i i HARi LIBRARY-OF-AMER1 J THE VIRi H ~\ v ffli ^ oucl OHN E'ST-EM NUMB? R 14 Harper's Library of Select Novels. PBICE HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- Continued. 154. The Commissioner. By James $0 CO 155. The Wife's si.<ter. By Mre. Hubback 35 156. The Gold Worshipers. 85 15T. Tin- Daughter of Night. By Fullom 35 15S. Stuart of Dunleuth. By Hon. Carolina Norton. 35 I.V.). Arthur C. Hi way. By Captain 1-1 II. Milman .. 40 !<;<>. The Fate. By James 40 1(51. The Lady and' the Priest. I'.y Mrs. Maberly. . . i)5 102. Aims and Ob-tad. -s, Bv James 50 1C,:!. The Tutor's Wan) i',0 1-il. ll'.rence Sackville. By Mrs. Burbury 50 lo.\ KaveusclifTe. By Mrs." Marsh 40 lt',0. Maurice Tiernay. By Lever 50 107. The Head of the Family. I'.y Mi,s Mulock. . . . 50 m. ] ;y \\arburton 35 lti'.. 1 alkenbun,' 50 ITii. The Dalt r 75 171. Ivar; or, The Skjute-Boy. By Miss Carlen... 35 uinillo. By James 40 173. Anna ] lamim-r. By 'IVmmc 40 171 A Lire of Vicissitudes. By James 25 175. Henry F.snu.nd. By Thackeray. . .' 50 170, 177. .My Novel. By Buhver 75 173. Katie Stewart. ..." 20 179. Castle Avon. By Mrs. Marsh 40 ISO. Ague- Surd. By James 40 lia'a Unhand. By the Author of " Olive" 35 1S-J. Yilh-tte. By ( urrer Bell 50 r's Stratagem. By Mis* Carlen 35 184. Clouded Happiness. By Countess D'Orsay 30 Is5. Charles Aiidiesti-r. A Memorial 50 186. Lady Lee's Widowhood 40 1ST. Dodd Family Abroad. By Lever CO ' asper Carew. By Lever 50 1^9. Quiet Heart 20 100. Aubrey. By Mrs. Mar,h 50 191. Ticonderoga. By James 40 1!>2. Hani Times. By Dickens 25 193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey 55 1'.'4. The Mother's Kecompense. I!y Grace Aguilar. 50 1<i5. Avillion, &r. By Miss Mulock Co llif.. North and South. By Mrs. Gaskell 40 197. Country Neighborhood. By Miss Dupuy 40 I'.'s. Uotutance Herbert ByMin Jewabory . 3o 10'.'. Th.- Heiress of Haughton. By Mrs. M'arsh 35 20u. The Old Dominion. ByJaun'-s 40 201. John Halifax. By the Author of " Olive," A-c. 50 202. Evelyn Murston. ' By Mrs. Marsh i!5 '_'::. FortWMi of GleJMora By Lever 5o iora d'Orco. By Jame* 40 .in- New. By Miss Mulock 30 2"G. The Hose of Ashurst. By Mrs. Marsh 35 V07. The Athdinu's. By Mrs. oliphant 5<i . s of Clerical Life 50 !>w. My Lady Lodtar. By Mrs. (laskell 20 tierald Fit/.gerald. By Lever -in Mi. A Life for* Life. By MiM Mulock 4" -I and (iown. By Geo. Lawreoea 2u '_'!. Mi-re|.n-entation. By Anna II. Dniry <>0 J15. The Mill on tin- I i liot 50 ..f Th.-iu. By L.-ver 50 217. A Day's Ili.le. Bv I.- v, r. Illu-trated 40 2is. Notice to Quit. By Wills 40 :ani:.- Sti.ry. Illu-tra'.-d 50 '."Jo. Brwn. Jon.-, and Kot.iM-'.n. By Tr..l|.,pe i'>5 221. Abel Drak.- 1 - \\ ii... By John Sannden 5o 222. OliTe Blake's Good Work, By J. c. Je : . tTn-.n. 5o 2-.3. Th rr..f. ..r 1 - La.ly. IllMtntcd 20 2'-'4. Mi-tress and Maid. By M i->- Mul-.ck I'.o ra Fl-.y.l. I'.v M. I!. Bl.'.ddon 40 iunton. I'.y Lever 40 vers. By Mr-. Ga-ki-ll 4 ttB. A ln-t 1'ri-n.l-lii). 25 199 A Dark Niirhr* Work Bv M r-. ( . .-kell 25 Marlitt lllu-trated.. BO 2.-.I. St. l.liza '1'ahor 4o iut of Honor .".o it Down. I CiO 2.TJ. Martin l'.le. By'Saini 3o v Lvnd-ay. By Ladv l'..n-..til.v 40 kimVi Victory. \--- M i Bradd-n. lll>. fio Trollop* .".5 2.'S. John Mnrchmoot' Ix-ira'-y. Bv M. I'. Braddmi 5n \t Warleitrh's FoitunM. Bv ll'-hii- I.. 240. T|,,, wifi-N l-'.videnc- I'.v Wills 4" . Bv Amelia B. I'dwanD.... M 24-2. C..u-in Bhillis '.'0 2::. What will he do with It? By Buhver 75 244. The I Adder of Life. By Amelia B. Ld ards. . . 2.'. PRICE HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- Continued. 245. Denis 1 >uval. By Thackeray. Illustrated $0 25 240. Maurice Dering. By Geo. Lawrence 25 247. Margaret Denzil's History 24s. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala. Ill's. 24'.. Mattie : a Stray 40 250. My Brother's Wife. By Amelia B. Edwards... 25 251. Uncle Silas. By J. S. Le Fanu 40 252. Lore! the Widower. By Thackeray 20 25::. Miss, Mackenzie. By Anthony Trollope 35 254. On Guard. By Annie Thomas 40 255. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas 40 250. Denis Donne. By Annie Thomas 4 257. Belial 968. < arry's Confession , 50 25!). M iss ( 'arew. By Amelia B. Edwards 35 200. Hand and Glove. By Amelia B. Edwards 30 201. Guy Deverell. By J. S. Le Fanu 40 202. Haifa Million of Money. By Amelia B. Edwards. Illustrated 2G3. The Beltoti Estate. By Anthony Trollope 204. A.mies. By Mrs. Oliphant 205. Walter Goring. By Annie Thomas 20,;. Maxwell Drewitt. By Mrs. J. II. Iliddell 207. The Toilers of the Sea. Bv Victor Hugo. Ill's.. 20s. M iss Marjoribanks. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 209. True History of a Little Ragamuffin. By James Greenwood 35 270. Gilbert Itugge. By the Author of "A First Friendship " 60 271 . Sans Merci. By Geo. Lawrence 35 272. Phemie Keller. By Mrs. J. 11. Kiddell 35 27::. Land at Last. By Edmund Yates 40 274. Felix Holt, the Radical By George Eliot 50 275. Bound to the Wheel. By John Saunders 50 27G. All in the Dark. By J. S. Le Fanu 277. Kissing the Rod. By Edmund Yates 27<. The 1,'ace for Wealth. By Mrs. J. H. Kiddell. . 271). Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigu:. By Mrs. Lin ton. . . 2SO. The Beauclercs, Father and Son. ]u C. Clarke 2>1. Sir Brook Fossbrooke. By Charles Lever >2. Madonna Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant 5o .dock Nowdl. By II. D. Blackmore 284. Bernthal. From the" German of L. Miihlbach. 2^5. Hachd's Secret 40 2SG. TheClaverings. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. 50 2S7. The Village on the Cliff. By Miss Thackeray. Illustrated 05 288. Played Out. By Annie Thomas 4') >'.. mark SI p. By Edmund Yates 40 290. Sowing the Wind. By E. Lynn Linton 35 291. Nora and Archibald Lee 40 292. Baytuond's Heroine 40 t>H3. Mr. Wynyard's Ward. By 1 Inline Lee 25 294. Alec Forbes. By George "Macdonald f,o 295. No Man's Friend. By F. W. Kobinson 50 290. Called to Account. By Annie Thomas 40 2H7. Casre 35 29S. The Curate's Discipline. By M n. Kiloart 40 2 ( .9. circe. By Babington White 35 loo. The Tenants of Mai, TV. By J. S. Le Fanu... ::ol. Carlyon's Year. By James J'ayu 25 ::o2. The Waterdale N'ei-hbora 35 ::o:!. Mabel's Progress 40 ::o4. C.uild Court, p.y C,, .. Macdonald. Ill's 40 L The Brothers* Bet By Mir-s Carlen 25 :;oO. Playing for High stakes. By Annie Thomas. Ill'd 25 ::i>7. Mar_ran t's r.tiu'.-iireiuent 25 :tos. One of the Family By James Payn 25 ::o;>. Fire Hundred Pound* Reward. By a Banister.. 35 :;io. Brownlows. By Mrs. oliphant.. ." 5< :;n. Charlotte's Inheritance. P.V Mi-* p.raddon. .. ::5 2. Jeaiii.-'s Quiet Lite. By Eliza Tabor ;:o :;i::. Boor Humanity. By F. W. Roblmwn 50 :i14. Urake-<peare. By ( ;. o. A. Lawrence. "With an Illustration. . .' 40 ,,-. By J. S. ! e FatiU 40 .'.10. Love or Marriage T I'.y w. Black :M :',17. Dead-Sea Fruit. By Miss P.I -addon. Illustrated. 50 :'.!*. The Dow,. r Ho,,. e.' By Annie Thomas :;:, .:i'.. The Braiiilrigli* of Bishop's Folly. By Ix-ver. lllu-trat.'d 50 Mildred. By Georgiana M Craik ?0 :521. Nature's No'hleman. By the Author of " Ila- dlel's Secret" 85 122. Kathleen. By the Author of ' Kaymond's H- n.ir, ! 50 . ThatBoyof Noroott'H, ByCharleo Lever. Ill's.. 25 324. In Silk Attire. By W. Black .".5 . Hetty. By Henry King-ley 25 I i Harper's Library of Select Novels. I'BICE HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- Continued. 326. False Colors. P.y Annie Thomas $0 40 3-27. Mi ta's 1 aitli. By Eliza Tabor 35 M.I Dead, lly James Payn '25 82l>. Wrecked in Port. By Kdmund Vales 3f> 330. The Mini.-ter's Wife.. By Mr-. Olipliant 50 331. A lieiru'aron Horseback. ' By James 1'iiyn 3'> 33-2. Kitty. By M. Bethwn-KdwanU 35 333. Only Iler.-elf. By Annie Thomas 3ft 334. Hhvii. ByJokntoimden 40 335. Under Foot. I'.y Alton Clyde. Illustrated... 40 :;n<;. Bo Rana the World Aw*?. By Mr.-. A. ('. Steele. 35 337. BatH. d. Hy Julia Goddard. Illustrated 50 33*. Beneath tin"- Wheels 50 339. Stern Necessity. By F. W. Robinson 40 340. Gwendoline's Harvest. By James Payn 25 341. Kihueny. By William Black 35 34-'. .lolui: A Love Story. By Mrs. Oliphnnt 25 343. True to Herself. By F/W. Kobinson M) 344. Veronica. Hy the Author of "Mabel's Progress" 50 345. A Dangerous Guest. By Hie Author of "Gil- bert Rugge" 30 346. F.stelle Russell 60 347. The Hdr Expectant, By the Author of " Ray- mond's Heroine" 40 343. Which is the Heroine ? 40 349. The Vivian Romance. P.y Mortimer Collins.. 35 350. In Duty Hound. Illustrated 35 351. The Warden and Barchester Towers. By A. Trollope CO 353. From Thistles Grapes ? By Mrs. Eiloart. ... 35 353. A Siren. By T. A. Trollope 40 354 Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. By Anthony Trollope. Illustrated 35 355. Earl's Dene. By R. K. Francillon M) 35t>. 1 )aisy Nichol. By Lady Hardy 35 857. Bred in the Bone. By James Payn. Ill's.... 40 :!.')*. lYnton's Quest. P.y Miss Braddon. Illustrated.. 50 35'.>. Monarch of Mincing-Lane. By W. Black. Ill's. 50 3(>'t. A Life's Assize. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 40 301. Anteros. By the Author of "Guy Livingstone." 40 36-2. Her Lord and Master. By Mrs. Ross Church. . 30 8(53. Won Not Wooed. By James Payn 35 304. 1 or Lack of Gold. By Charles Gibbon 35 3(55. Anne Furness 50 300. A Daughter of Heth. By W. Black. 35 307. 1 hirnton Abbey. By T. A. Trollope 40 3CS. Joshua Marvel. By B. L. Farjeon 40 309. Levels of Arden. By M. ]:. Braddon. Ill's. 50 370. Fair to See. By L. W. M. Lockhart 40 87 1. Cecil's Tryst. By James Payn 30 37'2. Patty. By Katharine S. Macquoid 5<> 373. Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas 25 374. Grif. By B. L. Farjeon 35 375. A Bridge of Glass. By F. W. Robinson 30 376. Albert Luuel. By Lord Brougham 50 377. A Good Investment By Wm. Flagg. Ill's.. 35 ::-. A Golden Sorrow. By Mi's. Cashel lloey 4(> 379. Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 380. Hope Deferred. By Eliza F. Pollard 30 381. The Maid of Sker. By R. D. Blackmore . . 50 382. For the King. By Charles Gibbon 30 383. A Girl's Romance, and Other Tales. By F. W. Robinson SO 384. Dr. Wainwright's Patient. By Edmund Yates. 35 o85. A Passion in Tatters. By Annie Thomas 50 3?6. A Woman's Vengeance. By James Payn 35 : J 87. Strange Ad ventures of a Phaeton. By W. Black. 50 383. Tc the Bitter End. By Miss M. E. Braddon. Ill's. 50 389. Robin Gray. By Charles Gibbon 35 390. Godolphin. By Bui we r 35 391. I^eila. By Bufwer. Illustrated 25 392. Kenelm Chillingly. By Lord Lytton. Ill's.. 5<i 393. The Hour and the Man. By Harriet Martineau 50 394. Murphy's Master. By James Payn 20 395. The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins 30 390. "'He Cometh Not,' She Said." By Annie Thomas 30 397. Innocent. By Mrs. Oliphant. Illustrated..!.'! 50 398. Too Soon. By Mrs. Macquoid 30 399. Strangers and Pilgrims. By Miss Braddon. Ill's. 50 400. A Simpleton. By Charles Reade 35 401. The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas 25 402. Joseph the Jew. By Miss V. W. Johnson 40 403. Her Face was 1 ler Fo'rtune. By F. W. Robinson. 40 404. A Princess of Thule. By w'. Black 60 405. Lottie Darling. By J. C. Jeaffreson. .. 60 406. The Blue Itibbon. By Eliza Tabor 407. Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By A. Trollope. Illustrated .. 2 I'UIOK HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- Continued. 40S. Publicans and Sinners. P.y Mies Braddon... $0 50 4"H. Colonel Dacre. By tin- Author of "< 'a-le". .. 35 410. Through Fire and Water. P.y FivderickTulln.t. Illustrated 20 411. Lady Anna. P.y Anthony Trollope :: 412. Taken at the Flood. By Miss Braddon 6J 413. At Her Mercy. P.y -lames Payii 80 411. Ninety-Three. l!y Victor Hug,... Ill's 25 415. For Love and Life. By Mrs. < Miplmnt 6, 41(1. Doctor Thorne. By Anthony Trollope 50 417. The Best of Husbands. By James Payn 25 41S. Sylvia's Choice. By Gcorgiana M. Craik 3H ll'.i. A Sack of Gold. By Miss V. W. Johnson. ... D5 4-20. Squire Arden. By Mr.-. Oliphant 60 4-.' 1. Lorna Doone. P.y U. D. I'.lackmore. Ill's... 60 422. The Treasure Hunters. By Geo. Manville Fenn. 25 423. Lost for Love. By Miss M. K. Braddon. Ill's. 60 424. Jack's Sister. By Miss Dora Havers 60 425. Aileen Ferrers. By Susan Morley 30 426. The Love that Lived. By Mrs. Eiloart SO 427. In Honor Bound. By Charles Gibbon 35 428. Jeseie Trim. By B. L. Farjeon 85 4 - _".. Hagarene. By George A. Lawrence 85 430. Old Myddelton's Money. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 431. At the Sign of the Silver Flagon. By B. L. Far- jeon ' 25 432. A Strange World. By Miss Brrfffdon 40 433. Hope Meredith. By Eliza Tabor 35 434. The Maid of Killeena. By William Black.... 40 435. The Blossoming of an Aloe. By Mrs. lloey... 30 430. Safely Married. By the Author of kt Caste.". . 25 437. The Story of Valentine and his Brother. By .Mrs. Oliphant 60 438. Our Detachment. By Katharine King 35 439. Love' a Victory. By B. L. Farjeon 20 440. Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Blackmore 60 441. Walter's Word. By James Payn 50 44-2. Playing the Mischief. By J. W. De Forest. .. 60 443. The Lady Superior. By Eliza P. Pollard.... 85 444. Iseulte. By the Author of " Vera,' 1 " H"'tel du Petit St. Jean," &c 30 445. Eglantine. By Eliza Tabor 40 440. Ward or Wife ? Illustrated 25 447. Jean. By Mrs. Newman 35 44S. The Calderwood Secret. By Miss V.W. Johnson 40 449. Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. Ill's.... 25 450. Healey. 35 451. Hostages to Fortune. By Miss Braddon. Ill's. 50 452. The Queen of Connaught 36 453. Off the Roll. By Katharine King 50 454. Halves. By James Payn 30 455. The Squire's Legacy. By Mary Cecil Hay. . . 25 456. Victor and Vanquished. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 457. Owen Gwynne's Great Work. By Lady Augusta Noel 30 458. His Natural Life. By Marcus Clarke 50 459. The Curate in Charge. By Mrs. Oliphant .... 20 460. Pausanias the Spartan. By Lord Lytton 25 461. Dead Men's Shoes. By Miss M. E. Braddon. . 40 402. The Dilemma. By the Author of u The Battle of Dorking." W> 4H3. Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 464. Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. Blackmore. Ill's. 50 465. Rose Turquand. By Ellice Hopkins 35 466. As Long as She Lived. By F. W. Robinson ... 50 467. Israel Mort, Overman. By John Saunders 50 468. Phoebe, Junior. By Mrs. Oliphant. 35 469. A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred 25 470. The Laurel Bush. By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." Illustrated 25 471. Miss Nancy's Pilgrimage. By Virginia W. Johnson 40 472. The Arundel Motto. By Mary Cecil Hay ?5 473. Azalea. By Cecil Clayton 30 474. Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot 5( 475. The Sun-Maid. By the Author of "Artiste.".. 35 476. Nora's Love Test. By Mary Cecil Hay 25 477. Joshua Haggard's Daughter. By Miss M. K. Braddon. Illustrated 50 478. Madcap Violet. By William Black 50 479. From Dreams to Waking. By E. Lynn Linton. 4SO. The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. By B. L. Farjeon 35 481. Anne Warwick. By Georgiana M. Craik 25 482. Weavers and Weft. By Miss Braddon 25 483. The Golden Butterfly. By the Authors of " When the Ship Comes Home," &c 40 484 Juliet's Guardian. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. Illustrated 40 4S5. Mar's White Witch. By G. Douglas 50 Harper's Library of Select Novels. HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- Continued. 4S6. 1 leaps of Money. By W. E. Non i< $0 25 4->7. The American Senator. By Anthony Trollope. 50 -.Arthur. By Mr*. Oliphant 40 4S.. Winstowe. By Mrs. Leith-Adains 25 490. Mai j,, i -i.? linic ."'a Lovers. By Mary Patrick. .. 25 491. Romola. by George Eliot Illustrated 50 It*. By Mn. Oliphant Illustrated 50 4::;. Middlemarch. By George Eliot 75 4'.'4. F.>r Her Sake. $7 F. W. KoUnaon. Ill's.... 60 495. Second-Cousin Sarah. ByF.W. Uobinson. Ill's.. 50 4%. Little Kate Kirby. By F. W. Robinson. Ill's. 50 497. Luttrell of Arran. By Charles Lever CO 4'.. I..,rd Kilgobbin. By Charles Lever, Ill's.... 50 :y Butler. By Charles Lever CO 500. Breaking a Butterfly. 13y George A. Lawrence. Illustrated 35 501. Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy. By Charles Dickens. . 10 502. The Mystery of Edwin Drood. By Charles Dickers. Illustrated 25 503. The Parisians. By Bulwer. Illustrated CO .Edge. \VithanIllustration 20 506. The Bate of the Monk. 67 Garibaldi 30 M >'.. I n.-ide. By W. M. Baker. Illustrated 75 507. Carter Qiiarterman. By W. M. Baker. Ill's.. GO Mis. Three Feathers. By Wm. Black. Ill's 50 501). Bound to John Company. By Miss Braddon. Illustrated 50 510. Birds of J'n-y. By Mi.-a Braddon. Illustrated, 50 Ml. The Prey of the Gods. By Mrs. Ross Church. 30 512. The Woman in White. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's. 60 513. The Two Destinies. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's. 35 514. The Law and the Lady. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's. 50 515. Poor Miss Finch. By Wilkie Collins. I11V... CO Mr,, x,, Name. By Wilkie Collins. Illustrated... CO M7. The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins. Ill's CO Ms. Man and Wife. By Wilkie Collins Ill's CO .'.!'.. Armadale. By Wilkie Collins. Illustrated... CO r>-'n. My Daughter Elinor. By Frank Lee Benedict. 80 r>Jl. .J..hn Worthington's Name. By F. Lee Benedict 75 r.j-j. Miss Dorothy's Charge. By F. Lee Benedict. . 75 r>-':;. Miss Van Kortland. By Frank I^e Benedict.. GO 5.' 4. St. Simon's Niece. By Frank Lee Benedict... CO r.-.T,. Mr. VanghanV Hi-ir. By Frank Lee Benedict. 75 5-26. Captain Brand. By 11. A. Wise. Illustrated. 75 tier or Later. By Shirley Brooks. HIV. . . 80 .VJx 'Die Gordian Knot By Shirley Brooks. With an Illustration 50 520. The Silver Cord. By Shirley Brooks. Ill's... 75 . r .::o. ( ord and (Jr-s. By James De Mille. Ill's. . . GO 631. The Living Link. By James De Mille. Ill's.. CO .'::_'. The American Baron. By James De Mille. Ill's. 50 r>:::;. The cryptogram. By James De MUto Ill'c... 75 .V.4. The King of No-Land. By B. I~ Faijeon. Ill's. 25 .',:;:.. An I, Ian. I Pearl. By B. I, Farjeon. Ill's Mo r.:n'i. P.lade-o' -Grass. By B. I* Farjeon. Illustrated. 80 T>37. Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By B. L. Far- ji-oii. Illustrated 35 len Grain. By B. ! Farjeon. Illustrated. .-55 Inn's Heart. By B. L. Farjeon. Illustrated. CO M". Shadows on the Snow. By B. I-. Farjeon. Ill's. 30 Ml. N. ' I'.y John Cordy JeaiTVeson CO 54-J. The Island Neighbors. By Mrs. A. B. Black- well. Illustrated CO M.".. The Woman's Kinu'dmn. By Mi-s Midock. Ill's. CO Ml. Hannah. By Mis- Mul^k." With Three Ill's. . 35 M:. A P.mve Lady. Bv M i- Mnlork. Illustrated. Co Mother and L By Mi- Mul.K-k. Illnstn.ted. 40 M7. Uhrooietof Of Carllngfnrd. By Mrs. (iliphant CO M Soil. I'.y Mrs. Ol'iplnmt 50 M'.t. The Perpetual Curate. Ily Mrs. Oliphant 50 r,r,0. did K-ii-in-_'t..n. arkcray. Ill's.. CO .V.I. Mi-j An-.'l. P.v Mi-" Thacker.-iv. Illustrated. f>o |laneouWritlng. Ill's. 90 5.'a Vanity Fair. P.v W. M. Thackeray. Illu-tratc.l. so .V>4. The liistorv of "ivudt-ntii-. By \V. M. Thiick- 1 75 DBS. ThVlrgtnlaiM By \V. M. Thark.-niy. Ill's.. !0 By W. M. Thackeray. Ill's.. 90 PEICS HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- Continued. 557. The Adventure.-! of Philip. By W. M. Thack- eray. Illustrated $0 CO 55S. Henry Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. By W. M. Thackeray. Illustrated CO 559. Put Yourself in His Place. By Charles Reade. Illustrated 560. A Terrible Temptation. By Charles Keade. Ill's 5C1. The Cloister and the Hearth. By Charles Reade. .%->. The Wandering Heir. By Charles Heade. Ill's. 563. Hard Cash. By Charles Reade. Illustrated.. .V.4. Griffith Gaunt. By Charles Reade. Ill's 565. It is Never Too Late to Mend. By Charles Reade. 566. Love We Little, Love Me Long. By Charles Reade. With an Illustration 35 567. Foul Play. By Charles Reade 35 f>C>S. White Lies. By Charles Reade 40 569. Peg Woffiugtou, Christie Johnstone, and Other Stones. By Charles Reade 50 570. A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade. With Two Illustrations CO 571. Orley Farm. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.... 80 57'2. The Vicar of Bullhampton. By Anthony Trol- lope. Illustrated 80 573. The Way We Live Now. By Anthony Trol- lope. Illustrated 90 f>74. Phineas Finn. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. 75 575. Phineas Redux. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. 75 576. Ralph the Heir. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's. 75 577. The Eustace Diamonds. By Anthony Trollope. 80 578. The Last Chronicle of Barset By Anthony Trollope. Illustrated 90 579. The Golden Lion of Granpere. By Anthony Trollope. Illustrated ; 40 5SO. The Prime Minister. By Anthony Trollope . . 60 581. Can You Forgive Her? By Anthony Trol lope. Illustrated 5S2. He Knew He Was Right. By Anthony Trol lope. Illustrated SO 583. The Small House at Allington. By Anthony Trollope. Illustrated 584. The Sacristan's Household. By Mrs. F. E. Trol- lope. Illustrated 5^5. Lindisfarn Chase. By T. A. Trollope 5^6. Hidden Sin. Illustrated 5S7. My Enemy's Daughter. By Justin McCarthy. Illustrated 5SS. My 1 1 usband's Crime. By M. R. Housekeeper. Illustrated 5S9. Stretton. By Henry Kiugxley 35 5'.M). Ship Ahoy ! By G. M. Fenn. Illustrated 35 591. Debenham's Vow. By Amelia B. Edwards. Ill'd. 50 -V.'-J. Wives and Daughters. By Mrs. Gaskell. Il- lustrated CO 593. Recollections of Eton. Illustrated T>'.)4. Under the Ban. By M. 1'Al.lw * * 595. The Rape of the Gamp. By C. W. Mason. Il- lustrated 596. Erema; or, My Father's Sin. By R. 1). Black- more 97. What He Cost Her. By James Pnyn 40 .V.N. Giv.-n Pastures and Piccadilly. By Win. Black 50 599. A Young Wife's story. By llarriette Bowra.. 25 coo. A Jewel of a Girl. By "the Author of " Queenie." .35 Col. An Open Verdict, By Miss M. E. Braddon... 35 CO-_'. A Modern Minister. Vol.1. Illustrated 35 603. A Modern Minister. Vol. II. Illustrated 40 Cii-l. Young Mnsirrave. By Mrs. Oliphant 40 605. Two Tales of Married Life. By Georgiana M. rraik and M. ('.Stirling 30 . The I-ast of the Haddons. By Mrs. Newman. 25 tin;. The Wreck of the "Grosvcnor" 30 N6L P.v Proxy. By James 1'ayn 35 elia'-s Arbor. P.v Itesant and Kire f>0 610. Deceivi rs I'.ver. By Mr-. <':mier<>n 30 HI I, -P.lMck than We're Paint. .!. p.y James Pnyn. 35 61'.'. Mine is Thine. By L. W. M. Lockhart 40 t',13. The Primrose Path. By Mr-. Oliphant 50 614. Madeod of Dare. By Wm. Black. Ill'd 60 80 THE VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS Noucl BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE AUTHOR 9F L "STORIES OF THE OLD DOMINION" "MR. GRANTLEY'S IDEA" "HENRY ST. JOHN, GENTLEMAN" "PROFESSOR. PRESSENSEE" NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 1880 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. I. p IN BOHEMIA v;r. 9 10 10 11 13 15 16 17 19 23 27 30 33 38 39 42 48 XVIII. PAGE 52 56 59 62 64 67 70 72 76 81 86 89 91 95 98 101 103 107 II. A LOITERER XIX. T.HE REVEREND MR GRVNTH\M III. XX. MR GRANTHAM'S GUESTS IV. DADDY W T ELLES EN FAMILLE XXI. BRANTZ ELLIOT V. A STARTLING INCIDENT XXII. DADDY WELLES SURPRISED VI. PIEDMONT WAKES UP XXIII. VII. A TRIFLE LEADING TO A GRE\T DEAL XXIV. VIII. XXV. SOME NEW RESIDENTS OF BOHEMIA IX. MR. DOUGLAS LASCELLES .. . XXVI. X. THE LADY-BIRD'S NEST , XXVII. THE TRAMPS XI. THE UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND ITS MANAGER XXVIII. THE HOME OF THE HOMELESS XXIX. XII. SOME CHILDREN OF THE RING XIII. MOUSE .XXX. DADDY \VELLES RECONNOITRES XIV. AN ACCIDENT XXXI. XV. THE DRESSING-ROOM XXXII. MR. LASCELLES MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINT- XVI. OF THE HEAVY BLOW INFLICTED ON THE UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND ITS MAN- XXXIII. MR. LASCELLES KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. XXXIV. AT TRIANON XVII. GENERAL LASCELLES. .. XXXV. Miss BASSICK... XXXVI. TAGE A STRUGGLE 110 XXXVII. THE BOHEMIANS.. .. .. 112 XXXVIII. FLOTSAM . 11G XXXIX. SHINGLES 118 XL. A SLIGHT SILHOUETTE OF Miss GEUNDY. 120 XLI. Miss BASSICK'S PRIVATE POST 123 XLII. NAILS 12G XLIII. THE DANGER OF DELIRIUM... ,. 128 XLIV. THE CLOD AND THE STAR. 130 XLV. A FEMALE MANCEUVRER ....................... 132 XLVL GENTLEMAN Jos AND HIS GHOSTS ........... 135 XLVIL MR. RUGGLES REAPPEARS AT CROW'S NEST 138 XLVIII. Mi:. RUGGLES FINDS HIS SITUATION RATH- i.i: IM I.l.V.SANT ............................... 130 XLIX. Is TIII, BOHMI;KWAI.I> ........................... 142 L. MOUSE'S VISITOR ................................. 145 LI. L Ix Tin; WYI; WOODS ............................ 148 LIT, THE TRAVI.I.UN<.-I;\<; .......................... i:,o LIII. Is THE LlKKAKY LIV. TIM: MOI:MN<; l'\n i: 1 :,',} LV. MKS. AUMSTI:' iir.u NAII.S ....... 15'.) LVI AN i I i:\ II \v ................. 1G1 LVII. JUI.IKT... ............. 104 LYIII. A Ti:i:uinLE ISCIM.N i .... 168 LIX. THE FOE OF RITUALISM 172 LX. THE BURGLAR 175 LXI. DOVES 180 LXII. THE BANK-NOTES 183 LXIII. IN THE TRIANON WOODS... LXIV. THE OLD CHAPEL. 188 192 LXV. JULIET'S SECRET 195 LXVI. MRS. ARMSTRONG'S GREAT BLOW 198 LXVII. GENTLEMAN JOE TELLS NELLY THE WIND'S STORY LXVIII. A MEETING OF MOONSHINERS 205 LXIX. A FORTUNATE VICTIM OF MISFORTUNE.... 209 LXX. MR. LASCELLES REFLECTS DEEPLY AND WRITES A NOTE... LXXI. A HAPPY FAMILY. 21; LXXI I. A MAN OF THE BOHMERWALD 214 LXXIII. UNDER THE ICE 21G LXXIV. MOUSE CHOOSES LXXV. THE DEAD AND LIVING 22] LXX VI. BLUE COATS IN BOHEMIA 224 LXXVII. THE LAST GREETING 22( I. XX VIII. THE ADVANCK INTO Tin: GORGE.... LXXIX. FvUI.WKLL TO BOHl MI V... LXXX. THE BARRICADE 230 I, XXXI. THE SONG OF AN ORIOLE.... .. 231 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. IN BOHEMIA. BOHEMIA was in all its glory : not the Bohemia of the Austro-Hungarian mon- archy, but the valley of that name under the shadow of the Blue Ridge in Vir- ginia. It nestled, this Virginia Bohemia, down between two ranges the main great crest of the real " Blue Ridge Mountains " roll- ing off to the blue distance in long surges tipped with the foam of the snow in winter; the fleecy charm of the white clouds when the summer sun was shin- ing ; and a much lower range, a chain of wooded hills, which hemmed it in on the west. Clasped by the two, Bohemia slept like a bird's-nest cradled in a rift of foliage. Northward the valley had its embou- chure, and the view sweeping far beyond Front Royal, where the branches of the Shenandoah melt together, lost itself on the infinite horizon of the Maryland mountains. Southward, Bohemia stole away into a wooded gorge shadowy, si- lent, full of mysterious gloom. It was the Virginia Hartz, this gorge and moun- tain for above it was the " Hogback " peak, a bristling crest whose name de- scribes it, where the country people said that witches gathered in the midnights, bent on unknown ceremonies. Standing in the mouth of this fantastic gorge, Bo- hemia is mysterious, almost sinister. The sun scarcely enters. Yonder is the bat- tlement he rises over late, and the oth- er battlement he sets beyond, soon. A glimpse, and then night descends. But if you turn your back upon the gorge and enter the valley, travelling northward, all is changed. Bohemia smiles and holds out caressing arms in the summer days and the moonlight nights ; in the summer days, when the little stream of Falling Water running yonder laughs under its sycamores with the mottled arms; in the moonlight nights, when the dreamy splendor sleeps on the tulip-trees and the winds whisper. The hills sloping to the Shenandoah as- sume feminine outlines: the wheat rolls its long amber waves in the wind ; and the frou-frou of the corn mingles with the silence. Then you follow this path through the long grass of the meadow, and down the stream to the wooden bridge where the stage-road crosses the stage- road coming from the west across the hills, and winding up the mountain yon- der, like a yellow ribbon with an emerald border, through the Gap, beyond which, on the eastern slope, lies the village of Piedmont. The scene is wild, but that only makes it lovelier. Few houses are in view those you see perched on the heights, or in the little gorges, are the lodges of hunt- ers. Bohemia has nothing whatever to do with the stupid outer world. It is not a part of that real world at all. It is Dream-land, and the Dream-land is await- ing something or somebody. 10 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. II. A LOITERER. THE stage old-fashioned and deep- laden, which ran, or walked, between the railway station and Piedmont was go- ing eastward one September afternoon, and stopped on the western range of hills to rest its horses. As the horses had just d it through the Shenandoah and then up the steep road, they were entitled to that. A young fellow with brown eyes, in a brown travelling suit, and carrying in his hand a breech-loading carbine and jointed fishing-rod strapped together, got down from the stage. After looking down into the valley, he said, " I think I'll stop here, driver." The driver, who was stooping to ex- amine his linchpins, raised a head and neck encased in an ancient felt and volu- minous bandanna, and responded in a friendly way, "You say you'll stop, sir?" " Yes ; I'll tell you good-bye here." " I thought you were booked for Pied- mont " "So I was; but I am a sort of bird that lights on the first tree. I am a hunt- er by trade. I'll take lodging at some house in the mountain here, and stay a few days. I might get a shot at a buck." The driver nodded, and the traveller said, "You can leave my valise at Pied- mont, and I'll send for it. If no one will DM, I'll call for it on my way back A- York." "All ri-ht, sir." "I a house yonder on the- side of the mountain; that would suit me. Can you tell me who lives there?" Daddy Welles is his name." " 1- he a hunter, and the soil of man I would be apt to like P For some reason best known to him- self, the driver of the stai;v uttered a short laugh. The traveller, who had a pair of bright, rovin_ in a ruddy face, looked at him with euriity. " You don't answer me," he said. " Oh, the Daddy's a great hunter," the driver said, with the same laugh. " And you think I'd like him ?" The driver again nodded. " Oh yes, you'd be certain to like the Daddy," he said. " He's one of the best- natured men you ever met, and if people tell queer stories about him, that's nei- ther here nor there. It's none of my business." " Queer stories ? What do you mean ?" " Well, I don't mean anything in par- ticular; and p'rhaps I've said too much. Oh yes! you'll like the Daddy. Here you are, gentlemen, will you get in ?" he added to the passengers, who re-entered the stage. "You think you'll stop at Daddy Welles's, sir, do you ?" said the driver to the young traveller." " Yes." " Well, don't let him know I said peo- ple told queer stories about him. It might me bad luck." "I won't." III. A MOUNTAINEER. THE stage went on its way, and the traveller, with fishing-rod and carbine swung over his shoulder, followed it down toward the bridge. His appearance was that of a city man his walk was very different. He had the long, swinging gait of the mountain- eer or pedestrian in rough countries. At the foot of the hill he came on the bridge, and stood still for some minutes looking at the landscape. A light wind stirred the magical colors of the foliage on the of the mountain ; a translucent mi>t descended slowly: from a field of corn beneath came up a low, faint rustle, like the rustle of a woman's dn- \\as nearly sunset, and lon^ shadows ran I 1 ... hernia, or lay motionless, rather, in the grass and on the leaves. They whispered like the corn, and then were silent au'ain. Not a breath stirred, hernia had re-entered into Dream-land. r VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 11 The young man nodded to the valley it was his salute and said, " You will do." He then shifted his rod and car- bine to the other shoulder, and, striking into a path obliquing to the right from the bridge, entered the valley beyond, followed the path through a meadow, and, crossing a brush fence, found him- self upon a country road winding south- ward in the direction of the gorge. About a hundred yards farther another path went up the slope. Into this the traveller turned. As the ascent was grad- ual, it did not tire him in the least, and in a quarter of an hour he reached a plateau, on which stood a small mountain house. The house was within fifty yards of him, when a pack of deer-hounds rushed out, baying furiously. The traveller ad- vanced to meet them, and patted them on the head, whereat they changed their minds, and leaped up to be caressed. He then looked at the house. It was of wood, with a veranda in front, whose roof was an extension of that of the building. The yard was enclosed with split palings, and a small gate with a horse-block in front gave access to it. In rear of all was a stable, and a building probably used as a kitchen. This was plain and home -like. It seemed to please the new-comer. He went into the enclosure, and walked up to the house. As he reached the small porch, the host, a man of tall stature, with long gray hair falling on his shoul- ders, and clad from head to foot in home- spun, made his appearance. The traveller seemed to have travelled : he was off-hand. " Are you Daddy Welles ?" he said. " The same, friend." The voice uttering these words was cordial, and a guileless smile went with them ; but the visitor inwardly decided that he never had yet seen a more pierc- ing pair of eyes. " My name is Brantz Elliot, and I am on my way to New York," said the vis- itor. "I saw your house from the hill yonder, and liked its looks. People tell me there is a great deal of game here ; I thought I'd try to get a shot at it before I went back." The voice communicating these, partic- ulars was frank and straightforward. It evidently made a favorable impression, but the master of the mansion as evident- ly hesitated. " I've all the money I want, and of course I expect to pay," said the traveller. Still the old mountaineer seemed du- bious, though it was plain that the allu- sion to a money payment had strength- ened his good opinion of his visitor. " Well, well, friend, we'll have time to talk about things to-morrow," he said. " You'll stay to-night plenty o' room." He went in, followed by his guest, to a small, low-pitched apartment on the right of the entrance. Here everything was very plain, but very neat. On the nar- row mantel-piece stood a wooden clock, and there were some cheap prints on the whitewashed walls. The furniture was simple enough; a few stiff "split -bot- tomed " chairs stood against the wall, and two others, with rockers, at the cor- ners of the fireplace. In the middle of the room was a round table of stained pine, holding a family Bible, a copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress," "Short Ser- mons to Believers," and a temperance work in handsome binding, entitled " Fly the Bowl." " Sit down, friend," Daddy Welles said, drawing forward one of the rocking- chairs. " You must be hungry, but my old 'oman's busy at supper, and here she is to say it's ready, I ruther think." This was followed by the appearance of the old woman, a motherly dame in a snuff-colored gown and a frilled cap, who came in, smiled in a friendly way, and welcomed the visitor. " Supper's ready, Daddy," she said. IV. DADDY WELLES EN FAMILLE. DADDY WELLES led the way across a narrow passage, decorated with a pair of deer's antlers supporting a rifle, a hand- VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. net, and some fishing-rods, into the room opposite, where a table was spread with an excellent supper. All about this room was plain, like the former, and the table- service was as unassuming. The plates and cups were of cheap white china, and the knives and two -pronged steel forks had buck-horn handles. The table was of pine, and the chairs had split bottoms ; but then there was smoking venison, and wheat and corn bread, and good coffee with rich cream, and the chairs looked extremely comfortable. Mr. llrantz Elliot, traveller, evidently took this view of things and congratu- lated himself. He was probably accus- tomed, if an opinion could be formed from his dress and general appearance, to much more imposing menages, but possi- bly liked this better. As they were sitting down, a girl came in and made a shy courtesy to the stran- ger. She was very poorly clad, but very pretty. Her dress was a checked linsey, confined at the waist by a black patent- leather belt with an imitation silver buckle, worth only a few cents, and her shoes and stockings were of the com- monest material. In spite of these draw- the rustic beauty of the girl im- pressed the vi>itor. She had a fine suit of dark hair which fell upon her shoul- i'chind, and very largo eyes, which were half hidden by long eyelashes. bynen made her awkward; but the young man said to himself that some <f thi-i- day- this mountain maid was probablv be a beauty. !! had not much lime to look at her at the moment. There is something even more attractive, than a pretty face to a heart v Yonn<_r fellow, who has bn-ak- fa-trd early and had no dinner: this is a good Mip|H-r. Mr. II rant/. Elliot, there- fore, concentrated his attention on the vrnisnn ami eolL-e, and subsequently re- tired with I>add\ Welles t> the room op- po-itr, to which a lamp had hern taken, as it was ni^lit now, in a state of perfect physical and mental satisfaction. !! idently pleased with his ipiarters, and, drawin-jf a ci^ar-ease from his pock- et, asked if any one minded his smok- ing. " Oh no," said Daddy Welles, with tl guileless smile which seemed to be tl habitual expression of his features ; mostly smoke myself after supper, friend. I s'pose you don't keer about this sort of thing?"' He went to a corner and produced a box containing smoking-tobacco, and red- clay pipes with long stems of reed root. " You are mistaken," said Brantz El- liot, promptly depositing his cigar-case on the table and filling one of the pipes. " I like a pipe a great deal better than a cigar. Cigars arc rather sloppy." He then sat down, and they began smoke, falling into easy conversation. " I think I've come to the right place,' said Elliot. "This looks like a g( neighborhood for game they told I'd find a plenty around Piedmont." "Well, Bohemia beats the Piedmont neighborhood for that a long way, friend," Daddy Welles said, smoking tranquilly. "You see, around Pied- mont's thickly settled. Bohemia's wild- er, as stands to reason, being mostb mounting." The word "Bohemia" thus used twi< by his host plainly excited the curiositj of his guest. " What do you mean by Bohemia he asked. " Well, I mean here in the mounting,' said Daddy Welles. "People call the deestrict here Bohemia, as they call an- other deestrict in these parts Arabia* I don't know why it is, but hereabouts was called Bohemia as far back as when I was a boy." " Well, that's odd enough," said El- liot. " It's not a bad name, and I rather think I'm something of a Bohemian my- self. I like to rove around better than living in cities. The houses are bigger and finer in town, but I don't care mucl f>r that. Every man follows his owi taste, you know." * "Arabia" is the name given to one of tl neighborhoods, or precincts, in Clarke county. VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 13 " Jest so, friend, that's reasonable," said the host, much pleased with his guest. "I've been to the Springs," Elliot ex- plained further; "but there's too much of town even there it's pretty much all dress and show. I'd rather g<> deer-stalk- ing I have done a good deal of it in Scotland ; so I thought I'd stop here for two or three days, or a week, and try my luck. My valise has gone on to Piedmont, but that's no great matter. What puzzles me is to know where you are going to put me." "Never you mind about that," Daddy Welles said. " There'll be no trouble, and if we can accommodate you, I'll go for your baggage to-morrow. I'm going over to Piedmont, any way, as my darter Nelly that's her you saw at supper says she wants to see the circus." "Is there to be a circus at Piedmont?" " They say it's to be there to-morrow." " \Yell, if there's anything I like, it's a circus!" Elliot said, with animation. "It's ahead of the opera, in my opinion. I reckon, as you say in Virginia, there'll be no trouble about taking me as a lodger for a few days, and we can all go for the valise, and then to the circus." The manly delight of the circus-lover evidently pleased Daddy Welles. " To be sure," he said. " I've got a spring-wagon that'll take us all I mean you and me and Nelly ; the old 'oman mostly stays at home." " The wagon 's the thing, Daddy Welles," said Mr. Brantz Elliot, with great satisfaction ; and as he yawned soon af- terward, his host rose and said he reckon- ed he was sleepy. Elliot replied that he was a little tired, and so he was conduct- ed up-stairs to his bedroom. The chamber into which Daddy Welles led the way, lamp in hand, was a small room, with a dormer-window in front and another in rear. A single glance showed Elliot that the chamber belonged to a woman or a girl probably to Nelly Welles. There was a small white bed with one pillow, an old toilet-table with a cracked looking-glass, and on the mantel- piece stood two cheap jars with colored pictures pasted upon them, and holding some autumn flowers. There were more (lowers at one window creepers in a rude box. Cheap white curtains hung in front of the windows, and on a small ta- ble in the middle of the room were a few tattered old books, and a girl's work-la- ke!, which had probably been overlooked. It was not the sleeping - room of a man, evidently, but a sort of bird's -nest, and the bird was evidently a female. "This is your daughter Nelly's room, Daddy Welles," Elliot said, stopping at the threshold, " and you are turning her out on my account. That won't do ! I can sleep anywhere." " Never you mind about that, friend," returned his host. " Yes, this is Nelly's room, but there's her bed in our room where she slept when she was little though she's not so big yit." Elliot shook his head doubtfully, and said, " I really can't think of that. She'd have no opinion of me if I deprived her of her room." " Who Nelly ? Bless you, you don't know Nelly. She never thinks about herself. You couldn't please her better." " Are you certain she won't mind ?" " To be sure she won't." " Well, it will be for only a few days at most. Everything's so neat and nice here that I begin to think more than ever that I had a streak of luck when I turn- ed into the path to your house, Daddy AVelles." The off-hand and friendly manner of the speaker evidently had its effect on the Daddy. He bade his guest good- night, and on rejoining his family deliv- ered a mild eulogium upon him. V. A STARTLING INCIDENT. BRANTZ ELLIOT retired promptly, stretching himself luxuriously in his small bed, which was only a straw mat- tress but then the sheets were as white as snow, and fragrant from the rose-leaves 14 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. in which, after the country fashion, they had been packed. This attention was due, of course, to the old woman or to Nelly ; and that made him think of the girl whose bed he had invaded so unceremoniously sending her away t<> sleep where she slept " when she was little." She was a very handsome child, indeed, he informed himself for she was no more than a child. He never had seen finer eyes, though she was so shy that he had scarcely been able to ob- tain a good look at them ; and her feat- vvere delicate and lady -like, by no means such as he would have expected in a rustic maiden of the plainer class. Altogether, she \vas an agreeable feature of the mountain establishment, and adorn- ed her somewhat rude surroundings like the flowers on the mantel-piece and in the window. " I hope she won't feel any malice against me for turning her out of her room," he muttered, smiling a little and yawning. " I would rather be friends with everybody and decidedly I like Daddy Welles and his old 'oman ; and I to shoot a buck and express it to the Huh, and when I go back they'll pass rcsoluti"iis and give me a reception !" A delighted extension of the limbs, fol- by another yawn, succeeded these words. It then became plain, as Mr. Brantz Elliot's . in to close, that he \\a< thinking in a vague sort of way of tli- I tin- evening. "Bohemia!" lie muttered; "that's a queer name! And thru the queer stories about I>addy AVi-11. '-ems to be a plain enough old fellow, with nothing mysterious about him. U In- a brigand of the mountains? Jle don't look like it, and his old 'oinati is not in the 1,-a-t my id.-a of a 'brigand's bride.' And then \elly : she's an of a maiden ; can't read or write, I sup- pose y-s she can, there arc the old book- mi the table; but her eyes shy, but there is nothing at all sly about her i/nccr atnrirs? The driver said 4 <jueer stories ' I wonder " Mr. Brantz Elliot was fast asleep. . s He was waked by a wild and startling cry, which rang through the whole estab- lishment, and made him rise suddenly in bed and listen. Now to be aroused at midnight was about that hour by a shrill and piercing shriek, apparently, in a strange house in the lonely solitude of a moun- tain, is not agreeable. It tries the nerves. In one's dwelling-house or hotel in a city there is the bell to ring, or a burglar alarm to sound ; or other resource against house- breakers and possible murder. On the present occasion the surroundings of M Brantz Elliot w r ere quite different, was in a secluded fastness of the Blue Ridge, in the midst of strange people, of whom " queer stories " were told ; and he had suddenly been aroused at dead of night by a piercing cry was it one of pain or menace ? What did it mean ? Sitting up in bed, the young man lis- tened. The moon had risen above the mountain, as a long yellow bar of light upon the floor of the room indicated. He could hear the melancholy sigh of a low wind in the foliage without. AVit this exception, there was profound lence. All at once, within a few feet of hi apparently, the wild cry rang out again a cry shrill, piercing, and filling the night. Brantz Elliot started back; then he burst out laughing. The cry was ar- ticulate now. It was "whip poor will !" In fact, a harmless member that fraternity, which loves the vicinit of human dwellings, had lit in an oak nearly brushing one of the dormer-wi and uttered its startling cry. the young man, according to his habit, had raised the sash to admit the fresh air before retiring, the sound had rung in his ear> like the notes of a clarion. " Well that's not in the least HI Broadway or Fifth Avenue, at least he muttered, laughing. " I suppose tl night patrol will retire pretty soon." A dusky shadow flitted across the win- dow as lie spoke. The whip-poor-will had already flown elsewhere, as a di? complaint a moment afterward indicate VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 15 and Elliot was about to drop asleep again when IK' heard voices beneath his window. lit' lay still for some moments listening there were the voices. This was curious it was at least midnight. Who was abroad at so late an hour? He got up and went to the window. As he reach- ed it and looked out, he saw two dusky ligmvs disappearing in the shadow of some evergreens near the house. Interested more and more by this in- cident, Elliot remained at the window, and soon saw a figure come back through the moonlight and re-enter the house. This was the figure of Daddy Welles. From a hospitable desire, no doubt, not to disturb his guest, he entered noiseless- ly. Then a slight sound on the stair- case indicated that the Daddy had cau- tiously mounted to the room opposite that occupied by his visitor, the door of which was heard to close quietly. Brantz Elliot went back to bed in a state of great curiosity. What did it mean ? Old rustics like Daddy. Welles did not go to bed at nine o'clock, and then hold business interviews subsequent- ly with people at midnight. Then the voices had been low and guarded. What could it all mean? " I don't know," Brantz Elliot mutter- ed, as if somebody had asked him the question ; " but I'll try and find out the mystery before I go back." He then fell asleep. VI. PIEDMONT WAKES UP. PIEDMONT was an ancient and stereo- typed village lying east of the Blue Ridge, a mile or two from the Gap. The place had been finished for a num- ber of years, and life had gone to sleep there. The arrival of the daily stage was the one event of the twenty-four hours. As this lumbered up to the antique tav- ern, with the battered sign-board hanging at an angle of forty-five degrees from a bough of the aged elm in front of the hostelry, Piedmont nearly opened its eyes ; the loungers on the tavern porch were al- most interested. They were not at all in- terested in the outer world or its people ; but then human nature must absolutely have something to stare at, even to spec- ulate about. Travellers afforded this sol- are. IVaee or war, in Europe or else- where, were not matters of interest, but the arrival of the stage was an event. In the absence of this distraction from ennui they attended to the business of their neighbors. This was done with as- siduity and almost with energy, and a scandal aroused in these worthy people a sort of mild excitement. If it was a slight and feeble scandal, they nursed it and set it to grow, until it attained cred- itable proportions ; if it was strong and full-grown, they patted it on the back and made the most of it, smiling and whispering about it under the breath. In other words, the human mind was cramped at Piedmont. There was no public library ; and, after reading the newspapers, there was nothing else to do but discuss, in a feeble and vacuous man- ner, the affairs of their neighbors. The days succeeded and resembled each oth- er. Piedmont and the Piedmontese were asleep. It was very much like other towns. In the suburbs were two churches, belonging to the Episcopalians and Methodists. The main street was broad, and there were several shops and private residences upon it, some of the latter quite handsome, with lawns and large trees in front. The town-pump stood at a corner, with a warning to drivers not to water stock at it. Near one extremity of the main street was the blacksmith's shop, where small boys watched with delight the grimy bare-armed smith hammering out sparks to the anvil chorus. In front of the stores were boxes with rolls of dry goods upon them ; and the smug clerks, afflicted with ennui, were generally seen standing in the doors, watching maidens with an attack of the " pull-back " mania lifting their skirts as they crossed the dusty or muddy street. The tavern was near the middle of the 16 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. village, and was the favorite resort of idlers. These were occupied general- ly in laboriously killing time. Some smoked, and others chewed tobacco, ex- pectorating thoughtfully at intervals. An observation from any one went a great way, and occasioned meditation. When weary of the burden of thought, they dropped into an apartment where a personage, generally in his shirt-sleeves, disseminated liquids behind a counter. Having thus refreshed existence, the idlers came back to the benches on the porch of the tavern, and resumed the sleepy talk until dinner-time, when they dispersed for an hour or so. Then Piedmont subsided into its sleep of sleeps. Even the banging of the anvil chorus sunk to silence; not a cur was heard to yelp; not a hoof -stroke re- sounded on the streets. The silent Blue Ridge leaned above, with the stage-road descending through the Gap, as if it led from Drowsy-land to a country of the same description. The wind had not even strength to move the leaves of the trees; and the long shadows crawled, evidently not at all in a hurry, toward evening an-1 the representative of Pied- mont sleep. One morning, however it was the morning after the day upon which this narrative begin* a great change came over the village of Piedmont. From mouth to mouth passed the startling in- telligence, " The circus is coming!" The fact had been announced by gi- gantic posters on the walls and fences, containing highly-colored representations of ll\ ing-trapeze performers ; living horses in splendid capari-mi- ; Hying bare-back rid'T-, male and female, fur the m>t part nearly drMitnte as to clothing; and a MI- pcrb Mr. Mrrmiian in party-colored cos- tume, who jumped and grimaced at the crack of the ring-master's whip. There were also pictures of imposing wild ani- mals fT it was a circus and menauvrir combined that was coining. Elephants. nearly of natural si/.i-, stepped carefully o\cr their prostrate masters on the post- ers ; and sea-lions, giraffes, rhinoceroses, and other wonders of more than life-size filled the bosoms of small boys with wild enthusiasm. The procession was to enter the town that morning, and perform in the evening at which the village of Piedmont opened its eyes and grew wide awake. The tavern porch was crowded with loungers, who expectorated fearful- ly. The bar within did a tremendous business. If intelligence had arrived at the moment that the empire of Russia had been incorporated with the Brit- ish dominions, the announcement would have been received with complete indif- ference. VII. A TRIFLE LEADING TO A GREAT DEAL. I THE triumphal entry was a triumph- ant affair. The cages containing the wild animals were in rear of all; pre- ceding them were the elephants; in front of all came a mighty car of blue and gold, filled with the performers of the troupe, with excited musicians, and drawn by twenty -four party -colo horses. The drums roared; the trombones groaned ; the French bugles split the air; the immense crowd of small boys and negroes who accompanied the pro- cession uttered cheers ; and the only por- tion of Piedmont which did not relish the ceremony was the horse-flesh tied to posts here and there on the street. There was danger to bridles as the pageant drew on, and the riders hastily looked to their property. One person did not seem under any apprehension in reference to his own horses. This was a gentleman in a light carriage, with a young lady beside him. lit- drove two very fine animals, and seemed to have no difficulty in control- ling them, as he drove past the long line of party-colored animals, in a direction opposite to that taken by the procession. But the moment came. He was not to pass. The carriage had just reached a point opposite the front wheel of the chariot of the circus men, when a deaf- VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 17 ening crash from a combination of brass instruments burst into their faces. Ter- ror maddened them. They reared, wheel- ed, caught the delicate wheel of the vehi- cle in the huge mill -burr affair of the chariot and then horses, gentleman, and young lady seemed to disappear in one confused mass beneath the wheels. The dust, no doubt, produced this con- fused impression. They were not really beneath the wheels. The gentleman and his daughter were standing unhurt, a mo- ment afterward, upon the sidewalk. One of the circus men had swung from the high perch in front of the car, and caught the young lady in his anus as she was about to fall under the wheels. This act of agility could only have been per- formed by an acrobat ; but who the per- son was, or what was his place in the troop, no one knew, inasmuch as he had immediately taken away his arms when the young lady was safe on her feet, re- mounted the car, and the whole had dis- appeared in the dust-cloud. The gentleman and his companion were looking somewhat ruefully at the fract- ured wheel of their vehicle the horses had each been brought under control again w r hcn a family carriage, contain- ing two ladies, drove up and stopped. " Good heavens ! my dear Colonel Gary ! an accident ?" It was the elder of the two ladies in the family carriage who uttered this pret- ty exclamation. "A slight one it really is of no im- portance, my dear Mrs. Armstrong. It was my fault ; but my horses are so ex- cellently broken that I am imprudent. An hour's detention will be all." Meanwhile the gentleman's companion had fraternized with the younger occu- pant of the carriage, whom she evidently loved very much, as she kissed her with enthusiasm, though the syllogism may ap- pear doubtful to the cynics. " Do go home with us, or at least let us take dear Frances !" exclaimed the elder lady. And when Colonel Gary declined this invitation with smiles and great courtesy, the lady shook her head, as if she really could not consent to leave them in their extremity. Persuaded at last that things were not so bad, as the carriage was led away to the shop by a servant, she made more pretty, friendly speeches, and smiled anew; and then, bowing with fascinating grace to the gentleman and his compan- ion, she directed her respectable old black coachman to drive on. VIII. A BEAUTY WHO YAWNS. SHE was a very handsome person in- deed, this elderly occupant of the family carriage, which returning apparently from a shopping expedition now drove out of Piedmont in a southern direc- tion. She was fifty, and had the air of thirty- five ; but it did not impress you as in the least in bad taste, any more than her dress, which certainly was very rich for a morning dress. You realized, however, at a single glance that this lady could do what others could not. She had taste, and whatever she put on became her. Even her French vivacity did not impress people as insincere. She w r as fascinating, indeed, in her dress and address, and won people. As to the possibility that under the caressing smile of the exquisitely dressed young-middle-aged beauty there were traits not precisely as fascinating as the smile to inquire thus were to inquire too curiously. Don't go below the sur- face if you wish to get on in the world. A great deal lies beneath surfaces. Mrs. Armstrong of " Trianon " was quite charming and was not that enough ? It was her daughter Juliet, aged twen- ty-three, with superb dark hair, superb dark eyes, and an air of queenly compos- ure, who leaned back in the cushioned seat beside her. Juliet was unquestion- ably a beauty. She was tall, with a fig- ure of extreme grace in every movement, and an apparent indifference to everybody and everything around her which was piquant, if not engaging. She was look- 18 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ing out of the window when her mamma said, with light annoyance, " My dear Juliet ! I really don't believe you've heard a word I have said. You certainly have not asked where we are going." "Going, mamma? I thought we were going home, as we have finished shop- ping" " And nearly been finished by that hor- rid Miss Grundy ourselves !" exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong. " Good heavens ! was there ever such a chatterbox ! She posi- tively paralyzes me ! And you go away after meeting her with the fearful convic- tion that she will tear your character to pieces for the amusement of the next friend she meets !" "It is very probable. I suppose she is fond of talking, as Piedmont is a very dull place," returned Miss Juliet, in an uninterested tone. " Frightfully dull, and the arrival of the circus must be a blessing to them. Would you like to go ?" "To the circus?" The young lady stopped before the word " circus " for an instant to indulge in a slight yawn. " My dear child!" her mother exclaim- ed, "you are positively yawning! This life in the country, with no resource but riding out now and then, is wearying you to death." " It is tiresome enough, mamma," Miss Juliet said, candidly. irfully so, and that is the reason why 1 asked if you would not like to go to the circus. I took you once when you wore a child, and you seemed to en- joy it." "Go to the circus? I don't know. Do ladies go? I really don't can-. Yes no that i>, ju-t as you j>! The elder lady sighed. It was very plain that Mi>s Juliet was considerably boivd, and in a very indifferent si mind, indeed. "The trouble \vmld be about an M said the youn^ lady, looking ut of the window. " You know the ni^ht air ;rivr> you the rheumatism, and I should not like to go by myself with L^ncle Wil- liam " this was the old driver. Her mother smiled with the air of person who has already provided fc things. " Well, perhaps you might find soi one to escort you a good many persoi will no doubt be going. What a lov( day, and just see what superb corn ! G( eral Lascelles is an excellent manager." Miss Juliet contemplated the far-reacl ing expanse of corn, with its ripe tassel and broad blades, rustling in the light breeze, and said, " Why, this is the road to Wye, mam- ma." " Yes, my dear, I thought I would call on our way home. It really is an age since we have been to see Mrs. Lascelles ; she is a most agreeable person, and Gen- eral Lascelles and myself are great friends." " I like Mrs. Lascelles very much," said Miss Juliet, composedly, " and Anna Gray. She is one of the sweetest people I have ever met." " Well, my dear, I am glad I thought of calling, as it seems to please you. We shall find Mrs. Lascelles and Anna at home, I have no doubt, as they rarely go out. It is not so certain that we shall see the general or Mr. Douglas Lascelles." " Very doubtful, I suppose," the young lady said, with indifference. " Do you like Mr. Douglas " I scarcely know him. There ha been no parties lately, you know, and n. v. r comes to see us." "He very seldom goes into society hear, which is a pity, as he is very hand- some, and a young man of excellent man- ners. He ought not to be so unsoc I am informed, however, that he reads great deal, and is very intellectual/' "Is he?" said Miss Juliet, serenely. "People say so, but he is very served, though that is frequently a g si^n. He will improve, no doubt, wh he is married. He must be nearly thirty, and at that n<;-c a young man should think about matrimony don't you think so my dear .'" " I should suppose it would depe VIRGINIA T.OIIKMIANS. 1!) upon whether lie wished to marry or not, mamma.' 1 " Hut he mit at marry some one, my dear," said Mrs. Armstrong. u lie is an only child, and will inherit the whole Wye property; and as (ieiieral Lascelles is old, he may do so at any moment. Then, how couhl lie remain unmarried in so laruv an establishment, with the great estatr attached to it, my dear Juliet? It would be absurd. There would be no one but his mother to receive company. The income from the property must be thirty thousand a year, and how could lie ever spend it, unless some one assisted him ! It is at least thirty thousand." " Is it, mamma ?" Miss Juliet said, com- posedly. " At least, if not more ; and thirty thousand a year is a very pleasant sum, indeed, to have at one's disposal, my dear. Perhaps you do not know what it means. It means travel in Europe, winters in Paris, and the opera, and suites of apart- ments elegantly furnished, and many oth- er agreeable things. Just think of hav- ing a magnificent equipage and footmen, of diamonds, and entertainments, and a superb wardrobe, and desirabilities gen- erally !'' said Mrs. Armstrong, at a loss for a climax. "Upon my word, if I were a young lady, I am not sure I should not set my cap at the fortunate youth my- self, and try to become Mrs. Douglas Las- celles !" Miss Juliet again yawned slightly, and said, with great composure, that she sup- posed Mr. Lascelles would be very wealthy at some time; and as she made this ob- servation the carriage rolled into the grounds around "Wye," the abode of the prospective Croesus. These grounds were quite extensive a sort of park with a rolling surface covered with green turf, and dotted here and there with groups of very old oaks. A flock of sheep dotted the greensward in the distance, and some very fine young heifers, evidently of choice breeds, grazed in the shadowy glades be- tween the trees. The carriage-road wound through this peaceful scene to the house, which stood on a hill, and was a large building of lead-colored brick, with a flat top surrounded by a heavy balustrade, above which rose an octagonal <>b-erv- atory. On both sides were exten>i\<- wings, in rear of which were th vants' quarters, with the stables beyond. In front of the main building was a broad porch with a flight of stone steps, much worn, and the large front-door folded in the middle, and had an antique iron knob which you pressed upon to open the door. Above was a semicircle of triangular panes. In front of the house stood an ancient sun-dial. Everything about tin- place was plain and unassuming, and took visitors back in thought to "old times." Mrs. Armstrong and her daughter were shown, by a silent and respectful old ne- gro servant in black, through a large hall, wainscoted in oak, into a room on the right of the entrance. This was a large apartment, with a matting of white and ashes-of-roses on the floor. The furniture was antique and ugly, but would have de- lighted a lover of bric-a-brac. Some new- er arm-chairs had been added, however, and a modern mantel-piece of gray mar- ble, flanked by fluted columns at each side of the wide fireplace, in which stood a pair of huge old-fashioned brass andi- rons. The former mantel-piece, which was of wood, and very high and narrow, had been left, the newer one supported a little bijou of a clock, very unlike the tall white -faced old affair, rising like a ghost in the hall ; and at each end was a vase full of roses. Above the wooden mantel-piece the wall was wainscoted to the ceiling, and around the room hung some family portraits, slowly fading from age. ^ IX. MR. DOUGLAS LASCELLES. As Mrs. Armstrong subsided into an easy-chair, she said to Juliet, " It is always a pleasure to me to come to Wye everything is so quiet and solid. I invariably feel, when I enter a room like this, that the family belong to the best people. It is much better than to have 20 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. money only," added the lady, succinctly, " though money is a verv good thing, in- "It makes people very disagreeable," said Juliet, with indifference ; " that is, it is the disagreeable people who generally seem to have it." " There is no gem-nil rule," responded the elder lady, with a little smile; "it R great deal and there is often a great deal in people that is best hidden ; but here you have both wealth and charming people too, and " AYhat Mrs. Armstrong was about to say will, in all human probability, never be known. The door opened and two ladies came in one of them tall and about sixty, in a black bombazine dress and a white cap, with a placid smile upon her thin lips; and the other a plump lit- tle personage of about twenty, in a sim- ple but scrupulously neat morning toilet, smiling as cordially as her companion, Mrs. Armstrong received them with ef- fusion. Her face beamed, and she utter- ed exclamations of pleasure. " My tJvnr Mrs. Lascelles," she said, u how MTV glad I am to see you ! We have not met before for a century. I am so much engaged at home with dear Juliet, and looking after things, that I r sec my very best friends." Mrs. Lascelles greeted this apology with her sweet smile, and replied, in a soft voice, that she was very glad indeed to see her visitor. She had brought with h'-r a leathern key -basket, in which she had thrust a stocking vJiich she had been knitting and n<>\v glanced at it from hab- it ; but she probably thought it. would be a little unceremonious to IVMIIHC her knitting so >he did BOl Mean- while .Juliet ami Mi-s Anna Gray, a niece of Mrs. Lascelles, were talking 1-y the window, thiMiigh which tin-re was a tine view of the mountain, and the rich ex- tent of open land at its feet. They were evidently friends, ami enjoyed each oth- iciety. Miss .Juliet's bright and her face animated. She was smiling now, not yawning, and looked quite charming. luu : "While thus engaged with her friend, she sat with her back to the door. All at once she heard her mother exclaim, "My dear Mr. Lascelles! You cer- tainly are not going to pass and not come in and see me ?" These words were addressed to a per- son who was passing through the hall. lie had come down the staircase, appar- ently bent on reaching the library oppo- site the drawing-room, unseen. But the drawing-room door was open, Mrs. A strong sat facing it, and the above clamation followed. Mr. Lascelles he was evidently Mr. Douglas Lascelles of whom the lady had spoken during her ride at once turned round, exhibited great surprise and pleasure, and came into the draw- ing-room, bowing low as he approached the ladies. Mr. Lascelles was a man of about thirty -five, and very simply and neatly dressed in the last fashion. His features were delicate and rather hand- some, his manners very courteous, and his air a little foreign. lie did not im- press strangers as a man of strong char- acter rather, perhaps, as shallow. Af- ter awhile, as people came to look more closely at him, that appeared doubtful. There was something in his eyes which seemed to show that under this quiet ex- terior there were traits of character which were very far indeed from being com- monplace. Now and then a shade weariness fell on the face, which left impression that Mr. Lascelles had seen good deal of life in his time, and that the springs of enjoyment in him had perhaps lo>t their elasticity. He was verv courte- ous, but wanted the charm of unrein e. People never got closer than within a certain distance of Mr. Lascellcs. It was time thrown away to endeavor to become intimate with him. lie was, apparently, not the material to make a friend of; but those who caught a certain flash of the eye which characterized him at times felt pretty certain that he would make a very good enemy, lie was invariably polite, however: if you made an enemy of him it would be your own fault. VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 21 "This is an unexpected pleasure; you really a iv such a hermit !" saiil Mrs. Arm- strong, graciously extending one of her jewelled hands. Mr. Lascdlcs irently pressed it, bowing above it, and smiling deferentially as he did so. "It is quite natural, you know," said the lady, laughing, "that one should be- come excited at meeting a recluse ! Is it not, Mr. Douglas? pardon my want of ceremony I 1 am an old woman, and de- test formality !'' " I am very much flattered, indeed, to have you drop it in my case, madam," said Mr. Lascelles, with his most cordial smile, " and I feel that your words arc a reproach. It is my own fault that I am such a stranger to you, but I have con- tracted the habit of shutting myself up at home, even when society the most charm- ing is near at hand. I am aware that it is a bad habit. I wish I could break my- self of it." " Oh !" said Mrs. Armstrong, with an affected pout which ended in a smile, " that is very easy to say. But do you know, I think you are not quite frank !" " Not frank, madam ! How could I be otherwise with you ?" " I am very much obliged ; but you cannot have a very high opinion of us poor country people." At this accusation Mr. Lascelles coun- terfeited sincere astonishment. " What could possibly induce you to take up such an erroneous impression, my dear Mrs. Armstrong ?" he said. " Is there any society better than our coun- try society in Virginia? I do not know where it is." " That is very easy to say, sir ; but if you appreciate us so highly, why do you fly off to Paris every year or two, and re- tire to your holy cell on your return ?" " You adhere, I see, madam, to the her- mit illustration ! As to Paris, I have not visited it for some years, and rarely travel at all. It is very tiresome." " Tiresome ? You cannot be in earnest ! I really adore travelling there is so much pleasant novelty and incident. Country life is fearful, and I do grow so very tired sometimes of its sameness. I fed tempt- ed to set the house on fire, or do some- thing desperate." "That is truly dreadful," said Mr. Las- celles, smiling. " Is it not ? This morning, after a vi>it to Piedmont and hearing Miss (Irundy's chatter, I became quite wild ! It was 'in- monotonous, fearful, steady How, and pros- trated me so that I nearly resolved upon an act of desperation." " What was that, madam ?" " To go to the circus at Piedmont to- night. Are you convinced now of my desperate condition of mind ? The circus ! and at my time of life, and subject as I am to neuralgia !" " But no doubt your force of character enabled you to resist, madam." "Barely; I felt very much as our great-grandmamma Eve must have done, with the apple before her. I thought of the lights, the music ; think how charm- ing it will all be ! But it is impossible ! my dreadful neuralgia I can't venture out at night. And worse than all, dear Juliet cannot go without an escort." At these words Miss Juliet turned her head and looked at her mother with sud- den displeasure and a contraction of her brows. Mrs. Armstrong was not, or pre- tended not to be, aware of this. She gazed with an expression of dove-like in- nocence through the window, and seemed about to direct the conversation to anoth- er topic, when Mr. Lascelles said, "If the want of an escort is all that prevents Miss Juliet from going, I shall be only too glad if she will accept my own/' " Yours !" Mrs. Armstrong exclaimed, with extreme surprise, before Juliet could speak. " No, indeed ! I could not hear of such a thing. What would you think of me?" "I should retain my present opinion, madam," Mr. Lascelles said, gallantly. " I will not tell you what that is, as you would accuse me of flattery." "No, indeed impossible! To pick you up with so little ceremony, and make use of you in such a shockingly free-and- VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. easy manner ! You really must not men- tion it. I cannot imagine what I was thinking of, and shall never learn to hold ngue and not say the first thing which comes into my poor head. If Juliet wishes to go, there will be no trou- ble at all about it. The night will be clear, and the distance is so short. Old William is entirely reliable, and can escort you, my dear," she said, turning to the young lady ; " and when you reach Pied- mont you can join some party of friends. A number will, no doubt, be going." " I am sure I do not care in the least to go, mamma," said Miss Juliet, with ex- treme stiffness and hauteur. The young lady did not toss her head, but looked VI.TV much as if she would have been re- lieved by doing so. " Why, you said this morning that you would like to go, my dear !" her mother said. "Indeed,! did not!" said Miss Juliet; ' you must have quite misunderstood me." Mr. Lascellcs interfered to still the ris- ing storm, and said, earnestly, " I hope you will change your mind, Juliet, and accept my escort. I go from home so little, that the circus has the charm of novelty. 1 am sure I shall enjoy it, and I think you will. You will a canter on horseback, at least I know you will enjoy that." Mr. Lascelles touched a responsive 'ii'-rd, for Mi<s Juliet Armstrong was al- >nately fond of horseback rid- .<! had a small man; nearly thor- ough-bivd, who ran as swiftly as a bird flies. Hut in spite of the temptation diet pelted in politely declining. This, however, only made Mr. Lascelles more \ Might he not be permit- ted to call at Trianon, say at half-; -n that evening: 1 Tin; night would l>e .:.t ; there would bi- a moon ; and a ride by moonlight was enjoyable to him, Mi>s Juliet's eyes sparkled a little, and while she yielded, though Jlot with a very good grace. Her enthusiasm in the direction of Mr. Lascelles v. dently much more moderate than her mamma's, and it was probably the pros- pect of a ride on horseback which de- cided her. She consented to go, and it was arranged that Mr. Lascelles should be at Trianon by half-past six in the evening; and soon afterward the ladies took their departure. Mr. Lascelles escorted them to their carriage, and assisted them to enter it. He then made a smiling and deferential bow, and the vehicle drove away. For some moments Mr. Lascelles stoo( on the porch looking after it with a culiar smile. " I have heard of the cool of the ev ing," he said, " and here is Madame Cre- puscule in person. She was in want of an escort for mademoiselle, and quietly made use of me I never saw a thing done bet- ter ! Well, a man seldom makes anything by opposing a woman when she has map- ped out her programme. Madame want- ed somebody to go with mademoiselle, and he is going ! It's not so dreadful a bore either. That girl is superb I never dreamed she was so handsome ; and she had nothing to do with this little come- dy I could see from her eyes that ma- dame's proceedings outraged her. I nev- er saw a finer pair in my life !" These latter words apparently referred to Miss Juliet Armstrong's eyes, and not to herself and her mamma. After his soliloquy Mr. Lascelles went into the house, looking into the drawing-room as he passed; the ladies had gone up-stairs. lie then decided, apparently, upon going into the library, where General Lascelles was writing his letters, and took some steps in that direction ; he, however, changed his mind, and proceeded to an apartment in rear the dining -roor Here he drew a small key from his et, yawning as he did so, and opened old -fashioned mahogany cellaret in a corner. From this he drew a square de- canter of brandy, poured some into a ci u'la-s tumbler, which he took from sideboard near, mixed some water wit it, and drank it. " I >ry work I' 1 he said, as if apologizing to the brandy. room, pock- ii'd an VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. X. THE LADY-BIRD'S NEST. "Tui.vxox," the somewhat fanciful name !' Mrs. Annst rone's residence, was a handsome cottage orne, rmbow- ercd in foliage, not far from Piedmont. All about the place was feminine and at- tractive, for this l;uly was a person of ex- cellent taste, and knew very well how to sun-omul herself with what gratified the oycs above all, with what made a good impression upon visitors. The veranda was supported by light fluted pillars, and surrounded by scroll-work. The green- sward, dotted with ornamental shrubs, was elosc trimmed, and guiltless of a single leaf or twig to mar its beauty. The carriage-drive was of white gravel, and swept round a diminutive circle, in the midst of which stood a large wick- er-work basket overflowing with green creepers in full bloom. And in the small, neat hall of the house a glimpse was caught through the open door of delicate bookcases and aerial stands the former containing handsome volumes in gilt binding, and the latter a profusion of flowers, which filled the air with fra- grance. If Wye was a good type of the old " solid " class of houses, and the an- cient regime in general, Trianon repre- sented the new regime; which you pre- ferred was a matter of taste. One was antique and substantial, and had memo- ries about it; but the other was very pretty and attractive. Trianon, in its ensemble, was the result of a conviction on Mrs. Armstrong's part that when one has an unmarried daughter home ought to be made attractive to visitors; and these visitors must be per- sons of a certain class. The Armstrongs ( were people of excellent family. They had lived in an adjoining county, but had been forced to remove from it some years before. Mr. Armstrong had been a gen- tleman of great elegance and jovial in- stincts, who liked society, and had run through a large estate by entertaining the very best company in the very best man- ner to the very last day of his life. Then the crash eaine. The skies had been cloudless, but suddenly a snow-storm of "writs" he^-in to fall. The estate waa quite insolvent, and his wife and daughter were left penniless. But Mrs. Armstrong was a woman of energy. Sin- had an old bachelor uncle who was very well off, and had enjoyed a great deal of good wine at her table. I If. was fond of Juliet; and the homeless lady promptly appealed to him for a tem- porary refuge she could then look about her, she said. They went to live with the old bachelor uncle, and Mrs. Arm- strong paid him charming attentions. When he died, not long afterward, he left her a good legacy, and with this legacy the lady purchased the small estate of Trianon, and built the house upon it. Af- ter paying for the land and cottage, there was very little of the legacy left. A por- tion remained, however, and Mrs. Arm- strong exhibited her good -sense in the disposition of it. She did not spend it in trifles to gratify her tastes, though no one had a greater fondness for the ele- gant nothings which money purchases. She invested it in good stocks, which brought her a moderate but certain in- come ; and with this and the proceeds of her estate, which was managed for her by a reliable person living in a small house on her land, she lived in comfort her neighbors said in luxury. In fact, Mrs. Armstrong was one of those persons who give to a little the ap- pearance of a great deal. Everything about her small establishment was in per- fect taste. Her silver was the old family plate, which she had managed to rescue from the wreck, and her table-service was of snowy china, thin to transparency, and decorated with moss - rose - buds. As to her napkins and table mats, they were the despair of her lady acquaintances; the falling snow was not whiter. In the drawing-room there were loves of easy- chairs, with ornamental tidies on their backs. .The table in the centre was of carved walnut, and supported the goddess Vesta in bronze, holding aloft a superb lamp. On the table lay volumes contain- 24 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ing the poems of Mr. Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, and others English copies, bound in embossed leather. The paper on the wall was fawn color, with a small gilt figure at intervals. The matting was white. The elegant couches everywhere made you indolent, they looked so com- fortable. From all this there resulted a conviction on the part of visitors that Mrs. Armstrong " had investments," which in- vestments would, of course, one day fall to Miss Juliet. It is possible that this was the impres- sion which Mrs. Armstrong desired to pro- duce. If it was an illusion she did not attempt to dispel it. On the contrary, she encouraged it. It would do no harm. She was in the habit of alluding incident- ally to the rise and fall of stocks, to the good-sense of people who preferred safe investments at a moderate rate of interest, to those promising larger dividends, but which could not be depended upon. Af- ter thus expressing her financial views Mrs. Armstrong would sigh, and, rustling her rich silk, trimmed with Valenciennes lace, deplore the pecuniary straits to which she, in common with everybody, was re- duced. This, of course, had convinced her listeners. Mrs. Armstrong, of Trianon, was evidently as easy in her circumstances as she was charming. And that dear Ju- liet I how fortunate she was, in having such a future of ease and comfort before her! N\v, Mr-. Arm-tr'-nu; knew perfectly well that this carefully-nursed impression in the community was <juite illusory, and that Juliet would be plaerd in a very ein- l>aiTa-M!i'_T situation, indeed, at her own death. This event she hoped would not take place for a long time to come; but then life was uncertain, and it was incum- bent upon her as a good mother to pre- pare f..r rontiii'jvncirs. She ITM a MTV good mother, for she was devotedly at- tached to Juliet, and a sudden chill always followed the reflection that the irirl miirht be left unprovided f<>r. At her death Ju- liet would l>e practically homeless, for it would be impossible for her to live at Trianon ; and without her own careful management the estate and their small in- come from the investments would not go very far ; Juliet would at once become a poor and unprotected girl ; and at this idea Mrs. Armstrong positively shudder- ed. Juliet must marry. It was a bitter thought that she might one day be separated from her daughter ; but then it would be far better for the daughter to marry and settle down, and this worldly person did not hesitate. She- determined to effect a brilliant match for Juliet it must be brilliant, and her child should be surrounded with every luxury. This pearl of pure water should have a golden setting; and for two or three years now Mrs. Armstrong had been in search of this setting. She and Juliet had spent their winters in the cities, and their summers at the watering-places. A number of admirers had appeared, and the young lady had not wanted offers; but the suitors were not eligible in the mother's eyes, and she quietly dissuaded her daughter from encouraging their at- tentions. Juliet had done so with appar- ent alacrity, and there it ended. Miss Juliet Armstrong, indeed, seemed not to have the least desire to marry any- body. But she was very reserved ; her mother had never understood her precise- ly; and it seemed impossible that sho should not desire to make a brilliant match. She was not much pleased, she confessed, with their humdrum life at Trianon. "What more natural than th; the young lady should be willing to e: change it for new scenes, the pleasure travel, and all the incident and novelty attainable by persons of ample means? She had often suggested this attractive future to Juliet, clearly intimating that all depended upon the discovery of the Cni-sus. As Mrs. ( rojsus she would en- joy all the delights of life. It would be better to look out for him, and not repulse him when he appeared. Juliet a^ented with an air of extreme indifference to her mother's views, and then they seemed to pass entirely out of her mind. She was a peculiar person, with a quiet air which probably exp ;!ie . VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ed her character. She was very com- posed ami pleasant in society, and read a great deal; but the one pa-i-m of her life seemed to be music unless horse- back riding could be added. Her voice was a clear soprano, and she sang tin- niest ditlieult passages from her favorite operas with the greatest ease. At such moments she seemed to become another person: her inditlerent air disappeared: her cheeks became Hushed; and her tall figure seemed about to rise from the pi- ano and act the scene which she was sing- ing. One day her mother said to her, as she was executing a passage after this fashion from Bellini, " Well, my dear, if you are ever cast on your own resources, you can become a prima donna." The excitement lasted, however, for a few mo- ments only. When she shut down the lid of her piano the young lady's face grew composed again, and resumed its air of indifference. This was the state of things at Trianon when the present narrative opens. Croe- sus had not appeared, or at least the par- ticular one whom Mrs. Armstrong desired. An aged millionnaire at the Springs had plainly been ready to lay his wig and money-bags at Miss Juliet's feet, but she had quietly turned her back upon him. Mother and daughter were once more at Trianon, and it seemed doubtful whether they would leave it for a long time. Their travelling expenses had been large, and the dividends from the investments were not due until the ensuing January. Seclusion at home was thus rendered necessary, and, with a sigh, Mrs. Ann- strong gave up the thought of further pleasure excursions and Croesus for that year. This was sorrowful to think of, but suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to the lady it was wonderful that it had never occurred before. There was Mr. Las- celles, of Wye, who was a very good parti indeed ! Why should not Juliet marry Mr. Douglas Lascelles, and become the mistress, in due time, of that desirable establishment? Having conceived this idea, Mrs. Armstrong proceeded to give it careful reflection. The more she thought of it, the more attractive it ap- peared. The estate was a large one, and the- Laseelles family were among the very best people of the country. Everything connected with Wye was agreeable more than agreeable. As Mrs. Douglas Lascelles, of Wye, Juliet would be. estab- lished in life in a manner which suited her mothers aspirations. Various points, however, remained to be considered. \Y<>uld Juliet accept Mr. Lascelles? Would that gentleman ;^k the young lady to accept him ? And was his personal character such as to warrant her in intrusting her daughter's happi- ness to him ? Upon this latter point there seemed to be no reasons for dis- trust. Mr. Lascelles was a very quiet and gentlemanly person, against whose good character no one had ever breathed a word ; and whon a man reached thirty or more thus exempt from criticism, Mrs. Armstrong reflected that it was a very favorable sign indeed. Young enough for Juliet, without vices of any descrip- tion, intellectual, good-looking, domestic in -his habits, and evidently a cordial and amiable person as his demeanor showed, Mr. Lascelles had positively no drawbacks whatever that she could think of. Juliet might not agree to all this but then, again, she might. If Mr. Las- celles laid his heart and hand at her feet, she might accept them. But would he do so? Would it be possible to bring the young people together even? Mrs. Armstrong knit her brows and reflected. It would be difficult to manage ; Mr. Lascelles had paid a few short and for- mal visits to Trianon in past times, but he had not been at the house for a very long while now. Indeed, he seemed to go nowhere, since his return from Eu- rope some years before, and remained quietly at Wye, preferring books, ap- parently, to ladies' society. He was rare- ly seen abroad, and only then seated in his elegant drag, which was driven by his servant, on his way to dine and spend the evening with a bachelor friend a few miles distant. This bachelor friend, it 26 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. was true, bore an indifferent reputation, and it was whispered that his dinners generally terminated at two or three in the morning, witli packs of cards and empty bottles scattered around. But this was probably a mere scandal. At all events, Mr. Lascelles certainly took no part in the drinking and gambling. He was much too correct a person to indulge in such proceedings, and, no doubt, vis- ited his friend to enjoy his jovial society after protracted study at Wye. Mr. Lascelles thus led a life of great seclusion, and it would probably prove a very diilicult undertaking to bring Juliet and himself together. It would be a delicate affair, and every precaution must be taken to conceal her design. Nothing would be easier than to defeat it com- pletely in the very beginning by a single -top. Juliet was extremely proud, and Mr. Lascelles, at his age, had probably made the acquaintance of many match- making mammas. Energy in the prose- cution of her design would be essential ; hut another thing would be more essen- tial still not too much energy. The result of these reflections had shown itx-lf in the visit to Wye. Mrs. Armstrong knew Mrs. Lascelles very well, and nothing certainly could be more nat- ural than that she should make a morning call. When she left Wye she had suc- ceeded in her object, and taken the first Mr. 1 )ou u la> Lascelles would escort Juliet to 1'irdmont on horseback; the night promised to be fine, with bright moonlight, and Juliet looked superb on horseba-'k. Thence consequences might 6HMI& Sin- had been, compelled to be a little too plain in the matter of the es- cort but then that was unavoidable. The fact had to be Miuuv-ted in some manner, and she had done to as delicate- ly as po il.le. Juliet had evidently been <li-plea<'d, and Mr. Lascelles mi^ht have hal his private views but, then this would soon pa^s. If Juliet's beautiful made the impression which she hoped they would make, Mr. Lascelles would be the first persm to thank her when he became her son-in-law. lat Mr. Lascelles made his appearance at Trianon punctually ; and Juliet, who nev- er kept anybody waiting, had on her ri< ing-habit. In this dress she was vei handsome ; it exhibited her figure to pei feet advantage, and the small riding-hat set off her erect head admirably. It was plain that Mr. Lascelles was much struck with her appearance, but evidently won- dered a little at the stiffness of his recep- tion. This resulted from the fact that Miss Juliet had been much outraged by her mother's proceedings at Wye, and, in fact, had sulked all the way back to Tri- anon. If she had been able to do so, she would have broken her engagement ;-but as this was impossible, she solaced her- self with a mild continuation of the sulks. Tea was served on the brilliant little table in the bijou of a supper-room, which was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. Then Miss Juliet's small mare was led up to the veranda, and her ill-humor disap- peared her eyes sp'arkled. She had her foot in the stirrup before Mr. Lascelles could assist her, and, arranging her skii with a single movement, looked over shoulder to signify that she was readj She was a beauty, sitting lightly thus on her spirited little animal, with her cheeks glowing, and Mr. Lascelles silently infoi cd himself of the fact. "Take care of yourself, my dear! be careful you ride so recklessly!" claimed Mrs. Armstrong, "and don't late, Mr. I>,,tiM-la>." "You need not be afraid, madam, will bring Miss Juliet back in goc time, 1 ' replied Mr. Lascelles. He then mounted his own horse, which was a very fine one, and they set out at full gallop in the direction of Piedmont. The moon had just risen, and Mrs. Arm- strong, standing upon the portico, could see Juliet's long hair waving in the mel- low light. She stood for some moment musing, and quietly smiling. She tl said, in a low tone, " Mrs. Dnuiiliis Lascclles, of Wyel- it does not sound badly." She then turned round to go into tl JiiCO E idy. VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. house, when a sort of shadow flitted across the passage. " Who is that?'' said Mrs. Armstrong. There was no reply to this. u \Vas that you, Miss Hassick?" The words were addressed to a young ladv wlit) \\as hovering iu an assiduous manner over the tea-table, arranging the cups. "Me, ma'am f said the young lady, in a cooing voice, and turning her head with an innocent look. "At the door! You certainly were there, with your shoes of silence! You were listening !" " Oh, ma'am !" " I have called your attention before, miss, to my views upon that subject," said Mrs. Armstrong, haughtily; "and you will please remember them give me my tea !" XL THE UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND ITS MANAGER. THE circus opened in its great tent, full of dazzling light, to a crowded audi- ence. The huge canvases had risen in an open field in the suburbs, as if by rnagic. One of the tents was for the cages containing the wild animals, and the other for the bare-back performances. From the sum- mits floated proudly the national flag. Around were grouped smaller tents for the exhibition of " side shows." On these were pictures of women with beards glued on ; of men weighing five hun- dred pounds, or any weight you chose stuffed out with pillows ; of three-legged pigs, five-legged dogs, and woolly horses; the price of admission being fifteen cents. There was also a merry-go-round, where rustics gyrated rapidly on a wooden horse. Insinuating personages with sweet smiles exhibited revolving wheels, where one could bet with a tolerable certainty of losing. Cakes, candy, and lemonade were for sale in every direction ; and the crowd moved to and fro, laughing, jest- ing, and in extreme delight. It was a motley crowd, and had been arriving all day. At an early hour the streets had begun to fill with persons from the Mirrounding country old farm- ers iu homespun, with their motherly dames; rustic beaux, who munched gin- gerbread, and saluted their sweethearts on the street with loud laughter; and with these mingled many gentlemen of the neighborhood on horseback, for the cir- cus was dear to all classes. From this it resulted that the main street of Piedmont presented quite a holiday appearance. The sidewalks were full of pedestrians, and the shops overflowed. The old rus- tics cheapened the goods, and hesitated long before purchasing; or they repaired to the tavern and mildly refreshed them- selves with drams, while their " old wom- en " waited in the porch. The tavern porch was the centre of things. The circus men had "put up" at the place ; and they were a very pe- culiar-looking set of people, as they stalk- ed about slowly, drank at the bar, and contemplated the crowd with the air of animals belonging to another species. They wore citizens' clothes, but you could see that they were not citizens. Some- thing about them produced the impres- sion that it would not be advisable to quarrel with them. They would be dan- gerous people, probably, in a brawl. They were not rude or threatening in the least, but looked a little ferocious, which may have resulted from a familiarity with the animals in the menagerie. A man accus- tomed to enter the cage of a lion when he is tearing raw meat, acquires the habit, perhaps, of looking a little stern, not to say fierce, as that gives warning; and there was an expression in the faces of these men, whose muscles were plain under their clothes, which said, " It would be best for you not to get into any difficulty with me." There seemed a probability at one time that such a difficulty would take place, as one of the busybodies thronging the tavern accidentally trod upon the toes of a heavy-browed and powerful in- dividual imbibing liquids at the bar, and was treated to a ferocious scowl, accompa- 28 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. nied by a growl, which made him recoil and look outraged. But a friend took the busybody aside, and said to him, " You had better let these fellows alone their trainers put too much muscle on 'em;" and a portly individual in a suit of black, a white waistcoat, and a tall "stove-pipe" hat, went up to the Hercules, and tapping him on the shoulder said, in a low tone, with a significant look, " No making trou- ble with citizens !" Then the gentleman with the stove-pipe hat approached the offended busybody and said, in honeyed tones, " I hope, my dear sir, you'll not think hard of my boys. They are a well-mean- ing set, and as peaceful as lambs, but they are overworked sometimes, and that tells on the nerves, you know ! We shall have the pleasure, I trust, of seeing you to- night." Here he slipped an admission ticket into the hand of the mollified citizen, and they parted with mutual bows and smiles. He was, in fact, a very good judge of human nature indeed, this Mr. Brownson, manager and proprietor of Brownson's Unrivalled Combination of Attractions. The object of his existence was dollars, and he was devoted to it. He had max- ims by which he regulated his conduct, and would have them respected. One was, " Never have any difficulty with citizens;" another, "Don't give the legal authorities a hold on you ;" ami a third was," Receipts are the great thinir." II*' had his expla- nation always ready, showing the good- sense of the>e maxims. DilHcultics pro- duced "rows," and arrests followed, and there wa- a scandal and nothing injured 18 mrc than to acquire the reputa- tion of having a i|iiarrelsoine and di-au'iv- al'le vet ,,f performers. Citizens would not stand that. They would not attend the pcrf'-nnancex, and as receipts were the great, thing, that would be disastrous. r.e\nd this Mr. r.rownson did not in- pat riaivh mildly ruling his band of wild animals, and if they only per- formed to his satisfaction, he made not the least objection to their enjoying them- selve-. Kverything was permitted that was not forbidden private life was sa- cred. Cards ? Certainly ; where was the harm in social relaxation in hours of lei- sure? Drink? "Why not? Wine cheered the heart of man, and he himself, at inter- vals throughout every day, retired to in- dulge in that solace. But it must never be forgotten that receipts were the great thing. Drink to any extent, so there was no quarrelling and the nerves were steady. That must be understood. These condi- tions complied with, no questions would be asked, for he, Mr. Brownson, was not a police-officer or a detective, to be shadow- ing gentlemen and interfering with them in their private relations. But no rows, and the nerves must be up to time. If anything unfortunate happened it was unfortunate, and the matter ended. If the performer on the flying-trapeze broke his neck in consequence of being drunk, it was his misfortune, and his sorrowing comrades would drop a tear. It would be an inconvenience, and subject the man- agement to loss the victim might even have obtained an advance on his salary. But then accidents would happen in the best-regulated companies, and there was the element of compensation which min- gles with all human affairs. For a per- former to break his neck was a superb advertisement. It was "thrilling!" crowds flocked to the next performance in hopes that another neck would be broken and ho, Mr. Brownson, clad in a whit waistcoat and irreproachable black coz had the opportunity of making a feclii address : " It was his painful duty to ai nounce that since his last visit to his friends at , the distinguished Senor Gomez, in executing his great feat of throwing himself fifty feet backward on the flying-trapeze had missed the roj and, falling, hal broken his neck! His fate had moved the sternest of his com- rades t. tears. 11,- was mild and amia- ble, and exempt from every vice, especial- ly from the great curse of intemperance. His friends mourned his loss, but consoled themselves with the reflection that he had died on the field of honor, a bright exai pie to all ; and the same feat would no\ VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 29 be performed by Mr. Welby Brown, after which Mr. Donald Melville, the foremost bare-back rider of the world, would exhib- it his daring iini-um-uin, and the perform- ance would now commence." After making this little address Mr. Brnwnsini was aeeustoined to wave his stove-pipe hat and bow respectfully to the audience, after which lie retired with his head erect and an air of the highest respectability. When the next accident happened the same speech was taken out and aired, and the same lament was ut- tered over the comrade who had fallen on the field of honor. It was the command- er -in -chief issuing his order of condo- lence, and giving voice to the general grief. Dead, the fallen one was mourn- ed living, he had not been shadowed or interfered with. The attention of his surviving comrades was called to that fact. No interference with the private affairs of gentlemen off duty. Drink and cards? Certainly. Liberty to cut each others' throats? If they chose. But no difficulties with citizens ; and, drunk or sober, the nerves must be up to time. The performance advertised must be performed. No shirking. Business was business, and receipts the great thing. This slight sketch of Mr. Brownson is a digression ; but then the worthy man- ager of the "Unequalled Combination" was a type and types are always worth looking at. In addition, Mr. Brownson is destined to appear in a few scenes of this narrative ; hence this brief sketch in passing of the excellent man. Night came at last, and the crowd flowed toward the ground where great domes of light the tents, " lit from the inner" were seen glowing. The tent containing the wild animals was already crowded. There was general enthusiasm. Men, women, and children, absorbed in the spectacle before them, moved to and fro over the green turf forming the floor of the canvas house, laughing, jesting, exclaiming, and enjoying to the utmost what is one of the greatest enjoyments of this world the being ardently inter- ested in something. It was a very good menagerie, and the animals, ranged in their cages against the canvas \\alls, looked with languid interest at the ridiculous creatures with two legs who were inspecting them. There was a huge rhinoceros, who could have crunch- ed half a do/en of them at one mouthful ; lions, tigers, and leopards, who could have torn them to pieces; and a grizzly bear, one of whose hugs would have sufficed for the strongest man present. Why were they put in cages? they may have asked themselves sometimes. They were stronger, swifter, keener of sight, keener of ear: did the little contents of the brain -cavity make such a difference? They were there at least, and the rustic beaux poked at them with their sticks, and made the rustic belles laugh ; and the children shouted over the monkeys, and drew back from the elephant's trunk ; and the sea-lions splashed, and a young hip- popotamus yawned portentously ; and al- together it was a very interesting men- agerie. An opening led into the next tent, where the performances of the ring were about to take place. The spectacle here presented was the familiar one of a cir- cular space covered with sawdust, and enclosed by a low barrier. Clusters of lamps encircled the large pole rising in the centre, and rows of benches extended from the ground to the canvas eaves. Opposite the entrance was another open- ing leading into a third tent, containing the performers and horses. Near this opening the band was seated they were already tuning their instruments, and. stray notes mingled now and then with the hum and buzz of anticipation. The benches were already filled nearly to overflowing. On the left were the sons and daughters of Africa, a wild- eyed, grinning mass of bright colors and ebony, who always start with delight at the announcement that a circus is com- ing. On the right was the white audi- ence, composed of persons of every class and both sexes. The rustic and urban mingled in harmonious union the Cau- casian facing the African ; the Mongolian 30 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. was not there yet, though he may make his appearance some day in spite of Mr. Dennis Kearney. In some seats divided off from the rest, and comfortably cush* ioned, sat Brantz Elliot and Nelly Welles, and not far from them Mr. Lascelles and Miss Juliet Armstrong. It was really a very dazzling spectacle with its brilliant lights, and there was an aura which excited and raised the spirits. it crowd exerts a certain magnetic effect. You may be a philosopher, and smile serenely at the general excitement, but you end by sharing it. And this crowd was very much excited, as crowds at circuses almost always are, for the cir- cus is one of the great popular institu- tions of the modern world. It replaces the Olympian festivals of antiquity, and with its lights, resounding music, splendid dresses, and wonderful feats, exactly satis- fies the demand of the populus. The eye and ear are enormously delighted, if not the mind. It is not Lear or Hamlet, where the human soul is dissected, and there is nothing resembling the sweet charm of Juliet's love-dream. But then there is Mr. Merry man, the clown, who supplies tho place of Touchstone, if not of Falstail; and fine horses, and superb bare-back riders and athletes, all in won- drous costumes, climbing, leaping, and living, and chasing the flying hours, under da/./ling lights, to the sound of music. At this the populus thrills. Look at the faces packed to- gether on the benches yonder. There is no trace of ennui there. You of the may u'" in kid gloves and opera to your city theatres, to enjoy Mr. liooth in tragedy or Mr. Jefferson in comedy. Yon may listen \\ith critical car- to the inline of Mr. Thomas or the of Madame I'atti; your enjoyment is ;e>thetic, hut the pnpulus docs not even undeistand the meaning "f the word. It flocks to the circus, as the ] 'nonius Ro- manus once thr< mired to the amphitheatre' n and the lighting of the gladiators. Suddenly the music burst forth, and the wonderful wonder began. XII. SOME CHILDREN OF THE RING. IT was a very good circus. Six Hun- garian horses, jet black, with silver-plated trappings, and rosettes on their heads, darted into the ring, driven by long silk- en reins in the hands of a woman. She was a brilliant young creature with flash- ing eyes and rosy cheeks, and her costume chiefly consisted of stockinet, and a very scant gauze skirt. She drove, standing on the point of one satin slipper, on the horse in rear, and the other foot was pointed at an angle behind her, as if the laughing maiden had just spurned some- thing. This was Mademoiselle Clare de Lune, as any one could see from the handbills. She was a light-hearted girl, who evidently enjoyed life, and thought pirouetting before a crowd charming amusement. Having flashed around the ring, kissing her hand, and changing from one foot to the other on her steed, she began to exhibit the accomplishments of her Hungarians. At the signal they stopped suddenly and wheeled in circles, and were mixed up hopelessly ; then they promptly untangled themselves, and re- sumed the gallop in a long, streami line. Then Mademoiselle Clare de Li placed her extremities upon two ho and drove the rest. Then the rush be- came more furious; the plated harness clashed, the steeds broke into line again, and, kissing her hand amidst applause, Miss de Lune was borne away out of tl ring. Mademoiselle Zephyr succeeded her a milk-white steed without saddle bridle, and clad in a costume scant even than Miss de Lime's. Then unequalled male performers of the I'nri- valled Combination came on in their turn ; the ring was one great melee of flashing costumes and rushing steeds. Then they vanished as they came, at a furious gallop, and the audience hurst into shouts of ap- and lauhter. The applause was meant, no doubt, f< the unequalled bare-back riders, but the lauirhter was caused by Mr. Merry] VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 31 That gentleman rose apparently from the earth beneath the feet of the horses, and came forward, bowing and grimacing. He was a singular liguro in stockinet and short pantaloons, surrounded by red stripes. His legs were as thin as pipe- stems, and lie wore a fool's-cap with a tassel. Ilis cheeks and lips were daubed with carmine, and his corked mnstaehe curled toward his ears. This was the figure, which came forward grimacing with intense enjoyment, and bowing un- til his frame described an exact right angle. Mr. Merryman made an address, in which he congratulated the audience upon seeing him again. "His own feel- he said, " were inexpressible, and he would therefore not express them. This very large and intelligent congregation of miserable sinners had a great pleasure be- fore them. They had seen the animals, their first cousins according to Mr. Dar- win the Syrian jackass, the tiger, and the monkeys. They would now have a rarer enjoyment than this, or his own society even the wonderful feats of the celebrated Senor Karl." The brass band burst forth, and a man came slowly into the ring on foot. Hav- ing reached the middle of the ring, he made the professional salute by raising one hand to a level with his face and letting it fall. As the assistants had not arranged some weights which he was to lift, he stood looking at the audience and they at him. lie was broad-shouldered and powerful. As he wore no clothing but stockinet, and velvet pantaloons reach- ing from his waist to the middle of his thighs, the huge muscles of his chest and limbs could be seen plainly. His head was striking. A heavy black beard and mustache nearly concealed his face. His forehead was broad, and there was a great space between the eyes. His eyebrows were black and heavy, and had the pecu- liarity of nearly uniting in the middle, which had the effect of giving his whole physiognomy a stern, almost savage ex- pression. Otherwise the face was a frank and honest one, and the man's glance not at all fierce. His complexion was ruddy, apparently from drink, but 6X0688 had not yet undermined his immense physique. His walk was firm, and his carriage erect, lie was evidently as hard as iron from head to foot a Titan trained and devel- oped to the highest degree of plnViral force by the prospect of two hundred dollars a week, probably spent for the most part in drink. When the weights were arranged on the platform, supported on two carpen- ters' benches, the Seiior Karl placed his shoulders beneath the platform, braced himself by resting his hands on his knees; then his muscles rose in ridges, and the mass ascended about a foot. As the weight was two or three thousand pounds he could not support it long. When he allowed the platform to fall back with a crash, and came out drawing a long breath, the audience testified by their loud applause that they were satis- fied. Feats on the trapeze followed, in which performers of both sexes took part. Some of these were very curious, and seem to nullify the Newtonian princi- ple of gravity almost to reverse it. When Mademoiselle Clare de Lune wrap- ped the instep of one of her feet around a rope hanging from the summit of the trapeze frame, and, hanging head down- ward, kissed her hand, it was a mystery how she supported the weight of her person in that position; and how, when she fell, she managed to light upon her feet. The Senor Karl, it seemed, had another performance to go through with, and, af- ter an interlude of bare-backers, he reap- peared in the ring. His performance, like the first, was to be an exhibition of strength. One of the leopards of the menagerie had been trained to participate in it, and it consisted in ascending the trapeze ropes with the animal perched on the performer's shoulder. He advanced to the middle of the ring, looking toward the opening into the first tent, and the keeper there loosed the ani- mal, which bounded into the arena. He 32 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. was a large and very beautiful leopard, with fur as soft as velvet, streaked and spotted with black and yellow. The cat- like eyes sparkled, and the leopard sprung at the man growling it was apparently a part of the performance : a glance at his face, however, made this doubtful, lit- had caught the leopard by the throat as if to defend himself, and was looking at the animal with an expression of some surprise, his black eyebrows nearly joined in the middle. For nearly a minute the man and the animal preserved their statuesque atti- tudes, the leopard growling, and the man apparently only preventing him by main strength from fixing his teeth in him. ere fixed on the animal's, and seemed to have a magnetic effect. The leopard ceased to growl, at length, crouch- ed down with a sidelong and submissive glance, and at the order sprung and perched himself on the man's shoulder. Then the performance began, and the man raised himself slowly, hand -over- hand, by a single rope, ascending to the summit of the trapeze. Once there he paused. A moment afterward a furious gn.wl was heard from the man 'and the animal in unison, and they descended rapidly, and reached the sawdust. AVhat had happened ? Was the whole a part of the performance? If so, the performer . very excellent actor. He seized the. leopard by the throat at the moment when the animal was apparently attempt- ing t" eteap fn>m him, and, throwing him upon the ground, placed one knee on his biva-t. The audience burst into applause, but tin- perf-T. '1 in no mood to ac- knowledge it he ^ as plainly furious. His blaek eyebrows had made the >traight line across his face, and the gasps and struggles of the animal left no doubt that the performer's obje.-t Wtt m irk 1 him. All at once the worthy Mr. Irownson ru>hed into the rim:. Hi- face was red and his eyes lla-hed. Tin- good man had<|uite lost his self-possession, and discharged a volley of oaths, winding up with a demand what all this meant. The The performer rose to his feet, leopard lay still. " He bit me and I strangled him !" he said, in a deep voice with a foreign ac- cent. " That is the meaning of it." " Strangle my best leopard, that cost me two thousand dollars !" came in howl of wrath and anguish. "He nearly cost me my life; but T\ done for him, and I'm glad of that." Having made this response in a phlegmatic and unimpressed voice, the athlete made his professional salute to the audience and went out of the ring. " What is the matter, Lefthander ?" said Clare de Lune, running to him. The Lefthander which seemed to be the Senor Karl's designation in private life put his finger under the rosy chin of Miss de Lune, and laughed slightly. " I choked the leopard to death for biting me, and old Brownson is furioi he said. " Choked the leopard !" " The vermin sunk his teeth in my shoulder. You can see it." Mademoiselle de Lune had been lai ing, but suddenly cried, " Oh me ! you are hurt, Lefthan< you are bleeding !" Before he could prevent her she took her white gauze skirt and pressed it the bleeding shoulder. " There, you've ruined your dress just look at it!" said the Lefthander. "I'm not hurt in the least: you are a gc girl, petite." They then parted. As to the leopard, he had been dragged out of the ring, and the bare-backers had rushed in. The in- cident was apparently forgotten. It was not forgotten by one person Mr. Lascelles and had impressed Mi>s Juliet Armstrong. " A very strange incident," she said. " Was it real, or a part of the perform- ance ?" " I think the incident was a real one," said Mr. Lascelles, suddenly recovering, apparently, from a fit of the deepest ab- straction. "The leopard must have bit hit ^V-Ifc. : - VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 33 What a singular- looking person!" .-aid Miss Juliet. " Very singular," said Mr. Lascelles, with a peculiar expression upon his face. It was hard to read tin 1 expression it seemed one of vague astonishment ; and it had been there from the moment of the Lefthander's first entrance. " What is his name ? 1 mean the leop- ard-slayer," said Miss Juliet, with mild interest. "His name? I do not know. How Should I- Mr. Lascelles stopped suddenly. What was he saying ? He laughed, and begged his companion to pardon his rudeness he was growing so absent-minded that lie felt really ashamed of himself. The performer's name? He would ascertain. And having procured a bill from the attendant stationed at the entrance to the reserved seats, he brought it back, and presented it with a bow to the young lady. " He is called the Seiior Karl," he said, with an air of indifference. And as the acrobats at this moment entered, the subject of the Senor Karl quite disappeared from Miss Juliet's men- tal horizon. XIII. MOUSE. HAVING parted with Clare de Lune, ;he Lefthander to adopt the private name of the Senor Karl went to a slit in the canvas, opened it slightly, and fix- ed his eyes on Mr. Lascelles, who sat in the full light of a circle of globe lamps. For some moments he scrutinized him closely, with a very moody expression on :iis face. He then muttered, " It is the man or his ghost ! I am sure of him. What is he doing here I" After a few minutes he walked away and went into a side compartment of the .arge tent. Here he sat down on an empty box, upon which lay a short meer- schaum pipe and a pouch of smoking to- bacco, which he had probably placed there when he went into the ring. He filled the 3 pip* 1 , lit it from a match taken from the pouch, and, leaning one of his ponderous elbows on his knee, began to smoke looking thoughtfully, as he did so, at tbe linely caparisoned horses without, with their riders standing beside them, which he could do through the opening. At a signal the horses and riders passed at a swift gallop and darted into the ring. The Lefthander then concentrated his attention upon two figures seated upon some bags of oats opposite his box, smoking his pipe tranquilly with an air of enjoyment, and looking at them with interest. They were a picturesque little group a slender young fellow of about twenty, clad precisely like the Lefthander in close- fitting stockinet and velvet pantaloons; and a child, apparently about ten, dressed as a ballet girl. This dress consisted of a blue satin body, and a white muslin skirt reaching about to her knees, where it was joined by flesh-colored stockinet, ending in red morocco boots fitting tight- ly to her tiny feet. All about the child, in fact, was tiny her slender limbs, her delicate arms, which were bare, and her features. Her hair was of a dark auburn, and fell on her bare shoulders in short curls; when she raised her eyes you saw that they were large and blue, and had a very earnest little-womanish expression. At the moment she was seated upon one of the bags, with her left foot over her right knee, chalking the sole of her boot a proceeding which both the young man, who was leaning back on his elbow, and the Lefthander, who was smoking his pipe, contemplated with interest. As, after rubbing away with the chalk for a moment, the child uttered a slight sigh, the Lefthander, taking his pipe out of his mouth, said, "Tired, Mouse?" The voice which asked this question was not the same which had said briefly, " He bit me and I strangled him !" to Manager Brownson. It was quite differ- ent, and had something caressing about it. " No, I am not much tired ; but it's a tiresome sort of business, this dancing and 34 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. prancing," said the small lady addressed as Mi nise ; " but I suppose I'll have to put up with it." " I don't know. I don't altogether like it. You ought to be at school, Mouse." "Me, at school? Away from you? What in the world would become of you ?" Having reflected on this, the Lefthand- er said, " Well, you are right, perhaps. I couldn't very well get along without hearing my Mouse squeak sometimes, and would feel a little lost, probably." "And Gentleman Joe, and Harry, what would they do ? What would you all do, if I was not here to take care of you?" Mouse said, with a business air. " Really, I never thought of that," said the Lefthander, lost in reflection; "the fact is, we would all probably go to the dogs, which is not a very good place to go to." He smoked for a moment, and then added, " But we might all tramp off some- where together." " Oh, that would be grand, poppa !" ex- claimed Mouse, with enthusiasm. She called it "pop ah," emphasizing the -liable, and gesticulated with the hand holding the chalk as she spoke. " Would you like to give up dancing on the tight-rope, Mouse?" "Give it up! I'd get down on my knees and bless the day ! I'm all the time thinking my foot's going to slip and I'll fall; and the crowd always looks at me as if I was well, a whole menagerie, including the rhinoceros and the griz/.lv bear!* 1 The Lefthander uttered a slight grunt, which might have indicated either amuse- ment at or sympathy with this view of thii, "And, then," he said, "the way of liv- ing i> n't BO \rry \f 1 a way of living fr a small bndy like you. The life of circus men and women is n<>t an ca>y life it is a very hard life." "I should say it was I" M-.u-e returned, with aristocratic scorn ; " sleeping in hay- stacks half the time, and prancing about from one place to another, and having boxes to sit on instead of easy-chairs ; and being Mademoiselle Celestine Delavan, in- stead of a body's real name ! It's not re- spectable !" Mouse was evidently resenting among other things her designation on the play- bills, which was " Mademoiselle Celestine Delavan," as she intimated ; her more fa- miliar appellation being that by which she was known among her friends. " Well," the Lefthander said, grunting, and looking with a meditative air, as he smoked, at the child's delicate face and curls, "the fact is, you're a very little body, Mignon, to be a public character. You were made for a lady, and to have a big doll, about the size of yourself ; and to be tucked in bed at night, not sleep in hay-stacks. You look like a sylph in the operas: I have acted in operas. The first wind would blow you away, if it blew tolerably hard; it needn't be very hard. You oughtn't to be doing this tight - rope business ; money's not so much." " Well, I don't mind it," said the consequential Mouse, "and I have money, as I don't allow my poppa to hi anything to do with it." " Your poppa don't mean to have any- thing to do with it. It's laid up what you call invested." " What's in rested r said Mouse. " You let me give it away." " Yes, to poor people and the ones that suffer. That's imrxtnt" said the Left- hander, smoking. " That's why I let you do the rope business you would go on plaguing me till I consented to it. You were tired idling, you said but I want you to be idle." Mouse shook her head by way of pro- test, but the Lefthander persisted in his new. " What business is it of a mite like you to work for money?" he said. "1 nev.-r meant you to follow this tradt I'm tit for nothing else myself, but that's differ- ent. I've stuck at it so long that I'm set in the grooves. I go to it like a wagon - horse, and do my work out VIKCIXIA BOHEMIANS. 35 out hew to the line ; but I'm rather tired of it." "Arc you really?" Mouse said, ear- nestly. " Uather, Million; and sometimes I think I'll take you and go off and live quietly somewhere. You'd have the flow- ers and the sunshine, you see, and go to sleep when the birds do, instead of hop- ping up and down on a tight-rope till mid- night. I think I'll take you." Mouse was chalking her boot, but at these words she stopped. Her eyes spar- kled. "Do you think you will?" she ex- claimed. " I really do. I don't see what better I can do than look after my young one. I'm a big fellow, and can lift heavy weights, and when animals fall out with me, as one did to-night, I can do for 'em but that's not much. The best thing to do is to look after the young ones." A wonderful expression of softness came to the rugged face as he looked at the child. It quite changed its whole ap- pearance. " Yes," he added, with a nod ; " I think I'll retire from public life before long." "Do you really really, poppa?" Mou so, repeated, in ecstasies. " Yes, and you and I will go off to the country, and live in a quiet way. I'll put on a plain suit of clothes, and you will have a little frock reaching down be- low your knees, and good black shoes not a gauze skirt and fancy boots like that, made of red morocco and go to school, and see the grass and the flowers grow, and hear the birds sing from morn- ing till night." The Lefthander stopped to utter his grunt of mild enjoyment. " I think I could stand 'em, and keep away from the bar-rooms," he said, " on your account, Mignon. Yes, I could stand that, and I could work for you like a good poppa; and smoke my pipe and live re- spectably, as you said just now didn't you \ But then there's a difficulty." Mouse, cast down from her eminence of joy, turned her head suddenly. " What would you do without Harry '." said the Lefthander, nodding toward the third member of the group. This was the young fellow in stockinet who \\as leaning back on one ell>ow on the bags of grain, and had listened to the whole conversation with a smile. " There's Harry to think of," the Left- hander said. "And Gentleman Joe," said a melan- choly voice behind them. At this all looked up and saw Mr. Mer- ryman. He had just come out of the ring, and the expression both of his faec and figure had completely changed. The tumbling, dancing, grimacing Mr. Merry- man had given way to a rather melan- choly old fellow, who stood calmly erect, and looked quite sad. Looking at him you were apt to recall the legend of the poor jester on the stage who threw the crowd into ecstasies, and then retired behind the scenes to the bedside of his dying child. lie was given to such changes of mood, even in private, this eccentric old Gentle- man Joe. His comrades said there was a "crack" in him somewhere a screw loose in his mental machinery. He al- ternated between extravagant mirth and depressing sadness. The least circum- stance made him laugh or brought tears to his eyes. Sighs and smiles chased each other over his thin old face; and there really did seem to be something the matter with him. His memory was very unstable, and he could not tell the name of the last place which he had performed at after an interval of two or three days. As to his past life, it seemed to be a blank to him, and nothing more was known of him than that he had been connected for a long time with the company, and that his name was Vance. He and his son Harry, the young fellow leaning on the bags of oats, were both very popular with their comrades. Gentleman Joe was an especial favorite. He A\ amiable, and so ready to do an act of kindness, that everybody was his friend. He was treated with the utmost regard, but never with undue familiarity, in spite 36 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. of his undignified position in the troupe, for there was something about Gentle- man Joe which completely discouraged intrusive people. He was very easy and friendly, but no one had over been known to slap him on the shoulder or indulge in liberties with him. Even Manager Brown- son, who was a dictatorial person, never spoke imperiously to GentU-maii Joe a name which had evidently been bestowed upon him from the mild courtesy of his manners. " And Gentleman Joe what would poor old Gentleman Joe do without you, Mouse?" he said now to the child. .Mouse seemed equal to the occasion, and promptly replied : " Why of course you and Harry would go with us, Gentleman Joe. You don't for one minute think that I could get along without you and Harry, any more than you could get along without me ?" " It would be a hard business, a very hard business, indeed," said Gentleman Joe, shaking his head ; " and as to Har- ly'fl not having you to tease, he would lose his good spirits and pine away." "I certainly would, Mouse," said the young fellow, laughing. " I'd miss my grandma every hour." "Would you, really, you good-for- nothing plague?" Mouse said, affection- ately. " Well, I can tell you one thing it would IT had for you. If ever there . young man who required looking after, and to have somebody to keep him straight, it's you!" u Li-ten to grandma!" was the response. "The old ladyV begun her di.seoursc. It's a weakness with her." ?or you mind, >ir. You'll come to a bad end if you don't take can mark my word-." "I liopi- not," the young fellow said; ''ami you oughtn't to he thinking !' go- ing a. . if I iv.juiiv moral 1,-ct- uring so much." " You and (lentlVman Joe can come with us. What is to prevent you. -ir.'" "I don't think that would suit ; would it, father " I'm afraid it would not," Gentleman Joe replied, shaking his head ; " not that I like being Mr. Merryman. I do not like it at all ; but I am growing old now, Mouse, and old people find it hard to give up their pursuits and follow dif- ferent ones. I was not a clown always though I can't say I remember exactly what I used to be. My memory is not so good as it was. I lived somewhere I forget precisely where and was not a clown. It amuses me to laugh and make the crowd laugh sometimes. I don't think I should like altogether to give up the old trade." "But we'd be so happy, Gentleman Joe !" Mouse persisted, with great earnest- ness. " Think of the birds and the flow- ers ; and then, we needn't give up every- thing. We might come to it by degrees, you know. "We might make up a little troupe of our own, and go about the country, and perform in a quiet way." " Really, I never thought of that," said Gentleman Joe. " Nor I," said the Lefthander ; " tlu not a bad idea, Harry." " Not a bad idea at all," said the yoi man. " It's a very good idea," said Gentlei Joe. Mouse saw that she had made an pression, and this always stimulates to further eloquence. " I am glad to find that you lords of creation have some good-sense left after all," she said. "If 1 tnn a mouse I can squeak what's reasonable, and not non- Mfflse such as I generally hear from that good-for-nothing young man there, who is looking at my ankles while he is pick- ing his teeth with a straw!" said Mouse, severely. "Of course it's a good idea! Think! 1'oppa could lift weights and perform on the ropes, and you and (leii- tleinan Joe could do the juggling, Harry !" u And the Mr. Merryman business," said Gentleman Joe, reflecting. "And I could play the tambourine!'' said Mouse, "and take around the hat! And we could get a hand-organ and a little monkey a small one with a red (oat, and a feather in his cap !" VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 37 "Really, tli.it sounds like business, Mouse," said the Lefthander. " \Ve could buy a light wai^-ii and a horse to rarry the properties, and a small tent and the rest and there you are. We'd be a troupe of Bohemians, which is not a bad tiling to be. \Ye would have no more to do with this beastly old Brown8on,andyou would not have to pirouette any more " " Before coin UK m people and servants," Gentleman Joe said, with the air of an aristocrat. " That is the best of all isn't it, Mouse ?" " Oh yes ! yes, indeed !" exclaimed the delighted Mouse, "and we will be free free ! \\Y needn't act unless we want to. We can stop anywhere we choose on the side of the road in the grassy fence corners, or under the trees ; and I'll boil the pot, poppa, and cook for everybody ; and you shall smoke your pipe, and Har- ry shall be just as good-for-nothing as he pleases ; and you and me, Gentleman Joe, will walk off and hear the birds sing, and you'll pet me, and maybe take me up and carry me if I am tired, as there's not much of me for you know you always liked me better than anybody in all this wicked world !" Mouse stopped, out of breath. Sud- denly a sort of growl was heard near them, and turning in the direction of this sound they saw Manager Brownson. He was very red indeed in the face, probably the result of recent potations, and scowled fiercely, striking his stick upon the ground as he did so. " What does this mean ? What are you trifling here for ?" cried Mr. Brown- son. "Don't you hear the audience howling, and getting the devil in 'em ?" "I have just returned from the ring," said Gentleman Joe, with dignity; "and I will add that your tone of voice is un- pleasant, sir." "Curse my tone of voice hear 'em! they're breaking down the benches ! There's nobody in the ring !" He turned furiously to Mouse and said, "This is your private parlor, eh? ou're entertaining y< your turn to go on !" Mou si- shrunk a little from the inflamed eyes. "Get up!" cried Mr. Brownson. " I haven't chalked my shoos I will soon be ready, sir," the child said, with alarm. She then hastily rublu-d her shoes in a nervous manner, and rose hastily to her feet. "Hear Yin!" evlaimed Mr. Manager Brownson, digging his cane into the ground with fury as the prolonged thun- der of impatience came from the main tent. "Hear 'em they'll split the benches !" These words were addressed to the Lefthander, who had continued quietly to smoke his pipe, while Mouse, Gentleman Joe, and Harry hastened off. " Do you hear ?" cried the manager. "Hear what?" said the Lefthander, tranquilly. "That infernal row the audience arc wild." " Yes, I hear it it is loud enough for that," said the Lefthander, with great composure. " And that girl's the cause of it it's her neglect !" " Neglect of what ?" " Her business !" "That is a lie!" said the Lefthander. Manager Brownson stood for a mo- ment looking at the personage who utter- ed these calm words, with a species of stupor. The world was plainly coming to an end. Could he believe his ears? He, Manager Brownson, proprietor of the Unrivalled Combination of Attractions, had been informed to his face that a statement which he made was " a lie !" " Wh what do you mean ?" he gasped. The Lefthander rose erect slowly, hav- ing first knocked the ashes from his pipe and laid it upon the box 1-oide him. " Well," he said, in a calm and matter- of-fact voice, "I mean that what you say about Mouse is a lie she was not called ; she's always ready, and brings you in double what you pay her. As for you, I will tell you what I think of you: you are an old beast ! And I will give 38 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. you a little advice. Let Mouse alone ; it will be better for you." There was no doubt at all about the meaning of these words, and the expres- sion of the speaker's face was not encour- aging. The black eyebrows had united in the middle, and the ponderous left hand slowly closed. Manager Brownson changed color; a personal collision with the athlete seemed imminent; when a cry was heard from the main tent, where Mouse was going through her perform- ance. Something had evidently happen- ed. Had Mouse met with any accident? The Lefthander turned his back on Manager Brownson, and hastened to the opening in the canvas through which his figure disappeared. XIV. AN ACCIDENT. MOUSE had, in fact, met with an acci- dent. After the angry colloquy with the manager, she and Gentleman Joe had .ed into the ring, which was unoc- cupied at the moment by any of the per- formers hence the impatience of the audience. It was a fixed habit with old Gentleman Joe to thus act as the child's escort, lit- was very much devoted to her, and saw that the sight of the great sea i if heads and eyes generally frightened her a little ; so he always ki went on" with IPT, and thus diverted to himself a part of the public attention. This was a proof of Gentleman .Joe's deliejiey of M-ntiment, as well as of his affection for Mouse. This thin-faced old clown was not a mere raeny-andrew ; you eould see that, lie had about him the indescribable some- thing which indicates elevation of char- and his manner, and the tone-, .,f hi- roice, when he was speaking to the child, hail that suavity which marks high- bred pel-suns. As they entered the riinr, < ientleman Joe's expression changed at once. 11, executed a Ljrimaee, and, bending his hoi ly forward at a ri^ht angle, extended his left elbow horizontally toward Mm>e. ,t "lie aen set, ;:: who took the arm offered. He then stepped out with his right foot, putting it down cautiously, as if he were walking upon eggs, and escorted Mouse to the spot where a tight -rope was stretched over forks about ten feet from the ground. " Ladies and gen-tle-men," said Gen man Joe, " I have the honor to introdu to you my young friend, Mademoise Celestine Delavan, who will perform for your amusement upon what is called, the common people, the tight-rope." In the midst of applause, Gentlem Joe then released his arm from Mouse grasp, knelt on one knee, and held out his hand. The child placed her small foot in it. and Gentleman Joe tossed her up to the tight-rope, and handed her the long balancing - pole ; he then smiled, retired backward, looking at her admir- ingly as he did so, fell over a wooden block behind him, turned a somer and lit upon his feet, grimacing. T performance then began. It was evident that the child was ease, and a little afraid to begin her per- formance. This was so plain that Mi Juliet Armstrong, who seemed to be mu interested in her, said to Mr. Lascelles, " It is very wrong to make such a p little thing perform in public. She afraid of falling ; I hope she will n fall." "There is probably no danger," Mr. Lascelles replied ; " these people are al- ways well trained." "But she is such a wee body," said sympathetic Juliet very earnestly for calm a person, "and quite a little beau too." "Do you think so?" "Don't you?" " Well," said Mr. Lascelles, rather differently, "I really had not looked a her. Yes, she is tolerably good-looking, and a mere child, as you B8J, Mitt Juliet." "She is too young. Look, she tainly is frightened she is clinging the rope with her feet like a bird." This was true. Mouse's boots \\ not sulliciently chalked, which is csse tial in performances on the tight -ro VIRGINIA IlolIKMIANS. 39 Alarmed by tlic angry expression and rough address of the manager, the child had hastened in to go through her per- formance In-fore she \vas ready t<> d<> BO, The smooth soles of her boots made hei foothold insecure, and her feet were wrapped around the tight - rope in the manner noticed hy the young lady as a bird grasps the hough of a tree. Nevertheless, Mouse attempted to exe- cute her part. She advanced nervously, moving her long balancing-pole up and down her foothold was evidently uncer- tain, and once or twice her feet slipped, but she regained her equilibrium. "The poor little thing! look at her face," exclaimed Juliet; "she is fright- ened, and is going to fall !" Mouse fell her foot had slipped, and she was precipitated from the tight-rope. As she fell she endeavored to grasp the rope, but only bruised her arm, causing the blood to flow. She struck the saw- dust heavily, and lay still, moaning. Gentleman Joe had rushed forward to catch her in his arms as she fell, but he was too late. The child was lying with one of her tiny limbs doubled beneath her, and her bleeding arm above her head, as if to ward off a blow. Some of the blood from it had fallen on her light curls. At sight of this Gentleman Joe had uttered the cry, and the audience had risen to their feet with exclamations of sympathy. It was an affecting sight to see Gentleman Joe, with a sudden rush of tears wash- ing the paint from his cheeks, kneel by Mouse's side, calling to her. But he was all at once thrust aside, and the Lefthand- er caught the child in his arms. "AYhat's the matter, Mignon ?" he ex- claimed. " Are you hurt ? Your arm is broken. You fell !" "Yes, I fell, poppa. My shoes were not chalked," faltered Mouse, trying to smile. "Your arm is broken! It was his fault I'll kill him !" The tone of these words frightened the audience, who distinctly heard them. The Lefthander's voice and face were, in fact, ominous. His black brows had made the straight lino. Another person prob- ably heard him, and saw the eyebrows, through tin 1 opening of the tent Mana- ger Brownson, who \\a^ ohsrrved to retire hastily to his private apartment, away from the general confusion. The Lefthander raised Mouse in his arms growling as he did so like one of the wild animals. JIc was evidently, in- deed, a very dangerous animal at the mo- ment, and it was probably just as well that Mr. Brownson had business which occupied him elsewhere. Mouse was quite pale, and her white skirt was stained with the blood flowing from the wound upon her arm. The Left- hander had clasped her close to his breast, as a mother holds a baby, and was talking to her. He then rose, with Mouse in his arms, and went out of the tent, muttering, " If he gets in my way I'll kill him !" The audience did not hear these words, but they looked after the big athlete car- rying the tiny being in his arms, and could see the yearning expression of his face as he leaned over the child and re- peatedly kissed her. A murmur rose at this sight it was the 'touch of nature which makes the whole world kin.' Miss Juliet Armstrong quietly passed a small white handkerchief over her eyes, and then restored it to her outside pocket, where it was convenient to pick-pockets. " He must love her very much," she said, half aloud. " Yes," said Mr. Lascelles, " or pretends to. There is never any certainty with these people that what they do is not a part of the performance." XV. THE DRESSING-ROOM. IF it was a part of the performance the Lefthander performed his part to the life, and continued to do so when out of sight of the audience. Gentleman Joe had hastened after him with a piteous ex- pression. The fact that no one was left in the ring seemed a subject of profound 40 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. indifference to the poor clown. Manager Brownson might rage if he chose. There was Mouse to think of. The circus men, standing by their horses, ready to go on, flocked about the Lefthander inquiring what had hap- pened. The rough fellows in their glit- tering costumes were not the sort of per- sons to look for womanish sympathy from, one would have supposed; but there was the sympathy, and it was plain- ly strong and real. " What's the matter with Mouse, Left- hander?" "Poor girl!" " Broke her arm !" These evidences of feeling came from the crowd, but the Lefthander did not stop. He only said, as he passed, " If he gets in my way I'll finish him !" He went on, carrying Mouse close to his breast, to a small compartment on the left, which was divided from the main tent by a breadth of canvas. This he pushed aside and went in. In the room was a mattress, covered with an old counter- pane, a small pine table, two chairs, and a cracked looking-glass hanging by a string tied through two holes in the canvas. On one of the chairs was a pile of female clothing, evidently discarded recently by its owner or owners for the scantier costume of the ring. The place was evidently a dressing-room for the fe- male performers, and if there had been anv doubt of this the presence of Clare dc Lune and the Zephyr would have es- tablished the fact. The Zephyr was en- gaged at the moment in tying the rib- bon of her slipper, and Clare de Lune was standing in front <f the cracked looking-glass rouging her cheeks with one hand, while the other hand held a powder-puff with which she had just been powdering her shoulders. Both were in full ring costume, and their appearance was airy and sylph-like. The Lefthander entered without cere- mony. As the Zephyr went on with her occupation, and Clare de Lune at first did not turn her head, it was obvious that the intrusion was not at all resented the >ne of n. "' I think it's sprain- : new-comer was probably only "one the family." As Clare de Lune finish- ed rouging her cheeks, however, at the moment, and had secured the smile which she had been practising for some mo- ments in front of her mirror, she turned her head with mild curiosity, and looked at the intruders. Then she suddenly cried, " What has happened ?" "Well, I'll tell you what has happen- ed," said the Lefthander, in his bass voice ; " Mouse was made to go on, before her shoes were chalked, by that beast Brown- son, and she's broke her arm, I think; she slipped and fell." He laid Mouse on the old matt and passed his large hand over her arm. " Only bruised," he said. " Where you hurt, little one ?" "It's only my foot, ed, poppa," said Mouse, in rather a faint voice ; " but I don't think it's much, and it's not worth making a fuss about i only hurts a little." Mouse tried to say this in a matter-of- fact tone, but she uttered a slight moan, which indicated very plainly that she in pain. The sound seemed to act upon the let-girls like magic. Clare dc Lune for- got her rouge and the Zephyr her slipper, and ran to Mouse, throwing their arms around her and crying. One laid her head easily on an old pillow and drew the tattered counterpane over her. The other ran for a stone pitcher with a bro- ken spout, and began to bathe the sprain- ed ankle in cold water. Mouse look up, smiling the Lefthander's arm w around her neck. The group, with the circus girls on their knees in the sawdust and covering the child with caresses, mi quite a picture. They were not wrong, perhaps, tin worthy ballet-girls, in supposing that ca- and petting were good for people in Mouse's condition. Kisses soothe, and tones of love and sympathy heal the wounds of the body as well as the mind. They arc wholesome. So Mouse smiled as she received the caresses of these youm ;! VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 41 Amazons of the ring, whom their hard life had not hardened. "There, girls, that will do! 1 ' said the Lefthander; "let the young one be quirt now and rest a little." lie looked at them from under his shag- gy eyebrows and intittered, 4 ' (lood girls!" A boy appeared at the opening of the dressing-room as he was speaking, and called out, " Lefthander!'' " Well T he growled. " It's your turn, Lefthander. The bare- backers arc off." "Go to the devil!" said the Left- hander. The boy's face rilled with delight, and he chuckled. M Must I tell old Brownson that?" " Yes, tell him! I'll probably send him there before the night's over." The boy disappeared, apparently over- whelmed with delight at these words. He was a call-boy, of a humorous turn, and probably did not like "old Brownson." As he let the flap fall, the faces of Gen- tleman Joe and Harry were seen watch- ing and waiting anxiously to hear if Mouse was really hurt. There was no time to tell them at the moment. They and Clare de Lune and the Zephyr were suc- cessively " called." The two girls, obey- ing the inexorable summons, went out of the dressing-room; and the Lefthander was left alone with Mouse. She was lying quite easily, and did not seem to be suffering. Her paleness had disappeared, and the delicate lips were smiling. She had closed her eyes, ap- parently to shield them from the light of a cluster of lamps high up upon the large pole supporting the tent; and the Left- hander, half stretched upon the old mat- tress beside her, looked at her quietly. It was a great contrast, the huge athlete with the ponderous chest, and limbs rug- ged with muscle, leaning on his elbow near the child, who seemed, as he had said, light enough to be blown away by the first wind. While he was looking at her with a tenderness which made the rough features wonderfully soft, Mouse opened her eyes. "Well, old lady," said the lefthander, quietly, " how is the foot?" " It's easy," said Mouse, "and it ivallv don't, amount to much, I do assure you, poppa/' " How about the arm .'" " Well, it's the least, bit bruised; I wonder it bled so, and it doesn't hurt now. Here's a rumpus," added Mouse, "all about a small body that could be put in a thimble." " You may be a small body in the eyes of other people, but you are a big body in mine, Mignon," the Lefthander said. " I'd rather see the whole Unrivalled Combina- tion sunk to the depths than have your little finger hurt." "The Combination sunk?" Mouse re- joined; "that would be a bad thing to happen ; for you know, then, Clare de Lune and the Zephyr would be sunk too." " Well, that would be bad," the Left- hander acknowledged. "And there's Gentleman Joe and Har- ry. They oughtn't to be sunk instead of playing away yonder just listen to that music and the applause. I think Long Tom must be turning his back somerset." Long Tom was Mr. Donald Melville, chief of the bare-back riders, and a friend of Mouse. "No, it wouldn't do to sink Gentle- man Joe and Harry," she said, shaking her head. " I don't think I could get along without them ; and then you know we couldn't go off and make up that troupe I Ayas telling you about." "The travelling company? So it's all arranged ?" " Of course it's all arranged. I am now considering about the monkey," said Mouse ; " he is to have a red jacket trimmed with gold braid, and a blue vel- vet cap. I will train him to play the tambourine and carry round the hat." "And you'll look after the flowers and the sunshine ?" " In my moments of leisure, when I've nothing else to do." Mouse spoke with a matter-of-fact air, but her eyes sparkled at the thought of the flowers and the sunshine. The Left- 42 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. Lander evidently saw the expression and said, k ' Well, I think I've about made up my mind, Mignon; and we'll go off and get up the company/ 1 Mouse started with joy. "Are you really in earnest, poppa?" she exclaimed. "I really am." "And Gentleman Joe! and Harry! Do you think they will go with us?" "I think I can talk both into it I don't know ; I think I can. Harry's rea<ly, and old brute Brownson's getting < Gentleman Joe in a bad humor with him." Mouse forgot her foot, and clasped her small hands with delight. " It's too good to be true ! it is not go- ing to happen !" she exclaimed. " There's no such luck to be expected, and I'll nev- er see that monkey no, never !" " You would like to ?" "Like to? I'd take him on my back and carry him all day, only to have him ! Oh, poppa ! we'd be so happy. Think ! there'd be no more tight-rope dancing, and falling down and getting hurt we'd act in the daytime and the sun would shine so, and the grass and flowers just think of it all! You'd be happier than you ever were, and I'd take such good care of you !" " I really believe I would be happier, Mignon and I'd keep away from the har-room<. And there's another thing; if I stay hen- I'll put an end to old Brown-' MI some day." "Oh, n>! that would be sinful. You kn<\v what I read you in my Bible, pop- " Fe, I know, and that's \\liy 1 want to get away bcfon: I do him any damage. I'm not a bad sort of fellow if people let me alone; but I'm rather hard to manage when I'm trifled with. I begin to sec ivd! Some day or other old Drown-on will provoke me; then I'll give him one of my left-handers that will do for him. What noise is that "Somebody's quarrelling," Mou- Intening. A loud hubbub was heard without, and the sound of voices in angry discussion. Curious to know what occasioned it, the Lefthander got up, raised the canvas Hap, and telling Mouse that he would return in a moment, went out of the dressing- room. XVI. OF THE HEAVY BLOW INFLICTED ON UNRIVALLED COMBINATION AND MANAGER. THE accident to the child had be forgotten by the audience a few minutes after its occurrence. The general enjoy- ment interrupted for a moment recovered its full force. This was natural ; human life and the world of the stage, or the ring, are much the same has not Shak- speare told us that ? You may have your private tragedy, and people pity you, per- haps ; but then it is your tragedy, not theirs. It makes a ripple on the surface, but ripples soon disappear. The comedy goes on, for the audience have come to be amused, not to shed tears. Your he is broken? Your life is desolate? t is very sad. Your foot has slipped o the slippery arena of this weary world ? poor fellow ! But feet will slip, and hearts will break. There really is no time sympathize with you. There is Mr. M ryman making one die with laught Ha! ha! ha! ha ! did you notice that grimace? What a funny fellow he is without a care in the world! And here come the bare-back riders in their brilliant dresses! The lights dazzle; the nm-i roars; the great arena is full of noise and splendor and rejoicing, as your life- blood is oozing out yonder behind the curtain. So the gay performances went on ; and the jugglers tossed their plates and halls; Clare de Lune and Zephyr pirouetted on their velvet -addles; and Mr. Donald Mel- ville, d/i'is " Long Tom," executed splen- did back somerset s; ami Harry and his eomrades hounded lightly over a dozen hor.-es abreast; and Gentleman Joe, with a heavy heart, grimaced in a manner indi- :: VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 43 eating the very height of human enjoy- ment. lie was very heavy-hearted, indeed, this poor old Gentleman Joe, in his striped costume, exploding with jests, and dou- bling himself up in the ecstasies of his mirth, lie was thinking of Mouse the whole time. The child was very dear to him, as lie had no one of his own only Harry, who was grown now and he could not bear the thought that she was lying there in pain, a few feet from him. This thought made Gentleman Joe ex- tremely unhappy ; and as he had an op- portunity at length of temporarily absent- ing himself from the ring, he went out, and directed his steps toward the corner where the colloquy had taken place be- tween himself and his friends just before the child's accident. Perhaps the place recalled her, and lie thought that he would go there for a moment before pro- ceeding to inquire into her condition. He was wiping his face on his arm, and unconsciously removing some of the paint, when a voice behind him said, " What is the matter, father? Some- thing troubles you." It was the voice of Harry. He had just finished his leaping performance, and seeing the figure of his father disappear in the direction of this corner, had follow- ed him. " What makes you look so sorrowful ?" he added. " Mouse," said Gentleman Joe, sighing deeply. " She is not much hurt," replied the young man. "Clare de Lune said so. Only a sprain and a slight bruise." Gentleman Joe shook his head de- spondently, and put his hand to his fore- head a common gesture with him as if something was wrong there. " I can't bear it, I can't bear it !" he said, in a piteous tone. " She ought not to be here. It is not suitable for a little slip of a thing like Mouse to live in such a rough world as this I mean, to be a circus girl. She is a bud with the dew on it. The dust and heat will dry up the dew. I can't bear it !" It was really a piteous sound that is- sued from tlu* lips of Gentleman .lo.-. The sigh which lie uttered seemed to be siilH.'ient to "shatter all his hulk." The young man looked troubled at his fa- ther's trouble, and seemed to be thinking of Mouse too, for lie said, kk You are right, father. I wish she was oil' somewhere, living easily and in quiet, as a child should, as much a- y>u do. It is strange how much Mouse makes everybody love her. I don't know how I would get along unless I heard her laugh and tease me and it is all pretence ; she is devoted to all of us." "She has a warm heart too warm for this hard business," sighed Gentleman Joe. His eyes grew dreamy as he said this, and he added, in a thoughtful tone, "A hard business, a very hard business. I have been at it now for let me see for well, for nearly three years, and I know all about it." " For three years, father !" "At least that, my boy. Maybe for twenty or more. You sec my memory fails me a little, sometimes. I can't fix the exact time ; but it has been a very long time indeed, and I have seen a great many things as I travelled about." Harry looked a little sorrowful at this aberration of his father's memory, al- though he was used to it. " Some things were very sad," Gentle- man Joe said, with sudden tears in his eyes. "There was little Charley, Long Tom's nephew. They were training the child. You know they hold them by a cord through a ring as the horse gallops. One day the cord broke, and little Charley fell under the horse's feet and was tram- pled to death, lie was bleeding from a wound on his forehead made by the hoof of the horse. "When they took him up he was dead." Gentleman Joe uttered a sob. " That was enough to make people cry poor little Charley ! he was very fond of me." " Well, father," said the young man, "I wouldn't think of these sorrowful 44 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. things. There is enough of trouble in this world without looking it up." "That is very true," said Gentleman Joe, resuming his equanimity. " There are bright things and scenes as well as sad ones. You must think of the bright <>nes." M 1 do, Harry, I do," said Gentleman Joe, cheerfully. "I remember a great many of that sort, too. I could make you split your sides laughing if I told you about some things I have seen. There was the old farmer in Ohio, who waddled into the ring and squared off to fight me for pointing at him, and asking him if he ' wanted to be a Granger, and with the Grangers stand?'" Gentleman Joe smiled with sudden de- light at the recollection. " lie was angry, I suppose," said Har- rv, humoring his father. "Angry? He was wild!" exclaimed Gentleman Joe, in immense enjoyment. "He doubled up his fist and struck at me; but I stooped down and ran between his legs, and sent him sprawling in the sawdust ha, ha'/' The speaker shook from head to foot in ecstasies of mirth, after which he exe- cuted a series of grimaces from the force of habit. "That was amusing enough," he said, at length, assuming an air of dignity, as though ashamed of his outburst; "but everything 1 have seen was not so comic as this. \Ve can't always laugh." "'It is better to lau^h than be sigh- ing' you know what the song says, fa- " Well, I'm not so certain of that," was the thoughtful reply. "A man who is always laughing is like an empty gourd with pebbles in it. You grow tiivd af- ter awhile of the empty rattle, and long for quiet and an opportunity to think. But then thinking hurts the head. You ivnirinber things, too, when you think, and that hurts tin- heart." lie looked at the young man dreamily. It was a sorrowful, absorbed look, and his mind was evidently busy with thoughts of other persons or places. " I often think of Ellen when I look at you, my boy," he said. " My mother ?" Harry said, in a low tone. " Yes. She is dead now it has been a long time. I wish I was dead, too !" " Don't talk so, father." "Why not? It is true," Gentleman Joe said, with a sad dignity in his face and voice which was wonderfully in con- trast with his clown's dress. "Do you think it so very strange that a man should wish to die when he has lost his wife?" " But what would have become of me ?" said the young man. "True; I ought to think of that. In fact, I did think of it," said Gentleman Joe, calmly. "You were a little one then, and put your arms around my neck and kissed me, and I saw what was to be done. My place was to live and take care of you." As Gentleman Joe spoke, he looked at Harry with such tenderness that the young man's face flushed and his trembled a little. " When did mother die, and where it, father ?" he said. " Hush !" said Gentleman Joe in a voice, with his eyes swimming suddenly in tears; "it was a long time ago I don't remember the place, but I remem- ber how she looked," he added, piteously. The young man did not speak again for some moments; he was plainly en- deavoring to regain command of his voice. At length he said, " Well, well, father, as it distresses you so I will not ask any more quest ions. You will tell me some of these days, when we are quietly settled down somewhere. I wish that was now. You ought to give Up this bll>iness. M " I'm afraid that will never be, my boy," Gentleman Joe said, shaking his head. " You can't teach an old dog new tricks." "But it is wearing you out, father ! And such a life does not suit your char- acter in the least. You are entirely dif- ferent from these people it may surprise you to hear me talk so, when I have avc nev- VIRGINIA HOIIKMIANR 45 cr known any other sort and they are good friendly fellows too. But they arc diilerent from >/on. You have no idea how 1 fed when I see you in this clownV dri-ss, making fun for negroes and com- mon people ! 1 hate it ! And I hate my own trade of a circus -man. I'd rather live ly digging ditches !" " I>ut what are we to do we are so poor, Harry I" " I will work for you, father. It is mv duty you have worked for me. It is a very small return for all your love and care since I was a child." "No, no the fathers must do their part. When they are old and weak, the children can take care of them then." " You are getting to be both, father, and I mean to take care of you," said Harry. " You may think I am a thought- less boy, and I am thoughtless cm nigh, but I am not bad-hearted. It is my place to watch over you, and keep you from wanting anything. I never had a want that you did not supply when you could, and you have never been anything to me but the very best father that a boy ever had. Xow I am a man, and I intend to try and make you some return for all you've done for me. Only say the word, and we'll leave the company and settle down quietly, and I'll do the working for both of us you couldn't please me bet- ter." " Leave the company, Harry ? Leave the Lefthander, and Long Tom, and Clare de Lime she's a good girl and Mouse, worst of all ? I don't think I could do that, my boy. Xo, I never could leave Mouse." " We might talk the Lefthander into the idea of going off with us. I don't think he's very much pleased of late with the business and Manager Brownson. He was drinking at the tavern this morning, and a man trod on his foot, which made him angry, and Brownson spoke roughly to him. lie wouldn't have liked the Lefthander's look if he had seen it as he turned his back." " Well, he is getting more ill-tempered I mean Mr. Brownson. Still he is not discourteous to you or me, Harry, and " " What the devil are you doing idling when you ought to be on?" cried a voice near them. They looked up there \\as the gentleman of whom they had just been speaking. Manager Hrownson was not in a good- humor, that was very plain from \\\^ face. Indeed, several circumstances had com- biiii-d to mar the worthy man's serenity on this day, and during the performance. In the morning the Lefthander, while en- gaged in the discreditable procecdim;' <>f drinking at the village tavern, had nearly gotten into an altercation with a citizen, which was prejudicial to receipts, and had cost him, Manager Brownson, an ad- mission ticket, by way of salve to the citizen's feelings. Then, since nightfall other things had irritated the good man. The performers had not been as prompt as he expected. Things had gone wrong generally. The Lefthander had in mere wantonness, and evidently from personal malice, strangled the African leopard, one of the finest animals in the menagerie, which was a dead loss of more than two thousand dollars. And even that was not all : this big bully had dared to tell him, Manager Brownson, to his very face, that what he said was a lief and when he was " called " to his performance, sub- sequently, had sent him word that he, Manager Brownson, might go to the devil! Was this the manner in which the man- ager and proprietor of the Unrivalled Combination of Attractions was to be treated by one of his subordinates ? What he said was a lie! ! and he might go to the devil! !! Instead of going to the devil, Manager Brownson went to his private retreat in the rear and solaced himself with brandy. He had solaced himself repeatedly before, and his face became redder, and his tem- per more irascible. He was ready to confront all the Lefthanders on earth by this time; and, going toward the ring, his heavy cane striking the ground a< he walked, he chanced to see Gentleman Joe talking with Harry. As the phrase "go to the devil" was rankling in his mind, he naturally uttered the words " what the 46 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. devil," etc., as above. He then grasped his large walking-cane about a foot from the head in a threatening manner, and scowling at Gentleman Joe, who was nearest to him, said, " What do you mean, I say, by this fooling here ? Look yonder ! Not a soul in the ring and hear the audience growling and howling like a whole men- agerie !" Gentleman Joe's frame stiffened, and his face assumed an expression of wound- ed pride which was very striking. "I was only conversing with my son for a few moments, sir," he said, formal- ly. " I am not aware that I am your servant, to be addressed in a manner so very unpleasant." But the dignity in the tone of the speaker was quite thrown away on Man- ager Brownson. If he noticed it, he paid no attention to it. "Don't try to be palming off your ex- cuses on me !" he exclaimed, wrathful ly. "You and that fellow, the Lefthander, and his daughter, cut down your business one-half. It's robbing me ! no better than taking my purse !" Gentleman Joe colored with indigna- tion, and said, " It is not true that I neglect my part, sir." " What do you mean ?" cried Mr. i, raising his heavy stick. "I mean I am an honest man, and not a worm for you to tread upon, if I am a clown in your company," 1 said Gentle- man Joe. " Give me another word and go on, I r " "You have been drinking, sir. I will not go on. I will leave your company!" exclaimed Gentleman Joe, in a firm voice. These, words excitrd Manager I'.rown- son in the high- . and uttering a volley of oaths, he raised his stick and struck at Gentleman Joe. As he did so, the young man, who had listened to this colloquy with a Hushed fare, sprung straight at him. There was no personal collision, how- ever, between Harry and Manager Brown- ed. After son : a third person interposed. leaving Mouse in the dressing-room, the Lefthander had looked in the direction of the sounds of angry discussion which had attracted his attention, and a glance was sufficient to explain everything. Mana- ger Brownson had raised his heavy walk- ing-stick above the head of old Gentle- man Joe, uttering a volley of oaths as he did so. This made the situation of af- fairs quite plain, and the Lefthander act- ed promptly. It took him only a mo- ment to reach the spot. Just as the manager's cane descended, something re- sembling a falling sledge-hammer passed through the air, and Manager Brownson staggered, reeled backward, and fell at full length on the sawdust. The Left- hander had delivered what he called his "left-hander," and the manager, struck between the eyes, had gone down under it like an ox under the axe of the butcher. A crowd of the performers, leaving their horses standing, hastened to the spot. The manager was lying on the sawdust, his face bleeding, ai growling out curses. " I have intended to let him have tlu for some time," said the Lefthander, will be good for him." As Manager Brownson rose to his feet almost without assistance, it was obvious that his injuries were not serious, directed a single look at the athlete, in which tlie venom of all the serpents in his menagerie was concentrated, and then retired without speaking, probably for the purpose of washing the blood from his face. The Lefthander had stood by quietly, without saying anything more. He now took Gentleman Joe by the arm, and, pushing through the crowd, went to a retired corner, and talked with him for a few moments. They then separated, and the Lefthander returned to the group of circus -men, who had resumed their places by the horses and shook hands with them one after another. It was evident that he was taking leave of them, and that the men regretted the fact their faces showed that. The VIK(; I MA P.01I KM I A NS. Lefthander then went back to the dress- ing-room, whore he found Mouse lying quietly on her old matti " I low's the foot now. Minium ?" ho said. kk Well, it's nothing to give a body any anxiety," said Mouse. " A sprain's not much. Was there anybody quarrelling, poppa .'" " A small diflieultv not mueh. I say, Mignon, would you like to go away with ino t. .-night?" " Go away to-night !" " We are going away it will be bet- ter. I'm getting in i bad humor with old Brownson, you see. I might do him some harm, and it is best to avoid that. Do you think you would like to go and see if we can't try to find the flowers and the sunshine?" "Oh yes, poppa! Yes, yes! I can easily walk." " You'll not have to walk. What's a big fellow like me worth if he can't carry a young one like you ? It's like carrying a leaf, or a puff of smoke blown on the wind." " But Gentleman Joe, and Harry !" Mouse exclaimed, suddenly. " That will be all right I've seen about it." " Will they go, poppa?" " Yes, they will go. Now, if Clare de Lunc was here you'll have to dress " " Here I am, Lefthander !" cried a voice at the opening. " What's this badness of yours? quarrelling with that dear old darling, Brownson ! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I heard about it !" Clare de Lime showed a fine set of teeth as she said this, and laughed in a way which indicated enjoyment of the manner in which the old darling had been treated. Behind her appeared the Zephyr, still flushed with her exertions in the ring; and the Lefthander proceeded to inform them that he and Mouse were "going to take French leave." At this announcement exclamations and wailing ensued. The prospect of seeing Mouse and the Lefthander leave them evidently upset these excitable beings; and one could see from the tears in the eyes of Clare de Luno, and her heaving bosom, that sin- was ready to hurst out cr\ in^. "Can't bo helped, "the Lefthander said, concisely. " Engagement wound up, and receipts signed and delivered. We are going on our travels get Mm>e ready. girls. I'll soon got these circus things off and come back for her." " Yes, indeed, she shall be ready ! You're not really going > She can't walk ! The idea of going!" This combined wail arose from Clare dc Lunc and the Zephyr at the same mo- ment. The Lefthander paid no attention to it, and went out of the dressing-room. Thereupon the girls promptly set about getting Mouse ready for her expedition. This was not difficult. The child was ac- customed to sleep indifferently at public- houses or under the circus tent with the young women; and a small travelling- satchel containing her few clothes was ly- ing op the sawdust at the head of the old mattress. From this Clare de Lune now drew out a neat child's dress, a pair of black morocco boots, a small felt hat, and other articles of Mouse's wardrobe. She and Zephyr then removed the child's dancing-dress and replaced it with that taken from the travelling -satchel, tying her light curls behind with a ribbon, and the strings of the hat under her chin. They then retreated a few steps and look- ed at her critically as she leaned upon the old mattress. Mouse presented a very attractive appearance thus dressed, and resembled a child just ready to set out after breakfast for school a resemblance which was assisted by the satchel lying beside her. After contemplating her with admiring eyes for a short while, Clare de Lune and the Zephyr rushed at her, burst into sobs, and covered her face with kisses. In the midst of this the Lefthander reappeared, lie had discard- ed his stockinet and velvet, and wore a plain brown citizen's suit, in which it was difficult to recognize him. The athlete had vanished, and the citizen had taken his place. " Come on, Mignon," he said, " we are burning daylight. It's time to go." 48 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. Thereupon new wails arose, and new sobs and k ; "Don't take Mouse away, Lefthander !" "How can we do without you and Mouse?" \< cds must, girls," the Lefthander said ; " who knows ? we might meet again some of these days. But nobody ever knows about that. You are good girls " lit- went up to them and put his arms around them and kissed them. "Good-bye!" he said. "You don't wear long frocks, and they're cut low in the neck, but there's something under them that fine ladies don't always have a heart." He took the satchel, and then lifted Mouse in his arms. Clare de Lune came and kissed her, crying, and then fixed her eyes on the Lefthander. " I thought you would not leave me" she said in a low voice, sobbing. "It is hardest of all," said the, Left- hander, in the same tone ; " but remem- ber what I said. You are a good girl now be a good girl still. Then some day that will arrange itself." II'- touched the cheek of Clare de Lune with his lips and went out of the tout, leaving the girl covering her face and sobbing. AY hen Manager Brownson woke on the Morning his head felt exceedingly in mfortable, but far greater was his mental di'piv>si<n at certain intelligence vJii<-h was promptly conveyed to him. The Lefthander, Gentleman Joe, Harry, and Moii>e hal all vanished; at one fell swoop he had been deprived of the pride and glory >f the 1'nrivalled Combination its athlete, its Mr. Mcrryman, its tight- rope attraction, and one of its best acro- bats. Manager I'.rou n-<>n groaned; n<>t even his morning bitters iv\i\cd his spirit*. By >unri>.' the tents were struck, and nrivalled Combination of Attrac- tions disappeared from Piedmont for parS unknown. XVII. GENERAL LASCELLES. THE library at AVye was a pleasant spectacle on the evening of the circus. The family had assembled there after tea, and spent the time in pleasant talk, as people were accustomed to do in the cheerful little Piedmont neighborhood. For it was a very friendly and pleasant little neighborhood. Once the families had lived in affluence, and the houses had overflowed with company, and carriages stood at the doors at any and all hours of the day, apparently waiting for some- body to come and ride in them. There was a plenty of hospitality still, but few servants were seen now ; and the wolf was at the door much oftener than the coach. Still this did not seem to matter much. The good people in the old coun- try homes accepted their reduced fortunes cheerfully, and kept up their kindly asso- ciation with each other as before. Cer- tain persons, it is true, called them aris- tocratic and " exclusive ;" which means, "You consider yourself better than I am." This was not just, however. They simply preferred the society of their own people and their blood relations; for which reason they were sneered at and styled ridiculous. They had not been sneered at once, when they rolled in their coaches and had plenty of means. If they had ever been an aristocracy, they were a very poor aristocracy now, and it is well known that little can be looked for from that sort of people. A rich aristocracy ought, of course, to be saluted respectfully certain advantages may be derived from conciliating it. AYith a O poor aristocracy it is very different. It is an offensive anomaly, and has no right t<> exist certainly not to be holding its head up, as if it were somebody. Y.MI can laugh at it, and despise it even no inconvenience will result since nothing is to ] expected from nothing. The worthy people saw the difference, but did not care much. They had al- -aluted every one, and saluted still with friendly courtesy, whether anybody VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 49 returned their salutes or not. The "freedmen" always returned them, with more respect even than when they were slaves. This was singular luit true, and was even commented upon. The old regime was gone, but the old ways lin- gered. The suave old gentlemen and the serene old ladies, with their sweet smiles, weiv the same people. The very boys and girls were the same boys and girls, and one could see that they respected good morals and good manners. Youth raised them above fortune, and they were as bright as the spring sunshine. You cannot change nature, and the bright days return in defiance of everything. The rrass and tlowers will bud and bloom in spite of the ruts made by cannon-wheels. And here in the little neighborhood nat- ure had come to heal the old wounds. Her face smiled and her great heart throbbed under the desolation; and old and young smiled too, making the best of things. In the small neighborhood, here and there, however, were a few families who were comparatively very well off. Among these was the Lascelles fam- ily, living at Wye, at the head of which was General Lascelles a title of courtesy merely, derived from his former rank in the militia. Wye was a very good estate, indeed, and covered more than three thousand acres. In old times several hundreds of Africans, nom- inally slaves, had enjoyed the proceeds of the estate. These were now free, and enjoyed the franchise, which they were quite willing to dispose of for a glass of whiskey; but the ancient establishment went on in something resembling the old style. The chief difference between the old and new regime was that the freed- men were paid a fact which did not seem, however, to impress very deeply the gray -haired "uncles," who shook their heads, and made no scruple of in- timating that, since no home was to be provided for them in their old age, free- dom was a snare and a delusion ; but they were free, and must make the best of it. The main thing was to be allowed to remain at Wye, and look to the family for things. So they remained, and look- ed to the family. General Lascelles made a good deal of money. It is true, he spent a great deal. He was an excellent manager, and what went in at the spigot nearly made up for what gushed out at the bung. He sowed annually nearly a thousand acres in wheat, and raised vast crops of corn on his low grounds, chiefly for his stock. He was extremely fond of stock-raising. Mis cattle, sheep, and hogs were his pride, and no one was more successful with them. He gave large prices for fine cattle, but said that it paid. He had a small bull, much less imposing than Paul Potter's, for which he had given fifteen thousand dollars, and congratulated him- self upon purchasing him so cheap. He had the purest breeds of Southdowns, Cotswolds, and Leicesters, and carefully crossed them, experimenting how to pro- duce the finest mutton and the heaviest wool. His hogs were as carefully man- aged. Crossing the big white Chester and the small black Essex he produced a species like the Berkshire, which he said was the best hog of all. For his calves, lambs, and pigs he received very large sums, and stock-breeders came from all parts of the country to purchase them. All this pleased General Lascelles very much, apart from any question of profit ; but his supreme passion was for horses. He could begin and tell you one after another the points of a good horse, from his pasterns to his ears, and looked at a thorough-bred as a bridegroom looks at his bride. His young stallion Roland, he said, was the very finest colt ever sired by Revenue, and everybody knew that Revenue had not a drop of blood in his whole body that was not thorough-bred. The general's colts were a little fortune to him, and were in training in all parts of the country. He had nothing to do with the turf now, and rarely attended even his dear Maryland races at Balti- more ; but it would never do not to train such horse-flesh. He would not sell his best colts to anybody. He called them 50 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. his "beauties," and kept them for the pleasure of looking at them. It was his habit, generally after breakfast, to hobble out, leaning on his old body-servant for the rheumatic gout had attacked him of late years and have the beauties in glossy coats led up and down for his in- spection. This was his pastime, and near- ly all the personal part which he took in matters at Wye; for it was a somewhat singular fact that General Lascelles spent the whole day nearly in writing letters or reading the newspapers, and had very lit- tle to do with farming operations person- ally. It is true that he controlled every- thing to the minutest details ; but he did so through an old and reliable manager, who had been with him for thirty years or more. He saw this personage every morning and gave his directions, and the instrument performed what the brain planned and ordered. This slight sketch of Wye, and the ways of things there, may leave the im- pression that everything was prosperous and the family wealthy. " Wealthy " is a very general term. Persons who re- ceive and spend a great deal of money are not always wealthy. Large sums flowed into the general's exchequer from his agricultural operations and his stock breeding; but he employed a great deal of labor, and his outlay was in every way very large. To raise grain is expensive. The cost cuts down the profit immensely, especially when u railway is mingled with the equation. There was such a railway with which General Lascelles and his neighbors wen- mixed up the B. M. It. It. ( Uiir Monopoly Railroad). The Big Monopoly Railroad was con- ducted on strictly business principles. Every one was to look out for himself. You were informed that you were not obliged to send your grain OVt the IJig Monopoly Railroad. You were free to transport it to market in wagons if you preferred. It was true you <-ouM not do so without incurring a ruinous expense, and that you were absolutely compelled to do business with the Big Monopoly Railroad. They were ready but the " way freight" must pay for the "through freight." This was one of the great prin- ciples of moral philosophy. There was competition in the matter of the through freight there was none as to the way freight. It was therefore plain, from the nature of things, that the Virginia grain- grower must be charged an amount which would be a fair division of his profits with the railroad : half to himself for raising the grain half to the Big Mo- nopoly for transporting it to market. That was just. They were bringing grain thousands of miles from the West at a dead loss ; for there was active competi- tion with other lines of railway. There was none in this case. It was way freight, and they transported it at least one hun- dred miles. If the profits on grain at Wye were ten thousand dollars, was not the Big Monopoly Railroad fairly entitled to one-half that sum ? This was one thing which prevented General Lascelles from becoming rich. There were two other obstacles. He spent a great deal of money, and owed a great deal. His mode of living all his life had been profuse ; and then he was generous to everybody. He had endorsed for many friends in difficulties, and had been called upon to pay. This he had not been able to do in many instances, and the debts remained unpaid: people had not pressed him. He was very pop- ular and very well off, which quiets cred- itors. So the general went on paying heavy interest, and making a great deal of money, and spending it generously ; living, in a word, like a fine old Virginia gentleman, who is going to die some day with his affairs probably "tied up into a double bow-knot." It might not prove so l)ad in the case x>f the worthy general ; but there was the fact. Wye was a fine e>tate, and the proceeds from the lane were large but the general owed a great leal of money. He was the head of everything at Wye, although he rarely left his library the faet has been mentioned. To say this is to say that he was a man of ability. This was conceded by everybody, and, indeed, VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 51 he had filled a prominent place in public affairs. He had always l>eeu influential from his early manhood, and had prompt- ly gone into politics served a term in the State Legislature represented his district in Congress and filled out the unexpired term of a member of the I-Vd- eral cabinet who had died suddenly. 1 It- was then offered the post of minister plenipotentiary to one of the first courts of Europe, hut as the Civil War was plain- ly imminent at the time, he declined it. lie returned to Virginia, and the war fol- lowed ; hut General Lascelles took no part in it. This was due, people said, to the scant respect with which he was treat- ed by some of the Confederate officials, from which a bitter quarrel had resulted. Whether this was true or not, the general returned to Wye in great dudgeon. He simply announced, in a curt manner, that there seemed to be no place for a worn- out old dog like himself in the Confeder- ate councils : he would go into the army if he was able to do so ; as he was unable, he would stay at home they could do without him, he supposed. So he stayed at home, and sent every surplus barrel of flour and pound of meat to the army ; and fed the soldiers by hundreds at his table ; and scowled haughtily at the blue- coats when they intruded on him. "When peace came there he was still, with a great torn -down establishment, and scarcely a fence upon the estate ; but he and his old manager had set to work and labored with combined energy and here was Wye, at last, looking a little like its old self. Personally the general was a rather imposing but a most agreeable old gen- tleman. He was tall and gray -haired, with a face ruddy from good living ; for his appetite was still excellent, and he drank good wine at his dinner, as he had done throughout his life. He dressed in the old fashion, in a broadcloth coat and black satin waistcoat, with a lofty stock and standing shirt -collar. He wore his watch in his pantaloons pocket, and from the chain hung a bunch of seals, one of them a blood-stone, on which was the Lascelles coat of arms. When he walked the seals jingled: this jingle was a part of General Lasedlrs. A- t.. his walk, it was the. walk of the Senator, but he was not in the least, stiff very far from it. lie was not only a most courteous person to everybody, high and low, but his manner was easy-going, and put people in a good-humor. lie was perfectly unpretending, and the model of a plain old planter. He jested, had his humorous views of things, and the hum- blest man felt at his ease with him. It is true that he probably had a very good opinion of himself, for we all have our weaknesses except ourselves. But this trait in the general did not offend peo- ple. He was entirely simple and friend- ly, and shook hands heartily with the humblest person, as he would probably have done with the Emperor of Germany or Russia if he had been presented to him. He was a communicant of the Episcopal Church, and helped a great many poor people. Critical persons laughed at him, but they were obliged to respect him. Here was a genuine man, whatever might be his foibles. Such w r as Wye and the head of the establishment. It was quite an old house, built by the general's grandfather or great-grandfather, the Sieur Lascelles, of Touraine, in France a Huguenot ref- ugee. The old Sieur Lascelles had es- caped to England, after privately dispos* ing of his landed estate, and married an English lady, with whom he had after- ward come to live in Virginia. Here he had erected this old house, giving it the name of " Wye," his dear wife's English home, and the ancient mansion had duly descended to the present representative of the family. The antique character of everything about it has been noticed. The oaks in the grounds, through whose vistas you had a fine view of a rich coun- try, with rolling fields and belts of woods, with the mountain in the background, had evidently been there a long time, for they were gradually dying at the top. The old post supporting the sun-dial in the circle was leaning from age. The 52 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. old steps leading up to the portico were nearly worn away. The ponderous fold- ing-doors and iron knob took you back to old times. In fact, many generations of the Lascelles family had lived here, and the place had about it an air of births, christenings, and marriages it was too cheerful to make you think of funerals. In the time of the present head of the house there had been a large family there. The mansion had over- flowed with children, but they had died, or married and gone elsewhere. Besides General Lascelles there were now only three persons in the family the aged Mrs. Lascelles, her trim little niece, Anna <'i'ay, whom she had adopted some years before, on the death of the young lady's parents, and Mr. Douglas Lascelles, only surviving son, who was approaching mid- dle age, and had spent several years of his life in Europe. Such was this agreeable old Virginia country-house of Wye at the time of the present narrative. It was not precisely like its old self under the past regime, but as near an approach to it, perhaps, as the last half of the inexorable nineteenth century will tolerate. It tolerates a great many things that it would be better for it to put its heel upon, but the ancient regime is not one of them. XVIII. ELLIS ORANTIIAM. IT is time to come to the pleasant group in the library at \Vye. This was the habitual resort of the family, for <Jeneral Lascelles was not at all solitary in his tastes; indeed, just the contrary. He conducted a large political e<'i K -pond- ence with his former associates and read endless newspapers, but this did n<>t in- terfere with anybody's coming and go- ing. Some persons arc unable to write if they are interrupted. The general seemed rather to like it. 1 1 is children had invaded his sanctum in old days when there were children at Wye he would have liked to have had them there still and he had not repulsed them in the least. Instead of frowning he had smiled, and laid down his pen. Then the little one would be on his knee, and would be encouraged to express his wishes. If these were a piece of candy, the general unlocked a drawer in which he always kept a supply of that child-lux- ury, and produced some. If it was a toy horse which required a string around his foreleg to pull him by, the general got up and looked for a string. If the young one was suffering from ennui, which afflicts children in common with adults, he relieved it by telling a story, after which the visitor retired, and the ex-statesman resumed his correspondence and discussion of public affairs. The children had gone away now, and there were no more little pattering feet to produce a pleasant interruption ; but General Lascelles made the best of it. He would have everybody understand that the large drawing-room, or "up- stairs," was not the proper resort of the family. The library was the point of union. When Mrs. Lascelles was not ei gaged with household affairs, here was cool refuge in summer and a cosy fireside in winter to bring her knitting and sit by. If Mr. Douglas wished to read and smoke his cigar, why not come and do so in the library ? Or Anna Gray might seat herself on the opposite side of his writing-table, and flow on interminably in epistles to her female friends. It was not a bad thing to have her there. He fcraa very fond of her, and if he wished to ejaculate denunciations connected with contemporary politics, it was rather pleas- ant to have a bright face rise up and a pair of smiling lips say, " Did you speak to me, uncle?" It was a very good place to hold family reunions in, this snug library at Wye. It was surrounded by oaken bookcases full of volumes, ranging from dignified his- tories and collections of public docu- ments to the last books of travel, literary BMiyftj biography) and fiction for the general was an omnivorous reader. The walls were ] tainted in oak, and in the YIKGIXIA JiOHKMlANS. 53 centre of the room was a heavy writing- table of carved walnut with a green cloth top, on which were pens and ink, a port- folio, a bronze lamp at night, and the last magazines and paper-bound novels. As t> newspapers, they pervaded the room chielly the window-sills. The fireplace was large, and hail in it a pair of old bra>s andirons. On the wooden mantel- piece were vases, In-hind, which letters were thrust. "Where the walls were not hidden by bookcases there hung some old portraits, delineating people of the Lascellcs family in the times of Louis XIII. and XIV., in huge flowing wigs and lace doublets, or steel hauberks. Everywhere were seen easy-chairs, chief- ly of the " Sleepy Hollow " pattern. There was a neutral- tinted carpet on the floor, which remained there through- out the year. Everything in this room seemed to ask you not to look at it, only to be content with it. On this evening the bronze lamp was lit, and diffused a mild light through its ground- glass shade. The general was leaning back in a large Sleepy Hollow chair, reading his newspaper just brought from the post-office; Mrs. Lascelles was seated near him, knitting the stocking which never seemed to be finished, and Anna Gray was on the opposite side, talk- ing with a. young man of about twenty- five, who had made his appearance at AVye just before tea. This was Ellis Grantham, only son of the Rev. Mr. Grantham, the aged rector of the Pied- mont parish. He was the picture of health, with black hair, ruddy cheeks, very fine black eyes, and manners full of cheerfulness and modesty. There was a great charm in this unaffected candor and sweetness. It was very plainly unaffect- ed, and expressed his real character. In fact, Ellis Grantham was an exceptional person ; he belonged to that very small class of human beings who seem to be born good. With most persons it is a terrible effort to remain pure in the midst of temptation, especially when youth heats the blood, and the mouth is not broken to the bit ; but Ellis Grantham really seemed to have kept himself pure with- out any dillieulty. This was strange but true. It was natural to him to be good. He bad avoided what was vicious, and loved what was pure, from native im- pulse. He had no vices whatever. A cynical person said of him one day that there must be some hidden depravity about him, as every young man had a certain amount of badness in him, and that if it did not come out in one way it would in another. If Ellis Grantham had any, it had never come out up to this time. He had been a good child and a good boy, and was a good young man. The result was that good people loved and respected him, and that certain other persons, finding that they themselves inspired a different sentiment, sneered at him. He was simply " goody," " milk- and-water," a hypocrite, and had, under all his mock-modesty, a very high opin- ion of himself, they said. One day lie heard of these criticisms; one has always kind friends to communicate agreeable things that are said of us. He listened with the greatest surprise, but said noth- ing. He had a very poor opinion of himself ; rated his intellect, indeed, much below its just value, and had never acted a part in all his life ; what his critics meant was, therefore, a mystery to him. He never concealed anything, but said plainly what he thought of vice name- ly, that it was hateful. As to vicious people, he did not hate them in the least ; very far from it. He was going to enter the Christian ministry soon, and to begin by hating people would have appeared to him a very bad beginning indeed. He- was, in fact, full of sweetness and charity, and had in his heart a broad love for hu- manity in all its phases, which disregarded dogmas and the worldly view of things. This country youth had discovered one great truth that the human heart is never wholly debased, and that it is never too late to try to touch it and make it throb. The same heart, he said to him- self, beats under the squalid rags of the outcast and the criminal as under the neat black coat and spotless linen of the clergyman and the "highly respectable" person. The difference was in circum- stances. Some men took the right path and others the wrong one. His business was with the latter. It was quite as im- portant to move the heart under the rags as that under the broadcloth. If it was the heart of a thief or a prostitute, all the better. One who had walked about preaching in Judea, eighteen hundred years before, had preached from prefer- ence to that sort of people. As Ellis Grantham was going to return to the Theological Seminary on the next morning to finish liis last session there, he had come to tell his friends at Wye good-bye. They had had a very long and familiar talk with each other he and Mrs. Lascelles and Anna Gray which ry natural, as he was a great favor- ite with both ; and his mother, now dead, had been an intimate friend of Mrs. Las- celles. " Well, my dear," the lady said, with the sweet smile which made her thin face so attractive, "I am very sorry you are going to leave us ; but young men must prepare for their duties in this world, and ought not to forget that youth is the spring-time, when the seed must be sown. If we do not sow we cannot expect to reap. The fall and winter will come after awhile, and seed-time and harvest will be pa-t, and then we will want bread. Old age is like night, and when that comes, you know, none of us can work. I am very glad, indeed, my dear, to see that you are resolved to do your duty." " I mean to try, Aunt Maria," 1 he said, cheerfully, u-ing the title by which he had always addressed her from his child- hood, although there was no relationship. ' I am certain you mean to, Kllis, and I am just as certain that you will be a i and useful man." " Well, you could not wish me better than that, Aunt Maria; 1 know you wish me well in everything." "Indeed I do; it would In- strange if I did not," said Mrs. Las.-dlrs knitting tranquilly. "Your mother wa* a very dear friend of mine she wa- a >aint on earth and I have always loved you as a son. We shall miss you very much, and I don't know what Anna will do without you. You are very much indeed like your mother: she was very dear to me." The expression of the speaker and her tone of voice went to his heart ; a slight color carne to his cheek. Indeed, the voice of this lady moved people, touching a secret chord. Here was a thoroughly good woman, whose presence was a bless- ing to all around her; one with a wise. mind intent on common duties, and a warm heart thinking of the happiness of others. An exquisite sw r eetness and res- ignation made the thin face beautiful. She had suffered a great deal in her time. Many of her children had died; others had married and left her; but she had not become at all gloomy. She was evi- dently looking beyond. As to controver- sial points connected with the relations between man and the Beyond in ques- tion, they seemed not to interest her in the least. If you cited Dr. Calvin or Bishop Butler, she said, " My dear, knew no more than you and I do th Bible is enough." If you discussed tl Mosaic account of creation from a g\ logical point of view, or propounded Mr. Darwin's or Mr. Spencer's theory of de- velopment, Mrs. Lascelles smiled tranquil- ly, and said that there were a great many difficult questions which we could not be expected to understand but we could understand the Sermon on the Mount. She was always extremely cheerful, and smiled as she came back from the Holy < 'ommiinion. When you were in trouble she did not sigh and quote texts, as many excellent people do. That was a very good medicine, but perhaps not the right medicine at the time. "You will find after awhile that it is all the same, my dear," she said, with her placid smile; "there i^ a place where people who are separated from each other see each other again." The thin finger moved slightly, pointing upward when she said this, and you knew what she meant. She herself had looked in that direction for consola- tion, and had found it. She, therefore VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. advised you to do so in your turn. Of such human beings it may l>e said tliat they are the salt that keeps a sorrowful world from the decomposition of despair. "Arc you going in the morning, my dear.'" she now said to Ellis (Irantham. "Yet, after breakfast, Aunt Maria; there will be time enough to catch the train." u And when will you be back? 1 ' "Before Christmas, 1 hope, for a few days. I have never spent Christmas away from home, and would not like to miss one with father." "It would be a very serious matter with him, I am sure, Ellis. You are the apple of his eye, and he would feel very lonely." " I will certainly be back, if possible." " And some of these days you will re- turn not to go away any more, I hope. If you could only be your father's assist- ant, after you are ordained, I am certain it would please every one. Then you could think about being married, and set- tle down with us." A slight color came to the already rud- dy cheeks of the young man, and he look- ed for just half an instant toward Anna Gray, who, in mild unison with the em- ployment of Mrs. Lascelles, was crocheting a table -mat. The young lady did not meet this glance, and Ellis Grantham said, " I am too young to think of that just yet, Aunt Maria, and you know I am not competent to be father's assistant I hope I will be some day." Further discussion of the subject was interrupted by the sound of horse's hoofs without. The rider was then heard com- ing in, and Mr. Lascelles entered the li- brary, politely saluting its occupants. In reply to a question from his mother, he 1 said that he had passed a very pleasant evening, and Miss Juliet seemed pleased with the circus performance they had, however, come away before it had ended. Having made this communication, Mr. Lascelles said to Ellis Grantham, " Mrs. Armstrong mentioned a visit which you paid them this afternoon, and I presume you are well acquainted with the family at Trianon." ' Ye S I know them very \\vll," Ellis said. "Can you tell me who Miss Bassick is?" "She is a young lady who lives with Mrs. Armstrong." " In what capacity ?" " I do not know, precisely." " A relative ?" "I think not." "Then she is probably a house-keeper or lady's companion," said Mr. Lascelles. Mrs. Lascelles here interposed, and said, " Miss Bassick is a young lady who as- sists Mrs. Armstrong in her house-keeping, and is a confidential friend and compan- ion, I believe. She rarely leaves home, I have heard, and seldom comes to church. You might have seen her there." Mr. Lascelles did not, apparently, con- sider it necessary to call attention to the fact that he rarely went to church. He said, "Well, I was a little struck by Miss Bassick ; she is handsome enough, but rather peculiar in her appearance. AVhen we came back from Piedmont Mrs. Arm- strong was probably up-stairs, and Miss Bassick opened the door, when I was introduced to her by Miss Juliet, with a simple * Mr. Lascelles, Miss Bassick.' There certainly was nothing in Miss Ju- liet's manner not the least nuance, as the French say to show that Miss Bas- sick was not her social equal in every particular." "Juliet is much too well-bred for that," Mrs. Lascelles said. " She is very proud, and has a great deal of feeling, too." " She is certainly very fine-looking, and Miss Bassick, the companion, is decidedly handsome, too. It strikes me she is rather hiding her light under a bushel. I was particularly struck by her eyes, and don't know whether to call them diabolical or angelic," said Mr. Lascelles, smiling, and lighting a cigar, after politely offering one to Ellis Grantham, who declined it. 56 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " She must be a perfect little devil !" came, in a sort of explosion, from General Lascelles. Every head turned quickly, but it was evident that this exclamation had nothing whatever to do with Miss Bassick. The ex-statesman, during the conversation between Mrs. Lascelles and Ellis Grantham, had been absorbed in his newspaper. In this occupation the en- trance of Mr. Douglas Lascelles had only interrupted him for a moment. He had been reading the Washington letter in his New York journal, from which it appear- ed that those who differed with the po- litical opinions of the writer were all rogues, and wretches of the deepest dye; and, as the general was personally ac- quainted with some of the individuals thus characterized, he acknowledged that there was a grain of truth in the corre- spondent's strictures. He had then pass- ed to another paragraph, in which the letter-writer drew the likeness of a certain female lobbyist then haunting Washing- ton. The picture was bit in with acid, and was not unlike the portrait of Mr. Thackeray's Becky Sharpe, except as to personal appearance the fair lobbyist being much handsomer. Her "tricks and her manners" were drawn with much gusto, and an amusing story was told of her attempt to black-mail a prom- inent statesman. Hence the appreciative exclamation of General Lascelles " She must be a perfect little devil !" Mr. Lascelles smiled with an air of en- joyment. " Do you mean Miss Bassick, sir ?" he said. "Miss Bassick?" the general said, rais- ing his head with a bewildered air. " You say she is a little devil." " Miss Hassick a devil ? I really do not know in the least what you mean. Who is Miss Bassick '.'' Mr. Lascelles explained, and much amusement was caused by the general's apropos or mo/opropoi interjection. " I am sure I did not mean to express any opinion of Mrs. Armstrong's friend, Miss Bassick," he Mid, laughing with tin- rest. "I was reading an account of a person in Washington but, really, I will not introduce the ladies to such bad com- pany. And I owe you an apology, my dear Ellis, for my absorption in this pes- tiferous journal. I fear reading the news- papers is becoming a mania with me. Are you really going to-morrow, my boy ? I am sincerely sorry to hear that you are going to leave us." And then the conversation proceeded until Ellis Grantham rose and bade the family good-bye. Mrs. Lascelles drew him to her and kissed him affectionately, and then he shook hands with the two gentlemen, and lastly with Anna Gray. As he went out of the room she rose quietly a movement which Mr. Douglas Lascelles noted out of the corners of his eyes, after a somewhat sarcastic fashion and followed him into the hall. She and Ellis Grantham conversed there together for a few moments in low tones, and the young lady went with him to the door. Then the front -door closed, and Anna Gray came back with a slight color in her cheeks and moist eyes. " Why, my dear, you are crying," said Mrs. Lascelles. " I am sorry Ellis is going, aunty," Anna Gray replied, in a low voice. She then rose quietly and went up-stairs. XIX. THE REVEREND MR. GRAXTIIAM. IN a room on the right of the front- door of a small house, in the suburbs ol 1 'it-dim >nt, a man was seated at a table on thU >ame night writing. It was a very pleasant-looking little es- tablishment within and without. Tlio yard was covered with greensward, and some zinnias, petunias, chrysanthemums, and other flowers of autumn, were still in bloom. A honeysuckle was trained upon one of the pillars of the small porch, and a madeira-vine upon that opposite. Both were in flower, and you thus entered un- der a fragrant arch. A neat railing divided the house from the street, and VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. with its lilacs ami ovenhadowmg ti was ncarlv embowered in verdure. The room mentioned was evidently a stiuly. Tin 1 walls were nearly covered with book- shelves containing leather- bouml volumes, some of them ponderous folios. In one corner was an old mahog- any secretary, with drawers opened by brass handles. Opposite the single win- dow was a hard and narrow lounge, which looked very uncomfortable. The table which stood in the centre was covered with books and papers; and at this table the student a man past sixty, with || g l ' a y hair, and clad in black, with a white I neck-cloth. His face was one of strong I character, but had the mild expression I peculiar to those who pass their lives in a I round of simple duties, out of the great I whirlpool of the world. Such, in fact, I had been the life of Mr. Grantham, rector I of the Piedmont parish. He was an altogether excellent person, I and had officiated at Piedmont for more than thirty years. He had frequently re- ceived calls elsewhere, for he was a very good preacher and one of the ablest theo- logians of his diocese, but he had declined them all. He would not sever his con- nection with the parish of his affections. The bait of a larger salary and "a more extended sphere of usefulness " had not moved him. As to the salary, he did not want it, he said, as he had daily bread which was more than half the world, and many better people than himself, were certain of when they got up in the morn- ing ; and in regard to the more extended sphere of usefulness, there was a sufficient sphere for anybody in a parish with a dozen families. If he could look after that number of people, and keep them from stumbling, he would be satisfied. So Mr. Grantham had declined with friendly acknowledgments all the calls. II is work was here. He had gone on marrying and christening and burying the people of his little parish year after year, and doing his best to console the heavy-hearted in their trouble. He was a very good preacher in- deed earnest and persuasive rather than given to chill logic, and habitually avoid- ing the discussion of eternal torment as u means ,.f touching the heart. His theol- ogy began and ended, apparently, with the parable of the Prodigal Son. His wife had died some years before, but he was very calm and cheerful. He had bent for a moment, but risen upright again like a tree with a sound heart. He preached as usual on the Sunday succeed- ing her death. It is true that he had fainted as lie entered his house, on re- turning from church, but nobody knew about that. Mr. Grantham was a Low-Churchman. Almost all Virginia Episcopalians are. Sometimes high-church friends from oth- er dioceses said to him, " You people in Virginia are not Episcopalians; why not call yourselves Methodists, or by any name that suits you, at once?" AVhen such things were said to Mr. Grantham, he smiled and shook his head. His reply was mild but incisive: "It was better to be low-church than on the way to Rome" he said. " Rome was seductive she knew human nature, and how to appeal to it. He would like to be a Romanist him- self, if he could be, conscientiously it was a tempting theory that we could be washed clean from sin by confessing and doing penance. That was alluring it was better to be on our guard. The only safe rule to follow was, * Touch not, taste not, handle not.' If you touched it you would probably taste it, and then handle it ; and if you handled it, you would be apt to end by fondling it, which would be unfortunate and he was afraid many good people were begin- ning to fondle it. As to the charge that the Virginia Church was low-church, that was true, but it was a very good Episco- pal Church for all that. Its bishops claimed no * mysterious sanctity ' for themselves there were Articles XX I II. and XXV. But they were apostolic, if not Romanist, and were all the better for it. In fact, Rome was schismatical, and heresy and schism were denounced in the prayer-book. In Virginia, however, peo- ple did not lean on ordinances but on the Word ; they were evangelical, and not 58 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. sectarian. It did not matter very much what Church you belonged to or what dress you wore. The important question was whether you were travelling the right road; if you were, by God's help you would arrive." This good man went a step further: lie had a lurking sympathy even with the " Reformed Episcopal" movement, though he did not approve of it. Under all the circumstances it was unnecessary. The word "regenerated," and other expres- sions in the prayer-book, ought not to hurt anybody's conscience: regenerated meant "grafted into the Church" see Article XXVII. When you grafted on a young scion you did not change its nature, but you placed it where the new life could course through it. And then there was the point of linguistics. If you altered regenerated, you would have to go on and alter a great many things. It was unnecessary to reform the whole English language. Certain terms had changed their meanings. There w r as u the Lord preventing us;" which, nevertheless, was not a prayer to be hindered in our good deeds. The letter killed ; it was the spirit that gave life. A warm personal friendship for Bishop Cummins, the leader of the Reformed Episcopal movement, may have had its inlluence upon Mr. Grantham. It was ditlicult to believe that any views which he espoused were unfounded. Bishop Cummins he often said, was "a heavenly man. His appeals were addressed too much to the mere feelings, perhaps. He wa* not wanting in strength, for no man had a dearer or sounder intellect ; and he broke down the sceptical objections of the infidels who came to hear him by sheer force of logic but then he did not keep to that. He appealed too passion- ately to the emotions, which should not be looked to so e\elu>ively. This apart, IJislnip ('nnmiins was a man of the apostolic type, with no thought but hi* work, and roolved to wear out his life in it. lie wa> al-o a man of kindling en- thusiasm, and devoted to what was pure and of good report. He had the utmost sweetness of temper. Children came to him unconsciously. His heart was ex- ceedingly soft, and his hand open to distress. He liked humble people, and smiled sweetly upon them ; but did not smile so readily at young ladies and oth- ers w r ho made a clerical Mion' of him, and sent him delicacies, and burnt in- cense before him. He had no time or desire to be made a celebrity of, and did not want the delicacies there were the poor. He lived his life as seeing the end." This was what Mr. Grantham was accus- ed to say of Bishop Cummins. One day he read a few words with black lines around them in a newspaper; he dropped the paper, and said aloud, " Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again." On this even iii^- Mr. Grantham had come into his study after tea to reflect and work. As Ellis had gone to call on his friends before his departure for the Seminary, which would take place on the next morning, the good man felt verj lonely and depressed. Since the death of his wife, all his love for her had con centrated itself upon his son. The thought that he was going away was very sorrow ful indeed. Life was uncertain, and IK himself was growing old now might not this be their last parting? He leaned forehead on his hands, and his hands on the table. The light of the two candles in old - fashioned candlesticks, fell upon his gray hair, and a deep sigh followed it was very sad, indeed, to think of part ing with his beloved Ellis. After awhile the forehead rose, am Mr. Grantham got up and walked up am down the floor. He was thinking of some parish affairs demanding his atten tion on the next day. lie could not neg lect these. There was the poor familx near the Riduy, \\lio were terribly in wan of clothing; and as he had appealed t< smile of his lady parishioners, he hopcc to be able to supply them before the Col( weather set in. There were also som< orphan* in a wretched cabin which IK had visited. It had made his heart bleec to sec how destitute they were. Some VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 59 must be done for thorn. Whatever his private troubles or labors were lie could not neglect "his poor" a name he call- ed them by: that indieated his personal concern with them. Other people had their own, no doubt. These were his. lla\ing reflected maturely upon the wants of his poor, and resolved what he would do at once to relieve them, he sat down, and opening an old portfolio began to write, lie was evidently composing a discourse, or perhaps a treatise, as from time to time he rose, consulted a volume on the shelves, laid it open on the table before him and made quotations, and oth- erwise demeaned himself as a historical or polemical writer. In fact, the compo- sition on which the good man was en- gaged was very polemical indeed. It was his "History of Ritualism," upon which he had been at work for many years a crushing and vindictive expose of the Tractarian movement in the Angli- can Church, with trenchant and by no means complimentary references to its influence on the misguided clergy in cer- tain portions of the United States of America. To this congenial* occupation the mild Mr. Grantham applied himself with ardor. His face glowed some reverend divine was probably receiving a severe thrust. All at once Ellis came in ; then there was an end of further work on the " History of Ritualism," since it is impossible to compose when one is looking at another person, and can scarcc- e the person through tears. The low conversation between father and son continued until nearly eleven, when Mr. Grantham said that it was time for the young man to go to bed. AVhat they said to each other was personal to themselves and ought not to be repeated ; for the words and looks of certain human beings on certain occasions have a species of sanctity about them. Are there any more sacred than those of a father and son who are going to part from each other ? " Yes, you must go now ; young peo- ple require rest," Mr. Grantham said ; " it is very late for children to be up." He <miled, but it was a very sorrowful smile. " You will always be a child to me, Kllis. It seems only yesterday that your mother held vou up in her arms f..r me to kiss !" He placed his arms around the young man's neek and said, in a faltering voice, "Good -night, my boy I" kissing him as he spoke. Tears were in the eyes of both. Without speaking, Kllis (Jrantham went to his chamber; his voice had quite failed him. XX. MR. GRANTHAM'S GUESTS. MR. GRANTIIAM did not feel in the least like working any more, and resolved that he would not do so. He went back to his seat, however from habit, no doubt and, sitting down, assumed the same depressed attitude, his forehead resting upon his hands, and his hands on the ta- ble, or rather on the page he had been writing in the "History of Ritualism.'' He remained immovable in this attitude for some time. Then he raised his head and listened; he had heard a knock at the front-door of the house. " Some one needs me who is in greater trouble, perhaps, than myself," he said, in a low voice. He took one of the candles from the table, and going to the front-door opened it. A man with a heavy black beard, holding a child in his arms, was standing in the moonlight on the little porch ; and as the man at first looked at him without speaking, the incident was a little star- tling. Mr. Grantham did not appear, however, to regard it in that light, and said mildly, " Come in, friend : can I be of any service to you ?" "You are the priest of this village?" said the man. " I am a pastor, my friend though priest is a very good word." " I heard you never turned away any- body in distress." 60 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " I have never done so ; I trust I never shall." "I am in distress. My child here is sick ; her foot is sprained, and her arm hurt," " Come in, friend." " I am a common man a circus-actor and Lave my reasons for not going to the tavern to-night. Will you lodge us?" " Yes." "You know nothing about me. I may be a tramp or a thief. You are not afraid?" Mr. Grantliam placed the candle on a chair in the passage, and took Mouse in his arms. " No, I am not afraid," he said. Worn out by the many incidents of the evening and night, Mouse had fallen into a doze in the Lefthander's arms, and Mr. Grantliam took her into his own so gently that she did not wake. " If you will take the candle," he said, " I will show you your room." lie then went slowly up the narrow staircase, followed by the Lefthander, and opened the door of a chamber over the study, containing a bed, a table, an old sofa, and a few chairs. He laid the child upon the bed, drawing the counterpane over her, and as he had carried her with precaution she did not wake up. Mr. (Iraiitham stood looking at her for a moment, and admiring her delicate feat- ures. "What a little snow-drop!" he said; for he was fond of flowers, and often used them as illustrations. He added, " It is getting chill, and there is no fire here. Your child ought not to suffer for want of it." He looked round him and saw some light wood in one corner, which had probably been there for a long time. With this and an old newspaper he kin- dled a cheerful fire, and then rose with a gratified expression as the bla/.e be^-m to lick the sticks. The Lefthander Wtt standing in the middle of the room, look- ing at him from under his straight black eyebrows. He had placed the candle on the table, and one of his large hands rest ed beside it. "I have money," he said. "I wi! pay." As lie spoke he took a roll of bank notes and some gold from his pocket Mr. Grantliam put them aside gently. " Are you hungry ?" he said ; " you o your child? You see I come to tli point. What we want most of all, some times, in this world, is food and sleep." " I am not at all hungry, or Mignon that is her name," said the Lefthandei " I see that what I heard about you wa true. I was afraid you would turn u away." " I do not turn away people, friend I have a son. Perhaps he may want a shelter some of these days I should no like to have him turned away." Mr. Grantliam went to Mouse an< smoothed the hair gently back from he forehead, looking at her with a smile. "Poor little one!" he said; "it is sa( to think she should want a shelter." He added to the Lefthander, " If you shoulc require anything during the night, friend you will find me in the room under this Wake me without any ceremony. There is no bolt on the door." " You are not afraid of my robbing you ?" repeated the Lefthander. Mr. Grantliam shook his head. "There is no danger of that," he said " Men who look at their children as yoi look at your little girl never rob people.' He went out and closed the door be hind him. As he passed the room oppo site he stopped, hesitated, and then turne< the knob softly and went in. This was Ellis's chamber, and he was sound asleep As tlie moon was shining brightly, his fa thcr could sec him very plainly, and bend inu: over his narrow bed he kissed him on his forehead. "How can I live without him!" ho said. After taxing at the sleeper for som< moments in silence, lie sillied and wen out of the room, down-stairs to bis study Here he looked round him, and scemcc to be searching for something, whicl VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 61 seemed to be an old buffalo-robe, used in his light carry-all in winter; it w;is lying | in a corner, and Mr. Granthain brought it and spread it upon the narrow and un- comfortable lounge opposite the window. lie then put out his remaining candle, and stretched himself upon the hard lounge, drawing- the ImlTalo-robc around him. It was not a very pleasant couch, but then Ellis's bed was too narrow for two persons. As to his own chamber, his guests had that. People do not sleep late in the morn- ing in beds as hard as the lounge in Mr. Grantham's study. lie woke a little after daylight, and, remembering the incident of the preceding night, listened to dis- cover whether his guests were yet stir- ring in the chamber above. The whole house was perfectly still, and as Mr. Gran- tham did not wish to wake any one soon- er than they desired, he lay wrapped in his buffalo -robe, engaged in reflection. After awhile the first rays of sunrise came in through the window, and the old servant of the household was heard going up-stairs. Mr. Grantham then re- flected that his guests would be aroused, in any case, so he rose and went up the staircase, to ask if they needed anything. There was no reply to his knock, and he knocked again. Still no answer came, and he quietly opened the door. The room was empty. Mr. Grantham looked round him w r ith an air of great surprise. What had become of the wayfarers ? It was a proof of this good man's confidence in human nature, that it never even occurred to him that perhaps the rough-looking man with the singular eyebrows had gone off in this cautious manner, in order to take some- thing which did not belong to him away with him. Having made his estimate of the man by the look bestowed upon his child, he held to it this was not a thief. But what had induced him to go off dur- ing the night? He scanned the appearance of things. The bed had been slept in, but not by the man, who had probably spent the night on the old sofa. The impression of the child's head was still on the pillow. All at once he saw a slip of paper lying on the table by an old inkstand ami pen which generally stood on the mantel- piece. Tin- paper was folded, and as Mr. (Jranthain took it up a gold eagle drop- ped upon the floor. The paper contain- ed the following words, in the handwrit- ing of a man apparently not accustomed to penmanship, but not illiterate : "You took a poor man and his child into your house without asking any ques- tions. You would not take money for yourself, but you will take this gold piece for some poor people who may want it." Mr. Grantham read this paper with a bright smile upon his face, and picked up the gold piece and put it in his pocket. But why did his guest go away so quiet- ly ? He looked round him there was nothing to throw light upon the subject. He was just on the point of leaving the room when something on the bed attract- ed his attention. It was a dark object, half covered by the counterpane, which seemed to have been accidentally thrown over it. He drew it out, and found that it was a travelling-satchel of black leather, which the wayfarers had probably over- looked in the haste of their departure. Mr. Grantham stood for some minutes looking at the satchel, which was about the size of an ordinary carpet-bag. Should he see what it contained? It would be easy to do so. The satchel was unlocked the key had been lost, or its small mistress 'might have it in her O pocket; there would be no trouble, there- fore ; but, for all that, Mr.( Jrantham hesi- tated. He was a conscientious man, and did not like the idea of opening people's satchels. He could see through the opening that the bag contained some articles belonging to a child's wardrobe, and thought that he felt a book and a package of papers at the bottom ; but he had no right to look at people's pa- lters. He would keep the satchel ; no doubt the owner of it would call and ask 62 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. for it; if he did not, it might be defen- sible to examine its contents and endeav- or to ascertain the ownership, with a view to its restitution. There would be time enough for that. As he heard Ellis come out of his room at this moment, he put the satchel under his arm and went down-stairs. XXI. BRANTZ ELLIOT. ONE morning Brantz Elliot came out of the front -door of the house in the mountain with a fishing-rod on his shoul- der ; and the dogs, who were his intimate friends by this time, greeted him with joy, leaping and frisking around him. It was a clear crisp day of late Septem- ber, and the rich sunshine bathed the foli- age of the valley and the slopes burning away under the fiery finger of autumn. You could see a long way through the transparent atmosphere, but over the far headlands hung a dreamy smoke, round- ing and idealizing them. October was near, and October in Virginia is the month for dreams, if you fancy wander- ing into the beautiful woodlands to in- dulge them. Brantz Elliot had not left Daddy Welle^'s at the end of three days in fa-t, more than three weeks had passed since his arrival. This had resulted from two circumstances, lie had found the life of the mountains precisely to his taste, and his presence seemed to be a - at- isfaction to everybody. Nothing further had l>een said by the master "f the man- sion implying hesitation a* to lodging the young sportsman; on the contrary, he was treated a-> a permanent gue*t. Pad- dy Welles evidentlv wished to have him remain as niurh as he himself de-iivd to do so. They were hunt-men, and ra<-h recognized a comrade. Hunting was the master -passion of Brant/ Elliot. He had not wanted op- portunities to substitute other pursuits for it. He was the only son of a merchant of New York, and as Elliot, 8r., was wealthy, the young fellow had pursued the career of youths with rich fathers who are devoted to them. He had gone to college and afterward to Europe, to think what he would do in the world, when the news reached him that his father had sud- denly died. An uncle had taken charge of the estate, however, and managed it for him, and the young fellow remained in Europe, endeavoring to assuage his grief by travel : it was a distraction, but gave him little pleasure, and nothing af- forded him much satisfaction but open- air sports. He did not wish to be a law- yer, or a politician, or a merchant; and looked forward with no pleasure to re- turning to his home on the Fifth Avenue, where an aunt still kept up the establish- ment for him. lie was essentially a rustic in his tastes, and cities bored him. Neither Paris nor Rome aroused any enthusiasm in him. While strolling along the boulevards, look- ing at the crowd and the brilliant equi- pages, he was generally thinking whether he could not get up a hunt somewhere in the country, and have woods and water and peasants around him, instead of shops with plate -glass windows, and flaneurs with waxed mustaches. If the peasants were poachers it would be all the better ; but anything was better than kid gloves and the opera. He had hunted a good deal in Scotland and the Alps, and liked the Mer de Glace and the lakes. The Bernese Oberland was an attraction. He spent some weeks in the Tyrol; then he came back at last to New York, to reflect more maturely as to what he would do in life. lie could not decide. It was really very sal indeed, but New York, his na- tive place, bored him just as much as Paris and Rome. It was a terrible strug- gle to get through his day. The club helped him a little there were a great many good fellows there, laboriously en- gaged in the same employment of killing time. They were horse-men for the most part, and spoke of organizing an amateur eoaehing-ehib, to drive four-in-hand, and run regularly a day's stage from the city. V1KC1NIA BOHEMIANS. 63 coaches were to be strictly English also the costunn's, the equipments, ^bove all, the demeanor ami pronuncia- tion of the gentlemen coachmen. " Strict- ly English" was to he tin- motto of the [club, and everybody was to bo a coach- llman of the strictest sect as to apparel, and ipassengers were to be "booked" and rail- ed for, and there was a horn that was to be blown, and the whole alTair was to be ||a lark of the first magnitude, indulged in I by the very best fellows of the club, in la fashion strictly English. As the de- Jtails were not yet arranged, however, Mr. iBrantz Elliot, who was fond of horses, put Ion the drab costume of a groom, and di- fccting his real groom to ride behind him, jllrove his drag in the Central Park the ilreal groom looking on with folded arms ;o see that it was properly done. Even his, however, was slow. After all, he was 'in town," and to be in town* was his nomination. Cities were all sameness in iis eyes. He was accustomed to express Iris views with great frankness to his in- timates. Men who lived in crowds, he paid, were all rubbed down to a fearful uniformity ; there was no character about them. You could pick out any lone hundred city men, and lay one of them down on pasteboard and cut out his figure, and it would fit the other ninety- ine. They all wore the same clothes land hats, and in the same way. They all walked with their arms at exactly the same angle. They all took off their hats alike ; said " really !" suppressing the r, in Ithe same tone; and were painfully like leach other. What he wanted was people Iwith angles and individuality. If they Iwere rough, it did not matter much. Af- ter saying this, he generally yawned and IB it a cigar. In fact, what has been called " the wild JBidc" was strongly developed in Brantz Elliot. Not that he was a lawless or reckless person, unobservant or careless of the proprieties of life, or at all want- ling in culture ; on the contrary, he was m very exemplary young man in his daily Wife. He had never soiled himself with the vices which lie in wait to entrap youth, when the possessor of this dan- gerous luxury is absent from hoinr and exempt from familv restraints, with plen- ty of money in his pocket. He had no taste for ignoble indulgence, and was very far frm bring deficient in literary cult- ure. He had improved his time at col- lege, and read I'Yeiieh and (Jerman <jiiite fluently; but, in spite of all, this innate; "wildness" predominated lie liked hunting, fishing, and rambling in the woods a great deal better than reading or "good society." His tastes were ro- bust. He preferred the open air to the atmosphere of the study, lie would have been delighted with the company of Cooper's Leatherstocking, and the acme of enjoyment to him would have been to hunt lions in Africa. Not find- ing these luxuries within his reach, he looked round for substitutes, and had enjoyed an expedition to the Adiron- dacks. Afterward, hearing from a friend who had visited the White Sulphur Springs in Virginia that the mountains of the re- gion were full of deer and old hunters, he had determined to try his fortune in that direction. He had, accordingly, visited the Virginia springs in the summer of this year, and had made some satisfactory forays into the neighboring wilds. On his way back to New York now, he had taken the fancy to stop for a few days and pursue his fa- vorite amusement under the auspices of Daddy Welles, who seemed to be a little of everything hunter, agriculturist, prin- cipal or agent in some mysterious busi- ness, or what not; and thus it was that Mr. Brantz Elliot had become an inmate of and lingered day after day in the mountain house in the secluded little valley, cut off from the rest of the world, and known by the eccentric name of "Bohemia." This, he said to himself, was really a coincidence. He was some- thing of a Bohemian himself for there were Bohemians of the woods as well as Bohemians of the purlieus of cities. It was, therefore, perfectly appropriate that this young Bohemian of the fields and forests should set up his rest in the small 64 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. vale of " Bohemia." He had not regret- ted doing so for a moment. There was no doubt at all about the fact that he was enjoying himself. There were a plenty of pheasants, wild turkeys, and deer, too, in the mountains; and the small stream traversing the narrow valley afforded excellent fishing. Now, to ram- ble along the grassy banks of a water- course, fishing-rod in hand, or go out be- fore sunrise and "drop a buck" at eighty yards, was to this young gentleman the height of human felicity. He had drop- ped several, and shot countless pheasants and turkeys. He could easily have paid for his board and lodgings with the game he had killed. When he was not hunt- ing or fishing he was smoking 'a pipe, and reading the last magazines sent him, or talking with Daddy Welles on topics mutually congenial to their tastes. XXII. DADDY WELLES SURPRISED. Tins serene old Daddy Welles was a great puzzle to Brantz Elliot. He was made up of piquant contrasts, and afford- ed a study in human nature. He was hospitable and liberal to his household, l>ut evidently loved money. His guest liad a supply of gold; and, when he paid J)addv Welles, the mountaineer's face in- dicated unmistakable pleasure at sight of the glittering coin. But he was not close in his dealings. He simply loved the siirht of money, apparently. Then, for other contrasts: the guileless smile of the Daddy plainly concealed an acute and oljN.-rvant mind. He was uneducated iii books, obviously it was doubtful, even, if he could write his name but, as obvious- Iv, he was very well educated in the book of human nature, lie uttered observa- tions which were apothegms, and inclined now and then to the epigrammatic. The oil, he said, that made a woman's tongue run glib was scandal; and the axle-giva-e that carried a man downhill very fa-t wa- whiskey. He called lawyers " the 1'yers ;" and when one day Nelly was paring some apples to make apple - butter, he said, "You're not looking well, Nelly ; go and take a walk and let the apples alone pity old mother Eve hadn't." For Daddy Welles had his quiet humor. What particularly struck Brantz Elliot, however, was the fact that something] mysterious was going on around him; and that of this something Daddy Welles was evidently the mainspring and master- spirit. He had frequently recalled the] words of the stage -driver that "queer stories " were told about his host. There! really seemed to be some ground for tl stories in question, whatever they migl be. At certain times Daddy Welh would disappear, and remain absent ft two or three days. When the good mi returned on his old raw-boned steed, would smile in his guileless way, and ually let fall the observation that businc took him away oftener than he likc( but as to the precise character of tl business in question, he apparently cc sidered it unnecessary to enter into anj explanation. Then certain roughly -cl persons frequently called to see Dadc Welles, and they held confidential intei views looking round them now and thei apparently from a desire to satisfy thei selves that they were not overlie Once they were overheard. Brantz Elli< had gone out to hunt one morning, bi finding no game, had returned, and goi into the sitting-room, where he learn back in one of the split-bottomed chaii to look at the engravings in a new mj zine. While thus engaged, he had IK voices, and observed Daddy Welles by the house toward the rear in eompai with a visitor. This visitor was a leal crow figure in a ragged felt hat, with sarcastic smile on his tobacco-stained lij "I don't altogether like it, Daddy/ 1 said the owner of the ragged hat, in a lo\ tone. "No danger, no danger, Barney," dy Welles replied. " Well, if you say so, it's so, Daddy, the visitor responded ; " but strangers mighty onsartain, and it's je^t as well be on the- lookout. I wouldn't like VIRGINIA UolIKMIANS. have to empty my double-barrel at any- body in the mounting."' IJrantz Elliot could not see the fan- <f the speaker, a-* In 1 \vas walking away from him, but the tone in which he spoke set-m- od to indicate that a grin accompanied his words. Thence food for thought. The stranger who was mighty uncertain was apparently himself, and he it was who might have a double-barrelled gun emp- tied at him in the mountain. All this was more interesting than agreeable. What did it mean? After asking himself that question, without receiving a reply, he de- termined to propound it to Daddy Welles himself. One morning, therefore, he join- ed his host in the vicinity of the cow- shelter, and said, in his straightforward way, " What's going on here, Daddy Welles?" A sweet smile illumined the counte- nance of Daddy Welles, and he said, inno- ccntlv, "Uoin' on, friend?" "Yes," said Elliot; "there's no doubt of the fact that something is going on." " Why, what makes you think so ?" "A friend of yours came to see you yesterday morning, didn't he?" "Yistiddy mornin'? Oh yes; you mean Barney Jones." " Well, what were you and Barney Jones whispering about, like two conspir- ators? I was in the house and heard you, as you went by." " Whisperin' ? Me and Barney !" said the Daddy, with surprise. " Oh no ; he was only talkin' about things in general, as neighbors \|^11, you know, when they drop in to chat." " So you talk about strangers, and their being onsartain, do you, Daddy Welles ? and of emptying double-barrels at 'em in the mountain ?" "Well, I do declare!" Daddy Welles said, with guileless smiles ; " did anybody say that P "Yes, they did your friend Barney said it." " Well, well ! but that Barney always was given to foolish ways of talkin'. 5 You see there's a catamount was met in the mounting last week not a common wildcat, but a regular painter the first seen in these parts for a long time. I Ir's a stranger hereabouts; and if \<>u got a good look at one, you'd think a light with him was mighty onsartain, indeed, unless you got a chance to empty both barrels at him before he got to you !" " Come now, 1 )addy ; you know your friend Barney Jones didn't mean a cata- mount. Last week ? was there one seen ? I mean to have a pull at him !" " We'll go after him, if you say so, friend." The conversation was apparently pass- ing to other topics, which did not seem to displease the Daddy. " Agreed ! but about Barney Jones," persisted Elliot ; " what were you and he talking about ? It's none of my business, but" " Talkin' about ? Oh yes ; he did men- tion he had killed two wolves. They're mighty skeerce now, and nothin' hardly brings 'em but a dead horse." Brantz Elliot fell into the trap. The connection between wolves and a dead horse evidently excited his curiosity in the highest degree. Forgetting all else, he said, " A dead horse ! What has a dead horse to do with wolf -hunting, Daddy Welles?" " Law bless you !" the Daddy said, with an air of innocent surprise, "don't you know? Well, that shows you are city- raised, friend, much as you do know about huntin'. That's the way we hunt w r olves. Only last year we got four that way. You ought to 'a been here." " Tell me about it !" said Brantz Elliot, with a hunter's ardor. " Well, you see, a wolf's a mighty cun- nin' varmint, and hides all day, and only comes out at night. He won't go in a bear-trap. He jest smells around it, and shakes his head and goes away. In the mornin' he ain't in the trap, and there's your twenty dollars gone !" Elliot, intent on thoughts of wolves, forgot all about Barney Jones. 66 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " Twenty dollars !" he said. "Didn't you know about that? The law pays twenty dollars for a wolfs hide and sculp they kill all the sheep and calves they can find, and are worth it. Well, we set a dead horse last year, and made nigh on to a hundred dollars by him." " A dead horse !" repeated Elliot, now highly interested; "tell me all about it, Daddy." " Well, this is the way we did it : You see, snow was on the ground, and every mornin' you could see the wolf-tracks around the sheep-pens ; and if a cow and calf strayed away in the mounting, the cow came back but the calf was missin'. This went on some time, and at last it was onsupportable. So me and some neighbors bought an old horse for five dollars, and took him up in the mounting and cut his throat." "What on earth was that for?" " Well, you see he was the trap. When he was done kicking we slit him open from his forelegs along his belly and put strychnine in him, and went back home." " Strychnine ! Oh yes ; I begin to understand." "That's the way we do when dogs worry our sheep, and the owners won't keep 'em at home, spite of a civil re- quest. We put stryclmtfti in a dead sheep, and on the next day there's a pile o' dead dogs by that sheep." Here Daddy Welles laughed cheerfully. " And your horse-trap answered ?" "You ought 'a been in the mounting when we went up next mornin'! There was four big wolves, and ;i wild-cat, and crows, and hawks, no end of 'em, all lay- in' around dead in the snow nearabouts ! They were the very Li-'u* -t wolves you ever laid your eyes on, and we irt eighty dollars for the hides and sculps." " \Vell," said Elliot, "that's a new kind f trap, Daddy Welles, lint you have- not told me about those people goim: and coming Barney Jones ami the re>t." "Goin' and comin' ! Why you must 'a deceived yourself, friend." Elliot shook his head. " There is something going on, Daddy But then it's no business of mine, and I don't care. You are not counterfeiters, are you ? If you are, it's nothing to me ; but I am pretty certain you are not. If you are, go ahead ; I'm not an officer of the United States Mint. I'm a hunter, and I have come here to drop a buck when I can, and see the sun come in at my window and tell me good -morning. I don't belong to the detective police, and I've got nothing to do with it. Things in this direction suit me exactly, and I mean to stay at least a week longer. The men of cities delight me not, nor the women either see Shakspeare. All I ask is that Broadway will attend to its own business and let me attend to mine." " Well, that's right, friend," said Daddy Welles, cheerfully. " I can't say I've got much notion of towns and sech like my- self. I'm mostly country -raised in my ways." Which Brantz Elliot, looking at his gaunt old host in his homespun, regarded as a just statement. " So am I," he said. " Shall we have a tramp, to-day ?" " I'm ruther afeerd I can't go with you this mornin', friend," the Daddy respond- ed. " I've got to ride over to Piedmont to see the land-sharks on some business. That's what we call tlte 1'yers." " The lawyers, eh ?" "The same. The court people grind us poor folks every chance they git. But I s'pose they have to live, like the rest of us," added the Daddy, philosophically. He then mounted his raw -honed old charger and set out for Jfiedmoiit, when,' he really did seem to have important busi- ness cither there or elsewhere for he did not return until the evening of the next day. Mr. Harney Jones, on a h<T><> as much of a scarecrow as himself, had parted with him at the foot of the path, and r'uhlen on to his own home farther up the valley. : VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. XXIII. NELL Y. "NELLY!" said Mr. I'.rant/, Elliot, on this morning, patting the head of <>ne of tlio dogs who sprung up to he caressed. He tunu'd his head and looked into the house. "SirT said a voice. "There it is again, eternally sirT said the young man, laughing. " You will ne\i-r break yourself of that stiff mono- syllable, Nelly !" Nelly had come out to the door ; she was smiling a little, and blushing a good deal. In her linsey dress, secured around her slender waist by the cheap black belt, and her hair falling behind, tied with a ribbon, she looked attractive; and the smile and blush did not interfere with the general impression which she produced. " I say, you will not drop that formal 'sir,' in spite of all I can say," Elliot added. " Xow I like to be at my ease with people, and have them at their ease with me." " Why, what am I to say sir?" Nelly replied. " No, you are not to say sz>, unless it is necessary to your personal comfort or convenience, in which case I have no more to say. I know I am an ancient and dig- nified sort of person, and ought to be treated with respect by a child like you ; but then* it's a bore, Nelly, and, if it goes on, I\e made up my mind what I will do. I will address you as Miss- Welles" Nelly laughed at this : it was a brief, shy laugh, but not a rustic giggle ; very far from it. There really was very little that was really " rustic " about Nelly, and Brantz Elliot had not heard her " giggle" once since they had been acquainted. " I meant to ask you if you would go fishing with me," he said. " It's a great bore to spend a whole morning by one's self there's nobody to say anything to if you wish to talk. I'm not much in the way of talk, and no great hand at making myself agreeable in ladies' society. In fact, I don't care much for them in general but you are an exception !" The statement in reference to liim-lf by Mr. I'.rantx Klliot \\as perfeotl rect. He cared little or nothing for the society of the opposite sex, and gave them very little thought. He, had admired them now and then after a lazy sort of fashion. Sometimes a pretty face on the Parisian boulevards, or in passing equi- pages in the Bois or Cascine, had plea-ed him. He had looked, too, with indolent satisfaction at the graceful slips of girls promenading Broadway <>r Fifth Avenue in the afternoons, with taper wai>t>, niee- ly arranged curls, and dainty feet peeping out from their painfully pulled-back skirts, as the gallant policemen escorted them safely through the tide of vehicles. But they were scarcely real people to him. They were simply a gallery of pictures, all these feminine faces and figures ; and the young fellow had looked at them as at paintings admiring them as pi- objects, but forgetting them at the next moment. lie had never been the I--a-t bit in love with any of them. In fa<-t, what pleased him about Nelly Welles was the fact that she was not at all like them. It was a little unceremonious, perhaps in him to address the girl as " Nelly " but then there were reasons for that, They had been thrown together hourly for nearly a whole month; and when we associate with persons familiarly for that length of time, they become friends if they do not become enemies. Then ev- erybody called her " Nelly," and almost unconsciously Brantz Elliot had come to do so, too. A last explanation was the fact that Nelly Welles was very young for her age, which was about seventeen. Some girls of seventeen are children, and others women. Nelly was a mixture of the two, but more of the first. She had the shyness and simplicity of girlhood nothing of womanhood at all, in fact, but a certain sweet seriousness attimo which strongly attracted him. The wonder was where she had acquired that expression of countenance and her real refinement. There was very little in her MUTOUndingB to account for it. Daddy Welles and his motherly helpmate were excellent people, 68 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. but then they were not what is called high-bred. Nelly was really high-bred, in spite of her poor dress and all about her. She was a little awkward, but that evi- dently arose from youth and inexperience. She had none of the "ways" of rustic belles, who look side;vise at you and de- ploy their unpleasant wiles. She was very quiet, and even dignified. Her mind was almost a blank, indeed, as to educa- tion a tabula rasa nearly, Brantz Elliot said to himself, but then she, too, seemed to know that, and to quietly Jament it. As to Nelly's personal appearance, she was certainly pretty. This fact had grad- ually dawned on Brantz Elliot, who was not curious in such matters. But youth is youth, after all. A young fellow may like to rise at daylight, and go and hunt deer, far better than to whirl in the waltz or German at the same hour with an arm- ful of satin in his grasp. He may care very little for the smiles and wiles of such chance partners, in chance moments, when the object of each is only amusement. But there is always a heart somewhere in a young man's breast. It thus happened that Drantz Elliot had begun to follow Nelly "Welles about with his eyes. She really was very pretty, he said to himself. Hi T figure in its linsey drew his attention, and was more graceful to him than the satin-encased corsages of the beauties he n in cities. There was something in her dark eyes, and hair gathered be- hind and tied with the cheap ribbon, which pleased him. Sometimes he realized that fact, and it made him laugh. Was he go- in^ to fall in love with the " mountain B maid?-'' The idea struck him as rather absurd. To be in love with a girl meant to wish to tell her so, and to ask her to marry him. Now, to a-k Nelly Welles to become Mrs.Brantz Elliot was a wild idea. Daddy Welles would not do in the lea^t for a father-in-law. Such a paterfamilias would create a sensation in Fifth Avenue drawing-rooms. He might bring his long rifle with him and shoot somebody ! Having permitted his thoughts to roam idly in this fanciful direction, Elliot ended by laughing quietly and dismissing the whole subject as a chance vagary of the brain, engendered by idleness. He did not go away, however ; either Nelly or the delights of deer-hunting detained him. And as there really was nothing of much importance to take him back to New York, he thought he would stay a little longer. Nelly had gone fishing with him in the stream which ran through the narrow valley at the foot of the mountain more than once. This had been in consequence of his solicitation. Brantz Elliot had the tastes of a sportsman, but not those of a recluse. He liked company. Daddy Welles was generally engaged, and could only spare time now and then for a good tramp after deer: in the idle divertisc- ment of rambling along the stream and fishing in the bright autumn days, his as- sociate had thus come to be Nelly. They got on very well with each other, lie could talk in a friendly way she was company. She did not take much part in the conversation. Her shyness had worn off, in a measure, and she was mucli more at her ease with him ; but she was still diffident, and apparently ashamed oi her ignorance. Having further urged, on this bright morning, his desire for company, Brantz Elliot succeeded in persuading Nelly to go fishing witli him, and they set out to- gether down the path toward the stream. Nelly had a brown chip hat, of very plain material, on her head, and had thrown an old cape around her shoulders. Her shoes and stockings were coarse, but she walked with a grace which attracted the admiring glances of her companion. "Nelly/' he >aid, "I have meant for some time to ask you a question, only I was afraid you would consider it rather impertinent. May I ask it ?" She turned her head and looked at him rather shyly, but smiling, and said "Y. "Well, it's this. How in the world did you ever come to be born here in this mountain '" " In the mountain I Why shouldn't I be born here, sir ?" VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. O'J "There is that hateful .svV a^ain ! I wish you would drop it." "I will try, but I don't, think I can." "Well, at least try. It's really like a bucket of cold water! If we ;uv ever u'oinu; to become acquainted \ve ought to be now. It makes me feel as if I was eighty and you \vere eight I am only tweiity-tive, and you must be at least double eight." "I am seventeen," said Nellv. " Well, I am told that is an agreeable age; I thought you were younger. Have you lived all your life in the mountain ? That seems strange to me." " Strange ! Why should it be strange ?" "Because and now we are coming back to the point it is the greatest puz- zle to me to understand how but you will think I am ill-bred if I say what I was going to say." " I am sure I will not," Nelly said. " Well, Til go on, then. I meant to say that you are a lady, from head to foot, and people in this world are influ- enced in their appearance and character by their surroundings. But really the thing is too low," said Brantz Elliot, as if addressing himself ; " I can't go on." Nelly blushed quickly, and said, "I know what you mean; but I am not a lady." " I swear you are ! excuse me, Nelly." " I am a poor girl without education my father and mother are poor people. I was born here in the mountain, and I will live and die without going any- where " A chord had evidently been touched which Brantz Elliot had never even sus- pected. Nelly's bosom heaved. " I am not a lady !" she said, with a quick sob. " How can I be ? How could I be anything but what I am ? I never had any education, and nothing will ever change my life here ! If I had not had a few old books, and learned what I could, I would not know how to read or write. Oh, it is so hard ! I am nearly grown up, and I am so ignorant ! I don't know what to do sometimes when I think of it !" The words wen uttered in a voice which went to Brant/ Elliot's heart. " Why were you never taught f ' In- said. "I don't know/' Nelly aobbed;" there's a free school, but it is at 1'irdmont, and I \\as ashamed to go with the children. Father is as good to me as ho can be, but he thinks very little of books, and says I can teach myself. But I never will be able to!" Xelly turned her head to one side ami indulged in a quiet cry, which seemed to relieve her, as she became calmer and said no more. As to Brantz Elliot, he seemed to be completely at a loss what to say, The girl's voice, full of passional . ness, had strongly affected him. Not find- ing any reply to make at the moment ho walked on in silence. At length he said, "It is a pity a very great pity, in- deed." Nelly did not reply for a few minutes ; she then said, in a low voice, "I did not mean that I was real I v dis- contented or not happy. I have deal to be thankful for, and I would not care to leave home for pleasure ; but I can't help wishing sometimes that I was not shut up here in the mountains all my life. All I wish is that I could improve myself, and have books to read, and not live and die so ignorant of everything." Brantz Elliot looked into her face and said, after a moment, "You will be married some of these days, then you will go away." At this Nelly shook her head. " I would not like to be married to anybody." He had begun to take a strong iir in analyzing the girl's thoughts and mo- tives now, and said, "You mean that you don't intend to marry one of the rough young mountain- eers here and you are right." " I do not mean to marry anybody," Nelly said, quietly. " I ought not to have talked so much about myself, but it is very hard to think of living all my life as ignorant as I am. I ought not to have learned to read. It has only made me unhappy." VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. XXIV. UNDINE. NELLY plainly wished to change the topic, and Brantz Elliot said no more, but he remembered this conversation for a long time. The occupation of fishing afforded a diversion, and to this they pro- ceeded. Falling Water, as the small stream was called, was a picturesque watercourse, well stocked with bass, of which the Shenandoah is full. It ran between grassy banks, widening here and there over sandy bottoms, and at other points narrowing between cedar - fringed bluffs. A skirt of evergreens defined its outline through the little valley, and with these were mingled some large sycamores with huge hollow trunks and mottled arms, drooping in many places far out over the current, washing beneath the gnarled roots shaded with green water-flags. Along the grassy banks ran a w r ell- defined path, made, no doul>t, by cattle. Here and there a mossy rock jutted out above the current. On these rocks Brantz Elliot and Nelly Welles took their stand and began to fish. They had very bad luck. This fact was due to heavy rains a day or two be- fore, which had swollen the stream and made the water muddy. Such a condi- tion of things is unfavorable to the pur- suits of the angler. After an hour's fish- ing they had caught nothing, and J Irani/ Elliot proposed that they should go far- th<T up the stream. Nelly absented, and they went along the bank until they reach- ed a point where the current grew narrow and rushed swiftly between two blufTs. A felled tree, used as a bridge, reached from bank to bank; and thinking that the ground on the other side would prove more favorable for throwing the lines, they ventured cautiously on the log- l>ridge, which seemed rather insecure. It was more so than they supposed. Ju>t as they reached the middle it ga?6 way, and they fell into the water. llrantz Elliot fell so suddenly that he went completely under. When he rose to the surface, he saw that Nelly had been swept off by the rapid current, which was bearing her along like a leaf. Elliot was an excellent swimmer. In half a dpzen strokes lie reached the girl, and taking one of her hands, placed it upon his shoulder. She made no effort to grasp him, as drowning persons fre- quently do, and he struck out vigorously toward the bank. The current was, how- ever, even stronger than he had sup- posed, and, more unfortunate than all, Nelly's clothing, especially her cape, be- came heavily clogged with water. Elliot felt the weight on his shoulder increas- ing every moment ; and seeing the fatal cape wrapping its wet folds more and more closely around the girl, he endeav- ored to tear it away from her. The ef- fort only resulted in the disappearance of both beneath the surface. They rose again, but Elliot could see that the girl's strength was deserting her. His own was giving way. The water in her clothing and his own made the weight upon him terrible. With a sinking heart he cal- culated the probability of reaching the shore. It seemed slight. The current swept them along, and Nelly became weaker and weaker. With half -closed eyes she leaned more and more heavily upon him, but even then did not attempt to grasp him. Looking at her pale face, Elliot groaned. What could he do 1 In a few moments at most they would prob- ably sink for the last time. The thought passed through him as a bullet passes through a man's breast. " I will die with her !" he muttered. As he said this a wave passed over them. They rose once more, and then something struck his face. This was a drooping bough of one of the sycamores growing on the bank. The bough ex- tended at least fifteen feet out into the stream, and Elliot caught it with die hand, supporting the girl with his left arm. "Nelly!" he said. She looked at him, and her head leaned toward him a- a child's toward a protec- tor in trouble. She was smiling faintly. "Do you think you can hold to this YliailNIA JiOlIl-MIANS. 71 bough for .1 few minutes? If you can, I'll save you." - Yes," she said. She raised her arms, caught the bough, and eliuii;- to it. Klliot found himself free, and forcing his hand into his soaked pocket dre\v >ut his knife, opened it with his teeth, and cut the string of the cape, which was at once swept away. "Hold fast now, Nelly !" he said, "for a minute only. There is but one way of saving you." Half a dozen strokes carried him to shore, and he ran to a large wild grape- vine near, from which he cut a long vine. With this he hastened back to the syca- more, climbed up, and, followingthe bough out into the stream, reached the spot where Nelly was clinging by both hands. The water was up to her shoulders, and her body swayed to and fro. He could see that she was nearly exhausted, but the same faint smile was on her face as she looked at him a smile whose expression he had never seen before, and which he always remembered afterward. " Do just as I tell you, now, Nelly," he said. " I am going to tie this grape-vine around you, and bring you to shore. It is the only way to save you. When I say * Ready,' let the bough go, and trust to me." " Yes," she said. Elliot passed the vine around her under the arms, twisted it into a secure knot, tested the knot, and said, " Ready !" Without an instant's hesitation Nelly let go. " Hold the vine tight," he said. She obeyed, and proceeding slowly along the broad bough, Elliot gradually drew the girl, whose head just emerged from the water, to the shore. She was so much exhausted, however, that it was im- possible for her to ascend the steep bank. Elliot saw this at a glance, and wrapped the vine around the bough, twisting it into a knot. He then swung himself to the ground, ran down the bank, and, catching the girl in his arms, carried her to dry ground. " Saved ! you are saved !" he cried, holding her in his arms, and smoothing her dripping hair from her forehead. Her arm was resting upon his shoulder in the natural picture of a person supported by another. It was almost around his neck, and her cheek was near his own. Urantx Klli.t. then did what perhaps he ought not, to have done, but he did it almost unconsciously : he kissed the cheek. Nelly blushed to the roots of her hair and the tips of her ears, and turned away her head : owing to the fact that she was in the young man's arms, this was all she could do. " Don't mind me, Nelly !" he exclaim- ed, laughing joyfully. " Your face was so near that I kissed you without think- ing. You mustn't be too hard on a fel- low !" He wrung the water as well as he could from her skirt and sleeves, which were drenched. " Your arms and hands are like ice," he said. " That is from nervous exhaustion. Come on, and make haste home !" He looked round him, and for the first time became aware of a fact which he had quite overlooked in his excitement. The sycamore which had been the means of saving Nelly's life stood on the west bank of the stream. There was the cur- rent galloping between them and home, and the log affording the means of cross- ing it had disappeared ! There was a bridge on the stage-road about a mile be- low, but that would make their walk back at least two miles ; and Nelly was trem- bling from head to foot. " You have a nervous chill !" I>rantz Elliot exclaimed. " You never could wal k round by the bridge. And then 1M have to carry you up the mountain afterward, Nelly, like the boy that carried the prin- cess he was to marry if he got to the top with her !" He laughed ruefully. What was to be done? He was considering the matter when two persons came out of a clump of pines near them and walked toward them. 72 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. XXV. SOME NEW RESIDENTS OF BOHEMIA. THE two persons were a gentleman of forty -five or fifty, clad in black, and a slim girl of eighteen or nineteen, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a light shawl thrown over her shoulders. They came to the spot where Elliot and his compan- ion were standing, and the girl exclaimed, addressing Nelly, " Why, what is the matter? You are drenched from head to foot ! you are trembling all over. Did you fall into the water ?" Nelly's teeth were chattering so that she was unable to reply, and Elliot replied for her. " Yes, miss," he said. " We tried to cross on a log, which broke, and we fell in, and were nearly drowned. This is Miss Nelly Welles, and my name is Brantz Elliot. I am from New York, and am staying here." The young lady bowed in reply to this straightforward introduction of himself and Nelly, but at once concentrated her attention upon the latter. She had taken Nelly's hands in her own, and now ex- claimed, " Your hands are almost frozen ! How cold you are, and your teeth are chatter- You ought to go home at once but it is too far. I know where Daddy Welles lives. Come home with us !" " Wo can go back by the bridge," Nelly murmured, playing the castanets with her teeth. She really did seem to be about to have a nervous chill. " No, indeed ! You must come with us. We live only a short distance. Is this Nolly Welles? I have heard of you, Nelly, and am very glad to make your acquaintance. Wo wen? walking out. I am so glad we met you !" There was something delightfully frank ami affectionate in the girl's voice, and her companion, the gentleman in black, added his word, in a voice of mild cour- tesy. "Your young friend ought to change her clothing at once, sir," he said to Elliot. " My name is Gary, and I live almost in sight." " Yes, indeed, papa ! Make her come," said the tall girl. And as Nelly had no means of resist- ing, she yielded, and they all walked up the hill through the evergreens. The path wound downward on the other side and entered a meadow. Beyond, on a rising ground, was an old-fashioned coun- try - house of moderate size, standing in the midst of a lawn dotted with locusts and Lombardy poplars, a favorite tree with the old-time Virginians. The house was ancient and built of stone, covered with brown stucco. In front was a small porch reached by a circular carriage-drive. Here and there in the grounds rose white trellises, which seemed to indicate a love of flowers in the master or mistress of the mansion. The general appearance of things suggested plain comfort rather than ample means an idea of tranquil- lity and home. The slim young lady, who had intro- duced herself to Nelly as Frances Gary, at once disappeared up-stairs with her drenched companion, and Mr. Gary con- ducted Brantz Elliot into a room on the left of the entrance, which seemed to do duty as drawing-room and library com- bined. There were two or three book- cases filled with volumes, and some old pictures on the wall. In the centre stood a writing-table covered with books and papers among the latter, some upon which the owner of the house seemed to have been engaged, as a pen was lying upon them. Two large arm-chairs cover- ed with brown leather stood on each side of the table, and were apparently heir- loniii-4. The apartment was in keeping with these antiquated pieces of furniture. Above the tall mantel-piece the wall was wainscoted in panels, and the whole ap- pearance of things was antique. Some of the first settlers who m^sed the Blue liil-_T' 1 in the last century had probably built this house. A- his lnt had bog^-d Elliot to excuse him for a moment, and had left the room, the young man had a good opportunity VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 73 t> look around him. It was quite plain,' from the appearance of the apartment, that Mr. Gary was a man of literary tastes, and lived quietly among his hooks. An atmosphere of the past seemed to pervade the room there was only one object which looked fresh and modern; this was a portrait of cabinet size, over the mantel-piece, representing a girl of about eighteen, with her hair in bands on the temples, and secured by a bow of ribbon behind. In the face of the picture there was an exquisite sweetness and modesty. The lips were virginal, and smiled. It was possible that this was the portrait of Miss Frances Gary, as it was an excellent j likeness of her; but the hair was worn in a different manner. Hrantz Elliot was looking at it when Mr. Gary came back. "I have just seen my daughter," Mr. Gary said; "and Miss Nelly will be able to come down to dinner, Mr. Elliot. If she wishes to return home this evening I will send her in the carriage." They fell into conversation, and at length an old servant appeared and an- nounced that dinner was served. Mr. Gary led the way into the opposite room, and there stood Miss Frances Gary and another person awaiting them. The tall young beauty looked at Mr. Brantz Elliot with a smile and an expression of curios- ity she was evidently expecting some- thing. Suddenly she laughed the some- thing had happened. Brantz Elliot had taken three steps into the room when he stopped. He was looking at the figure beside Miss Frances Gary. This figure was that of a young lady in a dress of light-blue silk, with a fringe of lace around the neck, and a train. The dress was cut in the pull-back fashion of the time, and, therefore, exhibited the whole contour of the wearer's person. Small black morocco slippers, decorated with ribbon knots, appeared under the ele- gantly trimmed skirt ; lace cuffs emerged from the falling sleeves, and the young lady's dark hair was elaborately dressed in curls on the temples, with a string of pearls interwoven. The explanation of '. all this was that, as her own clothe^ \\i-re dreliehed, Nelly Welles had beell <i up by Miss Frances ('ary in a suit of l,,. r own the best she had and was now exhibited in triumph by her hostess. " I thought von would be surprised, sir!" Miss Frances Cary said to Klliot, laughing. " Nelly has on one of my dresses, and it fits her to perfection, though I am taller than she is." "It certainly docs," Elliot said, lie looked at Nelly with admiring eves. The magic of dress had made her what he had said she was a lady from head to foot. There was nothing in her air to detract from this ; no gaucheric at all. She wore her elegant costume with the air of a person who had never put on linsey in her life, and the small feet in the mo- rocco slippers seemed to have found the covering suited to them. O "By George!" said Elliot to himself, " who would ever have thought that dress would make such a difference in a girl ! And yet there is really no difference." " I have neglected my own toilet from want of time, gentlemen," Miss Frances Cary said, with a courtesy ; " but I hope you acknowledge that Nelly is a beau- ty !" Mr. Cary smiled and said, " Certainly, and you seem to be be- coming great friends." " Friends, papa ! why not? Nelly's coming to see me. Mercy ! do you think girls are as stiff as you lords of creation ? Indeed, we are not. "NVc become ac- quainted before you great people have finished shaking hands !" Everybody then sat down, and dinner went upon its way, ended, and Mr. Gary and Elliot returned to the library, the young ladies going up-stairs again. The carriage had been ordered to be ready in an hour. They entered into conversation, and he found Mr. Gary a quiet, friendly person, who made an agreeable impression by his air of simplicity and courtesy. There- was absolutely nothing of the soldier about him, and yet Elliot knew, from what Daddy Welles had told him, that his VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. host had passed through four years of ter- rible campaigning and all the battles of Virginia. This interested him ; and see- ing on the wall an engraving of a Con- federate Hag rising through a belt of clouds, with stars in the background, and a low moon on the horizon beneath, he said, " That picture, no doubt, brings back old times, Colonel Cary I mean the war times ; and that reminds me that I ought to make you an apology for not address- ing you by your military title." Mr. Cary shook his head and said, " I much prefer to be addressed as plain Mr. The war is a sad subject, and I like to forget it. I do not mean that it is sad otherwise than from sorrowful recollections connected with it. I should never have taken part in it if I had not regarded it as a just war the resistance of the South to political oppression. But I do not recall it with pleasure, and prefer not being addressed by my military title, which brings it back to my mind. You are from New York, Mr. Elliot ?" This question was plainly meant to di- vert the conversation into a new channel. " I am from everywhere and nowhere but New York is my native State," Elliot said. " I lit like a bird in Broadway last year, but I have been flying over Europe. The truth is Mr. Cary, I am a rather good-for-nothing sort of person. I am only fit for a life in the woods. Nothing wearies me like streets, and what people call society." "That is not a proof that we are good- for-nothing, I h<pc," his host said. "I am not very fond of society myself. In- deed it wearies me, as it seems to do you." " Weary me!" exclaimed Hrantz Elliot, " It prostrates me, and drains the very life out of me! The one eternal chatter, chat- ter, chatter, takes away my senses. I know women whose tongues run like mill-clappers, and the worst of it is they grind in> gri*t. It is one flow of froth the whipped syllabub of talk beginning and ending nowhere an eternity of gab- ble !" It was not often that Brantz Elliot rose to the height of denunciation. He was a quiet and good-natured young fel- low, but his pet dislike made him elo- quent. " I would much rather split rails than listen to it," he added. " Well, I think our views agree tolera- bly well on that subject," Mr. Gary said, quietly ; " but we find, as we go on in life, that we have to endure a great many things." " I will never learn to endure gabble," Elliot said. " I am twenty-five, and it is harder to stand than when I was fifteen." " Twenty -five is not very old ; life is in the bloom at that age. I am nearly fifty, and the leaves begin to drop then." "At fifty?" said Elliot. "I think a man is only in his full vigor at fifty." "The mind may be," Mr. Cary replied, "and the body, too, perhaps, sometimes; but our illusions begin to leave us, which is a great misfortune. Life is like :\ coach; the springs may not break all at once, -but they lose their elasticity. When the coach is new, it is elastic as well as strong, and will bear a great deal of wear and tear. As time passes, it loses its stamina as well as its gloss. It still keeps the road, perhaps, but some day it breaks down suddenly, and is consigned to the dust of the coach-house. Dust to dust, you know, Mr. Elliot." Mr. Cary paused for a moment, and then added : " This may seem melancholy talk ; but, after all, is not life a melancholy affair? < >M age comes soon enough, and happy is the man who does not linger out his last years/' Elliot listened in silence. The reason- ing of his host imposed a certain gloom on his volatile nature. "But would any one agree to have his life end because he is no longer young?" he said "1 doubt it." " I am sure you would find very few who would agree to that. P>ut the fact remains that old age is sad when the days pa-- with a dull pain at. the heart, which is often the case. Death is better and VI1UJINI.V BOHEMIANS. yet that will not conic sometimes. The pulses u'o on beating, slowly and faintly, but they will not stop. I >id you ever consult a liiographiral I >ictionary to find tin 1 date of some celebrity's death. ; You say to yourself, ' In such a year he made his vjvat speech, or published his great hook; half a century ago he was al- ready famous so lie must have died maiiv years since.' And then you look into your dictionary, and find that he is still living! He is not dead only for- gotten! not his fame only, but his very name. It was in every mouth once, and the world hailed him as one of the tblouissemcns, as the French say, of the .age. Now no one even remembers him and yet he is living still. Living! but how? Eoclesiastes will tell you: "With his head bowed down, and his trembling. He was a giant once, and carried the world on his shoulders. Now the very grasshopper is a burden to him :" The firm voice uttering steadily this sorrowful philosophy of life ceased. El- liot struggled against it in vain. "Well," he said at length, "I suppose all that is true, Mr. Gary ; but we must take things as they come, and make the best of them." " Certainly," said his host, " it is well to make the best of things ; and, after all, there is something worse than old age it is the loneliness that comes to men at any and all ages." Did the speaker glance toward the pict- ure over the mantel-piece ? " I must apologize, Mr. Elliot, for in- flicting such a melancholy lecture upon you," he said. " There are a great many pleasant things in life to those who can enjoy them. One of them is your pur- suit of hunting, to which you alluded. I am not myself much of a hunter, which springs, no doubt, from the fact that I am physically indolent. I am very much of an idler and dreamer, which may strike you as singular in an old soldier ; but so it is. I walk or ride with my daughter frequently ; afterward my resource against ennui is here in my library." "I was looking at, the !..,, UN they to be of every drxmptii.n." " Yes, 1 ivad at random. My ta^te is for miscellany, old and ne\v; 1 read my favorites o\er and over, even the old novels." "Then you don't like the novels of the day?" " I confess I do not as much as other persons seem to. We have nothing no\\ but analysis and realism, and the fashion- able atmosphere is what a painter would call gray. 1 like neutral tints where the subject demands them. I can't say 1 like them in every case. There are other tints that have their raison d'etre in art, as well as gray. But we are growing literary. You must excuse me I am a mere bookman. Do you like Virginia?" "I like it very much. It is a friendly sort of country." " That is a compliment, and I take my little part in it. I shall be very glad if you will come and see me, Mr. Elliot. I seldom visit myself, but am truly glad to sec my friends." The carriage drove to the door as Mr. Gary was speaking, and a few moments afterward Frances Gary and Nelly Welles came down-stairs into the library. Nelly had taken off her friend's silk dress, but put on another of a plainer description, in which she presented a very neat and attractive appearance. A maid* servant had brought down a small travelling-va- lise in which Nelly's damp clothes were packed, and this was taken out to , the carriage. Elliot and Nelly then took leave of their host and hostess, and got into the carriage, which was a plain family (.Mini- page, driven by an old servant. " Be sure you keep your promis* ly," said the young hostess, " and come and see me. I shall conn? and tee you." " Yes, indeed, I will come," Nelh as the door of the carriage was shut. It was then about to drive away when Miss Frances Gary uttered a piercing cry. Ev- erybody started. " Mercy ! I've not kissed you !" ex- VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. claimed the young lady, rushing wildly to the carriage window. A fervent embrace followed, and then the vehicle went upon its way. XXVI. THE CATAMOUNTAIX. FOR some days after the accident on the stream, Brantz Elliot seemed to have something upon his mind. He would ramble away into the woods, and, instead of hunting, sit down and fall into fits of musing. Was he thinking of the kiss he had pressed upon Nelly's cheek as they came up out of the water ? Such things return to the memory when we are twenty-five. He remembered every- thing very clearly, and could feel the girl's heart beating against his own again. He continued to be haunted by recol- lections of his adventure, until one day every other thought disappeared from his mind but one. Daddy Welles announced that the catamount had been seen again ; this time by Barney Jones, whose eyes were much too keen to be " fooled by a common wild -cat." The animal was a real " painter," or " catamounting," as the Virginia hunters called them. He had lcen seen higher up in the Blue Ridge, bat now he had got to Bohemia there was no doubt about it. Barney Jones had -ecu him near his house and shot at him, but mied him.* * Even if unsupported by further developments, there would be no rea.-on to doubt the accuracy of Mr. .Jones's eyesight. The cougar, panther, or eatainoiint, as it is variously called, is still occa- sionally met with in the I'.lue Ridge. This fact is -liown by the annexed slip fn>m the Culpeper (Va.) Thin x, in the autumn of 1878: "A gn-at deal of excitement has recently been created in the neighborhood of Mount Poney, about three miles from here. It is reported that strange -embling a man hallooing in distress, have frequently been heard of late on the moun- tain, but nothing had been seen to cause any fear among the inhabitants until last Sunday, when some persons who were on the mountain saw a wild and ferocious looking animal, which, it was Hearing this, Brantz Elliot lost sight of all else in the world. One thing only was now necessary to his happiness to go on a panther-hunt. He had grown a little tired of shooting pheasants and wild turkeys, and even deer-stalking began to lose some of its attractions. What we require in this world is variety and con- trast. The palate inured to rich sauces asks something richer still ; and the new sauce which Mr. Brantz Elliot craved was a shot at a real catamount. " We'll try him in the morning, Daddy Welles," he exclaimed, with excitement ; "and if you won't go, I will ! I mean to see your distinguished stranger and have his blood that is, his skin to take back* to New York with me." Daddy Welles smiled sweetly. The ardor of his guest seemed to please him. ! "There won't be any trouble about my goin'," he said. "I'm most as cur'ous to see the varmint as you are. I'll jest send Barney Jones word to be ready by daylight, or a leetle before, and we'll look up the calf-eater." "He eats calves, then ?" said Elliot. " To be sure," Daddy Welles respoi ed. " That stands to reason, as a wilt cat will, and a catamounting is a sort wild-cat, only bigger and stronger. This varmint has cleaned 'em out, they tell me, farther up. So I'd like to put a bullet in him myself as he is comin' this way." 1 Daddy Welles was thus evidently in- tent on the hunt from a business view of things as well as for his private satisfac- tion, and all the arrangements were made. Some ragged offspring of Mr. K-irney Jones, who were fishing on the banks cf thought, had been making the terrifying: demon- strations, and which is supposed to be a panther. It is said to be about live feet in length, of a yel- low color, and very large, and when seen was making its way through the woods toward the top of the mountain, where there is a mass of rocks which afford it a hiding-place. The in- habitants of that section are very much alarmed at the sudden appearance of this carnivorous animal, and will not venture outside of their hou-es after dark in consequence of it. Sever- al yetn ago a huge catamount was killed on the same mountain." VIRGINIA r.olIKMIANS. the stream below, were told to notify their parent that Paddy \\Vlles and Mr. Elliot would be at his house l>y daylight oil the next morning to go after the cata- mount ; and then Elliot went to bed, and dreamed tliat he was engaged in a bivaM- to-livast struggle with an animal of huge proportions, in the mid>t of \\hich Daddy AYclles tapped at his door and informed him that it was time to be moving. They breakfasted by candle-light, and took their arms Paddy Welles his long ritle, and Elliot his carbine. Both carried hunt- ing-knives, used in cutting the throats of deer. Thus equipped, they mounted two raw - boned horses, sole equine posses- sion^ of the Daddy, and, followed by the hounds, rode down the mountain, turning to the left when they reached the foot, in the direction of Barney Jones's. It was a superb autumn morning, and the bracing air brought the blood to the young man's face. The leaves were of every color of the rainbow. The least possible trace of frost lay like silver on the grass, and a light breeze rustled the foliage blood-red where the maple and dog- wood were in the ascendant, and like molten gold where the hickory -trees pre- dominated. Such a scene always made the pulses of Brantz Elliot throb with delight. It brought out the " wild side " in him in full force. He would probably have laughed at you if you had hinted that Fifth Avenue or the Boulevards were anything in comparison to the val- :' Bohemia at that moment. They rode on through the dusk of morning up the valley, from which a white mist was slowly rising, as the dawn began to glimmer above the mountain. Later in the autumn this mist was going to turn into a long, dense cloud of milk-white vapor, defining the course of the Falling Water. Now, how- ever, it was a light smoke only which the dawn was chasing. Soon the sun would come up over the Blue Ridge, and it would completely vanish. They found Mr. Barney Jones waiting in front of his habitation aw r eather-board establishment, of moderate si/e, nestling down in a gash of the mountain. I '>- hernia gradually narrowed heiv, terminat- ing in a deep gorge. Mr. .Ion. -,'-, man- sion, which was unassuming but looked thrifty, was a sort, of sentinel at the mouth of the gOIge, He was standing by his horse, which closely resembled those ridden 1>\ his visitors, and held ;i ritle in his hand, lie was u.it an imposing iigurr in his old faded hunting-coat, his rag-jvd bn,\\n felt hat, and his patched pantaloons thrust into his boots. But then Mr. Uarney Jones did not seem to care much for that. His expression of face was hu- morous and sardonic. He expectorated with an independent air. He was very much of a scarecrow in apparel, but plainly regarded himself as one of the sovereigns. " Well, here you arc at last, Daddy," Mr. Jones said. "I'd n'most begun to give you out." The speaker bcstow r ed a side move- ment of the head upon Brantz Elliot, and at once mounted his horse. "The rep-tile was seen yistiddy in the Hogback," said Barney Jones. " Here, pup ! here, pup !" This summons was responded to by half a dozen tawny hounds, who ran joy- fully in front as the three hunters rode up the gorge toward the Hogback, a ridge- parallel with the main range. Barney Jones promptly communicated all the intelligence which he had received in reference to the catamount. !! had come over from the "Three Sisters" a spur of the mountain some days before, and had been seen by Jimmy Wood and Tom Wilkins on two occasions. They had followed and shot at him, but In- had got off unhurt, and made his way to a pile of rocks on the Hogback, wln-r.- lie seemed to have his den. Afterward he, Barney Jones, had got a sight of him near his house and fired at him, but miss- ed him. It was jo>t between hawk and buzzard in the evenin', and he couldn't see plain, but there was no doubt about it he was a genm'we catamounting. lie was VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. after sheep and calves, and he, Mr. Jones, meant to give him a lead pill to swaller, which he rather thought would settle his hash for him. Mr. Jones's dialect was not classic, but Brantz Elliot did not mind that. His pulse thrilled, and as they rode on up the gorge toward the Hogback his face glow- ed. This gorge was narrow, and heavily wooded. Falling Water ran through it, and over it hovered a cloud of mist. On the left rose the shaggy battlements of the Ridge, and on the right the steep range called the Hogback, probably from its bristling pines. On the very summit towered a huge pile of rocks, lying as though emptied from a gigantic wagon. In the crevices grew evergreens, and even from a distance, through the fog, Elliot could make out the cavernous apertures beneath them. In one of these caverns the catamount had his den. The hunters pushed on rapidly up the steep and rocky bridle-path. Their ob- ject was to reach the top, dismount, con- ceal themselves, and wait until the cata- mount, after his night-prowling, returned to his den which would probably be about sunrise. Nocturnal animals of the cat species, above all see best in the niidit: the opal eyes expand; in the day the iris contracts. Like the burglar, the night -prowler takes the time when the world is asleep to attain his sinister ends. Tln-v ivaehed the summit of the Hog- back just as the rosy flush began to deep- en beyond the battlements of the Blue Ridge, whose sombre outline was clear- cut against the mining sunrise. They dismounted, hid their horses behind a thicket of cedars rising in beautiful cones, with bases resting on the rocks in which they grew, and every one took his stand, Hrantz Elliot crouching in the tufted head of a fallen pine. From his ]><t he had a full view of the pile of rocks, which was not more than a hundred and fifty yard- distant, and of the gorge beneath. II.- watched the changes in the wild landscape with admiration. The conr>e of the stream was clearly defined by a mass of vapor, the upper edge of which was traced boldly, without the least blur, against the dense growth of evergreens on the opposite mountain. This lasted for a few moments only. As the flush on the summit of the Ridge changed from delicate rose to red, the mist seemed to grow uneasy. Then it shifted, undu- lated, and as a fiery spark like a distant beacon appeared above the fringe of ever- greens, the upper edges of the mist grew ragged and began to drift upward. Then the sun soared up, suddenly flushing the wild gorge, and the mist fled before it. The outline grew more ragged, flitted off in shreds, and in a few moments the whole mass became translucent you could trace the outlines of the gigantic pines now through it, and every object in the gorge. All at once an almost imperceptible sound, like a distant growl, came up from the gorge, and Daddy Welles, who was not far from Elliot said, in a low tone, " Did you hear that ?" " Yes," said Elliot, his heart beating ; "remember, you promised me the first shot," "To be sure," Daddy W T elles said, in the same low tone ; " but you'd best keep quiet now." Elliot nodded, and cocked his carbine, kneeling on his right knee, and complete- ly concealed from view. The dogs had been called in, and were lying in rear of their masters, plainly un- derstanding that it was not time for them yet. The hunters, crouching down, re- mained silent, waiting. The air was per- fectly still. Not the least sound disturb- ed the solitude of the Hogback. Sud- denly a twig snapped in a mass of brush in front of them, and a moment afterward the catamount came out into the open tpAOe, crawling stealthily, with his body nearly touching the ground, toward his den. There could no longer be the 1( dul,t. JI<- was a full-grown panther American cougar, nearly six feet in Ien with reddish-brown fur, white under body, and dashed on the throat and ch< with black and white. As he advance VIRGINIA lUHIKMIANS. 79 ,vith his stealthy crawl ho turned his head Torn side to side suspiciously, as if his nstinct led him to scent danger, and the rlitter of liis yellow eyes could be seen. \ strav beam of the sunshine falling on hem seemed to turn them to lire. One of the blissful moments of life lad come for Brant/ Klliot. His heart throbbed and his pulse galloped his land shook a little with excitement and 'nil delight, as a lover's trembles when he Iraws the head of the one he loves to his uva-t. But the tawny head of the cata- mount was at that moment an object of ntinitelv greater attraction to the young tunter than could have been the curls and roses of the fairest fair with golden lair that ever lived. He waited until the catamount had reached a point midway between the un- lergrowth from which he had emerged and the mass of rocks. Then, resting on lis right knee, and taking deliberate aim at the animal behind the fore-shoulder, he iivd. It was plain that he was struck. lie altered a wild scream, wholly unlike the ow growl which had heralded his coni- ng, and bounded into the air. As he lescended two other shots rang out, but jvidently did not touch him. He wheel- ed, cleared a pile of brush behind him with a bound, and disappeared in the gorge. " He's tetched, but he ain't much hurt," cried Barney Jones ; " whoop ! here's for him !" With this war-cry, Mr. Jones leaped on lis rawboned charger, shouted to the dogs, and rode headlong down the rock/ slope of the Hogback, followed by his companions, who had hastened also to their horses. Reckless of danger, and wild with the excitement of the hunter, they plunged down the breakneck road, ntent only on following up the game. After that it was more like a deer-chase than a panther-hunt. The dogs followed their foe by the scent, never losing his trail for a moment, as their furious bay- ng showed. The game was obviously rery far from being disabled by Brantz Klliofs bullet ; it had no doubt, inllirtrd a flesh wound and no mre. The tireless running of the animal showed that. liarnev .lones even led Daddy \\Ylles and Klliot. He -miied to have made up his mind to administer the fatal leaden pill, or break his own <>r his h<>r>r\ neck in the attempt. \Yith heels dug into his Rosinante, and long ritle Uourished above him, he hallooed on the dogs, and went after them like the Wild Huntsman. His companions were at his heels, and they ran, scrambled, tumbled over the rocky mountain -paths for several h-mrs. The dogs were plainly still on the trail, for the baying was as furious as before. But the game was not giving out yet. He doubled from one end of the gorge to another, and then mounting to the top of the Blue Ridge, followed the summit southward. Daddy Welles drew rein and said, look- ing at his horse, "Well, old Tom's nigh gi'n out, Bar- ney. The varmint's off." "Not by no means!" exclaimed Mr. Jones; "he'll double agin; I'll swear to it if I ken only git a chance to empty my gun at him." lie dug his heels into his steed, uttered his warwhoop, and plunged on, followed by Daddy Welles and Elliot for great is the moral influence of enthusia>m. The three hunters disappeared south- ward, following the dogs as before, and taking the chances that the animal would double once more. He was going to double 'again, and that fact was to lead to a somewhat startling incident. The sun had mounted high by this time, and it was nearly noon. Tin- val- ley of Bohemia looked very pretty in the fresh light, and what made tin- land- scape along the banks of the Falling Water more attractive was the pivM-in-e of what painters call human ligmvs. These were the figures of Mr. < 'ary and his daughter, who were riding along qui- etly, admiring the rich coloring of the leaves, and conversing. As Mr. Gary had informed Brantz Elliot, one of his few 80 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. diversions, outside of bis library, was to walk or ride with bis daughter; and on this morning they bad set out on horse- back to enjoy the fresh air and the autumn scenery. There was a picturesque route along the western bank of the stream, which they could cross by a ford above, and then return along the eastern bank, in sight of Daddy Welles's. They ac- cordingly followed this road, splashed through the ford where the water was scarcely above the horses' knees, and, turn- ing back, were riding slowly along the bank, in order to return home by the bridge on the stage-road leading to the Gap. For some time Mr. Gary had heard a distant baying in the gorge toward the Hogback, and had called his daughter's attention to it. "Some one is hunting," he said; " probably Mr. Elliot. lie is a very agreeable young man, and quite a Nim- rod." "He is very agreeable, indeed," Miss Frances said, with her habitual mirth. " I would set my cap at him if he w r as not already engaged!" 14 Is he engaged ?" " Well, I don't mean engaged, exactly, papa ; but it is perfectly plain." " What is plain, dear?" " That he is in love with Nelly Welles." " Do you really think so ?" " I am sure he is. Mercy ! you didn't see how he looked at her when she came d>wn in my blue silk. There is not the least doubt about it," said the astute young lady. rv well, dear," Mr. Gary said; "I am sure little Nelly \\ill make him a good wife if they are married. She has a charming face." " Ila-n't sin- ( \ have fallen in love with her, and I wish you would stop ami let me see her to-day." "Certainly, if you wi*h, Franee," Mr. Gary said, bestowing his pet name on the girl " but take care of your horse. You know he is skittish, and I hear the baying in the mountain coming nearer. The dogs might frighten him." " There's no danger, papa." " Still, it is just as well to be on youi guard, and to keep your reins well in hand. With a skittish horse there id always a certain amount of danger." There was danger, and a very consider- able amount of it, indeed. They were passing through a dense belt of woods, not far from the stream, when a crash- ing sound was heard from the slope on their right, the foliage parted, and the catamount which the hunters had been pursuing bounded into the path within a few yards of them. He was panting, and covered with blood. His red tongue hung -from his lips edged with froth, and hia sharp teeth were visible. As much frightened as the horses, he uttered a deep growl, and seemed about to adopl the plan of cowards that is, spring to- ward the object of which he was afraid. The growl was followed by an excla- mation from Mr. Gary. His daughter's horse, wild with fear, had bounded ten feet, and snapped his rein. The cata- mount crouched, apparently with the in- tention of springing, when a rifle -slot rung out, and the animal rolled over on the ground, tearing up the earth with his claws and teeth. He was shot through the body ; and as he writhed, a gush of blood stained the carpet of pine tau-s. Mr. Gary had seized the bridle of his daughter's horse close to the bit, and held him with a grip of iron. "Gan I help you, sir?" said a voice. He looked round, and saw a young man in plain clothes, who had come O'lt of the woods to the spot, and was Iran- ing on a rifle. "Did you fire that shot?" Mr. Gary exclaimed. " I am glad to say I did, sir," the young man said. "Then I have to thank you for saving my daughter fr<>m what might have proved a fatal accident!" Mr. Gary said, grasping his hand. "My name is Cary. sir, and I shall never forget the service you have done me to-day." "Yon rate it too highly, Mr. < 'ary," said the young man. " My name is VIRGINIA IIU1IKM1A.NS. 81 Vance, and I am very glad I came up at the moment. 1 ' "Do you reside in this neighborhood, Mr. Vance? If so, I hope you will come and SIT me, and let me thank you at my leisure." " In your near neighborhood,' 1 tlie younjj fellow said. " Thank you, Mr. try." With this non-committal reply the young hunter went to the spot where the pan- ther was lying, lie was quite dead by this time, and lay with his mouth open and his red tongue hanging out. The upper lip was raised, and revealed the sharp teeth. " It is a real panther," said the young man. k ' AVe had a superb one in the Un- rivalled Combination of Attractions." lie laughed as he said this. A mo- ment afterward the dogs rushed upon the scene, and the three huntsmen on their jaded horses followed, halting suddenly, and looking with astonishment at the group. " So he's dead !" Brantz Elliot exclaim- ed ; and turning round, he said, " AVhy, Mi Cary ! is that you?" "In person," she said, laughing, and making him a little bow. " So you are in at the death." " It was nearly my own," the girl said. Then explanations followed, and the general satisfaction was increased by the war-dance, accompanied by whoops, which Mr. Barney Jones executed around the dead animal. " So I am not to take his skin to New York and show it at the club, after all !" Brantz Elliot said, ruefully. "Do you want it? You may have it if you wish I suppose it is mine, as I shot the owner of it," said the young man with the rifle, amiably. "May I?" Brantz Elliot exclaimed, turning round. " AVell, I'll take it, and thank you too !" " You are welcome to it." "And I'll skin him," Daddy Welles said, with a smile. The hunters grouped themselves around the dead panther, looking at him with 6 much satisfaction, and Mr. < \-iry uas at- tracted like the rest, lie was a n-mark- ably large animal, and it was a ivinark- ably fine shot: the bullet had g.inc ri^ht to the vital sput. Mr. < 'ary looked round t say so, but Harry Vance had shoulder- ed his rifle and walked away. Kverv- body had been so much absorbed that no one had noticed the fact but I-YainTs Cary, who had made him a grateful bow, which he politely returned. XXVII. THE TRAMPS. THE sitting-room at "Falling AVater" the name of Mr. Gary's house was a very pleasant sight on this same evening. A slight blaze had been kindled on the old-fashioned brass andirons in the Jn>ad country fireplace, for the evenings were growing cool ; and the Argand lamp, with a porcelain shade, upon the centre -table, covered with books, diffused a moonlight glimmer into every corner of the apart- ment. In the immediate circle around it the light was quite bright, and fell upon the figures of Mr. Cary and Frances seat- ed in arm-chairs facing each other. Colonel Edmund Cary, or Mr. Cary, as he preferred being called, retained, as he always seemed to do, his expression of mildness and composure. It was the air of a man who has seen so much and such singular things in life that he is no longer surprised by anything. You could see that he was essentially a man of books; it was strange that destiny had ever made a soldier of him, and he could not have loved the career very much. No doubt his view had been that when a man's na- tive soil is invaded there is but one thing for the man to do to shoulder a musket or buckle on a sword. There was enough of pride in his face to make it plain that nothing could have induced him to re- main inactive at such a time. Beyond this the pride did not seem to be an ob- trusive or aggressive sentiment. It was there, but he had little further use for it now ; and having lived in the past a life 82 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. of action, wished now to live tranquilly, indulging liis affections and Ins literary tastes, unmoved by harsh emotions or by ambition. As he was alone in the world, except for Frances, she was his idol. You could see that from the expression of his eyes when he looked at her. Some hu- man beings find their fullest delight in applause, celebrity, the glittering gewgaw of a name. This one plainly found it in his home and the face of his daughter. It was a very sweet face as the girl sat sewing opposite her father, who was read- ing. There was in it an indefinable some- thing which suggested the freshness of the first spring days, when the buttercups bloom. She was rather tall and quite slender, with brown hair, and blue eyes which had a confiding expression ; and the lips were very red, in strong contrast to her fair complexion. She smiled ha- bitually, from a natural tendency, it seem- ed, to mirth, but this sometimes gave way to another expression that on the lips of the cabinet picture over the mantel-piece, which she exactly resembled. This was an expression of virginal modesty. Look- ing into her face, you could see that her being had been shaped in an atmosphere of purity, and that she no more affected modesty than the dawn affects freshness. She wore one of those ugly "pull-back" dresses which confine the knees unpleas- antly, but she had arranged the scanty skirt in such a manner as to conceal, not display, her person. Her arms, from which the sleeves fell back, were slender, which is another word for beautiful. Some fe- male arms are Amazonian, and produce the impression that they are ready to strike this pair seemed intended to clasp the neck of some one whom their mistress loved. " It is really like a novel !" the slim beauty said, laughing. " I was 'rescued' that is the proper w<>rd just like LIK-V Asliton, in the 'Bride of Lammermoor.' And then he was a 'stalwart youth' doesn't Mr. (J. 1*. R. James call them that .' a romantic young woodman, perhaps a Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, in dis- guise !" " How your tongue runs, France !" said Mr. Gary, with a smile. " I believe you rattle on to make me laugh, my child." "Well, why shouldn't I?" she said. " It is a hard task. I have nearly lost the art. There's no help for it." All the smiles disappeared from the girl's face, and a quick expression of sadness came to her lips. " No, no ! papa, do not talk so," she said ; " please do not. It distresses me so indeed it does." Her eyes swam as she looked at him, and her lips trembled a little. " Don't think of that," she said, in a faltering voice ; "please don't." " Well, I'll be more cheerful, dear. Look at me I am smiling." " It is a very sorrowful smile. Come, be bright, papa. My business is to make you cheerful and happy. We ought to be as happy as we can, and laugh as much as possible don't you think so?" " Certainly." " I have been laughing to myself ever since Mr. Elliot's and Nelly's visit. He is certainly in love with her, and I m to make the match. They might ma and live at Crow's Nest: the house coul be fitted up for them. That would delightful." "They would be pleasant neighbo but it would require a good deal money to fit up Crow's Nest. It is tumble-down old place, you know, and so far off in the hills that I really have not even thought of it for a long time." "But it could be repaired, and Mr. El- liot could move in at once, as there is no one living in it, is there ?" The door opened, and an old servant said, " Mr. Gibbs, sir !" "Ask him to walk in," said Mr. Gary and this was followed by the appearan of Mr. Gibbs, a weather-beaten personage in drab clothes, who had long managed Mr. Cary's property. M Take a seat, Mr. Gibbs," Mr. Cary said, with his air of mild courtesy. "I thank you, sir; it's not worth while," said Mr. Gibbs, remaining erect = VIRGINIA BollKMIANS. 83 from respect, whereupon Mr. Gary rose too. " I came to say the people I told YOU about are at Crow's Nest yet I can't do anything with Yin." Mr. Cary, standing in front of the man- tel-piece, reflected for a moment. " You say they are tramps. JIave they trespassed I mean done any damage?" " None to speak of, sir, unless it's burn- in' brush and dead wood. But they're nuisances." " Have you seen them again?'' " Yes, sir. There's an oldish fellow, who seems a little out of his head, and a younger man, and a little girl. The worst of the party, though, is the big man with the black beard. lie did the talking." "Well, what did he say?" " lie 'lowed they were doin' no harm, and didn't mean to ; but the winter's comin',and then you'll miss something maybe a lamb or a pig. They ought to be made to clear out." " There is an old man, you say, who seems out of his head ?" " Yes, sir." 44 And a little girl ?" "The littlest mite of a thing." " xVnd the winter is coming, as you say. I would not like to turn them out." "" It'll be the worse," said Mr. Gibbs. "The big fellow with the black beard looks like a hard subject. His fist would knock down a bull. I've made up my mind to take my pistol along on my next visit," 4 ' That would be useless, probably. You informed them that the house was my property ?" 44 Y r es, sir ; and notified 'em to quit." 44 And they refused?" 44 The big man did. There was nobody there but him and the mite of a child when I give him the notice ; and he doubles up his big fist, and looks black, and says, says he, 4 What harm are we adoin' to anybody ?' " Mr. Cary nodded, and said, " Well, I'll ride over myself in the morning, Mr. Gibbs. You need not give yourself any further trouble." 44 I'll go with you, sir." 44 That will not be necessary." "But the big man's dang'rons sir." " I have had a great deal to do with danger in my life, Mr. (iibbs. It is the sort of thing which shrinks before, a man when he faces it, and cares nothing for it. Not that I think there is the lea>t In-iv, or that your big friend is apt to make himself disagreeable to me. I am not thinking of him. I am thinking of the little mite of a child. I should not like to turn her out, when the winter, as you say, is coming." Mr. Gibbs having made a renewed proffer of his company, which was ,-igain declined, thereupon retired, and Mr. Cary resumed his seat, and quietly went back to his reading. 44 Poor little thing!" said Frances; 44 4 the littlest mite of a thing,' he said, papa." " That is the trouble," Mr. Cary said. 44 It is very easy to order a party of rough tramps to go, but not so easy to be un- kind to a child. Well, w r e will sec. I'll ride over to-morrow." 44 Do pray take care, papa, and don't have trouble. There might be some risk." 44 There is none, my dear. Would you try to frighten an old soldier? There will be no trouble ; let me read you this page. There really are an enormous number of clever writers now; this is one of the youngest of them." An hour afterward Mr. Cary read fam- ily prayers, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and said that he would himself retire after writing a letter. He wrote the letter, sealed and directed it, and then placed it behind a vase on the mantel- piece for the mail. This brought him in front of the cabinet picture. The lips seemed to smile upon him, the glad light in the eyes to caress him. He looked at the picture for some moments calmly, and then, putting out the lamp, took a smaller one from a side-table, and retired. On the next morning Mr. Cary w cupied for about an hour after br<?akfa>t ; he then ordered his horse, and set out for Crow's Nest. He had purchased this VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. bouse, with a tract of land upon which it stood, many years before, in order to round off his own small estate, but chief- ly for the fine timber on it : that at Fall- ing Water was Crowing scant. As there very good overseer's house at Fall- ing "\Vatcr, Crow's Nest had been shut up; and he had almost forgotten its ex- istence when his attention was suddenly called to it. It was not more than a mile and a half distant. The road which led to it was nearly unused, except as a short cut by the mountain people. It wound through a dense growth of pines along j>e of the range in rear of Falling AYater, and here and there crossed a mountain rivulet, which had worn a channel deep into the slope, and gurgled over rocks, between abrupt banks, dense- ly covered with evergreens. It was some- tinirs difficult to descend into and emerge O from these ravines, but Mr. Gary seemed to be an experienced horseman, and push- ed on, scarcely noticing the ground over which he passed. The whole tract was wild and solitary. From time to time the drumming of a pheasant was heard in the thickets, or the low croak of a wild turkey ; and hares, with their white tails erect, leaped up and scudded off. Tin- intrusion of the horseman on their domain seemed to astonish them. Lost in reverie, and with a- shadow upon hi.s face, Mr. Gary went on at a walk, with his bridle <n his horse's neck and \\'\- eyea fixed upon tin 1 ground. From time to time In- raised his head and looked around him. I >id tin of the objects near him remind him of the time when he looked at them in com- pany with another person ? It was pmh- al>le. When, after a long lapse of time, we return to seen iated with brighter yean* and face-* that an the pa-t times and faces strike dolorously on the heart. II'- came in sight of Crow's \V-t at last. It was an old tumble-down hoiisr of weather-board, which one,- might have been bright with eheerful faces, but now was loneliest of the lonely, and the pict- ure of neglect. The fences once endo- ing the yard were down, the window- panes were broken, and the path up the hill, once broad and beaten, was nearly effaced by the growth of grass. Be- hind the house, which stood upon a knoll, stretched the interminable thicket. There was no glimmer of light through the windows no human being was seen. The door was closed : it was difficult to believe that the foot of man had been placed within the enclosure for a score of years. Mr. Gary dismounted, threw his bridle over a bough, and went up the path. No one had yet appeared, and he walked up to the small porch, whose floor was rot- ting, and knocked with his riding-whip. As the sound died away the door open- ed, and the Lefthander, with his shaggy black eyebrow r s making the straight line across his face, confronted the visitor. " What do you want?" he said. Mr. Gary looked at him with some curiosity. " There will be time enough to tell you that, friend, when you do not block up the door-way, and allow me to come in." " I do not know you. I asked yoi who you were?" said the Lefthander, ii his phlegmatic voice. " I am the owner of this property,' Mr. Gary said, looking still with intei on the remarkable face and figure of tl Lefthander; "and I have a better right ask who you are than you have to that question of me." " So this is Golonel Gary the propi etor," said the Lefthander, in a sini>U tone. " You have come at last to order us away from this poor shelter." The eyes of the speaker wore n< pleasant. The Lefthander's nature a ponderous one, that rarely lost its .nice from anger; but he was grown angry on this morning. The interview with manager Gihbs had been unpleasant. That personage had left him on the day before with the announcement that he meant to have *' him ami all his gang turned out neck and heels;" and there had rixMi before the Lefthander's ryes the picture of his little Mouse limping VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 85 along on the highway, hungry and weary, which had begun now to excite what was latent in this man a certain species of ferocity. "So you are the proprietor the mas- ter," he said, in his deep voice. kt Y>u are a well-to-do gentleman, with your car- riages and horses, your servants and every luxury, while we are only a poor company of tramps you look down on, and intend to treat like dogs." " I have never felt such a sentiment toward any human being," Mr. Gary said, in his composed voice. "Why have you come, then? You come to drive us away, and my child will not have a roof over her head ! AY hat have we done to injure you? Are we thieves? You have a child, perhaps so have I, and I love my child as much as you -love yours. Do you think I will have you turn her out on the highway ? There'll be trouble before that." Mr. Cary had not ceased looking curi- ously at the Lefthander. The man seem- ed to interest him as a study. His eyes were fixed upon the broad face, with the black brows shut down over the eyes he did not seem to be aware of the fact that the heavy hand hanging at his compan- ion's side had closed with a covert threat. "Come, come!" he said at last, "un- bend your black brows, friend, and let us talk like reasonable people, not like chil dren. I am not a child, to be frightened by your frowns. Who is here besides yourself?" Harry Vance came forward and held out his hand. Mr. Cary, who had ad- vanced toward the Lefthander with the intention of entering, stopped, looking with great surprise at the young man. " You !" he said" Mr. Vance ?" " Myself, Colonel Cary !" " You are one of the " "The tramps yes. But not a very dangerous one, I hope. You have the right to come into your own house. I told you we were neighbors." The young fellow laughed, and said, " Father, this is Colonel Cary." And Gentleman Joe, coming out, made Mr. < 'ary a bow full of carne>tn<^-> and real dignity. " 1 know you very well by reputation, >ir," lie siid, "and am sorry we ha\v fcrw i'd on yur property but we are very poor." "You do not trespass at all," Mr. Cary said, going into the room, which contain- ed only a table and some old chairs, and mattresses rolled up in a corner. " I- this your little mite of a child ? You are a mite, indeed, little one. What is your name?" " Mouse, sir." " Well, I have not come here to turn out the mouse." Mr. Cary then sat down before the blaze in the large fireplace, and, turning to the Lefthander, said, "Come, get back your good -humor, and stop scowling, friend, and let us talk. Anger is nearly always an absurd thing. You call me a well-to-do gentleman I am a very poor one. It is the same; I am a man, and you are men like myself. One of you I know well ;" he turned to Harry Vance and said, "I invited you to come and see me; as you did not, I have come to pay you the first visit, which you are entitled to." Mr. Cary stayed at Crow's Nest for nearly an hour. He then got up, and said, "Give yourself no further trouble you are not trespassing here. You are very welcome to occupy this house. If I can assist you in any way, call on me, and I will do so gladly." Mouse was standing near him, and he placed his hand paternally on her head. " Poor little Mouse !" he said, " did you think I would turn you out of this poor place? No, indeed, my child, you are welcome to remain here with your friends as long as you choose, and to make your- self as happy as you can, poor little one ! Your father w r as right there is a right above the right of property, and I bear you no malice, friend," he said to the Lefthander. " On the contrary, I respect you." He shook hands with each in turn, and 86 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. then went down the hill and rode away. As he was passing the overseer's, he said to Mr. Gibbs, "Allow the people at Crow's Nest to remain there will be no trouble, Mr. Gibbs." When he reached home he said to Frances, "The tramps are very honest people, my dear, and the little mite of a child is quite charming." XXVIII. THE HOME OF THE HOMELESS. CROW'S NEST had become the place of refuge of Gentleman Joe, the Lefthander, Harry, and Mouse in a very simple and natural manner. When the Lefthander left the home of Mr. Grantham before daylight, carrying Mouse in his arms, he went out of the town toward the mountain, the place of rendezvous which he had agreed upon with his two friends. This was a se- cluded spot about half-way up the slope of the Blue Ridge, on a little plateau, and not far from the stage-road, where a small stone chapel, as it was called, stood a very ancient building, erected and used by the first settlers in the region. Service was still occasionally held in it by Mr. Grantham, who had it under his charge ; but it was chiefly used as a burial-place for the older families, generation after generation of whom had gone to sleep in the grassy enclosure, surrounded by a low stone wall, with a willow drooping over the mossy slabs. Just without the enclosure was a very fine spring, which gushed up from be- neath the gnarled roots of an oak; and here, beside a cheerful fire, stood Gentle- man Joe and Harry, the latter holding in his hand a rifle, which he had always car- ried about with him to hunt when the circus stopped in the rural districts to re- cuperate, as it often did. "Here you arc, Lefthander!" Harry exclaimed. "And Mouse, too but about break- fast ?" said the Lefthander. " You see, we thought of that," said Gentleman Joe, pointing to the fire, where a coffee-pot was boiling, and some beef frying in a pan. " We came here last night, and made a fire and camped out ; Harry had bought the pot and frying-pan and tin cups, with some coffee and sugar and beef and bread, so that you, and Mouse especially, should not go without your breakfast." The Lefthander had deposited Mouse on the roll of blankets near the fire, on which Harry and his father had slept. " Well, that's like you, Gentleman Joe," he said; "you're a man of more sense than all of us. But what is she doing? What are you after, Mouse ?" "I am after my business," said Mouse, who was limping around and carefully superintending the cooking. "I'm the house-keeper which you will please un- derstand, and not interfere with me." The Lefthander sat down and lookc at the child, as she bustled about, with pleased smile on his lips. She sccmc( to have quite forgotten her accident, and with one hand deftly raised the coffee-pot from the coals, took off the fried be< and arranged them, with a large loaf bread and some tin cups and brown su< which were near by, on the greensward. "Well, whoever saw the like!" the Lefthander said, with admiration ; " here's your little mother and house-keeperess for the troupe." "And we're a troupe at last, by our- selves!" said Mouse. "We'll have the hand -organ, and the monkey with the feather in his cap, after all and I'll see the flowers and the sunshine, ami carry the hat around, as I told you I would, Barry r "It really looks like it," said Ilai lau^hini^; "and I see one thing plainly, Mom "What is that, sir?" " That you're going to be manager and ronunander-in-chief of this troupe !" They sat down and breakfasted, enliv- ening their repast with jests and laughter. The air of the fresh morning seemed to fill their pulses with life and enjoyment. :cd icd ind I -pot >eef, fof ip r 4 + 1,~ .,, irry, VIKC1MA r.oIIKMIANS. 87 The sunrise bathed tlu'in in its golden beams the birds wore singing, the bivouac fire crackling; the wanderers, without a shelter, had found something like a home in this secluded nook, and enjoyed the present moment, without thinking what inUjlit. befall thorn in the future. r.ivakfast finished, that future demand- ed consideration. Where should they go, and what means of support could they have recourse to? Mouse's plan of or- ganizing themselves into a troupe, with a hand-organ, a monkey, a tent, and wagon, was excellent; but, unfortunately, at the moment it was quite impracticable. With the exception of the Lefthander, who had a portion of his last week's salary yet un- spent in bar-rooms, the little party were without money. It was, therefore, neces- sary to defer the troupe scheme, and cast about them for some means of immediate support. First of all, they must look out for shelter somewhere ; then they would have time to think. So, having finished breakfast, they made a package of the blankets, cooking utensils, and the rest of the provisions Harry took them on his back the Lefthander lifted Mouse in his arms, though she declared that she could walk, and they set out up the mountain road leading through the Gap. All at once the Lefthander stopped, and said, "Where is your travelling-bag, Mig- non ?" " My travelling - bag, poppa ! Haven't you got it?" " I have left it behind, fool that I am !" exclaimed the Lefthander. " It must be at the fire." " No, it was not left at the fire," Harry said ; " neither you nor Mouse had the bag when you joined us, Lefthander." "Then I've left it at the priest's I mean the parson's," the Lefthander said, knitting his brows ; " and I must go back for it,"" He uttered these words with an excite- ment extremely unusual in him. It was plain that for some reason he attached the utmost importance to the travelling- satchel. " Wait for me, I will not be long," he -aid. He deposited Mouse on her fret, point- ed to a grassy bank, which afforded her a j,-ood place to rest, and set out for Pied- mont. In an hour he returned, with an expression of decided gloom upon his features. "Did you find it, poppa?" Mouse said, quietly. " No, Mignon. It was not left there. I must have dropped it. That will be unfortunate, if " He stopped, knitting his brows. "The parson was not at home. A sick person had sent for him, but I saw his old servant, who attends to the rooms and beds, and she was in the room you slept in after we went, and saw nothing. It is lost. I looked all along the road, but could see nothing of it. It will be un- fortunate. I will make another search when we have found a place of shel- ter." After saying this, the Lefthander re- lapsed into silence, and, taking Mouse in his arms, carried her up the mountain and through the Gap. Having reached the western embouchure, they saw a country road leading to the left, struck into it at hap-hazard, and followed it for a mile or two along Falling Water, until they reach- ed a spot where the stream fell over a ledge of rocks, from which it derived its name. Just beyond this was a ford, and, on the opposite hill, what seemed to be a deserted house. The Lefthander pointed to it and said, "There is the place. From the look of things no one lives in that house, and we can go there and stay for the night, at least," He shaded his eyes with his hand and added, "It's forlorn enough looking, and there's no one there; we will not be dis- turbed unless there are ghosts." " Ghosts, ghosts !" said Gentleman Joe, dreamily ; " yes, there are ghosts. They are all around us don't you believe that, Lefthander P The Lefthander looked at his com pan- 88 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ion. Gentleman Joe was falling into one of his strange moods. "I have been here before," murmured Gentleman Joe, putting his hand to his forehead ; " when was it ? But it was a a dream only, I suppose." A piteous expression came to his face, but he said nothing more, and his com- panions, apparently accustomed to his vagaries, paid no attention to his words. The Lefthander led the way through the ford, which only came to his knees, carry- ing Mouse in his arms, and, following a path on the other side of the stream, they ascended the hill and reached the deserted house. It was dreariest of the dreary, and the rotting porch gave way under the Lefthander's tread; but in the bare room within there was a broad fire- place, and Ilarry had soon collected some dry limbs lying around, and kindled a cheerful fire. Then, as their long tramp had made them hungry, Mouse set about preparing dinner, which consisted of cof- fee and fried beef and bread after which they made an examination of their new domicile. It had probably been a very comfort- able establishment once on a time, but now everything was going to decay. The creaking door had flown open under the Lefthander's ponderous pressure it was only secured by a rusty latch and the staircase leading to the rooms above trembled under their feet. The lower story was completely bare, but in an up- per room they found a small pine table, and two or three old chairs without backs, which they brought down and arranged in front of the fire. Then Harry and the Lefthander went out and collected another supply of wood, and by that time the sun began to decline. \Vhen night came they made ;i Led for Mouse of the blankets, and stretching thein>elves upon the Hour fell a>leep. Such was the fir>t day spent by tl. derers at Crov. On the next morning a council of war was held, and they unanimously resolved to remain where they were for the present. They had provisions for some days, an<l another supply could be purchased and brought from Piedmont : there was an excellent spring fifty yards from the house, which they had made the coffee from on the preceding evening; and, if Mouse could only be made comfortable, it really was a very good place to live in, this deserted house. What they wanted was another supply of food and beds, and Ilarry said that he would go and buy them. "Just buy some cotton, Ilarry, and I'll stitch up the beds," said Mouse ; " that is, if you'll buy me some needles and a spool of thread all was lost with that travelling-bag." The Lefthander produced all his money and gave it to Ilarry. " And don't fail to go to the parson's, and ask if they arc certain about that bag that it was not left." Ilarry nodded, set out at a long, springy gait, and disappeared. He did not return until late in the day, but he had thought of everything. He brought a supply of sugar, coffee, flour, bread, salt, some beei', a ham, and the cotton, with the needl and thread. " I went to the parson's, but he w away from home again," he said. " Y must have dropped your travelling-bag the circus tent, Lefthander." " I could swear I did not ! it is po ble. If so it will be safe, and I'll get back. Clare de Lune will see to that." As he uttered the name of Clare Lune the Lefthander fell into a fit musing. His thoughts had evidentl gone back to the scenes at the circus. " Some day I'll sec her again, perhap he said ; " she is a good girl." Mouse had mean while set about stitch- ing up the beds, which she did with a. business air whieh was impressive, I'-ui she really was extremely expert with her needle. On the next day she had finished them all, and then they were tilled with the pine tags from the thicket in rear of the hoii-e; and that night, after an excellent supper, the whole little troupe slept in p feet comfort. Thus their life at Crow's Nest be or : VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 89 in earnest ; ami finding tlieinsclvcs un- molested, they remained. Nearly a month passed in this manner. Mouse had completely recovered from her sprain, and the wanderers passed their time in rambling through the beautiful September woods, in talking to each other, and in resolving that they would in some manner organize the troupe with the monkey and the haiul-organ without delay. But nothing was really done to- ward it, and day after day passed by, and their supplies dwindled. Then came the irruption of Mr. Gibbs, indignant at the presenee of trespassers, with the subse- quent visit from Mr. Gary. The result, so far, was satisfactory: they would not be forced to leave, at least. But there re- mained the paramount question how they were to live in future. The wanderers were face to face with want. XXIX. BY A FIRE IX THE MOUNTAIN. ON the night succeeding Mr. Gary's visit, after Mouse had gone to sleep in her warm corner, the Lefthander and Harry, seated before the fire, held a consultation on the subject of their fut- ure ways and means. It was a chill night, and the muffled sigh of the wind in the pines, waving to and fro in the moonlight without, gave notice that win- ter was approaching. The very rattle of the sashes in the windows told them that, and the prospect before them seem- ed gloomy. Gentleman Joe, seated in the corner opposite Mouse, took no part in the conversation. For some time indeed, from the moment of their arrival at the Crow's Nest house he had been serious and absent-minded. He rarely indulged now in his fits of fantastic laughter; something seemed to weigh upon him and oppress him. At times a singular expression came to his face ; his mind appeared to be busy with some problem which he w r as quite unable to solve. While Harry and the Lefthander conversed on this evening, he was looking into the iire with a dreamy glance, and any one could see that he was utterly un- conscious of their presence. The Lefthander was smoking his short pipe, and leaning one ponderous arm upon his knee. They had l><vn diaOHM- ing the melancholy fad that they had almost nothing left to eat, and even Har- ry's powder was exhausted, and they had no money to buy more. "The main thing is Mouse," >aid the Lefthander. He looked at the child, who was sound asleep, and his face softened, as it always did at such moments. "One of us must stay with her," he said. "You and me, Harry, might find work by going off somewhere, but what would become of Mouse and Gentleman Joe?" Harry shook his head. " It would never do to leave them. Mouse is a child, and my poor father He stopped, and touched his forehead sadly. " He seems worse than ever of late. He winders around in a strange, absent- minded way, looking at everything, and muttering to himself in a manner I don't understand. Only yesterday I heard him say to himself, 'Why, I remember all this !' " "Strange enough," the Lefthander said, " I noticed the same thing, and asked him if he had ever been here before ; but he made me no reply. I know he heard what I said, for he turned round and looked me in the face with a cunning look, as if he meant to keep his own counsel." Harry listened to these words with a deeper impression of gloom upon his face than before. "I never could understand father," he said ; " and he always manages to turn aside any questions I ask him. But about the bread and meat, Lefthander we must see about that. We must find work." " Work !" said Gentleman Joe, sudden- ly arousing himself and turning round ; it was plain that he had not heard what had been said before. " Work, did you say ? Yes, we must work for Mouse." 90 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " Well, that's the trouble, Gentleman Joe," the Lefthander said ; " we're at the end of the rope. The provisions are about out hardly enough for to-morrow. "We might go and work, as I told Harry just now, but how about Mouse ? I don't mean Mouse shall want anything." He knit his brows. " I won't steal, but it's come to this that somebody will suffer before Mouse does! You see, I don't mind myself. I've given up drink, and am willing to work ; but if I can't " "Set traps," said Gentleman Joe, qui- etly. " Why," exclaimed Harry, " we never thought of that, Lefthander ! The moun- tains are full of game, and nothing is easi- er, if we only knew how." "I know," Gentleman Joe said; and monopolizing with sudden ardor the whole conversation, Gentleman Joe en- tered upon the subject of constructing traps for game in a manner which showed that he was a master of the art. Harry and the Lefthander listened with admira- tion, and did not interrupt him. " I'll make the traps to-morrow," said Gentleman Joe. And it was agreed that they should rise early and set about the work at once, in order to have the traps ready by the ensuing evening. All then lay down in front of the fire, wrapped in their blankets, and were soon asleep all but Gentleman Joe. lie had closed his eyes, but in about half an hour opened them again and looked intently into the fire. Then he turned round and surveyed every portion of the room with a vague, dreamy glance. "The same," he said, in a low voice, pn inir his hand to his forehead. "This is Crou's NYst where have I been all this tine His mind seemed to be BtraggUng with some memory which came to him vague- ly in dim outlines, like a landscape looked at through ha/r. " I must not tell them they must not know but what have I to tell ?" He sighed deeply, and turned his head away from the fire, muttering, "I must have dreamed all that! I seem to remember but I must have dreamed it." Another sigh followed these words, and muttering something further to himself he at last fell asleep. Early on the next morning they set to work making the traps. In this work Gentleman Joe was the manager and di- rector. With the assistance of bits of plank, some nails collected here and there, and strong twine string, made by untwisting an old rope discovered in an out-house, they succeeded in constructing the traps ; and by evening they were done. It was then agreed that Harry should remain with Mouse, while Gentle- man Joe and the Lefthander crossed to the mountain opposite and set the traps ; and the Lefthander, taking the whole load upon his back, set out with his companion. They descended the hill, crossed the stream at a narrow spot upon a log, and entered the woods clothing the slope be- yond. The vicinity was wild and unin- habited. Here and there ravines pene- trated the mountain, nearly concealed by overhanging trees which threw deep shad- ows, growing deeper as the sun sunk, Making their way into the silent depths the trappers set their traps, which were already baited, and then attempted to re- trace their steps toward the crossing ol the stream. This proved far less easy than they had supposed it would be. Night had fu\\y come now, and scarcely a ray penetrated the shadowy gorge into which they had advanced for a considerable distance, The moon had not risen, and a haze hid the stars in addition to which they had lost the points of the compass. There were no paths to guide them, the steep sides of the gorge affording no foothold even for the mountain cattle ; and, aftei wandering around for some time, the Lefthander and Gentleman Joe came to the depressing conclusion that they we lost in the mountain. M Well, here's your Babes in the W< said the Lefthander, with a low laugh; " we're lost, Gentleman Joe." VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 91 ' Wait for moonrisc," said Gentleman Joe. "I know where we are." "V. u know! How?" " Well, 1 know. That is the Hogback ler." " That ridge ? Well, that's something. S. we are near a place called the Hog- back / You're no stranger here, then ? What does all this mean, Gentleman Joe ?" They were pushing through the thick fringe of pines at the moment all at once a light shone in front of them. " Some one is hunting," said the Left- hander ; " they can tell us the way." He advanced in front of Gentleman Joe, and they steadily approached the light, which they now saw was that of a fire burning in a concealed nook between two ledges of rock, and hidden from any one approaching in all directions except from the difficult spot to which the trappers had wandered in the darkness. There was something wild and weird about this light and its surroundings. The masses of rock rose above it to the right and left in rugged ledges, with cedar bushes and trailing vines starting from every crevice. On these the red light of the fire threw fantastic shadows, and as it soared aloft from time to time, the glare fell on the boughs of a mountain- ash reaching far over the ledge, and near- ly drooping to the ground. What more than all astonished the Lefthander and his companion was an object only a few feet beyond the fire. Could his eyes de- ceive him ? This something was a door in the side of the mountain ; there was no doubt of that. It was nearly covered by the drooping foliage but there it was. The Lefthander stopped, and laid his hand on the arm of Gentleman Joe. " These people are not hunters," he said, in a low tone ; " look at them." Shadows were moving to and fro in front of the fire, and dark figures, in rough dresses, were dimly visible as the trappers cautiously drew nearer. "If I was in the Bohmerwald Moun- tain, I should say they were the wrong sort of people to go near," said the Left- hander, in a low voice. The figures at the lire prohaMy heard his voice, for one of them, with a gun in his hand, left the group and eame in (In- direction of the. sound. " Who goes there?'' said thr figure. The Lefthander continued to advance, whereupon the figure raised his gun to his shoulder, and ordered "Halt!" The Lefthander was within twenty paces. He stopped. "Well," he said, in his phlegmatic voice, " I have halted to oblige you. Who are you ?" " Plain people. Who are you ? What is your business here ?" "Setting traps," said the Lefthander; "and you'll do me a favor, friend, if you'll tell me how to get out of this dev- ilish place." The figure came nearer, and bending down peered into the Lefthander's face; as his back was to the fire, his own was concealed. "You are the big man living at the Crow's Nest house," said the figure. " Yes," said the Lefthander. " Who is with you ?" " One of my friends." "You are tramps?" " You may call us that, if you fancy." " Wait a little." The figure went back to the fire and held a brief colloquy with the men there. He then returned to the Lefthander, and said, " Come on, friends both." The Lefthander and Gentleman Joe approached the fire, around which J'.arney Jones and two or three others were stand- ing. The person who had held the col- loquy with them was Daddy Welles. XXX. DADDY WELLES RECONNOITRES. ONE morning Brantz Elliot received a letter from a friend in New York, inform- ing him that the Coaching Club was just about to be organized, and that, if he wish- ed to have his name enrolled for all time 92 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. among the "great founders" of that mighty enterprise, it would be essential to return at once, and take part in the deliberations. To this note Elliot replied immediate- ly, announcing his early return. He then decided not to return, but to remain in the little mountain -house beside Nelly Welles, who now in the October days had begun to be all the world to him. It had come at last to that. The inci- dent on the stream had nearly opened his eyes, and now they were quite open at last. He loved the girl with all the ardor of first love. He had forgotten her linsey dress, her poor origin, the social inequal- ity between them, and could see now noth- ing but the glimmer of her eyes, and hear nothing but the voice which made sweet- er music in his ears than all else in the world. True, he did not come to realize and accept this state of things without a struggle, or contemplate the idea of mar- rying Daddy Welles and his old dame, together with Nelly, without something like a shudder. The dear desire was bal- anced against the unpleasant condition but love conquered pride. Having firmly resolved to tear himself away violently from the temptation, and return to New York, and after writing to his friend an- nouncing his speedy return, he quietly determined to remain, and drift as before upon the stream. Daddy Welles seemed quite unaware that anything but a love of hunting re- tained Brantz Elliot in the mountains. He never made sly jests, as old people will, about Nelly and the young man ; in- deed, he seemed much too busy, tin- ccllent Paddy Welles, t<> bestow his at- tention on the affairs of other people. The mysterious going and coining of un- couth personages to and fr>m the moun- tain-house, at almost any hour of the day or night, continued ; and the absene, Paddy Welles grew more frequent. New faces had appeared in the vicinity those of a big, black -browed individual, and a fantastic old gentleman, who laughed and sighed by turns. These faces ha,l be^un to make their appearance, Elliot remem- bered, soon after a certain absence of Daddy Welles for a whole night, or rath-j er until just before daylight, when the! young man heard him come in cautiously,] place his rifle, which he had taken with] him, on its pegs, and retire to his room. The big man went by the name of the Lefthander, and seemed to be looked to and consulted by Paddy Welles as a co- adjutor of the first importance in some secret business. As to the fantastic old man, who bore the equally curious name of Gentleman Joe, he seemed to have no concern with any business whatever;) looked around him in a dreamy man- ner when he visited the house; thrum- 1 med on his chair; fell into reveries, and woke from them with a smile or a sigh, scarcely conscious, one would have said, where he was, or what faces were around him. He and Nelly had become the best friends imaginable. Gentleman Joe had joined Elliot and herself one day, as they were walking out in the evening, and po- litely informing them that he resided with some friends of his in the neighbor- hood, had bestowed his society upDn them, smiling gently, and looking at \ y with so much affection that Elliot did not have it in his heart to resent the unwel- come intrusion. As to Nelly, she was very far from discouraging the poor old fellow. A smile full of pleasure and re- lief always greeted him on such occasions; and Brantz Elliot, seeing that smile, was lost in a maze of perplexity, and far from pleased at what seemed to indicate a de- sire on the giiTs part not to be alone with him. What could it mean? If he had known, he would not have been so much displeased, and his love would have grown even stronger. That longing for the presence of a third person, on the part of Nelly, was susceptible of a very simple explanation if Brantz Elliot could have read her heart. He had come to be as <lcar to her as she was to him. All the pent-up feeling and romance of youth in the heart of the poor mountain-girl had broken the barriers and flowed toward VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, him or nearly broken them; for Nelly had not yielded to her In-art. The very strength of her love ga\r her force to re- sist it. If she were to marry Kraut/ El- liot, >he would darken his whole career. She \\as far heneath him, socially, and after awhile he would litterly regret tin- step he had taken in a moment of im- pulse. Then the result would be misery for 1'oth of them for him, from the con- sciousness that he was yoked to a wife unsuited to his station in society and his edueated tastes; for her, from the convic- tion which would be daily forced upon her that he regretted having ever met her. This thought haunted Nelly day and night : it would not have haunted a mer- cenary person, or one without pride; but Nelly was proud, and so far from being mercenary that, if she had been an heiress and he a poor boy, she would have held out her arms to him and gladly given him herself, as she had given him her heart. As the fact was the reverse, and that ter- rible future of her imagination more and more possessed her, the poor girl, with a sinking heart, came to a fixed resolution to discourage the attentions of Brantz Elliot, which were growing more and more ardent, and make him understand that their union was impossible. This had led to the sweet smiles which she bestowed on Gentleman Joe when he joined them in their walks. And she had really grown extremely fond of him, and called him "Gentleman Joe," as he called her " Nelly," in the most natural manner. As to the poor old fellow, the time came at last when he seemed to be quite wrap- ped up in Nelly, and to fix his melancholy eyes upon her face with a longing tender- hich went to her heart. He would come across the stream almost every day, and wander through the woods looking for her ; and if he did not find her, he would go up the path to the mountain- house, and bow to Mrs. Welles, and ask if Nelly was at home. If she was, she came at once and sat and talked with him. If she was absent, he went away with a mel- ancholy shake of the head. When one morning he made his appearance thus at the ILIUM-, and heard that Paddy Welles and Nelly had gone t Piedmont in the little spring- wagon, he uttered a sigh which would have d.'iie civdii to n l,.u-r. The vUit of Daddy Welles had for its object the pmvha-e of gr iritt. With an eye to business in the way of a trade, the I >addy took with him in his spring- wagon a number of sheepskins, a large roll of fresh butter, a bag of dried apples, a haunch of venison, ami a might v pile of dried sumach, for which he knew he would receive one and a quarter cents a pound. With this and the proceeds from the rest of his load, he proposed to lay in a stock of sugar, coffee, and other " store " supplies, and purchase winter clothing for his wife and daughter. As the spring-wagon, drawn by its an- cient mare, drove into Piedmont, its occu- pants became aware that something was going on. As Daddy "Welles looked around him, with a smile of more than ordinary sweetness, it may he that he was not as much surprised at the gen- eral excitement as might have been sup- posed even that he had had some inti- mation of the state of things, and had come to see for himself. There was a large crowd in front of the tavern, and through this crowd passed from time to time figures which were evidently those of strangers probably the owners of the long string of horses tethered in the sta- ble-yard in rear of the tavern. Daddy Welles did not proceed as far up the main street as the tavern ; he stopped before the door of an f-tablish- ment which seemed to deal in gr< and other articles of nearly every descrip- tion, and he and Nelly got out and went in. After awhile the Paddy 60 from the store and bore in the article* which he had brought; after which. leav- ing Nelly apparently to make her tion of goods, he strolled in a leisurely manner toward the blacksmith'-. That grimy-armed individual was holding the leg of a horse between his knees, ami tit- ting a hissing shoe to the hoof which he had just pared. " Well, neighbor," Daddy Welles said, VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. sweetly smiling, "something seems to be agoin' on in town to-day." The blacksmith looked up and laughed. " I believe you, Daddy. It's the rev- enue collectors. Look out for yourself." " I'm agoin' to ; but you don't mean they'd come after a poor man like me ?" '' Well, I ruther think they will. Rich and poor are all the same when they're after the taxes" The blacksmith emphasized the last words, and seemed to enjoy them, for some reason best known to himself. His smile expanded into a grin, and he and Daddy Welles exchanged glances. " How many of 'em ?" the latter asked, in a tone of mild interest. "About a dozen ; and they say they've got troops coming on." "Troops! Well, that will be some- thing new. Haven't seen the blue-coats sense the year '65. It'll be quite like old times quite like old times," repeated Daddy Welles, smiling, as in fond remem- brance of past joys. " Well, they won't be strangers to you, Daddy Welles. If people tell the truth you had a hand more than once in bush- whacking Sheridan's troopers, and were worse on 'em than a hornet. I wouldn't be surprised, now, if you had at home the same musket or perhaps it's a rifle that you used to go after 'em with !" " Oh, you musn't believe these old . neighbor: we are peaceful people up in the mounting! Why, here's Kur- il <y Jones on his old sorrel." In fact Mr. Barney Jones, in a suit of wnrn homespun, a weather-heat en felt hat, and heavy boots, drawn up by his short stirrup-leathers at this moment made his appearance coming out of town, and halt- ed to speak to his friends. He and Dad- dy Welles sainted earh other, and the lat- t<T went out into the street. "Well r the Daddy said, in a low tone. "They're eomin 1 to-night, blast 'em!" said Mr. Jones, expectorating tobacco juice as he spoke. " Are you certain ?" "Sure of it, Daddy! Drat 'em! They'll set out, I hear, before sundown." Daddy Welles mused, his countenance} illumined by an expression of sweet sat-j isfaction. " Well, they're not apt to find much, I] ruther suppose, Barney," he said. "They'll find a rifle-bullet if they git too near me, Daddy," said Mr. Jones, viciously. "No, no! that's onreasonable, Barney. Go on and tell the boys to lay low and keep quiet. Why, who's that yonder, walkin' about and talkin' to 'em like lie was one of 'em young Mr. Lascelles ?'' " The same, Daddy." "Is he takin' a hand in this business? What ! I thought he w r as a neighbor." " He rnout be or he mout not," replied Mr. Barney Jones. " He's lived half his life in forin' parts, I'm told, but they say he's not agin us. You see old Gineral Lascelles, he's a magistrate, and he had toi give 'em sarch warrants, and young Las- celles is goin' along, they say, to see that I nobody's meddled with that oughtn't to be." "Well, well! I'm glad of that, I wouldn't like to think old Gineral Las- celles was onfriendly. He's a friend to the poor man. I'll go and hear a little of their talk." " Better not, Daddy." "You think I'd better not, eh, Bar- ney?" " I see the list, and your name's on it, Daddy," said Mr. Barney Jones, with a grin. " Well, I s'pose I'd better not," return- ed Daddy Welles, witli resignation ; "and I reckon it's time for me and Nelly to be goin' back to the mounting. She's about through by this time." And saluting his friend the Daddy re- turned to the grocery store, from whi<-h he soon afterward reappeared laden with bundles which he deposited in his wagon. He then assisted Nelly to her seat, and was about to get up himself, but seemed to change his mind. 11 Hold the reins, Nelly, and mind the, old mare," he said; "I'll be back direct- ly/' lie then strolled up to the tavern and VIRGINIA I his acquaintances in a friendly manner. At sight of him a general smile expanded upon all visages, and one of his friends whispered, "Take care, Daddy ! they're on your track!" "You don't say!" said the Daddy, htanquilly. " They'll be at your house by night. There's nigh a dozen, and they're armed." " Well, well ; seems to me the war's be^innin' over again. And troops! there's troops not far off, if wanted." "They say they will be here to-mor- few." " Well, well, well ! who would 'a thought it ? Is there goin' to be another Confed- 'rate business, neighbor? Hard times! hard times !" And, apparently overcome by forebod- ings of future suffering for his country, Daddy Welles shook his head sadly and returned to his wagon. Before he could whip up his old mare a person in undress official costume approached him quietly, and said, " Your name is Welles ?" " Did anybody tell you that, friend 2" said the Daddy. " No matter who told me. Come with me to the tavern." " Come to the tavern ! what fur, frieud ?" " That's my business. Come along." "Have you got a warrant for my ar- rest, friend ? If so, I'm a peaceful citizen and regard the laws." " No matter about a warrant. No, I've got no warrant, but you're to come with me." Daddy Welles shook his head with a peaceful smile. "Can't spare the time now, friend. My old 'oman's at home by herself, and it's nigh sundown." And quietly touching his mare with the whip Daddy Welles departed, appar- ently taking his leisure, to the great dis- gust and wrath of the official, who did not venture to stop him. The wagon slowly followed the road through the Gap. Daddy Welles was smiling. " What did he mean by \\ ant iiiu r \ >\i to bark with him, father.'" >aid Nelly. 11 Well, only some of their eontraption->, Nelly a little matter of business. P,ut I hadn't time to-day. Did you "-it that cloth for your cloak, Nelly * Why, it's beautiful !" And, displaying her purchases, the daughter of Eve forgot all about the incident. XXXI. MOONSHINERS. As the sun was sinking a party of about a dozen horsemen rode out of Pied- mont, and proceeded westward at a round pace through the Gap in the Blue Kiduv. These horsemen were internal revenue employes, going to break up illicit dis- tilleries of spirit in the mountain and ar- rest the malefactors. At their head rode a portly gentleman, the maishal of the district, and beside him was Mr. Douglas Lascelles, whose presence had been accu- rately accounted for by Mr. Barney Jones. General Lascelles having been applied to as a justice of the peace for seaivh warrants had granted them, but requested his son to accompany the party and see that un- offending persons were subjected to no improper annoyance. The marshal was in a very bad humor, lie had made more than one foray on the "moonshiners," as the illicit distillers were called, but always without result. Intimations had thereupon reached him from head-quarters that he was r. -Carded as wanting in efficiency. Hence indignation, and a fixed resolution to break up the ille- gal establishments if they could be dis- covered. But this, unfortunately, was the trouble. The stills were known to be in the recesses of the mountain, but it was not probable that they would easily be dis- covered, unless there was treaehery. Of that, however, there was small hope. The . moonshiners were popular. They sup- plied spirits to their neighbors at half the cost of the taxed article. They were of- ten men of good character, and otherwise VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. observers of the law ; and the manufact- ure of " moonshine whiskey " was gener- ally laughed at, and regarded as only the harmless evasion of an oppressive Federal excise. The plausible view was taken that these honest people were only mak- ing "a little something" for their fami- lies in a quiet way, without injury to any- body. They were good ex-Confederates, impoverished by the war. "What harm was there in privately distilling their own grain ? They ate and sold it in the form of bread; why not allow them to drink and sell it in the form of whiskey ? Be- tray them to the Federal officials? It was absurd! "A disagreeable business, Mr. Las- celles !" said the marshal, in great ill-hu- mor. "These fellows are worse than foxes, and are real desperadoes, I hear, ready to resist, arms in hand. Luckily, my men arc armed, and if there is resist- ance it will be at the peril of the mis- creants." " They are said to be peaceful people," said Mr. Lascelles, indifferently. " Peaceful ! You deceive yourself, sir. They are a desperate set. Did you read the account in the papers the other day of the troubles in East Tennessee and Virginia ? The collectors were fired on from the crags of the mountains, and one of them killed. A murder, sir ! and the men who commit murder are mur- derers." The marshal grew red in the face as he thus denounced the moonshiners. "They are just as bad here, I have not the least doubt," he added ; "and I see well enough that they an- Mipportcd by popular sentiment. The war antagonism has not died out. The Federal <>Hieials are looked upon a- Federal soldiers com- ing back in citi/ens 1 dress t> <>]>en war anew on the 'good old Confederate-'/ It is dej.loral.le, sir! Tin; law mu>t be obeyed but how enforce it ?" "That Menu to be the problem/' -aid Mr. Lascelles, with the same indifferent air. In fact, he was scarcely listening t<> the marshal. lie had accompanied the party in accordance with the request of General Lascelles, but cared little or notli ing, apparently, for the result. " A perfect wild-goose chase, sir !" tbJ marshal exclaimed. " How are we t discover these illicit distilleries? No ont will inform on the law-breakers. TheU are all in league together. Not a mar; woman, or child will open their lips=) Ask them questions, and you have a laugi for your pains, Mr. Lascelles ! They aril banded together in one great conspiracjj against the law, and it was only with thj greatest difficulty that I obtained th| names of some who are suspected." "You have the names?" " Yes. Here is a list. You can loollj at it." Mr. Lascelles took the paper and rani his eye over it. " Well," he said, returning it with ;d careless air. "And the names are all. There's nofl a particle of evidence against them. Tliidj name at the head is that of the leader ol them, I hear a certain Daddy Welles, al he is called and the Barney Jones meni] tioned is said to be his head man." " Well, I know nothing of them. Thesl names are all ?" " All, with the exception of a gang ol tramps, who are said to have established! their head-quarters on the farm of a Mrl Cary who, for that matter, may be in al-' liance with the moonshiners. Their presl ence on his land is suspicious." " I know Colonel Cary, and think it improbable that he has anything to dol with the moonshine people." " Well, to be frank with you, I suspect) everybody, and will form my own opinion; from what I see. I am a stranger in this) region, and have had the greatest trouble) in obtaining directions where to find the! homes of these people. We must be) near the first I propose to visit that off the man Welles. That is the house yon-l der, probably." The marshal pointed to what was, irn fact, the residence of Daddy Welles, and turned into the mountain -road leading' up to it. The cortege followed him, nndj side by side he and Mr. Lascelles rode VIRGINIA r.oIIKMIANS. 97 up to the gate in the fence, where they dismounted. Tlie sun had just sunk behind the fringe of wo.ds on the summit of the opposite raiiLLV. and dusk was drawing on. There was n<> moonlight yet, but the star- were beginning to twinkle in the blue sky to : ;, mellowing into purple and orange as it extended westward toward the rosy flush above the pines. The marshal opened the small gate, walked up to the pon-h, followed by Mr. Lascelles, and knocked at the door. Paddy Welles promptly appeared, and greeted his visitors with an amiable smile. "Is your name Welles?" said the mar- shal, referring to the paper which he held in his hand "Daddy Welles?" "They do call me that sometimes, friend,' 1 said the Daddy, mildly. " Won't you come in ?" " I wish to see you, sir," the marshal said, in a curt voice. " I am informed that you are connected with the illicit distillation of whiskey in this mountain." " Why, what could have put such an idee in your head, friend ? But come in, come in ; the nights are gittin' cold, and I've got a tech of the rheumatiz come in, friend." With which Daddy Welles led the way into the sitting-room on the right, where Elliot and Nelly were conversing by a small fire, and Mrs. Welles knitting opposite. " Set down, set down," said the Daddy, cheerfully ; and addressing Elliot, he add- ed, in dulcet tones, " Jest to think these gentlemen are after moonshine whiskey men, and think I'm one of 'em. What a queer idee !" Thereat the Daddy laughed, and the whole mystery flashed on Elliot. The word " queer " sent his mind back to the talk with the stage-driver, who had used the very term, and here at last was the ex- planation Daddy Welles was a " moon- shiner !" The marshal declined the proffered seat. " It is my disagreeable duty to arrest you, Mr. Welles," he said, in his curt offi- 7 cial voice, "and to search your house f,.r evidence of your complicity in these ille- gal proceed! u '_TS." " To l.e sure/' the Daddy n>p<,nd<'d, cheerfully. " 1'Yaps you've got a sarch warrant?" M 11. -re it if." Daddy Welles spelled it over carefully, and returned it. " That's accordin' to law, friend. Bet- ter begin at the cellar." With this business-like observation he took one of the candles from tin- taMe and preceded the marshal, who followed him. The cellar was first inspected, and then all the rooms in succession, after which the Daddy suggested that then- was the stable and the cow-house. It was perfectly plain, however, that, wheth- er innocent or guilty, Daddy Welles was prepared for the enemy, and the marshal declined to search farther. "This is all a farce !" he growled ; " you are warned. Well, get your horse and go with me." " To be sure," said the Daddy, cheer- fully ; " it's agin law to arrest a peaceful citizen in the bosom of his famly; but, bless you, I don't mind that." The Daddy then retired, and soon re- appeared wrapped in an old overcoat, stating that he was ready, and a few minutes afterward the party were again on their w r ay, leaving Brantz Elliot in a state of bewilderment at the whole scene. A ride of half a mile brought them to the small residence of Mr. r>arn<-y Jones, who, hearing the clatter of hoofs, made his appearance armed with a gun, which he directed toward the group, de- manding who they were, and expro-in^ his intention to blow their heads off un- less the question was speedily answered. "Put up your shootin' iron, Barney/' Daddy Welles called out ; " it's only a few friends come to see you." Thereupon Mr. Jones lowered his weap- on, cheerfully observing, as they dis- mounted and approached, that he had come mighty nigh blowin' their heads off, as tramps were prowlin' round. Learning their business, he gave a dra- 98 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. matic start of astonishment, and mani- fested a strong desire, judging from the expression of his face, to perform the blowing-off ceremony on general princi- ples; but, having been reduced to a peaceful state of mind by Daddy Welles, he expressed entire willingness, nay, the utmost anxiety, to have his premises searched, assisted in every manner, and professed himself rather pleased than otherwise at being arrested. So Mr. Barney Jones swelled the cor- tege when it departed, and accompanied the party on its rounds to the residences of other suspected persons, whose prem- ises were searched with an equally unsuc- cessful result. No more arrests were made. It was plain that the marshal was weary of what he had styled his " wild - goose chase." The night was chill, and he probably had visions of a warm fireside at the Piedmont tavern, with something hot to promote his circu- lation, and would not have inquired too curiously whether it had paid the revenue tax or not. " Well, Mr. Lascelles," he said at length, " I think I'll go back. This is all moon- shine and no moonshiners. There is one other place only the house occupied by the tramps on Mr. Gary's estate. We will return by that route, if Mr. Welles will direct us." "To be sure," said Daddy Welles, ' we're most in sight of it now. It'scall- ed Crow's Nest, and yonder I see a light burnin' or pYaps it's the firelight. That's the house." They had forded the stream, and were returning over the farm-road leading by Crow's Nest and "Falling Water" to the bridgf o\vr the stream on the road to the Gap. In five minutes they were at the foot of the hill; and, dismounting, the marshal, accompanied by I >addv Welles, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Lasrelles, made his way up the path to the door. XXXII. MR. LASCELLES MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINT- ANCE. THE marshal went up to the door <i the house and bestowed a thundering knock upon it with the butt of his ric ing-whip. " Who is there ?" said a voice froii within. " Open in the name of the law !" sail the marshal, with impatience. Deliberate steps were heard approaclj ing the door, a bolt was drawn, the doci opened, and the burly figure of the Left hander appeared upon the threshold. II .1 powerful frame was lit up by the fireligl'- from the broad chimney, around whic; were grouped the other members of till little family. The marshal looked keenly at the Lefj hander. He was evidently struck by hij gladiatorial proportions, and the iixe gaze of the dark eyes under the shaggl brows : but as the marshal was a businea man, and had come on business, he pro cceded to it without delay. " I have a warrant to search this hous for illicit spirit," he said, "and to anv-t it occupants, if I see reason to connect then with a violation of the revenue laws." The Lefthander did not reply. He wa. looking at Mr. Lascelles, who was stand ing behind the marshal. It was a somd what singular look ; not one of surprise ii the least, or indicative indeed of any cleai ly defined sentiment whatever. Nevcrthd less there was a covert fire in the dar, eyes, which betrayed some latent emotioj which the owner of the eyes, by a stronj effort of his will, suppressed. As t Mr La^i -files, he looked at the Lefthandej with utter astonishment. He had change* color slightlv, and his eyelids l, ;l d sudden' ly r'lM'ii, as though he had seen a ghost Mr. La> -flics was a gentleman of so muc',; self-possession, and commanded his feel iiiLjs so thoroughly on ordinary occasions that this distended expression of the pd pils of his eyes, and the change of coloi were circumstances of the most surprising character. til YI1KJINIA KOIIKMIANS. " Ottcndorfcr !" The word e>caped from his lips uncon- SL'iously, without an effort of the will. " Make way !" exclaimed the marshal, it ill-humor. "I have no time t> in all these parleys." Ami he pushed into the apartment, leaving Mr. Lascelles and the Lefthander face to face. " Then it was yon, after all at the cir- iid Mr. Lascelles, in a low voice. "I thought I was mistaken." Yes, it was me," said the Lefthander, with his eyes still fixed upon his compan- ion, and speaking in his phlegmatic voice. "And not your ghost!" Mr. Lascelles said, trying to laugh, but completely fail- ing. NTo, not my ghost in the least my- self." "You are not with that circus com- pany now ?" "I have left it. "Your object?" " It is my business." "And you are living in this house?" "Yes." Mr. Lascelles attempted a careless per- formance with his riding-whip upon his boot, but failed in it. He had grown a little pale. He stood for some moments hout uttering a word. He then said, making a strong effort to speak coolly, "I should like to ask you some quea- ns. You, no doubt, understand why I wish to ask them." " Y--S," said the Lefthander, " I can un- derstand that." " They will overhear us here, and the marshal will go back in ten minutes. Meet me to-morrow, say at sunset, at the bridge on the stage-road. "Will you do so?" " Yes," said the Lefthander. This was all that passed between them. They went into the house, where the mar- il, in a worse and worse humor at his fruitless search for moonshiners and moon- shine whiskey, was interrogating Gentle- man Joe. He had advanced toward the group in front of the fire, and said, curtly, "You are tramps, and, as sneh, cious characters. Your names, <>r nation, at least, are on my li>t, as mrm- ben of a u-aipj; engaged in illi.-it distilling. I am here to M-areh this house and your A\h<le party. Light me in my search." "With pleasure, sir," (lentleman .!.. responded; " there arc only the Lai we are new residents, and the house is not yet furnished." As Gentleman Joe smiled while utter- ing these words, the marshal considered that he was being trifled with. "Light me!" he said, with asperity. " We have no candles, sir," Gentleman Joe politely replied, "but a brand will perhaps answer. Be good enough to fol- low me." The marshal looked with curiosity at the tramp who addressed him in such terms. Gentleman Joe, however, did not notice the look. Stooping down he took a flaming pine -knot from the fire, and went before the marshal, lighting up the deserted rooms one after another. " There is nothing here, you observe, sir," said Gentleman Joe, entering one of the rooms on the second story ; " nothing but what I can see." ""What you can see? "What do you mean ?" Gentleman Joe shook his head with sudden sadness. " I see many things here which other people do not," he said. "There cradle yonder once." " A cradle !" "Under the window. It had a little baby in it. I can see the cradle now, and the baby, too." As he spoke, his voice trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He was look- ing with a vague glance at the sp.-t which he had indicated as that where the cradle formerly stood. "Yes, it was there," he murmured, " and she was leaning over the baby sing- ing. The chair she used to sit in stood there by the side of the fireplace why, there she is sitting in it now !" The marshal suddenly retreated in the 100 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. direction of the door-way. The deserted house, the darkness lit up only by the flaming torch, and the weird figure of his companion, produced a disagreeable effect upon his nerves. He measured the dis- tance to the ground through the paneless windows. He had little doubt that his companion was a lunatic, and he might prove dangerous lunatics were often seized with the idea of clutching their fancied foes, and leaping with them to destruction on such occasions. The worthy marshal therefore exclaimed hast- i'y, "Yes, yes I understand. Farther search is useless." AVith which he beat a hasty retreat down the creaking stairs to the room below, where Daddy Welles was stand- ing with his back to the fire warming himself, and conversing in a low tone with Mr. Barney Jones and Harry. On the reappearance of the official he greet- ed him with a cheerful smile, and said, "Did you find any of the moonshine article, friend ?" "None at all I might have known that you are all in collusion with each otlnT,' 7 the marshal replied, in great ill- humor. " What an idee !" responded the Dad- dy, smiling. " I'm tired of the whole business and ing In inn-. "NVho are these people? Train p>? What right have they to be tivsp.-i iii'_ r here?" " Squire Gary lets 'em stay, I'm told, friend. But that's- none o' my business." " \..r <f mine. Come on; I'm going back. What am I to do with these people? 1 can't arnM lunatics and chil- dren, and these men have no ln>r- "To say nothin' of havin' n<>tlfm' aginst 'em, friend." "Mr. Welles/' said tlie marshal, sar- donically, "I begin to think YOU an- a l;n\\vr by profession. You an- right. I Lave no warrant, t<> anvst even these tramps <>n Mich slight suspicion." " lint Daddy \\Ylles and poor liann-y oh yes! they're the onlucky one-, friend ! You can arrest them, and drag 'em off from the bosom o' ther families-; but no matter ! no matter ! we'll be bad to dinner to-morrow." " You seem certain of that, sir." " Oh, yes, I'm sartain. You see we j sue out a have-his-carcass by daylight-j or it mout be on in the day it's all tli! same : we can stay in jail for a ^ cell The jailor's a friend of ourn, and we'll bj well keered for." The marshal knit his brows. Th| Daddy's remarks impressed him unplcasj antly. He designed leaving PiedmorJ after breakfast on the next morning, bj O' a writ of habeas corpus evidently mean by the phrase " havc-his-carcass " woull necessitate an unpleasant delay. "It's a fine thing, a very fine tl.iiui that have - his - carcass," said Daddj Welles, regarding the ceiling of thj room with an air of contemplation "and then there's no evidence agifl us no evidence at all." "That's true!" muttered the roarshn irritably ; " the old rascal is a bettcj lawyer than all of us!" "But I s'pose there's no law the! hard times no law at all !" mused thl Daddy, sotto vocc. " We poor people ol ole Virginny ain't got no rights v ut speakin' of. The law's made for th 1'yal people, not for us poor rebs we'll out in the cold." The marshal knit his brows. lie waj a thorough respecter of the laws, and haJ come to see them enforced ; but lion- wa ; tin- charge brought that the law was j>ai] tial and oppressive, since it operated unj equally and unfairly on different classell "Well," Daddy Welles said, cheerfulKj "there's the have- his -carcass, after m 1 reckon it won't take more'n a week, o max he a fort///'/////, to git a poor body od of jail and let him see his friends and fam'ly agin." The marshal succumbed, and, in spit) of his ill-humor, felt a disposition tj laugh. " I-Yiend Welles," he said, "would yo like me to say an honest word to von that expresses exactly how I feel towarJ you?" VIRGINIA BOHKMIAXS. "To be sure, friend." \\Y11, 1 am tiivil of you, and of ev- tliiiiiX eoimected with you. Thi'iv's a hiii'4' called a wild-goose errand, and l'\e ae upon it. And, as 1 am speaking of -.-If in terms not very complimentary, lake the liberty of comparing you to its i fox. \\ *' .'ire fox and gooso, you see, illund the fox lias the best of it. Get on ir horse you and your friend Barney :ies, confound him! and go home and to bed, and go to sleep. I mean to ion io the same." bit He turned his back on the group and m flrent out of the house, followed by Mr. d: Lascelles, who exchanged a look with the ihander, apparently to remind him of engagement. Daddy Welles, follow- Mng them to the bottom of the hill, took dim affectionate leave of them. iosl "Good-night, friend, good-night!" the iolDaddy said, bestowing all the treasures his guileless smile upon the marshal. n glad to git back to my ole 'oman ie must be oneasy. It's jest as well to be at home and asleep in bed though, if tor all, it wouldn't 'a made much differ- snce, on account o' the have-his-carcass." "Curse the have-his-carcass, and the whole concern of you !" exclaimed the ite marshal. "Oh no !" the Daddy retorted, shaking liis head in pious reproof ; " don't curse, friend ! it's agin the Good Book, and never i body any good. Well, well, yon must come agin w r e poor mounting peo- ple like to meet with strangers it sort o' >tirs us up and puts us in good spcrits. If I hear anything of them moonshiners I miii'ht drop you word the business 's unlawful." "Go to the devil, you old fox !" roared the marshal, in huge wrath, as he mount- ed his horse. " Oh no ! I wouldn't like to go there," said the Daddy, shaking his head sadly ; " there's no have-his-carcass there. Come ?n, Barney. Good -night, friend. If I was in your place, I'd git back to Pied- mont before the night grows late. They lo say the moonshiners shoot at people sometimes when they wear a han'sum uni- form like yours. But maybe th.. true. Good-night good-night !" R-iddy "Welles and Uarm-y ,Ioin-s then rode a\\ay toward the ford, and the mar- shal, with Mr. La.M-elles and his retinue, to- ward the Stage road leadii: imoiit. XXXIII. MR. LASCELLES KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. WHEN Mr. Lascelles reached Wyr the family had all retired, and he went to his chamber, where he divested himself of his riding-coat and boots, and put on a ilo\\- ered dressing-gown and a handsome pair of slippers. lie then stretched himself in an easy-chair in front of the fire, and fell into reflection. These reflections were evidently un- pleasant. In fact, Mr. Lascelles had not regained the color which he had lo>t in his brief interview with the Lefthander. It might even be said that he grew a lit- tle paler now as he mused. This was un- usual with him. He rarely gave way to emotion. To move him so much some- thing singular was required and this was probably the unexpected meeting at Crow's Nest. Now and then he muttered disconnect- ed words, as people will when they arc alone and occupied by absorbing thoughts. From these disjecta membra of speech it was possible to follow with toleral curacy his train of thought. lie had been doubly deceived as to the Lefthand- er. Seeing him at the circus performanee he had doubted if it was himself ; but even if it were, he would probably di>app.-ar with the company and be seen no more. He had, therefore, dismissed the whole subject from his mind, as the soldier forgets the cannon-shot which ru-1 him without striking him ; now when the shot, having disappeared, returned upon its course, and seemed to be coming point- blank at him, he shuddered a litti was no fancy at all. There was the man whom he evidently feared in his near vicinity big, powerful, cool the Individ- 102 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ual, above all others, whom no rational person would choose for an adversary. Were they adversaries, and if so, what was the explanation of their hostility? Mr. Lascelles did not betray this in his disconnected utterances. One thing how- ever was plain that as he leaned back in his chair on this night, with no desire whatever to retire to bed, he was taking down from a private shelf of his memory certain recollections long consigned to oblivion, and covered with dust, and do- ing so far from willingly. Very plainly certain passages in his life were recalled to him by his meeting with the Left- hander, and he could not shake off the unpleasant impression on his mind. This was a most unwonted circumstance. Mr. Lascelles was very much of a philosopher. lie had an excellent stomach, and an ex- ceedingly tough and serviceable moral epidermis, which generally exempted him from much trouble in the way of reflec- tion. He had the fixed habit never to brood over the past, and to regard it as a matter with which he really had nothing to do, in a practical point of view. "Why worry about it? It was the past. He frankly acknowledged to himself that it would have been much better if he had conducted himself differently on certain occasions. His judgment disapproved of the course he had pursued, and he would now act in a different manner probably. But then there was much to say on the other side. Young men were young men they were led by impulse often to do what it would have been better for them not to d<> ; human nature was weak even preachers and the best people were not faultless. On the whole, it was bi-st n<>t to take things au grand sir'n ./, and let the dead past bury its dead, if it had any to bury. Unfortunately this convenient philoso- phy did not avail him at the present mo- ment. It was j.lain, from the Mp1 of his face, that Mr. Lascelles was con- fronted with a real peril, which v. ferent from a mere uneasiness of the con- science. The one was theoretical, tin- other practical. Here, rooted in his im- mediate neighborhood, was a man whos< eyes, as they looked at him, sent a slight chill through him. Cool and brave as h< was and he was both Mr. Lascelles ha not been able to control his emotion at this meeting. It really was painful to observe what ; ! moody and vicious knitting together oil the brows ensued when Mr. Lascelles hacj come to this point in his muttering. A\ mingled expression of wrath and apprell hension quite changed his handsomcjj countenance, and made it ugly, and rel pulsive. He rose suddenly from his seatlj with his right hand closed, as if he went grasping a weapon, and said aloud, "Curse him! why didn't he break hifl neck when he fell from the ropes? ]| wish he had !" He then went to bed muttering, " I will know more to-morrow," and after awhile] fell asleep. On the next morning he came down and joined the cheerful group around thcjl family breakfast - table without a cloudl upon his face. He had excellent nerves, li " Well, how did your ride turn out J Douglas?" said the general, who was! sipping Iris coffee and reading his morn-|i ing paper. "Did you find any of the! moonshiners ?" "None at all, sir or, at least, none on the stills." "I thought so. I told the marshal' & he would have his trouble for his pains. I Was no one arrested ?" " No one, sir. The marshal did takej old Welles and a man named Jones along! with him, but released them/' The general smiled and said, " I was pretty certain that would be the result. Daddy Welles is a cunning old fox. Not a bad man at all ; I know him very well from having electioneered in Bohemia, and he is quite an honest man. With all his simplicity, he is more than a match for the martial." " I think he was, and his friend Barney Jones, too, who seemed desirous of put- ting a bullet through somebody." " Yes. I know Barney Jones, too. He is what is called a hard subject, and I VIKCIMA r.OlII-MIANS. 103 should prefer not prowling around his house in tin- night. Were these two all .' I was applied to and granted a search- warrant against a gang of tramps on Col- onel Cary's estate." " We went there but found nothing. They are mere vagabonds, and will soon disappear, no doubt." " Where did you iind them?" " In the Crow's Nest house." " Ah ! in the Crow's Nest house?" The general had raised his cup to his lips, but set it down. His face, which had worn a smile of amused interest, be- came all at once thoughtful. " In the Crow's Nest house ?" he re- peated. " It is deserted, you know, sir, and they took up their residence there no doubt without permission from Colonel Cary, who must be aware of the danger of har- boring such vagabonds." General Lascelles did not reply. His newspaper was lying in his lap and his ere fixed upon the table. Then he woke, as it were, from his reverie, finished his coffee, and rising from his seat went slowly to the library. Mr. Lascelles also rose, took a cigar from his case, lit it, and walked out to the portico. He remained at home all day, smoking steadily. At dinner, which was about four o'clock, he had a very moderate appetite, and when he rose resumed his cigar. Then about an hour before sunset he ordered his horse, and rode slowly in the direction of the Gap. He went along with his head bent down and his brows knit. There really seemed to be something the matter with Mr. Las- celles. For many years now his brows had not knit themselves together in that manner. He reached the western opening of the Gap and descended, following the stage- road toward the bridge. As he did so he quietly put his hand behind him, ap- parently to assure himself that he had not forgotten something in a rear pocket. The something was there : it was a Der- ringer pistol, which Mr. Lascelles general- ly carried, in case of accidents. He eainr in siicht of the little wooden idgi' ..ver the Falling \Vatrr just as the sun was about to di>appear on the sum- mit of the ran-v above. In fa.-t, it had sunk so low that the dead limb of an enormous pine, extending horizontally, divided the ivd disk. Long shadows ran down the slope, ivarhing far into the val- ley of Bohemia. Mr. Lascelles came on at a walk, with his eyes still fixed upon the ground. He seemed not to be aware how near In- was to the bridge or to see the shadows. All at once the hoofs of his horse clattered on the timbers, and he raised his head. A long shadow ran toward him. This shadow was that of the Lefthander, who was standing on the bridge waiting for him. XXXIV. AT TRIANON. Two days afterward Mr. Lascelles mounted his horse and set out for Tria- non. He had become a regular visitor, and the excellent Mrs. Armstrong's plan of bringing about a match between the young people seemed to be in a fair way of fulfilment. Mr. Lascelles was unques- tionably smitten otherwise so reserved a person would not have paid such frequent visits. It was true that there was noth- ing in the demeanor of Miss Juliet to produce the impression that she desired to become Mrs. Douglas Lascelles; hut then Mr. Douglas Lascelles probably found that piquante, since his vi>its wen- regular and prolonged in spite of it. Now and then Mrs. Ann^tr.>ng ventured to remonstrate with the young lady she did not venture very far. She intimated, in an incidental manner, that at twenty- three a maiden was in her fre-hot bloom, but that in two or three years thereafter the rose began to change color a little, and a slight diminution of the fiv followed, when the flower was not so ac- ceptable to people as before. If the rose was meant for a bouquet in a golden holder, it was best to allow itself to be 104 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. plucked in its fresh stage. . After awhile no one would care to pluck it, since it would be faded. This was plain, and Miss Juliet proba- bly understood it ; but she paid no atten- tion to it. She received Mr. Lascelles with perfect politeness, but with nothing more. Still, there were the visits of the gentleman, which he would never continue if he did not hope the fair statue would melt, and Mrs. Armstrong, who had a knack of hoping, hoped for the best. She was a very sanguine, high-spirited, and aspiring lady, the mistress of Trianon. She held her head exceedingly high, and never lost sight of the fact that the Arm- strongs belonged to the very best people. AY hen she visited Piedmont with Juliet in her handsome family carriage, she and her daughter were both superbly dressed, and she treated the shop-keepers with the kindest condescension. She turned over the goods in the dry-goods stores with her little kid -gloved hands with the air of a duchess, and it was evident that she regarded the persons of the establishment as moving in quite a different sphere from herself. She was scrupulously polite to them, but then it was to be distinctly un- derstood that she was Mrs. Armstrong of Trianon, and any dealings between them must be confined to the subject of the price of dry-goods. Indeed, Mrs. Armstrong of Trianon was bent on higher things than conciliatin popularity with the J'iedmontcse. AYhat she aimed at was to spend her summers in travel, and her winters in Paris, with Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Lascelles. I It T hand- some family coach, which outraged the feel- ings of the Piedmont tr>ips, was a very modest equipage, indeed, in her own eyes, compared with those of her imagination* She looked down with superb disdain on her handsome wardrobe, her rieh silks and plumes, and other personal adornments; they were old-fashioned and shabby in the opinion of a lady whose aspiration- soared to the serene empyrean ruled over by Mr. Worth. Paris dear, deli^htfu ]'ari<! That was her dream, the heaven of her ambition, and Mr. Douglas Lascelles )ossessed the golden key which woul open the golden door of her Elysium. Now, when human beings are possessed y any ardent desire, and are not entirely certain that their desire will be accom- plished, the result is apt to be an abnor- nal tension of the nervous system. Mrs. Armstrong was not exactly a nervous per- son, and had not the least tendency to- ward hysteria, but she had a good healthy xcitability of temper in private, the in- dulgence of which afforded a safety valve to her pent-up anxiety. She kept this temper as a private luxury, never cheap- ening it by a public exhibition ; but as an object is necessary to the enjoyment of quarrelling, Mrs. Armstrong sought for it in her own household. She found it there, but not in the person of Juliet. She never quarrelled with that young lady under any circumstances it is doubtful whether she did not stand a little in awe of the maiden. From her earliest years Juliet had developed a quiet independence of character which was proof against ev- ery assault. It was not an unamiable trait, or in any manner disagreeable. Ju- liet was very sweet-tempered, never utter- ed ill-humored speeches under any circum- stances, was exceedingly quiet in her man- ner, and quite devoted to her mother ; but beyond a certain point Mrs. Ann- strong had found by long experience that it was useless to argue with her or at- tempt to persuade her. Did this arise from a sensitive delicacy of conscience? It did not arise from obstinacy, for Juliet was not obstinate. She was very sweet and complying on ordinary occasions, an 1 even if her mother had been tempted to vent her ill-humor upon the girl, her ma- ternal tenderness, which was extreme, would have prevented her. Fortunately there was another person at Trianon who afforded Mr<. Armstrong an opportunity to relieve her feelings M'I-N l'.aick, her "companion," who-had or had not listened at the door on the (veiling of Mr. Lascelles 1 s first visit. Mi-> Uassick was a young lady of about twenty-five, and of very striking appear- ance. She had a finely developed figure, VIRGINIA nollKMIANS. 105 a superb suit of Lair, seductive eyQB, which she had a habit of veiling with the long, silken lashi-s modestly, and a pair of ripe, pouting lips, which hahitual- lv smiled and seemed to beg people t> he friendly to their mistress. In fact, Mi-s k needed friends, for, as she said, she was alone in the world. She had been consigned to Mrs. Armstrong from an orphan asylum during her girlhood, and had ever since remained with her in the character of companion and house- keeper. She never dreamed of going into society with Mrs. Armstrong. She accepted her subordinate position with perfect resignation and submission, and never, under any circumstances, lost her temper, or was anything but a model. Mrs. Armstrong, to repeat, was uncer- tain of temper, and though she never box- ed Miss Bassick, or used personal violence, she had a stinging weapon, which cut deep her tongue. Of this the lady was a complete mistress. Long practice had sharpened it to the keenest edge, and its management had been reduced to a sci- ence. The performance generally began in the morning, when Mrs. Armstrong rose and placed her feet on the hand- some carpet of her chamber. On these occasions Miss Bassick, who was nomi- nally a companion, but also a lady's maid, was promptly summoned by a small bell. She would come at once, leaving every- thing else, and assist the lady in her toi- let. Now, in the morning, before break- fast, people are often a little nervous and ill - tempered. Misunderstandings took place at such times between Mrs. Ann- strong and Miss Bassick. Sometimes the latter did not come at once then the storm descended, and wrathful light- nings flashed from Mrs. Armstrong's eyes. "\Vhat was the meaning of the delay ? Where were her stockings? Miss Bas- sick had certainly hidden them where were, they ? Then Miss Bassick would glide quietly to the arm-chair upon which the lady had deposited her garments, search under the female debris, return with them in her hand, and proceed to assist the lady in her toilet. At each moment (hiring the ceremony of div-,- iii'_T there was a misunderstandiiiu". Mi>s r>a->ick was implored l.y the unfortunate victim of her awkwardness for ln;i\cn's sake, not to lace her rorsrN so tight. She was not assuming a strait - jacket, as she believed she was not precisely out of her mind; though if Miss r,airk per- severed in lacing her until she could not breathe, slid was not certain that the re- sult would not be the wreck of her phys- ical sy>tem, and the probable, overthrow of her reason. When the ceremony of dressing had proceeded to the detail of hair-arrange- ment, Mrs. Armstrong generally read a novel in her velvet arm-chair while Miss Ilassick combed out her locks. This wa> a critical moment. The lady's skin was tender. If the comb encountered a tangle, and a tug ensued, Mrs. Armstrong drop- ped her novel, and, figuratively, boiled over. Good heavens ! was she to have her hair torn out by the roots? I >id Miss Bassick aim at making her tm/il.' What did she mean? Give her the comb that was enough ! She could endure a great deal, but this was really too much! Miss Bassick would perhaps kindly consent to go down-stairs and see that she was not kept waiting for her breakfast. She had never learned to wait, and could not be expected to be^in now at her time of life. Miss I>a<>i-k would please understand that breakfast must be on the table at the moment xl<c came down not a minute sooner or later. She could go. Juliet took no part whatever in the torture of this innocent creature. She never, under any circum>t led on Miss Bassick to assist her in dr and never, on any occasion, spoke to her with discourtesy. It is true that s 1 not familiar with her. Whether this arose from a sentiment of pride, or from personal disinclination to such an intima- cy, Juliet never told any one. But then she was a very reserved young person in the expression of her feelings, and it was difficult to understand her. The y^ung lady's sentiments toward Miss B 106 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. were as little known to her mamma as her feelings toward Mr. Lascelles. These Mrs. Armstrong, however, hoped would be all that she could wish in time ; and when Mr. Lascelles made his appearance on this afternoon she said to Juliet, as the gentleman rode in at the gate, *' There is Mr. Lascelles, my dear ! Do go up-stairs and put on your new dress which came yesterday and the blue neck- tie, dear Mr. Lascelles is fond of blue !" Juliet was seated at her piano in the drawing-room, where she had been sing- ing an air from one of her beloved operas. Her tall figure looked superb in her ugly " pull-back " dress, which defined every outline, and her dark hair, worn in a crown above the serene white forehead, made the beautiful head look queen-like. Her mother gazed at her with fond ad- miration, and exclaimed, "You really arc a perfect Diana, Ju- liet !" "And you are enough to spoil an an- gel, mamma," Miss Juliet said, quietly. " No, indeed it is the truth. But do go and put on something fit to be seen, my love !" Miss Juliet did not move. "Why should I, mamma?" she said. "This is a very nice dress, and I cannot bear to be worrying at my toilet all day long, and changing my dress for every visitor." I'.nt think, my dear! Mr. Lascelles, you know, is very critical.'" The argument scorned to make no im- pression whatever on Miss Juliet. She did not move. "I really am too tired, mamma," she said, toin-hing her j.iaiio. " \Vell, my dear, you will do :, please, and if you are tired I will not insist." She approa.-h.-d her daughter, and ar- ranged the ribbon confining her hair. "You must sing, my dear," sin- said. "for Mr. La-relies. lie is fond of mu-'n-, is he not?" " He says so, and I suppose ho is. I en- not fancy any one being indifferent to it." The steps of Mr. Lascelles were heard on the porch, and Mrs. Armstrong ran herl fingers over the keys of the piano, in thej midst of which performance Mr. Lascellesl appeared at the door. Mrs. Armstrong! turned her head. "Mr. Douglas! Why, you quite star-l tied me !" she exclaimed. Mr. Lascelles came in and bowed low over the fair hand held out to him, and then to Miss Juliet. At his appearance that young lady had quietly abandoned the piano-stool, where her dress had been drawn so tightly around her person as to make her resemble, in some degree, the heathen goddess to whom her mother had| compared her. She now inclined her| head to Mr. Lascelles, and sat down in an j arm-chair near the centre-table, arranging \ her skirts as she did so, and leaning back) in her habitual attitude of tranquillity. " All are well at Wye, I hope : what exquisite weather," said Mrs. Armstrong. "Quite charming, madam. I always enjoy the autumn. Were you playing ? I am afraid I have interrupted you." " Oh, not at all. I have quite forgotten my music." And sinking gracefully into a chair, Mrs. Armstrong conversed with Mr. Las- celles for about five minutes. She then smiled sweetly, rose, took a bijou of a key -basket from the table deposited there by Miss Bassick, who had attended to the house-keeping and glided from the room. This model mamma and head of the establishment was evidently intent on household duties, and disappeared in the room opposite, the door of which she closed behind her. Mr. Lascelles remained at Trianon un- til nearly sunset. His demeanor toward the young lady was ambiguous, and the keenest observer would have found it dillirult to penetrate his real sentiments. It was plain that he admired her beauty, and his manner was assiduous and de- voted; but the conversation never trench- ed on delicate ground. During a consid- erable portion of the time Juliet played and sung for him ; for Mr. Lascelles was very fond of music it was one of his sensualities. Like other men of his class VIRGINIA HoIIKMIANS. 107 he liked to gratify all his senses, and mu- sic all'onled him a distinctly physical cn- joymi'iit. This is not uncommon, and has little to d with the moral organiza- tion of the person. Nero had music in his soul, and so had Mr. Lascellcs. His visits to Trianon were thus always pleasant to him. Juliet gratified his mu- sical taste as it had seldom been gratified. Her repertoire of airs ranged from Bellini to Offenbach, but she did not like the latter, and only sung the Sabre de mon pcrc, and other music of a similar character, when she was urged to do so. She then sung "Bonny Jean," and other simple ballads, with a tenderness which showed how deeply she entered into and felt the words and music, and rising from the piano went back to her seat a model of serene composure, as before. The conversation between Mr. Lascellcs and Miss Juliet need not be recorded. And, after all, is there not something rath- er indiscreet in listening to the confiden- tial utterances of young people who say what they think and feel, since no one overhears them ? It is true that Mr. Las- celles and Juliet were overheard on this occasion ; but then it was quite indefensi- ble in Miss Bassick to steal silently through the passage, and lean forward just outside the door and listen. Candor compels the statement that she did so, and heard all that was said or nearly all. After lis- tening for about half an hour, she re- traced her steps with the same caution, and opening the Venetian door in rear of the passage, closed it without noise behind her. Ten minutes afterward she emerged from the rear of the house with a little chip hat upon her head, and a small basket on her arm, and went toward a grove at some distance, apparently intent on gath- ering something in her basket. Mrs. Armstrong, who was looking at her from an upper window, saw her collect some bunches of red berries, such as are used for decorations ; then she wandered on in the direction of the town and entered a belt of woods; and Mrs. Armstrong, watching her, not without suspicion, lost sight of her. The movements of Mi>> Ha-i.-k then became eccentric. Sin- threw a rapid glance- over her shoulder in the di; of the hotisi saw that the i'olnge con- cealed her made a wide eireuit, walking quickly, and at last came out, just at sun- set, on the county road through the woods leading in the direction of Wye. The point when; she stopped was not mniv than half a mile from Trianon. Seating herself upon a rock, which a screen of shrubbery concealed from the road, <hu waited. XXXV. MISS BASSICK. As Miss Bassick half reclined for she was a little tired from her walk on tin- picturesque mass of rock, nearly covered with moss, in the grassy nook, >he made a very pretty picture. The foliage af- forded an excellent background for her face and figure, and both wore exceeding- ly attractive. The figure was full and graceful, the face rosy and enticing. But the great charm about Miss Bassick was her eyes. They were very remarkable eyes. The submissive expression had quite disappeared from them, and the heavy lashes no longer half concealed them. They were clear, brilliant, and had a singular expression of irony and blan- dishment. As she sat, with her elbow on one knee and her head leaning on her hand, she looked toward the road and listened attentively ; and nothing more subtle and seductive can be imagined than her expression. She was evidently wait- ing for somebody, and at last this some- body seemed to be approaching. Ju-t ;t> the sun sunk like a ball of fire behind the woods toward Wye, the sound of hoofs was heard in the direction of Trianon; and a few moments afterward Mr. Las- celles made his appearance around a bend in the road, coming on at a canter. As he came in sight, Miss Baii.-k rose, came out of her place of concealment, turned her back upon the approaching horseman, and went across the road, with 108 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. her little basket, nearly full of red berries, on her arm. " Miss Bassick !" Mr. Lascelles had suddenly drawn rein and stopped within ten yards of her. She turned her head quickly, and remained standing in the middle of the road, look- ing at him and smiling. Mr. Lascelles dismounted, threw his bridle over his arm, and came up to her. He was smiling, like the young lady. "You arc taking your evening ramble you walk out every evening, do you not ? how glad I am to meet you !" Mr. Lascelles took the hand of Miss Bassick, and pressed it to his lips. She drew it away with an offended air, and seemed very much displeased; but this expression did not last it gradually gave way to her seductive smile again. Hold- ing up her basket, she said, in her low voice, which resembled the cooing of a dove, " I walk out every evening, as you say, and have gathered these pretty red berries for the pictures at Trianon Mrs. Arm- strong likes them." " And you are fond of doing what will give Mrs. Armstrong pleasure?" The question was asked in a tone of covert irony, for during his numerous vis- its to Trianon the quick eyes of the young gentleman had descried many things, and he had come to understand perfectly the relations between Miss Bassick and the lady of the manor. 44 It is one of the pleasures of your life, is it not," he said, u to administer to the pleasure of that charming per- son ?" Mi-s l.assirk looked attentively at him. Her head slowly drooped, and the long lashes half concealed her eyes. " I try to do so," she murmured. Mr. lies uttered ;i hearty laugh. " Well let me be frank with you and U-ll you that you must be an angel. 1 know that I am very unceremonious to be talking to you thus. But foim lot us be honest. Do you really on joy the life you lead? I have seen what it is." Miss Bassick turned away her head, ap- parently much embarrassed, and looking for something in the road. "Have you lost anything?" said Mr. Lascelles. " My glove ; I must have dropped it," she replied, in a confused voice, " and yet I had it a moment ago." " I will walk back with you and help you to look for it." 44 1 am afraid it will give you trouble." " None at all." Whereupon Mr. Lascelles went back with Miss Bassick, who led the way to the little nook behind the screen of foli- age, where her companion threw his bri- dle over a bough, and assisted her in her search. " Here it is," he said, spying the small thread glove lying beside the rock where Miss Bassick had rested. He stooped to pick it up ; and as the young lady did so at the same moment, a very simple and natural accident occurred. Their heads came together, and the face of Mr. Las- celles touched the rosy cheek and warm curls of Miss Bassick. Miss Bassick drew back instantly wit i a deep color in her cheeks, and an expres- sion of extreme dissatisfaction. "I really must beg your pardon for my awkwardness," he said, " and hope you will give me an opportunity to make my peace before I go. You must be tired there is an excellent scat." He pointed to the rock covered with moss, and, after a moment's hesitation, the young lady sat down, and Mr. Las- celles took his seat beside her. The color in her cheeks had not quite disappeared yet, ami her eyes \verc cast down. " Yos, I feel very tired; but I ought not to stay long," she said; "Mrs. Arm- strong will require me." . \uain Mr. Lascelles smiled. 44 Yon say w/////v. Are. you Mrs. Armstrong's servant, then ? It is absurd." "1 ;im seaively more," said Miss \\;o- sick, sadly. As she spoke her bosom heaved, and she caught her breath as though to suppress a sob. Her eyes were still hidden by the long silken lasln-s and fixed upon the ground. She was VIRGINIA BollKMIANS. playing with ;i pebble, which she rolled ti> and fro under the point of her small slipper; and Mr. Lascellcs, who was a con- n.)i>s.Mir in female beauty, looked with unconcealed admiration at his companion, taking in everv detail of her face and fig- ure, from the small foot peeping from her skirt to the short curls resting on her white neck, which bent forward with a pathetic grace, as she continued to gaze with half-closed eyes on the moss beside her. " Things were very different once," she murmured, "but I am alone in the world now. My father and mother are both dead, and I have no relatives to give me a home. I am little better than a servant. I would not speak so plainly of myself, but you have seen and understood how I am treated. Let me go now : I am afraid I will burst out crying if I say any more, and that, you know, would make you laugh at me." Miss Bassick put her hand into a side- pocket, and took out a small white hand- kerchief, which she pressed to her eyes. Her voice, as she uttered the last words had sunk to a murmur, and she uttered a slight sob. "Do not mind me I can't help it," she said, raising her beautiful eyes, which were swimming in tears, " but it is very hard to bear. My childhood was sur- rounded by every luxury I never knew what it was to have an unkind word ad- dressed to me and now " She stopped, and turned away her head, letting one of her hands fall hopelessly at her side. Mr. Lascelles took it in his own and kissed it. " You have one friend left, at least !" he said. And Mr. Lascelles was quite in earnest. The very strongest trait in his character was his admiration for female beauty. Women had always exerted a powerful influence over him, and often as his judg- ment had combated his weakness he had never yet succeeded in resisting them ; not that he cared at all for their tears and pathetic speeches those uttered by Miss Bassick had had very little effect upon him. It was the subtle seduction of the female eye and lip which s\va\ ed him; and the absence of these physical attrac- tion-; in the MTene Juliet probably ivprl- led him. In Miss Bassick, on the con- trary, he. found what he wished. Her story about her childhood and past lux- uries, might in- true or falsi her pathetic complaint of her ill-treatment might <r might not be exaggerated but, \vhat was certain was that here was a magnificent young animal, with a pair of eyes \\hieh had some magnetic property about them a face, figure, carriage of the person \\ hieli thrilled him with a vague admiration. It was not by any means their first meeting. They had frequently met in the same purely accidental manner, and with every meeting the subtle charm of her eyes and lips had grown more en- thralling. She was perfectly formal, and had drawn away her hand, as she did now when he took it in his own ; but there were the wonderful, seductive eyes, and the pouting lips, which smiled upon him a moment afterward. They smiled now, as she rose and held out her hand to him. The sun had set, and the rosy flush on the woods was fading. " I must go now," said Miss Bassick, with a timid but caressing glance ; " what would Mrs. Armstrong say if she saw me talking to you here ?" "Let her say what she fancies don't go yet!" exclaimed Mr. Lascelles. "If you only knew how often I have thought of you since that night when you opened the door !" "Of me?' She shook her head. " You must not think of me remem- ber what I am. Think how people would laugh" " What do I care for that : " I remember only one thing shall I tell you what it is ?" She turned her head over her shoulder, and looked at him with an expression which made his pulses throb. "AVhat is itP It was a low murmur. The red lips scarcely moved. 110 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. "That you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen !" he said. Miss Bassick laughed. kk What would Juliet say if she heard you, Mr. Lascelles ?" " I don't know or care," he said, knit- ting his brows. " I shall take care not to tell her," the young lady said. "And now you must really let me go. Think how late it is !" She held out her hand. "Good-bye!" she said. "Will you think me too forward if I tell you some- thing that I am so very glad I met you. It is like a gleam of sunshine." For a moment he held her small, warm hand, and looked at her in silence. Her eyes met his own, and they exchanged a long glance. " Shall I see you again ? I cannot see you yonder," he said, pointing toward Trianon. " Perhaps," she said, laughing. " What do you mean by that ?" " I mean that it is pleasant to walk in the woods here for wild-flowers and fern." The light in the beautiful eyes of Miss Bassick deepened. She looked straight at Mr. Lascelles, and the golden smile made her face a picture. " Are you often near this spot about sunset ?" "Yes." It was a whisper, almost, but Mr. Las- celles heard it quite plainly, and it was evidently all that lie desired. " I shall probably come to see Miss Juliet again the day after to-morrow," 1, "and as I like to be at Wye be- fore night these chill evenings, I shall pass this place on my return about sun- set. Shall I see any one, do you think ?" "Perhaps," repeated Mis* J'>as>iek. The smile was brighter, and the long look caressed him once more. With a little nod Miss Bassick then walked off toward Trianon. Mr. Lascelles stood looking at her until her figure disap- peared, lie then mounted his h..r-e and set out for Wye ; as he did so he muttered, " That girl is a witch ! I really believe I am going to fall in love with her." XXXVI. A STRUGGLE. " NELLY, I am going back home." " Going home !" " Are you very much surprised ? It is time to go back, if I am ever going. I have been here since early in September, and it is nearly winter now." "It is very soon," poor Nelly fal- tered. "It is very late," said Brantz Elliot, moodily. "I ought to have gone home long ago. Well, the bright days always end if they could only stay, Nelly !" They were talking under a huge pine crowning a shoulder of the mountain, with the valley of Bohemia at their feet. A fresh wind made the leaves dance and flutter down. The sky was blue, and slightly veiled by a translucent haze. The far headlands of the Blue Ridge swam in rose-tinted mist, and from time to time the wind ceased, and a breath of warmth pervaded the atmosphere of the mountains. Brantz Elliot had gone out with his gun, but had wandered on aimlessly, quite forgetful of game, and thinking of Nelly. The struggle between his love and pride had long ended. The ine- quality of a union with the poor moun- tain maid had quite ceased to occupy him. He had long banished from his mind the smiles hidden behind fans in the hands of his lady acquaintances tlie sudden change in the conversation when he entered his club all the social aston- ishments and silent protests against so curious a mesalliance. This moved him no more, and rarely even entered his mind. He was thinking of a far more serious matter Nelly's reserve, which plainly in- dicated that there was a more serious ob- stacle her own unwillingness. O It was plain that it would be useless to ask her, and yet he intended to do so. He could not go without telling her, at least, how miieh he loved her; and he had been looking for an opportunity, day after day, until on this morning chance befriended him, and they were alone to- VIRGINIA UoIIKMIANS. Ill Aether. Xelly, thinking that he was far awav in tlic mountain hunting, had strolled out to the knoll, which was not far from the house, and on his return Brant/ Klliot had seen her, and approach- ed her. She was sitting on the brown carpet of pine tags, with one shoulder against the pine, and seemed to have been musing, for she started as he eame up behind her. " If they could only stay, Nelly !" he repeated, mournfully "I mean the bright days ; but they always go. The winter is coming. Look at the trees. My au- tumn's over, and I must go back home. Yes, I must go, Xelly " lie stopped and looked at her, and ex- claimed, taking her hand, "I must go back, Nelly ; but how am I ever to get along without you ?" The words were spoken at last, and seating himself beside the blushing girl, Brantz Elliot pressed the hand he held to is lips. " I know it is no use to talk so, Nelly ; but then I had to tell you this before I went for I am going. I am not much in the way of romance, and all that. I can't make love to you as I've seen it made on the stage, but I can tell you what I have told you, and tell you again, that I don't see how I can go on living without you." "You will do very well without me," poor Nelly faltered out, with a beating heart. Brantz Elliot shook his head and said, "You do not know how much I have come to love you. I think of nothing else. I am a plain sort of fellow, and not up to fancy talk; but if you only knew how I am wrapped up in you, Nel- ly! If you will marry me, I will love you, and be good to you to the last day of your life !" This was not a romantic speech, and did not deal in raptures, neither did the speaker fall upon his knees, or exclaim "Oh!" or "My own darling!" or any- thing of the sort. But his meaning was plain, whether he rolled his eyes or not. He asked Nelly to marry him, telling her that he would he good to her and no lov.-r can make a more rational statement to his sweetheart. "This is foolish i-inui^h, I'm afraid, Xelly," he went on. "You've not look- ed at me lately in a way that made me think you cared much for me. Hut what am I to do? I can't, go without telling you this. I love you more every hour, and have been loving you since that dav when I kissed you at the stream. Do you remember that day? perhaps you have forgotten it; but I ha\.- not. I meant to save you or die with you." "How can I ever forget it? and and I did not mean to look at you as you say I did as if I cared nothing for you !" sobbed Nelly. The young man's face suddenly fln-hed. "Then say yes, Nelly !" he exclaimed; "if you care for me, that settles every- thing. Say you will marry me, Nelly !'' "Oh no, no I ought not to! indeed I ought not to!" the girl exclaimed. " You would not be happy, and I should be miserable if you were unhappy ! I am a poor ignorant girl you would be sorry you had ever seen me I could not bear to have people laugh at you for marrying a poor thing like me. I could not bear that." Brantz Elliot raised his head with a sort of disdain, and said, " Laugh at me ! what do I care for that ? Am I to choose my wife to please a parcel of foolish women all for fear of their gabble? You needn't mind about that. You need never sec them. I'll come and live in the mountain here, unless you fancy going to Europe. Only say you will have me, Nelly ! I love you so dearly ! Tell me I need not go, Xelly. Only tell me that !" lie held both the girl's hands and drew her toward him. Her face was cov- ered with blushes and her eyei >wam in tears. It was a very hard struggle for Nelly loved Brantz Elliot just as dearly as he loved her. If she had followed the impulse of her heart she would have lean- ed her head upon his breast and cried, and said yes ; but, even with this sore tempta- 112 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. tion before her, she thought of the conse- quences to the man she loved. If she married him he would soon grow ashamed of her ; his family would look down upon her; he would regret his union with her and for him to do so, she felt, would break her heart. " Indeed I cannot ! do not ask me !" was all she could say. " But I will ask you, Nelly ! Don't tell me to go. You are the only wife I want, Nelly !" lie put his arms around her neck and drew her close to him as he spoke, and Nelly, worn out by the long struggle, seem- ed about to yield, when a startling and un- unexpected incident ended their interview. Something resembling a wild-cat bounded from behind the pine, and fell on his shoulders. He felt the claws of the animal and his hot breath on his cheek, and with the instinct of the hunter his hand went to the knife in his belt. But as suddenly the hand fell at his side, and, in spite of himself, he burst out laughing. The wild- cat of his fancy was Dash, the favorite deer-hound of Daddy Welles, who, recog- nizing his intimate friend Mr. Brantz El- liot, had leaped on his shoulders to caress him. Dash now gambolled about in a manner indicative of extreme pleasure at the rencontre, and then bounded to meet his master, Daddy Welles, who at that moment came in sight, gun on shoulder. IJrantz Elliot was fond of Daddy Welles, but it is doubtful if he felt much disposi- tion to greet him warmly upon the pres- ent occasion. The Daddy, however, dis- played an amount of cheerfulness, M h.- joined the party, which sufficed for every- body. " Well, here you arc, Nelly, you and Mr. Elliot, and 1 thought you wen- a-hunt- in- fcerf 1 .-aid the Daddy. " \\VI1, well, it's human natur 1 , I s'pose. Young men will be young men, and gals will I 1 was no belter' M the rest of you once on a time. The sight of a petticoat put everything <'lse clean out of my head." Having thus unbosomed himself of his views on the propensities of young pcr- sons, Daddy Welles proceeded to observe that he was going into the mountain t see if he could not pick up a wild-turkej and invited Brantz Elliot to accompan; him. The latter looked at Nelly with faint hope that she would retain him, i only by a look, but this hope was prompl ly dispelled. Nelly said she must g home, as her mother would need her and turning away her head, in order t hide her blushes from Daddy Welles, sh left them and went slowly back in the di rection of home. " A good girl, Nelly there's few lik her," was the fatherly comment of Dadd Welles as he looked after her. " But it* time to git on. The turkeys mostly sta; in the hills across the stream yonder ; an I hope we'll have better luck than som friends of ourn had that night they hunl ed the moonshiners !" Daddy Welles smiled sweetly at th recellection of his ride that night, and h and Brantz Elliot soon disappeared in th pine thicket. XXXVII. THE BOHEMIANS. ON this evening the little family o: wanderers were grouped around a cheei ful fire at Crow's Nest all but Harry He had gone out in the afternoon to fish and as a storm was evidently coming, the were looking for him anxiously : fo some days he had been laboring under very severe cold, and every moment M< us went to the door to see if he was coming The table was set with plates and til ups and knives and forks; the coffee was boiling; the meat was broiling; am over all Mouse presided with a busines air which was impressive. The little on was house -keeper and general manager and her rule was autocratic. She die not tolerate interference, or permit an hivaeh of the rules of good-breedin_ I her request Harry had purchased at Piec mont a small bell, which Mouse proudl placed upon the mantel-piece, as an orna mcnt to and evidence of the respectabilit of the menage. Until this bell sounde< no one presumed to take his seat at th VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 113 able. All waited, however hungry, watch- ng the small autocrat at her work, with .ulmiission. Then when her viands were eadv. Mouse dished them up and placed hem upon the table; still there was no novement. Lastly, Mouse reached upon iptoe to the high mantel-piece and pos- iierself of the bell, rang it cheer- 'ully with a prolonged tingle, as though o summon numerous members of the 'amily from remote apartments of the es- ablishment, and then observed, with a .crious air, "Sit down, gentlemen, wo jannot wait for the lazy people up-stairs. Hie things are getting cold." AVhcre- ipon all would take their seats, and Mouse would preside at the head of the table, jutting the brown sugar into the tin cups vith a pewter spoon, and pouring out the soffee with an air which evidently filled he Lefthander with extreme enjoyment. Mouse, in fact, humanized and amelio- rated all her surroundings. She infused ihe feminine element which households ire the better for when it does not turn jour. As to Mouse, the idea that she jould possibly become sour seemed ab- jurd. She was sunshine incarnate, and it up everybody. She took charge of ihem with a motherly air, and repri- manded and then petted them. They jailed her "Old Lady," and she called ihem her " Big Babies ;" and as she was expert at her needle, and did all the mending, it really did seem as if they were young people who required looking after. As night came on, a huge mass of clouds, as black as ebony, drifted up from the west, and the red glare of the sinking sun lit the valley, turning every- thing crimson. A faint mutter of thun- der rolled through the gorges like the angry growl of a wild animal, and from time to time vivid flashes of lightning revealed every feature of the wild land- scape slowly disappearing in the darkness. Mouse went to the door and looked out, again. " I wish Harry would come," she said, in a low tone. " There is going to be a storm. How black it looks !" 8 Then she suddenly recoiled. A Hash of lightning, so da/x.ling that it Minded her, lit up the \\h>I- valley and the Hlue Ridge opposite, and a crash of thunder followed. Then the storm and a torrent of rain, driven by a wind, lashed the mountains. "Oh, why don't Harry come?" exclaimed, looking and listening. As she spoke a step was heard on the porch, and Harry came in, completely drenched. Mouse rushed to him. " You have got yourself wet, you bad, disgraceful boy !" she exclaimed. " You promised me you wouldn't." "I didn't mean to break my promise; I couldn't help it, Mouse." "You always have excuses," said the autocrat, " There, you are coughing your cold is worse. Sit down here at once and let me dry you." Mouse drew off his coat, which she hung close to the fire, and taking a blan- ket from her pallet wrapped it around his shoulders. She then directed him to take the scat which she drew up ; he sat down submissively, and Mouse proceeded to scold. " Well, let him off this time," said the Lefthander ; " he sha'n't do so any more. Why, you have a bad cough, sure enough," he added to Harry. " Bad enough." The words were followed by a long, hoarse fit of coughing, at the end of which Harry shivered a little, although his face seemed to indicate fever. In a moment, however, he seemed at his ease again, and the bell having been formally rung by Mouse, they sat down and ate their supper. Thereafter the Lefthander lit his pipe and smoked contemplatively, gazing with much satisfaction at Mouse, who, having cleared away the tab! seated opposite, mending one of Gentle- man Joe's two or three shirts. It was a cheerful group. These poor Bohemians, mere waifs of humanity with- out a resting-place, had made something like a home here in the lonely house in the hills. There was little beyond the bare walls, and the panes rattled in the 114 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. gusts dashing the rain against them ; without, all was darkness and chill up- roar, but within the fire burned cheerily, and was reflected from the faces of the wanderers. It was their home, this poor shelter all they had in the world. The w r aves of fate had cast them ashore here, and, like shipwrecked mariners, they hail- ed their good fortune, looking on that side of things, not on the darker side. Others had elegant houses, and rich car- pets, and warm curtains, and soft beds. They had only this deserted shell, with the bare floors and the broken panes, and hard mattresses, but they were content. And was it. not enough? Is there not, after all, something attractive in such re- moteness in exemption from the de- mands of " society " and the world the great world, as it is called, perhaps be- cause it is so little ? No wearying claims of artificial life, no mask on the features that the lurking glance that watches may not read the thought of the mind, the emotion of the heart; life under the sky, and in the free sunshine, with some- thing seen, in the tranquil days, beyond the sky and the sunshine ! Harry had drawn up to the fire and warmed himself, and the little family made a cheerful semicircle in front of the blaze, which roared up the chimney in triumph, though the storm was roaring louder still without. " Winter's coming," said the Left- hander, after musing for some moments, "and we'll have to look out for a better place than this." " Yes, this is sad, very sad," said Gen- tleman Joe, dreamily ; " but what are we to do ?" "The troupe," said MOUM-. The Lefthander uttered a grunt, and said, " I thought you had given up that idea, Mignon." "<ii\cn it up!" cried Mouse, pinning her work to her knee. "You a: much mistaken. I dream about that monkey, and I've arranged everything. You're to be the clown, Gentleman Joe, and make people laugh, and Harry and you, poppa, will perform the tricks, and maybe I'll dance the rope, as well as car ry round the tambourine." " No, I don't mean you shall dance any more, Mouse," said the Lefthander, " there's been enough of that. Yoo teased me till I let you do it once; bu you're too little ; that's come to an end.' "Little!" said Mouse. "Yes, I'm lit tie, more's the pity, but I'm not so little that I can't do my part." " You do a great deal far more thai your part, Mignon ; and I really thinl we are having a better time here than w( had with the circus. It was easier living with eight hundred dollars a month foi swinging on the trapeze and lifting but then there were the bar-rooms. As lon( as I was there I couldn't keep away fron? the bar-rooms, and that was bad, Mignon Now I never go near them, or drink any thing at all. I've cut loose from the tin rivalled Combination, and so have you You'll ndt dance any more. If you bother we'll get up the little troupe and kav you behind !" [| " Leave me behind !" Mouse exclaimed in immense derision ; " and what do yol think would become of you, if I was no with you to take care of you ?" I The Lefthander grunted. As he look ed at the child, his rugged features gre? soft. A quiet smile just moved his hugl mustache, and he said, "Well, that's true I really neve thought of that. I suppose, after all. we'] have to take you along." " I should think you would !" Mous said, with a lofty air. " It's as much a I can do to keep you all straight now If you wandered off, there's no tell in; what would happen to you without me." " That's true, Lefthander," said Gentle man Joe. "We can't leave Mouse. \ l'>r my good spirits if I didn't see Mniis every day." " You seem to have lost them any way, was the rejoinder. " You've been mopini lately. Come, laugh a little for us, Gel tleman Joe ! I like to hear you laugh." At this Gentleman Joe shook his hea sadly. VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 115 "I sec t<>o many things that make me sorrowful," he said. "The pines talk t<> ne, too, and seem to bend to me and vhisper sometimes, as if they had some- t toll me." Tin* Lefthander exchanged a glance vith Harry, who looked much depressed. Then the mice in the walls seem t<> [now me and talk to me," said Gentle- nan Joe, looking dreamily into the fire. ' Squeak ! squeak !' they go, just as they lid when I used to listen to them." " Do you mean here. Gentleman Joe ?" " Here or somewhere I don't know xaetly where ; my memory is weak. Yes, lere or somewhere. * Squeak ! squeak !' Vnd then the pines they are never done whispering to me, day and night." Gentleman Joe was often in these moods now, and would remain in them or days at a time, during which he scarce- y spoke to anybody, but went wandering ,bout the vicinity with the air of a per- on looking for something. Then, at ome chance speech or jest recalling his ife with the circus, and some odd inci- ient, he would suddenly brighten up, ut- er a hearty laugh, and fall to grimacing ifter his old fashion. These mirthful utbursts were growing, however, more nd more unusual, and his friends endeav- >red in vain to ascertain the cause of his epression. lie either could not or vould not explain. His replies were ei- her evasive or indicative of inability to Account for his moods. He had the cun- ting of half-witted persons, and might be oncealing something, but. it was just as >robable that his apparent recollection of ivents and persons associated with the brow's Nest house were vague fancies nere imaginations of a mind clouded vith the mists of unreason. " Well, well," the Lefthander said, in eply to Gentleman Joe's last words, " let he mice squeak, and the wind blow in he pine-trees they do nobody any harm, f they are not agreeable, you can always :o away and pay somebody a visit. There's Daddy Welles and little Nelly hey'll keep you in good spirits." " Nelly ? Oh yes, Nelly !" (ieiitleiuan Joe's face lit up with a smile. "Nelly's like the sun shining," 1: " I don't mind the miee s-jneakin^ when I'm thinking about Nelly." "You certainly are '_ r "d friends, and it is easy to see how fund >f YOU she i>." "Tin glad of that," the' old fellow said, with a bright smile on his fae,-; "and Daddy Welles, too he is an esti- mable man, though perhaps he hunts too much by moonshine." To these words the Lefthander made no reply. He had never told Mouse of his connection with the moonshiners, re- sulting from that night meeting with them in the mountain. A very few words from Daddy Welles had induced him to join them. The little family was coming to want, and the Lefthander did not hesitate. And the worthy moon- shiners looked upon him now as a most important acquisition. Resolute, power- ful, a man to " count on," as a glance at his face showed, he had become a sort of leader with them, and infused new en- ergy into their illegal occupation. And it must be said he enjoyed his new pursuits. He was tired of idleness. The profits, too, were very considerable, for the illicit spirit was sent in all directions, and dis- posed of readily, and the Lefthander's pockets, growing painfully empty when he went to set his traps that night, were now full of bank-notes. Both Gentleman Joe and Harry were in the secret, but not Mouse. Why had he concealed it from the child ? It was difficult to say. The Lefthander acted largely from a sort of instinct. The moonshine business was illegal it was not regarded by strict moralists as very creditable. Mouse, therefore, should have nothing to do with it, and not even know of his connection with the moonshiners. The star lighting up the little company of wanderers was to stay where it be- longed in the pure upper air. Rugged natures often have these finer insti: The Lefthander had been enabled thus to provide for the Crow's Nest house- hold ; but the time was near when this 116 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. resource would probably fail. With winter the manufacture of the whiskey would be discontinued ; and then reports were rife that the government officers were coming back when there would be trouble. The report had reached Piedmont that a company of mounted regulars would harry the mountain, and then something very unpleasant would no doubt ensue. Arrests would take place, perhaps, and among the persons arrested there might be a certain indi- vidual called the Lefthander. The rest would follow imprisonment, trial, and a term of years in prison, perhaps. Then what would become of Mopse ? " I wouldn't like that," the Lefthander muttered, after a pause: he had fallen into a reverie and thought of all this now. " After all, I like a wandering life, and Mouse is right. The troupe is the right thing." As he spoke a knock came at the door, and a voice without cried, "Can you give a poor man shelter, friends?" XXXVIII. FLOTSAM. THE Lefthander rose, and went and opened the door. The rain, driven by the wind, dashed in his face and nearly blinded him ; but through the cloud he could see a man in rags, with a bundle on his back hanging from a stout stick. " Who are you?" said the Lefthander. "A poor man nigh starved and wet to the skin, and lookin' for a shelter," said the man. The Lefthander opened the door wide. "Come in," he said; "this is the place." The man came in and drew near the fire, ducking his head to the company. !! was a Wiry-looldilg fellow <>f middle age, with a rough beard and imisladi.-, sharp eyes, and the expression of the houseless vagabond. II U divss had reached the last stages of dilapidation, and seemed to be held together b\ innate principle of cohesion. One of the skirts of his shabby old coat had disaj peared, and his knees were covered wit patches. His bony wrists ended in clav like hands, and his naked toes protrude through his worn boots. His hat was rag : he seemed to have no shirt. H was a vagabond, and a thoroughly drencl ed one. || " Sit down and warm yourself," th Lefthander said ; " then we'll give yo some supper." Mouse placed meat, bread, and the r< mainder of the coffee on the table, an the tramp ate ravenously, grinning as h did so. When he had finished his me* he drew a long breath of satisfaction, an coming closer to the fire, said, "That's the sort o' thing that sets feller up." " Where are you from ?" said the Left hander, looking fixedly at him. " Well, I'm from Philadelfy, and m name is Rooney Ruggles," he said, grii ning. "I'm what they call a tramp, guess." " What brought you south ?" " Want o' work." " The old cry," said the Lefthander. The tramp grinned again, and warme his hands at the blaze. " That's so," he said, " and there'll b trouble about it. If a honest man got to starve, him and his famuly, he' jest as leave fight. Things '11 have change, or we'll change 'em and do pretty quick." As the Lefthander continued to sin ok with a meditative air, the visitor was ev dently encouraged to further unbosoj himself, and said, " What right have the rich swells 1 ride over poor people? They sit in the fine houses and drink their wine, and ric in their carriages, and take life eas' while better men 'n they are don't have bone to pick, or a kennel to lay down 1 at night ! 1 say, down with 'em ! Tn yer boy. I'm up to anything, from set tin lire to a wheat-stack to burnin' a fact'rj Let 'em look out ! Jest take a good loO at me, mate. I've been a-starvin' an a-sleepin' in barns all along the road !" VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 117 He had set the remainder of his coffee y the fire to warm. He now raised it > his lips, and said, grinning, " Here's down with the swells! Cuss in. let '.-in look out!" As the Lefthander continued to smoke, i bond went on, gazing around him a he spoke. " You're tramps, too, to judge from the >ok o' things. We're the right sort o' cople. We don't wear fine clothes and ok down on a honest man. Things ught to be divided sheer and sheer alike, [ake it a law a man sha'n't own mor'n a atch o' land. Make the big-bugs stand jout and take off ther coats and go to ork. They've got to do it, or the amps '11 know the reason what do you iv, mate ?" " I say you are talking bosh," said the jfthander, coolly, " and that men like >u are making trouble. I heard you rough, and if it was worth while I ould tell you, you talk like a fool ! You *te the rich people, and mean to rob lem if. you can, because you are the rongcst. What has that got to do with ? I can pick you up and toss you irough that window I am stronger lan you are. What right have I to do tat 2" The tramp's countenance fell. He had T idently blundered ; and a glance at the Dnderous frame of the Lefthander was ddently not reassuring. " You talk of burning wheat-stacks and ctories," said the Lefthander; "why 't you go and work in the wheat-field r the factory instead? The ground is Dnder in the West, and labor is needed, istead of working, you tramps sit on the nee, and sneak and beg." The tramp did not reply. His elo- lence had all disappeared. A man's money is his own," the Left- inder added ; " he either made it, or some- xly made it for him. If you take it pay from him you are a thief, and a eak too. Don't -be that, if you must sal. Go on the road and put a five- looter to the rich man's head, and take is purse it's more respectable." Suddenly the tramp's fare expanded into a grin, and he exclaimed, " Well, you're right, mate, and I was only jokin'. Hum a wheat-stark ! You didn't, really think I was in cannM .' Rooney Ruggles ain't the man to be diu' that, and as to Ji ve-shooters and stoppiiT people, that's out o' my line entirely." "Yes, I think it is," said the Lefthand- er, somewhat disgusted with his visitor; "if I was one of the rich people you stopped on the road it wouldn't take me long to do for you." This remark w r as open to criticism, per- haps, as being more frank than polite ; but the Lefthander was plainly tired of the vulgarity of his guest. His eyebrows shut down a little, and the tramp saw that ominous sign. He renewed his dec- laration that he was only joking, and then asked whether he could lie down. The Lefthander pointed to one of the mattresses, and the tramp went and brought it. Then the rest were spread, as the hour was late, and soon afterward the whole party were stretched upon them and asleep. For about an hour there was a pro- found silence in the house, and nothing was heard but the plashing of the rain without. Then the tramp raised his head slowly and looked cautiously around him. The whole party were plainly asleep their long breathing indicated that and rising on his elbow, then on his knees, the tramp dragged himself cautiously toward the Lefthander, and looked at him. lie was in a dead slumber, and with rapid and skilful hands the vagabond searched all his pockets. This was done in a very few moments, and the result was an ex- pression on the tramp's countenance of the greatest disappointment, lie had found nothing but a knife, and a pocket- book with some money in it, which he re- stored untouched and from this it seem- ed that Mr. Rooney Rug_ more honest than he professed to be. After his stealthy search for something which he expected to find, apparently, but did not find, on the person of the Left- hander, the tramp dragged himself back 118 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. to his mattress, looking around him as he did so. The result seemed discouraging. The apartment was perfectly bare there was absolutely no place whatever to con- ceal anything. He then lay down on his mattress, closed his eyes, and after awhile fell asleep. On the next morning, which was quite bright, Mr. Kooney Ruggles rose much refreshed, partook of breakfast, and stated his intention of applying for work in the neighborhood. Did anybody really think that he was in earnest about the wheat- stacks? lie would scorn it, and meant to live by the sweat of his brow. " It is better," said the Lefthander, scn- tentiously. "I mean to do it, mate, for I'm a hon- est man," said Mr. Ruggles. And having swung his stick with the bundle over his shoulder, Mr. Ruggles grinned amicably, and took his departure. Three days after this scene, Harry tried to raise his head from the pillow one morning and could not do so. He w r as a vigorous youth, but there are enemies which spare no class. One of these ene- mies is pleuro-pneumonia. XXXIX. SHINGLES. OWING, apparently, to admiration for the scenery of the mountains, and no doubt inspired by an ambition to earn his li\ing houe>tly, Mr. Rooney Ruggles, af- ter leaving Crow's Nest, stopped at the fir.4 house he saw to ask for work. This happened to be the residence of Mr. Gibbs, the manager of the Falling Wa- ter estate; and chancing to find Mr. (iil)bs in an uncommonly good humor, he preferred his request under favorable cir- cumstances. Looking at his rags, Mr. Gibbs at tir-t hesitated, whereupon Mr. Ru^ls uiv\\ painfully modest and submissive. This conciliated Mr. Gibbs, and Mr. Ki]u r u:l then made a plausible speech. II.- Wtt poor but honest he was a lover of law and order. His clothes were poor enough, but they were good enough to work in. All he wanted was a job, and he would ijive satisfaction or leave at once. This was straightforward talk, and Mr. Gibbs invited him in to dinner. Beef and turnips having further ameliorated the sentiments of Mr. Gibbs, he asked what his guest was good for? He was mainly good for shingles, Mr. Ruggles re- sponded ; that was his trade where he came from. But he was willing to do anything. As to pay, he would not ex- pect much. All he wanted was to make an honest living, and have enough to eat, and any sort of farm work But Mr. Gibbs rcconducted the conver- sation to shingles. He required a largi number to reshingle his barn, and con- cluded an agreement; and on that very day Mr. Haggles went to work. Mr. Ruggles evidently understood hii trade. Having been provided with an axe, a drawing-knife, a crosscut-saw, and an assistant in the shape of a youthful African, he repaired to the wootl-. structed a work-bench, and proceeded td fell the timber and saw it into proper] lengths. This effected, he informed Mr. Gibbs that he required no further a '.st- ance ; and splitting up his blocks, he was soon surrounded with piles of shavings and shingles, which the manager in rounds surveyed with much satisfaction. On these occasions Mr. Ruggles was al ways found extremely busy, and was eveii unaware, from absorption in his work, ofl Mr. Gibbs' s approach until he was cloi behind him and accosted him. This as- siduity produced a good impressionJ Here was a treasure; and Mr. Gibbs COM tinued his rounds with a high opinion oil his employe's industry. As soon, however, as Mr. < Iil>bs was outl of Mu'lit, Mr. Riiggk-s would yield t<> rev- erie. His drawing-knife would cease produce shavings, and sometimes lie! would rise and wander away, looking at the trees with the air 6f an expert decicH inuj upon the adaptation of certain giant! of the wood to the purpose of shinglesJ These tour, , of inspection would generally VIRGINIA lead him toward Crow's Nest. Here he would sometimes iind Gentleman Joe and fthander sometimes only one of them at other times neither of them. Finding them at home, the visitor would enter into friendly conversation, and men- tion with honest pride that he had just finished a lot of live thousand superior shingles for Mr. Gibbs's barn, and liked the neighborhood so well that he thought he would take up his permanent residence in it. Finding his hosts absent, he did not at once retire, and seemed, indeed, to think that the next best thing to seeing them was to see how they were getting along. There was a lock on the door, of which either the Lefthander or Gentleman Joe always kept the key ; but Mr. Ruggles re- garded the fact as unimportant. The back window afforded a perfectly con- venient means of entrance ; and, availing himself of it, he reached the interior with- out the least difficulty. On such occa- sions his proceedings were curious. He seemed to be inspecting the establishment with the view of renting it. He survey- ed every object around him with great in- terest the blankets, the walls, and the floor. Neither of the latter seemed to meet wholly with his approval. Where there was a hole in the plaster of the room he examined it, inserting his claw-like fin- gers into the cavity ; but for the absurd- ity of the idea, one might have supposed that Mr. Ruggles was looking for some- thing. Where the planks of the floor were in like manner defective, and an orifice appeared, Mr. Ruggles repeated his examination, as though speculating upon the expense of improving the premises, previous to which he apparently consider- ed it desirable to remove any rubbish be- neath, which he proceeded to do by in- serting his arm up to the shoulder, and feeling about under the flooring. The result of these inspections had not appeared satisfactory, and he had ascended to the upper rooms, where he displayed re- doubled interest in every object. A dark closet full of dust and broken bottles aroused his attention, but ended in be- ll'.i coming a subject of indifference. He then sounded the plastering, to ascertain, probably, if the hou.se was well-built the. conclusion being, to judge from the dis- satisfaction on his countenance, that it was not. After three visits of this de- scription, during which every part of the premises, including the out-houses, were subjected to an exhaustive examination, Mr. Rooney Ruggles ceased to enter through the back window, or in any other manner, and had evidently made up his mind not to rent the establish- ment as a residence for himself and his family. Occasional cessation of the work of shingle -making seemed, however, to be necessary to the well-being of Mr. Rug- gles, who evidently liked variety, and a little recreation now and then. This craving induced him to absent himself at intervals, with the concurrence of Mr. Gibbs, and visit Piedmont for the pur- pose of lounging on the tavern porch there. He was not regarded as a va- grant by the landlord. He had recon- structed his habiliments until they ap- proached the limits of respectability, and patronized the bar in a creditable man- ner. He never exceeded or was boister- ous. He took his drink like a gentle- man, the landlord declared, and was a genial sort o' feller, who never liked to drink by himself. He was, indeed, re- markably jovial and friendly on such oc- casions, and anybody could see that he w r as an honest, open-hearted person, of social tastes and generous disposition. He asked a great many questions, and seemed to take interest in everything and everybody. He himself was a stranger he had come from the West, he said. lie liked the Virginians; they were a healthy, hearty sort of people. There was one man he had seen in the town who was worth looking at a big man with black eyebrows and a heavy beard: did any- body know him ? Thence information, communicated by one of the tavern-loungers. The big man had been a circus man. He lived some- where up in Bohemia. He had quarrel- 120 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. led with old Brownson, of Brownson's Unrivalled Combination, and be and a child of his had left the company, and he, the lounger, had met them. The big man asked where he could find a night's lodging without going to the tavern ; had been informed that Parson Grantham never turned anybody away ; and he sup- posed they had spent the night at the parson's. On the next morning they had gone away, as nobody saw them again the big man might have got into trouble for striking old Brownson and that was all that he knew about him. Mr. Ruggles listened with a careless air, said he supposed that was the reason the big man had gone off ; and strolling idly away, reached the suburbs where Mr. Grantham's house was situated. He had been directed to it by a citizen whom he met, and was about to open the small gate when he seemed to change his mind. Perhaps the subject of shin- gles suddenly occurred to him, and, with the natural solicitude of an honest man, he felt that he ought to return to the hills, and add to the pile already stand- ing neatly arranged in rectangular fashion in the woods. Something certainly did cause him great preoccupation of mind, and this apparently led to his taking the wrong path. Having left the town, he did not proceed in the direction of the Gap, but toward Wye, the vicinity of which he reached in the afternoon just as the sun was sinking. 1I<- ascertained the exact time by looking at a handsome gold watch which he drew from a private pocket, and the time of his arrival seemed to afford him satisfaction. He was in a glade in the woods between two rows of large oaks within sight of the house when he looked at his watch, and stood there for some moments, apparently admiring the largo establishment. As he was thus engaged, Mr. Douglas Lascelles, who had been accidentally look- ing from an upper window in this precise direction, at this precise hour, issued from the front door of the mansion, cane in hand, and carelessly strolled through tin- grounds until he reached the glade in which Mr. Rooney Ruggles was stand- ing. The appearance of the tramp tres- passing upon the Wye grounds did not seem to excite as much indignation in Mr. Lascelles as might have been expect- ed. Indeed, the expression of the gen- tleman's countenance was rather one of animation and inquiry. He even made a sign of intelligence to Mr. Rooney Ruggles, and they retired together into the depths of the woods, conversing guardedly as they went. XL. A SLIGHT SILHOUETTE OF MISS GRUNDY. As Mr. Ruggles left Piedmont, the Tri- anon carriage drove past him, and entered the main street. It contained Mrs. Ann- strong and Juliet, and they had come to shop, in which delightful occupation they were soon engaged. Drawing up in front of Messrs. Smith & Jones's, they entered, and subjected the fall goods to a careful examination. Nearly the whole stock was assiduously displayed upon the counter, and an hour was spent in rear- ranging them after the ladies' departure. But then Mrs. Armstrong purchased two spools of sewing-silk, and was bowed out to her carriage with distinguished con- sideration. She then proceeded in a sort of tri- umphal progress through the town, stop- ped at numerous shops, where she made small and discreet purchases, and ended by visiting her milliner, whose new hats she tried on, but did not purchase one. All this consumed an hour or two, and the sun was now declining; so the lady and her daughter re-entered the carriage to return to Trianon. They had just taken their seats, and the carriage was about to move off, when a girlish voice near them exelaimcd, " You really must not go before I speak to you, dear Mrs. Armstrong." The lady turned her head, and uttered a profound sigh, which was followed by a radiant smile. VIRGINIA BOllKMIANS. 121 Miss (Irundy !" she exclaimed, " I am -ally charmed to sec you." Whereupon the person addressed eame > and pressed the hand, extended through ie window. Miss Grundy was a maiden of perhaps iirtv-ti\f summers, which, robbing her iceks somewhat of their youthful bloom, lored it to the point of her nose. ut any one could sec that the perennial irlhood of her disposition defied the : years, and that her feelings were ifantile in their sweetness and freshness. lie was dressed in the height of the fash- n, and could scarcely walk, she was pull- I back so tightly. A little chip -hat, ich as is worn by school - girls, rested jon her curls they were from the milli- er's, but then they were just the color to atch. Her gait w r as gentle and timid, er smile full of a caressing ardor; as she 3oke to Mrs. Armstrong and Juliet, she Denied ready to clasp them in her arms rom pure girlish impulse. " Dear Mrs. Armstrong !" said Miss rundy, " you and Miss Juliet really look larming. I never saw such roses !" " How you do natter people, dear Miss rnindy," said Mrs. Armstrong, with her weetest smile. "You must not say that I never flat- er ; what a lovely day " "Quite charming. We came to town o look at the new goods. But what is ie use of doing so ? The times are so earfully hard. Our few small invest- nents scarcely bring in anything. Poor uliet has not even a winter hat ; and as o myself, I am positively in rags, Miss rrundy !" Mrs. Armstrong smoothed down her ich silk, which was loaded with lace, assing her hand as she did so over a ocket-book in her side-pocket, which had very considerable number of bank-notes nit. 14 Yes, positively in rags ; and how we re to live I don't know ! You seem so rosperous in Piedmont ! What a lovely carf you have on! But you always ress in such exquisite taste, Miss Grundy ! )o come and see us we are so lonely at Trianon ! Drive on, William, or we shall not be home in time l'r Ira. Do como and we us, dear Mi-s (irundy; \\- shall enjoy it so much; wr ha\- BO li 1 ciety : be sure and romr ! (,',<.,! And the carriage l>ore the lady away. As soon as there was a c.>i^ideraMe in- terval between herself and Mi>s (irundy, Mrs. Armstrong drew a lon^, divp bivath, apparently of relief. Then a heavenly smile expanded upon her countenance, and she said, " What a horrid old thing ! Just think of her girlish airs. She's forty if she's a day, and such a fearful old chatterbox ! She would have stood there for hours and talked me to death, but I did not allow her to say a word ! I saw her catch her breath she was ready to burst I really did not feel safe until the carriage moved." And Mrs. Armstrong positively laughed aloud at the success of her diplomacy. She then assumed a tragic expression, and said, " To think you might grow like Miss Grundy, my love ! and have a pinched old nose, and a dreadful scarf like that on your bony old shoulders, and pass your time in tittle-tattle and picking people to pieces ! For heaven's sake, just think of it, and do not run the risk. You know what I mean, dearest ! When I die you cannot live by yourself at Trianon, and may be compelled to come and live at Piedmont. Would you like that?" "No, I should not like it In the least, mamma," said Juliet. "Then you really ought to take steps to avoid it, dear. Don't you think it would be better to spend your winters in Paris, and your summers shall I go on 2" " Yes, mamma." "And your summers at Wye?" Miss Juliet looked out of the window, and did not reply. This was a habit with her, and her mamma did not furl! lude to her darling scheme. 1 had told her that it wa- tempt to worry her Juliet into anything, and she wisely changed the subject by exclaiming, with a smile which showed her still beautiful teeth, 122 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " Was there ever such a fright as that old Miss Grundy, with her red nose and her fearful scarf, and that simper on her face ? she gives me a chill ! Just as sure as we are sitting here she has gone back home, and is tearing our characters to pieces, Juliet." IIar>h as these views in reference to Miss Grundy may appear, we regret to say they were fully justified by the young lady ; for Miss Grundy's life was absorb- ed in attention to the affairs of her neigh- bors. She had been a blooming girl once, with a pretty face, and a zest for some- thing better than tittle-tattle ; but gradu- ally the bloom disappeared, her visitors fell off, her suitors she had had them cooled, and she was quite deserted. This arose from a want of skill on Miss Grun- dy's part; she unfortunately allowed some traits of her character, which she thought were concealed, to reveal them- selves. It is difficult to define the traits in question without using harsh expres- sions; let us call one of them indirect- ness. She liked to act to smile upon people and caress them, and then go away and blacken their characters. She dearly loved a dish of scandal, and con- cocted it from the slenderest materials. "When facts were wanting, she took ref- uge in her imagination. Her curiosity was iimrbid, and her suspicion immense; and if there was anything to be known, she would know it by some means; and what she could not discover or accomplish by direct means she accomplished indi- rectly. She had a taste for indirectness, ami was sly by nature, finesse was her life a canker eating into her whole char- acter. She liked to be roundabout and secret in her movements that fooled people. Unluckily she ended by com- pletely fooling herself. People crossed the street to avoid meeting and convers- ing with the smiling Miss (irun.ly. Her MM red and pinched. Her pretty figure had grown bony. She was very, very girlish still, but people laughed. In a philosophic point of view Miss Grundy's life had been a failure. After leaving Mrs. Armstrong, or rather being left by her, Miss Grundy raised th< train of her pull-back dress with a girli. air, and proceeded to the store of Me-si Smith & Jones, where she made minut inquiries of a young clerk, whom she oc casionally invited to tea, as to Mrs. ArmH strong's purchases. Having been inform-] ed by the smirking youth that Mrs. had bought two spools of sewing - sill Miss Grundy smiled, and called upon Mi Wilkes, the milliner, where she found that Mrs. Armstrong had not purchased a wii ter hat; and then, having ascertain* what she wished to know, she went bad to her small home in the suburbs, whei she found a friend who had dropped ii to tea a young lady with tastes siniih to her own. "Warm kisses and embraces were ex- changed between the maidens, and Mis Grundy said, as they sat down to tea, " That old thing, Mrs. Armstrong, wj in town to-day. I never saw such aii and graces, and such overdressing and! in the worst taste, my dear the very] worst taste you can imagine !" Miss Grundy was accustomed to pro-l ceed steadily when she talked, without much regard to pauses, and to catch her breath at intervals, apparently to avoid) being interrupted. "I really have no patience with these I people they are nothing but sham and! just as mercenary oh ! it really is awful they are doing all they can to catch! that horrid Douglas Lascelles though the way I hear that girl goes on ought to open his eyes, and I don't believe he has the least idea of marrying her." Miss Grundy drew a deep breath; andl finding that her friend was about to re- ply, exclaimed, "Just think, that old thing turned over all the goods at Smith iv Jones's, and then bought only two spools of sewing- silk, they told me and nothing at all at Mrs. AYilkes's there was nothing good enough for her, I suppose for she really thinks she is above us, and looks down on us poor people in Piedmont as if we were dirt beneath her feet I assure you she does." VIUCIMA P.OIIKMIANS. 123 The maiden visitor slowly shook her end, and as she was sitting near tin- tea- ot she poured out, in an absent ami pre- upied manner, a third cup of tea for herself, and said that she never had had tieh opinion of Mrs. Armstrong. "Opinion of her!'' exclaimed Miss rundy, "who can have any, dear? her shameful treatment of that sweet Mi-s Bassick would be enough if there was othing else it really is disgusting! 'Cinda >he's the maid, you know, and used to live with us came and told me everything, and anything more shocking than the way she goes on with that sweet young thing could not be imagined I assure you, on my word, my dear, it could not be imagined. Just to think ! she beats her positively beats her, and then locks her up on bread-and-watcr in the garret till the poor dear thing is nearly starved ! And then to come, after such disgraceful if| conduct, sailing into town with her silks oil and satins, and her daughter dressed up like a peacock, with her smirks and sim- pers, and her airs and graces, while that poor Miss Bassick is locked up in the garret !" The maiden friend shook her head with deep solemnity, and as her cup was empty she casually refilled it it was her fourth. "Is it possible, my dear?" she said. 11 Oh, it can't be possible !" " But 'Cinda told me all about it, and you know that she would never have said so if it was not true yes, poor Miss Bas- sick ! I pity her, and no one but a tyrant would be cruel to a helpless, inoffensive girl the best and sweetest creature in the world, as you can see from her face, and" " People say she's sly," said a thin, piping voice with a shake in it which voice came from the chimney-corner, where the half-palsied old aunt was nod- ding over her knitting. Miss Grundy's face suddenly flushed with displeasure. As she, Miss Grundy, was the owner of the house, and her aunt lived with her, this ill-bred intrusion and virtual contradiction very naturally excited her indignation. "Miss l>assiek ,v///.'" she exclaimed. "I really would be glad t know what you mean." 1 44 She's a sly one, they d say," piped the thin voice in reply. " I've hi-ard it said she's a >ly, designing ereaturV At this Mi>s ( Inmdy's indignation o\. r- tlowed, and she frankly stated her opinion of those people who regarded nothing a-> sacred, and wantonly repeated ev.-ry id!.. and ill-natured word, every vulgar dal, tending to the injury of oth< ; such a thing were tolerated, no one \\a- safe. To call Miss Bassick //// with that heavenly face! It really was too bad ! Would the aged lady kindly con- tinue her knitting, and not interpose with such ill-natured snarls? which she was sorry to have to use the word were quite, disgusting. Miss Grundy, to be brief, fell into a good, wholesome fit of anger. " Miss Bassick is an angel, and her life is made a burden to her 'Cinda savs so !" she exclaimed ; " and I shouldn't wonder if that frumpy old creature has gone back, and is storming at the sweet dear thing at this very moment." Now it really was singular that some- thing of that sort was occurring at Tria- non. Mrs. Armstrong had told Juliet that Miss Grundy would go off and pick her character to pieces ; and Miss Grundy now intimated the possibility of a slight misunderstanding bet ween Mrs. Armstrong and Miss Bassick. The two ladies seem- ed to appreciate each other. XLI. MISS BASSICK'S PRIVATE POST. As the Trianon carriage drove into the grounds, on its return from Piedmont, the two ladies observed that a h-r- standing at the rack, and this they recog- nized as belonging to Mr. La-cellrs. The carriage rolled up to the door, and as it did so the keen eyes of Mix Arm- strong saw a shadow pass across the win- dows of the drawing-room; the lamps were not lit, but a fire was burning in the 124 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. apartment; and as the front -door was open, this shadow was seen to disappear silently up the staircase, taking as it did so the graceful shape of Miss Bassick. A moment afterward Mr. Douglas Lascelles came out of the drawing-room, and assist- ed the ladies to descend from their car- riage. Mrs. Armstrong rustled in, expressing warmly her pleasure at the gentleman's visit she was so glad he had waited; would he excuse her while she went up- stairs to take off her wrappings? Juliet would stay and entertain him what a charming evening ! And then, beaming outwardly, but internally raging, Mrs. Armstrong went up-stairs. She did not go to her own apartment but to Miss Bassick's, and there she found the young lady seated by her little table industrious- ly sewing, and looking innocent. Mrs. Armstrong, having entered the room, stood looking silently at Miss Bas- sick. She gasped a little her feelings seemed to overcome her. She had plain- ly seen Miss Bassick flit by the drawing- room windows and up the staircase, and she was naturally outraged by this sud- den fit of industry. " Miss Bassick !" she said. "Yes, ma'am," said Miss Bassick, meekly. u Will you be good enough to inform me why you were in the drawing-room just now ?" "In the drawing-room, ma'am !" ex- claimed Miss Bassick, with an air of heav- enly innocence. u Yes, mitt 1 I will make, my meaning plainer, if you desire it. What wuv YOU doing in the drawing-room? Replacing Juliet and myself with Mr. Lascelles?" " Krplariii'j; you with Mr. Lascelles, ma'am !" "You dare to deny it?" "Oh, Mm Armstrong!" tfisi ras>k-k drew forth her handker- chief and wiped her eyes. Her innocence was touching. She seemed to be over- whelmed with sorrow and surprise at such an accusation, and cooed in her low, sweet voice, " I should never think of doing such a thing, Mrs. Armstrong !" Thereat the elder lady quite lost her temper. " I saw you !" she exclaimed ; " I saw you as you ran out of the room and up the staircase, you designing thing ! You were in the drawing-room sitting there with Mr. Lascelles ! Two of the chairs were drawn up close to each other! do you hear what I say, miss ? nearly touch- ing each other ; and you occupied one of them !" At this very rude and unfeeling insinu- ation Miss Bassick sniffed, and exhibited an intention to dissolve into tears. " How could you think of such a thing, ma'am ?" sobbed Miss Bassick, wiping her eyes. "Persons are not obliged to think, or exercise their imaginations as to your proceedings, miss !" said Mrs. Armstrong. " You were there in that drawing-room ! you were seated in one of those two chairs, and Mr. Lascelles was seated in the other close to you heaven knows how close ! You presumed to occupy my drawing- room and do the honors of my estab- lishment in my absence ! Deny it, and I will ascertain the fact from Mr. Las- celles !" Now, as Miss Bassick had been seated in the drawing-room, in one of the ehairs close beside Mr. Lascelles, and as she had unfortunately been detected in her hasty retreat, which she made at once when she heard the carriage coining, it really seem- ed a very difficult matter, indeed, to con- ceal or deny the fact any longer. Find- ing this impracticable, Miss Bassick had recourse to the next best thing a plausi- ble explanation. She did not mean to say, she faltered, in her low cooing voice, that she }m<l not been in the <//v/ ///////- room. She had exchanged a few words they were very few with Mr. Las- eelles. She was in the room arranging the fire when he came, as she knew Mrs. Armstrong liked a cheerful blaze when she returned in the evening; and Mr. Lascelles had bowed to her, and engaged her in conversation and and she had VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 125 not intended ' I lore Miss Bassick wept and sunk to silence. Now, long and intimate acquaintance iwith Mi^s Bassiek liad not tended to im- press Mrs. Armstrong with the conviction (that her word was to be relied on. The statement may seem ungallant, but such was the fact. The handsome face \\a-> (wet with tears, and the graceful figure 'shook; but then it was barely possible I that what the aged aunt of Miss Grundy had said was true that Miss Bassick was a " sly one." Mrs. Armstrong stood looking at her for some moments. Then she said, " Very well, miss ! You are very good at explaining away what you cannot deny that is one of your traits. You were in the drawing-room, then, with Mr. Las- celles. If the circumstance occurred so naturally as you say it did, why did you steal off in that secret way ? No, don't answer me. You are ready, no doubt, with another plausible explanation I am tired of them. I have only one thing more to say, miss, and that is that you will either keep your place in this house or you will leave it !" " Oh ! ma'am, if you will only overlook it this time " " I will overlook it if you give me your promise that you will claim no further acquaintance with Mr. Lascelles, retire to your room when he visits Trianon, and never exchange another word with him." " I promise you I will not, ma'am," Miss Bassick said, in her sad, sweet voice. ki \Vc understand each other, then. If what occurred this evening occurs again, you will please find another home, Miss Baaeick." Mrs. Armstrong turned her back and swept out of the room, banging the door behind her. As she disappeared Miss Bassick's handsome arched eyebrows sud- denly came together, and rising to her feet, she looked after Mrs. Armstrong with her red lips slightly opened. Un- der them her teeth were set together. "The old hag! how I hate her! I could have sprung upon her and choked her ! I'll do it some day !" she said. And it really did semi fr..m I 1 piv i<>n ,f Mis> r,a>sidx's face that she would le equal to the performance i.f this tragic act. Her cheeks \\ere tlu>h- ed, her 1...S..M1 was heaving, and h. and figure had the powerless and \ -t menacing look of a woman in a r The paroxysm did not last \ery IMM-.J. The flush disappeared gradually fnun lid- cheeks, and her handsome eyebrowi r<- sumed the arch. She went to her mir- ror, carefully brushed and arranged her hair by the light of her small lamp, and, looking at herself, began to smile. As she continued to look into the mirror the smile grew brighter, the red, pouting lips showed the white teeth under them, which were parted now; and with a coquettish toss of the head Miss Bassick said, in a confidential tone, " I think you will do, miss. He ought to see me now, instead of that stupid Juliet." As she had set the tea-table, and was not required down -stairs, Miss Bassick opened her desk and began to write a letter. She wrote rapidly and in a beau- tiful hand, filling two sheets of note-paper in a very brief time. She then folded them, placed them in a dainty envelope, and, cautiously opening her door, listened. The ladies and Mr. Lascelles were at tea, and descending silently the back stair- case, Miss Bassick stole through the grounds, emerged from them through a small gate used for pedestrians going to Piedmont, and then, making a circuit, came out near the larger gate in front. She then hastened along, walking very rapidly, until she reached a spot com- pletely concealed from the house, where a ledge of rock, nearly covered with cedar- bushes, extended along one side of the road. It was now quite dark, but Mi sick did not seem to mind that. She went on with the air of a person p ly acquainted with the ground, and pric- ing behind the ledge, which dipp ward the east, put her hand into a crevice and drew out a letter. This she put in her pocket, and replaced with the letter 126 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. which she had just written in her cham- ber. It was the private post-office of Miss Bassick and Mr. Lascelles. Having transacted the business con- nected with her private mail, Miss Bas- sick retraced her steps, and regained her chamber unseen. She had not been ab- sent more than a quarter of an hour, and during that time, at least, she calculated, the ladies would be at tea. They had not returned with Mr. Lascelles to the draw- ing-room yet ; but they did so in a few moments ; and then Miss Bassick descend- ed to her own modest meal, which, when company came, she took after the rest. She heard the murmur of voices in the drawing-room, and would have liked to listen, perhaps ; but a maid was in the room, and that was impossible. At last she rose, and, as it was not against orders, she went up the front staircase toward her chamber. The drawing-room door was open, and Mr. Lascelles was sitting nearly facing it as Miss Bassick came out. As she passed over the few feet be- tween the door and the staircase, Miss Bassick found time to do three things: the first was to assume an exquisitely coquettish attitude ; the second was to fix her seductive eyes on Mr. Lascelles and smile; and the last was to make a significant gesture toward the wood, where she had deposited her letter. She then flitted up the staircase and went to her chamber. Not the least indication had appeared on the face of Mr. Lascelles that he had seen Miss Bassick as she passed. XLII. NAILS. MR. LASCELLES returned to AY about nine o'clock, and after indulging in a meditative rigar in the library, retired to his chamber. lie had found Miss Bassick's letter in the private post-office. It was witty and brilliant composition, on pink note-paper, and described the interview with Mrs. Armstrong in a delightful man-l ner. The style was gay and riant, for the] most part, but the note ended with pa-j thetic sighs. Her poor life was wasting away under this terrible tyranny sh< tried to laugh, as he could see, but it was] by no means real laughter. She had) made up her mind at last. She must! leave Trianon ! Coming to the end of the note, Mr. I Lascelles pondered. Was Miss Bassick in earnest? Would she really go away? It was doubtful. AVomen were curious] creatures, and did not tell the truth al-j ways. You could divide them into two classes the weak and the wicked. If| they were intellectual, they made up forj that by being bad. If they were good,] they were apt to be feeble-minded. Those who were personally attract ivei were generally wicked, and he preferred that class but they must be really at- tractive. Was Miss Bassick wicked ? She was certainly fascinating. If she went away he would miss her. To see her had become a sort of necessity. He would go on the very next day and have a con- fidential conversation with her on the' subject. Mr. Lascelles then proceeded to medi- tate upon another and, apparently, less agreeable subject. He passed in review a series of incidents following each other in rapid sequence. The first of these was a ride which . he had taken some weeks before to the nearest railway na- tion. On this occasion Mr. Lascelle^ hid evidently expected some one by the ni^ht train, and this some one seemed to have duly arrived. He was a respectable look-; ing person, with a travelling- valise, and got out quietly. \YIien Mr. Lascelles a3 quietly nodded to him and rode off, the new-comer slowly followed him. Having reached a body of woods near the station, Mr. Lascelles had stopped the traveller had joined him and they had remained in conversation for nearly an hour, after which Mr. Lascelles had ridden back home. As to the man with the valise, appearance at the station had ex- cited a mild amount of speculation in the VIRGINIA r.olIKMlANS. ind of the agent there, he was not seen , ;ind passed into oblivion. true that there was a remarkable between tin 1 respectable night- uveller and Mr. Uooney Ruggles, but on resemblances not unfrequcntly oc- r aiu l it was quite absurd to regard it anvthing more than a chanee likeness, ould be no possibility that the re- ectable personage to is Mr. Ruggles, un- ss he carried a tramp outfit in his valise. bich was preposterous. Such things e read of in novels, but never happen in al life, which, being a real thing, is ncc- ssarily commonplace, and never violates labilities. Therefore the night-trav- er had disappeared, and Mr. Haggles id made his appearance upon the scene, lat was all. The former was highly rc- ectable, as anybody could see from his ack suit, while Mr. Ruggles was a tramp, both his costume and his accent plain- showed; but he was not on that ac- unt unworthy of respect. We must scriminate. The man who scorns to irn a wheat-stack, and means to live by >nest work, is not a tramp, however >meless lie may be. Now Mr. Rooney jggles was living by honest toil ; he Lad a contract for making shingles ; this [applied him with daily bread. But, then, he winter was approaching, and Mr. Gibbs plight have no further need for his ser- rices : under these circumstances it was pot unnatural that he should look for vork elsewhere, which may have led to us accidental interview with Mr. Lascelles n the grounds of Wye. It was not a pleasant interview altogether, and soon HBninated. Mr. Lascelles was now think- ng of it, and of another interview that Lvith the Lefthander at Crow's Nest, and also of the conversation with him on the icxt day on the bridge. ! Mr. Lascelles looked extremely dissatis- ified. He was smoking a cigar as he re- flected, and emitted short, hot puffs in- jstead of languid smoke- wreaths a sign of mental disturbance. He was obviously very much disturbed, indeed, and a moral lecturer might have set him up on a plat- form as an illustration. Here was a jrontluinan surround. .! by comfort, and luxury. He had no ted \\itli the low subject of money. He was in excellent health, and occupied a high social position. Here, assuredly, WM <>ne of the f-i-tunate ones of the world but appcara!!' often deceptive. A nail s. Mined to be hidden in his shoe somewhere, and it fretted him. He had probablv driven the nail himself, and \va<, n doubt, very sorry that he had done so; but there it was. And nails of that description a: difficult to extract. They have a fa>hi<.n of clinching themselves on the, other side, and no matter how you tug at them they will not come out. Why had Mr. Douglas Lascclle- hammered in that nail in the sole of the handsome slipper he was wearing ? And the obstinate thing had a way of shifting about. When he came down in the morning to the bright breakfast-table in his low - quartered shoes, there was the nail in the low-quartered shoes. AYhen he drew on his elegant riding -boots to take a ride, there was the same nail in the boots. And at night, when he put on his worked slippers, and leaned back in his arm-chair, a sharp prick seemed to say, "Here I am waiting; let us talk a little." Why had Mr. Lascelles ever had anything to do with nails?- Oh, why- had he been so thoughtless and injudi- cious as to insert this one? The inser- tion of nails shows a w r ant of good sense. They always prick you. Is not honesty the best policy, even in a worldly point of view, and the pleasure of hammering in nails an inadequate recompense for the festering sores which they occasion .' He was still holding Miss Bassick's note in his hand, and, as his ei^ar had gone, out he twisted it and made use of it as a lighter. " What a little devil she is !'' he mut- tered; "she's setting her cap at me!" He uttered a short laugh, and threw away his cigar. "I am not fool enough to marry a head - servant !" he muttered. He then went to bed. 128 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. XLIII. THE DANGER OF DELIRIUM. HARRY VANCE had a hard time of it. For a week or two he was burnt up by a raging fever, and his mind constantly wandered, as his vague muttering indi- cated. An old physician of the neighborhood had been promptly sent for, and visited him thereafter regularly, doing all that was possible for him. One other visitor made his appearance as regularly Mr. Cary. He had hastened to the bedside of the poor boy at once, and at first was urgent that he should be removed to Falling Water. It was obviously impossible to move him, however; and Mr. Cary con- tented himself with watching over him, and riding every day to Crow's Nest. On one of these occasions Frances beg- ged permission to accompany him the young man had saved her life, she said, on the day of the panther hunt and her father agreed to her wishes. The consequence was that Mouse and Frances became acquainted, and on other visits which duly followed they became intimate. The spectacle of the minute house-keeper " in command " seemed to amuse and touch the young girl. One day she stooped down and kissed Mouse, and said, "I think I am beginning to love you very mm-h." They were alone at the moment, and llai-rv was lying asleep on his poor couch. Mr. Cary had ridd.'ii a little farther to see some one on business, promising soon to return ; ami as both Gentleman Joe and the Lefthander were temporarily absent, the three persons were the sole occupants of CrowV Nest, " Of course / love you very much in- deed, Mi-s IVaiiees," said Mouse. 4k 1 am sure you are good, from your face, and it's a comfort to have you. Will you please be still, sir, and go to sleep?" she added to Harry, who was muttering something. "Your gruel's not ready, sir." There was a wistful affectation of hu- mor in the address. The poor boy v feverish, and wandering in his mii Frances turned her head and looked the pale face. " Poor fellow !" she said. "Take care, Lefthander!" mutter the young man ; " that weight's t heavy ! You will hurt yourself, Le hander !" He then turned his head faintly, wi his eyes still closed, and said, " It's a shame, father ! You ought n to make fun for such rabble ! You are gentleman come, go away with me, ther. Don't make faces any more, will work for you ; what better can yo boy do than take care of you ? You to care of me when I was a little one ; n< it's my turn, father." "He is kind," murmured France " what a pity ! Oh, what a pity !" Her eyes filled as she looked at hi but a quick blush followed, burning h cheeks. Harry had begun again, and tl is what he muttered : " Take care, Mouse ! you'll fall. Doi dance without chalk on your feet. Y frighten me. I have been frighten once before to-day. Did you notice th carriage in the street which ran again the car? There was a girl in it she w so beautiful ! Oh, so very beautiful !- She was near losing her life under t hoofs of the horses, and I caught her my arms, and held her close to my hea a moment! Only a second! close me her heart against mine ! I can c now, remembering that !" Frances stole a quick look at him ; h face was glowing. She knew now w had saved her that day. " I never saw her again but once," t siek man went on muttering, "it \ day when her horse ran off there \\ some danger from a panther. She w more beautiful than before; is it wroi to say that? I am nothing but t star can shine on the clod of earth. shall not see her again ; is it wrong to member her and love her?" A burning blush reddened the cheekj of Frances Cary, and she attempted t VIRGINIA HolIKMIANS. 129 smile; but her eyes filloil. Then tliis poor boy had twice saved her life; he liad told no one; but lie h:ul saved her! "My own poor Harry!" said Mouse, piteously, " what is he saying?" "His good, brave In-art is said Frances, with a little sob. Then the smile eame; it was delicious to the wom- an's heart to have inspired this love. " Ho is still now," she whispered. "Oh, if he were to not to get well! He seems to love his father sol" " The doctor says he will get well now," sobbed Mouse, " and I think he will. He is such a good boy ! We could not live without him." " You love him very much, I can see that, and I trust he will not leave you, Mouse. I know your little heart would break if he w r ere to." " Y-e-s," sobbed Mouse, " we'd never hold up any of our heads after it, and never think of getting up the troupe any more." "Getting up the troupe? What do you mean, dear ?" " I mean the troupe with the monkey," replied Mouse, sobbing, and wiping her eyes. " We are going to have a troupe and go on our travels again. You know an't stay here always." " Why can't you stay ?" " This house is not ours." " Yes, indeed, it is !" Mouse shook her head. " People must not be idle in this world, neither must they be dependent." Mouse uttered this noble sentiment with the air of a Roman matron, but the less heroic Frances put her arms around her and said, "You dear, good, kind little Mouse! Did you ever hear of the flowers in May ? Well, you are as welcome here as they are." As though to intimate that other per- sons were included in this welcome, Fran- ces looked at Harry, and, nodding toward him, said, "Is he related to you, Mouse?" "No, not exactly related/' said the small nurse, with a meditative air ; " but 9 it's pretty much the same, as (Jentleiiian Joe is like a father to me. My real fa- ther is the Lefthander." " What curious names'." ^\ t \ \-, smiling. " Where did they e?6t them ?" "Well," Mouse replied, with a serious look, "of course they are not tln-ir real names, as Gentleman Joe's name is Mr. Vance, and poppa's is Ottemlorf. - r ." "But why not keep their real name- r" Mouse shook her head. "You never belonged to a circus they give everybody a nickname. Then: was Mr. Melville he was * Long Tom,' and Mr. Robinson, he was 'Old Jimmy/ Gentleman Joe was so polite that they gave him that name in the circus, and poppa was called the ' Lefthander' because he is left-handed." " He is very strong, is he not ?" "Strong!" cried Mouse. "He is so strong that I believe he could lift up a horse or a cow and carry it on his shoul- ders I really believe he could !" "And is he good to you?" "Good to me? Poppa? Why, of course he is good to me ! He is good to everybody he wouldn't hurt a mouse." " Well," said Frances, smiling as she looked at the fresh little face, " that ac- counts for his not hurting you, you dear little Mouse ! Who in the world ever gave you such a name ?" " I think it was Long Tom. He was very fond of giving people nicknames." " And he gave you yours because he thought you were so little ?" "Yes, I suppose that was the reason. There's not much of me, you know." " What is your real name ?" "Do you mean my real, real name? My real name is Mademoiselle Cole-tine Delavan that's on the bills but my real, real name is Mignon Ottendorfer." "Mignon! That is very prett you are Miss Mouse Celc-tine I>ela\an Mignon Ottendorfer? Mercy! what a tremendous name ! It is more than you are entitled to." "I haven't much use for all of it. Mouse is sufficient for the Big Babies." 130 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " What Big Babies do you mean ?" "Gentleman Joe and Harry and pop- pa," said Mouse. " I call them my Big Babies because they require so much looking after, and are always on my mind. You really have no idea of the trouble they give me. Sometimes I can't manage them at all they're so contrary. They'll tramp about and catch cold, and do all sorts of things they ought not to do oh ! men are so contrary that there's hardly any way to get the better of them. The Babies treat me sometimes just as if I was not responsible. Oh me ! they're a hard set and yet they're very respect- able people. Sometimes I feel almost like giving up and Harry's sick because he wouldn't mind me. I told him not to go night-fishing, but he would, and got wet ; and now see what's come of it oh me ! what's come of it !" "You dear little mamma, don't be depressed ; he's sure to get well. What a venerable head of an establishment ! You odd little Mouse, you make me laugh so sometimes that it ends in my crying you dear little mamma, with your responsibilities and your Big Ba- bies !" Thereupon Frances kissed Mouse, and smoothed her curls back from her face. " Do you know one thing, Mouse ?" she said, "you are not the least bit like a tramp's daughter." "That's what Harry says," responded Mouse; "but lie's always trying to get around me, and blind me, so as to make me let him do as he chooses. That's the way with all of them. But I don't mean to let 'em fool mr." "So he's good t you, like the rest Is lie amiable and considerate? Does he behave himself ?" " Not al \\avs. I haven't much to com plain of except that lie tries to get arount me by petting me." " That's not such a terrible proceeding What's his nickname, Mouse?" "He hasn't got any except Harry That's his real name." " And he's the youngest of your Ba bies?" " Yes ; he's nothing but a boy, and ye ic is just as hard to manage as the rest He's harder. Oh, he's an obstinate one, ;an tell you ! It is all I can do to G< sleep again this minute, sir ! What dc :ou mean by opening your eyes and star-1 ng at me so ?" And as Mr. Gary returned at this in< ment for Frances, the young lady's inter- iew with Mouse terminated. She rode home by her father's side inl silence : she was thinking. At last she] said, " Papa, did you see who saved me that] day in Piedmont ?" " When we had the accident to the! carriage? It was one of the circus men,j 1 think." "It was this poor sick boy here at, brow's Nest. I found it out from his muttering. And then he saved me again from the panther how brave he must] be!" XLIV. THE CLOD AND THE STAR. HARRY VANCE grew better. It is good to have a close-knit constitution. It is better than huge muscle which excels in' lifting ; but the slender race-horse limbs] are made for endurance. Mouse was by the young fellow's side all the time as before, and one day they were speaking of his delirium during the fever. Mouse told him that he had spoJ ken of the accident at Piedmont, and oft holding Frances Gary in his arms, while she was listening by his bedside; where- upon Harry Vance blushed crimson, and demanded just what had escaped him. Mouse had no difficulty in repeating his words and the blush grew deeper, lie had saitl that he lornl In r. " That was unfortunate," he said, in a low voice. Mouse looked at him with an inquiring glance, " To have told her that " He stopped. "That you loved her? That's w VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, LSI you said, you foolish Harry, and I'd like to know why you shouldn't say it if you wanted to." " I was era/y out of my head or I never would have said so." " You were out of your head," said Mouse, philosophically ; " but that's not the point, sir. I don't see why, if you were /;/ your head, you haven't a right to love people, and have people love you, too !" Harry looked with wide eyes at Mouse, and said, in a low voice, "You can't mean " " Yes, I do," said Mouse, manfully ; " I mean you are good enough for any lady in this land." Harry Vance knit his brows ; then he said, mournfully, "My poor, dear little Mouse! it is good to be as young and ignorant as you are. You love me you love everybody, for that matter, your heart is so big; but you forget who and what I am." "You are my own dear Harry," she said, putting her arms around his neck, and pressing her lips to his pale face. "Yes, you love me, I say, and your love is precious to me. But you are not others. To them I am a poor vagabond, neither more nor less. Did you ever hear of what is called a zero, Mignon ? It is a thing which stands for nothing. I am a zero." " You are our Harry, sir ; and any one might be proud to love you even dear, sweet Frances Gary !" Harry Vance shrugged his shoulders, blushing. For the first time the latent spirit of bitterness, and revolt at his low fortunes, betrayed itself in the manner of the poor boy. " You might as well expect the star to stoop to the clod," he said. " The star shines on the clod, but does not stoop to it; and if the clod is wise it will keep its place." " Oh, Harry !" protested Mouse, " don't think of yourself so." " I think of myself as I am, dear," he said, losing his bitterness, and speaking softly and gently. " We are poor and humble, but that does not matter imu-h. The sun shines for us, and tin- sky U ifl Miie as it is for others; only your talk- ing in this wild way makes it. not so blue to inc. That is enough now, dear it is rather sad to talk of sueh thi: lie put both arms around her. "At least you love me," In- said. Whether it was that Harry Vance had risen from bed sooner than ho ought to have done, or that this scene with Mou-e acted unfortunately upon his nervous sys- tem, it is certain that on the very same evening he had a return of fever; and this led to an incident of an unex character. The young man had lain down on his couch, telling no one that he felt the fever back in his pulses ; and as he had covn-.-d his head, they supposed that he had fallen asleep. The rest, therefore, retired, and in an hour the long breathing of one and all indicated that they were asleep. Then Harry Vance rose quietly, left Crow's Nest, and went out into the night. He was hot with fever, and his steps were uncertain. Did he even know where he was going ? It seemed so, since he went straight on, through the night, toward Falling Water. Frances Gary was in the library finish- ing a letter; it was about ten at night, and Mr. Gary had gone to his chamber only a few moments before Frances promising to retire, in her turn, when she had filled her sheet of note-paper. All at once she raised her head. Steps crossed the porch, the front-door opened. then the door of the library; and Harry Vance came in, his head bare, his fa<-<> flushed, his eyes full of a vairin- pain. "I did not mean to," he said, in a faint, trembling voice; " you heard me I did not wish you to hear me it was my fever and I did not know you were at my bedside." He drew a long breath, tremblin_ looking at her. His eyes betrayed t cret of the poor boy's heart an unuttera- ble tenderness transfigured his whole face. " I am nothing," he went on, in a bro- ken and faint voice. " I would not dare 132 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. not because you are a young lady ; be- cause you are what you are. I did not mean to say that I had held you in my arms. You will not think of it any more since I tell you I am sorry. I was very sick and weak I am well now, you see, and have come to ask you to forgive me.' " Oh no !" exclaimed Frances, blushing, and with tears in her eyes, " there is noth- ing to forgive. You saved me I should have been killed." " I never meant you to know," he mur- mured. " I thought it might make you feel ashamed. I had to lift you from your carriage. I could not do that with- out putting my arms around you. I did not mean to tell any one." His eyes half closed, and his body, which he seemed to have held erect by a strong effort of the will, moved a little as a tree does in the wind. " I only came to tell you this I could not live without telling you. You will forgive my raving, as it was only raving. You will never see me any more " lie stood for an instant looking at her and trembling. She had half risen. He came one step toward her. " I shall never see you again. Good- bye !" he said, looking at her as if his heart were breaking, and holding out his hand. Frances held out her own, and he tried to take it. The effort was too much for him. He tottered, fell upon one knee bo-ide her chair, and, if she had not put her arm around him, would have fainted and fallen. "When Mr. < 'ary, in hi* d rr>- in <_:-'_:< .\vn, hastened to the library, where lie heard voices, the young man was ..n his knee thus by the young lady's chair, with his face re>tin^ on the hand he held, and her arm supporting his head. She ran and got a da-- of water and moistened his forehead. At the touch of her linger- he opened his eyes and rose to his feet, look- ing vaguely around him. Ten minute* afterward, in spite of every effort which Mr. ('ary made to persuade him to remain, ho went away. The clod and the star had mad other's acquaintance! XLV. A FEMALE MANCEUVRER. "NELLY, you certainly are the greatest goose I have ever known in my life ! is such a luxury to know any one wel enough to speak one's real sentiments Mercy ! not marry him when he lovei you so much? You deserve to die an old maid, which you certainly will, if you go on so and your last days will be em- bittered by remorse, too, you unreasonable thing." It was Frances Gary who made these few remarks to Nelly Welles. Finding that it was a superb morning, and a little tired of confinement, she had proceeded to tease her papa into allowing her to ride, and see Nell} 7 , without escort ; had duly overcome him for she was a spoil- ed child, and naturally argued that what she wished was from the nature of things perfectly proper and mounting the small riding-horse kept for her special use, had soon reached the house in the mountains. Having beamed on the whole house- hold, with whom she was by this time well acquainted, for she and Nelly 1 ad exchanged numerous visits, and had Be- come desperately intimate, Miss Frances inquired with interest after Mr. Elliot had he gone?^ Receiving from the guile- less Daddy AVelles, who was in the room, at the moment, the assurance that Mr. Elliot had not yet been able to tear him- self away from the deer, and was tl at morning in pursuit of those wild animals, Miss Frances smiled significantly, and, turning to Nelly, proposed ferns. "You know you dote on ferns, Nelly, as much as I do, and papa is just as fond >f thorn. Think of an old soldior like :r,\\r t i being as fond of flowers as he is! lie loves his xinnias and petunias, I do eliovo, as much as he loves me. I pre- fer ferns ami grasses, don't you?" Nelly responding that she did, Frances proceeded to observe that there were no ferns worth speaking of in the vicinity of n-r own home, but superb varieties among the rocks near Daddy AYolles's, and it was decided that they should take a VIRGINIA P.OI1KM1ANS. ramble in the woods and look for them. (Nelly put on her hat, and Frances Cary ,'liaving skilfully pinned up her skirt, to te>; leave her movements free, they set out on I; their ramble. fell Ferns are an innocent passion of the ajfemale sex, and have this advantage that vJlooking for them admits of conversation. aJSo, as they rambled about, Nelly and t Fraiu-es talked. " What's become of Mr. Brantz Elliot whv isn't he at home making himself agreeable, Nelly? I don't pretend to compare myself with the lordly sex, but if I were a young man which Heaven I'm glad I am not and lived in the house with you, I'd find something better to do than hunt," Dear Frances!" Nelly said, with a faint color in her cheeks, " how you do run on." " Hunting deer ! He'd show his taste by hunting another sort of deer, spelled with an a." Having made which brilliant witticism Miss Frances laughed approvingly. Nelly did not reply. She was looking with deep interest into a crevice in the rocks, where some ferns were growing, and this seem- ed to render it necessary for her to turn away her head. Her face was thus hid- den from her companion, but her neck was not, and there came such a flush upon it that Frances suddenly cried, " You are blushing, Nelly. Your very neck is crimson. Mercy ! is there any- thing you've not told me, you mean thing? There is something! He's courted you you know he has or he i> u'oing to !" Nelly was quite overcome by this ab- rupt charge. It brought to mind every detail of the scene between herself and Brantz Elliot. There had been no repe- tition of that scene. Nelly had not given her lover the least opportunity. She avoided private interviews with the skill of her sex, and Brantz Elliot had not found a single opportunity to renew his suit. He no doubt intended to do so if not, why did he not go ? He still lin- gered in the mountain, putting off his departure from day to day ; and '.. vident that he did imt regard his suit as entirely hoprle . In spit.- ..f all, how- ever, Nelly had adhered to IUT resolution. It was hard, and nearly broke her heart ; but she was more determined than -v.-r not to yield, and become the wife of tin- man she loved, who hived her U> would regret their union afterward. Self-sacrifice ennobles and endues us with a mysterious strength. Nelly had resolved to sacrifice her own happ'n Brantz Elliot's. " You know he's courting you ? Don't deny it, miss. Don't attempt to < anything from me tell me about it, Nel- ly. Oh, it's delightful ! So romantie ! Just like a novel ! Mercy !" Having concluded with this supreme expression of delighted astonishment, Frances put her arms around Nelly, and taking that young lady by the chin, turn- ed her face to her. " What a blush !" she cried. " That's enough. Good gracious! Have you said yes, Nelly?" Poor Nelly ! She could not resist her friend's inquiry. She was so unhappy that it had become almost a necessity to confide her unhappiness to some one ; and as she and Frances were bosom friei this time, she told her everything. "It was so hard, Frances," she with a little sob, after which she turned away her head, and put one of her hands to her eyes. This was pathetic, but Miss Frances preferred a more cheerful view of the subject; also, the occasion admitted of the luxury of scolding; she tin burst forth into the tirade recorded in the beginning of this chapter, to t feet tha her friend was a goose for re- fitting Brantz Elliot, and would out a life of ancient maidenhood and re- morse in consequence. "Yes, you certainly are the most un- reasonable thing that ever lived.' added. "A judgment will come of it! Just to think of your refu>in'_r I fine fellow because he's rich and you arc poor." 134 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. "I wish it was just the opposite," Nelly Welles said, with a huge sigh. " And have him getting proud and re- fusing to marry Miss Welles because she was richer than he was. That's very fine reasoning, miss ! How would you like him to do that?" Having never contemplated the subject in this light, Nelly only sighed. "You are such a goose, Nelly, I feel as if I could pinch you. Go and tell Mr. Elliot you'll marry him this moment." " That would be wedding in haste, and we'd repent at leisure, I suppose," said Nelly, with a rueful smile. " You know what I mean, miss. Tell him this moment, I mean that is, just as soon as you have an opportunity. Have you seen him again ?" "Of course I've seen him, Frances. I see him at every meal." "There you are with your evasions again, miss. Seeing people at meals is not seeing them. Have you had any delightful romantic scenes, I mean ? by moonlight, for example lover seated and gazing upward into responsive eyes, low voices, expressions such as ' my own !' * my dear one !' Has there been any of that?" " No," murmured Nelly, laughing and blushing. " Then you're a monster ! We're told to love our enemies, and you don't even care for the happiness of those who are devoted to you." " Oh, I wish I could make him happy, but I cannot, Frances! Indeed, I ou^ht not to marry Mr. Elliot. Such marriages never come to good. He would become ashamed of me, and then stop caring for me." "The idea! You must despise him !" "It would be only natural." "It would be contemptible, Nelly! Gracious! what can one think of a man who's ashamed of his wife ? He can't be a gentleman. He may marry a poor girl when he is poor himself, and afterward grow famous and be courted by every- body ; but if he is ashamed of her he is not really a gentleman, Nelly. I don't know how you feel, but if I was a man I'd marry for love, and cherish my wife more than everything in the world be-] sides as I know he would." As this " he " evidently referred to Mr. Brantz Elliot, Nelly uttered another sigh. " So it's all arranged, isn't it, Nelly ?" "No, it is by no means arranged, Frances." "Do you mean to say you will go on saying no to the end of time?" " I can't say yes." "You can, you obstinate thing. You know you want to, and goodness ! yon- der is Mr. Elliot, wandering disconsolately down the stream. He's found no deer. I'm certain he's been sitting down some- where sighing, and not seen a single ob- ject around him." "Come, we must go home, Frances," exclaimed Nelly, in sudden alarm at the prospect of being joined by Mr. Brantz Elliot. " We will do nothing of the sort, miss," returned Frances, in high delight at the idea of bringing about an interview between the lovers. " Oh, Frances, don't keep me !" " I am not keeping you, miss ; but common politeness requires that we should not run away when a gentleman approaches us: and look, he has seen us, and is coming up the mountain. What a fine -looking fellow he is. If you won't have him I am determined to set my cap at him ! Why, he walks as if lie was 'shod like a mountaineer,' which reminds one of the song, miss, " ' With music to fill up the pauses, And nobody over-nour !' I shall discreetly retire. Common pro- priety requires that I should do so." This proposal evidently produced r\- tivnir alarm in Miss Nelly Welles, which she proceeded to give evidence of by e: oUiming, " Oh no, don't, Frances !" "Good-morning Mr. Elliot ! have yoi been hunting? What a beautiful dai Nelly and I were just gathering some these exquisite ferns." VIRGINIA liollKMIANS. 13.1 'They certainly arc pretty, Miss ( 'ary," aid r>rantz Elliot, who liad joined them y this time. "Are they not? Could you get me ime grasses to go with them.' I dearly re grasses. Such ferns ! and what a ad we've got! I really must go and eg Daddy \\Ylles to lend me a basket. Jo, you must not go for me; you must e so tired from your hunting. I'll be ack in a moment !" With wliich innocent words Miss Fran- es < 'ary shot a glance of triumph at Nel- , and turned to go back to the house. uddenly she screamed. They had all een standing facing the rocks in which ic ferns were growing, and had not card the steps of a person who approach- i them. This person was now close to icm, and indeed Miss Frances, as she irned round, suddenly found herself face face with him. It was Gentleman oe. " Mercy !" exclaimed the young lady ; I thought it was a bear !" Thereupon Gentleman Joe burst into oyish ecstasies at the success of his ruse surprise them. He seemed quite con- ulsed, and executed his most astonishing Timaces, winding up by contorting his ystem from a sense of deep enjoyment. Nelly plainly hailed his appearance rith satisfaction, and gave him her sweet- st smile. " How you frighten people, Gentleman oe !" she said, for she and the ex-clown Lad become perfectly intimate with each Ither; "you might have thrown us all Into hysterics !" " I wouldn't like to do that, Nelly I love you too much, my dear," said Gentle- man Joe, gradually recovering his equa- limity. " Then you must go back, as a punish- Jjient, and get Miss Gary a basket; she pants it for her ferns." " Oh no !" Miss Frances exclaimed ; " I rill go myself he will never know where lo find it; but he may carry it. Come, I fr. Vance !" A wicked smile accompanied the words, Jjidicating to Nelly her friend's intention to thus leave her alone with Kraut/. Klliot. She Mushed t the very roots of her hair, and seemed not to know \\hat she should do, when Klliot came to her a istance. Tin 1 young huntsman had or had not comprehended the scene if In; had un- derstood it, he had ivsolvol not to inflict himself upon Nelly if she did not wish it. He therefore said to Frances, "Let me go with you and cany the basket, Miss Cary. I have nothing in the world to do. Don't trouble yoiir>clf, Gentleman Joe; we'll be back soon. I am ready, Miss Cary." Thus came to an abrupt end the whole series of wiles resorted to by Miss Frances Cary. She was obliged to accept Mr. Brantz Elliot's proposal, and, without a single smile of triumph, went with that gentleman in the direction of the house, leaving Nelly to enjoy the charms of the society of Gentleman Joe. XLVI. GENTLEMAN JOE AND HIS GHOSTS. As Brantz Elliot and Frances Cary walked away, Nelly said to Gentleman Joe, with an affectionate smile, " I am glad you came over to see us to-day, Gentleman Joe, for I am sure you wanted to see me It has been nearly two weeks since you were here." " Oh, yes, I wanted to see you, Nelly," replied Gentleman Joe. " I always want to see you, and when I am not with you I am thinking about you, my dear." There was no trace of his recent gro- tesquerie in the speaker's voice or face he was quite sedate and earnest, and look- ed at the girl with an expression of great affection. "Harry's been very ill, and I could not leave him," he added ; " we thought he was going to die, but he is nearly well now." "I am so glad of that. He has been very kind and sweet to me whenever he came to see us almost as kind and sweet as you have been, Gentleman Joe, and that is saying a great deal." " Have I really been kind and sweet to 136 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. you, Nelly ?" Gentleman Joe said, looking wistfully at the girl. " Yes, indeed, you have." "I am very glad to hear it. But I don't see how anybody could help loving you, my dear. You see I am an old man, and old men can tell little blossoms like you that they love blossoms. People have various tastes in this world, you know I like the south wind." "The south wind?" Gentleman Joe smiled. "I mean people who are like it. I think of people in that way, and feel about them instead of making up an opinion of them. One person chills me like a north- wester, and cuts me to the very bone. It's no use telling me that it's a fine, healthy wind, and clears up the air, and is altogether the right sort of wind it makes me shiver!" " Yes, I know what you mean." "And there is the south wind when the spring comes. People may abuse it, and say it's a weak, poor sort of thing, and makes you lazy, and is not a high moral wind; but I like it. I seem to open like a flower when it blows softly over the flowers and the green grass under the blue sky. You are my south wind." Gentleman Joe might be a lunatic, but there was evidently a method in his mad- ness. Not being familiar with Shakspeare, Nelly did not say that to herself in the identical words, but had the very same idea in her mind, whic.h was a proof that Mr. AVilliam Shakspeare was a man of ability, and had observed human nature. " Well, Tin o-lad enough to be any- body's south wind/' she said, with the rather sad smile which had become her habit of late. " You arc mine ! you warm me," re- turned Gentleman Joe, " like the sun- shine. The sunshine is a uivat thing, and I like people that carry it about with them. Some people bring a cloud along when they come a black cloud, and the chill wind that cuts. You bring the south wind and the sunlight, Nelly, and a poor old body like me requires that." " You are a very good, kind body, ii you are a poor old one," Nelly said, with I an affectionate smile ; " and I must be just like you in my character, for every] word you say just expresses what I feel,, and it seems as if I had known you for years." " Yes," Gentleman Joe said, lost in re-] flection, " perhaps we have met someJ where. I have been in many places, and] played the clown before a world of peo-J pie. If you were in the crowd I am cer-| tain I saw you." " In such a crowd ?" " No matter about the crowd. I al- ways see the faces I like to see. Often,; when I've been turning and tumbling in the ring, I've fixed my eyes on some child's face in the audience, and seen nothing elsej from that minute. I was playing for thai little one, you see, and had nothing to doj with the rest. If I could only make myl little friend laugh and please her, I was satisfied, Nelly." This was said in such a simple, wistful way that Nelly looked at Gentleman Joe with eyes full of affection. There was a hidden poetry in the feelings of the old" ex-clown which touched a chord in hen own breast, and was in unison with her habitual mood now rather a sad sort on poetry, but then poetry is generally tinged j with sadness. " What a strange life you must have led," she said, musing. "A very strange life; but you know, life is always strange." M And very sorrowful." " Well, I don't know," said Gentleman^ Joe, cheering up " not when we have ourj| south wind ; we depend mostly on that Are you going to marry the young deer- hunter, Nelly ? I ask, you know, because if you do you will p> awav, and somej north-wester will come along and chill me for want of my sunshine." Nelly colored, and a slight movement of her corsage indicated the impression' made by Gentleman Joe's question. " No, I am not going to marry any- body," she said, in a low tone. " I am very glad. I would not like V1KCIMA r.oIIKMIANS. you to get married. I don't think I could do without you, my dear." They were nearly the verv same words used by Brantz Elliot, and produced a dolorous feeling in Nelly. " Well, I'm not going away anywhere," she said ; lt and as you are going to stay in the mountain, there will be no trouble about seeing each other." Gentleman Joe, having reflected for a moment, proceeded to shake his head and reply, " I don't know about that. We shall probably make up a troupe and go about the country again. We were thinking about that when Harry was taken sick; and as lie is nearly well now, there will be nothing to keep us here." " Why don't you stay ? arc you tired of Crow's Nest ? I'm sure Mr. Gary would not care if you stayed." "No, he would not care he says we may. But I am not sure I like Crow's Nest. The mice go * squeak, squeak !' all night they are talking in the wall, you know and then the pine-trees, how they do whisper !" Nelly looked at Gentleman Joe; he was evidently lapsing into one of the rev- eries, in which his mind seemed to wan- der a little. " I don't mind the mice," he went on, "though I wish they would not squeak in that unpleasant way at night, when I am lying awake listening to them. But then the pines ! That is not so agree- able. They say a quantity of things to me ; which is, perhaps, natural, as we used to be well acquainted. Then there is the water yonder. That talks to me, too, and sometimes it laughs ; or when there's a freshet it booms along so sullenly that it seems to be in a bad humor. I often think it wants to quarrel." "What a curious idea! You must not give way to these fancies, Gentleman Joe." " Bless you, my dear, I never give way to fancies. I am a plain old fellow, and much too matter-of-fact for that. But any one can hear the water laughing and the trees whispering, just as you can easi- ly sec ea-tle> and proplr in the lire, and \\ hat the clotld-dhadoVVI arc." "The eloud-shadou>r 14 Yt s, Nelly the shadows that gallop along the mountain in August, \\ln-n the white clouds are pih-d up like so mm-li wool, and the wind is blowing. I low they gallop! faster than a hawk can tly : and I've seen his shadow too, but. that's not much. The other shadows an- wild horses running In-t'oiv the wind; hut it can't catch them. They trample on, with manes and tails flying back, and the curi- ous thing I can't account for that is that they make no noise at all as they pass you." " Why, they're only shadows, Gentle- man Joe." "I don't know that. They may be ghosts for what we know; there are 10 many ghosts around us. I believe the mice, and the pines, and the shadows are all ghosts." Nelly saw that Gentleman Joe was fall- ing into one of his fantastic moods, and, as she had often done before, strove to divert him from them. " Well, don't mind them," she said ; "they won't do anybody any harm. If nobody will keep them from hurting you, Gentleman Joe, I will." Thereat Gentleman Joe brightened up and smiled. "You can make them behave, Xelly you are the only one that can !" he said ; " and, bless you, I don't mind them in the least. I often say to them, * I'm nt afraid of you you and I are old friends, and often played here together 1 but go away, I've no time to think about you to-day!' I often tell them that. Then, if they will go on whisperii laughing, I say * I'm going to sec Xelly now; she's waiting for me in the moun- tain.' And then I tell them another thing that is the most important thing of all." "What is that?" said Xelly, kindly, humoring the old fellow. " That you are the image of some one it breaks old Gentleman Joe's heart to re- member." 138 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. As he spoke Frances Gary and Brantz Elliot made their appearance with the basket, and Gentleman Joe said no more. XLVII. MR. RUGGLES REAPPEARS AT CROw's NEST. THE Lefthander was obviously in a de- pressed mood of mind. What was the origin of this depression? Not the ill- ness of Harry Vance, for that scene at Falling Water seemed to have lifted a load from his heart, and he was regaining his strength day by day. Was it the report that the revenue- officers were coming with troops to look after the moonshiners? There was such a report in the village. The long-suffering Government had decreed the extermina- tion of the malefactors, people said. The department was certainly growing indig- nant, if any faith was to be placed in the public journals. The Secretary of Finance was badgered by his political opponents. These moonshiners were tapping a hole in the national strong-box, and depleting the same in an irregular and unauthorized manner. The moonlight trade must come to an end : if it did not cease peacefully, it must be made to cease. If the civil officers were unable to enforce the law then troops. A good troop of cavalry, with sabres and repeating carbines, would prove a much better argument than mere proclamations. Perhaps the Lefthander was a little out of spirits at hearing this. As the moun- tain would be harried probably for moon- shiners, he might be arrested and so miirht Harry and ( Jentleman Joe. Then what would become of Mouse? But something else troubled him ; the fa<-t was evident from certain word* which he muttered now and then. When- ever he found himself d<ing s<>, he stop- ped suddenly and looked round him. I ! had the air of a man who is fearful that some one has overheard him. In fact, a gloomy discussion seemed to be going on in the Lefthander's breast. Tin -re was something to be done, or not to be done. At such moments his eyebrows made the straight black line across his face, and that meant trouble. He was seated on the fence at the bot- tom of the hill at Crow's Nest one morn- ing, smoking his pipe and reflecting. All at once a shadow ran toward him ; he raised his head there was Mr. Ruggles. He was clad much more respectably than on the occasion of their first meeting, and had a jaunty air. There was the consciousness that his improved wardrobe had elevated him socially, which is a val- uable hint to slovens. He had a stick in his hand ; there was no bundle on it, how- ever, he was walking w ith it. O " The top o' the mornin' to you," said Mr. Ruggles, in a friendly way. " I was jest passin', and thought I'd drop in and see you. Family well ? I'm gittin' along ain't burnt no wheat-stacks yit ! Hon- est work's the thing for Ruggles, and I'm right on the money question." "Well, that's a very good question to be right on," said the Lefthander, indif- ferently. "You can bet your life on it!" saM Mr. Ruggles, cheerfully ; " and if I can't git more work there's always one tiling to do." "What's that?" " Jine the moonshiners/' "You mean the whiskey men?" said the Lefthander, looking intently at him. "Jest so the only trouble is the thing's so risky ; they might ketch a feller and take his loose change; but they wouldn't git mine I bury it." " Bury your money ?" " In a holler log, at a place I know in the woods. That's to keep it out of the bar-rooms. I mostly spend every red cent I take along with me on sich occasions." k> Well, that's not a bad idea," said the Lefthander, indifferently. " No extra charge for telling of it to i friend like you, mate. You might have some greenbacks to put away, too not as bein' a moonshiner, which it is not my meaning. Greenbacks or papers I put all them things away, and as the Scripture Ays, 'Go thou and do like unto it.' " VIRGINIA Now, as Mouse had road aloud this precept from her IJiblo in different terms, the Lefthander recognized the fact that Mr. i Juggles quoted incorrectly. He did not set him right, however, but only said, "I always carry what money and pa PITS I have about me." 1 He uttered the words in a matter-of- fact and indifferent tone, but they pro- duced a striking effect. Mr. Ruggles shot a piercing glance at him. " Well, you're right, mate," he said. ''You don't drink, p'r'aps, as I do ; or maybe you do. Take a mouthful ?" Mr. Ituggles had produced a black bot- tle, and smiled in a cordial manner. "You're welcome! it's a good ar- Rfe." The Lefthander hesitated. Was his old fondness for drink unextinguished, and the temptation too great? It really seemed so ; for, after looking quietly at Mr. Ruggles, he took the bottle and swal- lowed a deep draught of the -whiskey. " Yon are right ; it's a very good arti- cle indeed," he said. " My turn next," said Mr. Ruggles, with a cheerful and friendly air; and he icld the bottle to his lips for a protract- ed period, swallowed repeatedly, and drank nothing at all. He then said he must be going, and solicited the Lefthander's company for a part of the way. Finding this request reasonable, the Lefthander walked on at his side, and they entered the woods, and were soon near the steep banks of the Falling Water above the ford. Here Mr. Ruggles, professing himself weary, sat down upon a ledge of rock, and the Left- hander took his seat beside him. "Take a little somethin', mate," Mr. Ruggles said, producing his bottle. The Lefthander responded with avidity. It was a melancholy sight to see the bad old habit again returning. His tongue began to grow thick, and he stammered slightly ; then Mr. Ruggles, after an in- terval, proposed another little something, and another, when the Lefthander closed his eyes, and leaned back against the ledffe of rock behind him. 139 Mr. Ruggh's, who had rai-.-d the hottl.- to his mouth repeatedlv, watched his companion with a perfretly lobe? glance. The Lefthander was falling a-leep under the effect of his potations. Tln-n could be no doubt at all, at la*t, that he \\as sound asleep, and Mr. Kuggles pr,,, rapidly to search his pockets. They con- tained nothing but his pipe and tola.-,-,,, and a few bank-notes, which the lionet Mr. liugglcs replace. 1. II,- se.-m.-d bitter- ly disappointed, and even muttered an oath. "Curse the whole cursed affair!' 1 IK; said, turning to walk away. All at once something grasped Mr. Ruggles by the collar of his coat. He shrunk back with a cry. The something was the heavy hand of the Lefthander. XLVIII. MR. RUGGLES FINDS HIS SITUATION RATH- ER UNPLEASANT. "SiT down, friend," said the Lefthand- er, who exhibited neither in face nor voice any traces of his recent potations ; " don't be in a hurry. I want to talk a little." The astonishment of Mr. Ruggles was overpowering. His eyes were full of ter- ror, and seemed to project from their orbits. All the color had faded out of his face, and, though his lips moved, his tongue refused its office. "You seem to be a little dumb,' the Lefthander, phlegmatic-ally. " I'll doctor your case nothing brings a man to like cold water." The spot where they had held their conversation was on the slope of a d- clivity sinking to the banks of the stream. From this a sort of shoulder proj terminating in a pile of rock whieh huni; over the water. These rocks go by the name of "Lovers' Leap-," and are com- mon on the Shenandoah, the Opequon, and other streams of the Virginia valley. They are generally crowned with pines, and paths lead to them, made by wild animals, possibly. There was such a path 140 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. leading to this one, and the Lefthander went down the path, which was covered with pine tassels, half leading and half dragging Mr. Ruggles with him, his hand still grasping his coat-collar. It was not far to the summit of the rock, which might have been called with- out the least exaggeration by the name of precipice, and they soon reached it. There was a sheer descent of about fifty feet, and glancing at the water foaming over the rocks below, Mr. Ruggles per- ceptibly shuddered. In fact, it is not precisely calculated to soothe the nervous system to be suspended in the grasp of a Hercules over an abyss. Mr. Ruggles was evidently unnerved, and made wild gestures ; he had become very pale. As the Lefthander continued to grasp his throat, a gurgling sound issued from his lips. "Are you going to talk?" his enemy said, in his deep voice. " We are losing time. Do you mean to make a clean breast of it, or do you mean to be drop- ped over this rock?" The terror of Mr. Ruggles was so great that he was unable to speak. They were on the very brink of the precipice, and he hung in mid-air. "Do you mean to talk, I say?" the Lefthander repeated ; " I am a little tired of this. What do you mean to do?" " I will tell you everything," Mr. Rug- gles managed to gasp out. The Lefthander looked at him atten- tively, and saw that he meant what he said. He therefore dragged him back, and released his hold on his collar. "That's the very best thing you can do," he said. " You may as well talk in a straightforward manner. I'm not in the humor to be trilled with it is better to tell you that. Y"ii came here to make me drunk and rob iw: : I know all about you now. If you look at things in tin 1 right way, you will sec that I am sparing your life. Who sent you?" Mr. Ruggles drew a long breath of re- lief. It was plain that he realized what an imminent peril he had just escaped. Would the peril return ? was the question which he probably asked himself. A glance at the cold face of the Lefthander was not reassuring. " Well, there's no use trying to hide anything, and I don't mean to try it," he said. " I mean what I say, and I'll tell you everything." The Lefthander sat down, filled his pipe, and began to smoke. " It will be well to remember, friend, that we are by ourselves here," he said. " I understand." " Who sent you ?" " Young Lascelles," said Mr. Ruggles. "I thought so. Then you belong to the detective police ?" " Exactly." " I've thought so for some time. You overdid the tramp business. You detec- tives often make that mistake." " I rather think you're right." " Well ?" said the Lefthander, and as this was evidently a comprehensive inter- rogatory, Mr. Ruggles said, " Mr. Lascelles wrote or telegraphed to the New York Chief of Police to send a good man, with a tramp's get-up in his valise, to the station not far from here r where he would be met and receive in- structions there would be no trouble about the money, which would go up to. four figures." " Just so," said the Lefthander. " Well, I was sent, and found Mr. Las- celles waiting when I arrived, and he ex- plained what he wanted." The Lefthander at these words turned his head round slowly, and looked fixedm into the face of Mr. Ruggles from beneath his straight, shagiry eyebrows. "It would be better for you and me t<> understand each other," he said, phk-g- matii-allv; "I have no time to wa>te in listening to a made-up story. What I want to know is i-vi-ry thing. I know a good deal already. You had best los$; sight of being a detective, and remember that we are by ourselves here, as I said, and talking in a friendly way." The Lefthander looked straight into the eyes of Mr. Ruggles, and then, turning his head in the same deliberate fashion, VIRGINIA lUHlKMIANS. glanced toward the summit of the rock a Vw stops distant. "I understand," said Mr. Ruggles, who iad gradually regained liis equanimity; a nod's as good as a wink to a Mind mrse.' 1 mean to tell you the truth. ?or that matter it's not so hard I lon't like this young Lascelles with iis high -headed ways; he's a little too nurh of the swell for my use, and I rath- think if he had been in your place he'd ia\v dropped me over there." " I think he would," said the Left- lander, candidly. " I mean to tell you the plain truth." " It would be better." " I found him waiting at the station, md we went off into the woods and had long talk. What he wanted was to t possession of some papers he thought roil had, and he offered one thousand dol- ars for the papers to run up to half as much again if the business was dangerous." The Lefthander nodded. "There was no more to say, after I icard where I could find you. I had my ;ramp get-up with me, and came and ask- ed you for a night's lodging; and when r ou were asleep I searched your pockets and the whole room for the papers." " I thought you must have done that," said the Lefthander. " Well, I found no papers on yon, or anywhere about either then or after- ward. I got the shingle job to be in the neighborhood, and was often in the house vhen you were away ; but there was noth- ng there, unless you hid it where I could not find it." " As you say, there was nothing there. After that ?" ''Well, I tried then to track you up after your fight with the circus manager, learned you had gone that night to the louse of a Mr. Grantham, in the town, where you slept. This amounted to nothing; and though I started to go md see Mr. Grantham, and pump him, I *ave up the idea as not worth the trouble. le could only tell me what I knew that "on had slept there, and gone away in the norning ; and as to his having your pa- 1 11 for safe-keeping, that was too unlike- ly to make it worth my while to impure, even if I had made up a story to account for asking him the question." The Lefthander a-'ain nodded. O 44 So you went to Mr. La-ei -llt-s, and told him you were thrown oiT the seent .'" " Vex; and was snubbed by the uvntle- man. lie made no bones of telling me that I was a new hand at the detective business; and I agreed to try \<>\\ again with a bottle, thinking you mi- something." "Yes." "Or search your pockets again you might have the papers on you. Hut you didn't talk on business matters, and you got drunk too quick." Mr. Ruggles smiled, and evidently ac- cepted the situation like an old hand and a philosopher. He was not at all a green hand at his business, as Mr. Lascelles sup- posed, and had only failed on the present occasion from the difficult material <-n which he had been obliged to work. He had repeatedly tried in private interviews to pump Harry and Gentleman Joe, but they knew nothing whatever of the ex- istence of the papers which for the rest Mr. Ruggles did not venture too plainly to allude to, for obvious reasons. As to Mouse, he had never been able to see her by herself, and thus the Lefthander was the knotty obstacle against which he had struck. All attempts to penetr hard a rind had failed, and all failed with it. Lastly came the present unsatisfac- tory state of things: he and the Left- hander were together in a most unpleas- ant locality. But Mr. Rnggles. being a philosopher, made the best of things, and uttered his harmless jest. The Lefthander passed some moments in reflection ; then he said, slowly, "This is a poor trade of yours, friend. I would rather plough. When a man takes up the business of hunting other men, and running 'em down, he grows tricky and lives by lies. ]Je>ides, he gets his neck twisted sometimes which is not a good thing to get twisted ' nothing of dropping from the tops of 142 rocks ! When I brought you here I thought I would drop you over there and do for you. I'm not a bad sort of fel- low, but a man loses his temper some- times. I thought I'd stretch out my arm and strangle you when you were feel- ing in my pockets. I could have done that ; it wouldn't have been much. And as to dropping you over there I'm too strong a man for you to trifle with." Here, by way of illustration, the Left- hander extended his arm and caught Mr. Ruggles by the breast, just at the upper button of his waistcoat. lie then rose, drew Mr. Ruggles up with him, stiffened his ponderous arm, and lifted him into the air. It was an impressive spectacle. Mr. Ruggles, with his legs and arms hanging down and gesticulating, his face expres- sive of horror, and his voice issuing forth in a gurgle, was helpless in the grasp of the giant. " It would be easy," said the Lefthand- er, looking toward the rock. He set Mr. Ruggles on his feet, and pointed up the path. "Go away," he said, "and don't come back. It will be dangerous." Mr. Rugbies availed himself of this per- mission with alacrity. Picking up his stick, he hastened up the path and was soon lost to view. After some moments the Lefthander followed him, talking to himself in a contemplative way. " So he's after the papers : I might have known he would be. And this de- tective is sent for. Well, I don't drink now, but it is just as well I did to-day. It's a good thing to know what cards yii are playing against, ami tin- rock yonder made my friend show his hand." He then went hack to Crow's Nest. The detective had disappeared. XL1X. IN THE BOHMERWALD. ONE morning, a few days after the in- cident just related, the Lefthander and Mouse were alone together at Crow's Xest. It was just after breakfast, am Gentleman Joe had gone to pay a visit his dear Nelly, and Harry had wander away into the pine thicket in rear of house, to look after some traps wii which he amused his convalescence. Th< Lefthander was smoking, and leaning foi ward in a meditative attitude, with one of his hands resting on his knee ; Mouse busily putting away the tin cups ai plates on a shelf in the corner. Havinj at last arranged everything to her sati faction, she came and sat down by tl Lefthander, and opened a small BibleJ which she took from her pocket, and be gan to read to him. This was her daily habit, and the read- ing was one of the Lefthander's greatest] enjoyments. What was the explanati< of that? Was there lying latent in thi rugged organization that religious senti-l ment which, denied often to the scientist,! fills the heart of the ignorant and Imm-l ble? Possibly; or the Lefthander might have liked to hear the earnest voice ol the child, and to feel that her charactt was taking shape under purifying inl cnces. He always put out his pipe at once as a mark of respect, and listem with deep attention, asking a questi< now and then as to what Mouse thought a particular passage meant. Rcceivh from the child a statement of her vie\ on the subject, he generally nodded withl an air of conviction, and said he supposed that ivas what it meant. He then con>| posed himself to listen again, and, when! Mouse finished her reading, said "Amen." On this morning he remained silent for! some minutes after the child closed heril book; then he said, "After all, that is the only Bible which is strange." "What do you mean, poppa?" .slid Mouse. "I mean, Mignon, that there's not a ditTerent Bible for different people. This] is the only one for lords and ladie< and tramps and beggars. And the strange thing is it suits every one of them, wher- ever they are and whatever they are." lie mused a little, and added, VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 1 i.; " But I wish ynu were one of the ladies, not the poor little one you arc." " A l.i-lv : I'm just as good :i lady as [ want to be, sir," said M<>usr, with a rrand air. " Yes ; I really believe you are in your haractcr. Hut I was thinking of the asy time the real ladies have. I wish ,*ou were one of them for that reason aot such a little chit, only the child of four poor mother." Did the Lefthander utter these words accidentally or with intention ? The lat- ter seemed to be the case. He glanced niickly at Mouse and then back to the ire. If his object was to excite her cu- iosity, and induce her to question him, lis ruse succeeded. " You never told me anything about nother, poppa," said the child. "You ilways said I was too young, and you'd .ell me some day. Won't you tell me low ? I'm old enough. Can't you tell ne, poppa ?" " Yes, Mignon there's no sort of rouble about tnat. You are right. You ire growing up to be a little woman now, ind ought to know about things. I met rour mother in the Bohemian country '. belonged to a circus I ran away from ny father and joined it when I was a " Ran away, poppa ?" "Yes; I ought not to have run away; mt my father was a very stern man. He vas a peasant, and very poor, and made ne work hard from daylight to dark, so joined a circus that was passing, and liever saw him again." I The Lefthander spoke rather sadly. " My father died soon afterward, and I vas very heavy - hearted," he said. " It jvould be much better if people avoided ioing what makes them heavy-hearted dien they think of it." " But if they did not really mean to lo wrong?" said charitable Mouse. "I ought not to have done as I did. | am very sorry. Well, I went off with |he circus, and grew up to be a young ban, and found I was strong, and became in athlete. At last the company travel- led into I'M ilu-mia, and I t with vur mother. It was an aeeident." Mou-c POM and came to the lefthand- er, ami, sitting in his lap, put one arm around his neck. " \Yhat do you mean by sa\ing it was an accident, poppa f she .said. "I will tell you about it. Tin : a performance at a place called Prague, in the Bohemian country. I had taken by that time to the trapc/.e hn-i; well as lifting, and one night I had a fall and hurt myself. It laid me iij> for the time, and when the company left Prague; I thought I would have to remain behind ; but they put me into one of the wa^ms on a mattress, and we went west toward the Bohmerwald." "What is that, poppa?" "A high mountain on the boundary of Bohemia. It was a tedious matter cross- ing it, and as to myself, I did not cross it at all ; I was in so much pain that they had to take me out of the wagon and leave me at a house we passed, where an old hunter of the mountains li\ !. Your mother was his daughter." The Lefthander drew a long breath. "She was very beautiful, your poor mother, Mignon," he went on, "and nursed me till I w y as well of my hurt. So I came to love her, and loved her more and more every day, and she loved me, and it was not so surprising, there- fore, that she should be willing away with me at last as my wife. I \\a> a gay young fellow then, though I am often so quiet and sorrowful now her death made me so. She died in !<> than one year after her marriage, but sin- left me you. I should have gone crazy with- out my little Mignon when my other Mignon left me. At first I could n..t even cry ; I was thinking of her, and breaking my heart about her. day and night. But one day I was h-.ldii. in my arms, and you put yours round my neck they were rosy little arms and you babbled 'Poppa! poppa!' and then I began to cry at last." "Poor, dear poppa!" sobbed Mouse, holding him close. 144 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " Well, she was dead, you see," con- tinued the Lefthander, " your poor little mother, far off in the Bohemian coun- try, which you don't remember, for I brought you away with me when you were a baby. Your mother's name was Mignon, and sometimes I say the name to myself quietly : she is gone, but then I have my small Mignon I couldn't get along without her. What would the big oak do without the bird that sings on the top branch ? It would be a tiresome busi- ness to the tree not to hear the bird sing- ing, and not much matter how soon it would be cut down." "But the bird is not going away," Mouse cried, clinging to him, and smiling through her tears. "Go away, poppa? Where would I go, and how could I live without you ?" " The tree may go, Mignon I mean it might be cut down : something might happen to me. I was thinking of that just now I think of it very often and that is why I said that I wished you were a lady. What I meant was this: If you were a lady you would have a family and friends to take care of you. If I were to die, \\ hat would become of you ? That is on my mind all the time, Mignon." "Oh, poppa, don't talk of dying! I should die, too, if you were to." The Lefthander shook his head sadly. "Young people think that," he said, "but they are mistaken. People forget in this world that comes after awhile, and it is best. Or if they don't exactly forget, they manage to live on somehow, just as a man shot through the. body, and as good as done for, hangs on and don't die for years afterward." "lint you arc not shot through the body, poppa, and you're not to think of dying, if you please, or of my being able to get alonir without you." The Lefthander drew tin; small head down to his broad chest, and smoothed the child's hair. "My good little Mi- non," he said, with the look of troul.l.- still on his face; "I don't belie\ father ever loved his child as mueh a- I love you ; and it's pitiful to be so poor, and not be able to make life easier to you." " Easier ! Why, what do I want more than I have ? I have you" "You might have a good deal more if we were not such mere vagabonds!] It's pitiful ! Here you are in rags, near- ly, a poor little one, doing everything. How you ever learned to read, even, I can't understand. You learned yourself at odd times, and read better than I can. Ten years old, and here in this old shan- ty, without a mother or sister, or almost a bed to sleep on !" "You will do for mother and sister, and my bed is as warm as toast." Mouse laughed, and tightened the small arm around the Lefthander's shoulder. " But think," he said, " if you were a lady you see I come back to that you would have ladies to associate with, and servants to do the work for you, and easy chairs, and a mahogany bedstead, with a white counterpane, and no end of pleasant things. You would have silk dresses, and little boots that button up with bkck buttons, and a little hat with a feather in it, maybe, and .1 carriage to ride in, and life would be easy for you." Mouse reflected, and did not dissent from this. She evidently would have liked what the Lefthander spoke of. " That would be pleasant," he said. " Yes, it would be." " And you'd enjoy it ?" "I think I would." "I thought so," said the Lefthander, sorrowfully. "But not without you, poppa. Of course it's natural to like pretty things, and I should certainly like it all but how could I get along without you?' 1 '' The Lefthander's rugged face seemed to melt at the words. There was an in- d's.-ril)able tenderness in the very manner in which In- eaiv ed the child's hair. "You would soon get used to it," he said. "I don't think I would," Mon^e re- plied, shaking her head slightly ; " I know I would not. I don't see how nice thirds and easy living can make us forget the VIRGINIA liOHKMlANS. L46 people we l<vr. I am sure if I lived that fine life, and you were not with in.-, I would lie awake in the bod with the pretty counterpane and think of you and cry and then, you know, that would spoil all the fine things, and the boots with the black buttons would pinch me." The Lefthander was overcome by the mixed pathos and gayety of the child. He held her close to his heart, and his lips moved as if he were praying for her. "Well, well," he said, "you mustn't mind my talk, Million I'm a little down to-day. It is natural that a father should be thinking about what might happen to his. child if he were to die. It would be better if you were a little lady, as I said but then I would not see you any more ; and if I were not to see you I think I should die, Mignon !" ILis breast heaved and a tremor passed through his frame. " I must go and see about Harry," he said, rising suddenly ; " he is not well yet." AVas this to conceal his emotion ? It seemed so ; Mouse had never seen him so much agitated. lie took his hat and went out, turning his head as if to con- ceal his face from the child. A few mo- ments afterward she saw him disappear in the thicket. L. MOUSE 8 VISITOR. MOUSE sat down after the departure of the Lefthander, and fell into deep thought. She was thinking of her mother. Her vivid imagination filled up the picture of the scenes in the Bohmerwald her father lying sick in the home of the old hunter, her mother nursing him, no doubt, their love and marriage, and her death in less than one year afterward. That was very, very sad. She understood now why her father was so quiet and sorrowful often. He had been gay once, he said now he was no longer gay, and that was natural, since he had lost the person he loved best upon earth. Mouse sobbed, and remained for some 10 time quite absorbed in thought- <>f her poor mamma; but then that would not do, she relleeted. Sin- had a shirt of Harry'* to mend ; so she went a; the shirt and her work - basket, and sat down t<> mend the garment. A^ there was no back to her chair, she placed |,,-r feet on the round in front, and pinning the shirt to her knee brgan to She was thus engaged when she h<-ard a step approaching, and a long shadow ran over the porch. Moii-i- locked up suddenly. There stood an elegantly- dressed gentleman, with a riding-whip in his hand. He was the same who had ac- companied the United States marshal on his search for the moonshiners that night. In fact, the visitor was no other than Mr. Douglas Lascclles. He stood looking at the child and her surroundings with apparent inter though his face continued to wear the expression of coolness and nonchalance which was habitual with him. " Good-morning, miss," he said, bowing carelessly, for Mr. Lascelles was too well- bred ever to omit any of the forms of politeness. " Good-morning, sir," said Mouse, who had been a little startled by his appear- ance* and wished Harry would return. She had risen quickly, and, as the visit- or now came toward her, instinctively re- treated a step. " You seem to be all by yourself," said Mr. Lascelles. " Yes, sir poppa and all are &\\ "Who is your father?" " His name is Ottendorfer." "And he is absent this morning ?" " Yes, sir." Mr. Lascelles slightly knit his brow<, apparently from a sentiment of disap- pointment. His face, as he stood looking at her, evidently did not produce a very agreeable impression upon Mouse, who lowered her eyes. As the shirt wa pinned to her dress, and she held it in her hand, her skirt was raised, showing the slender limbs in cotton sto.-kin-.rs; and Mr. Lascelles, looking at them, wondered a little at the delicacy of the small feet, 146 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. and, indeed, at the same trait in Mouse's features, framed in the light hair. " You are young to be left in such a lonely place as this by yourself," he said, indifferently ; " are you never afraid?" " N-o, sir," responded Mouse, with a strong conviction that she was not speak- ing the exact truth ; " that is not when nobody comes " " Well, / have come and you are evi- dently afraid of me, which is absurd." This did not seem to altogether reas- sure Mouse. The face of Mr. Lascelles was plainly not at all to her taste. 4 ' Where is your father Ottendorfer? You said he was your father." " lie has gone away, sir for a little while," added Mouse, by way of indicating that she was in reach of assistance ; " he will soon be back." " Then I will wait for a short time, at least." He sat down on one of the broken- backed chairs, in evident ill-humor. " What a kennel you live in !" he said, looking around him with covert disgust. Mouse felt that it was necessary to say something, so she replied, in a voice which did not indicate either the recovery of her self-possession or an improved opin- ion of Mr. Lascelles, " It's not very nice, sir. There's not much furniture ; but it's all we've got." " Not much furniture : not an oppres- sive amount, and rather old-fashioned. This hair is enough to break one's back. Td like to break it's own, except that it has none !" Mr. Lascelles was not in an amiable state of mind, plainly. II' 1 was not gen- erally ill-humored; but people will fret sometimes when they have wound them- selves up to go through an interview of an unpleasant character, are anxious to have it over, and find that it must be deferred. As Mouse, less and less pleased with her visitor, whose face exhibited mingled divi.-itisfaetion and distaste for all around him, did not make any reply to this at- tack upon her furniture, Mr. Lascelles, glancing indifferently at her and cutting his boot with his riding-whip, said, " Ottendorfer is your father, you say.! Where is your mother ?" " She is dead, sir," replied Mouse. "One of the circus women, probably. You belonged to that company, too, I member now. I saw you dancing on the rope. What was the cause of your leav- ing the company? what made your fa- ther drag you off here to this cabin, when your life yonder was so easy ?" " Oh, it was very hard not easy at all, sir! I like living here so much better." " Rather a queer taste," said Mr. Las- celles, indifferently. After this careless comment he stretched his handsome rid- ing-boot, and looked out of the window. "When will your father be back.-" he said. " I hope he'll be back very soon." The tone of the words seemed to attract Mr. Lascelles's attention. "Perhaps your meaning is, miss, that his return will terminate an interview which is not particularly pleasant. Yon do not seem precisely at your ease with me." Mouse looked down, a little confused, and at a loss fey a replv. "One would say you were afraid of me." Mouse did unquestionably look a little fearful, and only murmured some vague words. " It is unnecessary, and absurd, too, as I said before. I am not a bear, or a Giant Blunderbore, to devour children. You! father maybe; he is certainly a Blunder- bore in appearance at least. Why did he leave the circus ?" "There was a fight with with Mr. Brownson," Mouse said, not having re- gained her nerves. k ' What was it about f "About me, sir, I think. I fell off the rope, and Mr. Brownson was angry." "Oh yes, when you sprained your an- kle, or something. And you went away that night V "Yes, sir." M Where did you sleep?" " In the town my foot hurt me, and poppa was carrying me." YIUCINIA BOHEMIANS. 1 17 Mr. Lasccllcs fell into reflection. Af- ter awhile lie looked intently at the child, and seemed to have conceived some proj- ect. This was apparent from the sudden disappearance of his air of indifference. " Well, miss," he said, "it was fortu- nate that your father was not arrested. Jle had assaulted a peaceful person, and left the circus company without a mo- ment's warning. Ill-natured persons might have said that he did so to prevent being searched." " Searched, sir !" exclaimed Mouse. " I am sorry to shock you, miss, but people sometimes leave a place suddenly to avoid that. There is such a thing as carrying away what is not one's property." Mouse was so much shocked at this im- putation that she flushed, and looked al- most defiantly at Mr. Lascelles. " Poppa does not steal things !" she said, with the air of an outraged princess. "Not to your knowledge, doubtless; but that is no proof. How could you know what he had in his baggage ?" " He had no baggage at all nothing but my old travelling-bag," Mouse replied, so much offended that she seemed to for- get her uneasiness. " Your travelling-bag, eh ?" "And there was nothing in it but a few clothes of mine and some old papers." " What old papers ?" Mr. Lascelles asked the question with an abruptness which showed how much the words of Mouse affected him. There was the indefinable change, too, in his whole manner that is seen in the fox or deer-hound, when, after circling around, he at last comes on the scent of the game. " Old papers what old papers 2" he said. " I don't know what they were, but poppa had kept them for a long time." " Where are they now ? I mean, you brought your bag with you to this house, I suppose." "No, sir, I lost it. Poppa thinks it must have been dropped, but / think it was left at a good man's house where we slept that night." " What good man ?" " His name was Mr. ( Irantham, 1 hrard." u Mr. (Irantham ! Tars-.n (Irantham f "That was his name." Mr. Laseelles l..vt a little of the color in his face. " Why have you never gone ba< it?" " Poppa did go, but the good ma:, away." Mr. Lascelles fixed his eyes on the floor, and was quite silent for some m : His expression of face was extl gloomy and unea-^v. "How do you'think you came to leave it there ?" he said, in a low voice. "I think it was left on the bed where I slept," Mouse replied. "Well," Mr. Lascelles said, after a moment,"! suppose that was all your fancy. The good man, as you call him, would have looked for you, to restore the bag if he had found it." " It was not worth thinking of, sir." "Why not? The papers may have been valuable. How did they ever come to be in the bag ?" " Poppa put them there ; his own old trunk had a broken lock, but my bag had a very good one, only I think it was un- locked that night." Mr. Lascelles knit his brows; then he grew suddenly savage. Perhaps the child had been drilled to tell the whole story. "You are deceiving me!" he growled. " Oh no, I am not, sir." " Where are those papers ?" "I have told you all I know about them," said Mouse, retreating before his fiery eyes. Mr. Lascelles rose and advanced to- ward her, whereupon Mouse hastily re- treated. "If I thought you were trifling with me" Mr. Lascelles, without intending to do so from the mere force of habit, proba- bly raised his riding-whip as though he meant to strike the child with it. Thuv- upon a great change suddenly took place in Mouse. She stopped and stood with a deep flush in her cheeks, looking straight at him. It was really wonder- 148 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ful to see bow her whole expression had changed in an instant. "Don't strike me!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling, but with a covert defi- ance in its tones. " Harry will be here soon, and he will not let you strike me." For a moment they stood facing each other. The threat, or apparent threat, to inflict a degrading punishment on the poor child seemed to have changed her whole character in an instant : she de- fied and threatened him. " Strike you ! Who spoke of striking you ?" he exclaimed, moodily. " Who is the Harry you speak of ?" " He is one of the family, and will be here soon," Mouse said, still defiant. Now, to meet " one of the family," other than the Lefthander, was not con- templated by Mr. Lascelles when he came, nor was it now. There were reasons prompting him to hold a private inter- view with the Lefthander. As that gen- tleman was absent indefinitely, and an- other member of the family was about to make his appearance, Mr. Lascelles seemed to abandon his project, for he turned toward the door. " Well, I have no further time to waste on you and your family, miss," he said, almost roughly. " Your surroundings are not very inviting, and your own manners not particularly engaging. The sight of my riding-whip seems unpleasant to you ; but if your father used a switch occasionally it might teach you a little better how to behave yourself." With these words Mr. L:iM-lI.-s tapped his boot with his whip, walked out of the house, and, going down the hill, mounted his horse and rode back toward Pied- mont. LI. IV THE WVK WOODS. MR. LASCELLES gained tin 1 (lap and rode on in the directi.'n of Wye, l,,>t in moody reflection. His visit to Crow's Ne>t had been tin- result of a resolution which he had come to on the preceding night. As Mr. Rni:- | gles, to his great disgust, had completely failed to obtain possession of the coveted papers, and seemed unable to devise any means of attaining that object, Mr. Las- celles had determined to bring the whole affair to a point by a direct negotiation on the subject with the Lefthander. He had no reason to believe that the Left- hander, in his depressed financial condi- tion, would prove deaf to golden argu- ments. Men were always for sale, he re- flected ; the only difference was that some cost more than others. It was possible that the Lefthander might cost a good deal. He might take an unmanly advan- tage of the state of things and mulct him, Mr. Lascelles, heavily. But such misfort- unes must be put up with. To attain our ends in this world we must make sacrifices. Mr. Lascelles was ready to make them, and proposed to purchase what he could not otherwise lay his hands on, and in order to effect this had visit- ed Crow's Nest. Not finding the Lefthander at home he had failed in his negotiation ; but the visit 'had not been by any means thrown away. lie liau made a very important discovery, indeed : the papers had been in the child's travelling-bag this had not probably been dropped, as something, would have been heard of it in that event ;] it was therefore, no doubt in possession of Mr. Grantham. At this thought Mr. Lascelles slightly shuddered. Had Mr.? Grantham opened the bag and examined tin- papers? If so but it was improba- ble. As before, something would have been heard of it in that case, and nothing l been heard of it. It was just as likely that Mr. Grantham had not exam- ined them : at all events it was neceJ >ary to prevent his doing so, if they were still in his possession. IIo\\ could he ascertain the fact and lay his hands on the papers? It was a dillienlt alTair to manage. There really did seem to be no means of doing so in j a Straightforward manner. Why were people thus compelled, Mr. Lascelles re- flected, to adopt " crooked " means . ; lie would have much preferred the simpler VIRGINIA rourse, but that was impossible. lie cer- tainly could not go to Mr. Grantham and >av, "A travelling-bag was left with you, containing papers which you will be good enough to deliver to me/' Explanations would be asked, and he would be obliged ite that the papers were of right his property. Jiut then the explanation would require an explanation, and that second explanation Mr. Lascelles was not apparently prepared to make. On the whole, it would be much better to quietly resume possession of his prop- erty without raising a scandal. There would be no moral transgression in so doing. Mere forms were not of vital im- portance where there was no real viola- tion of the laws of meum and tuum. Molierc had claimed the right to take his own wherever he found it, and why should not he ? If by taking it quietly lie avoid- ed strife and contention, was it not all the better ? The trouble was to devise the means, and he naturally thought of Mr. Ruggles. At first he hesitated to have recourse to the assistance of that gentleman, of whom he was growing a little weary. His views as to the efficiency of "detectives" had undergone a shock. The perusal of modern novels had elevated the detec- tive police very high in his estimation. He was very much surprised now to have bis eyes opened, and to find that they were the merest pretenders. There might be some efficient ones, but Mr. Ruggles was evidently an ignoramus or a new hand; else why had he failed? It was really absurd. The papers were in exist- ence, and there was the money ready. W T hy were they not forthcoming ? The result contempt for Mr. Ruggles, and ill-suppressed hauteur of bearing in that gentleman's company. Not even the nar- rative of Mr. Ruggles's ruse with the black bottle, and of what followed, had moved him. lie was evidently no match for the Lefthander, and the struggle was over but he might be for Mr. Grantham. He might suggest something, at least, and if it was found necessary to determine on the hazardous proceeding of Mr. La-cclles took out 1,N \\at.-h. It was nearly half-pa-t three in the afl< Fur o'clock \\as the hour \\hen 1 accustomed to meet, Mr. I! there was just time to reach the , voiis. He put. spurs to his h'r-e, and went on at full gallop. This soon brought him to the Wye wo. .ds ami turning a beixl in the road he saw Mr. Ruggles seated on a root awaiting him. "I was looking for you," said M relies, rather curtly. " Well, here I am," returned M, gles, retaining his seat on the root, of the tree, and speaking in a carelett tone. Mr. Lascelles was already in a bad hu- mor, and by no means relished his com- panion's tone. "You appear to be rather indi; whether you see me or not," he said. Mr. Ruggles had been picking his teeth with a straw. This ceremony he still proceeded with. "Well, to tell you the fact, M cclles, I'm a little tired of thi- he said. " Indeed !" Mr. Lascelles returned, iron- ically. Mr. Ruggles nodded. " I've done all I could, and I can't find your papers. Are they really to be found anywhere? They have been de- stroyed, maybe." "They are not destroyed," said Mr. Lascelles, knitting his brows but n ing himself. " Are you certain ?" " Yes. Perhaps your not finding them is due to another circumstance." " What circumstance is that :" "That you are a new hand at your business." This observation evidently offended Mr. Ruggles considerably ; hi- -um-d a sullen expression. "Been twenty years in the for think I know a thing or two!" ! sponded, not without covert detia " Xo one would think so," replied Mr. Lascelles, unable to suppress the retort. " This business is simple enough. I want something a part of my property 150 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. which another person has in his hands. I employ you to get possession of it and you fail to do so. I don't tell you you arc inefficient, exactly but I say you must be new at your business." "Been nearly twenty years in the force!" reiterated Mr. Buggies, with a rather morose glance. " Well, I have not, and yet I've found out more in half an hour than you have done in a month." "Found out what?" The tone of voice employed by Mr. Ruggles was open to the criticism of be- ing rather unceremonious, and Mr. Las- celles lost his temper slightly. " Mr. Rugbies !" he said. "Well, sir?" " It would be better, probably, if you were a little more friendly or polite, at least in your manner of speaking. I mention it as a thing apt to cause bad feeling." " I'm polite to everybody !" said Mr. Ruggles. " You are devilish short to me !" re- plied Mr. Lascelles, with a dangerous look. " But all this talk is folly. The papers are in the town, at a Mr. Grantham's. They were left there in a travelling-bag containing a child's clothes. Can you, or can you not, get hold of them ?" Ills professional character being thus in question, Mr. Ruggles replied that he had no doubt he could get hold of them. " It's a serious matter," he said, " some- thing like burglary it will cost you money." " Burglary ! Who speaks of burglary ? I might go and demand my property, but that would cause talk. It is mine why not go and take it, if it can be found, without making a scandal f " A scandal ! Yes, that's disagreeable," said Mr. Ruggles, looking significantly at Mr. Lascelles. "It would be infernally li>:i^ivpahlo I make no concealment on that point but that is all. As to the business, there is no wrong done anybody ; it is my pri- vate affair. The papers are of no value to any one but myself. They are kept from me by that obstinate rascal, who has some bad end in view. They are proba- bly lying about somewhere yonder ; what is to prevent you from quietly picking them up and bringing them to me ? Your check is ready." This latter observation seemed to have far more effect upon Mr. Ruggles than the whole preceding train of argument. "Well, I'll try,"' he said. <r Tho mat- ter's simple enough. If they are lying about I can easily get hold of them." " Well, the sooner the better. I have been to the house in the mountain and had a talk, and by this time Ottendorfer knows that I knoio. There is time to try to-night," Mr. Lascelles looked at his watch. "You might get there toward dark, and that would be better. If you say so, I will meet you here at ten to-night to hear what has happened." Mr. Ruggles reflected, hesitated, and then nodded. "I'll try to-night, then. My cape will hide the bag if I get hold of it, and I won't be seen coming back." He rose and buttoned up his coarse brown cape. "At ten, then," said Mr. Lascelles. "At ten," said Mr. Ruggles. They then parted, Mr. Lascelles riding on toward Wye. LII. THE TRAVELLING-BAG. MR. GRANTIIAM had just finished his early cup of tea, and had returned to his study, in which his-two candles were, burn- ing. The half -written MS. of his next sermon lay upon the table, but, while tak- ing his solitary meal, he had been think- ing of Ellis, and the impulse to write to him was uncontrollable. Hi 1 had a i^reat deal to say to him, as he had not written for nearly a week Then, on that morning he had stopped at \Vy<-. on his ride to visit his poor people, and Mrs. Lascelles had spoken of Ellis in a way which warmed his heart. Anna VIRGINIA J'.oIlKMlANS. L51 Gray had also alluded to the young man, asking when lie would return, in a torn- of voice which seemed to indicate a stronger feeling than friendship; and Mr. Gran- thani suddenly began to suspect that relations existed between the young people than he had supposed. \Vas this really the case \Verc Ellis and Anna Gray in. -re than friends? That demand- ed thought. It would be an altogether excellent arrangement; for the young lady was a most exemplary person. But could it be so? He would write and ask Ellis. They had never had any secrets from each other. So, turning his back for the moment on his sermon, and losing sight complete- ly of his " History of Ritualism," which had readied its most denunciatory chap- ter, Mr. Grantham took a sheet of paper, and began, " My beloved Ellis" As he wrote the words a knock was heard at the outer door, and he rose and went out. At the door stood a plainly- dressed man, with a coarse brown cape on his shoulders. " Do you wish to see me, my friend ?" said Mr. Grantham. " Come in ; it is growing cool." The visitor entered, and, by way of ex- plaining his visit, presented a soiled pa- per, which Mr. Grantham took and read. This paper recited the fact that the bear- er was a respectable resident in the moun- tain, who had been " burnt out " some days before, and was an object of charity, owing to a large family who were home- less and destitute in consequence of their misfortune. Under these circumstances contributions in money or provisions would be thankfully received. Mr. Grantham's first impulse was to put his hand in his pocket. He found the least possible amount of currency there- in ; but this he at once handed to the unfortunate man. It was received with thanks, but the visitor did not depart. " Oh yes," said Mr. Grantham, " I quite lost sight of the last part of your paper. You wish for provisions, and I am glad of that. I am poor in money, but Heaven has blessed me with plenty of food." lie went out to obtain the pr\ saying that he would return in a moment, thereupon the movements of the visitor became rrrt-ntrir. lie looked (jlliekly around him, saw a small t ravelin hidden away under the old srrivtary in the corner, an d went straight and upon it. A quirk trial <!' the lock cd him that it \\as open, and he h:i>tilv cxamined its content-. The animated expression of his fare showed that this examination was thoroughly satisfactory. The travelling- bag contained a child's under -clothing, and at the bottom was a package of papers. These Mr. Gran- tham's eccentric visitor just glanced at and thrust back. He then closed the travelling-bag, and, concealing it under his cape, returned toward the door, just as the footsteps of Mr. Grantham eame along the passage from the rear of the house. The worthy pastor carried in his hand a plate containing an ample supply of bread, meat, sugar, and coffee. This he presented with a friendly smile to his vis- itor, who wrapped it in an old newspaper and gratefully thanked him. He then took his departure, and Mr. (irantham closed the front-door behind him and re- turned to his study. It was not until the next morning that he discovered a singu- lar fact. His eccentric visitor had left money and bread and meat on the bench of the small porch. As Mr. Kuggles af- terward said, in relating the incident, he really could not take the artieles away with him it looked too mean to be im- posing on a man like that; he positively could not do it. With swift and joyous steps Mr. gles hurried out of the town in the <lir - tion of Wye. He was astounded at his good fortune. He had not e secure his prize in so simple and manner. It was almost too good true; but there it was under hi- held tightly beneath his left arm ; and as he went along, and emerged safely from the town, unfollowed, he hugged it r.ipt- urously, and a smile expanded upon his features. Under the effect of his rare 152 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. good fortune, Mr. Ruggles's whole soul, indeed, expanded. His ill-humor had dis- appeared, and he was at peace with all the world. A part of his recent sullenness had arisen from a sense of humiliation. He had failed in all his efforts hitherto now he had fully succeeded. His happi- ness was unalloyed, lie had nothing to reproach himself with, even in connection with the Lefthander. Toward that gen- tleman his sentiments had undergone a great change since their interview on the rock above the stream. Mr. Ruggles was really touched by having had his life spared. His new feeling of regard for the Lefthander was perfectly sincere, and he had even half resolved not to take part in any future machinations against him. But his present proceedings scarcely in- volved that. The papers only concerned Mr. Lascelles. Securing them was in no manner personally prejudicial to the Left- hander. It was all in the way of business, and he was only carrying out his agreement with Mr. Lascelles at least there they were ! And Mr. Ruggles bestowed an- other hug upon them, breaking forth into confidential laughter. "It's a real Saratoga trunk to carry under a man's arm !" said Mr. Ruggles, humorously ; " couldn't be handled, one would say, by less than four bag^ag-- sma>hers, at the very least! But I don't mind the weight. A cool thousand dol- lars in gold never felt so light before." He reached the rendezvous in the Wye woods a little before the hour agreed upon. It was quite dark, and lie had had some difficulty in finding his way. lie generally carried a dark- lantern and matches about him, but was nridrntally unprovided with them on this occasion. But they were unnecessary. A few stars were shining, and afforded quite suilii-'n-nt light for his interview with Mr. La>eelle-. Mr. Rngglrs, therefore, sat down on hi* favorite root, and while waiting f'll inti reflection as to the manner in which he would dispose of his thousand dollar.-. His thousand dollars? His fifteen hun- dred, at the very least! He was to have that amount in case his services were at- tended with danger. And had they not been ? To be suspended over a precipice was rather dangerous, one would say. And then the commission of petty larceny that also was rather hazardous. There were such persons as constables, and such places as State-prisons. Decidedly, there could be no question about it, It was absurd to say that danger had not been an element of the affair and danger meant at least fifteen hundred dollars, if not two thousand. This sum Mr. Ruggles contemplated with great satisfaction. He was not a bad fellow, and had an old mother whom he cared a good deal for. He meant to give her one -half the amount, and treat his friends and himself with the rest. He was thinking of this when he heard steps, and a moment afterward a figure came toward him. He rose quickly and waited. The figure came nearer. It was Mr. Lascelles. " Well !" he exclaimed, ardently. " I've got it," responded Mr. Ruggles in the same tone. " Give it to me ! You are lucky ! I take back all I said about you." " Perhaps you've got the two thousand about you, Mr. Lascelles ?" " Two thousand ? One thousand was the agreement," " Yes, if there was no danger. Now there was danger enough, I think. Hang- ing in the air a hundred feet above rocks and water is dangerous." "It amounted to nothing. It was only done to frighten you." " \Vell, it did frighten me rather," said Mr. Ruggles, sullenly; "and larceny does too stealing your papers, I mean." It was quite obvious that Mr. Rugbies meant to insist on his point, and with a suppressed growl Mr. Lascelles said, " Well, say fifteen hundred." "Two thousand." " No !" " \\Y11, split on eighteen hundred that's the lowest figure I swear I'll go at." Mr. Lascelles felt a strong desire to strangle Mr. Ruggles, but controlled him- self. " VIK<;iMA nolIK.MIANS. 153 "Well let it go at that! (live me 10 bag. Arc you certain it is all right .'" lain of it papers and all. Have on got a match ?" Mr. Lascelles produced his match-case, nd illuminated a small wax cigar taper. [e then hazily took the bag, opened it, ud saw that it contained a child's under- Bhing. His face glowed, and, throating the ar- cles aside, he plunged his hand into the ottom of the bag and drew out a pack- go of papers, lie had handed the taper .) Mr. Higgles, who held it between them, nd the dim light lit up the two ardent ices, producing a decidedly Rembrandt- effect. Mr. Lascelles opened the package of apers, which were in a brown wrapping jcured by an ordinary cotton string. It ontained a number of Sunday-school acts. With eyes wide open Mr. Lascelles nfolded a letter accompanying the pack- ge, and read by the light of the taper : I "DEAR MR. GRANTHAM, I send the Bothes I promised you for 'your poor,' ind some tracts. I made the clothes up myself. Your affectionate " FRANCES GARY." I On the next morning Mr. Grantham [prepared to ride out and visit his poor. |fo his great surprise he missed his trav- :?lling-bag with the children's clothes in lit, which he had placed beneath the sec- retary in his study ; strangely enough it pad disappeared. LIII. IN THE LIBRARY. WHEN Mr. Lascelles returned to Wye, |ifter his interview with Mr. Ruggles, it jwas not quite eleven. A light was burn- j.ng in the library, which indicated that ivery one had not retired. As Mr. Lascelles had left the house by the back-door, he now re-entered in the jsame manner, intending to go to his cham- ber. Perhaps it occurred to him that his might prove an index of matters, lie was \rry bill.-rly disippo'mt- ed, and his e\piv>M.>ii WM Millen. Tim be>t of us are mortal, and cannot, smile al- \\ays The lirst glimpse of the ! thing and papers in the travelling - bag had brought, a thrill of triumph to tin- h'-art of Mr. Lasecllrx. \Vlicn he il character of tin- articles !. into a rage, and used shocking rxpr> reflecting personally on Mr. 1 1 u -.,".;'' long conversation with that gentleman had thereupon ensued, during which Mr. Lascelles gradually grew mure COBB] The sea was going down after the storm now, but it was not by any means tran- quil yet so Mr. Lascelles thought he had better go to his room quietly. Unluckily he found that he would be unable to do so. Just as he was passing under the old cut-glass lamp, with its red octagonal sides, in the hall, a voice from the library said, "Is that you, Douglas?" It was the voice of the general, and Mr. Lascelles went at once to the library, where he found his father leaning back in his easy-chair. For a wonder he was not reading his newspaper, but sun iking a cigar. This was unusual with him. He used snuff, like most gentlemen of the old school, but rarely smoked. When he did so he resorted to a mild cigar, and used it as an aid to reflection. "Come in, Douglas," he said. Mr. Lascelles did so, and took hi in an arm-chair at the corner of the fire- place, facing his father. The g tranquilly smoked for about a minute, and then, moving his portly form slight- ly, crossed one leg, ending in a neat slip- per, over the other. He had evidently something to say, and Mr. : I quiet- ly waited. "Do you know you are nearly thirty- five, Douglas?" the genial >aid. " You have a good met A 1'aih. r rememh n the ige of his children. You will be thirty-live n the twentieth of next month." "Yes, sir," said Mr. L. "nder- ing a little what was coming. 154 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " And I think it is time you were mar- ried, if you propose to marry." Mr. Lascellcs smiled slightly. " I am very well satisfied with my pres- ent life, sir. Marriage is something of a lottery, if we are to believe the trite maxim, and I confess I should not like to draw a blank." "But you have your responsibility as the head of the family after my death, Douglas. You arc my only son, and a son of yours should succeed you. Then you have travelled and enjoyed yourself or had the means of doing so, as I think I could show you by my check- book, during your absence in Europe. You spent a great deal of money. I do not complain of it; on the contrary, it vactly in accordance with my wishes that you should do so. A young man who keeps good company has no taste for bad company, and to go into good society requires a certain expenditure." " That is very true, sir : and remember the rank and character of my father. You were very well known as a states- man in London and Paris, and I bore your name." This was not displeasing to General Lascelles. The reference to ourselves as persons of "rank and character" rarely i-. " Well, well, I am glad you enjoyed yourself. But to come back to the point. It is time you were thinking of taking a wife. Unless you do so, and have a boy to succeed you, the property will go to Judge Warrington as the next male kin, you know." "To Judge Warrington!" exclaimed Mr. Laseclles. " Certainly." "What i- to prevent you or me from leaving the property to oth* "Tin- ,SW/V A/// of the, Lasec!lrs fam- ily," said (General Lavlles, tranquilly smoking. "Have you forgotten it i \ woman cannot represent, the family. The next male kin takes the estate. Our an- cestor, the Sieiir La^celh-s brought the custom over the ocean with him, and it Las been respected for nearly two centu- I must respect it in my turn, and so must you." "And leave the estate of Wye t< Judge Warrington ?" "The house and a sufficient amount 01 land to keep it up, at least ; the res would go to my daughters, either by will or yours, since you succeed me." "Judge Warrington !" " I understand your feelings, my deal Douglas, but there's no help for it. confess I do not like Judge AYarrington or fancy his ever being the master here But he may be. He would be obliged t< add Lascelles to his own name, but ther< is little doubt that he would do so." " Very little." Mr. Lascelles reflected for some mo ments after uttering these words. H< then added, "I have no objection to marrying, sir; but I really have not thought seriously of it. There ought to be some sentiment in an affair so delicate " " Oh, certainly ; but then there should not be too much. Mere romantic feeling is not necessary." Mr. Lascelles smiled slightly. "I heard of a gentleman," he said, "who was going to his wedding in a light carriage, and came to a stream so swollen that fording it was extremely dangerous. There was a bridge only half a mile distant, but he would not go back. He lashed his horses, and went through with the water washing ovetf their backs. The gentleman was your- self, sir." u Well, well, well !" the general said, with a smile. "And when my mother fainted one day, you seized a glass which chanced ; to have no bottom, and poured wattf^ through it from a pitcher, exclaiming 'Marie! Marie!' You really must have me of the romantic sentiment you denounce, sir." 11 Well, well," said the general, in ft mild voice, and with an expression in his eyes which seemed to show that memory had carried him back to his golden years, " all that was a long time ago. My VIRGINIA age has been happy, and I find no fault ith real feeling; but do not let it blind >u in selecting a wife. Good birth and vcetness of temper are better than curls id POS "I fully agree with yon," said Mr. \.:\<- lles. though it was exceedingly doubtful hether he did. "Good blood is of course essential," e general said ; " as to money, that is ex- emely desirable, but it is not everything, ou had better live in comparative pov- ty with a wife whose tastes and habits lit your own, than in splendor with a fTerent sort of person." " But where shall I find the young lady, r?" said Mr. Lascelles, smiling. 'There is my goddaughter, Frances ary. She is really a little beauty." "Miss Gary! Yes she is certainly " Such a match would be most accept- fcle to me. I am extremely fond of feoloncl Gary, and would like to see more f him than I now do." " I am afraid Miss Gary is not my style, ir excuse the slang of the day. There's o accounting for one's tastes, you know." " I am aware of that. Well, what do [ou say to Miss Armstrong?" The general touched the ash on his igar with his little finger, knocking it off. ks he did so he glanced at Mr. Lascelles j.nd smiled. "Miss Armstrong? She is very hand- omc." " Very handsome indeed," said the rencral. "And the Armstrongs belong to he best people, and were once quite vealthy." k ' Mrs. Armstrong still lives in great omfort." | u Well, what do you think of reqtiest- ng the pretty Miss Juliet to become Mrs. Douglas Lascelles? If rumor is true 'M'l i-vcn an old fellow like myself hears j.hcm sometimes you have been consider- nir that question." " Rumor has always a great deal to say pf people's affairs," said Mr. Lascelles; !* but we have wholly neglected another .'cry important point in the discussion whether any one of theM young would he desirous of her, ,miii" M: relies." " That is uncertain, 1 & nln-re women are concerned e\er\ tiling certain. Iut then tin r an- the \ bilities. You an- in your prime, I tleman in manners and rh:ira-t<-r, and Wye is n handsome property." "Very handsome, ind< "I do not mean that tin- sort "f prr- son I wish you to marry would he apt to attach undue importance to the property. Girls are not so mercenary as thev arc represented to be the good ones. Of course there arc plenty who are silly and worldly, and would marry you for your acres, if you were silly enough to permit them to do so. Women are cither or bad the line is drawn more distinctly than with men. The good ones an- an- gelic ; as to the other class, I wish I could never see any more of them, they de- grade their sex so, in my estimation. Choose one of our little beauties in the Piedmont neighborhood. They are charming girls and there is nothing in your character to object to. Your great merit is that you have passed through ev- ery temptation, and have returned to your family without vices of any description." " I am gratified at your good opinion, sir." "It is doing you simple justice. I hoped, of course, that in visiting Europe you would avoid what was discreditable but lonor observation has shown me O that it is impossible to be certain of any- thing in this world. We cannot on human nature. When it it generally gives way, and is apt to pux- zle us more and more as we go on in life. I am not a pessimist, but I am not astonished. People disappoint all your theories. If you told me that tb Mr. Grantham had robbed me of a fat mutton last night, or had broken into a hen-roost, and stolen th-- chickens, I should say 1 did not be!. but I should not say he did not. That is merely an illustration perhaps an extrav- agant one. What I mean is that human 156 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. nature is a very curious compound. It i the unexpected that almost always hap- pens, and what people do is often precise- ly what you would never have expected them to do." " True enough, sir." "Life and circumstances try men and women. You often find the best of them conducting themselves in a manner equal- ly astonishing and discreditable." As Mr. Lascelles inclined his head, by way of assent to these philosophic max- ims, the general proceeded to add, " I am glad I can say that I have nev- er been disappointed in any such way in your case. You have passed through many scenes calculated to try a young man's morale, I am glad to say, without soil on your character." Mr. Lascelles looked modest. "Your good opinion is certainly a source of the highest satisfaction to me, sir," he said. " You deserve it. I should have been equally candid in expressing my dissatis- faction. It is due to you to say that your career in Europe was highly honor- able ; and you have returned home to pursue the occupations of a country gen- tleman without a regret or a remorse. To say that of a man of thirty-five is to say that ho is a respectable person, and would make a good husband, and I as- sure you that intelligent young ladies consider these points as much as their parents." Mr. Lascelles made a movement of modest and respectful assent. True, there was something in the expression of his eyes which it was rather difficult to understand, but then his face was gen- erally inscrutable. "I will give the whole subject mature reflection, sir," he said. " I need not >av that the expression of your wishes has always great weight with me." "That is gratifying. There really need be no trouble about it. No neighborhood in Virginia has more charming young persons than our little Piedmont circle. Marry at home, where you arc certain whom you marry that is the important is point; for, let me repeat, it is essenti* that a gentleman should not go out o his own sphere, or marry a person h knows nothing about. If he docs, th- chances are that he will marry an advenl urcss." " You are right, sir." "You had much better put your Lain in the fire than offer it to such a pcrsor But I think I need not caution yon o; that point. You are not an inflammabl boy, to be caught by the stereotyped wile of such creatures. Look in your ow sphere of society, my dear Douglas, fo the future Mrs. Lascelles; and now, as have preached long enough, I think will retire." AVhcn Mr. Lascelles reached his chain ber he put on his dressing-gown, and fe into a fit of musing; he was probabl t thinking of the conversation with his fa ther, as an ironical expression slowly stol over his face. After awhile he got and unlocked a drawer in his table. Fron this he took a small oval case, covered with blue velvet, and, touching a spring, opened it. The case contained a colored photograph of Miss Bassick, very fir.ch executed. The young lady had evidently dressed herself with great care to have i taken, though perhaps the term "dressed* is not strictly appropriate. The neck am shoulders were bare, and emerged from a cloud. They were very handsome sbou] ders, and the eyes and lips of the picture had the seductive expression of the origJ inal. The full suit of hair was elaborate- ly dressed. The portrait had been taken a year before, in one of the Atlantic when Mrs. Armstrong was accompanied^ by Miss Bassick in the character of! lady's maid and general travcllin-. vcnience. Mr. Lascelles sat down again and look-; cd at the picture, which seemed to loofl back at him. The seductive cye> brougfl a slight color to his face it might have] been called a sudden glow. It was quite! an unusual expression with the cool Mr. Douglas Lascelles. Something waa the matter with him; and if there had been any doubt of that, what followed would VIRGINIA r.olII-MIANS. 157 iave demonstrated it. lit- pivs.-ed the >ieture to his lips. "The little devil ! slu has made a com- t'ool of me!" lie muttered; "hut '11 soon be her master." This confidential remark <>f Mr. I.a- :clles is easily explained. He was eii- : to be married t< Mi>s 1 fossick. LIV. THE MORNING PAPER. MR. LASCELLES made his appearance t the breakfast-table with such an air of lonchalance that it was obvious he had lot a care in the world. As he was un- lorgoing at the moment, as will soon be teen, a very considerable amount of anxi- ity and suspense, this self-control w r as all he more creditable ; and it is only justice o Mr. Lascelles to say that his coolness md force of character were remarkable. .Ie sauntered in and took his seat with in easy and cheerful air, and the pleasant amily breakfast proceeded on its way. Anna Gray, who relieved her aunt of nuch of the house-keeping, sat behind the ray, at the head of the table, and Mrs. jascelles at the side next to the fire. At ,he bottom of the table the general was, is usual, sipping his coffee and reading lis newspaper, with his old body-servant, frames, standing motionless with his silver raiter behind him. This old body-servant ILvas quite a character. He and General * Laseelles, in their callow youth, had aided fund abetted each other in robbing birds' - Ijiests, and other objectionable proceedings; liind when the future head of the house of !es became a young man, it was I lames who groomed his riding-horse, and I (waited upon him as his body -servant. .jNVheii young legislator Lascelles repre- sented his county at Richmond, James Invent with him, and afterward accom- panied his master to Washington, when Jibe became a member of Congress. All [Ithis had elevated the views of James, and I 'impressed him greatly. lie was very jbroud of " the family,'' and looked down with unspeakable sc,>ni >n " poor white people." His other names f,,|- them \\nv "common man" and "tra-h." A> to in- stituting any comparison between such persons and the I.a^-elles family, he would have regarded the idea U an cvi- dencc of lunacy. He never di- the subject, if any one seemed <1; to introduce it. He simply nodded in a lordly way, as tin- proud I>nke <-f S-.mer- set might have done if a parvenu had compared their respeetive pedi;_ r r<-e>., and a goturc of the hand ind'n-ated his dcsiro to drop the subject. James had never for a single instant thought of leaving his master during <>r after the war. Emancipation Proclama- tions were plainly only so much waste paper in his eyes. Then- were certain new-comers in the county, who ivmmi- strated with him upon this unmanly sub- servience. Was he not equal to his mas- ter now? lie was a free American citi- zen, and just as good as General La-celles, and if he had a proper respect for him-elf he would vote the Republican ticket and perhaps he wouldn't mind taking a drink ? But James was obdurate. He was much obliged, but knew his own business, and did not want any advice. His political sentiments coincided with those of Gen- eral Laseelles. He seldom drank when he did, his master always had a plenty, and of the best. The strangest part of all was that James would receive no wages which was his supreme protest against the new order of things. He had never wanted for m<>ney, he said, in past times, when his yung master had any, and did not mean now, when his old master was often piv^ed. to take anything from him. If ; money were made him he would take them, of course it wa- the pla. f a servant to accept presents from a irentle- man. There was no chan^' in him: he and his mast( r maintained their f-rm.-r positions: General Ln- eral La-celles, and old James remaii, James. The one sat at the table, and the other stood behind him. The one hand- ed the decanter on his silver waiter, and 158 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. the other sipped the wine. One brushed the other's clothes, and the other wore them. Both heads were gray now, but the feeling toward each other under the gray hairs was the same as when they went bird-nesting together half a century before. The breakfast-room at Wye was a very pleasant apartment in rear of the library : it was papered in fawn color, with bronze figures, and comfortably carpeted, and on the old-fashioned brass andirons blazed a pile of hickory logs. The table-service was of blue India china and the old fam- ily silver. On the hearth a tea-kettle was simmering cheerfully. It was a scene of domestic peace and happiness, and the faces of the little group were as cheerful as their surroundings. Mrs. Lascelles, in her black bombazine and frilled cap, was talking with Anna Gray, whose appear- ance was remarkable for its neatness and absence of pretension. This was her ap- pearance uniformly, for never was there a person more delightfully neat and lady- like. It was impossible to associate her with the idea of undress ; and to have seen her hair in disorder, or the little white collar around her neck in the least degree soiled, would have filled her friends with apprehensions that something had happened. The general was reading his newspaper, and interrupted himself in this perform- ance to say good-morning to his son, as he came in and took his seat. " I am afraid there is going to be trou- ble for our friends in the mountain," said the general, addressing his observation to no one in partimlar. Mrs. Lascelles looked at him with her placid smile, and said, " What did you say, my dear .'" This old couple thus addressed each other, and the words seemed really to ex- press their feeling. " I mean for the ' moonshine ' people. I see that troops are to be sent to arrest them." " It is a great pity that these poor peo- ple will continue their unlawful business, said the lady. " Yes, my dear ; a great pity. I havi repeatedly advised them to discontinue it." "It is sad to think what the conse quences may be to them, and then mat ing whiskey is so sinful," said Mrs. Las celles, who was a strong advocate of teia perance ; " it would be so much better i\ no more was ever made." " Well, perhaps you are right, my dear but that is not what the revenue official! wish. Of course the business is illegal but after all there is no real harm done They arc poor people, and must live, un less you reply to that argument in the words of the French wit, ' I do not see the necessity.' " The general smiled, but the lady shool her head, as unconvinced. " I saw a picture the other day," she said, " of a fox holding a hen in hi mouth, and under it, 'An honest fox inus live.' " " Well, my dear, the moonshiners ar not that bad, I hope. I must really gc and advise them " " Not to break the laws, do you mean my dear ?" " To be more prudent, at least." The general smiled at his retort, < r m< raising his paper, said, " Here is a delight- ful paragraph : " ' It is reported that the moonshiners are giving great trouble in Virginia, es pccially in the Blue Ridge, near the towj of Piedmont, where repeated raids hav< been made upon them, but no arn fected. The illicit manufacture of wliis- key has assumed frightful proportions in I Virginia, and is estimated at lifty million gallons per annum. The whole of this- is consumed in the State, and a simple. calculation will exhibit the enormous i quantity to each inhabitant. The eighth I (ViiMis shows that Virginia contains a population of twenty-two millions; and; thus the amount of spirit consumed by! e\erv man, woman, and child in the com-] nionwealth is nearly two hundred and j lifty gallons per annum that is rather more than three gallons a day. This is | really appalling. Is it to be wondered at YIUCIXIA r.Plll-MlANS. at a population sunk in such wretched iiould have contracted another had ibit that of never paying the public editors.' There is absolutely no future r a M'ciety so abandoned to all sense !' lame. Any appeal to the sense of pro- ietv of such people is a farce. They lonlv defy the government in this moon- ine business, and the only course to with them is to resolutely enforce e laws. There is little doubt that this ill be done at once. Troops will be nt without delay to support the revenue Electors. The Secretary of the Treasury ~ucd his orders, and troops will be nt to enforce them. If the moonshiners sist, they will be dealt with as they de- xv.' " Poor people," said the general, laugh- ig; "but why not deal with the whole pulation of the commonwealth, and ut the bayonet upon them ? They are wretched set, it seems, and ought to be ade an example. But here is something ore agreeable, which will interest you dies : "* Proceedings at the Theological Sem- uiri/, The annual commencement at his Institution took place on Thursday ist. The sermon was preached by the iev. I >r. Andrews, and the candidates ^ere then examined. The following ^ T ere admitted to the order of deacons : /antham, and ' a number of oth- rs " said the general. " That will please on, my dear, as Ellis is such a favorite nth you " " And with my Cousin Anna," said Mr. )ouglas Lascelles, rather satirically. Thereat Anna Gray flushed up, and aised her head with the air of an offend- d duchess. There was something in the one of voice of Mr. Lascelles which seem- d disagreeable to her. "I shall be very glad to see him, if hat is what you mean," she said. " I have no doubt of it !" Having made this satirical response, tfr. Lascelles rose and sauntered out to mjoy his cigar, after which, as the fore- loon advanced, he ordered his horse and ode toward Trianon. LY. MRS. ARMSTRONG 1 , 1 L8. ON the same iimming M r <. Arm-Iron^ was seated in her chamber biting ln-r nails. It was a \ery bright and allra-t- 111, with a l..w ipaewood elaborately carved, in one corner, a \T\ elegant carpet, an oval mirror Mirmoiint- ing a toilet-table uitli a \\hite marble top, and easy-chairs were MVH in e\erv direc- tion. On the toilet-table \\riv tin- im- plements and accessaries of the lady's toi- let inlaid brushes, cut-glass lla-k- scnces, hair-oils But ladies of middle- age, who like to appear young, have con- fidences with their toilets, and further reference to the subject might be indis- creet. Every object in Mrs. Armstrong's bou- doir was indicative of the lady's tai "pretty things," and even the do her wardrobe were heavy mirror bright fire was burning, with a highly- polished brass fender in front of it, and near it stood a pair of elegant morocco boots side by side, as if their owner were standing in them, and had put her foot down. She had replaced them with worked slippers at the moment, and was reclining in an arm-chair. It wa* nearly noon, and the day was beautiful. Mrs. Armstrong's face was the only object in the apartment that jarred. She was biting her nails a fact above stated and when a lady bites her nails in that manner trouble is brewing. Y i could see that Mrs. Arm>tr"iig was in a very bad humor. In fact, she had re- ceived a piece of intelligence which both startled and enraged her in the 1. degree. She was thinking of it at this moment, and hence that performance so dangerous to the rounded proportions of her pink finger-nails. Her darling project, connected with Paris, seemed about to fail. It wai doubtful, indeed, if she would spend her winters there with Mr. and Mix Douglas Lascelles. She had ardently desired the marriage, and not selfishly at all. was thinking a great deal more of Juliet 100 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. than of herself, for this worldly woman loved her daughter with all her heart. O She knew that Juliet was not much pleased with life at Trianon, while fine toik-ts, equipages, and excitement would afford her enjoyment and it was to have Juliet make her appearance in this splon- did world that her mother had planned and almost intrigued, thinking first of her Juliet, and only of her own incidental pleasure in the second place. It had really seemed for some weeks as if Mr. Lascelles had become a hopeless captive. He came to Trianon regularly ; he occasionally remained late tete-a-tete in the drawing-room, from which Mrs. Arm- strong persisted in retiring in spite of Juliet's protest. All this appeared to in- dicate that Mr. Lascelles was enslaved, lie had not stated the fact, but there seemed to be no doubt of it. Romantic devotion, and extravagance and absurdity in general were not to be expected. He was not an impulsive boy with his heart in his hand, begging somebody to take it. He was thirty -five, and at that age men were apt to conduct themselves in a more rational manner. They might feel deep- ly, but not consider it necessary to act in sucli a way as to make the world laugh at them. Looks and tones of the voice were sufficient to express their sentiments, and no doubt Mr. Lascelles resorted to these in his interviews with Juliet, if he said nothing. Mrs. Armstrong was per- suaded that she had occasionally inter- cepted such glances, and was satisfied that nothing but time was necessary, when all at once the atmosphere began to grow chill. It was a verv slight chill at first fnM* approach almost imperceptibly. Thing* are not nipped in the bud with cruel abruptness: a slight glimmer of silver on the grass appears, but the sunshine dittipatM it. in an instant. At time* the quite perceptible chill in the manner .if Mr. Laseelles seemed to melt under the sunshine of Mi*s Juliet's eye-,; but tin- day at last came when it did nt melt. It was not an obtrusive and killing frost; but it was so plain that there was no pos- sibility of mistaking it. The weath had grown cool, and it was very doubtfj indeed if it would ever again recover tl lost caloric. AVhat did it mean ? Mrs. Armstrong received intelligence which enabled h* to understand, or to think that she dit There was a dusky maiden of the estaj lishment whose name, Lucinda, had bee abbreviated to Cinda. She was maid ( all work, and had been at Trianon for considerable time, in spite of Mrs. Arn; strong's little peculiarities. She " naj ged" Cinda very much, and Cinda wool have taken wing, but remained from pin fondness for Juliet. This grew froi slight circumstances. Juliet was undi monstrative but exceedingly amiable, anl so generous that she bestowed upon Cirl da almost any article of wearing appanl which she coveted, thereby enabling th maiden to produce a sensation at c-olore assemblages. Then Juliet was not exadl ing, and gave very little trouble. Ail Cinda herself acknowledged, * Miss Jiiliel was a angel, and never quarrelled noj nothing when she was lacing her corsidgel in the morning.' So the entente cordidm was thoroughly established between miJ tress and maid ; and finding it necessaJ to abuse people, Cinda relieved her mini by abusing Miss Bassick, who never prel sentcd her with anything. This is J crime in the African eyes, and Miss Bas| sick, therefore, came to be cordially de| spised by the disinterested Cinda. As a necessary consequence, she resolved \>- in- jure her if it was ever in her power td do so. v The Cindas, as a class, arc dangerous foes. Their sharp eyes sec a great deal,! and their tongues are as sharp as the eycs^ What they do not see, they say they have! seen ; and such is the vigor of their fancy! that they make a very good narra' deed, out >f very slender materials, which foretells a great race of black female nov- elist*. <'inda, watching and listening, ha<3 conceived suspicions in reference to the proceedings of her dear enemy, Miss Ba*- sick. She thought that on one occasion, VIllCIMA BOHEMIANS. 101 vhen Mr. Lasccllcs entered the hall, aiul s I'.assick chanced to l>r passing, that a light explosion resembling a salute had 'olio wed the encounter. Then Cinda ,vas tiivd with the noble ambition of dis- covering everything, and warning her dear Miss Juliet. Was that Mr. L:i-elles com- see Miss Bassiek, when lie made >at he was coining to see Miss Ju- iet ? It was a shame ! She, Cinda, uld see about that ! and she did sec ibout it. On the evening preceding this morning jvhen Mi^. Armstrong was biting her nails, 3inda had made her appearance in the adv'- chamber, a little after dark, and, ling with delight, had made disclos- Shc had been to look for mnsh- ms, as there might be some yet, when, is she was passing through the woods in iront of the house, about dusk, she had een Mr. Lasccllcs and Miss Bassick iissing each other. Mrs. Armstrong was n front of her mirror, with a hair-pin be- tween her teeth, when this announcement ,vas made. She nearly bit the hair-pin in ;wo, and sat down, gasping slightly. Be- .ng interrogated minutely and exhaustive- ly, Cinda persisted. It was Mr. Lascelles ind Miss Bassick, and they kissed each ->thcr. They were saying good-bye, for pe galloped off and Miss Bassick walked f terward ; but it was them, and she thought she ought to tell about it. Having communicated this incident kith delighted giggles Cinda retired, and Mrs. Armstrong gnawed her lips in a fu- "iuu< way. Could it be possible? Yes, fit was possible. That interview in the drawing-room ! She had almost forgot- :en it, and ceased to attach the least im- portance to it. But here was something more definite. Kissing ! the vile young Mventuress ! She was aiming to secure !\Ir. Lascelles for herself to become Mrs. Douglas Lascelles of Wye. Again Mrs. [Armstrong gasped. It really was too nuch. She was too greatly overcome to rhave it out" with Miss Bassick that light ; but on the next morning they i.vould have an interview, and come to a listinct understanding. 11 LYI. AN INTERESTING :;W. HAVIM; bitten her nails nearly to tin: quick, and scowled at the inotT. n^i\ lire in a manner apparently indicative <>f Mi- ter hostility. Mix. Armstrong rung a small bell on a table Inside her, and in moments Cinda answered it. "Tell Miss Bassick 1 wi,h to M6 her,' 1 the lady said. "Yes'm," Cinda responded, retiring with an effulgence of joy on her fan-, and a few moments afterward Mi-s Uassick came into the room. " Did you send for me, ma'am ?" said the young lady, quietly. " Yes. Be good enough to sit down." Miss Bassick glanced at Mrs. Arnistn >ng. It was easy to see that the lady was strug- gling to suppress a fit of anger, for, cool as her voice was, her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled. A storm was plainly brewing, and Miss Bas-ii-k won- dered what occasioned it. She braced her nerves to meet it, and took a chair opposite Mrs. Armstrong. Her air was respectful, and her eyes modestly cast down. " Miss Bassick," said Mrs. Armstrong, " when did you meet Mr. Douglas Las- celles last, and where ?" "Mr. Lascelles, ma'am!" exclaimed Miss Bassick, with an air of the profoundest astonishment. "Mr. Lascelles! I will repeat my question if necessary. "When and where did your last interview with Mr. Douglas Lascelles take place ?" "I have not had any interviews with Mr. Lascelles, ma'am," said Ml- "I cannot think what should ha duced you to suppose such a thing." " That is a falsehood !" " Oh, Mrs. Armstr Miss Bassick exhibited an intcnti-m ..f sniffing, but the lady cut short that cere- mony. "Perhaps you will be good enough, miss, to omit your usual performances on such occasions, and not attempt to impose upon me by acting the part of an injured 162 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. person. I assure you that you are put- ting yourself to unnecessary trouble. It is quite thrown away. I ask again, when did you see Mr. Lascelles last? in the woods after dusk yesterday ?" Miss Bassick could not suppress a slight movement of surprise, but she exclaimed, " In the woods, ma'am after dusk with Mr. Lascelles ! Who could have told you such a thing, Mrs. Armstrong ?" " It is quite immaterial where I pro- cured my information, miss. It is enough that I know of your proceedings, and that you were seen." " Seen after dusk, ma'am? 1 ' " Yes, seen in a gentleman's company not talking to a bush !" Miss Bassick sniffed. " I can only say it is not true. I can't think who could have told you such a thing. I did walk out, as I generally do, in the evening, and went beyond the grounds but I met nobody, Mrs. Arm- strong; and even if I had met some friend or a servant and stopped a moment to talk with them, no one could have known them, as it was nearly dark." " Your friend was seen, miss," exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong, with slumbering wrath. " Seen, ma'am ? Why, I met no one. If some busybody was passing, and thought they saw me talking with a gentleman, they must have taken a bush, as you say, for a man, in the darkness." Miss Bassick spoke with an accent of truthfulness. Her denial was certainly flat there were no ambiguities whatever about it. She was evidently telling a fearful fib, or was injured innocence in person. " That is a fine story, mi>> ! A bush a bu<h mistaken for a man !" "I only mentioned it, as they really arc like the figures of people sometimes in the dark, and it was quite dark yesterday evening when I was coming home from my walk/ 1 Mrs. Armstrong was the victim of sup- pressed wrath; but even in this condition of mind Mi>s IJassick's reply had a cer- tain effect upon her ; not that she re- garded the question as in any degree de- cided by any statement made by the young lady. Long experience had tolc her that Miss Bassick was not exactly re- liable, and by no means above little occa sional wanderings from the straight path of truth in her statements. But there were the natural probabilities. She might be telling the truth. Bushes did resemble human beings after dusk, foi she herself in her walks had mistaken the one for the other. It was, therefore, possible even if barely possible that Cinda's eyes, sharpened by malice and the delight of discovering things, had seen a little more than there was really to see " in a word, confused mankind with inani mate objects. Having thus begun to doubt, and argue with herself that Miss Bassick might no possibly have met Mr. Lascelles after all Mrs. Armstrong naturally proceeded to reiterate her charge. "I know you are telling me an un truth ; I am .perfectly certain of it. am aware, as you probably know, that you are not above such things. You du meet Mr. Lascelles last night, as on former occasions !" " On former occasions, ma'am ?" "At the same time and place as sure- ly as you were with him that evening when Juliet and myself returned from Piedmont, and found you together in the drawing-room that is, would have found you together, if you had not started up and stolen away as we came in." Mrs. Armstrong had begun to speak through her teeth slightly. This was bad sign it signified exasperation. Miss Hassirk encountered it with a look of in- jmvd innocence and a prolonged sniff. "I explained that, ma'am; I thoughl you understood," she said. "I was .stir- ring the lire when Mr. Lascelles came, ail I only stayed a little and and talked a little" Mrs. Armstrong interrupted her in a tone of givat disgust. "I am tired of this trifling, miss you aiv always ready to explain away what you cannot deny. It is one of your very charming traits." VIRGINIA "I never denied it. I didn't sav 1 was not in the drawing-room." Mrs. Armstrong greeted this observation with :i histrionic curl of the lip. She \\a- fond of stage expressions. "You would have denied it," ^he said, 'if 1 had not seen you with my own But I do not wish to discuss this Further. Did you not meet Mr. Lascellcs n the woods?" "No, ma'am." "Is that the truth?'' " Yes ma'am. 1 can only say that I iave not met Mr. Lascellcs." Nothing more ought surely to have 1 been necessary beyond this distinct dis- lowal. But Mrs. Armstrong was in a rage, and was not at all convinced. " Perhaps you will deny next that you ire even personally acquainted with him," he said, with much sarcasm, looking at tfiss Bassick. The look was unfortunate, is ?Jiss Bassick had never appeared so landsome, and Mrs. Armstrong cxclaim- " Y^ou arc deceiving me ! There is an (understanding between you. Y r ou have jhad secret meetings. You are acting a jpart with your hateful cooing, and way lof looking at gentlemen. I wonder that iany one calling herself a modest girl (could look so. It is sickening !" This was unpleasant. Miss Bassick had great self-control, but was growing angry ; she took refuge, therefore, in a Isob, to conceal her sentiments. " There you are, sniffing again ! You :may save yourself the trouble," said Mrs. Armstrong. " I ask you again what do (you mean by conducting yourself in this manner ?" " Y T ou must have a very poor opinion of me, ma'am." "I have a very poor opinion, indeed," jsaid the lady, with candor. " What do (you suppose people will think when they ihear of your goings on, and your base in- jgratitude ? I took you as a homeless or- iphan, and this is the return you make for 'all my kindness. You know perfectly well that Mr. Lascelles comes to see Ju- iliet, and in the face of that you presume to thrust yours,. ]f U p () n his notice. V . have meeting* in the drawing - room in the woods; and yet \ on dm\ you tell falsehood upon falsehood to hide your goings on! Yo U n-ally si, 'ken me, you shameless, designing thii. It is not pleasant to ! called " shamr- tett" and a "designing thing." I not pleasant to Mi>s Kissi.-k. s! an almost inv>istil>lc inclination to get up, go to Mrs. Armstrong, and slap her in the face. As she was a high-tempered voting person, under all her submissive m. she at first thought she would do so give the lady about three good slaps, and defy her. But Miss Bassick was mu<-h too politic to venture upon that. They would necessarily part from each other after such a scene, and it did not suit Miss Bassick's views to leave Trianon just yet. She therefore said, submis- sively, "I am afraid we will have to part, ma'am. Y r ou do not like me, and I not to stay. I do not know how I will explain my going; but it will be better to go. I have a 1-little money, and will f-find friends somewhere. There i> a room to let, I see, at my f-friend, Mi>> Gr-Grundy's." Miss Bassick ceased, and, covering her face with her hands, looked covertly at Mrs. Armstrong between her fingers. If this look was one of curiosity and expec- tation it was rewarded. Her last words had plainly made a very strong impr In fact, they were truly terrify ii was disagreeable enough to think of the meetings which would ensue l Miss Bassick and Mr. La<celles if the young lady left Trianon; of the efforts she would make to completely divert the gentleman's attentions from Juliet ; but far more unpleasant, nay, frightful, wa^ the idea of Miss Bassick seeking a re- treat for her wounded feelings with Mi-* Grundy! That was paraly/iin:! Mrs. Armstrong knew Miss Grundy 's peculiar- ities. She shuddered at the thought of having herself and all connected with Trianon photographed for Miss Gnindy's entertainment ; and seemed to see, in bod- 164 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. ily presence, the aforesaid Miss Grundy, wrapped in her shawl, and hurrying from house to house to hold confidential inter- views with other members of the Grundy family. The thought was really too much for her. No, Miss Bassick should not go on any account. She should stay at Trianon, where she was under her own eye. She could watch her there and she would ! Having come to this resolu- tion, Mrs. Armstrong slowly grew calmer. The interview gradually toned down ; slight explanations ensued ; promises were made in fact, when two persons wish the same thing it is easy to come to an agreement. It suited Miss Bassick, for private reasons, to remain at Trianon for the present, and it suited Mrs. Armstrong that she should not go away ;' so that half an hour afterward the interview termi- nated without an open quarrel, or any fur- ther mention of a separation. Mrs. Armstrong cautioned the young lady that she should expect her in future to be extremely careful in her conduct. To this Miss Bassick readily assented, and, gliding from the apartment, went quietly to her own room. There was a canary bird in a cage there, of which she was very fond. She proceeded to pet the bird, and call it fond name*, and held up her ivd lips for it to kiss, whereupon the canary pecked at them once or twice, and began to sing for pleasure. Mi-s IJaiek st 1 looking at him with delight, and then sat down at her table and wrote a long letter to Mr. Lascelles, describing her interview with Mrs. Armstrong in pathetic terms to be delivered on the first opportunity. While engaged in writing, she occa- sionally stopped t<> lean back in her chair, thrust out her handsome fo..t, and yawn after whirh she laughed. She was a very fine-looking young female ani- mal a little like a hand-Mine <-at. There was no evidence about her, however, <.f the possession of claw*. She was appar- ently in a very good humor, and now and then tossed a kiss to the canary, laughing, and calling him pet names. After these intermissions she proceeded with her pathetic epistle, the composition of which appeared to amuse her. She only made one confidential observation aloud while writing. This was : "I am glad I did not slap the old thing ; it would have been a great mis- take. I know a much better way to slap her than that !" LVII. JULIET AFTER the departure of Miss Bassick, Mrs. Armstrong continued to reflect, in a perturbed state of mind, on the very un- pleasant condition of affairs around her. The result of her reflection was more and more depressing. She did not believei Miss Bassick. There was an understand- ing between herself and Mr. Lascelles; and if that were the case, there was am end to all her plans looking to a unioi between her daughter and the gentleman. What should she do ? The question was perplexing, and irritating beyond words. Turn Miss Bassick out of the house with opprobrious epithets, and thus be rid of her? Impossible. The hateful thing would go straight to Miss Grundy, with whom she had formed an intimacy, and regularly visited when she went to l'i.-<l- mont; and, there, Mr. Lascelles would be able to visit her without trouble or i-spi- onage. The idea of such a state of things quite chilled Mrs. Armstrong. Her vivid imagination painted Mr. Laseelle* ti'tc-a- ti-te. with the II. T. (hateful thing) during long hours of the morning, and no doubt many hours of the night, discussing their little arrangements, and laughing at her- self and Juliet; and what was equally pre-ent to her excited fancy was the de- lighted face of Miss (ii-iindy, as she smiled, giggh'd a little, and poured into the attcn- tn f the (irundy family of Pied- mont every detail relating to Trianon, and her own little peculiarities, derived from her unfortunate young friend, Miss Baaaick, Sincere terror filled Mrs. Armstrong at YIIHIIMA nnlll-MIANS. ihe \.-ry iilca of such a tiling, and she at ice made up her mind that nothing 'should separate herself and her young friend. But how could things continue as they were? She felt ruefully that Mi-s Uassick was more than her match. Looking back over the years of their :pcrsonal association, she could see that, Bumble as Miss Bassirk was, she had al- most always attained her ends. \Vhat dd not effect directly she effected in other ways. She never "asserted her- self/ 1 much less insisted on anything, but iquietly manoeuvred until she accomplish- ed her object. She would certainly ma- jmi'uvro now, and meet Mr. Lascelles i somewhere, in some manner. Mrs. Arm- strong was really at her wits' end, and I the very same longing possessed her which had possessed the young lady: I she would have liked of all things to have slapped Miss Bassick. Mrs. Armstrong passed about an hour in these gloomy reflections; she then went down to the drawing-room, where Juliet was playing upon the piano. It wa< a very cheerful scene, and the fire blazed merrily, as if in defiance of the (wind without. Juliet wore a morning wrapper, and had a little plain white [collar around her neck. She looked very pretty, indeed, as she turned to welcome her mother the curves of her figure and the pose of her fine head were striking. Mrs. Armstrong came in, and said, half ah.ud, " And he prefers that creature to such a beauty !" "What did you say, mamma?" Miss Juliet asked, in her tranquil voice. " Come here, my dear," said her moth- er ; " I have something to tell you which will, no doubt, surprise you." " Surprise me ?" said Miss Juliet, quiet- ly, rising from the piano as she spoke, and coming to the fireplace. "Sit down, my dear, and listen to me." The voice was not precisely the same which had said to Miss Bassick, " Be good enough to sit down, miss." The words were nearly the same, but were now utter- ed as caressingly as they had before been uttered briefly and harshly. .lulid <|iiiet- ly >at down, arranging her hair \\ith (MM hand, and looking at her mother some- what curiously. " Are you aware that Mr. LMOtlli not come t,, Triaiii.!. /'' said Mrs. An nst P. n if. Miss Jnlirt looked a little surprised. *' I suppose his visits are to the family to you and my self, mamma.' " You are mistaken !" "Mistaken?" said Juliet, with th. slight air of surprise. "Very greatly mistaken ! Mr. La does not come to this house to see either you or myself ; he comes to sec that de- signing creature, Miss l>av<i-k." Juliet did not reply for some moi She sat looking into the fire, with a slight color in her cheeks, and was e\ident!y very much struck by her mother's state- ment. "Very well, mamma," she said, at length, in her quiet voice; "th.v little surprise to me. I have seen noth- ing to induce me to think so." "You observe nothing nothing what- ever!" said the lady, with a little irrita- tion. "You really are too absent-mind- ed, my dear." "I believe I am rather unobservant," said Juliet. " Unobservant? You would not know it if two people made love to carh other under your very nose! You pect anything or anybody. I belie Lascelles might put his arms around Mi-> Bassick in your presence, and if y. them you would think that they simply shaking hands." " His arms around Miss Bassick, mam- ma?" Juliet said, smiling slightly, with the color still in her "but 1 un- derstand you are speaking figuraf ""Indeed I am not," exclaim. -1 Mr-. Armstrong. "There is no speech at all, my dear, in the i As you are blind to everything that is going on around you, and never o brought to think ill of any one, I will inform you that Mr. Lascelles and this shameless creature have a thorough un- 1G6 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. derstanding with each other, and that the embracing ceremony is no fancy at all. They were seen kissing each other by Cinda." " Mr. Lascelles ! kissing Miss Bas- sick?" " Yes, at dusk, in the woods. There is no doubt at all that it has taken place." " Indeed, you surprise me, mamma !" The color in the young lady's face had disappeared, and she had resumed her air of tranquillity. " You seem to receive the information very indifferently, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong. " How would you have me receive it, mamma? I do not care much." Mrs. Armstrong looked shocked, and said, " Do not care ! Good heavens, my own Juliet! AVhat are you made of? Are you a marble statue instead of a young c;irl of flesh and blood? Have you no pride?" " I have a good deal." " If you have you keep it all to yourself, my dear. Just to think of it! Here is a young gentleman who comes to visit you, and pays you every attention, month after month his visits are known to ev- ery one, and your names are in every- body's mouth in the whole neighborhood and this goes on and on, and people arc waiting to hear what day has been fixed for the wedding, when suddenly everybody begins to laugh, and giggle, and whisper, 'That poor Miss Arm- strong ! Mr. Lascelles was only amusing himself with her all the time In- \\a> making love to another person directly under her nose a mere servant !' If tint does not touch your pride, I do not know what can, Juliet." Juliet slowly raised her hand and ar- ranged her back hair, subsequently pat- ting it. " Miss Bassickisnota servant, mamma," she said. " There is no difference ! a mere hired person." " It is no disgrace to be hired. That is what you call a * business matter,' and Miss Bassick seems to perform the duties for which you employ her." " She is no better than a common ser- vant ! And here she is scheming, and making eyes at your visitors, and coo-coo- ing in her hateful way, and meeting them in the woods, and having everybody laugh at you to say nothing of the insult of- fered you by that person, Mr. Lascelles !" " I do not feel very much insulted." " Then nothing can insult you, Juliet. You really put me out of patience ! Yon know very well, my dear, that it is a gross insult such as no gentleman would offer a lady and that this is the end, as far as anybody can see, of all my exer- tions to secure a future of ease and com- fort for you." " It does seem so, mamma." "And you take it all as indifferently, my dear, as if it did not concern you in the least. Are you so much enamored of Trianon as to shrink from ever leaving it T "I like it well enough, but it is not particularly amusing." " Are you contented to spend your life here in this dull round of every-day occu- pations? with rothing of interest to at- tract no change from the humdrum routine but to drive out and talk com- monplaces with commonplace people, or go to that stupid Piedmont and cheapen dry goods with those smirking tradesmen, and meet the Miss Grundys, and hear them tattle and giggle, and come home and yawn, and eat, and go to sleep ? Are you satisfied with such a life ?" " I must say I am not," said Miss Juliet, candidly. " One would think you certainly were." "It is not very agreeable. I should not like to spend the rest of my life in such a way. 1 like Trianon it is natu- ral to like one's own home and I have you, mamma ; but then it is natural, too, to like more novelty than we can hope for here." " It certainly is, if anything is natural !" Juliet looked into the fire and said, thoughtfully, "I think I should not be satisfied if I was certain I should never go anywhere, YIKC1MA r.ollI-.MIAN-. 107 or see anything. Hardship and discom- fort would be much better than no change or incident at all. I would rather be Mrs. Robinson Crusoe on a desert island, and live in the midst of privation, if some- thing new happened every day, than live in luxury 'where one twenty -four hours was just like another. You see, my defi- nition of happiness, mamma, is 'When the days follow and do not resemble each other/ " Miss Juliet aimed apparently at a full statement of her views upon the subject of spending the remainder of her exist- ence in the tranquil shades of Trianon, which she evidently contemplated with verv little pleasure. " Well, if that is your feeling," said Mrs. Armstrong, " why are you so indif- ferent ? Mrs. Kobinson Crusoe ! that is not your sphere. You are a lady, and en- titled to surroundings suitable to a per- son of your birth and bringing up. A hard life would never suit you in the Isvnof " least. " I really do not know, as I've never tried it." " You would grow unhappy in a week. What you require what is absolutely necessary to your comfort, my dear, is a sufficiency of everything I mean, to live the life of a lady" 44 I confess I should prefer that. I am fond of nice dresses, and a good cup of tea, and playing my piano, and I suppose I would not have time for these if I was a drudge." " My daughter a drudge ! your father's daughter, who was not satisfied to walk across the room for a book if a servant was within call, and unhappy if his wine was not iced enough or too much. You a drudge !" " I should certainly not like to be." " Very well. We understand each oth- er then, my dear. All my plans were to avoid ever seeing you want anything servants or carriages, or an elegant ward- robe, or other luxuries suited to your tastes. You would be singled out in a queen's drawing-room, I have always felt, for your beauty and distinction and what is m. 1 than to have you >pend your life in this poky place, \\here no one will :. and yon \\ill slowly become ;i dried-up old maid like MissGrnndy I" Juliet did not reply, and certainly seem- ed to have no desire to combat the expressed in these latter words of her mother. "I have therefore done all in my pow- er," continued Mrs. Armstrong, "to place you in the station of life which it is no irreverence to say heaven meant yon to occupy. There is a givat deal of non- sense absolute foolishness talked about 'match-making mammas/ Why should not mothers be match - makers, as the matches made by their daughters deride the whole future of their lives? If an ineligible person presents himself, why have I no right to dissuade my daughter from accepting his attentions? And if the proper person makes his appearance, why not urge you not to repulse his ad- dresses r 44 1 do not see why any one should think you were wrong in cither mamma. " Very well, apply what I say to the present occasion. Mr. Lascelles is an eli- gible person, holding a high position. Why should I not wish you to marry him?" 44 It really seems that he docs not in- tend to ask me," said Miss Juliet, with some humor. Mrs. Armstrong gasped. 44 1 am afraid no one will have me, and I shall die an old maid at Trianon." Miss Juliet uttered th- with simplicity and a slight smile. Her moth- er knit her brows and her face tln-ln-d. 44 And you are ready to retire and leave the field to this shameless hussy ! to sub- mit to her insolence, and carried off beneath your I to have everybody pitying you. and j at your expense this creature, more than all, laughing in your very fa* sweeping by you in her rustling silk>, the triumphant Mrs. Douglas Lase' Juliet quietly smoothed the small col- 168 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. lar around her neck, in which there was a slight wrinkle. "I really do not see what I am to do, mamma," she said. " If Mr. Lascelles prefers marrying Miss Bassick, I suppose he will do so if Miss Bassick consents. How can I prevent it ?" " Good heavens, Juliet ! Will nothing arouse a feeling of the commonest pride in you?" Juliet rose and strolled toward the piano, and seating herself side wise on the stool, touched one of the keys, which rung out in the silence. " I have a good deal, I believe, mamma, which probably serves me better than you think. Pride is a resource." She ran her fingers over the keys of the piano and a gay trill followed it sounded like a sudden burst of laughter. So gay, indeed, was it that it quite puz- zled Miss Bassick. It was difficult to as- sociate the idea of a tragic interview, full of wrath, mortification, and indignation, with that merry outburst of the piano; and Miss Bassick would have given a good deal to have heard what was said, if she could have done so from her position on the landing of the staircase. LVIII. A TERRIBLE INCIDENT. HAVING heard Mrs. Armstrong go down-stairs, Miss Bassick had promptly discontinued the composition of her letter to Mr. Lascelles, and carefully locking it up in the drawer of her small table, had emerged from her apartment and cautious- ly followed. She did not proceed down the staircase the drawing-room door was open, and it really was too dangerous. The relations between Mrs. Armstrong and herself were in an unsettled condition, and rendered a stale of suspicion on the part of the elder lady highly probable. She might be listening ; the slightest foot- fall, even the fall of the silent feet of Miss Bassick on the carpet of the stair- case, might attract her attention ; and then there was the odious Gin da, whom Miss Bassick now saw in her true lio-ht & Cirida might pop upon the scene by open- < ing a door at any instant, and that would be disastrous in the extreme. In fact, anything might happen ; and as Miss Bas- sick did not wish anything to happen, she observed precautions. She did not venture to proceed far down the staircase, and, indeed, stopped at the landing, from which she could make her retreat at once, if a low suspi- cion induced Mrs. Armstrong to dart out and reconnoitre. From this station she thrust her handsome head over the baluster, and bent every faculty to the task of hear- ing what was said. It really was a pity; she could only hear a word here and there ; it was impossible to catch so much as a single connected sentence. This left her in a state of painful doubt and curiosity, and more than once she resolved to risk discovery and steal down the staircase. She even took a step or two, but then re- turned to her position. It really was too great a risk ; and, with a keen sense of being wronged, Miss Bassick continued to crane her head downward, and strive to catch at least the purport of what was said by the two ladies. She could only suppose, from the sudden laughter of the piano, that there was nothing very stern and gloomy in the interview a fact which she could not understand. She might go a little nearer, perhaps presently, that is ; meanwhile she would wait. Having replied to her mother's charge that she had no pride of character, Mi>-s Juliet, after running her fingers over the keys of the piano, added, " I have plenty of pride, mamma, and I do not reli^i being laughed at or pitied in the least. But I really cannot see, as I said before, how I am to prevent Mr. Lascelles from marrying Miss IJa^iek if he wi>lu-s to do so, and she docs not ob- ject. You say I am a young lady, which 1 am glad to think I am. Well, mamma, a young lady cannot go to a gentleman and say, * Won't you please marry me ? I thought you were going to. I have all my wedding things rca.lv, and will fix any day for the wedding that is most VIRGINIA liolIKMIANs. 109 nicnt to you the carlirr the better as inv chief happiness consists in look- ing forward t<> the moment when I shall belong; to you, and be all your own !' A voting lady cannot very well say that to a gentleman, mamma." "Juliet! for heaven's sake! you will drive me t> detraction !" " You must not become so much ex- cited, mamma. I have no desire to dis- tract you. But we should look at every- thing in the true light. You say I have no pride, because I am not furious at be- ing treated as you describe. But what good will it do to grow angry ? I cannot ly say to Mr. Lascelles, 'I am mor- 'titied to death at your preference for Mi- l'.as>iek. Won't you please marry me instead of her? I am pining away Jfor you, and ready to sink into your arms |if you will only permit me!' I cannot jsay that or even look it. I have quite (enough of pride to remain silent." " And so you mean to submit, and let this hateful, designing, immodest thing carry off your suitor ?" "I suppose the carrying off will be done by Mr. Lascelles it generally is in the story-books. If Mr. Lascelles wishes to marry Miss Bassick, I ought not to have any objection to his doing so." " No objection ! after all that has passed between you ?" " Very little has passed between us." " He has been here every evening near- ly, and stayed very late." " That is true much later than I liked. I wish you had not gone up-stairs so early. : It was frequently as much as I could do ; to avoid yawning in Mr. Lascelles' s face. I do grow so sleepy." "I went because I thought your rela- jtions amounted to an engagement," ex- claimed Mrs. Armstrong, in tones of out- 2 d propriety. " Well, I am not blaming you in the least, mamma," returned Juliet ; " I only ! meant that you have often left me to en- 'tcrtain Mr. Lascelles by myself, when I i would much rather have been curled up ; snugly in bed." " The designing creature !" exclaimed Mrs. Aniiistrong, apparently shifting In r pet name for Mi-- BMBlck 1 Mr. Laa- cellcs. u To u-e >ueh low, ungentlcmaiily arts." "Tel-haps \,ui think t<><> har-hly of him," said the young lady, quietly. " You know he is very 1'oiid of 111 " A mere pretence." "I think he is. During his \i-iN I was playing and singing for him the greater part of the time." "And he was hanging around you \\ith his smirking, lackadaisical smile-, I sup- pose." "He was generally talking as other gentlemen talk in morning or evening visits." " Then he did not make love t at all ?" "No; I don't think I can say lie ever did that is exactly, I mean. That was very natural. No doubt he cam.; to see Miss Bassick." Mrs. Armstrong uttered a sound com- posed of a groan, a gasp, and a sniff. " So you mean to give him up :" she said. "What else can I do?" "To look on and see him kissing this shameless creature in your very pres- ence !" "I suppose they will retire before tin -y begin, mamma. As they are probably engaged, they will follow' the hal-it- of such persons and seek privacy in their interviews." "Good heavens! and that i- all you have to say in the matter, Juliet !" "I do not see what else 1 am t mamma. I have tried to express my meaning. Mr. Lascelles, I suj here to see me at first, but he met with Miss Bassick I remember I inti* them and, instead of Mi Armstrong, he chose the oth r young lady. He surely had the right to do so. You wish me to find fault with hi: I think that would be very unreasonable, He thinks Miss Bassick's face and are more attractive than mine, and he ought not to think of me if lie prefers another person. Don't be so indignant, 170 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. mamma, and make allowances. "NVhy not shut your eyes, and let them do as they please? You certainly don't mean that / ought to go to Mr. Lascelles and protest! No, I thank you, mamma; I should not be able to speak to him for laughing." Miss Juliet touched the piano with her white fingers, and they laughed out again. "No, I thank you, mamma," she re- peated, smiling. "And so," said Mrs. Armstrong, with quiet desperation, " we arc to sit here calmly, with our hands in our laps, and accept our fate ?" "That would be the most dignified proceeding, would it not?" "Dignified! we are to submit in O humble resignation to everything ?" "At least that would be cultivating a Christian state of feeling." " For patience' sake, my dear Juliet, do not speak in that way ! One would really say you were amused rather than outraged by this creature's conduct." " I believe I am a little." "And all the while she is laughing at the thought of humbling you. It is in- tolerable!" " I do not feel humbler than usual, or as if any one were humbling me, mamma." " My dear Juliet, have you no pride no spirit P " I have plenty of both a great deal too much to permit myself to be humbled by Miss Bassick or any one. I suppose people follow their characters: I have always done so. If any one wishes to affront me to cut my acquaintance pub- licly, for exampli they are quite at lib- erty to do so; it would not irritate m- much. That is the good of Ix-in^ proud. And as to Mi I'.a iek, it would not be p.is>ihle for her to insult or wound me." "I do trust not the vile, shameless creature !" "I should be wounded by utikindncss or injustice from a person I lo\vd. A- to Miss r.ass'n-k- it is quite diilerent: ] have never liked her much." Mrs. Armstrong suddenly held up he inger, and Juliet stopped. To her great urprise her mother then hastened to the door of the drawing-room and looked iround her, in the hall and up the stair- case. "What is the matter, mamma?" said he young lady. "I was certain I heard steps," said Mrs. Armstrong, returning to her scat. '' I could have sworn it." "Steps?" " That creature's !" said Mrs. Arm- trong. Juliet laughed quietly, and said, "Dear mamma, you really have Miss Bassick on the brain ! Did you think she was listening ?" " I was perfectly certain of it when I went to the door." " What an idea !" " She is not too good for it. I have reason to believe that it is a common habit with her." " Very well ; but you see it was all your fancy just now. She was not there." " Unless she heard me rise and ran up- stairs. I will close the door." "Please don't. The room is so warn:. There is no possibility of any one lister- ing." " I am not at all sure of that, but I suppose it was my fancy. Good heav- ens!" the lady clasped her hands and knit her brows "to live in the house with such a sciycnt /" " It is not very pleasant," said Miss Juliet, tranquilly. " To be frank, mamma, it has bi'i-n a very long time indeed since I enjoyed Miss liassiek's society. She was a very attractive person at first, and I quite mistook her character. 1 am sorry lo MJ 1 s.u.n saw she was quite a dilTi-r- ent person. She is very insimviv. 1 could not conceal my opinion of her, I suppose, and perhaps that H why she dis- likes me ; I think she does." "And for that reason she will enjoy her triumph over you all the more!" ex- elaime<l Mrs. Armstrong, piteously. " She is entirely at liberty to do so. She is quite welcome to Mr. Lascelles, if she wishes to marrv him. You sec I am VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 171 frank ; and to be entirely so, I must tell you as the time seems to have c.uiie for it that I really have no desire whatever to become Mrs. Laseelles." " So that is the end of the whole mat- ter !" groaned the elder lady, preparing to shed tears by pulling out her handker- chief. "Don't cry, mamma,' 1 said Juliet, quiet- ly ; " you must have more pride. If you cry I shall have to pet you, and that will make me forget what I had to say." " What you had to say ?" Mrs. Arm- strong sniffed. "I was speaking of Mr. Lascclles, and wished to say something more. You know I do not talk much about people; so you ought to listen when I do as it is such a novelty." "Ah me!" came with a long breath from the lady. " I must say that Mr. Lascelles is not at all to my taste," said Juliet, in a tone of great frankness. " I received his at- tentions because you desired me to do so for no other reason. I form my opin- ion of people very much by a sort of in- stinct, and generally like or dislike them at once. I never liked Mr. Lascelles : he is by no means a candid or sincere person, and there is a peculiar expression of his face which I do not at all like he seems to be watching. His manners are very good, but he wants frankness. I do not like that sort of person, and could not have married him unless my feelings had entirely changed. I did not tell you this before, as I was afraid of causing you disappointment and pain, mamma; but it is useless now to conceal anything, as Mr. Lascelles won't have me. You will see now why I am not so much distressed, and quite willing that Miss Bassick shall monopolize him." This by no means pleased Miss Bassick, who had descended the stairs far enough to hear every word that was said. " And as to Miss Bassick herself," con- tinued Miss Juliet, who seemed to be in an unusually communicative mood, "I may have been a little too harsh in my estimate of her character. Her position should be remembered. She's an orphan, with no home or family, and naturallv wishes to secure one. Tin- Laec-i! very nice people, and Wye is a very at- tractive pin.-,-, and Miss l',;ii.-lv sets h.-r cap for the heir; that is her own atlair. I can only say that I could never do so unless the attraction were the gentleman himself. I cannot find a word for such a thing, and if Miss Bassick has don I am sincerely sorry. I hope she is not capable of disgracing her sex so inueh. I have not a very good opinion of her, I fear, especially as she has been so very cruel to me" here Miss Juliet's voice laughed quietly " but I should not like to lose every particle of respect for her." Listening, and inwardly aware of her real sentiment for Mr. Lascclles, which was sincere indifference, Miss Bassick felt gall and wormwood to express the idea succinctly. She had a good deal of a certain sort of pride, and an extremely favorable opinion of herself ; and Juliet's indifference exasperated her. This senti- ment was much increased by Juliet's care- less touch on the piano and her next words : "And now, mamma, I really think we have said enough. There, don't cry; why should you? There never wa- a single moment when I could have married Mr. Lascelles. Miss Bassick is perfectly welcome to him. She may suppose that she is triumphing over me, to use your own phrase, and be pleased at the thought that she will pay me back for my cold- ness to her, which I was really unable to conceal. You see I shall not be as miu-h hurt as she thinks. If she were present I could tell her with perfect sincerity that all her acting and concealments \\, r" quite unnecessary, and that I, at 1< a-t, should make no sort of objection if she came into the drawing-room and received Mr. Lascelles as a lady should do. Hut as she is not present, and we arc abusing her behind her back," Miss Juliet touching her piano, and uttering her frank laugh, " we ought not to "She is present!" cried Mrs. Arm- strong, rushing to the door. 172 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. Thereupon a terrible incident occurred the writer almost shrinks from attempt- ing to paint it. Such occurrences are much better understood and appreciated from scenic representation than from mere descriptions through the agency of pen and ink. Miss Bassick's position upon the staircase just without the door of the drawing-room has been alluded to. She had ventured to steal down the softly carpeted staircase until she had reached this position, trusting to her " shoes of si- lence" not to be discovered. But stair- cases will creak in the best regulated houses, and how r cver carefully the skirts of dresses are held up they will rustle a little. Twice thus Miss Bassick had ad- vanced carefully, and managed to listen. "\Vliat she heard did not put her in a very good humor; but clinching her pretty fist, she leaned fonvard endeavoring to catch every word, when she heard a noise at the back-door of the passage and rap- idly ran up-stairs. It was this sound which had induced Mre. Armstrong to exclaim " She is pres- ent !" and to dart toward the door and into the passage. This resulted in the terrible incident referred to above. She was precipitated into the fragrant arms of Cinda, and their faces came into col- lision. Cinda, in fact, had occasioned the noise which Miss Bassick had heard. Having discovered that the young lady was not in her room, the colored maiden had hastened delightedly down the back staircase to report the fact to be mys- terious, and express with a giggling ac- companiment her private opinion that a secret interview was in progress; and en- tering the ]>;i-<:i'_:''\ had reached the door of the drawing-room, in which she heard voices, just in time to be rushed into by Mrs. Armstrong. Cinda staggered, and threw out her arms wildly, clasping tho lady to her bosom. As the nwidm was somewhat slovenly, not to say dirty, this embrace was rather ardent than pure. In the midst of "silvery laughter" from the di- rection of the piano, Mrs. Armstrong vio- lently extricated hei^elf from the em- brace of Cinda; and that fair one, with hasty explanations, and in a state of dis- comfiture, vanished. As to Miss Bassick, she was nowhere to be seen. The interview between mother and daughter soon terminated. Being ap- pealed to as to what should be done, Miss Juliet very quietly replied, " Noth- ing, mamma." It would be extremely unkind, she said, to turn Miss Bassick away, as she had no home : it would be better to give her time, at least, to seek for one and as the fearful Miss Grundy rose before the eyes of the elder lady, she con- sented. She had recourse to her hand- kerchief, and sniffed in a painful manner, clasped Miss Juliet to her breast, and be- moaned the presence of shameless creat- ures, when the gate of the grounds was heard to open, and looking through the window she saw Mr. Douglas Lascelles riding in. "There he is!" she exclaimed."! can't trust myself to speak to him." " I would not, then," said Juliet, quietly. " And you ought not to, Juliet. Come, my dear ; I will send word that you are engaged." " I am not at all engaged, mamma ; I am uncommonly idle." " You do not mean to see him, Juliet ?" "W.hy not?" " After our conversation ?" " Certainly, mamma. That makes no difference. My opinion of Mr. Laseelles has not altered, and I have nothing in the world to complain of." "\Yith these tranquil words the young lady went and sat down in one of the arm-chairs irr front of the fire, just as Mr. Lascelles approached the house. As to Mrs. Armstrong, she tossed her head and walked np-stairs to her cham- ber, slamming the door behind her. LIX. THE FOE OF RITUALISM. IT was about half-past eleven o'clock at night. Mr. (Jrantham was seated in his study at the parsonage, engaged on VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. his "History of Ritualism," upon which la- h:n I been writing assiduously since his early tea. It was tho general subject of High Chuivhism, under the form of Ritualism, that Mr. (Jrantham attacked in his his- tory; the English movement first, then .tension into the United States. Dr. Pusey and Dr. Newman had a very hard time of it. Mr. Grantham did not wish anybody to be burnt at the stake, and Servetus would never have suffered the least personal inconvenience at his hands ; but he stood up for the faith, and smote its foes with all his might. He denounced opinions so vigorously that those who held them received a full share of his blows. That was their fault they got in the way. He was equally unceremonious with his American breth- ren. He figuratively took the leaders of the Ritualistic movement in the United States by the beard, and haled them to and fro, chastising them with their chas- ubles, and suffocating them with the in- cense of their censers. In doing so, of course, he was doing his duty. He had the kindest feeling, personally, toward the High - Church magnates. He was a very mild man, and would have invited the Pope of Rome into his study, and given him his best cup of tea, and laugh- ed and talked with him in a friendly way. But then he was Antichrist, and polemi- cally was to be overthrown and extermi- nated. So with Ritualism. Midnight was near now, and Mr. Gran- tham was still at work. He had forgot- ten everything else even Ellis and his beloved poor. Toil absorbs. The writer goes into another world when he writes. He is not living here and now, but else- where, and a long time ago, perhaps. Thus he forgets, and toil brings him that blessing. Blessed toil! After all it is the grand comforter. Company does not replace it. The empty rattle of tongues offends the man who seeks si- lence and himself the hubbub jars on the tired ear and the tired heart, which goes away from it to remember. And books ? travel ? They are not much, 173 after all. IMe--ed toil! you take the heavy -hearted in your soft arms and soothe him. You touch his eyelid-, and he no longer looks back wan! groaning. You wave your wand, and all the pa-t goes into oblivion, I Messed toil of the lonely writer! There i- -oinethin ter for the unhappy than pleasure, or ambition, or the glitter of life's tin-el. It is the toil that absorbs, and take., the toiler away into another world, where the memory of his woe cannot reach him. At last midnight struck, and Mr. <!ran- tham decided that he would retire. He was not weary of his work, but as his health was not robust, he was physically somewhat fatigued. He therefore ar- ranged the written sheets of the " His- tory" just composed they were quite a pile and put them aside. He then n-e and stood in front of his fire, reflecting. You would not have supposed that he had been engaged in bitter denunciation of anybody. His expression was sad. In fact, he was thinking about his poor people, and that they would probably suffer on so chill a night. The weather had blown up cold, and the gusty wind was whistling around the gables of the house. That is not generally an uncom- fortable sound : one thinks how plea-ant it is to be housed, and enjoying the warmth of a cheerful fire. It was, how- ever, unpleasant to Mr. Grantham. lie was thinking that perhaps his poor folks might be without fuel, which was sadden- ing. From this subject he passed to Ellis. He had not finished the letter begun just before the visit from the poor man who had been "burnt out" in the mountain that strange personage, who, perhaps by way of contempt for the humble of- fering made him, had left the whole lying upon the bench of the porch that night. This fact had aroused surprise and -pecu- lation, but Mr. Grantham had now quite forgotten it. lie was thinking about his dear Ellis, who was coming home at once, a young deacon. The face of the father plowed at that thought. He would soon see Ellis now, and enjoy long hours and 174 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. days of talk with him if the young man was not too much at Wye. The worthy pastor had given much reflection to the subject of Ellis and Miss Anna Gray, and had pretty nearly convinced himself that something was going on in that quarter. Ellis and Anna had been brought up to- gether. She was precisely the person calculated to make an impression upon his son. She was not only very attrac- tive in the beauty which perishes, but had the sweetest possible disposition, and was devotedly pious. It was thus very nat- ural that Ellis should have become -fond of her she would exactly suit a young minister. As to whether the young lady's sentiments responded to the young man's, there could be very little doubt of that, Mr. Grantham inwardly decided. Who would not be glad to marry his Ellis? This train of thought led to another. Ellis married, and soon to be regularly ordained as a minister, would no doubt be stationed in some small country parish for his year of trial. Then he would be transferred to some more extended sphere perhaps to Piedmont, as his own assist- ant and successor. Mr. Grantham did not want an assistant. Bishop Meade, his dear friend, had often urged him to devolve on some young associate his on- erous labors for the poor, at least. But this did not suit Mr. Grantham, and he had always refused. It was his place, he said, to spend and be spent in his Master's service. He was quite strong enough to labor still, and did not need an assistant. When old age came, and his strength was worn out, he would retire, when his Master would take care of him. As to having, therefore, an onlinary assistant to divide his labor, Mr. (irantham was in- tractable. But to have Ellis as his as>ist- ant meant not so much to have an mut- ant as to have Ellis. They would be to- n-eth-T, and life would \>c sweet. Grand- children would grow up around him in the quiet parsonage for they would, of ooursr, live with each other. Mrs. Anna would sit at the head of the table, Ellis at the foot, and he at the side. The children, in lofty chairs, would flourish their spoons and request to be helped first. There would be a delightful hub- bub, and a great deal of laughter and love. When he went back to his study and his " History of Ritualism " he would shut all this out, it was true, before pay- ing his respects to Dr. Pusey ; but then he would have the delightful conscious- ness, from the patter of small feet over- head, that his dear ones were there near him, and might burst in which would be charming. Lastly, there was the successorship. The assistant would one day become the principal, perhaps. Everybody loved and admired Ellis in fact, the whole parish were entirely devoted to him. Why not look forward to the day when a young- er Rev. Mr. Grantham would officiate in the mountain parish? The years were passing steadily, and more and more rap- idly. There was a day hidden somewhere in the future when the burial - service would be read in the village graveyard, and it would not be Mr. Grantham, Sr., who would read it. In fact, that would be impossible. This particular Mr. Gran- tham would not only not read it, br.t would not even hear it read. His ears would be quite deaf, and he would net see the crowd of weeping friends around the grave, since it would be his own grave. But that would not matter much. His poor would have a friend still in the Rev. Mr. Grantham, Jr., the new incumbent of the Piedmont parish, who would grow old there with his dear Anna, following the same routine of quiet duty which an- other one of the same name had followed before him. This thought was quite delightful to Mr. <i rant ham. He gazed placidly at his old secretary, as that happened to l>e the object which his eyes rested upon at the moment, but did not see it, owing to the fact that he was looking at Ellis, and holding out his arms to his grandchildren. Nevertheless, the fact of the existence of the secretary slowly dawned upon his mind, and the old piece of furniture con- nected itself with the subject of his re- VIRGINIA lUjlil-MIAXS. 175 flections. lie always kept Ellis' s letters in a drawer of this secretary, ami had a speeial bundle there containing those written during the young man's boyhood from school in fact, his very first he had even preserved, lie thought now that he would take a look at these ; so he went and opened the drawer containing them, with a key which ho drew from his pock- et, and took out the bundle and untied the red tape around it. A cheerful peru- sal of several of the letters followed. They were written in a very juvenile, not to say illiterate, manner, but the reader did not observe that fact, or notice any fault in the grammar. This was natural. Ellis had written the letters. Having re- freshed himself with this fatherly occu- pation, Mr. Grantham then tied the letters up again, replaced them in the drawer, closed it, and returned quickly to the fire to extinguish a coal which had popped out upon the old worn carpet. From this resulted a simple circumstance. He quite forgot that he had left the key of the drawer in the lock. He then thought he would go to bed and this he pro- ceeded to do, first covering up the fire with ashes, which was his regular routine. With his candlestick in his hand, Mr. Grantham went slowly up-stairs and reach- ed his chamber, in which there was a glimmering fire. Then succeeded a cere- mony which was based on principle with this worthy man. He put out his candle. It is true the candle was not more than an inch long, but then an inch of candle was an inch of candle. It would be val- uable to many a poor person ; and in any event it ought not to be burnt unneces- sarily. The firelight was quite sufficient to retire by. Therefore, Mr. Grantham put out his candle, and knelt to perform his private devotions. These were not especially protracted, as the good man did not believe in much speaking, and uniformly omitted all adjurations involv- ing the phrase " Thou hast," as being un- necessary, since He whom he addressed did not need to be informed in what man- ner He had blessed or afflicted his chil- dren. He prayed for those in authority, but only that they might le endued with heavenly gra.v, after which In- left the details uinneiitioned. As to tin- North or South, or this party or that, he had noth- ing to say on the subject. lie j. rayed for his enemies, and forgave them in his heart as he did so. lie always < -ruled with "Lord keep me from unrharity." After rising from his km-.-x, Mr. <Jran- thain took off his voluminous white cra- vat and hung it over the back of a chair. He then remained standing in front of the fire without further disrobing. In fact, his ardor in the composition of his History had excited his nerves. He was not at all sleepy and then there was Ellis to think about. He would be home in a few days now. That broken pane in his chamber must be attended to the very first thing in the morning. The wind whistling around the gables admonished him that broken panes were not desirable as December approached. He must not fail to think of it. All at once a low sound mingled with the shrill song of the wind. This sound came from below apparently from his study and resem- bled stealthy steps. LX. THE BURGLAR. MR. GRANTHAM was not at all nervous, or given to hearing strange sounds ; and yet the idea occurred to him that he must really have overworked himself during the evening. Now, overwork produces tension of the nervous organization. Mr. Grantham was aware of the fact, and in- formed himself that he had been impru- dent. This view of the case, in fact, seemed supported by circumstances. The noise had ceased at once, which was a proof that it was due to his imagination. Where there was nothing to hear nothing could have been heard. It was a mere illusion of his overtaxed senses that steps had moved about in his study. That was impossible. The house was locked, and he had not been up-stairs for more 176 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. than half an hour at all events, not an hour. All was secure his old servant had long been asleep it was physically impossible that a person could have en- tered the house, even if it were conceiv- able that any human being could have reasons for doing so. Enter a parsonage between the hours of midnight and one in the morning? With what object? There was nothing to steal in a parsonage, unless the thief were theological in his tastes and coveted works on Divinity. This idea caused Mr. Grantham to smile. He was the impecunious viator, he reflected, who need not be afraid of robbers. And as to murdering him, what living creature had any reason to thirst for his blood? Mr. Grantham's smile grew more cheerful, and he reflected that he must have overworked his nervous system very much indeed, to have it play him such vagaries. Then suddenly he heard the stealthy steps a second time. At this Mr. Grantham moved his head quickly, and remained perfectly still and motionless, listening. He did not hear the steps again, but what he did hear was a low, grating sound, which resembled that produced by the opening or closing of a drawer which is a little swollen and does not readily slide forward or back- ward. This satisfied him that he had not overworked his nerves, after all. He had really heard what he thought he had heard. Some one was in his study ! Mr. Grantham was a very sweet-tem- pered and peaceful man in his disposi- tion, but a very cool and resolute one. A great deal of force of character lay under his gentle smile. lie lit his candle at the fire, went to his door, opened it quietly, and went out into the little pa<- sage leading to tin- staircase. Here he stopped and listened. Vr some mo- ments all was quite silent, and In- bi-gan to think that after all In- hail really heard nothing. Then an indistinct sound airain came from the study. This derided Mr. (Jrantham, and In- walked quietly down the narrow stairea-^. As he wore slippers his habit in the evening his steps made no noise what- ever. He reached the bottom of the stairs, went along the passage, and open- ed the door of the study. As the door opened, a man, who was kneeling in front of the old secretary from which Mr. Grantham had taken Ellis's letters, rose suddenly to his feet. The fire had been stirred up, and lit the apartment a light which was not need- ed, however, as Mr. Grantham had his candle. He came into the room and stood facing the man, who was coarsely dressed, and had hastily drawn a short black veil over his face, apparently sewed to the lining of his hat. This disguise had two holes for the eyes, and reached to his upper lip, which was bearded like his chin. "Who are you, friend, and what is your object in entering my house?" said Mr. Grantham, mildly. The intruder had put his hand into his pocket, apparently to draw some weapon, but at these words took it out again, as if convinced that it was unnecessary. He stood looking at the master of the house, but said nothing. " What is your object in entering my poor house ?" said Mr. Grantham. " I cannot imagine how you did so, or why. There is nothing here of any value, if theft is your aim. How can there be?" To this second question the man made no more reply than to the first. He was apparently hesitating what course to pur- sue, or what to say. He had in his hand the very bundle of letters, tied with red tape, which Mr. Grantham had examine 1 an hour before, and grasped it irresolute- ly. Mr. Grantham noticed that. " Those letters you have in your hand, 1 ' he said, mildly, "were written by my son when lie was a child. They are valuable to me, but can be of no value at all to you. Why do you disturb them .'" "I don't want the letters" said the man, in a grufl voice, letting the bundle fall to the floor, and fixing his eyes upon Mr. <J rant ham. " Why take them from my drawer, then, friend ? And why do you stand like a robber in a stage-play, looking at VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 177 me and scarcely speaking? You must have sumo object in putting yourself to so much trouble." " I have an object," said the intruder, coolly : " it is not to rob you of your property. As you say, there is nothing (here to tempt anybody. I was looking | for some papers." "Some papers? What papers? and what possible value can any of my papers be to you ?' r Feeling a little tired standing, Mr. Gran th am sat down, and said to the bur- glar, " Take a seat, friend. I always prefer to sit when I am talking, and perhaps you may prefer it, also." The burglar obeyed this suggestion by sitting down in a hesitating manner his eyes fixed upon Mr. Grantham, who was, however, quite unable to see their expres- sion. " Now tell me all about it, friend," said Mr. Grantham, in the same mild voice. " You will acknowledge that this inci- I dent is a little out of the common path I* of e very-day experience. It is unusual to find my house entered at dead of night, I and my drawers searched for papers. I Papers ! What papers do you wish ? I I have only letters and sermons. You can I scarcely wish the latter, friend they would not suit your occupation precisely. Explain your object, and what papers in my possession could possibly be of any interest to you." " Mr. Grantham," said the burglar. " Well, my friend ?" " You are a brave man." "Brave? It is true that was said of me when I was a young man and, I am afraid, a very bad one. But I do not wish to be thought brave in all things. If you mean that I do not grow pale and tremble from fear of you, you are right/' " You are brave all the same," said the burglar. " What is to prevent my mur- dering you? I am armed and you are not. This is an ugly looking toy what do you say to it ?" He put his hand into his breast, and 12 drew fn.m the inner pocket of his coat a bowie-knife. "lam a stronger man than yon," lie said, "and one wipe with this would do for you." Mr. Grantham looked at the knife (juito calmly, and said, "That is a murderous-looking weapon, friend. It is not possible that you <-<>iil<l have the heart to use it against a fellow- being." "A fellow-being might crowd a man a little too close then a bowie is a good thing to have about you." " If you are attacked, you mean, no doubt. But then it is not necessary to be attacked. I am nearly seventy, and I have never been in a brawl. Come, put up your knife, friend. I suppose you do not mean to use it to take my life. If it is meant to frighten me, you may as well put it up also. It does not frighten me." " I said you were brave," was the burg- lar's reply ; " and I'll be plain with you, and say I'm rather ashamed of this busi- ness meddling with a man like you." He put the knife back in his pocket, and said, "You asked me just now what I came here for. I came to get some papers. Do you want a story to explain why I am after the papers ? Here is the story." " I should like to hear it," said Mr. Grantham. He had placed his candle on the table, and was leaning back in his chair, with his elbows 'resting upon the arms, and the tips of his fingers just touching the palms of the hands open. In this attitude he presented the appear- ance of a person at ease in his elbow- chair, and listening to a friend conversing. Opposite sat the burglar, erect in a stiff- backed chair near the open drawer. As Mr. Grantham had closed the door be- hind him when he came in, they were alone together. " Here is my story to account for my wanting the papers," said the burglar: " There was a friend of mine who got into trouble, and while people were after him he slept here one night. He was a big fellow with a little girl. He had papers 178 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. about him which he wanted to keep from the officers. They were in a travelling- bag, and this was left at your house by accident. He was afraid to come and call for the papers, so I came to get hold of them not to hurt or rob any- body." " Your friend lives in the mountain, no doubt," said Mr. Grantham. " Why in the mountain ?" " And you and your family were burnt out recently, were you not ?" " My family" " I mean, that it was you who came the other evening and asked alms for your family, who had just had the roof burnt over their heads. I recognize you now and shall I tell you how I feel, friend ? I feel ashamed for you." The words seemed to produce some ef- fect upon the burglar. He did not reply, but a movement of the disguise on his face was evidently produced by a con- traction of his brow. "Do you know that you were guilty of a very unbecoming action ?" said Mr. Grantham. " It is painful. You came and appealed to me in forma pauperis, as we say, friend to ask assistance for your poor family, and that family was only an imaginary one. Your object was to deceive me, and, in return for my kind- ness, carry off my property or what was intrusted to me." "I put the bread and meat and the money on the bench of the porch," the burglar said, in protest. " Yes, that is true ; but you robbed me of the clothes of my poor. That was the unbecoming act I referred to. I was afraid it was you." The burglar pointed to the corner. "There they are," lie said. And, in fact, there in the corner wa> the small travelling - bag, with the poor children's clothes, and Frances Gary's note and tracts. Mr. Grantham was obviously gratified. " I am truly glad to see that you have brought the clothes back. They are not mine ; they belong to my poor." " Well, there they are, Mr. Grantham. It was a mean act, but not intentional. You see, I thought it was the other bag." "And you have come for that to-night. How did you enter?" " It was easy. I slipped the bolt of your back-door, which is not exactly a Chubb lock." " Little precaution is taken against in- trusion in a quiet place like this, friend. I had supposed that / needed no locks at all. A poor clergyman I thought was quite safe, at least, and it was some time before I could persuade myself that I really heard a noise in this room." " Sorry you heard it. I tried not to disturb you," said the burglar, with a short laugh. " I scarcely heard you, and thought at first it was only my fancy. I was up late, working, and then read my boy's letters. He is a very good boy. You have thrown the letters I value so much on the floor, I see." The burglar stooped down quickly and picked them up. "I am sorry I didn't mean to throw the letters down. They fell out of my hand." Mr. Grantham rose and took them from the man. In doing this their hands touch- ed. It was as if they had shaken hands. The old pastor's hand did not retreat quickly, as if contaminated by that con- tact ; on the contrary, the two hands re- mained touching each other for about a second. Mr. Grantham then went to the drawer, and, stooping down, placed the bundle of letters in one corner, taking care to do so neatly. During this cere- mony his back was turned to the burglar, who was within two paces of him. llo was also bending over, and nothing would have been easier than to strike him or inaMcr him. Of this, however, he seem- ed to have no thought whatever, lie carefully arranged the letters in their place, and, returning to his arm-chair, re- Miiueil his former attitude, with his elbows resting on the arms and his finger -tips touching. " It is easy to see you are not afraid," said the burglar. " I might have done VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 179 for you just now, when your back was turned." " I feel no apprehensions of your re- sorting to personal violenee with me," saiil Mr. < Jrantham. "Why not? I came for the papers, and I may as well tell you I must have them." " The papers " "That were left in the travelling-bag. They belong to my friend not to you. They are of no use to you. I forced your door, and am committing burglary, I know, but that hurts nobody. Where are the papers ?" The speaker had raised his voice. It had become somewhat threatening. Mr. Grantham did not move. " Why did you not come and ask for them in open day, my friend ?" he said, calmly. "It is bad to break in by the back-door of a house when you may en- ter by the open front-door." " I have told you. How could I know that you would give up the papers, and not have me arrested ?" " So you resorted to burglary. Burg- lary is a great offence. Did you ever re- flect why the law authorizes the killing of a burglar ? It is because the supposition is that the person committing that crime is ready to commit a greater one rather than be taken in the act I mean mur- der." " I have no sort of intention of mur- dering you, Mr. Grantham, but I intend to have the papers." " No intention of committing murder ? Perhaps not. But you come armed with murderous weapons." " I have not used any yet." "You come to a peaceful house the home of a minister of the Gospel and force the lock of his door, and search his drawers for his property, or property left in his charge ; and when he makes his appearance to discover who it is that has entered his quiet home, you draw a knife from your breast and brandish it before him. That is a criminal act, friend. You are a man like myself no worse, perhaps in some things a better man, it may be. Ask yourself if you have, not committed a crime vJiidi you should be sorry for." "I am n<>t particularly sorry, as 1 am doing you no harm now. I \\aiit tin- papers, Mr. Grantham. Where are they '. I mean to have the whole lot before I go." "Impossible," said Mr. (iraiitham. " I say give me the papers. It will le unlucky for you if you stand out a<rain>t me." "It is impossible for me to deliver them to you, my friend." " Where are they ?" exclaimed the burglar, starting up ; " what are they to you ? You say it is not possible to give them up. Why not? You are not act- ing in bad faith : no fault can be found with you. They belong to my friend. Where are the papers ?" Mr. Grantham slowly shook his head. " Do you mean, or do you not, to hand them over?" exclaimed the burglar, with violence. As he spoke he drew his knife and took a step toward the old pastor. Mr. Grantham looked at him attentive- ly, and said, " It is sorrowful, very sorrowful, friend, to see a fellow-creature act so sinfully. This is a very bad errand. Do you know what such things result in? the State- prison or the gallows. Is that reasonable is it worth the risk? The sin is the main thing the crime in the eyes of the law of man follows that. Come, friend, put up your knife. It is quite useless, and offends my eyes." The burglar advanced straight upon him with the knife raised. " The papers !" he exclaimed. " I have said it is impossible for me to deliver the papers to you, my friend," said Mr. Grantham, quietly. "Why is it?" " I delivered them to their owner more than a month ago." The burglar, who was close to Mr. Gran- tham, took a step backward, and the hand holding the knife fell at his side. " To the owner a month ago ?" " Somewhat more than a month, I be- lieve," returned Mr. Grantham, tranquilly. 180 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. "To the owner? the big man who brought the child to your house that night?" " The same, friend. He left the trav- elling-bag by accident, it seems. My old servant informed me that he came for it, but I was absent. He came again, how- ever, and of course I delivered it. I had not examined its contents." The burglar remained standing, without uttering a word, for a full minute. He then fixed his eyes upon Mr. Grantham, as though aiming to read him through and through. Mr. Grantham smiled a little, and said, " Do you doubt my statement ? If you do, I venture to say that you are the only person in this parish who would do so." " No, I do not doubt what you say, at all," said the man, in a voice of very great disappointment. " The papers are gone, I see that. There's no use for further talking. Good-night, Mr. Grantham." He went to the door and opened it. Mr. Grantham rose, and, taking up his light, followed him. "A cold night, friend," he said, listen- ing to the shrill whistle of the wind ; " do you know what has just come into my mind? I ought not to turn you out in such a night. There is a bed at your service." A gruff laugh indicated that the burg- lar appreciated the humor of his host's suggestion. "No, I thank you, Mr. Grantham," he said. " I might not fed at my ease ex- actly at breakfast to-morrow morning." "Oh, do not be alarmed at that. I am an easy ><>rt of person, and hear no malice." " Kasy or not, you are a brave man," said the burglar, going toward the door in rear of tin- pa-^auv. >," said Mr. Grantham, laying his hand upon his arm. The man turned round and lool, him with quick suspicion. "I did not mean to arrest you," Mr. Grantham said, with a smile. " FOB I wish to forget our discussion, and only meant to do you a courtesy. I do not regard you as an ordinary burglar. Yoi only came for a few papers I have not asked you to explain how it is that the owner of them sent you, when he has them already. That-is your business, not my own. Let it remain so, friend, and do not enter any more houses. Go home, and go to sleep, unless you will stay with me to-night you are very welcome. When I touched you I meant to say, 'Do-- not go out by the back-door.' Here is the front-door." Mr. Grantham opened it, and the burg- ar Avent out. " Good - night, friend," said Mr. Gran- tham, in a friendly voice ; " take care, or you will stumble ; it is extremely dark." " I will take care," said the burglar, turning round and looking into Mr, rantham's face, lit up by the flaring candle, " and I mean to take care of an- other thing, too." " Another thing, my friend ?" " I never mean, So help me Heaven ! you'll not find fault with that sort of swearing, Mr. Grantham I never mean. I say, to break into a preacher's house again, if I live to be as old as Mathnselem." "Methuselah, my friend," said the pas- tor, correcting him. " It's all the same, Mr. Grantham, and you're a trump, or my name's not R Fortunately catching himself, Mr. Rug- gles sunk to silence and so departed. LXI. DOVES. MR. LASCELLES spent about an hour with Miss Juliet in the drawing-room at Trianon. Jle then rose, took his leave, and went away in an extremely had hu- mor. Nothing in the demeanor of the y>ung lady had put him out of temper. She was not at all cold or (/isfnilf during their interview; on the contrary, she was charming. She laughed a great deal for a person of her quiet temperament, and \\ a< unusually gracious. Something ed to have pleased her. This uas so plain that Mr. Lascelles referred to the VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 181 subject, and asked if some piece of good fortune had not occurred to her? " IVr- haps,'' Miss Juliet had replied, with a sil- very outburst : but then it was unneces- sary to g<> so far for a reason. Autumn always charmed her and made her happy. Juliet had actually followed Mr. Las- celles to the front-door an evidence of unusual favor. She laughed more than ever as she held out her hand to tell him good-bye. Her face was so bright, and had such an expression of pleasure in it, that Mr. Lascelles thought in a vague way that she was extremely pretty, and won- dered what had occurred to make her so gracious to him. She positively beamed upon him, and seemed to have the great- est difficulty in suppressing a tendency to laugh, and thank him for something. He wondered at this a little, but gave up the problem and went away. There was thus nothing whatever in his reception by Miss Juliet that irritated Mr. Lascelles. Nor had any one else frowned upon him. Mrs. Armstrong had not made her appearance, but that was not unusual. She generally had some- thing to occupy her attention up-stairs when he called to see Juliet. The source of the young gentleman's bad humor was the absence of Miss Bassick from their place of rendezvous in the woods. Af- fairs were now well arranged between them. When Mr. Lascelles called at Tri- anon, the hour of his intended visit was always known in advance, in some man- ner, to Miss Bassick. Just before he made his appearance she would be seized with a desire to go and look for ferns or wild flowers, or perhaps to collect cedars for the vases in the drawing-room cedars were attractive as a background to chrysanthemums or their vagrant sisters of the woods and fields. On these occa- sions Miss Bassick generally went toward Piedmont, which was in a direction near- ly opposite to Wye ; but it happened al- most uniformly that there were very few flowers or ferns in that quarter, which in- duced her to make a circuit, when out of sight of the house. This naturally brought her out on the road to Wye, about half a mile from Trianon; and, by a singular coincidence, she generally met Mr. LAS- celles at a certain spot, on his return homeward. This had occurred so frequently that no doubt Mr. Lascelles had contracted t In- habit of looking for the young lady. When our slippers are out of place \\. are aggrieved, and feel that we are the victims of wrong. Were tln-v not, in that corner yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that? Why should they not be there to-day .' Mi-s Bassick was also in the habit of incidentally appearing in the passage at Trianon when Mr. Lascelles entered >r retired, when, if not observed, they whis- pered a little. This was when circum- stances prevented the young lady from prosecuting, at the moment, her search for wild flowers. These meetings were brief, but not unpleasant ; they refresh- ed. There was even time, occasionally, for a chaste salute, and the employment of two pairs of arms. This, however, was infrequent, Mrs. Armstrong and the dan- gerous Cinda being not far off. The place of rendezvous was a spot of greater privacy, where rude and prying eyes did not intrude. If the interchange of sweet confidences did not occur in the passage casually it might occur at the rendezvous. Now, on this day it had taken place at neither one place nor the other. Miss Bassick had not made her appear- ance, and was not at the trysting-place. Mr. Lascelles was not aware that this re- sulted from the scenes of the morning, and that Miss Bassick considered it im- prudent to either show herself in the es- tablishment or prosecute her explorations in search of wild flowers. He simply contemplated the naked fact, and felt angry. What did it mean ? Was he to be trifled with in that manner? II would not be trifled with! He cared nothing for her absence any more than for her presence. After which confiden- tial statement to himself he rode on with an expression of countenance which indi- cated that he cared a great deal. In fact Mr. Douglas Lascelles was very 182 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. much in love indeed with Miss Bassick. She was precisely the person to capti- vate this gentleman. She was extremely handsome, in the first place, but this was unimportant in comparison with the ex- pression of her eyes. It was Miss Bas- sick's eyes which had done the business for Mr. Lascelles. He had laughed at them at first, then had struggled against them, but had yielded at last. If he had not been so tough and unbirdlike a per- sonage, one might have thought of the stories told of snakes charming birds. That, however, was too fanciful. Mr. Lascelles was not a young bird and Miss Bassick w r as not a serpent, although Mrs. Armstrong applied that term to her. She was simply a very seductive young creat- ure, with an uncommonly fine pair of eyes, which had fascinated Mr. Lascelles. As was said above, he was by this time very much in love with the owner of the eyes. She was bright, witty, and had a charming malice, as the French say, in her talk not malice in the English meaning, but roguery. She mimicked Mrs. Armstrong so delightfully that Mr. Lascelles could not restrain his laughter little as he was given to that. She also made fun of Juliet imitating her erect carriage of person with humorous exaggeration. Her wit sparkled and cut, edged with laughter. She was a " perfect little devil," as Mr. Lascelles often told her : and he added that she had been in- tended for a vaudevilliste on the Parisian stage, not for a staid "companion" to a staid American lady. After which he laughed heartily. Sometimes Miss Bassick was in quite a different mood variety being one of her chief attractions. On such occasions she was deeply serious, and did the pathetic as well as she had done the humorous. There was no longer the brilliant smile <>n the ripe red lips, or any malicious in the large, brilliant eyes. The K. II. lips grew mournful, and the L. B. eyes were half closed, weighed down apparent- ly by scarcely suppressed tears. Miss Bassick then grew pathetic, and spoke of her wrongs and misfortunes. She was alone in the world, the victim of a cruel woman, who treated her with the grossest insult. It had not been so once. Her family had been one of high social posi- tion, and she had enjoyed every luxury her childhood had been cradled in the arms of a mother's love her dear father had lavished upon her all the treasures of his affection. She had thus begun her life with the brightest skies bending above her, but the change had swiftly come. Her dear father and mother had died the family estate had been sold in consequence of her father's generous en- dorsement for a friend she had been thrown upon the hard world, a poor flow- er, to breast the current alone ; and here she was, with her wounded heart, seeking some one to cling to who could feel for her and comfort her. When she spoke of her lonely situation in this manner, Miss Bassick generally shed tears, and looked extremely hand- some and interesthiff. As this adds to O one's appreciation and sympathy, Mr. Lascelles felt moved to say that he would feel for and comfort her; and on such occasions her feelings would overcome Miss Bassick, and she w r ould hide her blushing face and tearful eyes in the gen- tleman's waistcoat a storm-tossed dove seeking its place of refuge. This allusion to waistcoats may mis- lead. It must not be supposed that Miss Bassick was -at all deficient in propriety. On the contrary, if there was any one trait more fully developed in her than the rest it was this latter. It was plain that Miss Bassick even objected to hav- ing her hand kissed, and this unpleasant state of things would not probably alter unless they became engaged to be mar- ried. Engaged to be married ! Knam- iv'l a> he was, Mr. Lascelles drew la-k suddenly. It was an immense enjoy- ment to look into the seductive eyes, 10 dream of fond words and caresses, but to tiKii'i'ji Mi-^ ra--'u-k ! There was the rub. A more unsuitable match, in a worldly point of view, could not be imag- ined. She was penniless, an unknown person, and as to her family, and that YIIKJIMA BOHEMIANS. 183 " high social position," he had only her word for that, and he was not entirely convinced that Mi-s liassick's word was sufficient. It might possibly be true. There were many ups and downs in the histories of families. What was certain, however, was that Miss Bassick occupied at present a very humble position indeed, and, socially speaking, was a nobody ! People would laugh. It was impossible to think seriously of such a marriage, and lie would not give it a thought again. After which he proceeded to think about it and then to think about it again and finally to think about it almost all the time. The result of these reflections has been seen. After a long and uncommonly in- teresting interview, in which the shrinking modesty and maiden sense of what was proper had been more conspicuous than ever before in Miss Bassick, Mr. Lascelles, in the ardor of the moment, had been carried away, and had proposed. Miss Bassick exhibited wonder and suggested difficulties. The match was, indeed, not to be thought of for a single moment. What would his family and friends say ? She was a poor companion a mere up- per servant; she had absolutely nothing, and might be turned out of Trianon with- out a roof over her head whenever Mrs. Armstrong chose. Then there was Juliet. She had evidently determined to marry him, Mr. Lascelles : what would Juliet say if he dared to think of her, Miss Bassick ? Altogether it was quite impossible. He must not urge her. If she only consult- ed her own heart she was p-poor and f -friendless, and his affection had touch- ed her -deeply. She f-felt as if she really could return it and be be his; but, no she could not consent to t-t-take advantage of Here Miss Bassick broke down, sobbed, and looked so extremely fascinating that Mr. Lascelles burst into perfectly sincere protestations, and finally induced the young lady, whose head had sunk upon his shoulder, to promise to take the ad- vantage of him alluded to that is, to become Mrs. Don Mas Lascelles. It was only then that the waistcoat of Mr. Lascelles became Miss r;is>i.-k's ha- bitual place of ivfu As Mr. Lascelles rode past the try>ting- placc, on his way back to \V\ e, he glanced moodily in the direction of the sjx.t. He- was both angry and depressed, and -a>ed his mind by uttering very improper ex- pressions. He then set spurs to hi- II-.I-M- and rode on rapidly, meditating upon a much more serious subject the burg- lary. It was to take place that very night. What would be the result of such a daring and dangerous attempt? Why had he authorized Mr. Kuggles to undertake it ? He must have been mad ! It was frightful to think what might ensue. He was passing near the Wye quarters at the moment, and saw a group of negroes in front of one of the cabins. A strap- ping freedman, who did not look at all " down-trodden," was leaning back on an old chair, with his bare feet emerging from his ragged pantaloons, and holding a banjo in his hand on which he was playing. The merry rattle of the banjo filled the crowd with delight, and some children, nearly naked, were dancing up- roariously to the music. " Haw ! haw ! darkeys, Don't you go 'way ! Walk into my parlor Don't you hear de banjo play ?" The grinning musician shouted his dit- ty, and the crowd burst into laughter. Mr. Lascelles wheeled his horse, to avoid passing near these ignorant creatures; their empty and vulgar mirth was dis- agreeable to him. LXII. THE BANK-NOTES. THE little family at Wye were assem- bled in the library on the same evening, after tea, and each pursued his or her fa- vorite occupation. The general was read- ing the last magazine, Mrs. Lascelles sat opposite to him, knitting a stocking, and Anna Gray was absorbed in a letter which 184 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. had just been brought in the mail-bag. Mr. Lascelles was smoking his cigar in an easy-chair, at one corner of the fire, and was the picture of tranquil enjoyment. After some moments of silence Mrs. Lascelles said to Anna, " Who is your letter from, my dear?" " From Ellis, aunty," said the young lady, quietly. " I hope he is well." " Very well, and he says he will soon be back. lie sends his love." Miss Anna Gray then folded up her letter and put it in her pocket. Mrs. Lascelles continued to knit at her stock- ing, and said, " I am very fond of Ellis ; he is so very frank and sincere. I am afraid all young men are not. They do wrong, and then very naturally attempt to conceal what they have done, but seldom succeed in doing so." Mr. Lascelles moved slightly in his chair, as if his position was cramped, and he wished to change it. The general, ab- sorbed in his paper, said, " The troops are really coming to look for the moonshine people. I am afraid there will be trouble." " I do hope they will not fight, my dear." "The moonshiners? I don't know. There are some very determined men among them, and many of them are old soldiers." " You seem to know them." " Oh yes ; I know a great many of them. I used to electioneer in Bohemia when I ran for Congress, and they all know me very well. There are some new-comers, I am informed a party of tramps at the Crow's Nest house." The general made a slight pause, and then added, " The marshal told me about these people, after his visit to them, lie was much struck with them. One of them is an old man, apparently weak in his mind, and another a big powerful fellow, of for- eign appearance. How they drifted here it is difficult to say. I should like to visit them." "Visit them, my dear?" said Mrs. Las- celles. " I hope you will not. That des- perate class of people are often danger- ous." "Dangerous? Do you think they would see anything in a plain old gentle- man like myself to excite their suspicion or ill-will ?" said the general, with a smile. "A politician learns a great deal about human nature, my dear, and how to deal with it. If I were thrown with this big fellow, who is known as the Lefthander, I hear no doubt a nickname I am sure we should become good friends in half an hour." " I hope you will not be." " Well, I am not very sure that I should not like to see him. The marshal really excited my curiosity. I have often been interested in listening to stories of ad- venture from nondescript characters they show you life on the rough side, which is different from the side seen by people of good society, as it is called. This Lefthander must have seen a good deal of life of all sorts. I think I'll go and visit my friends the moonshiners and talk with him, and induce him to tell me all about himself and his history." Mr. Lascelles, leaning back in his chair, continued to smoke. The fire seemed to have flushed his face slightly there was a red spot in each of his cheeks. " You soon make friends with people if you take interest in them and their views and pursuits," added the philosoph- ic general. "Did you observe, when Mr. (J rant ham "was here this morning, that I touched on Ritualism and defended the poor Tractarians? That aroused and in- terested the worthy man, who became an- imated at once !" Mix Lascelles smiled and shook her " You must not amuse yourself, my dear, at that good man's expense," she said; "and I was quite shocked t> hear you speak approvingly of Ritualism. But I am sure he saw that YOU \\ere jest- iirj.', as he stopped arguing with y<>u and laughed. What a singular loss that was of his black carpet-bag." VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 186 Mr. Laseelles turned his head a little and listened with attention. k ' Who could have robbed a parsonage .'" the lady continued. "And their \vas nothing in the hag, Mr. ( irantham says, but a bundle of children's clothes, made by Franci-s ( 1 ary, and some tracts. ll<>w very strange it was that these were stolen in our honest little community." "Possibly Mr. Grantham mislaid them he is very absent-minded," said the general. " I fear, from what he said, that some one stole them." " \Vell, at all events, it is as well that Mr. Grantham was absent, my dear," said General Lascelles. "He is a very mild man, but as cool and resolute as any one I know. I should not like to be the thief or burglar who entered his house to commit a robbery." Mr. Lascelles threw his cigar into the fire and unfolded a newspaper, in which he seemed soon to be absorbed. At last he yawned, rose, said that riding in the wind had made him sleepy, and went to his chamber. Having reached that place of refuge, he fell into reflection, and then, toward midnight, retired to bed. During the whole of the next day Mr. Lascelles remained at home in an ex- tremely moody condition of mind. In the evening he again retired at an early hour, and was in bed before ten. It was perhaps in consequence of this that he lay awake for a long time, as nothing less disposes to slumber than anticipating our habitual hour for retiring. Indeed, he did not go to sleep until nearly daybreak he was thinking about things. Mr. Ruggles was probably at that moment ex- ploring the recesses of Mr. Grantham's secretary. Mr. Lascelles slept for about an hour only. He then awoke, and, getting out of bed, went and looked at his watch by the glimmer of the expiring fire. This examination seemed to be satisfactory. He lit his lamp, proceeded to dress, and having put on his riding-boots, went quiet- ly down-stairs. In the hall, which was dimly illumined by the first light of day, he put on his hat, and found his riding- whip, which In- pr.-f.-m-d t spurs. lie then left the hou-r by tin- door in ivar i,f the passage, which he unlocked for tin- purpose, lie to,.k every prec.-uitioii in doing so, but the bolt grated, and the sound rung out like a trumpet in his ears in the profound silence. He stopped ami listened. The IIOUM- *U to -till that he could hear his own breathing, It \\.is ""* apparent that its inmates were sound asleep, and Mr. Lascelles mentally laughed at himself for supposing that the sound, even if it had been heard, would have startled anybody. It would have been attributed at once to a servant opening the house. He went out in the chill dusk of morn- ing, with the glimmer of daybreak to light him, and proceeded to the stables. These were very large, and for the most part quite still ; the horses were probably sleeping, as horses will toward davbivak. Here and there they were stamping their feet and rattling their halters, meaning that corn had occurred to them. Mr. Lascelles went to a stable detached from the rest, opened it with a key which he took from his pocket, and, going in, sad- dled his favorite horse himself and led him out. Having first looked around, he then mounted and rode quietly into a clump of woods adjoining the grounds. Once in the w r oods, he touched his horse with his whip and set out at a gallop. The object of this early ride was to meet Mr. Ruggles at sunrise, at a spot agreed upon some miles from Wye. The nearer rendezvous was unsafe. They might be seen, and Mr. Lascelles particu- larly desired not to be seen on this spe- cial occasion. As he went on at a rapid gallop he soon reached the spot a highly desirable lo- cality, as it was a little dell hemmed in by woods and there, with the first rays of sunrise illuminating his figure, w;i> Mr. Ruggles waiting for him. Mr. Lascelles rode straight to him, and throwing himself from his horse, slipped the reins over the animal's head, and con- fronted Mr. Ruggles. 186 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " You have the papers, I suppose ?" he said. "No, I've not got them," said Mr. Ruggles, in a business-like tone. Mr. Lascelles shut his eyebrows down, and closed the hand holding the bridle- rein so tightly that the nails dug into the palm. " AVhy ? Explain it to me. Did you get into the house, or were you only boasting when you said you could do so without difficulty ?" " I don't remember any boasting, Mr. Lascelles," said Mr. Ruggles, in a cool tone. "You boasted enough about it," said Mr. Lascelles, losing his temper and frown- ing, under the effect of his huge disap- pointment and early rising after a nearly sleepless night. Now, nothing irritates people like see- ing people who are irritated. Expres- sions of face are contagious. You smile back at the smiling face, and scowl at the scowlcr, or, at least, you feel disposed to do so. Thus the displeasure of Mr. Las- celles highly displeased Mr. Ruggles, who was himself greatly disappointed. "Look here, Mr. Lascelles," said Mr. Ruggles, with dignity, " a man don't like to be talked to in that way." " AY hat you like or dislike is a matter of indifference to me," said Mr. Lascelles, " and I have no time or desire to be trifled with. What happened f" "This is what happened," responded Mr. Ruggles, with severe brevity of utter- ance. "I got in the house there was no trouble about that. I told you so I didn't boast about it. I found the secre- tary and searched it. Nothing there." " Searched it thoroughly ? every drawer ? everywhere ?" These questions came one by one, jerk- ed, as it were, from Mr. Lascclles's lips. "No." " What d<> you mean?" " I mean I would have searched through it, but I stopped to talk with the owner of the piece of furniture." "AYith Mr. Crantham!'' " The same." "Are you trifling with me? You stopped to talk with Mr. Grantham T" 1 " It looked like it. He came in and sat down, and I took a seat too. It might have been his ghost, but I rather think it was the man himself." Mr. Ruggles was growing sarcastic. " AYhat the devil does all this mean ?" exclaimed Mr. Lascelles, in great irritation and bewilderment. " Are you telling me a cock-and-bull story for your amuse- ment ?" " Not as I'm aware of," said Mr. Rug- gles, with indifference. Indeed, his cool- ness amounted decidedly to disrespect. " Tell me in plain words what happen- ed, and stop all this tomfoolery," observed Mr. Lascelles, growing quite angry, but speaking coolly. " You say you entered the house and searched the secretary, but not thoroughly, in consequence of being surprised by Mr. Grantham do you mean to say that ?" " I do, em - phatically," said Mr. Rug- gles. " I never was more surprised in in v life." As Mr. Lascelles seemed to be rendered speechless for the moment by the an- nouncement, Mr. Ruggles availed himself of the fact, and related all that had hap- pened. " So you see the whole affair's at an end," he said, in conclusion. "The Left- hander has got your papers safely stowed away somewhere, and, as I'd rather not fool with him again, I may as well say I am going back to New York." Mr. Lascelles, with his eyes fixed on the ground, was reflecting, with evident dis- gust and disappointment, upon all that he had heard. " I can't see my way to serve you fur- ther in any way, Mr. Lascelles," said Mr. Jingles; "and as I think I'll take the night train north, I'd be glad to arrange our little business matt. "You mean your pay C said Mr. Las- eelles, suddenly raising his head. "Exactly, Mr. Lascelles. There was no special bargain as to what I was to have if I couldn't lay my hands on your papers; but I've done my best, and VIRGINIA IJOIII-MIANS. 187 nearly got my neck broken by that big fellow in tin* mountain besides, l'\e committed burglary, which is risky ami all that is worth considerable." M \Yhtit do you suppose it is worth to me?" "Well, not much, maybe but I'm talking about myself. I think I've earn- ed at least eight hundred of the thousand, .to say the least/' "Eight hundred! You are crazy. Do you suppose 1 am made of money ?" " You offered a cool thousand, and maybe more, if you got your documents." " Well, where are they ? I am no nearer getting hold of them than the day you came. It was throwing away time to send for you. I thought you were a Detective" This greatly enraged Mr. Ruggles, and he could not suppress a frown. " Well, if you are going to insult me, and refuse to pay me, after sending for me, Mr. Lascelles, you can !" lie replied, angrily. " \Yhat do you mean ?" said Mr. Las- celles, with an ominous shutting down of his eyebrows ; " do you mean to hint that I am acting unfairly ? Here's your mon- ey, and more than you deserve." lie took out his pocket-book and de- tached five one-hundred-dollar bank-notes from a bundle which it contained, and handed them to Mr. Ruggles, who took them,, looked at them one by one, folded them up, and placed them in his waist- coat pocket. " Well, when an honest man can't get his full pay," he said, evidently much dis- satisfied, " the best thing is to take what he can get." " What do you say ?" " I thought I was dealing with a gen- tleman " Mr. Ruggles paused after the word for an instant "who would not beat down a poor fellow in this way." Mr. Lascelles had flushed suddenly. The pause after the word " gentleman " had produced a disagreeable effect. In fact, it had enraged him. " If you mean that I promised you more, you lie," lie said, looking straight at Mr. Rubles. "1 thought YOU knew your businos, aii<l could be counted on. You are a mere givenh.rn, ami have \<.iir lie ready I doubt if you ever entered that house at all or made the s.-aivli." Mr. Ruggles could stand much in the way of business, but he could not stand the imputation on his professional charac- ter, and to have the term "lie" aj. plied to his statements. "You'd better not repeat that," he ob- served, with a flash of the eye. "You are a liar!" responded Mr. Las- celles, promptly. "And you're a fraud!" exclaimed Mr. Ruggles, yielding to ra^e. As he uttered the words Mr. Lascelles struck him in the face with his small whip a sharp, telling lash, which left a long red mark on his cheek. Thereat Mr. Ruggles, driven to fury, drew his bowie-knife, and was apparently about to do something dreadful, when he suddenly changed his mind. Mr. Lascelles had put his hand under his coat behind and pro- duced a small but dangerous-looking pis- tol of the Derringer pattern, which he cocked with the rapidity of long practice and placed upon Mr. Ruggles' s breast. This was evidently unpleasant to Mr. Ruggles. He was in a rage, but not too much so to lose sight of his personal safety. He retreated, moving his body quickly to one side, to get out of range of the muzzle of the Derringer. Mr. Lascelles looked at him for a few seconds in silence. He then quietly un- cocked his pistol and restored it to his pocket. "There's no fight in you," he said, coolly. He took out his pocket-book, extracted an additional bank-note from it and tots- ed it toward Mr. Ruggles; after which ho mounted his horse with great deliberation and rode off in the direction of AVye. He did not even turn his head. If he had done so he would have seen Mr. Rug- gles restore the bowie-knife to his breast pocket and pick up the bank note. What- ever course Mr. Rooney Ruggles meant to pursue in consequence of this unpleasant 188 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. scene, it was obvious that lie considered that business was business, and hundred- dollar bank-notes were hundred - dollar bank-notes. LXIII. IN THE TRIANON WOODS. IT is a very imprudent thing to tread on people, however humble they may be, and very injudicious to strike them with riding- whips; they will probably strike back in some way, at some time or other. Mr. Ruggles intended to strike back if he could, and, reflecting maturely upon the subject, thought he would be able to do so. lie and Mr. Lascelles were not done with each other, he said to himself, with a malignant expression of countenance; and conscious of the possession of bank- notes, and a few days of leisure, he re- solved to gratify, if possible, his personal feelings before his return to New York. He had been lodging at the cabin of a poor man in the vicinity of the railway station. He now moved to the Piedmont tavern, where he took a room, and on the next day set out in his neat citizen's dress to call on the Lefthander. They had a long conversation, in which Mr. Ruggles, giving way unintentionally to anger, related all that had occurred be- tween himself and Mr. Lascelles, and made no secret of his intention to "get even with him." The trouble, he said, was to discover the means of doing so. It was true that Mr. Lascelles gambled frightful- ly at the residence of one of his friends in the neighborhood, but very little could be made of that. There was something more promising in another direction, how- ever he was engagrd to be married t> a Miss Armstrong, who lived near Pied- mont; and if there was any reason \\h\- Mieh a marriage might not to take place, it was the duty of honest people, who aware of Mieh reasons, to inform the lady of them. Mr. Rugbies looked at the Lefthander. He was smoking, and made no reply. There might or might not be an obsta- cle to the gentleman's marriage, continued Mr. Ruggles. Such obstacles often exist- ed, and were yet disregarded. You had only to read the newspapers to see what a queer world we live in. Men who bore irreproachable reputations often married when they had wives living, or had forged, or committed crimes which, if known, would utterly destroy their position in society, perhaps subject them to a crimi- nal prosecution. Now, if such were the fact in the case of Mr. Lascelles, and if documentary evidence on the subject were in existence, it was the bounden duty of honest men to expose the whole affair, and not permit a young lady to marry a bigamist, a forger, or perhaps a murderer. Mr. Ruggles then looked again at the Lefthander; but his face was as serene as before. " You know what I mean," said Mr. Ruggles, coming to the point. " Yes, I know what you mean." " The papers in the travelling-bag." The Lefthander made no rcplv. "You think this is only another trick this story about the quarrel and the cut with the whip" exclaimed Mr. Ruggles. " and you are right to be on your guard ; but I swear it's true." " I rather think it is," the Lefthander said; "but I have nothing to say on the subject of the papers you mention at present." lie spoke moodily, and seemed to be reflecting. Something evidently troubled him. Mr. Ruggles made another attempt to draw him out, but again failed ; and as Gentleman Joe came in at the moment, the conversation ended, and he took his departure. On the afternoon of the same day Mr. Kuggles walked out of Piedmont, and went in tin- direction of Trianon. The road which he followed intersected that leading from Wye to Trianon, about a mile from the latter place, and Mr. Rug- u;les had just reached the point of cross- ing when lie observed a horseman ap- proaching from the direction of Wye. A single glance showed him that the horseman was Mr. Lascelles, and as he VIRGINIA BOIIKMIAN-. 189 had no desire to hold another interview with that gentleman, he concealed himself in some bushes. Mr. Lascelles passed at a gallop. !! had evidently not seen Mr. Rubles. In a few moments lie was out of sight, and Mr. Ruggles cautiously followed in the same direction. The sun was sinking toward the sum- mit of the woods when Mr. Lascelles rode into the grounds of Trianon. He dis- mounted, threw his bridle over the rack, and entered the house. As he did so a figure flitted up the staircase, making him a coquettish sign accompanied by a smile. This was Miss Bassick, who was lost to view a moment afterward. Mr. Lascelles knocked and the sable Cinda appeared, with a polite grin on her features. Missus Armstrong was at home, but Miss Juliet, she had a head- ache : and Mrs. Armstrong, having made her appearance in the drawing-room in due time, confirmed this statement. Ju- liet had been suffering from a headache all day would Mr. Lascelles excuse her ? Then the conversation proceeded. It was not a very cordial interview. Mrs. Arm- strong did not like scenes, but there was the blessed resource of hauteur. You can show people what you think of them, fortunately, without telling them, which is a comfort; and Mrs. Armstrong, with- out uttering a word on the subject which occupied the minds of both, quite froze her visitor. Under such circumstances visits are not prolonged. Mr. Lascelles smiled sweetly, lamented Miss Juliet's headache, hoped it would soon disappear, and made a low bow, after which he took his departure and rode away. As he turned his back on the house, his expression suddenly changed. " She has found out everything," he said, " and that headache has already left the sweet Juliet, probably. Who could have told her ? the devil J" After this succinct but comprehensive expression of his surprise and dissatisfac- tion, Mr. Lascelles rode on rapidly, and about sunset reached the spot where he was accustomed to meet Miss Bassick. He was Mire lie should find her there. As sin- flitted up the staircase she had made him a peculiar sign, which signified that, she \\as ^-oiiig to disappear from Trianon by the hark ittircaae, go in search of flowers, and in all probability would not be far distant when he on his way to "NY ye. It said a great deal for Mi-s punctuality and reliability that he \\as not disappointed. There she wa^ at the trysting-place, with her little basket full of red berries, and her handsome face glowing with the roses of healthy exer- cise, and perhaps of anticipation. Can we blame her? Is it not natural that the innocent heart of a maiden should throb at the approach of her dear one? She was exceedingly handsome as she stood leaning against the trunk of an oak ; and it is not to be wondered at that Mr. Las- celles, a few moments afterward, relieved the oak-tree of the trouble of sustaining her. The conversation which ensued was not particularly interesting: such conversa- tions rarely are. There were reproaches, explanations, blandishments, and so forth. It was a strictly private interview, and therefore ought not to be made public. The denouement alone is necessary to a comprehension of the narrative. Mr. Lascelles was seated on a mossy rock with his arm around Miss Bassick, and her head leaning on his shoulder, when Miss Juliet Armstrong came out of the woods, from behind some evergreens, within about ten paces of them. This vexatious incident occurred in the simplest manner. The young lady had really been suffering from a headache all day, but to- ward sunset had come quietly down-stairs and set out to take a walk, without the knowledge of her mother or Miss Bassick. O Finding the evening mild, she had gone wandering through the woods, and was now returning home, when, unfortunately, she stumbled upon the young people. No sooner had Juliet caught sight of them than she attempted to retreat un- discovered; but that was impossible. They had both looked round, and their 190 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. glances met. Miss Bassick was so much startled that she remained motionless with the arm of Mr. Lascelles still around her, and a deep flush upon her face; then she suddenly retreated from him. As to Juliet, she was standing still, col- oring a little and smiling. There was ab- solutely nothing to do but to accost them, and she said, " I have been walking what a pleas- ant evening, Mr. Lascelles." " Very pleasant," stammered Mr. Las- celles, who had risen. "And the woods are full of flowers, in spite of the lateness of the season. I have found a quantity of autumn prim- roses and this pretty little star of Bethle- hem have you ever noticed it ?" She came forward quietly and held up her nosegay with a smile on her lips. "You admire flowers, Miss Bassick," she added, " and you will find every pos- sible variety if you will look for them." Miss Bassick, who had risen to her feet, looked extremely stiff and haughty. Mr. Lascelles, to judge from the expression of his countenance, would have preferred be- ing in some other place. " I regretted hearing that you had a headache, and am glad to find it has left you," he stammered. "Yes, I am scarcely suffering at all now. I thought a walk would relieve it, and I suppose you were walking out also, Miss Bas>iek P " Yes," said Miss Bassick, curtly, and knitting her handsome brows. At the same moment Mr. Lascelles's horse neigh- ed, and Juliet looked at him admiringly. " What a beautiful horse !" she said. " I really envy you your ride. I hope all are well at Wye." "Thank you very well; and as I promised to return to tea, I will now take my leave, Iadi-s. M Mr. Lascelles bowed low, and, mounting his horse, rode off : in all his life he had never felt a sensation of such relief. Miss Bassick and Juliet stood facing each other the face of the one a vivid crimson, the lips of the other smiling quietly. " Shall we return, Miss Bassick ?" " Yes, I am ready to return !" Was it the voice of Miss Bassick, or somebody else's ? The coo-coo had quite disappeared it was brief, abrupt, and metallic. They walked on together in silence for some moments. Then Miss Bassick said, in the same abrupt tone, " So you think it honorable to steal up and surprise people ?" " To steal up !" said Juliet, composedly, though a slight color came to her face. "As you did while I was conversing with Mr. Lascelles." Juliet smiled. It seemed impossible for her to take any but the humorous view of what she had witnessed. Per- haps the term " conversing," employed by Miss Bassick, suggested the retort that she and Mr. Lascelles had been convers- ing in a very peculiar attitude. " I did not steal np. I was going home, and came out of the woods by mere accident. If you knew me better than you do, Miss Bassick, you would not ac- cuse me of stealing up on people." " I know you well !" said Miss Bassick, yielding to anger; " and you need not at- tempt to deceive me, as you deceive other people !" Juliet's smiles disappeared and her head rose haughtily. But this had no effect upon Miss Bassick, who felt, probably, that she had destroyed the bridges behind her. "You followed me, to spy out my movements and listen !" she exclaimed. "You are jealous of the preference Mr. Lascelles has for me! You have been watching, and sending others to watch all my movements! You have never liked me, and take this means of wreaking your spite and dislike on me!" Juliet listened with a sort of wonder. Did Miss Bassick really believe what she said? Could it be possible that, after their necessarily intimate association for years, she could honestly take any sucli view of her character ? Then her surprise yielded to slight indignation. She was not exactly angry, but felt that her com- panion's words were an outrage. Still she remained calm, and replied, VIRGINIA BOHKMIANS. 101 "I have really no spite to wreak upon you, Miss Bassiek. 1 am obliged to say since you charge me with 'dUlike' that I do not particularly like you. I have tried to do so, but found it impos- sible, probably from a want of congenial- ity in our characters, \vbich really do seem utterly unlike. Shall I tell you just what I mean * You state your opinion of me frankly I will be frank with you also. I am afraid you are not a sincere person, and resort to indirect means to attain your ends. You seem very angry, but I cannot help that. It is better I should tell you all, as you say I am in the habit of deceiving people but cannot deceive you. I am not at all angry with you, and since you have lived with us have never uttered an unkind word to you; but I never could grow fond of you I have told you why. It may be unfortu- nate, but I feel an actual aversion for in- sincere and indirect people." " Very well !" cried Miss Bassick, in a good wholesome rage ; " and now shall I tell you my opinion of you ?" " You may in a moment, if you fancy. I wish to say only one word on another subject. You accuse me of spying, and watching, and every dishonorable pro- ceeding, from jealousy jealousy of the preference of Mr. Lascelles for yourself !" " Yes, I do accuse you of that, and of following me this evening! It was an outrage to " "Be present at your private interview with Mr. Lascelles 2" Juliet, suddenly recalling the peculiar attitude of the group, and their startled expression, could not suppress a smile. " I am not at all jealous, Miss Bassick," she said. " I don't know whether you will believe me, but any preferences of Mr. Lascelles are a matter of indifference to me. I really have no desire to marry Mr. Lascelles, and you are quite at liberty to do so, if you wish ; I see no objection. I might say that it would, perhaps, be better to receive his visits in the drawing- room than in this secret manner ; but you will decide for yourself, of course. And now, Miss Bassick, I think we understand each other. ll is better that \\ e .should, and I have, there!'. -re, spoken plainly. Do marry Mr. Lasrelles, if y,.ii \vish, and he is anxious. 1 shall certainly not op- pose it, and you must not think I am a policeman. If I had kn.\\n that you and Mr. Laserllrs were talking in that roman- tic spot this (.'veiling, 1 a-Miiv you I should have gone a mile out of the \\-.\\ t<> avoid interrupting you." In spite of everything of Mi-s !>a- sick's wrath, insults, imputations Mi-s Juliet Armstrong was evidently unable to restrain her sense of humor. Sudden! v she uttered a gay laugh, which enraged Miss Bassick to the last degree. As they had entered the grounds, however, the interview came to an end, and the maid- ens separated without further words. Mr. Ruggles, lying concealed behind a thick clump of cedars on the side of the road opposite the trysting - place, had heard nothing that was said. But then he had witnessed everything, and his sharp glances left nothing in doubt, lie had heard the report in Piedmont that Mr. Lascelles was engaged to be married to Miss Armstrong, and the attitude of the gentleman and his companion, as they sat upon the rocks, clearly showed that the report was correct. The minor cir- cumstance that he mistook Miss Bassick for Miss Armstrong was natural, but not important. Mr. Ruggles gazed at the ro- mantic couple and smiled ; remained in his place of concealment until Mr. Las- celles and the ladies had disappeared, and then, emerging in the dusk, went back to Piedmont. Having shut himself up in his room, he proceeded to write a note. This note was brief, but very much to the point. It contained these words : "Miss ARMSTRONG, An unknown friend takes this means of puttin_ on your guard. Don't marry Mr. Doug- las Lascelles, of Wye. lie is a forger, and has one wife living !" Having placed this communication in an envelope, and directed it to " Miss 192 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. Armstrong, Trianon, near Piedmont," he put on his hat and went and deposited it in the post-office ; and half an hour after- ward old William came and bore it off with the rest of Mrs. Armstrong's letters to Trianon the mail having arrived in the stage a short time before. Mr. Rug- gles was lounging at the post-office when Mrs. Armstrong's mail was asked for. He saw his letter handed to the old ser- vant. Then he sauntered back, with a smile on his lips, to the tavern. LXIV. THE OLD CHAPEL. THE " Old Chapel " was a well-known edifice in the Piedmont neighborhood. It was the ancient stone church, on the slope of the mountain, near which Mouse and the Lefthander had met their friends on the morning after the scenes at the circus. It was built of limestone, and had a venerable appearance. 'There were old- fashioned folding -doors on three of the sides, brushed by hanging boughs, a gal- lery at one end, ranges of straight-backed pews, a cylindrical stove in the middle aisle, and a lofty pulpit, with a sounding- board above it, flanked by two small square windows. The other windows were lofty, and closed by solid shutters. There was no paint about the building if there ever had been, it had disappeared. The edifice dated back to the times of the earliest settlers in the region, and looked down from the little plateau on the side of the mountain a venerable relic of the pa-t. Once a year service was held in it by Mr. (Jranthaiii, to whoso parish it In-- longed. He loved the spot very much, as his friend IJishop Meade had loved it, and it. was equally clear to his parishioners. In the graveyard, enclosed by a stone wall and overshadowed by weeping-wil- lows and syeamores, were buried the an- cestors of half of the families of the neighborhood You could trace out the familiar names and some of them were famous on the mossy slabs, half covered by the luxuriant growth of ivy and myr- tle, instep deep. It was a sort of pious pilgrimage which the good people of the little parish made once a year to the Old Chapel. They were not willing to have it moulder away. A little attention would prevent that, for the stone-work was still solid and enduring. So service was still held there, and the parishioners made it a point of duty to attend: it was only once a year. If they went thither oftener it was in a long procession of carriages, with a black vehicle in front, moving slowly up the mountain road: some member of the little community, a gray- haircd elder or little blossom, was going to sleep beside the dear ones already there. One bright Sunday morning of early December the annual service was held at the Old Chapel. The " Indian summer" had come and the fall lingered still, and as it often does in Virginia until January. The mild air caressed and did not chill. A low whisper in the few dry leaves still clinging to the trees seemed the murmur- ous farewell of autumn as it departed. The old house of worship was rilled at an early hour. Ellis Grantham was r< - ing to preach his first sermon. He had reached home on the week before, a new- ly-made deacon, and this would be tho first time he had risen to address a con- gregation; so the attendance from Pied- mont, where the young man was a great favorite, was very large, and persons were also present from the whole neighborhood, including Bohemia. Mr. Gary and Fran- ces were seated in the body of the church, not far from IJrantz Elliot and Xelly and I >addy Welles. General Laxvlles and his family occupied a pew near them, and Mrs. Armstrong and .Juliet sat in front of them. In the gallery were Mouse, Harry, and the Lefthander; Gen- tleman Joe having remained at home to look after the establishment. Ju-t in front of the preacher was seen the portly form of the, Tinted States maishal who had made the night descent on the moon- shiners, lie had reached the town on the VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 193 day before, and was waiting for the arri- val of a detachment of cavalry, it was re- ported. Meanwhile, like a respectable citizen, he attended public worship. Ellis read the service clearly and dis- tinctly, and preached a very good sermon. It was remarkable for the absence of am- bitious rhetoric, and was conversational rather than declamatory. His gesture rose naturally from the feeling, and was an aid. His views were Low-Church, and were very far from implying that confes- 'sion to a priest and absolution refilled the lamp of grace, a part of whose oil had been spilled by sinful stumbling. These fancies, and that other, that the priest must refill the lamp before death, or the bearer of it would be shut out, were very ridiculous, and very offensive to him, the preacher. It all arose from the absurdity of regarding the priest as more than a man. He was simply an ecclesiastical official with prescribed duties. To speak of his forgiving sin was monstrous, and a relic of superstition. Those who thought so had better go to Rome at once. No man could be a mediator. There had been one Mediator and High-priest, who had offered sacrifice once for all. There was no more sacrifice now ; that was done with. All that was needed now was faith in Him, and good works, as an evidence that the faith was a living faith. His sermon was short, and the blessing was pronounced by Mr. Grantham. Then the congregation began to talk ; for the people of the Piedmont parish talked after service. It may even be said that they talked enormously both very fast and very loud, as well as very long. There was so much to say : they had not seen each other for a whole week ! And then had they not as a writer in the Southern Churchman had said of coun- try congregations come to church "to see and be seen ?" This was a fearful ac- cusation to bring against the young ladies and gentlemen, but it certainly looked very much like it. The maidens certain- ly did go to and fro through the aisles, gesticulating, exclaiming, and beaming on all around them. But then that was nat- 13 ural ; had not the preaehrr talked at for an hour, and \\as it n..t their turn now? The elders indulged in friendly greet- ings outside the chtireh. 1 It-re, the tail form of old General Laseelles towered above his neighbors, and with his hearlv smile, and warm grasp of the hand for everybody, he was a notable ligmv. He accosted Daddy Welles with the air of an old acquaintance, and pointed to the 1'ni- ted States marshal with a smile. The 1 >ud- dy smiled sweetly in return and nodded. " You had better be on your guard," said the general. " There is going to be trouble." " Trouble, did you say, gineral ?" Dad- dy Welles asked, with an innocent air. " Oh no ! I hope there won't be any trouble." " Don't be too certain of it, old friend." " We can't be certain of anything in this miser'ble world, gineral, onless it's one thing the havc-his-carcass." But the general shook his head. " Don't count on that, Daddy," he said, in a low tone. "Any law question that comes up in this business will be decided in the United States District Court, not in our own." "And does that make a difference, gin- eral? Ain't the have-his-carcass law in all the courts ?" "There is not much law in the Uni- ted States District Court, unless it is mar- tial law. Once Virginia was a sovereign State, and her rights were inviolate ; now every little judge clothed in the Federal ermine openly sneers at the idea that we have any rights. Only one thing is left to arrest our old Virginia judges, and issue an order that there shall be no more State courts in the commonwealth, unless negroes preside in them." " Well, well but the Virginia people won't stand that long, gineral." " I hope not. But take care of your- self in the mean while, Daddy Welles." " I'll try, gineral." " I am coming to Bohemia to-morrow to your house. Get our friends togeth- er ; I want to talk to them." " About the business ?" 194 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. The general nodded. " It will be best not to have any trouble. You see the marshal is here already, and there he is coming up to speak to me." Daddy Welles did not retire at this in- timation ; he only smiled. The marshal came up and looked keenly at him. " I remember you," he said, coldly ; " your name is Welles." " The same, friend." " So you are a church-goer ?" "I mostly go to meetin' somewlicrcs on Sunday." "And break the laws all the week, depending for safety on your State courts!" Daddy Welles smiled, and gazed at the marshal with a look of mild inquiry. " Is there a law passed in Congress that we're to have no more State courts in Virginia, friend ?" he asked. The marshal frowned. The question was apparently innocent, but was embar- rassing. "And the have-his-carcass has Con- gress done away with the have-his-carcass too?" The marshal uttered a suppressed sound, which very much resembled an oath. " Nothing of the sort ! but the Federal Court has jurisdiction in your case, and you need not depend on it." " Oh no ! 1 won't depend on it, friend. I s'poso old Virginny '11 have to wait for better times, when the troops won't be sent for to decide law p'ints." Having thus mildly expressed his hope for the future, Daddy Welles retired, and the marshal bowed to General Lascelle and said, " I shall apply to you in a day or two for search-warrants, general, as before in this matter of the illicit distilleries." The general bowed, and said, "I shall grant them, of course, -ir though I should think you might hav ( applied to the district judge." " lie is not present." " And I hope he will stay away as long as possible. Between a judge in a black coat sitting on a bench, and violating our State law, and a marshal acting under or- ders, with troops to support him, I prefer the marshal and troops that is intelligi- ble, at least." The marshal bowed, and said, formally, "The business is disagreeable; but, as you have said, I act under orders." The general bowed in reply, and the I marshal walked on. Soon afterward the ongregation dispersed and returned home all of them, at least, but a small group which lingered in the quiet church-yard, overgrown with myrtle and shaded by its large sycamores and willows. There was one great weeping-willow, especially, whose tassels reached down and brushed against the tombstones ; and the little party, con- sisting of Harry and the Lefthander and Mouse, were looking at the quiet scene, and musing, before setting out on their return to Bohemia. Harry was thinking of the face of Frances Gary, as she stood, a rose-bud in the midst of rose-buds, in the aisle of the church, and never had she seemed so far away from him as at that moment. The Lefthander, who had seen Mr. Lascelles, wore a very gloomy expres- sion. Mouse alone of the party looked quietly happy Frances Gary had put her arms around her as she came out of church and kissed her, and Mouse loved her little hostess of Falling Water dearly, and was made happy by the kiss. The child wandered about, reading the inscriptions on the tombstones. There were a number of little grassy mounds marked by small head-stones. These were the graves of children, but they did not seem to make Mouse sad. She smiled as she read the names, " Little Lucy " or "Our Annie," and said, " I think it would be nice to be buried here, poppa don't you?" " Yes," the Lefthander replied, " it is a very good place." " Hear tin- wind in the willow ! May- be the dead people hear it too." "Doubtful," was his reply; "they don't hear inneh that is going on. But stop tliis talking about being buried, Mignon. If they bury you, they'll have to leave room for me not far off from you." VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. "Of course," said Mouse "or for me beside you/' "But that won't be here. We'll get up the troupe soou, and go away/' Mouse looked at Harry and smiled. "I am acquainted with a young gentle- man who's not anxious to go away," she observed; then leaning over she whisper- ed, '"Forgive me, Harry, 1 didn't mean to make you blush so 1" After strolling through the old grave- yard, carpeted with myrtle, for a little while longer, the party then set out for home, following the road through the lap, The Lefthander walked on with his head bent down, and the same moody ex- pression which of late had become com- mon with him. It was an expression of hesitation and doubt that of the man who is puzzled to determine upon his course in some important matter. The singular part of it was that this expression grew deeper and more intense whenever he mentioned or encountered Mr. Lascelles. LXV. JULIET'S SECRET. HAVING returned from service at the Old Chapel, Mrs. Armstrong proceeded to dine, and then repaired to the drawing- room, whither Juliet followed her. There was a very great contrast be- tween their expressions. Mrs. Armstrong was restless, moody, evidently displeased, and " out of sorts " generally. From time to time she patted the carpet impa- tiently, almost angrily, with her small foot in its handsome boot, and the inner ex- tremities of her eyebrows were much too close together to indicate tranquillity. Juliet, on the contrary, had never seemed more composed. Her pretty face, to use an ambitious simile, resembled a rose-tint- ed evening sky without a cloud upon it. There was not the least shadow in her limpid eyes, and she leaned back in her arm-chair and looked at the fire with the air of a person at peace with all the world. "It ivally is unendurable!" 1 sVid Mrs. Arm>trong, at last ; "can he call himsrli' a gentleman, 1 wonder?" " \\'h<> i> In-, mamma .'" xiid Juliet, with extreme tranquillity. "Mr. Lascelles! How can he reconcile it with common decency to behave as he does?" "I am not sure that I understand you." "At church to-day he did not come near you, or even so much as bow to you. It is disgraceful! Here is the whole, neighborhood connecting your name with his own you are reported to be rngauvd and he does not even speak to you !" Juliet smiled. She had said nothing to her mother of the scene in the woods ; but Mrs. Armstrong was quite cognizant of the preference of Mr. Lascelles for Mi>s Bassick, and was slightly illogical in her present views. If Mr. Lascelles were not Juliet's suitor but Miss Bassick's, why should the lady regard his demeanor as a matter of any importance ? For the sake of appearances? Yes, no doubt, for the sake of appearances. Miss Juliet there- fore smiled, and as she had a good deal of humor under her calm exterior, said, " I suppose Mr. Lascelles was moody and unhappy from not seeing Miss Bas- sick at church. You know when people are in his state of mind they often neglect the little forms of courtesy." Mrs. Armstrong rose erect in her chair. " Good heavens, Juliet ! I really am out of patience !" she exclaimed. "I would not be if I were you, mam- ma. You mean with me, I suppose." "Yes, my dear; I cannot help it. Y ; really seem to have no pride at all." " We have discussed that before, mam- madon't let us return to it. I will say again, however, that I have a great deal, and that it is a matter of indifference to me whether Mr. Lascelles is polite to me or the reverse. Why should I ca; "But think, my dear! The whole neighborhood are talking of you. Com- mon decency, I say, would prompt a gen- tleman to act differently. Everybody noticed it, and I saw that hateful Mi.-s Grundy nodding, and smirking, and gig- 196 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. gling to her horrid Piedmont friends ; they are all low people : she saw Mr. Lascelles pass near you without turning his head, and to-morrow it will be all over the neighborhood." " Very well, mamma." Juliet spoke with great composure, as she understood tolerably well what caused Mr. Lascelles to shun her the very un- pleasant meeting in the woods. " My dear Juliet, for heaven's sake don't say ' well, mamma,' to everything !" exclaimed her mother. "It expresses precisely what I feel," Juliet said. " I mean that I am perfect- ly well satisfied to have Mr. Lascelles bow to me or not bow, come to see me or not come to see me though I should very much prefer that, under all the circum- stances, he would not do so. As to his manner to me in public, that is really a matter of very little importance, mam- ma." Mrs. Armstrong groaned ; then she said, "Fortunately people may think that you have discarded him, and that you have quarrelled on that account." "I hope they will not. You know I have not discarded Mr. Lascelles if any- thing, he has discarded me !" Juliet smiled sweetly, and added, " He feels badly, no doubt I mean, ill at case with me as he must see that the atmosphere of Trianon has cooled in some degree." " So this is the last of everything the end!" exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong, in a tragic voice. " It really seems so, mamma, and I am very glad of it. I have a great many reasons for preferring not to receive any more visits from Mr. Lascelles. I have not spoken of these reasons, and perhaps I \\.is wrong in not doing so. Shall 1 tell you all of them at once, now, and have no more secrets from you ?" "Secrets! Have you secrets from your poor unhappy mamma, ,Iul: It was a pathetic wail, like the former here was a new misery. " Yes, mamma ; at least, I have delay- ed telling you something. Until this moment I have never had secrets, really, or concealed anything. I have only chosen my time to speak as I do now." " What can you mean, my child ? Is there anything dreadful coming?" Mrs. Armstrong cried. "Something very disagreeable, if you think of it as I do." "What 25 it?" " I met Miss Bassick and Mr. Lascelles in the woods the other evening embra- cing." "Embracing! I knew it I knew it was true !" " It was an accident, and there was an edairdssement it was unavoidable. Mr. Lascelles is engaged to be married, it seems, to Miss Bassick, and I am obliged, therefore, to give him up, whether I wish to do so or not." Mrs. Armstrong gasped. W r ords seem- ed to fail her. Her lips moved, and prob- ably essayed to utter the phrase " Go on," but there was no sound. " That is one good reason for not re- garding Mr. Lascelles in the light of a suitor," continued Juliet, "and there is another." She drew from her pocket the letter written by Mr. Ruggles, in which that gentleman characterized Mr. Lascelles as a forger, with one wife living. Juliet read it aloud, and added, " Of course I do not believe that there is any truth in it. There rarely is any, I suppose, in anonymous letters, as the per- sons writing them indicate their own char- acters by not signing them. But still, it is not agreeable, mamma, to receive atten- tions from a gentleman of whom such things can be said by anybody. I meant to send this note to Mr. Lascelles, but thought I would first show it to you." Mrs. Armstrong took the letter, and read it with an imbecile expression. "A forger! one wife living!'' she gaipecL " So you see it would be very impru- dent for me to marry Mr. Lascelles under any circumstances, main ma." "Good heavens!" this was a tragic VIRGINIA JHJIIKMIANS. 107 expression mucli used by Mrs. Armsti "and the creature is to pollute this mansion again with his presence!" " Perhaps lie will not do so." " Hi- is coming to-morrow. 1 request- ed a private interview at church to-day." u A private interview, mainnia '." 11 1 meant to demand an explanation," gasped Mrs. Armstrong, exhibiting indica- tions of falling into hysterics "to have a full understanding with him and lie will be here." Juliet mused for a few moments, and then said, " Perhaps it is very well that you did make the appointment. It is due to Mr. Lasccllcs that he should be informed of the contents of this letter without delay that is only justice and common cour- tesy, lie will come, and it can be given to him. I need not say who is the prop- er person to do so." " The proper person ?" " Miss Bassick. As she is engaged to be married to Mr. Lascelles, this note con- cerns her more than any one else. She would no doubt object to becoming wife No. 2. I shall therefore give her the note, to be transmitted to Mr. Lascelles, and as you can now have no desire to come to an explanation with him, Miss Bassick can take your place, and arrange her own affairs." Mrs. Armstrong sunk back in her chair, looking so utterly bewildered and helpless that Juliet, who had spoken in an accent of lurking humor and enjoyment of the little comedy to be enacted, felt really sorry for her, and rose and went to her side. " There, there, mamma, don't take ev- erything so seriously," she said, smooth- ing her hair gently and pressing her lips to her cheek. She then sat down on the cricket at her mother's feet, and, leaning one arm on the lady's knees, looked up into her face. Her mother bent down and kissed her. " There was something else to tell you, mamma," said Juliet, coloring slightly. " Something else ?" faltered Mrs. Arm- strong. "Something much more important than anything I have yd told yu, mam- ma. Thnv i-, a more scri-uis iva>.>n than ill the rt. \\liv I do not wi>h to marry Mr. Lascelles, and am <juite willing that Miss Bassick should, if she wi>lir>.'' " What reason P "I am engaged to be married to Ellis Nrantham," said Juliet, with two l>hi>h- roses suddenly blooming in her rln-.-kv.. "Engaged ! to Ellis Grantham !" "You are not sorry, are you, mamma ( Don't say you are sorry " Juliet's head sunk a little, and the queen-like young lady suddenly bccaim- only a shrinking and pleading girl. "Don't say you are sorry, mamma ! I love him so much." Mrs. Armstrong thereupon succumbed and burst into tears. She hugged the young lady to her bosom, kissed her in a wild and tragic manner, and with sobs and gasps said she never could part with her darling which was singular, as ^li<- had been willing to part with the darling to Mr. Lascelles. " Ellis Grantham !" she exclaimed; "en- gaged to him ! Oh, Juliet." "You know you love him, mamma," Juliet said, in a low tone. " You have said so a hundred times : was it so wrong in your daughter to love him too ?" Juliet smiled as she said this, raising a moist pair of eyes and a pair of blushing cheeks. " I meant to tell you all about it before, mamma, but there was really very little to tell. You know Ellis came to see us very often, and and it happened I mean, he grew to like me. He did not tell me so, but he told Anna Gray, and made her his confidante, and Anna made. no secret of it; you know how intimate we are. When Ellis went away he ask- ed me to correspond with him, and you agreed that I should do so, you remember. That is all, mamma." Juliet quietly dried her eyes, in an un- obtrusive way, with her handkerchief, and looked up with a smile. "And the engagement took place by let- ter?" said Mrs. Armstrong, in a dazed way. 198 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " Yes, mamma. It was very foolish in Ellis, as lie was coming home so soon. But he begged me so, and said so much about sparing me the pain of a refusal face to face with him, that I gave up, and wrote back that I would marry him if you approved of it. Not now, mamma when he is ordained ; and some day he will become Mr. Grantham's assistant " "And you will spend your life here, and never go to Paris !" gasped the poor lady. " Go to Paris ? I don't want to go to Paris in the least, mamma. The Pied- mont neighborhood is charming," said this very inconsistent young lady. " AVhy, you said it was fearfully dull !" "I must have been jesting." " But to give you up my own, my beloved child !" " I shall live much nearer to you than I should have lived at AVye." This reply, which Juliet uttered with a slight smile upon her lips, quite dismount- ed Mrs. Armstrong's logical artillery. " Of course, I never will marry without your approval, dear mamma," said the girl, in her sweet, earnest voice, " and I wrote Ellis so. But you will approve of it won't you? He is so good and I love him so much, mamma." "When she told her mother good-night that night, Juliet kissed her and said, "I knew you loved Ellis, mamma, and would not object, and he will love you dearly but he never can love you as much as I do." I A' VI. MRS. ARMSTRONG'S GREAT BLOW. "You will be good enough, if you please, to look for another home, Miss l,i ick I would suggest y>ur friend Mi-* (irundy's as a congenial retreat. I'udiT all the circumstanees, I should prefer your not remaining longer at Tri- anon." Mrs. Armstrong uttered these wnK about an hour after her interview with Juliet, who had gone to her chamber. The lady and Miss Bassick were seated opposite each other in the drawing-room. It was not Miss Bassick's habit to seat herself in Mrs. Armstrong's presence without being invited, but she had done so on this occasion with an casv air, which seemed to say, ""Well, you have sent for me, I am ready to listen to you." Indeed, her whole bearing had changed. She was no longer the submissive com- panion, but quite a different person. She leaned back gracefully in her red velvet arm-chair, and quietly awaited the coming storm. The storm was coming, she fclt, f for no doubt Juliet had related to her mother the comic incident in the woods; but then that was unimportant : she had triumphed, since Mr. Lascelles was her fance. This ill-tempered old woman might rage, but that would do no harm ; and it was even with a sort of enjoyment that she anticipated what was apparently approaching. In response to Mrs. Armstrong's sug- gestion that she should seek for a new home, Miss Bassick said, " I will do so with pleasure, madam, as anything is better than to live with :i person so very disagreeable as yourself I 1 ' Miss Bassick smiled and looked straight at Mrs. Armstrong as she uttered these words. She evidently expected an ex- plosion, but none took place. " I am glad there is no difference of opinion, then, in reference to what is best for you in future, Miss Bassick," said the lady. " There is none at all, madam. Tria- non is perfectly hateful to me. I should not like to be married from your house if I could avoid it." " You are to be married to Mr. Las- eelles, 1 hear/' " Yes madam at New-year. The match, I hope, is agreeable to you .'" -Perfectly." " We will go to Paris in the spring. Until that time Mr. Lascelles will remain at Wye." Mrs. Armstrong inclined her head and made no reply. Miss Bassick was much disappointed. There was to be no storra VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 199 after all, then ; and that fact greatly di- minished tho sweets of triumph. She began to grow irritated. "I have informed you of my approach- ing marriage," she said, " as an explana- tion of what Juliet -witnessed the other evening an interview between myself and Mr. Lascelles, when I accidentally met him as I was walking out. lie was holding my hand, which 1 should not have permitted him to do if we had not been engaged. During my conversation with Mr. Lascelles Juliet stole up and lis- tened, which I must say I think was very dishonorable." Mi-s Hassiek looked at Mrs. Armstrong. Every w r ord she had uttered, and even the omission of Miss before Juliet's name, was plainly meant as a provocation. " I say dishonorable" added Miss Bas- sick, " for it is nothing less than that to lurk and eavesdrop, and go and report what is seen and heard and a great deal more. Juliet did so on this occasion, though I suppose she will deny it." " Is it possible ?" said Mrs. Armstrong. " I had supposed that Juliet was an hon- orable person. It is melancholy to have a daughter who could be guilty of such conduct. You must overlook it, Miss Bassick but you will, no doubt, do so. Yes, poor Juliet from jealousy, no doubt must have exaggerated what took place. Indeed, she went so far as to say you were in Mr. Lascelles's arms." " It is a falsehood a vile falsehood !" said Miss Bassick, yielding to maiden in- dignation. " So you were merely conversing with him : the meeting was accidental, no doubt, like that which took place in the drawing-room that evening." Mrs. Armstrong smiled, and the smile stung Miss Bassick exceedingly. " You are all spies !" she cried. " It is disgraceful in persons pretending to good- breeding." " Don't become excited, Miss Bassick," Mrs. Armstrong said. "Your color is not becoming. You must pardon poor Juliet ! think how much mortified she must be at the preference of Mr. Lascelles for yourself. You are to be married at New - yr.-ir .' That is not very far <>1T now. Will the ceremony take place in church, and the wedding -supper bo at Miss Grundy's? I will make out your account, as you will naturally want money for your trousseau. Let me sec, this is the 10th would it be convenient to you to be with Miss Grundy by the 15th T "Yes, madam; I will go at once and she shall know, and the whole town shall know, why I have left your house." " You do not refer to the meetings in the woods as the reason ?" "Take care how you insult me, Mrs. Armstrong!" cried Miss Bassick, in a fury. " Insult you ?" said Mrs. Armstrong : "you really arc not worth insulting, Miss Bassick. You are perfectly at liberty to injure my character or Juliet's by any means in your power or Miss Grundy's, if you can. Do enjoy yourself as much as possible by maligning me to the com- mon people in Piedmont, and afterward in your more elevated sphere at AVye. Juliet and I will endeavor to survive it. And now, as that is arranged, Miss Bas- sick, and we have had a frank talk, sup- pose we terminate this interview." "Not until I tell you my opinion of you !" cried Miss Bassick, furiously. Mrs. Armstrong smiled. She was a very quiet and determined person when she restrained her temper. "I really don't see what advantage there could be in your doing so," she said ; " and I should be tempted to tell you my opinion of yourself, which might not be flattering." Mrs. Armstrong rose negligently. " By-the-bye, here is something which Mr. Lascelles ought to see," she said, giv- ing Miss Bassick the anonymous letter. "The writer of this note speaks of him as a forger, with a wife living. It is no doubt a slander, but, of course, he should be informed of the charge. You might give him the note when he comes to- morrow morning. Juliet is going to see her friend Frances Gary, and I am afraid I shall have a headache. You and Mr. 200 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. Lascelles will, therefore, have an opportu- nity to talk over your affairs at your lei- sure, as you will have the drawing-room entirely to yourselves which will be more agreeable, I suppose, than the woods." It was Mrs. Armstrong's great blow. The consciousness that she was going to deliver it had enabled her to pass tran- quilly through this very trying interview. It was a cruel coup, but the lady struck it without mercy. Ilad not this creature made herself and Juliet the laughing- stock of everybody ? Had not Mr. Las- celles by her intrigues been wiled away and appropriated ? Miss Bassick had re- sorted to trick and deception up to a cer- tain point; then, finding that the game was in her hands, she threw off the mask. She triumphed, and did not take the least trouble to conceal her triumph. What could she expect ? Mrs. Armstrong's revenge was unchris- tian, and not particularly appropriate to the Sabbath afternoon but it was sweet. Sweetest of all was the expression of Miss Bassick's face, as she seized the letter and ran her eyes over it. As the twilight had come, she went hastily to the window to read it, nearly turning her back on the lady. " A forger married already ! It is a falsehood a base lie!" she said, in a husky voice, in which there was an into- nation of fury almost. "So your wedding will have to be de- ferred, after all," said Mrs. Armstrong, Laughing. " Married 1" Miss Bassick's pretty brows were knit together, and her eyes were like two coals of fire. " It is unfortunate, and Mr. Lascelles ought to have mentioned the little cir- cumstance, I think," Mrs. Armstron smiling. "He no doubt lost sight of it, though it seems singular that he should have forgotten it. As this is not Utah, it is not customary for a gentleman to liavc two wives at the same time. The great objection to marrying Mr. Lascelles is, that the lady who espouses him in second nuptials will occupy a very peculiar pct- sition ; in fact, she will not be a wife at all respectable people will not visit her, and, worse even than that, the law would interfere, and make the whole affair ex- ceedingly unpleasant." Miss Bassick was still glaring at the let- ter, and did not reply. " That is your affair, however," Mrs. Armstrong added, laughing a little. " You are quite at liberty to marry somebody else's husband if you wish, as the cere- mony is not going to take place at Tria- non:" Miss Bassick whirled around like a tigress about to spring. Mrs. Armstrong was sauntering negligently from the apart- ment. On the next day Miss Bassick left Trianon. LXVII. GENTLEMAN JOE TELLS NELLY THE WIXD*3 STORY. BOHEMIA was in all its glory. Not the glory of the summer, when the slopes of the mountain and the banks of Falling Water were clothed in dense foliage full of the songs of birds ; nor yet the glory of the autumn, when the fading days touch- ed the forests hour by hour with a deeper yellow and crimson ; but the glory, s\\ c vt- er and sadder if not so pictmvsque, of the wonderful Indian Summer, which re- stores to early winter, if not the tender leaflets, at least the faint, sweet charm of the spring days and the childhood of the year. This magical season had descended upon the little valley of Bohemia; and the remote region, nestling down in the emhraee of the mountain, seemed to be -teeped in a dreamy languor. Nature re- members and dreams as well as human bring*. Look at the silent trees and the rock-ribbed slopes they are waiting, \"ii would say, for something, and musing over the past days. Sometimes you may hear a low rustling in the few dead leaves, though no wind is stirring. The country people will tell you and with truth VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, 201 that the sound foretells snow. But the trees are really laughing and whisper- ing to each other. That aeaeia with the lanceolated leaves and the sharp black thorns is in a reverie. Stretch out your tinker and touch it you interrupt it, and it shrinks l>aek. And then the water of the stream yonder in the deep hollow be- tween the high banks surely you hear it talking to the moss-covered rocks, over which the broad-leaved flags are leaning, waiting as the silent trees wait for some- thing that is coining. The sunshine was a mild splendor in the air, and just revealed the dim head- lands. A faint smoke hovered over them, and in the distance the blue ranges melt- ed away into it. Far up some white clouds were drifting across the delicate blue, and the trailing shadow's passed slowly along the side of the mountain not galloping now, as they used to do in August, but making their way quietly, as though they had the whole day before them, and would arrive in time at some mysterious rendezvous in the mountain gorges. " They don't laugh at me now I used to think they were laughing at me," said Gentleman Joe, who was walking along the banks of the Falling Water with Xel- ly. " I mean the cloud shadows ; look at that one coming. He is going to tell me something." " Now, Gentleman Joe," said Nelly, looking at the old fellow affectionately, and addressing him as if he were a child, "you promised me you would not talk so about the poor shadows, and the pine- trees and all. How can they tell you anything? They are only shadows, and leaves moving in the wind." " In the wind ? Yes, they move in the wind, my dear," said Gentleman Joe, smiling. " That explains the whole mat- ter; it is not the shadows that really talk, or the leaves either it is the wind. Did you never hear the voice of the wind ? I have heard it often. Sometimes it laughs, then it growls. When it whis- pers in the tulip-trees, as the bell-flowers are opening in the spring, it is in a good- hninor it is telling the tulips about the south, where it has been travelling, and the oran-v grOYet, Hut in winter it i- very dilTeivnt. Have \mi never listened to it when it was roaring around the Ca- bles in the cold, dark nights i It is angry then, and will tear up trees or blow poo pie over precipices if they trifle with it." " Ob, Gentleman Joe! \\h\- xlnmlil you take up all these fancies? Indeed, it is not good for you." "Fancies? They are not fancies, m\ dear; and really it does me no harm. I have nothing to say to the wind when it is in a bad humor I wait. After auhilc it gets over that and we have long talks. It has told me a number of strange things in my life. The strangest of all was what, it told me only yesterday." "What did it telly on f Gentleman Joe shook his head and fell into a fit of musing. " It was a very curious story, indeed," he said, after awhile. "Do you think you would like to hear it ?" Nelly hesitated. She did not like to encourage poor Gentleman Joe in his vague wanderings, and was about to say that he had better tell her something else, when he added, " It is about Crow's Nest, and some- body who once lived there." " About Crow's Nest 2" " And old times there," said Gentleman Joe, dreamily. " It is a very strange story. If you would like to hear it I will tell you about it, Nelly. I really can't get it out of my mind or under- stand it perhaps you may; and then you might tell me, you know, Nelly." Nelly looked at him closely as he ut- tered these words. His voice was exceed- ingly sad. Would it not be a relief to him to unburden his mind ? It might be. "Well, tell me what you thought the wind said, Gentleman Joe." "Thought? I did not think the wind told me. It really told me; and it was not very friendly, either, in the wind it has made me rather sorrowful, for it is a sorrowful a very sorrowful story. * I re- member Crow's Nest,' the wind began, * in 202 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. very old times. It was part of a great estate which once covered half of Bohe- mia and extended beyond ; but in course of time the Bohemian part, all but the Crow's Nest farm, was sold, and at last there were two brothers who inherited the whole property.' Do you understand that, Nelly?" " Yes," she said. " Well, the eldest took one part of the property, and the youngest the Crow's Nest farm. It had a small house upon it a very small one but the land was good, and the owner set about improving it. Then he fell in love with and mar- ried a young girl of the neighborhood. She was very beautiful, and he loved her dearly ; but then she was beneath him, as people say : she was an orphan, and her father had been scarcely more than a laborer." " Yes, Gentleman Joe." Nelly was listening with great attention now, and wondering a little at the lucid and connected narrative, divested of every- thing like extravagance, which the old fellow was presenting. " That made trouble," he went on, with his head drooping " a great deal of trou- ble. Her husband loved her with all his soul, but his fine relations turned their backs on her. They had tried to dis- suade him when they heard of his inten- tion to marry her, but as he loved her he only laughed at them, and turned his back on them. What was it to the man who loved her so much whether she was a Icing's daughter or a peasant's? She was herself, which was enough, and he only loved her ni<>iv dearly \\hcn others looked down upon her, as In; ought to have done. He was a gentleman if he had not done so he would not have been a gentle- man." " Yes," said Nelly, in a low tone, think- ing of what Frances Cary had said of Brantz Elliot. " \Vell, the time passed on," continued Gentleman Joe, "and his family never carne to sec them or took any notice of them. There was one person who did his brother, who had never interfered at all in his marriage. He was a very good brother, not at all like the chattering, gab- bling women, who rolled their eyes and shook their heads, and would have noth- ing to do with the poor fellow who had disgraced the family by his low marriage. He and his brother never had an unkind word, but the poor husband was ill at ease. He was suspicious, perhaps, and thought that his brother, too, looked down on his wife. So he grew cool to him and he, no doubt, saw it, and the visits became fewer and fewer. At last they stopped, and the owner of Crow's Nest was left to himself and his quiet days in Bohemia. " They were very bright days. He was married to one he loved better than he loved his life. He loved the ground she walked upon. He would take her slip- per, sometimes, and kiss it because it had the shape of her foot. You can't under- stand that. It is the way a man loves when he is in love with a good woman. What she touches or what touches her is sacred and beautiful. As to bad or fool- ish women and there are a great num- ber of that sort the handsomer they are the more disagreeable they are ; the very sight of the things they wear is distaste- ful, since the wearer has given them the shape of her person." Gentleman Joe looked moody, and a singular expression of disdain quite changed his whole face. Then the vague and dreamy look came back to his face, and he said, "They were very happy at Crow's Nest, the young husband and the one he loved. What did he care for the people who never came to sec him? One face was enough the face of his wife. Then another face came there was a little babv that prattled and held out its small ro-y anus, and crowed and ne>tled close, and made its father and mother much happier than they had ever been before. But trouble was coming too life is full of that. He was not what is called a business man I mean the owner of Crow's Nest. His head was bad for managing, and his farm went down, and VIRGINIA nolIKMIANS. 203 he fell into trouble. "Hut that was really nothing. Tlic world laughs at you and slights you when you arc poor and in need; but what does it matter if yon can o-o home and feel the arms of your wife and chilil around your neck, and sec them smile on you? You laugh back at the world then ; but it will not do to laugl too much. It is ;i hard, cruel world, and in the end, if you don't take care, it turns the laugh on you and crushes you. You might stand that yourself, perhaps, but there are the others the helpless ones. It is hard for them. They leave us some- times, and then they are happier." Gentleman Joe looked up as he uttered these words. It was cither at the clouds or at something or some one he saw be- yond them. " One day she went away from him I mean the poor man's wife," he contin- ued, in a very low tone. "She was his angel it was natural, therefore, that she should become an angel of God. She was almost a child when he married her and when she died. A fever carried her off suddenly, and she died in his arms, with her head resting upon his breast." Nelly sobbed. As to Gentleman Joe, his expression was that of a human being who has shed all the tears he is capable of shedding. " Well, he longed for death," he said, " but it would not come. A dull stupor followed, and he fell into despair. But Heaven was merciful, after all, since it took away his memory, and his reason with it." "His reason?" " Yes, he lost his reason. Poor man, I wonder if he ever got it back ! He used to sit in the chair she had sat in, dream- ing of old scenes and seeing the face of his dead wife. He was not in his right mind then. He wanted to die, but he did not think of taking his own life. There was his child, and he wished to see his wife again he will see her !" He raised his head and looked upward as before, his eyes fixed and full of vague longing. Nelly sobbed, and gazed at him with a startled expression. "Gentleman ,loe, what are you tolling lie exclaimed. "Tin- ( iod's truth just what the wind told me, Nelly. I've nearly done n,,\\. Must I u'o on?" "Yes, ye "Something had to !., done - tin-re was the little one, and the dead mother; they were all three alone. The p...r man only moaned, and broke his heart with longing lunging for the lips, and eyes ami the voice he was not goin^ to 1,,-ar any more. He sat there thin king in this way, or trying to think; but it era/ed him. He was waked suddenly. His |M>V was crying for bread !" "Oh, how pitiful!" cried Nelly, with streaming eyes; "is it true, Gentleman Joe?" "True? yes, it is God's own truth. His little boy was about four years old, and could not talk very plain, lie said, * I hung'y, papa !' and he cried, and the corners of his mouth were pulled down; and he put his arms up and linked me around the neck, and 1 burst out crying for the first time." "You? You speak of it as if you were the poor father, Gentleman Joe !" " Did I ? What could have rmcle me do that, I wonder ? I had nothing to do with it the wind told it to me, and I thought you would like to hear it: it was only yesterday, while I was lying down under the big sycamore yonder. I may have dreamed it, as I was dozing; but I don't think I did. The wind told it, and it wouldn't take the trouble to tell me my own story." Nelly Welles looked at the speaker with astonishment. What did all this mean? Was the poor victim of fantasy telling her a real history his history? Could that be possible? lie had often referred in his erratic talk to his famili- arity with the scenes in Bohemia, around Crow's Nest and along the stream. Could it be possible that he was the poor hus- band and father? and was it only his fan- tastic imagination, the fancy of his dis- ordered brain, that the wind had whis- pered the strange story to him, while all 204 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. the time his own memory was dictating it? Full of wonder, and looking at him with a long, wistful glance, she listened, for the rest of his narrative, feeling vague- ly that there would probably be some sin- gular ending to so singular a revelation. " Is that all ?" she said, seeing that his glances were wandering, as if the whole subject had passed from his mind. "Yes, Nelly no, that was not all. There was the funeral. She was taken away from him while he sat looking at the floor he could not move, but he heard the steps of men coming down- stairs carrying something." " Oh me !" " That was sad for the poor man, but he scarcely felt it, as he was stunned. It was on the same evening that the little one came crying for bread, with his mouth pulled down. Then a neighbor came in, and touched my shoulder, and I saw he was crying. He went and got some bread, and called a servant to bring some milk, and when little Harry had finished eating he stooped down and kissed him. He was the uncle of the child, and a very good man I could tell you his name. * It won't do to leave the baby here,' he said, ' I am going to take him home with me.' When he said this the child's fa- ther sprung upon him and tore the boy from him. ' You shall not have my child !' he said. ' He is all I have left of her you shall not take him !' The good neighbor tried to persuade him, but he would not listen to him, and the neighbor went away. * I will come again to-mor- row,' he said ; * it is better for the boy, as he cannot stay with you.' He then left the house, and the father sat down hold- ing liis child in his arms and trying to think. He was out of his mind, you see, but he understood one thing. They were going to take his boy from him ; they should not do that; he would prevent them. Before morning he took his child in his arms and went away from Crow's Nest." Nelly sobbed. " And what became of him and his lit- tle boy ?" she said. Gentleman Joe put his hand to his forehead and tried to think. He was so much absorbed in this effort that he did not hear the sound of wheels approaching. "Where did he go? That is hard, very hard to say." He smiled sadly it was a faint sun- shine on the old face, but still a sort of sunshine. This sudden change of mood O was one of the idiosyncrasies of his fan- tastic temperament. " I can hardly tell you where the poor fellow did go, Nelly," he said : "to a great many places in fact, almost every- where." The noise of wheels drew nearer, but either the laughter of the water or a sud- den wind which blew from the mountain made the sound inaudible. " lie went on all day with his little boy in his arms," said Gentleman Joe, smiling, "and in the evening met a circus which had halted in a wood to feed the horses. Circus people are very kind, and they gave him plenty to eat. The big fellows danced the boy, and he pulled their beards and laughed. That made friends, and they joined the company, and stayed with it for a great many years, and " A carriage came out of the foliage with- in a few yards of them. It was the W\ e coach with General Lascelles in it, on his way to Daddy Welles's, and as it had reached the foot of the ascent, the driver stopped to ask if that was the road. This question was addressed to Gentle- man Joe, but he took no notice of it. He was looking intently at General Las- celles, who was also looking fixedly at him. Gentleman Joe then walked up to the carriage with a bright smile upon hi- fftOGJ and said, u I low do you do, brother ? Don't you know me? You have not forgotten Joe?" General Lascelles looked at the speaker with profound astonishment. Then his face suddenly flushed, and tears rushed to his eyes. 1 1 is whole frame shook, and with an unsteady hand lie opened the door of the carriage and got out, trem- bling as he did so. " I am very glad to see you, brother. VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS, 205 Did you think I was dead?" said Gentle-! man Joe. General Lascelles, uttering a great sol), put liis anus around the poor old fellow and drew him close to him. "God bo thanked!" he said, in a low voice; "this is the happiest day of my |fe,Joe!" ' Why, you are crying, brother!" said Gentleman Joe, smiling. LXVIII. A MEETING OF MOONSHINERS. HALF an hour after this scene Gen- eral Lascelles, Gentleman Joe, and Daddy Welles were shut up in the sitting-room of the small mountain-house, and the old master of Wye was listening with deep emotion to the story of his brother's ad- ventures after his departure from Crow's Nest. The poor old ex-clown seemed to have waked up from his long night of hallucination, and evidently recalled now his whole past life and his own individ- uality. AY as this the result of the sud- den appearance of the face of his brother, which supplied the missing link in the chain of memory ? It is difficult to say. It is always difficult, almost impossible to follow the operations of the mind diseased, and trace out the steps by which it re- turns to reason. A struggle was plainly going on in the brain of the poor man, as lie had called himself ; but happiness had evidently already worked an extraordinary change in him. His mind and memory had become lucid, if not strong yet. The general was soon in possession of all the facts. Ills brother, as he had told Nelly, had married a young girl of very humble family she had died, and he had gone away with his boy to avoid a sepa- ration from him. The person who wish- ed to take the boy had been Daddy Welles, whose sister had been the wife of Gentleman Joe. When the old wanderer reappeared at Crow's Xest, Daddy Welles ' had at once recognized him ; but it seem- ' ed impossible to separate him from his associate^, and the attempt, had not been made. Nor had I>addv Welles informal (Jeneral Laserllrs of his return. A lurk- ing sentiment of pride deterred the moun- taineer. (Jentleman . !.,'> family had looked down upon him for his Welles al- liance, and as the I>addy was a proud old fellow, after his fashion, he said nothing HOW. He liked General Laseelles peisoli- ally, but would have him discover for himself that his brother and the boy \\eiv home again. This came out during their convnxi- tion, and the general shook his head sor- rowfully. "That was a foolish thing for you to do, old friend," he said to Daddy Welles " A man's brother is his brother, and .)>, is the only brother I have. But let that go. Where is Harry, Joe ? I am going to take you both to live with me at Wye." But Gentleman Joe, who was smiling, shook his head. " We can't leave Mouse, brother. M< >u<e and the Lefthander are old friends of ours, and we are very happy at Crow's Nest." " But you can't stay in that cabin, Joe ! I will never consent to that." "It is a very good cabin, and I have been very happy there," said Gentleman Joe, gently. " Impossible !" the general exclaimed. " Why, the house must be unfurnished. What became of all your effects I mean the furniture of the house?" " I really don't know," said Gentleman Joe, serenely. "They are stored away here," Daddy Welles said ; " I took care of them. The land was sold under a mortgage, you know or perhaps you don't know, Gentleman Joe." The general reflected, and then consult- ed with Daddy Welles. It seemed best for the present to leave Gentleman .Joe and Harry at Crow' The furni- ture could be moved over, and the house made habitable, and in time the wan- derers could be persuaded to come and live at Wye. " I remember Wye ; you know we played there when we were boys, broth- 206 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. er," old Gentleman Joe said, cheerily. "I love the old place, and would like to see it again, but I never could leave Mouse and the Lefthander." " Well, don't leave them, Joe; at least for the present," said General Lascelles, rising. This movement was the result of the appearance of two or three horsemen in front of the house. These were Mr. Bar- ney Jones and other gentlemen of the moonshine fraternity, summoned by Daddy Welles to meet the general, who was coming on this morning to have a talk with them. They dismounted and came into the yard, and the general and Daddy Welles went out and met them. Others were seen coming up the hill. They were a nondescript set, in outland- ish costumes, evidently belonging to the class of small farmers and hunters. A glance at the faces was sufficient to show that they were not men of bad character. The sidelong look of the vagabond, con- scious of being a vagabond, was wholly wanting. The eyes looked straight into your own, and the erect figures and firm steps were not the figures or steps of tramps or malefactors. Their moonshine business was illegal, certainly, but it was plain that they did not regard it as vio- lating the deeper laws of morals. General Lascelles was an old acquaint- ance of most of the moonshine people. lie had ridden to and fro through the mountain, and the valley of Bohemia, electioneering for Congress, a long time before, and many of the persons who now greeted him had entertained him and voted for him. lie was a popular man with them. His cordial manners and bonhoin'u- had made friends of all elates. i - hard, in fact, to resist General Las- n-IIes \\hen he mingled with a crowd, holding his hand out to everybody, and calling everybody by his name. It was a natural gift, this cordiality; not calcu- lation. He was friendly, and took an in- terest in people, and they were friendly to him in return. The general at once proceeded to say what he had come to say. " The moon- shine business," he said, " was illegal, and had better be discontinued. There would be trouble, as the Government was bound to execute the laws, and, if civil process was not sufficient, to call in the military arm. For the law was the law. It might appear oppressive, but it wa< on the statute-book. He himself was a ( Virginian, and he was talking to Vir- ginians. They knew him, and it was not necessary for him to say on which side he was. But if troops were sent, as it seemed they would be, there would be fighting if the business went on. That would be bad, for one side would wear blue and the other gray, and it would be better for all parties that Bohemia should not see any more of what took place there in old times. There would be a great deal of hot blood, and more dead men which would be unfortunate. The best course would be to shut up the stills, and not be at home when the marshal came " Here a noise behind the crowd sudden- ly attracted their attention, and turning round they saw the United States marsh il riding up, with three or four companions, to the gate. General Lascelles ceased his discourse, fixing his eyes on the intruders. He was evidently displeased, and the marshal as plainly more so than himself. He dis- mounted, and made a sign to the rest to follow him. He then walked into the gate followed by the men, and approach- ed the group of moonshiners. " What is the meaning of this assnn- blage?" said the marshal, in an angry tone, addressing Daddy Welles. " Why, good-day, friend," the Daddy said, cordially; "glad to sec you. So you are back agin?" " I asked the meaning of all this. I recognize in this crowd persons I know to be connected with illicit, distilling. What does it mean? I ask you, (leneral Lascelles you can tell me, perhaps, and will do so if you have a decent respect for the law." The marshal wa- growing angry, and sjn.ke imperiously for that reason, per- haps. It was unfortunate, as well as un- VIRGINIA r,(l!i:.MIA.\S. 207 becoming, however, that ho should have adopted such a mode of address to a per- son like (Jem-mi Lascelles. "I have more respect for the law than for some of its officers," said the general, bending his brows. "You ask what the meaning of this assembly is. I ask you in your turn what is the meaning of your ice here, sir? 1 ' *' I came to perform my duty." " What do you mean by your duty '." "To arrest law-breakers! I see them all around me." " liy what warrant? 1 ' '* My orders arc sufficient warrant, and I will not be intimidated, sir! I am not to be intimidated in the performance of my official duty.'' "Where are your orders, sir? 1 ' " I am not bound to show them to you, sir unless you force me to arrest you." The general frowned. " I beg you will do so," he said. "Have you orders to read the riot act and fire on the crowd? I am one of them, and I warn yon, if you attempt that, we will fire back on you." " You resist the law !" "Y r ou outrage it. By what authority do you attempt to disperse a meeting of Virginia people ? . Are we free men or slaves? I have come here to meet my friends, and they have come to meet me. We are talking with each other is that & t violation of law ? I notify you, sir, that if you attempt to arrest any one without an express warrant, which you exhibit, it will be at your personal risk. I speak for myself, at least." The general had not raised his voice, but he evidently meant what he said. A rifle was leaning against the porch by him, and he quietly took it up and cocked it. " Where is your warrant," he said, "for arresting any person you meet? If it is formal authority I will submit, and test the question in the courts. If you act without authority, and attempt to ar- rest any one here, you will never leave this spot alive !" There really seemed to be something in this threat. The \Mt.-rs of I >uddy Welles had brought their rilles with them, and deposited them in the passage of the holier. Now they sllddelil , j'eaivd, and the -r..\\d \\ as armed in the twinkling of an "So you, a magistrate, abet the enemies of the law, sir!" shouted the marshal. " I resist the absurdity of your demand that I shall not visit my friend-, - torted the general. "These people arc your friend-, then .'" 4> Yes, they are my friends." "They are law-breakers, and liable to arrest at any moment." " Your authority, sir ?" "You yourself promised the search- warrants." "Y r cs; why were thev not applied for?" "I visited your house and heard you had driven in this direction, and followed you." " To make arrests, sir ?" " If necessary. I have the right to de- mand the warrants now." Ilcre Daddy Welles interposed. "Gineral," he said, mildly very mild- ly, indeed, for a man fingering a rifle trigger " if you sign the sarch-warrants you won't mind signing a have-his-car- cass too, will you ?" The marshal scowled at the Daddy, but said nothing. He had grown mueh calm- er after some moments' reflection, and was really as much averse to any trouble as General Laseelles. This did not arise, from a want of nerve the marshal was quite a brave man; but IK; was really a very good-hearted man, and felt that he had acted precipitately. "Well, sir," he said, at li-ngili, u I will not ask for the warrants to-day: I have searched this house, and I see it would be a farce to repeat the search this nmrn- ing I should do so at all hazards if I thought it my duty." "Y r ou would be right," said the gen- eral. "And you arc right, sir, in intimating that a general order to arn-t -u-picious people is too loose I acknowledge that. 08 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. It is my duty to inform those around me, however, that the illicit distilleries will be suppressed by military force, if necessary, and the persons engaged in the business arrested and brought to trial in the Federal courts." " Without a have-his-carcass !" sighed Daddy Welles. The marshal looked at Daddy Welles with a grim smile on his lips, and said, " I'll get hold of you yet, you cunning old fox ! Fox and goose now, and I am the goose, it seems. But in the long run the goose will get the better of the fox." Having brought himself to take this philosophic view of the circumstances, the marshal scowled at the moonshiners, bowed stiffly to General Lascelles, who punctiliously returned his salute, and rode away with his associates. Soon afterward the moonshiners dis- persed also, the general renewing his ad- vice to them to shut up the stills, and either leave home for a short time or re- move all traces of their occupation. A vague murmur was the only reply to this advice : it was not plain what they were determined to do ; and leaving the matter in this ambiguous condition, they retired. The general, looking after them as they rode off, said to Daddy Welles, " They are a hard set to manage they will go their own gait, as the Scotch say. What will they do, Daddy Welles?" kk \Vell, I reckon they'll be guided by circum'unces, gineral," returned the Daddy. " You mean they will fight.*' "They mought, if they're pushed too close." " It will be unlucky and you will be one of the fighting men ?" "To be BUreF said Daddy \\Yllrs. heel-fully, " if there's fighting ; but that's nut likely. I'm gittin' old, n-.w. and I'm a peaceful man, gineral ; but you must make allowances for us poor mounting folks, that have wintered and summered the Yankee troopers in Bohemia. \Ye don't like 'cm much." " Well, you and your friends had bet- ter get over that. Don't you remember' what General Lee said to the lady who wished her sons to be educated to hate the Yankees?" " What was that, gineral ?" "He said, 'Don't teach your sons to liate the United States, madam we are all Americans now !' " " Did the gineral say that ?" " Yes." " Well, I thought he was a good old Virginian" said Daddy Welles, thought- fully ; " leastways / am, and I don't reckon. I'll ever be anything else I'm too old. But, then, a man can't tell ; maybe some o' these days I'll git to be an American, as you call it. I'll try, but it'll be a mighty hard job, gineral." General Lascelles laughed with evident enjoyment of these unpatriotic views of Daddy Welles. " Well," he said, " you are right, The separate sticks in the fagot remain sticks, in spite of all. They are harder to break bound together, but they are not a solid block. Enough of politics, Daddy. I am going to take Joe with me now, and go over to Crow's Nest and see my nephew Harry !" The intonation of his voice was joyful. The old face flushed, and he said, as he had said before, " This is the happiest day of my life I" " You are right, brother," said Gentle- man Joe, with a cheerful smile. " I don't think I ever saw the sun shine so bright as it does to-day !" " \Yell, come on, old fellow ! We are going to look up Harry." < lent Icman Joe shook his head. k ' \Ve are not likely to find him at Crow's Nest, brother."" '?Why not?" u Mo has gone to see his sweetheart, I reckon.'! " His sweetheart! has Harry a sweet- heart?" M Mouse says so. She is very pretty. H'-r name is Frances Cary." "Frances Can! Has Harry fallen in love with Frances Gary '" " I really don't know, but something or VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 209 other takes him in that direction every day or two maybe to catch a sight of her; you know young men are given to that, 1. rot her." u Well !" the general exelaimed. M F.ut it wouldn't be a bad match, Joe ! Well, well but there is the carriage. Come, get in ; I know the road. Come to W\ , Daddy, and tell me if anything happens this moonshine business weighs on my mind." And with a grasp of the Daddy's hand General Lascelles got into his carriage, fol- lowed by Gentleman Joe, and directed old James to drive to Crow's Nest by the way of the ford. LXIX. A FORTUNATE VICTIM OP MISFORTUNE. IT was late in the afternoon on this same day when Brantz Elliot rode up to the mountain -house on his return from Piedmont- He had ridden to the village to engage his seat in the stage, as he intended, on the very next day, to return to New York. This resolution had been forced upon him at last. There was evidently no hope of inducing Nelly to marry him. The girl was more determined than ever that she would not take a step which would result in his unhappiness, and he found it utterly impossible to change her resolution. Brantz Elliot had been thus compel- led to accept his fate, and tried to accept it calmly ; but it was a hard task. He loved Nelly Welles now with all the strength of his being, and had set out to engage his seat in the stage under the profoundest depression. Nelly had seen his face as he went away, and retired to her room, and indulged in a hearty cry. It was hard for her to give him up very hard indeed. The future without the young man seemed a weary blank; but it was of his happiness that she was think- ing. If her action seems fanciful, and her motive exaggerated, let us respect it there are not so many instances of it. 14 She was looking out of an upper win- dow when he rode up, her head leaning upon her hand. Sin- was almo>t afraid to look at his sad fav, but she could not resist, the temptation. Tin-re \\as about him the nameless eharm that surrounds the person who is beloved. "Oh, if I was only worthy of him ! if it would not be so unequal ! if he \va^ poor, as we are, and would not be ashamed of me !" Brantz Elliot rode up and dismounted. His face was not all sad. What did it mean? He came into the house hum- ming a song he was actually laughing, too ! Daddy Welles met him at the door and greeted him cheerfully, and Brantz Elliot, instead of sighing, cried, " I'm as hungry as a hawk, Daddy ! Is there any dinner for me ? I hope you haven't eaten everything in the house." Is there something in male hunger which appeals to the female heart ? One would say so. As soon as Brantz Elliot went to his chamber to make his toilet, as he always did after riding, Nelly slipped down-stairs, set the table with rapid and skilful hands, placed a cold ham and whatever else the cupboard contained upon it, arranged his seat the one he liked best and retired quietly to the sit- ting-rooni opposite, where she was reading with much interest in a tattered newspa- per when Brantz Elliot came down-stairs. As soon as he had finished his dinner he went into the sitting-room and lit a cigar. " I know you don't object to smoke, Nelly," he said. " Oh no !" " Smoking is a good thing. It drives away dull care, and is a dead shot for the blue-devils !" It was a long time since Brantz Elliot had spoken in that tone. His voice laughed like his lips, and he was plainly in the most joyous mood imaginable. This was a mystery to her, and caused her a pang. But if he was not unhappy at leaving her, it was all the better. " I am glad you are in good spirits," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. 210 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. "Riding always makes me gay," he said, laughing, " like walking. And that reminds me that I ought to walk over and see my friends at Falling Water be- fore I leave Bohemia. It is a beautiful afternoon. Would you like to go and see your dear Frances ?" He was laughing still. What did it mean ? Nelly felt like crying. " I don't feel well this afternoon," she murmured. " Then the stroll will be good for you. Do come, Nelly. I shall be so lonesome." " I don't think" " Well it is wrong to think, so you are perfectly right 1 Say you'll go, without thinking about it. There never was such an evening. Look at that faint new moon yonder, like a silver skiff following the sun as he is setting. The air is as mild as summer. It is not more than a mile or so to Falling Water; and I'll bring you back soon after dark, Nelly." Nelly tried to resist, but had not the courage to do so. The temptation was too great. It was their last evening to- gether ; she would not hear his voice any more very soon; so she yielded, and they set out for Falling Water. They always remembered this walk afterward. Certain scenes become the frames in which the pictures of memory are set, and are never separated from them. The faint new moon was sailing through light clouds, tinted with orange by the sunset, and the stream which ran beside them seemed to laugh and prattle to them as they followed the path along its banks. The sycamores were leafless now, and there was no verdure but that of the cedars and evergreen-pines along the little watercourse and on the slopes ; but the air was so calm and soft that it was difficult to realize that the season was not June. " This is the very path we took that- day when you fell into the water, Nelly," said Brantz Elliot. " Have you forgotten that day? I have not. That wa- tin- only time I ever kissed you and I began to love you after that !" Nelly's head sunk in spite of herself, and her bosom heaved. She was only conscious of one thing that if she at- tempted to speak she would burst into tears. "It was not so strange that I should love you after being nearly drowned with you, Nelly !" he said. " A man likes a girl better after going under with her, and not expecting to see daylight any more. Here is the log. It is another one the mountain people were obliging enough to throw it across to get to Pied- mont this way I wonder if it will break with us again." They were already crossing. " Take care !" said Brantz Elliot, who was holding her hand; "if you fall in again, I'm not sure I'll jump after you ! But I would, too the water is shallow now, and there's no danger !" Nelly was in a maze. What was the meaning of her companion's tone ? It was one of actual hilarity. Could he speak in that manner if he was really de- pressed at the prospect of leaving her? She colored slightly. Then she drew away the hand which he was holding, os- tensibly to raise her skirt and avoid tread- ing upon it. A moment afterward they were over, and following a path covered with a deep carpet of brown pine tags, which wound through a thicket in the direction of Falling Water. There is nothing more picturesque than a path winding away before you, either across fields or through woodlands. It seems to beckon and say, " Come, I will lead you home to your bright fireside, where smiles and fond arms are awaiting you." It may run through lonely scenes and gathering darkness, but that is noth- ing. You have only to follow it, and it will take you home if you follow it. Sometimes, if you have a companion ami an; talking, you do not follow it; you unwittingly take a side-path, as NYllv and Brantz Elliot did. This obliqued in a gradual and very sneaking manner to the left; they continued to pursue it, gradually ascending, until it ended at last on the summit of the high ground south of and above the ford, at Lover's Leap, VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. I'll where Mr. Uu' v < r les had been conducted DO l.y tlu- Lefthander. " Why, we've taken the wrong path, Nelly !" exclaimed Brantz Elliot ; " but it is not important we have not far to go back, and it was wortli making a mistake to see this view." Was it a mistake? Nelly asked her- self. Brantz Elliot knew the country per- fcT.lv. "I have been here before," he said, laughing, "but perhaps you have not. This is Lover's Leap, where some forlorn lover, they say, put an end to himself. Fm glad I'm not like him. Let me show you where they say he leaped off." He took Nelly's hand and drew her to- ward the edge of the precipice a sheer descent of about fifty feet to the water. A single pine-tree grew from the rock it was that under which the Lefthander had taken his seat. Far down beneath them the current broke in foam over the rocks in its channel. Nelly looked down and then drew back, clinging to Brantz Elliot's hand, and drawing him with her. " It makes me dizzy," she said, in an agitated voice; "come back!" " I am not going to jump over," he said. "You might fall." " I wouldn't like to fall now, Nelly." She looked up quickly. His whole voice had changed in an instant to deep earnestness. As their eyes met Nelly blushed he was looking at her with so much tenderness that her heart throbbed as she caught the glance. " I have something to say to you, Nel- ly do you know what it is ?" he said. "It is not what I have said to you so often before. You can't guess what it is. It is a misfortune a great misfortune, as the world would call it and has filled me with delight." She looked at him with a startled ex- pression, murmuring, "A misfortune to you?" "Yes and no. There are misfortunes which are blessings. I am ruined ! Here is the letter announcing the fact. I got it to-day." "Oh! ran it be true?" she exclaimed. "Iluim-d! What is the meaning of it?" " It means having a dishonest uncle for your guardian. My father died \\hiK- I was in Europe, leaving his affairs in the hands of my uncle, lie delayed settling the estate, alleging pretexts f..r the delay. As I had perfect confidence in him, and was amply supplied with money when I called for it, I did not press the mat- ter; and now the whole story has come out. My father's executor, my uncle, was what unceremonious people call a scoun- drel." Nelly was quite overcome by this sud- den announcement, and seemed much more Agitated than her companion. " But you are not ruined how could you be ruined?" she murmured, scarcely knowing what she said. " Well, the process was very simple my uncle stole the money," replied Elliot. " He disposed of my father's stocks and mortgaged his real estate, and speculated in Wall Street with the proceeds and lost everything. This letter from him, written as he was leaving for Europe, ac- knowledges the whole transaction, and begs me not to expose him." Nelly made no reply. Her heart was beating so that it could be heard almost. An immense tenderness filled her bosom for the man she loved so dearly in his trouble. " So you see I am a poor fellow, with- out a dollar in the world, almost, Nelly," said Brantz Elliot. "There is a little remnant only, to keep me from starving not near enough to enable me to live in Fifth Avenue." His voice laughed again as he spoke, and he took both Nelly's hands, and look- ed into her eyes. " But it will enable me to buy a small tract here in Bohemia, which will give me a living. I could build a small Swiss chalet, and hunt to my heart's content ; but then I would die of ennui if I lived by myself, Nelly." He drew her toward him as he spoke, and put his arms around her neck. She was blushing and trembling. 212 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " You will have me now, won't you, ' Nelly?" Poor Nelly ! She could not make the least bit of a reply to him, her heart was beating so. But she leaned her cheek upon his breast and looked up, and their lips met which was, perhaps, as good a reply as any other. LXX. MR. LASCELLES REFLECTS DEEPLY AND WRITES A NOTE. THE parting between Miss Bassick and Mrs. Armstrong was not pathetic. In- deed, the performance was quite business- like, and not indicative of yearning affec- tion on either side. Having informed Mrs. Armstrong, with some hauteur, that she would be glad to have paid her what was due her, and to be sent to Miss Grundy's, where she proposed hereafter to reside, Miss Bassick proceeded to pack up her goods and chattels, and at the ap- pointed hour descended, canary-bird cage in hand. Mrs. Armstrong was in the drawing- room, and advanced politely to bow to her ; but Miss Bassick probably regarded this interchange of civilities as a vain show, and not wishing, apparently, to be hypocritical without necessity, passed coolly by, not so much as turning her head, and, still clinging to her canary, got into the carriage, which drove away. As to Mrs. Armstrong, she came out and looked after the vehicle when it dis- appeared. A heavenly smile illumined her visage, and >he drew a long breath. "Thank heaven, she is gone!" said the excellent lady. As Mi-s r>;is>irk had despatched t i note to Miss Grundy on the evening before, all was ready for her, and the friends rushed into each other's arms and \\nii through the kissing ceremony. Then Miss Ua-siek sat down and wrote a little note on scented note-paper, whieh she ad- dressed " Mr. Douglas Lascelles, at \Yy." and requested Miss Grundy to mail. This commission Miss Grundy, in a high- ly delighted state of mind, fulfilled with her own hands; and all the way to the village post-office she was reflecting with profound satisfaction that she would have a paying lodger, and would be initiated into all the secrets of Trianon. As Miss Bassick had a quiet little chamber, propitious to meditation, she availed herself of Miss Grundy's absence to indulge in that amusement, probably reflecting that on her friend's return it. might be impossible. The emergency demanded meditation, but swift decision, too. Mr. Lascelles was coming, and she must make up her mind what to do before his arrival. The an- onymous note had excited a very great fury in Miss Bassick. Could it be true? Seated in an easy-chair, and knitting her brows, she reflected deeply. It might be true. Mr. Lascelles was very young when he went to Europe the world was full of mercenary adventuresses, ready to snap up young heirs she must know before proceeding further. It would be a blun- der to marry some one else's husband, as Mrs. Armstrong had very justly observed. If he had a wife in Europe, Mr. Lascelles would be unable to endow his new bride with all his worldly goods; and in the event of his death her position would be embarrassing, inasmuch as she would not be anybody's widow. It was true, this unlucky rumor, or it was not true. If it were not true, then all embarrassment ended at once. If it frew true what then? Miss Bassick's pretty eyebrows came close together. Having no mamma or other adviser, she had to do her own thinking. There were marriages and marriages. Mr. Lascelles might have been a minor, and the marriage void. The laws of different countries as to matrimony were conflicting. She might In- u'mng herself a great deal of unneces- sary uneasiness. . . . In the evening Mr. Laseclles made his appearance, and Miss Bassick received him in an elaborate toilet in the small drawing- room. There were to be no endearments, VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. {apparently. Miss Bassick extricated her iliand from his%own in an instant, went ind closed the door, and then, sinking into a seat, burst into tears, covering her Tare with her hands. It is true, she was looking at Mr. Lascelles through her fin- gers .... An hour afterward Miss Bassick's blushing face sought its place of refuge lin Mr. Lascelles's waistcoat, and the mo- mentary cloud of calumny had been dis- sipated into thin air. He had formed a temporary connection of a certain sort, ihe was sorry to say, with a person in Europe; but the matter had long lost its importance, and was nothing in law. He I was well assured that no risk would en- [sue either to himself or Miss Bassick; and, if she adhered to her word, they would be married in three days, in an adjoining village, and then go to Wye and announce the fact to everybody. In this w r orld it is not difficult to con- vince people who wish to be convinced. Miss Bassick asked nothing better, and subsided with sniffs and blushes upon the waistcoat. The waistcoat did not seem altogether quite as ardent to receive her as was its wont. It did not repel her, but it did not smile and hold out its arms to her, to use a mixed figure. In fact, Mr. Lascelles seemed, so to say, a little chilled. His sentiment toward Miss Bassick might be as pronounced as ever, but the situation of things began to impress him, perhaps, as involving enormous risks. He was going to marry without the knowledge or consent of his family, and, besides this He was uncomfortably silent and dis- trait. Did he realize that the passing moments were to decide his whole future that before him, a step in advance, the path he was following branched in two different directions that a good deal would depend upon which of the two paths he turned into? That conviction conies suddenly to every human being at some period of their lives ; and it seemed to have come to Mr. Lascelles at the pres- ent moment. A vague instinct told him that danger was lurking near him ; and, with such impressions occupying the mind, the \ DMI a bore. Thus it happened that when Mr. Li- cclles took leave of Miss Bassick it. \\.-m rather coolly. Her <|iiick eye noted th. fact perfectly, and it filled her with sullen anger and uneasiness. But then Mi>s Bassick was a very good actress. It was not necessary always to show one' feelings. Her handsome face assumed an expression of sad sweetness, and she sighed gently ; then the door closed, and Miss Bassick went to her chamber, flush- ing with anger. Luckily Miss Grundy, w r ho had been seated on the steps attempt- ing to listen, thought it best to retire si- lently to avoid misconception. Mr. Lascelles rode forward through the night toward Wye. He went along slow- ly, and was evidently buried in thought. He had lit a cigar, but it speedily went out, and he was scarcely conscious of throwing it angrily away. It was early when he reached home, and he went at once to his chamber. Here he sat down and wrote : " It is necessary for me to see you for many reasons. Meet me at the bridge on the stage -road at sunset to-morrow evening. A simple 'yes' to the servant taking this will be enough. D. L." He called a confidential servant, gave him the note and instructions where to find the Lefthander, and then went down- stairs. General Lascelles had just arrived from the mountain. LXXI. A HAPPY FAMILY. GENERAL LASCELLES entered. For years no one had seen the old statesman look so happy and all around him were speedily in possession of the cause of this happiness. 214 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. It was an affecting recital. This man, whose voice had thundered above crowds or in senates, faltered now as he told the strange story of the discovery of his brother; and the honest eyes filled with tears in response to the tears in the eyes around him. Mrs. Lascelles exhibited very deep feel- ing, and Anna cried quietly. This good family had but one thought that God had given back to them those whom they loved ; and it was decided that prepara- tions should at once be made at Wye to have Gentleman Joe and Harry come and live there for the remainder of their lives. " One good thing, my dear, in having a wife like yourself," said General Lascelles, cheerily, "is to know in advance what one can expect. I knew very well you would be ready to love and cherish my dear Joe. He must not leave us any more nor Harry either, unless somebody takes him away from us." " Who will do that, my dear ?" Mrs. Lascelles said, in a puzzled tone. " Well, I should not be very much sur- prised if the capture was effected by a Miss Frances Gary." "Frances Gary!" " My pet, you know, madam. She wished me to remain at Falling Water to- night, but I was afraid that you might be jealous. I told her how improper it was to be so free and easy with a married man, but she only laughed the customary reply of maidens to all arguments." "But" " The possible capture of nephew Har- ry you mean. AVell, it really is a very romantic story, and was told me by Joe. It seems Harry was a circus-boy, and drew Frances from under the feet of some horses ; he also shot the panther, killed some time since, when he was about to spring at Frances. Romantic, you see but what would the world be without ro- mance? Then the poor fellow was sick, and pity sways the feminine heart ; so, to cut short my story, Harry has fallen in love with Frances, and as she blushed and tried to laugh when I recommended him to her good graces, perhaps she thinks she ought to reward him for all his hero- sm. " I hope she will !" exclaimed Anna. " I really don't know. Your dear sex are past finding out. It is your privilege to startle us by the unexpected. As an illustration, Ellis Grantham and Miss Ju- liet Armstrong she is at Falling Water are plainly engaged to be married. He came to see her, and I am informed they make no secret of it." Mr. Lascelles had come in behind the general, and looked quickly at him. " Ah, there you are, Douglas ! You hear what I say, and you have been dis- tanced." ** I confess what you say is news to me," said Mr. Lascelles, moodily ; " but nothing in this world is surprising, sir. I thought we were to have the honor of an alliance with Mr. Grantham's family ourselves." He glanced at Anna, but as that young lady only laughed, he said no more. " You saw the moonshiners, I suppose, sir?" " Yes, all but the big Lefthander, as they call him." Mr. Lascelles drew a long breath of re- lief and sat down. Then the incidents of the day continued to be discussed until a late hour. The family had not been so happy for a long time the only moody member of it was the man seated apart, with his brows knit, and his eyes on the floor, communing with his conscience, and goaded by it. LXXII. A MAN OF THE BOHMERWALD. INSTEAD of attending the meeting of moonshiners at the house on the moun- tain, the Lefthander had taken Mouse by the hand on that morning and they had rambled away into the woods, which ac- count od for the fact that General Lascelles had not found them at Crow's Nest. The Lefthander had resolved to leave the moonshine fraternity. His motive for this was a double one. There would probably be trouble soon, and something VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 215 might happen to him that is, to Mouse. As to personal apprehension, that was something wholly alien to the character of the man. Fear was a sentiment al- most, if not (juite, unknown to him ; but if he were arrested, it would be a terrible thinu; for the child, who had now become the sole thought of his life. She seem- ed to be dearer to him every day. lie watched her with the long glance of the mother whose existence is bound up in her babe. The strength of this senti- ment in the ponderous nature was phe- nomenal, but natural too. The athlete, with his Inline muscles and rugged strength of body and mind, had his soft side, open to tender emotions, and the child touched him there ; and the effect was wonderful. She had slowly acquired a strange influence over him, awakening in his rude nature all that was soft and pure. This had begun some time before. He had given up drink, which had once been his vice ; now he meant to dissolve his connection with the moonshiners and their illicit business, which was a breach of the law, and therefore wrong, he said, whether it was morally wrong or not. What the Lefthander intended to do was to go away from Crow's Nest, and take his companions with him. They would form a little troupe, and go about the country, or he would settle down quietly somewhere with Mouse. It was an at- tractive thought to him, but strangely enough, whenever it occurred to him now, his face clouded over, and he fell into the deepest depression. He had gone away into the woods with Mouse on this morning in a thoughtful inood, holding her hand in his own. A w r alk would do her good, he said ; she was growing too white; and, indeed, Mouse was more aerial than ever. This did not arise from drudgery at her household duties, which sometimes pulls down peo- ple. There was no real drudgery. A poor woman who lived in the hills be- hind Crow's Nest came every day to look after things and relieve the child. But something seemed to have made Mouse thinner and more delicate. When the Lefthander spoke of it she laughed, but this did not change things. " Y.>u are too white, Mign.m," he -aid; "yon nni-t go out more, and get s..me rotea into your face again." They went up the banks of the stream, a considerable distance above the Lover 1 ! Leap, and reaching a bluff covered \\ith brown pine-tags, sat down upon them and looked out across the little valley. Po- hemia was sleeping tranquilly in the mild Indian summer weather. Now and then the long tassels of the pines above them uttered a low sigh, which passed on as the wind passed, and died away in the distance toward the south, in the direc- tion of the Hogback. The Lefthander, sitting with his hands clasped around his knees, looked thoughtfully at the oppo- site mountain, which swam in a faint mist. " It is better," he said, at length. As he uttered these words his face began to flush slowly, and his eyes half closed ; a sudden moisture had come to them which resembled tears. " What is better, poppa ?" said Mouse, who was looking down and listening to the laughter of the Falling Water, which came up like a joyous murmur from be- neath them. "It is better that you should have something more like a home than you have now," he said ; " and you shall have it." "A better home? What do you mean, poppa? I'd like to know how I could have a better home." "That will be easy," said the Left- hander ; " and the time has come for it You had a home once there is another that you are going to soon." Mouse listened with utter astonish- ment, looking at his face ; but he turned away from her. " Listen, Mignon," he said, speaking in a voice so deep and tremulous that it penetrated to the child's heart. "It is not right for you to grow up in this way. It has been on my mind for a long time. I was never satisfied at the circus do you remember that I told you I was 216 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. tired of it? I was not tired of it for myself. I liked the rough life of the ring, and to rove around, and drink, and risk breaking my neck that suited me ; but it did not suit you." " You mean you left the circus on my account, poppa. But it was best for you too. We are happier." " Yes, we are happier, my Mignon a great deal happier. You were growing, and would be a young girl soon ; it would not do for you to live in the midst of cir- cus men and women, hearing things some- times that you ought not to hear. I did not mean you should, so I gave up that, and brought you away. Yes, we are hap- pier, but " " What can you mean, poppa ?" " You ought to have a home, Mignon. If something happened to me you would have nobody in the world to look after you. And then men will not do : some good woman ought to have charge of you that would be better. I can arrange that." "Arrange what, poppa ?" " Finding a home for you. Did I nev- er tell you that some of your mother's family came to America? There are a great many European people in this coun- try. I can trace your mother's relatives and place you with them, Mignon. You would have a home then." " Oh no, no !" exclaimed Mouse, turn- ing quickly and fixing her moist eyes upon him. " A happy home, with womanly hands to do little things for you, and people to care for you. I could come and see you now and then it might not be so often, but" Mouse threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears, looking up at him. The huge breast on which she was lean- ing rose and fell. "It would be better" was all he could say. " No, it would not be better!" the child cried, passionately. "It would make me so unhappy that I would die, without you! Go away from you? "What made you ever think of such a thing, poppa ? Don't say any more about it, for I am not going you shall not leave me how could I live without you, poppa?" She clung closely to him, sobbing and crying as if her heart would break. "But," he said, in a low voice, "you cannot go on living as you are living now, Mignon. You must be educated, and go to church, and have little girls to play with, my own poor little Mignon my snow-drop!" He spoke with exquisite soft- ness and tenderness. " How can a father see his child growing up without the care that children ought to have? There are bad fathers, perhaps, who do not think of their little ones much. God makes such people, as he makes monsters. But a good father one that has a little girl how can he let her run wild and not be cared for and happy ? You have the right to be cared for, Mignon you are like your mother. I will find your relations, and then you will have a home. No doubt they are well-to-do, and you will have nice clothes to wear and good food, and, if you are sick, loving hands to do things for you. Think how it would be if you were sick here at Crow's Nest !" But it was of no avail whatever. The eloquence of the Lefthander produced no impression. Mouse only clung closer to him, exclaiming, " No, no ! I will never leave you and you shall not leave me, poppa ! How could I live without you 2" This was the end of the discussion. The Lefthander gave it up either hope- less of bending the child's resolution or unable to control his emotion. She had never seen him so much moved. II is face was flushed, and his eyes were wet. At last a single tear rolled down and fell on the child's face. It was probably one >f a very few shed by the Lefthander dur- ing the whole of his life. LXXIII. INDKR THE ICE. ALL that evening, after his return to Crow's Nest, the Lefthander was evidently revolving something in his mind, and did VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 217 not utter a word. When the next day came he \vns still pondering, and his strong features betrayed an emotion which i his companions hail never witnessed in him before. Mvcrv movement indicated that a conflict was going on. After sitting down and smoking for some moments he would rise and walk to and fro, with his eyes fixed upon the ground; then he would raise his head and look suddenly toward Mouse. At such moments his face filled with blood, and his expression was heart-breaking. About noon lie put on his hat and walked down the hill. Having reached the road, he turned to the left, as if he meant to go toward Piedmont, and went some steps. Then he turned back and stood still for some moments. Then he wheeled round quickly and began walk- ing rapidly in the direction which he had at first taken. As he did so, a mounted servant came over a knoll in front of him and drew rein, looking at him. It was the confidential servant sent by Mr. Las- celles ; and as lie was a most intelligent negro, and the Lefthander's person had been described by his master, he delivered the note to him. The Lefthander took it and read it. He then turned to the man and said " Yes," after which the servant rode away. Toward the afternoon the Lefthander kissed Mouse, and said quietly that he was going to see Colonel Gary on some business. This was true ; as, after follow- ing the road to the bridge for some dis- tance, he turned into a path and reached the house of Falling Water. Mr. Gary was at home, and the Lefthander spent an hour with him in the library. Then he came out again and went in the direc- tion of the bridge, which he reached as the sun was sinking and throwing long shadows across the valley. Mr. Lascelles was already at the ren- dezvous. He had dismounted, and was standing, with the bridle of his horse in his hand, upon the bridge. As the Left- hander approached slowly, with his long and firm tread, Mr. Lascelles looked at him with a certain wariness which indi- cated that he \\as <>n his guard, and ex- pected that their interview w.-uld be a critieal one. His fare was a little pale perhaps sallow Would he the better Word. In fact, Mr. La-celles had Hot. slept llllleh, his alTairs having reached a cri-U which produced a ten-ion of the nervous s\ >lem. He was, however, perfectly cool, as he was a person of strong will. He waii<<l un- til the Lefthander had come to the spot where he was standing, and then said, "Ihavebcen waiting for yon, bat, a waited for me the last time, we are quits." k ' \Vc are quits," repeated the Left- hander, in his customary tone of phlegm. "I called to see you some time since, but you were not at home. We are here alone together at last, and can talk to- gether. It is not necessary to use cere- mony. I have come on business. What is the price of the papers ?" " You mean your letters to your wife and the record of your marriage?" "Yes." " The papers are not for sale." Mr. Lascelles exhibited no indication of any emotion whatever at these words. "That means that the price will be high," he said. " It would save time if you would state the amount." The Lefthander looked at him atten- tively. "Then you think I am bargaining," he said ; " but I am not. I will not sell the papers." "Are you in earnest?" Mr. Lascelles said, retaining his coolness, but knitting his brows slightly. "Men act from intel- ligible motives in this world ; arc you an exception? I offer to buy what is value- less to you. You are poor, and no doubt need money. It is an exchange of what can be of no use to you for a sum of gold which will be of use to you. Why do you refuse ? There is always a mo- tive, as I have said, in men's actions what is yours ?" The Lefthander did not reply for an instant; his face flushed slightly. " Yes, I have a motive," he said, in a moment. " You might guess at it, per- haps." 218 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. " I cannot imagine any." " There are other motives besides love of money which affect people. There is a thing called hatred have you thought of that?" "Then you hate me, and think that by keeping possession of these papers vou will be able to gratify your ha- tred?" " Why not ?" the Lefthander said, qui- etly. " I have reason to hate you." " What reason ?" " Then you really do not know ?" " Know what ?" " That I loved Mignon." Mr. Lascelles greeted this announcement with a look of astonishment that was plainly unaffected. "You loved Mignon!" " Yes better than the young Ameri- can who married and deserted her." Mr. Lascelles did not speak for a mo- ment; his face was growing sullen and threatening, but he evidently made a great effort to preserve his coolness. " So you cared for her ?" he said. " It is not the word," returned the Lefthander, in his deep voice. " I loved her with my whole strength my brains and my heart. You did not know that, you say now you will begin to under- stand some things. I was sick, and she nursed me. I began to love her, and she would have married me but for one thing. A young American came to hunt in the mountain and made her acquaintance. He was richly dressed, and had a smooth tongue, which deceives women. Besides, he loved her, or thought that he did, for when he found that she was a pure girl, and would not listen to his unworthy proposals, he married her." Mr. Lasrdles made no reply, but the dark and sullen expression of his fa<v deepened. "That was the first act of the play the young American thought it was a comedy when it was a tragedy, or soon grew to be one. I am not speaking <>f the young man Karl Ottendorfer's feel- ings you knew him, but gave no thought to him. He was wretched enough but that is no matter; I am speaking of her. The young American soon grew weary of her, and found that lie had business at Rome. Fortunately he had been absent for a short time be- fore that, and had written to her." Mr. Lascelles set his teeth together, but made no reply. "The letters were written while he still loved her, and were such as a hus- band writes to his wife. Afterward he did not write any letters when he went away on the business which took him into Italy. In fact, he neither wrote a line to her nor ever saw her any more. He deserted her !" Mr. Lascelles moved restlessly under the harsh words, as a horse moves under the spur, and growled, "I did not mean to desert her. There would be no end reached now by blackening my name. Where are the letters, and how did they come into your possession ?" "They came into my possession in a natural manner. You deserted your wife her parents died, and she had no other friend but myself. I watched over her day and night. I had long ceased to love her as a lover she was a saint to me; and I have knelt at her bedside and kiss- ed her little feet when she was so white and weak that I thought the angels were coming for her." He raised his head and looked up as he spoke, as though he saw the angels. The man of the Bohmerwald was sudden- ly revealed in him. 11 White and weak T said Mr. Las- celles in a low voice, looking down at the water running under the bridge. He was leaning on the railing and had turned half away. " \Ynii ion are white and weak in her situation. She had just given birth to her child." "To her child!" " To her child. For a month she grew weaker, and as white as white as the snow-drops of the Bohmerwald. Then a day came at last when they called her the angels and she went." VIK<;iNIA BOHEMIANS. 919 Mr. Lasccllcs started, turning his head quickly. li She did not die ! she is not dead !" AYas it the voice of the cold man of the world that uttered these words ? There was in his accent :i quick anguish, as though some weapon had pierced him. " She is not dead !" he repeated. " Mig- non is not dead !" " She died in my arms, and I followed her to the grave and saw her laid under the snow. The child was left. I took the child, and have been a good father to her. I promised her mother that I would be a good father; and I have kept my word to the woman I loved." "Dead!" came in a low, trembling voice from his companion ; " dead ! Mig- non dead? Can that be?" " She is dead the flowers have grown out of her bosom for years. I took her child and left Bohemia and came to this country." "Dead!" The word constantly recurred in the same tone. The sound fell like the dull, harsh blow of the clod on a coffin. In the silence which followed nothing was heard but the washing of the water against the trestle-work of the bridge. Once something like a groan issued from the pale lips of the man looking down into the water. " I am sorry ! sorry is not the word. I did not know she was dead you would not tell me if breaking my heart would bring her back, it might break !" The hard crust of the man's nature was heaving and cracking. "I loved her," he said, in a low, deep voice, in which there was something hope- less. "Yes, I deserted her and I was mad. I would give my life to see her face !" The Lefthander drew a medallion from his breast. It was held by a chain. " Here she is !" he said. Mr. Lascelles seized the medallion, and drew it close to his face. As it was held by the chain it was necessary that lie should come close to his enemy ; but he seemed to have lost sight of him. He opened the medallion, and saw the picture f a young girl a plain photograph taken probably ly some wandering artUt in the BohmerwalcL The face was full of an ine\piv->il>le mode-ty and swi'etin-s. In every feature could be travd tin- like- ness to Mouse. Mr. Lascelles looked long at it, and his frame shook; his eyes tilled with I'KTV tears, and from his lips escaped, in a l<ng, hopeless groan, the single word, " Mignon !" Suddenly the Lefthander closed the medallion and put it back in his l.ira-t. It might have been supposed that he was jealous. This sole remaining memorial of the woman whom he had loved was his property. " I will not ask you to give me that picture," said Mr. Lascelles, in a trembling voice ; " but I will give you all I possess for it." . " The world could not buy it from me !" said the Lefthander, coldly. "I can understand that. I never knew you. I know you now. "Where is my child?" The voice had altered suddenly. From the depths of an agony of despair this man caught, as it were, at this support to keep his . heart from breaking, and his voice shook. " She is living. You have seen her." "Seen her?" "She saw and talked with you at Crow's Nest when you came one day." "That child that is my child?" ' " She is Mignon Lascelles, since you are her father ! I did not mean to tell you that; but something might happen to me, and it is necessary for me : you." "Yes, yes!" " But leave her to me : I love her so that I cannot live without her. I nit-ant to follow you and kill you once I hated you so; but I do not wMi to kill you now, and will forgive you all you ha\ done to me if you will give me Mignon." " No !" "You will not? You take her? You have the right to do that." 220 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. The Lefthander knit his black brows and groaned. Suddenly he said, " Listen ! There will be no trouble about the papers; they are in a bag at Mr. Gary's all. You have only to go with me, and I will deliver them to you. All I ask in return is that you will give me Mignon." " Give you my child ? No ! I do not want the papers now. My child is all that is left of the woman I love. I say love ! not loved ! Yes, I deserted her, and thought I had forgotten her. Since she is dead I know better." " Give me Mignon !" The voice was beseeching. The giant had become a suppliant. "I cannot give you Mignon. I can offer you my hand, and thank you for not killing me, as you had a right to do. Keep the letters and marriage record I do not want them now. I will come to Crow's Nest to-morrow not to-night. I have business to-night." Before the Lefthander was aware of it Mr. Lascelles had gripped his hand, mounted his horse, and was galloping toward Piedmont. LXXIV. MOUSE CHOOSES. THE Lefthander went away in the direction of Crow's Nest, with his chin nearly resting on his breast. An unut- terable gloom possessed him. lie was going to lose Mignon ! The long doubt was over. He had hoped that her father would disown her: he claimed her; and thenceforth he, the Lefthander, was alone in the world. lie went on groaning. lie would see her soon, for nearly the last time. He had a great thirst of the heart to sec her, and take her in his arms and say, " I love you more than your real father can ever love you !" He reached Crow's Nest as the twilight was deepening into dusk. In front the valley of Bohemia was asleep. Not a breath of air stirred the few leaves of the trees, and a crescent moon was floating through fleecy cloud-waves, bound for the haven of the sunset. Mouse saw him coming and ran to meet him, and put her arms around him. "Why, poppa! what is the. matter? You do not look happy," she said. "Not happy? That is your fancy, Mignon. How can I be unhappy when you are by me ?" But Mouse shook her head, and said, "Something troubles you, poppa. What's the use of loving people if we can't see when they are happy or troubled ?" "And do you love me really just a little, my own Mignon ?" " Love you ! What do you mean, poppa? How could I ever live without you ?" "Are you sure of that? Suppose you had to go away from me, Mignon. Yes let us suppose a thing. Say I was not your father and that your real father was living." " My real father ! Why, what father could I have but my own poppa ?" " Such things happen. You read curi- ous things in the newspapers sometimes, and when the story-tellers put them in stories people say they are improbable. Sometimes little ones like you are brought up by strangers, then you think they are father and mother. Say that this was true of you, and your real father, as I said, was living; then suppose he came one day and said, ' Give me Mignon, you have no right to her.' You may think the idea foolish, but tell me what would you say ?" Mouse had begun to laugh at the ro- mantic case supposed by the Lefthander, but something in his deep voice quite suppressed her tendency to mirth. " I don't know what you mean, poppa." >hr siid, earnestly; "but I know what I would say if they came to take me from you." " What would you say ?" " Well, I would not say anything. I would show them what I meant by what I did." VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 221 " What would you do ?" "I would do this." The child put both arms around the Lefthander and nestled close to him. "You would not leave me, then, Mig- non ?" " Leave you ?" " I mean you would not, even if there were other people who wanted you, who could make your life pleasanter to you ? Let me tell you what I mean, little one there is something I ought to say to you." His voice had grown deep and full of sudden emotion he drew long breaths. " I am poor, and your life is a hard one. Suppose, once more, that I was not your father, and your real father was a rich man. Suppose you had only to choose which you would stay with the poor man or the rich one. Suppose your real father could give you pretty dresses, and nice things of every sort, while the other one could not do that he could only give you his love. Which would you choose?" Mouse looked at him in utter astonish- ment at his fantastic speech. What could he mean ? Her mind was in a maze. " Are you in earnest, poppa ?" she said, with a look of bewilderment. I " Yes, Mignon ; in dead earnest. It is my fancy to ask you tell me would you leave me or stay with me ?" " I would stay with you, and be your Mignon to the last day of your life !" ex- claimed the child. " You are my father, and I love you more than everything in this world !" Mouse nestled still closer, and leaned her small face against his own ; the little white cheek was like a snow-drop against the bearded face. "The very idea of leaving you or your leaving me I would rather die!" she said. The Lefthander raised his head and looked upward. His lips were moving, and he seemed to be praying. Suddenly hoof-strokes were heard ap- proaching rapidly from the direction of the ford. The Lefthander turned his head and saw Daddv Welles coming on at a l"ii u r o-allop, with his rille in his hand. In a moment he had reached the spot, and said to the Lefthander, "lie on the lookout, friend ; the troops will be in Piedmont t.i-night." I. XXV. THE DEAD AND LIVING. MR. LASCELLES had ridden on toward the Gap. At first he went at ;i gallop; then he slackened his pace, and finally came down to a walk. With knit brows and a face full of unutterable tiling, he went along looking down and reflecting. lie was going to see Miss Bassick, but he did not think of her once. He was far away from Virginia, and living in past years. He had gone back to the time when he was young, and had loved with his heart ; he had deserted the woman thus loved, and she was dead now. It was enough to break the heart to think of it but she was dead. As long as he could think of her as living, and as hav- ing probably formed a connection with some Bohemian boor, his heart was at rest, and he thought that he cared noth- ing for her. It had been a youthful liai- son, to be regretted, perhaps, but not mourned over. She had forgotten him, no doubt, and he was thus at liberty to for- get her the past would be the past for both of them, and fall like a funeral pall over their dead loves. Now things were different, he found. She had not forgotten him, and had not married again she was dead and dead from his desertion ! There was no one there on the lonely mountain -road to argue with he was alone with h; heart. He had killed her, and Ibe thought drove him to despair. His love for her had been very different from hi- ment toward Miss Bassick ; there wa< as much difference between the two ments as between sunshine and darkness. He had really loved his little bride of the Bohmerwald, and had been happier with her than he had ever been before or since ; and thinking now of what had followed, 222 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. he lost sight of everything of worldly views, the inequality of their position, and every ohstacle and cursed his own frivo- lous temperament and love of change, which had made him leave her, slowly forget her, and never return to her. He had loved her, he felt that, now that he knew she was dead. The flowers of memory grow on graves. He remember- ed every feature of her face, her smile, the light in her blue eyes, the touch of her hand, and his frame shook. His face, as he rode on slowly, was not a pleasant spectacle. Pain, physical or mental, writes itself on the eyes and lips, as the storm writes itself on the face of a landscape. In an hour this man seemed to have lost his identity. A great agony had transfigured him. As he got to the top of the mountain he suddenly put his hand into his breast- pocket and drew forth Miss Bassick' s picture, which hung upon a silken guard around his neck. There was enough light to see by, and he looked long at the face, with its physical beauty and provoking smile. The face seemed ugly to him the cheeks painted. The smile he had admired so was immodest, not the smile of a pure midden. The eyes of a woman ought not to look at a man as the eyes of the picture looked at him. The truth came to him as a night landscape lives in the quick lightning-flash he understood all now. The senses had usurped the seat of love ; darkness had swallowed up the dawn. Then he thought of Mignon and his child, an<l n sob followed the thought. His own Miu;n<>n was dead, but had left a little Mignon to love. As to doubting the Lefthander's statement, that never en- tered his mind. He felt that every word was true, and now remembered what in- deed had impressed him vaguely on his visit that day the likeness between the child and hi> Minion. Oh yes, this was his child, and he meant to cherish her f oi- lier mother's sake, if not for her own. He would acknowledge all ! It was very little : he would have cour- age to do it. Yes, he would do what was yet in his power to right a great wrong. She was dead his Mignon of the Bohmerwald but she would smile on him then ! As he thought of that he remembered her smile, and the faint light in the blue eyes as she came to meet him, with her white arms held out to him. He heard her little sigh of pleasure, and the caressing voice that greeted him. The picture of Miss Bassick fell from his hand, and but for the guard would have dropped into the road. A single tear rolled down his cheek. It was so hot that it seemed a wonder it did not burn what it fell upon. Suddenly thrusting the picture back into his pocket he broke into a gallop ; and, as if seeking to outrun his thoughts, went at full speed down the mountain. He did not go toward Wye, but kept the main road to Piedmont, and dismounted at last before the small house in the sub- urbs occupied by Miss Grundy. Miss Bassick had heard the hoof-strokes of his horse, and came to meet him in the drawing-room. Never had he seen her look more provokingly beautiful, or fuller of physical attraction. Her eyes melted ; her lips pouted, and seemed asking to be kissed ; her white arms moved vaguely, as though ready not only to be clasped bujt to clasp. Miss Bassick had, in truth, determined to dissipate that distrait mood and rather chill preoccupation which she had ob- served and raged at in their last inter- view. She closed the drawing-room door and came up to him, leaning toward him. Her face and body said, "Take me !" Mr. Lascelles sat down. For a moment Miss Bassick stood look- ing at him, and it taxed her powers of aetinu; to the very utmost to conceal the internal ra^e which had suddenly taken possession of her. "One would really say that monsieur had seen a ghost, he looks so woe-be- gone," she said, with satirical, almost bit- ter emphasis " I have/' said Mr. Lascelles. " A ghost ! Indeed !" " I have seen my wife." VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. Miss Bassick felt as though she were suddenly choking. " Your wife !" " They were right when they told you I had a wife." " And you have seen her ?" " 1 Icr ghost, I said. My wife is dead !" Miss Bassick drew a great breatli of relief, and said, in the same satiric tone, " I congratulate you, if you wish to be congratulated." " Congratulate me ?" He looked sidewise at her. His glance was like the lunge of a steel blade. " As you please : it is indifferent to me. Choose your own sentiment for the occasion." The intonation of contempt in his voice suddenly enraged her. The profound dis- simulation of her character gave way to passion. "One would say that your sentiment, whatever it is, excludes common cour- tesy." " If I am discourteous I beg you will excuse it, madam. I am fatigued near- ly ill." She refused to accept the explanation. Bitter resentment mastered her. " That scarcely accounts for your tone it is an insult !" " I do not mean to insult you." "People who love, speak in a differ- ent tone. If you love me no longer, tell me so." He hesitated, looking at her. Her face was hot with anger. " You exact the truth, then ?" he said. "Yes." "You force me to speak. I would avoid doing so. Well, to be frank I think we have deceived each other." " Deceived ! Speak for yourself, sir." "I will do so. I never really loved you." " This is an insult ! an outrage ! it is unworthy of a gentleman !" " Perhaps ; and I am not so sure that I am a gentleman." He spoke in the cold, dull tone which he had preserved from the beginning. " I have done that in my life," he went on, "which a gentleman could hardly have dnc. I have married a pur.- an who loved me, and deserted i was a coward n.>t. a gentleman havr it as you will, madam. Hut 1 ha\ her face to-night, ami it comet ! all other loves. She is dead yea but reaches out her hands from th< and they chill me." Miss Bassick had not seated h Her superb figure towered above him in an attitude which would have d.n? honor to the mythological Furies. "And you think I am to be treated in this manner you dare to treat me so!" He shook his head. His dull, mourn- ful eyes, full of hopeless anguish, had never changed their expression. " It is little to me to dare anything," he said. "I have seen to-night what hardens my nerves strong nem-s, f.-r that matter, which have never shrunk yet. To speak plainer still: I thought I loved you, and I do not love you. All ends here between us, and needs must end. It is best to tell you that," He took the picture and laid it on the table. "This is your property. You have nothing that I desire to have returned to me." He rose and stood facing her, as though conscious, for the first time, of th courtesy in seating himself. " You will pardon me I was fatigued, and scarcely aware that you were stand- ing." Suddenly the fury appeared in all the force of her rage. "You are a common person, sir! a low person ! you shall repent \\\\< !" The taunt did not affect him. The threat even afforded him a dull sati>fac- tion, and a bitter smile came to his lips. " Do you mean by poison, or a suit for breach of promise, madam .'" He looked around him, and saw pen, ink, and paper on a table near. "That is your due, and, if you wish, we need not go into court. As you wi-h, I say it is indifferent to me." She made no reply. Did she under- 224 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. stand his meaning, and not resent it? He seemed to think so. He went to the table, and wrote a check for a consider- able amount. He then left it lying on the table and rose. As his gloves were lying by him, he took them and slowly put them on. Then he took his hat, and made Miss Bassick a bow. " Farewell, madam !" he said. As he spoke it required all Miss Bas- sick's self-control to prevent herself from springing at him. "Coward!" she cried, in a voice so hoarse and furious that it cut like a whip. " I was a worse coward once," he said, "and only act my nature. Farewell, madam !" And he went out of the apartment and, mounting his horse, rode away. Miss Bassick remained standing in the middle of the room, looking after him. Her face was the face of a fury. She raised the little handkerchief in her hand and tore it with her white teeth. As she stood thus, trembling with rage, she resembled a tigress about to spring ; but, after all, the business woman was under the tigress. From the door through which he had disappeared her eyes passed to the table. The check was lying there, and she went and took it up and looked at it. \Vns there balm in it? Her face grew calmer; an expression of fierce satisfac- tion even took the place of her fury. She folded up the paper, put it like a love-token in her bosom, and slowly went up to her chamber. Mr. Lascelles had ridden away, absorb- ed in gloomy thought, but something sud- denly drew his attention to the world around him. As he passed by the tavern, which was full of lights, he observed figures in blue uniforms swarming in the l>:ir-room, and hoard the dash of spurs and sabres. Ainonu: the blue figures he noticed others clad in citizen's dress the marshal wh<mi he had accompanied to the mountain, and his revenue collectors ; also the figure of no less a personage than Mr. Uncles, who seemed engaged in fraternizing and im- bibing liquids with his blue friends. The troops were United States cavalry, refresh- ng themselves with strong potations af- ter a long march that day ; and Mr. Las- celles had no difficulty in deciding in his mind what brought them. " Who are these people, Tom ?" he said to a stable-boy passing with a lantern. "De Yankee cabblery, Mas' Douglas, come to stirminate de moonshine people," was the grinning response. "De marshal heself in dar gwyne to set out early." Mr. Lascelles rode up close, leaned over and counted the number. There were twenty-five men. He then rode away to- ward Wye. LXXVI. BLUE COATS IN BOHEMIA. THE moment had come at last when the issues between the Government and the moonshiners seemed about to be de- cided by an appeal to arms. All the morning the marshal was fretting to get to saddle. But delays will take place in the best arranged programmes. It was important to surprise the moonshine pe> pie, for which reason the troops had been timed to reach Piedmont at midnight. They were to have set out at dawn, but many of the horses had cast their shoes on the march and limped. It would not do to attempt the rocky mountain-roads without replacing the shoes, and it was not until past noon that this was accom- plished. Then the search-warrants were not ol>- tained yet, and the marshal was obliged to go to Wye for them, as General Las- celles was the nearest magistrate. There was a stormy interview. The general protested against the employment of troops; but the marshal replied, stitlly, that he obeyed his orders, and galloped away with the warrants in his pocket. The troops were already on the maivh, as the officer had seen them leave Pied- mont before his departure for W\ prompt irruption into Bohemia he hoped would take the enemy unawares, and re- solving that he would make an end of the VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. business this time, the marshal hastened on from Wye toward the Gap. lie caught up with the troops and rev- enue-officers at the foot of the mountain on the opposite side. The cavalry num- bered twenty-live, and were regulars com- manded by a lieutenant. Two or three of the marshal's subordinates rode at the head of them, carrying black leather satchels slung from their shoulders for the transaction of business. " Well, lieutenant, that is your road to the left," the marshal said to the com- mandant of the troop. " It leads to the home of a man who is the real leader of these people an old fox named Welles. He looks peaceful, but is not to be trusted, lie was a furious bushwhacker during the war, and from what I can learn is willing to have it open again. Keep your eye on him particularly, and warn your men to be ready to fire if necessary. There is his house." The cavalry, preceded by the revenue- officers, defiled up the road leading to the house on the mountain, the hoof-strokes of the horses clashing on the rocky path- way. It was a very unusual sound in the peaceful valley. A long time had passed now since Bohemia had seen the blue cavalry, and the valley bathed in the mild sunshine of the Indian summer day seem- ed to be listening. Did it remember? It had witnessed such scenes in the " wild war days " of the past. Was it going to look again on men dyeing the red autumn leaves with a redder tint than before ? If there was to be any fighting, it was not going to take place just yet. Daddy Welles was ,not at home, and his aged helpmate, in response to the marshal's statement that he should search the prem- ises, expressed her perfect willingness. The search was made, but resulted in nothing. There was no spirit of any description about the abode of Daddy Welles, and the marshal bowed curtly, and remounted his horse. " This is a specimen of what we are to expect," he said, "at all the houses we search. These people have been notified, 15 and have removed all traces of their occu- pation. Luckily, they can't remove the stills so easily, and we are apt to discover some of them before the day is over." He looked up at the sun, which was sinking toward the west, and added, " Why have we lost so much time? These December days amount to nothing. It will be bad to be caught by night in this detestable country. It is bad eiioii'_rh in broad daylight but there's nothing to do but to go on. Put your column in motion, lieutenant." The young lieutenant, who wore a dan- dy uniform, and was smoking a ciu,ai\ gave his orders in a nonchalant voice, and the troop began to descend the mountain with' the revenue-officers in front. " I am going to the house of a man named Barney Jones next," said the mar- shal ; "a small detachment may be sent to a place called Crow's Nest but I think there's nothing there. To be plain, I ex- pect to find nothing and nobody any- where. The rascals are forewarned, and have escaped into the mountain and to say that troops are not necessary to deal with such people ! They are outlaws, and may even resist. I advise you to keep your men well together, lieutenant, and look out for a brush you may have it." "All right," returned the lieutenant, puffing at his cigar. " It is my trade to brush or be brushed, and I'll attend to that; I only wish it was under other circumstances. This infernal moonshine business is no better than police duty, and I didn't go through the hazing at W&A Point for that." " It is a part of the duty of the army, sir," said the marshal, somewhat offend- ed. " Is it ? Well, the army does seem to be looked to in these days to do a little of everything. It has now and then oc- curred to me that the authorities mi<_ r ht apply to somebody else. Leave us to go after the Indians, who are interesting ani- mals to deal with, and if you want a po- lice force to operate in the States, enroll a battalion of black coats out of the swarm of civil employes they ought to smell a 226 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. little powder if any is to be burnt it would enlarge their ideas. But that don't suit them." The nonchalant tone of the lieutenant betrayed his opinion of civilians, and the marshal was much offended. He would, perhaps, have made some reply indicative of his opinion as to the results of the military movements against the Western Indians, but at that moment the vidette in front was heard halting some one. They could not see who this some one was, as a dense wall of rock rose between them and the stream from the direction of which the sound came. The marshal spurred forward, and saw that the person halted was Mr. Lascelles. LXXVII. THE LAST GREETING. As the troop of horsemen had obliqued from the Gap into the mountain-road, a man had passed the rear of the column at a gallop, and this man was Mr. Las- celles. Some of the troop turned their heads, and possibly wondered where this horse- man was going at his long gallop ; but as that was none of their business they dis- missed him from their minds, rightly con- cluding that a soldier's business is to obey orders, not think. Mr. Lascelles crossed the bridge, turned into the road leading by Falling Water, and went on at a headlong gallop. The mournful composure of the rider was in vivid contrast with the quick movements of the animal. The horseman seemed scarcely aware that he was being borne along. Profound and absorbing thought made him unconscious of Borrounding objects. He was thinking, in fact, of the r>ohmenval<l, and of the face there once, when he was young in heart and hope, and all the harsh and jarring emotions of his present life had been unknown. Did he think, too, of that other face, resembling the face of his Mignon, which he was going to see? Passionate love and regret drove him on, as his flying an- imal was driven by the spur. One emo- tion only possessed and quite mastered him at length he would see her soon! He had come up out of the depths of his soiled love to the pure air again. The face yonder in Piedmont, with its physi- cal beauty, its lasciviousness and fury, had disappeared. He was going to see his child: and with that single thought heaven entered his breast. At Falling Water he stopped and went in. Mr. Gary was in the library. "I have come for a moment only I am in haste," he said, grasping his host's hand. " Welcome," Mr. Gary said. " What is it moves you so? You speak to a friend." " I know that. I have no time, and come to the point. You have a travel- ling-bag, intrusted to you by the person known as the Lefthander." " Yes, intrusted to my safe-keeping." " Keep it safely. It contains the evi- dence of my marriage in Europe. I was married there, and deserted my wife. I did not know that I had deserted my child, too. My child is the little one at Crow's Nest ; she is Mignon Lascelles I pray you to remember that." " Mignon Lascelles ! is it possible ?" "She is my child." He went to the table where the family Bible lay, and rested his hand upon it. "She is Mignon Lascelles. In tlic presence of God and of Jesus Christ, in whom I believe as the Son of God, the child is mine she is Mignon Lascelles. You will remember that f " Yes, yes why do you make this sol- emn declaration ?" "To forestall events whatever may happen. Life is uncertain. My child's future is now certain. 1 may share it* and direct it I may not be permitted to do so. It is the same, since she can want nothing now." With a hurried grasp of Mr. Can's hand he went out, without saying any- thing more, and mounted his horse. Re- suming the gallop, he went on toward Crow's Nest, reached the low fence at the VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. foot of the hill, leaped it, threw his bridle over a bough, and hastened to tin 1 house. Mouse met him on the threshold. The little mamma had wound her hair into a Grecian knot behind, and the delieaie outline of the head had a womanly air that was charming. The man looking at her shook. It was his Mignon of the Bohmcrwald. He came up to her, and could scarcely control the passionate longing to clasp her to his heart. He thought that would frighten her, and only stood looking at her the long look of the human being who sees nothing and thinks of nothing but the face his eyes rest upon, and longs to devour with caresses. " Your father is lie here, little one ?" he said. Was it the voice of Mr. Lascelles ? No one would have recognized it. It was music, and melted into cadences of ex- quisite tenderness. " He is not here, sir," said Mouse, not at all afraid of one who spoke in that tone to her ; " he has gone to the moun- tain." " I thought so I came to tell him but I will tell him in time." He turned his head and looked across the valley, listening. The sun was sink- ing, and long shadows ran across Bohe- mia. In the red light he could see the cavalry slowly descending the path from the mountain-house. " There is time," he said, in a low tone ; and addressing Mouse, "You are all alone here, my child?" "Yes, sir." " You are not afraid ?" " Oh no, sir !" " Not afraid of me ? You were afraid when I was last here. Do not be afraid of me ; we ought not to fear those who love us." He looked at her with inexpressible tenderness, and said, " Will you tell me your name ?" " Mignon Ottendorfer, sir." " Your father is the Lefthander ?" "Yes, sir." "And you love him?" "Love poppa? Oh \ I I>w <-"iild I help loving him?" 11 \Yell, I, too, love him. He is a brave man, ami a better man than I am. 1 am called a gentleman it i- he who is the true gentleman. I am going to sec him now there is no time to lOMb 1 name Mignon, my child? I knew non once and loved her, and she l.>\.-d me; but she is dead, now. You I much likelier oh! so very mueh like my Mignon, my child." He sobbed, and stooping down took the child in his arms and held her to his heart, and covered her face with ki "You are so like my Mignon! the same eyes, and the very lips: oh, 10 very much like my own Mignon, my own child !" He drew her closer, and leaned down and laid his pale cheek on her forehead. She could feel his heart throbbing and his tears on her cheek. One of his arms was around her neck, he placed the other hand on her hair and raised his eyes. Then he pressed a last, long kiss on her lips, and, with a sob which shook his whole frame from head to foot, went out, and, mounting his horse, rode rapidly in the direction of the ford. He had hoped to reach the mountain in advance of the cavalry. It w late. As he went at full speed up the narrow road from the ford he came sud- denly on the vedette sent out in advance, and was halted. LXXVIII. THE ADVANCE INTO THE GORGE. THE marshal spurred forward, fo. by the young lieutenant, and saw M celles. "You, sir?" he said, stiffly, for 1, in a very bad-humor. " Myself!" was the cold reply, forbidden to ride on the Virginia high- way? Why am I halted I may M rested?" " You are not arrested, sir," the mar- 228 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. shal replied, apparently conscious of the justice of the protest. " I am halted." The young lieutenant interposed, laugh- ing, and said, " That was by my order, sir. No of- fence to you in particular, my dear Mr. You have not told me your name." "Lascelles." k ' Well, you've fallen a victim to gener- al orders, my dear Mr. Lascelles. You see we are temporarily on the war-path, and in the enemy's country. I don't mean that the late little unpleasantness between the sections is still in progress and Heav- en forbid that a democrat like myself should look on old Virginia as an ene- my now. My great-grandmother was an F. F. V., and I'm an unworthy scion. But what the devil excuse me brings you here to this infernal Hades, so to call it? It's dark enough now when the sun is setting." " I came for my pleasure." The deep and mournful voice affected even the mercurial young West Pointer. " For your pleasure ? That's strange," he said ; " but every man to his fancy. You will pardon me for saying that I think your taste is devilish bad. It gives me no pleasure at all to be here, I assure you ; but there's no accounting for tastes in this miserable world. Forward the column !" he added, turning in his saddle and calling out to the men. lie then added to his companion, with a gay laugh, " Happy to know you, Mr. Lascelles. We an- going after the moonshine peo- ple, and I'm ghul to have your company. Try a cigar P 1 Mr. Lascelles bowed but declined, where- up'Hi the. young lieutenant lit his own. With his o-auntleted hand resting gallant- ly n his hip, he rode on \\ith Mr. La- eelle> l,,>>ide him. . we arc on the way to annihilate the wretches that make had whi>ki-y." said the gay youth. "They drx-rve it. too; if it was good, the MM would be different. Here we are in battle array, and we'll probably have an infernal row I heard a preacher in New York use that word 'infernal,' and therefore con- sider it ' scriptural ! Yes, we'll come on the moonshiners, and I'm told they mean to fight. All right, that's my trade. But this sort of thing is not much to my taste. Here they are tag, rag, and bobtail, Mr. Lascelles : collectors, revenue-commission- ers, and detectives for there's a detective along. He's that villanous-looking fel- low in the black coat yonder Ruggles by name. I wish he was at the devil ! Do try a cigar they are excellent." Again declining the friendly offer of his companion, Mr. Lascelles looked over his shoulder. There, in fact, at the head of the column, some distance in rear, was Mr. Ruggles. He was not present will- ingly, and had come only under compul- sion. Recognized by the marshal, he had been drafted for the expedition : and there he was probably resolved to disappear at the first crash of carbines. All at once the marshal said, pointing in front, " There is the house of the man Jones. It is useless to search it, but we may as well go through the form. We will not find the man." The marshal was quite correct in his surini.se that Mr. Barney Jones would not be ** at home " on that evening. It was evidently not one of his receiving days. A hard-featured woman, with a baby in her arms, and a series of tow -headed young ones, rising above each other with a regularity which implied that the ma- tron was a fruitful vine, appeared at the door, and confronted the visitors. Was Mr. Jones at home? No, Mr. Jon. not at home. Where was he to be found ? They might find that out for themselves, if they could. He was, likely, huntin' somewhere, and shot off his gun at a vrntur' in the woods often. It was dan- g'rous to l>e ridin' round in the mounting when larney Jones was a-huntin'. "As I expected," the marshal said: " any search would be a mere farce." " I think it would," said the lieutenant, indifferently. " Wo had better go on or go back. If I am consulted I'll s VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 229 back, as I'm getting devilish hungry and thirsty; but that's no matter. If y..n are anxious to go on, and interview Mr. Haniey Jones, Tin ready. " "Go on? Of course T shall, sir!" the marshal said ; M and I will call your at- tention to the fact, sir, that your orders are to assist in these arrests !" " I don't think you'll make any, from present appearances," returned the young officer ; " but give your orders. I brought along my overcoat, and wish there was a llask in the pocket. But if we meet any of the moonshiners they may have the politeness to offer us a drink." The column moved on, and entered the gorge extending up to the Hogback. The sun was sinking, and the long red rays pierced the glades like spears, and fell in vivid crimson on the rocks, covered with variegated mosses. From in front came the low sigh of the pines in the depths of the gorge; from the rear no sound was heard but the measured hoof-strokes of the troopers. Bohemia was waiting, and expecting something you could see that. LXXIX. FAREWELL TO BOHEMIA. BOHEMIA was in all its last and crown- ing glory. Not the glory of the fresh spring morn- ings, when the violets first come and the buttercups star the glades and the fields ; nor yet the glory of the summer days, when the clouds drift on the blue sky, and the green foliage of the forest is alive with singing birds; nor the au- tumn glory of splendid colors and dreamy hours, when the heart dreams of other hours, and sees the faces that have gone many a year into the dust; but the glory of the last moments of the Indian sum- mer the Nurse of the Halcyon which cradled the Greek fancy this had come now, and the year was bidding farewell to Bohemia, and expiring in a dream of beauty. There were few leaves clinging to the ihe \\inds had swept them. They lay on the ground, and formed a deep yellow carpet. Here and there a cedar, forming a perfect cone, stood out like a sentinel from a background of roe! over rock and cedar, and under th< pines, trailed the autumn creepers with bright crimson berries, glittering like coral beads in the light of the sunset. That sunset light made the glory more glorious. It was dashed on rock and tree, and lit up the gorge with a sombre splendor: the wild pines, the dark depth-, the figures of the troopers, and the sk\ above. You would have said that it had come to salute Bohemia for the last time, and that thereafter her glory would be a dream. The column was in the gorge, and was advancing over a narrow bridle-path, when the young lieutenant ordered " halt !" "I saw the gleam of a gun -barrel on that height yonder," he said to the mar- shal. "As we're about to proceed to business, let us act in a business-like manner.'* He sent forward an advance-guard of three men with instructions. These were to keep a keen lookout on the bluffs above, and if fired upon return the fire, and fall back upon the column. " You won't have far to fall back," added the young fellow. " I'll be close behind you." The advance-guard went in front, and disappeared around a bend in the road. The spot was wild beyond expression, and lofty heights extended like walls ther side as the column proceeded. Be- yond the tops of the trees could be seen the long blue line of the Blue Ridge on the left ; and on the right rose the bris- tling and threatening crest of the Hog- back. "I beijin to think the moonshin going to fight, Mr. Lascelles," said the lieutenant, lighting a fresh cigar. " I saw the man with the gun as plainly as I see you. There arc probably some stills in the vicinity here it is the very place for them; and I think the moonshiners, like 230 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. good patriots, are going to die by their altars and fires !" A shot rung out as he spoke from the direction of the vanguard; and then a rattling volley followed, and the men were seen coming back at a gallop. " Well," said the lieutenant, coolly, "what's up?" The report was that they had been fired upon apparently from a barricade in the mouth of a small gorge debouching into the main one. " I think it probable there's a barricade, which is not a bad thing to fight behind," said the lieutenant, smoking and reflect- ing. " Well, I'm going to charge it, as a matter of course. I'll have some saddles emptied, I rather suppose, but that's to be looked for." " It is unfortunate," said Mr. Lascelles ; " it would be better to have no blood- shed." "Vastly preferable, I allow, but the devil of the thing is to avoid it. I'm not speaking for myself; I'm engaged to a pretty girl, but she'll have to take her chances for a wedding. This is my busi- ness and after all, too, it's the business of these good fellows on both sides. So here's for a charge !" " A moment," said Mr. Lascelles ; "you ought to summon them to surrender." " Useless but it would be more regu- lar." " I'll take the summons." "You!" " Certainly, with very great pleasure." "You'll be shot!" "No. They might shoot one of your men in his uniform, but they will not shoot me. I am in citizen's dress, and will raise rny white handkerchief." "That is true but suppose you're shot. You have nothing to do with this business. I like your face, Mr. Lascelles, though it's rather mournful. You wen- cut out for a soldier, but then you aiv a civilian. Well, do as you choose." " I will go, then, and deliver your sum- mons. You will wait?" " Yes, but be quick. Night is coming." "If I am not back in ten minutes it will be because they refuse. Then you can charge." He put spurs to his horse, and, without troubling himself to display the white handkerchief, went at a swift gallop for- ward into the gorge. The shadows grew deeper as he went, and the overhanging banks more densely wooded. He was penetrating to the most mysterious depths of the gorge. Suddenly a voice called " Halt !" and he saw the gleam of gun-barrels behind a barricade of felled trees. He paid no at- tention to the order, and reaching the barricade leaped to the ground. LXXX. THE BARRICADE. THE Lefthander was standing on the top of the barricade, with a carbine in his hand. It was he who had ordered " halt," but he did not raise his weapon. He had recognized Mr. Lascelles, and quietly wait- ed. Behind him were grouped nearly a dozen rough-looking figures armed to the teeth ; among these were Daddy Welles, Barney Jones, and Harry Vance. Under low drooping boughs in rear of the barri- cade was a rude door in the rock. Be- hind this door, which the pine boughs brushed, was the still. The barricade itself was constructed of felled trees, and about breast-high. Be- hind this the moonshiners were obviously going to fight. Mi-. Lascelles threw his bridle over his horse's neck, and mounted the barricade. "They are coining," lie said to the Lefthander, " and I have come to summon you to surrender." "To surrender? We will not surren- der," said the phlegmatic athlete. "I knew that, and so that's done with. They will charge you in ten minutes; but there will be time to say what I came to say to you. I have been to Crow's Nest." He took the Lefthander by the arm and drew him aside. For some moments loii of moonshiners saw the two VIUCIXIA BOHEMIANS. 231 men engaged in l>w, earnest talk. Then they saw them grasp hands and come back toward the group. As tliov did so the troopers charged the barricade. A volley met it in the face, and the horses, wild with fright, wheeled and re- treated in disorder. "Halt!" the lieutenant's voice was heard shouting, as he whirled his light sabre. " Form column in rear! I'll soon attend to this." The men stopped, and fell into column again just beyond range of the fire of the barricade. " Dismount and deploy skirmishers ! Advance on both flanks and in front! I'll be in the centre." And throwing himself from his horse, he formed the line of skirmishers. Then, at the ringing " Forward " of the game young fellow, the skirmishers closed in steadily, firing as they did so on the bar- ricade. All at once the quiet scene was turned into the stage of a tragic drama. Nature was pitiless and serene; the red crowns were rising peacefully from the summits of the trees ; a crow was winging his way toward the sunset on slow wings; it was a scene to soothe dying eyes, if the light needs must disappear from them. In ten minutes it had disappeared from more than one on both sides. The moon- shiners were evidently determined to fight hard, and only give way when they were forced to do so. The crack of the sharp- shooters was answered from behind the barricade, and the gorge was full of smoke and shouts as the assailants closed in. They did so steadily, like good troops, and at last rushed upon the barricade. There a hand-to-hand fight followed, and it was a weird spectacle in the half gloom. In the shadow r y gorge the figures were only half seen as the light faded, and the long thunder of the carbines and shout- ing rolled through the mountain, awak- ing lugubrious echoes in the mysterious depths. The moonshiners fought desperately, but the fight was of no avail. They were outnumbered, and, after liing 101 their best men, si-altered into tin- moun- tain. Among those \\ho thus escaped were Paddy Welles, I'.arney .|.-n. Harry Yanee. The parting salutes from their carbines VH-IV heard from the heights as they retreated; and the barricade \\as in possession of the cavalry. The young lieutenant Leaped <>n the felled trees, and stood there looking around. "A good work constructed by sol- diers," he said; "and they were --anie, too." He was tying up his arm with a white handkerchief. A bullet had passed com- pletely through the fleshy part, and it was bleeding. lie leaped down into the barricade. Suddenly he stopped he had nearly trodden upon something: it was the body of Mr. Lascelles. A bullet had passed through his forehead, and he \\as quite dead. The shot had been fired from behind a rock by the man whom he had lashed that day in the "NVyc woods his bitter enemy. At three paces from the body of Mr. Lascelles lay the Lefthander dead. Three other moonshiners were danger- ously wounded, and were leaning against the barricade. They closed their eyes, as though to avoid seeing the blue uniforms. They were probably troopers of the old battles of Ashby, and accepted their fate like soldiers, not complaining. As to the faces of Mr. Lascelles and the Lefthander, they were quite tranquil. They had died, in fact, with little pain, and perhaps willingly. Kaeh had mut- tered the same name as the light faded, and they went into the darkness. This name was " Mignon." LXXXI. THE SONG OF AN ORIOLE. SINCE these scenes some years have passed, and Bohemia and the "Wye borhood are much changed. Piedmont 232 VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. is looking up, and Bohemia is threatened with a railroad merciless disenchanter of the modern age. As to the moonshiners, they seem to have disappeared, and the old trouble with these excellent people has ceased. No one connected with them is disturb- ed, and Daddy Welles is at peace with all men. If he ever longs for a chance shot at anybody, he never says so, and passes his old age in his mountain lodge in smiling content. Not far from his house, and on the very summit of the Blue Ridge, stands a sort of Swiss chalet or hunting-lodge, in which Mr. and Mrs. Brantz Elliot pass a large part of the year. Having had restored to him a considerable portion of the property appropriated by his uncle, Mr. Elliot has his house in New York, where he spends the winter ; but the whole sum- mer and autumn are passed on the moun- tain, where he and Nelly are not at all lonely, as they have two fine boys, who afford them society. Gentleman Joe lives at Wye with his brother, General Lascelles ; and Mr. Harry Lascelles, his son, at Falling W T ater with his wife and father-in-law, Mr. Gary. They were married about a year after the scenes in Bohemia, but Frances would not con- sent until he had promised her not to take her away from her father. She is even more beautiful than before, and more like the cabinet picture in the library the portrait of her mother. Harry man- ages the estate, and hunts, and is devoted to his wife ; and every Sunday they at- tend church at Piedmont, where Mr. Ellis Grantham generally preaches. He has returned with his wife from a year of In- dian missionary service in Idaho, aii<l is the assistant of his father, whose health is growing feeble. But the old foe of ritualism is cheerful and happy. A little girl, with Juliet's eyes, flourishes her spoon from her high chair, and n-ijiu-sts to be helped first ; and Mr. Grantham, Sr., while elaborating his "History of Ritualism," hears the pattering of small feet up-stairs, and is thankful for them. There is a great deal of going to and fro between the parsonage and Trianon, where Mrs. Armstrong makes out to sustain existence in spite of her loneliness. It is true, she drives out almost every day, and con- sumes hundreds of paper-bound novels. Miss Bassick is a loss, as she has no one to scold but then she never could bear to look upon that serpent again. The serpent disappeared from Pied- mont soon after the unfortunate issue of her affairs. No one knew whither she went, but the rumor was brought that she had become one of the corps de ballet of a theatre in New York. There was still another rumor that she had appeared in a breach of promise case at the capital ; but as the jury decided that it was only an attempt to levy blackmail, they dismissed it, and Miss Bassick vanished from all eyes. The peaceful little neighborhood of Piedmont is thus quiet, and lives its life contentedly under the shadow of the mountain, far off from the noisy world. The days follow, and resemble each other, and glide from Sunday to Sun- day without events. Sometimes religious services are held in the Old Chapel, sleep- ing quietly on the wooded slope of the mountain. The winds sigh or laugh in the leaves of the great oaks there, and the weeping-willow murmurs as it murmured on that morning when Mouse listened to it, and the Lefthander said it would be a good place to be buried. He is buried there, not far from Mr. Lascelles. His wish was remembered and observed, and Mr. Grantham read the bur- ial-service. When some busybody ques- tioned the propriety of admitting an out- law into the sacred precincts, Mr. Gran- tham was greatly offended, and said, " He is a man are you more?" And that was the end of it. There is another grave close by that of the Lefthander. The small head -stone has on it the single name " Mignon." After the Lefthander's death she was taken to Wye, and guarded with the fond- est affection. Mrs. Lascelles and Anna Gray were quite wrapped up in her, and VIRGINIA BOHEMIANS. 233 the old general could not bear her out of his sight for her parentage was known, through Mr. Cary, and slu> was all that was U-ft of his dead son. But all was of no avail. The poor child had loved the Lefthander with her very heart of hearts, and her health slowly failed after his death. Grief seldom kills, but it weakens, and then disease finds the citadel ready to totter. Mouse lingered until they had some violets to place on her white bosom, and then she went to the Old Chapel to sleep by the Lefthander. This is sad, and it is not well to leave a sorrowful impression upon those who listen to a narrative since life is sad enough already without that. Fortu- nately Piedmont resounds once more with rejoiccful music. The Unrivalled Combination has come back to visit the borough again. The triumphal entry is a triumphant affair, and the crowds shout and hurrah, and Mr. Manager Brownson waves his black hat and bows. And then the great domes of canvas rise on the same old ground, and the crowds rush in, and the band roars, and the barebackers ap- pear, and the world of Piedmont is a world of enjoyment. The circus means to remain until the afternoon of th day, and the tired performers th< sleep lati all luit one of them. She is a woman, \\lio rises at daylight, and goos out. into the silent streets and toward the mountain. She has ma<le in- quiries as to some events and per- connected with the l.-i-t vi>it !' the com- pany to Piedmont, and informed 1 She takes a path which obliques i tin; left from the road leading to the (lap, and just as the sun i- ri-iipj; readier the graveyard around the Old Chapel. It is difficult to recognize the laughing and brilliant Clare de Lune in the plain- ly-dressed woman, with the heaving bosom and eyes wet with tears. She finds the grave she is looking for under the long ta- sels of the weeping-willow, and the small stone with "Mignon" engraved upon it close beside it, and bends down, and erir<, and calls to them to come back to her. " He told me to be a good girl, and I have been a good girl and he is dead !'* she sobs. All at once the sun rises and the whole world is full of light. From the top of the weeping-willow the song of an oriole bursts forth. Clare de Lime raises her eyes and listens, and understands, perhaps. THE END. 25 BOOKS FOR $5.00. 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The Professor. Shirley. Villette. Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth, $1 00 per volume. Complete Sets, $3 50. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. lOHN ESTEN COOKEYS AVORKS. [iry 81, John, Gentleman, Of "Flower .-f Hmuliv.K" in the Comity of lYm.v CI-M^V, Virginia. A Tale .f 1774-:;.. i;\ JOBS ESTBS COOKK, ii'm,., rioth, $1 so. v depicts the social life of Virginia in the l feetive t<>ueh'--. The eharaeters are well introduced, of Governor Dunmore, and is full of happy, of- I ami tho scones of Uld Virginia are finely .-Uctched. ither Stocking and Silk; Or, Hunter .Mm Myers and his Times. A Story of the Valley of Virginia. 15 y JOHN KSTKX COOKE. li'ino, ('loth, si 50. is unique story of Virginia life quietly winds able harmony and fidelity of its coloring. The iy to the heart of the reader hv its simple author has a rare perception of the e.ipaei' lies of nature, its gentle pathos, and the admit 1 - character for dramatic ofl'eet. A'. )'. Trd>ni(e. |. Grantley's Idea, By JOHN ESTEN COOKE. 32mo, Paper, 25 cents. lively story. N. Y. Tribune. I A spriirhtly story. <'l>'n-n<i Int,rhr. graceful novel. Rochester Express. \ A bright Virginian tale. Horn .->// >/'V- Nessor Pressensee, Materialist and Inventor, A Story. By JOHN ESTEN COOKE. 32mo, Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. is written in a vigorous and entertaining style. I It is full of action and incident, and i.s chann- ('. Y. Evening Mall. \ ingly told. PhlladclpJda Itun. iries of the Old Dominion, From the Settlement to the End of the Revolution. By JOHN ESTEN COOKE. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. T. Cooke has the manner of an entertaining ra- as well when he is telling stories to his boys and others to whom this book is dedicated as when he is writing for older folk. .V. }'. \Vurld. ie Virginia Bohemians, A Novel. By JOHN ESTEN COOKE. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents ; Half Bound, Si 00. work is in Mr. Cooke's best style, abound- I sketches of quaint native character, and 1- in vivid pictures of the mountain scenery, | scriptions of great freshness of coloiint:." PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NK\V Y..KK. HARPER & BROTHERS will semi any of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, to a,uj j.irt of the United State, on receipt of the price. HARPERS-PERIODICALS UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. LOAN WIT 10 SEP* ^'. 30Apr'60RT IN STACKS APR 1 6 1960 v '~C'D LD 191960 LD 21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 M504G41 r