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iCHRISTMAS STORIESI FOR 1882*
CHRISTMAS STORIES I FOR 1882* (BY OUR STAFF.) .1 TT THE HAUNTED HOUSE. A- PEN Y DARK AN PUDDLER'S GHOST STORY. BY OWAIN GLYNDWIl CHAPTER 1. Every Horror in it had a Grace." JOHN CBOWNH The Ambitious Statesman, 1679. There are plenty still living who remember Peny- Jarran in all its glory. Penydarran is a hamlet situate almost midway between Merthyr, the Iron Metropolis of Wales—so called because they do not hake iron there—and Dowlais, the town, or rather 'o use an old statutory phrase, the "village and C, ihapelry," where are situate the great works of the Dowlais Iron Company, so styled because they trade in nothing but steel and the raising of coal. In its palmy days Merthyr shot forth houses which ran up and down the valleys, converging upon the central head like the arms of an octopus or the "rays" of a cracked pane. Dowlais, again, pro- gressed in like manner, but we might appropri- ately vary the simile here, and say that the stream of house-building at its either extremity dribbled over like lava from a yeasty cauldron of lire and smoke. At the southern end of Dowlais the stream had 'grown longest, so long, in fact, that it almost touched one of the most considerable of the branches radiating from Merthvr. And then, dropped like a great plug between the two, was Penydarran, flourishing bravely in the days of which I am speaking; its furnaces aglow, its shops busy, its public-houses filled with sounds of revelry by night, and its inhabitants wearing an air of comfortable, thriving prosperity. In those days The Big House" to your left as You ascend the hill was the abode of successive magnates-Forman, Thompson, and others, whose names you might once have conjured with, but who are now—where ? Lingering in the memo- ries of but a few, or stalking bodiless, perhaps, along the aisles (we used to call them races") of the deserted forges opposite. Ah me! I made the tour of those works hardly more than a year ago. and the pilgrimage cost me a long and bitter heartache. A desolation like that ^of Balclutha had fallen upon them. I peered through the barred window of a great deserted blacksmith's shop, and there were the ponderous hammers—disposed saltier-wise and dust-covered upon the anvils, some of them—the chisels, pliers, everything lying in the positions in which they had been thrown down just as the "knock-off" bell had sounded on the memorable last Saturday that the men had worked. Monday morning was to have seen these implements ringing merrily as of yore, but Monday saw closed doors and bankruptcy and ruin, a general striking of tents, and a blight upon local prospects, which still hangs heavily upon them. There was moss amidst the firebrick of the furnaces, rooks had made nests in those great pyramids from which had once ascended the roar t and rumble of a fire that, it was fondly predicted, t would never go out. The once brightly-gleaming piston-rod was covered with rust an inch thick someone had housed his carriage right underneath the huge steam hammer, whose descent would have smashed it into matchwood; there were horses grazing between the rails of the once Swiftly running cinder incline, and the bank which the tread of a thousand feet had worn a perfect level was planted with potatoes and pig-styes. My guide pointed out to me a proud inscription over the great central transept, amidst long avenues of furnaces. Its reading made me sick. Change it," said I," for 'Ichabod'—the glory hath departed." The works are situate in a hollow, something in lehape like an archer's bow. If you were to make yourself a diagram of this weapon the high road connecting Merthyr and Dowlais would be repre- sented by the string. Look down the space between this and the wood and there would be the orks. The back of the bow trends away into masses of rubbish and earth, which would make very respectable hills. At the foot of these, built without the slightest reference to order tor effect, was at the time of which I am writing -and is now for that matter, only great numbers 'at its houses are tenanties*, roofless, and tumbling into decay-quite a little hamlet, of which the dwellers were, as a matter of course, almost to a man employed at the adjacent works. ••j They were glorious times those of which I am speaking. A contract at Penydarran was synony. mous with a fortune-to a man who knew how to -take care of his money, which very few in those 'days did. Was it not then that Twm Jackie Isaac boasted that he had at home a tramful of bills drawn upon the company, and that Will Harri Shon used to carry five pound notes loose in his coat pocket, and light his pipe with them out oi bravado? The tradesmen who used to discount 'these bills-which they did after a manner that 'would have shamed the biggest knave of a Jew you ever had any dealings with—grew rich at such a rate that the heads of very many of them were fairly turned by the process. Of these I can very well remember one dying in the workhouse, who, in the height of the season, got money so fast that he found it impossible to keep pace with his squanderings, till at last he hit upon the some- what novel expedient of giving away three six- pences for a shilling to every man, woman, and child who visited his shop on a Saturday night. His conduct in after years was made a bye-word, so that whenever an inhabitant managed to do a sillier thing than his neighbours, it used to be said of him that he was affected by Gimpert's madness; Gimpert, or something very like it, being the name of this spendthrift idiot. Intend- ing members of the Folk Lore Society would do well to make a note of this, as it is a true account «f the origin of a local saying which is sure to be distorted into goodness only knows what con- jectural shape as the years roll on and con- temporary historians shuffle off their coils of mortality. '1 It is necessary that you should understand these things, because it was just when they were all on in full swing that there came to live at Penyard, as the little hamlet at the back of Penydarran Works was called, a young fellow, who had only just finished that agricultural training supposed to be indispensable to the career of young men of spirit, and which is commonly designated the sow- ing of wild oats. My hero was a dashing fellow-five feet nine in his stockings, if you care to be exact—dark-complexioned, fiery-eyed, hot- brained, broad-chested, agile, and rollicking withal. -Articled to a calling which was altogether too ftlowfor him, he threw it up and ran away to sea. After a scamper over half the habitable globe lie turned his steps towards home and found it Ported, his parents buried, and, what many a ..voung scamp would probably deem a worse calamity, the paternal estate gone to the dogs, or to the lawyers, which is much the same thing. After the prevailing fashion, he piped his eye, ^ore mourning for the regulation period, and then threw his coat off and set to work. Being by no means a proud chap—the sea having taken all the stiffening out of him—he took the first thing to hand at Cyfarthfa, where he graduated in the skilful and, at that time, lucrative profession of puddling. Before he had passed his final exami- nation, like many another young fool, ho got married, and thus for a tima at least materially damage his prospects. I knew him and his wife well-an admirably smart couple, I assure you. Family responsibilities caused his removal before he was yet, so to speak, .ut of his apprenticeship, to Penydarran, where second hands," such he, Were better paid than at Cyfarthfa. The house they took was shared by the mother- in-law, a strong-minded, sensible woman-in many respects, and please remember these words- Whose advice and help were invaluable to the young couple at their start in life. The only weak side to the character of these two-may I call them yes, I think I win-ladies was a deep-rooted belief in witches, corpse candles, death warnings, and every other kind of thing which the rest of this awfully-knowing, wide-awake, sceptical world would deem superstitious. And amongst the same "rest" you may reckon the male head of that family, which is all the more strange to me when I think of his up-bringing and his lengthened sojourn amongst sailors and others who go down to the sea in ships, and who are believers by pro- fession in every the most exaggerated tale of "wonder—from the favourable gales which they buy of Lapland witches to the Corposant, or Light of fit. Anselm. I Had they advertised for a dwelling-place with ( "Which strange memories and mysterious were lettable with the usual belongings this family I "«ould not have been better suited. In a kind of tbftfQ dose by, a decade cr so previously, ] Mog the Miser was, one fine morning, I found hanging from a rafter with hi." knees on the floor, and a bag of mildewed guineas clutched so tightly in his hand that they scissorsed away some of the flesh of his thumb in trying to get it loose. The rope was too ridiculously long for the work, but Diabolus, said the neighbours, had appeared to the wretch just as lie was on the point of regretting his rash act, and forced him back at the point of a hay-fork—back, back, back, until the running noose had tightened, and the work of strangulation was complete. Mog having been an inveterate night-walker whilst in the flesh, it was not to be expected that he would im- prove when out of it. Indeed, being no longer hampered with the cumbrous appendage of a corporal body, it might be taken for granted that Mog in the spirit became doubly active. Hence it WilS that the slumbers of the ladies of the house at Penyard were interrupted nightly by all sorts of unearthly noises. Once^aid the wife to me—and what I am telling you is all fact, the incidents having been related to me at first hand-she and her mother, whilst lying abed awake (when the husband worked nights, which was every other week, thsy slept together for company"), talking ovsrvarious matters, as women only know how, they were startled by a tremendous rocking of the whole house, just as though an earthquake were taking place. A moment's perfect peace succeeded, and down came the kitchen dresser, with a crash which made the rafters ring again. Merciful Father!" cried the younger of the two women, her domestic instinct overcoming her fright, "there's the beautiful dinner set David bought me only on Saturday last gone all to hope- less smash!" Hush, girl!" replied her mother, in a solemn, awe-struck voice, like that of a prophetess just going off into a trance. We shall hear more directly." Another interval of blood-curdling silence suc- ceeded, and then such a rumpus surely as never was heard in decent dwelling-house at one in the morning. It was as though all the imps of Pandemonia were playing leap-frog, with pattering hoofs of horn, upon the hard stone floor. Mother," broke in the younger woman at length I can't stand thi- They are trundling my new wash-tub all over the house. I must get at it or it'll be too leaky for anything when I want it for use in the morning." And before the elder woman could remonstrate the younger was making way for tin kitchen with a lighted candle in her hand, pale and determined, and otherwise looking very much like Jane Shore, only, I am sure, much more beautiful. Jane w ould have given her best pearl necklace for the trailing tresses of that simple Welsh girl, could she but have seen them as they now were, playing about her night-robe like a cloud of sable across a stretch of sea-spray. She would, I am certain, have mor- tally envied her those deep blue eyes-unusual with raven hair—and the dazzling teeth, and the peach bloom upon her cheeks, and, more than all else a thousand times told, the purity that had never known spot and the fame white as virgin snow. When she reached the kitchen, and by supreme effort of will had steadied the trembling light which she carried, the young wife discerned between the dancing shadows her favourite dresser undisturbed, and the bright clean ware ranked as she had left it, not a piece having moved a hair's breadth from its old position. The tub also, so far from showing signs of mad revolutions over the flagstones, appeared more than usually sleepy. It literally yawned in its corner, disclosing as it did so an interior crammed with clothing placidly awaiting the wash of the morrow. CHAPTER II. The Dead Lazy March in the Funeral!" WEBSTER The Devil's Law CaM. It was Christmas Eve; a bitter night, on which the wind whistled shrilly and long between whiloa. They were a happy circle seated round a blazing coal fire. Song and jest and tale passed cheerily until it had become the turn of about the oldest among them to add his pile to the budget. He was for putting them off. Jest he had indulged in sing he could not; story, like the razor-grinder, he had none to tell. Most of them, however, knew better. What time he chose no one could be more effective, whether with lively anecdote or serious- narrative. The talk had been about spirit-seeing and forewarnings ot death, all of which he protested against as illusory. Now, don't say that, David," said his wife, aged since I introduced her to the reader, but vivacious and good-looking still. You've experienced such things yourself, and how can you keep on telling people you don't believe in them." There you go again," he observed, with a half- amused smile. On the old hobby, Mary. I was a fool to say anything about that business at Pen- yard. I shall never hear the last of it, I think." "You couldn't help yourself, could you now ?" she asked laughingly. "You wera so terribly frightened that you were obliged to divulge just to relieve your feelings. Now do, like a good old man, tell the company all about it, for they have never heard it before if I have." Hear, hear I" broke from the company, and sundry hand-clappings simultaneously. There was no resisting this appeal. Indeed, less would have done to bring out a man like David," with the story-telling instinct strong upon him. And so he began-much as I have begun in the previous chapter. I do not, however, intend going over the same ground twice, and so I shall bring you at once to about the middle of his story, which, as near as I can remember, he narrated after the fashion following:— Yes. my boys"-a Welshman will thus some- times jocularly address a company, even though it were composed entirely of girls—" you know now how our Mary got frightened." "I wasn't frightened, David," said Mary half angrily. I did what you would not have done. 1-" "There, there," said her husband slyly, "it is quite right of you to put the best face on it before the company. However, as I was saying, Mary got frightened -11 David!" interrupted his wife. He, however, went son quite callously: Mary was frightened, terribly frightened, but I only laughed at her, and assured her that if ever the chance happened to me I would get at the bottom of the affair, no matter how many spirits had a finger in the pie. Well, a time came when my pluck was put to the test. I had heard so often of the house being haunted that I got into a rather peculiar state of mind over the matter. I didn't like to believe the stories Mary and her mother told me because I thought it would have been childish; and when I found the women both angry because I remained in unbelief, I gave way a little, and said the things they described were certainly odd. So that at last I got into a nasty kind of fix. I had never heard or seen anything myself to con- vince me of the reality of ghosts and ghostly doings, although I knew Jackey Isaac was ready 11 y any day to make oath before old Mr. Bruce that-he bad been carried' by a ghost a great many times --the ghost, of a fellow whom he killed in fair light, and whose name I now forget. "I "One night, however,something happened which gave me a tremendous shock. I had come home from work, given myself a wash, and was sitting by the nice bright fire enjoying the lovely little supper Mary had made up for me, when here comes up to the door such a clattering of hoofs and a rattling of chains as I had never heard. It was about twelve o'clock at night, all the neigh- bours had been hours in bod, and there was not a sound to be heard anywhere save the roll and the hum of the works in the hollow. What could this confounded THING want at our door ? I wondered I would go out and see, anyhow; and I rose from my chair to go, although I must tell you I didn't at all feel easy. I got to the door, opened it cautiously, and peered out. The night was rather a cloudy one, but I could see fairly well for a goodish dis- tance along the road and opposite me. In the field which our house overlooked was old Jack the Rag- man's donkey grazing quietly and thoughtfully, but beyond that there was nothing iu the world to be seen. I went back to the house anything but satis fied with myself or the investigation I had made. I sat down to my supper thinking, thinking, think- ing, when here came the same confounded noise again. Right opposite our door it ceased as before, but this time not only were there hoofs and chains in the business, but there arose upon the night air a low, gurgling sound, something between a wail and a moan, as of a creature in mortal pain. My hair fairly stood on end, and a cold sweat broke out all over me. When the first rush of fright was over I pulled myself together, and swore by all the saints in heaven And all the fiends in the other place, very likely," added I—who knew his fiery temper -by way of comment. "Now, just you hold your tongue, young man, responded the story-teller. "You know a great deal too much, you do." Order, order!" with one voice said the com- pany. Go on, sir," said I pleasantly. It isn't nice, I know, to be told one's faults before all the world." "Well," he proceeded, "as I was saying, I swort I in oath that I would clear up that business come I what might. I made a dash this time for the door, and just fifty yards above me in the roadway I I could see two black objects jogging along conten- tedly together in the direction of a well-known gap in the hedge of the field. I doubled after them' and came across—what do you think I did come across, now ?" Several guesses were made, none of which even approached the truth. Give it up ?' said the story-teller; very well then, what I came across was Jack the Ragman's donkey, trotting side by side with Twmmy Llandilo's great black Newfoundland dog, who had broken his chain, and was making for the field to enjoy a feast of dead horse. In my disgust at finding such a common-place solution of the mystery, I gave that donkey a kick which nearly sent him off his legs, and the dog a welt with a stone which drove him howling down the road like mad." We all laughed, but presently one of the ladies of the company-a seriously sentimental young thing, on whom the neighbours generally (and probably myself as well) believed I was spoons- exclaimed, But surely that is not your ghost story, Mr. Hawkins ?" That is one of them," he replied, making a dead pause, which provoked us all mightily. He was for making us believe that lie had nothing more to tull but it was so evident he was only quizzing ur that his wife, in her usual compassionate manner, felt compelled to come to our rescue. But it is not the story, David," she observed. What a tease you are," he remarked, I thought you would have let me off that. However, as you are determined to have it, here goes." You mjust know," he said, addressing the com- pany, that the little adventure I just told you of made mo a greater unbeliever than ever in ghosts of every kind. Fact was I grew reckless. I used to offer challenges to the whole of the kingdom of darkness at moments when I thought it was most likely they would be accepted. If there be a devil,' I remember once saying on my way home on a very dark night, let him come on, horns, t.iu, I a si. I know he won't. He's a coward. Pooh i is no devil; there can be no devil. The lady I told you of.was so horrified by this ex- pression of sentiment that she fainted rightoffinmy arms. Lucky I was near, wasn't it ? Hum-thinking over the matter since has led me to conclude that she wouldn't have fainted at all, only I happened to be so close that I could by no possibility have failed to catch her. But no matter, as the heavy tragedian of the Penny Gaff Royal would say. Let 118 go on. "In the same manner," continued the story- teller, 11 1 invoked in turns witches, ghosts, goblins, Bendith y Mamman (fairies), Cwn Wybr (Dogs of Air;, and all the genie of the Arabian Nights to appear, some of them, and prove their existence to me. None ever came, and I concluded they were all and severally afraid of me." The sentimental fair one sighed heavily. Calm yourself, sweetest," said I, softly. For your sake, I will," she murmured, pursing her mouth so that the tone of her voice resembled the coo of a turtle dove. Her head sank grace- fully upon my shoulder, but the rather too much hair she had on got over my mouth and into it, nearly choking me. I bore the infliction bravely 'Twere better sure to die so, than be shut With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt," thought I, or something to the same effect. Well," said the story-teller, who had a great knack of beginning "well," "I got home one night after a very light turn, and sat down by the fire to toast my toes a bit before going to bed. It wat a keen winter night, and leaving the hot forge for the cold air on a sudden naturally chilled a fellow. Within less than a minute after I entered the house there came a rap at the door, then another, and then a thair which made the old house rattle again. I got up to open it. There wasn't a soul there. I put my head out. Everything was perfectly still. "I Oh,' thought I, it's those confounded chums of mine up to their games again.' "I had just parted company with a lot of my companions on the night turn, who led me to believe they had all gone home. However, here they were with their pranks, and the sooner I got them to drop it the better. I lay in wait for them behind the door, feeling sure they would pay me another visit, and determined that the very first fellow I caught should have a sound kicking. By. and-bye here they came, sure enough, but, good heavens! a greater troop than I had left them, many times over. They were quite a crowd who passed my door and stopped just beyond it, and it must have been the last man of them who gave the very same knocks that I had heard before. The latch being held lifted in my hand, I opened the door instantly and jumped from my hiding- place bang into the street. Thinking that the fellows had been playing me a game of I whick- whew'—or, as you English folk would call it, bo-peep—I made round the corner like winking. But bless you, there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Everything was beautitully quiet-too quiet, I thought, and it was so clear overhead that you could have seen to pick up a pin. If there had been anybody in hiding I must have spotted him at once, for the sound of the last rap at the door had hardly died away before I was round the corner. Confound it all! I didn't like this. It was too much of a good thing. After peering about a short while I returned to the house considerably scared, I can tell you. But I I had hardly sat down when here came the same tramp, tramp, tramp—only this time slower, and instead of going up the street, down it. The crowd stopped again, and here came the same raps, followed by an agonised utterance of Oh, mother, mother!" I never heard, liopa never to hear anything like that again. I tried to make for the door, but my courage clean deserted me, and I fairly turned tail and fled." And where do you think he took refuge—this very brave man ?" said his wife, provokingly. Spare me that," he said beseechingly. Give it up," chorused the company exult- in gly. Only in bed, behind his wife," said she, merrily. Oh 1" came by way of a groan from the audi- torium. And what is more—" the wife went on. Stop, Mary! Stop in heaven's name," her hus- band implored. Oh! but I will though," she responded. Ha was so frightened that he forgot to take off his boots." The husband looked the very picture of dismay, but the company only screamed at his discom- fiture. I think you had better tell the rest of the story yourself, Mary," said lie when the laughter had subsided. With pleasure," 'said jthe wife. That night week, and at the very same hour, a poor fellow who worked at the next furnace to David was caught in the great,water-wheel which turns the forgo machinery, and crushed almost to a jelly. They carried him home, and oa gaining our house -where there happened to be a light, for I and David were sitting up warming flannels for my mother, who had a frightful facc-aoho — they stopped, knocked at the door, and asked us to give the dying wretch a drink of water. I held the cup to his lips; it revived him somewhat, and they passed on with their burden. David knew the knocks at once, and told me so at the time. In- deed, I think he would have run away, as he did before, only I held him. I believe in those things, you know," she added with mock scorn. "All right, Mary," he said. "It was like your luck to come across the real people, while I only met with their—what shall I call it ?—Lledrith we would say in Welsh." Premonition is a near enough English word," observed 1. Not so very near, either,he replied, a little contemptuously, I thought. But tell me," said I, you only heard three knocks altogether. In the premonition, or what. ever you like to call it, there were three sets of three!" Just so," responded the wife. The people had hardly moved a dozen yards away before one of them rushed back, knocked again at our door, and asked me if I had anything in the shape of a shawl that I could lend to put around the head of their comrade, who was all of a shiver with the cold. They took him to the top of the row and then brought him back again, it so happening that he lived in the under portian of a double house, which they could only reach by going another way than the one they carried him. When they reached our door they put him down to rest. David and I, who were standing on the step, heard him give a low 1 sob as if his hoart were breaking. He was a stranger to the place, poor fellow, fair, strong, and i altogether handsome. In his violent struggle for life, and just as he was being.worsted in the battle. t he called upon his mother' helplessly, as though ( he had fancied himself upon her breast again. I i ran for a light, held it to his face, and found he I was dead." I "True," remarked the husband mournfully. i The breath left him suddenly as the light of I ;nuffed-out candle. But as to those knocks an | rhe dying groan, my children, I swear to you ;<s I'm a living sinner that I heard them a full week before my wife did." But do you believe in death warnings ?" you may now ask. Ever since that tale I hardly know what to say." It teas a. tale though, wasn't it ?" I fancy hear- ing you exclaim. A true one," I answer. True as holy gospel. The people who told it were my own parents."
THE LANDORS OF KIETOX.
THE LANDORS OF KIETOX. BY MAB HENGIST. < CHAPTER I. It is Christmas Eve, a healthy, old-fashioned Christmas Eve. The stars, twinkling down upon Kirton Park, seem themselves to admire and ap- prove the beauty of the landscape. There is only one more charming aspect under which the line clusters of trees and copses surrounding the man- sion may be viewed-it is when Nature smiles upon the scene in the merry month of May. Now, Kirton Park-a fine old Irish country seat, not far distant from a large seaport town—is exposed to our gaze on a sharp, crisp night in December. The frosted grass glistens and sparkles with diamond- like lustre, and cold winter seems devoid of any- thing but kindness when it lends its aid to colour such a picture. The moonlight betrayed two figures walking up the grounds towards the house. One was that of a tall, handsome youth of perhaps 22 years; the other was the lithe and graceful form of a girl who could scarcely have passed nineteen. It was about eight o'clock. The couple sauntered along, each step seeming to slacken in pace as it brought them nearer to the mansion and to parting. 11 But, Clare, he will never consent," exclaimed Dora Regan. Clare Leslie paused for a moment, placed his arm round the waist of his companion, and replied, Yes. Dora, he will consent. If you consent, he consents. It is not for him, great as is his authority, to dictate as to your happiness. If you are con- tent to love me and to trust in me, I will provide for you. Why let your wealth weigh in the balance ? Granted that by marrying against the wishes of Mr. Landor you forfeit your inheritance, am I not able to make your life perfectly happy ? I do not ask you to-I will not—marry you into poverty; but our love will be just as fresh three or four years hence as now." "Oh, Clare: pray do not imagine that my money has any charms for me but much as I love you, Mr. Landor has always been so kind and so considerate that I look upon him almost as my parent." He has been kind and considerate," returned Clare, because he has been paid for it. Did not your father provide for an ample allowance to him as your guardian ? They heard the sound of heavy footsteps behind them, and ere many moments had elapsed a tall powerfully-built man strode by. As he passed he throw a rapid and furtive glance at the lovers, and, raising his hat, pursued his way to the house. Leaving Dora and Clare to follow their conver- sation, let us enter Kirton House and acquaint ourselves with Walter Landor, its owner. Mr. Landor was seated in the handsome library, appa- rently engrossed in the perusal of a book. A man of middle age and of rather commanding presence, there was yet a something about him which, to the reader of character, betokened a calculating determination and a selfish love of gain. He had a cold eye and a hard, tightly drawn mouth, the sure indications of a tyrannical and unrelenting spirit. A tap was heard at the door, and a servant en- tered. A man is waiting to see you, sir, but will not give me his name." What is he like, and what does he want ?" said Mr. Landor. He looks something lil,& a sailor, sir, but he will not tell me his business; lie says it is a private matter." You can show him in," said Mr. Landor and the servant conducted the mysterious stranger towards the library, apparently not altogether re- lishing his appearance. The man opened the door and entered the room. Mr. Walter Landor, I think ?" he said. That is my name, sir. And what, may I ask, is yours ?" My name is Charles Landor." If, at that particular moment, a thunderbolt had fallen in the room, the owner of Kirton Park could not have looked more startled and surprised. Gazing in blank bewilderment at the figure before him, he seemed for some time totally unable to collect himself, and it was only by a desperate effort that he at last began to recover his ground. He said, with as much calmness as he could control, And so-you have risen from the dead ?" "To receive from you a very brotherly wel- come," sarcastically remarked the incomer. Walter Landor was now rapidly regaining his usual sang froid. He promptly replied, Don't you think you had better get back again ? Your resurrection might be dangerous to you." You think so ?" "I never credited you," said Walter Landor, with a great stock of common sense, but I did think that if you were not dead you would at all events have tried to avoid what would be the penalty of your being known-a felon's cell, and -perhaps worse." My life," answered Charles Landor, will bear comparison with yours. I am, I suppose, a guilty man in the eyes of the law, but my misdeeds, if such they be, were committed for the sake of my country. But you have nothing to call yourself a saint for-you, who insidiously misrepresented me—you, who, always my enemy, plotted and suc- cessfully managed, after my departure twenty years ago, to conceal the fact that I had a son, a heir to Kirton Estate. Walter Landor, let me be plain with you. I have a son; I know, and you know, too, that he i3 alive, and in this country. These lands, these properties, now used by you, are mine, and will be his at my death. Nothing that I have ever done can confiscate them. I toll you this: although I may not claim that which is mine—although it will not suit me to obtain my possessions at the cost of spending my life in prison, i I will make my son a gentleman. He shall not interfere with you he shall never know that there is any relationship between us; I will sink into I oblivion, if you will only allow me sufficient to give ( my son that position which I have set myself to 1 obtain for him. I am getting old. I have lived a ( careless and, perhaps, a dissipated life, but I have ( power still. Do not disregard it." Walter Landor looked his brother up and own." With a cool, self-possessed smile, ho answered, "I care for neither you nor your son, whoever he may be. If ho exist, I should have thought that, after twenty years' absence, during which time he must have been brought up at other people's expense, you would scarcely have had the assurance to imagine that you could be his benefactor." I do not ask you for sarcasm. Tell me plainly, is it Yes or No." If your long speech was intended as a demand for money, then No," replied Walter. Charles Landor drew himself up to his full height, and said: There was never any love lost between us, and you mean that this shall last. Be it so." With these words he strode out through the door, and, regaining the hall, left the house. Walk- ing rapidly back along the pathway he again encountered Clare and Dora. Apparently quite unheeding their presence he swept past them, and was soon lost to view. "Now, I must go, Clare good-bye, good-bye." "Then it is understood that you will let me flatly ask Mr. Landor to consent to our meetings and to our engagement ?" My dear Clare, I will do whatever you wish. If he refuse, I will be yours still." They had now reached the library window, and with the proverbial forgetfulness of lovers, con- tinued their conversation there. Perhaps the unwelcome visit which Mr. Landor had just received had rendered him suspicious as to whether his elder brother might have returned Hearing a low murmur of voices he was quick to notice that Dora Regan was there. Was his brother talking to her? he thought. No; the voice of Dora's companion was that of a young man. Clare Leslie was not unknown to Mr. Landor, although the former had not been very long resi- dent at Kirton Town. Still, there was absolutely nothing in common between them, and Walter Landor, haughty, ungenial, and reserved, was not likely to greet warmly the penniless clerk, whose most prominent characteristics were an impetuous lisregard for fashion and social distinction, and a ? 'omantic kind of intellectuality, imparting to I their possessor an air by no means pleasing to the oivn"r of Kirton Park. Putting on one side the thoughts which his i brother's visit had aroused, Wayfcer Landor quitted the library, and was soon outside the house, con- fronting the lovers. Clare Leslie raised his hat, and said, "Good evening, Mr. Landor. It was my intention to have asked the favour of an interview. The opportunity has come rather sooner than I expected." "I think the night is not a tit one for Miss Regan to be out in," Mr. Landor replied, and as Dora, taking the hint, was withdrawing, he added, in a cold tone, "What is the nature of your busi- ness with me ?" It cannot be unknown to you, Mr. Landor, that I for some little time I have been acquainted with Miss Regan. It is with her permission and full i acquiescence that I have come here to ask you, not ] only to sanction the intimacy between us, but to < give your consent to our betrothal." Mr. Leslie, I have not the pleasure of knowing j anything about you-where you come from, what you have been, or are likely to be. Any impression, I might have formed from my scanty knowledge I of you is not improved by the fact that you have been carrying on a clandestine acquaintance with a young lady who is under my guardianship." 1 Turning on his heel Mr. Landor strode back into ] the house, without giving Clare Leslie any further opportunity to renew the subject. CHAPTER II. So many writers have attempted to describe that vast and heterogeneous mixture of luxury and squalor, rank and degradation, called London, and have failed to adequately convey all its many- sided wonders, that it is not for me to essay so difficult a task. Suffice it to say that it was to the Metropolis that Clare Leslie, soon after the events 1 recorded in the last chapter, repaired. The appointment that he had held under the only lawyer in Kirton Town had become more than ever distasteful to him since the abrupt refusal of Mr. Landor to countenance Clare's suit. He had not only seen that Kirton was not the place to make his way in, but that any influence which Mr. Landor could bring would not be exerted in the interest of Dora's lover. So, after making with his sweetheart many arrangements for the future, and building many castles in the air, he had resolved to change his sphere of life, and to try his fortune at journalism. Nearly twelve months had passed, and he had achieved considerable progress. A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," and in these days of looking after number one there is, perhaps, more good feeling exhibited by press, men one to another than in any other profession. Helped on by his confreres, his natural ability had become widely recognised, and he was rapidly gaining for himself a prominent position. Fortu- nately, or unfortunately, however, his sympathies, always quick to aid Irish grievances, and to ally themselves to Irish disaffection, had recently led him to become a member of a secret fraternity which exercised a very marked influence upon the political and social life of Great Britain. The International Fraternity of Irish Patriots" had council houses in all the principal cities of Europe, and the basis and foundation of its power lay in a little band of men, who were accustomed to hold weekly meetings in Clerkenwoll. Almost the sole initiative was vested in the President and two or three of the more prominent members, who were ( styled the Sub-Section. It was, nevertheless, thu practice for all the members to meet once every week, and by the rules of the society they were ] bound individually to obey the mandates of the organisation. Clare, indeed, had joined the society from a general desire to aid the cause which ho i believed to be right, and little recked of the re- < sponsibilities he incurred. I On the 22nd of December, therefore, nearly a i year since Clare Leslie had said good-bye to i Kirton, we follow him to the meeting of the Grand i Council, and behold him one of some twenty repre- 7 sentatives gathered round the table. All, it was easy t to see, were men of intellect, and there was an t excited and almost desperate appearance about j some which indicated that nothing would prevent > them from carrying out any measure conceived i by them to be for the ultimate welfare of their i country. The President, after repeating tha usual t solemn formula enjoining the strictest secrecy and ( obedience, called upon the secretary to proceed with the business. j The Secretary rose and said, The first business we have to deal with is the case of the Kirton Estate, = near The Sub-Section have gone carefully, into tho complaints of the tenantry, and are of i opinion that the landlord, Walter Landor, is a [ tyrannous and unjust landlord, and that he must die." Clare Leslie, an entire novice, gave an involun- r ( ary start, and his face blanched as he realised for c the first time the terrible nature of the work in c which he, by joining the society, had engaged him- I self. The previous meetings which he had attended had been confined to business connected with ( agitation, with strengthening the numbers of the a society, and other matters of a like nature. Now r that a human being was to be deliberately mur- t dered, and that human being one whom he knew, I although as an enemy, his blood ran cold. 'The President demanded, Do the Council ratify ] ow the sentence of the Sub-Section II" f We do," fell from the lips of nearly everyone t present. The President then said, The drawing of lots with regard to Walter Landor will now take place. i Upon him to whom the lot falls will lie the task of ] rendering justice to Ireland. The delegate will ] have the option of calling in the aid of any two I aiembers of the society to assist him in his escape, < but he is bound to minimise as much as Possible ] the risk of those members becoming implicated." I As the drawing of lots went on, Clare seemed scarcely competent to judge whether the scene 1 now being enacted were a dream or a reality. A ( few minutes more and the work was done. { ^jThe President announced, The lot has fallen to s Clare Leslie, journalist, of this city." Clare was literally paralysed. With all eyes r turned upon him, he for some minutes vainly ( essayed to speak. He at length was able to ejacu- t late fragmentarily, I—I—a murderer! I cannot -do it." t Then by the laws of our order you are also a t traitor to Ireland, and must suffer the penalty." A faint murmur ran through the assembly, and gradually stilled itself into silence. Then a tall f and strongly-built man, whose appearance be- v tokened that he had passed middle age, and who t had been sitting opposite to Clare, rose and -j said "Brethren, you will remember that by the rules of our society the sentence which our President has pronounced upon Clare Leslie is not irrevo- cable provided a willing substitute is found to perform the duty assigned. Walter Landor must die, but it is perfectly allowable for any member of our organisation to take upon himself the task which his been allotted to Mr. Leslie. His life has but just commenced. It has already given bright promise, and for the sake of Ireland it would be f. pity to risk its existence in an enterprise such as that which we have had under our considera- tion. You all know me, what I am, and what I have done. The removal of Walter Landor will cause the most searching inquiry. Suspicion is already strong upon me. What matters it if I fat! ? I will undertake Mr. Leslie's work, and I shall do my best, if entirely successful, to re-cross the seas. If I may make one suggestion, it is that Mr. Leslie's labours would be more appropriate and successful in another sphere, and that he should be henceforth entirely freed from his obligations to our confederation." This suggestion was ratified by the Council, and Clare Leslie, still in a condition akin to stupefac- tion, soon after left the house. He waited outside for his singular substitute, and on seeing him en- treated the favour of an interview. Mr. Leslie," said Charles Landor, for it was no other than he, leave this matter to me. Of the mysteries of our society you know quite sufficient. I wish you well. I shall never see you again. Love Ireland, and assist your down-trodden countrymen; but never again become connected with an organisation like ours. We are patriots, but it is not for the young and the unsullied to undertake work which can more fitly be per- formed by those who have neither fortune, nor hope, nor love to lose." But," exclaimed Clare, I cannot sanction Mr. Landor's murder!" Leave that to me." fiercely returned Charles Landor, you will have nothing on your soul. Good-bye." Almost tenderly he pressed Clare's hand, and was gone. Though different their ages, there was some- thing nearing similitude in the fine shapely forms and handsome features of the two men as they stood and conversed together. CHAPTER III. It was again Christmas Eve. Only two days had elapsed since the sentence upon Walter Landor had been pronounced. Shortly before eight o'clock a trap containing two men drove rapidly up to the rear of Kirton Park and stopped under the trees in a spot very little frequented. The scene was a sombre one. One of the men, after securing the horse, hid himself in a hedge some little distance off. The other, Charles Landor, with his beard shaved, so as partly to disguise him, softly muttered, Half-an-hour," and stealthily crept through the bushes until he gained the front of the house. Carefully watching to see that no one was approaching he stepped out on to the path- way, and, quickly reaching the main door, knocked. His call was promptly answered. Is Mr. Landor in," he said. "Yes, sir." Will you kindly give him my card." The servant bore the card to his master. Mr. Landor read, "Mr. Cecil Lethom, stockbroker, London." Show Mr. Lethom in," he said, and the elder brother was ushered into the library. As he entered he grasped the handle of the door, and before his brother had had time to recognise him, he said, My name is not Lethom. It is Charles Landor." "1 do not know," Walter said, "why you will insist on paying me these Christmas visits." Charles replied, I have not come to jest with you. I tell you your life is doomed. You have been sentenced to death by a secret societv." Walter Landor sprang from his seat, and was about to sound his bell, when his brother clutched the extended hand, and, drawing a revolver from his pocket, said determinedly, I have come to warn you. Touch that bell and you are a dead man." Walter mechanically withdrew his hand and sank back into his chair. "Waiter Landor," said his brother, "you are doomed to die, and I am to kill you. If I fail another will take my place. The work will go on until it is accomplished." The assumption of coolness, which, as a general rule, characterised Walter Landor, entirely forsook him. The man who had seemed the personification of stubborn defiance to everything and everybody was a stricken coward. Trembling in abject fear he almost gasped, Is there no way—no escape ? Under certain conditions," said Charles. If you comply with them strictly, as I ndicate, you may yet live. Have you made a will ? There was a silence, and Walter Landor mut- tered, I have." Show it to me." The younger Landor rose slowly from his seat, and, going to a safe built in the massive wall of the house, produced the document. Sit down and write," said Charles. Kirton Park, Jan., 1830. With reference to my will, which was duly signed and validated a few months ago, I wish to say that I have, since making it, discovered that the legitimate son of my elder brother is still alive, and is identical with Clare Leslie, lately living in this neighbourhood. It was by my instrumentality that after the departure from this country of my brother, and the death shortly afterwards of his wife, whom he had clandestinely married. I suc- ceeded in concealing from the world the claims of the true heir to the Kirton Estates. WALTER LANDOR. Seal that statement to the will, replace it in the safe, and give me the key." More like a slave than a man Walter obeyed his brother's commands. Now," said Charles, "I have come here sworn to murder you. I will not do it. You may escape. If you wish for life, tell your servants you do not want to be disturbed for an hour." The younger brother left the room for a moment, and returned, muttering, I have told them." Step out with me through this window. On the by-road at the back of the house you will see a horse and trap, with a man in closa attendance. They are waiting to aid me in my escape. When you see the man, whisper Erse,' and he will know it is all right. He will drive you to the outskirts of and will point out the plans which have been laid for my safety and flight from this kingdom. They will aid you' in your escape, your flight from the country. A house is ready to conceal; you, not ¡nt. A room is engaged containing means to disguise you, not me. Stay there a short time and take the boat which leaves at ten o'clock for Liverpool. We will first of all change clothes with each other." In a few minutes the exchange was effected. As if to ensure his brother's fulfil- ment of his orders, Charles accompanied him through the side window, which was almost con- cealed by trees, and the two men, speaking not a word, made their way down to the border of the park. Charles Landor, with closed lips, pointed to the spot where the horse and trap were waiting. As Walter proceeded to the place indicated the brothers parted never to meet again, the wronged and robbed Charles hissing between his teeth the words," If you falter, you die." Charles turned back to the house. On again reaching the library he walked slowly up and down the room in a reverie. There, on the walls of his house, were the portraits of his ancestors. He gazed at them like an interested child. There was a grandeur of simplicity about this desperate yet noble scion as ho surveyed a scene of luxury which, but for misdi- rected patriotism, springing from an abundantly generous, though indiscreet, nature; but for im- pulsiveness and rashness, with theirsequentialdiffi- culties, he might have been the acknowledged lord. He stopped before the portrait of his mother, and, falling down in prostrate misery, wept pitiful tears. And so it is," he broken-heartedly cried; "ungrateful to my father, inconsiderate to my mother, harsh to my wife, careless of my offspring, I have sinned against my nearest ties and duties. But I have loved my country; though with the power and riches which were mine, and for which I am now for one half-hour the :possessor, I might have attained far loftier ends by far more worthy means. But Clare, my son, would I had seen you once more, would I had been able once again to gaze upon the only tie which binds me to this earth." He took out his watch, Ten minutes past 1 nine." Convulsively drawing himself together, he scarecly breathed, The time has come." A short, sharp crack, and a dull, heavy thud The terrified domestics rushed to the room, burst open the door, and discovered he whom they thought was Walter Landor, but who in reality was their lawful master, stretched on the ground, the open window apparently indicating to them that the assassin had escaped. 1 The rest is soon told. Clare, on parting with his father, had immediately written to Walter Landor under an anonymous signature, warning him as to the plot which had been laid for his destruction. The plans which Charles had formed, however, proved more than a match for the vigilance of his brother. The real owner of Kirton had learnt that his younger brother was in correspondence with Mr. Lethom, the stockbroker, and a visit from that gentleman would not, therefore, be deemed an improbable event. The body of Charles was interred with due pomp, and shortly afterwards Clare Leslie, now Clare Landor, was called upon to take his proper position. It may easily be imagined that he did so under feelings of by no means a cheerful character. Within a week he received, by the agency of a member of the society, a letter in the handwriting of his father, detailing the whole of the circumstances connected with his birth, his father's absence from England, and ultimate death. The weird light which then broke made him a sadder and a wiser man, and he determined to make his father's self-sacrifice an atonement for which his son would render as much recom- pense as possible. Yet another year passed, and Clare and Dora, the latter of whom had for some time been staying with some friends, were married. The tenants of Kirton Estate are to-day unanimous in praise of their landlord, and the dreadful fate which they believe befell his uncle will never be in store for Clare Landor.
A TRANSFORMATION SCENE.
A TRANSFORMATION SCENE. BY LLYWARCB HEN. Groups of the inhabitants of the thriving New England village of Morrisville were gathered in the principal street, discussing a tragedy the tidings of which had that morning startled them. Mr. Henry Channing, popularly reputed to be the weaJthiest man in Morrisville, had been found stabbed to the heart in his sitting-room. The murder had evidently been committed late the night before, and the aim of the assassin had plainly been to plunder his victim, for the dead man's pockets were rifled and his watch and a. valuable ring that he wore were missing. Upon receiving information of the tragedy Mr. Brady, a resident magistrate and an intimate friend of the murdered man, had hastened to the house and opened a searching investigation into the circumstances of the crime. He found in the sitting-room every trace of a terrible struggle. Chairs had been thrown down and broken, the glass front of a bookcase was dashed to fragments, and Mr. Channing's dress had been torn and dis- ordered in his efforts to free himself from his | assailant's grasp. It seemed astonishing that t! crime should have been committed without th, attention of the servants being attracted, and after having viewed the body and the scene of the murder Mr. Brady caused the domestics to be summoned, and subjected them collectively and individually to a rigorous examination. Their testimony was, however, emphatic on the point: that from the hour of their retiring to rest to that at which the housemaid, on coming down to her morning tasks, discovered the dead body of her master no unusual sounds had reached their ears. Singular," muttered the perplexed magistrate, most singular." Which of you," he asked the three women, "sleeps nearest to the sitting room f" The cook and housemaid simultaneously in- dicated the housekeeper. Show me your room, ma'am, if you please," said Mr. Brady to the latter, a respectable looking, elderly person of some fifty years or more. Strange, very strange," he muttered again, when the housekeeper had complied. Then, fixing upon her his most magisterial glance, You persist, ma'am, in the statement that you heard no sounds of a struggle ?" The housekeeper renewed her declarations that nothing had disturbed her sleep. "A very sound sleeper you must be, ma'am. Here are all the signs of a frightful struggle, in a room just under yours-chairs smashed—glass broken—everything in disorder-and you sleep through it all as if nothing were occurring. Why, ma'am, there must have been an upr )ar sufficient to disturb the seven sleepers themselves." The housekeeper, however, persisted in her declaration that her sleep had bee unbroken, and Mr. Brady, after visiting the other servants' rooms and ascertaining that their distance from the scene of the murder made an undisturbed plumber on their part much more credible, returned to the sitting-room to think the whole matter over. A small window opening on the garden seemed to suggest the mode of the murderer's entrance and exit. Mr. Brady examined it closely, and found on the fastening slight traces of blood that the fingers of the assassin had probably left there. He opened the window and looked out. On the loose mould below the imprint of a man's boots were plainly visible. Singularly large marks they seemed to Mr. Brady—almost the footmarks of a Hercules. Here probably was a valuable clue and to the Superintendent of Police, who presently arrived on the scene, Mr. Brady lost no time in pointing it out. Days passed, however, and nothing had been done towards apprehending the murder. An inquest had been held, and the three servants of the late Mr Channing were once more subjected to a rigorous examination. The housekeeper in particular, to whom some suspicion appeared to attach, was very closely questioned by the Coroner, but nothing could be got from her beyond a repetition of her former declaration that she had slept through tbp night of the murder without being awakened by I 11 any unusual sounds in the room below. Strange, very strange." said the Coroner, re- peating the words of Mr. Brady, and "Strange!" echoed all the inhabitants of Morrisville but Mrs. Wilkinson's unblemished character and long years of faithful service stood her in good stead, and nc thought seemed to enter into any one's mind of I seeking evidence toconnect her with the crime. So the inquest was duly brought to an end with n verdict of V, ilful murder against so:c person G: persons unknown," and on the following day the body of the murdered Mr. Channing was com- mitted to the grave. Together with the question of who had been Mr. Channing's assassin, the future disposal of his wealth divided the attention of Morrisville. The dead man had been a bachelor, and the only near relation of whom the village had ever heard was a brother residing in one of the Southern States. I suppose," said the Coroner to Mr. Brady after the inquest, this What's his name ?" Robert Channing." "This Robert Channing comes into our poor friend's property?" Died some years ago," said Brady. Any family?" One son, I believe. A reckless scamp, from what I heard of him from poor Channing. His father died in needy circumstances, and our poor friend adopted the young fellow, and sent him to the University at Charlottesville. But the reports lie received of his conduct there were anything but satisfactory. The end was that about a year ago young Channing was expelled from the University under very disgraceful circumstances." Could he have been the murderer ?" Impossible. Our poor friend paid his debts and remitted him a few hundred dollars to start him in life, with the intimation that it was the last assistance he must look for from him. As soon as the young fellow had pocketed the money he started with it to try his luck in California. Channing had a letter from him not above a month ago." Is there any will ?" I should say not." Then this young scapegrace from Virginia comes into everything ?" Everything." "1 guess it would be long before he'd have mad- such a pile at the diggings," remarked the coroner, and the two men parted. No will was found, and the murdered man's nephew, Luke Channing, accordingly became his heir. The young man's last letter from San Fran- cisco was found among his uncle's papers, aud Lawyer rittman, whojiad managed Mr. Channing t. affairs for him, wrote to inform Luke of his succes- sion to the property. But months passed away, and no reply was re- ceived, while the mystery that enshrouded Mr. Channing's death remained as dark as ever. No one could be found to live in the house that had been the scene of the murder, and it was shut up. and the servants found other situations. The cook and housemaid were simply required to furnish their respective addresses in view oi any possible evidence turning up, but on the move- ments of Mrs. Wilkinson, the housekeeper, the authorities in secret kept a watch. It was not until his letter had been written for nearly a year that Lawyer Pittman received an answer to it. Luke Channing wrote as before. from San Francisco, to which city he had just re- 1 turned from a mining expedition in Nevada. He expressed his intention of immediately starting for Morrisville, and in fact his letter had not been in the lawyer's hands above a fortnight when it was followed by the appearance of the writer. Mr. Brady was one of the first to make the new- comer's acquaintance. He found him a slight young man of medium height, with heavy beard and moustache, and a face tanned by exposure to the butning sun of California and Nevada. Although his knowledge of the circumstances that had brought about Luke's trip to the Western States had prepossessed Mr. Brady against him, the young man's frank looks and hearty manners were not long in winning him over to a more favourable opinion of his new acquaintance. Luke spoke, too, with affection and respect of his dead relative, and seemed heartily to regret the pain that his boyish follies had caused his uncle. It was not unnatural that one of his earliest questions to Mr. Brady should be whether he and the other authorities had lost all hope of tracking that uncle's murderer. Brady replied that, consi- dering the time that had passed, there seemed little hope of any clue being found to the identity of the villain. Was there no clue, then, forthcoming at the time of the murder ?" asked Luke. Yes, one," said the magistrate, and detailed the circumstance of the footmarks in the mould. Lar"e boots, you say. Some tramp, I sup- pose," said Luke. "So did I suppose at the time," said Brady, but I fancy Everett has another theory," "Everett, who is Everett ? "asked the other. A very sharp fellow. Our local superintendent of police. I fancy he is the only man in the district who has not yet abandoned the hope that the author of the crime may be brought to light." I would give a thousand dollars that he could. I should be glad to make Mr. Everett's acquaint- ance," Luke Channing answered. Mr. Brady promised to bring over the Super- intendent on the first opportunity, and a few days later kept his word. Luke was eager to learn the grounds on which the Superintendent based his hopes that the crime would yet be traced to its perpetrator, and when Everett replied that such hopes, if he ever entertained them, had long since left him, young Channing vehemently expressed his disappointment. As Brady and Everett were walking away to- gether, after the interview, the former observed- I can't imagine, Everett, what has converted you so suddenly to my opinion that the murder was committed by a tramp. You were dead against that theory only a week ago." Everett smiled grijaly. Well, Judge," said he, "I was only converted to it this very day, I guess." What, by anything young Channing said ?" The superintendent stopped short in the road, and looked his companion in the face. Judge," said he, You can keep a secret, I hope. I didn't know if young Channing could, and so I seemed t* come over to your views and his. The murderer came from within the house, and I was a fool to have missed finding it out at the time." What—the housekeeper ?" exclaimed Brady. "I don't know. I onlv kn, lw that there are three things have of late got pretty firmly fixed in my mind. You remember the size of those footmarks ?" Certainly." The man who left, then, must have been a six- footer, at least, and broad in proportion f"' I should say so." Well, he could hardly have got through that window. A tmall, slight man might, but not a man whose boots left tracks like those. Then, again Well, ngain ?" How did he get into the room quickly enough to prevent the old man escaping and rousing the household? The chances were a hundred to one against his doing so." A thousand to one, I should say." Well, add these facts to the queerest fact of all, that the housekeeper failed to wake while a fearful struggle was going on in the room just under hers, and what do we arrive at ?" "Nothing, that I can see," said the puzzled Brady. Well, Judgs, at this, that somebody in the house knew all about the murder." What! Mrs. Wilkinson ?" "I don't know," said Everett again, "but if you'll say nothing for the present. Judge, to young Channing on the subject, I'll be much obliged to you. When I've got these new notions of mine licked a little more into shape it will be time enough to make them public." Brady promised, and the two men parted. It might have been a fortnight after this that the superintendent again sought out the magis- trate. Well, Everett," said the latter," anything fresh on the subject of the murder ?" I think so, Judge. I think I've got the end of 11 a clue in my hands that it will be considerably worth our while to follow up. Take a chair, and out with the whole story," said Brady, and Everett sat down. The fact is, Judge," he began, "We were thrown off the track at the very commencement by the unlucky fact of a respectable old lady sleeping just above the room where the murder was committed and hearing nothing of the, struggle. If she heard nothing, it didn't seem reasonable to suspect the other two servants, who slept so much further away, of being in any way connected with the crime. But 1 do suspect 'em now-one of them, at least." Which one ? asked Brady, startled. Everett hesitated a moment. Well, Judge," he said, 1, What I tell you to-night must go no further than ourselves. Of all people in the world, r.ot a hint of it must reach young Channing." Brady promised. But you don't suspect that fine young fellow of having a hand in his uncle's murder, surely ?" he demanded of Everett. Wait a minute," said the Superintendent. Ycu renumber Sarah Jefferson." J'rady reflected a moment. She was the housemaid, wasn't she ? he asked es the housemaid. I have been hunting up n little information about the young woman since I saw you last. Y»'hen she left Morrisville she went to Boston and lodged at a house there for a couple of months. We took care at the time, you may remember, to verify the address she gave us, but after that no one thought any more of her." Well ?" "I've just been to Boston to the house where she lodged. When IvLss Jefferson had been there a couple of months she paid her bill and left. Only a. few days afterwards a letter came for her, ^nd was returned by the people of the house to the postman, and is now. I suppose, lying at the Dead Letter Office, if it has not been destroyed. We must apply, Judge, for a sight of that letter. The people of the hoase had noticed the postti-ark." What was it," Brady asked. Ah, what ?" said the Superintendent. What do you say to San Francisco Brady jumped to his feet. Dan Everett," s'\i,.o he, looking the other man hard in the face," I see now what you're driving at. You mean to hint that this girl was the murderess of old Henry Channing, and that Luke Channing was her accom- plice." No, no, Squire," said Everett, I don't go so far as that. I only say that, considering the cir- cumstances of the case, it will be worth our while to try to find Miss Sarah Jefferson." Brady heartily agreed, and the Superinterdent left him to reflect over what had passed between them. The magistrate's thoughts naturally turned to young Luke Channing. whom he now strongly suspected of having, from a distance, been the instigator of his uncles murder. The villain," lie i-iultcred to himself. "The atrocious villain! But yet, those footmarks, no woman ever left them-and poor Channing, too— he was a powerful man for his age. A woman would have been very unlikely to overpower him in such a struggle as the room showed signs of. There was only one stab, too-straight to the heart. l'lle more I think of it the greater mystery the whole thing seems." The letter from San Francisco had not been destroyed, and on Messrs. Brady and Everett com- municating their reasons for the request to the postal authorities, it was opened by the latter, and a copy transmitted to Mr. Brady. The copy ran as follows:— My dear young Lady. If you know where Mr. Luke Channing is. you had better let him know that I have got his letter putting off paying me the sum he owes me for certain services rendered, and that I won't stand this shilly-shallying any longer. From what he writes me, I guess you and he are so thick that writing to you will be pretty nearly the same thing as writing to himself. Tell him tliat if he doesn't cash up by return of post I'll write to his uncle, md let the old man know that the two last letters lie got from his precious nephew were posted by me in 'Frisco months after Luke had left the city. Brady put down the copy of the letter, and looked at Everett. It's as clear as day," he said. the villain mur- dered his uncle. The girl was his accomplice, and let him into the house, but stop- What of the window and the footmarks Part of a deep-laid plan," said Everett. All that was done after the murder. The object was to make it appear that the crime was committed by some prowling tramp." "The cold-blooded villain!" ejaculated Brady. I think I see him waiting outside the house till the other monster came down and let him in, or, more likely, she had him hidden in it for hours that evening waiting till the coast was clear." She didn't hide him anywhere," said Everett; she didn't let him in." What then ?" If you'll come round with me, judge, and make r. call on Mr. Luke Channing, I think I can show you." The judge and the superintendent went out. They took with them a couple of policemen, and went to pay the visit that Everett proposed. Mr. Luke Channing was at dinner with some friends when the quartette entered. He came forward to greet Brady and Everett, and then. catching sight of the two policemen behind them. started and turned ashy pale. Everett gave a nod to his subordinates, and in a moment the young man was seized and handcuffed. The superintendent whispered some instructions to one of the policemen, who immediately left the room, and his superior turned to Mr. Brady. I've sent for a witness, judge," he said, whose testimony I hope we shall find of value. In the meantime it would only be politeness on our part to explain to the company present what our busi ness is with Mr. Channing." Brady turned to the astonished guests, and briefly made known to them that evidence had c)me to light throwing on Luke Channing a sus- picion of having been concerned in his uncle's murder, if not the actual perpetrator of the crime. The good citizens of Morrisville listened with horrified looks and ejaculations, and when Brady had finished drew as far away from their host as possible, and stared at him with countenances ex- pressive of horror and aversion. The policeman presently re-appeared with a bundle under his arm. Everett ordered the pri- soner to be taken into an adjoining room, but Luke Channing, who up to this time had remained silent and passive in the hands of his captors, now resisted as violently as his fettered hands would let him. He was speedily overpowered, and Everett, after begzing Brady and the company to wait his return, took up the bundle his subordi- nate had brought, and followed the prisoner from the apartment. A quarter of an hour passed,and then the dining- room door re-opened. Everett entered, followed by the two policemen,who dragged between them— not Mr. Luke Channing-but a young female, at sight of whom a simultaneous expression of wonder broke from the lips of all present. You know her, I see," said the superintendent I looking first at the compare- s-pnerally, and thftfl ;it Brady. Know hercried the magistrate why it's the housemaid—Sarah Jefferson herself." "And perhaps you may know these," said tho Superintendent, holding up a false beard witl; whiskers and moustache to match. The company stared at each other. The tru'tj had dawned on them. You've a go.d eye for faces, judge," said' Everett, again addressing Brady. I ve a sharp ear for voices, and," pointing ta the prisoner. I recognised Sarah Jefferson's voici. the first time I heard this young man sped:" Luke Channing was duly tried, sentenced, and executed. Before his death he made a full confes- sion of the manner in which his crime had bcei; accomplished. Aided by his beardless face, and the fact that he and his uncle had not met siura Luke's boyhood, he succeeded in introducing him- self into the old man's household in the cliaracc.r of Sarah Jefferson. An acquaintance in San Fran- cisco had posted the two last letters, that Iie.rv Channing had, as he supposed, received from ins nephew in that city. After retiring to rest on the night of the murder the pretended Sarah Jefferson had risen when all was quiet, and had stealthy entered the room where Mr. Channing sat dozi« c in his chair before the fire, and, softly approachi^c; the old man, had stabbed him to the heart, and rifled him of his watch and money. Then puttii. ? on over his own boots a huge pair that be had provided, and carrying with him a change of dress in a bundle, the murderer had squeezed through the narrow window, taking care to leave staina from his fingers on the fastening, and still moro care to leave well marked traces of his passage n, the soil beneath. He changed his dress in ;I, adjoining wood, and after burying the knifp the blood-stained clothes he had put off, togPt, ilt. with the boots he had worn over his own, ana the watch and money taken from his victim, returned to the house, being careful to leave no traces of his entrance. He had then, with as little noise as possible, created the signs of a struggle in the dining-room, and, having accomplished tili: without rousing the housekeeper, had regaineo. hi bedroom. Before leaving Morrisville he had re possessed himself of the money buried in the woou and then secure in his position as next heir to the murdered man, and nu longer fearing to be disin- herited, he had allowed as he hoped a sufficient interval for Sarah Jefferson to pass out of the re- collections of all in Morrisville, and then had answered Lawyer Pittman's letter, and returned to reap the fruits of his crime, confident ttiat no one. would trace in the tanned and bearded face 01 Luke Channing a.ny resemblance to the features of his late uncle's housemaid. Unfortunately for iliii, his disguise had stoppeci at his t«.ct, and the voicf ot Sarah Jefferson speaking from tile lips o 1 Luke Channing had betrayed the latter to the sharp eat# of Superintendent Everett.
| A VISIOX OF C0MTS10X. I---
A VISIOX OF C0MTS10X. BY A. REXDL-LAGON. SHOWING HOW ;»[R. GLADSTONE GRAXTED HOME RULE TO ICE- LAND, AN1) WHAT THE IRISH DID WITH IT. The profession which I pursue brings mr a great deal into the Temple of Hi^h Politics. ISSP much, very inuci, of what goes on in both Houses of Parliament; cert inly all that is worth wit- nessing or remembering. I cannot say, however. that the spectacle is always agreeable, that UP impressions made upon tHe mind are invariably flattering to the Conscript Fathers or beneficial tr the spectator himself. When the long hours, reIl. dered weary by monotonous discussion, creep dovn to midnight, and the critical faculties gro" inert from lack of the opportunity for healthy pxercisc, the Parliamentary journalist may be ex cused if he should nod and dream in his box. It was on a night of this prosaic description that 1 dreamed a dream of such startling realism anc shrewd prophetic significance that, having re tvived from the Editor of the Weekly Mccil ar invitation to contribute to the Christmas numbel of his journal, I at once resolved to string togethei the scattered fragments of my vision, and to offer the story with the remark that many things more improbable are likely to happen whilst Mr. Gl&d- stone is Prime Minister. RETROSPECTIVE AKD EXFLAKATORT. It is the Eve of Christmas. There is a largf and miscellaneous crowd of excited Irishmen in College Green. It is a purely Irish crowd, voluble, restless, and noisy. It is a crowd of battered hats black eyes, and shillelaghs—a crowd without coat tails or front teeth. It is the Irish Parliament •ifter a division. Although the Act of Union has been suspended and Home Rule in Ireland is now in full opera- tion, the Irish Parliament is the result, nnt of ex- pediency, but of experiment. Mr. Gladstone is the author of the experiment. The tendency of his legislation since ] 865 has been to whittle away Saxon ascendency in the sister island. He has of course, been animated by the loftiest and the most generous, if not the most patriotic, aspira t:ons. He desired, as he said himself, to see Ire. land united, self-reliant, and happy. To a mine that opens like a flower, this remarkable states- man unites a policy whose natural development is revolution. The disestablishment of the Episcopa1 Church in Ireland, the setting up of the principle of Communistic rights in property, the denuda tion of the Saxon staff of the Castle in favour of an Irish establishment, the recognition of th, right of the Irish people to local self-government were but the preliminary stages of that final couj d'etat, the repeal of the Act of Union, and th, experimental suspension of all but the mas abstract rights of the Sovereign in Ireland. Aided by the benevolent despotism of thf Cloture, the Speaker, who had once been the "minion of the monarch," and is now the fugle- man ot the majority," successfully broke down the rising opposition of the Conservative squires, and alter a debate of less than one hour, following upon the noble speech of six hours in which thft j'rime Minister successfully demonstrated the philosophy of his proposition, the Act of Union was repealed for a nominal period of one year. The Bill was hurried through the House of Lords the same evening, and received the Royal Assent pp- day. That night Ireland surrendered itself to the transports of freedom. The Repeal of the Union threw everybody into the arms of everybody else. in the midst of this enthusiasm the Irish members who towe allegiance to Mr. Pameil arrived in Dublin from the English capital. THE NEW IRISH PARLIAMENT IS ELECTED. Xn time was lost in electing the new Parlia- ment. The hated Saxon was invited to tread upon the tails of thousands of coats trailed in the mire of exultant bravado. Paddy was master of the situation. Hurrah Biddy Malonp an' Ould O-ireland'i free at last!" was the joyful exclamation of the rollicking Terence O'Fianorty, This gentleman was sub-editor of the Dublin Evening Fenian and he encountered Biddy as he danced down Sackvllle-street on the eventful day that the new! of the Repeal of the Union reached the Irish capital. Ah, musha, musha, an' that she is, Mistei Terence, but maybe she's bether in her bonds, aftei all," sighed Biddy, who had received many kind nesses from the denizens of the Castla. Bad scran to ye, Biddy, for a scraming ould witch. Sure the ould country's free at last. The accursed Saxon has got the dirty kick-out." Oh, yes, he's got the dirty kick out; but ye'U be moighty glad to kick him back again, Mister Terence, saving yer honour's presence." Be my soul, Biddy, but ye'll make the saints swear agin their grandmothers, and this is the first day of Oireland's redemption, too Mr. O'Flaherty left Biddy in disgust, and dashoc off to College Green. The first result of the new regime revealed itsel' in the withdrawal of thf Court and the departure of every Saxon resident of means or distinction The Royal Irish Constabulary was disbanded The removal of the Viceroy was accomplished witk mora alacrity than dignity. The "dear boys' swore their Parliament should sit only in the 4 blood of Saxon officialism. The mob, excited a a pitch of frenzied ecstasy by the jaunty patriotism of the Dublin Evening Fenian, an- jounced its indention of driving the "accursed Saxons into Dublin Bay. Under these circum, itances the Viceroy ard the members of his Court