but that was not often, and she was subject to fits of depressing headache. The woman was apparently not yet thirty years old, and still there were white hairs here and there amid her brown locks. She was evidently at this moment expecting somebody, for she looked often toward the door, and anxiously. At last the welcome click of the latch was heard, and the door flew open. The same girl who had frightened Myra entered, her arms full of what looked like yellow floss, and which proved to be an enormous cat, that, leaping from its shelter, went straight to the fire, and contentedly purred as she felt the reviving warmth. 66 FOO-CHOW.-ISLAND JOSS-HOUSE. SEE PAGE 536. "I found her down-street," said the girl. "I wish you didn't hate her so. You always put her out in the cold when I am gone, and some time I shall lose her." "It would be no great loss !" said the woman, dryly. "Yes, it would-to me," replied the girl, tugging at her cloak, which, though not fashionable, was thick and warm. "I'm so tired of wearing your old clothes made over," she added, petulantly. "Did you get the money, Rachel ?" asked her mother. "Yes; don't I always get it? But that only pays for the rent and enough to live on, and your proofs,' as you cali them. I wish I could save up something for a new dress! But what's the use? You are always promising." "Wait, child-wait till justice is done, and you shall have all the dresses you want." FOO-CHOW.-GUARD-HOUSE NEAR THE GATE OF THE CITY. "Well, I don't know about that," said the girl; "but she looks like eighteen, and not a year older. I spoke to her; for, instead of liking her, I hated her for being so lovely. I don't wonder she was frightened. The words came to me, and I spoke them." "What did you say?" the woman asked, excitedly. "I told her I would kill her some time," said the girl, deliberately, her large eyes fixed on the fire. "When I thought, looking at her, of all you and I have suffered, it made me wild. She taking your place, and her child taking mine! If we were in our rightful position, just think how different it would be! I should never have to Wear these old fashioned, cast-off duds. Mother, when are you going to see about it? If you really did marry him years and years ago-when he was only a poor struggling young man-secretly, because of your fear of your father, and he left you to travel, and for years never wrote, never knew what had become of you-left you to be blamed and cursed, and sent away from home bur dened with me-why don't you face him? The mean, contemptible wretch, to bring home another wife, and live here in splendor and opulence! Oh, it makes me furious to think of it!" "I tell you it will all come right," said the woman, her long thin hands working nervously. "For these years of shame and misery and penury he shall pay dearly enough. I have almost all the proofs in my possession. What I need is only one signature, and I look for that every day. Patience, child! You shall have enough to wear and to eat, while she, my rival, my deadly enemy, shall sit in the ashes of disgrace, and die in want and ignominy." "There! I like you when you look like that-when you talk like that. I only wish you would go and confront that woman. Little she thinks how she has been deceived, though that is terrible. They say he worships her, and you may see her face in many of his pictures. And yet," she added, rising, were he ten times the wonderful man he is, and my father, I shall always despise him. Do I look like him in any way? I hope not ?" 'No, you look like your grandfather," said the woman, who seemed in ecstasy as the girl thus expressed herself. "You are like your grandfather, too-as like as is possible, you being what you are, a Gilmore. But then you have gifts," and she glanced about the room, where here and there certain rude sketches, unartistic, but showing proofs of unmistakable talent, were pinned against the wall. "And you will be a handsome, haughty woman, for you have more spirit than I have, and, of course, more beauty. I was beautiful once, though," and she sighed. "I don't see as beauty does much for one, then," said the girl, scornfully, as she proceeded to hang a brass kettle over the coals. "It's the ugly women of genius | who do great things. I have read that. Beauty stands in one's way. Everybody is teasing you, and never letting you alone till you get married I'll never get married, though. Give me the money for the baker. I've got to buy some bread, and we owe him for last month." The woman counted out the money in the girl's right palm. "The lines run crooked," she muttered, scanning the comely hand. "I wish I knew what that means. I want a great fortune for you." As the girl disappeared the cat slunk under the sofa at the furthest end of the room. The woman rubbed her hands, chuckling like one in ecstasy. "Good! good !" she exclaimed. "I shall outwit them all. Then will I give them scorn for scorn. Then, when I ride in my carriage, will they look down upon me? Then will they avoid me? Frown at sight of me? Oh, they shall pay me double for every insult they have heaped upon me, and I—I will never forgive them never! no, not even my own father! Rachel shall be great; she will be great anyway. She is wonderful for a girl of thirteen. She will be a grand woman, a splendid woman! And I, at last, shall be righted before the world!" CHAPTER III. said the child, creeping softly up to her mother's couch. "Let me lie down, too-put the pretty train away, and let me lie down." "No, no; go to your bonne, child; I can't have you. There, there, come and kiss me, dearest. I didn't mean to speak cross, and I can't bear to see tears in your eyes. Come and let me kiss them away, and snuggle close to me, little one. See if you can take the ache out of mamma's heart." "I thought it was your head ?" said the child, coming closer, as her mother's arm encircled her. "Both, dear-both head and heart; but I am better now, since I hold you. I'm going to be such a kind, good, dear mamma, to you!" "And papa; he is kind and good always, you know," said the child, jealous because of something she fancied she saw in her mother's face, heard in her mother's tones. "Yes, darling, papa is-papa!" and she sighed so heavily that tears came again in the sweet eyes of the child. "What did the letter say to you, mamma ?" asked Imogene. "Never mind, my dear--it was a letter that I should not have read, because it was anonymous." "And what does that hard word mean, dearest mamma ?" "It means that the person who writes it dares not, for some reason, put his name to it." "And has papa seen it ?" The woman shuddered. "Dear child, no! Papa would only think it written by some crazy creature; but let us talk no more about it, my darling You only torture poor mamma." The letter had reached Mrs. Gilmore's hands about eleven o'clock that morning, and ran as follows: "MADAME-I have reason to know that your reign is almost over, and that the rightful claimant of the name you wear will soon be in your place. The dastard whom you call husband deserted the woman he swore to love and protect thirteen years ago, left the country, and, after wandering half over the world, found the stranger who unconsciously committed the crime of marrying him. The waters are troubled, and the angel will soon descend. Farewell till you hear from me in another way." There was no signature, but the words had struck terror to poor Myra's heart. She knew that the man she believed to be her husband, and whom she adored, was fifteen years older than herself, and that she had met him when, weighed down with grief at the loss of both parents in a far-off country, at a little mountain inn, where she had just been engaged as a companion by a traveling lady. It had been a case of love at first sight on both sides, and she had never for a moment had cause to repent her choice. Though every word in the letter stabbed her, yet its incoherent ending impressed her strangely. Whether to show it to her husband or not she could not decide. It seemed such a monstrous charge, and it would be so unwifely to allow that she for a moment believed there was one word of truth in it, and yet—and yet-how could she hide this new trouble from him? She had always run to him like a child in any grief. Hark! there was his tread upon the stairs! Doubt vanished at the first sight of his honest, loyal, loving face. "Come, my queen!" he said, joyously, "I'm going to put both you and Imogene on canvas. My picture is "HUSH, dear; do not not make so much noise! almost finished. I only want two faces, and why not Mamma's head aches." yours?" "But you were well enough before that letter came," "But you always paint me," said Myra, slowly rising And before he could move or speak the woman held a weapon at his heart. One loud cry, and Myra had struck the pistol aside, but not before it had gone off. She had saved Louis's life, but she herself had received the ball in her bosom. There were days of silence after that-days and days on which scarcely a footfall was heard in the house. Even Imogene had been sent away, and Louis sat in the darkened room where his idol lay battling for her life. Doctors came and went, and two skillful nurses held sway over the curtained bed, vying with each other in attentions bestowed and care judiciously exercised. Outside, all the world was talking. The affair had been in the newspapers, and at every breakfast-table the first question was, "I wonder if she is still alive?" God was merciful to Louis Gilmore, though he often A despaired. His was the first smile that met his wife's returning consciousness. Week after week he sat by her side. And he caught the child up in his arms. They went down-stairs together and crossed the yard and entered the studio, the place being seldom locked in the day-time. Everything was just as he had left it save one. His chair was occupied by a vailed figure, which sat as immovable as a statue. It did not even turn its head. "Who is it?" whispered Myra, her courage failing her. "Only a lay-figure," said her husband, in a low voice. "Fred has been here, I don't doubt, and played one of his practical jokes." They went slowly forward, the artist laughing to hitaself. No, it was no lay-figure. The statue rose, it had life, it lifted its vail, revealing features stately and handsome yet. Could it be a customer? Some one who wished for a painting of the dead? Sometimes he had such orders. "Madame ?" he said, courteously. "Why do you bring her here ?" asked the strange woman, pointing imperiously at Myra. 66 Because she is my wife," he said, somewhat surprised at the question. "That is a lie, Louis Gilmore," was the answer. "I am your rightful wife.” Myra uttered a cry of terror and turned pale as death. "Leave this place, woman!" exclaimed the artist, as he folded an arm about Myra. "I have been troubled enough with your insane fancies. I will have you arrested if you stay another moment. Who and what in thunder are you?" he added, almost losing his head in his indignation. You married me "You know well enough who I am. before you went abroad, years ago, and then shamelessly deserted me and my poor child. Then you dared to bring home this woman, whom may Heaven curse!" "Oh, Louis! this is dreadful," said Myra, faintly. "I had only you in all the world. God help us both!" "You are a wicked woman! Go away!" cried little Imogene, in a passion. "You make my mamma, cry. Send her off quick, papa !" And the little foot came down imperatively. "My darling, don't let this matter trouble you; it is outrageously false. I swear I never saw this woman in my life, to my best recollection," said Louis, rapidly. His was the first arm upon which she leaned when, weaker than a child, she had to go back to first principles and learn to walk again. Once more in the pretty boudoir, growing daily stronger, he felt, as he watched the flitting color, that she was al his own again, and one day he told her the story. “The woman was insane, dear, as I supposed all along. She was considered 'strange' by everybody who saw her, Her father, whom it seems she offended beyond pardon by and few were in the secret of her great trouble. her marriage with some one of his servants, has been here her first outbreak of violence occurred as it did. to apologize, and he was deeply and sincerely sorry that It seems she has held the hallucination for years that I was her husband-ever since she sat for a picture, just before I left the country-an event I had forgotten-and has imbued her daughter with the same feeling. Her father tells me that he has always kept a sort of supervision over her, settling upon her monthly a sufficient sum to enable her to live in comfort, much of which she spent in efforts to prove what her crazed brain believed to be actual truth. It is all over now, dear; the poor woman is where she should have been long ago-in a lunatic asylum-and the child has at last been taken home, and will be cared for as befits her present station, as her real father is dead. You were always my inspiration, darling; you brought me good luck. You have been my good angel and the savior of my life. How can I reward you ?" "It is reward enough to have come out of this great trial and terrible danger as I have, and to know you for what you are," she replied "the best and dearest husband in the world." THE earliest known occasion of the name pianoforte being used is in a playbill dated May 16th, 1767, of which a copy is preserved by the Messrs. Broadwood, piano manufacturers, London. It is a curious historical broadsheet. The piece announced is "The Beggars' Opera." Part of the attraction is thus given: "Miss Buckler will sing a song from 'Judith,' accompanied by Mr. Dibdin upon a new instrument called pianoforte." FOO-CHOW, BY REV. S. L. BALDWIN. mountain-side, looks off over the plain, it seems like a vast carpet of richest green. Amid such surroundings as these the walls of the city rise, thirty feet high and twelve feet thick, constructed of brick, resting on a solid granite foundation. The wall is six and one-quarter miles in circuit, and from it many fine views of the city and surrounding country may be obtained. Native poets have not been insensible to the beauty of the situation, and one of them, indulging in a little poetic license, exclaimed: THE City of Foo-chow, around which so much interest | attains its growth; so that as the observer, standing on a has lately gathered, on account of the operations of the French navy in its vicinity, is the capital of the Province of Fo-kien, which comprises a territory as large as Ireland, and nearly three times as populous. The city takes rank in the first class of Chinese cities, and has a population of about 600,000. Its situation is exceedingly beautiful, occupying the northern part of a vast amphitheatre, nearly twenty miles in diameter, formed by the mountain ranges which circle about it. The surface of the plain is dotted with beautiful knolls, and here and there a high hill rises, sometimes terraced from base to summit, and covered with growing vegetation, and sometimes present "Ten thousand miles around Foo-chow, ing an almost perpendicular side of rugged granite. The River Mia winds its course through the valley. Groves of orange, lungan, and other fruit trees, add variety and beauty to the plain. Both inside and outside the city walls the giant banyan-tree is frequently met, stretching out its long, horizontal branches, with grateful shelter from the hot rays of the sun. Often its branches are covered with graceful ferns. Here and there a beautiful camphor-tree stands in solitary grandeur, with its straight and symmetrical trunk rising for twenty-five or thirty feet without a branch, and all its deep, rich, dark-green foliage at the top. Hundreds of acres are covered with the green, waving rice crop. No fences mar the beauty of the scenery, the fields of different owners being separated only by little ridges of earth eighteen or twenty inches high, which are hidden from view as the crop The most prominent landmarks within the city are the White and Black Pagodas, and the North Watch-tower. The Pagodas are nine-storied towers, erected 900 years ago. They are not, as many suppose, temples for idolatrous worship; though a few idols may be found in the lowest story, just as they may in almost every public building and every private house. The Pagodas were erected to preserve the city from the evil influences of atmospheric currents, which, according to the theory of the Chinese, may be deflected by these high structures, and great calamities thus be warded off from the city. The North Watch-tower is a two-storied building, erected on top of the wall, at the summit of a high hill, which position makes it a prominent object. From its shape, and its location on this summit, it has been called by foreigners "Noah's Ark." 1 |