tience to the very uttermost. Days, weeks and months elapsed, and all the time things grew worse instead of better. My next care was to see Ella, if possible, before my return should be known to Mrs. Moulson. I succeeded; but I will not trouble the reader with the particulars of the interview. Suffice it to say that I found her all and more than all that I had anticipated, and that before I left her she had prom-nals after the famous Moulson marriage. A variety ised to be mine. It was in vain, however, that I urged her to throw off at once the yoke that oppressed her, and give me a legal title to be her dearest friend and protector. Her father's will was law with her, and she was determined to abide by it, at least till she was of age. In the meantime, however, she promised to see me as often as she could, and to correspond with me as regularly as possible, while she remained under the guardianship of her mother-in-law. One evening we had a grand public exhibition at the Lendon academy, the next epoch in village an of orations, dialogues, scraps of plays, etc., were produced by the students, to the intense delight of a very miscellaneous and by no means critical audience. Among the dramatic morceaux was the fifth scene of the first act of Hamlet, containing the dialogue between the young Danish prince and his dead father's ghost. As far as Hamlet himself was concerned, the performance was ludicrously bad; but the ghost did better. The "royal Dane" had a powerful voice and exerted it to the full extent of its capabilities. The following day I saw old John Stapler. He was a tenant on one of the farms of the Moulson estate, but a thoroughly upright and incorruptible While this Shaksperian declamation was going man. He was so deaf, however, that I very much forward, my attention was arrested by a burly figdoubted his ability to hear and understand what ure sitting in a very conspicuous position, immediwas read to him. Be that as it may, from his state-ately in front of the stage. It was Hiram Wedge. ment it was impossible to doubt that he had heard the will read by Mr. Moulson, whether he understood it or not, and had seen him sign it. He said that Mr. Moulson told him that the body of the document was written by Mrs. Moulson's cousin, though dictated by himself. The cousin, however, was not present at the signing. As the final result of all my inquiries, I was reluctantly forced to come to a like conclusion with Dr. Worthing, and to admit that the will which so galled me must be genuine. As far as mere pecuniary considerations were concerned, I think that no one who knows me will believe that I had any other feeling than indifference; and I am very sure that Ella knew less and cared less about money than I did. It was the cruel, crushing slavery imposed upon her by her hateful mother-in-law that made her so sad and me so rebellious. A few days later I obtain a sight of the will. I could detect nothing suspicious or irregular about it, and if I had any lingering hope left of freeing Ella from her bondage by legal means, this examination certainly gave it a final and effectual quietus. Except the most hourly tortures inflicted upon poor Ella, which, alas, were so common as hardly to deserve the name of incidents, nothing occurred to vary the quiet monotony of our village for several months.. One morning in early spring, all Lendon was electrified by the news that Mrs. Moulson and her man "Friday," Hiram Wedge, had been married that morning, and had gone off to Washington on a wedding tour, taking Ella with them. This was a very unexpected thing to most persons; but I, who had been watching the parties very closely, was not much surprised at it. Wedge had accompanied Mrs. Moulson, or rather Miss Artwell, when she first came to Lendon to live, and had been her devoted agent and obedient tool ever since. He was a great, overgrown, surly, lubberly lout, with nothing to recommend him but a pair of broad shoulders, and rosy cheeks, ditto. In about two weeks the "happy pair" returned. The manners and morals of the house now became worse than ever, and to see the pure and saint-like Ella exposed to such associations, tried my pa The whole thing was evidently new to him, and the novelty had waked his sluggish soul to unusual activity. No one, on ordinary occasions, would be likely to say that Hiram had an open countenance. But at this juncture it might have been said of it with perfect truth. Eyes, mouth and ears were all open to their utmost point of distention. He looked as if he might be meditating the feat of swallowing the little stage, performers," properties," prompter, and all. While I was looking at him the ghost began to speak to Hamlet. Hiram seemed to regard it all as a reality, and it was ludicrous to behold the terror deepening in his face as the ghost declaimed the well-known lines: "But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Though it was plain enough that the fellow could not rightly understand much that he heard, his whole soul was nevertheless absorbed in the scene before him. At length the ghost began to describe his brother's crime: "-Sleeping within mine orchard, Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, No reckoning made, but sent to my account, During the recital of these lines, the fellow's emotions ceased to be ludicrous, and yet my interest in them increased a hundred fold. Fear and horror were depicted in every line of his countenance; his hair actually seemed to bristle on his head, and his eyes to start from their sockets; he grew paler and paler, while great drops of sweat started from his forehead, and as the performers were finishing the lines which I quoted he fell backwards in his seat, overcome by a death-like swoon. The room was very warm, and it was generally believed that the heat and closeness of the atmosphere was the cause of Wedge's fainting. But I knew better. It was as plain to me as the meridian sunlight, that some deep and deadly mystery had been stirred up from the inmost depths of his pumpkin soul. After returning home that night, I reflected long and seriously upon this strange emotion evinced by one who was in general so stupidly apathetic. What could it mean? Dark thoughts came driving through my brain, like storm-clouds flying before the northern blast, and wrapped my soul in gloom. I had thrown myself upon a sofa when I first reached home, and I lay there for hours, striving to shape the chaos of my thoughts into something like order and regularity. Suddenly I became oppressed with a mysterious consciousness that I was not alone. A presence unseen but most distinctly felt, weighed heavily upon me; a sort of moral nightmare, almost checking my heart's pulsations. Slowly then there arose before me a sad, pale spectral face, with the well-known features of my departed friend, Mr Moulson! Mournfully and earnestly he gazed upon me, and then a shadowy arm rose slowly, and with fore finger extended, pointed to his own right ear. Once, twice, thrice the spectral arm arose, and thrice repeated the same unvarying motion, and then the filmy figure seemed gradually to become more vapory and indistinct, until it vanished and I saw it no more. As I saw it departing, I made a strenuous effort to speak to it, and in the struggle I awoke. I had unwittingly fallen asleep, and mingled my waking thoughts with visions of dream-land. But it was all a dream! My waking thoughts had doubtless shaped the outline of my dream; but are the operations of the mind thus continued during sleep, of no value whatever? Does the ship of thought, with its crew of wild fancies, when left rudderless, with God alone to guide it, never float into regions where useful discoveries can be made? my ghastly burden in my own chamber. My attention was first given to the ear, for it was strongly impressed upon my mind that if, as I suspected, Ella's father had met with foul play, it would be found that the manner of his death bore some resemblance to that of Hamlet's father, as narrated by the ghost. It was a melancholy, sickening business. The head was, of course, greatly altered, and the features could no longer be recognized. I examined the ears with great attention, but I could see nothing wrong with them, and was about to conclude that I had been imposed upon by my own fancies when it suddenly occurred to me to thrust a probe into the right ear. The orifice was evidently obstructed by something or other. Having satisfied myself of this, I took a pair of long forceps, and with some difficultly succeeded in getting hold of the obstructing object, which I found firmly fixed in its position, within the skull. It would be no casy task to tell what my feelings were when I at last succeeded in drawing out what appeared to be a fragment of a steel spindle-a long, smooth, slender, cylindrical, needle-like instrument, capable of being thus driven through the car into the brain with murderous effect, and yet, to the cye of an ordinary observer, leaving behind it no trace whatever of the deed. Who it was that drove this infernal contrivance into the ear of Mr. Mouison, was a question by no means difficult to answer, in my estimation. But would the circumstantil evidence which had convinced me, be sufficient to convince a jury? When I asked myself this question, there flashed upon my memory an incident which, until this moment, had seemed utterly trivial to me, but which now assumed proportions of a very different character. The day after my return from abroad, I saw a little boy, a nephew of my housekeeper, playing with what I supposed to be a fragment of a steel spindle. Fearing that he might hurt himself with it, I requested his aunt to take it from him. Looking around and observing it she told me that she had been obliged to put it out of his reach once before and at her request I took it and threw it into my desk. Having now procured this article, I was not much surprised to find that it was a piece broken off from that which I had drawn from the skull, and that the two fragments fitted each other exactly. The result of much serious though and anxious delib ration, was a determination on my part, to disinter the remains of Mr. Moulson, and subject them, at least the head, to a close examination. To de this alone and unassisted, was a task of some magnitude; but I felt unwilling to make a confidant of any one, unless it should be Dr. Worthing, and his a sistance would be of no value as far as the chief difficulty, the actual raising of the corpse, was concerned. I therefore determined to do every-Moulson had then made very particular inquiries thing myself. The grave-yard in which my friend's remains had been deposited was a very lonely spot, and there was little danger of interruption there at any hour. I consequently commenced my operations as early as ten o'clock, and before three I had the head in my possession and the grave carefully filled again. The first gray tints of dawn were just beginning to appear, when I commenced the examination of It now became important to inquire where the little boy had picked up the fragment found in his possession. I soon ascertained the important fact that he had first seen it lying under one of the windows of Mr. Moulson's house the very morning of his decease, and furthermore discovered that Mrs. about it, though probably without success. Here was another link in the chain of evidence, and a very important one; but before taking any further steps in the matter, I resolved to have a consultation with Dr. Worthing. As soon as I had taken my breakfast, therefore, I mounted my horse and started for the doctor's residence. On my way thither, I passed one of the outhouses attached to the Moulson property, under which was a large cellar, designed for the preser vation of potatoes and other esculent roots. Into this cellar I saw Hiram Wedge descend and shut the door after him. When I drew near the door, I heard him at the extreme end of the cellar making a great noise in moving some potatoes, or something of the kind. In pursuance of an idea which now suddenly suggested itself, I slipped quietly through the door and shut it after me. Then, taking advantage of the noise, I stole up to the spot where Hiram was at work, and concealed myself behind a thick but ress. The cellar was almost dark, a very faint light only being seen to struggle through the windows, which were very small and partially below ground. In a few minutes Hiram ceased his noisy occupation, leaned against the wall and became apparently absorbed in a business to which he could not be said to be much addicted, in a general way, viz, that of thinking. His face was turned towards the light, and faint as it was, I could see that his features betrayed emotions of anything but an agreeable character. The same finger which wrote Belshazzar's doom upon the palace-walls of Babylon, had written as plainly upon his forehead the dread syllables, remorse! While he thus stood gazing upon vacancy, I gave a groan, as dismal a one as I could produce. He wheeled about as suddenly as if he had been shot, and his pale face assumed an ashen hue. I then in a hollow voice, repeated the word "murderer!" and at the same time threw the broken spindle at his feet. The device was shallow enough, but I knew my man. In half a minute the guilty wretch was upon his knees (indeed he seemed incapable of standing,) and with eyes rolling wildly and teeth chattering with terror, he faltered: "Mercy! O, mercy, mercy! It wasn't me; indeed, it wasn't me! She did it. She drove it into his brain with a mallet; and she laughed while she was doing it. She's a devil herself, I do believe. I never would have thought of such a thing, myself; but I was afraid to cross her. O, she's a terrible, terrible woman!" that Mr. Moulson should live until they should find means to secure his wealth, and no longer. To effect this purpose they songht the co-operation of a cousin of Mrs. Moulson's, another one of her partners in villany. He was a shrewd fellow, and a skillful practical chemist. Hiram Wedge was about to undertake the cultivation of a large track of valuable land, the property of Mr. Moulson. The eyesight of the latter was defective, from temporary inflammation, and the cousin managed to get himself invited to draw up the contract for the working of this land. This instrument was written by the cousin ou parchment, with ink of his own devising, which could easily be erased, so as to leave the parchment as white and smooth as it was before the pen had touched it. Deaf John Stapler was told that Mr. Moulson had made his will, and that he wished him to be present and witness the signing of it. When, therefore, he was introduced into the drawing-room and asked by Mr. Moulson to sign his name, as a witness, to an instrument of writing, which was really the agreement between him and Wedge, honest John naturally believed that he was signing the will they had told him about. The contract was all read over by Mr. Moulson in Stapler's presence, but if it had been Chinese it would have been all the same to him, since he did not hear a word of it. Like many other deaf persous, he was a little touchy on the subject of his infirmity, and to this day he will not acknowledge the truth, but maintains that he heard all that Mr. Moulson uttered, and no doubt believes it. The cousin himself was the other witness, and he took care that the ink used for the three signatures should be of the very best quality. In less than half an hour after the document was signed, the parchment was a blank again, a perfect tabula rasa, with the genuine signature of John Frederic Monson at the bottom, and that of honest John Stapler by the side of it. of $5000 in his pocket. It took the ingenious cousin but very little time to convert this into just such a will as Mrs. Moulson wanted. This skillful operator then disapHe ceased speaking, fell upon his face and bur-peared from the scene, with securities of the value ied his head in his hands. I stepped out of my hiding-place, and with a vigorous whack upon the back, proved to him that it was no ghost, but a substantial thing of flesh and blood he had to deal with. The knowledge of this seemed to relieve him somewhat, but he still seemed half-stupified with terror. Two days afterwards, poor Moulson was brutally murdered, by having a sharp steel instrument thrust into his brain, through the ear; it being hoped that in this way no trace of the crime would be left. The instrument was accidentally broken, one piece being left in the skull, and the other being mislaid in the hurry and confusion of the moment, and subsequently found by the little boy. The poor bewildered wretch never seemed to doubt that I knew all about the murder, and was willing to confess everything-or at least appeared As soon as Hiram had finished his story, he reto be. He had originally been a gardener's assis-lapsed into a sort of stupor. In this condition I tant, he said, in the service of Miss Artwell's uncle and guardian. Her vicious propensities had been developed at a very early age, and this fellow, while yet a more boy, became her partner in various schemes of precocious iniquity. After her marriage, the shameless woman per. suaded Mr. Moulson to employ Hiram as a sort of overseer, and from his statement it seems probable that the murderous design was already in her heart when she stood at the altar and solemnly pledged her faith to her unsuspecting victim. left, locking the door after me. The door was strong and heavy, and the windows too small to creep through, so that, having deposited the key in my pocket, I had little doubt about the security of my prisoner for the hour or two I meant to be absent. The confession I had heard removed all doubts about the propriety of apprehending both culprits at once, and I therefore hastened in search of the requisite force and authority. With all the despatch I could make, however, it was more than an The infernal plan of these miscreants required hour later when I returned to the cellar, in compa ny with two constables, a magistrate, and Dr. Worthing, whom I happened to find in the village. "The bird has flown!" exclaimed I, as I saw the cellar door standing wide open. We entered, and for some time felt sure that the place was empty; but after our eyes became somewhat accustomed to the obscurity, we observed a white object lying in one corner, which had not been there before. It was the dead body of Mrs. Wedge, gashed and scarred in a horrible manner, and with the blood still oozing from a score of ghastly wounds, "Merciful heavens!-who has done this?" exclaimed Dr. Worthing. “I did it!” said a hollow, feeble voice, within a few yards of the spot where we stood. It was the voice of Hiram Wedge, who lay mortally wounded, and covered with blood like his wife, but still reathing, or rather gasping. He expired in about half an hour, but not until he had given us a brief account of the origin of this strange and bloody spectacle. Mrs. Wedge, it appeared, had seen me come out of the cellar and lock the door. Being constantly suspicious of me, she thought there was something wrong, snatched up a second key, with which she was provided, ran to the cellar-door and opened it. When she saw Hiram, she fiercely demanded to know what had happened. He told her he had confessed everything. Transported with rage, she glared upon him like a fury, drew a bowie-knife, which she always carried, and stabbed him to the heart. The wound was mortal, but not immediately so. He had still considerable strength left, enough to enable him to struggle for the miserable remnant of existence which was already fast ebbing away. The rapid failure of his strength, as his heart's blood flowed, in intermitting jets, soon rendered the man and woman pretty nearly equal in muscular power, and the contest between these partners in life and iniquity, was a fearful one, indeed. Hiram at last succeeded in wrenching the knife from her hand, but not until he had been cut and stabbed in more than twenty places. She still struggled desperately, but it was not long before he had dealt her a mortal blow. As he was in the act of striking it, he fell exhausted on the floor, where we soon afterwards found him. This bloody scene is the last of our melancholy drama. The Wedges left no one behind them, and Ella, now relieved from her thraldom, took possession of her father's property, as a matter of course, and also, as a matter of course, took possession of and retains to this day-the reader's humble servant. A Word in Defence of Women. Men too often malign women in accusing them of extravagance in dress. Generalizing is always dangerous, and particularly so where women are concerned. The masses of women are not spendthrifts; any sane man will admit that, as a rule, women are not even extravagant. They have certain pet theories regarding dress, which, if not admirable, are nevertheless, not of sufficient importance to warrant a libel to be written against them. The truth is that women are not, nor ever have been, as a sex, extravagant; on the contrary, they are economical, many times to penuriousness. They have no income of their own, and the mone y given them by their husbands is always for family expenses, and goes to the purchase of wearing apparel and household goods, and the little that is left is often less than many men imagine. The trouble is that women buy for show when they do buy, and they do their shopping in such an elaborate and deliberate way that lookers-on are often deceived. Then again, women buy only costly articles, those that will be seen to advantage. Hats and gloves they spend money on; so also on trimmings or ornaments, but very seldom do women wear as costly or as valuable clothing as men. Their costumes are more showy and varied, more perishable, and cost less than the suits or garments of men. Women have many weaknesses which can be used against them, but they are not more numerous than those of men, nor are their habits half so expensive. They wear more fancy trifles; pay more for ribbons, and laces, and " gewgaws" than men do for their articles of adornment, but they have no expensive tastes as men have, (and which are more than an offset to any foolish vanities that women possess), and they contrive and make much for themselves which men never think of doing. This year women were never more careful of expenditure, never more thoughtful of the demands they make. They have worn cotton goods in place of silk, have adhered to what they felt was the most economical plan of living, and, instead of being commented upon for their extravagance, they surely ought to be praised. And the cynical single men, and the disappointed married ones who cast the slur on the sex that is done when they are assailed as extravagant, are guilty of a wrong which is perpetrated in ignorance, or with malicious intent. Perhaps a trifle of justice in this matter would exhibit in a more prominent way, the common sense of such carping libelers. Why Some People are Always Poor. Silver spoons are used to scrape kettles. Coffee, tea, pepper and spices are left to stand open and lose their strength. Potatoes in the cellar grow, and sprouts are not removed until the potatoes become worthless. Brooms are never hung up and are soon spoiled. Nice handled knives are thrown into hot water. The flour is sifted in a wasteful manner, and the bread pan is left with the dough sticking to it. Clothes are left on the line to whip to pieces in the wind. Tubs and barrels are left in the sun to dry and fall apart. Dried fruits are not taken care of in season and become wormy. Rags, strings and paper are thrown into the fire. Bits of meat, vegetables, bread and cold pud dings are thrown away when they might be warmed and served as good as new. Nobody's child-The self-made man. |