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Practical Joke: of “ WIflm-icul" \anker, Now with Forrpnllgh’u Show. “ Whimsical” Walker. as he is known, the Very comical clown, late of Hengler’s grand circus, L'ixniuu' now of Fornpauqh’s aggrega- tion. has been guilty of many a mud prank. His first great hit in the arena was under the management of Adams, 9. leading English manager. Change of amusements is always desirable, and Adami, who Wis playing a pro- longed engagement in Sheffield, proposed to Singer, of London, that he loan him for a fortnight. Little Sandy, the clown, while he in return sent Walker to the big city. Men are hard at work fixing up the large factory. situated south of the railroad, for the purpose of manufacturlng the electric lamps in large quantity. Ellison says it will take, at least two months to finish i‘, and then he will turn out all the lamps necessary for his exhibition. which will take place abaut Sep- tember. He will then light six miles of streets. the lamps being eighty feet apart. and will run his train over a three mile road. all the power being obtained from the sixteen dynamo machines now in position. Now, Sanger had heard of the fame of Walker, it having reached London in advance of him, and the magnate of mauageries resolved that the light of the provincial clown should be hid under a bushel. Accordingly, much to his di-‘gust, Walker, who had come to London filled with an ambition to rival little Sandy, found himself cast as a. “ supe" in the spectacle of “ Fair Rosamond,” which closed the entertainment. Walker was re- solvedâ€"and what that resolution was the reader may quickly learn. It was required 01 Walker that he, with three others. should bear across the stage 8. tier upon wh’ch was to repose the corpse of one of the characters The funeral procession moved with stately tread and solemn mien across the stage until the very centre was reached, to the solemn accompaniment of a melancholy dirge. when down dumps the bier, oif rolled the corpse, amid shouts and roars of laughter from all parts of the house. The wicked Walker had upset the bier and the gravity of all both on and ohc the stage. It was a funny sight indeed to see that poor cmpse arise and walk off the stage. The next night a change was madeâ€" a new pallâ€"bearer selected. and Walker called upon to fight a combat. He fought; you should have seen him. His antics excelleu those of a negro minstrel in an essence. or the Majiltons in one of their most grotesque dances. Up and down the stage he chased his combatant and then retreated to the foot- lights,aud, throwing a Boincrsault, lit with full weight and terrific force upon the p o- vender receptacle of a big fat Dutchman in the orchestra, whose duty it was to agonize the bass fiddle. Walker, upon being calleo on to account for having twice marred tho efiect of the spectacle, exclaimed in honesi indignation: Edison has at lemt proved that he can utilize the electric current for railroad nur- poses. A New York Herald reporter went to Menlo Park yesterday to witness a trial of the new motor on the three-quarter mile railroad. As a piecaution against unforeseen accident the members of the press selected a seat as near as possible to the inventor. because it was only natural that that was the safest in case the train should jump the track. At a signal from E liso'i Mr. Butehelor moved the lever attached to the switch and off we went». The riding was very enjoyable for the first five hundred yards or so, when suddenly a most horrible curve was reached. round which the motor with its cor attached spun at a rather uncomfortable gait. Then came a series of serpentine curves that were enough to frighten anybody, but there was no slow- ing up. On the contrary, more power we: put on, until it seemed that the whole party were gomg to be shaken from their seat. The line was located in the worst pos- sible positions by Edison, in order that the “beauties" of his invention would be readily seen by any one on the car. Some of the curves are as sharp as tho>e used on the sur face roads round street corners in New York, so the reader can imagine how pleasant ii was to go round them at the rate of forty miles an hour. The strangest part of the programme was the easy manner of control ling the motor, it being stopped within fifty feet although going at n. hiin speed. It mu up against the heavy grades as easily as on the level truck, and was as powerful at the end of the track as in the station, where the electric current first matches the rail. After the first trial the reporter was invited to ride on the motor without having the car attached, so that the speed would be increased. Three went on this tripâ€"one at the switch, another at the brake and the reporter holding on for dear life. At the word go the machine shot off like a bullet and if was only by holding on firmly that one‘s scat could be kept. As the curves were struck the motor rocked fesrfully; in fact, it was as hard to keep your seat on it as on an unbroken mustang when he sets his mind on the "bucking” process of dismount- ing you. The time mode was fifty-three Seconds from the station to the end of the track on the lirst trial, and forty-two on the second trial. The motor has an electric head light which is burning continuously, and which has a very pretty effect in the night time. Of the gold finding process very little can be said except that the sample of tailings sent to Menlo Park have proved very rich in many instances. Edison‘s agent, Mr. Mc- Laughlin, will return from California. in June. He has located the position of the sheds near Oroville and has built several undercurrenhs along the line of the sluiccs in that vicinity for the purpose of concentrating the auriferous sands. “Gentlemen, I did not come to London to be a supe in a, bloody funeral or to figlu any blarsted combat ; I came to London to cloWn.” During the balance of his engagement he clowned as satisfactorily as the supes fought combats and rammed the dead. And he re- turned to Sheffield wixh the proud satisfac- tion that he had outwit ted the Sangers and made a hit in London. The richest woman in America, and in- deed, excepting royally and Baroness Burdeti Coutts, the richest inthe world, is Mrs. E. H. Green, the wife of the Vice President of the Louisville and Nashville road. She was a Miss hobinson, and her father was awhaling master at New Bedford. He owned a fleet of ships known as the blue line of Whalers. and from his profession was known as “Blubber Robinson.” He died when his daughter was a mere girl and left her a fortune of about eight millions. She lived slenderly and pru- dently, and gave the management of her affairs to Mr. John J. Cisco. As her tastes were simple and her wants few, she was able to transfer her enormous income almost every year to the body of the fortune itself, and it has now accumulated to more than $27,000,000. Her husband, Mr. Green, was a very rich man when she married him and has been successful si11cc.It is said by one who should know that the in- come of this couple is $2 500 000 a year. Mr. Green is rather large in stature, quiet, re- served, sagacious and of modest habits. He is about 47 years of age and she about 43. The richest young ladies in New York are the Misses Garner, the daughters of Commodre Garner, who was drowned under a yacht that overturned a few years ago. He made his for- tune in \Vall street and upon his death was able to leave his daughters four or five mil- lions each. Added to this they are charming and beautiful young ladies. THE MAGIGIAN 0F} MENLO PARK. The Lines! Venlure n, Sucrose:â€" Ridiug at a Forty Mi'e Spam! on “is Electric Railroadâ€" Program at Ilm Gold 'l‘ailiugs and Olher Prnjccls. THE Blt‘lllES'I‘ \VOJIEN IN All-:9 RICA. FBN IN A CJIBCUS. “ I do be‘xicve I shall rest here and get well again, everything: is so comfortable,” she said. as she lay down upon the Chintz covered lounge for a, few moments before taking the cup of tea. which was brought to her by Ag- nes. who, in her c'ezm calico dress, with her dark hair combed smoothly back, and 9. Sid but; peaceful expression on her white, tred face, enlisted Beatrice’s sympa- thies at once, for she saw from her manner that she was a. mere house- hold (1: udge‘ and resolved to stand her friend whatever might come. if she sw signs of rebellion in any quarter she fought it down inch by inch and rode tri- umphantly over the opinious of those who tried to slight her. No young lady in town could botst as many admirers as she, ind she managed to keep them at her side even after they found there was no hope. Old Captain Sparks, the millionaire, had long known this, and yet, as the moth flutters around the eand e, so he hovered around the young beauty, accepting’ the position of father instead of brother and from time to time presenting his daughter with costly presents, which she ai't'epted so sweetly and prettily because she knew it would hurt him if she refused. To the other lovers the was sister and friend. and he gave them a great deal of good adviceand made them believe they were much safer with her than they would be elsewhere. Only D1. Malthewson knew her thoroughly, and him she never bred to deceive. And ~till, the doctor was more absolutely under her influence than any of the train who visi- ted her constantly. But just now he was away on business, he called it, though Jose- phine knew that the business was gambling, that being his only means oflivelihood. A foxtunate play. or series of plays, had put a lame sum of money into his hands, and he and gone on a sailing vessel to the West (Niles, thinking to visit England before re- turning to A1ne1wca. Josephine was a. little ennui/(led without the doctor, whom she pre- en ed to any man livinv. And yet could she nave had him by givinz up Everaid she would not have done it. For thouuh she had no love for her husband, she had a fancy for the money and position he could give her brand-by, and for which she was pat1enkly waiting. Had her life been less pleasant and exciting, or had Everard sent her less money, she might have rebelled against it, and taken steps which would have resulted in her learning the state of affairs at the Forrest House. But as it was she was content to wait and enjoy herself in her own way which was to diess and flirt and come and go at hei pleasuie, and to be waited on it home as if she wele some plincess of the blood. This was Josephine’s opinion, but her mother had her way in spite of it, and went on with her preparations, while Josephine sulked, and declared her intention of avoiding them entirely, and never, in any way, coming in contact with them. Still, there was a consolation in the fact that the small room she was compelled to take was down stairs, and so far removed from the boarders that they would not know how late she was out on the street with admirers, of which she haul several, or how long they staid with her after she came in. Josephine liked the kind of life she was loading at present. N0 lady in town dressed hetier than she did, and though she knew that people commented upon it, and wondered where she got the money, and hinted at things whivh no real modest women would like to have laid to her charge, she did not care, so long as she knew it was all right, and that some day everything would be explained, and she stand acquitted before the world, which criticised her so un~ mercifully. but. because there was no tangible pvoof ag finst her, noticed her just the édme as if there were no breath of suspicion atheh- ing to her name. 8113. would be noticed, and She did not went a lot of women in the house, anyway, she said; they were a nuisance, and made as much trouble again as men. They were 1 ever satisfied with their board, were always in the kitchen washing out their pocket-handkerchiefs, heat‘ ing flutirons and making a muss generally. For her part. she liked to be free to do as she liked without. the fear of being torn into shoe-strings by some meddling, jealous old women. If they must have boarders, take gentlemen ; there were plenty who would be glad to come. She would rather have clerks, or even mechanics, than the fine lady they described and a sick women with her brats. and blue as a Whetstone undoubtedly, inas- much as she was a. missionary’s wife. She’d be wanting family prayers and a blessing at the table, and be horrified to know there were two packs of cards in the house, and that they were used, too I And this was about the state of affairs when Beatrice rammed the Fleming house with Mrs. Morton, who, contrary to her expectations, was plowed at once. Agni-is was very fond ofehildren, and when she had arranged the tray for Mrs. Morton, she Lumed to the little ones and tried to coax them to 1191' side. Bunchie came at once, but but Trixey held aloof. and, with her hands behind her, watched the women curiously, and it would seem without a very complimen- b111y veidiet in he1 favor.Tr1xey was fond ol b1ight gay colon; and elegant apparel. Heatrice s style suited her belter than this i ided, spirltless woman, whom she, neverthe- less, regarded very intently, and at last star- lled with the question : “How did you look when you were new ‘2” i “011 Tiixcy l ” Mrs Mo1ton and Beat- ir1ce both exclaimed in a breath, feming lest Agnes’ feelinls should Le hurt, but she only lau ghed a. hearty, merry laugh, which chan- 1 “eds her face completely and made it almost ‘10ng 11nd pre'ty as she 5 id. â€" MRS. FLEMING'S BOARDERS. It was a. lofely sunn..er day when the party arrived at Holbulton and were driven to the brown house on the common, where they found evorvthing in re:.diness for them, and Mrs. Fleming and Agneq wnibing to )eceive them. Josephine was not visible, for she had rczo'sute1y set her face against them. “I don‘t know how I looked, it was so very long mm ; but I love littie girls like you, and my old black hands have made them so many pies and cakes, and paper dollies, and they shall make some for you, If you’ll let me kiss you.” FORREST HOUSE. v Txixey was won by this, and when Agnes went back to the kitchen she was followed by bo‘h the children, who were intent upon the httle cakes she had made that morning in expectation of them coming. Josephine had watched the arrival of the ladies through the half~closed chuttcrs, de- ciding that Mrs. Morton was a dowdy country woman, and that Miss Belknap was very ele gent even in her plain travelling dress, and that. perhaps. she was somebody whom it would be policy to cultivate. But she would not present herself that afternoon; she was tired, and wished to keep herself fresh for evening, when she expecth a call from a young man from Albany, whose mother had taken rooms at the hotel forthe summw, and whom she had met at a. picnic the day be- fore. The next day was Sunday, and though breakfast was served later than usual, Joseph< ine was later still. and the meal was nearly half over when she entered the room, attired VOL XXIII. BY MARY J. HOLMES. CHAPTER XXV. “ I think I heard so. Everard was very fond of his mother,” Josephine said; and then. after a. pause, she added. “Judge For- rest is very wealthy, and very aristocratic, isn’t he 7” At the mention of Rothsay, Josephine started, and there was an increase of color in her face, but otherwise she was very calm, and her voice was perfectly natural as she repeated the word Rothsay, evidently try- ing to recall something connected with that place. At last she succeeded, and said, "Rothsay â€"Rothsay in Ohio. Whv that’s where Mr. Forrest lives. Mr. J. Everard Forrest, jr. He boarded with mamma two or three years ago. He was in college at Am- herst. Probably you know him,” and the blue eyes looked very innocently at Beatrice, who, warned bv the perfect acting to be cau- tious and guarded, replied, “Oh, yes. I know Everard Forrest. His mother is a distant relative of mine. She is dead. Did you know ‘2" How beautiful she was, with those great dreamy blue eyes. those delicately chiseled features. and that dazzling complexion, which Bee thought at first must be artificial, it was so pure, and white and smooth. But she was mistaken, for Josephine’s complexion had never known powder or paste, or wash of anv kind. It was very brilliant and fresh, and she looked so young and innocent, and child- like, that Beatrice found it hard to believe there was aught of guile or deceit in her. Everard must have become morbidly sensi- tive to any faults she might have, and Bee’s thoughts were at once busy with what she meant to do for this estranged couple. There must be much of good in her. Surely that face and those eyes, which looked so confid- ingly at you, could not cover a bad heart. Weak and vein, and faulty she might be, but not bad ; not treacherous and unwomanly, as EVel‘ard believed, and Beatrice was so glad she had come there to see and judge for herâ€" self. Every action was perfectly lady-like, every movement graceful, while the voice was soft and low, and well-brel in its tone ; and during the few moments they talked together after breakfast, Beatrice felt herself fascinated as she had never been before by any human being. As she was tired, and had a slight headache, she did not go to church that morning, but saw Josephine leave the house, and watched her out of sight with feelings of wonder and perplexity. Could this be the wornin whom Everard regarded with so much disgust? the Joe Fleming whom she had thought so detestable? Nor was her wonder at all diminished when. that afternoon, she found Josephine in the garden, seated under a. tree with Bunchie in her lap and Trixey at her side, listening in- tently while she told them the story of Moses in the bulrushes. They had heard it before, but it gained new power and interest when told in Josephine’s dramatic way, and they hung on every word, and when it was) done begged her for another. Surely here was more of the angel than the fiend, and Beatrice, too, sat down, charmed in spiie of herself, with the girl she had expected to despise. “She must be good, and Everard is surely mistaken," she thought, and her admiration was at its height when Josephine finished her stories and began to talk to her. Mrs.’ Flem- ing had received an impression that Miss Bel- knnp was from New York, and Josephine be- gan to question her of that city, asking if she had always lived there. “ He was always called so, and the Forrest property is said to be immense,” Beatrice re- plied, quieting her conscience with the fact that, so far as the judge was concerned, she had put him in the past tense. and spoken of what he was once rather than What he was at present, but Josephine paid no attention to tenses, and had no suspicion whatever of the truth. Mrs. Fleming was accustomed to all man- ner of moods and freaks in her daughter. but the kissing was something new. and sur- prised her a little, especially as there were no gentlemen present to witness the pretty, childish scene. She passed it off, however, naturally e‘ ough, and introducing her daugh- ter to the ladle; went on serving the break- fast. Agnes waited upon the table. and so there was no kiss for her, only a gracious nod and a “good morning, sister," as if this was their first meeting, when, in fact, Agnes had been in and out of Josephine’s room three or four times, carrying hot water, and towels, and soap. But Agnes was accustomed to such things and made no sigh, except as a slight flush passed across her pale face, which was unobserved bV B ‘atrice. who was giving all her attention to the young beauty, sipping her coffee so leisurely, and saying pretty things to Trixey. “ I was born there.” Beatrice replied, “but. I was educated in Paris, and my home is really in Rothsay, a little town in southern Ohio.” She was really a good deal startled and shaken, mentally. notwithstanding the calm- ness of her demeanor. Here was a perzon from Rothsay who knew Everard Forrest. and who might be of great service to her in the future. and it behooved her to be on her best behaviour. “Late again, as usual, mamma, but you must excuse me. I am so SFeepyf‘ then, \v‘th a graceful recognition of the strangers, she took her seat at the table by the side of Trixey, whom she patted on the head, saying: “And how is the little girl, this morning ! “Is Everard married yet ?” she asked after a moment. "Married 1" Beatrice repeated. and she felt the color rising in her face. "Why, he has not his profession yet. but is studying very hard in his father’s ofiice." “Ah, yes. I remember, he intended to be a lawyer. I liked him very much, he was so pleasant and gentlemanly,” Josephine said, and there was & drooping of the heavy lashes over her blue eyes, as if with regret for the past when she knew and liked Everard For- rest. in a blue cambric gown, with gold pedants in her ears, aad 21. bit of honeysuckle at her throat. There was a very sweet, apologetic expression on her face as she went up-to her mother and kissed her good morning, saying, coaxmgly: “But is there no one to whom he is par- ticularly attentive ?” she asked. "He used to be very fond of the girls, and there must be some one in Rothsay suitable for him, or is his father so proud that he would object to everybody 2" Beatrice knew perfectly well what J oseph- ine meant, and answered that she had heard the Judge was very particular, and would resent a. marriage which he thought beneath his son, "but, if the woman was good, and true, and pure, and did her best,Ithinkit would all be well in time," she added, as an encouragement to this girl in whom she was trying to believe; and Josephine continued : “ He used to speak of a little girl, Rosa- mond, I think. was the name. She must be well grown by this time. Is she threre 130W ?’_’ “ You mean Rossie Hastings, his adopted sister. Yes, she is there still, and a very nice, womanly little thing. She is sixteen, I belieVe, though she seems to me younger,” Beatrice said. and the impression lefu on Josephine‘s mind of Rossie was of a child, in whom Everard could not be greatly interested except in a brotherly way. She had made all the inquiries she cared to make just. then, lest she should excite sus- picion in Beatrice, and was meditating a. re- treat, when the sound of rapid wheels reached RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 1880, “ He is very different to that now,” Beat- rice replied, rousing up at once in Everard’s defence. " Of course he can never look like anything but a gentleman. out he wears h‘s coats and boots and hats until; they are po~i- tiv/ely shabby. It would slméfif) seem as if he were hoarding up money-for some particular purpose, be is so careful about expense. He neither smokes, nor chews, nor drinks, and it is said of him that he has not a. single bad habit; his wife. should he ever have one, ought to be very proud of him.” ‘ Beatrice was very eloquent and earnest in her praises of Everard, and watched closely the effect on Josephin . There cextainly was a diffm'ent‘cx N‘ -S~V1&7iri face as she lis tened to this high“' encomn‘: on her husband, Whnse econom: es she well knew were practised for her, and there was something like a. throb of gratitude or afiection in her heart when she heard that the money she had supposed was given him by his father was earned or saved by himself, that she might be daintily clothed. “ I am delighted with this good account of him. and so will mamma. be,” she said; “ he must have changed so much. for he was very extravz‘ aunt. and reckless when we knew turn, but I liked him exceedingly.” swered loftily : x “ Certainly do as you think test. If you won’t ride with me I must find some- body who will. I wish you good afternoon, ladies.” Touching his hat very politely he walked away; but Josephine could not let him go in this mood. He was her latest conquest, and she arose and followed him, and walked with him to the gate, and said to him apologetically: " I {vantvto go iwfully, but it will never do with a. missionarxs family in the hpugefi’ “ Yes, I know ; but there are other days than Sunday, and there are lots of girls ach- ing to go with you to-day,” Josephine said, as she fastened a. little more securely the bouquet in his button-hole, and let her hands rest longer on his coat-glee“ than was ne- cessary. 5 Again there was the sound of wheels stop- ping before the gate, and exeusing herself, Josephine hurried away to meet the second gallant who had come to take her to ride. 05 course she could not go, and so the young man staid with her, and Walter Gerard drove back that way, and seeing her in the parlor tied his horse to the fence and came sauntering in with the air of one sure of a. welcome. Josephine did not appear at the tea-table, but Beatrice saw Agnes: taking in a. tray into the parlor, and knew the trio were served in there, and felt greatly shocked and disgusted when she heard the clock strike twelve before the sound of suppressed voices and laughter ceased in the parlor, and the two buggies were driven rapldly away. The next day Josephine wrote Everard the firs: real letter she had sent him for many weeks. Heretofore she had merely acknow- ledged his drafts made payable to her mother, but now the filled an entire sheet, and called him her dear husband, and told him of Miss Belknap's presence in the house. and what she had said of his habits and strict economy. Young Gerard was surprised, for he had not expected to find conscientious samples in the girl who, the previous night, had played euchre with him until half-past ele Jen, and then stood another half hour at the gate, laughing and flirting with.him, though she had met him but once before. “ Bother take ihe misgionaries.” he 7 said. “ I wanted to show you how fast Dido can trot.” Then be bad.‘ ' ‘* df‘gQg I; and drove ofi, while Josephine return to Beabiice and said laughingly: “ What bores boys of a Certain age aregmd how they always fasten up n a girl older than themselves 1 This Gerarg cannot be over twenty. He reminds me a. little in his dress of Everard Forrest when he first came here, so fastidious and elegant, as if he had just stepped from a hajndboxfl’ “I know it is all for me," she wrote, ‘- and I felt like crying when she was talking about you. I am so glad she told me, for it has made me resolve to be worthy of you and the positionlam one day to fill as your wife. When will that be, Everard ‘2 Must we wait for ever? Sometimes I get desperate, and a, n tempted to start at once ., for Rothsay and, facing your father, tell him the truthv and brave the storm which I suppose would follow. But then I know you would be angry at such a proceeding, and so I give it up, and go on waiting patiently, for I do wish to please you, and am glad this Miss Belknap is here, as I am sure of her friendship when the time of trial comes. She is very sweet and lovely, and I wonder you did not prefer her to your unworthy but loving Joseyz” He was not accustome$ 1:9 be thwarted, and he showed that he was unfioyéfl, and an- “ Bat I shan’t take ’em. I shall wait for yoa,” he answered, quite soothed and mollified. ti’Tha‘HlusVyou, Mr. Gerard', but I do not often ride on Sunday. Some other day I shall be happy to go With you, for I data on fast horses, but now you must ex. cuse me.” them, and amoment after a tall, slender yomg man, not over twenty. came down the walk flourishing his little cane and showing plainly the haltfledged boy, who was begin- ning to feel all the independence and superior- ity of a. man. Bowing very low to Bea- trice, to whom he was introduced as Mr. Gerard from Albany. he told Josephine he had come to ask her to drive after his fast l‘orse. “You were at church all the morn- il‘g, and deserve a. little recreation,” he aid, as he saw signs ofrefusnl in Josey. who, sme that Miss Belknap would not accept a like invitation, felt that she, too, must re- fuse; so she said very sweetly and a little regrovingly : __~d-.'1 Beatrice also wrote to Everard that day, and told him where she was, and why, and said of Josephine, “there must be good in her, or she could not seem so sweet, and amiable, and afiectionate. A little vain she may be and fond of attention, and why not? She cannot look in the glass and not know how beautiful she is. And her voice is so soft and low and musical, and her manners so lady-like. You see I am more than half in love with her, and I am quite disposed to advise a recognition on your part of her claim upon you. 0f courseI shall not betray you. That is not my business here. I came to see what this girl is, whose life is joined with yours. I find her quite up to the aver- age of women. and think it your safer course to acknowledge her, and not leave her sub- ject to the temptations which must necessar ily beset a pretty woman like her, in the shape of admiration and attention from every marriageable man in town. It is your safer way, Everard, for remember there is a. bar between you and any other face which may look to you inexpressibly fair and sweet. and all the sweeter and fairer because possession is impossible." Thbse letters reached Everard the same even- ing, and he found them in his office (in his return from the Forrest House, where he had sat with Roasie an hour on the piazza, with the moonlight falling on her face and soften- ing the brillianey of her great blackJ eyes. Josnrnmu’s CONFIDENCE. CHAPTER XXVI. But Mrs. Julia was not deceived. Her great black eyes read the girl aright, and when she saw a female figure steal cautiously up the walk into the house, and heard the footsteps of two or three indlviduals going down the road, she guessed who the “hired girls” were. and Josephine suspected that she did, and removed her trystingplace from the horse-block to the rear of the garden, where she was out of ear-shot of the “old mode,” as she styled Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Hayden. And ‘here she received her friends, as she called themâ€"and laughed, and flirted, and played with them, but was very careful not to overstep certain bounds of pro- priety, and thus give Everard an excuse on which to base an action for divorce, should he ever bring himself to consider such an act, which she doubted. He was too proud for that, and would rather live with and dis- like her, than repudiate her openly, and bring a stain upon the Forrest name. It was im- possible for her to understand his real feelings towards her. Indifierent he was, of course. and sorry, no doubt, for the tie which bound them; but she was so thoroughly convinced of her own charms and power to fascinate, that she had little fear of winning him back to something like allegiance when she once had him under her influence again. He could not resist her; no man could, except the old judge ; and score in this belief, she went on her way, while Beatrice watched her narrowly. and began at last to believe there was no real good in her. How beautiful those eyes were to him now, and how modestly and confidently they looked up occasionally in his face, and drooped beneath the long lashes which rested on the fair cheeks. She was so sweet and loving, this pu. e, fresh young girl ; and her face and eyes haunted Everard all the way down the avenue and the long street to his office. where he found his lettersâ€"one from Beatrice, one from Josephine, and the last he saw first, recoiling from it as from a ser- pent‘s touch, and remembering with a bitter pain the face seen in the moonlight, and the pressure of the hand he had held in his at parting. Then he took Bee‘s letter and turned it over, an} saw it was post- marked at Holburton.and With a start of fear and apprehension tore it open and read it eagerly. “ But I shall never do it," he said, as he read Bee’s advice with regard to recognizing Josephine. “ The goodness is not there; and so Bee will discover if she stops there long enough.” Thus the young mam reasoned, While he tore Josey‘s letter into shreds, which he tossed into the waste basket. He did not believe in her or intend to answer it, for whenever he thought of her now, it was as he saw her last, at midnight, in the ear, sleeping on Dr. MILL thewson‘s arm. He wrote to Beatrice. how- ever, within a, few says, expressing his surr prise at what she had doneâ€"and telling her that any interference between Josephine and himself was useless,'a.nd that if she staid long in Holburton, she would probably change her mind with regard to the young lady. And in this he was right, for before 1uis letter reached Holburton, Beatrice and Mrs. Morton both had learned that the voice, so soft and flute-like and well-bred when it ad- dressed themselves, had another ring when alone in the kitchen with Agnes. who dredged from morning till night. that the unusually large household might be kept up. There were more boarders now in the house, for Mrs. Julia Hayden and husband had come to Holburton, hoping a change would benefit Mr. Hayden, who liked the quiet. pleasant town, and the pure air from the hills, which was not quite so bracing as that which blew down from the mountains around Bronson. The Haydens occupied the parlor below, greatly to the annoyance of Miss Josey, who was thus compelled to receive her numerous calls either in the dining-room or on the back piazza, or on the horseblock near the gate. It was not unusual for Josey to receive three admirers at a time, and she managed so admirably that she kept them all amiable and civil. though each hated the other cordially. and wondered why he would persist in coming where he was not wanted. Night after night Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Hayden were kept awake till after mid- night by the low hum of voices and occasion- al bursts of suppressed laughter which came from the vicinity of the horse-block. and when Mrs. Morton complained of it in the presence of Josephine, that young lady was very sorry, and presumed it was some of the hired girls in town, who had a great way of hanging over gates with their lovers, and sitting upon horse-blocks into all hours of the night. Then, as he finished her letter, he felt as if all the blood in his body were rushing to his head, for he guessed what she meant by “that other face. so ineypresnbly fair and sweet.” It was Rossic’s, and he ground his teeth to- gether as he thought of the bar which made it sinful for him to look too often upon that face, fast budding into rare beauty. lest he should find it too sweet and fair for his own peace of mind. And then he told himself that Rosamond was only his sister; his ward, in whom he must necessarily have an unusual interest. Beatrice was too fastidious, and did not trust enough to his good sense. He was not in love with Rosamond, nor in dan- ger of becoming so. v “ The most shameless flirt I ever saw, with claws like a. cat," Mrs. Hayden said of her, â€" “ why, she has actually tried her power on Harry, and asked him so insinuatingly and pityingly if he really thought oatmeal agreed with him as well as a juicy steak or mutton- chop.” bee laughed merrily at the idea of Josey’s casting her eyes upon poor, shrivelled, dys- peptic Harry Hayden, whom to do her jus. tice, she did pity, for the cold baths he was compelled to take every morning, and the rigid diet on which he was kept. That he lacked brain force as his wife asserted, she did not doubt, or he would never have submitted as meekly as he did. with the stereotyped phrase, “Julia knows best ;” but she pitied him just the same, and occasional- ly conveyed to him on the sly hot cups of beef-tea or mutton-broth, and once coaxed him to drink lager beer, but Mrs. Julia found it out by the culprit’s breath, and disliked Josey worse than ever. It. was now five weeks since Beatrice came to Holburton, and as Mrs. Morton did not seem to improve, she was thinking of finding another place for her, when Josephine came to her one morning as she was sitting alone with her work, and taking a seat beside her, began to talk of herself and the life she was leading. “ I am of no use to any one,” she said, “for both mother and Agnes are afraid I shall soil my hands or burn my face. I am tired of this kind of life. I went to see the world and have larger experiences ; and for- tunately I have an opportunity to do so. When I was at the sea-aide [met a widow lady.a. Mrs. Arnold. who is rich and an invalid. She was kind enough to pretend to like me, and I think she did, for I have received eleLter from her, asking me to go as eeompanion with her to Europe, she defraying all the expenses, of course, and leaving me nothing to do but to make myself agreeable to her, and enjoy what I see. Now, would you go or not? ?” “ 1 think I would,” Beatrice replied, for it seemed to her as if thls going to Europe would somehow be the severing link between Ever- ard and Josephine. Some'hing would happen to bring on the crisis which must come sooner or later. “Iflwould go, most certainly,” she said eefy again, and then she asked some questions concerning Mrs. Arrold, whose letter Josey sho fled to her. Evidently she was not a woman) of great discernment or culture. but she was sincere in her wish to take Josephine :broad, and disposed to be very generous with er. “ She will be gone a year at least, and pos- sibly two, and I can see so myth in that time. I am quile [Izzy with anticipation.” Jose- phine said, while Beatrioe entered heart and soul into the project, which wens soon known to the entire household. That. night young Gemrd from Albany called on Josephine as usual. and hearing of the proposed trip to Europe ofl‘ered himself to her, and cried like a baby when she gave him her final The news of the intended journey made Everard wild with delight, for,with the ocean between them, he felt that he should almost be free again ; and he sent her a. hundred dollars, and told her he hoped she would en- joy herself, and then, intoxicated With what seemed to him hke his freedom, went up to see Rosamond, and stayed with her until the clock was striking ten, and Mrs. Markham came into the room to break up the tete-a- tete. IL was near the lust of October when Bee returned to Rothsay. where Everard greeted her gladly as one who could understand and sympathize with him. It had come to him at last like a shock that he loved Rosamond Hastings as he had never loved Josephine, even in the days of his wildest infatuation ; and far different from that first feverish, un- healthy passion of his boyhood was this mightier love of his maturer manhood. which threatened at last to master him so com- pletely that be determined at last to go away from Rothsay for a month, and, amid the wilds of California. and the rocky dells of Oregon try to forget the girl whom to love was a s‘n. “no.” and made him understand that she meant it. But she held his hand in hers ard tl‘ ere was one of her tears on his boyish fa 38 When at last he said good-night and walked away, somewhat soothed and com- forted with the thought that he was to be her fiiP‘ld of friends, the one held as the dearest 3rd best in her memory when she was far 0w; the sea. It was the last day of August that the Nova Zembla sailed out of the harbor of Boston with Josephine on board, her fair hands wav- ing kisses and adieux to the two men on the shore, watching her so intentlyâ€"young Ger- ard and old Captain Sparksnvho had followed her to the ver;7 last, each Vieing with the other in the size and cost of the bouquets, which filled one entire half of a table in the dining saloon, and stamped as somebody the beautiful girl who paraded them rather osten- tatiously before her fellow passengers. For two days they adorned the table at which she sat. and filled the saloon with per- fume, and were examined and talked about. and she was pointed out as that young lady who had so many large and elegant bou- quets ; and then, the third day out, when their beauty and perfume were gone, they were thrown overboard by the cabin-boy, and a great wave came and carried them far out to see, while Josey lay in her berth limp, wretched and helpless, with no thought of flowers, or Gerard. or Captain Sparks, but with a feeling of genuine longing for the mother and Agnes, whose care and ministra- tions she missed so much in her miserable condition. After this there was nothing for Everard to do but to take up his burden and carry it away with him to the Far W hoping to leave it there. But he did nownd he came back to Bothsay to find Rossie,‘ weeter, fairer than ever, and so unfeignedly l “ to see him that for an hour he gave himse f up to the happiness of the moment, and defying both right and wrong. said things which deepened the bloom on Rossie’s cheeks. and brought to her eyes that new light which is so beautiful in its dawning, and which no one can mistake who is skilled in its signs. EVENTS OF ONE YEAR AT THE FORREST HOUSE To Beatrice he confessed everything, and rebellei hotly against the barswhich kept him from his love. He had thought of divorce, he said. He could easily obtiin one under the circum- stances. but he was sure Rossie would never believe in any divorce which was rot sanctioned by the Bible. He had assumed a case similar to his own, which he preteJded was pending in court, and warmly espousing the husband’s cause, had asked Rosamond if she did not think it perfectly right for the man to marry again. And she had answered decidedly : “I should despise him and the woman who married him. I abominate these divorces so easily obtained. It is wicked, and God will never forgive it.” He did not tell her he loved her ; but he told her how he had missed her, and how she alone had brought him back sooner than he had meant to come. And with a. shyness which sat so prettily on her, and a. drooping of the eyelids, she listened to him,snd though she said but little, the mischief was doneand never again would her eyes meet his as frank- ly and readily as before. Something in the tone of his voxce and the unwonted tender- nesg ofhis manner kindled a fire in that young heart which many waters could not extin- guish, and to Russia it came with a thrill, half fearful, half ecstatic, that she loved Everâ€" ard Forrest, not as a. sister loves a brother or friend loves friend, but as a true, good wo- man loves the one who to her is the only man in all the world. But could she have followed him back to his room she would scarcely have known the whiteâ€"faced, hag- gard man whom the dawn found with his head resting upon the table, where it had lain most of the night, while he fought the demon trying so hard to conquer him. He must not love Rosamond Hastings ; he must not let her love him ; and to prevent it he must tell her the whole truth, and this was what he was trying to make up his mind to do. Possibly his resolution to confess the whole to Rosamond was in a measure prompted by a sudden fear which had come upon him lest the knowledge of his marriage should reach her through some other channel. On his re- turn from Oregon, and before he went to the Forrest House, he had found several letters which had come during his absence, and which had been forwarded. One was from Josephine, who was still abroad and perfectly happy, if her word was to be believed. She had found Mrs. Arnold everything that was kind, and generous, and considerate; and made many delightful acquaintances ; had learned to speak both German and French, and had come across Dr. Matthewson, who was at the same hotel with herself, the Vic- toria, in Dresden. This letter did not particularly affect Ever- ard either way. Dresden was very far ofi’,and Josephine might remain abroad another year, and into that time so much happiness might be crowded that he would take the gold offered him, and not cross the river of difficulty until be fairly reached it. But on his return from the Forrest House he found two more letters on his desk, one post-marked at Dresden, the other at Hol~ burton, and this he opened first. It was from Agnes, and had been some time on the road. and told him that Mrs. Fleming had died suddenly, after an illness of two days only, and Agnes was left alone There was still a mortgage on the house, she WHOLE NO. l,145.â€"-NO, 2 CHAPTER XXVII. said. ard after that was paid. and a few debts they were owing. there would be little left for l her, and this little she must. of course, divide with Josephine. She offered no com- plaint, nor asked for any help. She said she could take care 0t herself, either as house- keeper. cook or nurse, and, on the whole, she seemed to be in a very resigned and cheerful state of mind for a. person left so entirely alone. The other letter proved to be from a Cincinnati acquaintance. with whom he had once been at school, and who had recently married and gone abroad. and wasin Dresden at the Victoria Hotel, wher ,‘he said. there were many pleasant Am ' L both from Boston and New York," and Everard felt morally sure that the pleasant people from Boston were Mrs. Arnold and Josephine. And his friend Phil. Evarts was just the man to be attracted by Josey, even 11 he had a. hundred wives, and Josephine was sure to meet him more than half way,and findout first that he was from Cincinnati. and then thathe ‘ had been in Rothsavand knew Judge Forrest's family, and thenâ€"a cold sweat broke out all over Everard’s face as he thought, what then ? while something whispered to him, “ Then you will reap the fruit of the deception prac- ticed so long, and you deserve it, too.” Everard knew he decerved it, but “hen one is reap'ng the whirlwind. I do not think it is any comfort to know that he has sown the wind, or this harvest would never have 13 en. It certainly did not help Everard. but rather added to the torments he endured as he thought of Josephine, enraged and infuri- a‘ed, swooping down upon him, bristling all over with injured innocence, and making for herself a. strong party, as she was suue to do. But worse than all would be the utter loss of Rossie, for she would be lost to him for ever, and possibly turn against him for his duplicity, and that he could not hear. He knew how she would look,â€"not scorn- fully and angrily upon him,â€"â€"hut so sorry, so disappointed, and that would hurt him worse than her contempt. How fair and sweet she seemed to him, as he went over all the past as connected wi'h her. re- membering, first, the quaint, oldiashioned child he had teased so unmercifully, and of whom he had made a very slave ; then the girl of fifteen, Whose honest eyes had looked straight into his without a. shadow of shame or consciousness, as she asked to be his wife ; and, lastly. the Rossie of to-day, the Rossie of long dresses and pure womanhood, who was so pure to him that to have had her for his own for one short, blessed year, he felt that he would give the rest of his life. But that could not be. She could never be his, even were he free from the hated tie. as he could be so easily. In her single-heartedness and truth she would never rec ignize as valid any separation save that which death might make, and this he dared not wish for, lest to hisiother sins thatof murder s‘iou'd be added. He must tell her. and she “ould forgive him, even while she banished him from her pres- ence; but after she knew it, whmse op nion was worth more to him than that of the whole world, he could bJar whitever else might come. But how could he tell her? Verbally; and so see the surprise, and dis- appointment, and pain which would succeed each other so rapidly in those clear innocent eyes which faithfully mirrored what she felt. He knew there would be pain, for, as he loved her, so he felt that she cared or could care for him, if only it Were right for her to do so, and selfish as he was, it hurt him cruelly that she must suffer through his fault. But it must be, and, at last, concluding that he never could sit face to face with her while he confessed his secret, he decided to write it out and send it to her, and then wait a. few days before going to see the effect. He made this resolve just as the autumnal morning shone full into his room, and he heard across the common the bell from his hoarding-house summoning him to breakfast. But he could not eat, and, after a vain effort at swallowing a little cofiee, he went back to his office. where, to his utter amazement and discomfiture, he found Rosamond herself seated in his chair and smiling brightly upon him as he came in. " I’ll te'll her to-morrow, so help me Heaven!” he said, as he laid his throbbing head upon his writing-table and fried to think how he should commence, and what shewould 53X: “ 0h, Rossie. Rossfe," he gasped, as if the sight of her unnerved him entirely, “why dld youpomg here ll}_i3_ morning :2“ fihe did not tell him why she camn, for she forgou her errand entvrely, in her alarm at he \vhne, haggard face, and the strangeness of his manner. When he was with her the night before, she had forgotten to speak to him of a certain matter of business which must be attended to thmt day. and immediately after breakfast, which was always early at the Forrest House, she had walked down to the office. and telling the boy in attendance that he need not wait until Mr. Forrest‘s return. she sent him to his breakfaatmnd was there alone when Ever- urd came in. “ Oh. Mr. Everard,” she cried, for she called him “Mr. Everard" still, as she had done when a child. “You are sick. Whit is uhe mater? Sit down, and let me do some- thing fur 3011. Are you faint, or what is it 7” and talking to him all the time, she made him sit down, in Ihe chair she vacated. and brought him some water. which he refused, and then, standing beside him, luid htr sof’t, cool hand upon his forehead, and asked if the pain was there. At the touch of those hands Everard felt he was losing all his self‘command. Except as he 11 1d held them a moment in his own when he met her, or said goodâ€"bye, he had not felt those dainty fingets on his fle>h since the weeks of his sickness after his mother’s death, when Rossie had been his nurse, and smoothed his aching brow as she was doing now. Then her hands hadastrange power to soothe and quiet him, but now they made him wild. He could not bear it, and, pushing her, almost rudely. from him, he exclaimed: “ Don’t, Rossie l I can’t bear that you should touch There were tears in Rossie’s eyes at being so repulsed, and for an instant her cheeks grew scarlet with resentment. but before she could speak, overcome by an impulse he could not resist, Everard gathered her swiftly in his- arms, and kissing her passionately, said : “ Forgive me, Rossie. I did not mean to be rude, but why did you come here this morning to tempt ma. Iwas going to write and tell you what I ought; to ’hlve told you long ago, and the sight of you makes me such a coward. Resale. my darling ;â€"I will call you so once, though it‘s wrong, its wicked â€"remember that. I am not what I seem. I have deceived you all these years since father died, and before, tooâ€"long before. You cannot guess whata wretch I It was a long time since ltossie thought of Joe F1eming,with Whom she believed Everard had broken altogether ; but she remembered him now, and, at once attributing Everard’l trouble to that source, she said, in her old, child-like way : “ II’sJoe 'VFleming again, Mr. and I hoped you were done with ever.” She was very pale and her eyes had a. startled look, for the sudden cares; and the words “ my darling,” had shaken her nerves, and aroused 1n her a tumult of joy and dread of she scarcely knew what ; but she looked steadily at Everard, who answered her bitterly : “Yes. it is Joe Fleming-always Joe Flem- lugâ€"and I am going to tell you about it ; but, Rossie, you must promise not to hate me, or I never can tell you. Bee knows and does not hate me. Do you promise, Rossie ?” She never suspected anything. The shrewd, far-seeing onee, who scent evil from afar, would say of her that she was neither deep nor quick. and possibly she was not. Wholly guileless herself, she never looked for wrong “Yes, I promise, and I’ll help you if I can,” Roasie said, without the slightest suspicion of the nature of the trouble. [CONTINUED ON Founrn mam) Everard, him for