MORNA DALE; OR, The Guardian's Forgery.

By SYLVANUS COBB, Jr

CHAPTER I.

our hf.ro and heroine.

Thf.y stood upon a verdant Cornish head land, on an aftornoon in early summer—a youth and a maiden—looking off upon the restless wators of the English Channel. Tho poot, or tho painter, in search of the true and the beautiful of life, would have looked no further.

Hewastwoand-twenty ; tall, and strong, and healthful, hia form perfoct in its manly proportion.., with a face classic in its out lines, and full of intellectual fire and vigour. His hair, of a rich, dark brown, clustered about his head in shimmering curls ; and

his eyes, a deep, warm grey in colour, clearly reflected the noblor qualities of the

inner man-qualitios, they wero, without blot or blemish.

She was seventeon, scarcely up to the av erage height of women ; her figure rather too full and plump for a fairy ; and yot, no fabled queen of fairyland could have pos sessed a form more comely or graceful in its lithe and ovenly-rounded perfectnoes. Her hair was brown,(like that of her companion ; but her eyes, unlike hia, wero of a warm, golden hazel—the warmest and the deepest in their soft, mollow light — moro than one had said—that were ever seen. Her faco was not classic, like tho other face. It was a piquant, sparkling face, full of sun shine, with dimpled cheeks and chin, where smiles lurked continuously in her happy, lilitheaomo moods. It waa a lovely face, winßomo and charming — hor companion thought, tho moat beautiful face the sun ever shone upon. The twain had reached n point on the headlandoverlooking a horizon-bound sweep of the Channel, where they stopped and gazed for a time upon the restlesß waters, and upon the white saila that dotted tho billowy oxpaneo. Ho broko tho silence ; and his voico, uaually so firm and resonant In its tuneful melody' was strangely low and tremulous, na he now ppoke. "Mornn,—is it true—tho report that has reached mo—thai; your father is going away —to India?"

*• What ?" sho returned, looking up in quick surprise. " Hasn't papa told you ?" " You forgot, dear Morna. I have not eeen him since I came back from London. I arrived at homo quite late last evening ; and this forenoon I was obliged to spend at the hospital. The first moment I could seize from professional duty saw my face turned .hitherward, dear girl, in search of youraelf; and immediately on my arrival I found

you." " Yes, I know," with a quiver in her voice •and a deepening of the colour of her dimpled ioheeka. " And papa had gone out—l think to see Jonas Crandal. But tell me, Ralph, phow did you hear of Dapa'a going ?" " I heard of it at the hospital. Doctor iLaybrcok told me. Your father had been in to see him, he said. But, deaf Morna, you havo not yet answered my question. Is he really going ?" " Yes, Ralph. Oh ! yes !" There was n ring of pain in her voice, and a shadow of unrest on her bright face. " And he has a message for you. Ho ia very nnxioua to ccc y°n-" ~ „„ "Is it a message from Sir William ? " Yes." ■"Do you know if it ia true that lie is dangerously sick ?" "It must not bo so. If it were not, papa would not go so far away.—Yes, yes —Uncle William muat be very, very sick. But," looking up and speaking more blithely, " papa will tell you all about it." " When does he think of going ?"

"Just as soon as he can get ready." Ralph ABhmore heard, and then looked off upon the boundless waters. Morna, wben'ehe knew that his gaze waa turned from her, looked up at his .handsome face ■with nn intensity of yearning that could not bo hidden. She did not Ecek to hide it. By-and-by ho looked down and caught her ©ye. "Aforna ! Morna!" he cried, all timidity and reaerve thrown to the winda, " can you not guees -why I brought you to thia far away place ? Why I aektd you to give me an hour of your time ?" Sho returned hia ardent gaze, but did not speak. Twice ahe started to reply, but her speech foiled hor. A moment later he stood facing her, holding both bor hands in his own ; the glow upon his brow, and t&odoep effulgence of his dewy oyss, telling of th. depth and strength of the emotions that thrilled him through and through. And they thrilled her as well. It may have been from the electric flashing of opaliatie eyes, or it may have been from a sympathe tic current from the contact of his hands ; but, come an it might, there waa something in the roseate glow upon her upturned face, and in the deep fires of her golden eyes, that told him her heart responded as ho would have it; and ho gained courage from the belief.

"Morna! my own I O ! let me say so this once I Your father is going far away. When he will return to ,ns we know not. Before ho goes ought r.ot you and I to understand one another? Ought we not to know what our future-so far as we can control it—is to bo ? Morna, it ia not needed that I Bhould tell you of my love. 1 love you with my whole heart, and with ■all my strength ; I have loved you since I knew you, I must go on loving you to the end. Dear Morna, answer me truly, honestly, frankly—do you not know this ?" " Yes ! yes ! 0, Ralph ! I know it now, and—and—" " You havo known it for a long, long time."

'■Ihavo—hoped it." "And that hope tells mo, darling, that you love mo. Is it not so ?'' " 0, Ralph 1 Ralph 1 you know it is so." Ho caught her to hia boaom, and she pil lowed her head there with a low cry of rap turous joy. " O, Ralph ! if you had not loved me I should not have cared to live I"

" Darling ! if you had not gives your love to me, my liio muat have been joyless fcr evermore!"

And bo they stood, clasped in loving em brace, dwelling upon this blissful fruition of the one brightest hope and promise of their lives—they knew not hew long. Morna was the firet to give thought to the duties of the present hour. " Ralph 1" — looking up through her happy tears, and drawing gently back— "we mußt think of papa. He is at home by thia time, and is Drobably waiting to see you. The servants will tell him that you have been there." " Yes, darling ; our next dnty is to your father." He drew her arm within his own, then took the dear hand in a gentle, loving frasp, and in a moment more they were on their way down the slope of the headland. "Morna, is it understood between us that I shall ask your father tor this precious band ?"

"Yes." . „ " And I do not think he will refuse it. »• O, Ralph ! you know he will not.' J " Remember, dear girl ; should Sir William be sick unto death—which Heaven forbid—your father will be the head of the houae—the baronet. As simple Doctor Dale he has been very kind to me—he has loved me,—l know—but as Sir Lawrence Ah ! the change may be more thao you think I" "Hueh! Ralph, I will not hear you talk bo. Are you not Sir William's adoptea son ?" "O, no, no, no. You mistake, dear Morna. During my late boyhood, and through my nonage, Sir William was my guardian—" , " Aye," broke in the girl, impetuously ; " and you know that he loved you aa a father might have loved an only son. I have heard papa say so." " Bless his noble, generous heart Ihe did love me, I know. Yes, Morna, Sir William gave to me his love without stint or measure, and all that I am, and all of wordly possessions that is mine, I owe to him. Yet, when be went away to India, leaving me to finish my Btudies under your father's care aud supervision, he, in one sense, washed his hands of me." "O, Ralph I Ralph ! Think what letters it e has written to you from that far-away land! Think—" " Hush, darling !Do not misunderstand me. Ido not mean that Sir William took away from me his love. No, no. What I mean is simply tbia :He left to me no right to look to him further for material aidL So, you understand, when I ask your father to .'ivemetho hand of hi? blessed child-to

givo her to mo for my wife—l muat rest my claim upon my own manhood, and not up on anything I may expsot in th 9 future from tho dear old baronet. Darling, as you know, I have received, from the highest inthorlty in the realm, my diploma a», a surgeon and physician, 1 think 1 am tha

youngest man on record holdlm? official

appointment ns practising and consulting surgeon of a first-class hospital. But I do not intend to dovoto my beat energies the work of the hospital. By-and-by I shall find a good opening, and settle down to look for patients of my own ; and then, darling, I think I may venture to take ; to myself a wife. You would not four to trust your future in my hands?"

She looked up, with a bright light in her eyes, and a warm, loving smile wreathed around the dimples of her roseate cheeks.

"Dear Ralph, I have no fears for the future—at least so far aa you are concerned, t have given myself to you, and 1 will trust you while wo both shall livo. As for papa, I am sure he will not make me unhappy."

"Wo shall soon .enow, dearest. 1 shull speak to hici on the subject before the day ia done."

They had reached the foot of the slope, and weie passing near to tho fishermen bußy with their nets and boatß, and woro obliged to turn their thoughts to tho answering of the kind nnd loving Bnlutntions that were ex tended to them from evory hand.

Tho headland whereon wo found our hero and heroine waa at the entrance, on the easterly side to a small bay, or cove, which mudo up into the Cornish coast not far from midwny botweon Plymouth Sound and Lizard Head. It afforded an excellent havon, not only to tho fishermen who lived on its sheltered shore, but to any craft, large or small, that might seek it in caaoof storm and tempost. The distance botwoen its two outer points was not moro than a mile, while within, at the widest part, the distance from shore to shore was more than a mile and a half. The western Hoadland was, if anything, higher than that on tho east, whence the character of tho harbour, ns a place of shelter from furious galoa, may be readily seen On the immediate shore of this inlet stood a acore, and moro, of fishermen's cots—most of them neat, and comfortable, and in good repair, Close at hand, further inland, with this hamlet of fishermen for a eubnrb, was situated tho village of Covedale. Origin ally tho whole tiling—the harbour, tho hamlet and the settlement beyond—had been called Dalo Cove, in honour of the owner of tho estate ; but a baronet who had roigned aa lord of tho domain little mora than a century before, with a love o' euphony, had transposed the two wordt and mado them into one.

Tho village of Cnvodale had ono broad, handsome stroot, adorned with grand old treosita whole length, extending from the in ner shore of the covo to tho gatoa of Dale Abbey, a distance of nearly a mile. There woro a fow narrow streets, very abort, ox tending out on eithor hand from this main avenuo, to accommodate those who wished for moro land around their dwellings ; but the great majority of the villagers dwelt upon the main thoroughfare. The Abbey waa a rambling old defoliated atructure, portions of all dating back to the timo of the Crusades, and waa the abode, when at home, of tho lord of tho manor; but the present lord, Sir William Dale, was abssnt in India, where he had been little more than six yoars at tho timo of the open ing of our atory, He was on tho staff of the viceroy. 3 member in ordinary of tho council.

By far the handsomest dwelling in' Cove dale, and, excepting the Ab_jey,the largest, was the Grange, known near ai^l far aa Dole Grange, tho dwelling of Dr. Lawrence Dale, a younger brother of tho baronet. It stood a little way from t!>e main street, on a court of its own, with nn extensive park on to _o sides of it, while from the othor two sidea swept away hundreds of acres of forest and tillage. Very neatly midway between tho cove and tho Abbey, or, tho right-hand side of tho main Btreet going up, etood the little stono church, with tho recto! y on one side of it, while on its other eldo, and in its rear, lay tho burial ground. Tbo entrance to the court of the Grange was on the othor side Gt the way, and directly oppoaite tho church.

Lawrence Bate, M D., was a man of five nnd-forty ; not quito so tell »6 the average of hia fellow*, but inclined so la plump enough in foim to tuako up for it. Ho could hardly be called a fat man, yet he was of a goodly rotundity , but llesh was ovonly dis tributed, and ho possessed good solid inusGlo enough to boar the adipose tissue lightly, blightly and healthfully. Ho waa a good man ; a great hearted man, with a pleaaant, intellectual face.andkad been accounted ono of the most successful physicians and skilful aurgoonsin tho kingdom. Of late years, how ever, he had practised but little Ho had in herited wealth, and had married a wealthy wife ; and when be had reached the meridian of his life, with moro money in his colTara than ho could Bpepd, ho had resolved to de vote himself to hia farm and to eiicb labours of lovo as his hands and heart might find to do ; and they iound many, be sure. Five miles di3tant, in the old cathedral town of Wallingbam, waa one of the largest and best appointed marine hospitals in the country. Of this he had been one of the chief patron? :ho was at present or.c of its most responsible oncers ; and ho never re fused to visit there wheq hia profeaaional help waa required. Ur. Da' 6, in truth, had practised but lit.ple aa a visiting physician since tho death of hia wife ; and she had been dead ten years and a little more. IJe loved her with all tho strength and devotion of hi.? great, impulsivo heart, and li6r death had been to him a blow from which ho had not soon recovered. Fortunately for him, ilia daughter—hig beautiful Morna—waa grow ing up to fill the aching void ; and now as we open our story, phe bad become to him an angel of lovo nnd blessing-an evangel of peace and resignation. The good man, on this summer afternoon, was in "hia elegantly furniahed library, hav ing come in but a short time before from a visit to tho Abbey, where ho had been to see the man in charge. Ho had a book in hia hand, bnt he woa not reading. He waa thinking of his daughter and of Ralph Ash more, who, ho had boon told, had gone out with hor. One further romark with regard to our hero we will make boforo wo again intro duce him. In tho years agono, when William Dalo had beon a student at Ox ford, he bad formed a strong and enduring 'riandship with a brotjior student named Aithur Ashmoroj ?md it h?d strangely happened that on two separate occasions during tbeir college career Ashm,sr» had saved William Dak's life. Once he had plunged into the flood of she lois, whoa the baronet's son was sinking tho last tipso, and brought him forth ; and once again had he come up just in season to beat oft a pair at murderous ruffians who had a knife at the tLroab of the wealthy youth aa he struck leido tho yft.thless hand and tho blade it held. , , , Naturally, William Dalo gave ix. h' r s gal lant preserver no empty love. In aite? years, when, by the death of his father, Baio bad become a baronet, Arthur Ash more had accepted tbo post of tutor in the old college. They married at very nearly the same time, the baronet having boon the firat to take a wife. Sir William hjd loved -with all his heart, and his wife was worthy of B.U the love he gave her. Children wers born to them, but they did not live ; and at tho cud of a tew brief years of mingled joy and pain, the wife waa taken from him to join the little ones that had gono before. A few yeara aftor the death of his wife Sir William received a message from Arthur Ashmore, begging him that he would come to him at Oxford. The baropet went, and found hia old classmate dying. His wife had been dead several years, and he waa now passing away, to leave behind him a man who would bo without a near relative living. Tho son, Ralph, was then ten yoars of ago, and one of the handsomest and brightest boys, Sir William thought, he had over eeeti. Said the dying tutor : " William, I shall loave my boy ten thousand pounds, safely inrested. That will surely give him a good education. Wiilyou —" , , . , At that point Sir William had stopped him, and __ wored without allowing him »Arthur, I am wifeless End childless. Your boy, if you die, shall bsSitae: mine to love and care for ; mine to cherish and protect; mine iv every sense of the word. He shall, when he is old enough, elect his own course in life, and I will see that he has every ad%-antage ia following it. In everything, save only in nnqje, he shall be to me a son." . Arthur ABhmore died, and after tha baronet kept his word. The sum which the dying father had left in the funds for his boy Sir William did not break in upon. He only made sure that it was safe and in proper form of deposit, and he loft it to lie and grow until the boy should have reached hia majority. In hia act of adoption the baronet was laying up a blessing for all his after life. Tho boy proved o blessing, in deed j and on the day of hia entrance into the old Abboy a gleam of sunshine same which did not again leave it while the two remained together. I Early in life Ralph learnt to love the genial ' doctor—" Uncle Lawrence," he Bad been

taught to call him—and, likewiße, he came to love the doctor's bright eyed, laughter loving daughtar. No two brothers wero knit together by bonds of iove and esteem stronger than were those which bound in brotherly affection William and Lawrence Dale. And when Ralph, having passed his college eourso, waa asked what profes sion ho would choose for hia manhood, he answered that ho would bo a Burgeon and physician. Ho had fallen in love with the calling. He had left college with a know ledge of chemistry that might compare favourably with that of a professor of the science.

Sir William had hoped that tho boy's choice might have fallen upon either the navy or the army ; but whon the decision had been made, he said not a word in op position. About thia timo tho baronot was called to India, the government making upon hie good faith and patriotism a cail which he could not disregard. When he had made up his mind that ho would go, he gavo .Ralph into tho care of his brother, the latter having promised that he would do for the youth all that could be done. So Sir Willium Dale wont to India, and Ralph Ashraore was aent to Wallineham, there to pursue hia atudioa in surgery and medicine under the immediate care and su pervision of Dr. Sam. Laybrook, tho Super intendent of tho Marino Hospital, and one of the best and most skilful practitioners in the country. And there, na we have already stated, Ralph had passed hia final examination, and received a diploma of which any man might be proud. Sir William, in hia far-away fndian ollico, had received word of the triumph of bis prottqe, and had been mado proud and happy thoroby In a letter to hie brother Lawrence, ho had aaid, in a postscript, in speaking of Ralph,—" You , will know when lo give him his patrimony." j

Wo left Dr. Dale Bitting in his library wit!) a book in his hand, which be waa not not reading. Ho was thinking. He had thought and waited, until he had begun to feol fretful.

" Where in tho world can thoy bo?" he thought, in spoken words, at the same timo throwing tho book on the table at hia elbow. " I wondor if ho knows that I only went out for a abort— '

Tho sentence waa not finished ; for at that point the door communicating with tho hall waa oponod, and Ralph Ashmoro appoarod —alone, lie had loft Morna be hind, as he had that to say to her father which ho could not say in her preeonco, and if one might judge from tho heightened colour of his face, and the porcoptiblo tremor :>f his eager lips, tho subjoct matter of hia thought could be of no ordinary mo ment.

CHAPTER 11,

lur.ru's PATRIMONY—A shadow

Had tho youth boon his own and only son, the good doctor's greeting could not have been warmer, or moro full of heartfelt lovo and good-will. Tho embraco waa ardent, and whon the words of grooting had beon oxchanged, Dr. Dalo etood back and looked into the handsome, manly faco before him, with a prido that sent a rich Hußh to hia vory temploa. " Ralph ! you are looking splendidly. 0! take care of that hoalth of yours ! Tho Good Father haa bloßaod you above tho majority of mankind. Ho haa given you a body porfoct, with health to match. Will you preserve'them intact?' " Surely, doar Uncle, —if I may still call you bo —it ahall be my errnost endeavour, never, by any willing act, to mar tho hoalr.h that ia now mine."

"Good. And now, my boy, when you caaae to call mo unclo, you shall — But never mind. 1 won't make any threata ; for I hold a throat to a promise, which should never be broken. Thoro is a seat. Now tell mo of your v. it to London. Whom did you sco, and what did you Jo?" ." Dear uncle," tho youth returned, with a happy smile, through which tho glow of a noblo pride was clearly manifest—the turn that had been given to tho conversation had for tho momont put aside tho thoughts that had co deeply etirred him —"Doar unclo, I nrrivod in London safe and woll, and took rooms in Sir William's houso by special in vitation of tho present occupant. My first

visit waß to tho Koynl Collego of Physicians in Pall Mall East, where I found President Burrows who received mo very kindly. He rerjd your letter first, and then that of Dr. Laybrook. Jf I had boon a prince royal ho could not ha,VO giyen mo moro attontion. I{e called threo other physicians of the fao uily to his assistance, and the four together examined i»e. I will only Bay—Jn tho end they gave iug tho highest credentials that can be given. " That samo ovening I found opportunity to make an appointmont with Sir William Ferguaaon, President of tho Royal Colloge of Surgooua. Thoro chanced to bo a good opportunity for disaoction, ao my examina tion was not only thorough, but practical. The result there waa fully as satisfactory ;i3 before. But that is not all. Before I left, president Ferguaaon offered mo a lirat-class profeeaorship in the department of anatomy in hja cgljogp." " And you refused it?" " Yes.'' "My dear boy, I am net sure ti.at you wore wise. It would havo boen a splendid opening for you." " Ah, sir," the warm colour coming back to his face, "I had a reason, with mo all powerful, for not accepting it; and that H>Pißou I have now come to make known to you. But first, let. me ask—lb it aottlod i that you will go out to indin?"

" Yea, Ralph, just aa'soon as my arrange ments can be made. And that reminds mo I havo a lotto? for you from your dear old guardian, Sir William, which I will give you before wo separate, ft ia only of love and good-will, AU his business bo has loft to me."

" My dear uncle, ought I not to go with yon ? Do I not owe it to him that I should make at least that effort to see him once more before he is done with this lower life ? And, further, may I not bo of assistance to you ? Remember, it ia a long dlatanoo, and there are triala and dangers in tho way."

"My desr, dear boy, I thank you for your good-will; but I cannot accept your offer. First, with regard to Sir William, It is his own desire that yon shall not como Hg is strongly impressed that I shall not find him alivo. Should that bo the case, your long and costly voyage wjuld bo use less. On tho other hand, should I find him alive, I shall hope that I can cure him, and bring him homo with me, whon you will meet him joyously. Second, with regard to myself, your compan ionship would be indeed a ploaßuro to me ; but I nsed you far more here. During my (jbsejjco you Trill have charge of my old paiiente, and l;o preparing tho way for a gnij.l sottl.ement in Iff?, ito, t)u, ypur place ia bore.

"Aa for me, I must go. \ owe it not only to my brother, but to myself. lam under a promise to him that, should aceidont boial him, I would atonco come to him, if ho be living, to aeaiathim ; and, if ho be dead, to pottle his large eßtate in India, In every way tie duty is sacred." At this point q, ejjencp fell, which lasted several seconds. At ''iesgtk t':e young physicion lookod up, and with the r,\d quiver in hia lips, and a deeponing flush on his face, he said : " Uncle Lawrence, I am going to bo bold end frank. The weal of lifetime is at stake, and I cittnot afford to ba backward, nor to suffer fear to'tio t»y tongue. You are going far away, to _>tu_i, Hoavon alone knows when. Before you go I must know what of joy may be mine in the future. £t caunot be unknown to you that I love Morna — your beautiful Morna — your daughter. To corpe up once to the point, I ask you, will you give her to me—to fee -my wife J"

It was plainly to be Been that the older man waß holding back hia deeper feelings. He aaked, quite calmly : " Does Morna love you as you love her }" " She does, air. O, Doctor Dale ! 1 know I am now poof, dependont upon my own efforts for a livelihood j but, sir, I can gfve ber a love atrong and true ; I can offer in my own behalf a character above reproach, a will to do, with health and—" "Stop! stop!" interrupted tho father, his own lips quivering, while the tears which he could restrain no longer now burst forth. " Ralnh !my dear boy !" ho want on, rising to "hia feet, and extending both hia hands — "Ralph !"—aß the youth started up and caught the bands thus outstretched- "you havo given mo more joy than I con tell. The dearest hope of my iifo is in this ful filled —Ralph, dear boy -I would rather know that my precious child waa to have you for her husband and protector than to see her mated with a prince of the royal family. V6B> 5e3 > B,ie is y°urei and lam content. Now I pan look my voyage in tho faeo without a fear or doubt." Thus speaking Dr, Dale lot fall _. youths hand, and resumed hia seat. " Ralph," he pursued, after a little pause, and before the transported lover could find worda for the expression of his feelings, al most the last subject apekon of botween William and myself before he left for {India waa in relation to thia very thing. We had long thought that you and Morna must in evitably come to love one another, and we had agreed that if the love Bhou be roani

fest, and if you should fulfil in your man hood the promise of your youth, you should be united; provided, of course, lh.it yon both should wish it. And in hia letter to me—tho one just received—my brother bids mo to be sure the matter is eeltled before I leave home. So you will Bee wo have reason to be grateful and happy nil around.

"There!" — when Ralph hid tried twice to oxpress his feelings, and hud twice broken down, —" I know a!l you would say. I know your heart, dear boy, as well as you know it yourself; and I think 1 may truly say tho evont gives as much joy to me as it can give to you. To my blessed child I have given the love and devotion of my soul's life ; hor future is all in all to me ; and when I know that future is to bo in your hands I am content. I can ask no more. Now, if you will, you may go and bring tho dear girl hither. Thoro aro a few matters of business that I would t ilk over with the pair of yon " .

" One word, sir, bcSoro I go—if yon .vill liaton."

"Certainly. What _ it?" "Morna is to be my wife. How long mu'it I wait?"

" Why—surely, Ralph, you could not think of baing married before my return from India. Remember, tbe dear girl is but seventeen. I had thought alio should bo at least nineteen before alio bocarne a wife. However, wait until I am homo again, and we will thon soo. Does my answer disappoint you ?" " No," tho youth replied, nftor a brief p.auso. "As you loave it, I am satisfied. Indeed"- with a brighter look—" I should be most ungrateful were I not satisfied with any terma yon should soe fit to pro pose. Do you think it possiblo that you can be at homo in a year from this time '!" "In less timo, Ralph. I plan to bo ab sent not moro that ten months at the outside. Of course, there may bo accidents. Tho chancea are that nine months will cover my absence from home."

"I wish,air, you would call it a yoar. It paina me to speak of possiblo oventa—of contingencies that may intervene—yot, whoro so much is atstako, do wo not owo it to one another to loavo no possiblo loopholo —no woalt or unguarded point? You aro going very far away ; you will oncounter many dangors. Ships are loat ; men die of diseaso ; disappointments and unforeseen obatueles lie in ovory path, especially if it be a long and unusual ono." "Ralph!" criod tho old doctor, impul sively, at tho sarao timo reaching out, and grasping the young man's hand, "I under stand yoo perfectly ; and you nro right. Wo will call it a yoar. If lam at homo in ono year from this day, I shall not forget. Should anything happen to dotain me—no mutter what it may bo ■■• if I am not with you at that timo—one yoar honco —Morna may thon boeomo your ,\ifo. I will apeak with Mr Crandal on the subject, so that bo may understand our ar rangement." "Crandal I" repontod Ralph, in a tono of unmistakable dislike. " What will he have to do with tho matter ?"

" Why, my doar boy, I must loavo somo; ono in charge of ray large proporty, and in caro of my child j and where can I find a bettor man ? You do not like him V" " No, sir," repliod the youth honestly. " I do not." "Well," said Dale, with a thoughtful look into the frank and handaomo face be fore him, " 1 do nob know that I can wonder. Ho ia not suoh a man as I would select for a companion; nor do I intond that he Bhall bo a com panion to Morna ; but, purely, you will ad mit tbnt ho is an honest man. Think how long he had chargo—solo and ontiro—of my brother's large estate. William had tho most implicit confidence in him ; and I bo liovo the confidence was not misplaced. I have already spoken with him on the sub ject, and bo will choerfully do all ho can for mo. Ho will continue to resido there at tho Abbey, while Morna may rosido Micro or bore, as she aball eloct."

" What authority do you intend to givo him, sir? —if I may ask tho question." " Over my child, no authority at nil. Pshaw ! Djn't lot dialiko of tho poor man blind you. And another thing, Ralph : play do not help Morna to dialiko him moro than sho does already, lie ia tho man to have charge of my property, to. col lect my renta, and pay my bills, and, for that matter, to pay Morna's bill? also. 1 shall loavo the dear girl hor own mistress, bo euro of that. And now, supposo you go and find her."

Wo can imagino tho meoting between tho lovers, and tho joy that fjllowel Ralph's announcement of tho father's decision. It was no more thai; Morna had expected ; yet, when she tested bar head upon the bosom of hor doar lover, feeling tlu. her rest and relugo woro to bo thoro for ever more, her heart swelled with a degree of rapture which her tongue could not ox press. '• In ono short year, darling, you will bo my wife. Oh I canyon realiao all that it means?''

"lean realiso, doar Ralph, that it fills me with gladnes. Oh !if papa wore not going fiom ua. I should say nobody waa evor so happy. But I will not repine. Do not fear.

And yet, in spite of all sho could Buy or, think, the prospect of her father's doparturo for India cast a cloud ovor liar joy. She cpjuM not explain it; sho could not toll why it should bo so ; sho only knew that so it was. Had alio spoken the truth aa sbo felt it in the depth ot her hoart, sho would have confessed that the feeling hail beon with her -a feeling born of an improßßion which she could not banish—that when her doar papa had loft hor eho should novor aoo him again. But ehe waa careful to give tho thought to no ono eleo. Sho did not whisper it oven to Ralph. J n hia librory Dr. Dalo waa onco more be coming anxious and iuipationt. XVhat in the world kept them bo long nway V They camo at length, hand in hand, and knelt nt hia feet while ho blessed thorn.

The first matter of business taken up, after the lovers had become seated aide by sido, facing tho good doctor, was that re lating to tho care of the Grange during tbo owner'a abaonee

"Papa," said Morna, whon ho had intro duced tho subject, "1 do not doubt that Unclo Crandal will be the vory beat man you could find to care for your estate ; but you will not let him havo any authority over mo. You will promise inj that ?'' Tho doctor glanced quickly at Ralph ; but the latter shook hia head smilingly, cay ing aa he did ao ; " No, no, Doctor. I have not spokon a word."

"What!" cried the girl, with a light, rippling laugh. " Did you think Ralph had been trying to projudiee me ? O, no ! I know that he does not liko Jonas Crandal; yet he never told mo so, No, papa ;it is my own heart that speaks. I havo no particular fear of tho man ; but I do not like him, arfd I should be really unhappy if J thought t'e __ to be my guardian." " Pooh j Pooh ! I ne'yer thought of such a thing, my dear child. No, no jho will be simply my agent, to havo charge of my estate while I am away. Ovor you ho can havo no spirt of authority further than hia duties as caretaker would naturally give him "

11 How w£U it bo ab_>ut monoy, papa? Shall I have to go to him for it f "Why," said the dootor, somewhat per plexed, " I think it would be best to lot your uncle keep the !>ank account." "Rather a distant uncle," nodded the girl, demurely. "It took two marriages to mako him such. Really, papa," speaking with more emphasis, " the man is no relation of oure, and I could never fool to regard him in tliat light. To ba eiire, Uncle VYilliam's wife'was hia half sister j but yon muat romom ber that I have scarcely a recollection of her. But neyer mind 'that. 'Jf it would please you to have Afr Crandal handle all the money, I will make no objection ; only you will be sure and tell him how much he is to pay over to me." 'i I shall simply toll him to honour every demand you may ljiake upqn him._ Bless your dear little hoart I he is ono of tho kindeat men I over knew. I wouldn't, for tho world, do a thing, or Bp6ak a word, from which ha could poeeibly gain the thought that I feared to trust him to the utmost."

Morna started to reply, but held her tongue; and before she could mako a second attempt R^lph laid . hand Ijgbtly on her shouldor, and whispered into her ear :

"It ia only for a year, darling. You shall look to me then."

Her face lighted up in an instant, and her eyes gleamed happily. " I shall not be wealthy, Morna ; but 1 shall have—"

" More than you think for," interrupted the old doctor. "It ia time, my doar boy, that you should know how you stand with the world. You have been kept in ignorance thus far beeauae Sir William thought you would do batter-that you would feel a sharper epur to exert youraelf—if you wore given to believe ttat you were poor ; or, at loaet, that you bad no isonay to >yaste. Ralph, your father, when be died, l»ft in William's care for you ten thousand pounds, y/ell and safely invested." " "So I have beeif tqld," said the young man with a wondering look. " And 1 Bup pesed the money h.i been epcr>t in giving

mo an education. Aye, and moro, too. I must have coat my guardian over and abova that."

" Ralph, you should know Sir William better than that. When he took to hia home, and to his heart, the child of tho man—tho dear and cherished friend — who had twico saved his lilo, ha did nut plan to rob the boy of hia patrimony. No, no; ho found joy and comfort in treating you aa a son. Tho Bum your father left baa never been broken in upon. Several timea your guardian took the liberty of socking new investment, when he thought that by so doing he could benefit you ; and let me tell you, from my own knowledge,—tha growth of your little for tune gave him more of pure, heartfelt satis faction than he could have found in the com ing to himself of a million. Whatever he mny nave thought of giving you from hia own fortune could have no relation to this This was your father's gift—something that he held sacred—a trust that ho held separato from all other things.

"My doar boy, your patrimony ia not large ; but it ia something. Your father, on his doathbod, told William that ho had invested for you ton thouaand pounds. When .William made hia firat visit to the bankers who held the securities, he found them to be worth noaror twelve thouaand than ton. Two years later ho found a new investment. Later still ho found another. On hia arrival in India, not ouite six years ago, he found there an excellent offor for your tittle fortune, and ho had it transferred to him nt. once ; and there it had beon over aince. In hia last lottor he writes mo that he has called tho monoy in and depoaited it in tho Bank of Bengal, subject to your order. You will aoni.l your order by me. Wait! —l will get tho lotter, and lot you hoar hia own words."

Tho doctor aroso, and went to his great cabinot, trom ono of the compartments of which ho took the letter in question. Once more soared, ho oponed it, and road :

•"I hay-, hoon most fortunate in the various investments of my doar boy's patrimony. Ou hero I pat it into tho Wangapoor Land Com pany's stock, having then littlo moro than twonty thousand pounds to invest. I purchased four hundred shares, paying fifty pounds por 8li:iro. Two woekango I sold them for two hun dred por ehuro. Pretty good, I call it, consider ing that too Investment was ahiolutely sufo. The secret wus, I toon the shares in tho com pany's infancy, knowing woll the character o( tho ni-m in cho"ge. I buiglit heavily for my self, and I sold my own sharoa when I sold Ralph's, ifo. you will understand, tho doar boy has eight thousand pounds, ia good English gold, awaiting his order in the bunk. I wish I could soe him to congratulate him, but you can do it for mo.'

" That is all, Ralph. What do you think of it ?"

The dear boy knew not what to think. Ho was confounded. At first ho could not tealiso it. Ho thought his dear old guardian must have takon that mothod of making him tho recipient of hia bounty ; but, the doctor vory soon convinced him that it was all aa it appeared on tho Burfaco.

" Your modost patrimony, by the watch ful and judicious caro of your guardian, haa legitimately grown to that goodly sum. Of course, you aro grateful, But yon will believe that Sir William has found moro real joy in seeing it grow than you will ever exporionco in URing it. Ha !"

Ralph had caught tho good doctor's hand anrl tho tears wore etarting from his eyes when this sudden exclamation causoi him to look up and turn hia head, following the direction of the 'other's oyos, and tho sight of Jonas Crandal coming slowly and thoughtfully up tho gravelled walk drovo all other thoughts from hia mind.

(Tn be Continued.)

TWO KEYS: OR Margaret Houghton's Heroism

By MRS GEORGTE SHELDON,

Author of "lirowr.ie's Triumph." '"Iho For-

saken Ihlde," " Audrey's Recompenss," ka.

CHAPTER XLV.

INCONTESTABLE EVIDENCE

"But Mias Dunbar had no means ; it had taken hor little all to pay her ospensea to America, consequently she could not return to Scotland with her frionda if eho had co desired. Sho did not care to do co, how over, although eho felt very lonoly to bo left behind in a Btrango country. " Vet she liked tho American pooplo. Sho had found a situation as govorno:K in a family whoro eho waa kindly treated, and whoro ehe romuined for two years. At the end oi that time they alto went abroad for a aeason of travel, and alio came to Boeton upon the tocommendationa of hor formor patrons, to occupy a similar p^kion in v wealthy family in that city. "This waa the account she gave of her self to my mother at tho time of w!.iich I have epokon, and ehe became deeply interested in tho young girl, and upon our arrival ace .mpanied her to her domina tion and introduced hor to hor employers, who happened to bo acquaintances of ours.

"But I had lost my heart entirely to the beautiful girl. I felt, from tho hour of our^ meeting, that alio, and no other, would* satisfy tho cravings of my hoart, liud ehe r.pnoared, though, in a timid wny, to respond to my sentiments. " ! vieitod her in hor now home. I arranged ta meet her upon ovory possible occasion, and it waa not long before I doelarsd my qflection, and found that it waa reciprocated. "Somo littlo time before this J had de cided to leave college and not complete my course I waa ambitious to make money, and I secured an engagomeot with a largo shipping houso in tho city, determined to dovoto my enorgioa to amassing a fortune Thia bitterly dieploased my father, who was a etern, proud man, and thought more of learning and a poaitlon in literary circles than of anything olso in the world, while, being wealthy hiinsel F, ho thought it be neath any ot his children to cngago in trade for the eako of aimply making monoy. " Whon, a littlo later, I informod him of my engagement to the pretty Btranger whom my mother nnd I bad met on board the boat from New York to Boston, he wi>s enraged beyond measure. " He said he thought it waa disgraceful enough for a son of his to want to grow up an ignoramus, without letting himself down etilflowor by marrying a Scotch emigrant, of whom nobody know anything. He posi tively foj-bade my ontertaining any such thought, and commanded me to break my engagement at onoe or leave my homo for evor. " But I inherited something of his high spirit and indomitable will and I had no notion of obeying him. I loved my beauti ful betrothed with all my heart; sho waa aa lovely in in'md ob in person, and as woll fitted to occupy a high position in aooial life aa my own mother, of whom we woro all ex ceedingly proud. But it waa is vain that I ploadod thia, whila oven my mother tried to exert hor influence ia my favour ; my father would not listen to ono word of it. Thou I became angry and disrespectful, and finally left the house in a rugo.

"Not a word of this, howover, did 1 break to my promised wife at that time ; but there catne a time at lpngtb, v^hen I waa obliged to tell her.

"My employers told mo ono day that they wißhod to send some one to the far East upon an important cammission, and made me a handsome offer if I would con sont to undertake it. The inducement was strong, while J thought I'eijw a of doing something upon n;y own appoint alao, and I accepted their proposition at cmee. "Tbeii I wont to Annio and told hor what I had done. I urged her to marry mo immediately, so that I could leave her with tho fooling ihat I had tho right to care for hor and aha need not toil for her living ; then, when tha right opportunity should offer, I could aend tor hsr to come to mo, and thoro would be nothing to hinder hor from do irie so ; besides, it galled me to go away and leave her filling the position of a sorvant to others,

" Then aha asked me about my own family —none of them had called upon her or recognised her in any way, and she could not fail no feel it - and she wanted to know how they would be pleased with our marriage - would they reoeive her cordially as a daughter and aiater ? " I waa, of courae, obliged to answer 'no ;' that my father would not be pleased with anything that 1 might do, for I had offondad him deeply by leaving college to fore my course was completed ; and_ even more, by engaging in a businea3 of which ho disapprovod, End I had nt_ rpas r\ to Ijopq that he would regard' with, favour any one whom I might wish to marry. gg" At firat ehe demurred—she could not connect herself with any family who would

regard her with disfavour ; but I argued so fondly nnd earnestly that she at last con sented, nnd wo wero married in a very quiet way one spring morning, and went straight to. (he pretty rooma which I had engaged for her, with board, while I should bn a way,

" Wo liftfl pis weeks to spend together boforu I should have to Bail, and I can say they woro the happiest of my life," Mr Forest aaid, brokenly, as he came to thia portion of hia story.

" My beautiful wife grew more charming with every day, and aa the time of my de parture drew near I bitterly deplored the stern fats that would not permit me to take her with me.

" Our parting waa the severest trial of my life, and could I have lookod forward to the future, I could not have submitted to it at nit. I shall never forgot the look that was on her lovely, tear-stained face, as it lay for tho last timo upon my breaat and I held her in that final embrace.

"■ I feol almoßt aa if I were loaing you for ever,"sho said in a trembling tono ; ' but -oh, Albert, whatever happens you will always remember how well I loved you. If I cannot come to you before your three years are out, I shall welcomo you back as a lond and faithful wife ; if I die—'

" ' Hush, my darling !' I cried, with a •sudden sinking at my heart. ' You must not talk like this—you will unnerve mo.'

"' I hope God will spare us to each other,' Bho said softly. 'But you will nevor forgot how woll I loved you ?" " ' 1 will never forget,' I answered, and almost feeling aa if 1 never should sco her again. " I cannot lingor over that painful scene," Mr Forest said, tremulously. "I sailed that day, and I never heard one word from my wife. I have never seen her from that doy to thia, nor had any tidings of her be yond six months aftor my departure. " 1 haa depoaited in one of the banks for hor use a sum of money, which I thought would, be suiliciont for all hor needs until I could roach my destination and turn myself about a little. 1 had not very much ahead, having only boon only a little more than a year in business ; but I knew my income would bo amplo for our support. Ido not know where the difficulty lay, but I sent her monoy regularly every three months, but it could nover hive reached her, aa I learned afterwards of her poveity and de.a titution.

" My anxiety was intense when month after month went by and received no lotters from hor, but I kept hoping that every mail —which in tho%o days waa not aa frequent- aa now—would bring me some tidinga of my dear ono. "My business prospered both for my employors and for myself, and when my throe yoara expired I returned with all poaßiblo speed to cook my wife, but with a sonao of foreboding and misery at my honrt that waa but a titho of what waa to follow.

" Arriving in Boston, I went directly to tho place where I had left her. She waa not there. The family who had formorly resided there, and with whom aho had boarded, had also moved away, and no ono could tell whither they had gono. " I sought the city through and through. In anguish and wrotcheduess I traversed street aftor atroot, inquiring in every place whoro I thought I should be likely to obtain tidinga of her ; but not ono word could I learn regarding her. " My father died during my absence, cut ting me off with a single dollar. My mother had become a helpless paralytic, my brothers and sisters were scattored, and with my other deep trouble, I felt like an alion and a stranger in my own country.

" I Bpont six long, weary months, looking for my wife. I advertiaed in all the papore, but to no purpose; I never obtained the alighteat cluo to her fate, and I thon re turned to my foreign bueinosa believing that my Annie was dead. " Ten yoara later I returned again. Then I met, by accident, the woman with whom I had left my wifo. Sho told mo that she had remained with her for six or eight months aftor my departure, and had been ill moat of that time. Thon hor means gave out —

eho had received nothing from me, and with doctor's bills, medicines, and other bills,

she had used up all that I deposited for her. Sho thon began to take in work to do, and triod to euppart horeelf, but could nqt earn enough to do that, as she waß living, and sho accordingly moved into an humbler locality, llor former landlady went there to soo her occasionally, for ehe felt deep sympathy for and interest in hor, particu larly, as sho told me, on account qf her delicato condition—since ehe expected sooq to become a mother,

" But ovory time she &aw her ehe seemed to havo grown sadder and thinner, and soon after, boing ebligod to move from the city, eho lost track of her altogether. Thia in telligence revive! my hopea somewhat, and I dovoted come timo to further inquiries ; but it availed nothing, and I again returned to my foroign home a sad and heart-broken man, bolioving that my wife and child—if indeed ono had over been born to me—wero both dead. I devoted myself to business, and I proßpered ; money seemod to flow in upon me almost spontaneously, and I waa rapidly amassing the fortune that I had craved ac a young man. But I caiod littlo for it — toy lifo was ruined, for ]_ had no ono with whom to share my prosperity-no ono to lovo or to care lor mo.

" Still there waa no peace for me except in hard and absorbing work, and so I kept on unJ on.

•' Woaried at last with the monotony of my exiatonco, I resolved to travel. 1 eettled my ali'aira in tho East-having no desiro to return there—and then began lriy wander ings. I have beon almost everywhere in Eurnpo, and have spent a good deal of tiqie in France. I had come to Paris for tho aecond time only a tow weeks previous to my ncquaintanco with you. You all know how I encountered mynophow.

" He waa my favourite sister's son, and I felt well pleaecd to moot him. I waa pro possessed with him at flret, alfhough I could not approvo of tho usolos.s kind of life that ho waa loading ; icr a young man of twenty five should have his mind settled upon hia

future career. However, I thought he might not bo wholly to blamo regarding that, and 1 reaolvod to study him thoroughly, and, if he proved worthy, eventually make him my heir.

" When I mot you," Mr Forost con tinued turning proudly to Louia, " there was something about you that attrac od mo strangely. I could not feel exactly what. Your oyee, particularly, haunted me, then your namo wns painfully familiar, although I thought that porhapa it waa merely a coin cidence. But tho day that wo all went to Versailles I received a shock from whichl did not recover, and aroused a wild hope in mo that you might bo the child of my loßt wifo and my eon." "You all remember that picture and Louia'a singular rosomblance to it. Well, that painting waa almost the exact counter part of tho woman I had loved and lost. Then v/hen wo rp;jd the acooqnt qf Lquieq de Briento—how she esoapoq to Scotland during tho reign of terror, and there mar riod a man by tho namo of Dunbar—it struck mo that Bhe might have been an an cestor of Annie, who was of Scotch descent, and whose father had beon a man of literary tastes and great learning, like the husband of MHo do Brionze. I reaolved at once to sift the matter to tho bottom.

" After learning all that I could regard ing Louis in America, I went to Scotland, where I have been searching and studying tho genoalogy of the Dunbar family for saveral weeks.

"I havo proved that my suepicions vyere correct, and that my waa grand; daughter of M'.ile Louise do Brienjc, whose wor,der{ul bfiauty descended to h3r—my wife, "As you know, M'lle Brionze fled to Scot land, where she married Waliace Dunbar, the great grandson of the poet, William Dunbar. Thoy had several children,but nqno lived boyond the age of fiveyeara, excepting a boo, bfirn v.. JSQ9, whom they named Louie, Ho grew to manhood and waa fiuely eduoatod; hia family, coming impoveriahed, they retired to a small eßtate in the south of Scotland, where the young man married a young Scotch lady in 1833 " They had one child only, Annje Louise —my Annie—wljq was barn in 1830, Her rriother died when she waa but two years of ago. Her father lived until she waa sixteen, but though they were always in reduced ciroumstancea, he bestowed great caro upon hor education, and sho was possessed of a rarely cultivated mind. "All this I have learned since leaving Paris, and you can imagine that I have been a very busy individual I waa almost sure that Louh waa my son before I left, but I would net say so until I had proved it boyond a doubt. " The ring he wears ip, I am positive, the one that I placed upon his mother's hand the day I married her. The book he describes lam confident I gave her. Mary Jones aayß she had a beautiful pearl ring,' which I ehe was obliged to dispoae of in order to de- | fray the expenses attendant upon her death. I had given her ane¥peußive pearl for an er\ ga^ement-ring ; and finally, Louis beam the very name we had planned to give our grst eon, should we have one.1' (To be Continued. J

"RUDDYGORE, OR THE WITCH'S CURSE."

Production of Gilbert and Sulii van's New Comic Opera.

;ome Tlt-blto from the Libretto.

(From Omt London Correspondent.)

London, January 27. "Ruddygore, or the^" Witch's Curse" ia,

if one includes "Thespis" and "Trial by

Jury," the tenth of the comic operas written in collaboration by Mr Gilbert and Sir

Arthur Sullivan. Such a phenomenal series of succesjes haa never before been known in theatrical history. Eight of the works are favourites in every quarter of the globe, and tho tenth and laat, I can Eafely prophesy, will bo at least equally popular.

'' Ruddygore " more nearly resembles " The Sorcerer" than any other of the Gilbert and Sullivan aeriea. The firat act ia aa nearly perfect as possible. It goes with a verve and Bwing that diaarma criticism, and pre vents one thinking till later how simple are the materials employed. Owing partly to a frightfully long interval, and partly to the fact that both actors and the applaud ing portion of the audience (boxes, pit, and gallery) were dead tired, the second act on Saturday night lagged somewhat, and there was a narrow escape ot the curtain falling on an anti-climax. In reality, however, this second act ia quite as fanny as it pre decessor, and on Monday evening it played oqually woll. Comparisons where these Savoy successes are concerned are not merely " odorous " but dangerous. Tho Press thought the "Mikado " a falling off on "Princess Ida," yot the Japanese opera ran jußt twice as long aa the " respectful travestie " of Tennyson's poem. Tho Press now pronounces "Ruddy gore" a falling off from the "Mikado." Well, I can only say I don't agree with the verdict. During the week I have been to see the new "original supernatural opera " at the Savoy twine, and on each occasion I enjoyed myself moat thoroughly. Sullivan at any rate has surpassed himself. The story of " Ruddygore " ia to the full as whimsical as any of its predecessors. When the curtain rises it discloses a charm ing set representing the Cornißh fiahing village of Rederring, with a bevy of pretty girls in the quaint short-waisted dresses of the latter end of George Ill.'c reign, sing ing merrily. This is the Rederring "en dowed corps of professional bridesmaids," whioh haa beon retained by the local authoritiea to be ready to grace the nuptials of the villago beauty, Rose Maybird, which are expected to take place momentarily. " Everyday (thoy sing) — As tho days roll on Bridesmaids' garb wo gaily don, Sine that a maid so fairly famed Won't very long remain unclaimed." But, alas ! tbe girl is obstinate, and won't select a husband from her many suitors. The bridesmaids have been on duty ready to sing " Hail to the Bride, etc," at the faintest encouragement from 10 to 4 for the last six months, and are beginning to fear I that unless the right man comes soon, the ■ corps will be disendowed. Rose herself, a prim little puse, now : appears, and tells us that (after the manner of properly constituted heroines in melo drama) she is a foundling. As a babe she : was hung in a plated dish-cover on the knocker of a workhouse door, with nought but a change of baby-linen and a book on etiquette. This hallowed volume ahe valuea above all earthly thinga, and refers to it continually for guidance throughout|the play. Thus, when the elderly Dame : Hannah hints at Rose's preference for . Farmer Robin Oakapple the young lady

consults her book on etiquette to ascertain if love ia quite correct. Her doubts are expressed vocally in a delightful ballad, of which the followiog is a veree : —

If somebody there chanced to bo Who loved me in a manner true, My heart would point him out to me, And I would point him out to you. .lief erring to book) But here it says of those who point, Their manners must be out of joint— You may not point— You must not point- It's manners oiit or joint, to point 1 Had I the love of such as ho, Some quiet spot he'd take mc tQ, Then he could whisper it to irie, And I could whisper it to you (Referring to the book) But whispering, I've somewhere met, la contrary to etiquette: where can It bo) {Searching book.) Now lot mo sco— {Finding Reference.) Yea, Yos I It's contrary to etiquette! The bashful young farmer Robin Oak apple is (like all properly constituted heroes of melodrama) really eomebody else, and a very terrible eomebody else too — none other, in fact, than tbo head of tbe accursed house of Murgatroyd. The firat baronet of tho line, it seems, who lived in James I.'s time, got his progenitors into sad trouble through an evil habit of burning witches.

Sir Rupert Murgatroyd His leisure and his riches He ruthlessly t-mplpyed In persecuting witches. With fear he'd make them quake— He'd duck them in his lake— He'd break their bones With sticks and stonos, And bi_n them at the stake! This sport he much enjoyed, Did Rupert Murgatroyd— ' _ o sense of shame Or pity came To Rupert Murgatroyd, 1 Oi'.co, qn iho village green, A palsied hag he roasted, And what took place, I ween, 'Sliqok his composure ho^ateil. For, as the tqrtqre grim Sen, d qn each withered limb, The writhing dnmc 'Mid fire and flame Yelled forth this curao on him :— " Kiioh lord of Ruddygore Despite his best endeavour, Shall do ono orlmo, or more. Once, every day, for ever ! This doom he can't defy However he may try. For should he stay His hand, that day In torture he shall die!" Tho prophooy came true: Each heir who hold the tltlo Had, every day. to do Some crime of import vital; Until, with guilt o'crnlied, "I'll sin no more !" he cried, And on the day Ho said that say. In agony he died I To avoid the effect of tho curse, Robin (or rather Sir Ruthven) explains that he fled To an old retainer who addresses him as Sir Ruthven, he Bays :— Twenty years ago, in horror at the pros pact of inheriting hideouß title , and With it the bah that compela all who suc ceed to the baronetcy to commit at least one deally crime per day, for*life, 1 fled my home and concealed myself in this inno cent village under the name of Robin Qak apple. My younger brothor, Despard, be lieving foe"to he dead, succeeded to the title and its attendant curse. For twenty years I have been dead and buried. Don't dig me up now. Robin's foster brother Richard, a man-o' wars man|of the true " Pinafore " type, now appears on the scene (just arrived home in the H.M. schooner Tom Tit), and trolls out a lively ballad which ends \n a hornpipe, and will be ono ot the great favourites of the piece. It describes nn encpunter between the little ". Tom-Tit " and a large French frigate. The Frenoh, meant to fight, but the" Tom-Tit" o^t of pure compassion for "the poflr Rarloyivoo," relußed to, sailing Qway instead. The "D'ye eoe?" is e^tr^ordih^rily effective :—

Then our Captain ho up and he says, says he, " That chap we need not fear, - W c can take her, if we like, Sho is sartin for to strike, For she's only a darned Mounsegr, D'ye see?

She's only a darned Mounaeer ! Bflt to. tight a Prenoh fal-lal-it's like hittin' of It_ a lubberly thing for to do; For we, with all our faults, Why we're sturdy British salts, While she's only a Parley-voo, D'ye see . A miserablo Parley-yqc, J'1 Robjn confides his love for Rose to Rich ard, likewise bis bashfulness. Rich. You love in vain ? Come, that's too good I Why you're a fine strapping musoular young fellow—tall and strong as a to'- gall'n-m'st-taut as a fore-Btay—aye, and a barro .knight to boot, if all had their rights ! Rob. Hush, Richard—not a word about my true rank, which none here suspect. Yea, I know well enough that few men are better oalculatei to win a woman's heart than I. I'm a fine fellow, Dick, and worthy any woman's love—happy the girl who gets me, say I. But I'm timid, Dick •_. shy — nervous — modest —retiring — diffident— and I cannot tell her, Dick, I cannot tell her! Ah, you've no idea what a poor i opinion 1 have of myßelf, apd how little I deserve, it.

A song follows which was evidently written specially for Mr Grossmith (Robin), lie delivers it, of course, inimitably ;—• Sly boy, rnu may take it from me, That of all tho affections accurst With which a man's saddled And hampered and addled, A diflldent nature's tho worst.

Though clever as clever can be— A Crichton of early romance— You must stir it and stump it, And blow your own trumpet. Or, trust me, you haven't a chance. If you wiah in the world to advance, Your merits you're bound to enhance, You muat stir it and stump it, And blow your own trumpet, Or, trust ine,you haven't achance I Richard agrees to plead Robin's cauße with Robb, but on Beeing the damsel falls in love with her himself and basely pro poses. Rose is much embarrassed, but has recourse to the book of etiquette. Rose {aside). Now, bow should a maiden deal with such an one? (Consults book.) " Keep no one in unnecessary suspense." {Aimed.J Behold, I will not keep you in unnecessary suspense. {Refers to book.) ' ' In accepting an offer of marriage, do so with apparent hesitation." (Aloud ) I take you, but with a certain show of re luctance. (Refers to book.) "Avoid any appearance of eagerness." (Aloud.) Though you will be*r in mind that I am far from anxious to do so. (Refers to book.) "A little Bhow of emotion will not be mis placed !" (Aloud ) Pardon thia tear! f Wipes her eye.) When, however, Robin reproaches Rose with her faithlessness, she repents, and shows signs of returning to him. On this Richard resolves to publicly disclose Robin's identity with that of Sir Ruthven Murga troyd, and to oblige him to fulfil the obliga tions of the curse. An infamous person compelled to commit a crime a day, Rose (he pridea himself) could never marry. The present head of the family, the Bombre Sir Dospird Murgatroyd, with his gang of Bucks and Blades, meanwhile arrives at Rederring from the family seat of Ruddy gore to abduct Rose Maybud, this being his crime for that day only. Sir Despard's description of himself is in the beat Gil bertian manner. His hands, he tells the populace, are steeped in infamy, but his heart is as the heart of a little child. But what is a poor baronet to do, when a whole picture gallery of ancestors step from their frames and threaten him with an excruciating death, if he hesitate to commit his daily crime 1 But ha !ha ! I am even with them ! (Mysteriously.) I get my crime over the first thing in the morning and then, ha! ha ! for the rest of the day I do good—l do good—l do good I (Melodramatically). Two dayß since, I stole a child and built an orphan asylum. Yesterday I robbed a bank and endowed a bishopric. To day I carry off Rose Maybud, and atone with a cathedral I This is what it ia to be the sport and toy ot a Picture Gallery! But I will be bitterly revenged upon them ! I will give them all to the Nation, and no body shall ever look upon their facea again ! The first act ends with Richard's dis closure of Robin s identity and the latter's misery at finding himself compelled to admit that he is Sir Ruthven. Si. Despard, on the other hand, is overjoyed at being at last able to live a blamelesa life and die regretted by all who knew him. He re solved to turn intensely respectable and wed Mad Margaret, an erratic damsel whom his crimes have driven mad. This finale includes a madrigal, a gavotte and a duet, which are amongst the finest things Sullivan has ever written. The whole ends with a rollicking chorus and dance that brought down the house. The second act takes place in the picture gallery at Ruddygore. Here we find Robin no longer mild and bashful, but loud and truculent as becomes the " bad Bart."

For thirty-five years I've been sober and wary— My favourite tipple came straight from a dairy— I kept guinea pigs and a Belgian canary- A squirrel, white-mice, and a small black and tan. I played on the flute and I drank lemon squashes— I wore chamois leather, thick boots and macin toshes, And things that will some day be known as goloshes, The type of a highly respectable man! For the rest of my life I abandon propriety— Visit the haunts of Bohemian society. Wax-works, and other resorts of impiety. Placed by a moralist under a ban. My ways must be those of a regular satyr, At carryings-on I nm-t be a first rater— C. night after night to a wicked theayter— It's hard on a highly respectable man! Well, the man who has spent the first half of his On all the bad deeds you can bracket together, Then goes and repents—in his cap it's a feather- Society pets him as much as it oan. It's a comfort to think, if I now go a cropper, I shan't, on the whole, have done more that s improper, Than ho who was once an abandoned tip-topper. But ia now a highly respectable man! "Unfortunately, the crimes Robin commits are not wicked enough to satisfy hia ances tors, who descend fro-n their picture frames at midnight, and, headed by the specially atrocious Sir Roderick (Ruthvea's uncle), call him to account. A blood-curdling ballad by Sir Roderick (as senior ghost) signalises the spectres advent. This is the opening verse: —

When the night wind howls in the chimney cowlß, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies - When the footpids quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay tho moon, Then is the spectres" holiday—then is the ghosts' high-noon! Chorus. Ha! ha! Then is the ghosts high-noon!

The dialogue between the ghosts and j their hapless descendant is so genuinely : humourous I cannot forbear appending it. Let the sub-editor excise it-if he haß the heurt to do so. Sir Ro_d. It is our duty to see that our I auccesaors commit their daily crimes in a conscientious and workmanlike fashion. :It is our duty to remind you that you are evading tho oondltions under which you are permitted to exist. Rob. Really I don't know what you'd have. I've only been a bad baronet a week, and I've committed a crime punctually every day. Sir Ron. Let us enquire into this. Monday ? Rob. Monday was a Bank Holiday, Sir Rob. True. Tuesday ? Roii. Qn Tuesday I made a false income ta:>- return. All. Ha !Ha ! Ist Gjiost. That's nothing. 2sd GnosT. Nothing at all, 3rd Ghost. Everybody does that. 4th Ghost. It'a expected of you. Sir Rod. Wednesday ? Rob. (melodramatically), On Wednes-. day I forged a will. Sir Rod. Wboae will 1 Rob. My own. i Sir Rod,. My good air, you can't forge | your own will! Rgb, Can't I though ! I like that! I did ! Besides, if a man can't forge hia own will, whose will can he forge ? Ist Ghost. There's something In that. 2nd Ghost. Yes, it aeems reasonable. 3rd Ghost;. At first Bight it does 4th Ghosi. Fallacy somewhere, I fancy ! Ros. A man can do what he likes with bis own?

Sir Rod. I suppose he can. Rob. Well then, he oan forge biß own will, Btoopid lOn Thursday 1 shot a fox, Ist Ghost. Hear, hear I Sir Rod. That's better (addressing j _ hosts). Pass the fox, I think ? (They assent). i Yes, pass the fox. Friday \ f Rob. On Friday I forged a oheque. { Sjßßop. Whose oheque? t Rojv Gideon Crawle's, _ Sj_b, Ropu But Gideon Crawle hasn't a , Banker. ( Rob. I didn't say I forged his banker— ( I said I forged his cheque. Ist Ghost. That's true. , 2nd Ghost. Yes, it aeems reasonable. 3rd Ghost. At firßt glance it doea. ! 4th Ghost. Fallaoy somewhere ! , Rob. On Saturday I disinherited my only , soi\. i Sir Rod. But you haven't got a son. _ , Rob. No -not yet. I disinherited him ( in advance, to save time. You see—by thiß arrangement-hell be born ready dis inherited. Sir Rod. I ace. But I don't think you can do that, Ro?,. My good sir, if I can't disinherit my own unborn son, whose unborn aon can I disinherit t Ist Ghost. That's right enough. 2nd Ghost. Yes, it Beems reasonable. 3rd Ghost. At first eight it does. 4th Ghost. Fallacy somewhere ! Sir Rod. Yes, these arguments sound very well, but I can't hel,d thinking that, if they were redccad to, syllogistic form, they wouldn't hold water. Now quite understand us. 'We are foggy, but we don't permit our fogginesa to be presumed upon. Unless you undertake to—well, suppose we say, carry off a lady ? (address ing Ghosts.) Those \rho are in favour of his carrying off a lady— (ail hold up their hands eacep a Bishop). Those of the con trary opinion \— (BishQf holds up his hands). Oh, you're never satisfied 1 Yes, unless you undertake to carry off a lady at once—l don't care what lady—any lady—choose your lady—you perish -in inconceivable agonies. Robin at last agrees to abduct Rose May bud, but, owing to a blunder, his retainers carry off old Dame Hannab. The latter is in a fine frenzy, and frightens the young man so that he calls on his ancestor, Sue Roderick, for help. Sir Rodeirck "rises half-way through the floor in clouds of red

fire, but instead of the dame being fright ened she recognises him as her old lover, " Roddy doddy," and persuades him to "come up" for a talk.

The piece ends with an opportune dis covery on Robin's part: Rob, An idea occurred to me, A Baronet of Ruddygore can only die through > refusing to commit his daily crime, i Rod. No doubt. Rob, Therefore, to refuse to commit a 1 daily crime is tantamount to suicide ! Rod. It would seem so. Rob. Bat suicide is, itself, a crime—and so, by your own showing, you ought none of you to have ever died at all I Rod. I see—l understand IWe are prac tically alive ! ! Bob. Every man jack of you ! Rod. My brother ancestors ! Dawn from your frames ! (The Ancestors des cend.) You believe yourselves to be dead —you may take it from me that you're not, and an application to the Supreme Court is all that ia necessary to prove that you never ought to have died at all! (The Ancestors embrace the Bridesmaids). Enter Richabd and Rose, also Despakd and Margaret. Rob. Rose, when yon believed that I was a simple farmer, I believe you loved me? Rose. Madly, passionately ! Rob. But when I became a bad baronet, you very properly loved Richard instead t Rose. Passionately, madly ! Rob, But if I should turn out not to be a bad baronet after all, how would you love me then ? Rose. Madly, passionately I Rob. As before ? Rose. Why, of course I Rob. My darling! [T.hey embrace. The piece hung fire rather towards the end on Saturday evening, and possibly will require a little dipping. The most amus ing scenes in the second act are those between the reformed Sir Despard and Mad Margaret, whose outbursts the former retrains by the free use of the cabalistic word " Baaingstroke." After they have sung an amusing duet on the subject of their former vices Robin enters :

' Rob. Despard I And his young wife 1 This visit is unexpected. Mar Shall I fly at him ? Shall I tear him limb from limb} Shall I rend him asunder ? Say but the word and— Des. Basingstoke! Mar. (suddenly demure). Basingstoke it is ! Des. [Aside). Then make it so. (Aloud), My brother—l call you brother, still, de spite your horrible profligacy—We have come to urge you to abandon tbe evil courses to which you have committed yourself, 'and at any cost to become a pure and blameless ratepayer. Rob. That's all very well, but you seem to forget that on the day I reform I perish in excruciating torment. Des. True—you could die so well! Rob. You didn't seem to be of tbia opinion when you were a bad baronet. Des. No, because I had no good brother at my elbow to check me when about to do wrong. Rob. A home-thrust indeed I (Aloud). But I've done no wrong yet. Mar. (Wildly), No wrong IHe has done na wrong I Did yon hear that ? Des. Basingstoke. Mar. (Recovering herself). Basingstoke. Dcs My brother—l still call yon brother, you observe—you forget that you have been, in the eye of the law, a Bad Baronet of Ruddygore for ten years—and you are therefore responsible—in tbe eye of the law—for all the miedeeds committed by the unhappy gentleman who occupied your place, Rob. Meaning you ?

Des. Meaning me. , Rob. I see! Bless my heart, I never thought of that 1 Was he—was I very bad?

Des. Awful. Wasn't he ? (to Margaret.) Mar. Desperate ! Ob, you were a flirt i Rob. And I've been going on like this for how long 1 \ Des. Ten years ! Think of all the atro cities you have committed—by attorney as it were—during that period. Remember how you trifled with this poor child's affections—how you raised her hopes on high (don't cry, my love—Basingstoke, you know), only to trample them in the duab when they were at the very zenith of their fulness. Oh fie, sir, fie—she trusted yon t Rob, Meaning you. Des. Nothing of the kind, sir, I was simply your representative. Rob. Well, meaning j*.?, then. What a scoundrel we must have been I' There, there—don't cry, my dear (to Margaret, who is sobbing cm Robin's breast), it's all right now. Birmingham yon know—Birming ham— Mar, (sobbing.) It's Ba—Ba—Basing stoke 1 Rob. Basingstoke! of course It is— Basingstoke, Mar. Then make it so i The notable vocal pieces in the second act include a charming ballad " Grant thou my prayer" for Rose ;an old English air with the refrain " Sing hey, Lackuday " for Dame Hannah; a patter trio "So it really I doesn't matter" for Robin, Despard and j Mad Margaret; and a duat for the last named pair " We were the victims of cir cumstances." - ' '.

Of the acting of "Ruddygore" I need only say it was as good aa all the efforts of the world-famous company and Mr Gilbert's drilling could make it. Mr Grosamith (Robin) is always a little nervous on first - - nights, and Miss Leonora Braham (Rofo) was suffering from a cold, but Mr Rutland Barrington (Sir Despard), Miss Bond (Mad Margaret), and Mr Durward Lely (Richard) never showed to greater advantage. Mr Grosamith does not fit the parts of either Robin or Ruthven over well, but Mr Rutland Barrington, whether in the char aoterof the wicked Sir Despard or the re • formed Rev. Despard, is screamingly funny,. The triumphs pat excellence of Saturday were, however, Miss Jessie Bond's Mad Margaret and Mr Durward Lely's man-o' warsman Richard Dauntless. The latter noted with extraordinary vivacity, and his constant references to his " honest 'earj" for guidance in contemplated rascalities evokes shouts of laughter, ''My 'cart it Bays to me, it says,' Dick, my boy'" ("it calls me Dick 'cos it's known me since I was ababby"), or (" it calls me Dick 'cos wo was at school tergether "), or (" it calls me Dick 'cos its entitled to take that fami liarity"), &c Equally quaint are tho chorus of "endowed brideamaida," who on the faintest symptom of love-making be tween any pair on the stage, place their , i hands behind them like charity school-girls, - and burst shrilly into— . , i. >y.7

" Hail to the bridegroom! Hail to the bride! Lot the nuptial knot be tied," tco. . -■; Mr J. C. Williamson has, lam informed, the colonial rights of " Ruddygore," which will be produced in Melbourne forthwith.

A Lapsus Linguæ.

People are very prone to complain of the! inability to find a policeman whon that functionary is most needed, and so frequently are the guardians of the peace the object of a weii-nigh fruitless search that the failure to put in an appearance at opportune times has become almost an axiom, The following incident is a ludi oraus illustration of the point in question: ! —The other evening some trouble was in ; progress in a house in Eliot-street, and a gentleman who was proceeding up that thoroughfare was hurriedly accosted by an officer, who asked the . former if he had met a policeman at the other end of the street. The gentleman replied that he had not, whereupon the first speaker made the startling assertion: "That's always the way; you never can find on« of them when he is wanted." The officer, as soon as he had uttered this imputation on his own guild, realised the ludicroua lapsus Ungues of which he had been guilty, and with a confused expression of countenance resumed his search for assistance, leaving tbe gentle man to whom he had been speaking greatly amused. • •

University for Queensland.

At an influential meeting of gentlemen interested in the establishment of a Univer sity for this colony Sir: Charles LUley, Chief Justice, presided, and it,, was re* solved, on the motion of Sir Charles LUley, seconded by the-Hon. John Douglas— "That petition forms, be drafted ask ing Parliament to establish an .."Uni versity ; and that these forms bo sent to all ministers of religion, members of the medi cal, legal, and scholastic professions, muni cipal councils, divisional boards, and other public bodies throughout the colony, with a request to übe every, endeavour to, obtain . signatures." .'_)

THE AOCKLAWD EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 19, 1887.

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Indiqkstion.—The mala cause ot nervous ness ia inditfeßtipn, and that ia caused by weak ness of tne stomach- No one can have Bound nerves ana good health without using American Company's Hop Bitters to strengthen the stomach, purify the blood, and keep the liver' ana, MdneTß sotive, to carry off all the poiMnoui and watfe matter, the crnam: Be. .-