THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 7, 1887.

(SUPPLRVEENJT.J

MORNA DALE; OR, The Guardian's Forgery.

8 ,-SYLIMNUS COBB, Jr.

CHAPTER Xli

Rivers had been for almost $-otS years the leading- attorney and W~ ktfallingnainj and in the country. W' er, been the trusted attorney of Sir fle p a j e> a nd of Dr. Lawrence Dale. item °f leS al business' liacl either 8 £*r transacted in Cornwall tha* (.mina^ed for them. And since I ted do' ™ - ° 'ffilliam's departure for India, his Jonas Crandal, had looked to the . c 9 for all that he had required at - " dull. Arvi^y evening, from three to "" \:i subsequent to the disappearance 'ill Asiimore, a single oil lamp was 01 an o ld desk in one of the smaller ts oi tie Sll'te w'"cn nad _been •Ass ie *aw cnalll^ers ° the I^-^er Rivera ; and by the fitful * M lamp a man safe engaged in i deed from one of the largo T | which the dingy shelves of the ! "flsamamvho might have been forty: iUtto-ebeeiv? ft, y v° 110 thii?§\ hrv «bcertain; He had grown old before I*! In truth, he had seen not more j So-score years ; but his hair was thin *:' . his features were, pinched and I -hiseyes, gleaming behind a pair Stowed spectacles, were humid and lyshot- his form WfUS slu' imken aml ' t-'findwhen his thin, soiled hands began t lake so that his pen threatened to run ~■,,.. i e took a few swallows from a black , Jjfistoodon the ledge of the desk Davnley Werter. He had been j ta o f (rood blood ; and though much Sw than William Dale, he had yet Uf'ttofc gentleman's classmate and ftml in college. On graduating he had stied law i and just as he had been fitted to the roll of attorneys a fortune tf been left him, winch lie had felt •Wad to spend. At all events, he had rirta himself to that work, and a speedy Jjrkhehad made of it. His fortune gone, le lived while he could on credit; then he soil* Whelp-himself by gambling ; and ihe brought up in prison. From prison Sir William Dale, his old fefesmate,: set him free, and obtained forhima place in the employ of Mortimer Eiviri^Foraitime Mr Rivers, in the good jgs of his heirt, had been more like a We^ora father, to the poor unfortunate Hanlikea'master : but when, at length, he loaadall his kindness and'forbearance worse tlianthrown away,— when- he found that te drunkard:betrayed every confidence, id sold-every kindness, —took every dnntage within his reach to get his one nnngvant—^the one thing he told him sSkeMtild not live without—brandy !— ito the tiled and worried lawyer dis andaDthis, he was obliged to draw the fefettly; and keep the poor waif under

: MptEivers would not let him go. SHim earnest.lv besought that the '■■ DJasie man should be kept from the I jsfedthe work-house. He could not fflfe&thought that a classmate of his iraMbaan object of piiblic charity. M teides, Darnley Werter was worth, fcife busy 'attorney, all tlie rest of his ; (dlielpers put together—that is, when he re soberly himself. Not only was lie a jAnd and clear-headed jurist; but he •sqaick with his pen; always correct; s4»ben sober, as perfect a gentleman as Would wish to see.

And now, morally and physically on his Wejs,;poor Werter was employed by feofl lawyer's : many clients to make of papers to them of importance, Tlicb^had existence only in the folios of And as he wrote, on this chill, ■Mess evening, he was aroused by a cautious rap on the door communicating ™> tie onter jxissag-e and the main ofiVce. wiusfflysivallowecl" a goodly potion from m i black: bottle; then put the cork in W, then raised'the top of his desk, snd hid the treasure away within. Asa j*<i;rap:sounded, he called out, in a ™se, broken voice :. " Come in !" ' And a ™I|i sliadowy form j)resently appeared dingy backgi-ound of tlie door, *h the newcomer had noiselessly closed fcdhim. -. .•■ -• ;■' H

of the sliadowy form ] did wyetadvauce. He turned and felt for the S«ifhen he had found it, he shot the Woftlielock: Then he came forwanl,: MUieworker beheld the powerful form' ■JJ4 sinister face of Jonas Crandal. t^yP«>r Darnley, do they still keep you Jj^to, pinched face was raised,-and 17™, fairly blazed as they rested | tHe hard, full, dark features of the

.^orkbecauselamglad to get wbrk 2 Jonas Crandal, for what have you g!»a>»! What do you want?" The ,y ouie took-on strength, and there Reeling in the utterance. J'^l'arnley, I have come to give J« that shall, pay you well, more, I , w say,: than you could earn in t, !L at tllis drudgery over which you 4iX:o astin2;''>oui> time and y°m" 8 brought a bit of ■*mh me." And he drew from a fit P^efc of his coat a flask ■ that IT^aaqnavt.. ---\ f-v^' 8 Byes sparkled for a; mo fQ7f:3llicfcf''eager tremor shook his fire/died iiiit, and, with a %**?!¥'; settled back, and ex- v aP»Uatthe flask first, my dear TieJt 11'™ are shaky."' yC^ll'caught the flask its Sedjt ?■ the stopper—and ,ps>' Ifc was; a different c had drunk for: a long, 1?? 16 Martel brandy, as WirasnAfi °"'and sweet as nectar. * fitb it i Onihe Palate "no interfer hWsAb,r.eatll-scarcely any taste Hrfnl 4 ell?ht- "But its power was c P°°i- Mow had drank a Haiidv ;a"d fery soon he felt itn 1 enin 9 effe=t :in every ?:» li m^-: Hel^d become sud- Vi,i7jnan. The last tremor was of; glowing satisfaction Mty of fchouo-ht and feel s wits, and given >jCSj^ ■^ne^whatisifc? What do you 0^ else in any of the \, «the visitor, castinr/a glance t^Bo^ l Was the only man till ■"*«L^y other room is locked,

Grandal then opened the little swinging gate of the railing that shut the desk-room out from the front and main part of the omee, and passed in to Werter's side. Then he took from his bosom a large pocket-book, from which he drew forth,; a folded paper. He opened it carefully, .smoothing out the creases, and hnally spread it out Before »he clerk. • -•..•;.-,

"Werter look carefully—and tell me who wrote that name."

The old scrivener bent his gaze upon the page. It was a fair, blank sheet of fools cap, imperial, with a name written on the extreme lower margin in the right-hand corner, or near thereto

"Lawrence Dale wrote it," was the answer, promptly and confidentially given. J

\on are right, Darnley. Dr. Dale did truly write it, with his own hand and with Ins own pen. I might, if I chose, tell you that he gave it to me as a carte, blanche; that I might fill in the very instrument which L propose you may now write for me. 1 might tell you this with good grace, but you might not believe me ; and, further more, there is no need. It's enough for you to know that it is, truly and honestly, the old doctor's sign-manual, and that it is now my property." " la it honestly yours, Mr Crandal ?" " That is none of yoxu- business !"—with the worst show of temper that had as yot boon manifest; " and, if I wero to toll you you might shake your head. Enough" for you to know it is mine. And now 1 want you to make it of use to mo !"

The poor clerk looked up into his visitor's face with something like a shudder percep tible. Degraded ;v:d sunken as ho was, lie felt, the touch, and the confidenti.-ii speech of tlie man honoured and respected in .society, as contamination to him !

" Speak out! What is it yi..i. want written on this paper?" <l _'. ~Sn i^f1.1 *1!, "Ah! now you talk. Wait." He went and gofc a tall stool—a mate to that on which Werter sat and lifted his ponderous body upon it. Then he went on :

" You are knowing, Werter, to the ar rangement Doctor Dale made with me con cerning his estate and his business before he went away ?"

" Yes. I drew up the instrument of instructions which, I believe, you de manded."'

"1 asked for them, and he gave them to me in writing. Well, — hu forgot to give me any proper guardianship over his daughter. Never mind what arrangement we made under that head —enough to say, it does not satisfy me."

"Jonas Crandal!" exclaimed the clerk, his eyes now fairly .blazing,, and his wan sunken face aglow,—"you wane me to make for you a deed of guardianship over Morra Dale-to make you her legal parent in the eyes of the law—uiul to forge the name of Mortimer Rivers to the instru ment."

"My dear man," said .(.Vandal; with a smile that was horrible in its fiendish malevolence, " you have hit,it exactly." "I'll not do it ! -Never !, Never !." , " 0 ! yes, yon will." , > " Never !. It is too diabolic !"' ~ "Pshaw! You'll doit, Werter. Dyu't make a fool of yourself."

"I tell you, man!—fiend !—demon !--I will not do it! That girl is an angel. 0!, think of it, you man of cruel heart.! When I was sick, nigh unto death, she nursed we. Aye,—had I been her own'brother, she could not have been more kind. She found me in the forest, senseless—benumbed —"

" Drunk ! you mean, poor Werter. Pshaw ! I don't want to bear about that. Let us come to business. I .mnst have this tiling written, and finished, arid cany it home with me to-night." The poor wretch shrank as from a heavy, cruel blow ; and still shook his head in re fusal. Then Crandal drew forth his pocket book once more, and tapped it signifi cantly.

" Werter ! yoxi have not. forgotten what I have safely laid in here. Don't be a fool. Don't force me after\«o long a time, to bring this thing to light." For a brief space the quivering wretch cowered and shrank; but presently lie started up. "No ! villain. I defy you. Sir William is dead. He cannot appear against me !" Jonas Crandal laughed -a bitter, wicked laugh. ''"Poor fool ! Idiot! Sir William in dead. Were he alive, he night save you; but How, he cannot. Don't you know that I am the agent who must settle his estate ? Think of it, my dear Werter. 1 find a forged cheque—aye, a cheque which I my self cashed, as the agent of him whose name it bore. What becomes my duty V Poor Werter ! Think of it." :.!

The.wretched man collapsed. He saw it plainly. Oh ! 'liow well he remembered that season of dark and dread despair, when, in a moment of frenzy, he had forged the name of his best and truest friend. As Crandal had said, he had taken up tjie paper. He had by accident discovered its exislen.ee, and had paid it, and put it into Ids pocket, that he might have a slave in the office of .the most popular attorney in Cornwall. What could he do I Should he refuse to grant the man's request to ac cede to his demand that forged paper would be made public, and he end his days in bitter disgrace, transported away from the land of Ins birth to live the rest of his brief,, ■ bitter life among . outcasts, and pariahs, and among them—die ! . • ■' Here, my 'dear fellow, take another pull at this. It will set you up." The quivering wretch needed no second invitation. That which he had before drunk had been all used up in his excitement, and he felt the need of it painfully. He drank heavily—drank until Crandal drew the flask from his lips, and very soon-he was once more steady, and more than half his resolution was gone. The end could not now be doubtful. When Jonas saw that the last draught had produced its effect, he drew from his pocket book another paper, and spread it open on the desk. It was a draft which he had made of the instrument he" would have /written upon the paper bearing Lawrence Dale's signature. Werter read jt.carefully through , read some portions of it a. second time, and in the end he said: . ■ ■ : . "Crandal, you found a,legal form and coined it; This is not your composition." " You are right," nodded fche visitor, with a smile ; I found it in a Book of Legal Forms in the Abbey library., I have .supplied the names ; you can altar, or amend, where you think it necessary. You know exactly what I want.",- ; . ■ = •• ; ■ • Darnley Werter looked upon the two papers before hjm for a little time,, and then raised his.eye.s to the face of his com panion, -;. " You have told me what you .want me to do for you. Now, what dp you propose to do in return for me ?" . ■ ; ' " Werter !" with not more than two seconds of pause, " when yon have given into my hands the instrument making me letral Guardian of MprnaDalo -And I swear to you I mean her no harm. I wouldn t do her an injury for the world. When you have given that into my hands, I will give you one hundred pounds You shall have it in gold or Bank of England notes as you shall prefer. Surely you would not ask for "The clerk toyed with his pen a few moments, his face wearing the marks of c;i must thought. By and -by "he answered.

" That is money enough. Will you give me: that cheque you have in your pocket book in addition ?"

Crandal started. He had not thought of that.

"Really, Werter, that is asking too much."

•'All right," responded the scribe with a dogged ring in his voice which spoke volumes. "If the deed you crave is not worth to you the paltry piece of paper you hold, the only value of which is that it proves that I once did a criminal act if it is not worth that scrap of paper, you cannot want it badly."

" Eh ! Do you mean that for a threat f

"Take it as you will, Jonas Crandal; and give it to me if you will. All is, if you give to me the hundred pounds and the check, I will make out the deed of guard ianship." " And if I do not ?"

" I touch not a peri to your paper."

" Werter ! are you willing to face tlie charge wnich I could bring against you ?" " Yes ; and I will face it, if you say the word. And once before the court, 1 will tell the whole story of this night's tran saction. Do you think people will not believe me ? By the heavens above us, Jonas Crandal ! I think the people will believe me more wi.'ingly than they will you. Do you know Let me whisper : Who carried Ralph Anhmore off? Oho ! you quail ! Know you, man—people are whispering even now. Ido not believe you would find it healthy to drag me before a court of justice."

The arch plotter turned pale, and trembled at every joint. A little time so, then he shook himself resolutely and tried to laugh.

" Werter, you have had your turn, but your breath has been wasted. I had in tended to give you the cheque from the first, but 1 hail hoped that I might have the privilege of making it a froo gift. How ever, it does not matter. I take no offence. Tlie cheque shall be yours, with tlie money as soon as the deed is complete.''

The clevk knew that the man lied when he said he had. planned to give him the cheque, but it would not pay to accuse him of it. He obtained a solemn promise that the old paper should be given into his hand as soon as the required deed was com plete, and shortly thereafter he went at work. He took a swallow from the flask, then mended two or three quill pens, then .■mother draught, heavier than the last — and he was ready for work.

He procured from an old lile an instru ment of guardianship, whore a guardian had been appointed under circumstances exactly like those which Mr Crandal would fabricate--a deed in Mr Rivera's own hand. And this lie copied upon the paper which had boon given him by his Satanic employer —copied it word for word, saying only tho change of names, of locality, and a few items of a. per.-onal nature and of little im port. He had so nicely calculated the writing, as to space, that when the last word of tlie body of the instrument had been set down, the margin of the signature was exact.

One more swallow of brandy, and he pre pared to forget the signature of Mortimer Rivers. A mistake here would be fatal. He balanced his pen over the paper its nib well worn—and dashed it oil.

"Bravo!" cried Crandal, when ho had: seen. " The old man himself could not have beaten that !"., : : :

It was a perfect fac-simile of tho old attorney's signature. Werter added his own name as a witness, then atlixed .the seals, with tho stamp of Rivers's own crest, and the deed was done.

Jonas Crandal gave to the clerk one hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, together with the forged cheque which he had held so long : and shortly thereafter he was crawling out by a rear postern into the darkness of midnight. In' the attorney's office, at his desk, ,sat the worn and shattered clerk, looking at the memento of a former crime which had been,so long held over his head, a source of terror and alarm. He had won it from his enemy at length ; but ah ! what might be the outcome of the new crime the com mission of which had given it to him ?

(To be continved.)

A NEW OPERA.

Impressions of the First Productions

of "Proserpine."

" P-KOSEKPI.VE;" the new opera by Saint Saens, which was produced at the Opera Comiqne. in Paris, does not appear to have been altogether successful, though the music is excellent from a strictly artistic standpoint. The story of the libretto is not .mythological, as might be imagined, but is founded on a poem by M. Augustc Vacquerie, published ten years ago. The.; Proserpine of M. Vacquerie is a courtesan of medieval Italy. Renzo has a sister .named. Angeolo, whom Sabitano wants to wed, but Renzo will," not permit the marriage .until' he is assured tliat Sabitano is no longer in the toils of Proserpine. Proserpine determined to he revenged, and at last finds Sabitano and Angeolo. singing a'love duet, when she rushes out from behind the hangings and.' stabs the latter. She is herself .stabbed by Sabitano, and iii her death struggle forgives him. The two iirst acts are described as con taining" an admirable love-song from one of the..admirers of Proserpine, a, stirring bacchanalian song and a beautiful duet between Sabitano and Angeolo. Most of the critics assert that the melody in the, latter portions of the,,opera is almost im palpable, and that M. Saint Saens has, in imitation of VVagnc. loaded his work down with wearisome recitations. The conclusion of the story is certainly gloomy enough: to have even served the purpose of Shake speare himself. ; < •. ■■ .n!

UNKNOWN

Lord Zioosdale Partlas* with some Treasures to a Rothschild

Lord Lunsdale lias sold several of his finest pictures to Alfred Rothschild, includ ing very choice examples of Boucher, GreiTze.. Watteau, . G-ainesborough and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Tho Lowther gallery was principally formed by the second Earl of Lonsdale, Eskdale of Coningsby, and. Tancr'ed, who also got together a splendid collection of. Seyres china. He once made a big bid bo King Geoi'ge IV for the famous dessert service of Louies XVI of France, most of which is now in the private apartments at Windsor, and it would have gone to Lowther Castle but for the interference of the Duke of Wel lengton, who' told his Majesty that it could notbe Hold,as it belonged to the Crown. The king took out his wrath by using the ser vice for his daily meals, which, of course, could nob be prevented. While it was thus being knocked about at Carl ton House and at the cottage in Windsor Park pieces to the value of .">(),OOOdol. word broken or

stolen

HUSBAND-GRABBING AND WIFE-RIGHT.

The Latest Sociological Development

The Legislature of Indiana lias at presenb before it a very remarkable bill, which is notable as an attempt to bring the law into harmony with the moral sense of the

community. It is a bill for tho legalisation of wilful murder under certain circum stances'. It declares that whenever the seducer of a woman is slain either by her father, her husband, or her brother, the homicide shall be regarded simply as a misdemeanor, or be punishable only by a tine witltout imprisonment. " Seduction " in Indiana, of course, we take to mean seduction in the worst sense of the term

—fcliab is, seduction followed by deser tion and disgrace, seduction accomplished. by fraud or force. It would be absurd to make it apply to cases where fcwo adults voluntarily enter into relations which may be described as a marriage without legal or religious sanction. This legalisation of private vengeance, which strikes many as retrograde, is in reality a natural and healthy reaction against the abominable iiulillerence with which society lias acquiesced in the ruin of women as part of the natural and necessary amuse ment of man. To make seduction a capi tal offence would be loss efficacious. The woman whose life has been blighted would seldom face the ordeal of a public trial, and the more relined tho victim the less chance of the criminal being brought to justice. The Indiana proposal has at any rate a fine old Hebraic flavour about it, recalling the avenger of blood and cities of refuge, and we should not be much .-surprised if it wore placed on the Statute book of the State.

Thoi'c is n story told of an OKoollont Methodist preacher in Georgia, whoso .sister was ruined by a scoundrel In another part of the State. Out- good Methodist shouldered a shotgun, saddled his horse, rode 230 miles through the woods, shot the seducer dead at sight, and then rode back, hoik.1 daring to do him harm, returning in time to take his usual place in the pulpit on Sunday. He was never interfered with qither by the sheriff or by his ecclesiastical mincrioi'd. His conduct wns regarded not only ;is natural, but as in the highosb degree public-spirited and praiseworthy. The lending ease in America, however, is that of General Sickles, who deliberately shot his wife's paramour through the hoad in the public -treat at Washington and escaped scot free. The paramour, Barton Key. was the son of the man who wrote The Star Spangled Banner. Public opinion sided will) Sickles, threy lawyers defended him, the jury acquitted him, and lie was after wards sent as Minister of the United States to Madrid. In this country there' is less respect paid to the irregular executioner of natural 'justice: Wo doubt whether, if Mr Crawford had shot Sir diaries Dilke dead at tlio door of tho Reform 'Club, any jury in London would have refused to return a ver dict of wilful murder. U, however, the co-respondent had boon surprised at Warren-street his summary extinction would probably have boon followed by an acquittal. In Ireland, where the light of. private vengeance is recognised more widely than in the United Kingdom, the man who slew the seducer would come under ; the same comprehen sive unwritten law which extends an amnesty to the landlord-slayer and moon light murderer. There were few who did not approve of the assassination of Lord Leitrhn, and there is a very widespread feeling of disgust that others have not shared his fate. Archbishops, Bishops, and even the law officers of the Gx'own and Cabinet Ministers have not hesitated to declare that any landlord or agent who abused his position in order to corrupt the wives and daughters of his tenants ought to be shot ; lint probably if the just sen tence wore executed, the avenger would be hunted down by the public prosecutor. One consolation, however, would be af forded him. No Irish jury would ever condemn the hero who risked his neck to save the countryside from a monster. A much more remarkable sociological de velopment, and one that is much less defensible, is the theory that husband - grabbers may be killed as legitimately as seducers. A husband-grabber, it should be explained, is a woman who marries a man who has previously had children by another woman, without having the con sent of his deserted mistress. A very remarkable case tried in France last week shows a tendency to regard husband grabbing as' a capital offence. An officer in the French army, after living for several years with a mistress by whom he had three children, deserted'her and married another. He made his cast-off mistress an allowance, which after some scenes he ultimately stopped.' The discarded one, savage with jealousy 'and suffering from actual destitution, sent her 12-year-old' son with a revolver to kill the woman who had taken her mothers place. He tramped to town and arrived in rags with bleeding feet at his father's house. His father received him kindly, fed him and clothed him'.1 The boy waited his opportunity and fired shot after shot into his father's wife. He wounded her seriously, but not fatally. On his arrest his mother wrote : " He has not killed her. That'l regret. He has tried to do his duty. I give him my bless ing. I demand to share in the punish ment for the vengeance which I devised." They were tried for attempted murder. The facts were clear. Neither mother nor son attempted' to disguise, their guilt. But the jury acquitted them unanimously. The reason is obvious. in the eyes of the jurors a husband-grabber has no rights. She is as. a land-grabber in Ireland an outlaw — hoiitit humani -generic,' whose re moval by her evicted predecessor is no crime: The analogy is very close between the ethics of husband-grabbing and land grabbing.: The deserted mistress and . the evicted lenant,have ,been far.more cruelly wronged by the faithless husband and the. ruthless landlord than. by the' new wife or the new tenant, buti it is against the latter, not against the former,that vengeance is usually directed. A dumb instinct guides them in both cases, and the net result of their action may possibly be the legal recognition of rights which are at ■present but unreclressed wrongs. Without going the length of the French doctrine, that the husband-grabber may be sliot at sight, it is obvious that im mense good would result from the es tablishment of the ( doctrine of wife-right. At present husband-grabbing goes on all round to the complete ignoring of the prior wife right vested in the first mistresses of the .eligible bride grooms. If women could but be got to boycott the husband-grabber they would considerably improve the position of their sex. In some rare cases women are sufficiently public-spirited to recognise the doctrine of wife-right in other than their own persons; but the cases are few in which a woman would refuse a good match because her suitor had already conferred upon another woman the responsibilities of bearing his children. One remarkable case recently came before us. An Anglo-Indian civilian in Burmah recently came home married, and returned with his bride to his : duties in Burmah. One day a Burmese

lady called at the office, "Who is she ?"' inquired Mrs— of her attendant. "0h,.:-, that was master's Burmese wife." Mrs —— ■••' packed up her boxes, and when her husband' '' returned,' she said, " How dare you marry- . mo when you have already a woman. who is morally your wife ? I leave by the next mail !" And leave she did, dis- J playing a resolution that throws the famous. •■ repudiation of land-grabbing by Murty Hynes far into the shade. Many devices have been tried for improving the morals of society, but hitherto they have mot with, : but indifferent success. Perhaps the culti-. vntion .of a healthy detestation of husband.-' ■■ grabbing and husband-grabbers might con tribute materially to the good work Wives at present alone have rights. They- < are like Irish leaseholders. Mistresses are like tenants at will. But even ten ants at will have now tenant right, and if husband-grabbing becomes unpopu lar, w'io knows but some matrimonial Mr Gladstone will arise who will confer upon, tenants at will the full measure of that . security which at present is the exclusive privilege of tho holder of a contract under seal?—"PallMall Gazette."

The Popular Modern Nove.

NoTirrso typifies an ago like the literature '

of the period. Smolletfc and'lTioldirig give ns an excellent insight into tho modes and tastes of the Eighteenth Century, and in ; like manner the novel of to-day is supposed to reflect the Nineteenth Century. We ; have read a good many of those wovks Lately, and the following1 may bo taken as a '■■ fair abstract of the style and matter of the majority."—" Moonshine." Chapters I to G Daisy Buttercup is a young, impassioned, ! country maiden, " meditating free." Shu lives with her widowed mother, who in only forty, and young at that. Daisy reads.. Onida and Daudet, both having been pre viously well-thumbed by the mother. Chapters G to 11. Daisy has an indefinable longing to visit j London. She buys a penny society paper,'• and feels sure that amid the gilded domes of the metropolis she will (md her fate in the shape of a young lord. She waltzes > well. Has not the squire told her so '! About this time a mysterious stranger, of magnificent proportions and piercing eye, ' appears on the scene—it is her fate. Chapters 12 to 18. Ib U difficult to know whether the inys terious stranger, whoso name is Mr Bar Sinister, is attracted most by the wid&w or., her daughter. Wo look in at two humble i London homes one in iJermondsey, tho > other at llighgate, and hco his two wives,, and families, each ignorant of the other's ; existence—and there wo find a clue to the puzzle. Mr Bar Sinister will marry both* ■ widow and daughter. Chapters IS to 21. The son of the old Squire, who has been' "plucked" at the University because he; had read ton hard, now turns up. He has applied for a commission in the 609 th, and it as brave as a lion, yet the examina tion— ah '.ho dare not face that ; but Mr . Bar Sinister agrees for a consideration to ■uq • him through. The consideration is ten-' game.-; of a hundred up per diem, at a i guinea per game. Chapters 9,1 to 24. i While this nefarious scheme is in full blast Bar Sinister* two wives die—one in , Berrnondsey Workhouse, the other in St. :, Luke's Madhouse, whither she has been , transferred by an order of a magistrate, ; wlio has once been in a workhouse himself, and, knowing what it means, has compassion .. on the woman. Mrs Buttercup, Daisy's mother, comes up to London on a day Ex hibition, and casually drops in at St. Luke's . Madhouse, which nor grandfather had , supplied with bread before the German in vasion began. She hears the dying ravings of Mr Bar Minister's second wife. She falls in a fit, and is taken to a police station for j being drunk and disorderly. Chapters 2-1 to 27, *"" .' . Upon being released she finds the excUf-" .. sion hiis returned without her. What shall she do ? Penniless and alone in the great '. metropolis—if she only possessed the money \ to stnrt a potato can she might support nature until better days dawned. Alas ! there is no such luck. She sinks fainting on London Uridgo—too faint to climb the . parapet and cast herself and her woes into oblivion, and is taken to Bermondsey Work- [ house, where she finds herself next bed to Mrs Bar, Sinister No. 1. Chapters 27 to ilO. This gives her renewed strength, and she walks 217 miles to her home in the old • country village in 24 hours, thus beating ' record time. She arrives at a supreme' moment. The Squire's son has gambled away his patrimony, and Bar Sinister has1 just wagered £5,000 on his making an ■"■ easy losing hazard. Jnst as he lifts the ( cue and all hold their breath for the decisive stroke Mrs Buttercup enters, and shrieks. ( out the names of Annabel and Sarah. ■.* They are the names of his two deserted;.* wives. The' cue drops from his nerveless ; grasp, but he'has ripped \up the cloth, and the young Squiro falls down on his knees in a corner and puts back tno re- : volver with -which lie intended to end the ; game into his jjreafc coat pocket for a fntum ; opportunity. Chapters 30 to . C 3. Mrs Buttercup and the Squire's son, hay- ; ing seen Bar Sinister carefully conveyed to \ the asylum, now proceed to ' Buttercup ■ Cottage. She is informed on the way of the young man's eternal devotion to Daisy,- ' and that bhat young lady reciprocates his x affection, but he made it a condition that ■ her mamma's consent is first obtained. .The door of Buttercup Cottage is open ; the ' rooms are empty cleaned out. The local pantechnicon man informs them that Daisy has removed to London with the gardener from the rectory, who has loft behind him ,', a wife and fourteen children. ',» Chapters 33 t» 36 Bar Sinister is. discharged from the ■ asylum cured. Daisy has been deserted by' ; the gardener, and both apply to the Bow- ' street magistrate for relief out of the poor I box. The gardener's wife and her children » and Bar> Sinister* children by his two \ wives all apply for relief at the same I moment, and the magistrate asks for pro- ' tection, as this is beyond him. Chapters 3(5 to 40. Bar Sinister marries Daisy, who still keeps up her dancing and goes on the , Frivolity stage. The gardener joins the stall' of the' Kow Conservatory and is never seen again. Mrs Buttercup becomes the bride of an elderly bishop, and observes that the union is somewhat incon gruous, but it all comes about through the influence of the comic operas. The Squire's , son inherits his fathers estates and dies a billiard marker. The author apologises for .-' everybody, and the reader closes the book and tells her friends that it is quite_ too - utterly sweet, which causes a run for it at the libraries. This is what we have coma to absolutely, let anyone deny it who can. I li Moonshine."