OCT. 2§ 
fitearg Ulistdlaiig. 
DE ’SPERIENCE OF DE REB’REND 
QUACKO STRONG. 
Swing dnt cate wide, ’Postle Peter, 
Ring de big bell, beat the gong, 
Saints and martyrs den will meet dar 
Brudder, Beb’rend Quacko Strong. 
Sound dat bugle! Angel Gabrel! 
Tell de elders loud on' long, 
Cl’ar out dem high seats ob heaben, 
Here comes lteb’rend Quacko Strong ! 
Turn de guard out, Gin’ral Michael, 
Arms present, de line along, 
Bet de band play “ Conk'riu Hero” 
For de Reb'rond Quacko Strong. 
Den bid Moses bring de crown, an’ 
Palms, an’ woddin’ gown along! 
Wid processions to de laudin’, 
Here’s de Reb’rend Quacko Strong. 
Joseph, march down wid your bred’ren, 
Tribes an’ banners musterin’ strong; 
Speech of welcome from ole Abram, 
Answer, Ueb’rend Quacko Strong. 
Tune your harp-strings tight. King David, 
Sing your good Ole Hundred song. 
Bet do seraphs danoo wid cymbals 
’Round de Reb’rend Quacko Strong. 
Angels hear me yell Hosanner, 
Hear my dulcem speritool song; 
Hallelnyer ! I’m a cornin', 
I’m de Reb’rend Quacko Strong. 
Make that white robe radder spacious. 
And the waist belt ’strodn’ry long, 
’Cause ’twill take some room in glory 
For de Reb’rend Quacko Strong. 
What! No one at de landin’! 
’Pears like sutl'n’ 'nudder's wrong; 
Guess I’ll gib dat sleepy Peter 
Fits—from Reb'rond Quacko Strong. 
What a narrer little gateway ! 
My! dat gate am hard to move, 
“ Who am dat ?” says 'Postle Peter 
From the parapet above. 
Uncle Peter, don’t you know me— 
Me a shinin' light so long ? 
Why de berry niggers call me 
Good ole Reb'reud Quaeko Strong. 
• 
Duu’no me, why 1 I’ve convarted 
Hundreds o’ darkies in a song. 
Dun’no me! nor,'yet my massa! 
I’m delteb’rend Quacko Strong! 
Ole Nick’s cornin’, I can feel it 
Gettin’ warmer all about. 
Oh ! my good, kind, Kurncl Peter, 
Bet me in, I’m all too stout 
To go ‘long wid Major Satan 
Into dat warm climate ’rnong 
Fire an’brimstone. Hear me knockin’, 
Ole church member, Quacko Strong. 
Dat loud noise am cornin’ nearer, 
Dretllo smell like powder smoke; 
’N udder screech! Good heaben help me— 
Bord, forgib dis poor ole moke. 
Allers was so berry holy, 
Singin’ and prayin’ extra long; 
Now the debble’s gwiue to catch me, 
Poor ole nigger, Quacko Strong. 
Hi! dat gate swings back a little. 
Mighty squeezin' to get froo! 
Ole Apollyon howlin’ louder. 
Every thing around am blue. 
Bang de grate goes ! an' Bolzebub, 
Bunch ob wool upon hi6 prong. 
Goes along wldout the soul ob 
Missabul sinner, name ob Strong. 
IN FOLLY’S NET 
CHAPTER XI. 
(Continued from page 6*a.) 
“ Good-night, sir. Good-night, ma’am,” said the 
landlady, curtseying low. “Good-night, gentle¬ 
men ; I wish you a safe drive home.” 
And so they entered the carriage, and drove 
through the silent night, with a starlit sky over¬ 
head, back to Sholto Ilall a rather silent quartette, 
for Jean was weary, and angry with herself and 
Mr. Blair; the latter was silent and absent In 
manner, and Lord Sholto was turning over In his 
min d r he scene which hts unexpected arrival at the 
Langdale Jnn li;ul disturbed, and wondering 
whether Jean McLeod were merely a foollah.glddy 
girl, true at heart for all her careless gaiety, or 
whether she were a thorough paced dirt, unworthy 
of his brother-in-law’s passionate devotion. 
“ I wonder whether l ought to tell him,” mused 
his lordship, leaning back In Ills corner, feigning 
sleep. “ she had no right to make the rendezvous 
with Blair at all, and it Is very wrong of her to 
have encouraged him as she does, fine can hardly 
blame him, ror it would be hard for any man to re¬ 
sist Jeanle when she means to be fascinating. Why 
In the world cannot sue be content with the heart,, 
she has won ? Well, Ivor will be here In a day or 
two now, 1 wonder If 1 ought tell him; I must 
consult Flo. Poor old fellow, I would not touch his 
faith in her for the world, and he loves her so en¬ 
tirely that It will go hard with him If she turns 
out a Jilt.” 
“Here we are,” said Captain Murray, at this 
juncture, as the lights in the windows of Sholto 
Hall began to gleam, and the carriage turned Into 
the avenue, “ safe and sound. Are you very tired 
and sleepy, Miss McLeod ? ” 
“ very,” said Joan, emphatically. 
“ And yet you had a very cozy nap at Langdale,” 
said Mr. Blair, rousing himself from a reverie Into 
which he had fallen. 
“So I had,” she answered, laughingly. “1 can 
never forget how good you have been, Mr. Blair,” 
she added, In a gentler tone, as he helped her to 
. alight. 
“ Good,” he answered, hastUy, In lower tones, 
which, however, reached Captain Murray’s ears. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
“ Must I remind you again that It Is natural for a 
man to be good to his own property ?” 
Jean did not reply; indeed, she hardly heard 
the words, for the great hall door was wide open 
and Lady Sholto’s pretty figure, In her evening 
dress of silk and lace, was on the first step. 
“ Oh 1 Jean, you naughty girl!” she exclaimed, 
In a flutter of tears and laughter. “ What, a fright 
you have given ns!” 
She caught the girl in her arms as she spoke, 
and embraced her; but Jean’s nerves bad been 
sorely tried In the last few hours, and her com¬ 
posure was giving way under Lady Sholto's tear¬ 
ful welcome. She dared not speak, but stood very 
white and still, suffering the embrace, but not re¬ 
turning it. 
“Don’t let me see anyone else to-night, Flo¬ 
rence,” she said, hastily, to a moment; “ I cannot 
bear It. I am so tired, 1 must go to my room.” 
“I think she had better go upstairs at once, 
Lady Sholto,” interposed Mr. Blair. “She has 
gone through a great deal, you know, and to¬ 
morrow, when she has had a good night’s rest, 
she will be able to give, you a n account of our ad¬ 
venture. She Is very tired now. you see.” 
“So she la, poor child.” said Lady Sholto, too 
much agitated to notice what did not escape Lord 
Sholto or Captain Murray—Mr. Blair's cool tone of 
proprietorship when he spoke of Jean. “Come 
up, my darling; you must Indtetl be tired to 
death.” * 
They went upstairs together, Jean with the 
same unnatural composure on her pale face: but 
when she had gone up a few steps, she turned 
with a vague Idea that Mr. Blair had been kind 
and careful of her, and that she had not been 
grateful enough, and held out her hand to him. 
“ Good-night,” she said, with a faint smile, and 
Mr. Blair quietly lifted her hand to his lips, and 
said: 
•* Good-night, Jean.” 
“ Oh! Jean,” began Lady Sholto, with Irrepres¬ 
sible excitement, when they were safe to Jean’s 
bed-room, “ I am so thankful you are home again. 
It has been such an anxious time, and one or two 
of those women ha ve been saying such unkind 
things—insinuations, you know—nothing that one 
could take hold of and contradict.” 
“ Have they ?” said Jean, mechanically; she was 
weighed down by a strange, undelined sense of 
terror and a foreboding of evlL for which even her 
utter weariness could not account. 
“Yes,” said her ladyship, whose anxiety and 
agitation harl been too long repressed easily to be 
silenced when once they bad given way. *• 1 have a 
letter for you, too, from Archie. It came by the 
evening mau, I hope—oh ! I hope they won’t say 
them before him, Jeanle; it would pain him so 
horribly. Here Is your letter, dear.” 
But to Lady Sholto’s intense surprise Jean flung 
the letter from her with a passionate gesture of 
pain. 
“ I do not want It,” she said, in hoarse, broken 
tones. “ Take It away. I am not worthy to touch 
his letter.” 
And she flung herself, face downwards, on the 
rug, to a hysterical passion of sobs and tears, 
which made Lady Sholto ring for Collins In alarm. 
“ She Is overtired, my lady,” said the maid, as 
she raised Jean and placed her on the sofa, white 
and exhausted now, with faint sobs breaking from 
her white lips; “your ladyship knows how fright¬ 
ened Miss McLeod always is to a storm. She will 
be better directly, and a good night’s rest will do 
her good. There, you are better now, Miss Jeanle, 
are you not ?” 
When the hysterical passion was over, Jean was 
too utterly prostrated to do more than smile faint ly 
to answer to Lady Sholto’s tender good-night, and 
half an hour after, when the maid went down 
stairs, she knocked at Lady Sholto’s door to tell 
her ladyship that Miss McLeod was asleep now 
and resting beautifully, which announcement in¬ 
terrupted Lady Sholto's animated account of her 
Interview with Jean to her husband, who was sit¬ 
ting In an arm-chair by his dressing-room Are, 
with his little wife perched upon his knee. 
“ She threw the letter on the ground," resumed 
her ladyship, when Collins had been answered, 
“saying that she was not worthy to touch It; that 
she did not want It.” 
"Archibald’s letter 7” ejaculated his lordship, in 
surprise, fondling the tiny hands he held to his. 
“ Yes, Archie’s letter. And then she threw her¬ 
self on the ground and sobbed and cried as if her 
heart would break. Oh! Arthur, what does it all 
mean, do you think?” 
“I suppose she Is overwrought altogether,” said 
his lordship, sagely, “and she Is full of remorse 
about her little flirtation with Blair, which takes 
tremendous proportions to her present excited 
state. Archibald Is the only fellow who can man¬ 
age her, though I believe at heart she is as sweet 
and true as she can be. I brlievo that from the. 
bottom of my heart, Flo.” 
“And so do I,” said Lady Sholto, warmly. “And 
Archibald Is so devoted to her that It would break 
Ills heart If anything came between them.” 
“Hearts are not very brittle now-a-days, wee 
wlfie mine,” said Lord Sholto, laughingly, “or It 
they break, they are very easily mended. And 
now jump up, my darling, for I am tired to death 
and shall be very glad to And myself to the arms 
of Somnus or Morpheus, or whichever of those 
gods and godesses presided over ’tired nature’s 
best restorer, balmy sleep’.” 
CHAPTER XII. 
A TKKR1BLE AWAKENING. 
The next morning Jean McLeod awoke without a 
trace of the exhaustion of the previous night, nor 
any 111 remaining from the fatigue of her adven¬ 
ture on the moors. 
Almost her first action on awaking was to stretch 
out her hand for the letter which she had so pas¬ 
sionately repulsed the night, before, and having 
read It, fell asleep again, with her cheek resting 
upon It, and her smile as bright and sweet as the 
smile seen on the face of a slumbering child. When 
she awoke again, the sun was high to the heavens, 
and Collins waa standing by her bedside with a 
cup of tea, and some letters on a silver waiter. 
“ Is It very late, Collins 7” asked her mistress, 
rather sleepily, stretching her white arms lazily. 
“ i have been sleeping so soundly." 
“ Yes, miss. Her ladyship thought I had better 
not disturb you,” answered the maid, as she de¬ 
posited the tray on a little table by the bedside 
and crossed the room to open the curtains and ad¬ 
mit the bright, sunshine ; while Jean, raising her¬ 
self on her pillows, sipped her tea, and glanced at 
the superscriptions of her letters, one of which 
she recognized as to Lord Ivor’s handwriting; and 
as soon as Collins was safely in the dressing-room, 
she broke open the seal. Archie’s letters were too 
precious, and her love for the writer too sacred, to 
be made public. 
It contained but a few short lines; but few and 
short though they were, they made Jean’s heart 
beat and her eyes brighten with Joy, for t hey said 
that when she would be reading that letter Lord 
Ivor would be on his way to the Highlands, and 
hoped to be at Sholto on the evening of the day 
on which she would receive It. 
1 How glad I am !” said Jean to herself—” how 
glad lam! My darling, my darling, how happy I 
shall be to see you!” 
“Where is everybody, Collins?” she asked, 
when the maid returned. 
“ The gentlemen are away on the moors, miss,” 
said Collins; " and her ladyship and the other 
ladles have all gone out driving: they were go¬ 
ing to visit the ruins of Walstng Abbey, her 
ladyship said. She left this note for you, miss.” 
“ Are ail the gentlemen gone shooting, Collins?” 
said Jean, glancing up Irom the perusal of Lady 
Sholto’s note. 
“ Yes, miss.” 
" You are sure?” 
“ Quite sure, miss,” said Collins, looking quite 
surprised. 
" Everybody out, then, and her ladyship says 
they will not be home to luncheon. It’s hardly 
worth while getting up," said Jean. “Hand me a 
glass, Collins; I must look my best to-day. The 
Earl Is coming.” 
“ Indeed, miss I" and colltos brought the glass, 
and stood by while Jean examined herself, half- 
serlously, half-laughtogly, and handed It back 
when the Inspection was over, with a little smile* 
The fatigue of the day before bad not paled her 
pretty wild roses, nor dimmed the lustre of the 
sweet, wine-brown eyes; aad Jean, with her hair 
streaming around her, to her pretty white drapery, 
was very fair to see. 
“Ah ! well,” she said, after a time, having pe¬ 
rused her letters and finished her tea, “I may as 
well get up 5 and when you have dressed me, Col¬ 
lins, we can decide upon a dress for to-night. 
What have I got that is very pretty ? His lordship 
will be here for dinner.” 
“ I think It will have to be that white silk, after 
all, Collins,” she decided. Anally. " You must put 
some fresh tulle to at the neck and sleeves, of 
course, and some ribbons, I suppose.” 
“ What color, Miss Jean?” 
“I don’t know, I am sure. Suppose you put 
flowers Instead of ribbons, Colltos. I leave It to 
you; you know what suits me better than I do.” 
“ Shall you dress again to-day, miss?" 
“No, not until this evening, I am going down 
Into the library to write some letters, Collins; give 
me my letter-case, please.” 
The great house seemed very silent and deserted 
as Jean went lightly through the long galleries, 
down the broad, carpeted staircase Into the draw¬ 
ing-room. While there, she suddenly remembered 
a song Lord Ivor had sent her, and which she had 
not yet, learned; so she sat down to the piano, 
and tried It over, singing It in her sweet contralto, 
until she knew It perfectly, and then went on her 
way to the big, empty library. 
The library at Sholto Hall looked, like the draw- 
tog-room. on the pleasure-grounds, with long win¬ 
dows opening to the ground. It was a handsome, 
modern room bright and cheerrul, and generally 
rather a favorite resort of Lord Sholto's guests. 
Jean deposited her letter-case on one of the 
tables; but she was apparently not In a writing 
humor, for she wandered aimlessly about the room, 
look up one book and glanced at lt v then, putting 
It down, took up another with the same result, 
“ i ought to write to Archie,” she said at last, 
half aloud. “It is much easier to write a con¬ 
fession than speak one," 
Seating herself at the table, she opened her 
writing-case, selected a pen with elaborate care, 
and set to work. At flrst her task proceeded but 
slowly; but after a few moments the pen traveled 
more quickly over the dainty, cream-laid note- 
paper and she became absorbed in her letter—so 
absorbed, Indeed, that she did not notice that a 
gentleman entered the room by one of the open 
windows, and sat down quietly to one of the 
great arm-chairs. 
He did not disturb her, or give any sign of his 
presence until, having finished her letter, Jean 
proceeded to put It Into an envelope, directed it 
In her bold, dashing, fashionable hand-writing, 
to •• The Earl of Ivor;" and. turning round, started 
a tittle on perceiving the Intruder. 
■•Ah!,Mr. Blair,” she said, surprlsedly. -I did 
not hear you come to. I thought you were out 
with the sportsmen.” 
“No; I clld not go this morning,” he said, 
quietly. “ I had a purpose In staying at home 
which purpose I have gained.” 
Jean colored a little at the significance to his 
voice; but she made no answer, and he did not 
speak. 
“I need scarcely ask If you have recovered 
from your fatigue of yesterday,” he said, In his 
soft, caressing voice. “The question is super- 
llous." 
“Thank you, lam quite well,” she answered 
a tittle coldly, “ And you, yourself ?” 
“Perfectly well, thank you,” he answered. “ We 
have the house to ourselves, I believe?” 
“Yes," Jean said, a little nervously. “Lady 
Sholto has driven over to Walstog Abbey.” 
“ so one of the servants told me,” he answered, 
absently. 
“ Have you been reading, Mr. Blair?” said Miss 
McLeod, to a moment, trying to overcome her 
growing embarrassment. 
“Yes; ‘Vanity Fair,’” he replied, glancing at 
the book he held. 
“Ah I one of the best works ever written,” she 
said, warmly. "If not the best.” 
There was a long pause then, which neither 
seemed willing or able to break. Mr. Blair turned 
the leaves of his book Idly, with an expression of • 
grave pre-occupation on his handsome, dark face, 
and Jean sat In silence, playing with her pen-hold¬ 
er, with rather unsteady fingers. 
At length he rose, put down his book, and draw¬ 
ing up a chair near the table, where she was sit¬ 
ting, threw hlmseH into It, and leaning forward, 
put his hand gently over here. 
" Well,” he said, softly, “have you nothing to 
say to me to-day?” 
Jean colored hotly with surprise and some an¬ 
noyance, and tried to disengage her fingers from 
his clasp; but he held them fast. 
“What, still shy?” he said, with gentle raillery 
>• still coy. Surely after the occurrence of last 
evening coyness and shyness are out of place be¬ 
tween ms, Jean.” 
“ I do not understand you,” she said, haughtily. 
“ Will you be good enough to release my hand, 
Mr. Blair?" 
He smiled to himself, aBd glanced at her crim¬ 
soned face. 
“ You do not understand me,” he said, to the 
same gently mocking tone. “ If you think a little 
you will do so. Do you remember what happened 
last night?” 
Perfectly.” she answered. “ You were so good 
to me yesterday, Mr. Blair, that I cannot but feel 
grateful to you. Do not change my gratitude Into 
dislike." 
“That would be an unfortunate change.” he 
said, coolly. “ Dislike between two persons who 
are bound to spend a Ufe-tlme together would be a 
most undesirable sentiment, would It not?” 
Jean looked at him to speechless astonishment; 
she. had risen from her seat and stood before him, 
for her hands were Imprisoned still, regarding him 
with angry, wondertog eyes, lie gently forced 
her to seat herself again. 
“ You do not answer me,” he said, quietly. “ It 
would be a very undesirable sentiment, my dear 
Jean, as ft little consideration will show you.” 
•• How dare you speak to me to that tone ?" she 
said, haughtily, angry tears rtslug In her eyes. 
“I was foolish yesterday, I admit; but my folly 
has not given you a right to Insult me.” 
“Nothing is further from my thoughts or 
wishes,” he said, lightly. “Foolish yesterday! 
You were charming yesterday—most charming! 
1 can never forget how charming. By the way, 
Jean, under the circumstances, would it not be as 
well to discard this?" 
As he spoke he touched the hoop of diamonds 
on the third finger of her left hand. 
Jean's color faded slowly, leaving her pale as 
death, and she made another movement to rise 
from her chair; but he detained her once more. 
“Sit down, Jean,” he said, firmly. “Let us 
understand each other—we have had trifling 
enough. Arc you willing to listen to me while I 
explain to you the position to which we stand to 
each other ? It so. sit down.” 
The young girl obeyed. She was as pale as 
death—even her lips were white In the agitation 
of the moment; but her eyes met his frankly and 
proudly. 
“ I do not suppose you are ignorant of the laws 
of this country which is yours and mine, Jean, on 
the question of marriage,” Mr. Blair said, quietly. 
“ nave you ever heard of such a thing as a Scotch 
irregular marriage?” 
Whiter and whiter grew the beauUful young face 
opposite to his. while Into Jean’s eyes stole an ex¬ 
pression of unutterable terror and dread. 
“ Ignorant or not,” he went on, gravely, “ it 
does not matter; tor ignorance of the law cannot 
affect the question. In this country. If a man and 
woman declare themselves man and wUe In the 
presence of a witness, they are married, and it they 
entered Into any other matrimonial contract, 
it would subject them to he prosecuted for 
bigamy.” 
Jean was silent. She could not force her lips to 
speak; but, looking at her face, Mr. Blair saw Its 
unutterable horror and terrible pallor. 
“ Did you understand, me, Jean ?” he said, 
gently. “ Do you understand now your relation¬ 
ship towards me 7” 
“ Do you mean that l am your wife?” said Jean, 
with her pale, parched Ups quivering. 
“ 1 do,” he answered, gravely. 
“ But It Is Impossible;” she cried out, with sud¬ 
den passion—” It Is Impassible! I did not mean to 
marry you. You did not mean—” 
“ I beg your pardon,” he said. Interrupting her. 
“ 1 did mean to ruarry you.” 
Jean looked at him in horror ; then, wrenching 
her hands from his clasp, she went on in a broken, 
passionate voice, hill or pain: 
“ You are jesting, Mr. Blair,” sbe said, piteously. 
“ You could not be so cruel. It would be too dread¬ 
ful : You do not mean It! It cannot—It cannot— 
it cannot be !” 
“ 1 am very sorry to distress you,” he said, gent¬ 
ly. “ But it is so. By the law of this land-, you 
are my wife, and I your husband.” 
“Oh! Heavens, It cannot be true!” said Jean, 
turning from him to a passion of despair—" It 
cannot be true 1” 
There was a moment’s silence. 
“ Mr. Blair," she said, turning to him desper¬ 
ately, •* even It it be true, although I cannot be¬ 
lieve it, you cannot wish to hold me to such a con¬ 
tract.” 
“ You do not see yourself as you stand now, 
Jean,” he said, smiling, “ or you would not ask 
such a question.” 
“ Oh: have pity on me!” she cried, passionately. 
“You know that I do not love you! You know 
that my whole heart belongs to another! You 
cannot wish to break my heart!” 
“ You are using had arguments, Jean,” he said, 
quietly. “ I love you!” 
