mh ll a

om ell neo. =

Vol, ALY. AGF International Steamship Company,

Two Trips a Week.

PENILE Splendid sea-going STEAMERS “NEW ENGLAND,” Exos Fieip, Master, and “ NEW BRUNSWICK,” E. B. Wixcuester,

Master, willleave Reed's Point Wharf on Monpay wid THURSDaY mornings, ald o cl wk, until farther wwolice. FARES; From St. John to Eastport,..........$1 50 a “ PRG wcn0éencnn 4 00 ” vi ie ons dn le a mel ly Steamer and Kuilway to Boston,..6 0

CH" All fares and freights payable in New Bruns wick currevey J 8S. CARVELL, Agent. April 1€, 1864 tf

kr. P. NORTON, Auctioneer & Commission Merchant, GOERGETUWN .- - - P. E. ISLAND

The Record Newspaper.

To be sold by AUCTION, on the 3rd of MAY, the above very VALUABLE PROPERTY, (if not previously disposed of.)

1 Large Washington Press, aud a very large supply of the various TYPES, &c., usually required ina Priating Office. Jous Derry havi and net being acenst be Wspaper, is andlous the most reasonabie opportunity to any o1 Newspaper Business paper iu St. John's, a it is well established aud has a very large St. John's, Newfou:

March ‘4,

NEW, GOODS,

\T THE

BRITISH WAREHOUSE,

QUEEN'S SQUARE. Pus SUBSCRIBERS HAVE JUST

ned to the management of a

erms; thus offering a grand » knowing the Printing and The Recorn is the larvest

being now im its fourth ist of Subscribers. dland, 2

Sot 4

y ear,

dins

RECEIVED trem LONDON, per Uranus, |

from LIVERPOOL, per Theresa, from GIAS-

GOW, via Pictou, per Cabot and other arrivals |

frum the States and Haliax, Their usual extensive fupply of BRITISH & FOREIGN

MERCHANDIZE,

comprising all the requisite articles in STAPLE & FANCY GOODS, among which will be found the leading styles und novelties of the season : Piain & FPaney Dress Goods, Shawls, Mantles, aed Furs, Bounet Fronts, Hats & Capa,

Black & Colored Silks, Llosiery & Haberdashery, Collars, Ties and Searts,

Plain and Fancy Flannels, Shirts, Skirts & Skirting Serges, Oil Cloths & Boots, Shoes & Rubber Goods Clothing. aad Gents’ geaeral outfits, Cloths, Doeskins, and Trimmings, Hardware, Lrevmongery & Cutlery, Nails & Horse Nails, Room Paper,

Blankets, Rugs, and Counterpanes, Gved Ludige and other Dye Stuffs. GROCERLES,

Consisisting of Cheice TEAS and SUGARS RAISINS, CURRANTS and FIGS, Ke. SVICES, &e. &ke te Personally selected with care—purchased on the best terms—and will be found to compare | favorably with other Stocks in the market, either

for style or value.

W. & A. BROWN.

Queen Square, Nov 16, 1563.

LONDON HOUSE.

ESTABLISHED 1820. ee Ae on Se ¥ the “GAZELLE,” “THERESA,

and Halifax steamers from LIVERPOOL,

“Uranus” from Loudon, * Helen Davies’’ from Darbadoe# and “CC. M. Rich” from Boston, the subscribers have completed their importations for the season, whieh, with stock on band from pre-

views unportalions, they offer forsale at their usual Low Pricet. The present importations comprise : LW bhds Barbadoes Sagar + do Museovado Mo- lasses, Ww = prime Congou

> bales Cloths, 4 do Carpeta Woollens, 4 de Paper-hangings, 4 do Cotton Warp, 6 do Priuted ,Unbleach- ed & White Calicos,

and

© <a, 30 sacks Coarse Salt, ow sides Sole Leuther

6 cases Ready-made| 2do Striped Shirtings, Clothing, 2 do Glazed Linings,

9 de Ladies’ Boots &| 2do Butfulo Skins, Shoes, 2 hhds Paint Oil,

4do Rubber do do

3 do Silke & Ribbons, 3 do Millinery,

4 de Haberdashery, 4do Linen Drapery

1 do Hosiery,

i de Gloves,

2 do Shawls & Mant)», 1 do Ladies’ Furs,

t do Dress Materials

114 puckayes assorted Paints, 20 tons axsorted Tron, 150 bars Mountz Metal, }. , and j in. Kegs Butt Bolts, 6), by 3}, 7 by ;: 20 bundles Spring, Cast & Blister Steel, 50 sets Wilkie & Gray's

10 packayes Glasgow Plough Metals, Goods, in Gala Plaids, 100 Wrought Lron Plough Winseys, Shaws, Shares

I case aseorted Cutlery, 100 paeckagrs Nails and Spikes,

Printed Shirting,Flan- nela & Shirts, Corm- forters, Bays & Bag- ging, Osnaburys, (a- leas, Cotton Handker- éliiefs, &c, &e.

Casks Bak ng Soda, Whiting, Putty, Wash- ing Soda, Bbis Jamaica Ginger, Crusbed Sugar, Currants, Kegs Cud- bear, Powder, Mustard, Boxcs London Soap. Raisins, Lozenges, k.xtract Logwood, Pepper,Glass, bags Rice, Pepper, Allspice, Corks. Coffee, Coils Manilla ; Dozens Pails, Brooms, &c. Ke.

D. G. & 8. DAVIES.

Charlottetown, Dec. 7, 1863.

CADIZ SALT! %50 BUSHELS to arrive at BUC- * ISABEL,”

TOUCHE, N. & M.C. ScuviL, Shediac, or

Hardware.

aboat Minh MAY. Apply to W. Hf

J.8. CARVELL.

wl pro tf

Aga 6, 0h... CHARLES BELL, Merchant "Tailor, QUEEN STREET, Charlottetown, - - P. E. Island

lias on hand a general assortment of CLOTHS,

DOESKINS, TWEEDS,

CASSIMERES, aod VESTINGS,

suitable for the

PRESENT AND COMING SEASON,

Which he is prepared to make up to order at SHORTEST NOTICE.

: March 28, 1864. Sin

the

CANVASS. 2%) BOLTS No. 1 Best Navy SAIL CLOTH, 14 do No. 2 Do Do 14 do No. 3 bo Do 1 20 do Nos. 4107 Do Do “Ww for Cush or approved paper. A nly to oo DG. & 8 DAVIES. ‘ tharown, Mareh J 4, 1864. 6w

TIMOTHY SEED!!! BAGS of TIMOTHY SEED, for

40) sule b J. 8. CARVELL.

Aprit 18, 1864 pro isl tf

wz Broadway, N. 2.

« lately become Proprietor, |

to dispose of the above on |

Raize |

A Week

, POLO LN LEER RRS, LOLOL LOLOL orn

1 }

PASSING THE ICEBERGS,

~

| | A fearless shape of brave device, | Our vessel drives through mist and rain, Between the tloating tleets of ice— Those navies of the vorthern main ;

Those Arctic ventures, blindly hurled, | The proofs of Nature's olden force,

| Like fragments of a crystal world Long shattered from its skiey course. | These are the baceaneers that fright The middle sea with dreams of wrecks, | Aud freeze the south winds in their flight, | Aud chain the Gulf Stream to their decks.

| At every dragon prow and helm

There stands some Viking as of yore, | Grim heroes from the Boreal realm | Where Odin rules the spectral shore. i | And oft beneath the sun or moon

Their swift and enger talchions glow ;

} While, like a storm vexed wind, the Rane Comes chafing through some bearded snow.

| And when the far North flashes up

| With fires of mingled red and gold,

They know that many a blazing cup Is brimming to the absent bold.

| Up, signal there! and let us hail

Yon loomiug phantom as we pass; | Note all her fashion, hull and sail, | Within the compass of your glass.

d the leading Cutholie Organ ; |

| See at her mast the steadfast glow

| Of that one star of Odin's throne: | Up with your flag and let us show The constellation of our own!

| And speak her well, for she might say, | Iffrom her heart the words could thaw, | Great news from some far frozen bay,

Ur the remotest Esquimarx, '

| Might tell of channels, yet untold, | That sweeps the pole from seu to sea; | Of lands which God designs to hold

A mighty people, yet to be ; |

| Of wonders which alone prevail Where day and darkness dimly meet; | Of all which spreads the Arctic seul

| Of Franklin and his venturous fleet.

| | How, haply, at some glorions goal, His anchor holds, his sails are furled ; Chat fume has named him on her seroll, | “Celambus of the Polar World.”’ | | Or how his ploughing bark wedges on, | Through splintering fields, with buttered shears,

' Lit only by that spectral dawn, The mask that mocking darkness wears.

| Or how o'er embers black and few, The last of shivered masts and spars; He sits amid his frozen crew,

lu council with the Norland stars.

No answer but the sullen flow

| Of ocean heaving long and vast } An argosy of ice and snew,

The voiceless North swings prot dly past.

CAN SUCH THINGS BE?

I should never have thought of my ami- ible friend, Mrs. Denison, #8 the heroine of such a tale as she reiated to me one even- ing in the autumnal twilight. Yet she, a tiantd, sentimental old lady, had really been placed in a position of extraordinary trial, and hed come nobly out of it. And she

|told the adventure with an utter unconcious- /ness of anything beroic in her ecnduet, , which added a strange charm to her recital. When [ was about seventeen or eighteen,

j i

i

HE &

Hournal of Politics, Literature, and Mews.

I

Charlottetown, Prince Edward

\

Island,

|

‘outskirts of ths town; a place which the | poor father was alarmed for me, and sent | librarian told bim bad bad the reputation of me again to the sea-side. We had only ‘being haunted, and was let at a low rent ; been absent from it five months. It was that they paid their bills; and were ap-| March (close to the assize time) when we parently respectable, good people. Then | again took possession of our former lodgings; he consented to call on them. but much had happened during that period

We approached the Deloraines’ dwelling to ‘ startle’ the place ‘from its propriety.’ through an orchard and pine-grove, so dis- |My maid came to undress me the night of mal and gloomy in appearance, that I did not wonder at its ghostly repute. The cot- tage itself was an old house, built partly of wood, partly of brick. A very ill-looking man-servant opened the door, and ushered us into the drawing-room, where we found | Mrs. Deloraive and her daughter,

The former was lying on a sofa placed against the folding-doors. She could not| taken up for forgery, and will be haoged.’ jrise to receive us, but she greeted my| I nearly faiuted; bat my pride upheld me 'father and me very warmly, and seemed|io my servant’s presence, delighted to make our acqnaintance. He! * What nonsense!’ I said; * how can you thought her manner theatrical and studied ; | repeat such idle scandal ? but she managed, nevertheless, to please) ‘ Well, [ dou’t believe it, of course ; but bim, and the acquaintance, thus commenced, | the poor gentleman is in prison at A~——on | progressed into intimacy. the charge. They say that no end of forged

We rode together fre juently, accompanied | notes have been passed here, and all have by my father and William Deloraine. 1 | been traced back to Mr. Deloraie, his ser- am quite sure that dear father never dream- | vant, or the ladies.’ ed of anything like love between William! 1 was horror-struck, : I did not believe it ; and me; and still thought me a mere child; | stil! L doubted. I had not heard from Kate he was too much oecupied by his own af-| for a long time, and assuredly there must be fairs to observe my gradual advance to-| some grounds of suspicion to cause Wil- wards womauhood. liam's detention in prisou, if he were really

But L was gradually becoming attached | there. When I saw my father vext morn- to William Deloraine. He was just the|ing [ told him Sarah's tale. He was great- sort of man to please an imaginative young | ly astonished, and declared he would ascer- lady like myself. Moreover, he cons'sutly | toia its truth by riding over to A after betrayed his love for myself, and constant- | breakfast. ly recalled the manifestation ‘if I may say| How long, how miserable the hours were so), by a sudden and distaat coldness of | till he returued! But he came with a maaner, which piqued aud teased me. bright face: his heart relieved from a load

I am not telling a love tale, and there- of Rind anxiety. sree fore will not linger over those tantalizing| . it en ee that the poor lad is in but bewitching days. “Ou one of them the | Prison, - said, in reply to a desired declaration came; William Delo- | ovcombs but by a mere accident. You raine, in approved poetic phrase, assured | remember bis fiading a pocket-book ? Well, me that he adored me, I referred him, of | 4¢ a8 80 imprudent—being pressed for mo- course, to my father. To my surprise, be | ey. he CAFO 46 to use some of those hesitated ; told me that an ushappy mystery | "O'S intending to keep the numbers, aud clouded bis life;—a fatal secret that be |"eture the amount he spent, if they were could not as yet reveal even to me; and he | ever claimed ; but they proved to be forged ;

/and be 1s taken up for passing them. He

implored me to conceal our attachment from nad all a hie } my futher. Now, though [ was very silly | "#@ actually told bis lawyer to appeal to us

and romantic, and William gained ao ad- }#8 Witnesses of the wanner in which he ob- ditional hold on my taney by having oo a aud the letter is gone to Bryn | Gallert.

; ° |mystery attached to him, 1 was too honour- | : lable a girl to evter into an engagement with- | My heart ceased beating for the momeut

| out my kindest father’s sanction, and L said as l remembered how | had seen Deloraine | lai ok ated |take the book from his own bosom; bat | |

He was bitterly disappointed, | : | ‘tor he hoped L should have consented to an | ¥#8 quite silent. Between horror aod fear | L could not speak,

elopewent, or secret marriage; and IL grew | } ca at the supposition. 4 my father continued : We had a quarrel, but made it up after-| I have promised, of course, to appear for wards of cour-e; and [ promised to keep | him 5 and probably you may be called the seeret of his avowal from my father, ype: : : though L would promise nothing wore. fe | Oh don t let th m call me! ideelared also that he should keep his secret jd cant, said [, in an agony. from his family ; but I guessed that he bad | ‘Well, of course, it 1s unpleasant for a) ‘old Kate, as she looked vexe?, and disap- | YOUs8 lady to appear in a court of justice, pointed when I next raw ber. Nevertheless aud if £ can preveat it you shall not; but our rides went ov as usual. We must not let proprieties peril a tellow-

: saeeey One day when we were all together, | * eae. Kate and papa behind, Willism and [ in

news.

‘Ob, ma’am.’ she cried ; *‘ you remember the Mies Deloraine you used to ride with when we were last here, and her brother 2’

‘Of course,’ I replied, with a beating heart. ‘ What of them ?’

* Well, ma’am, they say Mr. William is

I can’t

{ made uo reply. I would not for

|advance, my lover suddeniy drew up his | Worlds have deprived Deloraine of my fa- ‘horse, sprang to the ground, stoppel, and | ther’s testimony in his favour. | And how jthen, holdiog up a pocket-book, cried, coud be give it if 1 spoke ? ; Forgery was '+ Lock here, Miss Morton!’ I did look in| then pupished with death. Could [ volun considerable amazement, as I had distinctly tarily condemn, by my own words, the man seen him draw the pocket-book from his, Whom I loved, to the gallows; I was bosom, put it on the ground, and then take | wretched : distracted by doubt, fear, and it up again. My father riding up, asked borror, when my heart was wiuag by receiv- what was the matter. William exhibited | ing @ letter from William (forwarded by the the pocket-book. saying that he had just (gaol chaplain) in which he thanked me for picked it up. My father advised him to, my kind remembrance of him, and said, bow

| it pleased him, amidst all his trouble, to

londay, “April

our arrival, quite eager to communicate her |

S64

2),

a

New Series.---No. 21,

it was full of gratitude for my father’s good- ness in saving her brother from the last ri- gour of the law; and of regrets over his blighted life and their own ruined prospects. She did not blame me for the part I had in his conviction. She pitied me for it, and said poor William admired my un- shaken truthfulness.

‘ And now, dear Jane,’ she concluded, ‘I am going to urge one last request. We are about to leave England for ever, to hide our shame and, sorrow in a strange land. We go to-morrow, Will you come to the old cottage (to which mamma and 1 have returned) and bid mea last farewell, and hear a message poor William left, which will explain and exteuuate, in a degree, his sad fault ?”

The letter touched me deeply. I greatly her how cruclly 1 had felt the dreadful duty cast on me, and to hear something more ot William Deloraine. My father was from home ; he had goue to spend a few days with a friend some ten or twelve miles off, and was not to return till the next day, or per- haps the following one. If be had been at home, assuredly | should not have been per- mitted to go, but as it was, my girlish en- thusiasm, my lingering pity and tenderness for the convict William, induced me to com- ply. It was all very suly aud romantic, I know, but so it was.

The cottage was within a walk. Not liking to expose the uuhappy Deioraines to the gaze of servants, 1 determined to go

aoy of them whither I was going.

It was a chilly, wiody April afternoon about four o’clock when | started on my walk.

I hurried along, and, in about an hour’s

cottage. It was certainly a very lonely place, and uow aseoviation added to its na- tural gloom.

The grove had been much -trodden and the trees broken in the search made by the Bow Street officers for graving-tools, Xe. (which, however, they had failed to find) and altogether it looked very wretched and depressing. Just opposite the eastern gable of the dwelling was an old oak of great size,which L was obliged to pass in approach- ing the door. As | glanced at it, L per- ceived a hole or cavity recently dug or un- covered (for I had never noticed it before) close to the root.

Why, I never knew, but the sight of it mide me shiver, and altogether a strong

| feeling (perhaps induced by the drearivess

of the place), made me turn back, Just as [ did so, Kate Deloraine emerged from be-

hind the tree and stood befure me.

She was sadly altered, very pale and thin, aud she shed bitter tears as | embraced ber.

L walked into the house with her. The drawing-room was empty; the sofa moved . the folding-doors opened.

‘You miss my mother,’ she said ; ‘ she is in her room, very ill; but she trusts that you will go up and see her—’

I assented, and then very timidly asked

for William. She said he was about to sail

for Botany Bay with the next party of con-

victs ; that he was patient and resigned, and bore his fate better than could have been ex-

pected.

* Poor fellow!’ she added, with real feel-

ing, ‘ he is very young, and was badly train-

éd. I declare to you, Miss Morton, we

uever, either of us, knew what goodness

was till we became acquainted with you.’

© I looked doubtless, as | was astonished.

desired to see Kate once more, to assure |

alone, and for the same reason did not tell |

time, found myself ia the lave leading to the | P

(she said,) my father took me for change of | open it, and see if the _bame of the Owner | air, after a slight illmess, to the sea-side. | WS inside. [le complied, and they examin- [ was romantic; moreover, I had been |ed it together. There was no name. ‘The

motherless from my infancy, and my dreamy book contained a roll of bank-notes ; and

| fancies bad received no check from the dull | William, observing that they must advertise | routine of my school-life, nor from my as- it, put it in his pocket. You will wonder | sociation with girls as silly as myself. om all this time [ remained silent. But | Shortly after our arrival at the watering- remember how young [ was, and how shy. | place, L was struck by the appeurance of Besides, [ had not the slightest idea what ‘three people, who were often to be seen to- | it could all mean; that there was a mys- tery,a secret—-which De!oraine wished to veil

gether of an evening on the safids. One ! : : | was @ very handsome woman of about furty-;under this apparent ¢rowvadlie, | believed, « and since he bad not intended to take me

‘five; the others appeared to be her son and " ROee

daughter. ‘the son was one of the most | into his confidence, I fancied it would be

interesting persous Lever saw. The daugh- dishonourable to betray him. For bis part

| ter, who was about my own age, was very | be had not voticed my silence, but re-mount- ‘ing, began to chat gaily on indifferent sub-

jpretty. The mother was @ cripple. She)! . /was drawn nearly every day to the same | jects, and was even more than usually fas- cinating and attractive,

| spot on the sands, and sat there watching

| the setting sun, while her children oecupied| A few days afterwards an advertisement

‘think that it was my testimouy that would acquit him, for [ bad seen bim find the fata! pocket-book. tress. I dared not write and teil him that L knew he did not find it, lest my letter should be read before it was given to him. [ could oaly be silent on the su'ject, and urge my father to keep me from the public court, and prevent me being subpoenaed as a witness. Alas! it was in vain!

She paused—moved by the old sad me- mory.

‘What did you do? we asked.

The trial came op, (she continued.) It was distinctly proved that the Deloraine family and their servant had passed false notes, and that William had purchased a diamond ornament of a jeweller in London. and bad paid for it iu a forged note. This

Imagine, if you can, my di8- |

50 do Lreumongery and

themselves with gathering shells. Ovcasion- jaily we met the brother and sister riding, and my father declared that ae had uever seen so good a horsewoman as the young lady.

One evening as I was sitting on a low

i

tradesman was the chief wituess agaiust him. For his defence Deloraine declared, as be had told my father, that be had found the notes; and he bad merely borrowed their use. My father was called to testify to the fact, and to state what he thought of Delo- raine’s character. The latter statement was

appeared in the local papers, stating that a gentleman had found a pocket-book on —— Hill, coutaining bank-notes, and that they would be restored to the Owner on ap- plication, providing he could describe the contents of the book, and tell the numberof

‘No! our parents educated us without any principle,’ she continued, * and though poor William so generously acquitted bis family of all complicity in bis guilt, they did not dese: ve it.’

At this minute the ill-looking man-ser- vant opened the door, and said Mrs. Delo- raine would be glad to see me alone in the north parlour, a0 upper sitting-room in the gable end of the house. I did kifw how to refuse, though Kate’s revelation bad made we feel very uncomfortable. So I followed the man up stairs into the little pariour where she and [ had been wont to sit, and talk, and work during our brief intimacy. There was no one there ; but James, mut'er- ing that Mrs, Deloraine would come direct- ly, placed a chair for me and left the room, closing the door after him. I walked to the window, and looked out. The casement (it was nothing more) opened upon tbat part of the shrabbery in which the old oak, with its suspicious earth-hole, stood. As it caught my eye, the same misgiving I had felt just before, rushed on my mind. Was [ look- ing at my own grave? Very uneasy, | walk-

pride !’ man whispered sullenly in her ear. ink, and get yonder writing-case.

book in her pocket ?’

‘ For once she does,’ I answered steadily. ‘I feared poor Kate might need assistance, and put it in my pocket.’

And [ drew it out.

‘That is well!’ she said, sternly. ‘Sit down and write a cheque for five hundred | pounds.’

;

my own allowance in my banker's bands; | for 1 had spent liberally of late, and had no | present command of the large fortune I in- herited, I felt convinced that her rapacity would defeat its object, for the banker would make inquiries before ho cashed such a cheque. But the same thought had evi- dently occurred also to the man.

‘It is too much!’ he said, slowly, * fifty will be enough for our immediate wants. | We dare not present a larger cheque.’

Witb a murmur, Mrs. Deloraine put the first cheque in ber pocket, and desired mé to write another—perhaps she kept the five hundred for some future opportunity.

‘That wiil do,’ said the manu, taking the secoud ; ‘now come,’— to his mistress,— ‘ we have no time to lose.’

They turned to leave the room.

‘ You will allow me to go home now?” | asked.

‘ That is so probable!’ said the woman, sarcastically. ‘That you may betray us again.’

‘ But I will pledge you my honor not to send after you, or give any clue to what has assed.’

‘Oh! but you may be put upon your oath ?’ cried Mrs. Deioraine, mockingly.

‘That is impossible, unless I gave infor- mation of my imprisoament; as for the worey, it is a free gift—-1 intended to help you, as I told you.’

She sneered again.

‘No doubt! Nevertheless, as you might repent of it, we will not try you. Now listen! I hated you from the time you won my boy’s heart from me, and marred his young life for ever; and | swore, when 1 heard that you had betrayed him, to avenge him. I doso now! With the money you have given us, Kate and I will follow bim to his place of exile. We shal! have a suc- cess there, L fancy! For you, — you will remain in this room. It is aot known in the town that we are here now; we were supposed to have left yesterday, therefore no trades-people are likely to come near the house—in fact they have not troubled us with calls lately,—and as there is no food in the larder, and you might be starved, we shall lay a train to the house and put a slow match to it, in order that by the time we are safe off, the flames may bring you deli- verers, or put you out of your misery.’

And she laughed a horrible, mocking laugh.

* You will not surely be so cruel,’ I cried in an agovy of fear, * You are but fright- ening me.’

‘You will see! Good-bye, Miss Morton ; ‘hus [ return our obligations to you.’

And forcibly releasing her arm from the clasp with which | sought to detain her, she left the room. I strove to get out of it at the same time; but the man pushed me in again with ao oath, and I heard them lock and bolt the door after them.

Thus [ was left to the anticipation of a lingering, horrible death. I opened the window and called for help again and again in vain. No one could hear me save those monsters. At last I sank on a seat, and grew calm from exhaustion.

Very slowly the hours passed.

I sat

fitting door and the floor, expecting every moment to see the red, dull glare of fire through it; but the grey dawn stole into the room, and still I saw no sign of the threatened conflagration. I was unbarmed ; only exhausted by want of rest, want of food, and that most horrible expectation. The light grew, and there was still no perceptible fire. I began to bope that the match had gone out— that [I was safe. Alas! I was deceived. The house had ig-

I suppose engine.’ Miss Morton does not travel with a cheque- | i

L complied readily. I had but Gity of

watching the wide space between the ill-

—

what kind of life!—that of a felon!—my they would have pursued me, but I was mis-

}taken. Probably they thought if I returned

She clasped her hands passionately. -The to you it would be too late—or James

feared to venture back. The wheels we

‘ You aro right,’ she said, * put down the heard were those of the approaching fire

1 shuddered—these people had been my friends! I would never blame English caution and reserve in future. But by this time we reached my home. We found the servants in a great state of ‘alarm at my disappearance ; they bad seni _ off for my father, though be was not yet ar- |rived—and every search was making for | me, 1 was so exhausted that Kate, who placed me with great tenderness on a sofa, had to feed me aud to give me wine slowly ; and before my father returned, | bad sank | into a profound sleep from which I did not awake for hours. | When [ did, I found him sitting beside /me. He embraced me with joy and grati- _tade, and was eager to know where I had |been, and what had befallen me—as all that the servants could tell bim was, that Miss Deloraine had brought me back, very faint and ill, _ I related my adventure, and he grew pele with horror and indignation as he lis- jtened, He yowed be would have the mou- |sters traced, and as severely punished as their crimes deserved.

* But where is poor Kate ?’ I asked.

‘She was gone when I arrived,’ be an- |swered. * Sarah says she left directly you | fell asleep, telling the servants not to wake you, as you had great fatigue and excite- ;ment., She left this note for you.’

And he gave me @ little twisted paper written in pencil, ¢ | * Adieu, Miss Morton,’ she wrote. ‘ Fore give me. You will never see me again. [ go to the continent to earn my living, as [ was wont to do before 1 knew you, by rid- ing in a cireus, That woman's crime has seperated me from her for ever. Pray some- times for poor Kate.’

‘ Poor thing,’ we said, ‘and what became of her ??

* We never kuew,’ replied Mrs. Denison. ‘My father advertised fer her, offering in the advertisment to provide for ber if she would let us kuow whre she was; but, pr« bably she never saw the paper containing it.’

‘And that horrible Mrs. Deloraine and Were they ever found

the manu servant, and punished ?”

She shook ber head,

‘No. We had no railways, no electric telegraphs in those days. They escaped. Probaly they went to Australia, We never heard of themagain, By degrees we forgot the whole affair, or rather never thougkt about it. But you will allow 1 had a very ‘harrow escape.’

DIAMOND-MAD.

The most profound adamantologist in the | world is the Duke of Brunswick. He has in his ion three miilion of dollars’ worth of diamonds. He has just published a cata. logue of his diamonds, ont ie the appendix there isa notice of the most celebrated dia- monds in the world. Thiscatalogue numbers not less than 268 quarto pages. It gives, with great detail, a list of bis diamonds. It relates how thisonce adorneda Turkish saber, that a royal diadem, another an imperial col- lar, a third a grand electoral bas; this black diamond was an idol’s eye, that brilliant rosy diamond was taken from the Emperor Baber, ai Agra (it weighs 41 Carats, and is worth $80,000) ; those were the waistcoat buttons of the Emperor Don Pedro: this diamond ring, with the Stuart coat of arms and the cipher “* M. S.,’’ belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots : that pair of ear-rings hung once on Marie Antoinette. He has plenty of dia- monds worth $20,000, $30,000, $45.000 apiece ; two worth $60,000 each, one $70,- 000, and one $80,000. He is in treaty now for two diamonds, one of which is worth $232,000. and the other $650,000.

The Duke of Brunswick 2ares not leave Paris at any period of the year; his diamonds keep him chained there. he dares not sleep from home a single night. Then he lives ia a house constructed not so much for comfort as for security. It is burglar-proof; sur- rounded on every side by a high wall; the wall itself is surrouned by @ lofty iron rail- ing, defended by innumerable sharp spear- heads, which are so contrived that if any

erson touches any one of them, a chime of Dells begins instantly to ring and alurm ; this iron railing cost him $14,127. He keeps his diamonds in a safe, built in a thick wail;

his bed is placed against it, that no burglar smouldered slowly. By-and-by, when it eeeaaes a without pre eee fea Was again near evening, [ saw the red golf without leaving his bed. ‘The safe is gleam | had so feared on the thresbold, and | jined with gramite and with iron; the locks L beard the rush and the hiss of the flames. | have a secret which must be kaown before A few moments, and the door would cateh, they can be opened; if they are opened by and | must perish. Once more | rushed to violence, a discharge of fire-arms takes ple ce,

nited long ago, but the old damp wood

B., per BARQUE|

| black rock or stone near her chair, the elder ‘lady spoke to me with a civ! apology oe) troubling a stranger. She asked me if I jeould distinguish whether her soa and |daughter were on the beach. Her sight was too bad for her to see herself. IL look- (ed, and replied in the negative. She seem- jed avxious and uneasy, and kept turning her eyes in the direction from whence she | appeared to expect them. [| asked if she | required anything? She thanked me, but | | replied that she wanted nothing; only she was avxious for her daughter’s appearance ; we feared accidents when they were late | home. * L should think you could bave no cause ‘for fear,’ 1 suid, * your daughter rides so | well.’ | She assented with a sigh. | ‘1 dare say,’ she added, ‘JT am foolishly haan but my life isa trying and mono- ‘tonous one, and affords time for idle fears.’ | [ was sorry for her; it was very sad to ‘be helpless and crippled at her age, and |with her apparent health, so we gradually fell into conversation, Mrs. Deloraine— S remember what a charming name IL thought it — was not very lady-like, stil she was not vulgar. [ could see she |was not a highly-bred person; neverthe- less she was interesting and clever, and had a very fascinating way of her own. | After a time, the son and daughter return- | ed ; they thanked me for my kind attention ,to their mother, and were so pleasant and agreeable, that I was enchanted with them. | much foglish love imaginations are thus kept | When I returned home, [ teased my!ip check. As for me, [ gave way to the ‘father to eall ow the Deloraiaes, He de-| yainest regrets and the most protitless day- | murred at firs: ; we know nothing of these dreaming. [ cast from me God's great gilt people, he said ; it was not wise to pick up of time sinfully, recklessly—my sole oceupa- acquaintances as one would shells; but [| tion being that of writing lang letters to | was urgent, and he seldom ref..sed a request | Kate, which she rarely answered. | But one ‘made by his motherless girl. He made a few inquiries ; ascertained that Mrs. Delo- raine and her children lived a cuiet,secluded, gan to pay for my vain imaginations | blumeless life in a lonely costage, on the, tax of loss of health and good looks. .

the notes. This advertisement appeared daily during the remainder of our stay at the sea-side. My father remarked that Deloraine’s honesty put bim to a great ex- pense, and that it was singular no one | claimed the pocket-book ; thea we took no further notice of the matter, though I secret- ly wondered what it could mean.

Once more before we left our sea-side home, Deloraive urged me to become his wife secretly. He wae sure, he said, that my father would forgive me when once we were married ; and [| also should have been sure of that; indeed, [ believed be would not have refused his assent at all, even though Deloraine was (as he avowed) poor ; for | was a rich Welsh heiress, as you know. However, my lover was as strangely timid as [ was confident in my beloved father’s goodness ; and would have me keep his secret and wait. Thus we parted with- out any engagement having been made be- tween us.

I found my home in the Welsh valleys dismal enough when [ returned to it. 1 missed the animation of the bathing-place ; the society of bony Kate ; the sentimental devotion of her brother. Witaout excite- ment, without employment, I grew weary of my dull existence, and called my ennui dis- appointed love. After all, my dear, it the busy young ladies of this part of the country dou’t do much real good to others, they do something for themselves in kecping their minds employed. It is astonishing how