There is nothing private about the dispatch. Don't waste one of the people's envelopes on it."

rope.

Very well," said the governor, pulling a bell

A servant entered.

"Take this dispatch to the telegraph office, and have it forwarded to New York immediately,” said the governor.

"Yes, sir," replied the servant, instantly leaving the room as soon as he had received the paper.

"Now, gentlemen," said the governor, "I wish to introduce you to some ladies under my wife's charge. We must make an evening of it."

It was a late hour before Mr. Mortimer and the chief regained their hotel.

The following morning, at an early hour, a pardon, executed in due form, was handed to Mr. Mortimer by a special messenger from the governor. A few moments afterwards a messenger from the telegraph office handed a dispatch to Chief M-1. It read as follows:

"Shank is arrested," said the chief, as soon as he had read the dispatch.

Mr. Mortimer, taking up the dispatch, attempted also to read it.

"I shall have to obtain the key to that, Mr. M—————1, before I can unlock it," said Mr. Mortimer.

"It is very simple, sir," replied the chief.

“Well, Doyl, how has your prisoner enjoyed him

self," continued Mr. M-1, addressing that official, who just then approached.

"He acts pretty soberly about the matter,” replied Doyl.

"Be ready to go to New York by the evening boat," said Mr. M-1.

"I am ready at a moment's notice," answered Doyl.

"What is the key to your telegraph dispatch?" asked Mr. Mortimer.

"I have not got it with me," replied Mr. M-1, laughing.

Mr. Mortimer saw that his friend M-1 was proof against even his attempts to learn to read his secret writing. As a new order of things has been instituted, and as old things have passed away, it will do no injury to the cause of justice if we now give the key to the public. Read the dispatches backwards, commencing at the last letter, and omitting each second letter.

That night James Mordaunt was carried a prisoner to New York. On the following day he was brought before the officer who issued the process against him. An examination was waived, and he was admitted to bail. He was then arrested upon a second warrant, issued upon the affidavit of Sarah E. Graham. When he fully comprehended the fact that she was restored to reason, his countenance fell. Ruin stared him in the face; and so the event proved. Although he was admitted to bail on this charge also, and thereby enjoyed every advantage for conducting his defence, still he was convicted, and sentenced to five years' hard labor in the State prison.

The suit instituted for the establishment of Mary Wilcox's rights, now became an easy matter. It was prosecuted to a successful termination in her favor. and her claims upon his property were recognized by the courts.

Two days after the judgment of the court had been rendered, the vessel commanded by her uncle, Captain Joseph Horton, entered New York harbor, having been permitted by the health officer, upon due examination of her manifest, to pass quarantine. But was Mary Mordaunt the happy niece, the joyful wife, the proud mother? She had gained only the first stepping-stone up the steep and rugged pathway of peace. But she possessed a true heart, and a heavenly guide to direct her in the way of duty. The great struggle of a life was before her. She had a husband, and her child owned a villain, lost to himself, his friends, and society, for a father. She shrank not from this struggle; nor did she fail in meeting with abundant sympathy.

XLV.

A Mountain in Massachusetts-The Home of an ex-Preside; of the United States.

READER, you approach the conclusion of our story. Bear with its length patiently! The duty before us, though for truth's sake we must yet describe a few sad pictures of life, will also present you with scenes of happiness. This world is not always dark, nor does misfortune always surround the poor in heart.

You stand upon an elevation of land, covered with a rich forest growth. It is an hour and a half since, upon the level country, you bade adieu to luxuriant fields, groaning under the weight of ripening harvests. The progress up the steep ascent has been slow and fatiguing. Physical endurance almost gives out. The rich, mossy bed, so delicately spread upon the outcropping formation, is a genial and welcome resting-place. The tall and stately pine, the graceful elm and beech, and the broad-leafed maples afford a certain protection against the summer's sun. The mind has gradually been filled with wonder at the sublimity of a mountain ascent. For months, mansions of brick, dirty streets, jostling crowds, and the, capacity of a counting-room have been pictured upon the retina. The optic nerve has longed for

rest, calling loudly upon the members to allow the pupil an opportunity for dilation in the forest shade. And now the solemn darkness of the mountain has reached and filled the soul. The brows, so long contracted, rise with the opening lids. The chattering of the nimble squirrel reaches the ear. The sight, so keen in youth, in vain endeavors to find the bold climber. Peering into tree after tree, now certain, now uncertain. "Yes, she is there!"—"No! its a black knot!" How quickly the merry chatterer appreciates the cause of this exhibition of doubt! Darting into a hole, she whispers to her young, "The man is not the boy! His rifle shines with silver; but it is not the old rusty shot-gun he used to carry, which sent the cold lead with such certainty. Come, chicks, no fear!" And now that old monarch of the woods, which has stood the blasts of a century, resounds with the chattering derision of the whole nest. Bang! Good sir, you have wasted your powder. The nimble innocents gambol upon their native boughs unharmed. Come, ascend this stately tower that overlooks the tops of the forest verdure. A scene is there which you may enjoy without prostituting your sight to the destruction of life merely for pastime. You climb the square tower to its top. Folding the arms, as if transfixed by the magnificent truth revealed, you are lost in the contemplation. Look north! piles upon piles of mountain heights rise before you. The eye wanders along their serpentine windings for twenty, perhaps thirty statute miles, until it rests upon what appears a blue cloud, lying against the sky in the horizon. A beautiful female, enveloped in the semblance of a riding-habit, with