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no hope. It seemed r: when crowds formed er, swarmed towards E bulletins, and when t the rumors were codâ€" ty shouted, "Let‘s find With one impulse the for the stationâ€"house is confined. Teleâ€" tilized, and the police hen the crowd arrived se police out in fore® itilize«1 nd the police , & vhen the crowd arrived he police out in .'oru'.‘\ » t Bu anticipate c i out 1 city‘s foree, -, pn isked 4th Brigade to readiness to w Te a late F’rebi'c‘i.;& _ at Bulfalo. i CD xÂ¥ou young 4t) wa 1% ROOSEV EL cor at laps n t] Berlin N.H nt a T 2 Ew in h IrE 1 (5 m mm \ A m n 1 i nsw ere HUNTING nts «dlia t at 8 O war untain n m nticipated ty‘s foree, h Brigade adiness to D W ist 6 000 NEWS, . Meâ€" n in 10 i h e, bore of the irriage D. retary »sident othing there to the e call. o‘clock n it if bad + two k like ropes â€" the me disf ghta â€" but Lr KIll by ty L rk th ad 1 by Â¥ D Iv it é tt ut of it 1t ng Ln it mat reâ€" N 118 it 1k D Â¥ W _1 want to be your friend if you will lot me, and there is noth n« dishonorable ym a friendshp _ beâ€" tween a ladqy and gentleman, _ is there?" she persists, in the andn~â€" Ity of innocence. l‘“:“ es ~persuasively, and exten is on lttle hand with a coaxinz gestur peats, gazing at her pitying!ly, and wonderin@ly, but withal torched in spite of himself. "I think I might if I let myself be so @ishororabie, if I bad not an obâ€" stinate quality called selfâ€"respect, Miss Deane," "I don‘t quite understand you," Gllian says, tremulously; and glancâ€" Ing up at him once morsa she is so Elad to perceive that he is not looking cold or disdainful that sh» marry for money I" *"*No, no, of course not!" Gillian says. hurrledly and distinctly, she is so disconserted at his chinged look and manner ; ‘"only, you mi ht marry for love, and aw I bave, or shall have, i am not very likely to amass a few thousamis. I have no relations, that I know of, meh or poor, to bequeath me a "crock o‘ goold,‘ as they say in the Irish fairsy til s, and 1 shall never ‘"Your suggestion, Miss Deane, lal not in the least likely to come to pass | until that good day comes when, as | they say, ‘the sky wiil fall, and we | ghall catch larks,‘" he says, deliberâ€" | ately. "Even when that happy event | occurs, I don‘t expect a fortunt to fall at my feet aloug with the larks. | And there is no other way in which I ! can become the possessor of money | unless I earn it. As a land agent, | !}l a saliry of three hundred a year, | Humor, compassion, disdain, and also _ astonishment are in the plercing, steady regard of the blue eyes, and the sarâ€" eastic lips where the sunlight just toucheg the curl of the chestnut musâ€" tache, amd reveals the edge of his white (teth gleaming in that cold, dislainful smile. Fhe is very frightened, lest he deem her purseâ€"proud or intrasive, offering her money unsolicited, and while she hastily tries to frame her offer or suggestion in expiicit lanâ€" Fuage and modest phrases, she ooks up at him with starry eyes glittering through tears, and A garmine flush burning on each pale Oheek. But the fever of her Quixotic, generous impuilses fades, aod her eart almost pauses in dismay, as whe meets George Arther‘s cyes as ho stands in the dappled golden light and leaf shadows, gazing down at her. 1t might give him great pleasure If she can venture to tell himâ€"it may mcan a near prospect of hapâ€" piness for him, a near hope of his marriage with Anne O‘Neilâ€"if she can but summon courage to tell him, and keep her lips from tremâ€" bling, and her heart from throbâ€" bing so desperateiy, and those abâ€" surd tears from filling her eyes. Gilllian pauses suddenly, and looks up at him with eyes of sweetest sy mâ€" pathy. . "But you are happy even if you are â€"poor," she says, impulsively, catchâ€" Ing at her breath, which almost fails her, with her courage, at the disâ€" tance gshe is venturing ; "and you have a beautiful old house, and perâ€" haps, some day, you may have money enough to keep it as you wish." PFhe almost ventures to tell him at she will give him, or lend him, t least, a sum of money sufficient o make Darragh Castle a handâ€" some resldence. When she is of age her mother‘s marriage settlement of twentyâ€"five thousand pounds beâ€" Coges her own absolutely. ' ‘‘You seem not to be able to quite got over your surprise at my informaâ€" tion," George Archer says, looking down at her with an amused smile. "It is quite in keeping with things Irish, Miss Deane. Penniless men have lired in castles before now." She is so glad to think that Gcorge Archer _ lives in â€" Darâ€" yh Castleâ€"not that it can matter £her, but so glad nevertheless. It ‘me litting in some way that that gtately old nouse should be hisâ€"his, and one day Anne O‘Neil‘s. They will live there, Gillian thinks, gazing far ahead in her rapt fancies into the coming yearsâ€"George and his wife. They will live there, happy, so happy in their loving married lives ; and perâ€" haps by and by, in those coming years, they will ask her to their grand old castle home, and when she has all her money ; and when she rich woman, no longer young or prettyâ€"they may kindly make themâ€" selves ‘her friends, and let her give them some of her unused wealth, to make their home beautiful. She will glvo it so freely, so gladly ! Ereat deal of money one day, I Ant thatâ€"if you likedâ€"you cuuld "Even so," he retorts, goodâ€"huâ€" moredly, "though I am aware therse is a painful discrepancy between the pretensions of my house and its master‘s Tortunes," i *"I beg your pardot, I am afraid I have been very stupid and inquisiâ€" tive" Gillian failters, crimsoning and looking down ; and she walks on in sllence, her heart thrilling with an incomprehensible pain and pleaâ€" sure, and that bitter, bitter swellâ€" ing ol envy and sadness at the disâ€" covery she has just made. hoy 4 marry for love and have too ?" Georze Archer asks, r tone, his eyes softening the downcast face and the lor, and the ittle neprvous ching@ at each other ; C‘is t you mean?" he reâ€" "Well, upon my wori, George," Mr. Damer says, after an anxious pause, as if the fate of a nation trembles in the balanceâ€"‘I think I‘d better stick to the claret. I had a glass of whisâ€" key and soda after lunch on, and I eclare to goodness that it made me hotter than ever. If I had anothr glass, I suppose I‘d have my lady mak n# her pleasant marks about apoplexy. Just as if a man could keep h mself as pale as a lily and as cool as a trout such a day as this,. Not mt you look as if you‘d been sitâ€" t‘in on e North Pole," he adds, with a sudden inquisitive staroe at the youns man seated bâ€"hing a writâ€" a~_ table near th> window. with books and papers and writing maâ€" tcrials bofore him. "Anything wrong, |__"I am a bad, selfish, jealous, wicked | girl" she mutters, with a burning | flush of shame. But she lifts her own | hand to her lips, and kisses it wildly | over and over again, and then hides it from sight in the folds of her dress as she hurries on to the house. ; CHAPTER IX. |\_"Whew ! This is what you â€" may call a seorcher of a day !‘" Mr. Damer exclaims, flinging himsel{ into an _easyâ€"cbair, throwing his hat and _stick aside, and roughly unbuttoning his coat with that disregard for apâ€" pearances in which a very stout genâ€" tlemen is prone to indulge. "Yes," George says, dryly, " the castle generally is coolâ€"summer and winter. What will you have, sir? â€" claret, or whiskey and soda ?" _ "But you are fime and cool in here, George !" Mr. Damer continues, with a sigh of relief, glancing around the lofty, shady room, with its high oak wainscot and massive black mantelâ€" piece of Kilkenny marble, its bare oak floor, and sparse, oldâ€"{ashioned furâ€" piture. It is early in the afternoon of the following day, and on the unshaded road to Darragh village lying in the shelter of the mountainâ€"range, with the July sun beating down on the treeless villago street, and the bare hill on which "the castle" stands, the temperature may be well believed to be as Mr. Damer has described it. And Gillian looks at the place on her black glove which his lips have pressed, and looks at it a long time â€"keepingin the shadow of the shrubâ€" bery. Minard‘s Liniment Cures Garget in He raises his hat again, and, bareâ€" headed, stops and reverently kisses her hand, and then walks away. * Vcueye Pamer has been putting "No, not exactrlry," Mr. Damer reâ€" some of his blessed nonsense into her plies very carefully, drinking more headâ€"poor little romantic girl! She claretâ€"cup, _ and fanning _ himself must be under some delusion or misâ€" | "th } g ut that is, she never said a word about ‘ axg:jrehemion about me. She looks aB | it. She‘s a queer, shy little girlâ€" i > Tou afivpe‘“'e x & Iv;mn:ledfloleu" doesn‘t seem to take to them much, ho > saye all:)o 4. _ a‘ixde m:i_ George. It was from Anpe I heard ing a little awkwa.r:fly. Tou m‘*me gomething of the story; the little a very great honor, 1 know. And 1 }ROY A"04 Anne seem to be great hope you will think none the worse | frlem,is oai 10 o. Looun@hner downiin of me for only acting as selfâ€"respect: ADDCS room, you know it used to be and honest mankness compelled me * §@"YANtS‘ room, and that girl has to act. I am sure you will, some M44¢ it into the snuggest little parâ€" day, say that I behaved well, even | 19"â€"I C@All itâ€"in the whole biessed though I confess," he says smiling,| O4S¢. Aone‘s aclever girl, and a and speaking a little bhastily, "it has £009 girl, George, a good,patient creaâ€" been a great temptation." He has‘ ture, obliging and goodâ€"natured too, taken Gillian‘s hand in his as he T‘ve Always found her. Lor‘ bless us ! speaks, and she, reading his words S8he must be made of Indiaâ€"rubber to according to the light of her own stand what she does." And Mr. Damer understanding, presses his fingers WPs his brow with emphasis after ever so lightly in token that she | this peculiar testimony to Anne‘s comprehends that he is too proud H virtues. " Well, so there they were, and independent of spirit to owe her Anne sewing awayâ€"I never did see even a helping hand though it may , that poor girl for two minutes with mean wife and bhome and prosperity.| her arms folded." But George, feeling his pride and: ‘*Nor anybody else," George says manliness rather out of place in briefly. " Anne earos her bread if| this snubbing of a gentle girl‘s innoâ€" anybody ever did." cent, trustful generosity, thinks he| "You may say that !" Mr. Damer will try to make some little amends., SAy8, regretfully, "and it‘s mirhty "Poor little tenderâ€"hearted, foolâ€" ish creature!" George mutters to himself, with a rush of what he thinks are feelings of generous adâ€" miration, but which are really feelâ€" ings of gratilied masculine vanity. "I believe Damer has been putting some of his blessed nonsense into her headâ€"poor little romantic girl! She must be under some delusion or misâ€" apprehension about me. She looks as modest and pure as a white violet!" * You have not offended me," he says aloud, _ and _ speakâ€" ing & little awkwardly. "You did me & very great honor, I know. And I hops you will think none the worse of me for only acting as sellâ€"respect and honest manlkness compelled me "I have never itmanked you yet for rescuing me from that man," Gillian says in a low tone, hardly venturâ€" ing to look up at him. "Will you let me thank you nowâ€"very gratefully? Andâ€"if I offended you just now, I did ,Elot do so willfullyâ€"please believe And ho walks on again swiftly in silence, and Gillian is panting _ and breathless, her brain is in a whirl, her breast in a tumult. When they reach the white gate he pushes it open, draws back as she passes in, ard raises his hat without a word. CC haid C290 002 CHC 6CaE VIUCU Elance she tries to keep her face averted, makes him pause a moâ€" ment. But he is too disturbed, exâ€" cited, even angry, to care for even those distressed blushes, and shy, frightened eyes. ‘"Fo if you," he says, sharply, as he walks on so swiftly that Gillian can hardly keep pace with himâ€""if you, Miss Deane, are young and innocent enough to be houestly mistaken, I am at least old enough to have no such excuse. An acquainâ€" tance with you I may have the honor of claiming, if you will permit me, but your friendship is above me a.nd‘ beyond my wishes !" ‘ piitralits tsnnd i. is c cintusi 4 Tok says, curtly, compressing his lips, whilst his eyes grow darker, and fill with a hidden light. "There couid not be simple, honest friendship beâ€" tween a man of sixâ€"andâ€"twenty and & girl as young and lovely as you are!" * The frightened look in Gillian‘s eyes, the scared, changing color in h‘er face, as after one â€" startled "Indeed!" George says, rather vaguely, with a vivid recollection of that scene in the lane, and Gillian‘s innocent, blushing face, and dilating, earnest eyes. ? "And that is a good deal for ko reâ€" served a person as Anne O‘Nei)," Mr. Damer, says, trinumphanitly. " So, as I say, I am delighted the poor girl has met so good a friend. I should not wonder if she didn‘t take Anne away wWith her whoen she goes back to London. I shouldn‘t wonder, I tell you," Mr. Damer says, with a flourâ€" ish of his handkerchic{, and a sort of final shake of his hoad, "if, with a generous, wealthy young girl eurâ€" | rounnded with all th» advantages of ' wealth, if Anne‘s fortune wasn‘t‘ made I" + ""I hope so," George says, coo‘ly, but : with a suspicious, earcastic emile in hig blue eyes. "I didn‘t know Miss Deane was returning to London "Yesâ€"ahâ€"well !â€" Never mind that!" Mr. Damer says, loftily. "I am speakâ€" ing of her heart and her nature. I bolieve, for one thing, that Anne O‘Neil has found a good friend in her. She said as much to me when Gillian left the room. We had quite a long chat, that is, I stopped a couple of minutes to chat to the poor girl," Mr. Damer says again, contradictâ€" ing himself oddly. "And Anne said that she thought Miss Deane was a most generous, warmâ€"hearted girl." "I am sure she isâ€"as good as a hunâ€" dred thousand sovereigns," George says, cynically. ‘I don‘t doubt it," George says, very dryly ; "they are quite conâ€" trasts. One dark and the other fair ; one ~ich and the other poor ; one all prosperous and the other lonely and almost friendless! I dare say Miss Deane was pleased at finding such a foil to herself." £ * You may say that!" Mr. Damer says, regretfully, "and it‘s mighty dry bread she gets. Hard worked and paid worse than any servant in the house! Well, 1 cannot help it, George; it‘s my lady‘s own affair, and Anne is her poor relation, though she won‘t own it, and Anne won‘t own it, either â€"queer enough ! But as I was saying, there she was sewing away on some ruffles or furbelows, and the little one, Gillian, sitting on the carpet by her side, with her arms around Anne‘s waist, and the two talking away like sistersâ€"‘pon my word, they made a picture !" a "I don‘t know what you‘re talking about," Mr. Damer retorts, shortly. "I believe that little girl is as good as gold !" "Woll, not for a few months, 1 supâ€" "Oh, you heard that story!" he says, with a slight smile, getting up to pull the blind down a little lower, and then to raise it again. " Miss Deane told you all the adventure at bx:qufast, I suppose ?" at least, she sawâ€"a tramp who askâ€" ed her for money when she was out yvesterday," Mr. Damer says, beginâ€" ning his speech with such eager exâ€" citement, and ending it so lamely, with such an assumption of careless indifference, that George â€" stares, surprised. "Bless my Eall_l-f‘~~w;;;-jt Joe Roche fl}a‘t Gi!lia_n met ? She sawâ€"she said, **Careful ! Me ?" repeats Mr. Damer, with an easy laugh. " Lor‘ bless you, George! I don‘t believe a man on the estate would hurt a hair of my, head !" ® *" Well, but Joe Roche is not on the estate, and he is just one of those goodâ€"forâ€"nothing scamps who have no stake in theacountry, and nothing to lose, and who are ready to put others up to mischief if they are not in it themselves, George reâ€" plies, earnestly. "And, besides, a felâ€" low like that, hanging about in lanes and woods, is not a nice person to meet alone of a summer‘s evening or morning, cspscially when there are ladies in one‘s householdâ€"â€"*" out of work now, he says, though he is always about the public house ! He is a bad lot, and he comes of a bad stock, andâ€"I would be careful, i# I were you, sir !" 4 tb 18, , and you‘ll get sunâ€" ltrotavyg:ygo.%eer the mountains in this weather, huntin‘ up your calâ€" careous rocks, and your argillaceo slates, and goodness knows what beâ€" sides," Mr. Damer urges, but with a proud glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. " You want a wife to take care of you, that‘s what you do !" he says with a businessâ€"like nod of great ‘gravity, but looking hurâ€" riedly into the claret cup George hands him. * A slight frown sweeps across the young man‘s face, and he goes back to his chair. "I want what I can‘t have then,". he says, very coolly and decidedly. "I wasn‘t writing or geologizing, either. I finished my paper and sent it in two days ago. 1 have only been sitâ€" ting here thinking until Ihave got a headache. Do you know, sir, that that Joe Roche is hanging about the place again? ‘That fellow is cut out for the hangman, or I‘m misâ€" taken. He‘s been to Swansea and has . come home again, been to America and come home again, been to Liverâ€" pogl and come home again, and he is _Â¥0u lbook deuced queer," Mr. Daâ€" mer retorts emphatically, and anxiâ€" ously scanning the handsome face which is pallid and far less bright than usual. "You‘re working your brain too hard these hot da?l over these geological papersâ€"that‘s what ICUOW answers shortly and impaâ€" tiently. "What should be wrong? I suppose it is the weather, though I have been indoors all the day doâ€" ing some writing." . George?" he says, in a apprehensively. e w nothing at all," lower tone, the young and impaâ€" be wrong? "How the dickens should I know!" Mr. Damer says, sharply. "He‘s readâ€" ing poetry to Miss Deane, or Miss Deane is reading poetry to him, mayâ€" be. That‘s the way they spent all this morning, anyhow !" k "And where is Miss De;i.}ié_c;;jmfié- ham Lacy ?" questions George, hesiâ€" tating still. "No, you won‘t now," Mr. Damer Eay‘s, rather _ crossly. "I‘ve got several things to talk to you about, and I want you to come up to the house with me. My lady‘s gone out, and won‘t be back until 8 or 9 o‘clock; gone to a garden party at the Butlers‘; so you won‘t see her, lf‘ that‘s what youfre thinking of." "Now, sirf I think I‘ll turn back," George says, pausing, thoughâ€"with a conscious duplicity of which heis rather ashamedâ€"he knows that what he really intends to do is to watch Mr. Damer out of sight, and then lie down under the trees and think of yesterday morniog and of the girl who had stood beside him then. s They walk on, however, in silence again, until they come to the midâ€" dle of the wood, where the ferns grow and the golden sunlight falls, at ‘the very spot Gillian had stood yesterday, and told him with those modest, roseâ€"red blushes, those pure, true eyes. of the wealth that she could give him. " Ay, I suppose so ; got hysterical and clung to you, and had to be soothed and quieted. Girls always go on like that!" Mr. Damer says, in an offâ€"hand tone, and Jlooking into the bushes. "Yes," says George. rather relucâ€" tantly, and Mr. Damer‘s shoulders shake in a curious manner, while he peers into the underwood and amongst the ferns. ing.‘" "She was very much frightened," George adds, as if stating a dry fact, "very much ; indeed, only for her enâ€" treating not to be left, and all that," George says, with a little softening nnd unsteadiness in his voice, recollecting those passionate appeals of childlike dread, and the passionate clasp of the little hands on his arm, and the flood of childlike tears, "I could have caught the scounâ€" drel easily and given him a thrashâ€" "Indeed ?" Mr. Damer says, careâ€" lessly, with another keen glance at George under his hat. ‘It was just here, 1 believe, the rascal waylaid Miss Deane," he says, in the tone of a person affording unâ€" interesting information. _But George grows quite silent, or makes irrelevant answers until he pauses at the entrance of the wood. "Ohb," George says, briefly, and A few desultory remarks are made on both sides as they walk on by the shady side of the street, leave the village behind, and go up the narrow road along the hillside toward the covers. *‘Throth, maybe so," he says, very briefly and dryly, and pulls his hat well over his brows as he and George go out of the house together, and down the Castle Hill in silence. has never known what it is to reâ€" presas a wish or have a whim unsatisâ€" fied ; if whe, in her girlish, romantic folly, has favored him as rashly as she has, even to the length of offerâ€" ing him her wealth and her fair young self ; if she has erred so far from womanly prudence and decorum, through ignorant innocence, through impulse, and passionate generosityâ€" it was when he told her he was poor that she spoke, he remembersâ€"if she has been foolish, he has been false! False to honor and manhood, which should havé shielded her from even a disrespectful thought. Mr. Damer eyes him sharply, with a qu‘igg, eager glance, for a moment. If the foolish, impulsive girl, halfâ€" child, halfâ€"woman as sho is, the petâ€" j:ed, indulged young creature who George‘s biue Irish eyes light up with a daring glitter, and his cheek {flushes. "That‘s all you know, sir !" he says, with a sarcastic smile, and he has not uttered the words when his heart smites him, and his fair, sunâ€"tanned face reddens up to his temples. _ dad !" ‘‘Oh! I thought you were going to leave me out of it," George says, dryly, and feeling rather bewildered and unreasonably vexed. "I don‘t want to be mixed up in Miss Deane‘s romantic adestures." ‘"My dear fellow, don‘t be frightenâ€" ing yourself," Mr. Damer retorts, with cool ridicule. "Nobody wants to mix you up with Miss Deane‘s affairs ’â€"L{is.g Deane herselt leagt of allâ€"beâ€" " Well, she has some reason of her own, I dare say," Mr. Damer says, impatiently, "and she didn‘t tell any one but Anne. Not a soul knows atout it buE Anne, and me, and you." "I wonder why she made such a secret of it ?" George says, very sarâ€" castically. "Most romantic young ladies ask nothing better than to be the heroine of an adventure." " Lor‘ bless your soul! She doesn‘t know a breathing about it, and, for goodness‘ sake, don‘t let the cat out of the bag!" Mr. Damer says, in a great hurry. "‘The poor little girl onlytt%;d Anne ; she knew Anne would not tell." Miss Deane. What business had Miss Deane to be out by berself at twat hour ?" George continues, with cold disapproval. " Pray, sir, does Lady Damer know that her young guest was wa.nderlnfi through the dewy lanes at 7 o‘clock in the morning ? Miss Gillian is rather romantic, I suppose ?*" *Can‘t say, I‘m sure," George says, curtly ; "I thought I saw a figure jump down the bank as ILcame near "Oh, he was frightened away, was he?" says George, beginning a new section ‘Of the strata. * ‘"Yes," says Mr. ODamer, coughing, and taking up his hat. "She said you came up, and the fellow rac away. Was it Joe Roche, do you think, George ?" s 6 m” Mr. Diu:er ulyl:. b:tth' a careâ€" e« Mllk r ‘0'“‘ no', George. %ould you mind walking a bit with me? I‘ll go back through the wood." : George makes no reply, but draws a mall geological map on his blottingâ€" M t ‘"Bo it was from Anne you heard the story of Miss Deane‘s adventure yesaterday morning ?" he asks, careâ€" fully shading the lines of the strata in his map. ‘‘Yesâ€"oh, yes," Mr. Damer saye, with as much indifference as if an unpleasant adventure occurring to his guest were a matter of no moâ€" ment. _ "&M1ze told Anne something about some fellow asking her for money, and annoying her until he was frightened away." Liniment Cures Diphtheâ€" Every negro in sight was chas»4. beaten and som=times kil «1. A col ored boy 10 years oll was beaten to se ndblity. 4 n gro man worsh ngâ€" ed and his legs sloshed with knives while he was struggling in the agonâ€" Down to this time the riâ€"~t â€" had been loca‘lsed near the ruins of the provost marsihial‘s office, but the mo*b now moved northward on | »a«tâ€" ward among the shops and wareâ€" houses. They drank ireely at a‘l the saloons, paying noth‘ng, and th 1: numb<r> wereson au meniel by the laborers in the shops and mills, who ceased work. Thea the cry was roais>d, "Domwn with the rich menâ€"the $2500 exempts!" And while one part of the mb fell on every woell drossoed man whom cu i osity drew to the scene the othr attacked the elegant houses on Lexington avenue and that viâ€" cinity,. t ed t Monday at 10.30 a.m. the drawing was resumed at the same place, with the same oflicials ami an immense crowd in tho streets. Some seventy m.mes had been drawn when a pistol was fired in the street, and tho officials rose. ‘There was a brief pause, and then a shower of brickbats and paving stone came crashing through the windows, and instantly the room was filled with a howling mob. Two clerks seized the wheel and escaped with it to an upper story. Bome of the officials were kmnocked down and forced into the street. ‘The rest escaped by a back door. In a few minutes the whole vicinity was in control of the mob. A man poured a can of turpentine over the room and applied a match. In ten minutes the building was blazâ€" ing to the roof. + ‘Tho firemen came, but the mb would not allow them to work till the building was destroyed. Deputy Provost Marshall Yand»rpoe! was captured and beaten to insensibility. Police Superintendent John A. Kenâ€" nedy appeared in citizen‘s clothes, was knock>d down, stamp>d and beaten to an almost shapeless mass. He survived, but never recovered, gyl.ng a fow years after of chest trouâ€" The next night, Sunday, the emisâ€" saries of evil were busy in all the dark holes of that tangled wilderness of narrow streets and alleys which covers so large a portion of the east side of the city. The clause in the conscription act allowing exempâ€" tion on payment of $200 was especiâ€" ally denounced as in interest of the rich. Provost Marshal Charles E. Jenkâ€" ins gavenotice that the draft would be made in this manner: The name _of each enrolled man, with his resiâ€" dence and color, to be written on a gslip of paper six inches long and one inch wide, each! slip to ba rolled closely and a rubber band placed around it, these to be placed in a cylinder hung on an axis to be whirled around before each drawing, and at the call of each number a slip would be drawn by a. blindfolded man. And thus the drafting began at his office, 667 Third avenue, on Saturday morning, July 11th, 1863, in the presence of about 150 persons, besides the enrolling officers, clerks and a corps of reporters. ‘There were general hilarity and good huâ€" 1 mor," says the reports. "It was lookâ€". ed on ag a matter of course." There j were 1,500 names to be drawn from that â€" district, and 1,236 were drawn that day. . | Saturday, July j1th, 1863, the New York daily papers announced that drafting would begin that day in the Twentyâ€"second Ward of the city. Both on Saturday and Monâ€" day the papers announced that all would be quiet, but before the folâ€" lowing Friday noon the city had lost $2,000,000 by fire and robbery, while some 200 of its citizens had been slaughtered, . "Anne‘s parlor" is a small, square room, rather cellâ€"like in appearâ€" ance, as it is very lofty in proâ€" portion to its size in other respects, and is lighted only by cne window with diamondâ€"paned narrow sashes set high in the wail on ona side. Presently he remarks, as a variaâ€" tion on the original theme : "I don‘t remember a hotter day, nor a thirstier day. Upon my word"â€"this quite suddenly, as a brilliant inspirationâ€""I think I‘l] ask Aune to give me a cup of tea. Tea is very refreshing, you know, betâ€" ter, they say, than any wine, or whiskey and soda, for quenching the thirst. You come downâ€"stairs with me, George, and have some, ton; we‘ll be quite a snug iittle teaâ€" party in Anne‘s parior." "Ay, we can play like the mice," George says, with a slight, maliciâ€" ous grin, and Mr. Damer returnse the grin, with the usual faithlessâ€" ness of a husband when the authorâ€" ity of an imperious spouse is to be set at naught. _ I cHAPTER x. "It‘s a _ desperately â€" hot day, George," Mr. Damer remarks with as much emphasis as if he has not said the same thing at least ten times over. g*******%fl****************g £ NEW YORK DRAFT * prising walks on without any further deâ€" mur, thinking so absorbedly that he never notices that Mr. Damer is smilâ€" ing at the ferns and mosses at his own side of the road in a most surâ€" Te ie se oys se ols ie oys ie t ie ie s s i s s is ip i i s Ip ts $ sPks ONTARIO ARCHIVES TORONTO #5 $0Z000 :T !or the TEETH 25¢ nibuses wore runwing agein. and the riot was officia ly declared at an end, cliy in which gencral businiess was completely suspgaded. The worst was over, but on that day and pntil midâ€"Igcht thorse were local disturb= A~eee attondpd with fearfa‘ slanghâ€" ter of the rioters. Thirty were gshot and be neted in ovre encounter, Taree inf 1‘4a rocdments arrive] from Povnsvivania that day. and goon cloared most of thr streets. Friday morning@ all tho etraet carse and omâ€" ribusos wore runving ageâ€"in. and the Thursday morning d clty in which eenâ€"ral completely suspgadled. was over, but on that midl=Ight thore were | nnces attonipd with 1 ter of the rioters. Thi and becneted in on + Besides the usual outrages â€" and murders# of colored people, the great . event of Tuesday was the inhuman murder of Colonel H. T. O‘Brien, of | the Eleventh New York Svate troops. After serving against the mob, he rashly returned to his house alone !ln the disturbed district. Encounterâ€" | ing there a small but not very tuprâ€" bu.ent mob, he upbraided them in & | most pronounced manner. They mov. ed toward him. He drew his revolver and fired, striking a woman in the knee. She fell, and his fate was sealâ€" ed. Everyone in the mob was frantlio | to a}rlke or kick him. He lay for hours m e e o buil lugs and loave a few hundred to bick the police in clubbing the riotâ€" trs. And the clubbing was dos to the «@newa‘s taste. In one brief comeâ€" bat thirty rioter® were ki led or morâ€" tally wounded. In another a hb wit= tPoer was fired iito a mob. killing 22, RUT the mob bung on and grew morge flondish., 1igs showed whery the rioters had doune their latgest work. Wednesday morning showed that the forcies of law and order wore organized, and the desprerate closing «trugrgle be gan. From Governors Is and, the Brooklyn barracks and navy â€" yard, with the old #oldiers, invalid corps and one regimkat of miitia, whick was stopped Just ag it was ready to take the cars for Pennsylvania, enourh sodiors wiyre gathered to gunrd all the arsesals and public Puil inss and Ianva‘n Enu® Inrandriced t RIOTS OF 1863. & 1 ted States troops on Governor‘s Isâ€" land, and so, except as the police could oppose, the rioters were unâ€" checked for another day. Tuesday morning brought a shower of proclamations, one from Mayor George Opiyke commanding all good citizens to enroll as special police. men, another by Majorâ€"General John E. Wood, asking all soldiers to enlist for order. But the soldiers did not rally. All the militia were absent but one regiment. There were few Uniâ€" By a sort of unanimous instinct the rioters then moved toward the Tribune building, pausing on their way to destroy another enrolling ofâ€" fise at Broadway and Twentyâ€"ninth street and plunder all the Jewelry stores near it. About dark the adâ€" vance of the mob reached the Triâ€" bune offic>e, forced an entrance, made a heap of papers on the counting room floor and set them _ on firs, but a brave police captain led in his squad and drove out the riotâ€" ers, laying many of their bodies stiff on the pavement. Horace Grecley straightway put his office on a war footing. The tanks were kept full of boiling water, with hose arranged to turn it on an attacking mob; the employees were well armed, and a supply of hand gronades was secured from the navy yard. The mob came on subsequent days, but could not bring their courage to the attackâ€" ing point. ieg of death. Still another was bhangâ€" ed and his clothes sot on fire as he was dying. Just before nignt ocâ€" curred the attack on the colored orphan asylum, a spacious and beauâ€" tiful building on Filth avenue at Fortyâ€"sixth street, in which 200 colored orphans were cared for. Civing the inmates barely time to escape, the rioters destroyed _ or carried off all the furniture, in jurâ€" ing several of their own party in thcir haste. A little girl was killed by a heavy chair thrown from an upper window. The building was then fired and burned. There is blossoming mignonette and verbena growing in quaint jarâ€" diniere pots on the high windowâ€" gill; there are roses and verbena in the glass lily vase on the table, which is draped with a dainty emâ€" broidered cloth, and laid with a tea o:l'vico of exgquisite old Chelsea china, i But it is a delightful room of a hot, drowsy afternoon, for all that. *There are waving seprays of daliâ€" cate green, and clusters of pale, fragrant clematis blossoms looking in at the open lattices and their short _ embroidered curtains _ of enowy muslin, which impart a slightly foreign aspect to the room which, though very plainliy furâ€" nished, is exquisitely neat and honreâ€"like. siniitne s 2GG, Sozodont Good for Bad Teeth Not Bad for Good Testh HALL & RUCKEL. New York, (To,b» Continued.) awned on a