappy, an<l
tier unhappincsB even brought on a tutrvons
attack whioh alarmed the wiiole lioiiHehohl.
Dr. Forsyth, the Gray's fauiily pliysician,
who^had known Olive froi.> her birth-ninht,
had often pronounced hers tile most dclieate-'
ly nervous tem]>eramont he h:v\ ever .seen. '
When liix'dy wrought upon, she wouKl b«!-
como ternbly excited, and renniiii
for two or three days at a time in
that state ; after which she would
lie almost like one in a tranche, with her
«'yeH closeil and her lips moving,'. These
l>nroxysms had occurred but twice befoie,
upon occasions when near and intimate
friends had died ; in l)Oth instances the
excitement taking tlie form of an intense
religious fear, lest, on account of her own
sins, she might not be permitted, in another
world, t» meet again those hIic had lost.
These fits or paroxysms Dr. l-'orsyth hnd
carefully studied. He was a gentleman <{
acknowledged eminenco in his profession,
about sixty years eld, and had devoted most
of his study to the phenomena of brain
diseases. Olive's seconil attack had been on
hearing of the death of a schoolmate with
whom she had been peculiarly intimate, they
having lived together almost constantly at
boarding-school, and at the home of each tor
four years. When the excitement ha<l worn
itself out, Olive had lain upon the l)ed for
two days almost without motion, except
that her lips moved strangely, un<l articulate
sounds were heard. Upon this occasion Dr.
F'orsyth had spent several hours alone in her
chamber, while she lay in this state; iind
upon being questioned as to the symptoiim
then observed, appeared quite reticent. He
had told Paul Ogden, however, when he
supposed that they were to be man and
wife, that these symptoms had been in their
nature clairvoyant, and that he had heard
Olive describe her lost schoolmate, as yet
unbnried, lying in a cottin in a large room
filled with mourners ; had detailed their
dress, positions, the form and feature of the
clergyman, the order of the funeral pro-
cession, the grave, and other circumstances
then in progress, precisely, — as the doctor
had afterwanl taken pains to learn — as they
occurred. After Ohve had broken the
engagement, her excitement wore off
gradually, howevef, developing none of the
former symptoms.

1 :>i

Vi^^

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

CHAPTER IV.

NOCTCBNAL OATS.

■

1 »

Bat Paul had taken the blow very badly.
He had been a petted, only sou. He had
poasehud his own will aud liis own fortune
80 long, that, had he tried, he could hardly
have remembered a wish or a whim uugrati-
fied. Under any circumstauces it would
have seemed peculiarly hard to any man of
such a schooling, that, having made up his
mind to marry, he could not marry the girl
he loved. But Paul by nature was a man of
fierce passions, and though those passions
had never Uin tranquil tor fear of a curb,
they had needed some staggering infliction of
fate to overcome the native indolence of the
man, to rush out in incoherent fury. He
Itecame as one possessed ; at first he would
lock himself up in his bed chamber and
grovel in abject despair. Then he would
fall upon his knees and pray wild, desperate,
almost ferocious prayers to die — or to regain
his lost treasure. Then he would grow
calmer, and go carefully over his affairs, his
correspondence and his accounts, make his
will, and deliberately prepare to take his
own life. At one time he visited a small
poison shop on a by-street, which did a brisk
trade with fallen women who sought keys to
tlwir own captivity, and possessed himself of
a drug wliich would do its work speedily
oixd well. Then he would vow vengeance on
the girl, and once bought a small stiletto
which he placed under his vest, and started
out to take her life. He withdrew himself
from all companionship, and denied himself
to his nearest relatives. He would pace up
aud down his room all through long nights,
or would open his window and prepare to
dash himself headlong into the street below.
He walked the streets aimlessly by day,
sometimes with clenched fists vowing revenge
against the rivals who had torn his love
away, and, in a moment more, with his
che^s wet with tears, pleading inwardly
with Deity to give him back the idol he had
lost.

He could not recall, from one moment to
another, his whoroabouta. He was speedily
going mad, when, one evening, in his wander-
ings, he met, as we have seen, George Brand
and Olive, leaving the door of little St.
Jude's. The sight seemed to work a miracle
within him. He became calm in a moment,
and his reason, which Iiad almost gone,
came back to him. 'Ttiere is the rival
who has stolen my darling's heart,'
lie muttered. "Ah he had them all,
could he not have spared me my one
ewe lamb ? ' From that moment Paul

thirsted to be revenged, not as before, upoa
all the world, but upon Brand. The world
might go on as before ; he did not care for it
or for himself ; but he swore an oath to have
the blood of the man who bad robbed him of
the girl he loved.

As he swore this oath, not in the rabid
fury of the jtast three days, but calmly,
breathing it out between bis set teeth, it
seemed as if relief hatl found him at last.
His brain no longer whirled, and he started
homeward, in his right mind. Thither w^
ave already followed him.

Arrived at his apartments, for the first
time since the broken engagement he dressed
foi dinner, and showed himself to his friends.
When a man to whom self-denial is impos-
sible, and whose passions are beyond his
own control, meets the shipwreck of all his
hopes, he must do either one of t^o things —
either shoot himself, or concentrate his men-
tal powers upon some task that will require
them all.

In Paul's case the shipwreck of his hopes
was accompanied by a blow to his, and to
every man's better nature — the nature that
loves — and together they had almost bereft
him of his senses ; but now he had a
purpose, which could overcome both. From
that instant, without stopping to question
the deliberate malignity of the man who had
stolen Olive Gray 'a heart from her lover —
a theft, as we have seen, accomplished with-
out anything like design on the curate's part
Paul Ogden swore that the curate should die
the death.

Paul Ogden's character, like the charac-
ters of a long line of stern old soldiers before
him, was a strong one. Up to the moment
of his falling in love, however, nothing hi
developed it into anything more than that of
any other vascillating young man about
town. That love and rejection had junhap-
pily now done its work ; and, with no guide,
no mother; father, or friend — with no God,
for all that he knew — he had gi'own into a
murderer ; a murderer who had not yet
struck the fatal blow, but a murderer in
heart, none the less. Unhappily, the task
upon which his mind had at last concen-
trated in uneven pulses, was murder.

Awful as the contemplation might be, it
gave Paul a sort of peace. As he passed out
of the house that evening on his way to din-
ner, his landlord, Bushnell, accosted him,
and asked after his health.

' I don't sleep well,' said Paul. ' I wisli
you d get a revolver and shoot those cats.
They keep me awake. If you don't, I'll do
it myself.

' It ought to be done, ' said Bushuell.

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

' You are not the only man they keep
awake. '

.v«

CHAPTER V.

THS fATK OF DIDYMDil.

The next morning Paul called at an es-
tabiishiiient on Broadway where fire-arms
were exposed for sale, aud purchased a pistol.
It was a small but deadly affai]', not more
than live inches long, from butt to muzzle,
with a revolver of seven chambers ; one of
the silent sort, which would project its ball,
or slug, with scarcely a report beyond the
click of the hammer. Paul particularly specL-
tied this as the kind h« wished ; saying to
the saluaman that he intended to shoot cats
out of his back window, and did not want
to disturb the neighbourhood. He put it in
Ml inside breast-pocket in his coat, strolled
out upon the pavement, presently turning
ofit) upon a street running down toward the
Jersey ferries.

Paul had an imcle, his late father's
I)rother, a lawyer of some forty years'
standing at fhe city bar, who lived at a
pretty country seat at Malcolm, a station
upon one of the Jersey railways, about an
hour from his office on Wall street. This
uucle's name was Percival Ogden. Mr.
Percival Ogden was a tall, gray-haired old
gentleman, in his practice much feared for
his sarcasm, and admired for his honesty. At
home he was one of the best natured of men,
and devoted to the cultivation of grapes.
His fortune was not large, but ample enough
for any reaso^iable wants, and had been
amassed slowly aud by piecemeal, in his
forty years' practice. He had three sons,
the oldest tiitee:i — for the early years of his
married life h*d been fruitless— and tlie
youngest about seven years of age. He lived
in the country, summer and winter ; and, as
we have said, was devoted to his grapes. His
spare hours — und, at this time, he never
looked at a law book or thought of a client at
home — were principally given to perusal of
works upon vine culture and the different
sorts and brands of wines, in the proper
seasons. He spent his evenings, after din-
ner, as long as he could see, in consultation
with his gardener, in liis vineyaul. He
was a man of large reading- outside of law
and wines, however, and liad never, in the
forty years of his advocate career, been
known to be at loss for a ref<;rence to litera-
ture ; while his quotatio>" ■• '>f prose or poetiy
were always exact and ^osite. He had
buon counsel in some ci the largest and
iiioHt memorable cases ia the city courts ;
notably two great murder trials, wliich had

occasioned an intense public interest. His
was not, however, in any sense, a
criminal practice, but lay largely in
the Surrogate's Court; any great estate
which was to be contended Tt)y heirs-at-
law, or any great Will which was to be
broken, was almost sure to require his ser-
vices.

On the evening of the day when Paul had
purchased the pistol, Mr. Ogden, his wife
and three sons were surprised, just as they
were takiiig their seats at the dinner-taltle,
by seeing Paul enter the room. He wore a
light-coloured business suit. His hands
were without gloves. He brought in with
Iiim a stout short stick and a small round
hat. It being the first time Paul had ap-
peared among them for months, they allruse
to greet him. His uncle gave liiir. his hand
with a ' Glad to see you, Paul, my boy ;' liis
aunt kissed him, and the tlu-ee boys could
hardly be dragged away from ' cousin Paul. '

The story oi Paul's diL..ppointmeut and
consequent erratic movements was well
known to his uncle's family, Mrs. Ogduii
l> *d been afraid that some permanent disast. r
would result, but her husband had thought
differently. ' Paul has the strong common
sense ol his father, 'he had said, ' and he'll
come out all right. It isn't strange thit lio
should take the first disappointment of his
life pretty hard.'

But Mrs. Ogden had put this and that
together, and cast around for a remedy.
• If he only could find some business, or sonio
object, to occupy himself with, or if he could
only fall in love with somebody else,' she
said, ' it would be a good thing. If yir.i
could only take him into your office now, and
give him some cases to work up.' -

Mr. Ogden had laughed at the hornet -
pathic potion his wile suggested. •Lo\e
don't cure love,' he said. ' But I think we J
of your proposition about the office. '

He had indeed called several times at
Paul's lodgings to suggest the thing, but had
l)ecn imable to find his ne))hew, or learn
anytliing of his whereabouts. So it was with
real pleasure that he welcomed Paul at Mal-
colm that evening.

' Have yoa dined Paul ? Sit down and
have something,' said the old gentleman ; and
Paul accordingly sat down.

After some desultory conversation, Paul
alluded to his pistol. ' Uncle, I have taken
to shooting cats, ' he said. ' Have you any
out here V and he drew the weapon from his
breast-pocket.

' If you don't put up that horrid thing, I
shall go away from the table, ' said Mrs.
Ogden, who never could be persuaded thaf
guns or pistols would not go off of their own

.V:

KT. .TUBE'S ASSISTANT.

I ;;'

accord, or that any operation of loading or
liring was necessary to make them danger-
ous. But the boys were eager to see cousin
Paul's pistol, amd were allowed, under sur-
veillance, to examine it. They were unani-
mous, too, in their assertions that cats were
•only too plentiful around the place, and
anxious for dinner to be concluded, that the
felines might arrive and Iks practised upon.

' If you'll wait until my grapes begin to
ripen, ' said Mr. Ogdcn, ' you can come
down and shoot tramps.' In truth, Mr.
Ogden's vineyard suffered deplorably from
the tramps and marauders which infested the
vicinity. '

The pistol was ultimately restored' to its
place in Paul's breast pocket, greatly to
Mrs. Ogden's relief, though she protested
that she would rather have a thousand cats
ar.d a thousand tramps upon her place than
' one pistol ; and evidently wished that the
dangerous weapon had not appeared upon
the scene.

' Is is against the law to carry a pistol ?'
siiid she to her husband, after dinner, but
in Paul's presence,

' I nnderstand not, ' said the lawyer.
* We — that is they in New York — have a
law against carrying concealed weapons, but
I am of opinion that a pistol is not a con-
cealed weapon. I tliink the word " con-
cealed" applies to the nature of the weapon
itself, ana not to the fact tiiat it might be
" concealed" about the person. A " con-
cealed Meapon," I take to be something ap-
parently hidden, wliich " conceals" Mrithin
itself a deadly weapon, — like a sword cane
— or perhaps a loaded one. '

' Then we can lock Paul up, ' said Mrs.
Ogden ; who, if not a lawyer, was a law-
yer's life ; " for his pistol is one that makes
IK) noise, and so conceals its presence, and
is all the more deadly and dangerous on that
account.'

Somehow Paul did not seem to relish
the conversation, an<l turned it to other
subjects.

In the evening some neighbours came in,
and Paul seized the opportunity to absent
himself. Knowing that he had not yet re-
covered from his disappointment, no no-
tice was taken by the family ef his absence,
however.

Mrs. Ogden, indeed, was deeply interestec.
in her nephew. Slic was a fair, fat bustling
little housewife, who even in affluence,
superintended her own house-keeping. She
was a deeply religious woman, but al-
though elioosing the better part, had never
lost Mary's love m Martha's care. She had
married Mr. Ogden when he was a very
•poor young man, and his present wealth was

none the less to her economy than to his
genius and toil. Mr. Ogden heartily recog-
nized this fact, and always testified that
' mother' had made vhat money he had.
Mrs. Ogden was wrapped up in her husband,
her boys, her charities and her household
cares, and had always avoided any sugges-
tion of city lifK for fear that its artiticial-
ities might interfere with her duties to these.
She was about the only lady in Malcolm
who was kind to tramps, who, at this time,
had become the nuisaiiue, if not the peril of
the community, insomuch that legislation
was invoked in many places to regulate
them. A long stagnation of business
had led to thousands of these abject
creattres perambulating the country,
and various hiethods of correct-
ing their presence had been discussed in the
newspapers. Mrs. Ogden's ideas on the
subject were practical.

"They are human beings; — doubtless
they are lazy, and all that, but here they
are. They slian't starve on my place, at
any rate. No, not if all the tramps in the
country come to my door in a body.

And so she gave them bread and milk,
and cold meat ; and, whatever their desserts,
their thanks or their ingratitude, she felt
that she had done her duty to the best of
her means.

Tlie next morning the two smaller boys
rushed in to the breakfast table in tears.
Their cat 'Didymus '— (Mr. Ogden had
named him from his sex, which was
masculine, out of the Bible, having found a
vei-se running * Thomas, also called Didymus,
one of the twelve ') had been Qjjiiot.

'Upon my word,' said Paul, 'I'm very
sorry. I shot at two or three, and it seems,
killed Didymus. I'm very sorry, indeed I
am.'

The boys shed some genuine tears over the
loss of their favourite, but ultimately called
in several of their playmates, organized a
funeral procession, hearse and all. and,
following the body of Didymus to a grave
prepared under a grape vine, buried it with
the honours of war.

All daring the spring and summet which
followed, Paul cherished his design, never
allowing it to sleep, or the horror of the
crime to appall him. But through all, his
dead love was in his heart, and hours would
come upon him, as some object would suggest
the girl he had lost, when he would throw
himself upon his knees and pray his wild
prayers for her return. He would go to the
sea-side, or to the mountains, or to Spa or
lake ; but, among old friends or new ones,
he was the same erratic, sombre and dull,
was voted no 'company,' and avoided. He

JTJDE'S ASSISTANT.

would wander down to the beach at mid-
night, when the gay guests had left it, and
gaze at the white lines of fcntm, and listen to
the great roar of the breakers that spent
themselves at bis feet. Renioiaeless, al-
mighty, and irresistible as Fate, they broke
before him. ' God help whatever ia folded
in tliat pitiless embrace,' thought he, and
yet he k>nged to cast himself into their
fleecy arms and die. Nothing but hia
purpose seemed to prevent him. ' I will be
as implacable, as remorseless as they,' he
said, ' Nothing human can keep tliem from
reaching 'the shore. Nothing Imman shall
swerve me from him. Better ho had died
ore he tore from me the only love I ever
!cnew ;' and so he nursed iiis purpose.
I'erhaps when he walkeil among the mount-
ains, he told that purpose to them. Such an
.iwful secret must be shared somewhere, but
he never shared it with man.

At Niagara there is a spot where the
island which divides into two unetiual
torrents the American Fall, is narrowed
down to a tiny strip. Upon the edge of this
strip of soil is a slender wooden staircase, and
upon traversing it, one may stand within a
few inches of the very brink of the cataract,
and wet his foot in the boiling mass of water
that thunders by. Paul stood here alone
one evening. The solitude and the crash of
the flood were In harmony with his mood.
As he gazed at the brink where the waters
disapptared iuto the abyss below, he seemed,
all at once, t!o see before him the girl he had
loved. She ^vas dressed in the white dress
of the moonlight mist, but it was like a dress
she had often worn. Her dark hair was
tlirown from her pale, beautiful brow, and
in her breast she seemed to wear a pure
wliite jasmine spray. Her face was turned
towards him, but her eyes fixed beyond.
'Olive!' he cried aloud, but she heeded him
not. There was something behind him upon
which she seemed to gaze with her whole
soul. 'Olive,' he cried, again, but her
glance would not light on him. Soniotliing
seemed to draw him towards her, but just as
lie approached, another figure seemed to
come from behind him, ancl moving to her
side, to fold her in a tight embrace. It was
the figure of George Brand. As ho covered
the girl within 4iis arms, he turned his full
dark eyes upon Paul. Like a flash, T'anl
drew the pistol from his pocket, and pointing
it just between those dark eyes, he fired. A
thick stream of blood burst from the man's
brow, and failing back, sufftised his face.
He plunged downward over the tori-ent, to
ins doom, bearing the girl with him ; but as
he vanished, she— Olive— turned her sad cye«
upon Paul, with a look he never forgot, and

Eointed with I ler finger at his breast. And
e felt a strong pull from behind that almost
stretched him upon his back — a guide had
drawn him from certain death. A moment
more and he would have disappeared with
the vision over the brink of the howling
cataract.

' Shooting gulls is not allowed on these
grounds,' said the guide, 'nor suicides
neither.' At the head of the stairway a
lajdy and gentleman were standing. The
guide who had brought them to the spot,
had seen Paul rush forward and fire liis pistol
at a large white figure tliat was hovering in
the mist of the Fall, and had plunged down
aud seized liim in time to save his life.

Paul gave the man a trifle from his vest
pocket, out 8.-id nothing. As he passed up
the stairway he raised his hat to the stran-

fers, without looking at them. He felt,
owe\er, that the incident would surely bo
talked »bout at the hotels, and so took at'
early train the next morning for the East.
Happening to purcliase a paper as he sat in
the cars, his eye lighted upon a paragraph
chronicling the arrivals at Saratoga. Among
them were the names of Miss Charlotte Gray,
Miss Gray, Miss Rutli Gray, Miss Olive
Gray, Mr. Beekiuan, Mr. Southgat<3, aud
Mr. Brand of New York.

Paul's ticket had been for Saratoga, but
he diverted his course and brought up at the
lovely lakeside village of Cooperstuwn.

chaptb:r VI.

OBAPES OK ESCIIOL.

All that Summer aud well into the Fall,
Paul wandered a self-constituted pariah,
among the resorts of Summer travel. East
and Westh, North and South. But no di-
versity of landscape or of society could divert
liis soul from the one burning thought of
his wrong, or of its one fell resource of re-
venge. Arriving in the city one day in tlie
Autunm, he accidentally heard of the en-
gagement of the Reverend George Brand,
assistant Rector of St. Jude's, to Olive (iray.

Who does not know the unerring certainty
vnth which news uf an event we do not long
for, fiiuls us out ? Paul had determined to
pass as rapidly as possible through the hot
•ity, and spend the evening at his uncle's at
Malcolm ; out stopping to light a cigar in
the lobby of a down-town restaurant, where
he had lunched, he had overheard the tid-
injrs. Strange to say, the news seemed to
fall almost comically upon his ear. He al-
most laughed to think of it.

' It's well they"\'e hurried matters. He
liasu't many mure days tolivc,' thought Paul.

ST. .TUBE'S ASSISTANT.

If.

He fretted, though, at his own procrastina-
tion. ' Had I not let him linger, he might
never have clasped her in his arms, never
have touched her lips with his. But his
4lalliance shall he short. Ah ! it will not be
» very long engagement. ' He gave a little
jbVpiich shrug to his shoulders as these
thoughts passed through his brain. That
evening, alter dinner, he appeared at Mal-
colm.

When a man plants vineyards it is not un-
natural that he desires to taste the grapes
thereof. But, from a favourite vine on one
of Mr. Ogdcn's trellises, the fruit was disap-
pearing so rapidly that its proprietor's desire
bid fair not to be gratified. Even calm,
good-natured old Mr. Percival Ogden mani-
fested some impatience. The exuberant
yield of the vine was disappearing nightly.
SVhen one raises grapes himself, he likes to
eat them seasonably. Interlopers, however,
who g.cther where they have not strewn, and
harvest where they have not dug, can afford
to take them a little before the perfection of
ripeness. There was nothing which pleased
Mr. Ojdcn more than to share with others
the pr>)duce of liis own grounds. His bounte-
ous yield of fruit was always distributed
among his neighboars with a pleasure that
no consumption of his own could aflFord him.
But he liked — as most men — to time his ovm
bounty, and to suflFer his tinted grapes
to ripen ere he gathered them. So when,
as we have said, every morning Of the critical
<lays between their purpling and their ripen-
ing, brought news of astonishing drepreda-
tions upon his favourite grapes (by the
tramps, doubtless), he waxed just perceptibly
impatient.

The gardener had suggested man-t.aps,
spring-guns, or ferocious dogs ; but Mr.
Ogden did not quite cai-e to murder or maim
a man in return for stealing fruit. He had
never quite accepted as stealing the mere
i lelping of oneself out of another's garden,
regarding it rather as a nuisance than any-
thing approaching a crime ; but he had de-
termined, nevertheless, to watch, himself,
for the plunderers. It so happened that his
lirst watch was to take place on the very
night when Paul appeared — suddenly, as he
always did — at Malcolm.

From the railway station at Malcolm the
main' road ascended a high liill at right
angles. Upon the crest, at ri"ht angles agiiin
with tliis, a drive branched off into Mr.
Ogden's grounds. This drive ran under a
porte cochrre, from which one stepped troiii a
carriage upon a broad verandali passing com-
pletely around the four sides of the house.

*I^I •

This verandah looked northward toward the
railway station, and, across it, lay the main

entrance to the house itself. Off this hall
was a large family room, occupied only in
summer. Its two outward sides were of
glass sliding doors, which, being' pushed
aside, converted the room and the verandah
into one large apartment. This was known
as ' the out-doors room, ' and was used by the
family as a sitting-room in hot weather — or,
in case of festivities, as a haU for dancing.

On the presert evening, the room and
verandah had been thus thrown into one :
and within, inclosed only by mosquito net-
ting of delicate wire from the outside, the
family were taking coffee when Paul arrived.
Paul entered heartily into his uncle's plans
for catching the tramps and agreed to share
his watch. He suggested the small air
pistol, wliich he still carried; but, seeing the
suggestion met with no favour from his
uncle, he did not allude to it again. Indeed,
it was never mentioned again between tlio
men, except that his uncle said, after tl)o
family had retired, and they were alone,
awaiting the tramps, " Paul, I want you to
promise me to throw away that pistol.
There are a thousand reasons why it should
not be carried. Supposing that somebody
should be murdered with a pistol like that,
with the same sized bore, and carrying a
similar ball. You know they are made by
machinery, and probably yourshas a thousand
duplicates. Don't you see, the very fact
that you carried one habitually, would, in
such case, necessitate explaiTations upon a
witness stand ! The next worst thing, in
my experience, to being a criminal, is l^ing
a wutness in a court of justice.'

Paul was struck with the shrewd old
lawyer's reasoning, and, acquiescing, pro-
mised te carry the pistol no more.

Theparticulartrelliswhere grewthe earliest
ripening grapes, and whicli had suffered from
tlie depredators, was quite near the ' ' out-
doors room " wliere Mr. Ogden and Paul
now sat in the darkness. It was approacli-
ing midnight. As they were sitting in
silence, each occupied with his own thoughts,
they heard a rustling noise at the suspected
place. They glided out, and Paul, who
was the more agile of the two, crept up to
the vine. There was no moon, and the night
was verv dark. ,

Somebody was evidently standing there,
quietly eating the half-ripe grapes. Paul
stepped up behind this person, and threw
his arms around the person's waist, in such a
way as to pin the person's arms downward.
He was about shouting to his uncle, when lie
discovered that his arms enclosed a woman,
slightly formed,

' Who are you ?' he asked.

Tiie woman made no resistance, and

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

I ■

there,
Paul

threw

such a
nward.
i^hen he

I'oinau,

not a word. Paul repeated his
• Who are you T ' without releas-

answered
question,
ine her.

By this time, lus uncle hod come up, and
Paul said aloud —

' Here she is I '

' Here who is ? ' said Mr. Ogdon.

• The woman who eats your grapes. "

' Are there any more of you ? said Mr.
Ogden, not harshly.

' Ki., they're not,' said the woman, brus-
quely.

It was the voice of a young girl. A sweet
pretty voice, illy concealed in the bmsqueness
of the tone.

Paul had a soft heart toe distress, and hf
said, releasing her, 'Who are you, my dear'. '
very gently.

• I'm a thief, I suppose, ' said the girl.
' What do you want ? ' said Paul.

' Want ! I want food to keep body and
soul together, I suppose. I must live, I sup-
pose, until I die. God knows I've tried to
die hard enough, but He don't seem to be in
any hurry to take me. "

' But grapes are not food, my poor child,'
said Paul.

' Poor food enough, maybe, but what I've
stolen off this vine in three nights, is all I've
had to eat, lately. I can't remember when

had anything else last. '

' Come with us, my child, 'said Pau\, 'and
you shalMiave something else. And the two
men led the frightened girl into the room in
which they had been siUing, and turned up
the lights.

The girl they had captured was apparently
of about fifteen or sixteen, slightly and
gracefully built ; her long hair was crisp
black, and flowed, tangled with straw and
leaves and bits of twigs, over her shoulders.
Her eyes were so large and black that they
seemed to deepen tlie dark gypsey colour of
lier skin. She had a small and very pretty
mouth, slender and delicate hands ; her feet
and ankles, which were bare, were of exqui-
site mould. Her poor thin tattered dress
did not suffice to conceal her breasts, over
which, in maiden modesty, she had folded a
fragment of shawl.

In short, they had captured a rovJHg
j,'ypsy beauty ; at least it was evident, from
tlieir surprise, that such was the mental con-
clusions of the twj men.

Paul ransacked the cupboards with a zeal
tliat seemed wonderful even to himself. He
tioally secared some cold meat, bread, butter,
lialf an apple pie or so, and a dish of fruit,
which he triumphantly placed before the
girl.

She ate with the vigour of starvation.

' Well, my dear, we'll find you a place to

sleep to-night, and to-morrow you shall have
some clothes and some breakfast, and tell ua
who you are. At any rate you needn't live
on grapes any longer. '

Mr. Ogden said this in a tender tone, which
seemed to promise more yet. After a con-
sultation, the girl was shown into a pretty
bed-room in the French roof of the villr, and
left to her reffose. In the morning, however,
she was found to he. gone.

The door was wide open. The bed hatl
been slept on, and one or two towels had
be^" *'v\en by the girl in her flight. But
\othing else was missing. It was with sin-
cere regret that Mr. Ogden found his over-
night's scheme of charity dissipated ; and
good Mrs. Ogden's heart bled at the thought
of so young and fair a girl, as had been de-
scribed to her, altogether houseless . and
homeless.

Paul did not say much, but in truth, for
the first time since the evening of his broken
engagement, he had passed a night with
other thouphts than of his lost love and his
doomed rival. Somehow, even now, the
dark-eyed gypsy girl, in her ragged dress
and her dazzling beauty, stood betore him.
But no respite from the demon of his despair,
no object other than hia rival's fearful pun-
ishment, was there for him.

Had the girl remained, who knows, ho
might have moulded her into a beautiful
burden for his purposeless life to bear, and
the crime of his soul been stiffied, ere it
worked itself a form without. But it was
not for him. He felt that his errand was to
carve out the crime of his soul before the eyes
of men, to make the crime of his soul the
Clime of his hands.

He was in the breakers of remorseless fate,
with a whole ocean behind him, pushing,
urging, crowding, forcing nim onward to the
horrid, horrid shore.

CHAPTER Vn.

QTTOD DBUS VULT PEBDKBB.

Summer has gone. The second Tuesday
in November dawns bright, warm and clear.
A day, indeed,

' Where every prospect pleases
And only man ia vile.'

for this is New York's day for its annual
purification.

The civic patriots, the Gracclii, the dis-
ciples of pure government, assembled in
throngs for the great annual Wash.

Surely the city would be thoroughly
scrubbed this time ! Surely no unci- a i
thing could survive the scouring of this (l;>y 1

') ■ 1

!:>'

fii'i

ill:

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

) t
liiil '

For here were assembled the McAdies, the
McAifeeH, the McAlarneys, the McAhaneys,
the McAl-iattiina, the McAleriieys, the Mc-
Alooneys.i'" MvAlhooh y8,the jfcAllanneys,
tHe M jArineuaneys, the AIcAiinereys, the
McAnulties tho McAiuiavpeys, the McAiivOS,
the McAvenneys, the MoAviiineys, tlit Mo-
Avonneya,tbeMcAlatr«rty8 ; the McBerneys,
the MclJiggers, the McBre^jjJS, the Mc-
Ikiaus, the McBrides, the McB'-ites.the Mc-
IJryans, the McBurneys ; the McCahcs, the
MiCaddens, the McCaffertys, the M^Car-
aicys, the McCaffrays, the McCallans, the
McCalligans, the McCalligots, the McCar-
rous, the McCarrahers, the McCarrioks,
the McCartheys, the McCarneys,

the McCaskeys, the McCoohas, the
McCorkles, the McCotters, the McCoorka,
the McCoyles, the McCnickeiis, the Mc-
Craiths, the McCranns, the McCreerens,
the McCuUhaleys ; the McDades, the Mc-
Ebraeveys, the McFaddens, the McFur^us,
the McGahans, the McGarleys, the McGar-
rons, the McUawleys, the McGloids, the
McGoines, the McGinnesses, the McGiiites,
the McGillicuddys, the McGloina, the Mc-
(Juffevs. the McGfurys, the McGroutys,
the jVic({afl'cy3 ; the MoKaigs, the McKavan-
iiagha,tlio McKcniias, the McMurrows, the
McNealeys, the McNevens, the McQxiades,
the McQueenans, the McQuillans, the Mc-
Questins, the MeSlienys, the McShines, tlie
McSorleys, the McShanes, the McSwenieys,
the McSwegans, the ^' ""wiggens, the Mc-
Swgnyns, the McTagno^, the McTaveys, the
McTugans, the McTernans, the McTanimaiiys,
the !NloTigues ; the McWhinneys, the Mc-
Wiggins and the McWhoods !

And if the names of these were not earnest
enough of pure government, closely clamour-
ing on their heels came the O'Biernes, the
O'Brigaus, the O'Briens, the O'Burns, the
(VCallahans, the O'Carrols, tlie O'Caseys, the
O'Cleareys, the O'Counels, the O'Connors,
the O'Days, the O'Deas, the O'Deays, the
O'Donuels, the O'Donohoes, the 'Dono-
vans, the 'Dorises, the O'Doshas, the
O'Doughortys, the O'Dcnvds, the O'Gor-
nians,, the O'Gradys, the O'Hallorans, the
O'Hagers, the O'Haras, the O'Hares, the
O'Heegans, the O'Henncsseys, the O'Hooleys,
the O'Howleys, the Olianes, the O'Keefes,
the O'Kennas, the O'Kelleys, the O'Lough-
lins, the O'Laneys, the O'Larrys, the 0'-
Leareys, the O'Lones, the O'Loughlins, the
0'Marays,the O'Mallej'Sjtho O'Mahoneys.the
O'Mearys, the O'MuU'ins, the O'Narya, the
O'Niells, the O'Reilleys, the O'Rourkes, the
O'Rooneys, the O'Roons, the 'Shark eys,
the O'Shaughnesseys, the O'Sheas, the O'Sul-
livans, the O'Tooles, the O'Teagucs, and the
O'Teegans, all pouring on with tumultuous

haste to purify New York. It was a bright
Indian summer day. Swallows twittered in
the park, the flags were flying over the ho-
tels and club-houses, aud the streets —
whilom deserted, save to scissors-grinders,
long-hai»'ed men with umbrellas iTke over-
grown ^dishes, (in town for the ' Octol)er
Anniversaries,') and solitary members of the
itay-in-towj« — wore swarming again with
siin-bunied citizens, home from the Beaoli or
Spa.

At half past one o'clock in tlie afternoon,
Paul entered the Booking-ofiice of the Euro-
pean and North American Steam Packet
Company, otherwise known as the Cunard
line, No. 4 Bowling Green, and asked a
blonde-haired clerk behind the counter fur
information as to the sailing of its steamers.
He was advised that the Scythia left port
tlie next day (Wednesday) at twelve, for
Liverpool. Upon being shown a plan of tlie
Scythia, he found that all but two state-
rooms had been secured. Of these ! i se-
lected one, and paid for passage thertiii to
Liverpool, from a roll of bills which he pro-
duced. On being asked for his name and
address, he replied, without hesitation, John
A. Grant.

• But the
you please,

address ? ' said the clerk, ' if

'Ah, yes,' said Paul. 'I forgot. I am
staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. But luy
address is John A. (jrant, Cavoudelet. I
only reached tliis city last evening '

Upon receiving his ticket, the clerk snid,
' You had better be on board by eleven, at
least, sir, as the tides are uiu-ertain, and the
captain may sail l>efore twelve. '

'All right. Tliauks, ' said Paul, as he
strode out of the office, and started up
Broadway. After walking up as far as
Vesey street he hailed a stage going down-
ward, and rode down to Bowling Green.
thus quite retracing his 8tep.s. In the stag
was a man, a sort of business acquaiutaiKi
of his, with whom he exchanged a few
trivial remarks. He ascended the stairs
leading to the Elevated Railway Station.
A train was just starting. He embarked,
and was whisked over the iuads of the
pedestrians, to Twentieth street. Here he
alighted and walked through Twentieth
Street to Sixth Avenue. Upon Sixtii
Avenue he took a down oar. which ho left at
Tenth Street.

Near Sixth Avenue, upon the north side
of Tenth Street, stands a lofty pile of reil
brick, known as the ' Studio Buildings. '
The interior of this pile is cut up into artist'^
studios, and is so extensive in long corridor,';,
narrow juttings of wall, and dark arch-

ST. JUDE'b ASSISTANT.

waj'H, that a stranger might easily become
loat therein.

In this l^uilding, Paul knew there lived a
young artist, named Frear, and that his
room wjw No. 36. But, he also happened to
kiijiv that Frear was out of tovrn, having
lift the night beforo to spend his holiday
ill the country. Indeed, raal had seen him
on a feny boat the evening before, and
overheard him remark casually to a friend,
that, in his haste to catch a train, he had
oiuitted to turn hia index at the street door
of the ' Studio Buildings,' so that it would
read ' Out ' instead oi ' In ' or to tell the
]>ortier that he would 1)e absent all day
'I'uesilay. This he reinarkovl and regretted,
wheii it was too late. Now Paul had pre-
viously ascei-taiTied that the Rev. George
Brand, cura' ^ of St. Jude's, the man who
liad robl)ed him of his betrothed wife, was
occupying, in the absence of an artist friend
of his own, that artist's studio, whicli was
known as Room No. 37. Li Lis movements
I'anl had consumed two hours, and it was
(.(iiiseiiuently about half after four o'clock
when he reached the ' Studio Buildings. '

Paul entered the open doorway of the
Building, and demanded of the portier, "Iii
Mr. l^'vear in his room ? ' The portier was a
burly old Scotchman, who did not care to
waste time in answering needless questions.
I'eering out of his little square hole in the
\\ all, he looked at the Index opjiosite, which
said ' In, ' and growled, 'There's the Index,
and he is.'

' Yon mi^ht as well keep a civil tongue
in your heacl. You're paid for it, 'said Paul,
a.s he passed up-stairs.

Throe gloomy flights of iron stairs, and
three lonj; corridors, or rather galleries,
overhanging the pit or well of the establish-
ment, like the gallerits of a prison, brought
I'aul to No. 37. Ht caused before the door.
At last there was only an oaken plank
lietween him and his revonge ! Ah ! had
^)me kind spirit breathed in his ear, as he
stood before that door, a merciful word !
I Tad some pity stolen into his heart, some
luving hand stayed his knock upon the panel,
V. liat souls might have been saved — what
new heavens opened upon earth ! But there
\s as no •spirit nor breath of angel at tlie
murderer's ear. No staying human hand
upon the murderer's arm. He was in the
giasp of Destiny, and that was driving him
oil — on — onward to his doom !

Paul rapped upon the door. 'Come in,'
said the heavy voice of George Brand ; and
he crossed the threshold, he was to recvoss
ii;;ain only when the stain of blood
blioukl iiave sunken deep into his hands,

and Lhe curse of Cain have sunken deep into
his brow.

The studio which Paul entered, like its
mates in ' Studio Buildings, ' was square and
lofty. The walls were wainscoted, and,
above the wainscoving — painted a deep
brown — were two outside windows, ordinar-
ily dosed with heavy shutters, of the same
colour, so that, when in use, the studio
would receive all its light from the glazed
opening in the roof. At present a brown
canvas was drawn across this opening, and
the outdide windows were unbarred, to ad-
mit the air. Around were scattered, in the
usual picturesque disorder of an artist's
studio, every variety of tool and implement
of the craft, easels, lay figures, antique fur-
niture, suits of armour, in genuine artistic
negligence. The walls were hung with pic-
tures, complete and incomplete, and, on the
floor, against the wainscoting, leaned,
thickly lapped, with their faces turned toward
the wall, canvasses of every size.

In the midst of this confusion, George
Brand had drawn a small table up to one of
the open windows, and seated iiimself be
fore it, where he could catch the light In-
dian Summer breeze. He sat in his shirt
.sleeves fur the day— as Xovcinber days in
tlie city not uufrej^iuently are — was quite hot.
Ho had cast off his collar, and his throat
was bare. He M'as -a magnificeut looking
man, with a face always dark, now ahiiost
black with a summer's exposure t^ the sun.
A short heavy beard, allowed to grow dur-
ing the summer, covered the lower part of
his face. He rose to meet Paul, whowab
not unknown to him. He knew at least the
story of his engagement to Olive Gray, and
how heavily he had sustained the biow of
its rupture. Naturally the two men, one a
discarded aii<l t,'ie otiier an accepted lover of
the same girl, met stilHy. * Mr. Paul Ogden,
1 believe. I Iku e never had the honour of
a call from you before, I think, sir. "Will
you be seated /' said Brand, without, how-
ever, extending liia liand.

' I will not, sir,' said Paul. 'My business
with you, sir, will not engage us long.'

He had not removed his hat, but merely
pushed it back from his forehead as he stood.
The two men, they were of nearly equal
stature (Brand if anything, prrhaps a trifle
the taller), confronted each other. Brand
could see that his visitor had come for no
kindly purpose. They stood for a momenc,
face to face. At last, with a sneering af-
fectation of politeness, the curate broke it.

' And may I inquire your errand ?'

That was his last sneer, and his last smile.
With the eyes and breath of a madman,
Paul sei:'.ed him by the throat.

•4

■ i

si *• .*

i:;

; VJ

(!:

•n:;

9T. JUDE'S ASPWTANT.

' Do i'ou know me !' he hissed between hie
teeth. ' Do yoa know what you have do. it
to me T I have no words to wivste on you —
you vile despoiler of women ! You Iiave '-
and the words ct-me slowly from between
the tight-set teeth — 'you have robbed me of
the drl I loved — of the only uirl lever loved
in all this world — yes, you robbed me of my
betrothed Mite, and she loved me — yes, until
you came between us with your soft tongue,
and your devilish voice, and your damned
black eyes ! Yes, she loved me. By God, sir,
I have come to collect my bill ! and by God,
sir,you shall pay it ! Yes, no^t^,you shall pay
it in full. That girl was engaged to me, and
you drew her from me. Ah, you took all—
all I had in the world ! Do you know, man,
for what I have come ? When you took
that girl fi-om me you took my life 1 You
left me only that which is a curse to me —
my breath, that God knows 1 would not
draw if I could help it ! Did you think
when you took my life, that I was a man to
yive it up without a fight? Did you think
that I would not take yours in return? Do
you know yet for what I have come I' He
iiissed at him between his teeth like a mad-
man.

Paul, although lithe and active, was slight
in frame. Brand wao as strong as an ox.
At college he had won ^ many a game of
strength, had pulled stro'ke in many a crew,
and as he Ipoked at the man before him, he
almost smiled. It seemed as if lie could toss
liini from the window like a feather. With
as slight a gesture as if he were drawing
<m a glove, he took I'aiil's hand from his
throat.

• Are you mad ?' he said, calmly.
' Yes, I am mad, ' said Paul. ' Do you
know how to fear a madman ? Before you
took from me the girl I loved, she heard you
read one day in your damned false voice,
and thought you were a man ^ent from
Heaven. It was not Heaven but Hell that
sent you here, and I have come to send you
back again !'

As he spoke Paul drew the small silent
pistol from his breast-pocket. Brand made
a quick motion, as if to seize him by the
tiiroat, but it was too late ! Aiming it rigiit
between the doomed man's eyes, just as he
had once aimed it at his form in a vision, he
clicked the trigger. It was over in an in-
stant ! The powerful frame of George Brand
fell forward, and blood spouted from the
wound. The bullet had done its work, and
not a gasp had escaped from the murdered
man.

Paul stepped aside from the red stream
coursing along the floor. Assurance must be
doubly sure. ' He must live to tell no talcs,'

thought Paul, as he placed the muzzle oloso
to the aheidy dead man's skull, behind the
ear. A second time the pistol clicked. Then
he put it back into his breast-pocket, and
without looking at his victim, stepped out
into the corridor, closing the door gently
behind him, and walked rapidly to the stair-
way. He met nobody. As he passed
through the street door, he sai<l to the old
J portier, who scowled at him, 'That's a valu-
j able Index oi yours. Frear isn't in hta
r.)om. ' But the old portier only grunted.

Paul turned down Tentli Street to
Sixth Avenue. At the comer of that
Avenue tand Ninth .Street was a large gro-
cery establishment, where delicacies, wines,
J and fruits were displayed. Paul entered
and asked for two dozen oranges, to be done
up in a paper parcel. 'I will take the parcel
myself,' said he. Fancying that the sales-
man looked a little incredulous to see an
elegant gentleman in lavender gloves,otfering
to carry a brown paper parcel of fruit, Paul
added, ' I'm only running around the corner,
and we won't trouble you to send.'

As Paul paid for his oranges, he signalled
a Sixth Avenue car, going up, entered it .d
sat down. As the car passed Tenth Street,
a young lady Paul knew got on. He rose
and gave her his seat.

'1 m growing democratic,' said he, smiling,
as he took off his hat. ' I caiTy my own
parcels. *

At Twenty-third Street, Paul bade the
young lady good day, and leaving the car,
walked to the Fifth Avenue, and thence
upward until he reached his Club. Entering,
he said to the hall-man, ' Is any one in Ho.
B ?' (B. was the designating letter of a room
which Paul occupied when he slept at the
Club.)

' No, Mr. Oeden, ' said the man.

' Bring me the key, then,' he said, ' and
my letters, if there are any. '

Paul ascended to room B, and when the
man had brought key and letters, he entered,
and locked the door. He then oarefuUy
untied the parce' he carried, standing
it, with one end open, upon the table.
Next he drew from his breast-pocket the
pistol, and crowding it in among the oranges,
he tied the parcel up again. Then he
hastily pulled the clothes partly oflF tfie bid,
threw one of its two pillows upon the floor,
looked at his watch, and taking the un-
shapely parcel of oranges under his arm,
passed out of the room, locking the door
after him. On his way to the street door lie
nodded to several acquaintances, who were
louncing about, and on reaching it, handed
the Itey to a hall-man and went out. A
pissing stage carried him doMm to Tenth

ST. JUDES ASSISTANT.

Street again, oiul he walked briskly through
it tu , ixth Avenue. He raised bis eyes
oarelesdly as he passed the open entrance of
' Studio Buildines.' All was quiet there,
lieaching Sixth Avem i he crossed over to
Jefferson Market, whence a line of oars run
to the North River Ferries. He took one of
thefue cars, and at the Frrry House, pur-
chased a ticket for ' Malcolm and return.'

As the ferry l>oiit left the dock, Paul
walked to its rear and stood leaning upon the
rail, still hohling his brown paper parcel. A
lady in black.and an old woman with a dirty
l)aby were the only other persona upon tliat
side of the boat, though half a dozen or more
men were upon the opposite side, smoking.
As they neared the middle of the stream,
f'aul, wlio had rested the parcel upon the
rail, gave a short quick laugh. The old
svoman nvised her eyes in time to see the
•parcel falling from the rail and disappearing
in the water.

"By Jove," said Paul, and he laughed
again. A slight circumstance on a ferry
boat attracts attention ; and some of the
iiien on the other side crossed over. They
were labourers, smoking pipes, and would
Ji -dly have accosted so elegant dressed a
gentleman as Paul. But his apparent mis-
r.dtnne attracted them ; and besides,
I'aul seemed to be particularly good-na-
1 '.:'ed.

' Was it valuables, sir ?' said one of the
men.

' Only oranges,' replied Paul. 'Wait a
little while, and you will see them ;' and,
b'.ire enough, bright yellow oranges began to
. ppear dotting the surface of the water
\vhere the parcel had dropped. The pistrtl
was now at the bottom of the river ; and
with all his coolness, Paul could not repress
a long breath of satisfaction. He sauntered
slowly into the cabin, and sat down. As
yet his only sentiment was one of satisfac-
tion. As yet, no sense of the awful crime
he had committed had stolen over him. He
s it in the cabin, a passenger, like the res^
1 i 4less, thinking of nothing, tapping i «
tloor with his boot. At Malcolm, thiu
evening, he was affectionate, abstracted,
listless, as he had been for months : and
-Mrs. Ogden kissed him fondly as ever, when
«he retired.

' Poor Paul ! He will never get over
t> at unfortunate love affair,' the good
.•'ontan said to herself, as she left him.

CHAPTER VIII.

THK KKW TOBK HKRALD.

I> tlie morning, Paul, as usual, was late
X) bnakf ast, bat managed to go into town

upon til'. Hame train with his uncle, never-
theless. They had l)otli provided them-
selvee with newspapers, and sat together,
Paul nearest the window, upon the same
seat.

' What's this 1 another murder V saitl Mr.
Ogden.

' Where ?' said Paul

Tliey both had the Herald. Mr. Ogden
4irected Paul's attention to the page which
was wliolly taken up with the account,
and soon both became absorbed in the peru-
sal.

All the city papers contained the hor-
rible details a*^ length. But, since the
Hfi-aUl, although in its somewhat too tmii-
cal am' gemrous style, gave tlie fullest ac--
oounts. as usiuil, we will insert an extract
form its columns here :

* * * * ' All that is known at present
is as follows: Last evening, at about lalf
after eight o'clock, Mr. Charles Fiear
a young artist about twenty-three
years old, was sitting in his studio, wiiich is
known No 36 in the ' Studio Buildings,' No
f)!, A Vest Tenth Street, when he heard a
woman's scream, which seemed to come from
the adjoining room. He rushed out into the
corridor, and the door of Studio No 37 (which
immediately adjoins No 3G) being ajar, he
entered. The sight which met his eye batHes
all description. Facing the door, in a kneel-
ing posture, with his chin resting upon his
breast, was the body of a man. The floor
was covered with the red life fluid that once
had coursed in the veins of a livingman, and
which seemed to have poured from two dis»
tinct wounds in the man's body, one in li s
face, which could not be seen without rag
i:ig the body, and the other behind his lelt
car. The scream had evidently come from a
chamb rmaid, who lay insensible on the floor.
The poor girl had entered the studio, in-
tending to pass through it into the adjoining
bed-room, to make the bed contained in it,
as usual ; and upon meeting the gliastly sight,
had fainted quite away. Mr. Frear, without
going to her assistance, stepped over the body
to the bell, which he rang violently for some
seconds, thereby arousing the whole estab-
lishment ; and then, stepping out into the
corridor, shouted, ' Help ! help !' a great
many times at the top of his voice. It seemed
scarcely a moment before everybody then in
the building had flocked to the spot. A
posse of policemen, accompanied by Police
Surgeon Dr. Fanington, airived from Jeffer-
son Market Station at about eight, and took
charge of the body. In the course of the
evening our reporter succeeded in ascertain-
ing the following particulars in reference to
the bloody tragedy. The murdered man is a

I'M

Hi!:' .,

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

J'ouiig Kpiscopal clergyman, an assistant
{uutor uf St. Jude's rrotestiuit Episcopal
Parish, whose church is well known to b«
the coBtliest as well as tiio most nrherche on
Filtli Avenue, and was, at the time of Iuh
niiirtlur, curate in charge of the elegant Cha-
pel of that Parish on Street, sonic-
times known as, 'little St. Jude's. ' The
Rev. (ioorgc Brand, for that was his uanic,
M a.i popular both in the pariHli of which hu
MivH as .irttiint rector, and in tlie Chapel over
wiiich lio particulariy presided. R8i)ecially
HO was ho among the young lady pariahion-
crs, wlio, your reporter is informed, alwolute-
ly idoli/cd him ; no being of tall and well
l)roporti«aed figure, and remarkably hand-
some. His large piercing eyes are parti-
cularly alluded to. Mr. Brand was a mag-
nificent reailer, and celebrated far and wide
on that account. He had lately become en-
gaged to Olive, daughter of the well-known
and eminent banker, Horace (!ray, Esq.

'Up to the first day of August List, the
lleveiend Mr. Brand had occupied two rooms
at Mrs. Leslie's elegant boarding establish-
ment, No. — Fifth Avenue ; besides his room
at the Chapel on — th street. But, on
that day, lie had given them r.p,
and gone into the country, to take
his vacation, much of which he I>ad
passed at Saratoga, in company with his
Juinrne and her family. His vacation, how-
ever, came to an end on the tenth daj' of
September last. On returning to the city,
he had been about to take otiier quarters
t'.iau iiis old ones at Mrs. Leslie's, m view
of ilia approaching marriage, not wishing to
enter into any permanent arranj^eiiiciits for
the winter. At this time a young artist,
Mr. Harrison Turner, who had a lease of
SUidio No. 37 — now to be forever memorable
on account of this horrible affair — and m Iio
was an intimate friend and colli:ge clium oi
Mr. Brand's, • was about departing for
Europe; and learning of Mr. Brand's
hesitation as to rooms, liad suggested that
he occupy his studio and adjoining sleeping
room until his (Turner's) return, which he
expected would be in December. To this
ariangemeut Mr. Brand consented, and
entered the fatal studio, in which he was to
die at the hands of a foid assassin, and
VV hence his soul wiis to wing its flight to
God who gave it. At this writing, no clue
to the assassin can be, or at least, has been
obtained. When the body was examined
by Dr. Farrington (namely, at eight o'clock,
P.M.), the Dr. pronounced that tlie heart
must have stopped about four hours. It
appeared probable that death had ensued
from the effect of a pistol ball driven into
the brain from directly betweeli the victim's

The pistol must have been held very
the spot where the ball entered.

eyea.
near

the skin was blackened by the iwwder. A
second ball hadgoncratedthe brain, however,
having entered immediately l)ehind the left
ear — which would have also alone caused
death. The assassin uuist therefore (in Dr.
Farrington '• opinion), have fired the first
shot standing m front of his victim and hold-
ing the weapon close to his head ; and, upon
tlie murdered man falling forward upon his
knees, he must have — to make doubly sure
of lus fiendish work— hc»d the pistolascc nd
time to the back of the dying man's head,
near the ear, and fired again. No pistol or
weapon of any kind was found on the jire-
mises, except two old revolutionary flint-
locks, which, however, Were crosMed on the
wall over a picture of a dead war horse, or
what M'aa evidently intended by its artist
for a field of battle. This disposes — even if
it were not dispelled by the position of the
wounds, and the murdered man's life and
prospects — of any theory of suicide. There
were no marks of a strnggle in the room. The
disorder apparent in the arrangement of tlie
room was one evidently of long standing, since
<hist was observed to have settled upon the
V iiious objects, which must have shown
signs of disturbance, had they been moved.
'I'lie two balls, or slugs of lead, causing
death, were extracted from the dead man's
brain last evening by Drs. Farringtoi ,
Leash, and Phillips. They are conical in
s'lape, about four-twelfths of an inch in
length, and about tliree-twelfths of an incii
in diameter at their base. As no report
of fire-arms was heard durinu the after-
noon by inmates of the Studio Buildings,
several of whom occupying studios upon the
same floor as No. 37, happened to be in
them all the afternoon of Tuesday — these
shots must have been fired from what is
known as a " silent " or " Non- Detonating "
revolver, such as are foi sale by the Ameri-
can Noll- Detonating Fire-arms Company,
No. — Broadway, whose advertisement ap-
pears in another column.

' As we go to press the excitement is in-
tense — but as yet no theory of the murder
can be found. The deceased seems to be a
man who had no enemies, and no motive can
be assigned for tlnj hideous deed, which has
sent a human being all unprepared to liis
dread account. The whole affair is simply
inexplicable. A young minister of the goi?-
pel, ittached to the wealthiest parish of the
city, universally beloved, not known to have
an ent my in the w^rld, engaged to a young
lady of vast expectations, is shot down in
broad daylight, and nobody can point out
the cowaidly assassin. Neither can it ba

ST. JUDK'fl ASSISTANT.

■/'

J;
.1'

|)U8Hil>lu that uno whuse motive was pliimlur
shuuM iiiive goue in (^ucHt uf a clergyman.
It is a, very suspicious, or ut least a pccaliar,
circuniutuitce, however, that no money coulil
be found iu the murdered man's pocket, an*l
that thougli he wore a watch chain, no
watch could be found upon his pcrHon.
Peter Downey, the doorman of the Studio
Buildings, wiio occupies a small lodge at the
street entrance, whence, through a small
hole in the wall provided for this purpose, it
is his duty to take notice of everybody tiiat

Soes in or out, is positive that, although
ozens of people went in and out during
election day afternoon, nobody passed hiu
lodge unobserved, or without, on entering,
stating his or her errand, or whom thoy
wished to see. Peter is quite positive that
3)0 visitor called for No. 37 that day, or Went
up to that number (;i7). It ia ever so. In
;the midst of Life we are in Death. — Herald,
Xori'iaher, — .

All this, and columns besides, Paul and
Jiis Ancle were reading side by side, as tlie
train rushed onward toward the river. As
it drew up, his uncle said, his hand upon
Paul's shoulder, 'What do you thiak of it,
I'aul ? '

'Jjy Jove, sir, I don't know what to
tl.ink. It's coming rather near homo to mu,
too. Of course you saw tliat she was en — '

' Yes, yes, ' said the uncle, hastily. By
long schooling at his wife's hands, he had
come to understand that all allusion to Paul'-s
unhappy engagement to Olive Gray was to
be scninulously avoided. As they landed
ou the New York side, Paul said, ' Are you
toing directly to your offide, uncle ? '

'Yes.' ^

' If you don't mind, I guess I'll go along

■with you, and finish refiding about this

' affair. After that I'll stroUup to the Club. '

, • Ci;>me,- and welconie, By-the-by, Paul,

I wish you could find Something to do. '

" 'Well, but I can't.' .,

' Why don't you begin practice'?' Certain-
ly you ought to now, if you ever intend 1 •
I don't expect you ever to be the lawyer you
might have been, if your father had left all
his mousy to the Tract Society or a lying-in
•establishment, instead of giving every cent of
it to you — but anything is better than doing
nothing. My office is open to you. lean
put you into the way of getting plenty of liard
worlv, at any rate. Think it over, my boy,
.and come to ine. '

And so they proceeded to Mr. Ogden's
ofiRce.whero I'aul lighted a cigar, finished bis

{taper, and then, calling a cab, rode up to
lis Club.
.Al! this time, while the deed ho had done,

was, of course, present in his mind, he was
acting rationally, and he knew it. That is
to say, he was tno sjiniothat ho hofl been be-
fore, and noboily could diHoover any treniour
in hia voice, or any blanching of his ciieuk.
It ia to be dou!)ted, indeed, whether his
brain was normal and healthy. It nniHt be
remembered that for eight or ten months iio
liad hardly slept .1 night, brooding night and
(lay over his loss, his wrongs and liis revenge.
Tnie, the guilt of blood was upon him; the
moat terri))le guilt known to humanity, and
one that blood itself cannot wash away.
True, the horrible secret, which, it is tlio
universal testimony of mankind, cannot be
kept in a guilty broast, but must sooner or
later burst it open, wm locked in his breast.
Ifut, up to this time, it had not quickened
or stirred. He had only felt the calm and
respite from care which comes from end and
aim accomplished. It seemed to iiim tiiat ut
last a great duty had been done. His tanu
— the task he had set iiimself so hnig ago
and whieli alone had tilled liis thoughts fcr
months, was completed, aiul iiu horror of ti u
deadly sin, so far, had touohe«l his oonsei
e.ice. The man whom he had chosen to conti-
deras hisdespoilerwaslow and coldiu death.
The victim he had selected for sacrifice had
been offered up to still his vengeance — ami
now his vengeance was stilled, and his heart
seemed to beat evenly in his breast once
more.

When he had carefully measured the time
that was left to him on election day ; when
he had purchased the passage ticket to
Liverpool (which he never intended to use),
thereby accounting for the presence of a
stranger in New York on the fatal afternooa
---when he had gone up and down, covering
Ids own tracks — in a public Conveyance; even
when he had passed the very doorway of
the place where his victim lay in a pool of
blood, he had felt nothing but tlio cool can-
tion of a player, playing a vital, and, posui-
l)ly, a desperate (fame. The fea* 'Of mortal
L'liilt had never seemed tocome'dVer him.
When, however, he had so drop-
ped his parcel as to attract attention,
.ind, above all, when he had seen tlio
oranges floating in the river, thereby prov-
ing that he had ruptured the paper, and the
deadly weapon he had secreted for so many
months had dropped to its hiding-place in
the mire at the bottom of the stream, where
it would daily work deeper and deeper from
the possibility of human discovery, he felt
that the last move had been mode, and that
the game was his. After that, he certainly
si o lid make no effort to ckI innocence, whero
nobody suspected him. He knew who had
murdered (ieorge Brand. It hardly seemed

nil

f "
ST.

TUDK'S AHSISTAFT.

to him tliat he hiniHclf vnm tlie luurilerer, so
uallouM liHtl he bouoine. Hut he know wlio
hail nnirilured hini, and, until he wm asked,
he certainly ihould not telL

CHAPTKR IX.

'YI8, HHK IS HAl-PV NOW.'

On Thursday and Friday, tlie Herald
duvoted an entire page to the Brand, or, as,
in delicauy to the oloth, it ouine to be styled,
'the 8t. Jude's Murder.' On Saturday,
however, tlie details only Klled four ooluinus ;
( n Sunday, two colamns. On Monday it
published the sermon of the venerable Kev.
l)r. (Sterling, Rector of St. Jude's I'arish,
iMssides much vivid and glowing description
of ' tlie surging mass of people who swayeil
to and fro in the vast auditorium as the
Kolcnin and magniticent language of the
speaker surged and swayed in tlieir hearts,'
which swelled the matter out to u page
again. But three days is a long time for a
sensati* " in New York, and as this had run
for five, itirely annihilating the election re-
turns, it ,'radually sunk to a half-column on
the injitU of the Un'ald, while that
piiblic-f pirited sheet lent all its ener-
gies to the imminent danger of the
citizens from the presence of the poison in
the Croton, wliich eminent savans in its pay
had discovered. Of coure tlie large headings
to this matti-r were in its usual alliterative
and sympathetic style. Indeed thg H(rald
iiiivy be said to have exceeded itself — it never
had done better in its palmiest days. But
we are running in otlvance of our story.

When Paul reached hia Club, there was a
knot of young feliows, discussing the murder
in the long smoking-rccm, and he joined
them. Some two or three of these young
men had known the murdered man, for
Brand bad been one of the modern school of
clergyme«v who mingle in tlie genteel dissi-
patioiiA of society. In hia life-time he had
tlanced, played billiards, and known wine
that was fit to drink from wine that wasn't,
when he tasted it, and a good cigar, a pretty
girl, or a fast horse, when he saw them.
Men, not assistant ministers in New York,
take the infliction very good-naturedly, as a
rule — see them bag all the matrimonial
prizes, and get into clover generally, without
.'inything more tha|i a passing remark about
their luck ; perhaps, considering that, in
this world of compensations, a man who is a
minister of the gospel ought to have some-
thing to compensate him for his office. ,But,
however it was, the great murder was dis-
cussed at the Club that morning very prac-
tically. It was not known that Brand had

left any family to mourn him. Hisenj/age-
ment witli Olive Gray, however, hadm'on
long known. A man nad indeed loudly ex-
pressed the opinion that * this thing wai*
going to give Ogdtsn another show for Olive, '
when I'aul himself walked into the room.

Paul rang for a cigar, lighted it, and
stretched hmiself on hi? favourite divan in
the broad bay window in the corner. Thin
was better than a felon's cell, he thought.
Why shoidd he tell who murdered the man
who had dune him a wrong 7

•You've read the paj)er», of course,' said
Harry Larremore.

' Yes, about that uiunler, you mean,' said
Paul.

'Yes.'

Paul wont on reading his paper.

' You knew him ?'

' Well — now he's (load, I suppose I may
say I knew him. If lie were living, I should
say I knew who ho was.'

' Devilish queer thing, isn't it.' ■

' Devilish, said Pauf ^

Larremore hod stood there a little while,
looking over Paul's couchant form, out upon
the avenue, when a man named Curtis
touched him on the arm. Curtis was a
friend of Paul. His first name was Pol-
lard, but he was generally known as Polly,
in the Club. As Larremore looked around,
Curtis took his arm, and they walked off to-
gether.

' Don't suppose Ogden wants to say much
al>out the affair,' said Curtis, as soon as they
were out of Paul's hearing. ' You know-
Brand was engaged to the girl that jilted
him, and cut lupi up, pretty rough, too."

' 1 had heard something of it, Polly' said
Larremore^ ' I suppose she'll get him on
again, now.'

' If she can— perhaps,' said Polly.

That evening Paul dined and slept at lii»
I'.otel, for the first time in some months. On
Saturday afternoon, the Herald contained
the following : ,7 iiT. ■"

ON THB KIliHT TRACK AT LAST.

The authorities have been advised that
on Tuesday last, about two hours before the
murder, a stranger called at the ofBce of the
British and North American Packet Company,
and purchased a passage to Liverpool, by tlie
Scytliia, which sailed on Wednesday last at
noon. He gave his name as John A. Grant,
of Carondelet, (Mississippi,) stating to tha
prentlemanly clerk in that Company°s office,
that he had come into town the night before,
and was stopping at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
After purchaeing the ticket, the man went
up to Broadway, on foot. On calling at th«

8T. JUDE-S ASSISTANT.

hotel offioe, our reporter waa iiifurnied tliat
no penwn of tbut name had arrived nt the
Fiftii Avenue Hotel ou the night nientiuiicd ;,
and upon telegraphing to Carondelet, Midsis-
vippi, ( which tliu Herald did at once by ita
private lines, without waiting for the author-
ities to move in the matter,) we are now in-
furmed that there is not, and never has been,
any suoh person as John A. Grant living in
that town,

The cable will be immediately put into
requisition and orders sent to buth Queens-
tuwn and Liverpool to intercept any male
posaeuger upon tlie Scythia who cannot give
uu account of himself.

I'aul laughed at this. Rver.'tiiing, it
seemed to him. had worked well. iTany
attempt should he made to connect him with
tlie stranger who had purchased the passage
to Liverpool — and he admitted :,o hiiuself,
that the description given by the clerk to
the Herald reporter (which we have not
quoted,) was a tolerably good likeness of
itiinself, — he knew he could pro<luce friends
who had seen him in a stage jKoing down
Broadway, about that time on Tuesday, or
failing in that, others who had seen him in a
train on the Elevated Railway, ^ing up
town, would be sure to be fortliconnng.

The most ordinary incident or featuio upon
which one's eyes light, is sure to be re-called
in cases of great public interest, if that in-
cident or feature can in any way be connect-
ed with that interest. So far, Paul was sure
that everything waa going well.

' But those fellows are very sharp, ' he
reflected, ' That Dr. Farrington found out
iu five minutes, Just what I shot the fellow
with, just how 1 shot him, and just how he
Hrst f^l. Perhaps it would be just aa well,
if I were out of sight. I might say or do
Homething to attract attention. People just
now are so wide awake.' And Paul was
right. In times of great public excitement,
everybody is in one sense, watched, and
everybody, in one sense must give an
aujount of himself. Every circumstance of
human life and of social history is, how-
ever trivial, the result of combine-1 causes,
just as each of these causes waa in its turn
the result of previous causes. The world
wags in a most bewildering snarl at times,
but iu cases where public suspicion is un-
duly active, it is just as well for a guilty
man to be out of ita sight and out of its
reach. Already there were hundreds of act-
ivu brains, stinmlated by huge prospective
rewards, and hundreds of acute i-easoners
tliat needed no such stimulant, were search-
in :j; for the motive that had induced the
Assassin's shot. As Paul had said, the mat-
ter was very near to him — perhaps too

do;]er had

iuipression

a merel y

best thing

near to attract suspicion- -but, aoonLr or
Uter, his name must lie mentioned. All
the world loves an aooupted lover — but,
all the same — all thn world Uugha at u
rejected lover. He might feel sure that
no teuderuesH would prevent the making ot'«
enquiries to his very face. And he was nut
unaware, that, sincA tlie estranjjjenient be-
tween himself and Oiive Gray, his morbid
hfe must have Iwen noticed. Indeed, Polly
Curtis, at the Club, had already, mi the
goodness of his heart, cautioned k dozen
men against takling about the matter to
his friend, and everyone of those
probably furtilier circulated the
that the affair ht\d other than
curious interest for Paul. The
that Paul could do wua, undoubtuilly aftei-
a little, to get out of the way of people.
True, m) fa , he had done the best thing he
could jrassibly have done. ' He had been
in the vicinity of the murder a few minuter
after he had per))etrated it. So far from
shunning the (letaila, he had eagerly read
them iu the newspaper. So far so good.
But he thought, perlmp-s it would be well,
after a time, liefure public scrutiny had ex-
hausted itself upon those nearest to the
scene of the muruer, and spread over wider
hilds, to ((uietly get out of the country.
The Scythia, now on her way across thr
ocean, was not a particularly swift boat. She
could ! <irdlv be overhauled at Queenstown
l>efore ten days from her sailing day ha d
elapsed. Until that time, the pohce would
be justified in waiting to learn something
about a stranger who had bought a ticket
in an assumed name. And, after that date,
they would undoubtedly very carefully
search for the man w'- j had paid for his
passage to Liverpool, uj Mr. Grant of Car-
ondelet, (Mississippi,) and had never taken
it. The ten days would elapse on Saturday.
On that day a White Star steamer would
nail. Could he manage, before that time, to
tind a reason to go abroad, he would sail
with it, and all his friends would bid him
good-bye and God speed. Perhaps he might
even have prayers for his safety on the

Seat deep, offered iu St. Jude's itself,
eanwhile he would be natural. And, as
we have seen, he could lie, and was.

Paul was undoubtedly right in his pre-
mises. The records of crime prove nothing,
if they do not prove that the conscience of
a guilty man is, after all, the only
infallible detective. The auutest human
reason will err, and the
at the outset will
tracks of investigation
wider apart, until, between them, a
guilty man can live in absolute lecurity.

minutest error
diverge the
wider and
between
absolute

?■'

"^(\

::{.)_

ST. JUrE'S ASSISTANT.

But, sooner or later, his conscience or his
secret impels to some tleed or act or motion,
that, without it, would be unaccountable ;
and the attempt to account for the un-
accountable is morally curtain to result in
«kruth.

In the case of the murder of Captain
White, of Salem, Massachusetts, in 1830,
the suspicion which led to the murderer's
capture was actually created, in the first in-
stance, by his, the murderer's, own attempt
to mannfacture counter suspicions. Had he
suffered puV>lic suspicioji to take its course,
it would almost inevitably, have, by ex-
hausting all probable chauueU of casuistry
fust, been long dehvyed froiK the truth ; and
such is the lesson of all tliosc marvellous- ro-
mances of jurisprudence contained in law-
yer's librarie8,in those dingy books where ro-
mances are least of all tiUijpccted of hiding,
and whose absolute trutli cannot save them
from their most glai'ijig improbability.
Something of this sort ran m Paul's mind,
and he resolveil, if plausible, to sail in the
White Star steamer of Saturday week.

Meanwhile events had succeeded themselves
very rapidly in St. Jude's Parish. The con-
sternation of the wardens and vestrymen at
tlie murder, had led to their offering a re-
ward of twenty thousand dollars for the ap-
prehension of the murderci', and before Sun-
day this had been increased to thirty tiiou-
sand dollars. A lesolution of that honour-
able body to the effect tliat, the mostemineut
legal talent in the city should be employed,
bad led to the retaining of Mr. Percival
Ogden, to attend for the parish at the cor-
(jner's inquest. In every way, St. Jude's
was not lukewarm in its eagerness to avenge
the taking off of its favourite assistant.

As for Olive, she had parted from her
lover last on Monday evening, he agreeing to
present himself at her father's table, at din-
ner, on Tuesday. As he had not come, nor
sent any word of excuse, she had begun, on
that evening, to be anxious, and had de-
spatched a note by a servant, to "Studio
Buildings.' The man had arrived with this
note at eight o'clock, just as the excitement
was at its height. Upon learning of the
murder he had returned home, but, avoiding
Olive, had first sought her father. Assur-
ing himself, fii-st, that his servant's news was
con-ect, Mr. Gray instructed him to si.mply
return the note to Olive, telling her that he
* had not been able to see Mr. Brand. ' To
this message, he bad l)een, indeed, obliged,
nnon her anxious interrogation, to add, that
' Mr. Brand was not in hia. room, but had
gone out and left no message.' But Olive
Bad noft heard the news,- and Mr. Gray had,
at least, time to cau':id£r how it should ba

said

•Rtti

.Jiuii lii .,

broken to her. It was cruelly broken to
her the next morning, and in this wi^p. ; Bjj
a sort of tender regard, which ^ven ihe
luost heartless of society feels for sudden
alilicfion, no calls were paid at Gray's
mansion that evening. The next morn-
ing, at about eleven o'clock, Olive was
sitting in the breakfast-room. Her sis-
ters had left the t«>ble, and were conversing
in the hall, the door of which the^ acci-
dentally left partially opep. While Olive
drank her coffee, therefore, she could not
help hearing her sister's convers^ation. As
they stood there, Edward, one of the
brothers, who was in business, happened to
come down the staircase. He hsvcl oeen out
of town during election day, which had
Ijeen kept as a general holiday, visiting a
young lady, some distance up the Hudson, to
whom he was paying his adcfresses. He had
arrived home at about midnight, and was
supposed, by his sister, not to have heard the
news.

' Have you heard the newB, Ned ?
Ruth.

' No, what news ?' said Ned,

' George Brand is dead.'

' Dead ?'

'Murdered.'

At that moment a crash of china
Leard in the breakfast-room, and then
heavy thud. They rushed in. Olive
lying upon her face on the floor, lifeless.
Dr. Forsyth was sent for at once. It was a
summons he had expected ever since the
tragic news pervaded the cjty. For he
knew that wlien that news readied the
tender heart that throbbed in the frail, sAvcet
form of Olive Gray, he would be needed.
The doctor canie, prepared, indeed, for the
old nervous paroxysm, and the following
clairvoyant symptoms. But he was miH-
taken. When Olive came out of her
swoon, her eyes opened full on her
brother Ned. She stretched out ^ier hand.
' Ah, George,' she said, * I knew you would
come to me. I knew you wouh' nf)t leave
me alone so long — O, so long, j,gain ! I was
very lonely, George. Are you not sorry ?
0. am so happy now !' , . j^ j;,^^ ^^ ^J^ '■

1 es, she was 'happy nowT

' She is beyond all sorrow as long she
lives, poor child,' said Dr. Forsytlu

TT • J 1 111 • »il Jl 1

Her mind was wholly gone.

■ . \.,r CHAPTER X. >j. .^^,^

, ,K;ifin«'

. ,,,..,, THK CORONEES INQUBS^,^ -iV-r.^' i

And indepd the tragedy filled tlie heart's and
Lhougiits of a whole city, penetrating even to
Gr.y Street, and to the ears of Miss Isabell*

was
I
was

Budclen
Gray's
morn-

BT. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

hina was
rl then ;i
Dlive was

lifeless.
It was a
siiice the

For he
hei.T the
ail, SAvoet

needed.

for the
following
was mia-

of her
on her
ier hand,
ou would
not leave

! I was
ot sorry ?

long she

.1 Ji i

K \. •
-' « i ii. > I

Singleton. To Isabella, indeed, who wanted
to die in verses at five dollaftv a set, from
month to month, it would have brought a
realization of that sombre visitant, had she
been of a Iciad who ranch indulged in sucli
sort of sentiment. But sentiment was busi-
ness with iier — it was brdad and butter.
An(f, to do hor justice, she could not think
of business and bread and butter when so
horrible a thing as the tidings of a relative's
iiuuder rang in her ears. '

It had appeared that the murdered tnan
ha>l absolutely no relatives. • His father and
mother had died long since, and he liad been
4in only child. His friends were those he had
made in bis college, his seiainary, and his
cure. So Isabella, who had never, while he
w as the fashion and the rage, introduced her
pale tiiin face and her faded gowns and
shawls upon his notice, came forward now,
nnd clad in a decent suit of mourning, watch-
tid the pale sharp features that, a week ago,
had teen so 8i)leudid that even men had ad-
mired, and hardly left her post at the dead
man's side, i^ iter the Coroner's inqueat,the
body lay in the large parish school room,
V. hiuh communicated with little St. Jude's
1 . y a long low range of cloisters, until
tlie Sunday following the fatal Tuesday, when
it was moved into great St. Jude's for the
obsequies.

At least two crises of our lives, our births
and our funerals, are incomplete without
women's hands and women's tears, however
independent of the tender sex our masculine
careers may be. To do her justice, her lonely
withered life had not much warped Isabella's
inner womanly graces Slic had a soft foot-
.step and a gentle voice in this death chamber ;
and, in the unselfish vigils of tl»ose days and
nights, she unconsciously made many friends
among ttiose who bad been the dead man's
friends.

Mr. Ogdcn attended at the Coroner's
inquest, cross-examining with the wonderful
minuteness and exactness for which he was
o'jlebratcd, the few persons whose evidence
wjvs taken. We have mostly seen, in' t'.ie
course oi our narrative, what that evidence
must have been. The lawyer had been
especially exact with Downey, the old
Scotchman who acted asportieror doorkeep-
er of the ' Studio Buildings. ' Downey had
stated, ii\ effect, tliat upon being informed
that the murdtroil man was to occujiy the
artist's room, be had doubted the propriety
of the thing, tod insisted that the directors
of the institution should first consent to such
an arrangement. Upon the arrangement
being consummated, liowever, he had either
aupposed that such consent had been obtain-
ed, or allowed other matters to crowd it

from his mind, and had nmde no inquiries.
In fact lie did not know whether such an oc-
cupancy was against any rules of the Direct-
ory, or not. He had intended to inquire,
btrt had not. Brand had, at any rate, occu-
pied the rooms, night and day ; had passed
his (Downey's) window many times, gcJingin
and out like other tenants. Did not know
where Brand took his meals. Had very
few calls. Had no calls on the day of the
murder.

From the Herald report of this examina-
tion, we make the following extract :

By Mr. Ogden — Did you Keep any record
of callers at the 'Studio Buildings, 'on Tues-
day ? . ,• ^,4 ,^ .,', iyii. ;«„// . •

A. I did not. •••*-''" ■ '■' '" ' -hf-F', '

Q. Are you not required to keep some auch
record by the directors ?

A. I am not.

Q, Is your memory mote or less accurate
as to persons passing in and out ?

A, I never charge my mind with these
things. If I .o°e a face three or four times, I
get to know it. Or, if there is anything
striking or peculiar about it, I remember it
the second time I see it.

Q. r T you remember anybody who called
at the 'Studio Buildings' ou the afternoon of
election day? iw

A. Not particularly.

Q. Do you remember that any person call-
ed twice, or more than once that day?

A. I do not. t .

Q. Doyou rememberany particular tenants
in the 'Studio Buildings', who had callers that
afternoon ?

A. I remember that a Mr. Ware, and a
Mr. Hunt, and a Mr. Frear had callets tliat
afternoon.

Q. At what time did these callers come ?

A. At ditferent times.

Q. At what time did Mr. Ware's caller
come? -J ,) .li :.i n ;

A. During the afternoon, k ---, ■■■ ,i rl .fjj

Q. At about what time? •!'>T{i( !'>• ' Ut

A. During the afternoon.

Q. Can't you §x the time within an hour?

A. 1 cannot. a . ;.• j;,

Q. Witliin two iiours ? --.f..| .,(-

A. I cannot. :,

Q. Within three hours ?

A. It was between two and five o'clock,

Q. At what time did Nr, Hunt's caller
arrive?

A. During the afternoon.

Q. Can you fix the time within an hour ?

A. I cannot.

Q. Or within two hours ?

A. I cannot— nor within three orfour hours.
T can simply remember that it was sometime
during the afternoon.

iP'l

''' i iff

■:i

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Q. At what time did Mr. IVear'a caller
airive ?

A. At about four o'clock, perhaps a little
alter.

Q. How does it happen that you remem-
ber about this caller so much better than the
others ?

A. Because some words passed between us.

A. What did he say to you ?

A. He was very impudent.

Q. What did he say ?

A. Well, sir, shall I tell you all I know
about him ?

Q. Let me reach it in my own way.

A. Go on, sir.

Q. What did he say to you ?

A. He asked if Mr. Frear was within.

Q. Are those his very words ?

A. No, sir. He asked me in some words
or other to that effect.

Q. But he asked you if Mr. Frear was in
his studio ?

A. He did.

Q. And what did you say f

A. I told him that the Index was before
him and he could see for himself that it said
'In.'

Q. You used those words ?

A. No, sir. Not at all. Opposite to my
window there is what we call an Index. It
is a board or contrivance painted black, and
has the number of every studio or room in
the building upon it in gilt letters, in one
column at the left. Opposite each number
is painted, in gilt letters, tlie name of the
occupant of that rooni. Sometimes, when
'there is a change in the occupants, a piece
of white paper or card board, written or
printed with the name of the new occupant,
is stuck into this Index temporarily, but the
orders are that every occupant's name shall
be painted, at his expense, upen the Index
at the door, opposite to the number of his
room. In a third column, at the right of
the Index, is a small moving valve or piece
of wood, upon one side of Avliich is painted,
* In, 'and upon the other, 'Out.' When an
occupiint yoes out he is requested to turn a
little button on the outside right-hand
edge of the Index board, so that tliis pieca
of wood will read ' Out ' When he returns,
on his way up to hin room, he is to tuni it
back again, so that it will reail, 'In.'

Q. That is very competent as to the In-
dex ; now tell us something, if you please, in
reference to Mr. Frear's caller, who came at
about four o'clock on the afternoon of Elec-
tion day, and wiio was impudent to you ?

A. Well sir. I was gome to say that Mr.
I'Year's Index said * In, and when the young
min asked me if Mr. Frear wa? up-stairs

Q. You mean when Mr. Frear's caller —

you haven't said he was a young man —
when Mr. Frear's caller asked if mi: Frear
was • At home,* or ' In ?'

A. If you interrupt me sir, I can't go on.

Q. I must interrupt you and you must,
go on.

A. It is unimportant whether —

Q. Everything is important. However*
you may go on inyour own way. Proceed.

A. WeD, sir. When he asked me whether
Mr. Frear was in his studio

Q. That is, if he was ' At home ' or * In ?'

A. I don't see that it makes any difl'et-
enoe.

Q. If it depended upon what you an say-
ing now whether a man was to be hung by
the neck until he was dead, wouldn't you
consider that it made ' any difference ? '

A. I think I should.

Q. This is precisely that case. Now be
as accurate as possible in what yon say, and
proceed.

A. Well air. When he asked if Mr.
Frear was in, I looked over to the Index,
and seeing that it said ' In, ' I told him that
there was the Index and that he might see
for himself that he was in.

Q. Arc those your very words ?

A. I suppose not. But as near as I can
rememljer, that is what I said.

Q. Well, go on about the impadence.

A. He said tliat I had better ' keep a oivil
tongue in my head, ' and that I was ' paid
for it.'

Q. Were those his very words.?

A. That was the substance of what he
said, and I considered that it was a piece of
impudence.

Q. Did the caller proceed up-stairs?

A. He went in that direction.

Q. Did you ever see him again ?

A. Yes, sir. He can'.e bade in a few
moments.

Q. In about how long ?

A. I can't judge — in about ten minutes
or so.

Q. Do you call ten minutes a few mo-
ments ?

A. What I mean to say is that it misht
have been ten minuted. It takes some time
to go

Q. I am not ready for that yet. You say
he came back ?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. Very well. I am only examining you
as to what you said and what you heard.
Did he speak to you as he went out ?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. What did he say ?

A. Some more of his impudence.

Q. Tliis is not responaive. Tell me whai^

he said ? •'■• 'rjj}vj.i: i-jaK{u |jl»f/viii(J 1'' .,r

ST. JUDE'S A.SSISTANT.

a few

iM :

A. I didn't pay much attention to what
he said, when I saw who it was. He said
Bomething about ' that being a vahiable
Index,' and that Mr. Frear wasn't in.

Q. Anything more ?

A. Nothing, sir, except that he passed
out.

Q. Wliat was the fact. Was Mr. Frear
in or out ?

A. I didn't know that Mr. Frear wan out
atthe time, but I suppose he must have been,
for I saw him return at about seven o'clock,
and he was in his room when —

Q. Yes, yes, we know all about that, etc,
etc.

When Paul read this examination by his
imcle, he was more conxnnced than ever that
it might be as well for him to get out of the
country. It was hardly two days since the
murder, and already the fact of the conver-
sation he had held with the old Scotchmar,
the weapon with which he did the deed, even
the very hour and method of its accomplish-
ment, were most accurately established. At
this rate, everything would be reduced to a
moral certainty in a fortnight. His uncle's
shrewdness, however, was m his own favour,
Paul reflected, since the more the lawyer
discovered, the farther he would evidently
j,'ot upon some suppositious man's tracks ;
while Paul, the man he was after, would be
sitting at his elbow. Paul could not repres-
a smile to think how mucli he could
lighten his uncle's labours, if he only had
the mind.

Upon continuing his peru the exa-

mination, parts of which wt nave copied
from the Herald, Paul found that a pass-
able description of his height, features, the
colour of his clothes and gloves, etc., had
been extracted from old Do^vney, who, be-
ginning with a positive assertion that he
knew nothing of these details, had, under
Mr.Ogden's persevering scrutiny, found that
lie remembered a good deal, as is «pt to be
the ease, for memory is a storehouse of littl©
things as well as great things. Nor O.o we
s ispect its contents until we have ransacked
cs very nooks and corners."^ Mr. Ogden h*l
further spread upon the record, that number
37, the fatal ro^m, was on the fourth floor of
the building, accessible only by three stair-
ways of three short flights each, as well as
cue or two long galleries, and that the time
between the first and second appearance of
Mr. Freav's caller at Downey's ward, waa
about the time he should suppose would be
necessary for a visitor, who was not in a
hurry, to aacend leisurely to No. 37 and
return.

Mr. Frear, who had been attracted by the

shrieks of the chambermaid into tlie fatal
room, and had first raised the alarm of nun-'
der, was called, and examined at much
length before the Coroner ; but he Was ut-
terly unable to identify his visitor. Neither
had the visitor left any card. Frear liad
gone out of town to spend election day
with relatives in New Jersey, at a station,,
the name o^ which he gave, which happened
to be upon the same railway as Maloolm.
(Mr. Ogden did not, of course, think it
necessaiy to show this fact in evidence. >
Upon leaving 'Studio Buildings, 'he had omit-
ted, in his haste to catch tlie train, he
testified, or perh&ps through mere inadvert-
ence — he could not remember which — to
turn his Index, and, upon his return at
about seven on the evening following his
departure, he had noticed that it stood at
'111." He did not recall mentioning the fact
of having left the Index so standing to
anybody. (Though we have seen that in
fact, Paul had o\erheard him mention it on
the ferry boat. )

Mr. Ogden made a speech to the Coroner
at the conclusion of the testimony, the close
of which we are tempted to copy — again,
from our invaluable reference — the Herald.

* And now, sir, ' said Mr. Ogden, ' I notice
in this room several reporters of the press. I
trust they will listen attentively to what I
now say, and allow no inaccuracy to creep ia
upon and mar the record which they bear
heiioe to the public. I want them particu-
larly to report my very words, when I say to
you, sir, that here, in this city, we have no
longer any courts of justice, any judges, any
juries, any prosecuting officers, any police-
men, any detectives, or any punisliment for
crime. We have nothing but Nowspapem.
When we sit in our homes, in the fanciful
security of law and justice, let us think o£
this. When as, in the present instance, a.
human life has been taken and a shudder of
horror has passed through tliis vast commu-
nity ; when every ear is alert, every eye
strained, and every hand stretclied out to
apprehend the murderer, let up *''Mk of this.
Of what use is the alert ear strained

eye, the stretched out baud — lat use ii*
the prosecuting officer, ready witu his indict-
ment drawn for the grand juiy to rind ; of
what use is the court organized to try, the
jury of the vicinage ready to be summoned,
and the posm comitatvs ready to execute the
vengeance of the law upon the shedder of
blood ? Why sir, he — tlie shedtler of blocd
himself, he sits at our elbows, over his wine,
or, with his cigar, reading the newspapers !
the same newspapers that you or I read, and
he knows as well as you and 1, every method

liJ

.•1.

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

' ,

that human ingenuity has devise»l for hia ap-
prehension. I)o we clumsily and cautiously
»teal upon the track of a man who has taken
passage to Europe ? The newspaper inter-
cepts the steamer itself with a dispatch, and
publishes the full particulars of the scent,
and its own forethought and enterprise to
the world next day.

' The man who has »lone this deed, Mr.
Coroner, need not fly to Europe. He need
not shun the very scene of his ghastly crime.
He has only to sit down at your elbow and
mine, and read every morning in the news-
paper what clues his pursuers have obtained,
what information is in their possession, and
what traps they have set to catch him. Then,
if it is his pleasure, he can set aside those
clues, turn thut information to his own ac-
count, and keep out of those traps. -The
man who is cool enough, in broad dayliglit,
in a crowded public building, in a teemiujj
neiglibourhood, to murder a man, is cool
enough and wise enough to do all this, and
more. And, sir, if a prisoner is ^ rouglit to
the bar of his country, to be tried for tliis
crime, this same newspaper will find his iii-
♦lictment before the grand jury has been as-
sembled, will have established his guilt before
the evidence is taken, havechar<'edthejury be-
fore the judge has heard counsel, have argued
the question or the degree of his guilt and
disposed of his case before his twelve peers
in the jury box have had the case given to
tliem. I need not remind you, sir, how,
wlien in a recent city, a little child was ab-
<lucted from his home, every newspaper in
the land so published the means taken by tlie
authorities for his recovery, that his abduct-
ors Mere able to inform themselves of and
to avoid each successive net that was spread
for their feet, with no elFort of shrewdness
or peril of discovery. I need not remind
you, sir, of the number of unavenged mur-
ders upon the record books of this city. But
i orhaps I am devulging a secrelb w;jiich I
should not divulge, when I say that ^ws
paper enterprise — newspaper enterprise —
newspaper enterprise — that glorious institu-
tion which puts before us, at our breakfast-
tables, the proceedings of a planet for the
last twenty-four hours — that newspaper en-
terprise, which told the perpetrators of those
murders the names, tlie personal appearance,
and the family history of the detectives who
were placed upon their track, what preoinots
vWere watched, and what about to be watched
,by the police — is to be thanked, and thanked
•lone, tor the plethora of that record. I
pray and trust that, in the quest before us,
the omnipotent press will be prevailed upon
to espouse our cause, instead of the cause of
the crimiuaL'. .„...;-^v

,,, |CH AFTER XI ^,.„.

COELUM NCN AXIMFlVf.

,itU>< -I

TtK4 9W 1>"

So far we have narrated, without mueli
regard to their legitimate order, the events
transpiring between Tuesday, the day of the
murder, and SuncLvy, when the solemn
funeral obsecjiiies of the dead curata were
sung in great St. Jude's. The interior cif
the mighty pile wa? hung with heavy crape.
The great organ shook and throbbed to ex
press the sombre woe its pjoplc could i; t
utter. The vast audience was hushed as ;•,
child in slumber. The Penitential Psaln:-
were chanted by two hundred men, sliroudcii
in unbroken blacl^.

' While we are not allowed to sorrow i.s
those without hope for one dead brother, '
said the rector, in low .and broken voice, as
the organ l>layed on in sad sighing tone, 'yet
we feel that for our sins this murderous liiiiid
has fallen on us — that for our sins, brethren,
for your sins and mine — we are bowing be-
fore an awful Providence to-day ! Woe unto
us — woe unto us — woe unto us !'

Then, in deep tones, was read the a^ tiil
Condonation of the English Liturgy ; ' It is
a fearful thing to fall into the hands of tlic
living God: He shall pour down rain upon
the smners, snares, fire and brimstone, storm
and tempest — this shall be their portion to
driidi. For lo, the Lord is come out of His
place to visit the wickedness of such as due 11
upon the earth. The day of the Lord conitth
as a thief in the night : and when men shall
say Peace, and all things are safe, then shall
sudden destiuctioncome upon them as sornnv
cometh upon a women travailing^ with child,
and they shall not escape. Then shall appear
the wrath of God in the day of vengeance.
Then shall it be too late to knock wlien the
door shall be shut — and too late to cry for
mercy when it is the time<3f justice. Q terrible
voice qf most jusJi, judgment, which shall Ik-
pronounped upon them ! Go, ye curaed,
into the fire everlasting, which is p^-e^areil
for the devil and his angels. Cursed is he
that smiteth his neighbour secretly. Amen.
Cursed is he tlMit taketh reward to slay the
innocent. Amen. '

And the surging congregation Wept, and
— praying, let us hope — that the curse might
dissolve in tears, and be blotted out forev( v
by righteous drops from a thousand subdued
eyes — passed out in long and slow defile be-
hind the form of the dead man who was at
rest forever. ' Earth to eartli, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust. '

Ah, well ! who has apt stood beside a fill-
ing grave ! Who has not beard the dull
thud of earth upon the coffin lid — ^the cufiia

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

lout mncli
le eventi
day of tlic
le solemn
irato were
iuterior of
avy crape,
2(1 to ex
could u' t
slie<l ay ;;
ial Psalii:-
i, shroutleil

sorrow r.s
brother, '
, voice, as
; tone, ' y tt
eroiis liaiul
1, bruthrcu,
bowing be-
Woe unto

, the awl 111

ry; 'Itl.

ands of tlio

1 rain upon

tone, storm

■ portion t^)

out of His

[ch as dwell

)rd comet!)

men shall

then shall

as sorriAv

with child,

all appe;n-

vengeanee.

when the

to cry for

Q teiiible

ich shall h''

fQ ourswl,

pre^aieil

ur«od is he

Amen.

to slay the

wept, and
nirse might
out forevu
id subdued
w defile be-
who was at
ashes to

)6side a fill-
d the dull
■the cuilin

lid, below which there iB only stillnees and
peace. Who has not heard it, and hearing
it, gone back to fretting and fitful life again,
saddened and solitary ? ' I heard a voice
from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, From
henceforth, blessed are the dead who die in
the Lord. Even so, saith the Spirit, for they
rest from their labours. '

On Saturday evening, as Mr. Ogden reach-
• l liis door, his wife met him with a troubled
lok.

' Percy, ' said she, ' come here. I want you
to look at Paul ;' and she led the way
to her own room. Upon the bed lay Paul,
tossing, beating the air with liis anns, and
uttering incoherent souuds.

' What has hapjMined?' said her husband.

' All I know is, that about an hour ago I
was lying on my l.>ed when Paul came in.
He seemed to have just arrived from the
train, for he had his hat on his head, his unj-
brella in one hand, and a newspaper crumpled,
in the othe He was as white as a ghost ;
and, witli' ; a word, began walking up and
down the room. "What is the matter, Paul, "
said I. " Oh, Annt Fannie," said he, " she
has gone mad, and I am going mad too. "
" What do you mean ? " said I. " I mean
that she has gone mad ! " " Who ?" I asked.
" Olive — OHve — the girl I loved — the girl I
loved !" And he went on repeating, " the
girl I loved ! the girl Iloved,the girl I loved!"
for a good five minutes — when he burst
out crying hysteiically. I didn't know what
to do to comfort him, so I only said, "Cry,
Paul, it will do you good. " He sat down on
the ottoman, and did cry, and I was almost
getting accustomed to his sobbing, when, of
a sudden I heard a fall, and he was lifeless
upon the floor. I tore open his collar, drew
olF liis boots and stockings, and rubbed the
soles of his feet as hard as I could. Then I
sprinkled water in his face. Then I rang
the bell and sent for the doctor, but he was
out, and so he hasn't seen Paul yet. We got
him on the bed, however, and since then
lie has been just in the state you see hin I
eau't make out a word he says ; and 1 — oh
ilear. I wish tlie doctor would come, for I
am afraid he will die on my hands ; ' and the
:;ii(ja liuiy lierself burst into a flood of te;ws
u liieh showed the tension to which her own
nerves had been drawn.

When, at last, the Malcolm practitioner
did arrive, he announced that Paul's symp-
toms were those of a certain poison which he
named. 'Undoubtedly an overdose,' said
the doctor. ' At any rate, no positive
harm has been done yet. Keep him quiet,
and he'll be all right again in a week. To-
morrow lie will complam of a seven; head-
ache, and for a day or two he will be quite

content to lie in bed. Give him what he
wants to eat, and let him smoke if he care»
to. ' And so the doctor went away.

It was long into the morning Wfore Paul
slept. He lay moaning and uttering the
same incoherent sounds, however, until sleep
did come. All day Sunday — the Sunday of
the obsequies at St. Jude's — he complained,
as the doctor had prophesied, of a ferocious
headache. On Tuesday and Wednesday he
lay in bed, rational enough when any on©
was with him, but when alone muttering to
himself in a sort of broken soliloi^uy. Wlien
Mrs. Ogden would open his door quietly.slie
would catch of this soliloquy the word
' Olive, ' or may be, ' my djvrling ' — and then
a sob. And, with tears in her own kindly
eyes she wuulil steal as softly out again.
Poor Mrs. 0''den — a suffering she was-
powerless to relieve wasa bitter sight to lier.
She knew Paul's was a madness that must
work itself out, and that — except, mayhap,
in the lajwe of the all-covering "Time — there
was no medicine for him. We are apt enough
to draw time as a chattering skeleton, with a
hour glass and a scythe. And perhajis we
should so come to regard it. But it seems
to us that time is also like unto the soft and
verdant moss, that, over every rent that
sorrow or care leaves in our disappointed
hearts and lives, no less than over ruin and
crevice — over gnarled tree roots and over
slanting grave stones — spreads out its gentle
covering.

On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, Paul
lay in bed more quietly, but on Thursday he
dressed, and lounged about the house in
precisely his old aimless, unhappy way. No
allusion was made by the household to lii.i
sickness, nor was any word said upon tho
subject by Paul ; but the impression gaineii
c,Tound, that upon hearing that Olive Gr.iv
had lost her reason, Paul had swallowed
poison.

' Poor, poor, Paul, ' said Mrs. Ogden. ' I
believe he will never get over that disappoint-
ment. I won't say anytiung about her now,
poor girl. If she has done anything wrong,
she has her punishment. But I do wish she
hadn't jilted Paul.'

' Paul's mind needs something to occupy
it,' said Mr. Ogden.

' So I have always said. If we could only
interest him in something to do. I wish !n>
would either settle down to some business, or
else travel' —

' Travel ! He's done nothing but travel
sinse he was of age. '

' Nevertheless, there is always something
ne\v about other countries than one's own,
for n man to look at ; or, if he would go to
work' —

!ii

: i

i t .

11'

i { .

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

' Hell never go to work, until he's spent
;all his money. Then he'll settle down-
marry for love — and work to support his fa-
mily, like his father before him. Don't
worry, my dear ; these tluiigo settle them-
uulves. One would think you made the
world — ^you fret so much because things
<lon't go right in it. Let 'em take their
course. If we could s*e how things were
going to turn out we'd only make ourselves
additionally miserable. Let things take their
course, my dear — that's the wt^y 1 do. As
for this girl, I think Paul was a big fool to
i'all in love with her— <ind a bigger one to
tivke poison for her — but that's done, and
cLiu"t be helped. I was afraid, all along, that
this sad affair of the murder would set Paul
thinking about her agara. And now the
^'irl's gone daft, and of course he feels that.'

' It's my opinion we'd better get him out
of the country, where he can't read the news-
papers, ' said Mrs. Ogden.

'Well, well, suggest it then,' said his
wife. And after much more consultsitiou
upon Paul's case, these two decided that
Paul ought to be got out of the country.
Accordingly, alter dinner on I'hursday, as
Paul, who was now up and stroLing listless-
ly about, as he always did, lightt^d his cigar
111! the verandah, his aunt put her hand on
his arm, and said : ' Paul, you've been a
-very sick boy, again. '

• Yes, Aunt Fannie.'

' Paul, I do so want to say something to
you.'

' Go on. Aunt Fannie.'

' It's about something I've never mentioned
before ; but you'll forgive me, I hope, if I do
put it into words once ?'

' Of course, I'll forgive you 1'

' Paul, I want to say to you that you
shouldn't think so much of your past engage-
ment. Engagements are made and broken
every day. Why, Paul 1*

Paul was very pale. ' Go on, auntie, ' said
he, ' I want to say one last word about it
myself — go on — I am all right now. '

But he sat down in one of the verandah
ihairs, nevfcrtheless.

' Well, then, Paul, what I want to say
is that you mustn't take this thing to heart
so.' '

' But I do take it to heart. I can't help
it,' burst out Paul. ' Auntie, j loved that
girl — I love her still. When I heard that
the man she had preferred to me was dead,
I began to have hope again— and ftow — now
— now — she is^O my God — auntie, I shall
go mad 1 I shall go mad, too 1 — I loved her
— I loved her ! She never leaves me an in-
stant. I don't believe there has been a mo-
ment since I left her at the door, that she

has not been beforei my eyea. Every day
since I have seen her. I have seemed to
meet her in the streets, at my club, upon
railway trains, on steamboats — wherever I
went. Every night she has stood by my
bedside and looked at nie witli her eyes wide
open, sadly, as if I had done her some
wrong. I can't forget her — and when I laid
on your bed there, my head aching as if it
would burst into a thousand pieces, she put
her hand upon it, and called me " Paul —
and it seemed to stop. Auntie, something
tells me that if I M'ent to her now — her mind
would come back. '

' Paul, I want you to do me a favour. '

'Yes, auntie.'

' I want you to go to Europe, and stay a
while.' ,.„„„ . ,

•What? Now!' -. ■ - -'

' Yes, Paul, I want you to go ! I do m
want you to go.' This was a downriglit,
wilful falsehood — tlie first one the dear little
woman had ever told in her life, possibly,
but she blurted it out, nevertheless.

' You don't mean that you want me to go
off — away from— from her — by myself? '

' Paul, I think it will do you good. You
see you are doing nothing here, and your
mind gets upon these subjects, and then —
and then, forgive me, Paul, if I say I don't
think it will do you any good to see poor
Olive — and — and ' — In short, she kissed
him many times. Next to her own brave
boys, who had lain close up to her woman's
heart before they were bom, she tenderly
loved and pitied tlie fatherless, motherless,
sisterlees and brotherless boy, her husband's
nephew.

' Some day I may die, and iny boys may
want a mother's love, and God may put it
into the heart of some kind mother to carry
comfort to them as I am trying to carry it to
our poor Paul, ' she thought. Ah, there is a
selfishness that is divine 1 The hope of hea-
ven is a longing of our own personal selfisli
happiness. A mother's love is selfish — thank
God for them both !

Mr. Ogden al^o spoke to Paul of the re-
sult of his and his wife's plan for him, and
seriously counselled him to take an early
steamer for Europe. ' Tliere you will forget
these troubles, 'he said ; and 'You'll wonder at
my saying such a thing, Paul, ' he had laugh-
ed: 'but, my boy, if you'd just marry
somebody offhand — there's lots of girls tol)o
had for the asking by a fairish looking fellow
like you —and go to raising a family, I be-
lieve you'll be better off. Remember, when
you've got through with all your money,
you'rs to come to me, and I'll set you at
work Bless you, my boy, it's an Ogden
trait — we all do it. Your father had a for-

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

revy day
seined to
lb, upon
jrever I
I by my
yes wide
ler some
en I laid
as if it
, she put
Paul ^'—
amething
her iniud

i
our.'

nd stay a

3 I do 90
uwurii^ht,
dear little

possibly,
i.

, me to go
self?'
)od. You

and your
id then —
ly I don't
o see poor
she kissed
bwn brave
woman's
tenderly

otherless,
usband's

Iwys may
ay put it

to cany
uarry it to
there is a

of hea-
nal selfisli
ill — thank

ji the re-
him, and
an early
will forgot
wonder at
lad laugh -
st marry
girls to bo
Ling fellow
ily, I be-
ber, when
r money,
it you at
i,n Ogden
lad a for-

tune — so had I. We both ran through what
we had, and, when we had nothing to eat. we
went to worif. He made money fasttsr than
I, because be was a merchant and was
obliged to keep books ; in the law we always
make all we spend, but^ as a rule, speiKl all
we make. Your fortune is larger than ours
was ; but I don't doubt you'll run it out on
much the same things ; and — when it's all
gone — as I said before — come and go to work
with me.'

Paul, who, as we have seen, was not quite
certain but that the ' best thing he could do,
after all, was to get out of tlie country, ' fin-
ally acquiesced, and the thing w;i8 settled.
-Mr. Ogden himself went down to the book-
ing office of the great 'White Star,' that
runs hotels across the ocean, and selected
Paul's state-room. It was noised abroad
among Paul's friends that he was going out
of the country ; and when the time came, a
good many or them took him by the hand
and wished him bon voyage. Before leaving,
Paul placed in Mr. Ogden 's hand his will,
not to be opened, of course, unless death
sliould overtake him, and a power of attorney
for all present purposes.

On the evening of Fridjiy, after dinner,
something happened, however, which made
Paul regret his acquiescence in the projected
tour. We have seen that a strange sympathy
had sprung up, a month or so before, be-
tween Paul and the wild, hoydenish little
lieauty, whom he had seized at his uncle's
grapery — a sympathy, strange and unnatural
on his part, perhaps, but everything he had
done or felt for a year was strange and un-
natural. Possibly the poor, crazed boy, feel-
ing himself shut out from the love of the
woman he loved, like his poor prototype of
* Locksley Hall, ' had resolved to seek where

' the passions craniiied no longer, shall have

scope ani breathinjf space ;
I \v-ill take some savage woman, she shall rear
my duaky race !'

At any rate, he had felt, for the once, as if
some kind fairy had sent him the^irl — to be
kind to, to watch, to care for, ancWo educate;
and, who knows, had she remained, but
that his awful history might never have been
written.

Paul was strolling in a grove in the rear
of his uncle's house, smoking a cigar, when,
oi a sudden, he felt a light touch upon his
arm. He looked down — and, at his side,
was the dark -eyed girl of his adventure. She
was again bareliejided. As before, her long,
lilack hair hung dishevelled over her bare
.'shoulders. Her scant, torn dress betrayed
the exquisite model of her bust, and,
bolow barely covered the limbs of a young

I only

Vehus. She was, as we have said, sixteen,
but she was as fully developed as a woman
of twenty. Paul went, as he had done
iKsfore, and kissed her. She shyly hung her
head, but clung closer to his arm.

' Well, my dear, I was afraid we would
never have seen you again,' said Paul,
tenderly. ' Why did you leave us — we
would have taken good care of yon. '

T!ie girl hung her head for a moment, and
then said :

' Do you live in the house, sir ?'

' No, not I, but my uncle does,
come out and see him sometimes. '

■ I — I was afraid you didn't, sir ; and that
was why I ran away. '

' That was not right. If you had wanted
to see me, you would have stayed. Will
you go back now ?'

' Y — yes, sir. I will go if you will go
too.'

' Well, then, come. '

And Paul^aking her hand, led her back
to his uncle's house, gra-sping her hand
tightly tliat she might not a second tinae
elude him. He walked straight into the sum-
mer room — not yet abandoned^ — and stood
before his aunt.

'Auntie,' said he, 'I am going otV, as you
asked me. Now, I have one favour to ask of
you. Auntie, for my sake, I want you to
take this little girl, and let her live witli
you. Her name is Mara — and out of my
bitterness she shall be made happy. ' He
choked a moment, and his eyes filled. Then
in a cheery tone, he said to the girl,
"Now, Mara, I am going away a bit. ^^'hen
I come back, I want to find you a beautiful
young lady, with your books and your em-
broidery and your music, and all that ; and
y6u and I will be brother and sister, and we
will be better friends tlian ever brother and
sister were before. '

Mrs. Ogden could not but be dazzled, as
had been her husband before her, by the
strange beautj' of the little gypsey. She
doubted much whether it were expedient to
receive that type of waif into her quiet, do-
mestic home. So much beauty in that rank
of life seldom led to good, she thought. She
was a rosy blonde herself, and believed in
all good works. But she had her miscivings.
Still, she could do no more than promise.

' I don't want to stay, sir, if yon don't,'
said the girl.

And in truth she did not. Paul's argu-
ments and entreaties alone could have
hardly accomplished the result, had not
Mrs. Ogden herself stooped down and
kissed the wild little girl, and said in that
sweet vmce which men and women find so
irresistible, and that seemed the very echo

; 'i.%

i s ■

ST, JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

of this sweet woman's soul : ' But you can
stay with us, dear, and then you will surely
see him. He will be very good to you. I
haven't any little daughter, you know.'

And in good sooth, tliu little woman,having
horue three stout boys to their happy
father, did feel herself to have earned at
loast one daughter. It's an old saying that
girl babies don't amount to much — but we
must have them for all that ; and if we
don't happen to get thorn, we muat have

• .•.■•5;V.>'" "'j ■♦"%■'''■,

1 ?>'. ?,'»' "■'''I '^iSn^'.' •'■)•? »■«'■ i..*^ :;j>.H •' -'i*-

them all the more. And «o it was settled ;
aud Mara, olotlied and combed, and looking
like any Christian child, in a pretty stuff
dress, l)ecame MiVa Ogdeu. Poor Mara
cried hard enough in her little dormer
windowed room, to find that Paul was going,
away in the morning ; but long before she
opened her eyes, bis brave ship ht^ parted
the waves of the bay, and passmg the Hook,
was tossing among tiie billows gl the tipsy
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• «

. f

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

f.a.:bi.t ii-the stoobii^c.

.11* .

CHAPTER I.

^ J', ' '

MHH. HTKASIirUUKK.

Mention has been made of a Mr. Frear,
tlie artist who occupied Studio No. 36, of
'Studio BuiUlings, 'adjoining the fatal No.37.

Tom, not Charles, Frear, was a young
man of twenty-five, who, at this period,
worked very hard to coin bread out of a
talent at first cultivated for pleasure, in
days gone by, wht u his father had been a
King of tlie nam v street running from
Trinity to the river. As the greatest oper-
ator tliat Wall street liad ever known, seal-
ing the fate of giant corporations, or scatter-
ing the private millions of individuals at
the nod of his head, King Frear, most
i)ninipotent of the long suci^ession of its.
potinitates, althougli dead as Ciesar no\v, will
lung he remembered inthose precincts wliose
centre is the Stock Exchange.

The historic crash of November, 1873,
liftwever, had found him loaded with Margin
(a sort of substitute for currency which men
of Mr. Frear's trade had lately invented)
and he went down.

A wliimsical sort of thing is this Margin.
I louses, lands, bonds, mortgages, horses, dry
gijoils, and groceries are all very well in
t.ioir way. An income of certain thousaiuls
a year fioni auy such properties as these is
very comfortable indeed. Vou can receive
aad dine your fvionds on Murray Hill, am!
your drags and wagonettes can be known on
the Board Drive, whether you pay for them
by your profits out of the law, or guano, or
shoe-pegs. But there is one kind of pro-
l)erty, the especial invention of New York.
This property is technically known as
Margin. The beauty of Margin is, that it is
witliin the readi of the poorest, and its
piulits are incapable of calculation. A man
may put $100 into Margin of a morning, and

he may go to hia couch that night worth
.$10,1)00 — in Margin, — and he may realize by
the following evening — supposing he puta
that Margin mto Margin— a whole million of
Margin.

One can readily become a Rothschild. It is
a simple rule; it is ' Affluence without a
master." A single week at this rate will
make you a richer man than all the nabobs
in the world, — than all tlie old fogy
millionaires wlio own lands, ami parks, aiid
railroads, and steaHd)oats. — rolled into a
lump. A billion of money, or a trillion
even, is not an innws8il)le rigure to your
ambition. Duodeeillions are not without
your grasp. It is etvsier tlnin lyine.

What wonder, then, that Margin become
the specialty of New York ; tliat millions put
their fortunes into Margin, dowered tlieir
daughters, erect banking institutions, sav-
ings, institutions, trust companies, and
venture upon all sorts of extravagance — in
Margin.

There is only one drawback to the beauty
of Margin. That drawback is Slirinkage.
And should any old-fasliioned, pig-headed,
idiotic people, — people who are an inculnis
on any enlightened connnunity, and wlio do
not deserve to live in a country of Progress
and Enterprise like ours, — people who liave
Iieaped up their fortunes penny by penny
and shilling by sliilling — sliould such people,
we say, discover that banks are in a rotten
and ricketty state, that railroads are shaky,
and trust companies bankrupt, and (clinging
to the absurd and exploded fiction tlxat a
man may do what he will with his own) be
so niggardly as to draw out their money and
this phrase, again, is technical) hoard it,
this terrible fiend of Shrinkage may swallow
up all your Margin in a singfe morning, and
your grocer may sell you ont.

If, when Shrinkage came, it did nothing
more thandissipate Margin, it would amount to

m-^

ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT.

Botiiiiig ; in luiotlicr wuuk ouu iiiiglit l)C'a liil
lioiuiire again. But, unfortunutely, ultliougli
you paid nothinjj; for your Margin ; when
you nave lost it you liavc loHt^just as niucli
again in liartl, Holid cii.sli. For inatiinue :
By the iuveatment of ijjl, 000 in paper, you
may realize ."J7o,000 in paper ; but, if you
lost this paper $'rt,000, you are indebted to
A, B, and C, with whom you may not even
liave a nodding ac(iuaint;ince, in the exact
figure of $75,000, an(l they aro Imiho euougli
to demand tbat sum in greetiliacks. The
broker has lost notliing by carrying you ;
the Central or Lake Sliore bonds are safe in
the vaults they have never left ; but you
«we just $75,000, and, until you have paid
it, every cent, you can do no more businesss.

Precisely this was the downfall of King
Frear. When the panic to which we lia\ e
alluded, came like a thunderbolt from a clear
sky, it happened to overtake that gentle-
man, and two other mighty men of tiie
street, with tlieir heads together in a
* comer. ' This particular corner happened
to be a little triangular game played upon
the basis of some .':^4,500,000 of * South
Shore, ' supposed at that time to be reposing
in the wooden vaults of a great Trust Com-
pany, ( ' the Antaitic ') upon Broadway — for
no matter how conservative or ' old fogy '
the owners of tlie property in New York may
be, or how unwilling to sell 'short' or 'long'
in it, they cannot prevent operators from
speculating upon the fact that such property
exists, or from winning or losing vast sums
upon its fluctuations. So, altogether neither
of tiiese three great men had ever seen the
^,500,000 of 'South Shore,' much less
owned or contracted the smallest fraction of
it, (by a plan of its own by which Wall
Street wins and loses fortunes upon the
mere knowledge that somebody owns some-
thing) they were, just then, heavily in each
other's power, about these South Shore
shares.

There was a gfeat crowd before the closed
doors of tiie ' Antartic Trust's ' great
counting-bouses, one fine morning. Nobody
eeernedl to know much about what was going
on. But, wiien the dust cleared away, the
two mighty men were bankrupt, and Mr.
Frear was borrowing money to pay his
butcher. They had been playing against

S -eater odds than three zeros at Baden-
aden, and nobody had won. As a rule,
M'hen men fail and lose all in New York,
they live better than ever. More dinners,
more horses, more dresses on wives and
daughters than ever ; but, unfortunately,
Mr. Frear died almost simultaneously with
the collapse of his coruci-, and his estate,
ivliicli had been variously ci>tiinatc«l at front

fi* Citj.'

Mf>il-\'ri'

nineteen to tiiirty millions or ao, was found
to consist priiutipally of bills payable (the
shape wliieh .Margin, in the long nin, invari-
ably assumes). His family lii^l luntrived to
borrow the few thousands churj,'cd i>y tlia
florist and funeral furnishei-s for burying iiim
as became themillionaire he had been, an<ITom
Frear became an artist to support liis mother
and sisters. The very typical artist of ro-
mance, indeed he was, just now. Young,
goo<l-iooking, n( riuhalant, aiwl a.s |)oor as ro-
mance could poBsilily have wishfil.

Mr. Tom trcar was sitting, one afternoon,
in Stiulio No. 86, working ui)on a picture
on the easel iK'fore liiin. It was an original
subject, intended for the National Academy
Kxliihition, and was to l>e entitled ' The
Rainljow. '

A fair young girl, grieved by an unkini
word from her lover, burst into tears ; and
he, annoyed by her grief, has started to leave
her. As he reached the door, however, an
impulse seizes him, he tunis, opens his arms,
ana says, 'Forgive me.' The girl, as in-
stinctvely, rushes into his arms, and a
smile beams out of her eyes through her yet
undried tears. The girl was a decided
brunette, while her lover, who stood in the
foreground of the picture, his profile only in
view, was a ruddy English-looking man,
with light eyes, beard and hair. Frear had
laboured many months upon this picture,
which he, with youthful int][iatience, had
resolved should be his ' masterpiece. '

Such is the eternal folly of youth. Who
of us at twenty -five had not resolved upon
creating his ' masterpiece ?' Most men's
masterpieces come with gray hairs, and yet,
indeed, there have been exceptions. They
say that venerable poet, Mr. Bryant, illy
conceals his annoyance that the matured
labours of eighty years — bound in great
tomes — should be scarcely referred to, while
a single poem, the scrawl of nineteen, is the
criterion by which he is known all over the
world ? But so it is — long afar may his
Thanatopsis be ! Still, the good, gray poet,
this side of that, will never supersede, with
pen of his, the utterance of his earliest in-
spiration. So, perhaps, Mr. Tom Frear was
painting his masterpiece at twenty-flve. At
Tom was knitting his brows over this same
' masterpiece, ' there was a knock at his door.
Upon his cheery ' come in, ' it o^ .ed, and
he arose to meet his visitors, who were none
other than Mr. Ogdcn, the lawyer, and
stranger, a man Frear had never seen be-
fore.

' if r. Frear, ' said the lawyer, shaking
liands, • we regret interrupting you, but
the country desires your services this after*
noon. '

•.n,"i 'i;/

/'».

ST. JUDE'8 ASSISTANT.

Who

upon

men's

md yet,

They

,nt, illy

matured

great

while

is the

ver the

may his

ay poet,

e, with

iest iu-

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ive. Am

same

in door.

dd, and

re none

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een be-

shaking
ou, bnt
lis after-

' An 1 what uan I do for the country, sir f

Mllitl Toiu.

• Miiirli I Til in Ih Mr. StraKbnrger, the de-
tcitnc, whom we have selectcl to work up
till' Kivvinl nnmlor. '

Mr. Sti'iv.slxnvi'r, who ha<l suivted liiiiiself
ill a ln;,'li-l>acko(l iind uwfiil Muck wood cliair

oiuu- tin-one of tiic Huhool-mistresa who
t:vii;„'iit I>iviiicl Wel)stor to Bpell— and pur-
iliiiMtMl liy Tom, fur a shilling, at a rather
iatfsr (Into -noildoil rather stitlly, hut vouch-
safed no fnrtluir sign. Mr. Strawburger waa
a small, spare man, ratlicr IhjIow the medium
iiiiuiciilinc lioi^lit : his face and hands
<\f'rt' very white, and his hands and
fiet wore very small. His hair Wiis sti'aight,
;i;i(l of the deepest anil glos.sit-st black. He
\\,;s clean shaven, except tliat ho wore a
iiiiiustache that was as glossy and black as
his hair. His nose M-as hooked, and, together
\v ith iiis lips, which were red and inclined to
lie thick, betrayed unmistiikably his Jewish
ilcKcent. He was dressed from heivd to foot
in black broadcloth. He had a white neck-
tie, and a small diamond glitteietl from a
1 ing upon the little Hnger of his left hand.
lint M\: Strashurger's eyes constituted the
feature wliicii most of all attracted attentlou.
^'el•y small, and set unusually far apart they
M ere, and although blackest of black, they
s" 'med to glitter like coals of fire. There
was a repnlsiveness in their glitter, l)utit
was a repnlsiveness thai, did you look at
them twice, became fascination. It was said
that he would hold a man as a snake would
hold a bird, until unquestioned and in spite
«if himself, t!ie wretch would speak the very
.secrets of his heart aloud.

Although a regular member of the New
York detective police, Mr. Straburger was
only engaged in special cases, and had been
up to this time, invariably successful. His
last a :hieveinent had been the capture with-
in forty-eight hours, of the perpetrator of a
murder, wrought by a burglar one (piiet
Sunday morning iu a deserted house, and to
which no clue was furnished him. Bnt this
w as exceptional. He was anything but a
rapid worker ; the majority of his successes
having l)eeu the triumphs of long, patient and
minute labour over obstacles pronounced in-
smniountable. Mr. Strasburger was a bom
ilotective. His father had been a French
•h'w, and his mother a New England woman
ot the lowest ' Yankee ' type. In himself he
unittul with the chanujteristics of the despised
race — namely, patience, suspicion, unscrupu-
lou-snesa and economy — the acute love of the
iiiysterious, and nice apprehension of appear-
ances which distinguishes the French, and
besides — as his mother's legacy — the shrewd,

practical common sense, and ' eye to the main
chance ' of the * Yankee. '

Economi(!al, he waa eccfnomical of detaiU
and no matter how trifling the circumstanor
or the thing— it might be the inclhiation of t
man's hat on his nead, or the stump of i
cigar in the glitter— he laid it carefully up \u
his store-house to be used when wanted, •
His brain an<l his desk were crowded full ol
od<l links ; but when he was ready to con-
s^^ruct his chain he knew just where to gel
'lis links. Upon one occasion he had boon
~ "ft alone with the dead body of a woman
1^ ng with her face in the asiit.? of a largo
tire-place ; and when suinmoned bv
the coroner, later in the d.ay, liail
said : * This woman was shot in t!ie bac-k of
the head by a young iiiaii abfiut twenty-two
years old, with whitju silk hat, lavender kid
gloves and patent leather boots, maile by San-
.som and C;(mip,any,on Astor Placo. Hecarried
a small umhrella with a silk cover, and waa
smoking a Henry Clay ci<'ar when he enter-
ed the house. He drank five small glasses
of cognac with the woman' before he shot
her. She, however, drank only cliamiiagne."
And the result of the inur.icriT's
trial, which took place years after, justi-
tieil this statement in eveiy particular.

Unscrupulous, he hesitated at nothing.
A disciple of the law, he knew no law, of
(Jod or man — of pity, of charity, or of place.
All men were men to him. No repiUition
stood in Ids way. Were the sacred vessels
stolen from the altar, lie would not have
hesitated to arrest the Archbislioj) liinisulf
for the theft.

Loving the marvellous, he had allowed no
earthly objector aim, or no personal eon-
venieuce of his own to int:ufeie. Wiien on
the track of a fugitive, he had been arrest-
ed as a common thief, and tiirown into
dingy and dirty duiigewis, had his head and
moustache shaved, and lived on the vile.st
prison soup for months, deceiving even the
very authorities he was serving, all to gain
his end. Nothing in the course of his quest
could shake his determination. He hail one
peculiarity, however. He invariably insisted
on beholding with his own eyes the execu-
tion of each victim h ; hounded to his re-
compense. This, men said, was not from
vindictiveness, but only from tlie intense
practicality of his nature, that believed in
only what it saw, or felt, or lieard. He
kept a regular debit and credit account
with the cmprit on whose track he was
placed. Each success, each defeat, each
mistake he entered in a small note-book,
that never left his person. And, men saiil,
thit when the wrong doer leapt into the
air as the rope tightened, he would quietly

!m^

f ■

i ■ -J

i i

ill

ST. JUI-'KS ASSISTANT.

■

enter the word ' Hung,' •nd the d»te, in
tli<> hon'ihlo luili^iu', thua oiuHin({ that nian'H
uix; >uat forevur. Hu waa Honietiuieit (^alleil
' thu l>o<>k-keu|>cr' from thiH peculiaiity.
Tlie last (itttry wat> usually 'Hung,' fur lie
v-iis only put upon capital vAwn. That hti
was, on tno whole, aucueBoful, tliis iittlo
.hook waH evidunce enough. Before IiIh
iiitonHo peraeveriincM, which no defeat could
daunt, or no nuiceas roliix, even f.-vctH nud
verities Heeiuetl to yield. The wretch who
felt .lolin Stra.sburger on his track knew
lliiit Ills arrest waa tliciciiftm' a simple quea-
tion of time.

' Wluit Mr. Strii.>4hur).;«T wantn of you,
Mr. Frear, 'said Mr. O^ideu, ' i«« tlie privil-
ege of in.speutiiig — uu(U r your conduet -tlie
room where you found poor iiraad'a body.
I hope you will give him your time, answer
all liiH queMtiona, and ttii1>mit to hia croHa-
exftiiiiiiations aa cheurfidly aa you can, out
of the intereat we all have in the diacovery
of iiriuura murdirer. After tiiat, I want
you to tell him what you told me, as we
walked away together from the Coroner's

ilKlULst. '

For, upon the day of the in([ueat, Tom
had ovurtiiken the counsel for St. .lude'a
and said to him, ' You didn't examine me,
Mr. Ogdeii, a« to any other matters than
my discovery of poor Brand ; hut I
woidd like to say that — the evening before
— as I went out of my Studio,
at about four o'clock, a young man with
brow 11 hair and eyes, and 1 think side whis-
kers, came out No. 37- He followed me a«
I walked down the corridor, and on my way
out ; and, aa he seemed very nervous, ami
more in a hurry than I was, although J was
late for my train, I Htoj)ped and alh wed him
to pass nie. I was particularly struck with
his nervous, hesitivtiiig manner. I looked
round once or twice l>efore 1 stopped, and lie
alAays stopped too, an«l it .seemed to me,
shrunk back from me. The last I saw of
him was, when he passed me and started
down the stairs on a run. \Vhen I reached
the street, he wa.s nowhere in sight. '

.Since that interview, learning that Tom
wa.s a son of the late Street King, whose
thousands had not unfrequently retained
Mr. Ogden's services, a s(n*t of friendship
had sprung np, and the artist had dined once
or twice at Mr. (Jgden's table.

After some further conversation, in which
Mr. Strasburger had not joined, but had kept
his restless, twinkling eyes travelling over
the room, and his oblique nose drawn down
over his moustache, as if he was quite equal
te suspecting Tom Frear, or the lawyer him-
self, of the deed — Mr. Ogden, who had pro-
c\ired a key, led the way to Studio No. .'{7.

Since the muri4er it had l>een entirely unoc-
cupied, ita leasee not having, as yet, return-
ed from hia atudieain Itidy. They atuml>led
over disarranged fiirititure, ami pullrd o|m>u
the heavy iron inside shutfAU-a. A th>od uf
light revealed the Studio, much aa the ac-
curate rei>orter of the Ihralil once deacrili-
ed it. Befinc one of the windows waa the
table at which Brand had U-en writing. wlu-ii
hia murderer had entcicd, and neat tlie <li»or
Rtood the tall chair, leaning against wliicii
the body waa found.

'Look here, ' said Tom, explaining it al'.
' When I came in he was onhia knees, facing
the door, and kept in that poaition by thi>
<;hair. Ilia head waa l)Ci»t over, and lilon.l
waa By .love, they've never washed it up I
Have I been li\ ing thesi- two weeka.ao uear a
hardeneil po<d of human Idod ? I should
ne\'er have slept if I had known it.'

.\nd ao Tom went on, gi\ ing fact+i and re-
miniaeeme.x uf the fatal day ut wliicli he h.ul
been ao near a part, to all of whiih Mr.
Straaburger iisti'ni'd with attentive war one
might almost have siiid. with his very cye.s,
as bright ami devilish as the eyes of .\Tep-
histo, that Faust once fouml glaring at him
in the darkness of hia cell. Tom Frear liiin-
self began to )>e uneasy under that deadly
glance, and to atuinblh in hia narrative.
After leaving tin; room (not la-fore .Stiasbfi!'
ger, however, lunl possessed himself of a alict
of paper, upon which the mtwdered man had
scribhdl some worda— poasilily of a sermon
lie was c(miposing — as a apecimen of tin-
ile.iil man's handwriting which might
be valuable), the three adjourned
to Tom's more comfortable loom.
itftd that unhappy young man'a cross-ex-
amin..';ion by the detective began.

Tom reiterated his story about the man —
on the .Monday evening before the nmrder —
who c.'tiiie out of No. .37, and in his anxiety
to reacli the street, had almost knocked Tom
over — of his own passing out of the door —
to Sixth Avenue —to .letferson Market — of
his mounting upon a Christopher Street car
— riding to the ferry — of his meeting a
friend upon the boat — of what he said to
him — what csir he sat in — where he went to
— how long he stayed-— etc., etc., until he felt
as if trying to prove his own alibi before a
hostile court, and tying his own halter b\
proving it bjidly. He would look at Mr.
Ogden for help ; but the stony-hearted
lawyer was looking at the pictures, or killiiii;
time by pulling over the odds and ends,
antiques and rubbish, with which the studio
was crammed. It was with % sense of
escape, aa from the scaffold itself, that he
juBt tiuched the detectives chilly hand, and
winced under a parting leer from tlie de-

ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT.

teutivt^'H eye. In parting, to Mr. O^ilen'ti
° liopi) \^v hIiuII Hue vuu tu diiiiier on ThiUH-
«lav, Fieur, ' Tuiii had nwivoiiitly replimi,
' No, kir, 1 never ilid ;' and tite lawyer liad
HiiiiltNl at his inooUerenuy. But tluH remark
had evideutly been eiituretl in Mr. StrnH-
l)uruur'ii mental uute-buuk ; for on liiii wa\
< 'Utile hiul bevMed from his uonipaniun all
puHHible infurinatiun as to Mr. Froar's pre-
vious life. As for Tom, be was a long tinif
in recovering front the detective'H malign iu-
thiciiue. He felt suMpected of at luast ono
niiirder and several jithouh ; and just tlieii,
and for many days after, he folt a tap on his
Khoulder, he would have held up his wiistH
for the handcutt's, and asked perniioHion to
aend for his eounHol.

CHAITKR II. !,/.«. !■.>

I ! 'Il ! !•

♦ f*r'

.> Bt<M il,t«l' rOTAUK AU ()HA.S. wiiwi.. i.(ii>

Mrs. Otfden ha<l «cnt out twenty-tlaeo
cards for dinner on a Thursday, at hcvcii.
That good lady had tinally conquereil her
prejudices, and consented to preside over a
city establishment. Many consideratioiiH
lia<l induced Mrs. Ogden to this normal
ciiiiiige. There were her dear boys, she had
iiaid, who wanted a city polish. But tlie
real reason had been her husband. Mr.
(Jgden's practice had become simply enor-
mous ; and it seemed hard to the little woman
that her Percy should waste, upon steam-
cars and ferries— or even upon her — the
hours for which his clients were clamorous to
pay HO liberally.

Nor was tiiis the only change in the Ogden
household. Not to assume tlie care of city
housekeeping without competent assistance,
Mrs. Og(ien nad cast about for a factotum ;
as it had chanced, our old friend, Isabella,
had been selected for that responsible

Sositiou. 8he had been first encountered by
Ir. Ogden in the memorable days, when sit-
ting by the nmrdered body of poor (ieorge
Brand. Upon learning of her lonely con-
dition, the lawyer hatl mentioned it to his
"wife ; and a consultation had led to an offer
from Mrs. Ogden — gladly accepted by Isa-
bella — to become one of the great city
establisiiment now resolve<l upon. Mr.
Prideaux and the l^cahoard had thereupon
been notified of her absolute divorce from
Poetry— and tlie dismals— and in her delight
at escaping from their thrall, Isabella liad
become as jolly and good-humoured as it is
possible for an old maid to be, and liad suc-
ceeded in making herself very useful and
very much esteemed indeed, in lier new
ephere. She never was heard to mention
Literature, or Poetry, or the Seabuard. if by

chance a copy of that magazine found its May
into the Ogden mansion, she put it giiigciiy
aside. In sliort, Mr. Ogden would have as
soon HU8|i«ctttd iiis fat, little wife herself of
wanting to die at once, or of writing rhyines
to that ed'uct, aa Isalxlla.

'I'liu dinner party, to ^^ hiuh wc havu iiuw
arrived, h»d been a matter of long antici|>:i-
tiou, and its list was tlie result of hmg sug-
gestion, cogitation, and aiiiendment. It kid
Deen cancelled in whole or in part, reutoitil
and revised, a do/.eii times at least. Oiki
cannot always invito just those one wants,
and must often invite just those one doesii t
want, in New York. As finally passed in
Committee uf the Wlioie, the list stood :

1. Lord Hardwig^e. An ICnglisii life peer,
al>out seventy years olil, at this time travell-
ing extensively in America, the guest of the
evening, to walk down witli .Mrs. Ogden.

2. iiisiiop Cotter. Tall, erect, ele.in
shaven, wnite-haiied. Presiding over tlie
grejit diocese of New York — to walk down
witli.

3. Mrs. Leastlow. Wife of the Secretary
of State, liubicund, fat and fifty. Mrs.
Leastlow was, without tlie suspicion of a
rival, the Madame de Stael of her day. Slie
was easily the most brilliant woman in
America, had lived in every ciipital of tiie
world, was known everywhere, knew every-
body — and if, in the course of her career, she
had lost woman's chiefest charm of womanli-
ness, she had never, at least, ceased to be a
lady. Mr. I^eastlow, wlio was Mrs. Least-
low's husband, was not prese-^t-as Mrs.
Leastlow expressed it — was ' off on politics

I somewhere.'

4. Mr.s. Uoremus. A widow of vast
wealth, and a prominent member of Judc's
Church, to walk down with Mr. Ogden.

5. Judge de Laigh — of the court of
Common Plcjis — to walk down with

6. Mrs. Morrow. A matron of fifty and
of the Fifth Avenue ; invited to pay off old
scores.

7. Mr. George Henry Burlliurt In figure
tall and elegant, with white liair and
nioustiiche, add clear laughing gray eyes, he
would have attractcil attention in any
society. It goes without saying that an
Ameriejin gentleman knows the world by
heart ; it would be scarcely necessary to say
of an American, ' he has travelled over other
lands than his own I ' Mr. Hurlliurt not only
knew the world by heart, Ijut it might
almost be said that the world knew him by
heart. A private gentleman, with no haiidlo
except plain 'Mr.' to his name, and no
letters following it, he had hobnobbed with
emperors, kings- and jirinces, and witli
statesmen who make emperors, kings and

rrr

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAFT.

l!^

princes ; diner! enfamilh at their tables, and
been petted hy tlieir wives. A gentleman
among gentlemen, he never did anythinj^
eminent, and was rarely mentioned except
socially, in the newspajwrs. The best read
man in America, he never mentioned a book
in polite society ; and, although at this
time editor-in-chief of the hvperinm, the
great scholarly daily of the continent, you
might search in vain for his name in any
impression of that admirable sheet : to walk
down with

8. Miss Fanny Van Tier. Younf, pretty,
stylish, spirituelle — ParJ'nite New \ ork.

9. Mr. Greatorex. Acknowledged head
of the Bar of New York city, especially of
its Chancer)' side. Tall, all bone,-! and Urains,
no llesh visil)le upon his eminent frame, *o
walk down with

10. Mrs. Palovydn, of Pelhnm.

Tile other guests were, with their table
p.irti;er3

11.

Mr.

Rutherford,

12.

Miss Lightown,

13.

Mr.

Steele,

14.

Miss Frear,

15.

Mr.

L'jaycrown,

16.

Miss De Vere,

IT.

Mr.

I'ouald,

18.

Miss Leavci-own,

20.

Mr.

liryce.

20.

Miss Learj',

21,

Mr.

Swasey,

22.

Miss Hayes,

2;i.

Mr.

Tom Frear,

Miss Mara Ogden.

Nos. 2.3 and 24, at least, are old acquain-
tances. Th ! wild little beauty of two years
ago, has, tlianks to a kind and luxurious
home, to wealth, taste, dressmaker;?, and
loving friends, become a marvellously bril-
'iaut young lady ; brilliant, graceful, above
.•ill, with the boti repo-^i' so ne^'ef;ary asanac-
V )mpaninjcnt of culture. In short, as
»• ;,irming a young feminine person as New
Vork, where the loveliest and purest of v/o-
nien in the world dai-e to wear the costliest
and most rakish of dresses, and command
the admiration of men without loss of wo-
manly modesty, held. The lustre of '-rr
hrown complexion, the magnificent darkness
of her deep eyes, and petite accent, which
added a charm to her speech, marked her as
of another race. But, although understood
to be an adopted daughter, society was pro-
voked to find itself utterly ignorant. Mara
was a favourite with everj'body, especially
with men, although their attention she made
no etfort to secure. She had what is, per-
haps, rare in brunettes — the sweetest temper
imaginable. Mara had, in fact, surprised
everybody in the unconscious all with which
she had twined herself around their hearts.
Mr. Ogden himself was dubious of the re-
sult, and still maintained, but at ever rarer
intervals, that, somewhere in that Southern
nature there lurked a great depth of passioo
which some day must break into paroxyms ;

but, so far, she had l>een a simple, 8weet„
affectionate girl, loving and being loved.

Just here, we may say briel y of Mar.v
that she had never forgotten Paul Ogden,
nor the manly gentleness, the kindly words,
and'the handsome face oiP her first friend.
She had heard from him by letter, and in bin
roaminga upon the continent he had often
read the letters, ard noted the speech and
style of a woman in the pretty chirography
of the tattered little g>psey who had stolen
his uncle's grapes.

' The first kind word I ever heard in all
my life, came from Paul's lips, ' she was of ten
wont to say ; and, while she might love in
time, she felt that hia was the first claim to
anything of hers.

In Southern women gratituile is only an-
other name for love. In t!je Northen sister,
the two sentiments are as far apart as the
antipodes. The first loves the man she is
indeoted to, the latter usually hates her
benefactor and lo\'es the man who triP.es
with her. Women have the hearts of curs.
With us, they love where they are beaten,
and hate where they are worshipped. (Still,
at eighteen, women's hearts are fornuMl
anew, and Mara was not unconscious of the
admiration, nor unappreciative of tiie fas-
cinations of a certain young artist, with
whom, to-day, she walks down tn dinner.
So long as there was no Paul Ogden, there
might undoubtedly be a Tom Frear.

The dinner party was all tiiat could Ije
desired from the society of distinguished
guests, intermingled judiciou.sly with diners
(;ut. Lord Hardwigge, a little dried, gray-
iiaired man, was, as the evenings guest, de-
ferred to ; and, as he did little but eat. the
conversation — waiting for him — never be-
came general. After tlie ladies had betaken
theuiH'li^ es from the board, however, by the
grace o good tobacco upon a full dinner—
iiot ho :£.y clarets and dry champagnes—
to.'iUe^ 'j-' '; .,e unloosed, and justified the
j ; ,rii" 't ." ',] xt much deliberated list.

Under Lionl Hardwigge, the conversation
naturally turned to dinner tilings said by
Sydney Smith. Englishmen have not yet.
recovered from Sydney. As a nation, they
are not given to being funny ; that sort of
thing they leave to their dreary * Punch. '
and to Sydney. An Englislunan is always
ready to laugh himself red when Sydney's
name is mentioned, quite indifferent to the
remark. We venture to say that a sen-
tence out of the Koran, or Hervey's Medi-
tation Among the Tombs, if repeated at a
dinner table, pi-efixed by, ' You know, Syd-
ney Smith said, ' would convulse a table full
of Englishmen. We suppose there have
been very few dinners in New York where

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

things as good as Sydney's best have not
been said. But Sydney was the only man
in England who did such things, and diners
out denring attention find his name invalu-
able.

'I'm sure,' said Judge DeLaigh, aprof)os
of nothing, but desirous, perhaps, of waking
up the solemn little lord, 'that your lord-
ship is aware of that remarkable verse of
Sydney Smith's written upon Lord Broug-
ham.'

^Whenbesaw him riding on a jackass,
my dear judge ? ' said Lord Hardwigge.

'The same,' said bis honour, who forth-
with repeated it.

* Witty as Horatius Flaccus— as — as ' —
' As great a democrat as Gracchus. '

'As great a demagogue, mv lord,' said
Mr. Greatorer.

' Thanks. As great a wine-bibber — stop,
no — that's not it.

" As big a aot was old Bacchus-
Riding on a little jackass," '

said my lord. ^ '"^^ :'^'^' /^; ^ . -"^^ »" '

' That last line*s rlglit, at any rate. ' said
Mr. Burlhurt to Mr. Ogden* sotto voce.

' And, he might have added, as big a
thief as Shakespeare, ' said Mr. Greatorex.

'Was Biou^'liiim all that ? ' said Mr. Og-
den.

'It was Brougham, or Palmerston, or
Disraeli, or somebody,' said my lord.

* At any rate, Shakespeare was a tliief, '
said Mr. Greatorex. ' He stole all he ever
wrote from Bacon, didn't he ?'

Mi'. (Jreatorex, who, like most lawyws,
was a Baconian, followed up his question by
the assertion that ' the wliole thing' was in
the usual ' nutshell ;' that a man couldn't
well write about history or contemporary
circumstances from mere genius, however he
might, by clairvoyance or lucky guessing,
deal in prophecies for the future, that hap-
pen to come to pass. ' Children never learn
their alphabet by intuition. '

'But, Mr. Greatorex,' said Mr. Ogden,
• Pascal learned geometry by intuition. *

' Bah !' laid Mr. (Greatorex. ' You and I
never saw Shakespeare ; we have only testi-
liiony that there was such a man, and the evi-
dence which is to satisfy you and I that such
a man ever existed, is evidence that should,
at the same time, satisfy us, if we are sen-
sible, tiiat he never wrote that book. '

' Who did write it tiien ?' said Mr. Swasey,
to wliom the discussion had all the charm of
a first acquaintance.

' All. my dear Mr. Swasey,' broke in Mr.
Burlhurt, ' that's a secret, Byrne and I

against
I would
a well-

knew the fellow, hut were under oath to him
never to divulge his name. '

'Well,' said Mr. Ogden, 'at least, Great-
orex, you will admit that he was a clever
fellow to fix up anything that Bacon wrote,
so that people would look at it on a stage. '

' Bah ! he was doubtless a shrewd stage
manager, who dressed up Bacon's dialogues
over night, and put in the clowns, perhaps.
I fancy he was much such a man as Bouoi-
cault. Why, I went to see one of that man's
plays, and, upon my word, he had sand-
wiched in Bacon, Byron, Otway, and a dozen
more, for what, I must admit, was a veiy
entertaining play, written by Boucicault. '

' My dear Greatorex,' said Mr. Ogden, 'if
you should bring that question before a jury,
action for piracy against Shakespeare, you
for Bacon, I would only ask two questions.
First, wad there such a man as Shakespeare,
who wrote plays ? And second, was tliero a
Mr. Bacon who claimed them ? And upon
the first being answered yes, and the secund,
no, the jurj- would nonsuit you without leav-
ing their seats. '

' Yes,' said Mr. Greatorex ' and if your
client Shakespeare brought a suit
.Jones for violation of his copyright,
undertake, for Jouea, to throw sucli
established doubt upon the question whether
Shakespeare w as entitled to his copyright at
all, that your jury would disagree. How-
ever, there's one thing the angels don't know ;
and that's how. twelve men in a box will de-
cide anything. '

' Mi'rder will out,' said Mr. Donald, from
a corner of his mouth, opposite the one hold-
ing his cigar.

' So the Biole says, ' said Mr. Swasey.

' Byine and I don't have any confidence
in that woi'k either. We know the fellows
who wrote tliat, too,' said Mr. Burlhurt.

At this, Bishop Cotter, who did not smoke,
and had for some time sought a suitable
moment for joining the ladies, rose and
stiffly asked his host's permission to witli-
draw.

. ' Hope you'll come on to our Centennial,
Lord Hardwigge, ' said a diner out.

' Upon my word, sir, I don't know why an
Englishman shouhl come over here to help
you celebrate your emancipation from tiie
horrible despotism of England, ' said my lord.
"Notour «miancipation but our indepen-
dence,' saia Ar. Ogden.

' Bivh — all the same thing,' said Lord
Hardwigge, ' The American war is the
eteniaUdisgrace of our arms ; although I am
ailmitting all the more shame to my own
countrymen, I must say that you never had
anything more than a rabble. Why, you
didn't have any powder to bum at us except

If'

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

what you stole from under our own nosea.
You didn't have a gun until you had prigged
it ; and ye* we sent the best soldiers that
we had ; the soldiers that had made us con-
tjuerors of Europe, and you had them at your
mercy before breakfast. I can only accoimt
for the American Revolution on tne suppo-
sition that the Almighty saw you wanted to
try an experiment, and determined to let
you try it out. Your M'ar was a series of
special providences. Every general we had,
lihnidered; and, if you will pardon me, Mr.
Ogden, the old maxim of "a fool luck,"
seemed never so well verified. At Bunker
Hill, your soldiers deliberately entered a
bag, tlie strings of which were in our hands ;
and instead of pulling the strings, we went
into the bag, got below you — let you fire at
us as long as you plea.je, and then run away,
while we stayed to pick up our dead men.
(General Burgoyne made you a present of his
army at Saratoga, and Lord Howe gave you
all the time you wanted to surround Corn-
wallis at Yorktown. I think he arrived in
time to see the sun-ender, as it was, and that
was about the way of it all. Well, it is all
the same now, I suppose. But you are
trying experiments very fast. We were a
thousand years ahead of you a hundred
years ago, and now you are a thousand years
ahead of us. But if we lived a hundred
years more— Mr. Ogden — you and I would
not see your second Centennial.'

' We are not a thousand years ahead of
you in one thing, my lord,' said Mr. Burl-
hurt. ' You still write our books. ' ' Let
me make the nation's ballad's, and I care
not " — and so forth, you know. '

' Of course,' said Lord Hapdwigge, 'of
course. So long as you deny us interna-
tional copyright, we must do that. A man
educates himself as he eats, through his
pocket. Of course, as long as it's cheaper
for your publisher to give you English
books to read than your own, you'll get
em.

' We haven't had an American novel yet
at all events ' —

' Bah ! ' said my lord. ' How can you*
have an American novel ? Who can write a
novel about a country where one man is as
good as another? Wnere is yi>ur faithful
retainer — your half-pay officer — your duke
and your duchess — your younger son. Of
course you can write about Indians, and I
suppose Cooper did write American novels. '
And Lord Hardwigge — apropox of a name —
told another story aomit Brougham.

We Americans relish a story because it is

good,' that is, because it is witty, absurd,

preposterous, suggestive, or pointed. The

Englishman relishes only such as he can

locate — and to which he can attach some
famous name — no matter how old, it might
be about George Selwyn or Horace Walpme,
or even Canute, or Harold — if it hiave rnie
smack of a name about it, your* TSnglishman
will surely applaud. '

Lord Hardwigge, despite the difficulty he
experienced in keeping ma teeth in poftition,
essayed several other slaty reminiscences,
and acquitted himself well, on the whole.
At a pailse — in the absence of applause —
which followed some peculiarly, antique
anecdote of his lordship's Mr. Ogden began :

' Gentlemen, if you will pardon a lawyer
for talking shop, I want to tell Mr. Greator-
ex about a case of mine which will interest
him. I'm afraid it will bore the rest of you,
so I won't ask you to listen. But you'll

Sardon me. ' And, with a fresh cigar, Mr.
igden began.

CHAPTER m. ^ t,if)/ ■?

THE ROMANCE OF A TFt'LE.

'In the year 1750,' said Mr. Ogden,
' there died a man in Boston, Massachusetts,
named Brand. He owned a little piece of
land in what is now the heart of that city,
which, in liis will, he devised to "my brother
Harry, and, if he should die without issue,
then I give the same to my brother William."
Under this will, tlien, tlie estate went to
Harry, who died in 1775, leaving one daugh-
ter, Mary, who was at that time, or sub-
sequently, a Mrs. John Somerby. In Mrs.
Somerby the title vested until 1790, when
she died — leaving two sons and one daugli-
ter, and granting her estate — the land in
question — to her daughter. Her daugliter,
in turn, in 1880, sold it to one Tliunias
Singleton. '

Mr. Greatorex began mapping out a sort
of abstract of the chain of title on the table
before him — a banana for old Brand, a grape
for Harry, an orange for Mrs. Somerby, and
so on.

' Thomas Singleton died in 1830. But,
about ten years before, when this real es-
tivte we have followed, was worth about
fifty thousand dollars, and wheni he believ-
ed himself in possession of a personal estate
amounting to say between two and three
hundred thousand dollars, he made a will,
in which he left the land to his wife for
life, and afterwards to his only son, George
Singleton. Besides this, he directed his
executors to pay a legacy of twenty-five
thousand dollars apiece to two nieces, who
lived in his house, and had been educated
by him as if tliey had been his own
daughters ; giving them the bulk of his

ST. .7UI>fiS ASSISTANT.

eorge
;d his
y-five
who
ucated
OAvn
of his

poi'Honalty to this said son George. These
A\ere nieces were named respectively Laura
And Blanche Brown. When this will came
to be adniinisteretl, liovyevei-, Singleton's
jMirsonal ostate was found to be »U — through
a failure of several corporatious.and through
<^ertain I>ad speculations of the old niaii.
His widow, however, continueil to enjoy
the real estate, and, dying, in 184o. lier son
< ieorge entered its possession. In 1850,
liowever, (George's cousin, Laura Brown,
married a lawyer named Markham, and her
sister Blanche came to live with tliem.
Mrs. Markham often joked with her hus-
Ji.ind about the legacy from her uncle
Thomas, and accused lier husband of marry-
ing her for money. — Greatorex, are you go-
ing asleep ?'

' No, no, ' said Mr. Greatorex, hastily
aiTanging his Hgs and oranges. Go on. '

' This Markham was a young la^vyer,
.not overburdened with practice. He had
married for love, and lie had his wife's
sister to provide for. The legacy, about
which she joked, would have b=;een quite
convenient to him, could he have educed it.
One day— in 1860 this was — he happened to
be sitting in his office with the 7th of Gush-
ing in his hand^but he was not reading —
he was reflecting over his family matters, of
}u8 wife, his babies, his wife's sister, and his
difficulty of making botli ends meet — wlien
his eye happened to light upon a passage to
this effect : " The personal estate of the
testator was sufficient to pay debts and
legacies. It was held that the devise to the
lieirs-at-law of C, was not a specific devise,
but that the land so devised was liable to
be sold for payment of debts and le .cies
-under the Revised Statutes,— C. 71, § 80."
These words were a portion of the syllabus
to the case of Ellis v. Page, 7 Gushing,
161.

'"Ly Jove," thought Markham, "if
that's law, perhaps Laura's legacy isn't in
Spain, after all I" In sliort, he went into
his library and dug away with a will He
found that the Massachusetts' Statute of
Limitations was constructed, in Brooks n,
Lynde, in the 7th of Allen, at page 66, not
to limit the time for br^ging an action to
recover a legacy ; and, on applying tliese
two cases to the circurastMiices, he thought
he found that his wife and her sister were
clearly entitled to their legacies, in spite of
the failure of their uncle's personal estate
in 1830, and their cousin's po.ssession or liis
real property. For, he argued, if Thonuis
Singleton's will gave to George
Singleton his real estate after his (George'.;)
mother's death, clearly there was no devise
to George AtiiLL .For where a man takes,

under a will, precisely what he would take
by operation of law, the law will hold the
devise void, and consider that he takes the
estate by operation of hiw alone. Now this
was precisely the case iu hand. ^Vlla,t
George Singleton had considered aa a si>eci-
iic ilevise to him, was therefore no devise at
all. The real estate which he lield was un-
doubtedly a part of the undevised residue of
his father's estate, and, therefore, assets
which his executor should have applied to
tlie payment of the le^cies. This was ex-
actly the case in 7 Cusl^mg, Ellis v. Page.

'Markham, therefore, instituted the suit,
and ultimately olitiuned for his wife and'
sister-in-law a judgment, in 1862, for ^143,-
000, being the aimoimt of the legacies and
interest for thirty-two years. G«orge Sin-
gleton, not bting a married man, had been
unable to put the real estate he received from
his father into his wife's name, and was cou)-
pelled to see it sold to satisfy bis cousin's
judgment.

'Mr. Mai'kham, bought the property in
at the sale, and began to manage it for his
wife and sister-in-law.

' Now, when Mrs. .lohn Somerby died, in.
1790, leaving, as 1 said, two sons and one
daughter '

Mr. ilreatorex showed signs of flagging,
but he pulled away at hie cigar, and drauk
anotlier glass of claret

' -one of these two sons was a natural

— a sort of idiot — at any rate, what the law
regarded as ' noii roinpos. ' He never mar-
rieil, but died wiien lie was seventy-five
years old, in 18ot. His name was Peter
Somerby. The other son was named
Charles. Now, by Hay ward r. Howe, in
the l'2th of GiJiy, 40, a devise of land with a
subseijueiit piovisinn, that in case one of
tlieni should die without lawful issue, it shall
go to the testator's heirs iu fee, creates au
est;ite tail, under the Massachusetts' statuves.
You will remember that Brand gave his lainl
by will " to my brother Harry, and if he
siiall die without issue — then I give the same
to my brother William. " His brother Wil-
liam being his (the testivtor's) heir, then the
will of old Brand created an estate tail, and
nothing else. Now, by virtue of the ruling
in Curbin v. Healey, in the "JOth of Picker-
ing, pages 514 ami 'A6, a present estate tail
passes, in Massachusetts, to the eldest son,
according to the eommou law, and nut to
the children equally, or to daughters at all,
except in default oi heirs male ; and, by the
ruling in Hall v. Priest, reported in the 6tli
of Gray, an estate tail may not be devised,
or in any way affected by the will of a ten-
ant in tail. Conse<juently, when Mrs. Som-
erby devised the laud we are following to

Vrl

'Ml
■ '■ jvl

ST. JUDB'S ASSISTANT.

her daughter, she devised what she had no
right to devise, and what by law vested, at
her death, in the non cornpoa Peter Somerby,
who died in 1854 without issue. This Peter
had indeed been disseized in 1800, if
not previously, by the acts of his
sister in possessing herself of the
estate, and in devising it to her daughter ;
but Peter, having a non compos, the statute
of limitations could not run against him ;
and his heir in tail, who was his brother
Charles, of course, was entitled, under the
Massachusetts' statute (chapter 154, section
5, I think it is) to ten years after his brother
I'eter's death, wherein to bring an action of
ejectment. Mrs. Markham ahd her sister
became entitled to the estate, you will re-
member, during the year 1862, consequently,
the ten years since Peter's death, in 1854,
not having elapsed, Charles Somerby still
had his action. He brought it, and Mrs.
Markham and her siatei had scarcely more
than realized their good fortune when they
were dispossessed, by order of the court, in
f.ivour of Charles Somerby.

' But even here this chapter of marvels is
incomplete. It see.us that old Brand, who
owned the parcel of land in 1750, had him-
self purchased the land in 1730 of one Noel,
who, in turn, had become its owner by con-
veyance from one Cosgrove. But this oon-
veyance from Cosgrove to Noel had not con-
tained the word "heirs." Now, under the
iiile in Shelley's case, as laid down in Buff-
man V. Hutchinson, in the Ist of Allen,
paye 58, the word " heirs " in Massachusetts
is still essential in in a deed of conveyance
to create an estate in fee ; and if a man pur-
ciiase land to himself forever, or to him and
his assigns forever, he takes only an estate
for life. Therefore, it follows that Noel
only received a life estate from Cosgrove,
and Cosgrove therefore became the rever-
sioner upon the death of Noel, whose deed
to Brand was merely waste paper. When
Noel (lied, in 1786, Cosgrove was also dead,
and his only heir was his granddaughter, ;i
young woman eighteen years old, Maria
Appleton, wife of Isaac Appleton, of Bos-
ton. Maria Appleton did not die until
1861. During all those years, from 1786
until 1861, she had been &/emme covert, and
tlierefore her heir had, under the Massa-
chusetts' statutes, ten years from the date of
her death, that is, mitil 1871, to bring an
action for the estate, which became hers as
heir to Cosgrove, upon the death of Noel
(she ha\nng been at that time also, a femmi'
covfrt.) Now the only issue of Isaac and
Maria Appleton was a daughter named
Mary. She married a man named, by a
curious coincidence. Singleton — and actually

a fourth or fifth ooasin of the grantee of
Mrs. Somerby's daughter, in 1800. Wonder-
ful to relate— and this is the gist of my
story — the only daughter of that marriage^
Isabella Singleton is at this moment li' ine
under this roof. You remember the Bi and
murder of two years ago. Well, it fell into
my province, as counsel for St. Jude'a
Parish, to search for his relatives. I wa»
attracted by the similarity of his name to
the name of the old landholder in Boston,
and in looking at that I struck his title. A
suit has been instituted, within a fort-
night, by my direction, and I am
morally certain — and will stake my
professional reputation — the ten years
not having yet elapsed, that Miss Singleton,
who is my housekeeper, will, in less than a
year, be in possession of an estate worth
from two to three hundred thousand dollars.
If that isn't the most marvellous history you
ever come across, I'd like to hear the one
that beats it. What do you think of it ? '

Now Mr. Greatorex, who had not heard a
word of Mr. ©.^[den's story, but had l)een
absorbed in thinking of a demurrer he was to
argue the next morning, the success of which
would bo probably twenty-five thousand
dollars in cash in his pocket, his client
being a wealthy cloth house, which had been
arraigned, at the suit of government, for
alleged frauds upon the revenue, was
brought up short by the cessation of the
story.

' i think, Ogden, ' he said, * that you ha /e
a good case, at least I hope so. Let us joia
the ladies. '

• ■■-■''' , '■ CHAPTER IV. " "'^ 'J*^ -

•'I. :v h..:
ARCANA COELfcSTIA.

Tom Frear has stolen away while Mr.
Ogden still spins his legal yam below. He
lingers outside the drawing-room until he
can arrive at some idea of the position of the
particular lady he would seek, for he does
not care to wandesr around too much in the
search. But he catehes sight of a portion of
pink silk presently, in a bay window, and he
strikes Iwldly in and up to it, and sits down
alongside of it.

' I was growing mad at yon, air. * Mara
was first to speak.

' 'Pon my soul, Mara — I mean Misg Ogden
— I was the first man to leave. '

' The first ! No indeed, you were not,
sir ; that dear blessed old Bishop has been up
here half an hour. '

'I mean, I was the firat layman,' said
Tom. 'You wouldn't have a layman pre-
cede his bishop, would you ? '

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

' I wonl'ln't have a layman make ■» 'beast
of himself at aAy rate. 1 dotj't see why nlen
sit (lown-ataira all ixight drinking *-i

' And shiokirig.'' said Tbtti, ' WJetftnok^
part of the tifn'e. ■ . '

' Don't inttnupt Rie, Mr. Pi^Af— T stay I
I ;on't see the' seHse of it— and leave ns women
up Iiere all alone — ' .

' Tliette !* said Tom, • tow ybtt'Vb Wrttion-
the sense of ft. If the ladies 'Are allbwed to
withdraw tjo'sit-by themselves, and t«ar us
to pieces,' why shouldn't we men be allowed
t > sit by ourselves, too ? '

*Ana get intoxicated and silly,' said Mara.

' Am 1 intoxicated and silly ? ' said Tom.

It was ilark in the bay Mrinaow where they
K it, and it was a very narroW bay window.
Wlieu Tom aaked heir if he was intoxicated
.'.nd silly— he asked it mnch as if he were
asking^ her to take him for hotter Or for worse
-his voice sank to a very low pitch, and he
laid one of Ids big hands over her-s.

• Yes, I believe you are. Y6u are very,
very silly, at any rate, Mr. Prear,' said Mara.

' just now you called me Tom,' said he ;
for his memory was not accurate.

' Indeed I didii't, sir. I wouldn't for ' —

' Wouldn't for what?' said Tom.

'Wouldn't for anything; (uid besides I
couldn't, even if I would.' , ' " ' '

' Yes, you could.' , ''"'', ■■'***"^ "*'

• No, I couliln't. I'm sure I couldn't say '

• Say what ?'
♦Say7'6n(,'

• There you've said it! O Mara, Mara, if
you'd only call me Tom that way always ' —
And so forth, and so forth.

It does not look eloquently on paper, nor
do we, who report it, find much intellectual
stimulant in taking it down. And yet, read-
er, these are the burning words we whisper
in our mistress' ears in the nineteenth
century.

' Fair goddess of my life and soul, the
I)eauty of the moon that broke anon but
through yon rifted cloud, fadeth b'-Sre thy
peerless charms.' That is the way Tom
would would have said it in the year nine
hundred and odd : and that is the way Sir
Walter Scott, Baronet, would have made
Iiim do it (except that W. S. would have
I Iiymed it) if Tom had been anywhere near
ihe Lady of the Lake. But you and I, read-
tT, know how precious are those conver-
sations ; and — silly as it may look on print —
liow nice it all is.

As we said, the bay window was very nar-
row, and quite dark. Moreover, it was at
t he end of the library which opened out of
the drawing-room. And, as the guests were
mainly in the drawing-room, there was very
little outside of the bay window to attract

Mr. Tom's and Miss Mara'a attention, so
th«y wei-e obliged to talk about themselves.
The bay window, about this time, became so
small that Mara was obliged to sit with her
arms folded behind her, as if she was at a.
Kindergarten ; otherwise Tom would have
been ohlige<l to take the httle hands attached
to those arms right into his. Indeed, the
window was so small, as it was, that Tom
could only find room for one of his big hands
in front of him, and was forced to stow the
other away back in the rear somewhere. Very
inconvenient and cramped it was, and they
were very good-natured, we think, to sit.
there so quietly.

* Mara, ' said Tom, after a while.

•Yds, Tom.'

' Mara, do you remember the first time I
ever saw you ? It was just fourteen months
ago-^I know, for I've counted every day —
and, by Jove'-V-

' There, that's twice you've said that. Do
you imagine you're down-stairs witli your (;i-
gars and your claret, and your honid stories,
yet ?'

' By upon my word, I mean, I just.

don't — However, you've spoiled it all now.
I can't say what I was going to' —

' Undoubtedly — ^it was so nice, and you
were saying it so fast, too 1'

•Mara!' 1 tm!*. : -

'What?'

' Do you want to give me pain ? If you
do, go on. '

Perhaps Tom's other arm grew uncomfort-
able to Mara just then, for the next word*
that came from the bay window certainly
were hers.

'O you horrid? Don't ! you're as rough as
a bear !'

There they are in print. And they look
sublime ! Sir Walter Scott, above alluded
to, would have made the lady say :

' My lord, thy arm has wandered far,
Thy handmaid bids thee have a care.'

rhymes to that effect. But Tom didn't
mind it. So when, in place of the pretty
rhyme, she only said ;

' you horrid ! don't ! — you're as rough as-
a bear !' it was actually sublime in his e:'.r.s.

' Do you know what day it was when I
met you first, Mara?' said Tom. ' ^

•No! Fourth of July, wasn't it?'

'No — it was April Fool's Drfy, Mara, and
I went home that night all in a sort of d.ize.'

' Well, then you were a fool, I should say,'
said Mara.

Mr. lom Frear behaved very badly at this-
juncture, and we regret to chronicle tl»at
Miss Mara was obliged to repeat her observa-
tion about 'horrid' and 'bear.'

•^ lilt

hV.

TPf

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

'And I thought what if you should be fool-
ing me, Mara ; and since then I've seen you

• everywhere I've been, by day or night, and
every picture I've painted ha« had your face
in it.'

' Oh, I wish I could see them, ' said Mara.

A cliange must come over every tlreant,
even so Hweet a dream as we fear poor Tom
was dreaming. The next time his unruly aim
pressed heavily around Mara'a waist, or
wherever it was, she said nothing about
' liorrid ' and ' don't, ' but she said instead,
' Mr. Frear. ' Poor Tom's arm seemed to lose
its tension, but he let it stay where it was.
He saiil nothing.

' Mr. Frear,' said Mara again.

'Why am I Mr. Frear?' he said, halt-
ingly; for whatever courage we men possess,
whether we are bears, or Molves, or lionsv
for that matter, a very slight change of tone
in the voice of the woman we love, will make
■sheep of us in an instant.

' I called you Tom, I know I did. I
should not have done so, I know ; but you
seemed just at that moment to be such a
kind friend — '

Tom's arm grew tighter around the ai-m it
twined.

' so like a dear, kind— l)rother '

Tom's arm grew very limp again.

' that I couldn't help it. I know I

did wrong — I know I ought not to have done
so ' — and Mara gave a little sob. . • ^

' Mara,' said Tom. " -■ .

' Please don't call me Mara — it makes me
cry. '

•Why?'

' Because — because — you have no right to
call me Mara, and — I — wish you had.'

' Then give me the right.' . •,,, -.. .

•No, I can't.' • J* -.f;

♦Why not?'

' That's what I'm coming to — so pleaae
listen. I hope you don't love nie, Tom— I
mean Mr. Frear.'

' Mara, I do love you with all my life, and
I'd die for you, indeed I would.' Not only
did his arm tigliten, but a soft indescribable
noise like a rustle of rose leaves, only rather
louder, was heard just after the word
' would ' left Tom's lips, 'ind somehow in-
terrupted the rest of the nf xt sentence.

' 0, please don't do that, please don't !
' O, I hope you don't love me — because, be-
cause, because ' —

• ' Because why, Mara ? '

' Because I do like you so much, Tom," and
I do want you to be my friend always, and
to stand up for me, and fight for me when
people abuse me. But I — I can't love you
except as a sistei", yon know — I know I —
I'm sure I could love you like that.'

• Ma^ 1 ' — ^Tow's voice was as heavy and
hoUow.as if he had been sitting in a barrel,
instead of in a, bay window.

• Mar/i», tell me why yoi^ ean't love me
better than that. I don't want you to love

me like a sister. ' >
'You don't!'

Mara)

'No,! don't!'

(Sadly on the part of

There was, a positive tone
to thi« deiclaration that carried conviction.

'No, Idon't,'»aid Tom a^ain. 'I've got
three sisters now, and I don't want any
more ; but Mara, — when a man can't live
without thinking about you, why can't you
love him ? '

' A maji ou^ht always to be thinking
4bout his sisters ' —

' But he isn't — there's plenty of other
fellows to do that. If you were my sister,
do you think I would be sitting here with
you now ? No ! I wouldn't come near yon. '

' O Tom, I shouldn't— like— that.'

'Then you do love me, Mara?' and another
rustling sound was just discernible.

'Now,Mr.Freaf !Ishallnevercallyou Tom,
and I shallnever like you evenasasister, unless
you promise me never to do that again. I
am wrong, 1 am wrong to beat alnjut so, and
to be so long coming to what I am to say.
Mr. Frear — well, then Tom, I love you as a
dear sister, and there's my hand on it, if
you'll take it I'm afraid I almost began to
like you better than a sister, and was — even if
I wjis not veiy foolish and very vain to
think you would do such a thing — almost- -
oh, I don't want to say the word — e«-
rouraging you. There, I've said it ; and I'm
so ashamed of the word ! All I mean to say
is that — even if you ever thought of me
that way — which I'm very sillj' and very
vain to suppose, for you are a man that any
woman might be proud of that — that ' —

And here poor Mara broke down com-
pletely. Then, after a moment, she re-
covered herself, and with a little sob went
on —

' What I am going to say must be said. I
can't love you or any man, for I love — some-
body else. Yes, ' she said, for she felt Toms
arm drawn quickly away — 'Yes, I am strong
enough to say it. I love somebody else
better than all the world, and you have almost
made me disloyal to him. Yes, you Ixave
made me very disloyal to him.'

There was a stifling sort of sound from
Tom's direction. There seemed to be plentj'
of rpom for them both, in the bay window
now.

' Tom, dear Tom, don't feel so Ijadly. 0,
I am not worth it ! 0, I wish I were dead !

'^^^^^ •' -nfyt Mi .(•• ^J(;h

.1 't.j ■lii'.i^ff- ','y:.^

Not a word from Tom.

ST. JUDR'S ASSISTANT.

' Tom, dear Ton>, please liatcii to me. I
want to tell you a story. I want to tell you
what nobody knows in this v^hole city, oul-
side of Mr. and Mrs. Ogdjn and the boys —
oxcept one. I know I can trust the story to
your honour and to your ' —

— ' to my love,' sobbed Tom. ' Yes, you
can trust it to my love.'

* Well, then. 0, Tom, are you a man, and
uannot be brave euougli to hear my story ?
Why, I am only a poor weak girl, and I am
strong enough to tell it. '

Tom seized her hand, and held it so tight
she almost shrank from him. 'Ah, yes,'
he said, * yes, you are strong enough to
tell it. But that one you love, supposing
he had just told you in an instant, with
out any warning, that he didn't love you the
least V>it — would you have strength to tell it
then ?'

' I am a woman — no, not even a woman —
only a poor, weak, little girl. ' And she be-
gan to cry.

If a man strikes a woman he can look
upon her t<iars and laugh, perhaps ; but if
slie sobs from grief, you will very rarely
find Olio .strong enough to endure it. Tom
wan on his knees in an instant.

' My darling,' he said, * if you cry, I shall
go mad ?' Then he stood up and took her in
his anus and kissed her many times.
' Whether you love me or not, ' he said, ' I
love you, and I shall not live without you.
If yni are not mine, I shall not live to see
you another man's. '

And so he thoudit, no doubt ; and so
probably we have all ihoiiglit, at least once.
But tliu great master said that thougii men
have died ere now, and worms have eaten
thein, it was not for love that they died.and
we are \\ iser now than to ha\'e any other
ideas ; and if there is any shooting to bedone,
it certainly would not be ourselves we shouhl
shoot.

It was some time before the two were able
to compose themselves. If the scene we
have been tlesL-ribiiig had taken place in a
closed room, or where the two were free
from interruption among rocks or woods,
they might l-.a^'e been in this stato for hours,
and perhaps both ended by going mad. But,
no matter now genuinely crazy a woman is,
at the slightest suspicion of interruption, her
sense of propriety will overcome all other
emotions, and she will straigliten herself out
in no time. This time there was a rustle of
silk as Miss Van Tier and Mr. Burlliurt ap-
proached.

' Upon my word I think j'ou two have sat
there (jnite long enf)\igh.' shouted Fanny.

' 1 ilun't think it's safe to disturb them,
Mias Fanny,' said Mr. Burlhurt. 'Upon

my soul,if I were you I wouldn't be so rash !'

Mr. Burlhurt was approaching fifty, ami a
bachelor still. The charms that should
comiuer him were being nourished in a-
cradle somewhere, if tiiey had even got so-
far as that.

But Fanny gave him her archest smile:-
' Don't you see they have the only bay win-
dow there is ?' she whimpered,

' Ah, but there is a precious little conser-
vatory just out of the music room. Sha'n't
we go and look at it?' And, nothing loath,
without having extracted a word from the-
culprits in the bay window, they moved,
away.

\Vhen they had gone, • My dear Tom, my
dear brother Tom, said Mara, ' we have
beep very foolish, but the storm is over, and
now I want you to listen to my story. Once
upon b. time there was a little girl who, when
she first remembers'

' Mara, Mara ! I want you to play the
Traumerei to Lord Hanlwigge. Come
here this instant,' cried Mrs. Ogden.
The summons from his lordship was too
imperious to be slighted, so Mara went and
sat down to her paiiio ; but, for the first
time in her life, Mrs. Ogden thought she saw
signs of a storm in Mara. Her brown cheek
was quite red, and she looked as if she
were biting her lips to suppress a ' scene. '
Instead oi the Traumerei, she stuck up
Tam 0' Slianter, and pounded and plashed
away until Lord Hanlwigge really looked as
frightened as if all the devils from AUoway
Kirk were grinning at liim.

CHAPTKU V.

MR. STRASBDRtiEU's CLUB.

When, aft^r two years of impotent en-
deavour on the part of the Metropolitan
Police to track the murderer of Geon^e
Brand, Mr. Strasburgei- had been resortcil
to, that gentleman, with the distrust of liis
brethren's sagacity natural, to his profession
blocked out his own line of investigation
upon a track apparently neglected by them.
The newspapers, by this time, had ceased
to lash themselves into a fury over this
last and most memorable proof of Police
inefficiency, and now only alluded to the sub-
ject in a mildly humorous or social tone.
The /?n/>';/'n)i would inquire gently if any
of the detectives had been sent to Auburii
— (tlie State Insane Asylum) from hopeless
insanity brought about by their endeavours
to track the " Brand murderer ;' and sug-
gested that a strong guard should be sta-
tioned to wa'tch nightly the towers of the
Brooklyn Bridge, since, should they l)e

I !< I

ST. JUNE'S ASSISTANT.

stolen, tlio
never be
ami the
expcndetl in
rovocably lost u^
t\n: force took "

lU Police would
to trace them
or ten ntillions
onBtruction would be ir-
the tax-ptiyers — or, when
annual p.uade, hinted at
tlie (lunger of a conilagration of tlie HuiIbou
froiii the intense brilliancy of tliat depart-
ment. The Wefkly Bunyboili/ &Ui\ flluntraft'd
^iv'.ipnper published a cartoon representing
a desperado who had just murdered a man,
kneeling at his victim's side, and calmly
plundering his peison. The revolver witli
which he had done the deed, lies smoking at
his side, while the mnnloier is ojvlmly ile-
taching his victim's wateli from its eliain. A
body of Metropolitim police in a hollow
8(juare march by, Witliin the scpiare is a
po:r, ra'^gjd old women, and the body is
headed i>y a very fat and clumsy oflieer,
Tlie murderer pauses in his work, and accosts
the officer : ' I say, ( Jeorge, what liave you
^(■t now? ' to wliicli tlie response is, ' ^Ve've
i^ht a woman here that says that wo arn't the
finest hody of police in the world ; and by
Jove, sir, she'll liang for it, too ! '

Occasionally, too, a long list of unavenged
nnu'ders M'.is published by the I/erald, in-
cluding ' the St. Jude's murder, ' as the
Hcndit persisted in styling it, and asserting
t'lat had tlie Hei-ald ••* plan of pursuit been
adopted, that particular mystery would long
since ha^e been opened to the day.

' The Ili-rulil is not a Private Detective
OHice,' it would inform its readers, ' but we
cannot refrain from remarking, that had the
Herald's suggestions l)een acted upon, the
soul of the St. Jude's murderer would have
long since rested in the limbo of devils await-
im,' tht'ir doom, and the shade of George
Brand been appeased. It will be remembered
that the llcrnl'l, witiiin twelve hours after
the murder, hacl discovered the presence in
the city on the day of the murder, of a
strange man calling himself John A. Grant,
of Carondelet, Mississippi, who paid for a
jiassage to Europe on the Scythia, of the
Cunard Line ; thirt such name and residence
were wholly fictitious ; and at the earliest
moment, when the Scythia could be reached
and seareheil (namely : — upon her arrival at
< >ueenstown), the Hurald was able to con-
firm its suspicions, by laying before its read-
ers evidence that no such passenger, or no
l>a88enger answering to his personal descrip-
tion, was on board of the Scythia. In fact
tliat this particular state-room, secured and
l-aid for by the mysterious stranger, was not
occupied during the trip, nor was it ever in-
tended to be, since no luggage had been
placed in it, and no place at the table se-
cured.

' Now, it is not our business to go further,
but if the detectives had followed up this
man as they should have done, this ease at
least, would not have been added to tlte long
and disgiaceful list of their incompetencies.'

And, to a greater or less extent, the prcaa
of the country — especially those suburban
sheets who spread nefore their readers, a
" Metropolitan Correspondence, "(upon which
New Yorkers rely for \ww and startling in-
foimation about themselves) — backed the
opinion of the /A-raW. But Mr. Strasburger
had a clue aud a theory of his own, and pro-
ceeded to work it. It w ill be rcmendtered
that no money whatever had been found in
the murdered man's pockets, aud that a
iieavy gold watch chain — witli no watch
attached — had been about the only valuable
upon his jMirson.

Mr. Strasburger had, however, concluded,
by an inspection of the murdered man's vest,
that he, in life, had habitually carried a
watcli. The left hand pocket of the vest
showttd unmistakable traces of a watch, and
from it the detective was able to ascertain,
not only its Actual size aud shape, but to
dr».v pretty tolerable conclusions as to its
appearance. The pocket of this vest, indeed
(which he had carefully cut out and still re-
tained in his possession, ) might be fairly
denominated Mr. Strasbuiger's clue.

Certain detectives— .as he took occasion to
inform himself — had started oflf to trace the
artist in Italy, who was intimate with
Brand, and in whose studio Brand hail been
murdered. Another had carefully in\ estig-
ated Brand's early history, in searcli of
family quarrels, love affairs, rivr ' inherit-
ances, or money difficulties which should
reveal some motive for the mysterious
deed.

One of the strangest features of the whole
case, was, that the particular pistol, from
which thd two slugs had been projected into
the dead man's brain, oould not be trace<l.
True, the Non-Detonating Arms Company
had manufactured some forty thousand of
that particuUr ' series, ' all, or nearly all, of
whicli had been disposed of, and were be-
yond the company's possession. But, with-
in a year of the muraer, the company had
introduced a peculiarity into their numufac-
ture. This new style of pistol liad required
slugs of a form slightly different from those
in the possession of the detectives,
and the company were positive that the
particular pistol in question — one of the sort
— must have been purchased — it purchased
within a year of the murder — at their Broatl-
way headquarters, since only there had any
of the former pattern been procurable — their
agents throughout thj country taking only

ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT.

uniall HU})pliu8, and l>i;ing at that date only
in pi'SHeH8iuu of the impiovenient. All these
detailb had >)een carefully aacertained. The
oartiidgtn to which the Blugs belonged, were
of a Hort manufactured bj' a firm in Bridge-
port, Connucticut, and their Halea had reach-
ed millions. Still Mr. Strasburger could not
get over the impr;'8sion that it was wonder-
ful how barren a clue the clue of the slugs
liutl been.

All pi-evions dateotives seemed to hove
adopted the phut of searching, first for a
motive for the crime (a method, indeed,
liaving the .approbation of most legal minds,
as witness a woU-kuowu maxim). But Mr.
.Strival)urger's principle was to discard
all such things as motives, from his
ii;iiid. He cared nothing for them. His
was the pure inductive system, of slowly
piiK-eeding from fact to fact, incident to in-
cident, and circumstance to circumstance.
He never speculated, never theorized, never
guessed. He simply put this and that to-
gotlier. That was the secret ot his F^iccesses.
Other detectives there were, who had not
scrupled to involve tlio aid of clairvoyance,
and to cummon ' nunX readers ' and ' psy-
chologists ' without et"' .»• tlieiv ft8«isti;nce
in their quest.

Nor had this case been free from the in-
trusion of that wonderful sort of general
lialliicination, whioli not infrof|iiently ac-
comi)auies the know ledge of capital crimes,
;i\\ akening ;;tcat pui^lic interest. The Her-
ald, and other great city dailies, liad from
time to time, since the murder, published
long revelations from men confined in peni-
tentiaries in various parts of the country —
some as far away as tlie Pacific ('oast — point-
ing directly to tiie murderer, indicating him
by name, and even detailing the exact plan
followed by him in the fatal work. Dozens
<if men, in State prisons, ami out of them,
had confessed to be accessories to the deed,
and demanded the full penalty of the law to
be visited upon themselves. One, cleverer
than the rest, a life inmate of a prison in
San Francisco, liad procui'cd for himself a
variation of the monotony of his incarcera-
tion, in the shape of a trip across the con-
tinent to New York and return, by contriv-
ing to impress the authorities with his abso.
lute knowledge of the whole affair — whi( h
knowledge he absolutely refused to revtal
anywhere, except in tlie city wliere the deed
was done.

But of all this Mr. Strasburger took

neither note nor heed. The deed had been

done — by physical means — those physical

nicaas must somewhere exist. The weapons

<<>f its aceomplishme^, must— since matter

is indestructible, in some shape or other, be
still visible to the naked eye.

The company who manufactured the wea-
pon which carried the slugs, as well aa the
manufacturers of the slugs themselves, em-
ployed hundreds of workmen ; each of these
bad passed through hundreds of hands, from
those who shaped the metal, to those who
had packed them, registered them in books,
and so on, down to the salesman who had
lianded them over the counter to the pur-
chaser. Some of these hundreds must be
equal to identifying them.

As to the pistol— after it had done its
work, it still remained a pistol, and conse-

Siiently, must be still in existence. If
irown into a furnace, the metal must still
lie metal, and might be recognized by the
artizan who used it first. If the wood, or
bone, or ivory, or rubber of its butt were
burned, or hacked or broken, fragments
would still remain. If sunk in the sea it
could be recovered. If hidden, it could be
brought to liuht. The assassin was a man
who did not drop from the clouds, or enter
upon the scene of his crime through the key-
hole. He was a man, and came m by the
door in broad daylight. He must, therefore,
have been seen to enter by somebody. He
went out. There must have been those that
saw him go out. He must have eitlier
walked to and fr ,>!u the scene of the crime—
or have been con\eved in pul)lic or private
conveyance— upon the public streets, and in
broail daylight ; in cither case, he must
have been seen by innumerable people, and,
in either case, others must have W.en Con-
cerned in liis movements. If he eat any-
thing on the dxy of the murder, those that
waited upon him, or provided his meal, must
have known something of, and about him.
In short, there is no detail of a man's daily
routine so slight, or so trivial, but that
others of his fellow-men have been directly
e.nployed in some way or other, in tlu ir
proper duties or vocations, in reference to
that detail. There is no act of a man's life
that can be forever concealed. If it should
become necessary to establish in a court of
justice that a certain man, on a certain day,
in the privacy of his closet, buttoned the
fourth button on his vest, that fact could be
established beyond the peradventure of a
doubt. How much more surely must the
murder of a human being, the release of a
human soul by violent hands, from its tene-
ment, sooner or later come to be known,
without any belief in Providence, in chance,
or fact, or fate, or destiny, without any
faith in Justice or Divinity, the Divine
order of things or the purposes of a Creator ?
Mr. Strasburger, whowas a plain materia-

(ill!

e m

*■?

ST. J CUE'S ASSISTANT.

lint, 1)olieving in uotliiiig ke vuuld not bear,
or sue, or touuli — hail tliree niaxiuui, uniler
wliioli he avoktid. ami by virtue of which, at
luiiht au it Btieuie<l to hiui, lie had never yet
failed in a piuHuit, Thi-se luaxiiUB were :
first, that 'Murder will out.' Tliat ia to
say — for so iiule«d he interpreted the old
»aw — tliore i» a tendency in all wrongtloiii
to seek tUe knowledge and disapprobation
society ; second, that ' matter i» indeHtruc-
tible "— namely, aa we liave aeeu that
iiotliinj' material can ever BucccssfuUy and
et4»rnaUy disappear. Mr. Stiawburgcr's
third maxim it iu hard to put tersely. It
related to the human memory. PerhupH it
might be expreHsed by the proposition tiiat
' the memory of man is practically infallible'
Mr. Strasburger held that this wonderful
faculty retained, in its storehouses, every
sound lioard by the human ear, every picture
once printed upon the retina of the liuman
eye, erery sensatiou experienced by tlie
liuman touch or taste. Whatever the sen-
suous experience, however minute or in-
stantaneous these senses, that experience is
taken u]> by the human memory and stored ;
once so stored, that experience, so long aa
the storehouse t!.\ists, this side of the grave,
can be referred to. He held that while the
process of storing experience, was one wholly
unconscious and beyond scrutiny, (though
not necessarily so — since efforts to remem-
lier, might be, and comiiKjiily are successful)
— the processes needed to discover and bring
out for use the experience ho stored, were
often the most delicate and subtile; involving
oidy effort on the part of the possessor of the
memory, but careful and minute examination
and cross-examination on the part of t,hird

Eersons ; but, nevertheless, it was Mr. Stias-
urger's opinion, that if properly worked, it
was possible that the storehouse of the hu-
man memory should be not only at the service
of its possessor, but actually at the service —
even against its owner's will — of others : of,
let us say, Mr. 8trasburger.

By a gentle process, the vest pocket of
which we have spoken, was, under Mr. Stra -
burger's scrutiny, approximated to the form
it must have taken when dilated with the
watch it once carried ; and, when ao dilated,
a mould of particularly delicate and sensitive
plaster, which should almost exactly express
the form and sizs of the watch, wasobtinned.
Diligent, but always cautious, inquiry was
not lacking as to the late curate's watch —
however, in other directions. When a de-
tective works a cluo, be always works it cau-
tiously, A clue cannot lie patented ; jnce
suggested, it is of course eijually at the ser-
vice of any other detective, or another who
chooses to pursue and bungle it by clumsy

pursuit. Kaoh is therefore ohuy of disclos-
ing the particular scent upon which he
works. Mr. Strasburger was not above the
jivi'o isy peculiar to Iws calling. He regarded
t'l • past and present record ofthis watch a»
till- possession which would undoubtedly
lead to the murderer's convicti( n ; but it waa
necessary, in order to so lead, that it shouUl
be arrived at by himself alone — little by little,
shred by shred, morsel by morsel.

Although Brand, in hia lite-time, had pos-
sessed many friends ; strange to say, ao far,
Mr. Strasburger had been unable to discover
one of them who plainly and clearly remem-
bered anything about his, (Brand s) watch.
Some in<leed, could remember, that he had,
in the course of conversation, taken it from
his pocket and consulted it, as a man will.
But no one could lie disoovered who could
describe it. The detective knew of the ex-
istence of Olive (jray, the dead man's l)e-
trothod, but she hacl lost her reason, and
was, for the present, at least, beyond lii.s
reach ; though he regarded her — even in her
.present state — as a last resort, should all oth-
ers fail. Neither Mr. Oray nor any of hiti
family, however, thoni^h solicitous of afford-
itig every assistance to Mr. Strasbnrger'a la-
bours, could furnish any details as to the
watch. Failing utterly in his inquiries, there,
he waa obliged to rely upon his own ingenui-
ty and resources. About this time he there-
fore began to diligently study, or, as we say,
to ' cram' upon the subject of watches and
watchmaking. He did not, however, read
up the subject iu eucyclopa^diaa or treatises.
Nothing was further from his instincts than
a book.

It may be doubted, whether he had opened
a dozen in the whole courae of his life. But
he hunted watchmaker's shops, ingratiated
himself with the proprietors of some by
plausible stories, and with others, where
plausible stories would not avail, by telling
the truth. There are some m^\i, whose
minds are so attuned by their profesaion qr
trade, to absolute exactness, that, althougii
notoriously immoral in their convictioua
"about what we call religion or ethics, the
least moral obliquity is repugnant to their
training, and they would— while admitting
no responsibility to a Divine power — as soon
contemplate a deviation from exact com-
mercial honesty and truth, aa they would
contemplate making a watch whose rachets
would not articulate, or whose parts would
not lie snugly together. By his model, M r.
Strasburger was able to ascertain that tli»
wat«jh was of a now obsolete fashion, such as
had ceased to be generally manufactured
abjut forty or fifty yea^ before. Its edgea
were rounded, and the snape and style of thft

BT. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

whol* a double convex, which might be ex*
preaHed by ' fat. ' Now the modem make of
watches is undoubtedly of a style rather flat
than ' fat ' — and the edges are more or leas
Itevelled. From cloM acrutiny of the mould,
Mr. Strasburger concluded also tliat the
watch had l>een an open face, with a bulging
crystaL This also confirmed liis earliest
suspicions, as to the age of the watch, since
the modern open face watch is apt to have a
flat crystal, with edges bevelled, to agree
H'lfrli the bevel of the edge of the patch itself.
Furthermore, he was enabled, by much
stutly, to ascertain that the watch worn by
(leorge Brand — proliably an heir-loom of
greater or less antiquity — was of gold, of the
style known as the 'English lever.' The
size indicated by the model he discovered,
usually carried a certain number of jewels,
necessary to reduce a certain amount of
f iution ; >>eing thereupon known to the traile
as •full jewelled.' These watches were
almost invariably from the establibhmeut of
o se maker, a Liverpool house, that at a cer-
tii;n periocl — which, compared with George
lirand'.s birth, and tlic probable age of his
jxirentji, corresponded— had flooded the
American markets with its wares. Socon-
lident (lid he grow, at last, that he himself
drafted the following iwlvertisement, wliich
t!ie Hi raid, in its ' Lost andFound' column,
ti;)read one day before its millions of readers :

T OST.— An open faced Kold watch, English
3 J lovor, full (19) jewcUea. mannfaoturcd by
]t)bort Roskell, Liverpool. 1833, and numbered
2r,84(5. As the same is valuable to the owner,
ciiietiy on account of its associations, a liberal
rowiird, to at least the market value of the
watch, will be paid (and no questions asked) for
its reeoverj-. Address Z. Z., Herald olhce.
ft. w. o. n. H. ..Jj »i'.f ,.f| itiiuK'xIo.i li.

The result rewarded his time and research,
and proved the accuracy of his calculation.
At the end of three days, the following com-
munication reached him in due course :

* OfHce of Jimmerson & Co.
Licensed Pawnbrokers,
No. — Bowery, New York,

this

i , ' Z. Z. is informed that-the watch adver-
tised for in the Herald was received in pawn
at this office, about two years ago. As the
time allowed by law has expired, any person
interested can have the same by payijig
amount of advance and interest.

Respectfully,
.^.Kfrtiftt}^ -. Jimmerson & Co ^

■Ai .nt oyK.

The watch in the Messrs. Jimmerson's pos-
session, upon being examined, p'oved to be

the very counterpart of Mr. Strasburger'e
advertised description — which he had writ*
ten, aa we have seen, with no guide except
a plaster mould of the inside of a vest pocket.
On being applied to the vest pocket it ex-
actly flUed tne bulge indicated oy the worn
portion ; but even Mr. Strasburger smiled
at his own infallibiUty, when on the inside
of the under cover of the watch, he read the
inscription, ' George Brand, from t^s Father,
March 3rd, 1846.'

It was the Messrs. Jimmerson's custom,
on taking an article in pawn, to make dupli-
cate tickets for the same ; and retaining one,
to give the other to the pawner. In. the
present case the ticket attached to the watch
was as follows :

^ JiMMKRSOV & Co., No. — BOWE {Y. "]

187-
Nov. 9.

English Lkvkb.
P.

GTS.

20,756

Mr. Brown, 181 Broadway. J

The form of the duplicate was, therefore,
easily ascertainable. And Mr. vStrasburj/er
again resorting to the invaluable Herald, in-
serted the following :

INFORMATION is wanted of the whereabouts
of the below described pawn ticket :

Jimmerson & Co., No. — Boweky.

187—
Nov. 9.

20,756

English Lever.
F.

CT8.

Mr. Brown,

25 per cent per annum, according to law.
Not responsible for damage by flre or
moth.

Will be liberally paid for.
Herald office.

Address P. E. K.,
L f. 2t w. p k N.

CHAPTER VI.

..,;t , .., :
' AS MAN NEVER LOVED WOM*N BEFORK ! '

Tom woke up in the gray of the morninf;
after Mr. Ogden's dinner, and lay tossing
and thinking. He had held Mara in hii*
arms and covered her face with kisses.
' What right had I to do that ? ' he thought.
He had never asked her to be his wife.
Never, until a moment before, had he told
her that he loved her. Much less had she
told him, by any look or sign, that slj^

, W

' (;

,la

ST. JUPR'S ASSISTANT.

loved liitn. In fact she liad iliDtiiietly told
liiiii that ahe loved Homelxxly el«e- In tlio
face of that punitive Ntateiutvtt he had taken
her in hiu arniu and kittHcd her many times.
It soemed as if he liad Itrokcn recklcBsly into
tile Holy of Holies, and Btyrileyiouslv tasted
what angels dared not covet, the lips of a

1)nre maiden nnkissed of lover man. As he
ay tliere he shuddeied at liis temerity. Bnt,
after he had risen and had his hath, he felt
better about it — nay, would not have
scrupled to repeat the trespass had the oc-
casion presented itself. That lie was not all
luiforgiven, moreover, witness this note,
which was borne to his door an hour or
two later :

' My Dear Mr. Frear—

' You did very wrong last night — that is,
we were both very naughty indeed — only yon
were the worst. We must never do so
again.

' I was provoked to be interrupted in the
long story I had settled myself down to
tell you. If you have no l)etter place to
lunch, come to luncheon witli us, at 2, ami
stay an hour with me afterwards. I know
you lazy artists have no business hours, so
you have not that excuse. Do come.

'Sincerely, Mara Ogden.'
Friday. '

Perhaps few men do not know the rapture
of the first note of the girl we love. Tom
gazed at the obldng envelope and the square
paper, and the inevitable uncharacteristic
fashionable English hand which every New
York young lady is ttvught to scribble. It
was almost precisely the same hand as ap-
peared upon bushels of notes scattered
around his studio, stuck in his mirror, and
bunched in the corners of his bureau
.drawers. There was nothing in the note
that Mara might not have written to the
newspaper ; but it was a letter from the
girl, that, just now, Tom was in love with,
and he hugj,'ed it rapturously^ to his vest.
He (lid not stop to recall the'liundreds of

i )roci sely similar oiicumstauces under which he
lad rcceixed girls' first notes. After all, Martt
Wits only the last, the last of a long line of
favourites. But there was this perennial
freshness about Tom that he could be madly
in love a dozen times a day, if necessary. In
his relations with women, Tom's very bril-
liancy and attractiveness were his curst*. All
women liked him at first sight. He oould
take a woman's hand the first time he met
]i«r, and hold it as long as he pleased with-
out demurrer on her part. He might say
^lie softest and most stereotyped things, and
%-omen would take them for gospel. But

somehow — such is another of the inconsis-
tcncifs of women — they liked him so vio-
lently at first tliat they exhausted their lik-
ing very rapidly. On the whole, if on«'
could claim to understand anything about a
woman, perhaps it is tolerably safe to sny
that the woman who detests is lost. Tiie man
who is detestetl but pcrHOvering, is the fnan
who wins a woman now-a-days.

Tom had, for all his flirtations, .seen many
girls in his life-time he wotild have cared In
marry. But, althougii welconicd and
coddled, as nocicty coddles everywlu re,Honi«!
opeechless, Hoicnin-visaged man, who ' sat
around' while Tom flirted with the girl or
squeezed her hand — some man who was 'hoi-
rid' where Tom was 'just lovely' — soniu
man who came when he wasn't
wanted, and stayed until he was si-nt home
—was the maji, in the end, who l^agged the
prize and marrieil the heiress.

Women are dogs — so wc said before — but
they also are cats. They grow accustomed
to inconveniences, and, by and by, to be in
love with them. They must like a man liet-
ter asi'J. bvllci, not worse and woise, before
they marry him. The man who improves
upon ac(iuaintance is Wtter than ten men of
whom you know just what to expect— how-
ever nice that expectation may be — that is,
if you are a woman.

Moreover, Tom was a genius. If he found
a girl loved ' society, ' he, too, was in love
with 'society.' If she liked books, (i.e.,
novels, ) Tom had read all the books she had
and could tell her of a hundred more she
would enjoy. If she preferred classical
music, he worshipped Wagner, and spoke of
the Flying Dutchman, and the Bridal March
in Lohengrin. If, on the other hand, she
admired opera bouffe, he would go into
genuine ecstacies over that marvellous
French invention, in which French women
sing, talk, and ku^h all at once, with such
marvellous inspiration, and the fascinating
melodies of the (irand Duchess and Madame
Angot's Child, only he could talk better
about it than most men. As to Ciernian and
Italian music, he loved it, as who does not ?
Of course he liad seen all the pictures in the
world, and knew Rafael and Andrea del
Sarto by heart. If she adored poetry, he
could rei 'at poetry by the square acre, nay,
he could .-ite it so, and had upon certain
occasions dv xe very creditable impromptus, as
may appear. If she was religious, he could
talk religion by the hour.

In all this he was anythinar but a humbug.
For he was a genuinely well-read man. He
did love * society,' he did love books, he
did love poetry. He had a masculine en-
joyment of the sentiment, at least in re-

RT. jui>f;s assistant.

women
til such
ciiiating
Madame
better
nan and
)e8 not?
in the
■rea del
try, he
re, nay,
certain
ptu8,a8
e could

kumbug.
|an. He
ooks, he
jiline en-
It in re-

li,'iou. He »lid love Otfeiibiich and opera
1 oitle— and could tiuliire oven classical
iiiusiic at an occaMional iiliilharmonic, withunt
'vinkin;,'. Of course lie was a j»uiiiu« in every
other a.'Ci'ibu to, namely -he forgot hi« door
keys, left liis pumps iiiid umbrella behind
him, once in a while, kept his bank account
a regularly, nc^lcctiHluppointments, was late
to (linnerH, went up-8tairs to smoke a
cigarette when it was his duty, instead, to
dance with the lady whose name was on his
card— but in a young unmarried man, es-
pecially in a gciiiiiB, these things are not
damning. He had a pew at St. Jude's, which
was his diploma of ic«iicctability, and Miss
Fanny Van Tier liad an e.xquisite little
prayer-book, carried, hidden somewhere in a
small mass of fra^'rant Russia and ivory, iij
wiiicli Tom's masculine hand had written
':l:ese verses :

" Wiipri tliou kneelest. betinteons lady,
hi yon 'liiiiiol. (llin and st it"I.v,
An.l the vesper service faintly

('ii'iiited is, and tar:
I/jt these links of sainted tcachinR
lie a chain of silver, reaching
llim who stands \v.tli<iut,hi\si'ecliiag
Voun quipricz, l)riv:. I)uur inoi I \

When the sunset, red and groldon,
Thron^'h tlie pairitcd window olden,
Falls upon thy fair hands, folden

t)n the paKe of prayer,
Ijet Konie tliouKht of liini - the giver —
Faint and fitful, howsoever,
' In tliy gentle nicniory quiver,

Vovs qui pries, pries pour titoi I ,

Mid the cloister arches lowly,
Suffer him to wander slowly.
Marring not thy visions holy,

in the censored air —
Though beneath the cold stones laying.
His dead heart would beat, o>'eyin"g
K'nh jiotition of thjr praylif-f -
Voui qui pricz, priezpour tiioi !

There were no cloisters at St. Jude's, open
to outsiders, nor had Miss Fanny'any liolier
visions than balls and dinners and spring
suits in the air (which was not ' censored ')
but Miss Fanny thought the lines were
* lovely, ' for all that.

Tom sometimes seriously wondered
whether he would ever get further than
groomsman or usher at a wedding. But he
couldn't imagine it, and, moreover, just
now — and — so far as he could see — forever,
he couldn't .afford it

nhe descends. U she conies down shiwly,
I V may well be dubious, If she i)anrie« at
the door before entering, he is lost.

* I'm so glad you've come. There's no-
body to lunch but tnanmui. '

Durin.u' lunch not a word was spoken ex-
cept for Mrs. Ogdcn's ear. Nor was Tom's
heart cheered to thid that Mara did not h.id
the way t'lthelittlccosy window of tlie mem-
orable night before. They sat, however, in
the library not far from it, and Mara began
to ' fill in ' a pattern for a hassock, destined,
when completed, to excite suqirise at her
marvellous skill in upholstery. Tom, man
of the world as l»c was, had nothing to say.

' Iin guing to tell you a long story,' said
Mara.

Tom would have liketl to say something
sweet, beginning, ' Why tell it to ine,unh'88, "
etc. — but his heart was in itis mouth, and he
only said 'yes,' instead.

' Perhaps you think it's funny that I
should want to tell it to you.'

Here was a> opportunity. But although
Turn had held this girl in his arms the night
before, he could only say ' yes ' again.

' I don't want you to think better of me
than I am.'

' Impossible I ' said Tom.

' Please don't l)e complimentary. I hate
compliments, any way, ' said Mara ; ' be-
sides, I thought yon were going to be my
brother. '

Nothing was further from Toms intention
at that moment. He was convinced that if
ever the Platonic relation did exist, with the
bewitching little brunette before him, it wjia
impossible.

' Well then, I won't ; ' said Tom, finding
his tongn , ' you shall see how literal I will
be. Plea.--^ go on. '

' You know that Mr. .and Mrs. Ogdeii arc
not my papa and nuimma ? '

' Yes, I believe I have heard so.'
' They are nothing more to me than the
kindest .and dearest friends. Yea, and the
only friends I have in the world, ' said Mara
(the last half of the sentence sadlj').

' I thought I was your friend ? ' said Tom.

' No father nor mother could be kinder

than they are. They ilon't even correct me

j whem I am bad, and I am often very bad

. _ I indeed.'

Tom dressed himself very laboriously and^ Tom did not quite like the direction the

carefully for M-ara's luncheon. She wel-
comed his c.inl with delight, an<l tripped
down-stairs in a way that set him on his
le^s. A man who waits in the parlour with
the hall door partly ajar, can tell exactly
what his reception will be, from the jiatter of
the young laily's feet upon the stairway, as

interview Avas taking, but, although con-
scious that it was his own fault, he did not
quite see how to divert it.

' I don't even know who my father and
mother were. '

At this rate, Tom must say something.
Tliere were pauses enough in Mara's uarra-

'r|

if:';i

f!2

S^ . JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

tivc for him to improve, certainlj ; but he
sat there like a stick instead.

" I only know that I was not cared for at.
nil, and was allowed to run in rags. We
lived in a great waggon, with a big clotli
top.'

Tom did begin to get interested.

'I don't know how, I'm sure. I suppose
by stealing.'

But Tom only sat quietly and said noth-
ing.

' I know you begin to je all regard for
me, Mr. Frear.'

' Miss Mara, how can j'ou dream of snch a
thing, when you know so well how I ? — '

' Well, we lived that way — in summers
going from place to place — in winters we
lived in a sort of shanty made out of a piece ■
of a freight car, near some railroad. I never
knew what it was, for all my life, until I was
sixteen years old, to have a bed to sleep on,
or a ilecent dress, or a kind word. Nobody
cared for me.' . i -.. -

' Mara !'

' I suppose I was stolen from somewhere.
I could not have belonged to the people who
carried me around. Still, bad as it was, I<
could not help seeing that I was better cared
for than they cared for themselves. Tiiero
were two men and a woman, and one or two
dirty girls and boys, wlio all huddled to-
gether, nights. But I always had a pile of
stiaw to sleep on ; and, if they happened to
have anything particularly nice to eat, it
seemed to be given to me as a sort of matter
of course. I imagine now that they must
haVe been expecting a reward or something
of the sort for being good to me. I don't
suppose that I was ever called for, however.
Nobody ever came to see me. '

' One night I was lying awake on my straw
in the big waggon, when I heard the man
and the woman talking. Somehow I fancied
they were talking abcnit me, and so I listen-
ed. I heard the woman say, "'She's old
enough to get her bread at any rate ;" and
then I was sure it was me they were talking
of. I don't remember all they said, only I
drew enough to find out that I was to be set
to earn my own living, and that some
woman, at some place in a city, had offered
to take me. This was a hot antunm night,
and the waggon was standing in a sort ' of
grove. I did not sleep all night, for I was_
sure some evil was in store for me. As soon
as it was daylight, I got up and climbed
fjuietly out of the waggon. I ran as far as I
could go, and liid myself. All that day I
stayed in a little glen bj' a little brook. The
glen was so dark and deserted that I felt
safe. At nightfall, however, I started out.
I had not a morsel of anything to eat that

whole day, except a few wild blackberrie.t
that I found left on so ne bushes, which had
evidently been long stripped of their fruit.
That night I wandered a longways, and, fin-
ally, found myself in a large garden near a
great house. Near the house was a trelli.s
covered with graj>e vines, and the grapes
were nearly ripe. I could not resist the
temptation, starving as I was. I eat until I
could eat no more, and for two or tluei;
nifdits afterwards I visited the trellis reg\il-
arly and eat all I could. This was actually
all I had to eat in those days. One night,
however, as I was eating the grapes, 1
felt a man's arms thrown around mv.
That man spoke the first kind word to
me, Mr. Frear, that I ever heard in m>-
life ; and I shall never forget it. If 1
could serve him by dying this moment, 1
would die for him.

' I was taken into the house, and he brouglit
me food. He was a young man, perhaps ten
years older than I was. He was strong and
large — at least to my eyes — Init liis voicf,
when he spoke to me was so kiinl and gentli'
that I thought he must be an angel. 1
tiiouglA if I could only live to be near him 1
would work mj' fingers off. There is nothing
I would not have submitted to. While I was
eating, I overheard of their conversation
enough to find out that the house I was in
was not his home — that the gentleman was
his uncle, and that he — my angel — was goin^^
away the next morning, and my heart sank.
I was treated with every kindness the t\vi>
men couki think of. I was put, for the fii ^t
time in my whole life, into a bedroom with a
real bed, but I could not sleep. If he — my
angel- -were to be there I could stay ; but 1
could not, I felt that I could not live even
there if lie were not by. So, in the early
niornii g I stole out of the house and went
back to my glen.' For a long time — it must
have been a great many weeks — I livetl in
the glen by the brook, wliile at niglit, I
A^•ould find my way to the house 'where thcv
had been so kind to me. At this time i
lived upon thieving. There were many othtr
houses with magnificent groumls near the oiu-
I had been taken to, and I took apple -,
peaches and pears from the trees ^^llen I
could get them, or corn from the garden.-
I had not the least idea what to do when it
came winter, nor had 1 even given it :i
t'lought. But I thought of the man I had
seen, and watched every night to see him
again. At last one night I did see him. I
went ivn to him and touched his arm. I can-
not tell you anything more. I was in a
dream ; but he brought me to the house of
his nnolo — the gentleman whom I had .sc> :i
with him before — Mr. Og<lcn's— and then to

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

my dear, kind friend, Mrs. Ogden. It is to
liiin I owe the home that I have — to him
that I owe everything. I would die for him
I would die for him ! '

Mara had dropped her work and was sit-
ting with her small hands clasped upon the
table, and her face raised upwards. She was
not lookingat Tom,but she repeated intense-
ly, as if oblivious of his presence, ' I would
die for him — I would die for him.'

' Poor girl. ' was all Tom could say.

Tlie words brought her back again.

' I have told you this, Mr. Frear, because
I admire you and hke you ; and because I
know Mr. and Mrs. Ogden and all like and
admire you. I want you to consider me your
sister, Sir. Frear — Tom — and— and — to be-
lieve that — you will do me a great favour if
you will promise me one thing. '

' Wliat is it, Mara ? '

' Promise me that you will 7iever speak to
me again as you did last night. I do not de-
serve it — as you see fi'oni my story — I am not
worthy of it ; but even if I did, and if
I were, I love one man so well that all days
and nights I think of nobody else. I could
not love you or any other man than he ;
and — ' She thought she saw a tear in
Tom's blue eye, and so she put her hand on
his—' I do like you Tom— I do no like you—
won't you promise me ?'

' I will promise nothing of the sort,' cried
Tom, ' but I will promise to die for you, or
live for you — to be your slave, and to love
you as man never loved woman before,
forever ;' and he fell on his knees at her
feet.

' To love you as man never loved woman
before !' Poor foolish boy ! Wlio of us
has not thought that he could love as man
never loved woman before. But, ah, who
can do it ? As well think that we alone,
of all men, have lived. For is not ' to love'
the perfect of ' to live ' ? And is not
' life the sum of love, and death the loss of
it all?'

CHAPTER Vn.

MR. BLA0.

The i)awnbroking establishment of Messrs.
Jimmerson & Co. was situated upon the
Bowory, and consisted of two large stono
buildings, each five stories in height. •It is
safe to say that nobody's ' uncle ' had ever
before attempted pawnbroking upon so vast
a scale. And, in reality, the Messrs. Jim-
merson &Co.'s business was nothing less
than immense. The first story or ground
fltKtr of the largest of these buildings was
fitted up as a shop for the sale of Jimmer-

son & Co'a unredeemed pledges ; and it
would have required much cotcitation juid
experience to inquire therein for an artiile
not producible from the motley assortment
it contained. The very air was dark with
the chattels, large and small, wliich hung
from its ceilinfi ; while the shelves lining the
lon^ room, the windows and the floor —
saving and excepting the little strip allowed
for purchasers — were piled with alnmst
every conceivable vanety of what !Mr.
Wemmick would have called ' por-
table property. ' The upper stories of the
two buililings were cranuned — as also were
their cellars and sub-cellars, with sucli pled-
ges as, having ascended the ' spout,' awaited
the expiration of their legal limbo before en-
tering the shop below. But upon the groun 1
floor of tlie lu rrower building the Messrs.
Jimmerson 's stony-hearted business was chief-
ly transacted. This ground floor formed a
long, narrow room, divided lengthways by a
counter, In-eiist high. The customer reached
througii a swinging door in a low doorwaj',
tlie half ill front of this couiitor, which was
divided, by rude board partitions at inter-'
vals, into stalls, where customers who wished
to hide their faces or their pledges could deal
with the man across the counter in privticy.
A fraction of the counter nearest the door,
however, was open for those fortunate pawii-
ors who feared- neither scrutiny nor inter-
ruption. Behind the counter was a long
low desk, upon wliicli the stock in trade —
(. p., the cash which .Jiinnu'ison & Co. were
anxious to dispose of for about six times its
value in merchandise — in tempting liciaps of
gold, silver, greeiiliack, nickel and copper,
was displayed to hungry eyes. The wall
above it was hung with innumerable placards
and posters, headed ' Stolen, ' ' Lost, '
'Reward,' etc., for the guidance of the
operators. Above these was a shelf where
some dozen varieties of clocks, watched,
with white, timeless faces, the remorseless
trade of misery and crime.

The metliods of an ordinary pawn-shop
have been often enough described. But Jim-
merson & Go's was no ordinary pawn-shop.
At least five men, constantly behind the
counter, transacted its business in this wise :
Supposing a trinket of gold were ofl'ered in
pawn. Tlie principal (suspected of being old
.riniinerson himself), a harsh, vulgar-looking
man, in a cardigan jacket, examined it, and
tosseil it to a subordinate, who weighed it.
Upon its beinf( tossed back, the principal
would demand of the customer, ' How
much ?' And upon being told, would men-
tion a sum — usually about one-fourth that
demanded liy the customer. If this sum
were accepted, a third subordinate took

^! 1 1

■ fn

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

charge of the pledge, wliile a fourth prepared
certain duplicate tickets. These, ujioii com-
pletiou, were liauded to a fifth, acting as
cashier ; who, tearing them apart, handed
one with tiie money to the unfortunatf , and
;;ave the other to the man holding the pledge.
The person who had pledged George Brand's
watcli- must have passed under at least flie
iiispcution of five pairs of eyes ; and rumour,
besides, jiasertcd that a sixth pair, from some
hidden corner of vantage, scrutinized every
ncjihew of my uncle Jimmerson — and all
who called were nephews— and that, to this
pair of eyes, Mas attached a memory that
was as infallible as History. Whatever
tnith thei'e might iiave been in this
lintter rumoui", and wliethcr or not he was
tlw silent partner of this sixth pair of eyes,
yiv. Strasburger, once certain that (ieorge
B)-.i,nd's watch had been entered through the
door, and been passed across the counter,
knew that the remainder of his work was
uidy a <iuestion of time.

In all ordinary pawnbroker's cstablisli-
mcuts, customer and proprietor deal with
e .ch otlior at arm's length. The proprietor
on iiis part, well knows tliat he may be part-
ing with liis money for articles which are not
tiie customer's property, to begin Mitli ; that,
sooner or later, most stolen property gravitate
to his shop : and, therefore he trains his eye
to catch, and his memory to retain, the face
of the man he deals with; while tlie custu|n-
I'V. for ids part, knows tliat his face might as
\.ell ap]5ear in the Rogue's (iallery on Mul-
ii 'rry Sti'eet. as in the retentive memory of
' ins uncle.' In dealing with Tinnnerson &
C )., however, the chances in favour of the
Kctective were nuiltiplied by at least five.
A tliough, George Brand's watch, now in his
possession, therefore, had lain two years or
more in pawn, Mr. Strasburger did liot
despair of speedily identifying the person
who had pawned it.

At half past nine o'clock one evening, Mr.
Jinunerson, Sr., was sitting over a glass of
• Ijrandy and water, in his own parlour. He
was amanof sixty,and was reputed to be worth
five millons of dollars, made out of his va>t
business — (lie probably was worth about a
tiiird of tliat sum)— when a note was handed
him. He knew the writing well enough. It
was very short, and ran thus. " Jinmierson,
I want to see you in a hurry, come with
bearer. S.' — He knew that S. stood for
Strasburger, in this instance. It might have
been that, at some period of his life, that he
had been intimate outside of his legitimate
bnsiness with Mr. Stras))urger ; at any rate,
Mr. Jinunersoufelt under obligations to drop
liis brandy and water, and to i)ut on his hat.

Ou reaching' the Headquarters at Mulberry

Street, he was ushered directly into Mr.
Strasburger's private room, and Mr. Stras-
burger motioned him to a seat.

'Jinunerson,' said Strasburger, ' we took
this out of your shop to-day,' and he laid
Brand's watch upon the taV)le ; ' that watch
belonged to the young parson who was mur-
dered ou the ninth ilay of November, two
years ago, and was left with you that same
day. '

' Two years is a long time, ' said Jimmer-
son, ' a long time to i-emember a face. '

' Yes, it's a long time. '

' I'll tell you what we'll do. . Give me that
watch, and give me three days. By tiiat
time I'll examine every boy in the shop, and
ten to one, will tell yoii something to help
you.'

' Take it, ' said Mr. Strasburger and George
Brand's watch passed a second time into the
possession of Mr. Jimmei-son.

The rest of the conversation was conduct-
ed in so low a tone, that this chro'nicler is
unable to report it ; but possibly the above
fragments will satisfy the reader.

Thepublicity which an ai v rtisementinsert-
ed even in the remotest corner of the Ilcru/d,
receives, is something immense. For not
only do many thousands of i'ndividuals, in
the city and without it, scrutinize its col-
umns daily, but thousajids Ijesides, all over
the land, actually transact tlieir l)usines3
through them, actually requiring no other
capital for their trade than the Henihl,
taken crisp and fresh with their coti'ee.
Three days after the last advertisement —
the die our readers will remember, asking
for information as to the pawn ticket — Mr.
Straslnirger had another caller.

This caller was an unmistaliable child of
Israel — a tribe that learned, very earlj- in
its history, to grow ricli out of the miseries
of others. Moses himself, (not the Moses
of Chatham street, Init the great original
Moses, ) was not unaware of the tendencies
of Ids race, and in the ninteenth verse of
the twenty-third chapter of I>euteronomy,
endeavoured to regulate tiieir ruling pas-
sion, by forbidding them to fleece each
other. And indeed they seem to have suc-
ceeded in satisfying themselves upon tlie
Gentiles, until the time of their return from
captivity, wiien the sufferings of their own
race were too abject not to lie taken advan-
tage 9i, and tiiey began, as Nehemiah in the
opening verses of his fifth chapter tells us,
to take mortgages of each other, not only
upon lands, but upon wives and daughters
as well. The present child of Israel was a
dog, who relished dog equally with other
Hesh. His name was Blau ; he was fat ami
dirty as any of his tribe are capable of be-

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

coming. His dirty hands were tipped with
a rim of jet black under his long nasty nails,
and covered with diamond rings. His face
was a perfect hawk's face, and his stubby
hair and unkempt beard added to its repul-
siveness. Mr. Blau was a money lender, of
course. He was a pawnbroker, without a
license, whenever expedient. He was, in
short, anything except — what he invariably
described hini.self to be — an honest man.
His ostensible business was that of a broker
in Messrs. Jinimerson & Co. 's pawn tickets.
At least every caller upon the establisliment
was mutely proffered, upon going ont or
coming in, a card setting forth Mr. Blau's
willingness to serve in that capacity. He
was a small flea, upon the 1)ack of a large
flea, and his aim (although we mix the meta-
phor) was to suck anotlicr ilrop from the
orange which Jimmerson & Co. had alrea<ly
squeezed dry. So long as Messrs. Jimmer-
son & Co. adhered to tlieir practice of selling
money for five times its value in merchan-
dise, Mr. Blau — who was pretty sure — sure
enough to take any chances — that they
would, could safely advance a few pennies
for the ticket calling for that merchandise,
and find his profit in it. His place of Imsi-
ness was in as unholy and squalid and stink-
ing a garret as Baxter street possessed ; and
he curried his valuable pledges upon his own
vile and nasty person.

Mr. Blau brought a bouquet of villainous
stench into Mr. Strasburger's presence : but
that gentleman allowed no personal con-
siderations to interfere with his calKng.
He, Blau, liad been sent — he said through
hih nose — by Jimmerson & Co., and his
narrative, as translated for tlio assistance of
the reader was in this wise. He had seen the
£fe/"aW.s advertisement, an recognized the de-
scription of the pawn ticket. Althouj^'h an
honest man, standing within pale of tlie law,
he had been too shrewd to comniuiiieatc his
valuable identity to the initials uumI, and
had called on Jimmerson instead. Jimmer-
son had sent him here. He proceeded to
state then that he was a public l)enefactor,
in that he enabled unfortunate persons, who
called on Jimmerson & Co., to (jljtain frcin
five to ten per cent, more for their personal
property than they otherwise could. He
transacted his business personallj'. Except
the boy nientioued, he had no agents or
assistants. Of course he shared with
Jimmerson & Co. the risk of receiving stolen
goods. In the course of his l)usine8S, a
person, some time ago- had called upon him
and offered the ticket in (luestion. He
had stated, however, that he did not wish to
■ell it ; that he had the money necessary to
redeem the watch it called for, and plenty

besides. What he wanted was only tliat
Mr. Blau should go through the form of re-
deeming the watcn from Jimmerson & Co.
in his stead. The stranger was quite willing
to pay Mr. Blau for his services, whatever
he might ask — iu any event, as nuich as he
could possil)ly make by buying the ticket
outright. Upon being asked why he did
not redeem the watch himself, tlie stranger
had said that he was sensitive — that he was
afraid of being seen going into a pawn shop,
and so forth ; although he ailmittetl to hav-
ing himself, in an assumed name, pawned
the M'atch in person. Mr. Blau, however,
as lie stated, had declined so unusual a pro-
position. He understood his own business,
had calculated the cliances, and was willing
to undertake the vLl^ I. ...v-.i therein. But
he thought lie snuffcl mischief, and had, at
first, utterly decli'.ied the business ; con-
fident, from the man's manner, that there
was some trap or trouble involved for the
presenter of the ticket. Qe had not calcu-
lated the chances of nny other sort of
business than his own, and was not prepared
to enter any other. Subsequently, however,
he had offered to redeem the watch if the
stranger would leave his real name and ad-
dress, giving Mr. Blau a day to verify it.
But this the stranger had declined to do ;
and had finally gone away, taking the ticket
with him. Upon b. ing asked for a descrip-
tion of the man, Mr. Blau had been very
positive that he was a short man, say about
five feet two or three inches in height, riiddj'
face, brown hair and eyes, short brown side
whiskers. He had worn a high black hat,
and black broadcloth clothes, and had im-
pressed him (Blau) as being a little bit
'seedy.' His manner, especially, was
noticeable as excessively nervous and
timid. Mr. Blau seemed disappointed
upon finding that he was to receive no ade-
quate reward for his information, as he
maintained ; but was finally disposed to take
fifty dollars down, and he, in case any
further sum should be forthcoming, left his
address.

Scarcely a day elapsed before Mr. Stras-
burger received the watch l)y the hand of a
messenger, to^etlier witli a note or memo-
randum, as follows :

' The person who pawned a goW open-
faced watch with us, November 9tn, 18 ,

was, we think, a young man, about five
feet three inches high, red face, with short
brown side whiskers, brown hair and eyes,
clothes very much worn — seemed nervous
and frightened while doing the business — left
money upon the counter upon going away,
but returned for it. J. & Co. '

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTAFT.

Upon reading this memorandum, Mr. Stras-
burger allowed himself a second little smile.
At this rate the murderer of George Brand
would be in the Tombs in twenty-four
bours.

CHAPTER VIII.

*I PA%VSED THE WATCH.'

• At this rate the murderer will be in the ;
Tomba in twenty-four hours, ' Mr. Stras-
burger had said, and he rarely was mistaken
in his prophecies. In this case, however, he
was at fault. When the twenty-four hours
he hail given himself had elapsed, the man
who had pawned the watch had been in the
Tombs fully sixteen hours. But, as the
reader has known all along, he was not the
murderer. The note from Jinnnerson & Co.
had reached Mrs. Strasburger at ten o'clock
of a Monday morning. At eleven, a District
Telegraph Loy had brought him a line to this
etfect :

'Come at once, as quick as you can. Bring
or send for Frear. Ogden. '

Mr. Strasburger touched a bell upon Iiis
'table. 'Send Doyle here,' he said to the
man who answered it.

Mr. Doyle was a tall, black-haired Irishman.
We generally beware. of black-haired Irish-
men, and certainly Doyle was a man to
beware of. In the almost innumerable
paintings of scenes from Goethe's poem,
one observes that artists have contrived to
give Mephistopheles his expression of serio- '
comic-devilishness, by a certain drawing |
down of the iimer corners of the eyes. |
Now the inner corners of Doyle's eyes point- i
ed down. His face and grin would have
been invaluable in one of those middle age
masques, of miracle plays, wherein the
Devil was always the clown. It would not
have requii'ed much attention to believe
that such a malignantly wicked grin — such a
thin cut, sharp-pointed nose, such oblique
and desperate looking black eyes, such cold,
compressed and sinister lips, such a long
black moustache, with skyward pointing
ends, and such straight coal black hair,
«ould only frontispiece a man to whom mur-
der, arson, rape, burglary and theft were
daily and familiar taskp. And yet, many a
time this face had stood next (Outside the
felon's dock, as an embodiment of law and

I'ustice ; while^ within it, a mild angelic
ooking man, whose countenance beamed
with love and good-will, rested there, on his
journey to dungeon or gibbet.

When the devil appeared to M. Cuvier,

and said, ' Monsieur, I have come to eat
you, ' Cuvier replied, ' Pardon me, Monsieur,
but you have horns and hoofs, and therefore
you are not carniverous. " But we have
allowed m<3n's features to mean one thing,
and birds' features and beasts' features, to
mean another. A fish in the sea, whose tail
is divided into unequal flukes, like a shark's,
is always a ravenous fish. A flying thing,
whose wings are scolloped outwardly, like a
bat's, is always a loathsome and noxious
thing. The brute creation never lies ; but
who has not seen ugly and sinster-lookius
men, the very embodiment of the justice and
mercy of the States ?

Upon one of his own cards Mr. Strasburg-
er scribbled a line, and handed it to Doyle.

' An artist named Frear, Number 36
Studio Buildings. Take him to Mr. Ogden'i
office, No. 12 Jauncey Court. Witness. '

The accustomed understrapper was to
draw from these instructions that Frear waa
to be carried, whether he would or no ; but
to be led to consider himself as going quite
of his own accord. Doyle had executed
many such missions in his time. To tell
the truth, Mr. Strasburger was not quite
sure that Mr. Tom Frear might not be of
service at some stage in the St. Jude's In-
vestigation.

When Mr. Strasburger arrived at Mr.
Ogden's chambers in Jauncey Court, lie was
ushered into the lawyer's private apartment.
He was not alone, however. In a corner, by
a dim window opening upon the Court
itself, sat the man who had pawned George
Brand's watch. Mr. Strasburger knew him
in a moment.

' Good morning, Mr. Strasburger. Where
is Frear ?' said Mr. Ogdcn.

' Sent for, ' replied the detective, who
rarely ever wasted words upon under-
stood and trite civilities lietween man and
man.

' Will you wait until he comes, or will you
hear thi§ man's story now ? It is very
strange ;' said Mr. Ogden.

' I will have it before the witness gets
here. So make haste, ' said Mr. Strasburger
to the man, ' What is your name ?'

' £,ucius Core, sir. '

Indeed he was a nervous man, 'Fidgety,'
would have expressed it better. His fingeri
twitched, his eyes winked, his feet drummed
alternately on the floor.

' Did you pawn this watch on the
ninth day of November, 18 — ?' demanded
the detective, producing George Brand's
watch.

' Yes, sir, and — ' <' *

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

fi7

' Well, go on with your story. '

' I am a very poor man, sir. I am in the
Insurance business ; that is, I go around
.umoiig men I know, or whose names I get
out of the Directory, and into offices, and
iiak if you want your life insured ? If you
«ay no, I go out. If you say yes, I go and
get you a policy — and the Coinpany pays me
H percentage out of the premium. It is a
very poor business, sir, very poor, indeed —
\ have come as near starving to death as a
man can come and live. ' And he wiped his
forehead with a large and not over clean
liandkerchief.

' Go on, ' said Mr. Strasburger who
Avas looking out of the window into Wall
street.

' Yes, sir. I say I'm in the insurance busi-
ness, but I do anything in the way of busi-
ness to make a living. Sometimes I get a
-commission to buy things, or I sell thinas by
sample. Oh, sir, I have had a hard life these
ten years, '

' Cio on, ' said Mr. Strasburger, again.

' Yes, sir. As I was sayuig, sometimes
Tiusiness would be so bad that I couldn't get
imythina to put into my mouth. Nobody
wanted msurance. When people saw me
coming on tlie street, they would begin
shaking their heads a block, or, may be,
"two blocks off. Well, sir, in such times as these,
there was only one thing to do. If I wanted
to live, I used to beg. Not on the public
streets — oh, no, sir, I don't mean that. I
had one friend, George Brand, the man
who was shot, sir — who was murdered, I
. mean — '

Mr. Strasburger looked round abruptly.
* Who said he was murdered *" he said,
in a harsli voice, that add no com-
posure to the countenance of Mr. Lucius
Core.

*I think he was murdered, sir.' Then,
after a pause, he proceeded. ' Very often
I used to go to George and say,
■" George, I haven't eaten anything for
twenty-four hours. " He knew how poor I
was. God bless him, sir ! and he would
always give me something. Often he would
go himself to a restaurant with me, and give
me a great dinner. He was so good to me,
sir, that I would almost rather have starved
than trouble him so much ; and I never went
to him unless I could actually get nothing in
any other way. Well, sir, it happened that
in November I had done pretty well.
Among other tilings, a young man in tlie

Club, on Fifth avenue, named Ogden,

the same name as yours, sir, (turning to Mr.
Ogden) liad given mo several commissions to
attend to ; and one df»v, when I brought him
something he wanted — for I do most any-

thing, sir, sell stationei*y, neck-ties, suspen-
ders, soap, most anything on commission, sir
— I think this that I brought young Ogden
at his Club was a box of stationery — ne said
to a friend of his, another young man, '* Polly,
this fellow is a very useful sort of person.
He'll buy you almost anything on a commis-
sion. " This man he called Polly — whose
name was Pollard Curtis, took a very curious
scarf pin out of his pocket and showed it to
me. "I'll give you a hundred and twenty-
five dollars if you'll duplicate that for me."
' I think the head of it was about an incli
square, and flat ; and it had the design of
two craTies standing among reeds — the back-
ground was of one sort of gold, and the de-
sign of another, and some of tlie design was
worked out in small diamonds. At any rate,
sir, I happened once to see, in a jeweller's
store — a small store, sir, where one wouMn't
look for such costly things, in Brooklyn —
I used to live in Brooklyn, that is, I slept
there for a time ; I live most anywhere, sir —
and as I tiiought he meant what he said, I
told him I would do the commission for him.
Well, as to the pin, I had been in the habit
of looking at tlie jewellery displayed in the
window in Brooklyn, sir, and 1 w as certain
I had seen the same thing. The young man
assured me that he would take it for a liun-
dred ami twentj^-five dollars, and I believed
him. I examined the pin carefully, but, a.s
I could see, Mr. Curtis didn't \\ ant to let me
take it aAvay with me — people don't confide
in persons who wear seedy coats, sir — and as
I am very sensitive al)Out being refused, I
didn't like to ask him. But I looked at it
carefully, and then went over to tlie store in
Brooklyn. They offered me that pin for a
hundred dollars. Twenty-five dollars was
an object to me, I can assure you, sir. I
hadn't had so much inoney at one time for
years, sir. Well, I told the jeweller that I
wanted the pin to sell again, and that I
would give him a hundred dollars, but 1
wanted tliree days to raise the nionej'. H .;
laughed. " I won't give you three iiours.
I may sell it in fifteen minutes to somebody
wlio is on tlie way here now." But I thouglit
of the profit I was to make, and I persevered.
"Well," said I, "I want the pin and 1
haven't got the money — I can't ^'et
it to-day (it was four o'clock) — but
I'll come round at nine o'clock to-mor-
row, and if you have it, will you give me
half an hour to raise the money." " To-
morrow's election day, "says he, "and we
shut up at 9." " Well, then,' said I, " can
I have it at five o'clock to-night ?" It was
then just about striking three, as I saw by
the regulator before me. I don't think the
shopkeeper thought I meant business, but

f(!il

' fl

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

he said, careless-like, " Yes, you can have
it for one hundred dollars at tive o'clock ;"
and turned off' to do something else.

* I had nobody to go to but George. It
was a push to go up to Tentli street and
back in two hours, but I thought I'd try
it. I found George, luckily, at the studio
in Ninth street — I told him what I have
told you, and that I had a chance of mak-
ing twenty -five dollars, enough to live on
for a month. " My boy," says George — I
remember his very words, as indee<l I ought
to, since they were tlie last I heard him
speak, " I haven't got that much money,
but I'll give you all I've got." He had
only six dollars, and that took every cent,
even to pennies, he could find in his pocket.
" But." says I, " tliat's no use to me, unless
I have more. " Then he thought a minute,
and took his watch out of his pocket. He
took it from his chain, and liaiuled it to me.

" There," said he, " you might be able to
raise the rest on that. You can take it
up with what you get on the pin. " I was
in too much of a hurry to thank him, for I
wanted to get down to tlie ])awn shop
before it closed, and then get lvjv to Brook-
lyn.

' ^^ ell, sir, I pawned the watch. But I
didn't get to the jeweller's in time. When
I did get there, a boy was putting up the
shutters ; but he said the proprietor would
keep open on election day from two to four.
So I determinec^ to buy the pin > et. On
the afternoon of the election day, I bought
the pin and paid a hundred dollars for it,
and started for the Club. When I got
there, I waited two hours for Mr. Curtis,
but he didn,t come. I couliln't find him
that day ; and the next morning I heard of
the murder. I ought to have come right
up and told all this before, sir, I know,
but I was afraid. There was such an ex-
citement at the time that I was afraiil I
would be arrested for the murder, and so I
kept putting it off, and off, until — well, to
be frank, sir — until I had to pawn the pin
itself, as 1 had the watch. I didn't mean
to be dishonest, sir ; but, you know, when
a man is starving, if he has money in liis
pocket he can't resist buying something to
eat with it, sir. Well, I kept on and on,
hoping to be able to take the watch up and
return it to the authorities, but I never did;
and the longer I put it off, the more
frightened I grew ; and the thought of tell-
ing this would throw me into a cold per-
spiration. One day I did have money
enough to take up the watch, but I was
afraid to go for it myself, and tried to get a
Jew to do it for me, but he wouldn't, and
that chance went like the rest. But I saw

the advertisement in the Herald, and
I kne\v people were on my track. And now
I've told it, and I feel better. '

The weak, miserable, vascillating man,
leaned back in his cliair and wiped liis face
again. Nobody seemed to notice him. Mr.
Ogden and the detective werein consultation.
When at last Tom amved, and entered, fol-
lowed l)y Doyle, Mr. Ogden gi-eeted the
young artist warmly. iJoyle himself sunk
into a chair between the door and the poor
creature by the window.

' My dear Frear, we regret our o1)ligations
to troul)le you. But Mr. Strasbiu'ger has
Tor.e or two questions to put to you, ' said
Mr. Ogden, in his pompous, good-natured
way.

' I ]jeg pardon of Mr. Strasburger, ' said
Mr. Tqui Frear, — whose sufferings under the
silent surveillance of the horrible Doyle liad
nerved him, to his own surprise, 'and, if
necessary, I will also beg pardon of the fel-
low that brought me here ; but, as I haven't
killed any body, or set tire to anybody's
house, I don't propose
this sort of style any
time anybody is to be

der 'em myself and hang for it, if cdhvenient
to everybody ; but d — n me if I'll hang for
nothing, any more.'

' Well then, Frear, I believe
that is required of you ; so I'll
you ever happened to see that
fore ?' And 5lr. Ogden pointed
ject form of Mr. Lucius Core.

Tom lookeil at him carefully,
man that followed me down stairs from the
fourth floor of the Studio Buildings the aftei:-
noon })efore Brand was murdered, ' said he,
confidently.

' You know him ?' ,/ ;' " ■'

'Perfectly.'

Mr. Ogden bowed. ' I believe that's all,
Mr. Strasburger, ' said he. .,..,,

Mr. Strasburger bowed. ' "'

'Good-morning, sir,' said Tom, and in an
instant the door had slammed behind him.

' Doyle, you stay here with this man, ' said
Strasburger. ' Mr. Ogden and I have busi-
ness ;' and accordingly they passed outside.
When the door was shut, Strasbni'ger said in
a tone of illy-concealed contempt. ' That
man couldn't murder a cat. He must be ar-
rested, though. If necessary, we can hold
him for the larceny of the watch.

' Or of the money,' said Mr. Ogden.

Thp verdict of the lawyer and tiie detec-
tive evidently was unfavourable to Mr. Lu-
cius Core's worthiness to be hung for murder.
Had he been the murderer they were seeking
they would possibly have respected him ; as
he was innocent, they despised him. And

to be hounded in
longer. The next
murdered, I'll mur-

I know all
ask you if
person be-
to the ab-

'Thp.t's the

ST. JUDES ASSISTANT.

8jy

■■"€

HO it is everywlieic. Better lie wicked than
weak, tint lie iiiiiat be arreuted, nevertiie-
Ijsa. Two years luvd passed. The Brand
murderwas invarialily alluded to wheuasyno-
nyui for the inellicienoy of the New York
l'(jiice was reiiuired. At least it must app ar
tliat they were not idle. Mr. iStriisbur;,'Lr
wore on hi-; watch chain, a tiny steel whi»tle.
He put this to his lips, and blew gently.
At tiiat in-itant the horiihie Doyle, catching
the sound witliin the private room, rose and
laid In's liand upon Lucius Core's seedy
shoulder, ' You are my prisoner, ' aaiil he.

CHAPTER IX

JO I! PIERCE.

Tlie same shambling nervousness and un-
ni:uUiness whicii had kept the wretched
Lucius Core from presenting himself and
aoc junting for <ieurge Brand's watch, at
the time of the murder, iiad led him to call
upon Mr. Ogden and malie a clean breast uf
it, as soon as he found that the watch was
being traced. Tlie world is full of just such
men, who iiave not moral courage enough
ei tiler to lie or tell the truth. They dare be
nothing else than spaniels. Let a man be
of tiiis sort and he may as well calculate on
a spaniel's fortune. N(jtliing will go well
with him. He who fears the worst will al-
ways experience the worat. The man who
lays ' wagi r it would cripple him to pay, or
who dreads losing it, as sure as fate, will
l(jse that wager. It is only brave men wlio
will, in tliis world.

It niiglit be supposed that, after the long
and patient circumstantiality of Mr. Strasbur-
gors's pursuit, the ultimate result of his clue
would iiave disconcerted him. Not in the
least. To be sure.he had believed that the
man wiio pawned the watch would ultimately
turn out to be the murderer of (leorge
Brand. To be sure, he had been wrong in
his speculations, but not wrong in his clue
— ^ wrong in his guess work, l)ut not in his
facts. More than ever was he convinced
that he was reaching the right track. He
never despaired. If. instead of the poor em-
asculated specimen of liumanitj' he had
caused to be locked up in the Tombs, his
clue had developed the object of his search,
lie would have been satisfied, as expecting no
more. As it was, he had been equally pre-
pared for loss. For it must not be supposed
that.in ids search for the watch,he had over-
looked otlier opportunities for his detective
skill. Upon the first narration of the cir-
cuuistancys he was to trace W their sources,
he had seized upon the fact that the murder-
ed man had a betrotlied. It was, there-

fore, a matter of course that he shoiii ' have
acquainted himself accurately with tii early
history of the betrothed girl. ^Vlien, in this
history.he had met the name of Paul Ogden,
he had been guilty of no laches in learning
the story of Paul Ogden 's life. In ascer-
taining the antecedents of the murdered
man, he had aimed to know of his acquain-
tance — of bis friends and his enemies. Mr.
Strasburger knew nothing of that attril>ute
of humanity called Love, except as he was
obliged to meet it in his daily experience —
its material phase of lust, or, let us say,
passion. But he was as well aware of its
omnipotency, as he was of the power of
compressed air or of steam. It was meiuly
a fact in natural philosophy to him. It was
nothing new to iiim, then, to associate Paul
Ogden's name with the name of the murder-
ed man ; and, in the classification of tlie
murdered man's acquaintance, he had set
down Paul Ogden as a man who rankeil
among his enemies, rather than among his
friends, as naturally as he would iiave car-
ried ten units to tiie tens' cohinm wiieii lie
added u]) his disburseiiieiits for a collection
from a client. Nor had lie, by any means,
overlooked the name of Paul Ogden, or of
Paul Ogden's Club, in Lucius Core's narra-
tive.

Lucius Core was in the prisoner's room of
the Toiiilw, one day. He was not in ra
enough to calculate the small chance an i;.-
nocent man stood of swinging, in a coiii-
niunity where not one guilty in live liundr.; !
ever meets iiis deserts, he felt himself al-
ready doomed to tlie gallows, and v.ept an;!
moaned, as no guilty man ever did yet. Tlie
burglars and murderers with win mi lie wa*
compelled to meet, in that dismal iKjiiday uf
despair, despised him for a spiritless apology
for a prisoner and a brother, uiiwortliy of
tiie Tonil)s and of their, society ; and tlie
general impression in that precinct, which
had witnessed so much of the mere anim.il
in iiumanitj-, as had been Mr. Strasiiurgtr's,
was. tliat lie was far too little of a man to do
ail} tiling, good or i)ad. One day, as lie 'i:it
upon a bencli in tiie assembly or recejition
room of the prison, drumming list-
lessly with his fingers upon ids
knees, Mr. Strasburger himself stood bofi i-j-
him.

' I want you. Come with me,' .said Mr.
Strasburger, very curtly, fur he could not
waste words, at least upon a man of sacli
calibre.

It was not the nature of the man Core to
demur to any direction. All iiis life-tinie,
anyliody's word Ijut ids own, had lieen law
to iiim. He rose and followed tiie detective.
Mr. Strasijurger led the way, tlirough a .slit

'< i

ifni

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

in the wall, where a turnkey stepped aside
to admit him, along a narrow corridor, be-
tween roAvs of grated cells, until another
turnkey admitted them into a small room, a
tell itself, to all intents and purposes, except
.tliat it was about eight feet square, had two
.grated windows, and was furnished with a
table and .several chairs. Lucius sank into a
chair at a motion from the detective, and the
•loor was closed.

It Avas not a cliamber of duress, but a
ciiamber of torture, in which the miserable
wretch found himself. He was only snin-
luoned to a cross-examination ; but with the
small black eye of the detective upon him,
that was, as we have seen, even under the
most favourable circumstances, an ordeal to
be coveted by none.

' On the morning of that election day two
years ago, tlie day this murder took place,
where were you?' said the detective, careless-
ly, as he locked the door, and, stuffing his
liands in his pockets and spreading his legs
npart as far as they would go, steadily re-
ijiirded his shrinking victim.

' I was at my room in the fourth storey of
No. — , Market Street, sir.'

• Did you breakfast that morning V

' Yes, sir.' " ' ' :

'Where?'

' In my room. I made my own coffee, and
.1 had some rolls in a cupboard. '

' When did you leave your room ?' •" ,
' At about nine o'clock. ' ■-

' Where did you go ?'
' I went up to the Mercantile Library.'
' T)id you go on foot ?'

* Yes, sir. ' , , . , .

' What did you do at the Mercantile Li-
'hrary?'

' I went into t'ae reading-room and looked
over the papers. '

' Are you a member of that Library ?'

' no, sir ; but I go in there and read, just
the same ; nobody ever asks any (luestions' —

' How long did you stay there :'

' Until afternoon, sir ; about half past
twelve, or may be one. '

' Where did you go then ?•

' I went out on liroadway and took a South
Ferry stage going down. I was going to
Erooklyn, after the pin tliat Mr. Curtis of
the Club was to purchase from me.'

' Was thjre anybody you knew in that
stage, when you entered ?'

' No sir ; except' —

' Did anybody you knew get into the stage
^befi)re you left it?'

Lucius Core paused to think. After a
rmoment, he said, ' Yes sir, one man.'

'Who?' ,

' His name was Paul Ogden ; he was the

man who had introduced me to Mr. Curtis ;
and, besides, I had often executed comnii»-
sions for him. '

* Did you speak to him ?'

' We nodded, and he mighi. have address-
ed some remark to me. '

' Where did he take the stage ?'
' I think it was dcjwn-town, somewhere ;
but I don't think I knew precisely, even at
the time. '

* About where ?'

' Down-town somewhere ; about two-thirds
of the way to South B^erry, perhaps, sir. I
really can't remember any nearer than tliat.

sir, what are they going to do with me ?
When are they going to try me ? I haven't
done anything, except' —

' Don't speak, except to answer my quer-
tions. I have no time for yours. Are you
sure that you met Ogden that day ?'

' Yes, sir, because I saw him twice after-
wards, on that same day' —

'Where?'

' Why you see, sir, after I had got up to
the Club with the pin, and found that Mr.
Curtis was notthere,they letme stand in the
hall and wait for him. While I stood there,
this same Mr. Ogden rushed in, with a
large parcel done up in brown paper under
his arm. '

' What sort of a looking bundle ?'

' Well, it was of an irregular shape. I
couldn't tell — it was about as large as that,'
and he placed his hands about a foot apart.

' What colour of paper was it wrappecl in ?'

' A sort of light brown paper. '

' Could you tell the colour of that paper
again if you saw it ?'

' I — I think — yes sir. I think I could.'

' Did Ogden say anything to anyliody in
the Club ?^

' He asked if some room was vacant, 1
think. I think be mentioned some room by
the number.' >

' He mentioned a number ?'

' Yes sir.'

' How tlid you know it was a room ?' ,

' I got that impression.' ;-

' Well, go on. '

' The hall man told him that it wasempty ;
and he ran up-8t9,irs. Pretty soon after-
wards — it could not have been more than
ten minutes — he came down again with the
same bundle under his arm, and went out.

1 have never seen him since that day. He
is a relative of — that is, his name is the same
as the name of —

' That is merely a coincidence u." names.
Do you know that he is a relative, of you r
own knowledfe ? ' said Mr. Strasbu rger,
who did not care to involve matters at tliis
juncture.

ST. JUDK'S ASSISTANT.

paper

names,
of your
;bu rger,

at tliis

' O no sir, I only ' —

* Well, you can get out now,' said the
detective, turning the key. They passed
out, Strasburger tirat, and mingled with tlie
crowds in the large reception room of the
prison, where the less dangerous inmates are
allowerl to congregate at certain hours of tlie
(lay. Mr. Strasburger moved rapidly through
these, and was about passing out of the door-
way, past the armed turnkey, when a large
heavy man stepped immediately in his path
and confronted him. This man was dressed
in a very old and 8hab])y pair of trowsers,
and a coarse blue flannel shirt. For the rest,
he was barefooted, and bareheaded. His
hands were huge and hairy. The hair of his
head grew down and mingled with his un-
kempt beard, and his throat, which was
bare, was also a mass of black grizzly hair.
He was almost a foot taller than Mr.
Strasburger, who looked like a pigmy beside
him.

' (;let out of my way, Job Pierce, and let
me pass, ' said Mr. Strasburger, calmly.

' Ay, an' if I let you pass now it will be
the last time you'll ever be let to pass, John
Strasburger.' He did no stir his great
frame, but continued : ' Ai-e you going to
say the word that let's me out of this,
or not ? '

' You are a fool. Job Pierce, ' said the
detective ; ' you know aa well as you need
to know, that 1 have no power to let you out.
I can put men in here, and so can you, for
tliat matter; but neither you nor I can take
them out. The law nuist do that. '

' \'ou lie, ' muttered Job Pierce.

' Turnkey, will you move this man so that
I can get out? ' said Mr. Strasburger, I'aising
his voice.

The turnkey made a pass at Job Pierce
with his club, and he slunk away, and
mingled with the wretched crowd beyond.
^V'hen Mr. Strasburger stepped out upon
Centre Street, he hailed a Fourth Avenue
oar, and rode down to the City Hall Park.
Having reached the Park, he ascended the
iron steps of a large brown stone building
which adjoins that unfinished pile of rotten
marble which perpetuates the memory of a
wicked Tweed ami cert<ain innocent tax-
payers — (a sort of Abelard and Heloise, o\er
whose story tears are yet shed). In the
second storey of this building is the office of
the District Attorney ; and upon entering
this, Mr. Strasburger's well-known face pro-
cured him an immediate audience with the
great public prosecutor himself, who was
munching a sandwich in a small private
office.

When Mr. Strasburger had anything to
Bay, he went and said it. He had never

written, up to this time, a letter of more than
a line in length in his life.

' Mr. Kay, ' said Mr. Strasburger, ' I want
to see you about the man Lucius Core, ar-
rested on su8j)iciou of being concerned in tliL
Brand murder, two years ago.'

' There is such a man, is there ? ' asked
Mr. Kay : and he pressed a finger bell upon
his table. • Send Cobbler hero, ' he said to a
boy who answered it.

' Cobbler was a sixteenth assistant deputy
District Attorney's seventeenth clei'k. It
was imderstood, however, that Cobbler was
Memory Man in General to the Department
of Public Justice of the city of New York,
and at everybody's service. Indeed, the
duties of the other overworked assistant
deputies and clerks of that Bureau were
supposed to consist chiefly of calling for
' Cobbler ' from 10 A. M. until 3 p. iM. at the
top pitch of their lungs. Not infrecjuently,
however, their duties were lightened by the
abbreviation of ' Cobbler ' to ' Col)l)v ' and
•Cob.'

Cobbler, a small, thin, wiry-looking man
of sixty or thereabouts, on answering his
chief that such a man was confined in the
Tombs at that moment, was dismissed, and
Mr. Kay bent his head to listen to the de-
tective's speech.

' Mr. Kay, there is not the sliglitest
evidence against this man Core. He is a
poor, weak, drivelling thing, wh j isn't worth
wasting prison fare upon. But he is I'ust
now valuable, and, if possible, we must keep
him where he is ' —

'We can't keep a fellow in the T()nd)s
unless he's done soniutliing, or soniel)ody
makes a complaint against him, you know.
You see we have to be pretty careful now .
Everybody is howling for Reform, and tlie
Comptroller looks up the accounts pretty
sharp. We can't afford to board people at
the city's expense, unless they've done
something to justify it,' said the great man,
with his mouth full of sandwich.

Mr. Kay's office was supposed to net him,
in salary and perquisites, from thirty to
forty thousand yearly ; and to pay this sum.
it was necessary that nobody should board
at the first class hotel, maintained by the
city treasury at seventy-eight cents a day.
unless the boarder had remunerated the city
that amount in crime of some sort.

• Nevertiieless, the public safety must be
made to justify it ; and, ' lowering his voice,
' if he can be kept there one month, I
undertake, upon my professional reputation,
at the end of that time to give you the
name of the Brand murderer. I can't say as
much for the man himself. He may have

■«

I ' '

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

to be extradited, for all I know, but jtt .any
rate I'll give you his name.'

' I guess we can manage it someliow,' said
Mr. Kay ; and, indeed, it is to be guessed
that he couhl, too. One was merely to
manage to do nothing long enough, and a
guiltless man, once passed the Egyptian
portal of the Tombs, miglit rot in perfect
])eace. But as for Lucius Core, he was of a
oontented disposition th ^ tlirove well on
any fare, provided it came regularly
three times a day, an average wliich, so far,
precarious meals earned in his general com-
mission business had lianlly equalled — so
let us hope he did not rot.

' And now, Mr. Strasburger, what can we
for you ? '

•' One thing. There is a man in tlie
Tombs named Job I'ierce —only larceny —
loaf of bread or pie, or something of the
sort ; but lie appears to believe tliat some-
how or otlier, 1 am hunting him down. He
is an unscrupulous man ; lie has already
tluvattned me personally, and I am con-
vinced that if he were set at large, my life
wouldn't be worth an hour's purciiase. '

This was serious. Mr. Strasburger was
the Infallible Detective of the Force, and
nobody knew it better than Mr. Kay.

' We will see to tiiat, you may be sure,
(^ood niornitig. ' And as Mr. Strasburger
passed the door, Mr. Kay made a memo-
randum with his pencil upon the surface of
his desk, which was covered with a large
- sheet of yellow blotting paper, and drew a
■second sandwich from among the last batch
of indictments stuffed away in his table
drawer.

CHAPTER X.

. FIRST TRIAL BALANCE OF MR.
LEDGER.

stbasburgbr's

If any of Mr. Strasburger's associates had
met him, as he left the Public Prosecutor's
offices, they would have l)een surprised to
notice symptoms of personal excitement
quite unknown in his usual stolid demeanour.

Once or twice before reaching the street
exit of the broAvn stone building, he stopped,
hesitated, and began to reascend. He finally
turned, however, and continued on his way.
In short, the placid, taciturn Mr. Stras-
burger was excited. Perhaps, it was that
he had staked his professional reputation to
Mr. Kay upon the hazanl of the new die he
was about to cast ; perhaps lie had fears <rf
his own personal safety from the ruffianly-
looking man who had threatened him. At
any rate, for the first time in his life, he
showed symptoms of considerable personal

excitement. At the comer of Centre and
Chambers street, he hailed a Fourth ave luic
car going up ; but after riding a short dis-
tance he grew restive at its lumbering giit.
Altliough London, the most conservative of
cities, possessed an underground railroad
which, practically, annihilated all distiuiccs
within her borders, at this date, Xew ^'clrk,
the most railical and progressive of cities,
had, absolutely no rapid transit at all. Tlie
difficulties in the way of ra])id tran.-*it in tlio
latter city, were not tlicoretical : the want
was one acknowledged to Vki vital on all
hands. Neither were the diflficnilties finan-
cial. The needed millions had hecii piofl'ired
over and over again. Neitiicr were the difii-
cnlties practical. Engineers hivd submitted
plans without number, which other engineers
had pronounced accurate an feasible. Tlie
dilKculties were rather — if we may so express
it — legal. As we are told in the fifth verse
of the fourth chapter of Ezra, tliat, whenever
the children of the Captivity undei t<jok to
build up any needed improvement, their
adversaries ' hired counsellors against tliem
to frustrate their purpose,' so also, frciii
motives either of private cupidity and greed,
or otherwise, whenever rapid transit, so
far, had been suggested in Xew York, there
were sufficient counsellors hired against its
projectors, to frustrate their purpose.

There are times when the swiftest lighten-
ing express train ever moved by steam on an
iron track, will travel too slowly for one
rapid brain. No wonder that the lumbering
Fourth Avenue or was too slow for Mr.
Strasburger, He stepped out, and hailed a
coupe.

Arrived at the headquarters in Mulberry
Street, he bade the driver await him, and
ascctided to his chambers. Then, with an
unlighted cigar in his month, he sat down to
draw off a first trial balance from his books,
that he might know exactly how far he had
gone upon his errand of detection, and appre-
hend his own bearings for the *-'ire. Al-
though the clue of the watch had failed to
develope, in the person of the pawnor, the
murderer of George Brand, yet the pursuit
of that clue had afforded another, which Mr.
Strasburger had caught upon at once, as
invaluable. That olue was Paul Ogden. Do
what he would, turn where he might, the
name of Paul Ogden confronted him. Ac-
cording to Mr. Strasburger's Journal and
Day Book, the prisoner Lucius Core had
three times seen Ogden upon the d.ay of the
murder. Now this Ogden had been a sort
of rival of the murdered man's ; that is, he
had been a lover, a rejected lover of the girl
to whom the murdered num, at the date of
his deatli, had been betrothed. Ogden hail

Sf. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

probaMy smarted at hia disiuisgal by hia lady
lovti. Few men care to receive tlieir conge
• lirect from a lady, however apt to gut up
from their kiieea ami 4va'k away on their
own acoount. There Mr. Stnisburger stuck
a pin, and made a momoranduiu to fully as-
certain the circuniatances of the broken cTi-
gagement. It may be »ately affirmed, titat
no engageinenn between young people is ever
broken without pain to at least one of tiie
parties. At least Mr. Strasburger believed
tliat such were the probabilities, and he deter-
Miincd to probe even hearts to the bottom,
and Hud out w:hich had suffered the pang.

Now each of these three occasions had
been peculiar — not wonderful, or in the
least more than ordinary — but, in the de-
tective's eye, they were peculiar. For, in
the first place, it was undeniably peculiar
tliat a young man witliout business, a gen-
tleman of lazy leisure, who, if sauntering
iiiudessly, would be more likely to saunter
in localities where he would meet friends
or acquaintances, should be riding . down
town on a public holiday, when no banking-
liousea or other offices were open, and in a
<! (strict where no known attractions for a-i
man of leisure are to do found. In the sec-
ond place, it was peculiar tliat this same
man, who liad been going down town at this
lime, should, within a very short interval,
jippear at his club up town, with a large
package, such as messenger boys and retad-
■er'« clerks, rather than elegant gentlemen
(who arc, on the whole, averse to carrying
their own l>iindles) are to be seen transport-
ing. In the third place, that he should in-
<iuire if a certain room was vacant, should
seek it, and, in a moment more, be seen a
tliird time to return again to the fiishionable
avenue, wli:3re his acquaintances would not
be unlikely to meet him, with the same
.awkward parcel under hia arm, was, at
least, peculiar.

Moreover, on that day, at jibout the time
Paul O^^tlen had been going down town, a
man whose personal description of Ogden
himself, had purchased a passage for Europe
at the Cunard office, under an assumed
name, and for, as it had appeared, a ficti-
tious purpose — seeing that the passage pur-
chased had never been used. Again the
portier of the 'Studio Buildings,' No. 51
West Tenth street, had, upon close question-
ing as to the young man who had called
upon Mr. Frear, occupant of the next room
to tiiat in which the murder occurred, and
who iiad been ' impudent,' pronounced upon
the caller's j^ersoual appearance ; and this,
again, in genei-al, might pass for a tolerable
description of Paul Ogden. At all events,
Mv. .Strasburger was in possession of seve.al

contrary and singular movements, njado
upon tlie day of the murder, by this .Mr.
Paul Ogden, which, unless accounted for, lie
had a right to inquire inte. To cap the
climax, this very Paul Ogden, a week after
all this, and before a telegram from Qiuens-
town, announcing the arrival of the stc Liner
upon which the hctitioua passage had lieen
secured, had himself quitted the ccMiitry,
and been last hoard from in i^russcls, a city
known to be a sort of cave of Ailullum, for
the rest of the extraditable world. No oncf
of these circumstances, nor perhaps their
total, would justify anything likeasusiiicion
of guilt against a young man of unexcep-
tionally tamiable manners. Mr. Strasburger
had, perhaps, no idea of discovering any-
thing but a clue in the personality of Mr.
Paul Ogden. But upon occasions wlieii
great crimes are committe<l, it is only proper
and just to tlie community — whose safety
is compromised by the !il)erty of
the criminal — that individuals siiould Ihj
asked, not only, but should lie anxious to
explain any unusual feature of their own
conduct, or any proceeding of their own
to which comment could possibly bo at-
tached.

Hole the entries ceased, and Mr. Stras-
burger put down his second pin. The large
paper bundle or parcel must lie traceil.
Lucius Core must affirm to tlie colour of tlie
paper — merchants using thSt colour of paper
must l>e interviewed — and —

Mr. Strasburger bit hia cigar vigorously
and started to his feet. He went hastily to
a shelf anil took down a large blank book.
He opened it as he stood before the shelf,
spread his legs apart, and chewed the
cigar violently. An idea had evidently
entered his brain, so novel as to norplns
him for tiie instant. He turned to the
record of a certain memoralilc murder,
which, some thirteen years l>cfore, had been
committed at Irvingtim on the Hudson, and
whicli had been most laliouriously but suc-
cessfully worked by a certain Mr. Burton,
now dead, who, in his time, had been con-
sidered, as ilr. Strasburger now was, in-
fallible. Mr. Strasburger had a great re-
spect for the memory and attainments of
this Mr. Burton. Mr. Burton, to tell the
truth, had been his Gamaliel. It was at hia
feet and in his faith and system that he had
beeen graduated. •

Now when Mr. Strasburger, as we have
seen, started abruptly and rusiicvl to t u
large manuscript record he held in iiis iiaad.
it had been because he had sudilenly re-
membered a remarkable fact connected with
this same Mr. Burton, and Mr. Burton's
•onncction with tiie Irvington murder, Mr.

I !,

t-1

8T. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Burton, in vtorking up that murder, iiiwl
conij)leteil. iih we might say, two perfectly
(listuiL't cliiiins of oviilenee— one haekward
from the date and act of the murder itself,
and the otiier forward, towards the <late of
the murder — from a given point which he
iiad fixi'cl upon in the career of an acquaint-
aiice of tiiu murdered man. For a long
time all his researches had negatived the
existence of a connection between those two
chains, until, at la^t, by means of which
seemed to be supurnaturuj or miraculous
agency, the missing link had been pro-
cured, and the two chains foiined one —
but one 8o strung, so perfect, and so con-
vincing, that its extremities, touching the
murder and the murderer, had led to his
confession and suicide, whicii although not
pu))lic Justice, is certainly Expiation ;
at any rate is deatli, and therefore Capital,
i'i e supernatural risiurce of Mr. Bui
ton's liad been nothing less tiian a resort to
tile mysterious power of clairvoyance — lie
having succeeded in inducing a mesmeric
sleep upon the person of his own little
daughter, a frail, sickly girl, with a highly
nervous organization, under the influence of
which she had seen and described scenes
and things wiiich actually furnisiied the
key to the detective's search. ' Clairvoy-
ancy' is the word employed by the French
to express an aflegeil faculty mani-
fested by magneCk! somnambulists, of seeing
vith invisible eyes things at the most remote
distance from the body, hidden by miUiona
of opacpie barriers from the sight of persons
awake — or even separated from the period at
which the subject is under operation by
long durations of time, eitlier past or to
come. According to Mr. Deleuze, a recog-
nized authority, it consists of ' an inexpli-
cable change which occurs in the functions
of the nervous system, in the play of the or-
gans, anil in the manner of receiving and
transmitting sensation. ' Under the influence
of this cliange, the soul of the subject might
easily leave the body and travel through
epace or time — through solids or fluids — to
wherever the operator willed it, and speak
through the natural lips of its body of what
it there beheld. As in most otlier sciences,
the converts of clairvoyance find ample
Bible instances of the workings of tiieir philo-
sophy. So when in tlie sixth chapter of 2
Kings, Elisha's servant perceives his master's
lii>use surrounded by the warriors of the King
of Syria, and exclaims, ' Alas, my master,
what shall we do ?' Elisha answers, * Fear
not, for they that be with us are more than
they that be with tiiem ;' and he prays ' that
his eyes — (i. e. his spiritual eyes, for plainly
his mortal eyes could not have served him)

-may be o|>enod to see the mountain full of
armed men and horses. And in tlie twenty -
eighth chapter of 1 Samuel, an unmistakablt*
experiment in clairvoyance ia narrated, when
Saul, King of Israel, entered the cave of the
witch of Endor. She wa« evidently ignorant
of his identity, and it was only upon asti-on^
pledge that she consented to employ her art.
No sooner, however, had she entered the
clairvoyant state, than she became aware of
the rank of her visitor, andexolaimed, 'Why
hast thou deceived me— for thou art Saul !'
Thereupon the woman proceeded to describe
the person whom she saw — for it is evident
from the chronicle that Saul himself at no
time saw any actual vision —and only 'per-
ceived,' i. e. comprehended — that it wa.s
Samuel, from the woman's description.
Through her lips it was that the dead prophet
told the king of his sin and of his nearing
doom. Upon the woman's awakening from
her trance, she had so little recollection of
what had passed as to be totally unaware of
Saul's rank, and to persuade him to eat in
her house, and recover his exhausted
strength. That the physical process by which
a me-smerizer producea the sleep in his 'Sub-
ject was one familiar among the Greeks, is.
apparent from a passage in the Audira of
Plautus, where Sosia says, ' What if I stroke
Jiim i/i'iitly ivitk the hand, so as to put him to-
sleep ?'

But Mr. Strasburger, without troubling
himself about either the Bible or Plautus,
was rapidly convincing himself, that, by em-
ploying this m.agnetism of personal influence
he was not deserting his own materialism,
that materialism which had, so far,
brought him the reputation of infal-
libility. Professors and expositors of
the science of Animal Magnetism or Clair-
voyance, habitually introduce the experi-
ment of inducing their subjects, in the coma,
of the mesmeric sleep, to read from closed
books ; through opaque objects ; to read the
contents of sealed letters ; to travel in
thought or mind beyond the room in which
their body sleeps, and to give, tlirougli
their hps, descriptions of other localities, of
rooms, of furniture, of houses, etc. ; but the
science is not without its practical side, and
physicians have not infrequently resorted to
clairveyant subjects for information as to the
condition of the internal organs of invalids.*

*See a volume, 'Exposition of Animal iMaj?-
netism, by F. C. Durant,' New York, Wiley and
Putnam, 1837. pasre 48, giving an extraordinary
account of a Dr. Brownell's inducing his subject
to describe the condition of a diseased spleen.
' The patient lived more than a quarter of a
mile from my house,' said the doctor. ' I re-
quested a somnambulist, then at my house, to
sec if she could And such a man, at the same
time pointing out to her the sittiatloa of the

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Such beitiff the theory — or, according to Mr.
Biirton-tno fact which Mr. Stroaburger on-
countered there, appeared to be no rooaon
why, in this case, he should decline to avail
kiinaolf of any information ho might ao pro-
cure. If a man 'a inteatinea may be aearcned
hy magnetiam — a fact in nature which, at
this ago, nobody diaputea— wiiy not a man's
mind ? at any rate, aaid Mr. Straaburger to
liimself, a second time, there appeared to bo
uo reason why, if auoh a thing as clairvoy-
iinon existed, he should not avail himself
of it.

Air. Straaburger would have smiled at the
iilca of his becoming a convert to the doc-
tiine of the clairvoyants — or indeed to any
(kctrine at all. We have seen that he did
not Ijelieve in, or trouble in the least, any-
thing like doctrine or speculation. We ha\ e
hcen, that in hia opcratioivs, he waa a remark-
ably practical, slow-thinking, minute and
patient man. Other people might leap at

house, which was not in siKht from the room,
where we contliiufd alltho time. She saw hiii).
On iMiing rtskod in what room, HhetTpliiMl In the
third room buck from tiio at root. She was then
requested to dt'Hcribe tho situation of the furni-
ture in it, in order to discover whetlior she had
Kot into tho ritcht place, and whether her
(rlttirvoyance niiMrht he trustetl to at that time;
tthc described it very oxiictly.

I then told her my patient had been sick a
long time, and desired her to examine him and
tell wluit the disease w^is.

She said, ' He looks so had. I do not like to rtfl
ii.' I .eplied. ' Never mind that ; it looks bad to
you, boiause you have not been accustomed to
looking at the interior of a bodj'.'

As I supposed him to he affected with a dis-
(sased liver, and with indiirestion arising from a
diHoaaed state of tlie stonwuh, I aslceil her to
look at tlic stoma"h to sec if iliat was diseased.
She answered, ' No.

Is tlio liver diseased? ' No.'

Well, examine the whole intestinal canal, and
SCO if thcrj is any disease there. ' I do not see
any,' said she.

Examine the kidncsp. ' Nothing is the mat-
ter with them.'

Not knowing what other part to call her at-
tention to, I requested her to look at every part
of him.

Aft r some little time, she says, ' His spleen is
swelled ; it is enlarged.'

His spleen ! said J ; when we speak of a person
who is splceny. we suppose he has an imaginary
complaint. What do you moan ?

8he said, ' The part called the spleen, is en-
larged.'

How do you know it is enlarged i

' It is a great deal larger than yours.'

Do you see mine ? 'Yes.'

How large is his spleen?

• It is a great deal longer and thicker than
your hand.

I then asked her to put her hand where the
spleen is situated. She immediately placed her
hand over the region of the spleen.

I then asked her what the shape of the stomach
was ; she replied that it was like a flower in the
garden. I was not acquainted with that flower,
and do not recollect the name she gave to it.

concluaions — he crept towarda them. A\'e
have aeon that he waa a particularly practical
man, who would have as soon searched in
tho aea for eagle'a nesta aa sounded tho depth
of the aupornatural for mundane fact. But,
juat now, the point to which he had arrived
HI hia caao ho perceived to be almoat precise-
ly identical with the stage where Mr. Bur-
ton had invoked the aid of Animal Magnet-
ism. Here alao, there were two fragmouts
of chain — one leading from tho murcler to-
wards a auppositious murderer ; the other
from a day in tho career of an individual
supposed to have boon a rival of tlic murder-
eil man. It did not militate against Mr '
Strasburgor's new clue that the individual
aforesaid was a nephew of the lawyer em-
ployed to ferret out tho murderer's; stranger
t lings than that had happened without
causing tlio detective to marvel.

Should Mr. Strasburger follow in the foot-
steps of his master, and invoke the aid of
Clairvoyance ? That waa tho question
which had made him pause. There was the
rub that had rubbed him to his feet. Mr.
Strasburger felt tlia* he must connect the
brown paper parcel with the murder of
George Brand ; and as this was the result of
his deliberation, he would not scorn to tako
a hint from any source.

CHAPTER XI.

• FOB BKTT^B, FOB WOBSK ; FOR RICHER, Kit-
POORER. '

If we left Tom on his knees before Mam;
it was because we felt it to be no place or
situation upon wliich chroniclers should
intrude. We have no scruples however,
about coming upon them suddenly, beneatli
an umbrageous tree (for it is summer once
more, the Ogden town- house is closed, and
the Ogdena are at Malcolm), not far from tlio
sjiot where Mara had touched Paul Ogden's
sleeve the night before he had sailed away.
Mara liked Torn better than any man sIk*
met in society ; and ho was so far a favourito
with the family, that he had been invited
down to Malcolm. But this is not, now a
days, a step forward for a young man seek-
ing to advance in his mistress' favour.
That pa- :i and mamma should manif^tly ap-
prove of a young man's attentio.ns to the!:-
daughter, is perhaps the worst thing tha^
could happen to him now-a-days. Woe to
the true love whose course runs smooth •
Apart from the rule that each man and wo-
man values most for which they, he or she,
most strive and endure and battle, the
tendency, in the modem American yonng
lady, is to marry against papa ai;d inanuHa :

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

and it is enough to easily prejudice tlie
daughter against 'the beat man living,' that
pupa and uiainnia do approve. To make a
man love a woman or a woman love a man, a
fair quantity of abuse is the thing. To sing
the praises of our lady love or our lover in
(jur ears, is fo lanin him forever. One does
not like proper jieople or proper things in
this ninetoenth century. The man who has
not sowed anj' wild oats, is no man for a
woman. The man who pays his debts in
cash at every shop, can get no credit, should
he happen to want it, because, forsooth, his
name is on nobody's books, and nobody
knows or cares wlience he cometh or whithf^i
he goeth. Tradesmen are curt and sharp
with him. It is the desperate charactoi-, t!ie
flis.sipated man wliom ladies love and sue to
--it is the man deep in the tradesmen's
l)Ooks, to whom tlie tradesman extends
credit, and to whom he is obsequiously civil.
We love most those whom we forgive most.
We are most grateful to tliose who unex-
pectedly pay us our bad debts. Ah, poor
snubbed ninety and nine ! who would be
one of you ?

But, in this case, Mara really liked Tom,
•ind sometimes thought she loved him. Could
she have forgotten Paul Ogden, there was
no vow of love or loyalty siie would not
have made to Tom. But, although
she rather im.igined that Paul Ogden,
if lie thought of her at all, thought
of her only as a child whom he had
befriended, she still felt she belonged to
him ; and without his authority and per-
mission, slie could belong to no other man.
Tom had not taken no for an answer, and
women like persistent men. Tom liad taken
her in his arms and kissed her, and had re-
peated the offence, in spite of her protesta-
tions — and women worship audacious men.
'L'audace, I'audace, toujours I'audacel'is
the Napoleonic motto for him who would
contiuer women. Tom had these two elements
in his favour, at least.

Well, they were sitting under the trees ;
!Mara watching Tom, and — although she was
working at some sort of worsted tancy stutf
■ — keeping one arm free to prevent his too
ardent misbehaviour.

When Tom had entirely destroyed the
flower \\^ was pulling to pieces, he looked
iij). and said quietly, ' Mara, you are a flirt. '
' No, I'm not,' said Mara.
' I've been a long time making up my
mind,' said Tom, ' But I've m-ide it up at
last. You are a flirt, and you are keeping
me here for your amusement, and as a foil to
some other man, Mara. ' And here he took
her hand, and licld it so tight that she
screamed a little. ' Wliy can't you be

honest with me, as I am with you "/ If you
had a friend you cared for only as a friend,
yon would not suffer liim to rush to destruc-
tion, if you could stretch out a hand to save
him. You ought to think I am your friend
— unless that I am so much more than a
friend, is a sin in your eyes— and I ask you,
if you cannot make me happy, if you cannot
love me always, for God's sake to let me
go!'
i ' I like you very well, I'm sure, 'said Mara,
' pouting. 'I've had to tell you that, you

horrid ' —
I ' How much do you like me, Mara — so
I much ? ' And he held his thumb and finger

about an inch apart.
! ' Oh dear, no — not so much as that ; about
' so much ' (half an inch, with Mara's thumb

and finger).
i ' There might be a good deal in that much, '

said Tom, hopefully.
j ' Ai-e you satisfied ? ' said Mara.
I ' No, by Jove, no ; I shouldn't be satisfied
J if you loved me more than all the world be-
sides. I should even then want you to love
i me more and more, ' said Tom. •
I ' Well, you are the moat presumptuous
I man I ever met, ' said Mara. ' Besides, I
, said nothing about loving you at all ; it wae
' only about liking you. I'm sure I couldn't
j love you more than I do papa or mamma,
; even if I loved you at all. '
i ' But you nmst, Mara. I wouldn't take
I your lo\e as a gift unless you loved me more
than you loved your father and mother. '
' That isn't fair to ask of any girl.'
' That's scripture, anyway, ' said Tom.
' Does the Bible say that ? ' said Mara.
' Indeed it does. '
• Where ? '

' In the — in the — well, in the Bible some-
where.

' I must look -that up wlun I go home,'
said Mara. ' But stop, — I don't think it
says anything of the sort. I know tbere's
something about a man leaving father and
mother and cleaving to his wife ; but no-
thing about the wife leaving her father and
mother' —

' And they twain shall be one flesh, ' said
Tom. ' That's it. It's the same thing ; the
translators of the Bible always put he for a
person. In the Hebrew it's' —

' In the original Hebrew itia it, I suppose,'
said Maria, and ' it means a baby. '

' Babies don't get married, ' said Tom, who
knew as nmeh about the original Hebrew
as he did about tlie centre of the planet
Jupiter.

' Besides, ' said Mara^ ' I've told you that
I love somebody else.'
'Who?' said Tom.

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

take

some-

Jhome,'
Ihink it

tliere's
ler and
but no-

ler and

said

|ig ; the

for a

|ppose,'

who

lebrew

planet

|>a that

' I think you are very rude and impertin-
ent to ask questions that you have no right
to, ' said Maia. ' I tell you more than I do
anybody else, as it is ; and you shouldn't —
indeed you shouldn't be — do you know that
iv's broad daylight, sir, and that I know
everybody here ? Take your arm away ! I
declare you don't seem to care the least bit
about me, or you wouldn't act so. It's all
very well for you, who go away to-morrow,
and who are a man ; but I've got to stay
liere and l)e talked about, and — oh dear, oh
ilear, nobody cares anything about me !' and
.•she burst into a flood of tears.

All this was because Tom's arm had stray-
ed around hcf waist ; but wlien she began
to cry, instead of taking it away, he only
presseii her tlie tighter — nay more, he began
kissing her pas.uonately.

•Why shoiddn't I put my arms around
you y' he cried ; 'can anyl)oily say mor*? to
yon than I lia\ e '! Have 1 not asked you to
be my wife '/ Have I not told you tliat
1 love you more tlian all the world Ije-
sidcs ?'

Tliere was a rustling in the bushes, and
Tom hail not time to recover himself before
Mr. Ogden stood before them. Tom com-
prehended the situation, and, thoroughly in
eunestas he was, could think of no better
time than the present to speak to tJie old
gentleman. So, witiiuut releasing Mara he
said :

'Ogden, I love your daughter,and I want
to make her my wife.'

'Yes?' said the lawyer, dryly. He
paused, and then added. ' and what does
-Mara say ?'

' Say ? I say that I hate him — there !'
And freeing herself from Tom's arms, Mara
bounded away and disappeared in the direc-
tion of the house.

' Frear, I have just started for a walk —
will you come ?' said Mr. Ogden.

Tom would rather have done anything just
tlien than take a walk with Mr. Ogden, but
be did not dare to refuse.

' Wliat d'> you think of my windmill ?'
said Mr. Ogden.

' 1 -i omy just noticed it for a moment,"
said Tom ; ' 1 think it is very — very pictur-
es lue, sir. '

' What I look at is its utility, ' said Mr.
Ogden. 'It will pump two liundred gal-
li ns of water a minute into my reservoir. I
liad looked everywhere for what I wanted,
and finally had just determineu to invent
<uio myself, when I chanced to hear of a fel-
low who had just the thing I wanted.
Wonderful ! ' continued Ire, musing : ' VVon-
(l.tflid, what fellows those Yankees are for
ii-A^nting. I'll lay you a wager, Krenr, that

you can't suggest in a year, a desideratum
that some Yankee won't be found to have
provided a contrivance for. Why, when I
was a young man, I boarded with a doctor.
V was poor, and had to combine and eon-
..ive to make both ends meet ; and one day
he said to me, "Ogden, I've t)een thinking
that I could get a cabinot-maker to make me
a table so that you coidd lift the lid and
have inside a wash-basin and a little zinc
reservoir to hold water, with a place below
the wash-basin to let out the water. " —
" Hold on," said I, " don't do anything of
the sort. Somebody down PJast must have
invented that sort of thing. It's like a case
— if you have a case with a question that's
new to you in it, you may be sure that, at
some time or other, that (luestion's coiue up
before ; !..id, if you're only diligent enough
you're safe to find it." And do you know,
he took my advice. He hunted around a
day or so, and at last he fouiul a table that
not only had a lavatory in it, but a step-
ladder, a sofa, and a place to black boots.
And I remember too —

' But, if you will pardon me, Mr. Ogden,'
said Tom, ' I want to talk with you about
Mara. '

' Yes ? ' said Mr. Ogden, again. There is
something about the monosyllable ' Yes, '
spoken interrogatively, that may chill the
stoutest heart. Tom apprehemled pre-
cisely the discouragement it was intended to
convey, but he pushed on. ' Mr. Ogden, 1
love Mara, and I know she likes me. .She
has liked me along time,' (T«m did not
([uite see how he was bound to say any-
thing about any other man than himself. ) ' I
want to make her my wife, Mr. Ogden, and
I want your consent ; can I look to win that,
sir ? '

' Mr. Frear, ' said the lawyer, somewhat
]i(iinponsly, as was his wont — though he had
\isnally called Tom by his nickname, and
relax(.'d much in his coinp.iny -' Mi'. Frear,
when I was a young man, and proposed to
my wife's father for my present wife, the
estimable gentlnian said to me, " My young
friend, my dangliter will most likelj' marry,
as did her mother liefore her, I have no-
thing to say as to that ; but, as her fatlier,
1 conceive it my duty to see that she mar-
ries a man who can at least afford to give
her those comforts to whicii 1 have accus-
tomed her, and which, therefore she
has a right to expeet. She must choose
for herself as to disposition and character ;
tliat is, I suppose she will not choose other
tluin a gentleman." 1 do not know that I
can say more to you.'

Tom was nonplussed. _He had no income
to speak of, and he was not likely to forget

Ilhi

illi

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

that fact. He sold a picture occasionally,
anil lived upon the prorits until they were
exhausted. But he dressed, dined, sub-
scribed to a Club, drove in the park — in
short, did everything that he had done in
the days Ids father had controlled millions.
He was, thenefoi'c, as a matter of course, not
only poor but heavily in debt. It was use-
Lss for him to tliink of marrying, unless lie
could marry a fortune ; and here he was
pro^)osing to marry a girl who, so far as he
knew, would have nothing — no home, no
money, no expectation ! Still here Tom
was ; he had proposed for the girl, and he
loved her.

' 1 suppose she must take me for l)ettor

or worse, Mr. Ogdun, ' said Tom ; ' but I

love her, and I can't help it. Yes, I sup-

Ijjl pose we must take each other for better or

worse. '

' And for richer, or poorer, ' said Mr.
Ogden. ' Well, my boy, ' said he, relaxing
into his kindly way again, ' there are many
things to be said in a negotiation of this
kind. In the first place, Mara is not my
daugliter' —

' I know it, she has told me all ,))out it, '
sail! Tom.

' If she were, I should feel bound to sec
tliat she wanted for nothing, whoever she
married ; but, as it is, my responsibility for
her will probably cease at her marriage :
therefore, all the more, I cannot suffer hei-
to leave my roof until she enters another
that will shelter her, at least as well as my
poor one has done. But we will speak of
this again. I want to show you my Kerry's.
Joe just received a bull calf this morning.
I gave a cheque for $2,000 for him yester-
day,autl I think I've got a bargain.'

As they emerged from the grove and
crossed tlie lawn on their way to the barn-
yard, a yi u ig man, a clerk in Mr. Ogden 's
office, met liim and presented a letter which
had been deemed too important fur the law-
yer to miss seeing at once.

When Mr. Ogden had entertained Mr. Great-
orox over his Burgundy, with tlie story of
Miss Isabella Singleton's claim to a con-
siderable ti'act of laud :u Boston, he had
aUvady caused a writ of ejectment to be
filed and served against the present incum-
bents of tlie property. The case had been
-as he prophesied — decided in her favour;
a.id an appeal was promptly takcu by tlie
otliurside. Tlie letter which Mr. Ogden
now oijened, as lie was luggiiiig Tom of!" to
see his Kerry bull calf, Mas a letter from a
certain oiiiiiicnt gentleman of the .Sull'olk
l)ar, aniUjUnoiiig a decision of a bare ma-
jority of tlio juilges of the Supreme Court of
Judicature of that State, afhrmiiig the

judgment at Nisi Prius. Tliis welcome-
intelligence, however, was accompanied by
the remark, that, upon the fact that a min-
ority of one of that learned court
had recorded thir joint opinion
against the plaintifTs claim, a motion for a
re-argument had been made, and would doubt-
less be granted. The stakes were worth
playing for. Should judgment Iw ultimately
given for Isabella, she would become possess-
ed of a property of from forty to fifty thou-
sand <lollars a year ; so Mr. Ogden determin-
ed tosendhis eminent Massachuaets' brother
the che((ue desired, and to direct the motion
for the re-argument to \>e strenuously re-
sisted, and made a memorandum to that
effect in the clerk's note book. After this
interruption they proceeded to inspect the-
bull calf, and let us hopt that Tom was both
entertained and enthusiastic.

CHAPTER XII. i '

THE MIND-PwEADER. '

The result of Mr. Strasburger's cogitations
was, on the whole, favourable to the experi-
ment he had contemplated. As he had yet
an hour before dinner, he proceeded to utilize-
it therefore, by a visit to a certain Mr..
Grloster.

Now, this Mr. Gloster was a man concern-
ing whom there was a wide difference of
opinion ; many, perhaps most persons hold-
ing him a charlatan and a quack, while a re-
spectable minority affirmed him possessed of
certain marvellous and peculiar gifts. In
judging of unusual phenomena of any sort,
it is always safe to pronounce them humbugs;
and if one only doubts assiduously and ha-
bitually, he rarely misses a reputation for
wisdom. Doubt is, after all, the only solid
foothold we can have in judging of things out
of the common and theratural. And, not
oidy does a doubter risk nothing by doubt,
l)ut,uiK)u a demonstration of that which he
doubted, ojxn alwayscover himself with glory
by afrank confession of his error,and carry the
public sentiment by his reluctant but candid
convei'sion.

There was much about this Mr. Gloster to
command approbation, at any rate. Although
styling himself a ' Mind-Reader, ' he insert-
ed no advertisements in the newspapers —
promised no infallibility^authorized no
statements as^o his prowess, and claimed no
supernatural gifts of any kind. Nobody
knew, indeed, ex.ictly how he first became
known ; who first discovered his presence in
th^ city, or could put their finger upon anv
great practical benefit which lie had been \\
any case. But, somehow or other, his name''

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

icamo
ce ill

iiaiuo'

'/■■'

l>egan to be noised about, and hundreds of
people, believers and unbelievers, flocked to
his apartments. His plan of doing business,
• at any rate, was said to be simple enough.
Upon payment of a consultation fee, you
•entered his presence, when, if he could be of
no assistance he would tell you so at oucu,
and turn to the next comer.

Mr. Gloster's fame had not missed the om-
iiiivorous ears of Mr. Strasburger ; and,tliere-
fore, when he found he had an houi' to spare
•after pcsting his ledger and drawing off his
first trial bjuance, he again entered his hired
coupe, and ordered himself driven to 191 —
Broadway.

Broadway, as far as the nineteen hundreds,
;is not, .as yet, a thickly built street ; but.
liere and there along its sides, far-seeing
men, who are able to wait for their incomes,
have erected large and tolerably spacious
■edifices. No. 191 — was one of these, a large
Jive-storey structure of red brick, faced with
•brown stone. Upon the street door of this
'building were five bell knobs, ranged one
above the other. Over the fourth bell from
the bottom, indicating the fourth floor, was
tacked a small printed card, liearing the
name ' Mr. Gloster. ' This fourth bell Mr.
Strasburger pidled ; and, as the door swung
open before him, ascended. Upon the fourth
landing was a door bearing a large paste-
board placard, upon which the name of Mr.
(xloster, while the additional words, ' Mind-
Reader, ' appeared beneath. Upon the door
opening, with a ring which could be heard
in the adjoining room, a small young man
accosted him with, ' Do you want to consult
Mr. (Jloster, sir? Your card, and ten dollars,
please. '

Mr. Strasburger handed the small young
man a ten dollar bill and a card he had pro-
cui*ed for the purpose, upon wliich wa? tvrit-
ten, ' Mr. John Btll. ' The g'"".!'! young
man thereupon disappeared for a moment,
but innnediately returned with a ' walk this
way, if you jilejise, sir. ' Mr. Strasburger
was then ushered into a large front room.

Sever.ai open trunks were standing upon
the floor, and a stout, bustling woman was
evidantly engaged in packing them, as
she went from one to the other, deposit-
ing articles in each. A large chiffonier
stood in one corner of the room, it's many
drsiwers being pulled half open, and two or
three tables were piled with a profusion of
such nondescript articles as come prominent-
ly to the surface at house-moving. Mr. (ilos-
ter was evidently about to emigrate from his

E resent abode, and Mrs, (iloster — the stout,
ustling woman — was evidently entrusted
with the operation. At a small desk be-
:tween the two front windows sat a rather

stout, good-looking gentleman with brown
curling hair, and moustache and imjierial of
the same colour. He was dresseil in black
broadcloth ; and, had he been standing,
would have been quite tall. As Mr. Stras-
burger approached liim, the \Tind-Reader —
for tliis was Mr. (iiuHter iiinisuif- t'.tniud
and said (juietly, ' I can tell you nothing,
sir, unless you give me your true name.'

' I cannot consent U) give yon that unless
this room is emptied of all besides us two, '
said Mr. Strasburger ; then, lowering his
voice, he added, ' I am a detective, and this
seems to be imperative. '

Mr. Gloster made a motion to his wife,
who, up to tliis time, had gone with her
packing — and she graciously withdrew.

' Will yon sit down in that chair, if yon
please? ' said the .\liud-Reatler, aft«rshe had
gone. ' Your first name is John, as the
card says, I know. ^Vhat is your last ? '

Mr. Strasburger took another card, his
ov/n, this time, from his card case, and
handed it to Mr. Gloster, sitting, at the
same time, in the chair indicated.

' I cannot tell you what you desire to
know, Mr. Strasburger, ' said Mr. Gloster,
' myself ; but the lady of whom you are
now thinking, will, under my direction, go
in spirit to the studio you have yourself
visited, and see for you all that you would
wish to see. But, in order to do this, she
must be brought here, and within two days.
I shall not be hsre f>n Friday — this is Tues-
day. If she be i rought here in a carriage,
blindfolded, and seated in this room, at four
o'clock on Thursday afternoon next, she will
tell you everj'thing. For myself, except in
tliis waj, I can tell you nothing. That is
all I have to say this afternoon, Mr. Stras-
liurger. '

He ceased speaking. Mr. Str.asburger
waited for him to resume. But he waited
in vain. At last, after about five mitmtea
of expectation, he said, * Am I to hear no
more ?'

' There is nothing more to say. There
will be some objection on the part of friends
to the young lady's being transported here,
but, unless she be placed in the chair in
wliich you now sit, it is hopeless for you to
expect any aid from me. The friends will
perceive this and consent. As for myself,
tlie business you wish of me it is not my
liiibit to do. I .am myself a Mind-Reader,
and am continually in the 8t.ate of sleep in
which you see me now. I sleep myself — I
do not induce sleep in others. But in this
case I will do what you require. There
is nothing further that I can tell you
now. (iood morning. As you have re-
quested that my wife withdraw, will you

:il ■&

{it

>■ I

ST. JUUK'S ASSISTANT.

yourself ring the bell to be shown out ?' and
with hia long white and delicately shaped
hand, he indicated a bellpuU upon the wall
near him.

Mr. StrasVnirger touclied the bell indi-
cated, and Mrs. Uloater appeared, but, as slue
turned to leave, Mr. Gloster, who was hold-
ing the card very near his eyes, said, ' stay.
There is a widow lady now upon a train of
cars moving towarils this city, who will be of
much service to you. Her name is Melden.
She is dressed in black, and carries a white
canvas satciiel. '

Mr. Strasburger had enteied the Mind-
Reader's presence a thorougli sceptic. He
left it convinced. As he approached Mr.
Gloster, tlie thought had really lieen upper-
most in his mind of suggesting the name of
Olive Gray as a lady wliose highly nervous
organization iiad once, as he had ajii'crtaineil,
given expression to clairvoyant symptoms ;
hut the fact of her present hopeless state of
mental derangement, had occurred to him,
and checked the words upon his lips. Now he
has assured that she oould, through this man
-this num, who liad in an instant disarmed
all the detective's doubts, and read his own
taoughts — be again put into a clairvoyant
st.ite — could see, in retrospection, the
veriest details of the crime he was unfolding,
and give him, at hvst, a solution of all his
labours. He ordered his coupe back again to
Mulberry street. Arrived at the Hcad-
((uarters, his Hrst act was to sunnnon the
'aithful i)oyle. Upon his sinister face ap-
I (earing, Mr. Strasburger gavL- vent to the
toUowiug order : ' A wonnn named Melden,
,1 M'idow, dressed in black, with a white
canvas satchel, will arrive in this city in a
1 vv moments, either at the (irand Central
or at one of the Jersey stations. She nuist
be taken to the House of Detention for
wit ie-:s !\t nnce. Lose no time. Do all
by telegraph.'

I lie ^lupiiistophelian sulicidinate made
neither sound nor sign, but disappeared ;
and Mr. Strasburger lighted a gas burner, for
it was now dusk, and rang for his dinner,
which he usually had sent in to him from a
neighbouring restaurant. But before it was
spread, there was a low knock at his door.

. ,.., CHAPTER Xni.

* WE llAVK FOUND IT.'

•Come in," said Mr. Strasburger. The
door opened, and the form of Mr. .Tim-
nierson, the pawnbroker, whom we have
once before seen in the detective's I'oom, ap-
peared. 1- I,' ■••(/' J--! VJU I

'Cbme in, .Tinuuerson, sit down ;' said the
detective.

Old Jimmerson sat down heavily at the
table.

'I'm just ordering the dinner. You've
dined, I suppose';!',

'No, I haven't.'

' Then I'll order something. '

' As you please. I should like something
to drink,' said the pawnbroker.

Probably there existed no two men in the
city with fewer friendships and less frienils,
apiece, than the two now hob-nobl)ing in the
dusky room. Their avocations in life were
not congenial to friendships. A man may
be hail-fellow-well-met with his dentist, or
even on terms of intimacy with his under-
taker ; but one scarcely would like for his
bosom friend either a detective or a pa^\■n-
broker. Then, again, the natural eflect of
the two trades is to cultivate suspicion. The
one a suspicion of persons, the other a sus-'
picion of things. Suspicion is clearly the
business of each. Your detective looks at
every nianasapossii)le felon. Y(jur pawnbroker
looks at everyt'.nng as fruit of a possible
larceny, or, as it were, a Deodand, ' of
which he, in lieu of holy Church, nuist take
in custody.

But, pariahs as they were, a sort of
str.ange, unaccountable friendship— or per-
haps it was only an attraction — had grown
up between these two men. Or, it might
have been that each, illustrious in his own
calling, felt the need of the oWier ; and that
their friendship was only an alliance otien-
sive and defensive. But surely, without
confessing, nay, without suspecting it them-
selves, each, in time of doubt or stress,
woidd have called upon the other as his next-
friend, his procheiii aiiiji.

The two men finished their cover of soup
while a waiter was in attendance. Then, by
direction, the joint was served, the table
spread, the ciaret uncorked — the dish of
fruit, which was to form their simple des-
sert, was ])ut within reach, and the waiter
withdrew.

The pawnbroker was first to speak. Draw-
ing a heavy i)lain gold ring from his pocket,
he laifl itby the detective's plate, as he saitl,
' It came in this morning at eleven o'clock.
We gave him a dollar and thirty cents on it. '

Mr. Strasburger lifted it, examined it, and
put it in his vest pocket, ' That is the ring,
i knew it woidd conic to you. I have not
seen it for seven years, but I knew yo i
would take it sooner or later. What sort of
a looking man left it ? ' said he.

' O, a ti'ajnp— t head and face and neck all
ccvcrcd with hair. His ijreast. which was.
open, was a mass of hair, like the rest. ' fn.

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

noup

ible
of

les-
iter

yoi

:all
was

Mr. Strasburger gave a start.

• I could pick out that man anywhere. He
is a perfect giant. Barniun ought to have
him, he ought ! '

As this was Mr. Jimmeraon's CMily joke,
he reached for the claret, and filling his
water goblet to the brim, gulped it down.

• Pass me that, ' said Mr. Strasburger.

He emptied the remainder of the bottle in
his own glass, and swallowed it. Then he
paused a moment, looked at the closed door,
and said to Jimmerson, ' Then he is at lar^e.
They told me he should never leave tlie

Tombs.' ,vr,,.f--

' What is he ? a tramp ? '

'Yes, a tramp — but a tramp that will be
a murderer if he ever finds me out. Jimmer-
son, do you know my life is not worth a
shilling a day while that man is outside of a
jail ? I am not a timid man as you know
well enough, but I call you to remember and
to witness here, that if ever my body is
found streched on this floor, with a knife in
my heart, that man. Job Pierce, drove the
knife home. And he'll do it— he'll do it !'

Brave man as he was, he sluuldered. ' I
see it before me, my man, ' he wont on. ' I
see myself sitting here alone some midnight,
as I have sat many times before. Maybe I
have maps and plans on this table — maybe
an old glove or a shoe, or a scrap of a letter,
which are mostly the tools I work witli.
Then I hear a rustle over my head. I don't
look up, but go on with my work. Tlien I
hear the rustle again. I feel — I know wlio
is in the room. I reach to press the knob
that calls I^oyle, when two great hairy hands
seize my wrists, and the devil who pawned
that ring holds me in his power. I tell you,
Jimmerson, tliat all the power of the city, all
its law and magistrates, all this police force
of ten thousand men, every one of whom are
at my service when I want them, cannot
keep my blood from being <lrained by that
man. Remember, when you hear of my
nuirder, remember Job Pierce is the name of
t le man that did it.'

.) immerson had never seen his friend in
this mood before.

' What has come over you, my man ? ' said

he.

' 0, I think I am growing to be a clairvoy-
ant, 'said the detective with a laugh. 'I
went to one to-day, and we're going to search
for a hidden clue through him on Thursday.
I believe I am one myself, and might have
saved the expense — that's all. '

' Who is this Pierce ? ' said Jim'.ierson,
after a considerable pause, in which the two
men went on M'ith their dinner.

• Who is he ? He is a ruffian. '
' What has he done?.'

' Nothing — that's it. If he only would do
something I could shut him up; but lie
won't steal, and he won't break any law. 1
have had him held three months on sus-pi-
cion, and understood, from the office, that
he would be kept there indefinitely. But
he's out. I suppose I could have him held
for threatening my life,/ but it wouldn't d<>
for Stra.sburger to show himself treniljling at
a tramp's menace— nor yet the menace of
any man that lives.'

He took tiie ring out of his pocket, and
looked at it long ; he held it to tlie liglit and
read tlie inscription engraved insitle. Hi
seemed communing with his own thouglits.
So the practical Jimmerson went on witli
his dinner, and did liot interrupt iiiuj.

' Twenty years ago,' said Mr. Strasburger.
at last, but speaking more to himself than
to his companion, ' twenty yeai's ago a girl
— a married girl — took her wedding ring otl"
the finger where her husband had placed it,
and gave it to me. To-day you take it for a
dollar and thirty cents, and it comes to me
again. God I Jimmerson, you and I don't
have any time to fall in love, do we,
old man ? Ha, ha ! Love I Tliere's sue'a a
thing — I know it— I've seen it — it's the sur-
est fact of all the facts I have to deal with.
It grows up in a man's heart or a woman's
lieart, until it's as much a part of their life
as their hearts' blood. It's there ! Why,
man, I might love j'ou— you, Jimmerson—
and if I did, without your asking me to, or
having anything to do with it, or even
knowing me or caring anything about me,
that love for you would be as mucli a part
of my life as my blood — or my pulse, or my
breath. It would be a part of my nature,
and you might as well expect to learn tlie
habits of an eagle by studying them on tlie
supposition that it was a hawk, as expect to
learn anytliiug about me, without taking my
love for you into account. Wlien I find a
man dead by the stroke of a left-hanilod
man, I look for a left-handed man — when I
find a man killed by a heartless man — killed
from no motive of robbery, or intrigue, or
succession, do you know what I look for?
Why, I look for a man who has no life in
his heart, wlio has loved a woman against
his will and her own — who has a bootless
love put into his heart by the same Power
or the same Chance or the same Fate — or
whatever you call it, that put blood vessels
there ; and I am never wrong. If you place
a man in an air pump, and pump away his
breath, he will put his mouth to the crevice
through which tlie air is flowing away. If
you take the last loaf of breail from a starv-
ing chilli, that child will follow the bread
that you tear from its band. I took from

i.jll

i:fl

t ''I

"i 1 1

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

itii a, long mini

T only tell you

-the name of my

that great hairy giant, Job Pierce, the love of
the woman he loved — and hr s following me
with a scent and a purpose tnat is inevitable
and inexorable ; and yon will find me dead
upon this floor, Jimnierson, witli a long slim
knife in my heart, some day,
to remember that his nan)e-
murderer — is Job Pierce ?'

Did the detective, as he spoke, think of
himself alone, or did he see, in his eager eye,
the dark studio where the nuirrlered form of
St. Jude's Assistant knelt as if in prayer,
one day ? Did he see the bliglited house-
hold -the ci'azed gii-l, the outcast soul red-
dened with a brother's blood, the primal
eldest curse, the curse of (^ain? Let us be
sure he did ; for, in the hitherto unsuspected
terror of his own soul, the detective lost no
sight of his lure. He felt, that, wide
apart as they were in life -wide as
the hemispheres — the doom of George Brand
was his doom. In tracking the murderer of
St. Jude's Assistant, he knew that he was
tracking his own murderer. He was the
greatest detective that had ever lived. He
had detected the liand that should let out
his own life !

Mr. Jimmerson, in his trade, was used
enough to the relics of tragedy. He was
familiar enough — (lod knows — with wan and
faded cheeks, with lioUow and bleared eyes,
hollow and blear with desperation or despair;
but he never witnessed the tragedy itself.
He was a little disconcerted with the turn
things were taking, but he went on eating
and drinking.

' The girl that twenty years ago, took her
wedding-ring — this ring, Jimmerson, off her
linger and gave it to me,' proceeded Mr.
Strasburger, in the musing voice — ' was the
wife of my murderer. She loved me — I don't
know why. I saw her on the stage. She
was an actress, with a beautiful bust and
pretty ankle. I took her for what I supposed
she was, like most actresses — to be enjoyed.
I sought her to enjoy her, nothing more ;
but she clung to me, loved me, as I never
supposed any woman would ever love me.
When I found that she was a married,
woman, of course I only enjoyed her the
more. It was an additional spice to our
intrigue ; but, while I don't pretend to any
conscience upon the subject, and while the
fact that she had a husband wouldn't have
in the least interfered with my appetite for
her, yet, it so happened, that I did tire *■
her, and tried to prevail upon her to
back, but she wouldn'f, I tell you, fi
first to last, I never sought her love
never dreamed of desiring it .any more than
I dreamed of inspiring it. Wiien my
appetite was satisfied she could have gone

where she would, but she clung to me, as I
told you, and she was my slave until she
died. There was a child — she died in giving
birth to it — it was a girl. I had it takeii
care of, of course, .and I put around its little
neck a ch<ain, to which I attached this ring,
its mother's wedding-ring. Well, the chihl
grew up, and wore tne ring around its neck.
Even when a mere baby, it looked strangely
like its mother — she was a beauty, there is no
denying that. I used to visit the child occa-
sionally, and leave money for its keep. She
was tlien in charge of an old woman, who
lived in the suburos of Newark, New Jersey,
in a portion called Roseville, wliere I had
placed her. One day, as I entered that ohl
woman's cottage, I c.auglit sight of this m.an,.
Job Pierce, w.atching nie. I knew him by
sight, as the husb.and I hjid wronged. We
did not meet. Soon after I he.ard that tlie
child had been stolen away. ' I was not
sorry to be relieved of its maintenance, fori
didn't love it. I looked at it only us tHe
bill sent in for my entertainment, which I
was to pay, t'.iat was all. So I paid it.
But. bj'-and-))y, as time went on, I began to
feel a sort of conscience in the m.atter. More
than th.at, as I grew older, with no living
thing in the world to call mine — \vitli no
home, no friends, nothing tluat cared whe-
tlier I lived or died, I began to think that if
I could find this child- -for it was mine —
nobody could gainsay that — I miglit make a
home for my old age. I set about tracing
my child just as calmly as I would set about
finding a murderer. I felt confident, th.at
sooner or later, the man who had the child
Mould use that ring to raise money ; and I
was sure that it would come to you. That
is how we came to know eacli other — and
now the ring is before me. I am usually
right in these matters. But — l)ut Job Pierce
must have been very hungry indeed to have
paited with this.

At this moment a small bell in the wall
was heard to ring. An instant' after there
^vas a knock at the door. Mr. Strasburger
rose and opened it.

The ugly face of Doyle first intruded, and
then a portion of his body. ' The woman
Melden is all safe, ' he said.

•AH right ; there is nothinc; more to-
night. '

And the confidence between the detective
and the pawnbroker, thus interrupted, was
never resumed. "

ST. JUDES ASSISTANT.

CHAPTER XIV.

MRS. MELD EN.

Our readers must, by this time, have
drawn from these pages some conclusions as
to the power and scope of authority held by
tlie great Mr. Strasburger. A man who can
detain persons, accused of no cranes, within
stone walls and barred windows, and carry
iiinoc(!nt women to Houses of Detention,
must be a person whose friendship is valu-
able and whose animosity is dangerous. But
to no les.s than this, amounted the preroga-
tive of Mr. Strasburger. A long career of
uninteiTupted success liad so impressed his
chiefs, that their standing order was, ' I'o as
Mr. Strasburger orders ;' and so, ineffect, he
was omnipotent. But outside of the police
and their professional correspondents, it is
to be added, Mr. Strasburger was entirely
unknown. Outside of the Force he had scarce-
ly a nodding acquaintance. He might have
walked up and down liroadway, from sun-
rise to sunset, for a week, without being v^-
cognized by a civilian, and, with the excep-
tion of the old pawnbroker, Jimmerson, he
certainly had never opened his heart to a liv-
ing man. This being understood, it will ex-
cite no surprise when we say that, as he
stood before Mrs. Mehlen, that wortliy lady
was conscious, for the first time in her life,
of meeting a person whom she had not only
never seen before, but of whose ancestry, re-
putation and previous career, she had not
the slightest information.

For Mrs. Melden, reader, was alady whose
forte it was to know everything about every-
body. Given any person, living or dead, she
could tell you who his fatlier was, and under
what circumstances, after how mavy repulses
and rejections, he married that person's
mother. Nay, she could inform you (and
would and did, ) where the father first met
the mother, what induced him to fall in love
with her, how many times before he had
been engaged, and thfe moving cause for each
;breaking off. And to his worldly condition,
whether rich or poor, whether his paternal
;home was mortgaged, and for how much,
whether he had been wild or quiet, healthy
■ or delicate, she knew everything accurately.
'Of contemporary record she was a walking
■chronicle, a peripatetic newspaper — a Burke's
or anybody else s peerage, only Burke's never
went further than the nobility and gentry,
while Mrs. Melden took in the commonalty
and yeomanry as well. There never M'as a
wedding spoken of but she knew all
labout the parties and the parties' genealogies,
"back to_..the primal gorilla or ape. She
would feel no demerit to descend to par-

ticulars about the bride's trosscau, and tind
no impropriety in introducing the most
sacred secrets of the bridal bower , and bed
among the detiiils of the gifts, the tour, and
the tJcttlcments.

Mrs. Melden, for the refreshment of the
outer M'orld, was possessed of a pair of lungs
that many richer and wiser persons might
have envied her. She never passed hve
minutes without dispensing iiifuiination, and
she never dispensed it except at the very
top of that same pair of lungs. She habitu-
ally addressed you, even if you were sitting
within a yard of her, in tones as if you were
in tlie fourth storey of the house across the
street. She talked incessantly, and, strange
to say, she not only talked, as a hahit, but
talked as a trade. Her tongue was lier
fortune ; and by it she lived and tlirove.
But this last statement may need explana-
tion.

We do not mean to be understood as say-
ing that^people actually sul)scribed for Mrs.
Melden,* as tliey did for the J f mild, by the
week, month, or year — although it cannot
be denied that they took her for longer or
shorter pex'iods, as tlie case was. We would
not so far forget our duty to that lady as to
insinuate that she went from house to house
for so much a year, in money, and tliercby
earned lier bread. She was not, liowever,
we are bound to say, so very different in that
respect, from her contemporary, the Hera td,
Like the Herald, she entered every house ;
like the Herald, she was consulted o' every
hand ; like the Hendd she was reterred to
in every dispute ; and, like the Herald, her
decision was beyond gainsaj'.

The great difference was that the Herald
had a cash capital, and was edited. Mrs.
Melden had no cash capital and no editor.
Although Mrs. Melden had talked three
husbands to death, no fourth husband, up to
this time, had sought martyrdom at lar
hands. - Neither of tlie three had left ht r
anj' fortune, and she was obliged, at tliifj
time to support herself by her tongue alone.
She did it in this wise : Say, on the first of
January, she would arrive at the Jones'. If
the Jones' guest rooms were all occupied, a
sliake down in tlie store-room, or on the ser-
vants' floor, would do for her. She usually
obtained her entrance by pushing past the
servants', it is true, but, once inside a thresh-
old, nobody dared to turn lier out. Once
within the street door, with her valise, she
was morally certain of the best the house
could give her, and the most respectul treat-
ment, until she chose to depart. Of cmirse
the reason for this was obvious. In order to
be so universal a dispenser of information,
she must be constantly collecting informa-

ST. .TUBE'S ASSISTANT.

tion. She had the most marvellous memory
for the iniinitoHt details, that mortal ever
possessed. (In fact, if Mr. Strashurger had
only known it, he stood before a living ex-
ami«'t' and exposition of the extreme of his
theory about the human store-house.)
Her eyes and ears and nostrils were
wide open and on the alert, and
not the most trivial circumstance escaped
her. Therefore it was, tliat a family once
saddled witii Mrs. Melden, treated her
thenceforward, and as long as she chose to
make their roof lier home, witli tiie most
studied and even abject civility. They knew
tliat their reputation was in her hands. The
Jones 8 — as they listened to hei- report of the
doings and goings on at the Browns, across
the street — shuddered to think what the
Robinsons, in turn, would hear of the Jones's,
if the.Tones's were not careful. So they load-
ed her plate with the delicacies of the table,
and could not do too much for her. Siie
usually gnve a fortnight of her NTiliuible time
to a family. But there were houses where
a month, or even six weeks was not too long
for her sojourn. If the Jones's came into
class A of her acquaintance, it was not
until late into February that she bade them
adieu, and moved over to the Kobinsons. If
the Robinsons were class B, a bare fortnight
of her capital time she lavished upon them
before she went to the Billings's. And so
her years are divided. The Smiths, the
Browns, the Jones's, the Robinsons, the Bil-
lings's, the Bakers, the Adams's, the Clarks,
the Dodges, the Harris's, the Parkers, the
Williams's — Mrs Melden had her letters ad-
dressed to any of these places, .and woe to
the tinhappy family who, ui\ receivinc; one
of them, did not make gala preparation for
her reception.

It will be remembered that Mr. Gloster,
the mind reader, had not indicated, or even
hinted at the key to the particular informa-
tion in Mrs. Melden's possession, which the
detective was to seek. Had Mr. .Strasburger
known Mrs, Melden's reputation, he
might iiavc either declined to set, her him-
self, and sent a substitute, or have proceeded
to beat generally, in search of some spot in
her discourse wherein to check her and in-
sert his magnet. As it was, while undecided
as to what course to take, he happened to
stumble upon precisely tlie opposite correct
course ; and to find out all about Mrs, Mel-
den herself Hrst, before seeking to suck from
Mrs. Melden's ample comb any information
about othei-s. In this he might have been
very unhapp}-, Mrs, Melden knew every-
thing. She was used to cross-questioning
about estates, weddings, elopements, child-
births, mortgages, failures ; and wliy not

about murders ? But, if the detective hafi
lieen posted as to her identity, he could not
have struck more accurately upon the charac-
ter of the woman, or on the track of the very
information ho was searching for.

Mrs, Melden, uj)on her arrest, had been con-
ducted to a carriage and conveyed by Doyl&
to the House of Detention, in utter silence.
That is to say, he — Doyle, had utterly re-
fused to open his lips on any subject any
further than ascertainnig her name and assur-
ing her of the impotence of any attempt tO'
escape or protest— had preserved his habitual
dumbness. Arrived at the House of Deten-
tion, she had been attended to a very tolerably
furnislied room, with a clean bed, facilities
for washing, dressing, etc, and her valise had
been handed in to her with as much ceremony
as if she had put up at the Windsor, or the
Fifth Avenue, Moreover, she had been
served with a fair supper of cold chicken,
white baker's rolls, a dish of hemes, and un-
limited tea. Beyond tiie disagreeable iron
bars that intervened, at a distance of about
a foot, between her M-indow and the daylight,
the thick walls, and the disagi-eeable click
of a key in lier door, she would have had
nothing of wliich to complain. To tell the
truth, she had been exhausted by her journey,
and had slept well. Her breakfast had not.
been unwholesome, and, saving and except-
ing that she had had actually nobody to talk
to for some fifteen hours, she was inclined to
be anything but savage. She had slept in
many worse beds, and eaten much worse fare
in the course of her sporadic conversational
life. When, therefore, an attendant aaked
her politely to follow him to the parlour of
the matron of the establishment, she might
have been in a worse mood than she found
herself.

Mr. Strasburger was afraid of women — so
he was polite to them. He never had, in
his trade, mucli call to be polite, but he could
be, if he tried.

' We are sorry to have been 50 unceremoni-
ous with you, Mrs, Melden,' said Mr. Stras-
burger, 'but it was late, and we couldn't
t Icgraph your friends for bail.' (Which was
uncandid. No etfco't or intention of the kmd
had there been, on the part of the authorities,
to ask bail. In fact, it was an old trick of
Mr. Strasburger's to thus obtain for himself
an interview with a witness beforehand, at
the cost merely of an apology, wliich, upon,
occasion, he well knew how to make, ) ' If
you will give us any address, a carriage is at
your disposal, and we are only ordered to ask
your friends for their personal secuiity that
you will appear when you arc wanted.'

' Wanted for wliat, if you please, sir ?'
said Mrs. Melden ; for the deference of the

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Vf-

oily (letoctivo liad already made her forgut
Uer unceromuuious incarceration.

' A man named Core is soon to be tried for
burglary, ' said Mr. Strasburger.

'Not tlic Cores of Kondout, I hope,' said
Mrs. Melilen, ' I knt)w those Cores no well,
and I never knew a more Christian family !
Wliy, they have family pr.iyers twice a day ;
and l)r. Fales, pastor of the Presbyterian
mectin' there — it was he as married for his
second wife, Miss Rivers of Hudson, you
know ; she was yery rich, and an old maid.
ii.nd now her oldest son, Rivers Fules, will
have it al', because that girl she had adojjted
I lied of the scarlet fever only a few months
ago'—

'You liavc been at Hudson, then?' said
Mr. Strasliurger, who caugiit at the first
lead, and determined to maintain it.

' Yes, often. I visited the Henrys and
the Bogerharts there, two years ago. Mrs.
Bogerhart was a Newhouse — her father used
to be a lawyer here, and he grew very rich ;
but when lie died tiiey found that everything
was mortgaged up to its' —

' Well,' Mr. Strasburger succeeded in in-
terrupting ; ' there was a great robl^ery at
Hudson the other day, and Mrs. Bogerhart
lost her watch. Among other things now,
upon this man Core, wo found a watch,
which we think is Mrs. Boge. liarts ; you
would know it and be able to indentify it,
wouldn't you '!'

' Know it ! I should t.-nk I would know
it among ten thousand ! V\'liy, I was say-
ing at Mr. Ogden's once — you know Mr.
Ogden, he's a great lawyer ; in summer he
lives out at Malcolm ; but when I was there
he lived at Malcolm summer and winter.
Well, once I was staying there, when some-
one got into the house — '

' How large a family has this Mr. Ogden?'
broke in Mr. Strasburger.

' Well, there's Mr. Ogden, is one ; and
Mrs. Ogden is two ; and there's the three
boys is five' — Mrs. Melden checked them oti"
on her lingers as she spoke — ' And then
there's that poor little gypsey girl they took
from the tramp and educateil, oidy slie's
quite a lad)' now, and very beautiful, they
say — not as I've seen her since they moved
in town — Mara they call her — Mara Ogden
— that's six : and then perhaps you migiit
count Paul. Ht's always there when lie's
at home — is seven — he's in Europe now —
and then there's that lean Miss Singleton,
who looks after the house — though they do
say slie's very rich or going to be — that's
eiglit. Eight. '

' Do you know Paul Ogden ?'

' Slight. I know him by sight I see
him at the table when I was at Malcolm,

at Mr. Ogden's — three or more years ago —
and tlien I see him once since. '

' Wlien was that ?'

' Only about a year after. I rememl)er it
was in the Indian summer, and a In.'ivutiful
day it was. The Woods, on Fifty-nintii
street, had just had a great wedding recep-
tion for their daughter. She that married
a Captain Joyce of the army, that after-
wards was killed by an awful old Indian
named Setting-Cow or Setting-Bull, oi-
something like that ; they liavc got hi.n
sword hanging up in the library over his.
picture, where I often seen it ; and on De-
coration Day they always perfectly cover it
with flowers.'

Mr. Strasburger knew Mrs. Melden very
well by this time ; and, jnoreover, lie Knew
that he was on tlie right track. So he did
not interrupt her flow of words until she
came to a full stop, when he said, ' Mrs.
Melden, the carriage will be here very
shortly. Would yi.u care for a glass of
porter, or some claret, or what would yoiL
prefer, before you staiied ?'

' Indeed, and you are very kind, sir,.'
said Mrs. Melden.

' You are tlie guest of the city of New
York, my dear Mrs. Melden, and we can-
not allow you to be uncomfortable. '

Mrs. Melden mi^ht have reflecteil that
' the city ' was a little uncereinoni(jus and
pressing in its hospitalities ; but, possibly,
she rememliered the great man in thw
Bible, who, when he gave suppers, went out
in the highways and liedges, and compelled
his guests to come in ; and rejoiced tliat ' the
city, ' followed such a high precedent. So
she exclaimed, ' Well, then, sir, as you are
so good, I believe I would like some sherry,
if I m not troubling you too much. '

Mr. Strasburger nodded and rang a bell.
' I thia< you were speaking of the Woods'
wedding, Mrs. Melden, ' said he.

' Oh, yes. Well, they had the most beau-
tiful presents I ever seen in my life ; all
spread out in the second storey front room.
They said they was one hundred thousand
dollars — though, to be sure, the presents of
Mrs. Phapen's wedding was two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars — but then one
hundred thousand dollars of that ohl Mr.
Phapen gave them in a clieque on the Ciiem-
ical Bjink ; and as 1 was going over to tlie*'
— Here the sherry caiiio in, and Mrs. Melden
helped herself plentifully.

' And I was saying, 1 was going over to
the Ogdeus'. So I took a Sixth Avenue car
and rode down to Fourteenth street, and
then I took the little blue cars that run
across — those cars that you never can stop,
you know, when you want to get on, unless-

l^fl

(■«■

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

you send a hoy around to shako an umbrella
at the thiver. And no wonder, for they
only liave one liorse and driver, ami tlie
<lnver iHu't .illowed to touch tlie money -
hut it gouH in a little glass hox ; and what
«l(ieH he care whether ho stops or not? I
suppose he getH his pay for driving, just the
same. I renienitter what a time I had getting
•I n to that car. And so 1 wont down to
Christoiiher street on that car, and on to the
boat. It was very warm, and bo I stood
outside. But there was too much breeze in
front, BO I stood at tlie hack of the hnat.and
that's the last time I saw I'aul Ogdt'u.'

' Take some more ulierry, Mrs. Mehlen,'
Kjiid Mr. Strashurger, iVH he filled her glass.
' Vou say you saw Paul Ogden. Are you
sure it was he himself ?'

' Sure, ' said Mrs. Melden, drinking. 'I
can't be mistaken, because I remember his
face ; and then it was so funny to see thof;e
oranges appear one at a time in the water. '

'Oranges ! — Mrs. Melden,' said Mr. Stras-
hurger, ' what oranges ?'

'Why, you see, Mr. Paul Oeden was
standing very near me, leaning on the I'ail :
and lie had a large paper bundle of oranges.
Ho had bought them to take out to the
children, I suppose, and all of a sudden, as
he was leaning oh the rail an<l was looking
out on the water, the bundle dropped otf the
boat. I heard him laugh, which was what
made me look up. There were some com-
mon looking men on the men's side of the
l)oat,and one of them asked Mr. Ogden
if there was valuables in the package ;
but he said, no, that they were only
some oranges he was carrying; " and,"
says he, "wait a moment, and you'll see
thorn." And sure -enough, in a moment
more, we see little yellow oranges a bobbing
up all along after the boat. And I re-
member watching them until the boat had
almost touched her t;!ip, and thinking how
the Ogden boys would go without their
oranges that night. I don't know what be-
came of Paul, sir ; he moved away, most
likely while I was watching the oranges, for
I never saw him aeain.'

Mr. Strasburger hardly breathed as he
lieard these disclosures. But he saw it all
now, as plain as day-break. The pistol
which had done to <^th George Brand, had
been concealed in the package of oranges ;
the package had been carelessly dropped in
the Hudson river. Of course the pistol had
sunk, and as the water disintregrated the
paper, the oranges had risen to the surface,
thus accounting to any spectators of the
circumstances for the contents of the lost
parcel. He admired Paul Ogden as a con-
.suuunate organizer, from that moment ; and

III

lasted to
and Mr.

almost regretted the part he must take
hanging him.

The sherry — which had hardly
this denouement — was now gone ;
iStras burger rose,

'You have said something, Mrs. Melden,
about a gypsey girl whom the Ogdeiiw
adopted. Where is that girl now?'

• Hhe is living with them now. Hor name
is Mara Ogden. They do say she it n-
gaged to Mr. Frear, the young artist, whose
father was so rich, though when he ilied, Ik;
didn't leave one of them a cent ; and tiiere'.s
his wife, and his two rlaughters, and Tom,
and only Tom to sujiport them all. And
nnich he'll support them, painting pictures !
I'd like to know who'll buy his pictures !
This Mara, as I was saying, sir, she was
stolen by tramps from somewhere — at auy
rate she was taken from them by the
Ogdens — by Paul Ogden himself, some sfiya,
and treated kindly, and educated, and she
is very beautiful, and has no end of atten-
tion ; though they do say — that is, some do —
that she loves Paul Ogden better than f!ie
does Tom Frear. But Paul is in Kuropo,aiid
all I can say is that he'd better come home
and look after his lady love. '

Mr. Strasburger had heard enough. The
next thing to do was to get rid of Mrs.
Melden as quietly as possible. Not only was
the information of which he was possessed, of
incalculable value, but it was also necessary
that nobody should suspect his possession of
it. So he said :

'Mrs. Melden, the carriage js at the door.' I
have only to say that, had the authorities
been aware of your 1>eing an acquaintance of
Mr. Ogden, you would never have been
troubled. I can only' repeat the apologies
which the city has to oflfer you for your un-
ceremonious treatment ; and to say that we
will not trouble you to give anj'thing more
than your word to testify in the
matter of Mrs. Bogerharts watch when
tlie government requires you. The
carriage at the door will carry you
wherever you desire, and is at your service
as long as you may wish it. Should you
ever think it necessary to mention this affair
to Mr, Ogden — though it is quite unneces-
sary — you might say that Mr. Dorchester
presents his compliments. Your valise has
already been placed in the caiTiage. '

And Mr. Strasburger, with the grace of a
gentleman usher at a church wedding, placed
the old lady in her carriage. As it was not
often that Mrs, Melden found herself in su-
pervisory possession of a carriage, she im-
proved the occasion to pay sundry little calls
in state, for the general benefit of her repu-
tation — to make sundry little purchases at

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

1 1

Ma III

oor. ' I
loritics
iuice of

heen "

okigios

)ur un-

that we

g more

the

when

The

ry you

ervice

ukl you

lis atfah-

mtieces-

chester

iliae has

StHwart'H and elsewhure — to pull over innch
coatly HJlk at ArnoM and Constable's, an<l,
finally, to 1k) driven to the (jirundy'a on tlio
avenue. But she could not forKet Mrs.
Bogorhart's watuli, and determined, as soon
as settled at tlie Grundy 'a, to be the tirst to
ac(iuuint Mrs. B. with tlio glad news of its
recovery. People always reniend)er plea-
santly those who first tell tliem good news,
and it might be worth a month, next sum-
nior at the Bogerhart's delightful river resi-
dence. Neitlier did she forget the sherry
witli which the city of New York had re-
galed her. But most of all di<l her mind
dwell upon tlie piercing black eye, the dark
handsome face and elegant manners of Mr.
Dorchester ; and she determined to lose no
time in ascertaining if he were any connec-
tion of her old friends, the Dorbhesters, of
Salem.

CHAPTER XV.

TIIK COUBSK OF TRUK LOVE. -' '

Mrs. Meldeu was, as usual, accurate in
her information concerning Mara's engage-
ment to Tom Frear. Mara liked Tom, and
Tom liked her ; and, moreover, Mrs. Ogden
liad set her heart upon the match. Three
such causes, propelled violently at one ef-
fect, earned their point. As to details, there
was very little to arrange. Tom certainly
h ul no money to bless either himself or
Mara with, and Mara had no money to bless
Tom with, so it was not necessary to waste
much time on settlements. As to the otliev
and minor matters, of love, etc., Tom was
well nigh crazy with his good fortune, and ran
up vast bills at the florists for bouquets, and
at Maillard's for bonbonnieres. A bouquet
t;very morning and a bonbonniere every even-
ing, was the correctest of correct things for
tlie newly espoused, just at this time in New
^'ork ; and Tom was notlung if not correct.
Fie saw, indeed, in his mind's ey;,
a pay day ; but he felt that the
present was, just now, more palpable
to him than even pay day, and he detpr-
mmed to make the shining liouis his own.
It is but small justice to say that Tom always
paid his bills when he could. Most people
do. The pleasure of paying a bill is second
only to the pleasure of incurring it. At any
rate, tliere is very little peace in the world
for tlie man who does not pay his bills. It
is not thase long parallelograms of paper, all
ruled in black, and thickest with figures,
that the Bureau of Vital Statistics issue
weeklj' — but the little bills — the little four
dijllar. and five dollar, and seven dollar ac-
t ouuts fur flowers, and bonbons, and neck

wear, and carriages from the theatre, that
are the true bill of mortality which hound u*
to our toml)s.

Tradesmen have 1 (mg memories, and the
hjager their nu;mori(<.s, the shorter the plea-
sures of their impciiinious or doubtful pat-
rons. Once or twice, imleed, it had occur-
red to Tom that he ought to say bravely to
his sweetheaat, 'Mara, lam ho poor that I
c.umot buy you a boucjuet flower or a box of
chocolate ;' and, if he hail, the chances are
that she woulil lui\ e stopped his mouth with
a kiss, and never accepted from him. there-
after, one of those little attentions. Women
like bravo men and cling to misfortune
where they fight free of good luck. But
Tom did not dare. ' Siie does not love me
enough for that, ' he said. Poor foolish, lov--
ing boy 1 If she does not love you enough,
for that now, she will not h)ve you more
because you deceive her. What if you
should tell her some day tiiat you could not
afford to iiuy lier bread I But then, thought
Tom, people don't starve to death, now-a-
days. And so it went on. No words wore
•evtrsroken to put Mara on her guard, and
poor Tom, even when in the seventh ht.aveii
of her presence, with his arm around hei-
waist and lier little brown hand in his, could
not help feeling ashamed of the imposition
lie was practising. He tre.itcd her like a
queen. Hei' feet never pressed the ground.
There were her bouijuet every morning and
lier bon-bons every night. He fitted a mag-
nificent solitaire upon lier pretty finger, and
sealed it with a kiss. He brought her
bracelets, and neeklaeo, and lockets, and -
wondercul who the devil would ever pay for
them. But he wondered ahnie. He did not
ask Mara to share his marvel, at least.

As for Mara, although she had become
engaged, with misgivings as to her own
heart, she grew more and more used to Tom
daily. She gi-ew to listen for him, to dis-
tinguish his ring, and to long for the alter-
nate evenings, upon which only, so far, he
had been allowed to see her. Lender their
joint finessing the alternate evening arrange-
ment soon experienced an innovation. Mon-
days, Wednesdays and Fritlays, at tirst, had
been settled for Tom's visits. Soon Satur-
day was added, as the lover's night, and
Sunday evening it was but proper
that Tom should spend with his lady
love. For the other evenings, little plots
were mutually arranged. As, for instance,
on a Monday evening, jNIara would say,
' Tom, I have got the loveliest letter of con-
gratulation from Molly Dewey, and she says
she is dying to see you. '

• Let me see the letter,' says Tom.

' Oh dear, it's clear up in the third storey.

^'1 i '(!

ill

■78

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Coinc ill to-iii(tnow evuiiin^, on yuur way
fnnii (1 inner, iind I'll •how it to you ; ' and
Tom would be in on Tueaduy to see the
letter, and boinx in, could not well ttiir
hiuiHelf iiwny. Then, on a \Vt'(lue«day Tom
would Hay, ' Mara, the Voken |)iay in " A
Huuch of BeniuB ' to-morrow evening for tlio
laHt time, and you numt see tliem in that.
It'H their beat piece, you know.' And Mara
would consent, and bo the upshot was, in
time, that the seven ni^dits in a week were
oomiias ed, and were all too few for the
lovers, even tlien.

Then, too, Tom was fortunate in having;
the afVair 'out' at once. When a young
lady is known to bo engaged, her male call-
ers drop otr — she is thrown more and nu>re
in the company of her intended,-" and comes
to rely upon him as she can rely upon no-
body else — whicii is to the intended's advan-
tage. Tiiere are too many young ladies in
society, and society life, at least, is too
short, for men to try and break up each
other's matches. And, besides, men, as a
rule, are generous enough, when they hear
tiiat a felTinv-uuiu has become engaged, to
let liim possess his girl in peace. If the
young ladj' is disposed to (question her own
choice, and is prone to compare her lover
with otlier men, the only safety for her
lover is in a publicity which will keep other
men from u' 'tting in her \v>.y. So Mara and
Tom prosp^it (1 in tlieir betrothal.

Mara li.ul written to Paul of her engage-
ment, Imt she had trembled much, and re-
written again, in doing it. There had not as
yet been tinie for her to receive an answer.
Paul had never seen her since she had groM'n
beautiful. Paul uiiglit have loved her him-
self, si>e thouglit, and was he not entitled to
the opportunity 'f To some girls the idea
that a man possessed, as it were, a refusal of
their hearts, would have been endurable ;
hut to Mara there was only a justice about
it. Had it not b.'cn Paul, and Paul alone,
who had brought her out of a miseral)le ex-
istence — an existence that, with her beauty,
(■ >ul(l only have led to one fate — into the
l)eajeful happy home she now inhabited ?
Il.ad not his been the first kind word her
e irs had ever known — the first gentle hand
tliat had ever taken her own ? Was there
not liis image in her heart, and was there
r loni for another? Fonder and fonder as^
she grew of Tom daily, she yet distrusted
herself. Sometimes she felt that it was
better that Paul should not come home.
And then again she would pray wildly that
Paul might come home and put her to the
test, before, at the altar, she would swear
a lie to tlu! man wlio idolized her. All this
time siic loved Tom too, but she felt that,

wherever she might Iwj, married tir single,
pledged or free, when the sweet n)anly vojci!
that Inul i)ade her await his coming home -
tiiat had called her ' Mara ' for the tirst
time, should sound again in her ears, it
wouhl have newer to draw her w hitherso-
e"er it would ; and that no vows sh*- might
nuike to another could withstand the mes-
merism of his touch. She felt that she wa<
sinnnig ; but somehow, before she could ask
advice or decitle for herself, she found her-
self engagetl to the handsome young artist,
and the fettei^s that bound her liegan to
grow so sweet that she could not lift her
hand to strike them asunder. Tom was ail
devotion ; her home was ail smile \ her
friends were all congratulations. Everything
seemed going on for the best, and to be regu-
lating itself. So Mara, though she coidd
not cease to think about Paul, cea::eil to
pray about him, an<l determined, in her own
mind to let things 'take care of themselves. '
She repeated to herself the old j)rov(.'Vb
about a man's wooing whom he will but mar-
rying whom he's wierd ; and made up lier
mind, that, whatever happened, she could
be hai)py with Tom Frear.

Not the least joyous in the household, over
the betrothal, was our old friend, Isabella
Singleton. She was as full of love and
good-nature as a woman could be, and, re-
nu>ved from any matrimonial prospects her-
self, was thoroughly happy in thoge of others.
If she had ever held any sour milk in lier
composition it had no excuse to stay there
now, for latterly, everything hail turned out
luckily for her. Not only had she found a
kind home, but the great law suit had ulti-
mately resulted in her favour. The re-argu-
ment, which had been granted, had resulted
in the re-atlirmation of her judgment by a
larger majority of judges than before and
she was a very rich woman. She could now
undoubtedly marry if she would, but she
knew, if she did, she would be married only
for her money, and the kind friends all over
the union, (friends in the Lord, whom she
had never seen, but whose bowls yearned
foi\her all the same) who sent her daily
bunules of addresses, circulars, appeals,
and college and grammar school cata-
logues, seemed preferable even to such a sale
as that.

One has to Ijecome suddenly rich to realize
how many colleges and grammar schools
there are in this great and glorious country
of ours. The number of catalogues
of fresh water colleges and Dolly Varden
graunnar schools which Isabella received
alKjut this time, was something al-
most incredible. By a strange coincidence,
all of these colleges and grammar schools

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

wcru 'iiutliurizuil by liiw to take money by
bticiuoHt, ' and contuinud a ))lunk ' I'^urin of
lif(i(ieHt, ' upon tliu iuuidu of the back uuvcr,
.&» follows :

' I liereby give and l)oqucath in the Lord
the sum of

CHAPTER XVI.

• THK MADMAN WHO TKIKU TO SHOOT IIIM-
8KLF AT NIAUAUA."

Considerable time has elapsed uinue we
liiHt encountered Paul Ogden. Meantime,
111! lias been roaming aimlessly over the Con-
tinent, with the ennui of an accustomed
traveller, tlie nonchalance, whicii there arc
so many — in tliat great mad range of school-
buys at perpetual play — to admire. VVlien
Mr. Strasburgcr supposed liini domiciled in
Brussels, he had, been misinformed. Paul
had mostly travelled from one stsition to
another, on the beaten routes, caring only to
exhaust the hours and days tliat dragged so
lioavily upon him.

Time is the stuff of which our lives are
nia<lc, but Paul, even in better days, had
never enjoyed a Present. No matter what
tlic fruitage in his grasp, some possibility
beyond had lured him to discard it. Like
the dog in the fable, he had, all his life, been
<lropping tlie bones in his mouth to strain
for tiie shadows in the water. Invariably
looking forward to indefinite and prospec-
tive liappinwis, it is to lie doubted wiiether
he ever had l)jen, even reasonably happy ;
but now, in his dogged, wayward unrest,
his listless premonition of approacliing
horror, that \ery horror seemed fascinating
to liim ; and the days dragged until it should
come home to his realization.

In sliort, Paul's insanity had assumed the
not unusual synt'itom of an utter callousness
to, or insensibi. ty of, Jiny moral rcspon i-
Inlity. Tiie idea (jf the awful revenge he
Jiad accomplished, of the life he had taken,
of the blood that stained his hands and soul,
was ever present to him. In.leed, he knew
— or at least there was within him a sciui-
bility to the fact that the law must — at son e
time or other, exact from him a penalty for
the deed ; but for all that, the omnipresent
«lread, the horror of remorse, the intense
striving of a guilty secret upward to the
light — these companions of the murderer,
that counsel have so often described lo
juries, and that have drawn cheers or tea s
from court-room audiences from time in.-

memorial -were utterly wanting in his caM.
That Paul was insane, there cinild bu
very little (lucstion. We arc told l»y a
very high authoiity— by no less a student of
insanity and insane symptoms than !)r.
.Maudsley, that ' nielancholie depression,
morbid suspieions or actual delusions,' are a
species of insanity. ' It will be found,' con-
tinued the doctor, 'that many of the suicides
and homicides done by insane persons, are
done by persons labouring under com-
mencing melancholia, before tlic di.scase has
developed into the stage of intellectual de-
rangement; thoughoverwhelmedwitha vague
fear or distress, dejected, sleepless, and feel-
ing themselves overladen with the heavy
burden of their miserable lives, they manifest
no actual delusion, and are not thought 1)y
their friends or medical attendants ill enough
to be placed under their control.'

It happened that in Rome, where Paul had
found himself one April day, there happen-
ed to sit op])osite him at his table d'hote, an
Eiigli.ih family — paterfamilias, mamma, one
son and two daughters. Pesides them, the
guests at Paul's hotel were mainly Ameri-
cans.

When an Iviglish family flnil themselves
at a table d'hote composed mainly of Ameri-
cans, they recognize an opportunity for as-
serting their nationaland peculiar imi)ortancc,
which they are not slow to improve. The
idea of one's dignity, birth, breeding or fa-
miliarity with high people, and general im-
portance, is very hard to impress upon onus
neighbours if tliey happen to bo foreigners,
and do not understand your native tongue ;
which, of, course, is to be employed socially
among themselves. But wiien our I'^nglish
are eurrounded by low and vulgar Americans,
who have the temerity to use a common
language with the lofty Ih'itons themselves,
the occasion is improved with eclat.

The father of the family who dines ci.i-a-rin
to Paul, is long, lean an<l metropolitan (the
bucolic Knglishman is invariably I'ouiid ); his
nose is thin, his eyes mild and gentle, his
hair sparse and straight ; and — what is much
more prominent than nose, eyes or hair, in
your conventional middle-aged Englishman
— -his choker or dickey is starched to the Last
degree, asserting itself c\ en to interference
with the movement of cheeks and chin,
rendered necessary by the process of dinner.

Madam is stout, heavy, hard to manoeuvre.
Her lord is spare and wan. Her cheeks aro
of the standard colour of English feminine
cheeks — the colour of underdone roast Vieef.
Her chin has disappeared in folds of neck,
and her eyes are all but hidden in folds of
fa e. She dresses conceitedly, as do all of
her race, in tawdry and glaring colours,

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

w hile bust and bosom are lavishly bandaged
with white goods of a lacey pattern, secured
by a brooch. Papa and mamma sit Ijetween
two daughters. Die son does his dinner in
silence, as an tnitpost.

Tlie young girl of Mnghaid, from nine to
riineteeii, is pretty. It may be a blonde and
Amelia style of prettincss, impressing you
with an idea of amiability, goodness, and
honey, that we rapid transatlantic people
meet with very rarely at home and are not
upt to appreciate. Kut it is, or ouglit to l)e,
ail the more attracti\e on account of its nov-
elty. It is a national characteristic that she
dress dowilily ; and therefore not her fault,nor
does it militate iigaiust her attractions. She
is prcttj', let lis admit, up to nineteen. But,
uniuippily, at justaboutnineteen,the beer slie
is tauglit to drink and the beei she is tauglit
to mana.'e, l)egin to sliow tiieir traces. Slie
losusthe Kuglis'i lily from her cheek, and its
])l:i.i(; iaJ:aken by the J'Liglishrosu, which is too
ajit to be of rarely-done viiind hue afore-
said,

'i'lie two types of English females sit
before Paul in mammr ml daughters.
Wlien tlie daughters grow ii)i to mamma's
years, they will be mamma over again.
Blonde hair is very pretty over blonde
ciieeks, but when those blonde cheeks
))ecome roljust and fl'-riil, the effect is inde-
scribable. But what surprises Americans
most in English women, is the absence of
what we are accustomed, on our side of tiie
water, to account as feminine. The delicacy
of mate attentions seem hardly to be called
tor when their object is larger, heavier, rud-
dier than you ; when she can outstrip you
in walking, riding, hunting and fishing ;
and so, it is one bad Anglo-American taste,
t'\at young men from this side are rarely
attracted by Ene;lish women, and rarely
In'iug home English wives. Something in
the transatlantic air, we are vain enough and
patriotic enough to imagine, purifies and
rarifics a woman's charms.

When a typical English family strives to
imbue the Amer.can mind witli the vastness
of its superioritv in all the amenities of life,
its plan is to hold converse among its mem-
bers, one wit': another, at as high a key and
8" loudly as possible. The impression thus
created, is, tliat the I'ritonp ignore the very
presence of their humble cousins from over
the soa — which is the very impression in-
tended — tiiat the hotel '.vhich they honour
witli their presence is built for them, and is
only, by sutferance of their grace, at our
huml)le service. That our humble selves
ai"^ welcome — you know — if you want to
." vy, Oi. course ; and — and- -all that sort of
t'.ung ; but then -ah — you — you can't expect

anybody to notice you, and all that sort of
thing, you know. It is a great mistake on
our part to suppose the money that is spent
on the Continent is spent by tourists from
the United States ; tliat about all the wares
sold in the shops are purchased by them ;
tliat all the equipages, turn-outs, dresses,
display, (vulgar, low and absurd, iiudoubt-
cdly ; everything an American does abroad is
vulgar, low and absurd,) are paid for by
Americans. That Continental landlords
count on the generous extravagance of our
countrymen to enable them to entert; in
Britons at all ; and to -oompensate for time
wasted in disputing the Britons' hotel bills —
(your Englisiiman always fights a windy
wai-fare over his account, note and Rerhuinj.
Rome would be no Rome to him if he could
not have a wrangle with the landlord,
wiienever debited with a bougie).

The conversation by which the aforesaid
air was maintained in Paul's ears every
evening, at halt-past six, was something a»
follows :

1st Dauf/Jifer. Paw ! /

Father. ' My deah ? '

1st. D. Do you remember that young

Lord , son of the Duke of , that

danced with me at the county ball ?

Father. No, my deah. Did he ?

{Mental memorandum, to be made by the
neighbouring guests : This young lady dances
with milors, and it is so common a thing,
that the family don't remember it.)

Ist. D. Yes ; and I saw in the paper that
he's registered in Florence.

F. I suppose that you'll see him there,
come next Tuesday.

1st. D. O la ! I hope not, Pav . He isn't
nice, at all.

{M. \f., to be v.ade as abom. This family
will have nothing to do with peers of the
realm if they're not ' m'ce.')

Moth'-r. Have you acknowledged the
Honorable Miss 's invitation yet, Gwen-
doline ?

2(1. D. O la ! no mamma. You know it's
such ; bore to write, when one's travelling,
you know.

(M. M. High people, these !)

M. But you really should — you know,
my dear !

\st. D. , la ! she is scriljbling us notes
all the time. I don't suppose slie imagines
that we can be answering them all you know
. And so forth, and so forth.

Paul wonld run against this family, too, at
tho galleries. Now your countrymen and
countr)'women are very undignified in Ita-
lian picture galleries. Who is not asliamed
of them '! Wiio has not neen a family of
three daughters,, with papa and matmna„

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

perfectly wild with delight over a pictr're
whose name perhaps wasn t printed in sm ":
capitals on the catalogue, or even noticed ^t
all in tlie guide book ! Who lias not seen
them frantic over an -Andrea del Sarto, or
quiet and absurdly rapt before a little bit of
Carlo Doki. Everbody ought to know, by
this time, that the guide-book tells them
what to admire ; that Murray mentions the
ten pictures in the Pitti that are not to be
noticed, and that, while you may just be a
little daft in the Tribune, you must keep
your insouciance in the long corridors of the
Ufizzi.

And then, in Rome, the idea of going into
r.ipturcs over a del Sarto ! We cannot ex-
press ourselves too emphatically about such
an American family. Why, papa will ba
cithusiastic over one lovely face, and
maninia over another, while Kittie will go
wild over a Rubino, Madge over a Mater
Dolorosa, and Ruth over a sad St. Jerome.
'J'liese five indiscreet individuals will each
insist on all the others admiring their par-
ticulai' admiration. Their delight will kn<i\v
no bounds. Tliey foi-get the solemn dignity
that befits the Eternal City. They foig.t
that they are obsen-ed. They are oblivious
of everytliuig except tliose marvellous faces,
tliost; divine lips, and eyes, and features tluit
look down upon us, from the auriole and the
nimbus, as from heaven itself. What would
the artist say to see his work admired by
su,;h chits I Really, my countrymen, you
should ol)S('rvc youi- manners, you know !
()l)servethe I'Jighsh family on the otherhand.

They walk —papa, and tiii'^ two blooming
blondes — in close and solid square. I'apa
iiolds the catalogue —

I*. No. 315. My deahs — ah — there is a —
a -a (eonsultini,' tlie catalogue) a picture by
I'viifacl —a Madonna.

i^famma. All,

]Mf Ddutjhliv. All.

•Ill Jhtnij/itrr. Ah.

They move on to anotlier. No. 252.

/'. Ah, my dealis, this is a — a — a — (con-
sulting the catalogue, ) this is a picture by
St. Jerome — no, l)y Andrea del Sarto.

Mum ma. Ah.

l.sV. Daitrihtcr. Ah. .

'lit. Daiujiifi-r. Ah. " '

The sylLUe ah, in the British English, is
not an interjection — it is a gasp ; a kind of
(•xpiring, long breath. In this connection, it
i ■• meant to express the sense of relief ad'ord-
c'l by the fact that there is one less picture
to look at to-day.

Only occasionally is this formula varied
Let us supp(jse that the picture before our
family, is a treatment of tliat very common
subject wliich is set down in tlie books as
6

• Roman Pietj', ' i. p., the filial and admirable
conduct of a certain damsel to her starving
father.

The dialogue will then be — Number 614.
My deahs — ah — ah — ah. Yes — yes.

Mamma. (Interrupting and tugging at
papa's arm to hurry him of!'.) Ye.'i — yea — ^we
see.

The daughters are then expected to say :

Ist Dau'j/ifir. What a vulgar-looking
American girl that is, I'acing round with that
catalogue.

2(1 Daugh/cr, Yes, my dear, they are all
vulgar, you know.

(Or, the picture is the Borghese Danae. )

Papa. This is 1 )y Corregio, my deahs, my
deahs— No. 40.

l.s< JJauij/iter. Oh I see that little cherub !

2<i J)oiii//iter. Ye.s, l)ut —

Mamnm. 'N'es, yes, my deahs — what is
No. 43, my deah ?

And so forth, and so forth.

A sort of excusable intimacy grows up
from constantly meeting the same faces, even
wlien they are English faces ; and in spite of
their insulaisms, Paul was not sorry, one
evening, in Bingen on the Rhine, three or
four months from Rome, on feeling a tap on
his shoulder, to look up and recognize the
young Englishman, son and hop* of the fam-
ily he ha(l faced in Rome at the table d'hote,
brother of Gwendoline and her sister fair.

Tourists will recall j^leasantly the little
hotel ' ^''icto^ia,' at Bingen. It is not
over clean ; it has not even a tolerablecuisine.
It i-i not well kept, but it is the best in
Bingen, and in front, and overlooking
tlie j'ellow river of Fatlierland, there is a
doliglitful little green lawn, • oversprinklrd
with Muall tables, where one can sip and
enjoy his Hudcsheimer and cigar, with the
broad Rhino sweeping before him, the ter-
raced hill-sides opposite, tiie -louse Tower
to tlie left, and, over against, Rhinestein,
whence Bishop Hatto embarked, that legen-
dary night, when unpleasant rats wt re
marshalling for his delectation. Paul was
sitting at one end of these tables, in the
earlj' evening, when hi.s friend, wl.o w as
ilresscd in the coarsest possible suit of
tweed, the coat of Avhicli was made like a
blouse, only somewhat longer and gathered
in at the waist \\\\\\ a belt of the same ma-
terial, accosted him.

' (ilad to see you,' said Paul.

' Thanks,' said his friend.

• Nice night,' said Paul again.

' Yaas."

' Now ■.' the soldier were only here,' said
Paul.

' Wiiat soldier ?'

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

' \Vhy, you rcmomljor the Soldier
LtgioH who hiy dying in Algiers ?'

' No, I fancy I don't remember him. I
never did Algiers, you know. '

' O, but you remember Mrs. Norton's
" Bingeu on the Khine," don't you? I
used to speak it when I was a lad in school
>vhen I little expected that I would be
here. '

' Mrs. Norton ! No, I can't say I ever
met Mrs. Norton. '

' But you recall the poem ?'

' No, I can't say I do. What's it about ?'

' About a soldier from Bingen. '

' Oh, I daresay. '

This operated as something as a damp '
on Paul's romance, and he resumed tuf!
lludeshcimer he was sipping. But he of tli^
tweed had evidently become interestcil.
Paul had forgotten liim, and was falling
into his accustomed state of listless thinking
once more, when the Englishman left his
seat and tapped Paul again on tho shoul-
der.

' I say, now,' he began, ' about that sol-
dier — you know.'

' Paul didn't care to talk, so he simply
said ' Well. '

' But I want to know, you know.'

'Well.'

' Who was the soldier ?'

' How should 1 know ?' said Paul.

Tlie more you won't talk to an English-
man, the more he is determined you shall.
The more you show that he bores you, the
more of a bore he becomes. His face was
now a broad and genial grin.

' Well, but you know, you said you
knew him. He died in Algiers, didn't he?'

' Yes ?' .

• What did he die of ?'

No answer. ,

' I say, did ' le catch the fever there ?'

Paul began co wake up. After all, one
sees all sorts of people, and one might
as well get all the sport one
may out of them. This was Bingen — this
was the stately river whose children had
worshipped her for centuries ; the river whose
every castle had its legend, every hillside its
fairy, and every vineyard its romance. Gaul
and Teuton had shed their blood to possess
her. Tlie eoho of the last cannon had hardly
ceased. The French and German blood had
liardly dried, since they were .at each other's
throats, in a struggle, born of nothing else
than this Rliine-love. C /er against Paul
>vas the remnant of a ' Vv'acht am Rhein,
and the swelling minor of the song that he
had heiird so constantly, seemed drumming
in his ears yet. But a truce to it all — a
truce to the mooidight, the vineyards, the

of tlie I river. ' Take tho good the gods provide
thee,' here's an Kiiglishman beside thee — ' I
will give him his full rope,' thought Paul.
' I say, dill he catch the fever there ?'
'Yes.' Paul was bound to humour liiui
this time.

'I dare say it's very unhealthy down there ?'
'Yes.'

' 1 was thinking of dpint? it, you know.
One wants to do everything, you know. '
' I'd go, if I were you,' said Paul.
' But I might catch the fever, you know.'
' Oh. I guess not ; it isn't as hot there
now as it wa.s when the soldier was there.'
(A truth, too.)

' I daresay. I haven't got anything to do
to-morrow. One couldn't walk there, 1
daresay. ' .

' Oil, yes, you can go overland,' said Paul.
' It would be awful jolly now, wouldn't
it ? I say, now, wouldn't you like to go ?
My party has gone on. We would walk it
slowly, you know, and go shares at the inns,
you know. '

' I guess I won't go,' said Paul, lazily.
' Is there anything to see there ?'
' Oh, yes. '

' Are the inns expensive ?' '

•Oh, no.'

' Because one don't want to be done, you
know. These inns here do you awfully. I
say, what's this, you call it ?'
' Algiers.'

' Yaas. What's Algiers like? Is it like
Coblentz, or Cologne, or any of those sort
of places ?'

' No, it's larger. '

' Is there anything going on ? I'm afraid
it would be a jolly bore. '

• Yes, there's something going on there all
the time, ' said Paul.

' Is there an opera there ?'
' Sans doubte.
' What ?'

' Yes, I guess so.'

' I say, what was that you said before,you
know, '
'When.'

'Why, just nov.', when I asked you if
there was an opera there ? '
' Oh, I said, sans doubte.'
' What's that ? ' ( Face on a broad ^rhi. )
' That's French for " doubtless.'"
, Do they speak French in Algiers ? '
' Yes. ' ( Paul was glad to be able to in-
fuse a little reliable information iuto the
coHversation. )

' Then I'm not so sure I'll go. i^rench is a
bla-is-ted language, you know. '

' I wouldn't let that hinder you,' said Paul.
' Wouldn't you, now ? '

•

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

iai<l
all

.you
ou if

h is a
Paul.

' At this instant a lady and gentleman ap-
proached from the hotel, and seated tliem-
8 Ives .at one of tlu^ small tables. The young
Englishman was uiiiking an entry in his note
liook, possibly aboot Algiers, when suddenly
u thought struck him.

' I say,' said lie to Paul, ' isn't there such
n newspaper as tiie Ihrald, published in
your country ? '

' Yes,' said Paul, ' there is.'

' Well, T thought so. Do you know I've got
a copy of it in my pocket, and I paid twenty-
five kroitzcrs for, and I don't miiul letting
you have it for twenty, for I can't read it
you know. I have not the least idea where
to look for the news in it, you know.'

Paul smileil, counted out the twenty
kroit/.ers, reeei\ ed his Herald, and l)egan to
jun over its familiar columns. Next to an
old friend in a foreign land, what is n;)t the
!iows]iniLn' we used to read at home ? What
old platitudes will not dcligiit, — what old
news not freslieu, read in those familiar
cohinuis, and dressed in that f.amiliar type.

The Englishman had strolled away , the
light of the spent sun had all but faded, ami
I'auTs eyes were still straining over the
i.omcly type, when of a sudden he gave a
.' tart.

• My God ? '

!ii)th the lady and gentleman turned at the
*!X(damation.

' Why, Frank, my dear, ' cried the lady,
as she seized her husband's arm, ' it is tluit
madman who tried to shoot himself, at Nia-
gara, that evening down by the Falls ! '

CHAPTER XVII.
MY ijrother's only son.

In many other breasts besides Paul's had
the Hi raid's paragraph caused connnotion.
Mr. Strasburger, although himself one of the
few who had been previously in full posses-
sion of the tidings it published, had indulged
himself in some profanity upon beholding it.
The holy name had been on his lips, coupled
witli a very broad curse, more than once or
twice.

But before reproducing for our reader's bene-
fit the Herald's item itself, we -nust turn back
to the day following Mr. Strasburger 's visit
to the Mind-Reader.

Mr. Strasburger, as we have seen, was
now bent upon submitting the girl Olive
<Tray, to Mr. Gloster's manipulations. Like
all new converts, he was a raving convert,
and the gospel of clairvoyance, which he had
absorbed, would suffer him no respite pend-
ing its demonstration. Olive, however, was
Iho daughter of wealthy parents, and wealthy

people are proverbially proud and dillieult of
access. To obtain their consent to their
daughter's mesmerization, he nuist needs go
to work cautiously. He had accordingly
called upon Mr. Gray at the Bank, and been
shown into that gentleman's parlour. Mr.
(J ray was a stout, short, little gentleman,
with a morsel of iron gray side-whiskers,
high up on his cheeks. He was very near-
sighted, and wore habitually a pair of broad
gold-rimmed spectacles, which gave him the
wise (almost the owlish) appearance that had
made his fortune for him. For, by means of
these glasses, and by means of holding his
tongue, Mr. Gray had become a millionaire
— the president of more Banks, director of
more Savings Institutions, Insurance Com-
panies, and tiustee of more immense estates
and corporations than ever fell to the lot of
one man before. In very trutli, he liad
begun life with no other capital than this
certain look of stiibility and wisdom, which
had been found so invaluable by banks and
moneyed institutions. Mr. (iray, thence-
forward, liad nothing to do but to sit still
and look wise, and his income was assured.
We must, liowever, do him the common
justice of saying that he was as honest as he
looked, and that — in all the queer transac-
tions which had, at this time, made certain
E'.uopean nations understand the phni.-e
' American securities ' ivs-*Bynonymous witli
'gimcracks' — his name or hand had never
appeared.

Matter-of-fact .as he was, he was surely the
last man to approach on an errand like .Mr.
Strasburger 's present errand. But the de-
tective could be delicate, on occasion, and
plumed himself ujion h.aving achieved a
genuine success, when he left Mr. Gray "s pre-
sence, with — instead of the Hat refusal lie
had anticipated — a letter to Dr. Forsytli,an(l
a reference of the whole matter to that
learned practitioner.

Doctor Forsyth, it is needles to s.ay, had
made Olive's case his careful study. Apart
from his interest in the girl herself — an iii-
tfcvcst which dated from the moment of lier
entrance into the world — apart even from
the large penjuisites clinging to the pos'ut)U
of perpetual medical adviser to a million-
aire's daughter : apart from these, .as we
have seen, he had made a specialty of men-
tal <liseases, and li.ad accumuhitcd a v.ast
store of inform.ation .and considerable ex-
perience in tiieir treatment. Up to this time
iu' had found that Olive, since the day her
iiii..d had left her, had grown very slight
symptoms of anything like a reasoning
faculty whose tlircme was in the brain.

We say in the brain, for Dr. Forsyth had
been the first among his brethren to insist

■! I:

ST. JUL'E'S ASSISTANT.

tliat tlie reasouiiii^ faculty in aiiimate iintiii-o
exists, or may exist, in otlier poi'tions of the
aniTiuite body than the iiead or brain. Up
to his time, the experiment of decapitating
a frog, and tiien, with a straw ticUhng the
frog's bi'east, lia<l been a familiar one. Lnder
that experiment, the frog would invariably
move one of his arms or limbs to the placid
touched liy the straw, and endeavour tf)
brush it away. But this motion of the
frog'K lind) was accounted for by the exis-
tence of certain tw itching muscles connect-
ing the breast and the arm, and science was
pretty generally of the opinion that thi-
f rog s reason had notliing to do witii tiie
movement of his limb. Dr. Foi'syth's ex-
periment had gone further. He not only out
off the frog's head, but lie cut off tiie paw or
flapper of his right arm. He found then,
tiiat upon applying the straw to the frog's
breast, the frog would first endeavour to
push away the straw with his right limb :
but, fiiiiling it too short to reach the irritat-
ed s))ot, (by reas(jn of the absence of the
fla])per, ) he wotdd drop the slioitened limb
ami endeavour to brusli away tlie straw with
his left limb. This, Dr. Forsyth maintained,
indicated a reasoning process going on with-
in the frog ; and since the frog's l^rain was
detached, that reasoning process must have
its seat in some other organ or organs. How-
ever satisfactory IfRe cxjierinient, Dr. Foi--
syth himself was firmly convinced that the
mind of animate things was not confined to
the brain alone — that such reasoning pro-
cesses as were sim])le and normal in their
nature —as, for instance, the apprehension of
distance from comparison, or of danger, from
pain or other sensation — could be, and in
fact were, discliargcd witliout re(piisition on
the brain. The system of a telcgraplrfrom
the foot to the liead, necessary
upon a contact of the foot with
a coal of fire, or a nail, or other
painful substance — to be answered by a return
telegra]ih from the head directing the remov-
al of the foot, he discarded as HokIi.

So, in Olive's case, lu^ observed a perfect
working of all the ordinary reasoning func-
tions. Nay more, she even attended service
at St. Jude's as regulai-ly as ever ; recogniz-
ed friends, and passed the compliments of
the season. It was only, in fact, wiien called
upon to comprehend, that she siiowed the
etVects of the shock which had destroyed her
brain.

Dr. ^'^ rystb therefore found in Olive a
subject Ipe for his speculations and experi-
ments. He had for a long time taken cop-
ious notes of her case, with his deductions
thereupon. Some of these he had from time
le time puldislicd, in order tliat they nn'giit

excite connnent. or further illu: t:-;itii n. Ht-
meditated, before leaving the ^^■ol•^l, indeed,
nothing less than a great sijuaring of the-
debt which, JBacon says, every man owes t<i
Ids profession, by a ti-eatise upon ' Material
of Mind,' which should be his moment ; an<l
Olive's case was destined to be almost a
text case in its labourious preparation.

Doubtless it was owing, therefore, more to
I this treatise on 'The .Material of Mind,'
1 and to the good Doctor's love of experiment,
than to his anxiety for the pul)lic safety and
for the tracking of George Bi-and's murder-
er, that he to the astonishment of Mr.
Strasburger, consented, on the instant, to
Ml. ( iloster's j-irojjosed mesmerizing of his
[ jiatient. Indeed he mentally seized upon it
as a final test, and meditated upon tilling at
least twenty pages of ' The Material of
Mind' with a careful report of the experi-
ment.

'H her mind is wholly gone,' thought the
Doctor to himself, ' of course the experiment
will be futile, and Mr. (rloster, who may be
and probably is a quack, will have ldslal)our
for his pains. If there is any renniant of
her mind still to be reached, under the abey-
ance of her l)rain, why then I can reach it as
well as Oloster : and, in time, restore it
all to its normal functions. '

In short, Dr. Forsyth entered so heartily
into the arrangements for the seance, that
'^fr. Strasburger Ijegan to think that lu; him-
S If was a fool, and Dr. Foraytlia i old ;rinny
-tliat they were, indeed, all <dd fools and
giannies together. That everybody else
agreed with him, was apt to make Mr. Stras-
burger su.spicious of his own sanity, as is not
unlikely to be the case with men who hold
but indifferent opinions as to the common
sense of the world in general.

When Olive had been placed in the de-
signated chair in Mr. Gloster's apartments,^
Mr. Gray, Mr. Ogden (who had been invited
by the connnon wish of all parties), Dr.
Forsyth, and Mr. Strasburger, had seated
themselves around a large table, upon which
writing mat nials were copiously scattered-
in the rear of the room, Mr. (iloster stood up
at his little desk between the windows, and
made a short speech.

' Gentlemen, 'said he, ' you will please un-
derstand that I know nothing of the secret
which this young jierson is to unravel. When
I was favoured with a call from Mr. Stras-
btrgei;, I became aware that he wished to
explore a certain room, as it stood on a cer-
tain day, more than two yeai"s ago. All that
I can do is to gui<le this patient to that room,
if she will go. If she will not this confer-
ence wo must reluctantly dissolve. Tlu>
room toVhich you wi-'. 'o g« is a studio, L

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

take it, full of old <inii(;ur, eaaels, books, pic-
tures, and various oVijects scattered loosely
nbout. Tlie man who occupied it. at the
<late you wish to search for, was her lover,
and is now dead. Under ordinary circuni-
fitancea, siia would go there readily — lier love
ulone W(juld lead her, hut as it is, she ha\ing
lost much of her mind from a certain terrible
strain, there is another room also associated
with her lover, to which she may find her
way instead. If she go to tliat other, I am
|towt;rles3 to prevent her. Let us hope that
.slie goes as you wish. If she does, I shall
be obliged to keep her there by questions.
These (juestions either of you gentlemen can
suggest to me, only you nnist do it V)y writ-
ing tliem on paper, and placing them before
me. You may move as you wish, but I am
^ifraid it would be fatal to this interview for
you to speak, even in the faintest whisper. '

As Mr. (iloster delivered his speech iuid
sat down, Mr. Strasburger's waning confi-
dence revived. He had seniyiulously avoided
acquainting the Mind-Read r ui:h any oFthe
details that peisonage had alluded to in his
address. He iiad not even mentioned Olive's
mental condition. To be sure, these details
might have l;een easily acijuired by Mr.
'< iloster, but Mr. Strasbuiger tliought he
perceived in him agenuineness and a sincerity
whicii gave him hoi)o, and he drew up closer
to the table, put his pen into the inkstand,
and aMaited the seance.

Mr. (iloster now moved his seat directly
in front of Olive, and looking up to the ceil-
ing, or out upon Broadway, or anywhere, in
fact, except into her eyes, began his passss.
His long, lithe, white hands rose and fell.
Sometimes he bent over tlie girl, and passed
his hands over the back of her head ; then
he would stretch his arms over her, and let
thorn rest gently an instant. After a few
moments thus spent, he was rewarded ; clair-
voyant sleep responded to the mesmeric ef-
forts of the operator, and Olive's eyes closed.

' Wiiat a strange room it is,' said Mr.
<jloster, in his natural voice, but speaking
very slowly. ' Unfinished pictures in the
•corners, and on the easels. What a dogged
grin there is upon the steel face of that knight
in armour. It is strange to find him here,
■'"<i..'ii, amidst all this rubbish. Do you see
him?'

1 ur a moment no answer came from tlio
parted lips of the sleeping girl ; and at last,
•when those lips moved, th"y muttered only
unintelligible sounds.

' T)o you see him?' again said Mr. Ciloster.

' Wait. He has not come in. His chair
is empty, '.-aid ulive with a start.

• Xo — he is .sitting l)y the window. Do
you see him now? Look ! Not at the

library, look at the studio. Why, he is
sitting at the window — he is writing to you.

Olive breathed heavily for a moment, tin ii
suddenly she stopped, and began again the
incoherent mutUrings. But at last her
hands twitched onvulsivcly. A smile no-v
seemed to break out over lier features for an
instant, to be succeeded by a look of pain.
The charm was working.

' Oh, yes,' she broke out, 'oh yes, it is he.
George ! (Jeorge I my (leorge ! Oh yes ! I
see you, and you are writing to me. You
have opened the window to let the light in
upon the gloomy place. '

Here a .diglit gesture from Mr. Strasburger
cauglit Mr. ( iloster "s eye. He was extend-
ing a slip of paper. On it was written, 'Let
her read tlie letter. S. '

In compliance, Mr. Gloster turned to his
patient and said, ' Can you read the letter
he is writing? Read it aloud.'

' Ah, yes. I can read it. Ah, I know liis
hand so well. He writes very fast.

My l)AJii,iN(i.— If you will excuse me, I
wont come to dinner this evening, as I find
myself behind hand on a certain bit of writing
I must do at once, and so I shall dine early.
Expect me tlien at about half after eight ;
anil Ijclieve me your own

George.'

' Is that all ?' sai'l Mr. Gloster.

' But, while you are writing me, George
— there is somebody — I cannot see who it is
j'tet — but there is somebody entering the
building from the street, to seek you,
George, I fear — ah, yes, I know he comes
for no good. He incpiires, not for you, but
for some one else-some one who lives in the
next room, but who is not there. Ah ! he
knows that it is not the other, hut you, that
lie seeks. He has some words with the old
man at the dotn*. Oh, if the old man tliere
would only refuse to admit iiiin I He lias
jiassed liiin, and is coming up the stairs. Ah,
I know he comes for no good purpose. Now
he has reached your door.'

' Do you see him at the door, now? What
is lie doiuL.' there ? Does he pause, or does
he knock? ' said the Mind-Reader.

' He knocks at the door,' proceeded Olive:
'"Comein. " 0, don't &ay " come in, "
George, because he bears you no good will.
There is a ch.air in the way of the door :
he will fall upon that if he enters.
Oh, no, don't say come in ! But
you have ! Ah, the door opens. He
comes in — T dp not wish to see you again,
I will liidi' myself behind that screen. Oh
Paul, Paul, don't for Christ's sake, don't,

Ill j -

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

I'iiul ! I liivve inailoyou very unhappy, I
know. But coiiM I lielp it ? Oil. Paul, I
!iavo Hptiiit ni^'lit-s -wliole nights praying
that I might love you -but I couhl not - I
I'uihl not help it, Paul. Oh, kill nio, but
ilont kill him ! Kill nie — here I am, see !
I folil my hands— Kill nie ! kill mo I He
dill not wrong you — it was I — I ' -

The three listeners held their breath.
Mr. Strasliurger did not dare to look upon
Mr. Ogdon's face. If he had, he would
iiave seen a look of horror upon that usually
calm and placid face, which one would not
care, even in a stranger, to see twice.
What was passing in his mind '!

It is a wonderful trick of the human brain
that at a moment when some appalling
personal catastrophy overtakes us, tlie
tliougiits that first come to us are not
thoughts of ourselves. Mr. Ogden has
since remend)cri'd vividly the sensation
which overwlielmed him, when he first
liL'.ird Paul's name pron:nincod i'l connec-
tion with the murdur of George ]5rand.
Hi; saw, in his mind's eye, his younger
I>rother, Paul's fatlu'i-, a pretty curly-
iieaded boy. Pie sceniod to be leading
l:im as of old by the hand, along a narrow
patii, tli:it led from the dooi- of tiieir child-
hood's houK!, down a gentle iiill to a little
brook. He seemed to sou liimsulf a buy,
J!!st enou'^li his l)rotlier's elder to be his
guardianship. T'hen he seemed to travel
Oil through long years. The two boys were
men now, hardened with worldly cares,
lu'onzed by worldly suns, but still loving
( ach other, as men love men. Again, he,
I'ercival Ogden, the elder brothei', stood
over a bed, upon which the younger, pale
and emaciated, was stretched in a last
sickness. ' Percy, my brother. God bless
you,' said the sick man's voice -a poor,
week, hollow voice it was. ' You have
been a good brother to me. I have only
one more thing to ask of you. Take care
of I'aul. Take care of him for his mother's
sake. He was the apple of horejo. When
she died, 1 promised that he should come to
her again ; for she said she would be lonely,
even in heaven, without Paul — Paul, her
darling, her idol ! — and that she should do
nothing but watch for hiin. And now I
must go to her without him. What will
she say when I come alone ? Oh, my
brother, take care of him for her and for
me I Take care of my Paul — my Paul !
Take care of her Paul, and of mine ! '

The lawyer heard nothing more of the
sleeping girl's vision. Under the subtile in-
fluences of the place, he heard only the
sound of his dead brother's voice : ' Take
care of my Paul — take care of my Paul !'

And how had he kept the promise he had
made to his brother ? How had he cared
for his brother's only child ? Ah ! he had
so cared for the child, that that child was a
murderer— the nmrderer, for whom he,
Percival Ogden, had been searching far
and wide ; on whose track, repre-
senting the majesty of the State, he
had spread over the world ten thousand
staring eyes ; and this nnn-derer, whom the
eyes had found, was the child, whose father
— that only deaily loved brother — he had
promised to so care for that the dead father
and mother should one day, in a hap))ior
country — in a country far removed from
tears — welcome once more their only child to
their yearning carms ! And then Mr. Ogdcn's
thoughts travelled on further, until lliey saw
his own happy home — his dear, matronly
little wife, who had loved Paul so, for the
sake of those that were, dead — and his own
boys, who loved their groMU-up cousin, too.
And he saw the terrible news burst upon
them. The news that must ' out ' — the new.i
that would not ' down 'the news that every
tongue would shout into their tender ears,
that every placard on the street and every
print upon their table would fash upon
their vision — the news that every breath of
every zephyr would whisper- and every
blast of every tempest would roar into their
ears, as long as they should live !

par

CHAPTER XVIII.

' LCCir.S CORK IS NO I.O.NIJKR NEEDED.'

Meantime the sleeping girl ha<l resumed
her speech.

' He is going to kill George ! Oh Paul, I
have wronged you, bitt I have never wrong-
ed you like that ! Not with that instol I
not with that silent pistot ! Oh, you are
wrong, Paul ! you are wrong when you say
that he st(jle me away from you. I say it i»
not true I I say I was not youi's when he
BivW me first I I say I was not yours when I
first loved him ! AVhy will yim kill him ?
Oh, Paul, I do not deserve that you should
kill him ! and what will I do ? \Vhat shall
I do, when he is dead ? Do not think that
I will love you, Paul, when you have killed
my George !

• ••.•••

' Twice ! Ah. why shoot him again, when
he is dead already ! How noiseless that
pistol ia ! Oh, my jioor George ! and now
do you know what they will do? Ah!
They will bury you. But never
fear, they shall bury my heart,
too. I will not leave you, George.

No murderer shall
think it, dear.

' Are you praying,
kneeling, and your heai
breast. Are you pra
will come to you ? Ah
that. But, I must leav
ers, for the man who hr
not escape me. I must

* Do you know, Geor
Vour murderer is in a
(»ranges. How (xld he
four — let me see, he
four oranges ! They i
brown paper, .and he h;
his arm. He has gone
walk. I see him take
a lady in the car. I c
he is speaking to, nor c
he is saying. But he si
smiles, George ! He i
third street. Then lu
Fifth avenue. He is
elegant building, with
a servant opens the do(
I know the building—]
faces a monument a
avenue, and there ar
windows talking, anil
looking out upon the j
windows are all opei
club house. He has go
is a bed in the room, a;
storey. Now he — '

Olive had been s
sometimes slowly, thei
she were following the
scribed Paul as maki
altogether, and began
convulsively. Mr. St
down every syllable t
a il it lay in black and

Mr. (iloster, who li
bv the window, now a
O'live.

' Are you awake?' 1
whisper ?

' Have I slept ? Yes
said.

' But you mui* nol
Gloster, and, as he sp
rapid passes before
shadowy hands. ']
are better now. Do i

• Him— yes.'

♦ What has he done
' He, 0, he has lock

may not be disturl
George, that he is y(
n:)boay follow him ?
covering olT the be<l.
the pistol, the pistol

ST. JUDF/S ASSISTANT.

murderer shall part us, thougli he may
>k it, dear.

Are you praying, George ? You are
Bling, and your head lias fallen on your
ist. Are you praying for me— that I

come to you ? Ah ! there is no fear of
;. But, I must leave you at your pray -
for the man who has murdered you must
escape me. I must follow him.
Do you know, George, it is very strange,
ir murderer is in a large shop buying
iges. How (xld he is ! — one, two, three,
• — lot me see, he has bought twenty-
• oranges ! They are wrapped in coai'sc
ivn paper, and he has taken them under
arm. He has gone out upon tlie side-
k. I see him tjvke a car. He speaks to
dy in the car. I do not know who it is
s speaking to, nor can I liear what it is
s saying. But he smiles ! Your murderer
les, George ! H«! rides up to Tvventy-
d street. Then he alights and walks to
h avenue. He is going into a large,
;ant building, with many windows, where
rvant opens the door for him from within.
lOW the building — I have often S';en it. It
IS a monument and looks down the
Que, and there are men sitting in the
dows talking, and smoking cigars, and
ting out upon the people who pass. The
dows are all open. It is a hotel or a
) house. He has gone into a room — there

bed in the room, and it is upon the third
■ey. Now he — ' ■ • •

'live had been speaking irregulaily —
letimes slowly, then again rapidly, as if

were following the movements she de-
bed Paul as making. Now she ceased
gether, and began twitching her hands
vulsively. Mr. Strasburger had tiikcn

n every syllable tliat had escaped her ;

it lay in black and wliite before him.

V. Glostei", who had resumed his seat
irosL' and leaned over

;he window, now

^e.

Are vou awake?'

sper .'

Have I slept ? Yes, I am

he said to her in a
M'aking, ' she

But y<ni mu^ not ■ wake yet,' said Mr.
3ter, and, as he spoke, he began making
d passes before her, with his white
lowy hands. ' Not yet. There — you
better now. Do you still see him ?'
Him — yes.' ,

What has he done now ?'
He, O, he has locked the door, that he
not be disturbed. Do you know,
e, that he is your murderer ? Will
y follow him ? He has pulled the
sring olf the bed. Now look — look — ah,
pistol, the pistol that took *your dear,

precious Hfe, George! He^ii putting it
among the oranges.

' He ! Oh he has gone out with the parcel
under his arm. I do not see the pistol now,
but 1 know it is in that awful parcel, with
the oranges. Why does not somebody stop
him ? See ! he, j'our murderer, is walk-
ing Ixjldly upon tlie street, in open daylight.
See ! he is going back to you, Gcorj,'e — ali,he
must look upon you once more ! \ es, he is
going back I * * No ! he has only raised
his eyes to look in at the opini door. He lias
not entered, l)ut has taken another car.aiul is
being carried down to the water.'

The sleeping girl paussd again.

' No,' she said, ' he has gone upon a boat,
and the boat is on the water. I cannot pass
that water. 0, George ! George !' And she
opened her eyes wide, and passed her liand
(jver her forehead.

After Olive had ceased speaking, Mr.
Strasburger folded up his notes and placed
them in his breast-pocket. He did not dare
to look — even now — at Mr. Ogden. He felt
that gentleman's eye upon him, hovve^ er,and
his own cohl heart, that had grown callous to
sights of misery and wretchedness, did feel
for the unhappy lawyer.

When Mr. Strasburger reached his a]iart-
ments that evening, he felt himself satisfied
with the result of the seance, and of Olive's
clairvoyant revelations. But there remained
one test of its accuracy — one which would
add surety to assurance— rand this test he
prc)ceede(l to apply. It will be remembered
that, when Mr. Strasburger had visited the
gloomy studio known as No. 37, in company
with Mr. Ogden and Tom Frear, he had dis-
covere<l and secured a morsel of paper upon
which were some words the murdered man
had written. It had not thrown much light
upon Mr. Strasburger's quest, but he iiad,
nevertieless, carefully preserved it, and he
now l)rought it out from the pigeon-hole
where, witli other matters and things r hat-
ing to the Brand case, it had been stowed
securely ever since.

It was a fragment of heavy cold-pressed
paper, such as is used for private note-papei\
and had evidently been torn lengthwise
down the sheet. Of course, in destroying a
letter, if the tearing is transversely across
the written lines, however, entire lines might
remain illegible. The fragment of the letter
Brand had written to his betrothed — little
dreaming of the marvellous circumstances
under which its destined recipient should
read it — whicli Mr. Strasburger now held in
his hand, was torn doicn the lettei', in this
M-ay, ami contained these words, written in
a large, bold, and uneven hand :

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

f you wi

" ' to (linne , , .

hc/nml ha ,

ilKJ 1 IHU

k/kiU (I

at III)
nd Ixlli V
atudiu Bu

Mr. Strasliiuyqr laid tliis strip out before
him u))<)ii . the talik-, iind taking pen ami
paper, very 8pee<lily produced the Icttoi'
Olive had I'ead, from hi« notes of her com-
munication, upon cortaiu otliei' slips of paper.
He made several experiments, and <lestroyed
several sheets of note paper, hut at length
he litad, to his own satisfaction at least, in-
corporated this fragment into the letter Olive
had read, as follows :

'My Daki.ino :

' If //o« wi 11 excuse, I won't
come in tn dhuii- r this livening, as I find
myself Ixhitiil ha nd on a certain l)it
of writ //(,'/ / ///'/ st tin at once and
so t*h(di <l ine early. Kxpect me
then at ah out half after eiglit
a nd bi'lh'O e me your own

Oeoroe.
Studio liii ildings, Tuesday.'

At least this proceeding fully satisfied Mr.
Stras burger of the practical value of clair-
voyant science, and, with his conclusions,
there are many who will coincide. As he
smoked his hahitual cigar that evening, we
must admit that Mr. Strasburger was as
fairly elated as he had ever allowed himself
to be. He was now in i)0ssessii>n of cv(;ry
step that Paul Ogden had taken upon that
fatal election day. From Lucius Gore, first,
from Olive's vision, second, and from Mrs.
Mehlen, third, he knew it all. The mar-
shalling of witnesses, who should, in a court
of justice, substantiate this great chain of
circumstantial evidence, was a minor task.
Mr. Stras!)urger'3 theory was complete ; and
once let liis theory be complete, he would
have turned every house on Manhattan
Island inside out, but he would surely, on
the trial, produce his witnesses to substan-
tiate it.

Before retiring that night, he signed and
placed in Doyle's liands a re(^uisition for the
release of Lucius Core. ' Lucius Core can go,
as no longer needed,' was all he wrote ; but
the authorities at the Tond)s, who under-
stood something of the circumstances of
Core's incarceration, required only a hint.

As in the Tombs, Mr. Lucius Core is no
longer needed, and therefore shall no longer
figure upon these pages. While he was an

inmate of that grim city prison, he ha<I Imtl
food such aa it was — in suflicicnit (juanti-
ties, at least, to keep soid and body toj.:»'-
ther. Once released, however, hci found
himself starving. Driven by desperation
nothing less tiian desperation wnuld have
induced him to do it — he actually souglit
out Mr. Strasburger, and tohl iiis wi.efiii
tale. Mr. Strasl)urger, either amused at a
nnsery so abject tliat it really seemed comic,
or feeling that he had been of suflicieiit ser-
vice to the department to justify a dinburse-
ment, he handed the poor wretch twenty-fix <•
dollars, and never saw him afterwards.

We sliall not be as fortunate, you
and I, reader, let us not Iiope it.
Lucius Core, as long as we live, will
penetrate into our sancta — into our private
offices and our counting-rooms. He will of-
fer to sell us suspenders, or neck-ties, or
soap —will insure our lives, or order us au}'
book we desire to reod, or any stationery
(lead pencils, pocket knives, pens, rulers,
etc.) we desire to purchase. No leger.ds
outside the door, ' Jieggars and I'cdlara not
admitted," however coarse the print in which
they are printed, will have any terrors tor
him. He will come with his shoe-strings,
his soap, and his life insiiranee policies upon
any system. Tontine, non-foifeitable, mulual,
or otherwise — as long, reader, as you and 1
shall have any lives to insure !

CHAPTER XIX.

THE HEBALD COME.S TO MR. OGDEN 's

A.SSISTANX'E.

After the seance, Mr. Og<ien did not dare
to go home. How should he kiss his dear
little woman, with her kindly face and merrj-,
laughing eyes — how should he take his boys
by the hand, and tell her and them that their
Paul was a murderer ? If ever Mr. Ogden
was a coward, he was a coward among cow-
ards, at that moment. So, instead of bein<'
carried home, he caused himself to be driven
to the Thirtieth-street Station of the Hudson
River Railway, and was soon in one of the
coaches of that company, Ijeing whirled uj)
to Fort ^\'ashington; Now the eminent Mr.
Greatorex lived at Fort Washington — in a
magnificent villa — whence, summer and win-
ter, he could overlook the magnificent river,
at once the Rhine, Danube, and Elbe of the
world.

So Mr. Ogden sent his little woman a dis-
patch; notifying her that business of import-
ance rendered it necessary that he should
spend the night at Fort Washington ; and
Mrs. Ogden, who knew how frerpuntly
her husband . was associated in 'jreafc

'.m' '

£:•.»•

he had hail

ilMit qlllDlti-

l)()(ly t()j.:»'-

lid found
Hjx'fatioii
iVmdd li!i\i'
dly souglit
his W(/elhl
iiiusud at a
int'd comic,
ifliciL'iit Mcr-
a dishurst;-
t\veiity-fi\t'
.aids,
mate, you

hope it.

live, will

Diu' privat*;

He will of-

L'ck-ties, fir

dor us auy

stationeiy
BUS, riders.
No legeKtls
['edlars lu^t
lit in which

terrors foi'

hoe-strings,

ilicies upon

l)le, mutual,

you and I

OGDEN s

id not dare
ss his dear
andnierr^,
e his bojs
n that their
Mr. Ogden
imong cow-
id of beini'
o be driven
the Hudson
one of the
ivhirled up
minent Mr.
gton — in a
r and win-
cent river,
ilbe of the

)man a dis-
of import-
he should
gton ; and
frequently
in -reub

ST. JUDK'S ASSIS'I'ANT.

6:)

i-t

casoH with his brother Oreatorex, un-
derstood it, ami saw nothing unusual in
the circumstance. She was in the lHil)it,
however, upon occasions when her huhliaiid
iemaiiie<4 aw.ay from home all night, to
require the coachm.'Hi, Miuford —who liveil
over the s^'aliles — to sleep in tiie front l)ase-
luent room, and slie was careful, on thiri
particular evening, to herself see that tlie
burglar alarm was adjusted to the windows.

At tills time, Mara, wliose engagement to
Tom had become an old sfory, sported, on
the third linger of her brown little loft hand,
a brilliant solitaire dianuiud, about the size
iif a tear. Tom had had taste enough to
refrain from any attempt to express, in
<liamond, either his yoiuig lady's worth or
his own admiration. Of course no monetary
consideration could have limited his pui-
chase ; for, although he might not have the
price of a dinner in his pocket, he would
have purchased a ninety thousand dollar
necktie at Till'any's, with the same nonchal-
ance with which he would select a cigar at
Park and Tilford's.

It may or may not be ominous for young
ladies to remove their engagement rings,
but, on this particular evening, before re-
tiring, some mystery of her toilette reijuinul
-vlaia to take hers olf ; and, as luck would
have it, she tucked her little self into bed
and went sound asleep, thoughtlessly leav-
ing ic, together with hei* watch, upon the
bureau cushion.

It might have been a couple of hours past
miduiglit, when the whole Ogden household
Avas awakened by a violent ringing of the
burglar alarm.

Upon awakening, Mrs. Ogden herself, in-
stantly realizing the warning, groped her
way in the dark, into her husband's bed-
chamber, where, on the wall, above his bed,
Avas aflixed one of the American District
Telegraph Company 'si nvaluable apparatuses,
and summoned the police.

At this period, everything in New York
was done by telegraph. Messengers were
sent from private houses to India, and
answers brough'back again without leaving
<me's room. Messengers were called, police-
men or firemen were summoned, and lawyers
sat in their offices and answered to or ad-
journed their causes as held in court, by the
pressure of a finger upon a knob.

Not only was the price of gold — of West-
•ern Union or Lake Shore, brought every
■other minute to the broker or speculator,
but actually all the news of the globe, was,
at the same intervals, put into the possession
of every resident— thus actually realizing, in
less than twenty years, a prophecy which
we remember to have seen published (in

Harper's Magazine) for the year 1900, whose
writer, in Imrlesipie strain, gave full swing
to his imagination in the most evtia\agunt
features he could assign to tliat year ol
grace.

Having achieved tiiis a*:t of forti-
tude, Mrs. Ogden went back to hci' room
and fainted away ; it being one of tliis good
lady's characteristics, that, althuiigh as
timid us a dove, she rarely ga\ e way to he
fear until she had been of all the service
it was possible for her to bo in tlie enier-

f;ency which produced it. Upon .^iiiifnrd's
ighting up the hall and parlours, and up(jn
the arrival of tiie police, it was disco\ cied
that the burgUir or burglars had escaped to
tlie Avenue, through one of the ])ar]our
windows — the one which had set otl' the
alarm. No trace of their entrance was any-
where discoverable, on a thorough search
over the premises. The parlour window,
which sto(;d open, as the burglar had left it,
bore jio trace of having l)eeii forced, but hail
evidently been opened naturally fromwitiiin.
The patrcd were of opinion, therefore, that
the burglar or burglars had been able to se-
crete themselves in the house during the
day ; and after having enjoyed tlic fullest
opportunity to i-ansacdi at their leisure, aftei'
the family had retired, had started the
alarm upon retiring with their bixjty. So
far as could be ascertained at that hour,
nothing whatever was missing. 15ut, in the
morning, everybody in the house was made
aware that Mara's diamond ring had been
taken frcjin the cushion, where siie distinctly
I'emembered to have left it, although liLr
watch and chain, which had lain beside it,
had not been touched ! The alfair was, of
course, the theme of the family's conversa-
tion at breakfast, until another sensation
was suddenlj- added to the morning's
chapter, wliich drove the burglary out of
their memorj' for many days to come. The
new sensation was in this wise.

The ohLst son, Percival Ogden, junior,
who, in his father's absence, was in posses-
sion of the Hi'rald, had sat down to hi:i
l)reakfast, and, while drinking liis coU'ee,
opened it. He was holding it in his left
baud, and running down its columns with
his eyes, while his right hand was holding
his cotfee to bis lips. Of a sudden, he clum-
sily dropped the cup, and spilled the cofTee.
At this Mara laughed.

'Don't laugh, Mara, but read that,' said
Percy, handing her the Jlerald, and indi-
cating an item in its columns.

Mara took it, read the item, and, without
a word, handed it to Mrs. Ogden. Mara
was as pale as a ghost, and her hand trem-
bled like an aspen leaf. But she held licr

rt',

ST, JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

peace. Mrs. Oj^doii read it, mid left tlio
room -also witliout a word.

It waa tilt! item wliicli, two weeks lator,
Paul ()i;dcii was liiiimlf to read at lliiigeii on
the Uliiiie, and it ran thu.s :

' It has boon ascertained without the
shadow of a |)ossil)ility of a doubt, tliat the
hand whicli iiiiirdorod, in cohl bloo<l, the
Reverend (i(M>r;,'(! Brand, As.sistant Rector of
St. Jude'.s Kpi.seopal Church on Fifth
Avenue, just thirty-two months ago, wa.s
the liaiid of Paul Ogden, a youiij' man
highly connected, and well-known in thin
city, who i.s at present livinj^ soinewiiere on
the continent of Europe. As we go to prc.^;,
we have barely time to make this annouiiif
ment, but will publish full particulars to-
morrow. '

When Mr. Strasburger saw this item, a.-i
wc ha\'e already liinteil, he indulged in some
very iMiipiiatic profanity, and expressed him-
self to tlic decided eP.'ect that there waa no
farther possible use for men of his calling as
Ion? as the ffirnld existed. But, of i^onrs •
it was useless to swear at the Hcra/d—ono
might as well swear at all the Palisades.

As to the means wiioteby the /lerald had
obtained its information — wliich, after all,
coxild have been mere opinion on its part — al-
though announced,asit iiabitually announced
everything, <as gospel — llirnhl. gospel, at
least — it is idle to speculate. It is probalde,
however, that at Mr. (iloster's s./auce, whicli
we have already described, an indefatigable
Hprald reporter was lying on his belly some-
where between the joists, or with an ear at
some open Hue, and to earn the favour of his
employers and the three dollars which tliat
moneyed sheet pays its coriespondents a
column, had put into alisolute statement an
assertion what all practical, (Tod-fe<aring men
must, of course, recognize as sheer visionary
moonshine. But, at any rate, tlie Herald
did one good deed by the publication. When
Mr. Ogdeii entered his house that morning,
he saw by the first face that greeted him,
that he need coHtrive no longer how to break
to his family the terrible tidings that lay
npon his heart. They knew it as well as he.

CHAPTER XX.

Al) QUOD DAMN'ITM.

It is not difficult to imagine the consterna-
tion created in polite circles by tlie IlirahV!*
item. But so far from letting the matter
— b<ad enough as it was — rest, that news-
paper now took matters boldly out of Mr.
Strasburger 's hand ; and with its thousands

of emissaries, to say nothing of tlie do/ens.
perhaps evejri hundreds of ainatturs.of 'Scio, '
and ' iNDKxi' anil ' Scrutatok,' ami 'A Citi-
/K.N,'and all the letters in tiiu alphabet
each of whom had seen, or thought they had
seen — something unusual on that fatal day,
the result was marvellous. Imlceil, just at
this time it was coming on dog-days. In
t'lose days everybody knows that news
comes but straggliiigly to Metropolitan eight
and twelve page journals. Everyone knows,
too, or ought to know, that tons of ' copy, '
npon every subject under heaven, are stacKiil
away in these newspaper concenis, dur-
ing the cooler months, awaiting this
I log-day dearth, when they can b'
init under re(iuisition to fill up the yawning
barren columns. O, guileless reader ! you
wlio marvel at the activity which, witiiin
twelve hours of a great man's deatii, or the
dedication of a great cathedral, will s])read
before you ten solid columns of that man's
life, or twenty columns of descriptive ciitic-
isiii of tile school of architecture to wlii(;h
that cathedral belongs — do ye not know tiiat
a newspaper office containeth more of Eik'\ -
clopoidia, tlian those heavy volumes of Brit-
taiiica or of Apph-ton themselves ? Wliy,
your life, reader, and ours, is written out
and filed away somewhere in those dingy
precincts ! If we are ignoble, it may be in
ten lines, and in proportion as we are more
or less illustrious, it will bo a line, (jr a
page, of the great newspaper for your incon-
solable friends to read at l)reakfast, or as
tliey are transported down town to business
in the cars. When, reader, your turn and
ours comes to be carried, feet foremost, out
of the portal that shall know us no more for-
eviT, rest a.ssured, that — line, or column, or
))vge — ^our lives will occupy in the Herald
JList precisely the space to which we have by
our virtues or oui- crimes entitled ourselves.
Sooner or later, friends — we must l)e juilgsid
by the J/<rald of the deeds done in the body.
When the newspapers chronicle a fire on
Broadway, do they not as surelj- accompany
the chronicle with a long dtscripticjii of all
the other fii'es the Metropolis has ever
known? We repeat, all this is written to
hand, indexed as to shelf, and pigeon-hole,
and ready for use ; as, reader, we have said,
are your lives and mine.

Therefore, being the Dog-days, the Herald
— followed soon, as it invariably w;is, by
other n\etropolitan sheets, (for to give tlie
Herald nothing less than its due, it was at
this date, as it had been for years, easily thi'
leader of metropolitan journalism, and its
young editor, a gentleman of acknowleilged
taste and cuture,) made the Brand murder,
or the St. Jude's murder— as it was iudclin-

-C'J^

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

itely styled— clearly the fashion, and devntc 1
\vhoIt> \m^eH daily to its recapitulation. Up
to tliis tin\<! tlie ff/rald had hail nothing to
print except the most alarming dctailH vtm-
I'erning tlit; Hltliy mid deatli-dualint; condi-
tion of ll.uloin FliitH, wliile tlic Inijifrinm
h;iil sta t '1 the ravages* of the small-pox, and
tht! I'ltii'' i\ timling the wiml of its sails tlins
captured liy its contonipuraries had raised
the hue and cry of Mad i)o;,'s I Now, how-
ever, the Ht. Jude's munlcr had purified
Harlem Flats, iiail utterly laid the small-
]! )X, and externi'pateil all the mad dogs !
So if it is an ill wind that blows nohody any
good, at least tlie St. .Fuile's murder was
doing Homehcitly a fa\'oui'.

Hut ujioii tlie (^gden family, it blew an ill
wind. Dragged mto horrrbh^ pnjminencc,
tlieir genealogy, private history, their
we.ilth, tlicir pcisonal appearance, respsctive
ag(!S, mode of living— tlieir ever'ythmg, in
short, was written up and spread before the
world, in those awful days. Of course, the
family had at once closed their city
house and betaken themselves to the
rotiromcnt of Malcolm. But it was no
rctii'i'inent now. Crowds of people came
up daily on the tr;i.iii.i Irom the city to in-
spect the Ogden house and the Ogden
giiniiids. 1 'ay and night ' interviews ' and
' gentlenicn of the press " pulled the Ogden
bell — only to be refused, of course, admis-
sion. IJut the HcfdhI nevertheless, would
fill next dny, just the reciuisite amount of
space, indi'ereiit wliether the iiiterview-
(.•r had been admitted or not. For instance,
let us suppose that the Hirahl dispatched a
si«'eial interviewer to ask Mr. (Jgden the
(Olourofhis matorn.'d graTid mother's hair.
Of coiu'se Mr. Ogden would see no gcT'tle-
nian from the press ; nor, if he had, would
he give the shade of his ancestor's lock?.
Never mind. In the half column of the
next morning's paper which had been re-
served for that particular interview, had it
been o'ltained. would be an article running
Mke this :

wiir int'i viewer thereupon took the one,
(1 :10) train from Malcolm, and after a
du.sty ride, in the course of which he be-
came overlaid outwardly, and lined in-
wardly as to his diaphragm, with a coating
of bright red Jersey dust (why will not the
Sussex and Jussex either ballast its road
with stone, or adopt one of the dozens of
modern contrivances to banish dust ? We
fear the policy of that road is to squcese
everything into dividends, malgre the com-
fort of its patrons,) arrived at the charming
settlement. Upon tiie summit of a lovely
hill, at its rear, in a beautiful grove of
chestnut, stiinds the elegant Rennaissant

villa of the now famous Mr. Ogden. Tho
house is three stories in height.and overlooks
the railway station at tho lK>ttom of the
nill. The first storey is entirely surrounded
i)y a very wide and spacious verandah.
(Vossin" this, the Jf>rfifil re)>oiter rang thir
door bell which is in the form of a wrentrh
or crank, so contrived as to ring twiciMf
pressed to its utmost, but only once if
slightly moved. This bell was answcnd by
a very pretty domestic of perhaps eightoei
or ninet(!en summers, with i)lump, rosy
cheeks, bright, merry. Mack eyes, ana a dear
little turn up nose ; who announced, u]vin
loarning your reporter's errand— not, how-
ever, until she had inspected him thorough-
ly from pcih slals to capital that Mr.Ogden
was ' engaged,' and that ' t'want no tise ;
he wouldn't never see no gent of tho press. '
— Kissing his tiiigers in lieu of the damsel's
teniptiii;; (rlieek, anil advising her to look up
Mr. Jji'idley Mu'.Tav's finious work on
< irimmatie Ku-'ifiieiits, a* her earliest leis-
ure, your reporter withdrew.

And then the reporter would go on to
describe his ride back to the city on the two
o'clock Belchertown Express, '\> Inch sto))-
ped at Malcolm expressly to accommodate
the Kmperor of Brazil, who was travelling
iiiroij. through the United States, and who
happened to be visiting Mr?(n'-Gencral Mc-
Mullen, late commander-in-chief of the
United States Army, who, as is well known,
resides at Malcolm.' Ami so forth, and so
forth. What could be done under this sort
of thing ? Mr. Ogden's oliicc was likewise
besieged, and ret'.dcrs of the daily
papers — in lieu of an * interview'
with its head, were treated

to minute descriptions of the office, chaml)ers,
t'le number of volumes in the librarj', of
clerks at tlie desks, of ca.'tes on the calendar,
and the number of quires of letral (;ap co\ered
with capital letters, in the course of the long
vacation, by the lazy little call boy wlmso
occupation for the time was gone.

Of course Mara's story did not escape the
general acrutiny. And every incident in the
child's life, from her discovery by Paul Ogden
at the grape trellis, to her eng.agement with
Tom Frear, and the theft of her engagement
ring, was printed, and ri!-iterateil in the news-
papers, from New York to Oregon.

Mr. Strasburger, who bent to the storm,
and calmly contemphited th.e temlering his
resignation, read, however, Mara's story witit
particular interest, sn))]demcnting from the
newspapers the information he had drawn
from Mrs. Melden — ^and drawing his own
conclusions. In this way, too, he first le-trn-
ed of the theft of Mara's ring.

Meanwhile Mr. Stuyvesjmt fjce. Senior

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. )4S80

(716) 872-4503

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«2

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Warden of St. Jud«'B Parish, had received
intimation ipom Mr. Ogden that that gentle-
man eoiihl not longer continue as counsel in
tlie matter wherein St. Jude's had long since
engaged his services, in the following letter,
which he iliily laid iK^ore tlie next Vestry
meeting :

' Jauncey Court.
My Dbab Sir :

' I feel myself and the gentlemen yon re-
present, so fully in ;the possession of the pre-
sent distressing circumstances, that all
allusion thereto may be spared me ; except
that it remains my earliest duty to place in
your hands a resignation of the trust with
"w'lich, two years ago you honoured me — a
<luty I herewith disiuiarge.

' Assured of your regard and sympathy in
the de^ bitterness which has fallen on me
and mine,
I beg to remain, my dear ^Ir. I-^e,

Yours, most gratefjuUy land faithfwlly,

•/. r, . 'Pjircival Ooden.
Stuyvesant Lee, 'Esq., .

Sr. Warden, and for the Trustees of St.
Jude's Parish, &c. &c.'

CHAPTER XXI.

THE BAT DELIVERS ITS OPINION

One morning, after the state of tliinG:s we
Jiave described had continued about a fort-
iiigiit, the Ogden family had just assembled
at breakfast. There were Mr. and Mrs.
'Ogden, Mara, the three boys, Tom, our
whilom friend, and Miss Siucleton — no
longer a housekeeper, but a valued member
of uie family — a lady possessed of many
more thousands a year than she could po!»-
sibly spend, and proportionately valued.
The veriest height to which human philoso-
phy and virtie can attain is the powec to
treat rich and poor alike. It is all very well
to say that wealth is an accident, and that
riches make no ditf'urence in men. But be-
yond the saying, we fancy that proverb
never gets far. The Ogdens probably came
as near to being independent of the human
weakness that grow from money warship, as
any people we ever knew. But we doubt if
even among them, Isabella was not, before
her good fortune, habitually addressed as
' Singleton,' and alluded to as a ' good soul ;'
whereas, afterward, she was always address-
ed as JUiss Singleton, and everywliere con-
ceded to be * a perfect lady, 'and 'our dear-
est friend. '

This unhappy fautily existed, at this period
of their livei^ — as we liave hinted, in a state
of perpetual persecution and siege. They
stole on tip-toe from one room to another.

in thoir own house, wherein they were, of
course, prisoners, for they could not pat-s its
threshold without being followed by a gap-
ing crowd. They spoke to each other m
muffled undertones, even in the sanctity uf
their own closete. The domestics were in-
structed to deal with butcher, baker, and
candlestick-maker at arm's length, lest a
green grjcer, who should be a newspaper
reporter in disguise, should break thiuugh
into the heart of the mansion and write up
its Lares and Penates ; and the meals, at
which it aeaenibled. were solemn ghostly
affairs, conducted almost in spectral silence.
Tom hxul shared the misfortunes of tlie
family, as he had its good report, and was
looked upon as quite one of tliemselves al-
ready. He quite lived at Malcolm, and was
almost always with the family at meal
times, where his plate was invariably laid
next to Mara's. Like the rest, he sat in
silence, and in tlie great pall of circumspec-
tion which himg over this devoted household.
They seemed to l)e aware tliat they went and
came,and roise up and lay dowii,and ate, aii<l
drank,and slept, in the great and awful eye
of the Public, and to that Public were
awfully accountable for the order of tlicir
going, and coming, and sleeping, and rising,
and eating and drmkiiig.

On this particular morning, they were pur-
suing their meal in the invariable silence,
when, on a sudden, the outside hall door
was heard to slam violently. Prepared, as
they always were in these days, to be sur-
prised at nothing, they were, however,
scarcely ready to see that the door leading
from the hall into the room where they were
sitting, pushed open, and a figure stride in
before tliem. It might have been a ghost
from a grave-yard that stood before them, so
pale and ghastly was the apparition. Nor
was it until after an instiint that they recog-
nized, in the hagurd lineaments, the dark-
rimmed eyes that protruded ° from their

■ckets, and the wan and sunken cheeks,
the feature of no less a visitor than Paul. It
was no ghost. It was Paul himself, the mis-
erable cause of -the misery of the stricken
family before him.

' My God, does nobody know me ? ' he
gasped, as he stood upon the threshold and
leaned against the door post.

' Paul ! •

It was M«ra's voice that cried his name.

In another instant the girl had left her

lover's side and had thrown her arms around

■the prodigal's neck. She was sobbing and

'lau^ming convulsively, by turns.

'Paul, Paul ! ' — that was all they could
distinguish— 'O, Paul, Paul ! '

Poor Tom ! He did not know exactly

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

what was expected of him. His betrothad
wife hart flown from hia side, and was weep-
ing, before his eyes, upon another man's
neck. He had not ceased to feel ominous '
about the loss of the engagement ring, and
about Mara's absolute renisal to accept a '
duplicate. Now it seemed that the omen ;
were coming to its fulfilment. j

The whole househoM was now in confu- 1
hIou. Mara's laughter and sobs would have |
sufficed to drown all other speech, had there
l)een any ; but to tell the truth, nobody
knew what to say. As ill-luck would have
it— and as it always manages to have it in
sucli predicaments — the two servants who
waited at the breakfast table entered to-
gether, while everything was in confusion,
and while Mara was still lying, sobbing hy-
sterically upon Paul's breast. Mr. Ogden
liimself was at a loss for words. He ordered
the servants sternly from the room ; but Ke
knew, ere they obeyed, there was ample
time for mischief to be domi. He was quite
sure now that the news of Paul's return
wou'd have spread from Dan to Beeraheba,
from Malcolm to the Lord knows where, by
mid-day. There are no telegraphs so elec-
tric as hoiise-servants, however loyal. What
Mary Ann and Biddy do not exchange over
the area railings, is scarcely worth repeating
at any time. But here vas news indeed,
worthy of their circulation. Besides, Mr.
Ogden was not quite prepared to admit, by
cautioning them, that Paul was a fugitive
liiding from justice under his uncle's roof, or
that the counsel for St. Jude's was harbour-
ing the St. Jude's murderer.

When Mara was finally composed, and drag-
■fed hy my main force from Paul's arms, she
shut herself up in her own room, and re-
fused herself to everybin'.y. As to
Tom, she would not even deign to answer
Ilia messages. Poor Tom ! He felt that 1 e
walked in a different atmosphere already.
There was something in the kind, respectful
demeanour of the servants, in the extra
timid tones of Mrs. Ogden herself, in the
f'xtra attention of all to his comfoi-t, that
seemed to tell how they pitied him. Who
has.not caught, in the same tokens, the
knell of liopes, and the death-note of love ?

As for Paul, what could be done ? His
aunt kissed him, as of old, and his uncle
took him by the hand, as he had always
done. No allusion was made to any altera-
tion in the circumstances under which Uiey
now met. In great crises of our lives, n is
always best, it ahvays helps matters along, to
take thinsrs silently for granted. So Mr.
O^rden had only said, with a touch of h''^ old
kiiidiH'sa, ' Paul, have you breakfasted?'

' I have eateu nothing, for I don't know

how long, ' said Paul. 'I oou't remember
when I ate last. '

And in very truth, Paul had scarcely eaten:
a morsel, since he left the shores of Europe,,
ten days or more before.

That day, for the first time in a week,
Mr. Ogrten went to his office in town. It
was better to keep out of the way. At any
rate, Paul was flesh of his flesh and bone of
his l)one — his dead brother's son. What if
all the world believed him a murderer, as y. t-
there was no iudict?neut out against hmi.
As yet, in the eye of the law, Mr. Ogden
was harbouring no criminal. After all, there
was no proof that could militate, in a court
of justice, against Paul's innocence. Alt
evi(ience procurable by the prosecution, must
of necessity, be barely circumstantial, and
the • circumstantiality of evidence, now-a-
days, is a tower of strength for the accused.
Mr. Ogden had saved many a man from the
gallows by expatiating upon the hazard of
putting any trust in one's own sensations r
could he do less for his own nephew ?

But he was perfectly sure, at any rate, that
the news of Paul's return and the prese"*^
habitat would spread like wildfire. A little
delay, perhaps, arising from the necessity of
procuring a requisition from the Governor of
New Jersey, to justify it, might lengthen
tlie interval to elapse before Paul's arrest.
Not much delay, however. The city of
New York is the butter on New Jersey's
bread ; and Jerseymen proverbially know on
which side their bread is buttered. But ar-
rest would follow closely on the indictment,
which was now a matter of course, if only as
a sop on the part of the authorities to public
sentiment. For, indeed, it had not failed of
intimation by the one-penny papers of the
Metropolis — journals which insisted on re-
presenting the interests of ' the working
nun,' (whomsoever he might happen to be,
in a \fi3xd where the preacher's question,
'Who slall eat bread without labour?*
might w«,ll give pause)— that, in this
case, at least, there must not be one law
for the rich man and another for the poor
man ; and tliat no need of l)irth, blood,
wealth or social position should he allowed
here to interfere between the law and the
law-breaker. ' Nay, more, ' said the Bat,
(price one cent) ' we know that a relative of
the accused is one of the leaders of the Bar
— one, who, by his eloquence, his influence,
(not always we fear, exercised openly and
above-board) and his knowledge of subter-
fuge, technical law and chicane, has repeat-
edly cheated justice of its due. We warn
him, in this case, however, that no lordly
pettifoggery shall prevail. The case is
Capital. A young man without an enemy

^li

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

in the world, (etc. etc. Here followed a
piuuplirase of Webbter'a well-known descrip-
tion — only, for ' aged man, ' read ' young
man.') Let him (i.e., Mr. Ogdei) — the Bat's
editorials always reciuired annotation to be-
come intelligible) understand from us, that
no nKinipulation on the Grand Jury at hio
hands will be tolerated — that Grand Jury
must find a true bill, or the people will know
the reason why. And, moreover, we can
infunn that gentleman, that it is clearly im-
[lossible that he appear in court as counsel
for the muiilerer. ruU wires and advise tlie
<lefence in secret, we suppose he will M'ith-
<jut restraint or shame. Unfortunately, we
uamiot prevent that. But, appear a.s coun-
sel openly, or show himself in court at all,
except as a mere spectator, he very clearly
cannot. The statutes of the State of J^ew
York, happily, take care of that, and we
refer him — for, astute student of the
•Statutes as he is, he, perchance, may need
the reference — to the Revised S'-'tutee, Vol.
il. p. 591 § .'), where he may .." 1 that the
people will not permit him to stultify him-
Helf by appearing io defend a murderer, who.
for two years, lio has been engaged, under
lioavy retainers, to trace, and — as counsel for
St. Jude's Parish, of which the murdered
man was an officer — to assist the District
^ittoniay in prosecuting a murderer ! '

Moreover, vile as it was, the Batwaa right
alx>ut Mr. Ogden's duty. Although he had
at once withdrawn from the St Jude's case,
and sent his withdrawal to the proper
officers, upon the first intimation that the
name of a member of his own family would
be iissociated with it, he could not — accord-
ing to his own ideas of professional honour —
go over to the opposite side, even in defence
of the purity of his own household, and ap-
pear to a prosecution which must be insti-
j^'atcd, or, at least, strenirthened by the
moral force of liis late client. True, Mr.
(ireatorex — who, it was understood, \\foulil
act as counsel for Paul Ogdeu, in tlie event
of his aiTaignment — had laughed at his
scruples, ilr. Greatorex v/as a lawyer, who
! «elieved that whatever a lawyer is autlior-
ized to do by law, he may do by right, fee-
N'ond Iiis retainers, he did not speculate
nmch in purely metaphysical questions. If
i t was wrong to defend a guilty man, why,
I ':, w IS the fault of the law that gave the
''uilty man a trial and ivssigned him counsel.
It was none of his business. But Mr. Ogden
wjis in doubt. Mr. Greatorex was not
troubled with a judicial mind — a sort of
r.\[\id that is quite out of place off the bench,
anil that rarely accomplished anything
notable. ^fr. Greatorex was willing to let
judges decide. He found it quite all he was

able to do to argue one side of a question ;
any doubts aa to whether or no his side was
the right side, he was quite willing to leave
for the settlement of tne last resort — cpn-
fident that all opposite views would receive
— from the eminent gentlemen opposed — at
least their full weight and force, and solici-
tous only, that his own position should lose
none of its virtue in his mouth.

At any rate, Mr. Ogden, long before the
But haa printed the above editorial in
double-leaued lines, had felt himself clear,
that, although his nephew's natural pro-
tector, he could scarcely — consistently with
his own views of pr4>fessional honour — un-
deriuke his nephew's defence. Of course the
statute which the Bat had cited had no re-
sercnce whatever to the case ; and, except
as applying to certain civil cases, was en-
tirely ridiculous. A little learning is no-
where so dangerous as in legal or statuory
matters ; and the lawyer was forced to smile
at this effort of the scurvy pumlit, at least.
But although lie smiled, he was vexed to feel
that, punctilious gentlei.ian as he was, his
acts ill adherence to wliat he considered an
honourable cause, would be surely reckoned,
on other sides, as the result of moral coer-
cion, applied by the hands of such a dirty
demagogue as the editor of the Bat.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE LAWYBB's duty TO THE STATE.

Upon arriving at his office that morning.
Mr. Ogden sent a message round to Mr,
Greatorex, to the effect that he must have
an interview that morning, and that he
would find .anj hour convenient that Mr.
Greatorex would name. Mr. Greatorex re-
turned answer that he would drive around
to Mr. Ogden's office on his return from
chamljers, at twelve o'clock. And,
shorty after that hour, he entered Mr.
Ogden's private office, and the door was
locked.

'Greatorex,' said Mr. Ogden, * my nephew,
Paul Ogden, made his appearance at my
house this morning. '

' Doubtless that was the place he should
first appeal",' said Mr. Greatorex. ' He, re-
course, is aware of the public sentiment of
gaiiling him ?'

' Unquestionably.'

• Well, so far as we have progressed, I sec
no reason why he sliouhl not appear. '

' My idea, ' retunied Mr. Ogden, ' is that
he should at once surrender himself to the
autliorities.'

' I am not so clear about that. So far,
there is no defined suspicion— there is as yet

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

uothiug but gossip— so far n« J can see, mere
^oss p and old wives' faliles. I might go
4iud deliver myself up to the authorities with
precisely the same reason. '

' But, public opinion — *

' I fail to recognize any considerations of
public opinion as affecting, in any way, the
question of our duty, or at least of im/ duty,
here ;' said Mr. Greatorex. ' When tlie time
comes that public opinion shall take the
place of Liw, and try men in the newspapers,
and send tlieni to prison or to the gimlet,
then, I say, ;yrou and I, Ogden, munt prac-
tise public opinion instead of law, and plead
in the newspapers, instead of in the courts ;
but so long as we practise law, I don't see
that we are called to trouble ourselves alK>ut
what you call public opinion. '

Ana let us oe slow in pronouncing Mr.
<jrreatorex in the wrong. Tlie duties a lawyer
<jwes to his client are well Known. We are
instructed that a client is authorized to ex-

«ect from and rely upon, in his attorney or
is counsel, up to a certain point, skill, re-
se^rch, and diligence in conducting his
cause, r.n ordinary familiarity with, and
^'rasp and application of legal principles,
&c. ; and that, up to a certain point, he may
recover damages of his professional guide for
the latter's want of these qualities, or for his
negligence, carelessness, or abuse of his cause.
On the other hand, the lawyer's duty to his
client is proportionally prominent and well-
<letined, and accompanies the relationship
until dissolved, or until terminated by his
insanity, disbarrment, elevation to the bench,
or death.

But the highest duty of a lawyer is to the
State and to the public : like a judge, he is
an officer of tlio court, and his office is a pub-
lic trust. The lawyer luis entered into a
certain contract with society, and for the
construction of that trust, and for the speci-
fic enforcement of that contract, we nnist
turn tu the domain of ethics, rather than of
equity. Says Dr. Warren : ' The ethics of
the bar must always be a matter of infinite
concern to the community, whose best in-
terests are identified with its honour and in-
tegi'ity. Among tlie secret and internal
causes of the rapid decline and fall of the
Roman Kmpire, Giblwn did not hesitate to
reckon the decline and corruption of the bar.
The noble art which hud once been preserved
as the sacred inheritivnce of the patricians,
waf fallen into the hands of freedmen and
plebeians, who, with cunning rather than
with skill, exercised a sordid and pen'.iv?ious
ti-ade.

' Careless of fame and of justice, they are
Jcscribed for the most part as ignorant and

rapacious guides, who conducted their clients
through a maze of expense, of delay, and of
disappointment, whence, after a tedious
series of years, they were at length dismissed,
when their patience and fortunes were al-
most exltausted. '

The chiefest privilege with which the lawyer
is entrusted, overandabovehisfellow-citizens.
is that of receiving the confidential communi-
cations of his client, whose cause he is there-
after to espouse ; a privilege, indeed, sliared
in most communities, with the medical and
spiritual adviser, but with the difi'erence
that, while the lips of both are sealed, he
alone is the public advocate of the one who
has confessed to him, and must both receive
his confidence and defend him before the
law. The question then arises whether his
debt and duty as a citizen to the State whicli
protects him, that the guilty should be pun-
ished, should override nis duty as a lawyer
to his client, or vice versa. The question is
one which has induced much casuistry and
comment, but is to our thinking, one not
difficult of solution, thougHfin its discussion,
our citations of authority must necessarily
be rather to tlie essayist than to the l^ooks.
In his * Law Studies,' Dr. Warren (Chapter
IX, ' Ethics at the Bar '), draws the most ex-
treme case possible, namely, that of a mur-
derer who had confessed his crime to his
counsel. Such being the case, the author
reflects that a conscientious counsel would
remember that the law of the land, of which
he is the officer, has sealed his lips ; that his
evidence is not admissible at the trial. His
duty to the community is thus set at rest.
In such an extreme case — the author telb us
-^Mr. Baron Parke being appealed to, first
desired to be informed distinctly wliether
the prisoner insisted on counsel defending
liiin, and on hearing that he did, said ' that
the counsel was bound to do so, and to use
a' 1 fair arguments arising on the evidence, '
and his own judgment he gives in these
words : ' A man of honour would either de-
cline to hold the brief,or reluctantly yielding
to importunity, distinctly apprise his client
that, under such circumstances, counsel could
do no more than see that the case was made
out by proper evidence, according to the pre-
scribed forms of law. '

We incline to think a more strict interpre-
tation of tlie counsel's duty would discard
this alternative fonn. The ' man of honour, '
who would ' decline to hold the brief, ' would
be, to ourthinking,like a surgeon who would
refuse to probe the wound of a suffering man,
or the physician who would refuse to allevi-
ate the agonies of a sick person, liccause liis
wound might have lieen incurred while break-
ing the law, or his disease the consociuunce

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

of an immoral or lawless life. His plain duty
in the premises, it seems to us, would be U)
aid his client in obtaining a just and fiiir
trial, upon such evidence as the law makes
admissible, for and against him ; the counsel's
private and personal opinion not being called
for, nor his evi»lence allowed to be taken.
Indeed, in speaking of the same su})po8ed
case at another place. Dr. Warren himself
says :

' Counsel would, in such a case, remind
the jury in cogent teiins that they were
sworn to give a true verdict accordina; to the
evidence, and according to nothing else. He
might urge by all fair arguments,for instance,
that the whole of the evidence might be
true, and yet not necessarily prove the
prisoner's guilt, at all events, witli req^uisite
clearness and certainty ; that links ni the
chain of proof were wanting which might
have been supplied ; that identity appeared
on the evidence as questionable ; that the
witnesses could not, from various causes,
be dependftd updB, judging from what had
been e icited ui open court. All this, how-
ever, would be done fairly by the conscien-
tious advocate, and under the terril)le re-
straint imposed by his own individual belief
in, if not knowledge of, the prisonere'
guilt. If a counsel, under such circum-
stances, could not go thus far, then advocacy
would be iVMuihilated, and the reign of
universal injustice and oppression com-
mence. '

But let us pass, from the extreme case, to
one more frefjuent, namely, where a questicai
as to the client's guilt or innocence, under
the law, arises. For since the law, in de-
fining crimes, does make many distinctions
in grade and definition — as for instance,
whether homicide is murder or manslaugh-
ter, in first, second, or third degree —there
surely can be no moral obliquity in counsel's
endeavouring to secure to his client the
exact degree of punishment to which he may
be entitled, and no more ; or, if
there be a (piestion whether — from various
circumstaiuei not apparent to the commun-
ity, as, for instance, a long life-time of op-
prcsion, or mental or physical anguish or
incapacity — the prisoner be not accountable
for his act, it cannot be wrong for the
counsel to make sure that all these facts are
presented to the jury who are to judge of
the prisoner's responsibility. And we can-
not evade the rellection, that, even if these
circumstances do not exist, none the less
does the law give to the meanest criminal
the right to a fair hearing before his peers,
before she sutlers him to bear the conse-
quences of his wrongdoing. Says ' Doctor
and Student' (Chapter XLviii.) : 'For

thoueh 4ie (the prisoner) be a common
offender, or that he be guilty, yet he ouglit
to have that the law giveth him. And that
he shall have the effect of his pleas, and of
his maiiter entered after the form of the
law ; ani\ also, sometimes a man by ex-
amination and hj witness may appear guilty
that is not, and ni likewise there may lie a
vehement suspicion that he is guilty, and
yet he is not guilty, and therefore for such
suspicion of vehement presumptions, me-
thinketh a man mav not with conscience be

Eut from that which he ought to have by
kW.'

In such a case, the counsel, says Dr
Warren, ' must regard his own lips as those
of his client, and hold himself consequently
forbidtlen to utter his own individual
opinion or belief as to the justice of that
client's case. ' . . . ' Nor is this the
advocate to convert himself, from the
advocate, into the judge of his own client,
who has engaged his services as advocate
alone. By thus prematurely and gra-
tuitously expressing his own opinion aganist
the merits of his client's case, he is fore-
stalling and superseding the functions of the
very tribunal to which he is engaged to
appeal. '*

So long, then, as the law grants to call a
candid hearing and a suspension of judgment
until its conclusion, just so long, then, it
is the high trust and duty of counsel to see
that no clamour or coercion or tumult deprive
him of it. Even against the bench itself, if
necessary, must the counsel maintain this
justice. Lord Kiskinc left behind him noth-
ing that will live so I ig in the hearts of men
as his reply to Judge Buller, when, in plead-
ing an unpopular cause, the Court threatened
to commit him for contempt : ' Your lord-
ship must do as you see fit. I know my
duty as well as your lordship knows yours.
I shall not alter my course.'

Especially is it the trust and duty of the
counsel that he be not driven from his ad-
vocacy by public and newspaper clamour.
' Trial by newspaper ' has come to be, in
these days, of no unfrequent occurrence.
Especially commendable seems to be the fol-
lowing retlections submitted in a lecture to
young lawyers by the member of the New
York bar in a late lecture to the graduating
class of law school : ' As to the cases you
should take, it is extremely difficult to bo
precise. Brougham said that the lawyer
must subordinate everything to the success
of his client. This is not true. Others say,
never take an unjust case. If you attempt
to adopt this rule, be careful you do not hang

*And to a like effect the reader will recall Dr.
Johnson's Dialogue with Boswcll.

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

OUgllt

your client or deprive him of his fortune be-
fore the law has aone so through its recoff-
nized and official oracles. 'Whatever rule

?'0u adopt, never allow yourself to be driven
rom your client's cause by popular outcry
and odium. Tl)iiB is the depth of professional
meanness and cowardice. But for the
courage of lawyers in liistorical trials of poli-
ticM significance, llnd the x>ersi8tenoe of law-
yc T9 in amending the law of libel, and
increasing the power and province of the jury
i II libel cases, there would not to-day exist
that freedom of criticism in the public press
of winch lawyers and judges are to-day
among the principal objects. '

Nor is it always just in the counsel to de-
cline a case, since he may thereby do great
injustice. Says Mr. Reed : * The lawyer
must recollect that the more conscientious he
has been in his l)aek practice, the more will
his clients be disposed to acquiesce in his de-
cision. . . . And therefore, while we
are anxious, as we shouhl be, to avoid en-
couraging foolish litigation, we should be
careful, likewise, to avoid, by premature
<lecision, suffocating a good cause. We are

nei her jiidges nor arbiters We

should permit neither our needed promptness
and lirmneaa for what we deem the good
a client, tnisting and coii-
f some light which better
.ave discovered. '
own gives a reminiscenca
■ A young member of
the ^<ir, «^ho has since reached
some eminence, when applied to in a case
which was somewhat complicated and doubt-
ful, waited on the late Mr. Rawle, stated
the casfi, and remarked that he thought it a
bad one. 'You are,' said Mr. Rawle, 'a
presumptuous young man thus to venture
in the outset to determine what a court and
jury can only decide after heanng all the
testimony. ' And the more eminent counsel
become, the more injustice they might do to
a cause by declining it. * Chief Justice
Hale, ' we are told by Lord Campbell, ' be-
gan with tlie specious but impracticable rule
of never pleading, exceplTon the right side ;
which would make counsel decide without
knowing either facts or law, and m'ouM put
an end to the administration of justice. If
he auw .a call was unjusi,, he, for a great
while, 'rtjuld not meddle further in it but to
give his advice that it was so. If the par-
ties, after that, were to go on, they were to
seek another coausellor, for he would assist
nt»e in acts of injustice ; yet afterwards ho
abated much of the scrupulousity he had
about cases that appeared at first unjust. '

Let, then, the lawyer remember that his
office and duty are a sacred trust, and, in

cause t

tiding'

attei

11 .ii';

■ ,:.'Ull

M --

the way of defence of his cii<mt^ right, who-
ever that client may be, mere popular
clamour and repute, which veers with every
wind, can be nothing to him. In honestly
securing to his client, from the public, the
hearing which the public itself has ordained
under the law that emanates from tliem, he
is saving them for themselves. No possible
case can arise upon which opinions may
not be expressed. If the case be reported t()
the public— either wholly or in part — be-
forehand, nothing is more certain than that
— from the fragment they may happen to
hear — some portion of that public will re-
ceive their own impressions, and form there-
from some judgment with which counsel,
on one side or the other, must find them-
selves opposed. In cases of great public in-
terest and moment, a counsel might find
whole communities, or even whole nations,
excited to frenzy against his client : but his
duty would be nevertheless clear and un-
mistakeable. Especially are eminent counsel
apt to suffer criticism when ap^waring as
counsel for prominent and powerful objects
of public outcry and censure. It is to be
remembered, however, that it is their inii-
nence and not their tastes or inclinations
which attracts large cases ; and that, too
often, it is the greatest criminals who i^a\'e
the means to employ the most valuable soi-
\ices.

If eminent counsel volunteored to protect,
what public opinion — from its own impres-
sions, received from gossip or common re-
port—pronounced to 1^ a fraud or villainy,
then, perhaps, some moral oblif^uity niigiit
be suspected w the act ; but so long as they
are counsel, practising at the Bar, and at tlie
service of those who pay their price, it is
hard to see how there can be. Un-
doubtedly, then, we say, Mr. Grea-
torex was right in holding it to be the duty
of the most eminent, none the less than of
the youngest and most obscure lawyer, while
he remains at the bar, to see that those who
come to him obtain at that bar the right
which the law gives to the meanest and
most tainted of her subjects. 'Toaflurd
even those whom impartial justice arrai -us
upon credible evidence a fair hearing, is the
first duty of our profession. ' This is tiie
lawyer's contract with the State.

Mr. (rreatorex. and his brother Ogdeii,
iiowever, did nOt spend much of their vi^l li-
able hour in discussing a lawyer's duty to
the State. When they parted; it vas
agi'eed that Mr. Oreatorex, instead of going
up to Fort Washington, should spend tUo
night at MalcoUn.

§8

ST. JUDE'S ASSIST ^'

CHAPTER XXIU.

THE D0CT0B8 DISAUBKB.

Meantime Paul, after Mr. Ogden'a de-
parture, had been induced by his aunt to uo
to bed. And, indeed, he waa too greatly
debilitated in mind and body to properly be
anywhere else ; and when there, Mrs. Og-
den had nursed him as tenderly as if he were
not believed, on every hand, to be a mur-
derer. As to Mara, she had persisted, all
during the day, in remaining in her own
room. Tom, in a state of most abject des-
pair, had gone to town towards evening,
without having succeeded iu hearing a woril
from his mistress's lips.

So Mr. Greatorex dined alone with Mr.
and Mrs. Ogden, Miss Singleton and the
three boys having liad an earlier dinner by
themselves.

' Well, mother, ' said Mr. Ogden, at din-
ner, where of course no other than the ab-
sorbing topic had been intvt>duced, ' you
have seen Paul all day. Let us know wliat
you think.'

'Think !' said she. 'Why, Percy he is mad
— that's all Poor Paul ! He was mad when
he left us — he is mad now. '

After dinner, Mr. Greatorex and Mr. Og-
den entered, for an instant only, the cham-
ber where Paul lay in bed.

* Well, Paul, my boy,' said his uncle, as he
entered, * how are you ?'

' I think, uncle, I'm pretty well used up, '
said Paul.

Tl»e next ceremony — the introduction of
Mr. Greatorex — was a delicate matter ; but
Mr. Ogden did what was probably the best
thing to do under the circumstances. He
shut the door with a bang, and locked it.
* Of course you know, Paul, that it will be
necessary for you to answer proceedings of
some sort, in court,' he said bluntly;
' and Mr. Greatorex will appear for you.
I don't know that you have ever met be-
fore. '

Paul knew the eminent Mr. Greatorex
by name, as well as he knew the name
of the President of the United States. He
raised himself in bed, and said, simply, ' I
am glad to see Mr. Greatorex.'

^Ir. Greatorux himself bowed, and took a
seat by the window.

There was a pause of some moment^),
when Paul lifted himself up again, and said,
' Uncle, I know very well what Mr. G reat-
orex and yourself are here for. I appreciate
your'kindness, but I d<Hi't feel as if 1 could
accept it. I <1id shoot George Brand, if that
is what the trial will be about. I vowed
that I would have his life — and I kept my

VOW. Before I killed him, the tiuAigLt that ^)
he was living was driving me mad. When •
I saw his blood flow, I was a new man. I^
did not flv from justice. I am here to meet,
it. I killed him — I killed him — and I am
satisfied. '

As be spoke, he had raised himself to a sit-
ting posture, but now he sat l^ackwards upon
the bed. —

Mr. Greatorex and Mr. Ogden looked at
each other. ' He is matl — mother waa right
— he is mad — ' said Mr. Ogdeu, when the
two lawyers were alone.

Long into the night the two lawyers talk-
e<l together. Of course there must be a
trial — and of course the jury must Ix^
-brought to acquit Paul.

' I never san so strong a case, ' cried Mr.
Greatorex. ' Look at the evidence. What
is there against liim ? Simply nothing. A
man is found dead. He was engaged to be
married to a girl who had formerly oeeu en-
gaged to your nephew. What is tliere in
that ? Nothing. On that day your nephew
happened to call on Mr. Frear, an artist in
the Studio Buildings — '

' That's a weak point, ' interrupted Mr.
Ogden. ' Tom— Mr. Frear, I mean — waa a
total stranger to Paul. In abort, he never
saw Paul in his life until this morning.'

'Very well,' rejoined the other. 'Sup-
posing a man called upon a man he never
saw, and who never saw him, what jury is
going to find.in that,even a shadow of a sus-
picion that the one who made the call murdered
somebody else the same day ? Your nephew
goes down town in a atage, and buys a sham
passage to Europe, under an assumed nama^
Prove it ! Why, after you prove it all, there
is nothing in the whole case which i» cno
half as strong for the prosecution as that
Boston case, the Abijah Ellis case, you re-
member. This man Fllis was a hard credi-
tor, and a man natited Lteavitt Alley owed
him two hundred dollars. One morning, .
some workmen near the gas works in Cam-
bridge discovered two barrels, containing a
nmtuated human body, floating in the Charles
river. They ^re packed with horse
manure and shavings, and in one of tliu bar-
rels was discovered a piece of brown papei-
bearing the name of one Schouler, a billiard
table manufacturer. It was discovered, upon
investigation, that this Leavitt AU^ was in
the habit of removing these shaving to his
stable. Following this clue, to this stable,
it waa found that a dry manure heap had re-
cently been disturbed, and blood was found
upon some boards near by. It appeared
that, on the previous morning, Alley ]ia<I
started from his stable with four barrels, and
a teamster, in jumping from the waggon, had

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT,

£0

nn.^itaiue«l tlmt four of them were heavy.
Two of these barrels were not satisfactorily
accounted for, and a man testified to seeing
tlie team and barrels, with a man strongly
resembling Alley, upon the mill-dam, whence
they were supposed to have been thrown into
the river. Now, besides the fact that Alley
owed Ellis two hundred dollars, h« wa«
known to be in great need of money, and
Ellis was known to liave gone in search of
Alley on the probable night of the murder.
Alley was proven to ha-e purphased an axe
a short time before, but that axe could not
now be found, and Alley denied that it had
ever existed. Stains were found upon clothes
which were proven to have bden worn by
Alley, which experts pronounced to be
stains of human blood. A woman was found
who swore to ha\'ing heard strange noises,
like the noise of rolling barrels, on the night
f^ipposed to have been that of the miiriTur.
From the examination of the murdered man's
f t Jinach, experts pronounced that ttie murder
u.k-1 taken place on that night between tlie
liours of six and nine, and it appeare«l that
Alley had been possessed of plenty of money
after the disappearance of his supposed vic-
tim. Now, what circumstances are there
ajjainst your nephew to compare with these ?
Are there any stains of blood Aientioned as
having been found upon his clothes ? And
even if the presumption of his innocence
were questioned, could* we not easily explain
e .cry movement of his on the day of the
murder ? And yet, in the Alley case, under
all these telling circumstances agrinst the
prisoner, he was acquitted. Why, who is
to say that this Brand did not t&ke his own
life ? In France — and in many other coun-
tries — the proportion of suicides to liomicides
1! such as to raise the presumption — other
things being equal — that a violent death is
a death at one's own hand ; and in such
times as these, when men cannot pay their
board bills, when trade is exhausted, and
money not procurable, it might not be hard
to show from statistics that the same pro-
portion exists here. Then this e\'idence of
this man Core, that Brand told him that he
(Brand) had no money, goes to show that
Brand was in great need of funds ; and bein|;
engaged to be married to the daughter of a
rich uiiM — a condition in which, as you
know, a young man — to carry himself
through and keep up appearances, must
spend a good deal of money — who knows but
lie may be driven to desperation, and taken
his own life ? Let in, if you will, the evi-
<leuce that your nephew has confessed this
murder. Are not the books full of cases
where men have confessed to murders they
never committed ? All he had to do was to

read in the papers, and he, or any other
man, might pass a pretty strict examination
upon the modus operandi of the sliooting.
Ix)ok at the numbers of men who, at various
times, have confessed to murdering Dr.
Burdell in Bond street, and Mr. Nathan in
Twenty-third street. A man may seriously
believe himself guilty of a crime. Mental
aberration is the obvious origin of many
such self-regarding statements which turn
out to be utterl;^ untrue. Such ^ )n the
confessions of witchcraft in old times. Or
the person confessing may actually believe
in the truth of his own statements. Mr.
Best mentions, I believe, the case of a girl
who died in convulsions while her father was
chastising her very severely for theft ; and
he fully believed that she had died of the
beating, and so confessed to killing her,
whereas, it afterwards turned out, that the
girl had taken poison on finding hernelf de>
tected in the theft, and that she died of
the poison while l)eing beaten. Look at the
story of the little Hunchttack in the Arabian
Nights, and at Mr. Reade's story of Friar
Richard and Friar John ! In both those
stories a .corpse was conveyed secretly into
another man's apartment ; and while there,
an innocent man, mistaking it for a robber,
belaboured the dead body until he had killeil
it ; and so confessed to killing it when it
was found.

In November, 1580, a man was convicted
and executed in Paris, says Bonnier, in his
Traite ilea Preuves. I remember the very
page, 2.56, where he mentions the case — on
confessing to the murder of a widow who
was missing, but who, two years afterward,
appeared alive and well. And in England,
a woman, Joan Parry, was hung on con-
fessing to the murder of a man named Har-
rison, who was alive many years after her
execution. That's in Howell s State Trials,
page 1312.

And there is nothing simpler in my mind.*

*A8 these p xges are «oinj? thro.igh the press,
we find reported in the New York Times, of
July 27, a wonderful verification of Mr.
Greatorex's theory as to Hallucinatory Confes-
sion, ("harles Heyne, iv^ed 7, the son of Nicho-
las and Eliza Heyne, died May 31. 1876, and was
buried a day or twd afterward in Greenwood
Cemetery. The father keeps a- saloon at No. 39
Third-avenue, Nqw York City. The attending
physicians saw nothing remarkable in the case,
and unhesitatingly gave their certificate that
he died of nephritis, the result of scarlet fever.
Seventeen days afterward AuKU8t«is Kassen, a
servant in the Heyne family, accused herself of
poisoning the boy. She signed a circumstantial
statement, declaring that she had given the
child acid in milk to drink, as follows :

'I Augusta Kassen. of my own free will,
make the following statement : I am a servant
employed by Mr. Nicholas Heyne, at No. 39
Third-avenue. I have been with him a few

IX)

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Why, Ogden, I am as clear-heaclcdefl aa
most men, and yet I wouldn't swear posi-
tively to anytliinc, on the mere evidence of
my own senses ! Your nephew, yon say, has
l)eeu hvbouring under a melancholia that has
nniounted to a madness with him. I've no
doubt he was so dcliehted to hear that a
rivf»l of his had perished — and the delight is
natural enough, and masculine enough, I'm
sure — that he's the victim of an hallucina-
tion that he himself killed him ! In short,
confession or not, we'll acquit him trium-
phantly. And the sooner they indict him,
the better I'd be pleased, and the sooner he'll
be a free man ! '

' Can't we prove an alibi from
the testimony of the young lady,
who met him in a Sixth Avenue car going
up town ? In the testimony of the chamber-
maid, who found his bed at the club de-
ranged, as if Paul had turned in for an hour
or so to sleep oiT a little extra claret. I tell
you, Ogden, that'oiir only course is to throw
ourselves on the circumstantial nature of the
evidence, and force an acquittal, as we did
in tlie Folke's case. I know you've set on
the insanity defence ; but let's see if wo can
prove it. Moral insanity is only a name,
after all — a cut-and -dried defence, to enablo
juries to acquit, and where it wont do to
convict. For in8tance,it'8 come to be pretty
generally understood, that you can't. hang a
man for shooting the seducer of his wife, and
— 90 long as the law doesTi't niako seduction

days over a month. Mr. Heync's Itttlo boy
Charles was sick when I came to the bouse ;
he had scarlet fever and dropsy. I waited on
him several times, but did not hiive the vvholo
care of him. On the afternoon of the Monday
Pfevio\is to his death, about i o'clock, his sister
asked me to bring up a cup of milk for her little
brother Charley. I took up a mixture of acid
and milk, and Kave the mixture to the boy him-
self. He drank all the mixture except about a
quarter of a cup full. I gave the remainder of
the mixture to the cat. Charles threw up right
after drinking the mixture. I saw him about.')
o'clock the same afternoon, and he coniplained
of a pain in his stomach and head. I do not
know whether he vomited or had diarrhea. 1
only saw Charley twice after seeing him at 5
o'clock on the Monday afternoon on which I
gave him the mixture, and then only glanced at
him. He died on Wednesday following, but
what time I do not knovv. The acid I gave
Charley was what we clean boilers with I
knew the acid was poison, but did not expect it
would kill Charley, until I saw the cat.to which
I gave the rest of the mixture, die. The cat only
lived ten minutes after 1 gave her the mixture.
I never had any quarrel with the boy, nor with
Mr. and Mrs. He/ne, and why I gave the mix-
ture to Charley I do not know. After the cat
died I threw it in the ash-barrel, and when Mrs.
Hcyne asked me where the cat was I would not
tell her. The mixture I gave Charley was
three-quarters acid and one-quarcer milk, and
was given in an ordinary colVee-cup.

ArocsTA Kassex.

a crime, but a civil trespass, for which a
plaintiff can collect only money damage8,aud
to which na penalty is attached — I am ghtd
that it is so. So far t'^e intelligence of the
public has progressed ; but I doulit if they'n;
quite readv to announce tiiat a ni:ui can't bt»
hung for shooting his rival in a love affair,
or for shooting a man who becomes engaged
to a girl, who once was engaged to the shoot-
er. If they were once understood, it might
poHsibly come in time to be acquiesced in,
the same as the other rule ; but I duubt, in
this case, if we can force it. You see, this is
supposed to have been a particularly cold-
blooded affair, and people feel worked u|>
about it. The prosecution will have un-
limited money to spend on witnesses, and you
and I know the power of money welleuougli.
by experience. '

' We will establish his insanity, ' said Mr.
Ogden, ' principally from the ntter al>8ence,
on Paul's part, of any idea of responsibility,
oroftht ormity of his crime. Why, the
boy spe 1.8 of it as he would of buying a
horse, or of shooting awoodcock. It's what
the books call, I believe, " moral imbecility, '
and tl ey all agree in classing it as a species
of ins .nity. It's the case of Romaino Dillon
over again. • Rouiaine Dillon,you remember,
shot a man dead, in the corridor of the
Clarendon Hotel, the other day — a man he
had never seen befoye in his life — simply
because the man looked at him. '

' Ah, yes ; but Romaine Dillon was mad at
the time, and every one had known him to
be so for years. His moral imbecility was
the result of a crazed brain — a symptom of
his disease, and not his disease itself. Heru
is a young man to the full aa rational as you
or I !'

Upon this confession Augusta was arrested
and conmiitted to the Tombs, and the body of
the dead child examined, and an inquest ' old
upon it by Coroner EickhofT, August K'^isec
w iiH present, under guard. Her rather pretty
taiic was bruised on both sides by striking her
head against the floor and wall of her cell while
in a fit. She is epileptic, and had three fits on
T'uesday night. Her eyes had the filmy, uncer-
tain expression characteristic of that diseasi-.
Kliza lleyne, mother of Charles Heyne, testifle I
to her that she had poisoned the boy several
days after his death. Dr. Maximilian G. Raelic.
of 12 East Tenth-street, testified that he had at -
tended Charley Heyne, who was suffering from
scarlet fever and its sequeiaj. That the cause
of death was "scarlet fever and nephritis," and
he had seen no reason since to change his
opinion. Dr. Stratford, who analyzed the
stomach and contents, testified that no acid was
found. The jury decided that death had resxdt-
ed from natural causes, thus acquitting Augusta
Kassen of her selt-indictment.

The physicians and others who heard the tes-
timony were convinced that Augusta had told
her story while labouring under insanity.

'li&tMil

aitMW'

PPW?,'

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

101

* Well, I Ain convinced that ho is mad, for
all that, ' returned the other.

' I have studied this cose of Paul's in every
light I could obtain. I have turaed it over
and over in iny mind, and I have arrived at
the conclusion that bis is the precise case
mentioned by Dr. Maudsley, whom I re-
gard as the greatest and safest living
authority on tliat sitbject. Here is
what he says,' And Mr. Oudon
nrococded to rend from a small volune
bound in red cloth: **'I proceed now to
couiiider another class of cases of homicidal
insanity — those in which there is a defiiiiie
delusion in the mind, and tlie crime is tlie
<lirect or indirect result of the delusion.
When a father believes that he has re-
ceived a command from heaven to slay his
son, and olicys it, thdro can be no nianuur of
<loubt of his ins<anity, and no one would
impute the deed to him as a crime ; it was
the direct, unqualified ofTspriag of the de-
lusion. Eveu lawyers admit readily that
this kind of .insanity excludes all responsi-
bility for actions which can be shown to be
in close relation to tlie particular delusion
under which the so-called monomoiiiic
labours ; the vital question for tliem, being
how far the delusion has atfucted the mind
of the agent at tlie time. No human

fiunishment, it is supposed, would restrain
iim from doing what, though legally criminal,
he believes it right to do. His knowledge of
right and wrong, in this resrard, is destroy-
ed by disease. But, if the delusion cannot
be shown to have influenced the act — if a
man have the maddest delusion which mad-
ness can imagine, and do a murder which
cannot be traced to its influence — then it is
declared that he ought not to be absolved
from culpability : that he ought to be held
justly responsible in all other instances.
Hoffbauer proposed that, in order to answer
the question of responsibility in regard to
the acts of insane persons, " the dominant
impression in which their delusion consists
should be regarded, not as an error, but as
truth " : in other words, their actions ought
to be considered rf they had been committed
under the circumstances under which the
individual believed himself to act. If the
imaginary circumstances make no change as
to the imputability of the crime, then they
oaght to have no effect on the case under
consideration. If they
culpability, they ought
in the supposed instance,
assumed to have a dual
an insane personality ; and, accordingly as
he acts in the former or the latter capacity,
is to be condemned as a criminal o acquitted
OS a madman."'

lessen or destroy

to have that etfect

The man is to be

Vicing — a sane and

' It seems to me, ' continued Mr, Ogdon,
* that that is just Paul's case, and that, ac-
cordingly as we find him to have been acting
in ids sane or insane personality, we must
jud'ge him guilty or not guilty. In his sane
personality, he certainly wo :\ld not inunlor
a nian~-tiuit is, judging fr«>in Ids tostu,
education, habits of life, social relations, etc.
If he shot the curate, he must have shot him
i I his insane personality, and that p' r«
soaality we can readily prove from otiior acts
of his. "^

The fact of hia elaborate plans to mislead
pursuit, KO far from being incompatible with
uisanity, is actually a usual and concomitant
symptom j^ and here is a precedent. Mr.
Ogden read again from Dr. Maud-
sley : "A man named John Billman, who
had been tried for murder in Philadelphia,
and fonnd to be so liopelessly insane that
the prosecution itself had asked for an ac-
quittal on that ground, waa discovered to
have strangled nis father in bed, and then,
by a rapid ride by midnic^ht, and a feigned
sleep in a chamber unto which he had
clambered by a window, actually succeeded
in establishing an alibi that acquitted him
of the murder ; thereby evincing not only
a sense of guilt, but an appreciation of the
OJiisequenccs of exposure ; and yet he was
insane." Or, again, what Dr. Maudsley doen
not say, Paul might have killed the man
while insane and planned the snbset^uent
manoeuvere while sane. '

' I still doubt, ' said Mr. Greatorex, ' not
your theory, but our ability to establish the
insanity, in Paul's case, so clearly as to get
our ve tlict. Yon see, in this case, there's
a good deal of public feeling. If we went
beiore the Commissioners of Lunacy and
induced them to take the case from the
courts, and send Paul to an asylum at once,
then there would be such a cry at once
about influence, that the Commissioners—
who are but men, after all — would back
down. I doubt the strength of your evi-
dence. It wouldn't do for you and your
wife to be the only witnesses to his insanity.
Of course there are the doctor's. We could,
undoubtedly, fined half a hundred of the
most eminent physicians in New York to
swear that the prisoner's as mad as a March
hare, fpr the asking ; but then, the pro-
secution can get half a hundred more to
swear that he's sane. There's nothing
doctors enjoy more than calling each other
fools, on the witness stand. And then the
jury will have to toas up for it. Look at
the Wharton trial in Baltimore. Mrs.
Wharton's lawyers got as lauiy doctors as
they want, to swiear that the di>ad man
died of cerebro-spinal meningitis — and, when

102

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

the «luctui-u who loiuul the poison in the
stomavh are put on the stand, the cross-ex-
aniinatiun sets thein to analyzing milk
punuh and lemonade, and the jury are ol>-
liKeil to toHs up a cent t«> see if the prisoner
is (jTuilty or not. Seriously, Ogdun, j
wuiudn't shut up a dog, over night, on the
testimony of medical experts. Why, look
at the' Fow Ikes case I Of course, Fowlkes
shot Frisk, but Fowlkes is acquitted be-
uiuse half a d^n doctors testified that
the surguuna who treated him, probed his
wound too deeply. So he goes free be(iaube
Frisk hail surgical attendance. If no sur-
geons liad been called in, these same experts
would have sworn that the wound might
not luive necessarily been fatal ; and tlieu
lie would have gone free, because Frisk
hdilii't have surgical attendance. I know
the value of ex^)ert testimony as a last re-
sort, but in this case, where he had a de-
fouce, I thiuk we'd better rely upon it, aud
lot the tloctors alone. '

Mr. Ogden was not quite convinced, but
he had great confidence in his
brother Ciroatorex, aud, moreover,
iiad resolved to tiike no direction of the case.
And 80 it was all but settled that the gene-
ral issue should be fought out step by step
before the jury.

But both Mr. Greatorex and Mr. Ogden
were premature.

The next morning, on rising, the house-
hold were confronted by the iuteiligeiice
tliat Paul hod disappeared in tlie night, and
left no clue of hia wnereabouts. It seemed,
too, as if revelations were . never to e. .1 in
tliis family. For the news of Paul's depar-
ture was supplemented by the tidings that
the door of Mara's chaml)er was wide open,
and that she, too, had fled. This was the
morning of the day upon which the Grand
Jury of New York County found a true bill
of indictment against PauI Ogden for the
murder of George Brand,

CHAPTER XXIV.

MR. STIU.SBUaOEK IS DISFIBTilED.

Mr. Strasburger may never have been
one's l)eau ideal of a companion, but of late
even his familiar, Jimraerson, complains that
he is the poorest sort of company. He is
moody, surly, aad pre-occupied. The fact
is, he is getung along in years, aird begins to
take disappointments pretty heavily ; and
the atrocions conduct of the New York
IleraUl, in taking the St. Jude's murder
case, which he was slowly and surely woi'k-
iug up, line upon line, and piece upon piece,
out CO. his hauda, and jumping at the conclu-

sion to which he was wearily and lal)oriously
progressing, was telling upon his philoso-

Shical and discriminating mind. In -^iiort,
Ir. Strasburger was completely dcm' dized.
His occuiwtion was gone. The great case of
his life had been stolen from him by a news-
paper, and a page in his ledger was destin.d
never to be posted. But the Jlirald had
done more than take away tiie case ;
it had taken away thiiiiy tho-.isand dollars.
Everybody, that is, evervlwdy who hod con-
sidered the matter, had felt that the thirty
thousand dollars reward, which had been
oflerud for detection of the St. Jude's mur-
derer, was surely coming to Mr. Strasburger.
Now, as to whether he was entitled to any
portion of it, as to whether the Hcrnld was
entitled to it, or its reporter or reporters, or
anybody else, why Mr. Strasburger was still
clear-lieaded enough to recognize in that, a
question sufiicientlv tangled to exhaust the
thirty thousand dollars themselves vcir
readily, once the solution were so intmsteu.
But if the Herald really hail jumped at the
name oi the murderer from overhearing the
st-ancu in Mr. Gloster's room, that seance
having been brought about and paid for by
Mr. Strasburger — then, thought that gentle-
man, the Herald ought to recognize his
claims.

It was really too bad ! The cliain had
almost reachea completion — even to the
salesman in Park & Tilford's who had sold
the oranges to the blonde-haired young man
— to the very number of the non-detonator
with which Paul had fired the fatal shot.
Mr. Strasburger had received his evidence,
and was marching onward to his trinmph.
Ami now, the Herald liad knocked every-
thing in the head — that is to soy, it had
knocked Mr. Straslnirgftr in the head, by
actually putting its finger on the murderer
after whom he was still groping.

At all events, just now the very n&me of
St. Jude's was nauseating to Mr. Strasburg-
er, and he even was desperately indifferent
as to whether Paul Ogden were or were not
hanged.

To tell the truth, one or two private
matters were just now intruding upon Mr.
Strasburger's overtaxed brain, and one or
two phantoms of his own raising were
sharing his pillow of nights. One of these
phantoms took the unkempt form of Job
Pierce. Job, we have seen, had sworn to
take Mr. Strasburger's life. Through some
mistake, he had oeen set at liberty in the
teeth of the district attorney's stipulation,
and Mr. Strasburger's valuable life was un-
doubtedly, therefore, more or less in
jeopardv. Although he liad rarely ever
shown fear, however much, at times, he may

ST. JUDP/S ASSISTANT.

103

have felt it, Mr. Straaburger, ihe detective,
really did fear Job Pierce in his heart, and,
bad any observer been present when he aat
late in his office of nignts, he would have
notioed that the detective'b arm-chair was
habitually drawn nearer than eaer to the
little ivory kaot) i<. the table, wliose pressure
•ummoned Doyle. The second personal
matter which troubled Mr. Strasburger, was
the story of Mara O^den, of which he had
first hewd certain particulars from garrulous
Mrs. Melden, an«l of which, possibly, he had
read certain mysterious elalrarations in the
newspapers. The larceny of Mara's diamond
engagement ring, seem^ .. somehow, in Mr.
StrasDurger'u mind, to cuu. ' her with Job
Pierce and witii himself. He had
determined, therefore, to use hia
influence to aecure the ring, as a meauB
for securing an mterview with Mara.

When property is stolen in New
York, the police force, and its pe-
ooliar nature . with thieves, can pretty
mrely conclude through whose hands that
property is lil^ely to pass, and, as a rule,
can recover it. There is a well authenti-
cated story of a certain Judge whose pocket
was relieved upon a street car of a valuable
watch. On mentioning his loss to Police
Superintendent Jourdan, that gentlemanly
official remarked, ' Oh, they didn't know it
wa" you, Judge, or they never would have
taken it from you. I'll send it up to you
to-morrow ! ' and, sure enough, on the
morrow tiie Judge received his watch. So
Mr. Strasburger determined to secure the
ring without delay.

We haVe had occasion to mention Mr.
Blau of Baxter Street. Now, Mr. Blau, in
addition to his functions of ancillary to the
Jimmerson Establishment, was proprietor of
a ' Road Outfitting Estalilishment, ' (which
is nothing more or less than a tramp's
fiiriishing store) — on that savoury thorough-
fare — a place where the pedestrians, of
w^om small villages at this time stood in so
much dread, purchased coats sufBciently
misshapen, ana hats sufficiently battered,
for their purpose. Mr. Blau dealt, besides,
in various minor articles for the use of these
gentlemen x>f the highway. Shaving
materials for the tramps who shaved, he
condensed into the dimensions of a vest
pocket ; gridirons, or toasting forks for
tramps who broiled or toasted the products
of the field, to which they helped them-
selves, he furnished in all sizes ; skeleton
padlock keys, by which th^ tramps picked
the locks of freight cars by night— when
they wished to ride— all these, and a hun-
dred other thing)!, Mr. Blau kept on hand.
Of cocrse Mr. Blau was a ' fence, ' that is, a

receiver of stolon goods. All t!iu tr.ul«tsnien
on Baxter Strcot are * fences;' as is well un-
derstood. To Mr. Blau, tlierufore — huing a
ser^'ioeable person for the duty of disuovor-
ing it — was confided the task of seuurin^^^
Mara's engagement ring.

It was while Mr. Stnuiburger was engaged
in plans for the return of the ring — which hit
was BO confident of receiving — {personally to
Mara — that he heard, in one breath, of thu
return of Paul Ogden, and of his elopunient
with no less a companion than Mara huruulf.
Here was the very opportunity he sought.
Detectives, of course, would be put on the
fugitives' track. Ordinarily, it would have
seemed like sacrilege to set the eminent Mr.
Strasburger — who was only employed on
capital cases, and only on the most vftal and
important of those — at following a runaway
couple across the country. But he had hm
own object now. He lost no time in securing;
an interview with Mr. Ogden.

Mr. Ogden, of course, desiring nothing
more than that the runaways should be re-
turned to him with as little publicity as
possible, was well pleased to intrust their
re-capture to so shrewd and discreet a person
as Mr. Strasburger.

CHAPTER XXV.

TU£ FUCITIVBS.

Mara had forgotten her plighted troth to
Tom, and had, indeed, followed Paul, Her
faith had been no faith, anl her truth no
truth. Nor was there anything extraordin-
ary in the matter. Women so leave men
every day, and the thing surprises nobody.
When men who have plighted their vows,
leave the women who have received them, we
talk of dishonour, of deceit, and of disgrace.
But when women break theii vows to men,
nobody seems to have expected anything
else. 'O, she's jilted him,' we laugh. No«
body thinks for a moment of blaming the
women. Our only comment is to laugh at
the men. The word ' honour' is never on<:3
mentioned in the case. And isn't this all just
as it should be ? The gender of the word,
honour, is masculine. And, after all, who
can blame the women ? Marriage is the
knell of their reign. The woman who walks
a queen over prostrate hearts, who is flatter-
ed, worshipped, adored — who kills with her
frown and revives with her smile — this
woman knows, that, no sooner shall she
choose one from her thousand, or hundred,
or dozen slaves, to be her lord, than her
power over all is gone. She is a queen no
longer— not even a queen of slaves. Man-iage
is the grave of her ambition, of her con-

10*

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

quests, of her honours, of her spoils, of her
homage, even if, happily, it be not the ^ave
of her love. She must thenceforth either
become the shapeless mother of her lord's
children, and the upper slave of his house-
liold, or lose among women that which she
had already lost among men — her place.
Who can blame her ? Where she nmst barter
80 much pride for so much pain, who can
say that even honour should hold her to her
word?

So, indeed, it had be with Mara. Be-
trothed to Tom, she hau not yet made up
'her mind to give up her beauty, her place in
the ball-room and in society, and settle down
into a commonplace breeder of Tom's sin-
ner'.. She had felt herself, doubtless, grow-
ing mcye and more isolated in Tom's com-
pany— or rather, wo should say, less and less
sought for — out of it. But she had never
quite made up her mind to be his wife, and
to yield to him, and him alone, her whole
heart and person.

When a woman is engaged, as a rule men
leave her. Accustomed to feel the want, as
most women do, of men's society, she is
driven to the socioty of htr bctrotlied, and
if he does not disgust her, she gets to long
for the reality-.-f yr that for which an en-
gagement is only an apology — for marriage.
An engagement, therefore, is a good thing ;
far it is bound to do either one or the other
— either to disgust the girl in timt, and be-
fore it is too late, or to infatuate her judici-
ously. And in time, no doubt, Mara would
have been ready to marry Tom had not Paul
appeared. But when he did appear — he, the
man of whom she had dreamed in her slum-
ber, and seen in the night watches — he, the
great first love of her warm, passionate heart
— she thought of nothing more. She was
his slave. She asked no troth — no faith —
no wedding ring — nothing but his strong
arms to fold her, and his rough lips to press
her own. And so she followed him, happier
to be his creature — if he willed it so— tluxn
to be the wife of the man who loved her
better than his own life !

And is there anything improbable, or un-
usual in her conduct, reader ? Not at all.
Did not Constance do the

,iij

same — forf eiti ng

n *~to be his slave

All here, and all beyond Uie gravel'

Do not women every day leave men who
worship them, in purity and honesty, for
libertines, who value them only as play-
things? Yes, and they will until the end of
time, and nothing will stop them. So we
might as well make the best of it. Women
are the only created things that don't know
— and what's more, that don't care to know

— their own friends. Talk of love — passion
the devotion, the worship and homage of a
life. What do they care ? Bah ! the extr.i
curl of an eighth of an inch on the end of a
moustache, or a handful of extra padding i i
a dress coat, will outweigh all that witli :\
woman, a thousand times ! ^

While Mr. Ogden and Mr. Greatorex wer-
discussing, well into the small hours, at
Malcolm, the defence to be opposed to Paul's

Erosecution,Paul himself had noiselessly left
is bed, dressin;::; himself, packed his valise,
and met Mara on the landing of the stairway
outside his door. She had her own small
satchel in one hand and a strapped shawl in
the other. They had found no difficulty in
leaving the house, or in taking many of thi;
owl trains that run drovers and market nioii
into New York, where they had Vjreakfastcd
at an obscure hotel on West Street, M'hicli
was open at that hour, thence being ilriven
to the Grand Central Station, in time for the
early Montreal Express.

Paul had spent the first twenty years or 90
of his life in more or less desultoiy travel,
until it might almost be said that he knew
every route on two continents by heart.
Moreover, mad as his uncle might believe
him, he had a strong method in his mad-
ness, and was well aware that he
was.M'hile breaking one law, fleeing from the
consequence of of another previously broken.
Pursuing, then, his own pohoy at Albany, Paul
and Mara left the Montreal train and took thu
Western Railway (as it is called in Boston, or the
Boston and Albany as it is known in New York
State), first purchasing tickets at the Albany
station, only for as far as Springfield. .At
Springfield he had time, wliile the traia
stopped, to procure tickets for Boston : and
this plan of purchasing no through ticket ,
but of misleading pursuit, by setting it
adrift in as many towns and termini as pos-
sible, he in fact, steadi'y pursued. At Bo. -
ton the fugitives took supper at the Revere
House. They were thence driven to the
Eastern Railway Station, whence they em-
barked on the night express for Portland,
arriving at that lovely city early the next
morning.

From Portland there are two frequental
rotates to Halifax, one by steamer direct, a
trip which occupies about eighteen hours,
and the other by rail, via Bangor, St. John'.s,
New Brunswick, and steamer across the Bay
of Fundy to Bigby, and so to Windsor and
Halifax. Of course i'aul was aware that, iu
these telegrapljic days, his pursuit had al-
ready commenced. In truth, at the very in-
stant that he arrived at Portland, the fact of
his having purchased tickets from Albany to
Spriuglield, and actually diverted himself

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

la*^

jfrom his course to Montreal, had just been
<1eveloped, although not until ever]' hotel in
Mjutreal had ) e ;n ransacked, and the tele-
^■aph between tliat city and New York been
111 requisition for at least twelve hours. It
being, therefore, Paul's policy, whenever'
pursuing one route, to suggest that he had
taken another, he accordingly secured tickets
to Halifax by steamer, from thence^ by rail
to Pictou, and thence, by steamer agam, to
Quebec and the Saguenay — at that time a
.route, as now — a favourite with tourists.
Having procured two through tickets for
this trip, he look the rail for 13angor. Now
from Bangor, there stretches a long strag-
gling line of railway, known by the ambitious
■ title of ' The European ami North American
Railway.' This European and North Ameri-
can Railway, however, being named on that
lucus a non lucendo principle not uncommon
in the United States, it is perhaps unneces-
sary to say, il does not connect those two
continents. What it does do, is to struggle
through a seemingly interminable pine forest,
with saw-mills for stivtions, and black bears
and wild deer for residents, until it termi-
nates at nowhere ; that is to say, at a point
opposite the town of St. John's in New
Brunswick — a town containing nothing in
particular except an excellent hotel, the
victoria, a ramshackle and a precarious
steamer, which runs or rather rattles across
the Bay of Fundy into the Gu)'' of Digby,
And so through that strait, to t!.3 village of
AnnapoUs, Nova Seotia. From Annapolis
the tourist proceeds through the Acadian
country, made poetic by Longfellow, and
sacred forever to the shades and sorrows of
Evangeline ; in sight of the angry Blomedon,
along the edge of the Basin of Minas (now
prosified into 'Mine's Bay,') and actucilly
through the sweet little village of Grand
Pre itself. The very locomotive en-
j^nes that drag one aro named, from the
poem, ' Evangeline,^ and ' Gabriel, ' and
' Basil ;' allxjit they only succeed in
•Iragtjing him to the forsaken little town of
Windsor, or thence, for two hours or so
jnore, to where the dirty garrison town of
Halifax guards, with its citjidiel, the Atlan-
tic Ocean from rapine and plunder.

Perhaps there is no locality on the western
continent so strongly suggestive of England,
as the Province of ifova lacotia. Especially
does it remindoae of Englandin the conserva-
tive deliberation observed by the inhabitants
in their lives and daily avocations, so notice-
Ably in contrast to that hurry and bust^o
which distingulsk citizens of the Unit d
States. Napoleon the Great was tlie fiibc
European who ever mastered a knowledge of
the value of time ; but Napoleon is dead.and

since him few Europeans have absorbed this
comprehension. And, as in England and on
the continent, so, as a rule, in her Majesty's
possessions on this side of the Atlantic, but
chiefly in Nova Scotia, one sees people mov-
ing leisurely and philosophically along, as if
every day they lived was a part and parcel
of their lives, to be enjoyed or lost. And
we are not to be understood as saying that
they are wrong.

Now Paul happened to know that when a
Nova Scotian starts to go by rail from Anna-
polis to Halifax, he stops over at \\'indsi)r,
to break the journey, and to put up for tlic
night. This, indeed, is actually the same
thing as stopping at Poughkeepsie to Ijreak
the journey between Albany and New York;
but what wouldbe absurdest in one of us. un-
der given circumstances, is to do precisely
the thing you may count upon an English-
man doing under those i(tentical circum-
stances. Paul, therefore, calculated that his
presence in Windsor would attract very little
attention from the villagers, while the in.'^i^-
niiicance of the village itself, would make it
one of the places in the world to /Inch his
pursuers would turn their scrutiny.

In all this proceeding, Paul was acting the
part of a liliertiue, and he knew it. He
cared for Mara, indeed, but it was for her
youth and beauty, for herself. He had
counted upon the enjoyment of her society
for afm-tnii/ht, as we shall presently see.
Beyond that, he had no plans, either for him-
self or for her — for this world or the next.
The jackals of justice were on his track — and
he was ready for them. But he would elude
them as long as possible. He would fool
them to the top of their bent. They would
come up With him at last, but only when he
was beyond their reach.

As for Mara, she was in heaven. The
dieam of her life, Paul's love, was hers in its
fulness. If she could, she would not havt
looked beyond the bliss of the present, wiiicu
w".s wholly hers, witli the Future which god
or devil might be brewing for her ips. She
was perfectly satisfied witli, and happy in
her Present. Paul was hers alone, anil, ivs
the old Bohemian life of her girlhood — the
Bohemia she had sucked in with her mo-
ther's milk — came back to her, she welcom-
ed it with Jhe zest <Sf old-time acquaintance-
ship.

Paul, for a madman and a murderer, we
must admit, had laid his plans well. At
Portland he had purchased nis ticket for
Augusta ; pt Augusta for Bangor, and at
Rangor f 't. John's. At St. John's he
hadliroken t!>e scent by water — that is to
say, he had waited until the boat had left
the dock and Avas well on to the bay, before

106

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

buying his ticket for Annapolis, and then
had asked Mara to present herself at the
office, and herself go through the formalities
of the purchase. At Annapolis, he had
bought tickets through to Halifax. At
Halifarx, as we have seen, he mightbealready
expected by steamer ; but suffice it .to say,
at Halifax he never intended to appear at all.

But unfortunately for the fugitives, if
Paul was shrewd, Mr. Strasburger was
shrewder. It will be remembered that he
had once before followed in Paul's footsteps
on paper. He felt, therefore, all the more
master of his prey, and familiar with his
subterfuges, now that he was following
them with actual pursuit. In the ruse of
purchasing tickets to Montreal, embarking
upon a through train for that city, to sub-
sequently abandon it for an utterly different
destination, he saw but a repetition of the
old games he knew so well. So knowing his
opponent's game, and his opponent's style of
playing it, he had nothing to do but to
watch and be wary.

And, wise as Paul was, his wisdom, after
all, was only the wisdom of the fox when
chased by hounds, or the door-step pilferer
when chased by a patrolman. It was
only a clumsy expedient this doubliag on
one's track.

Mr. Strasburger felt sure that Paul
would do one of twothini^s ; either that he
would re-appear in New \ ork, or, crossing
the borders, take refuge in the dominions of
her recent majesty the E.npress of India.
In either case he was a prisoner, and his in-
carceration only a question of time.
Leaving his subordinates to scrutinize every
railway station and steamship landing by
which an entrance to the city could be effect-
ed, Mr. Strasburger went himself, with only
Doyle as an escort, to scour Canada and the
Provinces.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MORE sao. '■. •

■■■< ,i'ts:

The little hotel in Wind or, called the
Alexandra, is a quite unpretentious brick
building, opening erectly from the street.
On the ground floor is a dining-room and a
cosy parlour, while the second storey is divid-
ed into guest rooms, ample in size, but few
in number. Directly in the rear, but a few
feet distant, runs the track of the Windsor
and Annapolis railway, by which the fugitives
had come from Annapolis. Paul and Mara
occupied a rear room in the second storey,
whose two windows looking out over the
railway track, commanded a straggling little
morsel of the town, and some patches of
iireen field beyond.

One afternoon, Paul had been away longer
than usual, and Mara was growing ennuied
and impatient. She had read all her novels
and filled out all her fancy work, and there
was nothing more to do. She was wonder-
ing how she should manage to survive until
Paul came, when she remembered that, ia
one of her windows, a previous occupant had
left a small box of geranium ; and so Mara,
{ for want of something else to do, determlneil
! to water this poor, lonesome plant, and took
a water-decanter from the taole and opened
the window to do so. Just at that momeirt
tlie noon train from Annapolis, slowing up
for Windsor station, passed by, and Mara
raised her eyes. It was an ordinary train of
three rather seedy coaches, each with more
room than passengers inside. She stood
there, however, but an instant, for presently
Paul entered the apartment, when Mara
slammed the window and ran ^ kiss him.

But Paul pushed away her arms, and did
not retui-n her kisses, as was his wont.

' Paul, Paul, what is the matter ? ' she
cried ; and she now noticed for the first time
that his face was very white.

He did not speak, but passed, alhiost stag-
gered, to the sofa, and sat down heavily up-
on it.

Mara rushed up to him, and sitting at his
aide, put her small hand on his brow.

' Paul ! Paul I what is the matter? ' she
said again.

' Mara, ' he said, as if not heeding the
question, 'I hope you never speak out loud
in this room. '

' Why, Paul ? '

' Because, ' said Paul, • the walla of this
are double, and between them men are se-
creted night and day. They live there, and
eat tliere, and sleep there — there are six, and
two of them are always listening to what we
are saying ! Listen ! '

Mara threw her arms around Paul's neck.
' Paul ! Paul !' cried she, ' what is the mat-
ter ? You are not well !'

And, indeed, his eyes were rolling wildly,^
and his breath came and went fitfully. Mara
tore oi^eu his collar, opened his shirt and
bared his breast. Then she placed her
hand again upon his brow. It was as hot as
fire.

' Mara,' said he, 'do yon remember the
little shop on the RueChoiseul? It's a
little poison shop. The fellow who keeps it
is a friend of mine. I used to call him
Ligny. "Ligny," said I to him, one day,
" you've all sorts of poison here?" "Yes,,
Monsieur," says he — " all sorts — instantan-
eous—three hours — twelve hours — two days
— two months — two years ; anything you re-
quire." " Ligny, " says I, "can you giva

ST, JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

107

me a poison tbat will work in a month ?"
"AVithout doubt, Monsieur," says lie.
'* Li^y, " says I — stop ! don't you hear the
men m the waY ? I must Speak lower. '

' " Ligny, " says I, " give me a poison that
will work in one month. Mind now, it must
make nie stone dead in one month. " '* Come
in three ilays, Monsieur," says Ligny, "and
Monsieur shall have what he wishes. Only,
if Monsieur pleases, he must bring one thou-
sand francs. "Too much," says I. "I
will gfve you eight hundi#;d." Well, Mara
— Oh, how I sliall cheat those men in the
wall ! — Do you know mv month is up to-
day ?'

' What are you saying, Paul ? Are you
drean»ing? Oh, Paul, Pai«l^! don't you
know me, my darling?' And the great drops
stood in Mara's eyes, for Paul no longer re-
garded her.

' Ah, my brave Ligny, ' Paul went on,
* you are prompt — you are reliable. Just to
think. I took your little drops at Bingen,
and here they set me fi'ee in this room —
from the men in the wall. '

At this moment there was a rap on the
door.

' Do you hear them ?* cried Paul. ' Did I
not tell you they were there ? Let them
in ! Let tliem in ! Open the wall, and let
them iu !'

Now, when Paul had entered the room a
few minutes before, he had left the door un-
locked, and there was hardly a pause be-
tween the knock, which had only been given
as a sort of announcement, and the openinc
of the door. Mr. Stnisburger now appeared,
followed closely by Mr. Doyle, just in time
to see Paul fall back upon the sofa,
Mara, kneeling at his side, trying to
his head upon the pillow.

But the detective did not hesitate,
proachiiig Paul's prostrate form, with
one keen glance at Mara, who seemed
conscious of the intrusion, he said,
raised voice, ' Mr. Paul Ogden, I arrest you
for the murder of George Brand, in the
city of New York, two years and nine months
ago.'

Then he nodded to Doyle, who had drawn
a pair of handcuffs from beneath his coat,
and -now advanced to place them on Pauls
wrists.

The touch of the cold iron awakened Paul
from the paralysis that was steahng over
liini. He drew himself up violently, brusli-
ing Mara aside, and starin:^' at her pur-
suers. ' Too late, too late I' he laughed,
' too late ! I don't need them ! I killed
him — thank God ! I killed him. I put
out Ills damned black eyes. My God I
Olive'—

and
raise

An-

only

un-

in a

And so, with the name of his God and
the girl he had loved better th.-xn life, or
home, or hope, last upon liis lips, he fell
back upon tlie sofa — and all was over. His
head dropped, his eyes glared for an ins'a it
and Lhen their light went out forever.

Yes, all was over. He had given up the
trouble ghost that life had been to him.
Tnere lay the pale clay in which that
mysterious breath we call Life had quick-
ened, and moved, and sufTered, and gone
out 1 The tragedy was over. All was
peace at last, in that bosom, where bad
spirits had fought together, where love had
madaened to misery and crime, and whose
mortal agony death alone had quenched.

There are many ways of looking at sui-
cide. Many say that, since life is a mere
voluntary gift to man from his Creator —
not delivered as the result of any contract
on the part of the creature, that he will
retain it until it is called for, not even de-
manded or asked or sought by the creatuie
— he breaks no law and ruptures no con-
tract by refusing longer to be a trustee for
the thing he must one day or other surrend-
er, and by abruptly returning his life to its
giver. Still others urge, that, as it is no
sin to call in a physician to relieve one of an
unendurable disease sent by Providence,
neither is it sin to call in Death, the great-
est of Physicians, to relieve one of a life lie-
come — through poverty, or sin, or pain —
unendurable and insupportable. To the
argument of the gift, it is answered that one
cannot misuse even a gift, if one deter-
mine to return it : that, unless he can give
it back precisely as he received it, he can-
not give it back at all ; and that as one can-
not return to his Maker that unblemished,
pure and innocent life he received, he can-
not return it at all. To the other ar^'ii-
ment there are two answers. Thely-st an-
swer is the Sixth Commandment, the other
is the grand answer of the Stoic : Man,
said the Stoic, * is a sentinel at his post.
The storms may come, the rain may dash,
the winds beat upon the man, the enemy
may harass him and make him afraid. But,
whatever discomfort or peril surround him,
he is still a sentinel at his post, and he can-
not go until relieved. He is a soldier wiio
cannot move without orders. '

And so it is we talk of honour, but lion-
our is only duty — obedience to aiithoritv •
and whJitevcr mere piiysical or moral cour-
age there may be m the act of suicide,
doubtless the grand answer of the Stoic is
the offset to it all. iStill we must remember
tliat there was a time when suicide was a
seed of the Church — although it has since
been called martyrdom — and — although in.

■103

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

these tlays, the wretch who, to save those
dear and near to him the burden of
his support, or the shame of his
lixecution, lays violent hands on himself,
metes no praise at our lips — M-e are told in
Holy Writ that * greater love hath no man
thiin this, that a man lay down his life ior his
fr.end.'

But, at any rate, right or wrong, Paul
Ogdeu had a second time taken life, and he
h;id left his post. Mr. Oj,'deu and Mr.
(ircatorex need deliberAte no longer as to
his defence, for he had gone to a Bar at
which they did not practise, and where they
sliould stand, not as counsel, but in the dock
with him.

Ah, well, it matters very little. We die
when our knell sounds — whose ever the
hand that strikes the blow. As for the
•load man, he had worked out his destiny.
His hour had come, and his shades had re-
leased him from tlie burden of life, as they
will rel.aae us from ours, reader, when we
shall have done that whicli — from before
tlie foundation of the world — it was appoint-
ed us to do.

There is in the gallery of the Belvidere, at
Vieniiii, a picture painted by Giorgione. A
yciuiig man in tl»e flush and exuberance of
lii*; manhood, ci owned with vine-leaves, lifts
to his lips, which are wreathed in smiles, a
glittering goblet. Behind his figure, glow-
ing with "all the power of the Venetiivn
peiicil at its best, we gradually discern in
the dim and misty backgronnil tlie shadowy
outlines of a dark and evil face, glowing
witli concentrated passion, and the gleam of
a dagger raised ni act to strike. And so,
behind each one of us stands Fate — inexor-
able, resistless, impLicable. If it is written
tiiat we die by the dagger, that dagger is
ivlready drawn — or if it be that a thunder-
bolt sj^all overtake us, that bolt is in wait-
iag, ready for its spring. Until that, the
i.ppointed hour comes, as it is written in the
Apocalypse, shall men seek death and shall
n t tind it, and shall desire to die and death
shall flee from them. For until our hour
shall come, shall the book of our life be
closed.

Let us not ascribe to Olive, poor simple
child, the blood of the two strong men who
have died for her. Two strong men the less
wore in the world : that was the net result
of her striving to be a, missionary and a
teacher of God's truth, and to do some good
in the world ! It was better for them,
cloubtless. Better out of such a world as
this than in it. Perliaps that is good work
she had done — who can tell ?

There is something in the presence of the
hi^t great potentate that no other presence

can bring. The room is full of a great
mystery, an awful unknown, that awes all
living things to silence.

The child we raise to look for the last
time upon its mother's face, does not know
what death is. Neither do we. We know
around the faintest star what larger worlds
than ours are k-olliug : we understand the
hiitory of the azoic rocks, and the swarming
F<ystems of palentologic life ; but we don't
know that.

.A.nd before this awful mystery even
the majesty of ^he law stood frozen into
marble. The two stern men stood still and
motionless. Mr. Strasburger bowed his un-
covered head, and even his brutal attend-
ant took his hat from off his beetled brows.
The chilled form of the man they had come
so far to seek was within their reach now,
but they cared not to touch it. Justice con-
fronted its prey, but did not secure it. Paul
Ogden had owed a great debt to justice, but
he had owed a still greater elsewhere ;
and in paying the greater, there was no
remnant for the lesser creditor.

Upon her knees, beside the ^ dead man,
Mara knelt, but her breast was on his breast
- -against his dead heart her living heait was
beating, loud and fast — and from her living
face, upon his dead face her hot tears were
falling. And there let us leave her, for who
shall disturb the vigil of the broken-hearted
over the dead^ Alone with her sin ; but
alone, too, with her love, which was greater
than her sin. As perfect love casteth out
fear, so let us hope — in her — that perfect
love hath cast out sin. Surely the angels in
heaven look tenderly down upon the sins of
too much love. For is it not love that
heaven is built of ? Surely no hand of man
can cast a stone at her. Will any hand of
woman ? Let us leave her there, alone with
her love, with her siu, and — greatest of all
— like the woman in the gospel, alone with
her Saviour,

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE SHADOW OF THE GIBBET.

Again Mr. Strasburger sits in his ropm at
Headquarters, with the knob at his elbow,
and again it is midnight. Ten daysliave
elapsed since his appearance at Windsor.
Mara is at Malcolm once more — over the
grave of the suicide the sun has risen and set
seven times ; and, altogether, our Mr.
Strasburger is in a happier frame of mind
than he has been for many months past. In
his first pursuit of Paul he had been outrun;
in his second he had lost no time. If he had

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

109'

not bagged liis bird, at least he had been in
at the 'leuth.

All Paul's finesse and forethought had
amounted to nothing, in his second race with
justice, as in his fiiHt. Indeed, it may well
bo questioned, in these days of steam and
electricity, whether a crime whose object
can only be obtained by success m eluding
justice, pays nobody, except policemen. It
18 surely very little worth the while of an
able-bodied man, to whom modei
appliances and inventions afford so
many channels of success, to deliberately
jirray against his mere human strength all
thefie engines— in the hands of tJiat greatest
engine of all — the Law.

We have seen that Mr. Strasburger had
assigned to himself the tracking of Paul in
the Queen's Domiaions. Now the Queen's
Dominions on this North American continent
consist principally in swamps, forests, dreary
wastes of badly cleared or burnt over
couutiy, and log shanties. With the ex-
ception of five towns — Montreal, Halifax,
St. Johns, Toronto, Quebec, or at the most
say seven (to include Ottawa and Hamilton)
— the gallow or a state prison would be
delightful alternatives to her Majesty's
Dominions ; and very little scrutiny, be-
yond those town, was necessary in hunting
up fugitives.

After Montreal had been pretty thoroua[h-
ly ransacked by Mr. Strasburger's direc-
tions, he had comprehended at once the
devious route by which tho culprits were
undertaking to reach the Jjorder, and had
found no difficulty in tracing them as far as
Portland. Here he had been misleil by the
false scent, and gone to Halifax by steamer ;
tio that, while Paul and Mara were living
in retirement at Windsor, their pursuers
were actually in consultatioh with the Hali-
fax police.

There are two ' best ' hotels in Halifax,
and at whichevpr a <;uest puts up, he will
devoutly regret he hadnot chosfu the other.
At one of these — we will forbear mentioning
either — Mr. Strasburger had, however, re-
ceived a telegram — in cipher — stating that
another telegram awaited liim at the other.
On opening the latter telegram — which was
also m cipher — he learned that Paul and
Mara liacl been traced to Bangor in Maine,
and, therefore, had not gone to Halifax at
all. Cursing Paul for a troublesome bird,
Mr. Strasburger ha<l abandoned the search
in Halifax before it was well underway, had
takcm a ticket back to Portland by rail, and

f)assed directly under Paul's wndow at his
lotol in Windsor. Arrived at St. John's, he
found further telegrams whicli crtnvinced
iiim that the fugitives were or had been in

that town, and he and Doyle, assisted as
before by tb.e authorities, gave St. John's a^
pretty thoiough overhauhng. The Di*l)y
steamer happening to be in port, however,
Mr. Strasburger Tiad ascertained from her
clerk that, on a certain day, a very slight,
dark-eyed and dark-complexioned girl,
stylishly dressed, had purchased two tickets
for Halifax on board ; and, certain that the
girl was Mara heraelf, and cursing his own
stupidity, but Ixjginning to admire Paul as
a puiyer of nerve and spirit, whose game
even lie (Mr. Strasbuige^) liad not fully
appreciated, he set out again for H'-li^^x
detonnined, this time, to scour it frr m cell, r
to citadel.

Tlie run to Digby, on tY a rattling
little pepper-box of a steainboac had been
particularly stupid to Mr. Strasburger —
being altogether through a thick fog. Be-
sides, Doyle was no company to speak of, and
Mr. Strasburger had been lonely. On taking
the train at Annapolis, he had doubled him-
self up on a seat on the left hand side of the
car, and gone pretty soundly to sleep. \\'hile
asleep, Mr. Straslnirger had a dream, which
was partlyaretrospection and partly a vi^jion.
His thoughts, in slioil;, had travelled back to
a period some twenty years before — when a
young man and very poor — in a garret rooii",
in a poverty-stricken tenement quarter of
New York city, he had lived witii a dark-
eyed, brown-cheeked gypsey girl, the only
love that had ever come to hi^ solitary life.
He saw the garret very plainly ; he remem-
bered the sliabby furniture and the one small
window, with its box of geranium, which
Celie used to watch and water so carefully.

As is not altogether unusual in dreams,
this vision seemed to mix itself up with a
consciousness that he was dreaming while on
a train of cars, rushing to his destinatirn.
So mixed up was this consciousness and t'.iis
vision, that, all at once, he dreamed tliat
Celie passed out of the garret window, over
the roof of the house, and over the train of
cars in which he was travelling, and floated
in the air, just in front and above the engine,
which was dragging the train. He watched
lier for a long time, floating along, just ahead
of the engine, with her eyes tixed on his own,
until, all at once, she seemed to leave the
track and pass into a window of a house near
it, where sne seemed again to be watering a
geranium in a box.'

Just then the wheels of the car in which
he was dreaming, caught the break, and be-
gan to rumble over a long wooden bridge,
which hapjfcned to be just out of the station
of Windsor. The clnnge in the din of the
wheels awoke him ; and he was rulibing his
eyes and looking out of the car window,.

110

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

when, all of a sudden, the girl of liis dream
was actually looking at him, out of a win-
.<low, M'here she was watering a box of ger-
manium. He was wide awake, this time, at
• any. rate ; there was no clairvoyance about
tins vision. Mr. Strasburger could dream
•when he had nothing else to do, but when
lie war? awake, he never dreamed ; and, con-
"vinced that he had seen Mara Ogden, and
tliat he would surely find Paul at her side,
he alighted with the callow Doyle at his
lieels, at Windsor Station, and let the train
.,go on to Halifax without him. And so it is
with all detective pursuits. Veterans will
assure you that in their profession, as in
levery other, success is the reward of labour ;
that no search yet was ever successful
through tlie mere performance of certtiin
foreseen steps ; but that, on the contrary,
the foreseen steps are relied upon, invariably,
:to develope other and surer clues.

So confident was Mr. Strasburger, that,

'before leaving the station, he telegraphed to

Mr. Ogden that the fugitives were found,

and would be detained at Windsor, until his

arrival.

Mr. Ogden had arrived soon after the tra-
gedy with which we are already familiar, and
iiiid brought back to Malcolm, in silence and
disgrace, his adopted daughter and tlie body
- of her paramour, his nephew.

On this particular evening, Mr. Strasburger,
as we have said, sits alone, as usual. But
he has just done something very unusual
'with him. He has just finished writing —
for the first time in his life — a long letter.
He has just taken from his vest pocket the
plain gohl ring which we have seen him
ol)tain from Jimmerson the pawnbroker ;
folded it up in the letter he has written, and
is looking about for an envelope. He does
not find one on his table or in his portfolio,
but he knows where there are some, so he
Jays the letter in which the ring is contained
upon the table, and rises to go to the op-
posite side of the room, where a case of
pigeon holes stands against the wall. In so
doing he must pass beyond reach of theknob
whose pressure summons Doyle. We have
seen tliat the detective has grown very
cautious of late. He is getting old— and, <is
one grows older, one does not grow bolder.
(Jertain signs in the air, certain omens there
have been of late for Mr. Strasburger, and
the man who has caused the gibbet to bear
such ample fruit, sometimes himself feels
as if the shadow of that one-limbed tree
hovered over himself continually.

To-night, in particular, he seetns restless
and disconcerted. Tlie loneliness of his
room — so grateful to him of old — seems to
oppress him. He is of half a min' to press

the knob and summon Doyle, if oiily for
company. If there were a fire in the g/ato,
now Mr. Strasburger thin ts, the room would
be less lonely ; a fire he had always found as
good as a friend, in a room at night. But
although autumn is wanint;, it is not yet
C3ol enough for fires. Bah ! how sru.bre the
room is ! How quiet everything is about ! If
houses are ever haunted, what a place for a
haunt this Headquarters wouki be ! Not
one, but five thousand ghosts might come
out of those small rooms, and out of
tiiat small court-yard, and from under that
pile of rusty iron in the «orner ! If the
original of every photograph in those big
albums of tlie Rogues' Gallery down stairs,
could only join in the dance, what a ghostly
dance it would be. The ghosts, at least,
would not be lonely ghosts. There would
be a whole household of ghosts, and the
more the mex'rier !

When Mr. Strasburger sits at his table, as
he has been sitting to-niglit, he does not use
gas. He prefers the light of a German
student lamp. But German student lamps,
although they light up pleasantly the page
upon which we write, or from which we reaid
make the rest of the room very gloomy.
Moreover, these German lamps throw sha-
dows. It so happened, that early in the
evening Mr. StrasDurger had sent to the
restaurant across tlie street for a quart of
ale. This ale had been brought to him in a
very old and celebr . >".d pitcher, which be-
longed to Headquai JiTB, having been known
there, as well as any other habitue, for a
dozen years. This pitcher was of pewter,
and of a peculiar make. It had possibly
been captured from some law-breaker — per-
haps it was a Deodand — at any rate it was
tall and slim; and had a sort of
triangular handle, shaped like the two
upper strokes of a letter Z, thus :
7, but the lower stroke had been snapped off,
and so from the top of the pitcher, at pre-
sent, there stood out only the horizontal
arm. Now, this pitcher happened to stand
on a thick blank book just beyond the stu-
dent lamp, on Mr. Strasburger's table ; and
its elongated shadow (whiclii rested on the
pigeon-hole case to whiclr^r. Strasburger
had just proceeded,) in which the arm was
exaggerated and the body of the pitcher nar-
rowed — took a form strangely like a gal-
lows. Even Mr. Strasburger shuddered a
little as he looked at it. He feels a pre-
monition of something fatal this evening, so
he secures the envelopes he wants, and
turns to replace himself at his chair by the
knob.

Ah ! Mr. Strasburger you have strayed too
far away from that knob 1 For, as you

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Ill

tnrii, from out beneath the shadow of that
gallows a man's fonn is seen to j^Iide. The
man holds in his hand a long thin ntrip ut
steel, like tixe blade of a sword cane ; and,
Avith this knife, this man darts a blow at ^f r.
SStrasburger's back, an<l it enters Letwe* u
the shoulder blades in a downward direc-
tion. When the detective 's body was found
lying on its face next morning, it was dis-
ijovered that a lirk hnd entered his heart
•from behind, and, that abruit two inches of
its point had broken off aid remained in the
wound. The remainder was found, coloured
with blood, on the caqiet where it had l>een
t'lrown. It is the fatal peculiarity of these
dirk wounds, that they bleed inwardly — so
that nothing else in the room, except the
■dirk, was bloody. Before the man who had
thrust the dirk withdrew from the room, he'
possessed himself of the letter the detective
had written in his last hours, in which the
plain gold ring liP ; been folded. He took
'nothing else, howe\ '>r, but stole safely away.

CHAPTER XXVUI.

■MR. STIUgBURGEB's LAST LETTER.

That — in 'his life — Mr. Strasburger's
■epistolary efforts were few and far from
'.jiilliant, we have ha<l several occasions, in
the progress oftthis history, to feel convinced.
On that last night of his life, he surprised
Jiiiiist'lf, and exceeded the best his friends
•could have expected. This we are enabled
to judge competently, for the identical
letter we have. seen him engaged in writing,
in the solitude of his own chambisr, and in
■which we have seen him enclose a plain
gold ring, 'foand its way mysteriously, that
same night, to Mr. Ogden's office in .Tauncey
■Court. At least Mr. Ogden discovered it
there, on the table of his own personal inner
offlce, the next morning ; possessing him-
self oi its contents thereafter, while as yet
unaware that its wnter was lying stark and
oold, at Headquarters. When Mr. Ogden
opened it, however, he discovered, not the
plain gold ring which Mr. Strasburger had
enclosed to him, but a slight hoop cf gold,
upon which was set a white diamond. If
Mr. Ogden had not at once recognized it as
Mara's engagement ring, the inscription
'T. F. to M. 0., December 6th, 18— ,'
would have indentified it. This pheno-
menon we will allow the letter itself to ex-
plain. It ran as follows :

Headquarters.
' Mr. Ogdes —

Sir : I feel it my duty to write you this
vloiig letter. I write it, iust d of telUug

you its contents by word of mouth, Icoause
first, I might not easilj' find you dis-
engaged long enough to 1. sar it all. And
secondly, and I must admit principally,
because it is well that you should have a
statement signed bv my name (and sworn to
if you wish), to tfie facts contained 1)elow.
These facts concern one who is at present an
inmat/e of your family ; and to narrate them.
I must go back twenty-one years or so,
and trouble you with a part of the story of
my own life.

' Twenty-one years ago, I, John Stras,-
burger, at that ♦'ime in no employment or
hope of employm n\t, but twenty-one years
old, and in the vigo;:v of youth, was living
in a garret on what i:< now known as East
Broadway, in thia city. I had no money to
speak of, and sometimes was very much

Sressed for food. Many a night in those
ays I have gone hungry to bed and fallen
asleep, wondering wiiere my breakfast was
coming from, the next morning. One of
these hungi-y nights of mine, I met a friend
who gave me a tioket to the old Bowery Theatre
and thinking that, could I manage to 1.)ecome
interested in the play, I might forget the
pangs of hunger, I tiglitened my ve«t strap,
buttoned my coat around me, and found a
seat in the pit, ((uite near the stage. I don't
remember the play, but toward tlie close, in
the midst of a ballet, I discovered suddenly
that one of the girls composing it had her
eyes fixed upon my face. Pretending not to
notice her gaze I watched her under the rim
of my hat. Slie never took her eyes off me.
So at last I looked full at her; She nodded,
and made signs that I should see her again
that evening. Wlien she came on again, the
last time that evening, she managed to throw
me a scrap of paper, which told me that im-
n>ediately after slie went off", and before the
end of that evening's performance, she would
be at the stage door. There I hurrietl r.ud
mtt her. I recall vividly the grasp she gave
my liand, and my surprise when, iii.stfad of
relaxing it, she raised it to her lips. Isot to
weary you witli details, I will only say that
I was too faint to respond to her caresses ;
but upon telling her that I was starving, she
bade me follow her to hei* lodgings. She
lived in a garret as well as I — but in her gar-
ret she found me food.

'The friendship we made that night ended
only with her life. We lived together in
good fortune and bad — sometimes luxurious-
ly, but more frecjuently in the most rigid
economy, according as her engagements were
many or few, for hve years.

' The girl's name was Celie, and she was a
married woman. Her husband was a rough
giant of a man, as hairy as an Esau, while she

112

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

was sleiuler and delicate. As I go on with
this letter, yoU will see why it is not neces-
sary foi- me to dcFcribe her further. Her
husband's name wis Job Pierce. He was a
dort of outlaw or tramp, who did no work,
but lived by small tl'fts in M'inter and by
tramping, begginj,', and pilfering in summer.
Celie had been married to him Imt a few
months, when, finding that he could not or
would ifot support her in .any honest way, she
had left him, and by means of her pretty face
and supple figure, ol)tained a position as cory-
pliee or fimirante on the old Bowery stage
wliere I had seen her. Her husband soon
found her out, however, and though unable
to force her to live with him, often visited
her and succeeded in extorting money from
her slender stock. This Job Pierce, upon
dirsoovering his wife's attachment to and re-
1 itiqjis with me, I need not say, was no friend
of mino ; and he kept us in a continual ter-
ror. As to me, he absolutely flogged my
fo jtsteps. I never stirretl into the streets at
niglit l)ut I would see his haggard face at a
o' iiier. But, though he wonld present him-
self to me almost daily, and threaten to take
ni}' life, he never attempted it. In fact,
liis policy seemed to be to keep me in a con-
stant dread, rather than to kill me outright.
But I need never speak — nor did I to Celie
during tlie wliile we lived together — of my
own fear. It was enough that Celie herself
pjiHsed a miserable existence on his ac-
count. Wlienever he could beg or steal
money enough to get into a theatre where
slie was performing, he wouJd manage that
she should see him ; and once she actually
lost her engagement by twice fainiing away
in tlie midst of her parts, at sight of him, on
a single evening. I was powerless in the
matter, and soon came to be as abjectly his
slave as was Celie herself. I began, as well
as Celie, to give him small sums of money,
and once having l)egun, tliere was of course,
no limit to his demands, either in frequency
or amount.

' I cannot say that I ever loved Celie with
t'.e passion she never ceased to show for me;
\int .slio was the only person who ever, in the
ouiso of njy life, seemed to care for me ;
and when she difed — after litjing delivered of
a <huighter, I resolved that if ever, in the
course of my life, I should accumulate any
■wealth, it should belong to that child ; and
tliat at least, as long as I lived, whether I
did or not, Celie's only representative on
earth should want for nothing. I would
make tliis recompense, at least, to the girl
who liad given up everything— even her
virtue — for love of me.

When Celie first came to me, she wore on
tlie ring finger of her left hand, a heavy g(jld

wedding-ring. The first night I ever saw
her, she had put this on my finger instead,
and, to tho day of her death, I wore it there.
After Celie's death, I found an old /oman
who lived ut a little village — half country,
and half suburb of a city — to take the child ;
she to furnish it such nursing as it required,
and to continue to keep it for me. Tiie
place she lived in has since been called Rose-
ville, and is now, I believe, apart of the city
of Newark, New Jersey. This old woman
had two other children, of about the same
age as Celie's child, and partly to indentify
her, in case anything should happen to me,
1 hung Celie's weddmg-ring around itp little
neck. I then made my will, in which I
stated simply that it is my wish that the
child should become my sole representativf-,
"and inherit everything of which I should die
possessed.

• About this time — or it was, I tliink,
al)out two years after the child's birtli — (I
liad called it Celie, after its mother) I beojiine
a patrolman in the Metropolitan police ;
from which position I have been steadily
promoted — and at this moment, I believe
myself to have accumulated, from salary,
rewards, and perquisites, about fifty or sixty
thousand dollars. I have never altered my
will, nor do I intend to, as I shall never
marry. And at my death, I ask you, as a
favour to which I am unentitled at your
bands — but as a favour which, I think, in
view of the circumstances, you will do me
— to see that the child, Celie — or, I belie^e,
she bears another name now — comes into
possession of her own.

' thi one of my visits to the child, aft r
it had Iwen placed in charge of the old
woman in Roseville, as I left the cottagu,
I stumbled upon a man wlio was partially
concealed among some shrubbery near the
door. It was Job Pierce, who had traeUed
me, and, as I infer, discovered the
object of my visits; From that monuiit
something told me that he would eventually
steal the child, in order to regain over mo
the influence which he had lost ; for siuci'
Celie's death, he had never approached me
with accustomed demands for money. I
would have delivered him to the police if ho
had. But I was right in my supposition
that he would begin to play another game.
The next time I went to Roseville, to sc^ the
child, it had disappeared. In short, it had
been stolen, and I Knew who stole it. I had
no clue to work upon ; and although I set the
Jersey police to work, and supervised their
work myself, we never got upon the track
for a mouth. As nobody can possibly km.w
better than yourself, there is no hxilitv in
the country so infested with trampj as that

(

ST. JTTPE'S ASSISTANl.

d, aft.M-
the oil I
cotta>,'i',
Mirtially
lear the
tracked
ed the
monuiit
entually
over II 10
'or sinco
,ched iiu'
oney. 1
lice if ho
)positi<iii
er gaino.

sc" tho
t, it had

I had

1 set the
jed their
he track
ly kiitiw

■)(' ility ill
as that

tract spreading beyond Newark, New Jersoy
— north, south and east — as far na the moun-
tains. It is a tract especially propitious foi
the operations of small pilferers, beggars,
and the large clasf of ragamiirtiiis who live
by frightening women. The reason, of
course, is, that it is covered with residences
of well-to-do and even opulent New Yorkei-s
— men who spend the day in town, leaving,
in most instances, their houses in charge of
the female portion of the househohl — most
of these houses V>eing of frame, with windows
easily accessible from the ground. Besides,
the country ia cut up by iiuiumerable rail-
ways, affording direct avenues for them to
walk from place to place ; and at night, by
concealing themselves in freight or open coal
cars — being entirely inilitferent as to the
particular neighbourhood in which they shall
tind themselves next morning — they are apt,
as a rule, to travel very cheaply. There are
two kinds of tramps in this country — one
the tramp who tramps by himself, or in
droves of men, and the other the tramp who
takes his family. This last is a compara-
tively well-to-do tramp, and often owns a
horse and waggon, which he covers with
cloth, and in whic he sleeps. He usually
has one or more children, besides a v. ..lau
to cook his meals along with him. In the
parlance of this section, these latter tramps,
men, womenandchildren,arecalled 'gypsies. "
' AH over this tract, npon the outskirts
of which Roseville is, we searched carefully ;
and especially among these " gypsies," who
always travel with cliildren. But we never
found the child, or any reliable information
concenting it. At last I gave \vp all imiiie-
<liate hope of find it at all, but turned my
attention to my business in the city. I
never had much of a clue to my child, ex-
cept the gold ring ; but now I had that
alone. I felt pretty sure that Job Pierce,
some day. when he wanted a meal, would
dispose ot that ring ; and so I had my lines
arranged at every pawnshop in the city, to
catch him in that way. The most wonder-
ful thing to me was that Job Pierce should
not have approached me, or communicated
with me in some way, with the view of obtain-
ing many for the child. As he did not, I be-
gan tosuspectthat lie had other motivesin de-
taining it, thani had given him credit for, and
that he, believing that I loved the child, was
revenging himself upon me for its mother.
But, at any rate, not a trace of hii*' did I
obtain. I Years passed on, and the episode
liad passed out of my life — when, one day,
very recently, since I have been employed in
the Brand nmrder case, in fact — I hapijened
to be in the Tombs, and recofriiized my old
enemy, Job Pierce, among the prisons i\:i. I

believe he would have murdered me on the
spot, if a turnkey had not driven him
away.

• l^pon leaving the Tombs, I proceeded at
once to the district-attorney, and asked, as
an especial i.i our to mu, that Job Pierce
should not, in any event, be set at liberty
without consulting me — for once there, I felt
he was safe until T could t'etermine what use
to make of him ; and, to tell the truth, at
that very moment, the Brand murder affair
had become so absorbing, that 1 could find
thought for little else. Through some mis«
take, however, in spite of the stipulation 1
obtained from the district-attorney, he was
set a large ; and the very first thing he did,
upon obtaining his liberty, was to pav/n hin
wife's weddiny-ring — the ring you find en
closed in this letter.

In the course of my investigations concern-
ing the unfortunate circumstances of the
nmrder of Greorge Brand, the young minis-
ter, and of your nephew's confession and
tlight, of course I could not have well avoid-
ed becoming aware of the existence of the
young lady in your household, known aa
Mara Ogden, and of the circumstances at-
tending her a<loption into your family. But,
in reality, I first leai'iicd them long before
the prominent part she took in association
with your nephew's last hours ; and my dis- ■
covery of his hiding-place at Windsor, was
owing to no shrewdness of my own, but
entirely to my conviction that your adopted
daughter, Mara Ogden, was no other than
my natural child. This statement may seem
inexplicable to you, l)ut I will explain by
giving — as I have endeavoured to do solely
in this letter — the simple facts.

' One day, when I was travelling by rail
from St. John's to Halifax, in Nova Scotia,
in search of your nephew, as the train ap-
proached the town of AVindsor, I happened
to look out of the car window, and I saw
what I at first thought v/as a dream ; in
fact I had Ijeen asleep, and dreaming, for
some distance — having lost much sleep the
night before — and my dreams had been ol
the companion of my youth, Celic. As the
train neared the town, 1 awoke ; and when,
as I say, I looked out of the window, who
should I see but Celie herself — in the flesh
— standing at an open window, watering
some flowers in a box. If the event had
not proved that giil to be Mara Ogden,
your ailo))ted d.augiiter, I should have
thought I was becoming a poet or a dreamer
in my old age. I need not tell you more
than to say that I stopped at Windsor, found
the house where I had seen the girl, and, as
you know, came upon the fugitives.

' Mr, Ogden, your adopted daughter is my

114

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

natural child. I leave this fact to be acted
upon aH yuu tliink proper. lam aware that
hur happiness cannot be better preserved
than by leaving her in ignorance of this
truth. Her social position would sink by
my contact, aa it was created by youra.
So far, then, as to any word from my lips,
■he shall know nothing. As I said before —
the facts are in your hands. This is all I
have to say.

John Stbahburobr. '

Immediately )>elow this signature, there
appeared in tite sprawling hand of an ignor-
ant person, tiie following :

•MiSTEK ()(iDEN —

I hev red tiiis, and tliis is truth — every
word of it — an what's more its the last time
as him ill ever have chance to say it. He is
gone to hell now. I got into your house
and stole his brat's diamond ring. But axin
your pardon, I give it back to you in ex-
change for the gold un as was my wife's
weddin ring. I guv it to lier : an I
think — tholain'tno lawyer— as its mine
anyhow.

Job Pikroe.'

Mr. Ogden read this dual communica-
tion, and pondered much. But lie did very
little office work that day, and took ua early
train home to Maleolir.

CHAPTER XXIX.

"'J'^lp QUID KIT DKNIQUB?

I It is customary, at tlie close of a book,
for its author to express the hope that its
readers may find, in its penisal, ut least
half the enjoyment it lias afforded him to
write it — to say that the task has been a
pleasant one, that he has fallen in love
with his own heroine, admires his hero, and,
generally, feels very much at a loss as to
how he sha41 exist withoiit the company
of his own characters. We who have writ-
ten this history, unfortunately, leave with
no such happy thoughts, with no such
fond regrets. Our story was one we did not
core to tell ; and, iiaving told it, we are
glad tx) be rid of the job. Our characters
are horribly vulgar, and distasteful to us ;
but there they were — yn could not make or
unmake — it was out of onr power to turn
one black hair white, or one white hair
black.

With the exception of Mrs. Ogden and
Olive, and Miss Singleton, not one of them
is worth mentioning — they are all sordid.

sellish, evw when tliuy arc not actually iui'
mural and criminal people.

How muob nicer it would have been foi
us, dear lady readers, and how much yoi'
would have enjoyed our* chronicle, if — in
stead of tolling of all this solHshness, an«l
sin, and greed, and crime, we luid sat down,
like Achilles, among tlie serving women, and
given you a delightiul series of cc^nversations !
Ahout how Mara iiad dresses cut a la (Ja-
brielle, with skirts soufl'uiit, li.-ilf fitting with
small pliase ilounces, curHage crossed witli a
folded Bcarf of brown batiste, surmounted
with a lightly drawii pafT twice the deptli of
the flounces ; and how Mrs. Ogden preferred
gauze de chambcry with overdress of tissu
de neige, with plaiting of tuile or crepe liase,
four inches wiffe ; and how Miss Singleton
settled the question by deciding in favour of
plain ciel Hamburg embroideries, en dem
train, of cardinal colour, and all such lovely
tilings ; and al>out public balls at the Aca-
demy, and private balls at Helmonico's, and
card receptions and kettle-chums, and (above
all) weddmgs, and what tliey all wore, and
who danced with who, ami whether it was
the third or fourth time actually, that Miss
Bourgeois (that brazen tiling — you know,)
has worn that ecrue dress of hers !

Or, why shouM it not have Ijeen our Jot to
have written to you of rocks and treei, and
mountains and valleys, and catarnct^ and
sunsets ! Of magnificent, and grand, and
gorgeous, and sublime, and— in short, of
lovely scenery ! Beshrew tlie fate that has
driven us, instead, to soil our pagoa with
pawnbrokers, and tramps, and actually with
murderers ! There is only one unfashion-
able consolation left us. We are forced to
reflect that it is the disagreeable people who
prosper in this life ; it is the noisy creditor
who gets his nu ney.

Paul Ogden — who, as we have already
drawn from the preceding pages, while so-
journing in Europe, iiad never ceased to feel
in peril of justice, and to he prepared for the
time of its overtakiiig him — had procured a
subtle poison, so skilfully prepared, that
upon l>eing received into the stomach, it
would take effect in a month's time. We
have seen that, upon learning from an old
copy of the New York Herald, one evening,
at Bingen on the Riiine, that he was known
to be the perpetrator of the St. Jude's
murder ; and knowing, from the date of the
newspaper, that his pursuers could not b«
far away, he had swallowed the potion, and
almost immediately started for America.
His history, after arriving there, we have
followed, step by step.

When Paul's will was opened — the wiU
which our readers may remember his havina

^^ n^rrnfi . fjiiyif '-y^^

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Ill

luft with Ilia uiicle un his departure for
Kuroi)e, bouu ufter tlie atTair of tho Brau<l
:uuraer — it was found, that, with the excep-
tion of certain tritling lu^acieH, lie i<ad left to
Mun\ hia entire fortune, which amounted to
)Oinething in the neigebourhood of one
hundred thousand dollars. Now, when our
old frientl Isabella — through the ef-
forts of Mr. Ogden— had found herself
lU possession of a property of about fifty
thousand dollars a year, in the zeal of her
gratitude, miic had made a will dividing that
• iroperty at her death between Mara and Mr.
Of, ten's three boys. Jsabella dul not, in
(act, die for some years after Mara's shocking'
inisbehavionr, but, wlietlier or not IsabelLi
forgave her. that good spinster certainly
uover altered her will ; and when she finally
laid aside the burdens of her single blessod-
aess, Mara took one-fourth of her property.
So, at the date our history closes, Mara
found herself possessed, in her own right, of
between th ^u and four hundred thousand
dollars, besides al>out forty thousaiul, to
ivhich she was entitled under Mr. John
ritrasburger's will, tlid she choose to claim
it ; and we may 1)e sure that she did chojse.
As for Tom Frear, he went back to his
lonesome studio, No. 39, and laboured along,
i saddened, solitary man. Women he never
wen c near. No beauty, or worth, or sweet-
aeas could daz/le him. He felt that towards
women, at least, his duty had been done,
and he avoided them. But one day, in his
studio, he came across the little picture of
' 'J'iie Rainbow,' over wiiich he had wasted
so many by-gone hours when he had been
betrothed to her, it had seemed too poor a
l^ift for his queen's acceptance ; and so he
had put it aside and forgot it. Tears
stood in his honest eyes as he drew it into
the light. He thought of the dreams he had
dreamed while he painted it — dreams whose
realiziition to him had seemed the sweetest
fate that time could bring. Helas ! those
ilreams had come true — that fate t me had
lirought to him — and how little was it all?
His apples had been ashes ! He had served
leven years for Rachel, and she had turned
out to be only Leah I

Then he tried to shake it off and not to
car», • Not to care ! ' Ah, who can do
that? If we only could, how happy we
might be, sometimes ! The man who really
— in his heart of hearts — 'don't care,' is
master of the situation in love affairs. But
Tom, unfortunately, did care. After all
Mara's »iu and disgrace, Tom was not so
sure that he loved her more than ever. And
when a man is not sure whether he loves or
Qot, M'e may safely say he loves very much.
And let us believe that he was riclit. Love

is as blind to moral laws as it is to facti.
The trouble was, that Tom did care very
much indeed — and he nhed many manly tears
over his picture of the ' Rainbow. '

But one ilay, he mustered courage and
sent it to Mara. At least it would get it oat
of the way. he tiiought ; so he packed it up,
and packed it off to her. It was not long
before the post brought him a note in tho
well-known hand. It contained only the
words, 'Thank you,' and a sprig of rose-
mary ; which, as everybody knows, raeaos
Remembrance. Tom looked long, and
nmscd nmch upon that sprig of rosemary.

' Wcr Kum erstc mal liebt sel's auch ghickloss,
istelnGott, -
Aber wcr /.um zwcitc mal (fluckloss libet, ist
oin Narr,'

he pondered :
Ah, well I Love rubs the world around :

' Und was fur die erdc das himmel's blau,

Und was fur die blumender melde tau.

Das ist fur die mcnschen die Liobel '

Like the lady with the ' primrose face' in
Lord Lytton's pretty poem, she was not dead,
and she wan not wed — and old things were
best — and Mara, for her part, ftlt that love
must cling where it can, an<l that one isn't
loved every day. And so very quietly, one
evening, in the Chapel of little St. Jude's,
under a wreath of pansies, they — Tom and
Mara — were married.

They live in a natty little cottage at Mal-
oolm, not far from Mr. Ogdcn's villa (which
that gentleman never again abandoned for
the noxious city), and, as time rolls on, and
buries scandals, fand efipecially as Mr. and
Mrs. Frear are well-to-do) — the neighbours
all call on them, as if nothing had ever hap*
penetl. And we are not so sure that you,
reader, and I, would not do the same. Ac-
cording to the laws of the State of New York
(which is a sort of Scotch law, by the way)
Mara was the wife of Paul Ogden, and thi re-
fore a wi ioM when Tom married her ; and
surely marrying a widow is only a question
of taste !

And were Tom and Mara happy ? Do you
ask, reader? Doubtless. As happy as you
are. Perhaps not that paroxysm, that epi-
lepsy of haitpiness of which wc may hav(
dreamed. But this is rare. If fate reserves
this sort of happiness only for its prime fa-
vourites, even tney, in this world of com-
pensation, pay for it elsewhere. But that
moderate long ran of average happiness
which comes to most of us, they douotless
did enjoy. Let us, at any rate, so hope.

Mrs. Ogden did not long survive her nephew
I'aul. Poor little woman ! Her heart was

116

ST. JUDEX ASSISTAXr

the groatent part of her ; and the excitement
of those fcAi-tiil (IttVB, hoginning with the
item in the HeraU{, and ending witl> the
suicide, had been heavy days for her. Her
death bed waa more of a triumph than a
death-scene. It waa like the sniling into
port of some grnn<l Rcaward coming Rliip ;
which, passing bravely through all atorma
and penis — its full duty done, its full end
accomplished — came home to furl its sails.
A woman, a wife, aud a mother, she rests in
the testimony of a good conBcienco— the good
fight fought, the faith kept --and behind her,
«<» long OS the world lasts, sliall rise up sons
and daughters to call her blessed.

Tlie Strasburger murder had been traced
to Job Pierce, partly by Mr. Ogden's letter,
snd, no less, by the statement of Jimmerson
k Co., pawnbrokers. But it appeared that
Pieroe, after leaving the letter on Mr. Og-
den's table, had managed to stow himself
away upon a ship bound for Europe, and
was, some weeks after, setailriftin Rnglaml.
[n that country he was apprehended for ex-
tradition on complaint of the American gov-
ernment, and lay for several months in New-
gate. But, pending his delivery to the Ameri-
can government, it happened that some
shrewd lawyers, who were retained for a
rich American culprit — that is to say, one
who, having embezzled some millions, was
rich enough to retain the most eminent
talent in England — found a flaw in the ex-
tradition treaty. And by their petitions
and representations to Parliament, that
body was induced to refuse any further de-
livery of criminals to the United States
government, under the (treaty, unless the
United States government, on receipt of the
criminals, would stipulate that they should
be .tried only for the crime for which they
were extradited. (The shrewd lawyers
aforesaid, having discovered, that, other-
wise, political cnmiaals, for whom England
prides herself on being an asylum, might be
extradited for pretended offences, in order to
be secured for State purposes.)

The United States government, not see-
ing its way to this impudent demand, inti-
mated its preference for the letter of the
treaty, and so Job Pierce, and a host of
otlier American felons, were set at large ;
and Mr. Strasburger'a blood, to this day, is
crying out for ve''.geance, and attracting no
response.

For the 'thirty thousand dollars which
St. Jiide's Parish had offered as a premium
for the apprehension of the murder of the
late Reverend George Brand, there were
many claimants ; of which, however, the
Herald was not one. Nor, we may be very
sure, did Mara, as Mr. StrasbiurserV only

living )>lood repreHentativti put in any
claim, We may htivte 1)rit'Hy, however,
that, after much arbitration, and discussion,
and nnich threatening of law-suits, a simi of
twenty-two thousand dollars was paid
oyer to the Police Department, in consiiiera-
tion of a full release from everybo<ly, of all
claims, from the beginning of the world to
the day of payment, to St. Jude's Parish.
This cheque was sent, endorsed by the
proper persons, to 1)C cashed V)y the hands
of i)oyle — the claimants waiting at Head-
quarters to be paid in full. Hut after wait-
ing several jiours, they Anally dispersed, it
having been found that Doyle, on receiving
tlie money, h.id decamped for parts un-
known. And he never came back. ^

Mr. Oj,'den who has hmg since retired
from active practice, nmi devoted himself ex-
clusively to those wines jind grapes whioli so
long claimed his divided services, still al-
lows his name to remain in gilt letters on
the glass doors at .laiincey Court. Only,
aliovethe simple name of ' Mr. Percival Og-
dei'.' appears the legend, 'Ogden, Cambrefl-
i"M Ogden, ' the last memV^er of that firm
beiii no less tlian Mr. Percivul Ogden, Jr.,
wiio 18 managing pnrtner of tlie firm.

"'he Srrthonrd still wields its rod over
the public, and Mr. Prideaux is still an old,
young bachelor, with his jaunty dress,
his Malacca cane, his light kids, and a
carnation in his buttonhole. As to noes)*,
he is still triumphant ; and all the verses
we now have m these United States are
ground or woven, or turned, at the Amity
works, by one toothless old lady.

Our friend, Mrs. Melden, found, some-
where in the vicinity of one of her resting-
f daces, a wretched man, who wrote stories
or the Sunday papers. Him she had, at last
accounts, elevated to the position of her
Number 4 : and him she is swiftly and sure-
ly talking into an early grave. He takes a
weak sort of revenge, however, by witing
her into his stories. But she never recog-
nizes herself in the viragos and Amazons he
puts into his page. Nor, probably, if she
ever read these pages, will she find herself
set down here.

Dr. Forsyth, it will be remembered, had
consented to Mr. Oloster operating upon his
patient Olive, — believing that — if successful
— success would establish a fact in which he
implicitly believed ; namely, that Olive's
mind was only dormant from a shock, and
not wholly gone and obliterated. Nor can
it be doubted that, from that moment,
Olive's mental symptoms had steadily im-
proved. She began to be sensible of ideas
and intuitions again ; and Dr. Forsyth,
(whoM labourious volume on the Material of

[

ST. JUDE'S ASSISTANT.

Vfind appeared about this time, and made a
palpablu HuiiHution in the thiiikiMg world, )
wnB mor« than happy. Of course we never
read the Doctor'H learned work. Life is not
long enough, by Home years, to ask that,
fcnilwe reflect with uu.dncitB upon the miner-
kble conipoHiturs and proof-readers who were
obliged to peruse it. But t)ie old Doctor
regards it with pride as the crowning fruit
of a useful life ; and let us not be unjust.
Doubtless in the panopticon Mercantile
Library it may bo (leinanded by the young
lady subHcrilHsr, and brou(,'ht to her by the
gentlemanly young man. But, as that valu-
able institution furnishes no spinster clerks
to wait upon its niiiHCuline suuscribers, we
oannot r< ad the book, an' we dnred.

No sermons are preached in little St.
Jude'a. 'There is,' says Mr. Troilope-iu
words we cannot Instter, and therefore quote
— ' perluips no greater hardsiiip, at present,
inflicted upon mankind, in civdizcl and free
countries, than the necessity of listening to
sermons. No one but a preaching clergy-
man has, in these realms, the power of com-
pelling an audience to sit silent and be
tormented. No one but a preaching clergy-
man revels in platitudes, truism, and un-
truism, and yet receives as his undisputed
privilege, the same respectful demeanour as
though words of impassioned eloquence or
persuasive logic fell from his lips. Let a
professor of law or physic find his place in a
tecture-room, and there pour forth jejune
words and empty phrases, and he will pour
them forth to empty Ijenc'ues. Let a barris-
ter attempt to talk without talking well,
and he will talk but seldom. A jtdge's
charge need be listened to but 'ly the jury,
prisoner ai.d jailer ; a member of parliament

can b« oonghed down or counted out. Town
uounsellera can be tabooed. But no one can
rid himself of the preaching clergyman.
Ue is th9 L .-e of the age— the old man
whom the ainboba cannot shako of)
— the nightmare that disturbs oui
Sunday rest, tiie incubus that overloads oui
religion and makes God's service distasteful
We are not forced into church. No ; but
we desire more than that. We desire not to
be forced to stay away. We desire— nay,
we are resolute enough to enjoy the comfort
of public worship, but we desire also thai
we may do ao without an amount of tedium
that ordinary human nature cannot endur*
with patience ; and that we may be able to
leave the houae of God without that anxious
longing for escape which is the common con-
Be(|uence of common sermons.

Since we cannot, wh n persecuted, like
that discriminating King ./ehoiakim, when
his chaplain Jehudi had droned away to a
suflicient length, reach forward antl cut a
preacher's manuscript with our penknives,
and cast it into the tire— by way of slight
compensation for the misery we ourselves
have sufl'ered — we may be permitted to re-
echo the words of Mr. Trollope.

Much of our own way of^ thinking are
they in the chapel of little St. Jude's. Pfcill
are the hours said in its dim aisle, and still
—in communion with Him who heedeth not
the device of man, and with all holy things
— we may kneel, uninterrupted by any
human ' view* ' or iuterpetrationa— and
feel—

' With faces aslant.
The silence t« consecrate more thiin the chant F