The Fatal Neil.

On tho evening of June 20, 1837, a ped dler on horseback stopped at the smithy of one John Steele, on the outskirts of the town of Tickhill near Doncaster, England. Several persons were in tho smithy at the time, beside the blacksmith aud his son llichard. The peddler asked Steele to shoe his horso as quickly as he could, as he wished to reach Doncaster early, and get a bed at his old place, for next day being ' Statues,' or Fair, a number of visitors would be looking for accommoda tion.

While the smith was attending to the peddler's horse, another stranger arrived, also on horseback, and likewise desiring the smith's services, as his horse had cast a shoe.

The two strangers and tho loungers got into conversation, and the poddler finally opened a mahogany case which was suspendod by a strap from his shoulder, and exhibited his wares which consisted of rings, gold and silver chains, watches and so forth. On the last comer's hearing that the peddler was going to Doncaster he offered to accompany him, as he was going in the same direction, adding that as he was a stranger the peddler might take him to somo house where he could get accommodation. The peddlor repliod that he was going to ' The Traveler's Best,' on the outskirts of Doncaster, as it was a good house and he know the landlord. When the smith removed the shoe from the horse of the last com or, he examined it closely, remarking that it had beon made in Holderness, pointing out the fact that the nail was peculiarly made, having a half-split in the head, and saying that was a Holderness fancy. ' I'll keep this nail,' the smith said, and he drove it as a wedge into the handle of a small hammer., where it passed through the bead. The peddler sent for a flagon of ale, and they stood drinking and talking for some time. When the blacksmith joked tho peddler about being in a hurry when he first camo in, he laughed and said : ' Oh, that's all right. I've made up my mind to sleep in the big-out-house, whero I have often slept before ; it's comfortablo, and you take anybody you like in there, you know.' the peddlor added with a wink. "When the two men were ready to depart, the peddler took a large wallet from the valise on his saddle-bow and paid the smith. The peddler seemed to make a rather ostentatious exhibition of his wallet, which was crammed with bank notes and gold. The two men rode off togothor, and tho smith clearod his place and closed it for the night. In due time tho peddler and his new friend reached the Traveler's Best, and told the landlord thoy would sleep in the outbuilding in tho rear, in which there wero several beds. The landlord said there wero good accommodation there, and promised to make them comfortable. Tho peddler retired first, and the stranger remained behind to havo supper and linger over his ale. At 11 o'clock he went to the outbuilding and five minutc3 later the landlord observed the light put out. . Next morning neither tha peddler nor his friend appeared, and tho landlord went to tho outbuilding to arouse them. He found the door open, and on entering the room discovered the poddler in his shirtl lying on the floor at tho far end in a poo of blood. His head was battered in, and near him was lying a hammer with blood and hair on the head, He was dead and cold.

When tho alarm was given it was found that the horso belonging to tho man who had accompanied the peddler to the inn and occupied the same room with him was missing, and suspicion at once foil on him as the murderer. The authorities wero at onco notified, and officers were iv pursuit of the supposed assassin before tho day was an hour older. They tracked him to Coninbro', but lost track of him just out side that town, ou tho road to Sheffield. The keen eyes of tho officers, however, caught sight of a horso among tho bram bles in a valley to the left of the road, and there tho man was captured. He was terribly frightened—so much so as to bo unable to articulate for some time. Strap pod to his saddle bow was a valise, and on opening it a heavily filled wallet, identified as the peddler's, was found. Before the coroner the prisoner, who said his name was Henry Scott, told a most astounding story. He said that when he went to the outhouse the peddler had already gone to his bed, which was a high old-fashioned tent bed, with curtains. Scott took a bed at the opposite end of the room. This bed had curtains also, as the room was large and draughty. He placed his clothes on a chair and flung his valise, or holsters, on a bit of carpet at the side of the bed. When he put out the light he noticed that the moon was shining full into the room. He lay awake for some time, and presently heard footsteps in the room. The next moment the curtains of his bed was gently drawn, and he saw a face booking down upon him. He lay quite still, though greatly alarmed. The face disappeared, and retreating stops were heard. He arose on his elbow and peered through the curtain. He distinctly saw two men standing at the further end of the room, near the peddler's bed. They passed around the foot of it and disappeared at the other side. That moment he heard a scream and a scuffle, and saw the legs of the peddler protrude from the curtains. There was a scuffle and a suppressed cryj (lad, the ne^t moment the peddler bounde4

from the bed and ran, screaming 'murder, toward Scott's bed, holding his valise at arm's length. Two men followed the fugitive, and Scott, horrified and fear stricken, slipped from Lis bed on the other side and aid himself in a closet. He heard the groans and blows and tho sound of retreating footsteps ; then all was still. The next instant, however, tho door opened, other footsteps were heard along the floor, and tho curtains of Scott's bed were hastily drawn. The visitant, whoever he was, uttered an oath of dis appointment and fled from the room. After waiting for some time Scott camo forth from tho closet, and found tho peddler lying on the ground, dead. Scott . was in a terrible: dilemma, and saw at a glance that he would be suspected of having murdered the peddler, Panic stricken, he hastily dressed himself, picked up his valise from the floor, took his horse from the stable, and departed from the inn, resolving to seek safety in flight. It was daylight when he reached Coninbro', and then tor the first time ho discovered that the valise which he had taken from tho floor was not his, but tho peddler's, which ho bad no doubt dropped when the murderers fell upon him, and in tho placo of which they had doubtless seized and carried off Scott's, which lay on the carpet close by. This extraordinary story was not believed by the Coroner's jury in the face of all the damning evidence against Scott. It was shown that he had seen the ped dler produce his wallet from the valise in tne blacksmith's shop ; that he offered to accompany the peddler to Doncaster, and that he had taken up his quarters at the same inn, and slept iv the same room with the murdered man. Besides this, ho was captured with tho valise in his possession, and what better evidence of his guilt could there be ? Scott was sent to jail, and in due course tried for willful murder. Out of charity a young lawyer undertook his defense. The evidence for the prosecu tion was clear and convincing, and Mr. O'Brien—afterward Sergeant O'Brien— the prisoners's counsel, saw no chance for his client's escape. The principal wit nesses against him were tho blacksmith, John Steele, and his son Eichard, the mon that were in tho smithy when the peddler and Scott first met, tho landlord of the inn, who swore that Scott urged the peddler to go to another inn, and the officers who found Scott with the peddler's valise in his possession. The hammer with which the murder had been committed was produced on the trial and shown to tho jury. One of them i remarked to tho Court that it was a blacksmith's shoeing hammer. Mr. O'Brien quietly asked to bo allowed to look at it, and he examined it closely. Then he stood up and handed it to the prisoner. Scott glanced his eye over it for a moment, and then handed it back to his counsel. The next instant he clutched it, drew it from Mr. O'Brien's grasp, and scrutinized it with the most intense interest. Then he leaned on the dock and spoke in a hurried tone to his counsel. The latter with flushed face and hasty movements, mado his way to the sido of the prosecuting offioor, and con versed with him in a low tone for several minutes. The prosecuting officer then spoke with the judge, and. after a few seconds beckoned an officer and whispered to him a few words. Mr. Steele, tho blacli smith, was recalled to tho witness stand by Mr. O'Brien, who said : ' Mr. Steele, you aro an old and experienced blacksmith, are you not ?' • Yes, Sir,' Steele answered, with a perceptible tremor in is voice. ' Did you work at your trade in Holder ness ?'

' Yes, sir, when I was a young man.' ' Anything peculiar in the manufacture of horse-shoo nails in that district, Mr. Steelo ?'

• I think there is, sir.'

' Pray tell us what that peculiarity is Mr, Steele.'

' Tho head is divided like in tho middle'

' Anything like the head of that nail used as a wedge in the handle of that hammer, Mr. Steele?' tho counsel asked, handing the witness the weapon found near the body of the murdered peddler. The witness's hand shook like a leaf as be reached it out for the hammer ; his cheeks grew deadly pale, his lips became parched, and though ho held the hammer in his hand his starting eyes were fixed on his questioner.

4 Anything like that nail ?' Mr. O'Brien repeated, calmly looking at the witness. ' Yes, sir,' Steele replied at length, with difficulty. ' Should you say that nail had been maid iv Holderness, Mr. Steele ?'

' It looks like it, sir,' was Steele's reply. ' Mr. Steele,' the counsel said, moving almost close up to him, and standing so that Judge and jury could see both witness and interrogator distinctly ; ' did you ever see this hammer before you saw it in this Court ?'

The witness gave a gasp, and then, recovering himself, said:

' Yes, sir,' I saw it in the hands of the Coroner.'

At this juncture there was a disturbance in the Court, and the oflicers were seen striving to prevent a young man from quitting the room.

The young man was Bichard Steele, the blacksmith's son.

' Let me go,' he said,' ' that's the old scoundrel that did it. He knows that hammer's his, well enough. Ho knows that he planned the whole thing and led we into \i, I'll turn King's eyideaqe;

I'll blab the whole story. Let me go and I'll hang the old villian, though he is my father.' The scene that followed cannot be des cribed. Suffice it to say that a nolle pkoseqom was entered, and Scott was transferred into an important witness, Steele and his son being duly indicted and tried for murder of the peddler. Scott sworo to tho blacksmith having taken the nail from tho^old horse shoe, and remarked that it had been made in Holderness, and had driven it into the hammer head as a wedge. The hammer was futhermore indentified as having belonged to Steele, and testimony was given which showed that the blacksmith and his son were absent from home the night of the murder, a market man swearing he passed tkem noar Doncaster, going in the direc tion of Jickhill, at 3 oclock on the morning of tho 21st of June. But the evidence that settled their fate was furnished by Scott's valise, which they had taken at the time of tbe murder of the peddler. It was discovered in tho ash heap at the back of the smithy. Steele and his son were convicted and sentenced to be hanged, and both made a full confession to the following effect: Steeleen Sir, resolved on the robbery and the murder, if need be, of the peddler immediately after he discovered that the man was possessed of a large sum of money. After the peddler and his com panion had quitted the smithy, Steele closed it, and communicated to his son his design respecting the peddler. The son, who was a profligate man, assented to the scheme. Both wero about to start after tho two men and get ahead of them, by a bridle-path, but tho smith changed his plan. If they did that they would have to attack them both in tho open road and on horse back. The smith knew the inn to which they were going, and was well acquainted with the outbuildings in which they were to sleep- Ho proposed, therefor.., that they should rob the peddler in his sleep, and only use violence in case it was necessary to secure their saftey. When they entered tho outbuilding the smith went toward Scott's bed, while Bichard re mained near the door. Finding the man who was wanting was not there, Steele and his son approached the other bed, and found tho peddler, knowing it was he from hi« bald head. They tried to remove the va'.iso on which he slept from under his head, but ho evidently had his hand in tho strap, and the tug awoke him. Tho reader knows the rest from the story told by Scott. After the smith and his son had quitted the room, with what they supposed was the peddler's valise, Steele's mind misgave him, and a dread that Scott had been an observer of the bloody deed, and would recognize the perpetrators, seize him. lie hurried back to the room resolved to brain Scott if ho found him awake. On discovering the bed empty, the smith dropped his- hammer in affright, tho only explanation to his mind of Scott's absence being that he had witnessed the crime, and quitted the place secretly to give the alarm. The smith and his son departed panic-stricken, and on reaching homo discovered, to their intense mortification and dissappointment, that tho valise for which they had murdered a man and exposed themselves to tho gallows, con tained only a few old clothes and a Bible. Steele and his son were hanged at York, Docember 8, 1837.

Magnificent Indian Display.

Tiie following graphic account is from tho Baroda correspondent of tho 'London Daily Times,' under date November 21, 1876. He says :— To mo this boy Guickowar (of Baroda) presents a subject of endless interest and amused bewilderment. He looks about 10 or 12, the age at which an English boy is most awkward, uncouth, and addicted to tumbling over his own abnormally developed feet. Only a few months ago ho w ras a poor boy in an obscure village, of a family, I have beon told, occasionally pinched for tho commonest necessaries of life. His practical acquaintance with clothing did not extend beyond tho primi tive dhotio ; tho lifo before him was that of the plodding cultivator of a few beegahs of miserable land. Suddenly there came for him a grand transformation scene. The village boy, through careful genealogical inquiries, was discovered to be collaterally tho nearest heir to the disgraced and deposed guickowar. He was taken from his village with all honor, adopted by the ranee, placed with elaborate ceremouial on the A-JT.DEE —in other words, raised to the throne of Baroda; the nobles and state dignitaries owned the village boy as their master, aud bowed down before him ; the British resident did him honor; the gold and silver guns of Baroda were his ; tho chains, collars, aigrettes, and aiguil lettes of gems, fabulous in their value, where the indefeasible if incidental ap panage of the youth before whom a month before there lay a future of sordid toil. No freak of fiction could bo imagined stranger than the amazing revolution in this child's lot. And how does he comport himself under condition which must be so bewild eringlynoveltohimthatitis hard tobelieve he does not consider the present one long, wild dream ? Is he shy, scared; do the el@ds of his obscure village and the asso ciations of his old life cling to and hamper him ? On the contrary, it is as ii for him a wot sponge had been passed over the past. The boy is as composed, and even apathetic, in his »w position as if he had

been born into the purple. He accepts homago with a languid placidity of con descension ; he negligently patronizes government secretaries and solf-important residents, apparently regarding all such persons as having been expressly created to contribute to his convenience ; he had fallen naturally, and with genuine grace fulness, into a tone of perfect equality, and frank, boyish cordiality, wonderfully well blended with dignity, in his inter course with the prince of Wales. The two sat conversing on the sofa, while members of the suite were being elevated to the howdahs of stupendous and fantas tically painted and brilliantly caparisoned elephants, sixteen of which had been waiting in the station yard—in the midst of a strange medley of soldiery in gaudy and wondrous uniforms, and looking funnily like supers in a theatre —to convey the party from the station to the Residency. Of course there had been a royal salute from the guickowar's artillery, and a ' present arms' by a guard of honor of the guickowar's picked troops. The guickowar has artillerymen clothed from head to foot in brilliant scarlet, each man meriting that appella tion of ' Blazes'which Mr. Weller bestowed on his brother footman at the memorable ■ swarry;' hussars in green, dragoons in blue, lancers in mulberry, and foot soldiers who look as if the dead stock in hand of the famous 'rainbow ribbon' had been utilized to make uniform for them. At a signal the prince and the guickowar emerged from the station, the former leading tho latter by the hand, and the prime minister, Sir Madava Bao, follow ing. Outside there knelt a huge elephant painted in diverse colors and patterns from the crown of his head, to the tip of hi 3 trunk and the broad splay soles of his fore feet. Bich trapplings of cloth of gold elaborately embroidered, hung over the huge beast and swept the ground. On his back was a gracefully-shaped howdah of gold. In the front seat of this, facing toward the animal's head, the prince and the guickowar took their seats, the prince on the right, the guickowar on the left; Sir Madava Bao got up behind. On ledges projected from the elephant's sides stood attendants waving choueies of ostrich feathers and yak's tails. The procession of elephants, interspersed with the theatrical soldiery, was under the marshalshipof the guickowar's commander in-chief, Gen. Devine, resplendent being, of what is delicately termed here ' mixed parentage,' and wearing a uniform which for tawdry splendor could not be matched in Mr. .Nathan's varied store of fancy dresses. Begimental bands played what may be styled ' regular music,' native instrumentalists clashed out their extremely irregular and discordant strains, the populace cheered, the cannon banged, horses reared and stood on their hind legs aud the procession swung ponderously into slow and stately motion, and went wind ing on under triumphal arches, along umbrageous avenues, through much tinsel of decoration, until having skirted a por tion of the native town, it reached the Besidency.

"Pretty" and Her Violin.

BY HOLME MAXWELL.

Felice was a servant. She was just twenty years old, but she was like a child in our land. She talked a little, soft, broken English ; our words were very, very hard for her five, pretty Italian lips to manage. She was tall, and extremely fine and delicate ; every one admits this now, but her little girl-mistress saw it at a glance, as Felice came in behind papa, pausing, tall and slender with her exquisite brown hair and brown eyes to be addressed. ' Here is your mistress,' said the papa to Felice, indicating the young girl dressed in whito. ' She is tho littlo woman of the house, and will tell you about your duties.'

Felice bowed like a tall lily, as the ' mistress,' so much younger and so much smaller than herself, came forward slowly and with irregular steps, leaning upon a fairy sort of cane. ' You are pretty, pretty, pretty —pretty as I could ask for,' said the young girl. Felice was not accus tomed to be taken by her mistresses with two tender, white hands, and called 'Pretty, pretty, pretty.' A soft color came into her pale,, clear cheeks, and her eyes grew liquid as she bent over the little girl without speaking. But when the little girl turned away, looking so quaint in her stylish whito dress, as she leaned upon her little cane, Felice instinctively followed her. Sho placed the Velvet hassock under her feet as she sat down, and slipped the cane into the ' rest' attached to the small lounging-chair. ' Can you make a bed nicely, Pretty P' said the little girl. ' Yes, mees,' answered Felice. 4 Can you put the room nicely, Pretty ?' ' Yesj mees.' ' And do birds and flowers and gold-fish prosper with you, Pretty ?' ' I cannot toll you, mees.' ' Can you sew nicely ?' ' Mees say nicely—no, alas ! I work not with the needle, none, in four year.' 4 Well, then, can you read—our English books ? you know—and a long while at a time P Pray, don't say no.' 4 Alas, mees, I know not to read the Ingleese, none. Ah, mees, I think now to my heart this is one meestake. You wish not me. You wish not one chamber maid.' * You cannot know what I wish, my Pretty,' But the mistress's face was

downcast and clouded. Froron^ sunny eye-lashea she studied »*,%' slender, folded hands of .poor •pip They were browned and hardenS§ rougher labors than hair-dreasb? embroidering, tho mending of QJ tending of flowers. She pointed ■' to a door across the hall. « Yotis!B Pretty. Have your things brouif' " ' Felice,' corrected the soft I^f ! ' No, Pretty,' persisted theHttW-. with a lovely smile. This little^B fourteen—Lulu Bedfern—was ntf/H many things: of a brown stoneiSr of her papa, and of his immense^Sl She was almost like a fairy in igi^S ness and in her power. Why &yg9 not change her servant's nam*Y- chose? While 'Pretty' wargß Bedfern came back. 'Papa'.ip mistress, 'of what were you'tfiM; Pretty does not sew, does notuiZx' flowers and pets, does not read, a?B even dress hair !' 'M 'Don't she?' said papa, mm_.ll 'Why, she looks as if she did.' ' Papa did you ask at all ?' 'ISTo,' confessed papa, 'I did, §.' supposed, of course, she could; £M did she apply ? Can't she be £« my birdie ?' ™<|| ' I don't see how, papa.' * Well, then, we shall have to mi away, I suppose, I fancied she SB quite the person you would like-KB about you—she is so different &J| fluttering, nervous French Adelfi- M you certainly do not need another M chambermaid.' '.'-jk

' Yet, papa, I cannot have her A J that she has come. Can't Imm papa, to look at? She won't LI much as a Sevres vase.' Felice, with her droopy face mjj steps, was passing. She hadjj satchel in one hand, and in the M whatjdo you suppose? A violjj little, black, old. ' Whew !' saidajl himself, 'that's queer luggage.' M Bedfern did not see the queer lusaii So ' Pretty,' stayed, on the fS| Sevres vase, -end drooped over mm her little mistress like a beautM wherever she went, and that wa_ J all she could do for many days. No, this little girl, "who could j everything most, could not have ennd quite. She loved music beyondall W else; but on account of her little M she could not play. The grand §11 for the guests. Bare players used m and play for her ; and none of the J seemed to depart from the house, som the rooms were haunted by divine WJ ies. When Lulu lay awake at iogl|| awake by pain, the wondrous M played themselves again at her m the sweet, pure young soul took iritj itself, and swept away among lovelyjl until lameness, and pain, and ami life were quite forgotten. \ It was one night, about a week I Felice came. She had lifted hermii into bed, and had said.- ' I mslZm most lofely good-night, Mees Looloo,' had gone. It was not a 'mosil| night. ' Mees Looloo's' little feel i throbbing with pain worse thaa i before j but about midnight she growing hushed and serene. There! wafts and breathings of Mendelssok Wagner, and Mozart, and Beethore. about her; and she was falling ask when, suddenly, a fine, sweet, "joy living strain pierced through the dra songs and harmonies. Lulu lifted her head. She knew. moment that this was real music. Enb_j ing as were her dreams by bothnigiii day, no one so clear-headed as tte 1 mistress. She had sat and listened often for coming and going feet, forSi doors, to be mistaken as to the sours aay sound. This midnight music a from ' Pretty's room; and she who'lf reed, and pipe, and horn, and stffl|j well, knew that it was the rarest^ music. i

It was entrancingly sweet, tail air, entirely unknown to the littleM lover, floated out* on the still mi-flj Poor little Miss Bedfern! She bljj face in her pillows, and sobbed nsj ecstacy of happiness. 'Now I know what is so pure, soq that I see in my Pretty's face. Itiil which is in the faces of all the artisfef come here. My Pretty is no*' Papa said that she looked as if she i do all these things—papa felt she Wl artist. Papa could not help brinrt could not help keep her~o myßteti By and by the music ceased;! listening, Lulu heard the violin dew in the box. She looked bright as a bird whetf maid came to lift her to the bafMj morning. ' Ah, Mees Looloo, I wis. I a lofely good morning.' • ' It is both lovely and good, dearM said the child-mistress, stooping'!*] the long artist fingers, busy wil sleeve-buttons. ' I understand! fingers now.'

'Hafyou not always understood! mooch slow ways, Mees Looloo F' 1 ' Mees Looloo' clasped the tw<*M nervous hands close to her breast. I 4 Pretty, I know what they weW for : they are the musician's haftl heard you last night. I heard aII your room. How could you haveftf Pretty, and not bring it out whPf often so tired and need to be sooOT 4 Oh, Mees Looloo, I haf not W_\ I haf played when I could not hm to mine eyes, and haf thought of M Then Lulu heard the simple sill was the violin belonging to Felice'sif

Evening- Star Supplement, July 32, ISTO