C^e Stb gorh ftabtr
IS PUBLISHED WEEKLY,
Al «5 BKEHSAN STREET.
Jaues H. WEU*. > _ •
The la«M Is a ant^T^r. of Urge drcnlatlon,
■TMkM desirable ad«*isi»« medium to thebusinew
wmmimiij of Sew Tork and vicinity. TermsiTeu een*
per line f..r Regular Advertisements, first insertion; ench
subseqn ont insertion. Flee cents per line. Special Adver-
■semen '*. at special rates.
The paper ta sold by all News Dealers. Single copies.
Pooa tis.iis. By maU, $1.80 per annum.
WELSH k Co.
[Writti n for lhe New York Leader.]
..^ViTHKR IS UMtfl
WCttlED TO UBS. MAW.* H. BKIXK. Of SIW TOES.
BT J*'HA I. CA1S.
An hour, hardly, of time's sand con pan,
JVom ono receiver to tho other glass;
Ay, eveu lc«—a moment scarce elapse
Uncounted and unnumberod, too, perhaps,
Beforo that sky, whose autre hues excel.
All that a mortal's pen or brush can tell.
Shall straight hare vanished, and its place be given
To clouds of night by blast and tempest driven;
While these dark bodies meeting in their speed,
Eniil m forked tongue of flery red,
And quickly lollowing on the lightning's ray
Crashes deep thunder. Then, in wild dismay,
The leader cloudlets tortured by their fears,
Drop from their brea.-U their soO, heart-nurtured tear*.
Which falling earthward, midway meet the blast,
And oft"arc carried, till congealed at last
Tliey drop to earth; and sadly mourn their ItH?.
Exiled from Heaven by sach tyrannic force.
Kow madly tossed upon the boiling main.
Twist those deep straits of Africa and Spain,
A frigate, with a precious freight of souls
Waa scudding for her life with bare, black pt.les
Hard wx- she pressed, but bravely rode she on,
Skimming the inky wares now skyward borne,
Then Heel descending to the depths beneath,
Sheeted with spray as with a snowy wreath;
And though the whirlwind swept her in its track
Tet the wronged surges held her fondly back
As o'or her m.■ -.U now bending in the blast,
Cutrtnd tlte wild gale all moaning love drove past
But 'Wb net so with one unfortunate,
Who yielding to the lying blast, too late
Discovered the had parted with ber all,
To he deceived acd from high state to fall;
Mow lay she shattered on the maddened wave.
Rich with the other opening her a grave,
Struggling, dismantled, sinking, swamping deep.
Moaning her grief till e'en the fierce waves wi er
Throwing Ihcir pitying tears o'er her in spray,
iltflping her sorrowfully on her way.
II mkS now above the breaker's roar
And the maddened whirlwind's moati.
Lt heard lar oil" upon the waves
Tho sinking washod-olTs groan.
And from the cabin's gloomy depths
The crew rush to the deck,
Tach striving while he yet has strength
To save the ship from wreck.
Alas! Ihc wind more fiercely comes,
Aud lurid Dams it brings,
And ram comes pattering on their head-.
And Heaven with thunder rings.
The sky seems like a battle-field,
Tho lightnings vivid dash,
Followed by thunder deep and loud,
"ocinb'.ts tbe cannon's crash.
Although so weak, she dashes on
And seeiii' a thing of life,
And through tbe cloudward rising waves.
Her bows cut Uke a knifo.
WhiU those upon tne wave-washed decks
Watch every fall and bound,
All .-.:•.:.:■ *-i-ly, le*l Dually
Tlte trembling hull should found.
They've loose* the wreck, for now each Ufa
Depends upon their speed,
All safe!—now each one prayl that God
Will help him in his need.
Dismantled, sinking, leaking fast,
11.cy strive to save the wreck,
Ail man thc pumps and throw o'erboai■'.
The cargo from the deck.
-• Oown, down she goes, no hope, no lifal
Tit; boats are crowded full,
Are all ou board? thenotT they push
And landward strongly pull,
ihe night wears on and morning dawn*,
The wind and wares grow calm,
The sun arises on a sceno
Just vi sited by storm.
And as his rays illume the main
And^bis poor ware-washed deck,
They show tbe frigate rounding to
Beside the driniug wreck.
-Are they all dead—is there no life ?"
t'x'ir from lip to lip,
And instantly a dozon boats
From their chained moorings slip.
■ • Slip ahoy! ship ahoyl helm a starboard!
N'o answer, men, no answer to our call.
Where is the crew t is there no soul aboard I
Hare they all pcrishedT Pull away now, ah!"
'■ See on tint main deck, sinking in the surges.
Lwkl there's a white flag fluttering in the breeze S
See there again, as thc waves the deck submerges,
!■ utters tho signal! Bl must be on his knees!"
• • 11 il a uianf Nol it caa be nothing living:
Yor lo' it itiDves not! Now the white rag's plains
Nn'. it—YeB, Kick thero 1 Tho arm's a gesture giving
Itowu with your oars, meu! l'lill with mightaud main!''
"I-ookl we arc Hearing them!—pull long and strong now!
Out wilh your boat-hook—keep her off tho wrock!
'. il! gain the deck, now ! and see!—what! he lu*.**. es
Come, bear a hand there! Let's take him <t liekly
■* Shove off thc wrsck, now nothing else remains— here,
Quick to the ship again with our dying freight.
I poars (in.l man Ihe ropes—lift him gently—hare a
Kon't you sec he's almost dead? Up now with hiin to
s .iv i in wilh care they lay him on the deck,
-Strive to bring th^ Iile back to this human wreck,
Yet living, too! life hail not departed.
Pulse beating timidly, as through the veins blood durt-d;
Wine pour they ou bis lips, haply to revive him,
Uuggle' guggle! down it went and it did revive him.
Now opens he his ejes 'round the frigate gazing.
Seeming awakened from a dream horridly amazing.
' Wine, there
' Lift up hts drooling head
Now can none hear his voice? Hold, give hiiu room
I->au you and plase his mouth close up beside your
Next wheu ho tries to speak, listen you, and try to
NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 28, 1857.
PRICE FOUR CENTS.
that nurtured and sustained him in times of
his greatest suffering and anxiety ; this it was
that gave htm firmness, confidence, and power, before which tho rudest spirit bowed.
The man has gone, but hi has left indelible footprints ou the sand.; of time, liis example still remains—a beacon to the young,
thc admiration of the old. In hig death science has lost a devoted follower, literature a bright ornament, and humanity a frienti.
DR. KI.1S1IA KENT KANE
[Written for the New York Ix*alcr.]
WHAT THE JUDGE FORGOT.
[Written for the New Y'ork Leader]
STBAH&E KEY TB A STRAHEE CRIME
BY DR. JOSEPH SHAKPE.
• For time, at last. sot< all thiDj* even;
Aud ifwe do butwali'h thc hour
There never yet wai mortal power
Tliat could escaiw. if unforKiveii,
Tlie patient search and vigil long,
nf liim wliu treasures up a wruu^!*'
CHARACTER AND EXAMPLE
DE. E. K. KANE,
THE GREAT ARCTIC EXPLORER.
i IfriUen at.rei.~ly fir the Km Yuri: leader, by an hti-
r.ujte I'crsonal Ftvnd.)
A great man has fallen—oue of those bright
lights which ca=t their rays deeper and deeper
; iuto the realms of the unknown, and lay bare
, the mysteries of thc world, has been extin-
, guished. Dr. E. K. Kane is no more. After
'■ a life crowded with the useful and the mar-
J villous, devoted more to others than himself,
he died as he had lived—a man.
We dislike post mortem panegyrics, for '
where thc heart is interested our judgment is
■ too often warped, and we are led to over-
s estimate the character and acts of the deceased ; but we cannot refuse to give our
humble tribute to the memory of one who bc-
lo lged to theworid, and who lived for all men.
Dr. Kane was born in 1822—graduated in
the department? of Arts aud Medicine at tlie
University of Pennsylvania—entered the Navy
| as surgeon—went to China attached to the
i American Embassy—explored the Philippines,
I descended the famous crater of Tael—pene-
: tratcd India—visited the upper Nile—tra-
j versed Greece on foot—traveled Europe—
i penetrated the Barracoons of the African
j coast—was sent as Special Bearer of Dis-
' patches to General Scott, during the Mexican
| War—was attacked on the journey, and vanquished his enemy—took several distinguished
prisoners, and was himself wounded while defending them from the fury of his own men—
was attached to the Coast Survey under
Bache. and whilo thus employed was ordered
on special service to the Arctic Seas—in nine
I days he had passed Sandy Hook—after a pro-
| longed absence he returned—wrote a book
bring wine quick — now wet bis lips
See he stores to speak iu
which excited the admiration of the world,
and before it was fairly published was off
j again as Commander of a second Arctic Ex-
i pedition in search for Sir John Franklin—endured unparalleled privations and hardships—
| penetrated further north than any of his pre-
: deccssors—deterraiued the coast line of Grecn-
I land—solved the problem of an open Polar
j Sea—was obliged to abandon his vessel, and
j in retreating performed the most remarkable
j sledge journey on record—was sent after by
the United States Government, his own safety
bein a doubted— returned home —wrote another
. book more wonderful than the lirst—went to
! England and offered bis services for yet an-
j other search for Franklin—was reduced by
j disease and forced to leave—went to the Ber-
i raudas— thence to Havana, and there died.
All this aud much more of suffering and I was only a * dhrap."
| sickness was compassed in a short life of 33 ! to the success of the trial
: years, an age at which most men have
i scarcely developed themselves. No man
| ever lived so long and accomplished so much
in so short a time.
The full details of Dr. Kane's life have
becu so often spread before the public that
it seems useless to repeat them here, especially as this article has more to do with the
man than with his deeds.
Dr. Kane was a "little man,'7 much below
the average size, but hia frame, though apparently frail, was firmly knit and well proportioned. To this be added a physical
organization capable of wonderful endurance. His intellect—quick and subtle in action—was penetrating and grasping. There
was nothing hidden from it—nothing of value
wbich it failed to grasp. It waa eminently
analytic a9 well, resolving every sulject
iuto its original elemeuts, perceiving at once
its worth, and giving to it its true value.
About ten years ago, when emigration had
assumed a steady current toward the West,
and the wild solitudes of that country echoed
with the lusty notes of the hardy forester:
when tho giant trees and sturdy oaks fell lie-
fore the steps of the ruthless invader, no p'ace
could boast ofa more enterprising community
of settlers than Milwaukio. Wis., and we have
now in that beautiful city, tftaere only a short
time ago a few log cabins were thrown together, thc evidence of the enterprise, will,
and energy of the American people.
Impelled by high aspirations, and no less
with ajcindrcd feeling of success liefore them,
they overcame all obstacles, surmounted ivcry
dilBculty. and in the place of a few cleared
spotH they have planted aud reared a city,
whieh bids fair to outrival many of its sisters,
and in its growth presents a memento of w hat
a free people can achieve.
It is fair to suppose, win re so many different classes of individuals were congregated
together in oue place, that there were many
amusing incidents antl comical adventures
took place whieh would well be worth lhe
searching afttr; and Milwaukio at that time
■ oould toast of moro punsters, wits, and lm-
; morists than auy othor place round a! mi it that
! counlry. Among Ihe host of stories which
j aro included in tho list of current ones thero,
s i* a gtxxl one told of Judge S . wbo at that
j time was merely a practising lawyor, but now
I is one of thc Supreme Judges of Wisconsin,
i and a vory learned man.
] as follows:
During his professional lators at that time,
j he had associated with him a very able lawyer
by the name of Hawley, who was. apart from
his profession, a man who enjoyed the good
tilings of this life in an eminent degree, and
who could spiu a yarn or crack a joke with
the best of thein; but ttere was only ono drawback which could be fastened upon him; that
was, hi** liability to •• indulge" rather freely
on any exciting occasion. The Judg**. on the
contrary, wns a very temperate man, and if lie
ever did take a " smile." it was only with a
very particular friond.
One day in the fall of 1841?. the Judge and
Hawley had a trial coming on at a small placo
called 1'ort Washington, about 3D miles north
of Milwaukie, which was of a vory particular
character, and thi*y accordingly invited some
of thoir intimate friends to " go up."
Thoy all started off in high gleo, having in
anticipation a trial whieh would stamp the
Judge and Hawley as first-rate lawyers in the
profession—how thoy were stamped will lie
Thoy had proceeded about 12 miles ou their
journey when they drew rein at a small town,
and all proposed (except the Judge) to go in
and have a drink. " No! that would'nt do
at all." saitl lhe Judge : '• they would bejjn
here, and by tho time they arrived at Port
Washington they would all bo as • tight a-
mu-kets,' and Hawli-y and he about as capable
of trying a case as two fools." ' No! ho wa-'nt
going to tako anything anyhow—the rost
might, but ho must abstain." Well lhe wholo
amount of it was the Judge must drink, if it
Yes! he must drink
Here was a new
obstacle, wliich touched his prido. antl he
I finally concluditl to tako a little merely for the
success of the trial. The boys had now secured
their object in getting the Judgo to "smilo'"
and thev were thenceforth boundon by all the
! laws •' human and divine'" to " elect him sure."
They kept on in this manner, taking an occasional drink to the meats of thc coming trial.
1 al nearly evory stopping point until they ar-
[I'he flirt nuiiil«*r of tni-i story cive-i the ineiili uis
. ciinnerlcil wth the murder of BMaahMMW Burke, ln
I Broadway, in llii- ci'y. in the summer of ISifl, with
; the subsequent fliMinit, by the narrator, of a body,
j whieh, from pai*«r« afterward found in Ihe shanty
' which had been occupied by tho d. owned man, was
| known In be that of th.* m in who assassinated Burke.
Tlie second number introduces the man-inn of Philip
Reall, llsi)., en Ihc Shannon, iu Ireland, wilh the pre
I irm-o of a libertlno huiband, n n<*frlocte«t «jft. m,,!
| Ducie Zarnay, a beaulilul Polish girl who had been for
i ume months an inmate of the mansion—rin orphan.
i driven with her brother Paul from I'ol.n.d hy Russiau
i persecution. Pucie Is a companion to Maude Reall. and
t I'aul an assl-tant to U-irty Burke, the keeper of the
grounds. Reall has formml an linpnii*er attachment
I ler lhicie, and at tho time of the story o|>eiiiug treats
i lier with gross rudeness in his drawing room, an-1 af-
I t"rwanU violates the p-ivacy of ber rieefdf room,
' g'lziuu at the iricndle* girl in her sleep.)
vin opened thc door of Dude's sleeping apart- j and throw herself into the breach of et
ment, another hand—that of his wife—drew
silently ajar another on the opposite side of Ihc
room; and that when he stood so near the
sleeping orphan, a presence of which he did not
dream watched over her.
Maude Reall saw him gaze with unholy eyes
upon the lovely sleeper—sho saw, and it seemed that her throbbing emotions would choke
away her life. Once she wns on the point of
screaming, but thc impulse was repressed, as
many a kindlier one h td long ago been crushed away in her heart. Then she stood—her
nerves in the same terrible tension that they
migbt have borne iu the death struggle, her
white night robe gathered with a convulsive
pressure ofher hand against her hecrt. as if to
stay it from bursting—while the evil eye continued to gaze upon the sleeper.
The tortured woman could have borne but
little moro, but thnt little shc was not called
upon to Itcar. Sho saw her husband leave thc
room and close the door— noiselessly as he had
entered; and theu the outraged wife sought
agaiu her couch, to weep bitter tears of wrong
and shame from a fountain of which thc first
ablft of appreciating such a vision of light and
lovelinet* as Ducie, than would hare been nip-
He stepped quickly forward, ai be saw the
brother and sister moving towards him, and
"What is this, Paul? your sister going
"Yet," said Paul, "and II"
"Where, why ! Ducie, what docs it mean !
When did you make this strange resolution V
"But to-day, Mr. Burice," said the young
girl, bending her bead sadly on her breast
"I thought you were going to be a daughter
to the lady of Rathnevin," said Barty, earnestly, and with feeling, for the evident distress of the young girl won more upon him
"So we think; sometimes, without warrant!"
said Paul, bitterly. "We sometimes forget
our blood, and afterwards pay the penalty.
little remains of happiness that it would
create. But th* last weight had been added
to thc load upon her endurance—a trusting i My fister and Mni' Ilea11 haTC disagreed pain-
heart had been outraged until there was no ,l,l,y_,laTe Joa not. Ducie?—about some lit-
longer space left even for pity, and she was ! t,e matters that should nothavemade so mnch
hardened again in an instant. | trouble—nnd we are going away. We badar-
" Stay here," shc said hurriedly, as Ducie ! ranSed *° g° to-morrow: and I was thinking
rose from her kneeling position and dropped of our K°'ng when I spoke a little while ago
in an attitude of utter despair into a chair, | °' loi!'ng our homes. My sister thinks it is
j and she stepped for a moment out of tbc room.
I When she returned, shc bore a heavy purse.
'• See here,"' she said, as ehe took the purse I
| and forced" it into tne almost unconscious
hand of Ducie, " hore is gold—enough to win
you friends and give you a home elsewhere
. for many months. Take it—go"'
"Now?'' asked thc poor girl, without lifting
■ her eyes.
" Now, this moment," said the lady, with a
; quick and s'rong accent, '-now! sleep not
. another night under this roof! If you do, I
! cannot protect you, and I will not. Philip
| Reall—my husband." and she chocked down
j a terrible pang as she spoke the word, •' is at!
Askeaton this morning, presiding as a Justice—
spring had boen opened within a few months J justice! oh, what a mockery do men make of
Thc brother and sister stood on the bank
overlooking the Shannon, at early morning,
liefore the dew had been dried from the grass,
or the early birds cased their song in the
branches of thc trees near them. The most
glorious smile of June lay upon the scene
around them, but in the hearts of Iioth were
feelings that shut away all its beauty.
No greater contract could well have been
presented between brother aud sister, than that
betweeu Paul Zarnay and the lovely girl by
his sido. I havo said that Ducie wns lithe and
graceful in figuro as a willow w ami. with gentle eyes, and hair of sunny brown. lb*r faco
was lull of goodness, but thore was nothing of
strength aud firo, that would havo promised a
heroine in days of darkness and of danger.—
Paul Zarnay was the very opposite of this.—
"TT ' . His form was closely knit, and though neither
It is iu substance TT: ... ,, . . , ., •
< short nor tall, would have created the impression of his lieing stout. His face was chiselled
almost as nobly a.- that of Ducie, but thc com-
! plexion was daik, and the expression strong
1 and stern, and his hair was black as the raven's
Ducie in her morning rolic of white, aud
Paul in his woodman's suit of coarse russet,
stood with arms around each others waist—in
j the true confidence of brother and s'wtcr.—
■ But both were looking down, and neither spoke
| for a time. At length Paul was tho first to
I break the silence.
"May you not be mistaken, my little pot sis
ter!" he said. "Mr. Reall may have been
s merely in a playful humor, and caressed you
as he would bave done his greyhound or his
sister, had he one. Vou are nervous and frightened. May it notl*o ,,,*."
'•No, Paul, no!" said the yonng girl, draw-
I ing her arm still closer around him, "he did
: not treat mc as he would have done a sister.
; He was rough, coarso, fierce to mo. and I felt
| his bot ki>-wos blistering my faco. Oh, Paul!"'
! and the poor girl burst into tears, **I am so
! fearful of him. ami I do nol kuow what I shall
'•You shall lie safe from him, or any one
| that means you harm!" said the young man,
i drawing her tenderly to him, aud kissing bcr
forehead. "I think you are frightened and
; mm for nothing; but God forbid that you
should bj exposed to any risk of wrong.—
. If you are afraid, we will leave Rathnevin."
••And where, Paul *" a-ked the young girl.
••Where! God knows, indeed, where." said
i tho young man, dropping his hoad upon bia
luv.v-t. -Into poverty and rags again, I suppose : to bog and suffer, as ws have donepic-
fore! There is nothing eke for us, that I can
of her wedding day.
It was yet morning when Maude Reall entered thc room where Ducie sat engaged with
her needle. I have said that the contrast between thc brother and sister was great: it was
scarcely greater than that between the two
women thus brought into comparison.
The lady of Rathnevin was petite m form,
but with somewhat more of embonpoint than is
considered compatible wilh English beauty;
there was far more of dignity than of grace iu
her movements, aud her face was very plain—
little being added to the impression made by
her somewhat irregular features and eyes of
light gray—by the studied and ungraceful
this word ' justice!' Go, now. while he is ab- i
sent, summon your brother as you go, fly, and
leave no trace behind you, or I will not Ftand !
between you and thc ruin you fear or pretend
Half reluctantly the young girl took the
purse ; a few moments gathered her clothing
together, and with a brokc-u word of farewell
that was only answered mechanically by the
miserable woman whom she left, Ducie Zar- i
nay took her departure forever from the home ;
where, but a single day before, she seemed in- '■
stalled for a lifetime.
plainness with which her hair was worn. Uarty Burke and Paul Zarnay were at
Thoso who had habitually seen the face of j work, that morning, at the bottom of the lawn
Maude Reall, however, in its quiet repose, j overlooking the Shannon, superintending the
wbich eeeraed so good that it atoned for the ! workmen who were arranging the drain to
lack of beauty—would scarcely have recog- j guard against the wash of the next summer
■*Oh, we were so happy nt homo !" said Ducie, sadly, "before the cruelty of our Russian
masters murdered our father, and drove ns,
lioggarcd, into exil». It is hard again to be
driven from our home !"
••Hard!" said tho young man, bitterly,"and
rived at a place within about 0 miles of Port j yet what else have we a right to expect? Are
nised her as she entered the room. Hor face
wore an expression of bitter pain, by which its
muscles were convulsed ; her eyes were reddened with weeping and the jealous fears
which had begun to oppress her, and every
trace of the gentleness of her countenance was
gone. Thc agony of the knowledge how
worthless the husband was whom she still loved
—until this time lying like a cloud across tbe
horizon of her life a little space away—had
suddenly come quite to her reach, and enveloped her in a thick blackness like that of midnight or of death.
The wife laid her hand strongly upon the
shoulder of the young girl, before the latter
kuew that she was in thc room. She shuddered at thc touch—so fearful had that young,
confident heart grown iu a tlay. Maude Reall
saw it, aud misinterpreted the motion. Could
there be guilt here, too? Shc grasped thc arm
of Dttcie, in silence, while the poor young girl .
let drop the work upon which she had been
engaged—and almost forced her to her feet, |
with a touch that was nearer violence than !
the poor thing had ever before esxperienced. !
-Stand up." spoke Maude Reall. and her
voice was low and husky, -and let me soe
your faco! Girl, do you know who I am ?"'
"Oh yos, mistress,"' said poor Ducie, ber ;
knees trembling now in abject terror and
shame, as she connected this at once with the I
actions of Philip Roall in thc drawing room— j
**oh yes. madam. I know that you are the
mistress of Rathnevin. nnd the kind lady who '
has been to me a mothor for many months j
past; thn one for whom above all others I pray
"You are sure of this?" said the lady, taking
both of Ibe hands of Ihe orphan in hers, and
holding hor at arms' length whilo she scanned |
hor features with a fearful eye, -you are !
sure that you know me and pray for me!"
"I am suro." answered tho young girl, her I
eyes falling beneath that fierce look, "I love '
you, and would die for you!"
"What did my husband in your chamber.
I shower. Paul's ready and willing hand had
already mado him the assistant most df pended
| upon by Burke in the care of the grounds, and
j a tie of a different character won yot more
s upon his confidence.
They were separated for a time from the
', laborers employed, and Bttrko, lilting his
broad hat from his head, wiped the sweat from
| hi? forehead as he leaned upon thc moaturiig-
! stick he had been using.
" nave you any river in Poland, Paul?" he
1 asked, " that can compare with the Shannon ?
| Tell me. now, when this summer morning is ! hud grown to love, and yet
I lighting all old Ireland with a happy glow."
"Nothing so calm and sweet as this," an-
j swercd Zarnay. " Our rivers are more bold
and rugged, and the verdure doos not grow to
tbe banks, as it does bore. Rough, rugged
banks our rivers have, rugged as the character
or our people; but to my eyes they have far | ind she said to hcrselt that neither thc master
i more of beauty even than this. Hark!" And | nor mistress of Rathnevin need know cf her
j at thc moment thc young Pole turned his
j head suddenly and listened, " there is a bird
' sinking in the branches now, that might be
i chirping in August on the Vistula."'
" I hear it," said Barly Burke,"' and I see
j tbnt you love as well as remember home. So
s should every man ; he would not be a man if
he did not But you have made a happy
home in thc Green Island I hope, and if you
best to go to-day, and we shall do so."
"But where?"' asked Burke.
"I know not." taid Paul, "we must find
another home, even as we have lost one."
"Paul. Ducie!" said the keeper, waimly; "do
you believe that I am a friend?"
"Oh yes."' said the young girl, who regarded the young keeper, antipodes of herself as he
was, with much respect and kind feeling—perhaps oven with a warmer emotion, "we know
that you are a friend!"'
"Yes, Burke, yes, we do not doubt that,"
said the young Polo, warmly.
"Then let me offer you a home—at least for
the present," said the keeper. "My lodge has no
one but my old mother—there is room enough
for you, Ducie. and you will be near Paul,
who has lodged with me so long."
'•I do not know—" began Paul.
"Paul, one word in your ear before you decide !" and Burke spoke low but energetically
aside with him for a moment, the young
man's face lighting up gradually as he spoke.
"Paul Zarnay," be said, "I scarcely knew it
until she was going from us, but I bear your
sister a warm regard; and though I know that
sbe is far too beautiful and too refined for me,
yet I would offer her, a year hence, when die
is old enough to hoar my avowal, and I have
saved onough to make the offer worth accepting- - a home from wbich she need not go, at
any lady's word."
"I do not wish to disoblige you," said Paul,
doubtfully, "but I do not think this possible!
I do not know "
••raul Zarnay, lot it be so/fsaid the keeper.
"Let Ducie go with mc to my lodge, and under my mother's protection she will find happiness, if not all tbe luxury to which she has
boen used at thc mansion. And then you need
not go away; I believe tbat you do not wish
to go, I should be sorry to lose you, and a
better place is in store for you at no distant
"I will siioak with Ducie, alone," said the
young man, "and if she wishes it, or agrees
to it, it shall lie so."
Brother and sister again converted apart for
a little time ; p«cr Lucie glad of the prospect of remaining among the scenes which Ae
full of an undefined fear whilo she was in the neighborhood
of Philip Reall's residence, and the jealousy
—scarcely less to bc dreaded, die thought, o
But Paul evidently leaned to Burke's proposal. He was ber brother and her guide,
By this time the whole parly were •• pretty
considerably mellow"' andtho Judge a " little
more so."' The boys considered the Judge
itl.uiil ripe enough to make him sure, nud
hastily getting in their wagon Ihoy hurried ou
to the scene of trial.
Hawley and the Judge all this timo had
bceu travelling together in a light carriage,
each keeping an eye orer the other. At this town
whore lh* \ had pulled up for thc last time.
They raise up the shrunken ferro.
Waited, thin and skeleton,
I'aSe, wan and almost (one—
Nearly a lifeless one,
Aud near his withered lips,
O'er which the strong wine creep*.
Now one has bent his head,
listening in ai xious dread:
nrength will the wine bring, utterance restore.
life is awakened, moves his limbs once more,
Breath now comes stronger too, eyes glance around.
Hands raised to ehade his eyes, lips breathe a sound,
Words, low in accents Taint, issue from his breast,
Words, startling Sn effect, fear'ul to the rost.
"Whore am I? dreaming? am 1 of all sense bereftr
No! I remember uow! Speak! is the other—leftf
Raise me upon my feet—don'l Ict mc fall I pray.
I .el me look upon the seal Where doea the wrecked
last night tbe te:nfC!t came, spending on our ship its
The-j lowered the boats and went following ia the
strong wind's path.
I saw them all go down—swamped, struggling, scattered, doomed!
Then I remember nought till I myself here found,
Itat he, my comrade true, have ye not saved him,
He Is on the cabin floor, living! moving! last I knew.
Can you not then save my friend?—iaough of time lo
go and back;
''■ok! there's aneiher yet —one more upon tlie
Bat its most remarkable characteristic was | Hawley managed to get away from the Judge,
its great versatility and power of logical j and was entertaining a crowd from the " town
arrangement ; there seemed no subject, | pump," as to thc virtues aud qualities of a
however simple, however obstruse.no sci- , certain man proposed forSherifl of the couuty,
ence however complicated, with which he ■ and what the consequences would be if he was
was not familiar.
He was at once an artist, a naturalist, a
botanist, chemist, hologist, astronomer,
soldier and navigator; and yet such was the
we not of the accursed race of Israel, and more
than that, arc we uot of Poland ? What crime
is it to tread upon a Jow or a Pole ?"'
"Nay. Paul,"' said the young girl, tenderly,
taking his hand in her's, "do not speak so bit-
| terly. We can find « home elsewhere, and you
| shall find that if my limbs are not so strong as
yours, I have a heart as proud and determined. We can be happy in any poverty, to-
s getbor. and together we will go!"'
-Yes, Ducie. yes." said Paul, -together!
| And the sooner we leave this place, if your
! fears have any foundation, the better lor the
j proud man who owns it. If harm comes to one
I hair of your sunny head, it would be better for
l thc spoiler to die in thc act; for I would hunt
! him as a wild beast up and down thc world,
; toil it is no more than I do. and no more—ior
; the matter of that—than thc proudest of them
j all do, with brain, if not with hands."
'* Home! home!" said Paul Zarnay, sadly,
s '* homos are not things to be lightly wou, nor
j lightly lost without sonic regret. You »ill
■ know, some day. Burke, how easy it is to lose
a home, without even your own fault, and how-
hard it is to gain one again."
"Perhaps so." said Burke, "porlaps so.
But I am not likely to change my place, unless j
I try my fortune over tho sea, in that America j
that all my people speak of.*'
At this moment (ho attention of both was i
arrested by the figure of Ducie, clad as if for
presence, at least for a time, and she consented, accompanying Burke to the lodge, while
Paul remained in oversight of the laborers
upon the bank.
Thc cottage was alone. Widow Burke had
gone away for the day to the house of a relative at some miles' distance. Bat shc would
return before nightfall, and Paul and himself
would lie there before that time. Few viators ever came to the lodge, and the young
girl had certainly nothing to fear. The few
resources of the lodge in books were put at
her disposal, and enough of other employment
to fill hor time, and Barty Burke returned to
Paul and bis duty.
Had he forgotten that Philip Reall was to
call upon him at the lodge that day ? Even
if not. it was a matter of no consequence—
what had thc young orphan who had lieen so
long under his roof—of all women—fo fear
from Philip Reall ?
then, last night, at midnight!" spoke the pas- I WillklQS a lo,l8 ^™™- wilh a bundle undor
donate woman, suddenly throwing away |,,or arm' "lending the lawn towards Ihem.
the hands of the poor girl, and standing, in a ' "What can this m™n r Whcrc can m-v **■
state of feeling she could not analvze, at the bo SomSr sai(1 Paul- ""tuiringly
Mr. Reall—in my cham-
bo going?"' said Paul.
"She must bo sent by Mrs. Reall upon some
errand of mercy, and comes this way. perhaps,
The Judge came out (alone) on the stoop ; even as my race and my countrymen have been
of the tavern, unhitched tbe horse and getting ' hunted! We will go at once."
in, started for Port Washington. He had not | "To-morrow?" asked the young girl.
order and precision of his mind, tbat each \ proceeded more tban a mile before he came I "To-morrow—yes, to-morrow. Your mis-
topic, though seen in all its bearings upon
the others, was yet distinct from them, and
ready at all times for immediate use.
He united to qualities like these, conversational powers of a high and remarkable
order—quiet and unassuming, yet terse, forcible and earnest; his hearers while wondering at his power and knowledge, found themselves convinced and overcome, with tbe
same pleasure with wbich, in conversation
with others, they were wont to recognize
their own victory.
These qualities are well illustrated in his
two narratives of tbe first and second Ameri-
1 can Arctic Expeditions. He wrote as he
; talked, without labor, and with great fluency,
'< clothing his thoughts with all the graces of a
: refined and appreciative mind, yet giving to
them all thc power aud convincing force of
' faultless logic.
But if tbe qualities of bis intellect struck
to the conclusion he had forgotten something | tress has been very kind. Leave ber in as
(the Judge was very absent-minded)—" wbat | as much kindness as you may. Say nothing to
could it be ?"—stopped his hone, tumbled I wound her. Tell her that I nm going away,
out of the carriage, examined it—his valise s from some strange fancy ofmy own, aud that
was there—every thing seemtd .all right, i you must go with me."
•• What the devil could it be ?" He was sure \ "I will do ii, Paul, as kindly as if I were
| there was something missing, and yet it was j speaking to my own dead mother, for I love
impossible for bim to tell what that "indescribable something" was.;- A sense of loneliness crept over him, and visions of criminals, lawsuits, Ac., filled his brain. He whipped his horse into a faster trot, and tried to
think " all was tight," but still that " something forgotten" could not be dispelled from
his mind. " He—hie—knew there was some-
hic-thing wrong," and thus cogitating and
musing he reached tbe field of operation;
fastening his horse, he shoved his way through
the " crowd" into the court-room.
The " invited guests" had anticipated his
arrival, and all were ready to greet him tbe
Baisedonhlghlshharm.poloungo'erthefrigale'adeck, j onr minds with w°nder'the qnali«e» of his J moment he entered, wh ich he did in that same
Knergized in heart aad soul toward the far oir drifting J heart filled our breasts with love. He united
Saved himself ttom fcarriil death, free from the briny
Thia with bis earliest breath strives he hi* friend to
From tbat same horrid Ittt urging oa tlieir passive
Tliat they hasten bring him Mo, tbat one friend, yet left
Nearly shrieking aa Ihey gaa-, ailing sll the sunny
" Uo— iuickl go brtaf him toe! Don't leave hia, my
the gentleness ofa woman with all the sterner
attributes of a man.
He was so kind, so modest, so self-sacrificing ; so pure, earnest, and truthful; so
generous and single-purposed, and yet so impulsive ; so energetic, so determined, that we
look with astonishment upon the man, and
return thank* for the example.
But above all—governing and guiding all
—there waa a spirit ot true Christian benevo-
| lenee and Christian dependence. Thia it waa
musing state. Of course they wanted to know
what ailed the Judge—" was be sick?"—"had
he hurt himself?"—no! nothing of that kind,
'twas something more.
At last one called out, " Halloa! Judge!
where's ILtwley t" He waited to hear no more,
but springing to his feet, he exclaimed-"May
T hic-bc thol, boyt, if-a--hie -that ain't what I-
htc-fargot. I knew there-lac- was something mis-ing.''
Ot course the Judge could not go on without Hawley, and Sue trial wm postponed
her dearly, and my beart will almost break to
"To-morrow, then, wc will go?"
"Yes, Paul, to-morrow;" and the brother and
sister parted. They were not the firet who
have laid plans for to-morrow ; tbey will not
bc the last who will know how true thc adage
-L'hr.msne propose, mats le Dieu di*j.,.<e.
The eyes that cannot bear to look upon ours
and upon our vices, are not always those least
sleepless. If the subtle man whom Rathnevin
owned as its master, thought for a moment, as
he stood over the couch of Ducie Zarnay, on
the night when we have seen his unholy vigil
—of any eye looking upon him—his thought
| was of the "deepless eye" alone, for which he
cared but little ; but that eye was not the only
Whetber Maude Reall bad been nearer than
ber!" gasped tbe young girl, rushing quickly i to sP°ak to J™*" ■•■■*••■ Bu*e.
to hor side, dropping upon her knees, and , "Af' 7°*' li mRy ta *<' "l- raul- a« he
graspin^the folds of her dress. •' Oh, madam, "U PP°d ,orward ,0 lneet ber j thouKh- rcra<-'m-
as God is my judge, he was not in my cham- ^""S thc fcarf«l conversation of the raorn-
•• He was! I saw him at your bedside— in jIn a moment more thc brother and sister met, j
thc night-at midnight, or later!"' spoke j ■■■% out of hearing cf the *<*I*r-
Maude Reall, bitterly, and looking down upon i "Speak, sister, what is it V" asked the young
her with a terrible passion in her eyes. i ™al>. nervously. '-Where arc you going?"
"You saw him, Madam? you saw him?" j "Away, Paul, away, forever!" sobbed the,
gasped Ducie. ' y°ung g'rli dropping her head helplessly upon |
" 1 did!"' almost hissed tho proud and out- his shoulder. "Come, leave everything, and j
raged woman, through her clutched teeth. 8° wiUl me at 01ice* My mistress has upbraid-1
" Then God help me!" sobbed the voung cd me ^it morning with sharing in the guilty |
girl, burying her head in the folds of Maude's passion of that man I fear, and bid mc sleep
dress, " for I am lost I Oh. Madam, will you not another night under her roof, or sbe |
not save me ?" would lift no band to protect me. Come, Paul,
" Ha, ha I" uttered the lady, in a voice that come!"
sounded like convulsive laughter, "you are j "Cnjnst, unwomanly!" said Paul Zarnay,:
not ignorant, then, of this! You have known MMeriy. "Dow could she think tbis of you?
of my husband's pursuit of you, and have ' Bat *e ■ not—shc did not—she did uot
not told mel That is enough, I cast you I dare retain you longer in the house, and she S
away s: I would a plague from my door!" j ha* m*ic ,his lhe excuse (or dismissing you." '
■Oh madam!" soblied the girl-" I pray j "She did ,,ot FCnd me a'™.v in want," said
hear me! I have not deserved your anger! the young girl. "See, here is monoy, gold
Listen to me one moment, and I will tell you : vv'<-'pha11 •» a,,le to filld ■ home with this until
ajj ri | another can be won."
And while the face of Maude Reall looked | "Gold—her gold!" said the young man, bit-
down upon tbe kneeling and broken-hearted j tcrly, seizing the purse as if to hurl it far down
girl in a fierce harshness it bad nevor worn s the bank into the Shannon. "What businoss
Tbere are some scenes over which Heaven
in mercy draws a veil from human sight;
there are some crimes which, in mercy to the
human race, never become fully developed.
The mind shrinks at a revelation beyond a
certain point of enormity, and tbe narrator
who violates thc principle outrages humanity.
Tbc secrets of that terrible day npon which
Barty Burke left Ducie Zarnay at the keeper's lodge, will never, now. be fully revealed,
until all things are made plain in a purer light
than that which lies upon the world. Those
"rng, he had no confidence in his own words, j j^ve lived who know them—they are dead. I
can only sketch the outline of what is known.
It was nearly night-fall when Paul Zarnay
loft the river bank, and went toward the
keeper's lodge. Thc laborers had finished
their work, and gone home. Burke had left
the lawn some two hours before, remarking to Zarnay that he remembered an engagement He had no doubt remembered
the promise of Philip Reall to call at the
lodge, and gone to meet him. He had expected to return, but not coming at his time
Zarnay had overseen thc completion of the
work before he turned homeward.
All was still, as in the soft light of the June
evening, Zarnay approached the lodge. He
heard no foot within, saw no one at the
window. As he came nearer to the, rustic
door he observed that it was partly open
1 i and swinging wilh a gentle creak in the light
evening wind. He pushed wide thc door, and
stepped in, surprised that no one should be
seen or beard.
There are some sights tbat blister the eyes
which look ou them—wbich freeze into stone
cither supposed to the room in wbich tbe events
ofthe early evening occurred, or whether only
the knowledge of her husband's libertine character, and some undefinable foreboding of evil
oppressed her, itwonld be difficult to ny.
Certain it ia that when the master of Rathne-
bciorc to her, shc told in broken accents what
bad occurred the day before, her fears, and her
determination to leave Rathnevin.
" I have not doubted you before, Ducie!"
said the outraged wife, in a softened tone,
■ or I would have long since sent you away in
shame, instead of making you a daughter ; but
I can shelter you no longer. Had you told
me last night what bad occurred between my
hasband and yourself, before you were forced
to this confession by wbat I myself discovered
—then I should have hioun that you were
true—then I should have trusted you, and
dared every sacrifice to shelter you from
wrong. Now, you must leave me!"
" I will go, mistreat dearly as I love you,
and houseless and friendless as I shall be—
Paul and myself will once more go out into
the world and seek another home! We bad
arranged to go to-morrow—I could not stay
here to injure yoo."
Maude Reall looked down upon the heartbroken girl, and for a moment she felt that
she was trne, and resolved to shelter her
have we with their gold ? But no," and he
gave the purse again to her; "wc have no
right, either, to throw away a chance for sustenance, that we may need before we find it
again. I said 'to-morrow,' Ducie, but it is
quite as well—we will go to-day!"
Barty Burke bad observed enough of tbe
conversation between brother and sister to
make him sure tbat there was serious trouble
behind this sudden movemeut of Ducie, and he
had penetration enough to be sure that the
young girl was going away. Had he been
asked the question an bour before, the keeper
would scarcely have confessed to himself how
those who gaze—wbich dry up the blood in
thc viens as if an aspic tongue had poisoned
the life—wbich dethrone reason in an instant.
Such an effect may well have been produced
upon Paul Zarnay as bc stepped across the
little room of the keeper's lodge. A door
separating it from an interior apartment was
partially open, and though thc doorway had
welled a little stream of blood, and partially
dried its clotted current upon the floor.
Across the doorway, within, lay a form in
white, that of Ducie, dead, with a little stiver
hilted dagger buried to the haft in her left
breast, in the very region of her heart She
had died seemingly without suffering, what-
much the sudden thought troubled bim ; but j ever might have been her lot before • for a
he had grown to regard the fair creature that j gweet smile lay upon her lips, and the brown
■ "■*' eye" wen in death smiled through their long
No one was beside her—no one around her
—all was sad and solemn desolation. A little
clock ticked on the mantel, and the mice were
playing within the wainscot, seeming to make
the silence otherwise existing audible. Thero
had flitted like a sun-ray across his line of life
with more of affection than he knew. His superior relation to Paul had brought the young
girl much into his company, «nd at the mansion he had met her often. Barty Burke was
no clodhopper, but a young man of good capabilities, who bad husbanded all the advantages
offered him by Philip Reall, and nun cap-1 was nothing to indicate if the poor girl had