LILLIS; OR, THE Mystery of Langdon Abbey.

o. MlB3 SARAH PARR,

c« ™— „« "The St. Ahem Gra'ccup,"" Robbed A*,<wr/vh_e" "My Lady's Plot." " Aladanie ".Sitto'" "The Severed Lives," &o.

CHAPTER XXXII. A LAST MOVB— _I_LIS'S PERIL. , .. Rilsvdirected his course with fiond energy totne sP 3t "'noro Winter was be murdered, and while Lady Molross pc j, er tender, frightoned attention to yilis io the small drawing-room, to which girl had been conductod' llo°d Bat ln de library. gii elbows rented upon his knoos, and jj/ forehead waß bowed ogainet his inched bands. "Why," he muttered, staring at the ' if w jjy did I waste time in hopes of finding the cursed paper ? Why did I not May here, and the ceremony over, \*_ night' The mothora devilish am bition would havo carried mo through, tjlo the world would havo thought thing of my desire to take my bride and u pe the melancholy sceno of tho earl's _ ith, But I've left it all a day too late ! m some infernal way I've botrayed the tin- secret. But how? Has she over- Xl me talking to myself? It must be In do other way could Bho have come Y7 _uspect my true origin. And the awderl-She doubts me!" In his consuming anxiety ho startod up, Z_ the floor a minute, and then, with n PJoan clasped his bands on top of his head, %_ leaned his drawn brows against the "fm a little ho stood thu?, with closed e ye«and set teeth, the wretched image of a /tesoerate man. _ . Wearying of the position, he directly raieed his head. In doing so he noticed that the letter matched from Linter's hand had fallen from (be coals to the ashes, and lay there only Mrtislly consumed. He gave i* a fierce thrust with his foot, and then, impelled by a sudden curiosity, matched it from the blaze, extinguished the flame, and tore away the remaining shred ofenrelope. Unfolding the scorched fragment of paper be glanced at the few words it contained, g-rfthe next instant staggered back as if struck by the hand of death. Tbe chair from which ho had risen received ii/limp form.1 and for a minute ho lay there, white and sti.l, only the faint breath flutter ing across hiu lips and heaving his broaat, •-owing that ho was a living man. Bat the very terror that had prostrated, restored. He dragged himself from the chair, and clutching the tongs in a feeble grasp, thrust both paper and envelope into the fire. "That danger passed 1" he gasped, half inandibly. "Now?" He paused. He wenton: "Yes I Linter dead, and Lillis my wife, all will be plain sailing." Aa he spoke colour returned to his face, and strength to his limbs. He rose, went to the old oarl's writing table, and penned a brief tolegram. "Oh!" he muttered, as he rang the bell, "if I could only live the last ten days over again !If I could only live tho last forty- M hours ovor again !" The servant entering, he turned from his rein rezrots, and placed tho slip of paper _ the man's hand.

"You ore to wait for a roply," ho said, "and—" Thoro ho paused a moment, and thon, slowly and thoughtfully, proceeded— "and if I should be in my room whon you return, lam not, on any consideration,to bo disturbed. Put the answer iv this drawer."

He indicated the drawer, and the man retired.

As the closing door loft Hood alono again a dark smile crept about his mouth. V "Ishall not be here,"hemuttored ; " and, tiie Fates propitious, all will bo well. It was a lucky thought." He hastened to the hall, and encoun tered Lady Molross in tho act of entering the library. :"Iwas jtfßt starting in search of you," _9 exclaimed, with anxious oye and voico. "How is Lillis, and where ?" "And I was just coming to you," re tained Lady Melross, pale nnd deeply troubled.

They went into the room, and sho con tinued, answering his double inquiry in trembling tones. "Lillis is in tho small drawing-room, perfectly composed, but insisting with cold decision that you are a man of low birth—the son of your father's valot. Oh, Robert, there can be no doubt about it — Lfllis's mind is shattered, and the engage ment—"

She broke down in a flood of tears.

Hood caught up tbe unfinished sentence. "And the engagement," he cried, " must be consummated as quickly as possible ! Impressed with the necessity, I have al ready telegraphed to May to be here to morrow morning. You must be relieved ofthis frightful weight of core, and I must become my darling's immediate protoctor." Lady Melross stared at him through her tears a moment in muto astonishment. -The next she exclaimed, falteringly, grate fully: "You cannot mean it, Robert I"

"If fihe wero the wildest maniac, I should mean it I" declared Hood, with passion. "Don't I love her? Don't I know that the looser she is removed from this placo and the harrowing reminders of late scenes we must all wish to forget, tho sooner she will be better ? Such a change as 1 propose for her will prove her mental salvation." "You do love her?" murmured Lady Melross,

"I do, indeed; and my sharpost pain Kes in the knowledge that I am tho one object of her insane accusations—l who mold shod my blood for her." He turned away his head. Lady Molross laid her hand gently upon his arm. She aid, in moved accents :

"You surely know, Robert, that these ravines are as the blowing of tho winds in my ears!" "How could I doubt it?" returned Hood, gratefully. "And now tell me of Lillis. How coon did the paroxysm pass over ?" "Immediately. She allowed us to take her to the drawing-room without a word. Arrived there, she sat down in a dull, dep "Wiring way, and fixed her eyes on the floor, Presently lifting them, she noticed Rebecca Hongh, and haughtily ordered her from the loom.

"Left alone with me, she exclaimed, wearily -, • Oh, mamma, if I could only treat you—if you were only not that Wretch's blind dupe 1' " "Poor child ! Poor child 1" murmured Hood.

"I need not repeat more," pureued Lady Melross sadly. "Her words were only a repetition of the wild statement uttered nMe-a statement too incredible for any Mta»person's belief." Hood feelingly acquiescing with_ her, ,W tamed to a hasty discussion of Linter, art discharge, and the morning's grave pro ject, after which Lady Molross returned to lAIUs.

; When the bell summoned thettr'to the evening meal Lady Melross entered alone. _ Meeting Hood's inquiring oye as she did ■Jji. she made a quick negative movement Mat he fully understood. • "You could not persuade her to come?" ne; asked, advancing, and speaking in a tone wo low for tbo servant's ear. She declares she will never sit in the Mate room with you again, much less eat at year board."

-Hoodsighed, turnedaway.andthey took their seats.

After a few hasty mouthfuls, he rose, and "ismisßing the butler on some plausible pretext, said, with emotion : •-■I will go at once to my room, Lady Melross. Lillis may be sure of not seeing Be downstairs again to-night. Pray, - peranade her, to take her supper as usual. ft \ ni Kllt' B reat will do me n 0 harm «ter the day's woar and tear, so do not j*""Ms yourself about my comfort." 15™"* he went close to her. :,»» .Anotherthing 1" he said, ropidly. "I 1 ™iluke the opportunity to wire the lock ™ the outer door of Lillis's boudoir. While ■■•»is manifestly unadvisable to irritate her y attendance, it is no less so to allow her » secure herself by means of that heavy Jirndor look. You are sure sho is in the orawing-room ?" '; '£**? Melross expressed and looked the I *f>l» really felt „ With the lock useless," she concluded, _ 'vwill be possible to exercise a little caro ; £hM daring the night " ■'. .one eat down her half-emptied cup, and Wtm i e f _the room with him _ m . v, she whispered as ho stopped at the -«4inyay, "if! do not comQ from the

SK?b a erac^ oaCe• yOU may kn™

She did not come, and Hood, after ro b_M °. th _ d;nin^°°* to insure his not being disturbed and the closing of the thoZht? * * W6nb "P'tairs for Both commands were strictly obeyed. -ii-™* •! _? lovon tho mos* profound silonco reigned throughout the building. Lady Melross, as on the preceding evening, accompanied Lillis to the latter'! boudoir, and left her thero with a strangely tender and reluctant good-night, attDenT^hS eboCCaHOUghCamefntO

„„??,' ty\. Pi rl sa.w h™ come nnd go with out tho slightest interest or attention. A despairing apathy had overtaken her. Motionless as a statuo, she reclined in the easy-chair at tho end of tho hearth bho looked lovely as a dream. Her head rested woanly against tho chair's crimson, stuffed back, her dainty hands lay locked among the folds of her black dress, and her eyes gazed unchangingly at tho leaping tlaino of tho fire.

In a listless review of tho defeats of tho day, and as listloss quorios as to tho un known woman's continued silence and ap parent desertion, tho hours woro on. The fire burned low. A chill air began to creep upon the warmth of tho room.

_ All at onco something arousod hor, What it was sho did not know ; but she glanced round, nnd off to tho corridor door. "Imust lock it and go to bed," sho thought. "It grows late." But she did not move. Hor sonowful eyes returned to the fire in the somo listless gaze. Sho was fast sink ing mto her former pre-occttpied state whon she was again aroused. It seemed to her that somo malign pro senco wai near. The feeling had scarcely defined itsolf to her mind when a distinct sound excited a sharp and intelligent alarm. Tho sound made itsolf heard from that portion of the boudoir out of sight behind her chair. She sprang to her feet and looked. Tho look froze hor blood. Tho room-door, carefully closed by Rebecca Hough, hadbeen opened from within. Upon its threshold stood—Robert Hood. As their eyes mot ho smiled—such a smile I It broke the bonds of terror that had momentarily chained the girl. A wild ringing shriek loft hor lips, and a wild impulse to floe started her to the corridor. Hood intercepted hor at tho first move ment. "Scream if you like!" he said. "It will do me no harm. Except our two selves, evory creature under this roof lies in a drugged sleep. Now—where is it ?" Ho askod the question with a steadying grasp upon her shoulder as she reeled back undor his terrible words. " Whero-is—what?" faltered Lillis, in shuddering tones, and with terrified eyes. " The secret cryft ok Lanodon Abbey I -THE PAPKR HIDDEN BY THECURSED OLD EARL'S HAND, AND COPIED BY YOURS ! Where is it ."

CHAPTER XXXIII,

VICTOR AND VANQUISHED,

As Robert Hood's messenger to the tele graph olllco rode madly past tho wood in which Bilsy had murderously awaited De tective linter's approach, tho two men lay upon the ground locked in a deadly em brace, and tho last struggles of a terrible conflict.

Both kopt silence as tho rhlor shot by, Both naturally feared a call might bring another ndvo«.ary upon the sceno.

At the moment victory was hanging in ;he balance.

Lintor was fighting for his life, Bilsy for possessions far beyond his wildest hopes. But might was with tlio right. Lintor at last pinnel his exhausted foo to tho ground by a kneo that kept its placo till a stout cord had ronderod further struggles usoless.

That dono, he placed tho follow in an up right position against a troo.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Bilsy, sullenly, glowering through tho darkness at Linter's face.

"Nothing," said Lintor. "Ah you can bo of no particular ttso to mo I shall leave you sitting hero, and to the task of froeing yourself at your leisure I have mado tho cord just tight enough to insuro my own safety and your ultimato liberty.

" When you have regained it go back to Langdon Abbey and toll your master I know you to be his agent. I saw you recoive your lato instructions from him, and recog nise your voico as that of tho man whoso acquaintance I mado in the park this morn ing."

Ho turned, and, followed by Bilsy's foar ful maledictions, pushed through tho wood to the highwuy. There ho set his disordered attire to rights, after which ho pursuod his way to tho village. Arrived at tho Langdon Arms, ho found a telegram that spooaily put Bilsy out of his mind.

It was from ono of his subordinates in Londen.

It contained tho following words : " A diamond. Havo got tho truth out of !m. Your suspicions correct."

His largo, heavy-lidded eyes glowing with excitement, Linter snatched up his hat and was hastening out again, when tho landlady of the Armssuddoniy entered und gavo voice to a cry of dismay. " And you'ro off again,Mr Lanning !" sho ejaculated dolorously, " and as nice a brilo o' birds and hoi muffins nigli rotidy as ever you set teeth in. And tbon, not a bits have you took sinco broakfast. You'll havo no digostion, sir, if you ain't moro rog'lar." I.inter, holding the door knob, listened and answered good-naturodly : "Just keep it warm for me, Mrs Day," he nodded. "I'll bo back in a trice. The suppor, I moan, not tho digostion," ho concluded, laughing, as ho shut tho door.

Mrs Day laughed too. " As joky an' agreeable a ono as evor put up at the Langdon Arms," she chucklod to herself. " Tho brile shall bo all right."

Linter went direct to the railway station

The station was beyond tho village, but on his arrival he found, to his great satis faction, that tho telegraph office was still open. Making no dolay, ho quickly penned tbroo despatches. The first was to the subordinate in London, and ran briefly:

" Bring him at once, and two for the purposo "L-NNING."

The othors were addressed respectively to Cyril Chesnoy and Solicitor Gibbs, and bore to each a cautiously urgent summons which he know would rosult in the arrival of both by the early morning train, "You're in luck," growled the operator, churlishly, as Linter handed the slips over. "If it hadn't boon for waiting an answer to an Abbey message, you'd have bad your labour for your pains. We shut up early most times, thore being nothing to do after the evening train's in and out."

Linter mado one of his ploasant rejoinders, waited till the despatches were off, and then, sauntering lazily to the stovo, sat down to warm his hands. At the samo momont tho door was flung roughly open, and a tall, wiry young man entered. Tho plain Langdon livory proclaimed him an Abbey servant. He strode up to tho operator. "That infernal answer in yet?" ho de manded. "No—Yes!" returned the operator, in widely different tones. With tho last word tho ticking bogan. The servant waited in impatienteagcrness.

Linter listened in motionless attention

His hat slouched low, and hisintont gnzo fixed on the floor, Lintor appeared absorbed in the one act of warming his outspread hands. In fact, he was reading tbe message by sound As the door closedupon the gratified foot man he rose and left the office just in time to see tho follow gallopingoff toward the Abbey road. ~ He paused on the platform with heavily knitted brows, '' Georgo May 1" he muttered. George May !-Iknow George May's passed better than most people. What can his Lordship want with him ? Why should this reverend gentleman, of doubtful probity, be tele graphing that he will be at Langdon s Bervice for one hour to morrow morning? Ho otood, regardless of tho sharp Decem ber wind, revolving the morning soeno at the Abbey, and carefully weighing the few words he had overheard at the library V'hen he presently moved on it was at a much slower pace than would have compor ted with good Mrs Day's ideas. Indeed, that estimable person was on the verge of distraction, when he at lengttt appeared at the Langdon Arms. But Linter did justice to the really excellent meal with ouch laughing good

nature and appreciation that her house wifely heart was comforted. Supper disposed of, ho reflectivoly smoked a couple of cigars and then retired for the night. "To-morrow," he thought, as he laid his head on the pillow—"to-morrow the net will close, and the problem of that lovoly girl's wild words be fully solved." In five minutes he was asleep. He slept well after the wearing labours of the day. But all at once in the dread, dead silonoo of the night, he woke. Ho was suffocating. A hand was on his throat—a voice in his ear. _ Both were Bilsy's. "I might," hissed the villain, leaping upon the recumbent, struggling form—"l might a-sent you on your journey without a goodbye, but I just wanted you to know it's mk ! I ain't a man as allows himself to bo ciicumvonted, you see. So-take that!" Tho long, slender dirk, with which he had armed himself before leaving the Abbey, descended, and, in the twinkling of an oye, smoto downward with a rolentloss ferocity that sunk it to tho hilt.

A medloy of sounds followed: A wild, dying shriek ; a wild outcry of terrified voieos ; a thunder of clattering feet, and thon tho bursting door that disclosed a horriblo scene of violence and death.

Tho corpso on the bed, and the long ladder, showing above the sill of tho open window, told all,

CHAPTER XXXIV,

HIE rONIAKD's POINT.

With Robert Hood's vkiexpected words and ovil aspect, Lillis Melross comprehended tho full extremity of her peril.

Till his livid lips declared the truth, she had rested thankful and oasy in the belief that the document thrust into Linter's hand had been utterly destroyed. Reduced to a speechless teiror by the knowledge of hor mistako, and Hood's desperation, she only gazed wildly in the villain's face.

Finding she did not speak, Hood wont on with evon addod fury.

"Mad girl !" he cried, "it is true I love you, but—l love myself better. You thought your copy of tho earl's infernal statemont safe amongst the flames. You thought wrong. An unconsumed portion caught my oye and oxcitod my curiosity, I took it from the ashes, I read—l rend that Robert Extan, known as heir-apparent to tho title and estates of Langdon, was really Robert Hood, son of Lawrence Hood. A word supplied, hero and there, by my own wit, made all clear to my mind—too clear for your perfect safety, Lillis Molross. So, I ask again, whore is the—"

Ho paused thero. To his savage astonish ment, Lillis had, in ono moment, recovered her daunted courage. Face and form suddonly animated by a resolve as unutterablo as heroic, she struck away his hand.

Tho red blood mounted to her pale cheeks and lips. Hor lovoly brown eyes Hushed gloriously into his.

"So," sho cried, "so you acknowledge yourself the baso croaturo that I know you ? A murderer, a thiof, and a reckless adven turer ?"

" Why should I deny to you ?" broko in Hood, laughing demoniacally in his oxci te mont. " Has not your mother pronounced you mad? If you live to see another day, will she believe aught you may chooso to tell her of this night? And if you do not live, will she hesitate to say you have fought v suicido's grave in your madness ? See !" snatching a pretty, jewolled poniard from his breast pockot. "It lay on tho email drawing-room tablo. You wore left alono in that room. You secreted it about your person and carried it here. See I"

And this timo ho seized her shoulder in a firm grasp, and hold the glittering point of tho woapon abovo her heart.

" Soo ! I shall clouch your hand ovor theso tine jewels, and sond the keen point homo ns you would do. You understand ? Thoro would bo no dangor to »ie in this suicidal act, and my secret would be everlast ingly safe."

' And you would murder mo, too ?''

Hood roleased his hold and gazed at the girl's blanched faco with gloating satisfac tion.

"That," he answored, "remains to be scon. 1 love you, and, therefore, shall spare your life if you provo open to reason."

" If 1 bocome your confederate ?"

" If you lead mo to tlio secrot crypt nnd deliver into my hand tho cursed instru ment prepared for my ruin, Those aro the terms upon which I grant you your life. You aro wise. Thon lead on. I wait."

The girl's beautiful oyos flamed upon him all tho scorn with which sho had just spoken.

For an instant sho looked at him thus, and then cried proudly, solemnly :

" And you wait in vain I" " In vain ! Mad girl, can you moan it?" Ho mado a fierce, threatening move ment.

Pale, but unappallod, Lillis answered, hor voico ringing with bugle doarnoßs an un changing purpose:

"You wait in vain," she repeated. "Rather, far rathor, would I die than betray that trust providentially mado mine."

"Then-

By tho forco of hor unshrinking courage she hold him at bay. Sho wont on.

" I want you to know that it was only to insuro tho execution of tho poor old carl's wishes that I invaded tho snered privacy of tho document you seek to dostroy. Foiled by you and your tool, Rebecca Hough, in my attempt to summon Mr Gibbs to Lang don Abbey, I determined to make a copy of tho instrument, trusting to a chanco to either oscapo with it or send it to him.

" Tho chnnco for the latter offered in tho dotoctivo's return.

" I had made tho copy immediately on my return from tho grounds, and had it ready for use in my pocket You know my attempt. You know tho result. I lost. But—Hoaven is for the right. I trust in Hoovon. Tho right will yet prevail." " You mean, you chooso to dio," snoorod Hood, slowly.

"I mean, I choose to stand faithful to tho charge committod to me."

" Ha, ha ! Dio, and leave mo master of my fato I"

"That you will not be. Detective Lintor hoard the truth from my lips. He will carry it to London. Whether I live or die, bo sure your exposuro will come, your just fate will overtake you."

Hood laughed scornfully. " Truth from a mad girl's lips ! But," — stooping down and hissing out tho next words, with slow, malevolent emphasis,— " But Lintor is dead. I havo soen to that."

His exultation was genuine. He know Bilsy's record too woll to entertain any doubts as to the final isßuo of the fellow's orrand.

As Lillis shrank and trembled under tho shock of tho awful and unexpected words, he hurried savagely on.

" Silly chit!" ho cried. " Did you think 1 would let him live to bear that dangerous message of yours to London ? If 80, know that I am a desperate man, and ready to resort to desperate measures. You will, then, either rovoal to mo tho secrot you havo so strangely discovered, or—you will carry it to your grnvo. Wliich is it to be — doath or obedience ?"

He glared at her with murderous oyo. The girl returned tho gazo with unmoved frcnt.

" I have answered," she said.

" Answered ! You refuse?" shouted Hood, in a delirium of anxiety to terrify her into an unconditional submission, and possess himself of the socrotcd document.

" I refuse." "Then take your choice, Die!" roared Hood.

Ho mado his murderous leap. At the same moment Lillis, watchfully on her guard, passed him with ono deerliko bound, hoping to gain hor dressing-room and the refuge of tho secret crypt. She had scarcely passed him when hiß clutch fastened itsolf upon her in a power ful grasp. Pouring out curse upon curse in senseless fury, he thrust the jewelled hilt of the poniard within her right hand, He shut tho little icy Sneers over it in a crushing clasp and raised it high for the fell blow. At that instant the two candles, blazing wildly in a dying flame, all at onco went out.

Thus unexpectedly loft in the uncertain light of the low fire, Hood's attention was momentarily distracted. Lillis saw in the incident one chance for her young life. With quick presence of mind, she seized upon the chance. Though still nearly helpless within Hood's left arm, she managed to turn his hand againet himseif. With one swift, effective movement, she plunged the dagger into his shoulder.

The injured arm dropped from her waist, and a scream of mingled pain and rage burst loudly from tho villain's lips. As his arm fell Lillis made another desperate attempt to gain the dressing room.

But, though checked, Hood was not de ieated.

A demon incarnate, he once mere sprang after her. He reached her side.

Then, in the very act of seizing her, his hand dropped away, and in the very act of raising ■ the dagger's point against him the weapon slipped from Lillis's failing grasp to the carpet. A voice from the corridor door had fallen like a spell upon both. Both recognised its musical sweetness. It was the voice that had warned Lillis so mysteriously of danger, and that bad later echoed rebukingly through the vault of the sepulchred Langdons. Hood forgot his maniaoal fury in a thrill of abject fear.

He turned his head in a fhrinking gaze toward the door.

Lillis's oyes breathlessly followed his. The door was open. .fust within tho room, clad in a white, girdled robe, stood a beautiful, -youthful woman, her slight from partially shrouded by a pale cloud of goldon, rippling hair, The faint firelight played full upon her lovely face, showing its dead pallor and rebuking aspect with weird effect, but yet showing it to be tho faco of a tiving woman,

(To it Continued.)

AN EVENTFUL NIGHT.

BY ETTIE RODGERS,

Has any of us, I wonder, a distinctly dual nature—tho ono dispassionate and just, the other unreasoning and impetuous? Or in somo romoto and unguessed niche of our soul does thero sit onthroned a small and potent demon, which sometimes breaks restraint and lets loose among our hotter senses the hounds of anarchy to deafen conscience with their yells and hunt our dearest love to tho bitter death 1

I can moralise and marvel now, sinco all is ovor and dono ! I can marvel if I wore possessed by somo unguoesed and puissant soirit not my own, in one melancholy episode of my life ; or if some uncanny and unworthier duality of my being had quick oned to volition within me. For certainly what I have been before and what I have boon sinco, I was not in that deplorable time which I shudder to recall.

I was not ill, nor harassed, nor despon dent ; I was strong of body, my mind was content, my hoart at rest, when I was suddenly impo'.led to the maddening belief that I was wronged as man had never been wronged before, and when every impulse of soul and Bonse soemed goading me on for vengeance and human blood. That particular evening I was sitting alone in tho yot unlighted library of my somewhat isolated suburban residence.

Outside was a deliciously fresh and balmy dusk—a serene and beguiling hiatus be tween the setting of an unclouded sun and the rising of a stormy moon ! The winds wero still; the great maples wore motion less ; there woro no sounds savo thoso of occasional hoofs and wheels along the unovon and ungraded highway, or those of the unoasy river complaining with the burden of the prolonged spring rains. Nothing was visible but the formless shadows whoro all was shade—nothing more but the dim gloam of the seontod lilac bloom, and of ono narrow beam of light which issued from a window of tho music room at tho far ond of the long verandah.

As I sat thero gar.ing dreamily out into tho balmy dusk nnd listening drowsily to tho grumbling of the restive river, some body began softly intoning some fanciful operatic air, and thon presently an exquisite voico aroused tho hushed gloaming with strain after strain ol happy molody.

With a sense of infinito peace, of soronest delight, I leaned back in my luxurious chair and closed my contented eyoe My Lyrio was singing—my wife— tho beautiful pongstress I htvl lured from an anticipated career of conquest and splendour, and caged in tho cnlmor and prosior stronghold of my woddod affections. I had never wondered if Lyric might somo time rcgrot her marriage with a man neither particularly young nor especially attractive; I had never questioned if sho might some time regret tho love for which she had renounced a mo:o dazzling lifo ; I loved her, and sho wa? mine. And yet in the undiminished charm of our loving, I had never cared to speculate of what might havo been or what might bo—of what might bo in a timo of which I had no know ledge ; of what might be if for her tho charm woro dissolved in tho alchomy of latent ambitions or undivined illusions.

I distrusted nothing, I approhonded nothing ; my mind was contont nnd my heart at rest, ns in tho dreamy dusk 1 loanod luxuriously back in my library-chair and serenely listened to tho exquisite voices singing :

" A passionate ballad Raltant and gay, V mental song like a trumpet call I Singing of doath and honour which cannot ale I

• But as I listened tho song ceasod-ceased abruptly with a sharp dissonance and with n little janglo, ns if hor fingers had come down with a startled crash upon the ro splendent keys of Iho paino. Then all was silent. And in the midst of tho silenco, with a flash and a shock, tho unguessed demon unlashod the tur bulent jealousies and maddening doubts ; or the unreasoning quality of my being quickened to volition which belied my sober senses. At tho instant I was assailou by noither a crazy suspicion nor a morbid premonition, but by a vivid and impollont conviction that somo concoaled and grue some thing was about to be disclosed to

"Something startled her from hor sing ing, and she is not ono to be startlod by what threatens no ovil," whispered tho voico which was so unlike my own, "Some person has skulked through tho garden and through the verandah casements, aad so, un seen and unheard, has gainod her presence She has beon too suddenly confronted by somo phantom from her past, by the ghost of some illatarred thing which she had doomed for ovor buried from her sight. And perhaps oven now sho is bewailing what might have boon and planning for what might be." Such was the summary of those sudden andinexplieable convictions, Ihadno senso of hesitancy or scruple; and I was pos sessed by the deliberate and sanguinary cunning of a crafty maniac. I neither sighod nor muttered execrations. But I smiled grimly as I arose from my chair and with a stealthy tread walked from the library and down the yet unlighted corridor toward tho music-room

Tlie door was ajar, and I felt not tho minutest surprise as I peered into the apartment and beheld tho confirmatory scone which was being enacted there.

There indeed was an intruder —a tall man cloaked like a brigand of romance—a handsome man, whose broad and rakish hat ilarod back from a countenance im pressively pallid and haggard 1 His arms wore about my Lyrio, her golden head drooped against his breast, and she was weeping bittorly. "I could not bolieve that you would remain from-me so long if you woro among tho living," sho was sobbing just audibly. "Can nothing bo done? Can wo not plan somothing that I may be near you—that you may come to mo sometimes ?" "You wero happier to boltove me no longer among tho living. You will bo happier, too, if wo shall meet again no moro," tho man answered with some fierce passion kindling in his haggard black eyes. He lifted her drooping face, he kissed tho beautiful brows, ho unloosed her pleading hands — and then ho turned swiftly away. As he vanished through the oponed case ment of the vorandah, she glanced up and perceived me advancing towards her. With tho glance her great bluo ojes dilated and darkened with nnmistakablo terror. Perhaps my accusing gaze affrighted hor and she feared, sho know not what; for with a Beared littli cry she g'.rank back and hid her paling face in both her tremb ling hands. But I did not heod her ! Any omotion of hers—whether of fear or remorse or shame —was nothing to me then. 1 was intent only in tho pursuit of a cloaked figure vanishing outside—a flying shadow whore all was shade. I had beon impelled to the belief that I was wronged as man was never wronged before; but I had no upbraid ing just then for hor—my vengeance was meant for him for whom she had cared be foro I met and loved her, porchanco, and for whom she still cared !

The stormy moon was just visible among the thickening clouds ; tho wind was begin ning to sough among tho great maples ; the grumbling of the river sounded nearer and more near, so I hastened onward, hearing now and then the uncertain thud ef reckless footsteps, or seeing a rakish hat looming like a black silhouette against a gleam of white moonshine.

On and on I hastened in stealthy persuit, through the extensive grounds, across a wooded inclosuro of knolls and hollowß, and so emerged upon an abandoned road—a deeply excavated curvo which somewhere intersected the highway. The cloaked figure with the raktek hat had become altogether invisible, but of his

propinquity I wae certain. For a saddled horse was nibbling the lush swampy gras ses in a hollow down the roadway, and there were vaguely suggestive rustlings among the vines and elders between me and the river, which there widened to a sullen and almost bankless current.

"The clump of elders in his last covert," I thought, grimly, as I descended into the curving roadway and stalked towards the marshy crescent of ground which flanked the river.

And he was there, indeed ; but not erect and hostile and defiant. He lay prone upon the earth, moveless, aa if he had com posed himself for slumber, and totally un aware that a Cain had tracked him to his retreat,

What denunciations I utterod I do not know ; I only know that I clutched his brigandish cloak, that I dragged him to an upright posture, and that. some murderous thing glittered in my determined grip. " A man with broken bones and emptied veins is not likely to defend himself," I was at length conscious he had said in strangely strongthless tones. And as I glared upon him I porceived that his garmonts were drenched with blood, and that ono stout foot dangled uselessly beneath his cloak.

" I stumbled over the brink of tho exca vated roadway, and some splintered rail has forestalled your bullet," he explained with a sort of satiric humour as I involuntarily lowered the murderous thing which menaced him

At this juncturo there was an appalling crash like tho booming of thunder, and then a rumbling and roaring like on onset of artillery. Instinctively I turned my gaze towards the neighbouring hills. I knew what had happened; burdened with the prolonged spring rains, tho restive river had rent asunder somo fettering dam above, and the mighty floods wore already deluging the land

In another half hour tho roadway would be an impassablo torrent, tlio marshy crescent would be a plunging sea, and my helpless arch enomy must porish if nothing intervened to spare him. I would leave him to hi' doom, assuredly ! 1 should be an idiot to do othorwise I

And then with a shock and a flash, the demon, the lunacy, the unworthier duality, or whatever it might have been, was ex tinguished within me. Perhaps I had been on idiot already, I began to reflect! If my girlish bride had loved him in a time of which I had no knowledge, even if she still loved him, oven if she had meditated wrong to mo, 1 should indeod bo idiotic to do aught which would be joy to my foes and grief to them who esteemed mo, and an eternal ignominy to myself I I would instoud be his deliverer : I would take him back to hor ; and then I would leave them to thotnselvos ; I would havo done with them for ever, and I would go my way alone 1

«My reflections, if comphensivo, wore of short duration. Already a vast avalanche of seothing wator was tumbling down tho valley, already tho rebellious river was riot ing ovor knolls and hollows, and down yondor in the streaming road bod a riderless horso was whinnying for his well-nigh in sensible cavalier.

" Come," I began in my own natural voice " life is as dear to you as to mo, and I shall not leave you to perish here. Arouse your courage a bit; if you can keep tho saddle a half mile, you will bo safe." 1 had fanciod a fow moments before that my vehemence and menaces only mystified him ; but ho understood distinctly enough now.

My task was sufficiently perilous, and ac complished none too soon. Wo had scarcely gained tho elovotod ground above the road way whon tho watery avalancho thunderod down and submerged oven the precipitous brink ovor which ho had so unluckily stumbled.

Ho was safe ; but of my own safety I had boon too incautious. For even aB I momen tarily lingered on the brink my footing failod mo, tho flood smoto mo, and 1 know no moro.

Whon consciousness was restored to mo, I was lying in my own chambor, and my darling was knoeling bosido my bed, her beautiful beloved faco all wan and anguished with a troublo which I knew was for mo alone.

" Life was worthless to my poor brother, and you would have given your own that ho might live," I heard her murmur. I needed no moro to understand the truth. Tho night was gone liko somo weirdly dis torted dream; and in the glory and glad ness of tho dawning, I put an arm about hor and drew hor to my hoart. "You novor told mo about your brother —tell mo now," I said. Tho explanation was sufficiently lucid. No doubt hor brother had been moro sinned against than sinning ; but all tho samo ho had boon condemned for a grovious offence, and ho was a fugitive from pursuing justice. For yoars she had believed him dead, and now I did not marvel sho was so startled by the phantom from the past. And now, whon all is ovor and done, my mind content, my heart at rest, I can calmly marvel and moralise upon the chaotic misery of that ovontful night! I can wondoringly quoetion if I wero possessed by somo frenzied spirit not my own, or if soma unreasoning and inconsistent quality of my being had been quickened to uncanny volition within mo !

The Vanity of Great Men.

" Great mon have their weakness as well as littlo men ; and tho peculiar woaknoss of great men is inordinate vanity and joalousy. Flatter them onough, and you can do any thing with them."

" 1 should not call them great men in that coao, but great fools. But as lam not a groat man, I can't say what their secret feelings are." "No, but you can guess. I will give you an instance. You would call Bright a great man, wouldn't you?" asked she; "ono of tho greatest orators of all times 1 Well, Ras pian was talking to him not long ago about a speech of Dilko'a which mado an iramenso impression, you remember, and asked him what ho thought of it. All that he said was—'The young man is getting on 1 Rather meagre prdiee][t_at, was it not?'" " What moro would you have had him

say 7" "Young man? Getting on? Why-ab, well—that is not all, Raspian went on to ask him whether he had any intention of taking part in the debate ; and what do you think he said? ' What's the uso of my speaking ? Thoy don't report me.' Raspian thought at first that this was a little joke, and laughed ; but it came out that the groat man had been distributing school prizes or something of that kind in someromote place in the north of England, and no roport of hisspoech bad appeared in the London newspapers, probably because they had not known of his intention to speak, and conse quently had not mado arrangements. This was the secret of his Eoreness."

"Indigestion more likely." " Quito so, or norvous exhaustion. But why should it take the .absurd form of thinking himself slighted and passod over ? You may givo it any materialistic name you like, but I call it morbid and irritablo jealousy —' that last infirmity of noble minds' which you men think peculiar to dis appointed women. You remember how spiteful Godwin was when tho crowd at the stago coach office cheered a popular sinner, ana not a sole rocognised or took the least notice of the author of ' Political Justice.' I verily believe that tho more fame a man gots the greedier ho grows. Ho is disap pointed if he opens a newspaper without finding his name in it. Ho measures the volume of cheering, and is miserable if ho is conscious of thonlighest falling off of en thusiasm. If he were not cheerod ut all, I be lievo he would take to his bed and die —of indigestion perhaps." " You want mo to bolievo, I euppoFo, that Tennyson keep? accurate count of tho num ber ot uninvited pilgrims prying about bis grounds, and that his spirits rise and fall with the average. Fancy him saying of a morning, ' Ah me, unhappy ! I have not seen a Yankee dodging behind a troe for threo weeks If I don't catch one to-day I shall die !"

"Iroally think I must write a ' snipe shot' on tho Pathology of Greatness, Sheri dan was quite right when ho said that vanity was the one insatiable passion. There is really no end to tho vanities of famous men."—From "The Crack o' Doom," in " Blackwood's Magazine."

LAWN TENNIS.

Brief History of tbe Popular Gome

from Its Origin.

Its Predecessors—The Inventor of Lawn Tennis—lts Growing Popularity—lts Very Many Advantages.

Ladies in particular and mankind in general owe a constantly increasingdebtof gratitude to the French nation for designs and fashions for beautifying and setting off to the best advantage the human figure. The French are not generally accorded much originality or proficiency in athletic sports. Yet the most fashionable and most popular game of ball of the present day—lawn tonnis—owes its conception to Frenchmen. Although played within four walls, and with various other pointsof difference, the old game of court tennis is in all essential points the same as that of lawn tennis. We read of court tonnis being played as early as the fifteenth century at tho French capital. Many of tho French monarchs were very fond of the game, Nearly .a century after its introduction into Franco we read of court tonnis in England. Henry VIII. built a court at Hampton Court Palace, which is still in existence. From that day to this court tennis found a home in England, though never extensively played. There are several courts in London, one in Lea mington, and one in Brighton.

Court tennis is played over a net five feet high at each end and three feet in the middle. The playing floor is 112 feet by 40 feet, the end walls ara 30 feet high, side .walls 20 feet, usually lighted by a skylight or windows above. On the western wall and eloping out from it is a roof or shed, which is called the "penthouse." The game is played with two or four. The courts are called the service and the hand. The ball must be served over the net and along the penthouse to the outplayingers, who mii-t return it across the net to a cer tain point in the service court, which is marked out in squares, with different values attached to each. Whoever tails to delivor it at the propor spot in the court loses. If the server fails he goes out and tho outplayer goes in; if the outployer fails the Eorver scores. There are several othor contingencies that go to making the score, and tho numerous angles caused by the walls constitute tho intricacies of the game. Tennis is derived from tho French "tenez," moaning that the racket should bo held Btrongly in striking the ball.

Lawn Tennis.

Tho idea of adapting court tennis to the open air and as it is now played first came to Major Walker Wingfield, a gentleman of Shropshire, England, about 1874, and it is to him that we are indebted for the present form of tho game. Badminton was at that timo the fashionable outdoor game, and con sisted of hitting a shuttlecock over a high not from four small courts marked out on a pieeo of turf into another ; but the game was vory slow, and could not compete in popular iavour with croquet until the happy thought Btruck Major Wingfield, who was an enthusiastic court tennis player, of com binding Badminton with lawn tennis has a charm that no other game requiring the samo action and spirited play possesses, namely, that it is ossontially one in which ladies an I gentlemen can meet on equal tonus and derivo an equal amount of plea sure from. No game for this roason has ever attained such an amount of fashionable patronage It is played at every seaside resort, in the mountain, and in every town and village throughout tho country. No gentleman's country place is consideied complete without a court.

Advantages of the Game,

To tho fair sex particularly is tonnis a groat boon and pleasure. It is the best of all Hold games for them, and permits of their taking the very kind of exercise they most need, brings into play all the muscles of the body, and does more to render a girl strong and healthy than anything that modern civilisation permits. Many ladies havo bocome experts, and it is no uncommon thing to soo two womon moro than a match for their male companions. Another great charm is tho absence of the wrangling and disputes that interfere so much with the pleasure of croquet and similar games. It is raro, indeed, that disagreements occur on the tonnis lawn ; the gamo is too active and too plea.uroable to admit ot bad tempers, and the accompanying shout of " well tried 1" does much to soothe the senses of a failure. The element of danger is entirely missing from tho game; there is no hard ball, os in baseball or cricket, and no chance of collisions, as in football or polo. All theso advantages tend to show that tho game "has come to stay." It fills avoid that has existed a long timo.

Tho single court is 78 feet long and 21 feot broad ; the not is stretched acro.s the middle, and should be about 33 feet long, so ns to project on each side of the boundary inos. The double court is 78 x 33, and the net; should be 3'J feot long, stretched very tight, 3 feot 0 inches at tho posts, and 3 feet in the centre. The service line should bo 18 feet from the net; but when ladies aro playing it is often as well to bring it n little closor to the net, by which means a vory difficult service of the ball is procured. Thia will bo found a very useful point in all private courts, as an expert cannot, aB is otherwise frequently dono, serve out the whole game without his opponent getting in a single return. The tennis ball should be 2_ inches in diameter and weigh not more than two ounces. The racket most in use has a broad, surlace and varies in weight from twelve to fifteen ounces, the light being most in favour with experts. Dress has n groat deal to do with the prope •' on joy ment of tennis. Stiff collars, linen, silk, and especially corsets aro to be avoided. Flannel is tho bost material, as it absorbs tho porspiration and cheeks the tendency to catch cold. Loose white flan nel shirt and trousers or knickerbockers to match nro the best nnd most suitable for a man. Loote flannel bloomers wero at ono timo much worn by ladies, especially in Lngland, but thoy wero scon recognised as bad stylo, and a short 'loose skiit of the samo material is now univorsal and tennis shoes aro indispensable ; light canvas tops, with corrugated rubber soles, are tho best.

Popularity of tho Gamo,

it- ■

Nowhoro has tho game of lawn tennis taken a firmer hold than in Amoiica. The public outhori'ies of tho parks and open p1.1.08 have given a groat impotus to the game in largo cities by the permission thoy have given to play in such places. No fewer than 185 courts are marked out in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, and most of them are taken up evory afternoon, as many ladies as men playing. The varied and boantiful scene thus presented ought to be viewed to bo appreciated. Central Park is also largely devoted to the fascinating game, and some of the best playing and prettiost dresses can bo seen there every day, Space would not permit of enuncia ting tho different strongholds of tennis here.

On the 18th, 19th, and 20th of August all the export players who aspiro to champion ship honours will meet in Newport, 11,1., and anybody who wishes to see lawn tennis at its best should pay that famous resort a visit on those dates.

The English are just now deciding who is the best player across tho water at the All England Lawn Tennis Grounds at Wimbledon. Mr Bonsaw, last year's cham pion, has boen challenged by twenty-five aspirants to tbe honour, who will fight it out among themselves, and the winner will thon play the final with him. This system of competition undoubtedly gives a great advantago to the holder of the champion ship. Tournaments are the order of the day everywhere. It may be said of tennis, ss of few other things, that it has many friends and no enemies.—"New York Telegram."

How to Judge of a Horse.

By a Coukn'ey

Fins, of all, take his head in your hands and look him full in the face. If he doesn't flinch, hut looks at you back again, he is an honest horse, let me tell you that. Noxt offer Mm a biscuit or a ginger-bread nut. This wil induce him to open his mouth, and you will have an opportunity of seeing how many teeth he has. If ho has thirty six in tlio to]) row and forty-eight in the bottom, he has enough toeth for any horse. If, however, you catch fight of a gold plaic attached to the roof of his mouth, you may be sure he has got some false teeth—per haps a whole set. You will find this a great nuisance, as they will have to bo taken out every night and put in every morning. As a rule, you'll find ostlers don't like the job. They say they won't be bothered with it. In order to judge of a horse's temper, goto the rear of him ; then take his tail, divide it into lour, and plat it all the way down. As a further test, put one of his hind legs in a sling. If he stands quiet and doesn't exhibit any impatience, then—take my advico—buy tlio honsa at once, if you've got the money. If you haven't borrow it. It will bo a sin to let him go. He is the nearest approach to a Christian that you can Ret in a quadruped. Ho is almost too Kood for an earthly stable. Take my advise, have him 1

A LADY'S LETTER FROM LONDON.

Feminine Facts, Fancies, and Frivolities.

(BY EUSE.I

London, October 7.

Dear Mr Editor,—Hero we are back again in town, and comfortably settled down for the winter. I always find London delightful in October. The weather is fine, crisp, and bracing, without being chilly, informal little parties abound, and the shops aro full of all sorts of tempting " winter novelties."

As though the fashionß in hats and bonnets had not been sufficiently extrava gant during the last two or three seasons, we are promised even more curious feminine headgear for the coming autumn and winter. To an observer not well versed in the secrets of millinery the art of trimming seemed to have reached its height during the past summer. At Dieppe, where we spent a pleasant month, it was not at all unusual to meet Parisiennes whose bonnets appeared to consist entirely of several well feathered birds, Woollen braids and othor woollen decorations are amongst the most prominent of the London novelties, and these are supplimented by jet ornaments of elaborate kind. Felt bonnets and hats look best trimmed with bonds and bows of braid of the same colour.

A curious material, which Madame Devy is trying to push, consists of velvet studded with jet or Bheet nails, the points, not the heads, appearing on the Eurface. More artistic and manageable are, however, the embroidered gauzes made in various shades, moro particularly blue, which colour is likely to supersede entirely the long favoured green. Plush and velvet, with their derivative velveteen, are favoured materials for costumes, or rather for por tions of them. Redfern makes the skirts of elegant walking gowns with panels of plush divided by pleatings of woollen, while a vest of plush or a shoulder piece of the Bame, with epaulets, puts the bodice in harmony with the rest. Plain plush skirts, also, to wear with tunics em broidered in open work, are braided with gold or silver, the edge of the jacket bodice being cut out in the same way so as to show a front of underlying plush. He likewise uses plush—of the thick furry kind—as an excellent substitute for sealskin, trimming the short coats made of it with tufts and the mantles with a ball fringe of real fur.

Have yon heard of Miss Lydia Becker's scheme for teaching dressmaking to young ladies of good families who have to work for a living? There is to bo an institute after the manner of the Sohool of Art Needle work, where novices can first learn their trade, and secondly obtain employment, and where the leaders of fashion will be able to obtain the most original and exquisite costumo for about half what they now pay Worth or Madame Kosalie. I shouldn't wonder if the notion answered. The titled lady who not long ago stntted a bonnet shop at tho West End ban within a few months got together a first-class connection. People who went to her to buy hats or bonnets out of curiosity found they had to deal with no incompetent novice, but with a skilled artiste, whoso perfect taste and faculty for fitting customers with what was besoming moro than counterbalanced hor trado inexperience. So successful did she in a short time become that the Princess of Wales, who is the most particu lar woman in England about her bonnets, gave her several orders. Now the ball has been set rolling I shouldn't wonder if other impecunious great ladies _ were to turn their attention to shop-keeping. I should think both Sir Charles Dilke and Mrs Mark Pattison must feel deeply thank ful that their wedding ceremony on Satur day last passed off without any serious dis turbance occurring. An immense crowd assembled both inside and outside St. Paul's, Chelsea in tho hope of catching a glimpse of the bride, andthe police proving inexplicably absent, order was only maintained with the greatest difficulty, Mr Chamberlain, Sir Charlos's " bast" man, had literally to fighta passage for the bridal party to the altar. Mrs Pattison, a handscme, intellectual looking woman, apparently about five and thirty, waspale, but calm. SirCharles.onthe other hand, no doubt fearing arow, appeared nervous. All went wellduringthoceremony, but as the bride and bridegroom emerged from the vestry and passed through the crowd to their carriage some faint cheers wero raised. This must have been the signal for a preconcerted demonstration, as im mediately a perfect storm of hisses, groans, and hootings arose, and but for the timely arrival of some constables tho carriage might not have been able to drive away. That the demonstration had no political meaning was evident from the fact that Mr Chamber lain, who appeared a moment later, met with quite an ovation. On Monday it was announced that the proceedings in " Crawford v. Crawford and Dilke " had boen abandoned, but this state ment has been sinco contradicted. The trial will take place in December next. A friend of ours, who knows Sir Charleß well, says he has a caressing way of treating women that might easily lead strangers to form mistaken conclusions. Mrs Crawford, thero can be no doubt, made mischief in a fit of hysteria. She would now give the world to undo her work, and has indeed retracted the accusations against Sir Charles many times over. Mr Crawford, unfortun ately, is quite determined to have the whole matter sifted in public, Amy Sherwin is singing at the Promenade Concerts again. Tom took a box on the grand tier lost Friday, and we spent a delightful evening listening to the music n_d looking down on the crowd. Mies Sherwin sang a charming ballad, " A Dream of Yore," by Log. (which I have since bought, and am learning), and Uanz'e " Dear Bird of Winter." The triumph of the evening was, however, Mr Crowe's new vocal waltz, " Faerie Voices," sung by a choir of girls. It is less taking and more elaborate than "See Saw," but effective enough with a big band and chorus. On the piano I can't fancy it would amount to much. A tenor, whose name I forget, also sang rather a good ballad, " Constant Still," by Leigh Kingsmill, and of course somebody warbled tbe inevitable "Golden Love," which has lived longer than even " Once Again " or " In the Gloaming." The autumn season at the theatres is now in full swing. Mr Harris has made a big hit at old Drury with " Human Nature." Wo drove down on Saturday evening fully expecting to be able to get seats of some sort in that immense house, but it was no use. " Turned hundreds away," said the gruff man at the box office. So we went to tho Vaudeville instead, and enjoyed a good laugh at "Loose Tiles," tho Australian rights of which have been purchased by Mr Williamson. You will enjoy this piece when you see it. No elaborate scenery is required, and any average company will do it full justice "The Great Pink Pearl." too, ought to be a success in the colonies, and " The Magistrate," I hear the Kendals and Hare have had a quarrel, and that the latter moans to secede from management. Tho St. James's reopens noxt month with an English voreion of the famous "Prince Zilah."

Your old friend Miss Lingard has not a particularly good part in "Dark Days" at tho Haymarket Theatre. We went the first night, and felt rather disappointed. There is very little to remind one of Fer gus's tale in Mr Comyns Carr's drama. Tho first throe acts are entirely original matter. They introduce characters nevor mentioned in the story, and let us Bee but little of the hero and heroine. Sir Mervyn Fcrrand, the dissolute baronet whom Phil lippa imagines she has killed, is incompar ably the most entertaining personage in the play. At the end of tho third act, when ho dies, and Fergus's tale commences, tho interest of the audience collapses. Neither Basil North's lamentations over his sweet heart's crime nor Phillippa's hysterical resolve to give herself up to justice move peoplea jot. In tho last act an elaborate trial scene, reproducing the well-known interior of the Old Bailey, enlivened things some what, but by that time we wore too tired to applaud vigorously. Tom soys the piece will "do" for a timo, when it has been pruned and cut down. I shouldn't wonder if it would at the Haymarket, because Mr Beorbohm-Tree's Sir Mervyn is so good. I'm sorry, though, Miss Lingard hasn't a better part. She looks charming, and wore two exquisite dresses—one, I feel sure, made by Worth. . "SlingsandArrows,"thelastoftheChrist mas stories poor Fargus wrote for Arrow smith, ofßristol, waß published on2Sth inst., and, from tho piles 1 see on the railway book stalls, must be selling well. Nevertheless, it didn't strike me as quite a nice story. Tbe hero, Julian Loraine, is tho adopted son of a wealthy cynic and voluptuary of the same name. Up to the age of 21 he believes himself Loraine'a real son, but thelatterthen tells him he is an orphan, tho son of poor people, and that he (Loraine) adopted him for a freak. The young man .wants to cast off the name of Loraine there and then, and ptoclaim bis real identity, but

his friends further persuade him not to, and when, shortly afterwards, Loraino dies, leaving Julian all his property, only the lawyer executing the will knows the heir is not the deceased's real son. Julian now falls in love with and marries a very charming girl. They are perfectly happy, when one day, without warning or giving any reason, his wife flies from him in company, so he presently learns, with an old and rejected lover, Eustace Grant. To discover Grant and avenge the great wrong done him ia of course Julian's one resolve. After two years' search the men meet by the seashore in Brittany. Julian hands Grant a pistol, and pulling one out himself, cries " Defend yourself. Grant's reply is to throw the pistol into the soa and refuse to fight. Julian then fires at him in an access of fury, which, however, turns to horror and remorse when Grant falls apparently dead. Grant recovers sufficiently to explain that he and Mrs Julian are alike innocent of wrong, and Julian nurses him back to health. The puzzled husband is then told his wife left him for his own sake, that she loves him still, and is true to him, but can never return. Tbe mystery deepens till Julian casually lets out to Grant one day that he was only tho late Mr Loraine's son by adoption. " Then," says Grant joyfully, " she "a not your sister after all." It appears on the day she ran away Mrs Julian found a letter from her dead mother telling her her wicked father's name was Julian Loraine, and warning her against him. Appalled by the idea that she had married her half-brother, Mrs Julian begged Grant to take her away somewhere and hide her from her husband, and he, full of pity, consented. Hence the trouble, Tom tells me many people think this the best tale Fargus wrote. It may be so. I don't pretend to be a critic, but, as I said before, I don't like the main idea on which the plot hangs. A far pleasanter, if less ex citing, shilling's worth is, to my mind, " A Singer's Story," by the clever author of " Hogan M. S." This is simply the experi ences of a friendless girl, who, after some commonplace troubles as a governess, dis covers she has a glorious contralto voice, and determines to cultivate it. She studies underagreat master in Paris, and eventually makes a successful debut at Birmingham Musical Festival. There are no lovers or love scenes in the tale, which is very un affectedly told, and may be safely read by anyone.

The cheap reprint of the late Mrs E wing's popular stories for children affords parents a grand opportunity of laying in some thoroughly wholesale juvenile literature. " Six to Sixteen " forms the latest addition to the one-shilling issue, which also in cludes "Lob Lie-by-the Fre" and "A Flat Iron for a Farthing." Miss Gatty is writing a memoir of Mrs Ewing, which will be published next month,

The most remarkable forthcoming novel promises to be the Rev. Baring Gould's "Court Royal," now running through "Cornhill." It ii totally unlike either "Mehalah" or "John Herring," and yet equal to both. Mr Christie Murray is also ascending the ladder of fame very rapidly. " First Person Singular," in the " Graphic," and "Rainbow Gold," in the "Cornhill," are both capital novels, and this month he commences yet another tale, " Aunt Rachel," in the "English Illustrated Magazine."

The autumn publishing season ap proaches, and the " Athenseum" teems with announcements of interesting forth coming works. Here are just a few, I think, will interest you. Longmans an nounce a new series of works on English field, sports and pastimes, to be called " The Badminton Library," and edited by the Duke of Beaufort. The first volume " Hunting," by the Duke and Mr Mowbray Morris, is already out, capitally illustrated by Sturgese and Alfred Watson. Price, half-a-guinea. A new series of halfcrown critical biographies of " English Worthies," edited by Mr Andrew Lang j No. I. " Darwin," by Grant Allon ; No. 2. " Marl borough," by Geo, Sainsbury; "The Luck of the Darrels," James Payn's new'novel that has been running through " Good Words," and "That Very Mab," a critical and satirical romance, dealing with modern theology and philosophy, and social life and character, by Andrew Lang.

Sampson Low and Co. announce about 100 new books, amongst them " The Per sonal Memoirs of General Grant," 2 volumes, £1 8s; "North Borneo," from the diaries of that unfortunate young explorer, Frank Hctton; "Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water," by Mrs Howard Vin cent j and W. Clark Russell'a novel, " A Strange Voyage." Messrs Bentley promise " A Girton Girl," by Mrs Edwards ; " Mitre Court," by Mrs Riddell; and a cheap edition of Yates's " Reminiscences." Maomillan and Co. ad vertise a new edition of Kingsley's " Water Babies," illustrated by Linley Sambourne j " Us," an old-fashioned story by Mrs Moles worth ; and "Nu-tie's Father," by Miss Yonge. Chatto and Windusannounce "Babylon," by Grant Allen ; " Cannola," by Justin McCarthy; "First Person Singular," by D. C. "Murray; and 3s 6d editions of "Philistia," "Beauty and the Beast," " Uncle Jack," and "The Lover's Creed " Smith, Elder, and Co. promise " The Life of Henry Fawcett," by Leslie Stephen; " English Life in China," by Major Knollys ; "Adrian Vidal," by W. E. Norria "Mrs Dymond," by Miss Thackeray; " Green Pleasure and Grey Grief," by the author of "Molly Bawn," &c.; and "Rainbow Gold," by D. C. Murray.

Six Kings in Two Years.

Prince Chanq-Mokg is the sixth sovereign of Annam in twenty-five months. King Tu-Duc died on the 17th of July, 1883, after a reign of over thirty years, during which time his dislike for the French had been growing into active hatred. Though he had the Oriental profusion of wives, he left no legitimate sons. Due-Duo, one of his nephews, was therefore named King ; and his adherence to his uncle _ policy led to the occupation of Hue by the French. Due- Due then disappeared, and Dr Harmand put Hiep-Hoa, a brother of Tv-Due, on the throne. Three months later he was poisoned by the national party. "The French Resident then setup another nephew of Tu-Duc. With him M. Tricou concluded a ratification of the treaty of tho previous August, in which Annam recog nised the French protectorate and handed over Tongking to be pacified by the re public. In August last year tho anti- French mandarins killed this new puppet; and on the 17th of the month Ham-Nghi, another boy, succeeded hi.m It is he who is now in tbe camp of the insurgent Thuyet, and with him ended the nephews—at any rate tho eligible nephews of King Tu-Duc. Prince Chang-Mong is said to be the adopted son of that monarch : which pro bably means that be is illegitimate. In any case he is, no doubt, as complete a icipber as is wanted; and he is said to speak in very satisfactory terms of his attachment to France. So does every Annamese with whom a Frenchman talks. But tbe country is none tho nearer pacification for that; and it remains to be seen how long the new sovereign, who is to take the "reigning name" of Me-Trieu, will last.

All Escaped Comet.

During the last four years some comets have paid visits to the ruler of the solar system and displayed their dazzling trains to the admiration of his attendant worlds. Every one of theso comets has been remark able for some unusual or unaccountable con duct. The big comet of 18S1 suddenly flirted its streaming tail into the northern hemisphere unannounced and unexpected, and surprised tho astronomers at their teloscopes aa much a? it did the milkmen on their early morning visits to tha pumps. Tho comet of 1882 amazed the world by suddenly appearing at broad noon closed tho sun, where it soared like a fiery bird with broad wiDgs extended, and as it re treated from the eolar system, it appeared to be chased by a bevy of little comets to which it had apparently given birth during tbe terrors of its plunge through the flaming banners of the sun. In ISB3 the comet of ISI2 reappeared, but tho most extraordinary comet of all is the one which was discovered at the Vienna Observatory not a great while ago. lt seems to have been clearly seen, for the observers carefully measured its position among tho stars, and it was believed from its place and motion that it was one of the comets of 185S returning. But after thus showing itself tbe comet disappeared, and, although a battery of telescopes has been bi ought to bear upon the spot where it appeared, from noarly every observatory in Furope, not a glimpse of the mysterious visitor from the realms of outer space has been caught.

The Difficulties of Harder.

Tire Preller case affords a new illustration of the truth of the statement that the safest way to commit murder at the present diy is *vO shoot down one's victim in bread day light in a crowded thoroughfare, and to treat to the plea of self-defence or emotional insanity for escape. Poison tells its own story. With the exception of woorall, which it is almost impossible to procure, evory poison leaves its trace in the body and oan be easily detected. Poisoners in thiis country use three drugs—arsenic, strych nine, and prassiate of potassia—and any medical student can find either of the three in the stomach of deceased. The average murderer uses arsenic as a matter of course, yet even so email a portion as the third trituration which homceopathists prescribe can be detected. Modern medical science describes the symptoms of poisoning by all possible poisons with such minuteness that no doctor can fail to diagnose a case. Novel writers still amuse their readers with ac counts of cases of slow poisoning. But there is not and never was anything of tho kind. All fatal poisons cause death within twenty-four hours, except where morphine is used. The symptoms are acute and often violent. They call loudly for medical at tendance, and the physician, unless be be unusually obtuse, can tell in a moment not only that the patient has been p.ieoned, but what poison has been administered. Dr. Palmer was uncommonly smart and dex terous. He substituted poisonous pills for the anti-biliouß pills which a physician had prescribed for his victim. But the symptoms betrayed him; he was caught and hanged. Where a murderer discards poison and elects to despatch his victim by violence— with a knife, a club, an axe, a hammer, a grip of the throat (a pistol can only be safe.ly used in solitude) —he is confronted after the commission of the deed with tho difficult problem, how to dispose of tho body. In modern dayß the coroner a_d the necessity of a burial permit preclude the poßsibility of Christian burial. Once in a way a murderer succeeds in burying the body in a cellar. In a house in New York last year the skeleton of a female covered up with chloride of lime was found in the cellar ; no one ever discovered who she was But her assassin was exceptionally lucky. Few murderers have cellars that are suit able. Decaying bodies emit effluvia, which attracts attention. As to burying a corpse in a back yard, or a field, it is ticklish busi ness. A farmer once killed an enemy, dragged his body into a barn, and after nightfall buried him in a field. Next morning it occurred to him that the newly disturbed earth would attract attention to the place,so he ploughed the whole field. In a few days the dead man was missed. In quiry was 6et on foot, and the odd circum stance that the farmer had ploughed this field at an unußual season drew prying eyes to the spot. Search led to the discovery of the body, and the murderer met his fate. As Webster said : '* When a murder occurs a thousand eyes- turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with tbe "time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds dwell on the scene, shedding all their light and ready to kindlo the slightest circumstances into a blaze of discovery." Many murderers have adopted the course which Maxwell is supposed to have pursued and boxed up the remains. Forty-four years ago in New York, John C. Colt slew Samuel Adams with an axe. The deed was done in Colt's offlce, on Broadway. In tho room stood a pino box 2l_ by 3 rW* Colt doubled up the body, forcing tho legs up until the knees touched the chest and tho head lay botween them. He secured them in shape with a strong rope, and thrust the parcel into the box, sprinkling it freely with salt and packing it tight with paper. Calling a drayman, he had the man take the box and ship it on a steamer for New Orleans. Unluckily for him, the steamer did not sail for many days. Meanwhile Adams was missed Inquiry proved that he had been last seen going to Colt's office. They had money disputes. A teacher of writing made oath that he had been at tracted by the noiße of a scuffle in Colt's room on the day of tbe murder; that he had looked through the keyhole and seen two hats on the table.and Colt bending down over something on the floor. He waited until Colt went out, and then entered the room. He saw that the box was missing, and be also saw spots of blood on tho wall, and a place where tbe floor had been scrubbed. He told the police, the drayman was found, the box was traced, was taken out of the hold of the New Orloans vessel, and was found to contain the body of Adams. Colt was sentenced to death, but committed suicide on the morning of the day he was to havo been executed. At first view it looks as though Colt might have es caped had tho steamer sailed at once; But the writing master's evidence would pro bably have held him until the arrival of tlie eteamer,and then the secret would have come oat. Eight years afterward, Professor Webster killed Dr. Porkman. He boxed the body and placed lt in a vault under the college. But desiring to be doubly safe be undertook to prevent identification by burning tho head in the furnace of his laboratory. Thiß extra precaution ruined him. In the cin ders of his furnace Dr. Parkman's false teeth were found, and identified by the dentist that made them. The box was * emptied of its hideous contents, and the anatomists of Harvard reconstructed Park man's body. Webster waß ably defended, but the evidence was too clear and he woa hanged. As a leading English newspaper of the day blunderingly said: He was a most distinguished American. In his youth he wrote an excellent dictionary . later in life he was a Senator, and made famous speeches in Congress, and now at last he has been hanged for murder. Such is the natural tendency of democtatic in stitution."

In two recent oases murderers' boxed their victims, and detection followed.' A drunken brute named Rhfnehart killed his wife on Staten Island, packed her body in a barrel, and bu|(ed the barrel in Silver Lake woods. A heavy shower of rain washed the earth from the top. of the grave; some boys discovered the barrel, and fancying it might contain something valuable, opened it, and were horror-stricken at the discovery of the corpse. Khinehart was duly hanged. Since the murder of Proller a box which at tracted attention by its offensive smell was delivered by a railway at some Eastern city. It was found to contain a corpse. It was soon ascertained that it had come from Chicago, and that it had been occompanied by an Italian, who had gone on to New York. He was caught, and a little girl in Chicago testified that she bad seen five Italians come out of a house dragging a heavy box on the sidewalk. All were ar rested, and executions will probably follow. Tho corpse ou identified as that of an Italian who is supposed to have revealed the secrets of the Mafia.

The dangor of boxing a corpse springs from the difficulty of disposing of the box, within a given time, which varies with the heat of the weather and the physical con dition of the deceased. The corpee will emit an intoleroblo stench, The box is then sure to be opened, the body is usually identified, j and every ono becomes a detective eager to • catch tho murderer. It has boen suggested ~ that if Maxwell—assuming him to have been Proller _ murderer—had shipped his trunk S to New York, while he,.had come on to j San Francisco, he might have escaped, But y it is difficult to see how this would have made any difference. Sooner or later tho j trunk would have been opened and tho I body identified. Then, by the aid of the same clues they are now acting on, tho pqlice would have traced Maxwell-Brooke- D'Auguier just as they havo dono, and his arrest at Auckland would have followed in due course. Where identification takes place the only ohancefor tho murderer is to | disappear from the sight of men. ._ ■. | It was the want of identification which enabled the murderer of the woman who, ~'■.;; for want of the right name, is called Ada Bicard, to escape punishment. A boatman ! in the bay of New York saw a beautiful female foot protruding from tho water. - The body was tucked in a barrel, which § ought to have sunk, but didn't. She was identified by a man named Bicard as hia wife. He was quite sure sho was, nnd men tioned as one of the peculiarities which enabled him to identify her tbe fact that her feet were bo email and hor limbs so well developed that she woro stockings two sizes too large for her feet. People wore looking for her murderer when Ada Ricard inudo hor appearance on the scene in blooming health—wearing the very stockings her hus band bad so tenderly remembered. The | corpse was never identified, and the mur- 1 derer escaped. The old adage that murder will out is as erroneouß as most adages. The extension of tbe telegraph and the enterprise of the press tend to minimize the number of un- i punished murderers ; but still many escape.' Some one had the curiosity to make a calcu lation on the subject from the mortality \ tables and police records of New York. He found that in thirteen years^ there had been 622 homicides in that city. This in- • eluded homicideß by accident and justi fiable homicides ; probably there were 800 murders in alb In 155 cases, not quite one third" of tho wbolo, the murderers are to .' ■■ ' this day unknown ■ ~.'.•, ',' A

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1885.

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