him in the room, the creature seemed to like the pictures on a greenback just as well. While he was admiring one of them my uncle slipped out." "That heathen Chinee!'" sighed Tom. "He came to my lodgings more dead than alive." "I think you can," said his nephew, "for I know the artist is hard up just now. Tom Ingoldsby's a capital fellow, but he's something of a spendthrift. He's the husband of the authoress I was speaking to you about this morning." "You must introduce me, Fred; I'd like it "Poor old boy! How the deuce did you of all things." manage it?" "We'd have a capital chance this morning, "I didn't manage it at all; I thought first if it wasn't for this other matter. Mrs. InI'd come down here and see you." "I don't suppose he'll take to us now," said Tom. "I'm afraid it's all up with you and Estelle." "If I thought that," said Fred, "I'd go out and shoot myself!" Estelle moved a little nearer to him, and put her hand softly upon his, as it lay on the table. Fred grasped it fervently. "You'll be faithful to me," he said; "faithful and fond, even if my uncle does prove a little obdurate ?" "Of course she will," said Polly. "Come, Fred, cheer up. Tom, don't get stupid! Where's the use in having genius if we can't tide over a little scrape of this kind? Come; let's consult together." "I tell you what," said Tom, casting a look of genuine admiration upon his wife, "if Polly takes the matter in hand it's all right." Then they drew their chairs closer together, and the result of the consultation was that Fred left the house with a more hopeful countenance. Mr. Savage slept soundly all night; but when he got up and dressed himself he looked about him in vexation, and called to his nephew that he had lost his gold-headed cane. "I left it in that den of infamy," he said; "I remember it now. It is on the floor of that room with the trap-door. We must go to the chief of police, Fred, the first thing this morning." "Certainly, uncle," said Fred; and while a comfortable breakfast was preparing he handed his uncle a new novel to look over. The old gentleman was soon deep in its pages, and kept it by his side when his chocolate, was poured out. "A charming thing," he said, tapping the cover; "fresh and pure and wholesome. I'll take it down in the country with me, Fred." "I'm happy enough to be acquainted with the authoress," said Fred. "You don't tell me so! Some sharp-visaged virago, with short hair and spectacles ?" "Quite the contrary. She's a charming woman, gentle and winning." "I'd like to see her," said Mr. Savage. But the first thing to be attended to is this terrible nest of criminals." "Of course," said Fred. But on their way down town Fred proposed that they should step into one of the galleries. His uncle, who had been in his time an amateur, willingly assented. He was immediately attracted by a little cabinet picture before which Fred had paused. "There's delicacy and force in that little thing," said Mr. Savage. "I've a mind to buy it, Fred, if I can get it reasonable enough." goldsby's niece is studying for the stage, and they've given me tickets for a private rehearsal this morning. There'll be lots of nice people there. If we only had time we could go.” Now if there was one thing above another that Mr. Savage liked it was the drama; and this rehearsal, which would be attended by all sorts of nice people, seemed very tempting to him. 66 "I suppose," he said, turning to his nephew, we might put the other matter off for a few hours ?" "To tell the truth," said Fred, "it's very difficult to see the chief of police at this hour in the day." "We'll go to the rehearsal," said Mr. Savage. They had scarcely entered the hall when a gentleman, elaborately and carefully dressed, approached them, and Fred presented him to his uncle as Mr. Ingoldsby, the artist. Mr. Savage shook hands with him warmly, complimented him upon his picture in the gallery, but looked at him a little fixedly. It seemed to the old gentleman that his face was a little familiar to him. Mr. Ingoldsby appeared stricken with horror. "It's my duty to see to this matter at once,' concluded Mr. Savage; "my first visit after leaving this hall shall be to that house with a corps of police." “I live down that way," said the artist; "I'll go with you." Then the curtain went up. Nothing could exceed the enthusiasm with which Mr. Savage greeted the young aspirant for Thespian honors. He declared he had never seen a sweeter, a purer face; that her voice was the voice of an angel. It reminded him somehow of a girl that had died long ago in the bloom of her youth, but whose memory would be green in the heart of Mr. Savage till it was cold in death. Tears came into his eyes, his voice trembled with emotion. He shouted, he pounded with his feet-how he regretted his gold-headed cane! "I left a valuable memento in that den yesterday," he said, turning to the artist, "on the floor of the room with the trap-door." "Perhaps the Chinese-" suggested Mr. Ingoldsby. "Not at all, Sir," said Mr. Savage; "the poor creature wouldn't know the value of it." The play reached its climax; the young actress, supposing her lover to be foully murdered, fell upon the stage in an agony of grief. "Murdered! Dead!" cried the musical voice. "And I alive!" Mr. Savage looked about him, bewildered. "I've certainly seen this play before," he said. The rehearsal was over. Every body pronounced it a perfect success; but as they were about leaving the hall Mr. Savage started, and clutched the arm of his nephew. "Hah!" he cried, looking upon a graceful, majestic figure approaching them. "Gracious Heaven! it's the murderess of 219!" Mr. Savage put his hand nervously through his abundant white hair, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "Dear, dear," said Polly, "I don't know what any one would think if they happened in upon us unawares. But, of course, we take good care that nothing of that kind happens. Biddy's the faithfulest creature in the world, and what with bolts and bars and chains, we're perfectly secure. In the evening we put aside all labor and enjoy ourselves. Won't you dine with us to-night, Mr. Savage? We'll be so glad, for I want to introduce you to my niece Estelle; there's a particular reason why I want you to be fond of her. You'll come, won't you?" "I-I think not," stammered Mr. Savage. 'Now, Mr. Savage," said Polly, coaxingly, "you mustn't refuse. Just a little dinner, sans "Nonsense," said the artist; "it's my wife, cérémonie, you know; there won't be any one Mrs. Ingoldsby." present except us, unless it's Toffy, the crow. "The the authoress?" stammered Mr. We live at 219 Blank Street." Savage. "Of course," said Fred. "Let me intro- ion. duce you, uncle." "I-I should be happy," said Mr. Savage, still staring upon her with distended eyes; "but surely the resemblance is startling." Polly's charming face, her luminous eyes, were very pleasing to the old gentleman-her low voice sounded excellently in his ears; but when, Fred and Tom walking behind them, she took his arm, and they walked down the street together, he could not divest himself of an increasing nervousness. "I thought your last novel a charming thing," he said, by way of opening the conversation. "I'm very glad," said Polly; "but I like the one in press much better-only they would make me kill my hero. You can't tell how badly I felt about it, dear Mr. Savage; I felt as if I had committed a murder. I went into Estelle's room, where she was practicing her part, and complained to her bitterly about it. I suppose I'm a goose; but I always get so interested in my own creations." Mr. Savage dropped the arm of his companHe turned red and pale by turns. "Madam," he said-" my dear madam, I've made an awful ass of myself! I-I—" Mr. Savage absolutely trembled. "Dear Mr. Savage," said Polly, in the most dulcet of entreaties, and taking his arm again caressingly, "I'm so sorry, oh, so sorry! We wanted you to be so fond of us all; and now, just because you happened upon us in that unlucky moment, and we were idiots enough to think you were wandering in your mind, you'll never care for us again!" "I-I think you are an angel, madam; I do indeed," faltered the poor old gentleman. "But I-I'm afraid I've committed an unpardonable outrage." "Why, certainly not!" said Polly. "What more natural than that you should desire to know all about your nephew? Dear Mr. Savage, you'll come to-night, won't you?" And Mr. Savage, with a sigh half of satisfaetion and half of embarrassment, promised he'd come. "I-I think that's natural," said Mr. Sav- Who can describe the emotions of Mr. Savage, gazing with bewilderment upon the un-age when he again entered 219? Who can gloved hand that lay upon his arm. It was a pretty hand, with taper fingers and rosy nails; but the old gentleman looked upon it with a species of petrifaction. "My husband is just the same with his pictures," continued Polly. "One would think the whole world hung breathless upon his finishing a sketch; and he scarcely eats or drinks while he is at work. He wears an old dressinggown, a scarlet cap, and just as likely as not there'll be a streak of paint over his face-" "Hah!" said Mr. Savage, starting. "Yes, indeed," pursued Polly, laughing heartily; "and then he shouts over the balusters for his models, and that does make me so enraged, for you know I'm busy too, and I hate to be bothered. Why, yesterday I scarcely heard him calling me till he threw a billet of wood down the stairs.". depict the rapture of Fred, the amusement of Tom, the delight of Polly, the joy of Estelle, the rage of Toffy, the amazement of Bridget, and the mild abstraction of Chang? "By-the-way," said Tom, "we found your gold-headed cane." "In the trunk of that wicked Chang," said Polly. "Poor lad!" said Mr. Savage; "he liked the shining gold head." "Yes," said Tom; "he said it was 'muchee goodee.' THE AMERICAN BARON. A THE AMERICAN BARON. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE DODGE CLUB," "THE CRYPTOGRAM," ETC. "HAWBURY, AS I'M A LIVING SINNER!" CHAPTER XV. THE AMERICAN BARON. T any other time Mrs. Willoughby would perhaps have manoeuvred Minnie out of the room; but on the present occasion the advent of the Italian was an inexpressible relief. Mrs. Willoughby was not prepared for a scene like this. The manners, the language, and the acts of Rufus K. Gunn had filled her with simple horror. She was actually bewildered, and As for her presence of mind was utterly gone. Minnie, she was quite helpless, and sat, looking frightened. The Baron Atramonte might have been one of the excellent of the earth-he might have been brave and loyal and just and true and tender, but his manner was one to which they were unaccustomed, and consequently Mrs. Willoughby was quite overcome. And now, actuated still by the idea of throwing further obstacles between Minnie and the Baron, she herself went over to the latter, and began a series of polite remarks about the weather and about Rome; while Girasole, eager to avail himself of his unexpected privilege, conversed with Minnie in a low voice in his broken English. This arrangement was certainly not very His flow of spirits agreeable to the Baron. seemed to be checked at once, and his voluHe made only monosyllabic anbility ceased. swers to Mrs. Willoughby's remarks, and his eyes kept wandering over beyond her to Minnie, and scrutinizing the Italian who was thus monopolizing her at the very moment when he was beginning to have a "realizing sense" of her He looked puzzled. He could not presence. He felt that some wrong understand it at all. was done by somebody. He fell into an ungracious mood. He hated the Italian who had thus come between him and his happiness, and who chatted with Minnie, in his abominable broken English, just like an old acquaintance. He felt an unpleasHe couldn't understand it. ant restraint thrown over him, and began to meditate a departure, and a call at some more favorable time later in the evening. But he wanted to have a few more words with "Min," and so he tried to "sit out" the Italian. But the Italian was as determined as the It was the first chance that he had American. had to get a word with Minnie since he was in Milan, and he was eager to avail himself of it. Mrs. Willoughby, on her part, having thus discomfited the Baron, was not unmindful of the other danger; so she moved her seat to a position near enough to overlook and check Girasole, and then resumed those formal, chilling, heartless, but perfectly polite remarks which she had been administering to the Baron since Girasole's arrival. At length Mrs. Willoughby began to be dreadfully bored, and groaned in spirit over the situation in which Minnie had placed herself, and racked her brains to find some way of retreat The arrival of Girasole, therefore, was greet- from these two determined lovers, who thus set ed by her with joy. She at once rose to meet at naught the usages of society for their own She wondered if him, and could not help infusing into her greet- convenience. She grew indignant. She woning a warmth which she had never shown him dered if they would ever go. before. Girasole's handsome eyes sparkled it were not possible to engage the Count and with delight, and when Mrs. Willoughby point- the Baron in a conversation by themselves, and, edly made way for him to seat himself next to under cover of it, withdraw. Finally she began Mrs. Wil- to think whether she would not be justified in Minnie his cup of joy was full. loughby's only idea at that moment was to being rude to them, since they were so inconthrow some obstacle between Minnie and that siderate. She thought over this, and was rap"dreadful person" who claimed her as his own, idly coming to the decision that some act of She rudeness was her only hope, when, to her imand had taken such shocking liberties. did not know that Girasole was in Rome, and mense relief, the servant entered and announced now accepted his arrival at that opportune mo- Lord Hawbury. ment as something little less than providential. VOL. XLIII.-No. 253.-5 The entrance of the welcome guest into the room where the unwelcome ones were seated | ture visible to the other, and had led to the was to Mrs. Willoughby like light in a dark place. To Minnie also it brought immense relief in her difficult position. The ladies rose, and were about to greet the new-comer, when, to their amazement, the Baron sprang forward, caught Lord Hawbury's hand, and wrung it over and over again with the most astonishing vehemence. "Hawbury, as I'm a living sinner! Thunderation! Where did you come from? Good again! Darn it all, Hawbury, this is real good! And how well you look! How are you? All right, and right side up? Who'd have thought it? It ain't you, really, now, is it? Darn me if I ever was so astonished in my life! You're the last man I'd have expected. Yes, Sir. You may bet high on that." "Ah, really," said Hawbury, "my dear fellow! Flattered, I'm sure. And how goes it with you? Deuced odd place to find you, old boy. And I'm deuced glad to see you, you know, and all that sort of thing." And he wrung the Baron's hand quite as heartily as the other wrung his; and the expression on his face was of as much cordiality and pleasure as that upon the face of the other. Then Hawbury greeted the ladies, and apologized by stating that the Baron was a very old and tried friend, whom he had not seen for years; which intelligence surprised Mrs. Willoughby greatly, and brought a faint ray of something like peace to poor Minnie. The ladies were not imprisoned much longer. Girasole threw a black look at Lord Hawbury, and retreated. After a few moments' chat Hawbury also retired, and made the Baron go with him. And the Baron went without any urging. He insisted, however, on shaking hands heartily with both of the ladies, especially Minnie, whose poor little hand he nearly crushed into a pulp; and to the latter he whispered the consoling assurance that he would come to see her on the following day. After which he followed his friend out. formation of a friendship full of mutual appreciation of the other's best qualities. Now it is just possible that if they had not known one another, Hawbury might have thought the Baron a boor, and the Baron might have called Hawbury a "thundering snob;" but as it was, the possible boor and the possible snob each thought the other one of the finest fellows in the world. "But you're not a Roman Catholic," said Hawbury, as the Baron explained his position among the Zouaves. "What's the odds? All's fish that comes to their net. To get an office in the Church may require a profession of faith, but we're not so particular in the army. I take the oath, and they let me go. Besides, I have Roman Catholic leanings." "Roman Catholic leanings ?" "Yes; I like the Pope. He's a fine man, Sir-a fine man. I regard that man more like a father than any thing else. There isn't one of us but would lay down our lives for that old gentleman." “But you never go to confession, and you're not a member of the Church." "No, but then I'm a member of the army, and I have long chats with some of the English-speaking priests. There are some firstrate fellows among them, too. Yes, Sir." "I don't see much of a leaning in all that." "Leaning? Why, it's all leaning. Why, look here. I remember the time when I was a grim, true-blue Puritan. Well, I ain't that now. I used to think the Pope was the Beast of the 'Pocalypse. Well, now I think he's the finest old gentleman I ever saw. I didn't use to go to Catholic chapel. Well, now I'm there often, and I rather kind o' like it. Besides, I'm ready to argue with them all day and all night, and what more can they expect from a fighting man? "You see, after our war I got my hand in, and couldn't stop fighting. The Indians wouldn't Then he took Hawbury over to his own quar-do-too much throat-cutting and savagery. ters, and Hawbury made himself very much at So I came over here, took a fancy to the Pope, home in a rocking-chair, which the Baron re-enlisted, was at Mentana, fit there, got promotgarded as the pride and joy and glory of his room. "By Jove!" cried Hawbury. "This is deuced odd, do you know, old chap; and I can't imagine how the mischief you got here!" This led to long explanations, and a long conversation, which was protracted far into the night, to the immense enjoyment of both of the friends. ed, went home, couldn't stand it, and here I am, back again; though how long I'm going to be here is more'n I can tell. The fact is, I feel kind of onsettled." "Why so?" "Oh, it's an aggravating place, at the best." "How?" "There's such an everlasting waste of resources such tarnation bad management. The Baron was, as Lord Hawbury had said, Fact is, I've noted that it's always the case an old friend. He had become acquainted with wherever you trust ministers to do business. him many years before upon the prairies of They're sure to make a mess of it. I've known America, near the Rocky Mountains. The lots of cases. Why, that's always the way with Baron had rescued him from Indians, by whom us. Look at our stock-companies of any kind, he had been entrapped, and the two friends had our religious societies, and our publishing houses wandered far over those regions, enduring per--wherever they get a ministerial committee, ils, fighting enemies, and roughing it in general. the whole concern goes to blazes. I know that. This rough life had made each one's better na- Yes, Sir. Now that's the case here. Here's a fine country. Why, round this here city mander-in-chief, Mazzini secretary of statethere's a country, Sir, that, if properly man- a man, Sir, that can lick even Bill Seward himaged, might beat any of our prairies-and look self in a regular, old-fashioned, tonguey, subat it. tile, diplomatic note. And in that case, with a few live men at the head of affairs, where would Victor Emanuel be? Emphatically, nowhere! "Then, again, they complain of poverty. Why, I can tell you, from my own observation, that they've got enough capital locked up, lying useless, in this here city, to regenerate it all, and put it on its feet. This capital wants to be utilized. It's been lying too long without paying interest. It's time that it stopped. Why, I tell you what it is, if they were to sell out what they have here lying idle, and realize, they'd get enough money to form an endowment fund for the Pope and his court so big that his Holiness and every official in the place might get salaries all round out of the interest that would enable them to live like-well, I was going to say like princes, but there's a lot of princes in Rome that live so shabby that the comparison ain't worth nothing. "Why, see here now," continued the Baron, warming with his theme, which seemed to be a congenial one; "just look here; see the position of this Roman court. They can actually levy taxes on the whole world. Voluntary contributions, Sir, are a wonderful power. Think of our missionary societies—our Sabbath-school organizations in the States. Think of the wealth, the activity, and the action of all our great charitable, philanthropic, and religious bodies. What supports them all? Voluntary contributions. Now what I mean to say is this-I mean to say that if a proper organization was arranged here, they could get annual receipts from the whole round globe that would make the Pope the richest man on it. Why, in that case Rothschild wouldn't be a circumstance. The Pope might go into banking himself, and control the markets of the world. But no. There's a lot of ministers here, and they haven't any head for it. I wish they'd give me a chance. I'd make things spin. "Then, again, they've got other things here that's ruining them. There's too much repression, and that don't do for the immortal mind. My idea is that every man was created free and equal, and has a right to do just as he darn pleases; but you can't beat that into the heads of the governing class here. No, Sir. The fact is, what Rome wants is a republic. It'll come, too, some day. The great mistake of his Holiness's life is that he didn't put himself at the head of the movement in '48. He had the chance, but he got frightened, and backed down. Whereas if he had been a real, live Yankee, now-if he had been like some of our Western parsons-he'd have put himself on the tiptop of the highest wave, and gone in. Why, he could have had all Italy at his right hand by this time, instead of having it all against him. There's where he made his little mistake. If I were Pope I'd fight the enemy with their own weapons. I'd accept the situation. I'd go in head over heels for a republic. I'd have Rome the capital, myself president, Garibaldi com "Why, Sir," continued the Baron, “I'd engage to take this city as it is, and the office of Pope, and run the whole Roman Catholic Church, till it knocked out all opposition by the simple and natural process of absorbing all opponents. We want a republic here in Rome. We want freedom, Sir. Where is the Church making its greatest triumphs to-day? In the States, Sir. If the Catholic Church made itself free and liberal and go-ahead; if it kept up with the times; if it was imbued with the spirit of progress, and pitched aside all oldfashioned traditions - why, I tell you, Sir, it would be a little the tallest organization on this green globe of ours. Yes, Sir!" While Hawbury and the Baron were thus engaged in high discourse, Mrs. Willoughby and Minnie were engaged in discourses of a less elevated but more engrossing character. After the ladies had escaped they went up stairs. Lady Dalrymple had retired some time before to her own room, and they had the apartment to themselves. Minnie flung herself into a chair and looked bewildered; Mrs. Willoughby took another chair opposite, and said nothing for a long time. "Well," said Minnie at last, "you needn't be so cross, Kitty; I didn't bring him here." "Cross!" said her sister; "I'm not cross." "Well, you're showing temper, at any rate; and you know you are, and I think it very unkind in you, when I have so much to trouble me." "Why, really, Minnie darling, I don't know what to say." "Well, why don't you tell me what you think of him, and all that sort of thing? You might, you know." "Think of him!" repeated Mrs. Willoughby, elevating her eyebrows. "Yes, think of him; and you needn't go and make faces about him, at any rate." "Did I make faces? Well, dear," said Mrs. Willoughby, patiently, "I'll tell you what I think of him. I'm afraid of him." "Well, then," said Minnie, in a tone of triumph, "now you know how I feel. Suppose he saved your life, and then came in his awfully boisterous way to see you; and got you alone, and began that way, and really quite overwhelmed you, you know; and then, when you were really almost stunned, suppose he went and proposed to you? Now, then!" And Minnie ended this question with the air of one who could not be answered, and knew it. "He's awful-perfectly awful!" said Mrs. Willoughby. "And the way he treated you! It was so shocking." "I know; and that's just the horrid way he |