' and I am de termined to try my father. He loved me when I was a boy; he was proud of me. It is true, I have acted dishonorably by him, and should, no doubt, have ruined him. Yesterday I spoke harshly of him, but I did not then know myself. Your deep affection, my dear wife, has completely altered me. I will make up for it-I will, indeed I will. Nay, do not grieve me in this way-this is worse to me than all. I will be back soon." The children appeared in the breakfast room. Mary was ready with her smile, and the boy was anxious for the notice of his father. In a short time Mr. F- returned. "We must sink, my love! he will not assist me. He upbraided me; I did not, I could not answer him a word. He spoke kindly of you and our little ones, but he cast us off forever!" The distressed man had scarcely said this, when a person rudely came in. The purport of his visit was soon perceived. In the name of F-'s father he took possession of the property, and had the power to make F— a prisoner. "You shall not take papa away," said the little son, at the same time kicking the officer. "Mamma," whispered Mary, "must my father go to prison? Won't they let us go too?" "Here comes my authority," said the deputy sheriff. The elder Mr. F- doggedly placed himself in a chair. "You shall not take papa away," cried out the little boy, to his grandfather. "Whatever may have been my conduct, sir," said the miserable Edward, "this is unkind in you. I have not a single feeling for myself; but my wife -my children! you have no right to harass them with your presence." "Nay, husband, responded Mrs. F, "think not of me. Your father cannot distress me. I have not known you from your childhood as he has done, but he shall see how I cling to yon in your poverty. He has forgotten his youthful days-he has lost sight of his own thoughtless years." The old gentleman directed his law agent to leave the room. He then slowly but nervously answered thus: "Madam, I have not forgotten my own thoughtless days. I have not forgotten that I had a wife as amiable and noble-minded as yourself, and I have not forgotten that your husband was her favorite child. An old man hides his sorrows, but let not the world think him unfeeling, especially as that world taught him to do so. The distress that I have this moment caused, was premeditated on my part. It has had its full effect. A mortal gets a vice by single steps, and many think the victim must return by degrees. I know Edward's disposition, and that with him a single leap was sufficient. The leap he has taken. He is again in my memory as the favorite of his poor mother; the laughing-eyed young of a-pshaw!-of a--an old fool ?-for what am I crying?" Little Mary had insensibly drawn herself towards the old philosopher, and without uttering a word, pressed his hand, and put her handkerchief to her eyes. The boy also now left his parents, and walked up to the old man's knees, and, turning up his ound check, said: "You won't take papa away?" "No, you impudent little rascal; but I'll take you away, and when your mother comes for you, I will treat her so well that I will make your father follow after." Thus came happiness at the heels of ruin. If husbands oftener appreciated the exquisite and heaven-like affections of their wives, many happier firesides would be seen. "One in love and one mind," ought to be the motto of every married pair. And fathers would many a time check improvidence, if they were to make use of reflection and kindness, rather than prejudice and strictness. THE PIKE AND THE CAT. A PIKE for years had been the king The Indians of Alaska are becoming quite civilized. They recently hanged and flayed alive an old squaw for practicing witchcraft. THE BEGGAR OF SAN MARC. A VENETIAN STORY. BY MRS. C. H. BUTLER. CHAPTER I. ITH the lightness and grace of a bird upon the wing, a gondola cleft the limpid waters of the Giudecca, and darting swiftly through hundreds of the same beautiful craft, gliding to the music of the gondoliers, swept up to the stairs of the Piazzetta San Marc; and, two gentlemen debarking from it, mingled with the motley throng which crowded the marble pavement of the square. Threading their way through the gay multitude, they passed on to the church of San Marc. They entered beneath the porch over which stand the four famed horses of Lysippus, once the pride of Constantinople, seeming as if curbed by some invisible power to restrain their fiery leap upon the rich pavement below, and ascending to the tower, from which they might command a view of the whole magnificent scene. It was the sunset hour. Sunset in Venice, of which poets have sung, and painters with pencils dipped, as it were, in the gorgeous beauty of the clouds, have attempted to portray! The long sweep of the canals, and the broad langunes beat by their thousand oars, broke in golden flakes under the rich glow of sunset. The "deep dyed Bretna," with its walled palaces, the green trees of the Lido, and the wide Adriatic beyond, on which the white sails of countless galleys, like sea-gulls, dipped to to the gentle breeze, the cloud-like shore of Italy, afar, the Alpine mountains, a glorious base worthy the glorious heavens which they seemed to uplift, and then, below them, Venice herself, with her splendid palaces and towers, her glittering spires, and the graceful arch of her bridges, like chains of filigree gold, linking these islands of the sea into one magnificent gem-all combined to render the scene too lovely for expression, and the two strangers-Americans- for some time stood speechless with its glorious beauty. "Was there ever a scene more beautiful than this?" at length one of them exclaimed; "and yet it is impossible to view it, fair as it is, without a • feeling of melancholy; for too surely has decay fastened upon this magnificent city, throned upon her hundred isles.' Her palaces, her churches, her superb towers and turrets are gradually crumbling into ruin, and, ere many years, malaria, with its poison drawn from the slimy canals and lagunes, will drive hence her inhabitants!" "But, With the Rialto, Shylock, and the Moor, And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn awayThe keystones of the arch! Though all were o'er, For us repeop ed were the solitary shore;'" replied his companion, " the memory of her Doges, her grave senators, her richly-freighted argosies, oblivion may bury with the crumbling ruins around us, yet the genius of Shakspeare and Otway has rendered Venice imperishable. So long as the world stands, Shylock and the Moor will here hold sway." er; 'see what a glow rests on the Rhaetian Alps, which, even as we gaze, fades in beauty!" "Like Venice herself, you would say, Wirthrop," said Irving. "Is not that the Armenian Isle we see to the right, so like an emerald? And how the bright bosom of the Adriatic heaves in this golden light, as if conscious of her wedded greatness; though now, 'The Bucentaur* lies rotting unrestored!"" "So many pleasant memories crowd around this enchanted spot," said Winthrop, "that we might linger here for hours, and still wish to look again. But we must not forget that we have promised to accompany Mary to the opera." "True; and yet I would gladly tarry here and view this beautiful scene in the chastened moonlight. But I am ready; we shall soon reach our hotel." So saying the two gentlemen left the campanile, and descending the flights of marble stairs, stood upon the rich mosaic pavement, which seemed but a reflection of the brilliant roof above, for on both, the fadeless hues of lapis lazuli, agate, and jasper, united in pictures of glittering mosaic. Lost in contemplation, they proceeded through these aisles, so splendidly paved and canopied, adorned on either side with columns of porphyry, and were about to emerge once more upon the open square, when the attention of Charles Irving was arrested by the figure of an old man leaning against one of the pillars. Although his cap held out before him denoted him a mendicant, yet there was such an air of dignity about him as seemed to belie his vocation. Not Coriolanus, on the hearthstone of his enemy, wore a more noble look, as, with his cloak half falling from his shoulders, yet held in graceful folds over one arm, his silver locks, his furrowed brow, and his long white beard resting on his breast, he thus solicited charity. Irving dropped a small coin in the cap, and passed on in silence. By this time the square of San Marc was thronged with Venetians, Austrian soldiers, Turks, and Albanians, promenading the spacious area, or gathered about the brilliantly decorated cafes; while from gondolas, which swept to the piazzetta to debark or to receive their freights of beauty and pleasure, the song of the gondolier mingled with the notes of the guitar. "Winthrop, did you observe that old man who just now demanded our charity?" said Irving. "I did not. Beggars are so common here, that the eyes of Argus would fail to detect them all," was the reply. "This was no common beggar I am convinced. I know not why it is, but I cannot dismiss him from my thoughts. I fear I did wrong not to have spoken with him, or at least I should not have insulted his pride by the miserable dole of a ducatoon!" "In the words of Byron, he was, perhaps, 'some lordly patrician begging his bitter bread!" said Winthrop. "I fear so,” replied Irving. "Ah, who can tell the struggle of that old man's heart; the sufferings, *The state galley, in which the Doge of Venice annu. ally wedded the Adriatic, by throwing a ring into the Look yonder, Irving," continued the first speak- | sea. mental and physical, he has endured, ere yielding to this galling necessity! Among these lofty palaces where once, perhaps, his ancestors proudly ruled, he, their descendant, born to command, now stalks a beggar and an alien beneath their crumb ling arches. I tell you, Winthrop, that Darius, chained to his victor's car, suffered no greater humiliation than the pride of a highborn, noble spirit thus subdued by poverty! I must once more seek the old man, and repair my error." long time! I have been so weary without you; come, father!" said the young girl in the soft, musical Venetian tongue. "Home, Isola; we have no home!" was the bitter reply. "Lean on me, father; the twilight deepens, and the cool evening breeze upon the Rialto will refresh you; come, father." The old man clasped his hands, and raising them above his head, he groaned aloud; then, suddenly "Not to-night, Irving. See, here is our gondo- dashing his cap upon the pavement, he stamped la; come, or we shall be late." "Push off-don't wait for me; I will join you in half an hour, or meet you at the opera," he answered. "No, Charles. if you are determined to go I will go with you. I have no idea of trusting you alone, to the chance of a stiletto in your breast," said Winthrop. "Nonsense, Winthrop; go home to Mary, who, dare say, from our long absence, has been imagin. ing us for the last half hour victims to some Ban dit of Venice.' I will soon be with you." The suggestion that by longer delay he might cause undue anxiety to his young wife, decided at once the argument. Winthrop sprang into the gondola, and waving his hand to his friend, was borne swiftly over the thronged waters in the direction of his hotel. CHAPTER II. MEANWHILE, Irving rapidly retraced his steps, and once more entered the church, whose vastness had now become more dim and solemn in the evening shadows which were gathering up her splendors in their stealthy arms. And there stood the old man still; his noble head bowed upon his breast, and his attitude one of deep mental misery. Although so urgent to relieve, yet Irving hesitated in what manner to make his presence and intent known to the object of his kindness; and the longer he paused, still more difficult it seemed. "He surely will not remain here much longer; I will observe his movements, and, perhaps, a more favorable opportunity may offer to address him;" and, with this conclusion, Irving retired a few steps, and gliding behind a column, where he was himself unseen, still continued to watch the old man. The church was now nearly deserted; a few persons only were strolling listlessly up and down the long aisles, and here and there a solitary worshipper was seen upon his knees, or prostrate upon his face before the image of some saint. Not many moments had Irving thus concealed himself, when the graceful figure of a young girl, like a shadow, noiselessly flitted by him, and glided to the spot where the old man stood so heedless of all that was passing around him. Stealing one arm around his neck, she seemed to speak words of tender affection. The old man raised his head, a faint smile for an instant broke through the cloud of despair which was settled on his brow, he looked at the young girl sadly, but fondly, and then, without speaking, he motioned her to leave him, and sank again into the same desponding attitude from which her presence had momentarily aroused him. "Come home, dear father; you have left me a upon it passionately, exclaiming : "Senseless tool of my shame, I could rend you in pieces, and strike off the servile hand which held you to receive the beggar's mite!" "Father! dear father!" cried Isola in terror, and placing her hand gently upon his arm. "Call me no longer father, Isola; for I have disgraced you. Yes, Isola, I-I, a Foscarino, have this day stooped to a deed that shames the noble blood which courses through your veins! Leave me, Isola; let the darkness hide my shame; let me not go forth as a beggar-where as princes my fathers trod! Go." "Alone, father, alone! Holy Virgin, you mean not so it is late-the Piazza and the Rialto are already thronged with the gaiety of Venice. You would not surely have me go forth alone. Oh, no; come, dear father, let us go together." But the old man waved his hand, and turned from her. Then Isola fell on her knees before him, and throwing back the light scarf or veil which had before concealed her features, looked up, beseechingly into his face. It was still light enough for Irving to note that the upturned countenance of the young Venetian was one of great beauty; and, indeed, the shadows which fell so softly around her served but to enhance her loveliness in his eyes. More than ever interested by the scene, he scarcely dared to breathe lest his presence might be betrayed. Clasping the withered hand of the old man, she pressed it tenderly to his lips; and then, as she knelt there at his feet, once more besought him in her sweet, thrilling tones to leave the church and accompany her. As the eyes of her father caught the expression of her features, his countenance relaxed its sternness, he placed his hand upon her beautiful head : "Isola, my fair, my lovely child, image of your sainted mother, you have subdued me! No, I wil not forsake you! May God forgive the rash act I meditated in my desperation! Come, my daughter, we will return to our desolate home. Perish pride, perish all vain memories of the past! let all but paternal love and duty be forgotten; come, Isola !" Isola drew the cloak of the old man more closely about his shoulders, lifted his cap from the pavement, and placed it gently upon his white headevery action, every movement revealing some new grace; and then hand in hand the old man and his child went forth together, followed at a little distance by Irving, who, forgetful of all engagements, sought only to learn the history of the two beings in whom he had become so much interested. CHAPTER III. In a spacious apartment, whose arched windows overlooked the sunlit waters of the Grand Canal of Venice, and in immediate view of the Rialto, our party of American travellers were at breakfast. The walls and the lofty ceiling were beautifully frescoed, and supported by pillars richly gilt and carved; the furniture, although faded and worn, still bore evident marks of its former elegance, when those, now mouldering in the tomb, whose portraits hung tarnished and neglected against the walls, moved through those splendid rooms in life and beauty. The Hotel R was once the proud palace of a Venetian noble. "My dear Charles, you lost a very great pleasure, I assure you, in not hearing the Prima Donna last evening," said Mary Winthrop, addressing Irving; "never did I listen to tones more thrillingly sweet! And, pray, where were you? Robert came home with some romantic story about an old beggar at San Marc; but, ah, brother, I doubt him; confess now, was it not some charming signora, who, with her dark, fathomless eyes, thus wiled you away from us?" "Ah, true, Charles," said Winthrop, "what became of you? And did you find the old man again who called forth such a burst of eloquence from you? You should have heard him, Mary! We must have you on the floor of Congress yet!" as remote as possible from the crowd, passed along the narrow callas and the numerous small bridges which traverse this strange city, and emerged at length upon the Rialto. Here their steps became slower, and the young girl unloosed the veil which she had hitherto held closely about her face, as if to inhale the cool evening wind; and I, also, fearful of being observed, slackened my pace, keeping within the shadow of the arches. It happened, unfortunately, that just before we reached the termination of the bridge, a party of gay masquers issued from one of the cafes, and with loud songs and boisterous laughter, came directly toward us, separating themselves in such a way as to fill up the passage. They had all evidently drank a little too much wine. I saw Isola hastily conceal her features, and cling more closely to the arm of her father, who, drawing himself proudly up, stood still to let the revellers pass. I involuntarily hastened my footsteps, and, unperceived, stood on the other side of the young girl. "Ha, ha! mia bella! don't hide your bright eyes. Come, a zechin for a peep, my pretty signorina!" exclaimed a cavalier, rudely attempting to draw aside her veil. "In a moment a blow from the old man had prostrated him." "O, Charles, you frighten me!" exclaimed Mary, catching his arm. "A scene of wild tumult followed," proceeded Irving, "in which, of course, I bore my part, in defence of the old man and his helpless child. The noise attracted the notice of the police, and in a few moments we were surrounded by a body of the Austrian guard. As briefly as possible, I explained Irving bowed to this compliment, and answered: "Yes, I found him standing where we had left him; and, I have gathered enough from a conversation which I overheard between the old man and his daughter, to convince me that my suspicions were correct; he was no common beggar!" "His daughter; ah, ha! Charles, I said so!" in- the facts to the commander, who, learning I was an terrupted Mary, laughing. "Well, Mary, I will not deny that although greatly interested in the old man before his lovely child appeared on the scene, I was still more so after I had seen her." "Young and beautiful, of course ?” "Young, I am certain," answered Irving; "for a voice so musical and sweet, could come from none but youthful lips; and, I think, also, most beautiful. Her form was grace itself; and, as seen in the dim light of the church, her countenance appeared. to me one of exceeding loveliness." "You quite interest me, Charles," said Mrs. Winthrop. "If you have finished your breakfast, we will go on to the balcony, and while I finish my sketch, you can repeat to me your adventures." "My adventures, I am sorry to say, are soon told, and have a very unsatisfactory ending, at least to me," replied Irving. He then related what transpired between the old man and Isola at San Marc, with which the reader is already acquainted; and then continued: "I do not remember, my dear sister, that my feelings were ever more wrought upon than at the distress of that venerable old man, and the tender affection of his child. I felt irresistibly impelled to follow them, forgetful both of, my engagement and of the anxiety my long absence might cause you. I left the church as they did, and kept my way a few paces behind them. After leaving the Piazza San Marc, the old man and his daughter, keeping American, courteously allowed me to pass; but on looking for those whom I wished to share the privilege with me, they had unaccountably disappeared. Imagine my chagrin and my regret! With those winding streets or alleys leading from the Rialto, I was wholly unacquainted, and, of course, could not pursue my search; indeed, I was obliged to procure a guide to conduct me back to the hotel." "Thank Heaven, my dear brother, your adventure ended thus safely! I shudder to think of the danger you incurred!" cried Mary. Yes, I think you have escaped narrowly," added her husband; "a broil with a party of hot-headed, inebriate Venetians, is no such trifling matter. I advise you to be wary in future, nor led by any such toolish impulse, to run after old men and pretty girls again, at least, so long as we remain in Venice." "Thank you, Winthrop, but, to tell you the truth, I am very much disposed to pursue the adventure," replied Irving. "Nonsense, Charles! Why, there is not one chance in a thousand that you will ever meet the old patrician again." "Well, I will take even that one chance, small as it is," answered Irving. "I will haunt San Marc's by day and the Rialto by night, and something assures me, I shall be successful." "And something assures me that you are a very headstrong, foolish fellow!" said Mary. "I confess, what you have told me has greatly moved my |