Later that lovely afternoon an open carriage whirled up St. Charles
Street towards old Tivoli Circle. Its occupants were Miss Summers and
Kitty Carrington, Colonel Summers and myself. At the Circle we were
joined by another, in which were seated Mrs. Amory, Madame R----, and
Major Vinton. We were late, it seems, and the review had already begun,
so there was no time for conversation between the carriage-loads; but
smiles and nods and waving hands conveyed cheery greeting, and Kitty's
cheeks flamed; her eyes, half veiled as though in shy emotion, followed
Mrs. Amory's kindly face until their carriage fell behind; then,
detecting me as usual in my occupation of watching her, she colored
still more vividly, and looking bravely, saucily up into my face,
remarked,--
"Well, Mr. Brandon, have you nothing to say to me? Are you aware that
you have not even remarked upon the beauty of the weather this
afternoon?"
And this was from the girl whom, hardly two hours before, I had seen
plunged in the depths of woe and dejection. Verily, there was nothing I
could say. Such alternations of smiles and tears, storm and sunshine,
exceeded my comprehension; but it was not a tax upon even my poor powers
of discernment to see that my little heroine was now blissfully,
radiantly, joyously happy.
Suddenly our carriage slackened speed. Crowds began to appear on the
sidewalks of the broad, dusty thoroughfare. We were off the pavement
now, and driving along the "dirtroad" of upper St. Charles Street. I
could hear a burst of martial music somewhere ahead, and presently
Pauline exclaimed, "Here are the cavalry!"
Kitty, sitting on the indicated side, had said never a word. The next
moment we rode past the line of troopers sitting stolidly on their
horses and looking blankly into space ahead of them. Then, riding
backwards as I was, I saw Kitty's soft cheek flushing redder, and
happening to extend my left arm outwards at that instant, my hand almost
came in contact with the nose of a tall chestnut sorrel, much to that
sorrel's disgust, for he set back his ears and glanced savagely at me;
but by that time, I had lost all interest in him and was gazing in amaze
at his rider. For something absolutely incomprehensible, commend me to
military love-making! Less than two hours ago I had bolted out of a room
down-town leaving that deliciously pretty young girl opposite me sobbing
in the arms of Frank Amory, who, with all a devoted lover's tenderness,
was striving to comfort her. Yet here she sat, apparently indifferent;
yet there he sat on that very horse whose feelings I had outraged, and
though we--no, she--was right under his eyes,--so close that she could
stroke his charger's mane with her little hand,--he never so much as
glanced at her. Mr. Frank Amory, as commanding officer of his troop on
review, actually disdained to look at his lady-love.
"_Now_ if at any time," thought I, "this little imp of coquetry will
flash into flame and wither him when they meet,--perhaps flirt with me,
_faute de mieux_, meantime," but to my utter amaze Miss Kitty took it as
admirably as did Pauline. Each gave him one quick, demure, satisfied
little look, as much as to say, "All right, Frank, I understand." They
had learned their tactics already, I suppose, and I--was an inferior
being, unable to appreciate the situation in the least.
The review went off all right, I also suppose. It was all a blank to me.
The general and his aides rode down the line and our carriages had to
get out of the way in a hurry. Then the troops marched over to Camp
Street and down that thoroughfare, giving a marching salute as they
passed headquarters. We sat in our vehicles on the opposite side of the
street, and I simply stared when Amory lowered his sabre in sweeping,
graceful salute and positively looked away from us, and at his chief.
Why! up to this time I had been ready to take his part, and upbraid
Kitty whenever there had been the faintest difference between them. Now,
_now_, I actually wanted her to resent his conduct; and, with the
unerring inconsistency of feminine nature, she did nothing of the kind.
The instant the march was over, Frank Amory came trotting up beside
us,--a glad, glorious light in his brave young eyes,--sprang from his
saddle and to her side. The others he did not appear to see at all. His
eyes were for her alone, for her in all their boyish adoration, in all
their glowing pride and tenderness. Tearing off his gauntlet, he clasped
her hand before a word was said, and she looked shyly, yet steadfastly,
down into his transfigured face.
"I shall be down right after stables; mother will come sooner," was all
he said. Then he condescended to notice the rest of us.
Right after stables indeed! Could you not even resent _that_, Kitty
Carrington? Were you already so abject that a newly-won lover dare tell
you that after his horses were seen to he would look after you? Are you
already falling into the cavalry groove? learning that unwritten creed
that puts the care of his mount as the corner-stone of a trooper's
temple?
In a state of daze I drove homeward with the ladies. Nobody talked
much. Everybody was happy except my perturbed self. Pauline and Kitty
sat hand in hand. We reached the lodgings, and were but a few moments in
the parlor when Vinton appeared at the door ushering Mrs. Amory. Kitty
was at the window arranging some flowers, but turned instantly, and,
blushing like one of her own rosebuds, walked rapidly across the room,
looking shyly up into the elder lady's face. How could I help seeing the
moistened eye, the slightly quivering lip, when Mrs. Amory bent and,
with one softly-spoken word, "dear," kissed the bonny face.
We masculines took ourselves off for a while. It was plain the women had
much to talk about, and when they have, the sooner husbands, brothers,
and lovers leave, the better for all concerned.
"Mr. Brandon," said the major, as we settled ourselves on the back
veranda, "it looks as though your prognostication had come true. Our
Sandbrook Ku-Klux affair has brought its romance with it."
"Two of them, major! Two of them! We might call them, in view of your
modest estimate of army attractions, 'Miss Summers' Sacrifice' and,
and----"
"Kitty's Conquest," said Harrod.
* * * * *
Swiftly through a tawny waste of whirling waters a great steamer
ploughs its way. From towering smoke-stacks volumes of smoke stream back
along the tumbling wake and settle on the low-lying shores. Breasting
the torrent, we have rushed past crowded levee, past sloop, and ship,
and shallop, past steamers of every class and build, ocean cruisers,
river monarchs, bayou traders, swamp prowlers. Lordly up-stream packets
lead or follow; churches, domes, chimneys, cotton-presses, elevators,
warehouses, give way to low, one-storied, whitewashed cottages, or
deep-veranda'd frame homesteads on the one side, to flat and open
plantations on the other. Eastward there is naught to span the horizon
but one far-reaching level of swamp or trembling prairie. Westward, two
miles back from the river-bank, bold barriers of forest, dense, dark,
and impenetrable, shut off the view. In front lies the eddying,
swirling, boiling bosom of the Mississippi,--the winding highway to the
North,--sweeping in majestic curve through shores of shining green.
Behind us, nestling along the grand arcs of its doubling bend, New
Orleans and Algiers, close clinging to the mighty stream that at once
threatens and cajoles. The river is master here, yet dreams not of his
power.
Precious freight our steamer bears this bright and balmy eve. Proud of
its strength and grace, it surges ahead, rumbling in the vast caverns
of its seething furnaces, panting in the depths of its powerful lungs,
straining with muscles that glory in their task, hurling aside from
iron-shod beak the burdened billows of the opposing river. Black as
Erebus the clouds of smoke from towering chimneys, white as snow the
screaming steam-jets, deep and mellow the note of signal-bell, clear,
ringing, rollicking the farewell chorus of our swarthy crew. Boom! goes
the roar of saucy little field-piece in parting salutation to the sun,
redly sinking through the forest to our left, and then, from the lower
deck, what unaccustomed sound is that? A trumpet, a cavalry trumpet
sounds the final tribute to departing day, and a moment later a young
officer comes springing from below and joins our group upon the
hurricane-deck.
Here enjoying the scene, the gliding rush of our gallant craft, the
balmy softness of the Southern air, we are seated, an almost silent
party of seven. We are Mrs. Amory, Miss Summers, and Kitty; Major
Vinton, Mr. Amory, Harrod, and myself. We are fellow-passengers for the
evening only. The troop, men and horses both, is billeted below, and
under command of its young lieutenant goes through to St. Louis, thence
up the Missouri to its new sphere of duties in the far Northwest. Vinton
is a passenger as far as Memphis, where escorting Mrs. Amory, he takes
the train to Washington. The rest of us, Pauline, Kitty, Harrod, and I,
go only up to Donaldsonville, where we arrive late at night, and take
the local packet back to the city. In all the excitement and
perturbation consequent upon the sudden departure of the troop; in all
the hurry of preparation, requiring as it did the attention of both
officers, there was no time for the interviews, the fond partings, the
"sweet sorrows" incident to such occasions. An unusual thing
occurred,--a bright idea struck Mr. Brandon. He proposed that the
quartette should accompany the troop a short way up the river and there
drink with them the stirrup-cup; and at last a proposition of Mr.
Brandon's was regarded worthy of acceptance. So it happens that we are
here together.
Evening comes on apace, and while Harrod is smoking somewhere forward,
and our cavalrymen are paired off and slowly promenading the deck with
the ladies of their love, Mrs. Amory and I are chatting quietly in the
brilliant saloon, and we are talking of Mars. Her voice is soft and
tremulous; her face is full of trust and peace; her eyes fondly follow
him and the sweet, girlish form that hangs upon his arm as they stroll
forward again after a few loving words with her.
"You have been a good friend to my boy, Mr. Brandon, and you will not
forget him now on the distant frontier. It will be late in the fall
before he can come East."
"So long as that! I had cherished some wild notion that we might have a
double ceremony, when the major and Miss Summers are married."
"No. That would be too precipitate. She is very young yet; so is Frank
for that matter, but he is thoroughly in earnest. It is not that I
anticipate any change of feeling, but it is best for her sake there
should be no undue haste. She will spend the time with Miss Summers
until that wedding comes off, then visit relations in the North during
the summer. Then 'Aunt Mary' will doubtless claim her. You know that as
yet 'Aunt Mary' has had no intimation of what has been going on. Indeed,
but for their sudden orders for the field, I doubt very much if the
young people would have settled their outstanding differences. She is a
lovely child at heart, and Frank has been a truthful and a devoted
son,"--the dimmed eyes are filling now, and a tear starts slowly down
the warm cheek,--"but he is impulsive impetuous, quick, and sensitive,
and, sweet as Kitty is, she has no little coquetry. It will not all be
smiles and sunshine, 'bread and butter and kisses,' Mr. Brandon."
"Perhaps not, dear lady, perhaps not, yet I have no fear. He is true and
brave and stanch as steel, and she is loving. God bless them!"
"Amen."
Late at night. The lights of Donaldsonville lie over our larboard bow.
The broad river glistens in the glorious sheen of silvery light from the
moon aloft. We are gathered in the captain's cabin on the texas and our
glasses are filled. Moet and Chandon sparkles over the brim.
"My charger is jangling his bridle and chain,
The moment is nearing, dear love, we must sever,
But pour out the wine, that thy lover may drain
A last stirrup-cup to his true maiden ever."
Mr. Brandon has the floor, and eloquence, forensic, judicial, social, is
fled. His idea is to say something stirring and appropriate, but his
heart fails him. He can only stammer, "_Bon voyage_, boys, and safe and
speedy return!" Then he slinks out into the shadow of the huge
paddle-box, a vanquished man.
What a thundering uproar is made by the signal-whistle of these
Mississippi steamers! The boat fairly quivers from stem to stern in
response to the atmospheric disturbance created by the long-drawn
blasts. For two minutes at least, in protracted, resounding, deep
bellowing roar, that immense clarion heralds our approach to drowsy
Donaldsonville. Three long-drawn blasts of equal length, and while they
din upon the drum of the sensitive ear, not another sound can be heard.
I clasp my hands to my head and shudderingly cling to the guards. All
other sensations are deadened. Quick light footsteps approach, but I
hear them not. Two young hearts are painfully beating close behind me,
but I know it not. Clasping arms and quivering lips are bidding fond
farewell so near that, could I but put one hand around the corner of the
narrow passage-way, it would light on a cavalry shoulder-strap (the
right shoulder, for the other is pre-empted), but I see it not. Not
until the deafening uproar ceases with sudden jerk, am I aware of what
is going on almost at my invisible elbow. I hear a long-drawn sibilant
something that is not a whistle, is not a hiss, yet something like; I
hear a plaintive sob; I hear a deep, manly voice, tremulous in its
tenderness. And again the miserable conviction flashes over me that I'm
just where I ought not to be,--am not supposed to be,--and yet cannot
get out without ruining the impressive climax. Forgive me, Kitty!
Forgive me, Frank! For years I've kept your secret. For years you never
suspected that you were overheard. Nearly all your story was jotted down
that very spring, but not this part, not this; and now that the brief
chronicle is wellnigh closed,--now that "this part" is as old a story as
the rest, and as the rest would be utterly incomplete without just such
a finale, can you not find it in your hearts to forgive me for hearing
your sweet and sad and sacred farewell? It was hard, it was bitter
trial; it was so sudden, so brief. Yet my heart went out to you,
gallant and faithful young soldier, when I heard these words, "Five long
months at least, my darling. You _will_ be true to me, as, God knows, I
will be to you?"
And you, Kitty, rampant little rebel Kit, you whom I had seen all
coquetry, all mischief, all tormenting, _was_ it your voice, low,
tremulous, fond as his own, that I heard murmur, "Yes, even if it were
years."
A few moments more and four of us are standing on the wharf-boat, while
the steamer, a brilliant illumination, ploughs and churns her way out
into the broad moonlit stream. Pauline is waving her handkerchief to the
group of three standing by the flag-staff over the stern. Kitty, leaning
on my arm, trembles, but says no word. Tears still cling to the long,
fringing lashes. Lovely are the humid eyes, the soft rounded cheek, the
parted lips. She throws one kiss with her little white hand, and, as the
gallant steamer fades away in the distance, her myriad lights blending
into one meteoric blaze upon the bosom of the waters, the cousins seek
each other's eyes. Pauline bends and kisses the smooth white brow and
bravely drives back her own tears. Kitty leans her bonny head one moment
upon the sheltering arm that is then so lovingly thrown around her,
relieving mine, and lays her little hand upon her shoulder. A new ring
glistens in the moonlight. Tiny crossed sabres stand boldly in relief
upon the gold; beneath them a bursting shell, above them gleams the
polished stone with its sculptured motto. I know it well. 'Tis Amory's
class ring, and his is the proud device, "_Loyaute m'oblige_."
THE END
* * * * *
THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER;
OR, WINNNING HIS SPURS.
BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING.
"The sketches of life in a cavalry command on the frontier are
exceedingly vivid and interesting; and the element of adventure is
furnished in the graphic and spirited accounts of affairs with the
hostile Apaches. Captain King is to be thanked for an entertaining
contribution to the slender stock of American military novels--a
contribution so good that we hope that he will give us another."--_N. Y.
Tribune._
"The fertility of this field of garrison and reservation life has
already attracted the attention of several writers. We took up the work
of Captain King with the impression that it might be like some of these,
an ephemeral production: we found it instead a charming work, worthy of
achieving a permanent place in literature. We cordially congratulate
Captain King on his accomplished success, for such unquestionably it
is."--_Army and Navy Journal, N. Y._
"There have been few American novels published of late years so
thoroughly readable as 'The Colonel's Daughter,' which, if it be Captain
King's first essay in fiction, is assuredly a most encouraging
production."--_Literary World._
"The volume is a remarkable work of fiction, and will be found
entertaining and well worthy a careful reading."--_Chicago Tribune._
"Not for many a season has there appeared before the public a novel so
thoroughly captivating as 'The Colonel's Daughter.' Its fresh flavor
cannot fail to please the veriest _ennuye_, while its charming style
would disarm the most fastidious critic. With that delicacy of touch
peculiar to his workmanship, he draws now upon pathos, now upon humor,
but never strains either quality to its utmost capacity, which
distinctly proves that Captain King is a writer of signal ability, whose
novel of 'The Colonel's Daughter' we hope is but the prelude to many
others."--_Milwaukee Sentinel._
"A departure into a new field in novel writing ought always to be
welcomed. 'The Colonel's Daughter' is, strictly speaking, the first
American military novel. It is a good one, and Captain King ought to
follow up the complete success he has made with other stories of army
life on the American frontier. The style of the author is unaffected,
pure in tone, and elevating in moral effect."--_Wisconsin State
Journal._
"Captain King has in this novel prepared for us a clear and interesting
story of army incidents in the West. He is au fait in the art which made
Sir Walter Scott a companion for old and young--the art which brings to
the mind of the reader that sentient power which places us directly into
communion with the imaginary characters filling their parts in a book.
The military incidents are interwoven into the inspiring love episode
that to the pages of this work add animation."--_Times-Democrat, New
Orleans._
"'The Colonel's Daughter; or, Winning His Spurs,' a story of military
life at an Arizona post, written by Captain Charles King, U.S.A., and
published by J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, may rightfully claim
to be a good novel. Its characters are strong and clear-cut: its plot
original and well sustained, and the pictures of military life on the
frontier, of Apache character, and of the physical features of Arizona
Territory are realistic and fascinating."--_San Francisco Bulletin._
"The outcome of the novel is just what every reader would wish. It is a
splendid story, full of life and enjoyment, and will doubtless prove a
great favorite."--_Iowa State Register, Des Moines._
* * * * *
KITTY'S CONQUEST.
By CAPT. CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,
Author of "The Colonel's Daughter," "Marion's Faith," etc.
"A highly entertaining love story, the scene of which is laid in the
South seven years after the war."--_New York Herald._
"Capt. King has given us another delightful story of American life. The
reputation of the author will by no means suffer through his second
venture. We can heartily commend the story to all lovers of the American
novel."--_Washington Capital._
"Will take rank with its gifted author's vivid romance, 'The Colonel's
Daughter,' and should become as popular. Capt. King writes fluently and
felicitously, and in the novel under review there is not a tiresome
page. Everything is graphic, telling, and interesting. The plot is of
particular excellence."--_Philadelphia Evening Call._
"'Kitty's Conquest,' a charming little story of love and adventure, by
Charles King, U.S.A. The plot is laid in the South during the
reconstruction period following the late war. The book is written in a
most attractive style, and abounds in bright passages. The characters
are drawn in a very pleasing manner, and the plot is handled very
successfully throughout. It is altogether a pleasing addition to the
library of modern fiction."--_Boston Post._
"A bright, original, captivating story. The scene is laid in the South
some twelve years ago. It is full of life from the word 'go!' and
maintains its interest uninterruptedly to the end. The varying fortunes
through which the hero pursues his 'military love-making' are
graphically depicted, and a spice of dangerous adventure makes the story
all the more readable."--_New York School Journal._
"A bright and vivaciously-told story, whose incidents, largely founded
upon fact, occurred some twelve years ago. The scene, opening in
Alabama, is soon transferred to New Orleans, where the interest mainly
centres, revolving round the troublous days when Kellogg and McEnery
were _de facto_ and _de jure_ claimants of supreme power in Louisiana,
when the air was filled with notes of warlike preparation and the tread
of armed men. Though the _heroes_ are, for the most part, United States
officers, there is yet nothing but kindly courtesy and generous
good-will in the tone of the story, and its delineations of Southern
character and life, of Southern scenes, and the circumstances and
conditions of the time. The author is Charles King, himself a United
States soldier, whose story of 'The Colonel's Daughter' has been well
received."--_New Orleans Times-Democrat._
* * * * *
"A BRILLIANT PICTURE OF GARRISON LIFE."
MARION'S FAITH.
By Captain CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,
Author of "The Colonel's Daughter," "Kitty's Conquest," etc.
"Captain King has done what the many admirers of his charming first
story, 'The Colonel's Daughter,' hoped he would do,--he has written
another novel of American army life. The present is in some sort a
continuation of the former, many of the characters of the first story
reappearing in the pages of this volume. The scenes of the story are
laid in the frontier country of the West, and fights with the Cheyenne
Indians afford sufficiently stirring incidents. The same bright,
sparkling style and easy manner which rendered 'The Colonel's Daughter'
and 'Kitty's Conquest' so popular and so delightful, characterize the
present volume. It is replete with spirited, interesting, humorous, and
pathetic pictures of soldier life on the frontier, and will be received
with a warm welcome, not only by the large circle of readers of the
author's previous works, but by all who delight in an excellent story
charmingly told."--_Chicago Evening Journal._
"The author of this novel is a gallant soldier, now on the retired list
by reason of wounds received in the line of duty. The favor with which
his books have been received proves that he can write as well as fight.
'Marion's Faith' is a very pleasing story, with a strong flavor of love
and shoulder-straps, and military life, and cannot but charm the
reader."--_National Tribune, Washington, D. C._
"Captain King has caught the true spirit of the American novel, for he
has endowed his work fully and freely with the dash, vigor, breeziness,
bravery, tenderness, and truth which are recognized throughout the world
as our national characteristics. Moreover, he is letting in a flood of
light upon the hidden details of army life in our frontier garrisons and
amid the hills of the Indian country. He is giving the public a bit of
insight into the career of a United States soldier, and abundantly
demonstrating that the Custers and Mileses and Crooks of to-day are not
mere hired men, but soldiers as patriotic, unselfish, and daring as any
of those who went down with the guns in the great civil strife. Captain
King's narrative work is singularly fascinating."--_St. Louis
Republican._
"As descriptions of life at an army post, and of the vicissitudes,
trials, and heroisms of army life on the plains, in what are called
'times of peace,' the two novels of Captain King are worthy of a high
and permanent place in American literature. They will hereafter take
rank with Cooper's novels as distinctively American works of
fiction."--_Army and Navy Register, Washington, D. C._
* * * * *
American Novels, No. 1.
THE DESERTER AND FROM THE RANKS.
By Captain Charles King, Author of "The Colonel's Daughter," "Marion's
Faith," etc.
"These two stories have a tone and an atmosphere wholly different from
the commonplace novel of the day, and for that reason alone they are
highly enjoyable."--_Boston Literary World._
"The gallant captain has all a soldier's generous enthusiasm for lovely
women and the delights of a cosey, love-lit home, and his heroines are
all sweet, wholesome women that do honor to his heart and
pen."--_Germantown Telegraph._
"Captain King has a quick and sentient touch, and his writing is that of
one whose belief in mankind is untouched by bitterness. One reads his
tales with the satisfying sense of a cheerful solution of all
difficulties on the final page. It is a relief, indeed, to turn from the
dismal introspection of much of our modern fiction to the fresh
naturalness of such stories as these."--_New York Critic._
"He tells his stories with so much spirit that one's interest is
maintained to the end. The character studies are good and the plot
cleverly developed."--_New York Book-Buyer._
* * * * *
American Novels, No. 2.
BRUETON'S BAYOU,
By John Habberton, author of "Helen's Babies," AND MISS DEFARGE,
By Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of "That Lass o' Lowrie's."
"A good book to put in the satchel for a railway trip or ocean
voyage."--_Chicago Current._
"In every way worthy of the best of our American
story-writers."--(Washington) _Public Opinion._
"It is safe to say that no two more charming stories were ever bound in
one cover than these."--_New Orleans Picayune._
"'Brueton's Bayou' is an excellent tale, the motive of which is
apparently to instil into the haughty insularity of the New York mind a
realizing sense of the intellectual possibilities of the South-west. The
smug and self-satisfied young New York business-man, who is detained by
the lameness of his horse at Brueton's Bayou, and there presently meets
his fate in the form of a brilliant and beautiful girl of the region,
has the nonsense taken out of him very thoroughly by his Southern
experiences. 'Miss Defarge' is a strong study of a very resolute and
self-centred young woman, who accomplishes many things by sheer force of
will. But the most interesting and charming figure in it is that of
Elizabeth Dysart, the blonde beauty, a kind of modernized Dudu,--'large
and languishing and lazy,'--but of a sweetness of temper and general
lovableness not to be surpassed."--_New York Tribune._
* * * * *
American Novels, No. 4.
A DEMORALIZING MARRIAGE
By Edgar Fawcett, author of "Douglas Duane," "A Gentleman of Leisure,"
etc.
"The plot is cleverly arranged, the action lively, the dialogue sweet,
and the story bright and well sustained."--_New York Tribune._
"Edgar Fawcett still stands at the head of society novelists, as his
latest story testifies. It deals with society life in New York in a
brilliant and realistic manner, and if it is at times satirical, the
author has just grounds for employing this spice."--_Boston Home
Journal._
"Mr. Fawcett is admirably equipped to write of life in New York, the
city of his birth (over forty years ago), of his education, and of his
literary work. The characters that he presents are admirably drawn in
bold, clear lines. He observes society keenly, and some of his bits of
'showing up' are delightfully done."--_Public Opinion_ (Washington, D.
C.).
"It is one of the latest of Mr. Fawcett's brilliant stories of New York
life. One uses the term advisedly. His work has both depth and
resplendence--the two qualities that produce the effect we term
brilliancy, and which, when used in its full significance, signifies a
great deal. Mr. Fawcett's novels reveal the 'veined humanity' of the
complicated, intense life of the highly-organized society of the
nineteenth century."--_Boston Traveller._