Tell in the same year, may have sufficed for | and fortune occupy their minds. them of what they must surely face-of From Belgravia. A PASSENGER FROM SHANGHAI. I. ABOUT twenty-five years ago, a young American named Henry Moulton was walking slowly down Montgomery Street, San Francisco. He nodded pleasantly to the acquaintances whom he met, but he was absorbed in thought, for he had come to a turning-point in his life. He was an orphan, with no relations in the world but the family of a deceased uncle living in Massachusetts, whom he had never seen, and a widowed aunt who had taken up her residence in Paris many years before, and never returned to her native land. His mother died when he was very young; he had no brothers or sisters, and his father had brought him to California in that celebrated epoch the "fall of '49 and spring of '50," when came the great army of gold-seekers, and laid the foundations of the new State. His early associations in this new region were with mining-camps and their occupants, with that strange population whose virtues and vices alike have been idealized in these later days. His father had done his best — had strug. gled with hardships and disease, and finally been laid to rest by his "pards " in an extemporized graveyard in the foot hills, within a rifle-shot of the "gulch" where he had toiled. He had left little to his son, but the latter had made friends, and faced fortune boldly and resolutely. For two years before this story opens he had been employed by a mercantile firm in San Francisco, and only this very morning was he told that a new opening had been found for him. A merchant in China, who saw and liked him when on a late Californian visit, had written to his principals to send him on to Shanghai if he wished to go. It is doubtless fortunate for those who contemplate a long exile in the lands 66 east of the Cape that the glamour of the Orient is shed in fascinating radiance over their future, and that visions of fame Young Moulton felt all this to the fullest extent. As he walked with a light step along the busy street in the bright sunshine, his imagination travelled years ahead. He saw himself a rich, successful, cuitivated man of the world; returning to re-establish his family name; courted, honored, distinguished. His castle in the air had attained a great height when he reached the office where he was employed, and the kindly greeting of his principals brought him back to realities. Well, Harry," said the senior, "I suppose it is needless to ask if you have decided to accept this offer? "I do not see how I could refuse," he replied. "No, probably not," said the merchant, a shrewd, kindly Californian. "Nevertheless there are two sides to the question. Here you have a future before you, tolerably sure, if not brilliant. You are in your own land and among friends. When you leave them behind, you tempt fortune, you cast adrift from safe moorings. I suppose you have thought of all this and made up your mind, so I will only say that wherever and whatever you are, you have our best wishes for your happiness and prosperity. In three days the clipper ship Swordfish sailed from San Francisco. Up to the time the pilot left her, Moulton had remained in the exalted state of mind into which the offer from China had thrown him; but when the man was shaking hands, just after sunset, and as the first rays flashed out from the light on the Farallones, a sudden and inexplicable misgiving seized him. For a moment it seemed that he had made a fatal mistake; that the path before him led to disaster; that he should, even at that late moment, abandon his plan and return. The feeling passed away in due time, but it often recurred to him during the voyage and in the years which followed. Was it mere impulse, or a foreboding born of some inward revelation of the future? We shall see. The days, one like the other on the great Pacific Ocean, passed away, and on a certain morning, coming early on deck, Moulton saw the line of demarcation be. tween the clear sea and the volume of muddy water sent down by the great Yang-tze-Kiang. Another day saw him installed in a hong and surrounded by the new and strange sights and scenes of the central Flowery Land. Henceforward his life was as that of other "sojourners" (so the treaties call them). Pleasant winters and hot summers succeeded one another, but in an exciting and engrossing business life, his almanac was the schedule of steamers' departures, and no one looked further ahead than the coming "mail-day." Promotion followed good service, and a few years made our whilom youngster a man of some mark in the foreign community. At last a letter from the senior partner of the house with which he was connected who was resident in Hong Kongsummoned him to the latter point, in anticipation of a new and important position. His passage was taken in the steamer Labourdonnais, of the Compagnie des Messageries Impériales (not Maritimes as in these republican days), and she was to sail at daylight on a certain morning "or at such time during the night as the state of the tides might require." The night came, and Moulton's farewell dinner. Again his hand was shaken by warm friends and well-wishers: again he was to turn his back on scenes which had become familiar. being presumed that he would leave China on receipt of the information thus conveyed to him. He was accustomed both to think quickly and to control his feelings. A moment's reflection showed him that this startling news necessitated no immediate change in his plans; nor need he communicate it to those he was leaving. He would talk it over with Seymour on the trip; so he folded the letter up, put it in his pocket and made ready for his departure. A number of friends accompanied him to the jetty and were going off with him. Just, however, as they were about to step into the native boats which were contending for their patronage, an alarm of fire was given. As in those curious little cosmopolitan "settlements at that time, an alarm of this kind was a call to all able-bodied foreigners, the party proposed going to the fire before embarking. Moulton demurred; he was tired, and he wished to be alone and collect his thoughts; so the hearty farewells were said, and the others ran to the fire, leav ing him standing on the jetty, in the cool air and under the bright stars. II. MISS ALICE WEBSTER was a young and beautiful American girl. Her many He was not to make the voyage alone. graces of mind and body would have An acquaintance was booked for Mar- conquered the most merciless of transseilles by the steamer with which the Atlantic critics, if not those denationalized Labourdonnais was to connect at Hong and contemptible scribes who, in these Kong. This was Mr. Alfred Seymour, a later days, have gained a fleeting notoriety young American who had been travelling by feeble and ignorant depreciation of in the East and passed part of the winter their own countrywomen. She had lived at Shanghai. He was a genial and ac from childhood in one of the hill towns of complished fellow, and had made himself New England; in an old colonial house, very popular; and he and Moulton had with quaint Dutch tiles around the great become great friends. He was not at the fireplaces, and family portraits by Stuart dinner, but had promised to be on board on the walls. Every influence surroundlate in the evening. The time for depart. ing her had been refined and generous, ure had nearly arrived, when the inward and she had rare qualities of mind and mail was delivered and a letter handed to heart. She was as lovely, too, in her Moulton; one of those thin missives with blond beauty, as the ancestress whose out envelope, which were common enough picture hung in the library, with whom in those days of high "overland" postage. the officers of Rochambeau's column As he opened and read it, his astonish- danced at Newport in Revolutionary days, ment was overpowering. It was from a and of whose charms they made frequent firm of lawyers in Boston, and informed record in their diaries. No wonder, then, him that the aunt whom he had never that the aunt who sent for her to come seen had died in Paris, and left him a and cheer her loneliness in Paris, desired large sum of money. With legal formal- to keep her always there, and that in her ity, it went on to say that his cousin from last days she thanked and blessed her for Massachusetts, Miss Alice Webster, was the sweet solace of her loving care. with their aunt in her last illness, and had Several months had passed, and the remained with friends at a certain num-young girl was still in Paris, with some ber in the Rue du Faubourg St.-Honoré, intimate friends, as the lawyer's letter where he would find her on his arrival; it had told Moulton. Of this letter she Of course no discreet scribe could portray the feelings of a young girl, except as suggested by outward signs; but she certainly seemed to like her newly found cousin very much. If there was the least little "rift in the lute," it would seem to be a jarring on her acute sensitiveness as to truth and frankness, of his somewhat easygoing views in this regard; perhaps not wholly unnatural, she reminded her self, in a man of the world who had lived long in heathen lands. knew, and that her cousin was expected | should give place to a warmer feeling, no to leave China and come to Paris. Nat- one could complain: and it certainly looked urally he was often in her thoughts. She very much like it, as days became weeks. had never seen him, indeed had heard but little about him; and she found herself speculating on his probable appearance. What would he be like? A Californian who had lived in China was quite beyond her experience. A cousin of hers could hardly resemble the only man from San Francisco she had ever seen - a whilom rustic who had returned to the New England village with little gold and much experience. As for China, she knew but one person who had ever been there, and he was an old, old gentleman from Boston, who took snuff, and prosed about the time when he was supercargo of the ship Rainbow, and made the voyage to Canton in ninety-three days. As for him, he would have sworn allegiance to any faith or tenet which would please her: for he was in the seventh heaven, head over ears in love, and not ashamed to let it be known. It was quite a little idyll of the American colony, and it was "written up" with customary effusiveness and inaccuracy, by more than one special correspondent. She was sitting at the window and looking at the people passing in the street. The apartment was just above the entre sol; and furnished with much display of yellow satin and gilding. She wondered On a certain evening the young people, how it would strike a man who had per- with others, "assisted" at a performance haps lived in such queer little houses with at the Français, and they walked home pointed roofs curled up at the edges, as along the boulevards in the bright moonshe had seen in rice-paper pictures or on light. Miss Alice was leaning on her "willow pattern" plates. A ring at the cousin's arm, and they lagged a little bebell interrupted her meditations: the ser-hind the rest. He left her with her vant brought her a card; it bore the name | of "Mr. Henry Moulton." With a little beating of the heart she bade him show the gentleman in and he came. In a moment she was shaking hands with a tall, handsome fellow, with black hair and long moustache. He had the easy manners of a man of the world, and he was plainly delighted to meet her. The situation was a novel one, but not in the least disagreeable, she said to herself, as she sat there in her black dress; raising her eyes, from time to time, to his face. Cousins as they were, they had known absolutely nothing of each other. Their relationship served simply as a legitimate foundation for what promised, even thus early, to be an intimate acquaintance. He stayed to be presented to the family whose guest she was, and gladly accepted an invitation to dinner. When he took his departure, late in the evening, Miss Alice said to herself that he was a cousin thoroughly worth having. friends at their door, and there was something special in the manner of their parting, which led a man who had been with them to remark to a friend, as they walked away, puffing at newly lighted cigarettes, that he "wondered when it was coming off." Next morning the young lady, fresh and dainty as always, entered the breakfastroom. She never seemed more gentle, more considerate, more gracious so all the party remarked than during that cheerful half-hour. When breakfast was over, she rose and went to the window. The sun was shining brightly, and the pleasant panorama of a gay Paris street passed before her eyes. Over her head a canary-bird was singing blithely. She had taken the Galignani from the table, where it had lain, fresh from the press, but forgotten in the flow of merry talk. Now, settling herself comfortably in the window-seat, she began to read it. As she looked at the headings, her attention wandered: her thoughts must have been happy, for an unconscious smile came to her lips. She could hear the piano in the next room : she knew the air; it was from "Fra Diavolo," and she began to hum the words, as she resumed her cur It is needless to say that the young people saw much of each other in the days which followed. Nothing could be more natural, or, as thought the cautious matron under whose care the fair lady was, more suitable. If cousinly affection | sory reading: — "HONG KONG.-The files of the China Mail, published at the above port and just at hand, give full particulars of one of the strangest series of occurrences ever recorded. We condense the main facts: "About five weeks before the disclosures just made, Mr. S―, senior resident partner of the firm of J R and Co., wrote to his house in Shanghai asking them to send Mr. Henry Moulton, a confidential clerk, to Hong Kong by the French mail steamer Labourdonnais, as it was proposed to give him authority to sign for the firm, and leave him in charge during Mr. S- -'s temporary absence from the colony. When the steamer arrived, Mr. Moulton did not appear, much to Mr. S's annoyance. He wrote to Shanghai to ask for an explanation. The Labourdonnais in the mean time was despatched on a special trip to Saignon. The return mail from Shanghai brought the startling intelligence that Mr. Moulton left the hong the night before the Labourdonnais sailed, and parted from his friends at the jetty. The news of his nonarrival created the most intense excite ment in Shanghai, where he was highly esteemed and respected. The American consul-general and the Municipal Council, calling upon the native authorities for aid, instituted a most thorough search and investigation. An attempt was even made to drag the river, and when no result crowned these earnest efforts, great consternation ensued, for a new feeling of insecurity seized upon the community. The excitement in Hong Kong on receipt of this intelligence was as great as in the north. All of a sudden a resident sent to the daily papers an extract from a private letter just received from Singapore from a friend who had gone on in the mail steamer with which the Labourdonnais connected. The writer alluded to the sad occurrences on the trip from Shanghai to Hong Kong, the sudden death of a Mr. Moulton, an American, and the speedy and secret consignment of his body to the deep. The publication of this information greatly increased the prevailing excitement. Editors and correspondents asked, in the strongest terms, if English and American passengers were to be thrown overboard like dogs from French steam. ers, and not a word said of it. The feeling was growing dangerously strong when the Labourdonnais returned. The next morning a formal statement from the French consul appeared in the papers. It was emotionless, dignified, and cate gorical. "M. L. Baron de R- presented his compliments to M. le Rédacteur, and regretted that in the absence of information easily accessible, accusations alike unfounded and unjust had been made against the officers of a Messageries steamer. The fact was that one M. Moltone or Multon, passenger of the first class, had been seized with a rapid and fatal illness. He had been attended in his own cabin by the surgeon of the steamer, a good father of the Church, and a friend of his own, the most devoted one M. Seymor or Sémore, registered for Marseilles. In spite of all efforts he died almost immediately. And, in accordance with the strict regulations of the company, his remains were consigned to the deep while the passengers were at dinner. On arrival M. le Capitaine bad made before his consul the deposition required by French law, and thus fulfilled his whole duty. He was désolé that there had been any misunderstanding. In conclusion, M. le Baron begged M. le Rédacteur to accept the assurance of his distinguished con. sideration.' "That this was all true, there could be no doubt. The Frenchman had complied with the letter of the law: the passenger who was with poor Mr. Moulton was a stranger in Hong Kong; he had not come on shore, but gone on at once in the mail steamer. No one could really be blamed, and yet it was proved to be entirely possible for a well-known resident of a foreign settlement in China to embark on a regular mail steamer for a three days' voyage and utterly disappear from mortal ken. The affair, from first to last, has made a profound sensation in China."* Alice Webster read this article through from beginning to end, never missing a word. At first she had received such a If there be any of the readers of this story who deem this incident over-drawn, or whose experience has not taught them that truth is stranger than fiction, they are respectfully referred to the files of the English papers published in Hong Kong and Shanghai in 1864. shock that her heart seemed to stand still. | ahead beyond the passing day. I saw To this succeeded total bewilderment. you and I forgot all else. I have lived She was dazed and could not comprehend in a fool's paradise ever since; I have the significance of the narrative. She sat not thought of aught but you. I have quite still, very pale and holding the paper been on a pinnacle of happiness, and in a before her. Then, to her excited thought second I have been plunged in the depths came a glimpse of relief. Of course it of despair. My eyes have been opened was the friend who was with her cousin as by a flash of lightning, and I see myself that died; such a mistake could readily as I am; even as you, with your pure inoccur. The color came back to her face. stincts, must see me. Your character has Doubtless he would come to see her at been a revelation to me. I believe that my once, he would A servant entered reverence for you would have made a good and handed her a note. She opened it man of me, but I know only too well that with feverish haste, and read as follows: to your truth-loving soul I stand hopelessly condemned. "I must say a word to you. Miserable creature as you must think me, I am worse in my own eyes than I can be even in yours. "You may refuse to read what I write, but I must tell my story, though it be only to place before your eyes the record of my folly and shame. "As you know, I am an impostor. Your cousin a good and true man, and once my friend died in my arms on the French steamer between Shanghai and Hong Kong. "I was about his age, and not unlike him in personal appearance. I was born of parents who had once been rich but were poor, and soured by ill-fortune. They instilled in my mind the idea that we had a grievance against society, and they nurtured in me a consuming ambition. I fought the world from childhood: I showed it a brave face at all times, even when defeat seemed inevitable. I went to China in hope of finding some opening to fame and fortune. When the community thought me a traveller of means, I was in reality overwhelmed with disappointment. I had abandoned hope and determined to go to Europe. Fate decreed that your cousin should choose the same steamer, and should make me his confidant. The very first morning on board he showed me the letter announcing his inheritance and the change in his fortunes. He begged me to go with him to Paris; he promised to present me to you; he treated me as a dear friend. That very night he was stricken with mortal sickness; in the early stages he placed his papers in my hands. In twelve hours his body lay deep in the ocean. I knew no one in Hong Kong, and did not go on shore. It was when we had sailed thence, and I saw that noth. ing was said of your cousin's death, that the devil tempted me. Every circumstance was in my favor. How far I could have gone I know not. I did not look "But one word more. The lessons I have learned from you, in this brief period of happiness, may not be lost. Some day you may hear of my atonement, of my doing something worthy of a true man. When I walked home with you last Sunday from the little church, you gave me your prayer-book to carry, and you did not ask me for it. I shall take it with me; for this I beg you to pardon me. Perhaps you may yet find in your heart some pity for as miserable an offender as "ALFRED SEYMOUR." III. IT was April, 1865. Miss Alice Webster was again at her pleasant New England home. If she had told any one of the letter received in Paris, her counsel was well kept, and in some occult manner the special correspondents had been baffiled. There were rumors of strange occurrences in connection with the appearance of the cousin from China, but they took no permanent shape. What Miss Alice thought or felt no one could tell, for she was no sentimental maiden to wear her heart on her sleeve. She was gentle, gracious, fascinating as ever. Just at this time, too, the attention of New England, as of all the country, was concentrated on the closing scenes of the great Civil War. The Union forces had entered Richmond on the 3d, and General Grant was making the great, forced marches which ended with Lee's surrender at Appomattox on the 9th. In the delirium of rejoicing which followed the news of this momentous event, the carnage which preceded it was forgotten. The flags were still flying, and the salvos of artillery were still resounding, when Miss Alice received by mail a small pack. age and the following letter: "Colonel R- presents his compli |