CAUGHT AT LAST. Mr. Harvey Thnckston, bachelor, had arrived home from the club, aud was about to retire for the night. He had thrown off his vest, released his collar and cravat, and taken off his boots, but there his divesting pro cess had suddenly ceased, and wo find Mr. Thackston sitting upon the edge of Ids bed as motionless ns a statue, holding a boot in either hand, and at times gazing silently from his boots to the gas jot, aud from the gas jet to ids boots. A person might have surmised from the bachelor's appearance that ho was in doubt whether to complete his di vestment n*d go to bed, or resume what articles lie had already taken off and sally forth for a little more enjoy ment, or that he was racking his brain over a question of more serious inter est. A lew words from the gentleman himself, however, will sparo the tor ture of conjecture. “So, so," he mused, looking down apon his boots witli a smile of amuse ment, and swinging them between his knees like pendulums ss lie spoke. “So Ralph has gone—oh? Gone mad, xnd been married? Well—well, who'd have thought it? And I'm the only one of tiie club left single. Ha, lia! What u grand triumph tids is tor me. I'ho last! The only man of the whole lot who had the power to resist it, Ha, ha! You're quite a hero, Harvey, my boy! They all said you would go first, but you didn’t! Several of them vowed that they would be thelastones. Several of them had the impudence to vow they never would be married. But they bavo all succumbed at last. Love, the conqueror, lias levelled them all like reeds under the scythe, or ten pins before the bowling-ball. 1 stand alone, the only survivor of the dread ful carnage. Poor Ralph! Gone! and he was captured so helplessly. Amelia Weatherst'on’s bright eyes and hand some curls were too strong for him, much as ho used to profess himself in vulnerable to a score of Amelias. 11a. ha! What a helpless bit of clay a man seems to be, with a pair of black eyes, a beautiful face, anil a cluster of curls confronting him.” Mr. Thackston here stopped swing ing his boots, and transferred his at tention suddenly to the gas jet. “The flame of love," ho soliloquised, his metaphor probably Inspired by the dancing gas-light—“the flame of love has dovourod them as chaff, and hero I sit a self-conceited salamander—a gloating victor. •Your turn now,’ Ralph said to me, parting at the club to-night. ‘Yes. my turn, I know, but k turn that will be totally devoid of event’ 'Not so,’ they all said. ‘You’re no more love-proof than we are, Har vey. You have hail will enough to stick it out to the last, which must have been extreme torture, but you’ll succumb, never fear.’ Novor! Never! I huvo lived a bachelor's life too long to relinquish it in the very zenith of glorv and delight “^Vhati Surrender liborty for slav ery! Give up my jolly life, that owns not even the shadow of authority, for that ‘wedded bliss’ which holds for the Innocent victim the gloomy prospects of rigorous system, punctual hours, spicy broozes, occasional hair-dress ings, cradles, soothing-syrup, and much else too distracting to think of! Step from Elysium into Bedlam! Ugh! tiie thought makes mu shiver, if I should take such a mad step my con science would torture me to the grave. I’d be playing false to my club, to my night-key,and to the general principles of good fellowship. Some pooplo think my sentiments rancid. Let them. I have been called a woman-hater. 1 am not! I can revel in a woman’s smile and sweet talk as well as any of them. I can look upou a woman with as much true admirution as any of them, but I can admire her from tiie proud height of impartiality, and while toying with the fatal hook, prove the fact that I am an extremely hard fish to catch. Oh no-—I’m not a woman hater. I’m a man of common sense— ~ a t __»» With this sage reflection, Mr. Thack aton threw his boots into a corner, ar rayed himself in his night-costume, put out the gas, and went to bod. A few days subsequent, Mr. Harvey Thackston was enjoying his summer vacation among the most fashionable circles of Newportsoeiety. Handsome and wealthy, courteous, jovial, and fenerous in the highest degree. Mr. hackston always created a marked impression in whatever society he chose to enter. At Newport he was in his glory. The jolly, happy-go-lucky, free-and easy beaux, the stately belles, and the flaunting coquettes, all flocked around him, the former to revel in his charm ing company, and shave his magnifi cent wine, the two latter to endeavor witli the charm of beauty, and the science of artifice, to snare hint in their nets, and effect the capture ut a millionaire and his fortune. For the first class Harvey cared a great deal. To them ho devoted his heartfelt attention; for, rollicking caro less fellow that ho was, he loved good fellowship, and was bound to enjoy it. no matter what the cost. For the'lat ter classes, lie cared comparatively nothing, lie was a bachelor, a mail alio, regarding the sublime passion, possessed, it was said, a heart of ada mant, in\ulncrabie to charm, unas sailable to stratagem. What eared he for their smiles and coquetry? Noth ing. He let tlmir cunning artifices pass unnoticed with the utmost inno cence. If he met them, ho paused for a while, and chatted pleasantly; when invited to their receptions (winch was often the case.) he attended them if possible, always taking his leave, how ever, with an imiiflereuoe that was actually astonishing, exhibited, as it was, by a single, marriageable gentio man. So the gay and festive young gen tlemen who were his companions praised him as a jolly fine fellow, with a soul as good as gold, while the de feated belles, the nonplused skirmish ers, and their speculative parents, murmured amazement at their fail ures. Society in general “gazed and wondered much,” and all concurred in pronouncing the bachelor a very “queer fish.” One day a polo-match was annonneed to take place on the amusement grounds. There was a large attend ance of people to view the sport, for the captuin of one of the sides was re ported to be none other than Mr. Har vey Thackstou. When the match began,sure enough, the captain of tho Blues, mounted upon a superb horse, was immediately recognized as the jolly bachelor. The first innings, after a bard con test. was won by the Blues, through a masterly final stroke effected by their leader; and as the bachelor rode in from the strife lie was cheered to tho echo by his vast throng of admirers. The second innings began. It proved a greater struggle. This time victory seemed destined for the Reds, for they had carried the ball almost to tho goal. Desperately excited, Har vey Thackston spurred forward to save tho battle by another grand stroke, but, In leaning forward to strike the ball with Ids mallet, he sud denly lost his balance, and toppled from his saddle. Ids head striking the ground with violence, where ho lay i stunned and bleeding. Cries of horror tilled the air; friends ; rushed forward to the fallen man’s as sistance. and ho was quickly removed | to one of the Held tents. But at the ! moment of his fall, far above the geu ! oral peal of exclamations, rang the 1 startling voice of a female from the midst of the spectators upon the grand stand, and Therese Montressor, tho reigning belle of Newport, fainted in her mother’s arms. When Harvey recovered his senses, he found himself lying upon a ham mock-bed in one of the coolest tents upon the polo-ground. Ho seemed to betray some surprise in finding him self alive, but this gave place to aston ishment when lie felt a soft hand placed tenderly upon his forehead, and heard a sweet voice inquire: “Do you feel better, Mr. Thack cjumi ; He looked up, and discovered the speaker to be the beautiful Theresa Montressor. “Gracious!” lie exclaimed. “You here. Miss MontrossorP And alone?” “Alone? Yes, Mr. Thackston, and doctoring you into the bargain,” she replied with a smile. “You had a fearful fall. Papa and mamma took you in charge after it happened. Everyone is a lunch now under the grand awning, and I volunteered to stay here to attend you.” “This is very kind of you. Miss Montressor," lie said. “I did not think myself so high in your esteem as to merit this consideration. Yes, 1 feel all right again. I’ll go out and re mount. Are the moil waiting for me?" “No, indeed; they’re waiting rather for the wine-service at the lunch-table, and if you are wise, Mr. Thackston, fou will never mount a liorso again. declare your fall gave nte such a shock i fa—I almost fainted. Your head is very feverish. Let me bathe it.” Miss Montressor thereupon proceed ed to repeat the duties slio had been performing at regular intervals for the past hour. Harvey enjoyed the delicious treatment for some time, and also tile pleasantest chat he had ever had with any lady of his acquaint ance. There wns a perceptible change iu the bachelor’s demeanor as lie listened and talked to his charming compan ion. He seemed to bestow the most sincere attention upon her and every thing she said. He did not indulge in so much careless rambling nonsense and heartless levity as was his wont As a general tiling, at any stage of a conversation, Harvey was equal to all emergencies, and ever ready to throw in some of his qnaint humorous re marks in a way that kept tile talk flow ing ripplingly. Now, however, at times the conversation was very inco herent. There were drags, and pauses, and actual gaps. There was evident ly something disturbing the bachelor’s liubitual tranquility. And lie felt there was, for under the bright glances of the beautiful Thereso, lie wriggled and twitched, like a being under the influ ence of si“iie fascinating basilisk. “Hallo. ' cried a voice suddenly. “Alive again?” and turning their eyes towards the opening of the tent, Har-j voy and Theresa saw standing there Mr. Ralph Liston, the former’s chum j of the club, who had so lately fallen a j victim to matrimony. “Yes. alive again, Ralph. Come Ralph entered. Therese Montressor ! rose. “The relief watch has come. I am off duty,” she said. “I will go to lunch now, Mr. Tliuckstoo. Good-bye for the present. Don’t get talking ex citedly now, or you’ll work yourself into some dangerous fever,” and she fluttered from the tent litre a butterfly. Ralph sat down on the camp-stool which Therese had just vacated. Only a few moments had passed when hede 1 tected a strangeness in his friend's manuer—an abstractedness, as if his ! thoughts were not occupied with the subject of which he was talking. Ralph smelt a mouse immediately. "Do you know, my dear Harvey,” j he said suddenly, "the scone I discov- i ered here u moment or two ago was of i i a rather suspicious nature? It was, I bv Jove! Rather a pretty picture. Sick warrior on couch, with beautiful I female Samaritan. Bright glances, 1 soft voices, and all that. Something : in that, Harvey. Confess!” “Pshaw!" said Harvey with a smile. “Don’t say pshaw to me. Go on, | Harvey. I’ll not tell on you. She's | a good catch. Hook her at the first ! nibble.” "Nonsense!” said Harvey, with an other smile. “I thought you knew ! better of me than that. You’re a clown | Ralph." “Love is flooring you at last, Harvey , —I know it.” i “No, sir. Ha. ha! What a silly , noodle you arc, Ralph. l)o yon sup | pose that I have passed over and over again through roaring flames to be ; dually scorehed and cooked by a trivial puff like this? That tho last bachelor of the club, the magnificent tail-piece of celibacy, is yielding himself to the common fate, more easily, perhaps, than any of youP” "Thai’s it. precisely. I have often said. Harvey, that our braggart sol dier, fighting to the last, would prove an easier victim than any of us. I be lieve It, too. Wait and you will see. I don't assert that the vanquisher will be Therese Montressor, but It will be someone, ambushrd at present, but doomed very soon to stand in your patli and dispute your further solitary progress. The trouble is, Harvey, 1 you haven't met your fate yet. You will thwart peril with the utmost im punity until you do. But when your fate appears—beware!” ••Ralph, you’re a fool,” said Harvey. “Thanks. Excuse me a moment, please. There’s my wife out upon the green, looking for me. I must hail her. All, what a nice bunch of ber ries a wife is, Harvey! You never go berrying, do you?" and darting a pro- j yoking smile at his friend, Ralph ! rushed out. Harvey looked up at the roof of the tent, passed his hand across his fore head, thought a while, and began to wriggle. “What a delicious thing it is,” he mused, “to have a pretty woman soothing a fellow's head with a sponge and basin of water. Charming Theresa is handsome and no mistake. As pret ty as an angel, and as clever as a Gir ton graduate. Beautiful eyes, won drous depth of expression, and what a voice! What a heart, too! Whoa! steady, Harvey! What are you doing? Lotting the vision of a pretty woman run a way with you? Dispel it, then. There! Hang it, it won’t go! The black curls, the bright eyes, the soft smiles, the fairy sponge and basin, are all flashing before me life a sea of freshly-minted gold sovereigns, and tiie voice is still dvvolliug in my ear like the murmur of some babbling brooklet. Pshaw! I’m getting poeti cal. That's a bad sign. Harvey, my boy. really this is getting serious. You re going crazy. Is love hammer ing for admittance at the gate of your heart? Don’t let him in. Keep 'him out. But these immaterial creatures frequently jump the fence. Let him, and he’ll break his neck once and for ever. Remember your vow. A bach elor as long as you live; a jollv life; freedom; no slavery! Ha, ha! Sorry, Theresc, very sorry; but, it can’t be helped. Drop your anchor, Harvey, and let the storm come. You can stand it.” Harvey was a man given to much strange soliloquizing, lint in this solil oouy Tie was stranger^'ian his wont. What was the reason r Was it the fever produced by Itis fall in the polo match, or the fever of loro? Harvey turned over and fell into a comfortable sleep. Notwithstanding his intention to drop anchor and weather the storm, an hour later, when lie awoke, the first thing ho did was to hurry to his hotel and pack his valise. In the evo nir, -j, to the general surprise of every one, lie bade Newport adieu and took the train for London. What was the reason of liis hasty de parture? The reason which lie” as signed was fear of the wound upon his head, and the desire to have the at tendance of his own physician. The reason which Ralph Liston suspected, and the true one, was that he dared not trust himself in the company of Therese Montressor; that he had ilown to escape the allurements of love. Poor Harvey! With all his bravado, what a coward lie was! The Newport season closed. Society was again comfortably settled* in its metropolitan quarters. Harvey played his accustomed part in the club gath erings nud social receptions. He was invited to many parties, arid he went to all of them. But lie was Invited to one too many. He went to it, and Itis doom seemed to be foreshadowed. He met Therese Montressor. He went to several others, and through the skill full management of an arch-villain muned Ralph Liston, ho met Therese Montressor at all of them. By this time lie was fairly in the toils—a help less captive, amt one of the easiest victims. One evening Therese Montrossor sat in the parlor of tier father's man sion, in company with a gentleman. They were alone. The gas had not been lighted; the parlor was illumi nated only by the ruddy glow of the cheerful grate, but by this light, any one could have appreciated the situa tion. The gentleman had one arm clasped lovingly around the lady’s waist. In ouo hand lie was pressing that fairy member w'liich had once bullied his temples so pleasantly. “Will you be miue, Therese?” he asked. “I will,” she whispered softly. Hnrvev gave a sigh of relief. “Pvo done it,” he murmured to him self. “Or, at least, love has. How sheepish I feel! To think 1 should ever come to this! How I've been gath ered in so easily knocks me! Ah, well —love is quite a conundrum. Therese, my darling, I am yours for ever.” Thus the last bachelor of the club fell into the tempting abyss of matri mony. Ghosts with Bad Habits, The movement recently put on foot In this city to have the hones of China men buried in the New York Bay ceme tery and Evergreen cemetery exhumed *u