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kind, polite, loving letter it is ; but, somehow or other, In spite of her intuition against him, however, Mrs. Mrs. Salisbury shudders as she reads it and accedes to Salisbury finds her nephew a very agreeable companion its request.

when he comes. He is a good-looking man, with a “Your nephew James is a rising, prudent young man,” | clever, keen face, and eyes that dart from one object to she says to her husband ; “but pray Heaven he may not another with the rapidity of forked lightning ; but he induce one of our girls to marry him !"

has not the personal beauty or the aristocratic repose “He has a good appointment in Somerset House, and of manner which characterizes his cousin Rupert. will get on,” Mr. Salisbury replies.

These quick eyes of his light on Berry favorably from “He will get on in Somerset House, and wherever he the first. He follows her about, flattering her with unpleases ; but I am sorry he wants to become more in spoken flatteries, and paying her homage in a way that timate with us. I should hate him for a husband for one gratifies her young womanly vanity, but does not touch of our daughters."

her heart. Instinctively he feels that Mrs. Salisbury is

. opposed to his suit of

her stepdaughter; and so armed, with his knowledge of the profound secret of her life, he determines to defy and subdue her.

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March has given place to pretty, tearful April now, and the old grange garden is showing under one of its fairest aspects. Snowdrops in clusters are still to be found in abundance, but a dozen colored rivals com pete for favor with them.

Down about the seat where Mrs. Salisbury sits resting during the balmy hours of the days are beds filled with double white violets, irises, gaylystriped tulips, peonies white and red, amberhued daffodils, and a few early pinks. The air is sweet with the odor of French honeysuckle, and the sky is clear and blue. As the mother sits here surrounded by a thousand fresh, pure and beautiful objects, her mind is filled with holy thoughts about her son. She is praying earnestly, though she is not on her knees, that the good God will strengthen Rupert in all goodness, will fit him for the responsibilities of the posi. tion he will occupy, will lead the pure - hearted youth up to be an honorable, useful man.

And while she is praying thus her husband's nephew comes across the lawn and takes a seat beside her.

He has not made much headway with his cousin Berry lately, and so he is determined to put his

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mas ACROSS THE PAMPAS.-HUNTING THE GUANACO WITH BOLAS.— SEE PAGE 279. fate to the touch with her this afternoon. She is a girl! He begins in all suavity, tells her how he esteems her who attracts him as no other girl has ever done, and opinion, and thinks that she has a not altogether unfavor for the sake of indulging her girlish whim of seeming'able one of himself ; praises Rupert, the son of her heart, aversion to

the apple of him, he is

her eye, not going to

speciously, run the risk

and then of losing her.

deftly brings That Mrs.

the subject Salisbury's

round to his influence is

love and adagainst his

miration for suit he is

her stepsure ; from

child, Berry. this morning

"Berry is her influence

a darling must be on

child, and his side.

every one For this

loves and adpurpose and

mires her,” to this end

she says, he seeks her

shortly. this morn

“She seems ing, and her

to be the poor failing

dearest of all heart recoils

your stepfrom him.

GAUCHO CAMP.

daughters 4

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to you," he says, looking at her intently. “I have days were drawn out to that length,” he says, grimly ; heard—I don't know whether it's true or not—that she and then he pleads afresh from his standpoint of youth was a mere infant when her mother died, and you married and health and probable prosperity, and Berry will not my uncle."

listen to him. She bows her head, and her pale face grows pallid; Very soon James Salisbury goes away, and things settle but she says no word,

down into their normal condition at Sittingdean Grange, “Berry is the only girl whom I've ever seen that I've with this difference, that the mother is no longer there to wanted for my wife. Will you give me a good word with direct and sympathize with, to plan and labor for and her? Will you win my uncle's consent ?” he asks. love, the children who pay her the mighty tribute of

But, though he is asking a favor in words, there is missing her. something in his manner suggestive of a threat.

After a time, when a few months have passed away, the “Berry must decide for herself,” she says, nervously. two elder girls meet with men who like and love and can

Nay, but you must ask her to decide in my favor," afford to marry Mr. Salisbury's portionless, pretty daughhe says, softly,

ters, and Berry is now the only sister left to Rupert-his And now he lays his hand on Mrs. Salisbury's, and only sister and his dearest friend. meets her frightened gaze with stern, unfaltering eyes. Their father is declining fast. He has grown an old

“You must make Berry accept me, for your sake and man since his wife's death, and the bond between the your son's !” he hisses out; and, with a gasp and a cry, stepbrother and sister is all the stronger, because of the Mrs. Salisbury rises to her feet, holding her hand against feeling they have that they two will stand alone soon. her beating heart.

“I shall be an old maid and keep house for you, “For mercy's sake speak out !" she says. “How can Rupert,” she says to him, when they are discussing the you affect Rupert in any way ?

future. “When you marry, if there's no room for me at I could affect him considerably if I told him he was Sittingdean any longer, I'll go into a sisterhood, or be a a bastard," he says, insolently. “Better make me your companion, or something." ally than your enemy, Mrs. Salisbury."

"Before all these things come to pass you'll be mar“My boy, my boy !" she shrieks ; and Rupert and ried yourself, Berry,” her brother replies, and the girl Berry, who happen to be coming out of the house at the shakes her head and says, “No." moment, hear her and rush to her ; but not in time to She feels that she shall never marry, because some one save her from a fearful fall flat on her face, which brcises has told her that her mother died mad, and that the and mutilates her fair, matronly beauty.

germs of madness may be in her own blood. They lift her up and carry her into the house ; and At last the dark day dawns and closes when Mr. Saliswhen she recovers from her deadly faint she tries to tell | bury dies. her husband what his nephew has said.

He is not granted the grace of a lengthy illness. Death: But her race is run, and her tongue refuses its office ; comes upon him unawares, and he dies without giving and before nightfall there is mourning at Sittingdean Rupert—hastily summoned from college-one word of Grange for the wife, the mother and the mistress.

warning. They all grieve for her-all but James Salisbury. He The family assembles itself sadly together, the funeral only feels a little sorry that he should have given her the takes place, and the will is read. death-shock before he had used her interests with Berry. Everything with the exception of an annuity, charge

Her husband sorrows for her with a sorrow that no one able on the estate of £200 a year to Berry, is left to dare attempt to assuage, and no one can gauge. But | Rupert'; and the young man is just listening to a few Rupert mourns for his mother with such passionate force words of welcome from his father's old friends, when that for a few days his own life hangs in the balance. James Salisbury steps forward, in an unexceptionable

When he does recover, his mother is buried, and James suit of black, and says : Salisbury has departed with Berry's stinging refusal of “The fact of my cousin Rupert having been born out his suit ringing in his ears.

of wedlock will disqualify him, I fear, for the position “Marry you !" the girl says, when the neatly-worded of inheritor and owner of the Sittingdean property. As proposal had been spoken. “Marry you! No, not till I next of kin and heir presumptive to the late Mr. Saliscease to think that you did or said something that gave bury, I deny Rupert's legitimacy, and challenge his right. dear mother her death-blow ; and I shall think that you to inherit.” did while I live, I'm afraid.”

There is a sense of ghastly pain, grief and confusion. “I shall appeal against your decision to your father," James Salisbury produces a copy, signed by the vicar, of he says ; and Berry retorts :

the marriage-register, and eventually after a few weary And I will tell my father that dear mother's last look days proves his case, and destroys Rupert's claim to the at you convinced me that you had dealt her some awful property. blow. Go away, James Salisbury, and be thankful that | The married sisters are broken-hearted for their I have not agreed to be your wife, for I should always be brother, and desperately distressed for the stain on their looking out to find you guilty of something dreadful if I father's memory; or, rather, they would be brokendid."

hearted and desperately distressed if they were not mar“Look here,” he says, taking her hand sorely against ried women, with plenty of cares and anxieties of their her will, “it will be all the better for your brother- own on hand. you're fond of him, I know-if you marry me.”

But Berry feels the blow in its fullest force ! “I'm much too fond of Rupert to do anything wicked She broods over the subject night and day until her and pretend it's for his sake," the girl says, stoutly; brain whirls and her mind totters. It seems to her that " and it would be very wicked of me to marry you with-Rupert's right is unassailable, and she refuses to listen to out loving you, and I couldn't love you if you lived for a any argument to the contrary. thousand years !"

Her father's will leaves everything to Rupert. Rupert “It's more than likely that I should be in an exceed is the brother of her heart and the hope of her house. ingly unlovable, not to say repulsive, condition, if my | “He shall have it,” she promises herself. “If James

were dead there is no one but Rupert to take it all. My sisters and I would never interfere with our brother's rights.” Night and day the subject seethed in her brain. If she only could induce James to sally forth and seek desperate adventures by land or seal she would do so, trusting that on land or sea he might come to an untimely end But James has no adventurous blood in him. He is quite contented, he assures Berry, to live and die a country gentleman at Sittingdean. As for Rupert, he bears the blow as a good and gallant man should bear it. There is not a .# thought in his heart for his erring father, and all his soul is suffused with love and tenderness for his mother. It is hard to be bereft of land and name at one blow ; but, “Never mind, Berry dear,” he says; “I’ll win fortune in some way or other for us both, and at any rate you shall never have to blush for your brother. James Salisbury will never be anything but a wretched sneak and cur, and—” “I wish he were dead 1 He must die!” the girl interrupts, vehemently. “Hush, dear! His life is in God's hands ! Don't you wish to hasten his death,” Rupert says, vehemently. + + + * + + James Salisbury has taken up his residence in Sittingdean Grange with indecent haste, and the young brother and sister are staying at the rectory for a little time, until they can look about them and decide upon their plans for the future. One day Berry, sorely against her will, finds that she must go down to the Grange in order to pack up pictures and books and pieces of plate which belong to herself and her sisters. After she has done this, the impulse to take one last run round the dear old garden comes upon her, and hearing that the new master is away from the place, she sets herself out to gratify it. At the end of the southern alley—the end that is furthest from the house—there is a well that is famous for its depth and for the clearness and coldness of its water. It is always kept covered and padlocked, and the wall around it has always been a favorite seat of the young Salisburys. But to-day, when Berry sits on the edge to rest herself for a few minutes, she sees that the lock is gone, and that the cover can be moved with the slightest touch. “How careless James ought to scold any one who has left it in this insecure state,” she thinks, and, though she dislikes James, she feels almost inclined to go back to the house and tell the servants of the insecure condition of the cover of the well ; but the fear of being thought to be interfering and prying stops her from doing so, and she is on the point of getting up to go home to the rectory, when her cousin James comes along the alley and sees her. “Don’t rush off directly I come !” he begins, suavely seating himself apart from her. “I seem to be looked upon as a black sheep by all of you. You don't show me the least family kindness or consideration ; try to think better of me, Berry, even if you can't love me!” The girl shudders. “Love you?” she repeats. “Don’t speak of love to me, and don't look kindly at me. I hate you for what you have done to Rupert. I hate you for having blackened the memories of my father and mother; I shall never wish you well; I shall never think of your living here and enjoying this place and all that belongs to it with any thing but horror.” She is about to rise from her seat, when he leans for

ward to catch her hand and make a last appeal. In leaning forward he presses on one side of the cover, which, being off its hinges and badly adjusted, tips up and falls in, down, down to the waters of the bottomless well, carrying James Salisbury with it.

Berry's cries are soon heard and answered, and stout ropes bearing stouter-hearted men soon descend into the dreadful abyss. But not a trace of James Salisbury is ever found.

There is no one to dispute Rupert's right to the property now, for his sisters all cede it to him right gladly, but Sittingdean Grange has been the scene of too appalling a tragedy for it to be a congenial home for Rupert for a long time; so he lets the place to one of his brothersin-law for a term of years, and takes Berry abroad with him to try and forget, under brighter skies, and amidst holier scenes, the dramas that have been enacted in the Grange Garden.

ACROSS THE PAMPAS.

By Nok Ton RUTHERFORI).

THE personal narrative of a journey across the Pampas cannot fail to prove of some interest, since the great plain, extending from Buenos Ayres to Mendoza, nestling beneath the towering Andes, is almost terra incognita. This journey was undertaken by me for scientific purposes, the occult nature whereof I shall keep carefully vailed from the reader. My party was provided with an escort of governmental troops, and “every facility” was given us for exploration, always, however, bearing in mind that the cruel and crafty Indian was on the warpath. We were well provisioned, our mules were as strong as they were obstinate; our arms, the “newest things out”; and with these preliminary remarks I shall start on my narrative and my journey. We left Buenos Ayres upon August 17th, and took up our quarters at Chivilcoy, 100 miles to the west of it, which was to be the starting-point of the expedition. On the eve of our departure we experienced a severe thunderstorm, unnsually heavy even for that land of surprising electrical phenomena, accompanied by a fall of hailstones, the largest I had ever seen. Many of them were about the size of pigeons' eggs, and one which I measured (no unfair sample of many that fell), while in the process of melting, was still one and one-eighth inch long by one inch thick. Nor were we surprised to learn, subsequently, that large numbers of sheep had been killed in the neighborhood by the terrible hailstorm, which fortunately proved to have fallen over no very wide extent of country. Upon the 30th of October we left Chivilcoy for Bragado, and got fairly started on our journey. The first day's march was but a short one—about nine miles—as the rain that fell during the previous night and morning had made the roads heavy ; added to which, many of the bullocks and horses proved wild and stubborn, and hard to manage, causing great delays. After traveling ten miles during the next day we reachel the River Salado ; but, finding it too much swollen with the recent rains to admit of our crossing it, we encamped on its banks for the night. The weather having remained dry, the water in the Salado fell considerably during the night, and the approaches to it improved somewhat from their muddy condition of the previous evening. We therefore attempted the fording of the river, and with much difficulty succeeded in getting all the carts and animals over without mishap; whereupon, after halting for an hour to rest, we proceeded for about eleven miles further, to the town of Bragado, where we proposed to remain for a day or two, to give time for the completion of some unfinished arrangements. Upon the way two or three of us joined in assisting to drive the horses in advance of the main party, and while passing a pulperia, or public-house, a number of Gauchos

missive and profuse in their offers of assistance as they had been rough and quarrelsome before, and so we rode on without further molestation. Bragado, a rising little place, has some 2,000 inhabitants, and was but a few years ago on the outskirts of civilization, being not far distant from the line of frontier; but the march of events has since altered its circumstances, by bringing it into railway communication with

A GAUCHO Mount Ed.

who were drinking there came out, and seeing a troop of Buenos Ayres, while the tide of population, rolling stead

horses in charge of so few men, and they “Gringos,” as foreigners newly arrived in the country are called, seemed disposed to dispute our passage, and not disinclined to try to take the horses from us—a proceeding we naturally were equally prepared to resent. During the altercation which ensued up came the rest of our party, when the Gauchos, taking in the situation at a glance, and seeing low the odds had turned against them, became as sub

ily onward, has forced the imaginary barrier between the territory of the white man and the hunting-grounds of the roving and predatory bands of Indians to a more distant point. As we advanced into the Pampas, after leaving Bragado, the surface of the ground became slightly undulating, and the vegetation looked well, although not actually rich in point of grazing qualities. At first it

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