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_in what you say.
DECEMBER 24, 1892.
THE NEW YORK LEDGER.
il
against him, which declared itself from the
first moment of our me
“Well, yes,” said Mie “Travers, “he
seems to be something of a Don Giovanni.
First he engages himself to Lady Con-
stance Moray; then to your friend, Polly
_ Hamilton, whom he would certainly have
thrown over for you, if you had been will-
ing. But that is the way with men, my
dear. They are all like that, with a few
exceptions, of course, which h only prove the
rule, But was there anything else about
this fascinating Clarence, apart from his
fickleness, that was particularly wrong?”
> was ad? wrong—everything
about him !” Dolor 5 bee eva n, impetuously.
And then, remembering Polly, she shut
her lips firmly, resolved not to speak an-
other word on the distressing subject until
she could give it all most careful consider-
ation in the solitude of her own thoughts
And what a horrible complication, aided
now by the new light that Van Tassel
shed on Stanley, the whole affair had be-
come ! ow her heart ached for Polly!
And she felt disloyal toward her that she
was obliged, even temporarily, to seem her
rival. That, at least, she could explain to
Mrs. Travers, and she said quickly
“But [ must not let you suppose “that I
“was the rival of dear Polly Hamilton. It
0, as I assured her, and as I fer-
vently hope she is now quite convinced. If
that man was ever capable of loving any
woman, he was in love with Polly. But the
passion of his life was gold. He knew
from the first that I was the direct and only
true heir of the great Mendoza treasure,
he was simply insane on that iublect.
He has pursued it all his life, and in me
saw his ruling idea embodied. When he
no longer sees me, his love will revert
again to the buried treasure, and his alle-
giance to Polly, such, & it t is, will be as
Toyal as before he ever
“How strange, Dolores ” ‘answered Mrs.
Travers. ‘‘And there may be something
The Stanley family is
mixed up i in n relationship with a Spanish
family of y. me, and so is Lord Har-
old Moray. mstrange that I never thought
of it before: I knew them quite well during
my stay in England, but my acquaintance
was more particularly with the Moray
branch of the family. When I met Lor
Harold in New York, of course he told me
‘of his object in visiting the country, and
that he was coming to California to follow
_up a clew which he had obtained in regard
to his missing kinsman. Of course, I in-
vited him when he should come this way
to be m my guest, and I am in momentary
expectation of his arrival. Jim Sing has
actually gone to the Santa Ana station to
meet him, and by this time he is on his
way through the canyon.”
Dolores could not repress a slight start
of apprehension, and she said, in a visibly
troubled manne:
“Tam very sorry to hear this, dear; it
snakes my position much more unpleas-
nt. Oh, don’t ask me now! I must
think ; I must consider. If I am to meet
this gentleman, and he is in search of Lord
Clarence Stanley—-oh, Mrs. Travers, I see
that I shall have to tell you all I know
about that man and take your advice, for
Polly’s sake, as to what I ought to do.”
“My dear, I shall be delighted !” said
Mrs. Travers, gayly. ‘‘If there is any-
thing I am most fitted for, beyond all other
things, it is the giving of advice. You will
find that I have mines of wisdom garnered
up inside this silly little head of mine.
ven my severe husband is complimentary
enough to say that I am not such a fool a:
I look, But tell me, Dolores, about ‘his
mysterious Mendoza treasure, of which I
used to hear ages ago. Have youn no idles
at all where it lies buried?”
“Not the least, except that it is con-
cealed somewhere in the Santiago Canyon.”
n the Santiago Canyon !” cried Mrs.
Trans excitedly. ‘Why, this is the
Santiago Cany ‘on, right here, where we are
now divin gt”
Yes, I know it,” replied Dolores; ‘I
have known it ever since came home with
you; and somewhere in this canyon my
dear father found a grave. Death was
only treasure he found here, and,” ns
added sadly, *¢ perhaps it isthe greatest of
all treasures to those who find it. Certainly
it is if it opens the gate to the only true
life.”
“*My dearest girl,” said Mrs. Travers,
- almost reprovingly—she quite dreade:
line of thinking to which she often thought
Dolores too much inclined, and which, to
ied ~morbid—
promieed Do you know in what part of
the canyon your poor father was buried ?”
“Mamma has often enough described
the place—a little distance from a clump
of sycamore trees, twelve trees growing
out of a single root, she said, and on one
~ of the trunks is carved the rudely outlined
figure of an Indian woman; I don’t know
if that figure means anything, but mamma
and I have often thought that perhaps it
was associated in some way with our In-
dian ancestor, and as papa was searching
for the treasure at that time, he begged tobe
buried in that spot. Poor dear father! His
mind had broken down, and mamma could
never understand his wild ravings about the
buried treasure and its hiding-place.”
you have absolutely no clue?”
asked "Mrs. Travers, in a disappointed
s
3
‘*None at all; papa had a paper or
parchment or something of the sort, con-
taining the whole secret, but he could not
follow it out, and he had either lost the
paper or else had so carefully hidden it
that it was worse than lost. Mamma used
to have wild hopes of finding it years ago,
and even to the last she clung to the
thought that I should yet be a great heiress.
But I take no interest in it, Mrs. Trav
none at all! Though I have indeed sought
for the sycamore-trees, it has been to find
my father’s grave; it was my mother’s last
earthly wish to be buried beside the hus.
band she loved and who had adored her.”
“Oh, Dolores, dear child! Why did
you not tell me sooner,” said Mrs. Travers,
ina voice tremulous with sympathetic feel-
ing, ‘I could have done much to further
your desire; I will immediately take steps
todo so. Did you find the
** Not yet, but I shall surely do 50; those
long rambles which you have seen me take
in company with Henri have been in search
of that clump of trees. I have at times al-
most despaired, and have wondered if they
could have been a fancy of mamma, or if
some accident might not, i in all these years,
have destroyed the t
**No, no, the trees, exist ! !” interrupted
Mrs. Travers, eagerly, ‘they are known
as the haunted sycamores; it is said that
once every year, for ages past, on the 12th
of October, a shadowy ghost is seen flitting
about there; it is a mere legend, of course,
and no such thing occurs. Some effect of
the moonlight, probably, but the ghost-
story has served to locate the spot, and it
can easily be found.”
“On the 12th of October,” repeated Do-
lores, ‘oh, why did 1 not tell you sooner !
[have lost'so much time
“Don’t be troubled out that, Dolores,
—the right time always comes—even when
re. think we have lost it. And I hope it
come now,” she added irrelevantly,
rising and & King a hasty s
toward a gentleman who vas Ppidly ap.
proaching her across the lawn.
engaged had they been in
their conversation that neither had heard
the approach of the carriage on the road
at some distance; and for the moment,
both had forgotten the expected arrival
ofa
ze
a
Dolores also rose, and with a vague,
delightful flutter of anticipation, her gaze
was fixed on the approaching stranger—
she could not be mistaken! There was
not in all the world such another, so
gracious, graceful, distinguished in_bear-
ing, so refined, elegant and absolutely
perfect, in the elevated and the spiritual
Peauty of his countenance ; an
, had recognized her, and once more
ie lovely vand kindred souls seemed look-
ing at each other out of their eyes, and
recognizing some close and eternal re-
lationship in that long, deep gaz
“ My dear Delores," said Mrs. Travers,
“this is my friend, Lord Harold Moray—
Lord Harold, the ‘Sefiorita Mendoza.”
Dolores put out her hand—
white, trembling hands and Lord H
clasping it in his, felt’ himself thrilled to
the heart by that first touch of the warm,
pink, sensitive palm.
He wed low over her hand, and
with dificulty yefisined from raising it to
ips; Travers thought :
*© Well, certainly Mey have made an im-
pression on each other. I could not rea-
sonably hope for more, on a first acquaint-
ance. ‘But is it the first? Can it
possible that they have met before ?”
[TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT—NO. 61.]
o
a
——__#+e—- —
BE CAREFUL, SKATERS!
Skating is one of the most exhilarating
of all out-door winter amusements. But
little caution would a
venture slowly and tetiouely until they
have fully tested the strength of the ice ;
and air-holes and other weak places, if
there are any, should be plainly marked by
stakes or some other clearly visible objects.
ready our exchanges have begun to
chronicle drowning accidents from skating.
We hope this article, by calling the atten-
tion of our young readers to the subject,
may serve to put them on their guard,
and thus be the means ‘of saving some
lives.
CAZSAR’S REPLY.
BY SUSANNA B. B. MERRIFIELD.
She sat with her arms in loving embrace,
With en hat thrown back from her sw: eet, young
Nis bine, shaggy head—twas a dog, you must
now—
Lay across the child’s neck, as white as the
snow, -
“Oh, Cwsar, dear Cirsar!” she spoke very low,
“Can't you talk? Now try, fix your mouth just so!
Do tell me you love me! T love you, you see,
And I want you to say so right out to me!
“If I'm naughty or good, I come without fear
And tell you it all, right into your ear;
But [ want you to talk. Try, Cesar, now do;
Just say a few words, no matter how few.
“ Cant you, pet, Just to please itile Naud Now
It vou “io, the dear Lora way up in the sky
Will help you, I’m sure, as my mamma tells me,
I'm good, a8 I know I ought always to be.
“ And you are 80 gooil; if you tried real well,
He'd help you to talk, and then you could tell
Tow you love me—oh, sweet Caesar, dear!
What all this long year I’ve been wanting to
hear.”
Then a big, black paw was laid on her band,
And a kiss was put there that was everso bland.
"Twas no word like her own that the dog then
spoke,
But it told the whole tale—and this is no joke.
——_—+2+—__-
“BARBARA FREITCHIE.”
EF, N. Southworth Tells tow
xr Came to Write the Poe
Mee ae ».
s. E. D. E. N. Southworth, the pop-
ulae novelist, lives in a picturesque house
on the heig Bis of Georgetown, overlook-
ing the Poto uthoress, who
was a life-long s friend ot John G. Whittier,
told the reporter to-day an interesting
story of her connection with the writing of | an
the Quaker poet’s famous ballad of ‘‘ Bar-
bara Freitchie.”
“In September, 1863,” said Mrs. South-
worth, ‘fa Mr. C. S. Ramsburg, a neigh-
bor of mine, related to my son Richmond
and myself the story of Stonewall Jack-
son's raid through Mary! land the previous
year and his passage through Frederick,
telling us how old Barbara Freitchie, a
connection of Mr. Ramsburg, hung out
from her window the Stars and Stripes, and
how they were shot down. If I remember
rightly, Barbara was at the time more than
ninety years o|
The town was about equally divided
between sympathizers with the Union
and the Confederacy.- Barbara was a
stanch Unionist, and when, on hearing
of the approach of Stonewall Jackson
and his army, the Unionists of the town
hid their flags, the brave old lady nailed a
small American flag to a staff and placed | w
it at her window, Jackson came riding in
at the head of his men and, seeing the
flag, ordered them to shoot it down. They
did so and the flag fell. It was then that
Barbara caught the flag up and, leaning
far out of her window, waved it high above
Jackson’s head, crying outto him: ‘ Shoot
e if you dare,
lady, and to the everlasting glory of the
man and so dier, order his men to
‘march on.’ That was about the way the
incident was related to me by Mrs. Rams-
burg,” said Mrs. Southworth, ‘‘and upon
my son remarking: ‘ Whata grand subject
for a poem by Whittier, mother,’ I sat
down and wrote to Mr. Whittier, telling
him the story and acquainting him with
my son’s suggestion. I received an early
reply, which was as follo
“ AMESBURY, 9 mo., 8th, 1863,
“*My Dear Mrs, SovTnwortH: I heartily
thank thee for thy very kind letter and its en-
closed “message.” It ought to have fallen into
bettor hands, but I have just written ont a little
allad of “ Barbara Freitchie,” which will appear
in the next Aflantic, If it is good for anything
thee deserve all the credit of it. I wish I could
accept thy kind invitation to thy pleasant cot-
tage home, but T am too much of an invalid to
undertake the journey.
less, however, for asking
imagination if I eannot otherwise
‘With best wishes for toy health and happi-
ness, Iam, most truly thy
“ Fons Warrier.’
‘*We corresponded for many years,”
continued Mrs. Southworth, ‘‘and when
sent him the story of ‘ Barbara Freitchie,’
I wrote him that I considered it a message
from the spirit world.. Barbara died, if I
remember correctly, chortly after the inci-
dent related, and therefore never had the
pleasure of reading Mr. Whittier’s beauti-
ful lines,’ which first appeared, I think, in
the Atantic of October, 1863."—W. Y.
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