among ns. I have known it for a long time. 
Now I am quite sure; but I cannot find him 
? out,” 
Parker went on to explain that he had for 
' some time suspected that some one in the 
office communicated their private informa¬ 
tion and dispatches outside. He had re¬ 
doubled his precautions; but, more than 
ever confirmed in his suspicions, was entire¬ 
ly baffled in his endeavors to detect the 
culprit. 
“ But, Parker,” said my uncle, “ how do 
you come to be so sure that your secrets have 
transpired?” 
“ By the funds, Sir George. They answer 
to the news as surely as the bell down stairs 
answers to the bell-rope. I find them going 
up and down, as if they were sitting in the 
office,” said Parker, personifying the stock 
exchange for a moment. 
“ Have all the letters to the clerks been ex¬ 
amined strictly?” 
“ Yes ; 1 read them all myself. 
“Find nothing in them?” 
“ Mighty little. Borne are from home and 
some from friends; but most of them from 
sweethearts,” said Parker, twisting his face 
into a grim smile, “ and rum things they say 
in them." 
“ And the young men’s letters. Are they 
rum, too ?” 
“ They are more careful like, as they know 
I am to sec them; but, Lord save you, sir, 
they are all stuff; not a ha’porth of harm in 
them.” 
“ This matter must ho seen to,” said my 
uncle; “1 have had my own misgivings on 
the same subject. IlriDg me all the letters 
which come to, and are sent by, the clerks 
for the next week. There is no reason why 
you should have all the rum things to your¬ 
self.” 
So my uncle had the letters for a week, 
and found them very muck such as Parker 
had described them. The suspicious symp¬ 
toms increased; the stock exchange respond¬ 
ed more sensitively limn ever; hut not the 
slightest ground for suspecting any one trans¬ 
pired. My uncle was bewildered, and Par¬ 
ker was rapidly verging on insanity. 
“ It is certainly not the clerks,” said my 
uncle. “ There is no reason there,” said he, 
pushing back the letters of the day. “By 
the way, how does young Beaumont get on V 
She seems a nice creature, that sister of his, 
to judge by her letters.” 
" He is the beet hand in the office, a long 
sight; and his sister is a very sweet, lady¬ 
like creature. They are orphans, poor 
things, and he supports her out of his salary. 
She called at the office two months ago, and 
1 gave him leave to see her for a few minutes 
in my room. But he kufiw it was against 
rules, and lias not seen her here again." 
“ But what arc we to do?” said my uncle. 
“ I think 1 will speak to t he First Lord.” 
So he spoke to the First Lord, who 
thought the affair serious enough. 
“ It must be in the letters,” said he. 
“ It, cannot be hi the letters,” said my 
uncle. 
“ As you please," said the chief; “ but, al¬ 
though you cannot find it there, perhaps 
another can. I would try an expert.” 
My uncle had no faith in experts or Bow- 
street runners, and mistrusted them. But 
he could not refuse to try the experiment, 
suggested. So the most experienced de¬ 
cipherer in London was summoned into 
council, and to him the letters of the day 
were secretly submitted. 
He read them all very carefully, looked at 
them in the light and looked at the light 
through them. At last he put them all 
aside, excepting one from Elinor Beaumont. 
“ Who is the lady who writes this?” said 
the taciturn man of skill, at last. 
“A very sweet young woman,” said 
Parker, smartly; “sister of my private 
secretary." 
“ Does she write often?” 
“ Yes ; she is his only correspondent, and 
writes about twice a week.” 
“ Where does she live ? ” 
“ She lives in Jersey, Beaumont told me. 
Their father was in business there.” 
“And does she always write about the 
same sort of things—aunt’s rheumatism, pic¬ 
nics, squire’s tea parties, and the like?” 
“Much ihe same, excepting when she 
speaks of Beaumont himself.” 
“ Hum!" said the expert. 
“ Well, sir," said my uncle, who was rather 
impatient of the man of skill’s pomposity, 
“and what may ‘Hum’ mean? Have the 
young woman and her aunt’s rheumatism 
done the mischief?” 
“ Hum 1 She dates from Fleet street ?” 
“ And why should she not date from Fleet 
street ?” i 
“ I should be sorry to prevent her,” said 
the unmoved philosopher. “ Has this cor¬ 
respondence continued long?” 
“ Oh, yes, a couple of years or so; but not 
nearly so regularly as lately.” 
“ For how long regularly ?” 
“About two months.” 
“ That is, about the time when you first 
suspected the betrayal of confidence?” i 
“ Really, my friend, if you can’t see farther : 
into a millstone than that, you may give up 
the profession,” said my uncle. “ Take my 
word for it, the Beaumonts have nothing to 
do with it. Rubbish !’’ 
“Hum!" And with that the man of skill 
took his hat gild departed, saying he 'would 
return in two days. The two days, how¬ 
ever, were five before he came back, and 
was again closeted with my uncle and Park¬ 
er, with whom he had fallen in great dis¬ 
favor. 
“ Wants to make a job,” said the latter; 
“ a regular humbug.” 
“Sir George,” said the regular humbug, 
“has Beaumont a locked desk in his room?” 
“ Yes, sir," said Parker, “ he has.” 
“Haveyou a key which will open it?” 
“ I have; and what of that?” 
“ I wish to have that desk opened without 
his knowledge, and the contents brought to 
me.” 
“ And on what pretense,” said my uncle, 
“ do you propose to put this insult on a man 
against whom there is no reasonable ground 
of suspicion, and who has not been allowed 
to speak for himself?” 
“There need he no insult, for he will 
know nothing of it; neither will anyone 
else.” 
“ I will not permit it, sir.” 
“ Hum! Then I can do no more in the 
business.” 
“ But,” said Parker, whose official notions 
made him unwilling to break off the negoti¬ 
ations in this manner, “ what pretense have 
you for doing this to Beaumont and not to 
the other(Jerks?” 
“Shall I tell you? There is no such per¬ 
son as Elinor Beaumont, and the address in 
Fleet street is a notorious haunt of suspected 
foreigners." 
“ Good gracious!” said my uncle, changing 
color, “you don’t say that?” 
“ It is the fact; but you will see the neces¬ 
sity of being Cautious and silent, in the matter. 
Detection hangs on a thread, as it stands, and 
a whisper will break it.” 
“ What do you mean,” said Parker, “about 
Elinor Beaumont? I have seen her.” 
“ There is no Elinor Beaumont in Jersey. 
I sent and have ascertained the fact.” 
“ I am sure there is some mistake about all 
this, which Beaumout can clear up. Let us 
send for him." 
“ If you do the game is up. I trust, in fact, 
he does not know of my visits. We cannot 
be too cautious in this matter." 
“ Pedantic ass,” mut tered my uncle ; “ but 
I suppose we had better give him his own 
way. If you meet Parker and me here at 
seven to-night, we shall have this wonderful 
desk opened, and your great discoveries shall 
be made,” 
They met again that evening. The desk 
was opened by Parker, and a bundle of let¬ 
ters, carefully packed up, all from Elinor 
Beaumont, ami a quantity of circulars, play¬ 
bills and shop receipts were handed to the 
expert. 
That gentleman read through the letters, 
and seemed much struck by the last. 
“ Read that,” said he, handing it to my 
uncle. As the letter is important, I give it 
entire: 
1)30 Foret Street. Sept. 34,1803. 
My Dear Ciiakles Althousrh we hint an ad¬ 
verse wind alt the way, we made wiitiout- diffi¬ 
culty the port we were bound lor. M.v aunt, tn 
suite of the Weight of her fifty years, enjoyed 
the trip muel), and is ready to sail itgniu. 1 hope 
you will think of sending- the line you promised 
on the 2ath, and come yourself, as your party is 
now much smaller, and we should enjoy the 
visit. 
When t was in London last, week l saw our 
cousin Harry, fresh from Windsor. There ts hut 
liti le change to be observed In him—not ns much 
as you would expect. C'otne to us on Friday. 
Y ours very afft., Elan on' B. 
My uncle read this out loud, from begin¬ 
ning to end, and then he said, “ Do you see 
anything suspicious in that ? It seems to me 
very innocent.” 
“ Hum! It. may be. Was there anything 
else in the desk ?” said he, addressing Parker. 
“ You may go and look,” growled that po¬ 
tentate; and he led the way, the expert fol¬ 
lowing. 
The desk was quite empty, with the ex¬ 
ception of t wo or three scraps of waste paper. 
On one of these the expert pounced, and re¬ 
turned with an air of elation to the other 
room. He then unfolded this scrap of paper, 
disclosed a half sheet, exactly the size of the 
paper on which Elinor Beaumont’s letters 
were written, in which oblong holes at in¬ 
tervals had been cut. 
He then placed this half sheet over the 
letter, and handed both, thus placed, to my 
uncle, whose astonished eyes read the fol¬ 
lowing words, which the holes left visible : 
Fleet wiud-bound. Ftfry sail of the line. 
Twenty-five smaller. Should the wiud change, 
expect us on Friday. 
“The devil!” said my uncle; “and Nel¬ 
son ordered off to the West Indies.” 
Then was there, as you may suppose, hur¬ 
rying anil scurrying, and running and chas¬ 
ing, and dispatching of Government couri¬ 
ers, ami semaphore telegraphs, and carrier 
pigeons and all the old world means of com¬ 
munication then in fashion. The key thus 
obtained disclosed the whole correspon¬ 
dence, which turned out to be a connected 
scries of letters from the French Govern¬ 
ment, smuggled into Jersey. The rest his¬ 
tory knows; the intended invasion was 
■ abandoned and Napoleon went elsewhere, 
i “ But wbift put you on the scent?” asked 
my uncle afterwards, with many apologies 
! to the expert. 
“ 1 suspected the trick from the first, al¬ 
though it was a very' good specimen of it. 
The letters were too innocent, and had too 
little point in them. But they were done 
with admirable skill. The grammar was 
complete; and the little dots or marks which 
bunglers use to guide them in writing the 
words which are to be read were entirely 
absent. The way in which the deception is 
effected is thisThe correspondents, before 
commencing, take a sheet of paper and cut 
holes in it, which, of course, in the two half 
sheets exactly correspond. They each take 
one-half sheet, and when the letter is to be 
written, the writer so arranges the words 
that those intended to be read shall appear 
in the holes when the half sheet is placed 
over the paper, which is of the same size. 
When his correspondent receives the letter, 
he places his half sheet over it and reads the 
words ns yon did. The difficulty, which was 
so well conquered in this case, is to make the 
sense run fluently and to prevent any visible 
break in the writing. Without the half 
sheet, with the holes in it, no one can have 
the slig test clew to the real meaning. 
“ My suspicions, once aroused, were con¬ 
firmed by the inquiries which 1 made. The 
whole story about the sister was a fabrica¬ 
tion. The letters did come from Jersey, the 
answers went to Fleet street, to the charge 
of very notorious foreign agents. But If our 
friend had not been fool enough 1o leave his 
half sheet in his desk we might have groped 
in vain for the mystery.” 
Beaumont disappeared that night, and was 
never heard of again at the Admiralty. It 
transpired afterward that, some accomplice 
had warned hint of the expert’s visit to the 
Admiralty, and bis inquiries in Jersey. lie 
had made an attempt to get admittance to his 
room, but was scared by the sounds he heard, 
and contrived to escape to France. The lady 
who acted the sister, and who visited the Ad¬ 
miralty, partly to put the authorities off their 
guard, and probably also to interchange the 
key to the cipher, was a Parisian celebrity 
who both before and afterward was renowned 
for her daring in political intrigue. 
-- 
RICH BY CHANCE. 
A New York correspondent of the Troy 
Times furnishes the following “ Many 
years ago a young Scotch emigrant arrived 
in New York, iv-nniless. He was a me¬ 
chanic, and labored at his trade without get¬ 
ting more than a living. One day lie saw a 
man selling flowers in the market , and being 
passionately fond of them, he bought a pot 
for a trifle and trudged home with it, A 
gentleman who met him was attracted by 
the beauty of the flower and asked its price. 
The mechanic named a small advance, and 
the gentleman at once purchased it. This 
trifling incident led the mechanic to the 
flower trade, and he became a florist and 
founded a seed uud gardening establishment, 
which has been kept up for sixty years. 
Those who arc acquainted with his history 
will recognize in the humble individual re. 
ferred to no less a personage than Grant 
Thorburn. These instances are not confined 
to New York. Fairbanks, when keeping a 
country store, was obliged to linker his 
scales in order to get, a correct balance, and 
this led to making a new one. of his own in¬ 
vention. From this beginning has grown 
up the great establishment at St, Johnsbury, 
which now furnishes a large part of the 
country with the implement, 
“ To come back to this city. John Jacob 
Astor was led in a similar way to that spe¬ 
cialty which made him rich, fie was sell¬ 
ing toys, when lie met a man who had some 
very fine furs. His attention was arrested 
by this article, and he learned that they 
could be purchased of the Indians at a low 
rate. He knew their value itt London, aud 
soon commenced dealing in furs, which lie 
continued until he controlled the market ou 
both sides of the ocean. Had John Jacob 
Astor followed the predilections of most of 
his countrymen, lie would have, opened a 
corner grocery and sold sugar aud soap.” 
- 4 -*-*- 
QUEEN VICTORIA. 
The Queen ot England, though of course 
well aware of what is due to the stateliness 
of her high office, has always shown a par¬ 
tiality for the simpler way of people in gene¬ 
ral, and does some democratic things at times. 
The last instance of this has occurred at the 
opening of the new department of the Lon¬ 
don University at Kensington, when, after 
Earl Granville, with Rowe and others, had 
presented an address, she declined to return 
any regular reply, and said, wit!) radical 
brevity :—" I declare this building opened 1” 
She is probably of Hamlet’s opinion, that the 
Poloniuses should have “more matter with 
less art,” and that in these cases of public 
demonstration the business of the old stately 
marshals and masters of royal or popular 
ceremonies should be left with their succes¬ 
sors, who, as a general rule, can make those 
pageantries, of whatever sort, look much bet¬ 
ter in the newspapers than they do in the 
streets or public places .—New York Times . 
„ C© Oj 
or Hoang J1 topic. 
LITTLE BROWN HAND8. 
They drire homn the e<*ws from th«j pasture, 
Up through the long shady tune, 
Where the quail whistles loud tn the wheat fields 
That are yellow with ripening grain. 
They find. In the thick waving grasses, 
Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows; 
They gather the earliest, snow-drops, 
And the first eriruson buds of the rose. 
They toss the new hay In the meadow ; 
They gather the elder-bloom white; 
They find where t he dusky grapes purple 
In the soft-tinted October tight; 
They know where the apples bang ripest, 
And are sweeter than Italy’s wines; 
They know where the fruit hnngs t he thickest 
On the long, thorny blackberry vines. 
They gather the delicate sea-weeds, 
And build tiny castles of sand ; 
They pick up the beautiful sea-shells, 
Fairy barks that have drifted to land ; 
They wave from the tall rocking tree-tops, 
Where the oriole’s hninmock-nest swings, 
And at night-time are folded In slumber 
By a song that a fond mother sings. 
Those who toil hravety are strongest; 
The humble and poor become great; 
And from these brown-handed children 
Shull grow mighty rulers ol State. 
The pen of the author and statesman,— 
The noble and wise of the land.— 
The sword and the chisel and nulletLo 
Shall be held in the little brown hand. 
[ Selected. 
A GIRL’S LETTER. 
Dear Mr. Editor:— I was talking with 
my schoolmate, Annie, the other day, about, 
what girls like we (I am fourteen years old) 
ought to know. She said she thought that 
she learned nearly as much out of school as 
she did in it. She reads the Rural New- 
Yorker, and she wished the glrlaof ln>r age 
would write for the Young People’s depart¬ 
ment. She remembered they used to do so, 
and tell each other of a great many things it 
was interesting to know. For instance, she 
suid she wished some of the girls who read 
the Rural would say something about the 
way they adorn their rooms. She. Inis just 
the cosiest little room, Mr. Editor! It is the 
sweetest, little place two girls ever sat. down 
in to chat, read and sew. It. has but one 
window, and that is a south one; but it is 
almost covered with woodbine and honey¬ 
suckles; and it looks out into the orchard ; 
and just now the trees are in bloom, and oh ! 
the fragrance! 
Then inside, running up around the win¬ 
dow, is an ivy plant which grows in a big 
box ; and the box is painted green; and that 
is all the curtain there is to the window. 
Underneath the window is a wide-topped 
chest, not very high, but just high enough to 
sit upon ; and it lias a soft, cushion witli 
curtains which entirely hide the chest. And 
don’t we have good times on it? Then all 
about the room are photographs and en¬ 
gravings in frames that Annie has made 
herself out of t wigs,straw, thread, paper and 
gilt, and a hundred pretty little things that 
it. makes me so happy to look at and admire. 
And when there are flowers, there are al¬ 
ways fresh ones in all sorts of places all 
about the room—in vases, some of which 
were made of wood by Annie and her broth¬ 
er James (who just dotes upon his sister) and 
on plates and every way. Don’t I wish you 
knew Annie ? [Don’t we wish we did ?— 
Eds. Rural.] If I could only get her to 
write half she knows about doing things! 
But she don’t know a word about my writ¬ 
ing this and I would’nt have her for the 
world. 
But I thought I would just set the ball in 
motion by writing this; and if you print it! 
Oh! my heart goes pit-a-pat now to think 
that it may appear in print. I wonder how 
it will read ? But, Mr. Editor, if it should 
appear, don’t you think other girls would do 
something to make our part of the Rural 
interesting. I don’t mean that it is not in¬ 
teresting now, but you know young folks 
are more interested in what they can say to 
each other than in what most grown folks 
can say to us. Weren’t you a little boy 
once, and don’t you know ? 
Now, if this should appear—! 
Yours very respectfully, 
Edith M. N. 
-- 
LITTLE SAMMIE. 
Little Sammie Smith was quite too 
young to attend school, but just the right 
age to go about with grandma when she 
visited her neighbors ; aud it was his habit 
to ask, wherever they went, for a piece of 
bread and butter. 
But his grandmother corrected him, tell¬ 
ing him it was not every family that had 
butter, and that one would feel badly if asked 
for food which they were unable to give. lie 
promised amendment; and when grandma 
went out to call again, little Sammy washer 
escort. Mrs. Thurston was the lady called 
on, and when Ids grandma was fairly sealed, 
w ith shaker in hand, little Sammie stepped 
up to Mrs. Thurston and asked, in a subdued 
tone, if she would give him a small piece of 
bread, adding, “ I can eat it if there isn’t any 
butter on it.”— Schoolday Visitor. 
HOW IT HAPPENED. 
“ Ain’t it splendid!” I heard a little boy 
exclaim, as be took a huge bite from the 
brandy peach his playmate had offered. 
“ What makes it so good, Lewis ?’’ 
“ You little goose, don’t you know ? Why, 
it’s the brandy, of course,” was his compan¬ 
ion’s reply. 
“Then brandy must be very good if it 
makes peaches taste so nice,” said Franky, 
smacking bis lips. 
“ I rather think it is—it’s delicious!” an¬ 
swered Lewis. “ I coax mother to give me 
a spoonful every time she opens a jar. Father 
don’t like for her to do it, though. He says 
I may grow up to be a drunkard; but mother 
says there’s no danger, and I say so too; for 
I do think it is awful mean for a man to get 
drunk and go staggering about the streets 
and rolling in the gutter. No, indeed ; Til 
never— never lie a drunkard 1” 
Years passed, and [ was one day strolling 
through the si ill, shadowy groves of Glen- 
wood Cemetery, when a funeral procession 
filed slowly in. I tollowed it, and when the 
mourners and others left, the carriages, I 
went with them to theopen grave, and stood 
near to the pall bearers as they deposited 
their burden, for a few moments, on the rude 
boards placed to receive it. 
The coffin was very rich and costly, and 
as a sunbeam, the farewell of the departing 
day, flashed across the silver plate on the 
lid, I read : 
“ Lewis Abbott. Aged 18." 
“ So young,” thought I sadly ; “ cut down 
in the very springtime of life.” When the 
coffin was lowered, the mother, who had 
been strangely calm, suddenly sprang away 
from the arm on which she had been lean¬ 
ing, threw herself on her knees beside the 
grave, with Iter hands clasped ami her tear¬ 
less eyes gazing wildly downward into the 
dark receptacle. 
“ 0, my precious boy l Lost forever / Sent 
to perdition by your mother’s hand /” As this 
despairing cry burst from her lips, she threw 
her arms upward, and with a deep groan of 
mortal anguish, fell backward, deathlike mul 
inanimate. She was removed by her friends 
to the house of the officer in charge of the 
cemetery, and I, shocked and startled be¬ 
yond measure, left the place with that terri¬ 
ble cry of self-reproach ringing in my ears. 
As I passed out I met a I fiend, to whom I 
related what, had transpired, mentioning the 
name of the youth. 
I heard of his death this morning. Poor 
Lewis ! I t is a brief but sad bistory, and, as 
I have known the family for years, 1 can ex¬ 
plain the scene you have witnessed. 
Mrs. Abbot was justly fumed for her de¬ 
licious brandy peaches, and allowed her chil¬ 
dren to eat of them freely. Lewis, the only 
son, seemed to have a special fondness for 
them, carrying one to school almost every 
day, as a part of his lunch. Alter a time he 
began to beg for the brandy in which they 
were preserved, and the indulgent mother 
often gave him a spoonful. At last it began 
to disappear very rapidly and strangely, and 
Lewis was caught, one day, drinking from 
the jar. Mrs. Abbot was appalled; but her 
work could not he undone. Her jars were 
locked away safely, but it was too late. The 
inlatuated boy spent his pocket money for 
brandy; and when that was withheld, sold 
his skates, then bis watch, then his book; 
his medal, which he had prized so highly, 
and even articles of clothing, were all sacri¬ 
ficed to the fatal appetite that was consum¬ 
ing every attribute of his high, noble nature. 
For four years he has been rushing madly, 
recklessly to his doom, and now the star of 
his young life has gone out in everlasting 
darknes*. His last words were full of the 
most fearful import:—“Those infernal bran¬ 
dy peaches, mother— they gave me the first 
stall ou the downward road. Remember 
that, mother!” 
Ah! well might the heart-broken mother 
reproach herself in the bitterness of despair 
at the grave of her lost boy, for truly her 
hand had done the work. 
O, mothers, hear the warning! In every 
crystal jar of peaches and cherries from 
which the brandy fumes arise, in every glass 
of the sparkling domestic wine your own 
hands have so skillfully prepared, lurks a 
fiery fiend which may relentlessly and cru- 
eily crush and blight the fairest, the noblest 
and the dearest of all your cherished house¬ 
hold treasures.— National Temperance Ad¬ 
vocate. 
—--—-- 
A Noble Resolve.—“ I am going to 
preach the Gospel,” said Tommy. 
“ You will never know enough,” said his 
brother. 
“ Then I will be good, and show them what 
God likes us to be,” said Tommy, humbly. 
“ Yes, indeed, we can all do that. It is 
the best preaching in the world.” 
-- 
Silence is one great art in conversation. 
He is not a fool who knows when to hold his 
tongue; and a person may gain credit for 
sense, eloquence, wit, who merely says noth¬ 
ing to lessen the opinion which others have 
of these qualities in themselves. 
