November 26, 1869 (4 pages)

scaianed TE" AID! [ARGES. % stitute, Mee, si rir St, . afflicted in By toed the the eed es Poon gh oe f unquesn respectnent,’ and cted with back and ular pownese, ¢xmean’ e te feve to the HHERTY, salt him Irreguceive the Let no + imimedisufferings d Ladies, megee 00 8, shou "YS Medvery pos‘3 offices, re 80 arhout fear 1g in any who may Beer if nk proper +h, in prefew are MMUNI‘SACRED se be fully mmunicactions for ort of the sultations Permanent hed an imwn views otence or . jpermatorvous and 8 affection rang. 8 the utmost ingle, and ipt of Six -_ lifornia. aed _ trains on il Road mee) 7:15 A. ith Steam—connect, NE. le, Marra wille with nding, le. ville. y R. R. for elena and for Colusa a WORLD , § ALM, s made at Woodland acramento cifle trains tranafered ASKIN, pd Mecf, ith h Cas me ietivad o12 . , JOHNSON ON, it Law a of Deeds i: om el e PeaceTILDING, ‘ _., apartment being in its way a gem of “TRUTH S§wered, with a passionate tremor in his VOL. XIX, The Daily Transcript. N. P. BROWN & M. S. DEAL, “ Pablishersand Proprietors. é fOffice Cor, Broad & Pine Streets, The Broken Home. STRANGER THAN eaCTioxr.” In San Francisco, on the north side of Folsom street, everlookinyg Mission Bay, stands a palatial residence. The interior of this house is even more beaut‘ful than its exterior, every magnificence and refinement. _ The library espetially realizes. the ideal of an elegant and cultured home. And yet, at the moment we look in _upon him—one August afternoon, as he occupied his library—the proprietor of all this wealth appeared of all men the most miserable. ae He was Mr. Morton Preble, for many years a leading banker of San Francisco. It was in vain. that the broad baywindaw at the south end of the room had been opened, giving ingress tothe “sanshine and the fragrance of rare flowers—in vain that the walls were lined with richly carved’ book-cases and paintings—in vain that soft couches and. luxuriant chairs had been gathered around him. S ; He was wretched. ° He lay on a sofa, in the depths of the great bay-window, the wreck of a once powerful man. His figure was thimand gaunt; his face white as marble; his -eyes having an expression of woful apprehension, of harrowing anxiety, of dreadful expectancy. It was evident at a glance that no merely physical ailment had rgade him what he was. By what withering secret, by what destroying affliction, had he been. thus agonized?-thus haunted? thus hanted ? he so nuble and good! he so wealthy “and distinguished? As he moved restlessly upon his luxuriant cushions the pretty clock on the mantel-piece struck five, every stroke seeming ¢ fall like.a hammer upon the heart of tlfe nervousinvalid. He aroused himself, struggling feebly to a sitting posture. : “Oh, will this fatal day never, never ?” he murmured; nor bring us relief?” Noticing with a nervous start that he. was alone, he touched a bell upona table before him, and called: “Helen, Helen! where are you?” Before the echoes ot his voice had died -out a step was heard, and his wife entered his presence. “I left you only for a moment, Morton,” she said, advancing tu the banker’s side. “You ‘were dozing, ['think. «I wished to send for the doctor!” She was a beautiful woman, of some six and thirty years, graceful, with ‘broad white brows, and loving eyes, in which the brightness and sweetness of a’sunshiny nature were still perceptible, under a grief and anxiety no less poignant than that evinced by her husband. .“The doctor!” he echoed, half reproachfully. “Yes, dear,” she said, in a calm and clicerful voice, as she drew a chair to the side of the sofa, and sat down, stroking the corrugated forehead of the invalid with a miagnetie touch. “He willbe here immediately. Your last nervous crisis alarmed me. You may become seriously ill.” Mr. Preble bestowed an affectionate ‘Took upon his wife, but said’ gespondPrem ingly’: . ; a “The doctor! He can not ‘minister to 4 mind diseased!’ Oh, if these long hours would only pass! If I only knew what the day has yet in store for us!” “Look up, Morton!” enjoined Mrs. Preble, with a reverently trastful glance Upward through the open window at the blue sky, and as if looking beyond the azure clouds therein. “‘Let us appeal from the injustice and wickedness of earth to the goodness and mercy of eaven !* ade The banker gave a low, sobbing sigh. “I can net look up, Helen,” he anVoite—“‘only down, down at the grave that is opening before me!” Mrs. . reble continued’ to stroke his . ° forehead soitly, while she: lifted her pale lace to the sunlight’streaming into the apartment. ~“Look up, Mortoun—always look up She again enjoined upon the invalid. “During all these fourteen years of ag. ony, J have not once doubted either the er the justice of Heaven. they that mourn; for they 9”? ‘ SOE ASSESS Sen ee SL te ae 2 gens . — shall yet rejoice more keenly than we have mourned, and that we shall come to a glorious day of joy beyond all this long night of sorrow !” The face of the invalid lighted up with an answering glow, and he murmured : a “Glorious faith! My wife, you are indeed a blessed comforter ! Perhaps, after.all, you are right!” A knock resounded on a side door at this juncture, and the next moment Dr. Hatton, the family physician, for whom Mrs. Preble had.sent, entered the room, He was an old mah, portly in figure, with white hair and beard, but with a fresh and ruddy complexion, a pair of shrewd blue eyes, and with an exuberant boyishness of manner that sat well upou him. ‘He approached the sofa, after greeting the husband and wife. He‘had a kind heart anda clear head. He lifted the thin restless hand of the ‘invalid, feeling his pulse, “Quite a high fever,” he said, after a brief pause. “Worrying again, eh, Mr. Preble? You are wearing yourself out. Medicine will do you no good so long as your mind isin its present condition, I must give you an opiate—” “Not now, doctor.” interposed the ‘ to-day! I need to be broad awake now for I can not tell at any moment what the next may bring forth: Iam looking forthe culmination of almy-—years—of anguish—for the crowning agony of the whole. Perhaps even now— ~ Ah, what was that ?” He started up Wildly, and then, as the sound that had disturbed him was not repeated, he sank back again on his cushions, pallid and panting. The doctor looked at Mrs. Preble with an anxious, questioning glance, “It is the anniversary,” she replied to his unspoken inquiry—“the anniversary of our loss.” “Ah, yes,” said the doctor. member.” " “Yes, it’s another of those terrible days,” cried the banker, in a hollow whisper. “Sit down, doctor, and I will tell you the whole story: I can think of nothing else to-day, and ani almost wild with apprehension and anxiety. Sit down,” . Dr. Hutton drew up a chair and seated himself, his face expressing the double solicitude of a friend and physician. ' “You knew us fourteen years ago, doctor,” said Mr. Preble. “We lived then where we do now, in a cottage on the site of this great mansion. There were but the three of us—Helen and I, and our three-year old Jessie. And it was fourteen years ago. to-day that our little Jessie was stolen from us.” “I remember it,” said the’ doctor, softly. “Yet might she not liave -been lost, Mr. Preble? She went out to play in the garden, if I remember rightly, and was never seen by you again, She might have strayed away—” “So we thought for a whole year, doctor,” interrupted the banker, ‘We never dreamed that she had been stolen. We searched everywhere for her, and offered: immense rewards for her recovery. .I employed detectives but all to no purpose. When our little Jessie ran down the steps into that flowergarden,” and he pointéd to the front of the house,:“as if the earth had opened and swallowed her up, we never saw her again.” “She must have found the gate open and wandered out,” suggested Dr. Hutton, “She might have strolled down to the waters and been drowned.” F The banker fixed Kis burniig eyes upon the physicians face, and whispered ; ; “. gsid-we never.saw the poor child again. I did not say we had not heard ot Her. She was lost on the 9th of August, 1854. Fora year we thought her dead. But on the anniversary of our logs we received. a written message concerning her.” “A message!” starting. : eh Ge “A mere scrdwl—a single line in a hand evidently disguised,” suid the banker. “Here it is.” He produced a dingy scrap of paper from a drawer in the table, and held it up to the view of the physician, who ead as follows: 2 gs “August 9, 1855. Jessie, ha, ha! Jessie.” Dr. Hutton looked, with a puzzled air, from the scrap of paper, which he turned over and over, to the counteof the banker. as od make nothing of this,” he: declared, “It is merely a date with the name of your lost daughter. It tells ine a Fai * ae did it us, at first,” said Mr. Preble. “Then that name and that date, with the demon laugh connecting them set us to thinking: A whole year we =y recried Dr. Hutton, — banker. “I can not—must not—sleep . . then we received another message which you shall see.” He thrust a second slip of paper,identical in shape and appearance with the first, before the gaze of Dr, Hutton, who read it aloud : “August 9 1856, Your Jessie still lives.” The.physician started, as if electrified. “Ah:* this is something definite— ‘something decisive.” he muttered. “Tt convinced you that your daughter was still living;?“Yes, doctor,” said Mr. Preble, “and: every anniversary of that day has brought ussome message. The disappearance of the child, mysterious as’ it is, does not seem to me half so strange as that the villain who took her away could contrive to communicate with up every year since, and aMvays on a parwhich she was stolen—without our being able to discover who he is, And a still greater wonder to me is what can be his motive. It seems incredible. If it was stated in a novel mary persons would not believe it. But ‘truth is Stranger than fiction” ”. —Mrs Preble drew from her husband’s breast-pocket his note-book, opened it to the proper page, and presented it to the physician, Dr. Hutton adjusted his spectacles, glanced over the page, and thea slowly read the group of entries aloud. The . entry the first year isas follows: . “Aug. 9.1806. Jessie ha, ha! Jessie!” And the next yeariit is— “Aug.9,1856. Your Jessie still lives!” And the next— “Aug. 9.’57. She isin good hands!” And the next— 3 “Aug. 9, '58. She is well.as ever !” And the next— “Aug.9,’59. I saw her yesterday !” And the next— 4 “Aug. 9,60, She's growing rapidly!” And the next— “Aug-8,’61. Shecontinuesto do well!” ) And the next— 2 “Aug. 8.1862. I’ve seen her again !” ‘Aug.9,’63. Sie’s becoming a woman!’ And the next-— “Aug: 9,’64. Your child is thirteen!” And the next— “Aug. 9,’65. She’s lovlier than ever!” And the next— : “Aug. 9,’66. She's really charming!” And the last year it is— : “Aug. 9,'67. My rewardis at hand!” Aad wuat shall we get to-day ! The physician looked up and fixed his thoughtful gaze npon the bereaved husband and wife. “How did these messages come to you?” he demanded, “Invariably. by post.” replied Mr. Preble. . “Usually. to the house, but sometimes to the office!” . “And you. have never seen their author?” ‘ “Never!” . “The last of them is dated, I see, a year ago to-day!” . “Yes, yes,” faltered the banker, “and the time has come for another message. This is the 9th of August, 1868 !” “I see,” said Dr. Hutton. “And this is the secret of your terrible excitement! You are expecting to receive today .another of these strange messages . ” There was a brief silence. Mrs. Prebie’s hand fluttered in its task, and her face grew. very pale. ‘The banker breathed gaspingly. The physician regarded them both in friendly sympathy. “We-shall hear of her again to-day,’ said Mr. Preble; “and whiat will the message be ?” The mother averted her face. -Her brave heart faltered as that question echdéed in her soul, ~ ©The writer of these Tetters is unquestionably the aDsactor of your child!” said Dr. Hutton. ‘Have you any suspicion as to his identity ?” “Not the-slightest,” said Mr. Preble. “We have puzzied over the problem for ‘Many years, but we can not guess wuo he is.” “Think,” said the doctor. “Have you no enemy? I.do net mean people with whom you are not friendly —every stirring man has plenty of these—but a downright.enemy! Is there no mar whom you knew in the East who hated you? ;No one against whom you were called upon: to a ay one whom you possibly injured ?” . ’ fein machin sunek his head, He had asked himself all these questions repeatedly. ; a “I have. no such enemy, doctor,” he answered with sincerity of voice and manner. ; “And Mrs, Preble?’ suggested the doctor, turning to her. “Have you no rejected suitor who might be revengtal enough to desolate your home? : “No,” said the lady. “1 was married > hall.be comforted.’ I believe-that we. a * } probleusand . early. Morton was my first lover!” ticular day—the anniversary of that on . . we publish as a specimen chapter ; but }. “This is strange—very strange!” muttered the doctor. “You are not conscious of having an enemy in the world, and yet Yin hints an enemy—a hidden foe—a fiend in. human shape— who is working out against youa fearful hatred! And you have not theslightest suspicion as to whom he is.?” tee “Not the slightest,” declared the banker. . “Not the slightest,’ echoed Mrs. Preble. “My husband had a step-brother who might have been capable of this infamy—but he is dead !” “The handwriting is not familiar?” “No. It is merely a gnde scrawl, as you see,” said the banker. “It sug: gests nothing—except that it is evidently disguised !” up Again there was a profound silence. “Jur child is seventeen years old' how,” at length murmured-Mrs, Preble, her voice trembling. “She is on’ the threshold of womanhood. No doubt, during all these years, she-has yearned for us, wherever she may be, as we have t yearned for her !”’ “But where is she ?” asked the physi: cian—and now his voice was broken by his deep sympathy with the agonized parents. “Where can she be?” “Heaven only knows,” answered the mother, “Perhaps in San Francisco— perhaps in some rude hut in the interior, with some obscure farmer, and under a name that is not hers!. I think her abductor would have carried her to some lonely: region of the interior, among the valleys and mountains. Yet I never see a young girlin the streets without turning toleok ather. I never hear a girlish voice without listening eagerly, half fancyimg that it may prove the voice of my lost Jegsie !’’ “Oh, pitying heaven!” sighed Dr, Hutton, dashing a flood of tears from his eyes. “Will this long ugony never be over?” “We-hope so, and even believe so,” answered Mrs. Preble, with the firmness of an unfaltering trast in God’s inercy. “The lagt message we received frum our enemy seems to point to some kind of a change.”“True,” assented Dr, Hutton, looking at the message in question. “It is unlike the others. It says that his ‘reward isat hand.’ Hemeans either that he intends to marry your daughter, or that he intends to demand money of you for bringing her back—or both.” “We shall soon know,” said Mrs, Preble, with forced calmness. “To-day we shall have another message, no doubt. What will it be?” The banker turned resilessly on his sofa, and his face grew even paler. “Whatever it is, let it come!” he murmured, “‘Anything can be borne better than this awtul suspense. Let it come . ” As if his impatient words had precip-. itated a crisis, a step was heard on the walk at this nioment, and a ring at the front-door followed. * “Another message!” breathed the banker, . A servant soon entered, bearing a letter, which he extended to Mr. Preble, baying: “The bearer is in the hall.” With an eager gaze, the banker glanced at the superscription of the missive. “Itis from him /” he faltered. He tore {he envelope open. It contained a slip of paper, of wellknown shape and appearance, upon which was scrawled a sivgle line, in an equally well known hand writing, and the physician. The line was as follows: “August 9, 1868.At-eia ZF will call.” A Shock of wonder and horror shook the three simultaneously. “Will eall!” cried Mr. Preble, starting to. his feet, and glaring wildly around, : \ “Is coming here?’ cried Mrs, Preble, also arising. eyes again reverting to the message. “He will be here at six o’clock, and see! it is six already !” ° Even as he spoke, the clock on the mantiepiece commenced striking the appointed hour, and at that instant heavy footsteps résounded ia the hall, approaching the library. “it is hes’, cried the doctor, also arisé the last stroke of the hour resounded, the door leading from the hall aguin opened. » Ove long and horrified glance cast the banker snd his wife in that direc. tion, and then slie fell hekvily to the floor. Her senses had left her. The above the continuation of this stury will be which the banker exhibited to his wife . . “It seems go,” said Dr. Hutton; his . for the number dated December 4th, whicliean be had at any news office or bookstore, If you are not within reach of a news office, you can have thé Ledger mailed to you for one year by sending three dollars to Robert Bonner, publisher, 182 William street, New’ York. The Ledger pays more for original contributions than any other periodical in the world. It will publish none but the very, very best. Its moral tone is the purest, and its circulation the largest. Everybody who takes it is happier for having it. Leon Smith, Mrs. Harriet Lewis, Mrs. Southworth, Mr. Cobb, Professor Peck, Miss Kyle Dallas, Fanny Fern and Miss Dupuy will write _ only for the Ledger hereafter. Mr. Bonner, like other léading publishers, might issue three or five papers and magazines; but he prefers to concentrate all his energies upon one, and in that way to make it thé best. One Dexter isworth more than three or five ordinary horses, One science only can one genius fit,. So vast is art, so narrow human wit. PRESIDENT Grant was a. visitor at the Maryland Agricultural Fair, where he was tende & reception, and replied toan address of welcome by ja brief speech. gees : Tux New Orleans . papers have been. publishing obituaries of Admiral Farragut. : 2 . THE Chicago Rogue’s Gallery: contains the portraits of 864 of the people of that town. : Tue Pittsburg Police have been making raidson the gambling dens of that city, : THE Czar is having a history of the American rebellion: translated for his perusal. THE matrimonial niarket at White Sulphur Springs has been the best of the season. _ If requires’ 100 ounces of quinine a week to combat the shakes in Frankfort, Indiana, A CINCINNATI billy goat gets up early in the morning and eats up the newspapers from the subscriber’s doors, HAVILAND, _ HOOPER & CO. Importers, Wholesale and Retail DEALEYS IN CROCKERY, : OUTLERY, CHINAand : KEROSENE GLASSWARE, : LAMPS HAVILAND, . HOOPER & CO. ARE AGENTS FOR THE San Fraucisco Plating Works, .No. 335 Pine Street, Below Montgomery Street. San Francisco, Sept 30th. AMERICAN WATCH DEPOT! AGENTS FOR eh Howard, Waltham, ‘ Elgin And ALL WATCTES Made in AMERICA! Be —— Ee” WE'SELL AT PAGY ORY PRICES !_geg {2 Send Orders, or Cail at CUMMINGS BMOs., 607, Montgomery St., SAN FRANCISCO, 822 HOME MUTUAL INSURANCZ COMPANY. . INCORPORATED, SEPPEMBER 1804 Office: 15 New Merchants’ Exchange Builuing, California Street.“ IRE AND MARINE KISKS taken at the lowest rates. GEO. S. MANN, Pres’t. Wm. H.’Stevens, Secretary, ) '} found only in the N. Y¥. Ledger. Ark {9 J.B. JOHNSON, Agent, Nevada cit t

scaianed TE" AID! [ARGES. % stitute, Mee, si rir St, . afflicted in By toed the the eed es Poon gh oe f unquesn respectnent,’ and cted with back and ular pownese, ¢xmean’ e te feve to the HHERTY, salt him Irreguceive the Let no + imimedisufferings d Ladies, megee 00 8, shou "YS Medvery pos‘3 offices, re 80 arhout fear 1g in any who may Beer if nk proper +h, in prefew are MMUNI‘SACRED se be fully mmunicactions for ort of the sultations Permanent hed an imwn views otence or . jpermatorvous and 8 affection rang. 8 the utmost ingle, and ipt of Six -_ lifornia. aed _ trains on il Road mee) 7:15 A. ith Steam—connect, NE. le, Marra wille with nding, le. ville. y R. R. for elena and for Colusa a WORLD , § ALM, s made at Woodland acramento cifle trains tranafered ASKIN, pd Mecf, ith h Cas me ietivad o12 . , JOHNSON ON, it Law a of Deeds i: om el e PeaceTILDING, ‘ _., apartment being in its way a gem of “TRUTH S§wered, with a passionate tremor in his VOL. XIX, The Daily Transcript. N. P. BROWN & M. S. DEAL, “ Pablishersand Proprietors. é fOffice Cor, Broad & Pine Streets, The Broken Home. STRANGER THAN eaCTioxr.” In San Francisco, on the north side of Folsom street, everlookinyg Mission Bay, stands a palatial residence. The interior of this house is even more beaut‘ful than its exterior, every magnificence and refinement. _ The library espetially realizes. the ideal of an elegant and cultured home. And yet, at the moment we look in _upon him—one August afternoon, as he occupied his library—the proprietor of all this wealth appeared of all men the most miserable. ae He was Mr. Morton Preble, for many years a leading banker of San Francisco. It was in vain. that the broad baywindaw at the south end of the room had been opened, giving ingress tothe “sanshine and the fragrance of rare flowers—in vain that the walls were lined with richly carved’ book-cases and paintings—in vain that soft couches and. luxuriant chairs had been gathered around him. S ; He was wretched. ° He lay on a sofa, in the depths of the great bay-window, the wreck of a once powerful man. His figure was thimand gaunt; his face white as marble; his -eyes having an expression of woful apprehension, of harrowing anxiety, of dreadful expectancy. It was evident at a glance that no merely physical ailment had rgade him what he was. By what withering secret, by what destroying affliction, had he been. thus agonized?-thus haunted? thus hanted ? he so nuble and good! he so wealthy “and distinguished? As he moved restlessly upon his luxuriant cushions the pretty clock on the mantel-piece struck five, every stroke seeming ¢ fall like.a hammer upon the heart of tlfe nervousinvalid. He aroused himself, struggling feebly to a sitting posture. : “Oh, will this fatal day never, never ?” he murmured; nor bring us relief?” Noticing with a nervous start that he. was alone, he touched a bell upona table before him, and called: “Helen, Helen! where are you?” Before the echoes ot his voice had died -out a step was heard, and his wife entered his presence. “I left you only for a moment, Morton,” she said, advancing tu the banker’s side. “You ‘were dozing, ['think. «I wished to send for the doctor!” She was a beautiful woman, of some six and thirty years, graceful, with ‘broad white brows, and loving eyes, in which the brightness and sweetness of a’sunshiny nature were still perceptible, under a grief and anxiety no less poignant than that evinced by her husband. .“The doctor!” he echoed, half reproachfully. “Yes, dear,” she said, in a calm and clicerful voice, as she drew a chair to the side of the sofa, and sat down, stroking the corrugated forehead of the invalid with a miagnetie touch. “He willbe here immediately. Your last nervous crisis alarmed me. You may become seriously ill.” Mr. Preble bestowed an affectionate ‘Took upon his wife, but said’ gespondPrem ingly’: . ; a “The doctor! He can not ‘minister to 4 mind diseased!’ Oh, if these long hours would only pass! If I only knew what the day has yet in store for us!” “Look up, Morton!” enjoined Mrs. Preble, with a reverently trastful glance Upward through the open window at the blue sky, and as if looking beyond the azure clouds therein. “‘Let us appeal from the injustice and wickedness of earth to the goodness and mercy of eaven !* ade The banker gave a low, sobbing sigh. “I can net look up, Helen,” he anVoite—“‘only down, down at the grave that is opening before me!” Mrs. . reble continued’ to stroke his . ° forehead soitly, while she: lifted her pale lace to the sunlight’streaming into the apartment. ~“Look up, Mortoun—always look up She again enjoined upon the invalid. “During all these fourteen years of ag. ony, J have not once doubted either the er the justice of Heaven. they that mourn; for they 9”? ‘ SOE ASSESS Sen ee SL te ae 2 gens . — shall yet rejoice more keenly than we have mourned, and that we shall come to a glorious day of joy beyond all this long night of sorrow !” The face of the invalid lighted up with an answering glow, and he murmured : a “Glorious faith! My wife, you are indeed a blessed comforter ! Perhaps, after.all, you are right!” A knock resounded on a side door at this juncture, and the next moment Dr. Hatton, the family physician, for whom Mrs. Preble had.sent, entered the room, He was an old mah, portly in figure, with white hair and beard, but with a fresh and ruddy complexion, a pair of shrewd blue eyes, and with an exuberant boyishness of manner that sat well upou him. ‘He approached the sofa, after greeting the husband and wife. He‘had a kind heart anda clear head. He lifted the thin restless hand of the ‘invalid, feeling his pulse, “Quite a high fever,” he said, after a brief pause. “Worrying again, eh, Mr. Preble? You are wearing yourself out. Medicine will do you no good so long as your mind isin its present condition, I must give you an opiate—” “Not now, doctor.” interposed the ‘ to-day! I need to be broad awake now for I can not tell at any moment what the next may bring forth: Iam looking forthe culmination of almy-—years—of anguish—for the crowning agony of the whole. Perhaps even now— ~ Ah, what was that ?” He started up Wildly, and then, as the sound that had disturbed him was not repeated, he sank back again on his cushions, pallid and panting. The doctor looked at Mrs. Preble with an anxious, questioning glance, “It is the anniversary,” she replied to his unspoken inquiry—“the anniversary of our loss.” “Ah, yes,” said the doctor. member.” " “Yes, it’s another of those terrible days,” cried the banker, in a hollow whisper. “Sit down, doctor, and I will tell you the whole story: I can think of nothing else to-day, and ani almost wild with apprehension and anxiety. Sit down,” . Dr. Hutton drew up a chair and seated himself, his face expressing the double solicitude of a friend and physician. ' “You knew us fourteen years ago, doctor,” said Mr. Preble. “We lived then where we do now, in a cottage on the site of this great mansion. There were but the three of us—Helen and I, and our three-year old Jessie. And it was fourteen years ago. to-day that our little Jessie was stolen from us.” “I remember it,” said the’ doctor, softly. “Yet might she not liave -been lost, Mr. Preble? She went out to play in the garden, if I remember rightly, and was never seen by you again, She might have strayed away—” “So we thought for a whole year, doctor,” interrupted the banker, ‘We never dreamed that she had been stolen. We searched everywhere for her, and offered: immense rewards for her recovery. .I employed detectives but all to no purpose. When our little Jessie ran down the steps into that flowergarden,” and he pointéd to the front of the house,:“as if the earth had opened and swallowed her up, we never saw her again.” “She must have found the gate open and wandered out,” suggested Dr. Hutton, “She might have strolled down to the waters and been drowned.” F The banker fixed Kis burniig eyes upon the physicians face, and whispered ; ; “. gsid-we never.saw the poor child again. I did not say we had not heard ot Her. She was lost on the 9th of August, 1854. Fora year we thought her dead. But on the anniversary of our logs we received. a written message concerning her.” “A message!” starting. : eh Ge “A mere scrdwl—a single line in a hand evidently disguised,” suid the banker. “Here it is.” He produced a dingy scrap of paper from a drawer in the table, and held it up to the view of the physician, who ead as follows: 2 gs “August 9, 1855. Jessie, ha, ha! Jessie.” Dr. Hutton looked, with a puzzled air, from the scrap of paper, which he turned over and over, to the counteof the banker. as od make nothing of this,” he: declared, “It is merely a date with the name of your lost daughter. It tells ine a Fai * ae did it us, at first,” said Mr. Preble. “Then that name and that date, with the demon laugh connecting them

set us to thinking: A whole year we =y recried Dr. Hutton, — banker. “I can not—must not—sleep . . then we received another message which you shall see.” He thrust a second slip of paper,identical in shape and appearance with the first, before the gaze of Dr, Hutton, who read it aloud : “August 9 1856, Your Jessie still lives.” The.physician started, as if electrified. “Ah:* this is something definite— ‘something decisive.” he muttered. “Tt convinced you that your daughter was still living;?“Yes, doctor,” said Mr. Preble, “and: every anniversary of that day has brought ussome message. The disappearance of the child, mysterious as’ it is, does not seem to me half so strange as that the villain who took her away could contrive to communicate with up every year since, and aMvays on a parwhich she was stolen—without our being able to discover who he is, And a still greater wonder to me is what can be his motive. It seems incredible. If it was stated in a novel mary persons would not believe it. But ‘truth is Stranger than fiction” ”. —Mrs Preble drew from her husband’s breast-pocket his note-book, opened it to the proper page, and presented it to the physician, Dr. Hutton adjusted his spectacles, glanced over the page, and thea slowly read the group of entries aloud. The . entry the first year isas follows: . “Aug. 9.1806. Jessie ha, ha! Jessie!” And the next yeariit is— “Aug.9,1856. Your Jessie still lives!” And the next— “Aug. 9.’57. She isin good hands!” And the next— 3 “Aug. 9, '58. She is well.as ever !” And the next— “Aug.9,’59. I saw her yesterday !” And the next— 4 “Aug. 9,60, She's growing rapidly!” And the next— “Aug-8,’61. Shecontinuesto do well!” ) And the next— 2 “Aug. 8.1862. I’ve seen her again !” ‘Aug.9,’63. Sie’s becoming a woman!’ And the next-— “Aug: 9,’64. Your child is thirteen!” And the next— “Aug. 9,’65. She’s lovlier than ever!” And the next— : “Aug. 9,’66. She's really charming!” And the last year it is— : “Aug. 9,'67. My rewardis at hand!” Aad wuat shall we get to-day ! The physician looked up and fixed his thoughtful gaze npon the bereaved husband and wife. “How did these messages come to you?” he demanded, “Invariably. by post.” replied Mr. Preble. . “Usually. to the house, but sometimes to the office!” . “And you. have never seen their author?” ‘ “Never!” . “The last of them is dated, I see, a year ago to-day!” . “Yes, yes,” faltered the banker, “and the time has come for another message. This is the 9th of August, 1868 !” “I see,” said Dr. Hutton. “And this is the secret of your terrible excitement! You are expecting to receive today .another of these strange messages . ” There was a brief silence. Mrs. Prebie’s hand fluttered in its task, and her face grew. very pale. ‘The banker breathed gaspingly. The physician regarded them both in friendly sympathy. “We-shall hear of her again to-day,’ said Mr. Preble; “and whiat will the message be ?” The mother averted her face. -Her brave heart faltered as that question echdéed in her soul, ~ ©The writer of these Tetters is unquestionably the aDsactor of your child!” said Dr. Hutton. ‘Have you any suspicion as to his identity ?” “Not the-slightest,” said Mr. Preble. “We have puzzied over the problem for ‘Many years, but we can not guess wuo he is.” “Think,” said the doctor. “Have you no enemy? I.do net mean people with whom you are not friendly —every stirring man has plenty of these—but a downright.enemy! Is there no mar whom you knew in the East who hated you? ;No one against whom you were called upon: to a ay one whom you possibly injured ?” . ’ fein machin sunek his head, He had asked himself all these questions repeatedly. ; a “I have. no such enemy, doctor,” he answered with sincerity of voice and manner. ; “And Mrs, Preble?’ suggested the doctor, turning to her. “Have you no rejected suitor who might be revengtal enough to desolate your home? : “No,” said the lady. “1 was married > hall.be comforted.’ I believe-that we. a * } probleusand . early. Morton was my first lover!” ticular day—the anniversary of that on . . we publish as a specimen chapter ; but }. “This is strange—very strange!” muttered the doctor. “You are not conscious of having an enemy in the world, and yet Yin hints an enemy—a hidden foe—a fiend in. human shape— who is working out against youa fearful hatred! And you have not theslightest suspicion as to whom he is.?” tee “Not the slightest,” declared the banker. . “Not the slightest,’ echoed Mrs. Preble. “My husband had a step-brother who might have been capable of this infamy—but he is dead !” “The handwriting is not familiar?” “No. It is merely a gnde scrawl, as you see,” said the banker. “It sug: gests nothing—except that it is evidently disguised !” up Again there was a profound silence. “Jur child is seventeen years old' how,” at length murmured-Mrs, Preble, her voice trembling. “She is on’ the threshold of womanhood. No doubt, during all these years, she-has yearned for us, wherever she may be, as we have t yearned for her !”’ “But where is she ?” asked the physi: cian—and now his voice was broken by his deep sympathy with the agonized parents. “Where can she be?” “Heaven only knows,” answered the mother, “Perhaps in San Francisco— perhaps in some rude hut in the interior, with some obscure farmer, and under a name that is not hers!. I think her abductor would have carried her to some lonely: region of the interior, among the valleys and mountains. Yet I never see a young girlin the streets without turning toleok ather. I never hear a girlish voice without listening eagerly, half fancyimg that it may prove the voice of my lost Jegsie !’’ “Oh, pitying heaven!” sighed Dr, Hutton, dashing a flood of tears from his eyes. “Will this long ugony never be over?” “We-hope so, and even believe so,” answered Mrs. Preble, with the firmness of an unfaltering trast in God’s inercy. “The lagt message we received frum our enemy seems to point to some kind of a change.”“True,” assented Dr, Hutton, looking at the message in question. “It is unlike the others. It says that his ‘reward isat hand.’ Hemeans either that he intends to marry your daughter, or that he intends to demand money of you for bringing her back—or both.” “We shall soon know,” said Mrs, Preble, with forced calmness. “To-day we shall have another message, no doubt. What will it be?” The banker turned resilessly on his sofa, and his face grew even paler. “Whatever it is, let it come!” he murmured, “‘Anything can be borne better than this awtul suspense. Let it come . ” As if his impatient words had precip-. itated a crisis, a step was heard on the walk at this nioment, and a ring at the front-door followed. * “Another message!” breathed the banker, . A servant soon entered, bearing a letter, which he extended to Mr. Preble, baying: “The bearer is in the hall.” With an eager gaze, the banker glanced at the superscription of the missive. “Itis from him /” he faltered. He tore {he envelope open. It contained a slip of paper, of wellknown shape and appearance, upon which was scrawled a sivgle line, in an equally well known hand writing, and the physician. The line was as follows: “August 9, 1868.At-eia ZF will call.” A Shock of wonder and horror shook the three simultaneously. “Will eall!” cried Mr. Preble, starting to. his feet, and glaring wildly around, : \ “Is coming here?’ cried Mrs, Preble, also arising. eyes again reverting to the message. “He will be here at six o’clock, and see! it is six already !” ° Even as he spoke, the clock on the mantiepiece commenced striking the appointed hour, and at that instant heavy footsteps résounded ia the hall, approaching the library. “it is hes’, cried the doctor, also arisé the last stroke of the hour resounded, the door leading from the hall aguin opened. » Ove long and horrified glance cast the banker snd his wife in that direc. tion, and then slie fell hekvily to the floor. Her senses had left her. The above the continuation of this stury will be which the banker exhibited to his wife . . “It seems go,” said Dr. Hutton; his . for the number dated December 4th, whicliean be had at any news office or bookstore, If you are not within reach of a news office, you can have thé Ledger mailed to you for one year by sending three dollars to Robert Bonner, publisher, 182 William street, New’ York. The Ledger pays more for original contributions than any other periodical in the world. It will publish none but the very, very best. Its moral tone is the purest, and its circulation the largest. Everybody who takes it is happier for having it. Leon Smith, Mrs. Harriet Lewis, Mrs. Southworth, Mr. Cobb, Professor Peck, Miss Kyle Dallas, Fanny Fern and Miss Dupuy will write _ only for the Ledger hereafter. Mr. Bonner, like other léading publishers, might issue three or five papers and magazines; but he prefers to concentrate all his energies upon one, and in that way to make it thé best. One Dexter isworth more than three or five ordinary horses, One science only can one genius fit,. So vast is art, so narrow human wit. PRESIDENT Grant was a. visitor at the Maryland Agricultural Fair, where he was tende & reception, and replied toan address of welcome by ja brief speech. gees : Tux New Orleans . papers have been. publishing obituaries of Admiral Farragut. : 2 . THE Chicago Rogue’s Gallery: contains the portraits of 864 of the people of that town. : Tue Pittsburg Police have been making raidson the gambling dens of that city, : THE Czar is having a history of the American rebellion: translated for his perusal. THE matrimonial niarket at White Sulphur Springs has been the best of the season. _ If requires’ 100 ounces of quinine a week to combat the shakes in Frankfort, Indiana, A CINCINNATI billy goat gets up early in the morning and eats up the newspapers from the subscriber’s doors, HAVILAND, _ HOOPER & CO. 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