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CHAPTER XII. HUSBAND AND WIFE. Why have you drawn all the blinds down, and made a naturally gloomy room look ten times gloomier? There is no sun," said Lidy Fedora, as she came into tho Eaton's Square library one morn- ing. Mr. Stanhope, who was sitting there apparently absorbed in the reading of some papers, did not answer her; and, taking tlh) initiative, she pulled up the blinds, and then turned and looked at her husband. The deadly pallor of his countenance as the light fell on it surprised her into an ejaculative cry of dismay. During all their married life Henry Stanhope hod been wont to be of an equable temperament, genial to her at least, if somewhat reserved and severe with his children the change that had come over him of late appalled his kindly, lovely wife. What fresh troul de could have coma upon him? It surely couIrt not be one of Ferdinand's making, Ferdinand, who had promised her so faithfully that he would give up that dreadful vice that was bril1¡!ing misery to them nil, What is it, Henry—you do look troubled ?" she asked, laying her shapely, jewelled hand on his shoulder. Ruin," he answered tersely, in a thick voice. Oh, not so bad as that, my beloved husband, you look at things too darkly, we shall yet st ruggle through. Why, Easton has written only this morning to say that the Vale Farm is let, and not at such a mean rental either." That will not save us, nothing can save us. My poor wife! My poor children! We canunt go on much longer." Why Henry, you are hipped to-day. It is well that I came in to try and coax you back to reason. Poor old darling, I know you have been sadly worried of late," and Lady Fedora, the stately matron, knelt down beside her vexed lord, us she had not knelt beside him since the early days of their married life, when they were still lovers. He received the caress tenderly, and put ting his arm round her drew her head on to his bosom. No light, however, broke Oil his grave face, and hf-! said very sOlelllnly," EVHrI the letting of the Vale Farm will not help us. Do;-a." He sometimes called her Dora when they were quite alone. •' Every- thing must be given up, and even then beggary stares us in the face." But, my dear Henry, wherefore? You have only got a fit of the blues; there can be no fre-h cause for annoyance. You ought, on the contrary, to be grateful that fortune is on the mend." "How on the mend?" Well, Ferdinand has given me his word that he will never touch a card or dice again." "His word! And you have believed him ? Yon have been trustful enough to take a gambler's word. I "Oh, Henry, do not talk like that. Remember he is our boy-our handsome Ferdinand." I disclaim him. least him out of my heart and hearth for ever. He must, go nbroad, and we must forget that he ever existed. And Mr. Stan- hope, thrusting her somewhat,roughly away, began to walk excitedly about the room. Why, what has he dOIlP?" she asked, rising from her kneeling posture and sitting down in an arm-chair. What fresh grievance have you against him ? I saw him about an hour since, and he looked brighter and happier than I have seen him look for weeks." "He looked bright and happy, did he? My God, how lightly dishonour sits on some men's brows." "You are too severe, Henry; our Fefdinand is not dishonoured. If he has, in the rash intempe- rance of youth, got into difficulties, we must help him." Have I not helped him till I don't know where to turn for money ? You are right; the dishonour now will be mine, not his." Henry, there will be no dishonour. Geoffrey is as good as pure, sterling gold he will help us. I do not understand, but I know he can sign some- thing, and enable you to raise money on the estate. If I ask him, tell him how sorely pressed you are, he will, I feel sure, do this." Henry Stanhope stopped in his rapid walk, and stared at his wife in sheer astonishment for a second. II And this is your woman's sense of jus- tice; injure one son who leads a steady, uncor- rupted life because the other is a blackguard." "Hush! Oh, Henry, hush! Please do not call poor Ferdinand by such a name. Geoffrey will not be injured; the loan will only be required for a time; we will retrench, do all we can to save, and in a year or two it will be paid back. One brother must learn to help another, and it would be hard to make Ferdinand suffer too severely since he has promised so faithfully that he will get into no more trouble." "Folly! absurd! it is useless talking about business or a young man's foibles to women. And Mr. Stanhope laid his folded hands on the mantel- piece and bowed his head upon them. Lady Fedora went on talking. Besides, you know, dear, there is another bit of great good luck going to happen to us. I did not mean to tell you till it was quite settled, but you seem so worried that I really must. I see every prospect of Irene making a rich and splendid marriage." "Ah It is probably of a piece with Ferdinand's reformation; I will believe them both when they actually come about. "How horribly sceptical you are'. You will not allow me to comfort you on any subject. Fancy Irene married to a rich and powerful noble whom she loves to absolute adoration; is not that some- thing to be grateful for, even if all the worries in life were crowding on you Besides, this rich man will, I feel sure, be of great assistance to you in any little tiresome difficulty there may be about Ferdinand." Mr. Stanhope sneered. "Tiresome difficulty," he muttered. Then he probably judged it inexpedient to awaken Lady Fedora to the extent of her son's delinquencies, so he changed the outburst against Ferdinand which was quivering on his lips into a query, lazily made, as though the matter was not of sufficient importance to evoke much interest. Who is this rich suitor who you say is angling for Irene P" "You dear blind old Henry. Why, Prince Sergius Lenskoff, of course." He started up from his leaning posture and the red blood coursed rapidly into his face. My God, Fedora, this must be stopped at once." "Stopped, great heavens! Why Henry, you really must be mad! The thought of it has re- joiced my heart for days past till I could have cried aloud for joy. Stopped, when even the announce- ment of such a marriage is salvation! What do you mean ? Sergius Lenskoff is too old, much too old for Irene. Why he is nearer 50 than 40," stammered Mr. Stanhope, snatching at the first excuse that _0_ Rua-gested itself to mark his disapproval of such a marriage. "That is all nonsense, Irene must be the best judge of that. Only fancy making such an objec- tion. You tell me it is imperative that Irene should speedily make a rich marriage, and then when I find a prince and a millionaire you say he is too old. Such a delightful man, too, and a par- ticular friend of your own." Irene married to Sergius Lenskoff, oh, no, no, no! It cannot be. Anyone but him." And once more Henry Stanhope resumed his excited walk. Ladv Fedora watched him for a few seconds, then she said very calmly, My dear Henry, do you know you are quite irrational to-day? If you have any strong and urgent objections to Prince Sergius, why don't, you "tnte them.? I am no child that you c annot talk to me, and give me your real reasons. But remember, it is only very, very strong ones that. will move me. I am so sensibly alive to the importance of Irene making a good marriage, so thoroughly aware how dese- rately hpr feelings are engaged that no mere capricious objection will induce me to throw cold water on this love affair—now go on, tell me all you know against Sergius Lenskoff." Mr. Stanhope did not answer her at once. For a few minutes he seemed lost in thought. His objections to Prince Sergius were evidently very Strong ones; still he demurred at telling them to his wife, either from the fear of annoying her, or because, even to Lady Fedora, he scarcely judged it expedient to commit himself to any absolute knowledge about Sergius Lenskoff's. past. Lady Fedora denied that the former must be the reason. How could she imagine that her upright, straight- forward husband had any hidden motive for fear- ing to speak out about this Russian ? "Tell me, Henry," she said, in her sweet, coax- ing tones. Irene's happiness is at stake, you know. Do tell me if there is anything very dreadful against this man." "Irene's happiness!" repeated Mr. Stanhope. "Do you think, Dora, that she really loves Prince Sergius ? With all the strong love that has been for the first time awakened in her young heart, as I loved you, Henry, before we married." A deep sigh, that was almost a moan of pain, was his answer, and then he went on speaking, as if to himself. She loves him, and he is rich and powerful-yet Irene must not be sacrificed." What do you mean by sacrifice, when he is rich and they love each other?'' You ask more than is good for your peace, my love. You know it has always been my desire to shield you from worry; but it seems you will have, at least, some portion of the truth. Ferdi- nand, since his promise to you, has lost, gambling at the Bandits, something very like a thousand pounds. Bills at three months have been given for the greater portion of this sum-bills which, I regret to say, have been backed by Prince Sergius. A thousand pounds cried Lady Fedora, turn- ing deadly pale. But I don't understand, has Prince Sergius paid it? No, he has not, but unless I can find the money to do so in three months the bills will be dis- honoured, and the Prince will have to pay. I have wondered more than once during the last few hours why, if he wanted to help Ferdinind, he did not pay the money straight off without signing his name to bills. Now, I understand the reason. He knows full well that I have raised nearly every farthing I can, and he wishes to force me into giving him Irene. And is this all you have against Prince Ser- gius, Henry ? Surely it is good of him to have ielped our misguided Ferdinand. He was at liberty to choose his own mode of doing so." "Aye, was he? But if taking my life at this moment would save Irene from the fate of being his wife, or Ferdinand's debts from being paid by his means, I would lay it down without a murmur." My dear, dear husband, pray do not talk like that; you frighten me till I feel absolutely bewil- dered." He drew her head towards him and kissed her. You cannot help it, Dora love. You have always been a faithful wife and tender mother; it is perhaps my fault that you are not being repaid for all your care. Alas, mv Dora, our cup is full of bitterness in the future, but you will uoi doubt m«; you will help me to drink it." "My darling, hardly-tried Henry!" She was aghast, as well she might be, at Ferdi- nand's weakness and shortcomings, beginning al- most to view the case as his father did, and feeling that he must leave England. Still, she did not look at their present surroundings through the same dark glass that. Mr. Stanhope used, and she fondly believed that,shaken by his disappointment in Ferdinand, he was viewing the wh le matter far more seriously than its exigencies warranted. And it would take a very great deal of persuasion to make Lady Fedora do otherwise than believe in Sergius Lenskoff. After a silence of several seconds, during which the husband and wife looked at each other in questioning dismay, Lady Fedora said, We must return to my first suggestion. Geoffrey must be asked to make a sacrifice for the family good. This ousand pounds must be paid without Prince Sevgius' assistance, and if it comes tó a discussion of a marriage bet ween him and Irene there must be no obligation on either side." "Don't talk of it pray don't talk of it," said Mr. Stanhope, excitedly let us speak of Ferdi- nand. This thousand paid, what then? He will Owe another in a week," He must leave the army and go abroad," Lady Fedora answered tersely, altera moment's thought, It, was the first, time she had given a decided verdict, against Ferdinand, and it made her heart bleed to utter it now but. she felt its ju-tice, and, kind, loving mother though Ladv Fedora was, she Was not n woman to flinch when justice had to be done. "How could Geoffrey," she reasoned, be asked to give up a portion of his rights for Ferdi- nand if there was not some guarantee that it would be for the first, and last time ?" ISut, would Geoffrey do so, even if solicited? Certainly his father did not feel at all sure that he would, and even his mother doubted. There was little love existing between the brothers. Geoffrey Was a young man who held his money pretty tightly in hand, and severely censured those who squandered and spent too freely. With the cer- taintv, however, tint Ferdinand would be provided for abroad, and not have the chance of getting into temptation again in London, Geoffrey might possibly be induced to help. At all events, L ulv F**dora undertook to seek an interview with her eldest son, and place the case before him, still somewhat, against Mr. Stanhope's wishes. He C'>u|,i not he ir to think that one broth r should be made to suffer for the other, esoeciallv asGeotfiey h id always shown himself to be so dutiful and good. Mr. Stanhope knew, too, far better than his wifu did. that there would be two. if not three, t hnllsrwd pounds required before Ferdinand could b» settled hi some colony where he might reason- ably be expected to do well. The discussion of these in ltters had taken up a considerable portion of time, and, though it. was "nly six p.m. when Lady Fedora entered her Ims- band's study, it was halt-past seven and the divssjn £ *-b<'H was ringing for eight, o'clock dinner when she rose to leave him, and, implanting a kiss (1) his aching brow, hade him be of good cheer and heat t,»for sha believed and hoped all would yot be well. Just as she turned to open it there came a knock at the study door, and the old family butler entered, and closed the door somewhat mysteriously behind him. What is it, Marks?" asked Mr. Stanhope irritabtv feeling as if he could not stand any "lore disagreeables which this mystery seemed to precede. "Simon Knight is outside, if you please wishes to speak to you very particularly." What does ho want ? I am very much engaged." tie won't tell me his business, sir says he must see you or her lady ship." Well, show him In and Mr. Stanhope's irri- tation changed into a wearv, bored expression as Simon Knight stumbled, evidently rather the worse tor drink, into the room. Lady Fedora seated herself once more to hear what he had to relate, and save her husband, if possible, rrom whIt, sill) expected might prove rather 1\ lengthy nC(!t1l1ot. 01 Rome business worries. Great was her surprise whRn Simon Knight, after making his how. s;vid somewhat, thickly, It's about Mr. Geoffrey and my gal Phyllis as I've come to speak to yer honours." (To be continued.) «

A QUARTER 01" A MILLION IN CHARfTY. A probate auit of unexampled proportions came to an ahrupt conclusion on Saturday in the Irish Probate and Matrimonial Division, before Judge Warren and a special jury. The plaintiffs, Dr. Redmond, the oculist, and hig brothel's, propounded the will of James Gorman, who leftabout.SMO.OOO, of which about a quarter ot a million was devised to Roman Catholic charities, and the remainder to the Redmonds. The defendants are Mr. Christopher Blighe and the Lord Mayor of Dublin, who alleged that Gorman was of unsound mind, and that he was unduly influeneed by the Redmonds. Among the witnesses examined for the plaintiffs was Cardinal M'Cabe. It appeared that Gorman, who was an old man at the time of his death, had been in business in Dublin as a spirit grocer. He said that he derived most of his money from the hard earnings of the poor, and, therefore, he felt that he was a trustee for the poor, and would leave his money to them. He also said that he had set up the present Lord Mayor in business, but he could get no good of him, as he (the Lord Mayor) was always wa)¡7.Ïng from one end of the shop to the other.—The Solicitor-General (Mr. S. Walker), who appeared for the defence, endeavoured to make out that the testator was of weak mind, and evidence was pro- duced to the etiect that he had been seen wander- ing about Dublin looking for a house with an iron roof. He spoke about going to Africa for a trip. The jury stopped the case during the evi- dence for the defence, and found a verdict estab- lishing the will, and, therefore, validating the bequests to the charities.

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(All Rights Reserved.) LAZARUS IN LONDON. By F. W. ROBINSON, Author of M Grandmother's Money" Owen, a Waif"; M Mattie, a Stray The Black Speck"; No Churcb," &c. BOOK THE SECOND. THE CLOSING OF THE NET. CHAPTER VI, THE LAST OF THEM. It was strange news which my sister Ella had imparted to me—it took away my strength for a while; it robbed me of my peace of mind; it even tilled me with dismay. After her last words we went on together in silence for a few yards, and in advance of us, swinging his walking-cane and putting his cigar. proceeded the transformed figure of Mr. Protberoe, gentleman at large. You are going away to-day," I said presently in a low murmur, and like a woman talking in her sleep. And all this might be a dream, from which I should wake presently to smile at its inconsis- tencies, its startling unrealities. But I had not awakened yet, or—was awake too much. Father will not stay in England another day," replied Ella; "he wants to see the world; he dis- likes our climate; he is afraid of the winter here, and thinks it would affect his chest; he sees an opportunity abroad, he tells me, for his talents." What talents ?" I asked, wonderingly. Ella looked at me for an instant, and then laughed merrily. "That is an innocent inquiry, and I thought at first you were growing satirical, like poor Lyd," she said. "Well, I don't know what talents they are, Maud, but abroad they are going to develop, I believe. And if he fail in making an impression, why, it does not follow that I shall fail too." Ah! Ella, I do not understand you now. You have changed so very much!" No, no; I am just the same. I shall come back just the same to you," she added, with a little emphasis; "I am only unsettled a little. I am tired of Fisher-street—I should die in Fisher-street. I am very, very glad to get away. "You forget, Ella." "Forget what ?" Everything was to be borne bravely if only I got well," I said. You promised to keep strong." And I have kept strong. But, Maud, the last straw to the poor camel was the fact that you were engaged to Ben Wellinore, and would be thinking of him always, and of the new life to console you both, when I was left behind with. Lydia in Soho. Oh! it is all for the best," she cried, restlessly you will see that as well as I. The change must do me good—give me something else to think about beside the chance I have lost." The chance of a husband, do you mean ?" The chance of marrying the man who, I fancied, thought more of me than he did, and was capable of greater sacrifices than he was," she answered— the man I liked, Maud. Not that I am fretting about him—oh! don't think that. I am glad." Do you blame me for going away with father < vO ycu blame him for thinking of me in his prosperity ? Are you jealous that he should wish me to go with him ?—that he has not asked you ?" she ran on. To all these questions, No," I replied. All may be for the best, the very best, for what I know, only I am greatly surprised. It seems so strange that, without a moment's warning, I am going to lose you, dear." She put her arms round me and kissed me again in the open highway. Not for ever, Maud. I shall come back again a better, stronger woman. I shall be different alto- gether. I shall be able to keep you and Lydia, perhaps. I don't know. I have wild dreams, ambitions, fantasies. And," she added ruefully, perhaps I am only like poor father, after all." We will not dwell upon this any more," I re- marked; "it is settled. You are going, and the end of the old life is very close upon us. What is coming in the new we do not know." It cannot be worse," said Ella, with a percep- tible shiver. And you have, at least, my best wishes. You will write to me ?" Of course, of course," said Ella I will be one of the best and most regular of correspondents." Before father joins us," I said to her, let me say I have met Hugh as well as Miss Mackness. I saw thpm both las' Sunday." "And he comes down here to see her?" "Now and then. When she called on me this morningsheaskedifinanywayshecouldbeofhetp to us." "I would rather die than that woman should help me!" cried Ella. Yes, very likely. I think I can understand that." Ella walked on, evidently reflecting upon my last communication. Then she said suddenly— "What's she like?" Tall—carroty—very pale—not very pretty, but rather nice," was my rapid summing up of the per- sonal qualifications of Vanda Mackness. And very rich," added Ella, with no little bitter- ness. Yes, and very rich, no doubt." "You know she sent father his legacy out of her own money, as he was in a hurry for it, poor dad," said KHa; "but I would not look at her letter, I had father's word for it that it was an extremely lady-like epistle, although its patronising air ju red upon him somewhat. But, then, father is sus- ceptible." On some points—very," I replied. I could wiflh-" Could wish what ? "she askod, as I paused. That you were not going with him. Heis very eccentiicand weak." "I will keoo him in order," said Ella; "he is better with me than without me, I am certain. I am going to take care of him, Lydia thinks, and- so I am. That is why Lydia was so willing to say good-bye to me! "Ah! Don't let us say anything against Lydia any more," I cried; "you and I have to find out. yet all t)1<1 goodness nnd the unselti,lmessin her" "We protheroes are riddles, said KUa, "but Lydia is the greatest. What have you heard about her ?" "I will tell you in my next letter. Father is coming back. Yos. Do not say anything before him," said Ella quickly. Mr. William Protheroe had turned and was rapidly approaching us. I don't know how long you expect me to march along thiB insufferable 1'011,(1," he said, but I am not KOing very much further for anybody." Mrs. Wellmore's house is close at hand," I said. My dear, I have no intention of calling upon Mrs. Wellmore," he replied, loftily. I have fol- lowed Iny paternal instincts in coming to bid you good-bye. I have given into Ella's determination to crawl down here at great inconvenience to my- self, and with so much to do in town before we leave too!—and now there's an end of the whole business." Do you see Lydia again ?" I asked. Thank God, no," was his reply; we have made our adieux. I fetch my luggage from my hotel on my return. Ella's box is already at the station. I don't suppose," he added, with a short, unpleasant laugh, "that there is much in it that is at all presentable, but we shall alter all that when we get to Paris. We shall shine forth—also- lutely." "Oh! I can shine forth already, dad," cried EHa I have even packed a ball-dress!" She spoke scoffingly, and looked at me very meaningly but despite the defiant ring in her tone of voice, her lips suddenly quivered. The devil you have replied my fathnr to her. "I dont know that dancing will be vei-y much in my line, but we shall he gay. We shall see life— we shall know what life is! I wonder how many friends we shall meet abroad." Might they not meet Vanda Mackness and her aunt, I thought at once, Vanda, who was going away for her health ? Might they not meet Hugh Mackness, too, coming presently in search of Vanda? And of all they might meet—what was to follow the shuffling of the cards? I could almost imagine that they were marching to one end away from me and Lydia, and that the last act of the play—comedy or tragedy, which ?—was to be cast in a foreign city, far away from the slums of Soho, and that I should only know how the play had ended long after the green curtain had been rung down and the lights all turned out! We were now before the three cottages, and my father looked surprised as I stopped at the first gate. You—you surely have not been burrowing there like a mole ?" he cried in tones of intense disparagement; "this is not that man's mother's place ?" Yes, it is." He said his mother was a lady." So she is." what a hole!" be muttered; it's like a damned almshouse!" Mrs. Wellmore will be very pleased to see you both," I ventured to say in Ben's mother's behalf. No, no. my child; I don't want any fresh acquaintances, and I dislike old women. I dnw the line here, I go no further. Ella and I haven't any more minutes to waste," he said it's an un- un wholesome looking house. I might catch some- thing He drew a gold watch from his pocket-a brand new gold watch, attached to a heavy chain—and looked at it critically. We have not much time to spare," he said to Ella; a gentle stroll back, my dear, and we shall catch the next train up to town." I did not press him to enter. I was aggrieved but I do not know that I made my annoyance manifest. It was as well that he did not trouble Mrs. Wellmore, if he had no wish to see her—it was as well that he should go away at once if he were anxious to be quit of me. He had not wished to come, and he would be glad to get away. Ella had said good-bye in her heart already, and there was nothing more worth waiting for in Wokine. So we exchanged adieux at Mrs. Wellmore's front gate; my father imprinted a chaste salute in exactly the centre of my forehead, and I felt my- self shivering beneath his touch, as though I was still afraid of him. Ella put her arms round me and kissed me oas- sionately once or twice, and then looked eagerly into ray face. Don't you wish me to go P If she asked in a whisper. You will be happier away. Ella. Yes, I wish you to go now. And I shall be glad to hear you are enjoying your holiday. Don't—" Don't what ?" Don't let father spend his money too quickly, and—and—foolishly," I whispered." You will look after him, and be of use to him." That is what Lydia enjoins," replied Ella; "I will not forget, but do not talk like Lydia to me, Maud. A nd at the last, too Did she give you any message to me?" I asked suddenly. Her love. That is all. And—oh! I remember —you were not to hurry back." I was to leave her at home alone." She is at her best and happiest alone, poor Lyd," was Ella's answer. We both used to think so, when we thought of her at all," I replied, but we were both mistaken. I shall be back in Fisher-street to-night." Nonsense." I did not reply to Ella, but we kissed again, and then I was left standing at the wicket, watching the receding forms of my father and sister—both turning and looking back occasionally—my father raising his curly-brimmed hat to me and flourish- ing it over bis head in farewell salutation. And this was the last I sa w of them.

CHAPTER VII.. THE HOMEWARD OCRNET. Ben Wellmore came down by the train follow- ing that which had brought my father and Ella to Woking. He had done this on purpose, so that he should not he in the way of a family meeting, but there had been another reason at which I shivered a little, but at which he laughed whilst he explained— "I have been dodging the bobbies," be said, lightly; "they have become too marked in their attentions, so I thought I would be aggravatingly mysterious for an hour. I took an omnibus to London Bridge—I paid sixpence and went to the top of the monument-I came down again and travelled by penny steamer to Waterloo Pier—I sat down in a recess on Waterloo Bridge and listened to a blind man reading a Bible-l dodged them round the booking-office, and as they have come on to Woking, two of them, to-day, I have given them a good run along the canal, and beaten them by half a mile. 1 don't believo they will be in sight for ten minutes." Don't laugh, Ben I am afraid." What is there to be afraid of?" This was said in the garden, then we passed into the front parlour, where Ben was welcomed bp his mother. Has Maud told you ?" asked Mrs. Wollmore, almost sadly and after the customary salutations had been exchanged. "About her father and Ella's going abroad ? Oh! I knew that." I did not mean that. said his mother. He looked at me inquiringly and critically. Ben," I said, I want you to take me home very early this evening. I want to get home very badly now." i 'in sorry—I— Lydia is alone." Yes. But she does not expect you," he said. She wants you to have all the change you can get before you return to Fisher-street." "She is very good," I answered. "but I am quite well, and I should not be happy here without her." Ben seemed to reflect upon my answer, with his big hands clasped together, and his eyes upon the white kittens, sleeping together composedly in front of the fire. "Could you not wait till to-morrow?" he asked. No. I have made up my mind. "Very well. We will not argue the matter any further. If you have made up your mind," he re- marked, there's an end of the whole business, for a more positive little woman I have never known." He laid his hand upon mv shoulder and laughed in his pleasant way, but there was a strange, sad look in his eyes. I felt he was troubled, but I could not ask him, before his mother, what the trouble was. I could guess, and as I knew after- wards. guess correctly too. He had spoken of the detectives following him to prepare me for the worst—for his arrest—just as he was prepared himself. The extra vigilance of the police was a bad sign, and one knew not what an homo might bring forth. Perhaps it was as well that the matter should be settled off-hand, I thought, than to live on in this suspense—although I did not seem in any way to fear for Ben. I was only in my heart indignant that any one should doubt him-that everybody did not know him as well as I did. It seemed a long, long while before we we re going home together—going home in earnest—and the little peaceful cottage at Woking was an item in a happy past. I had bidden good-bye to Mrs. Wellmore. I had parted from her with tears. It had been my first experience of what a mother might be like—tender, solicitous, and loving. I had stolen away to leave Ben and his mother together, and then, all part- ings over for a while, we were going home at last. The omnibus had called for my box, and taken it on to the station, where it awaited my arrival in the booking office. So the holiday is over," said Ben, when we were walking up and down the platform, waiting for the train," and you are stronger." "Oh, yes." As strong as ever you were, do you think ?" Yes. Why do you ask?" Because I want to make quite sure; because I don't want you to give way any more, Maud," he continued, •• but to look ahead bravely, and laugh at the fates." Go on, Ben," I said. What do you mean by Go on' ?'* he inquired. You have something more to tell me—to pre- pare me for." Sharp little woman, so I have," he said. It's only the old story. If I am run in to-night, to- morrow—any time—I want you to act as my secre- tary. amanuensis, and general factotum, hold possession of my rooms, arrange my papers, take care of any money you may find knocking about, and keep the news from the old lady if you can. And if you cannot, why, persuade her it is all non- sense, and that I shall" soon be out." "You will require her as evidence as to your visit, to her on the fourth." Yes, if it comes to any evidence. We must bring that to her recollection somehow," he said. .She has a bad memory, Ben. I have noticed ♦hat." "That is the worst of it. But, after all, it does not. matter much," he said, carelessly. Nothing matters if you .vill keep strong for everybody's s.ike—mine, mother's, your sister Lydia's, and par- ticulHriy your own. Is that a promise r" Yes!" And you will keep strong?" "I_will keep str>ng." Having faith in me—eh "Yes. HHn." Fighting my battles as wet! as your own P" Yes." I say nil this, Maud, because I do not think I shall he lon^ out of the police clutches," said Hen. "There will be a little fuss, and then I shall be dismissed iike poor old Isaac, without a stain on my character; but it's all uncomfortably awkward now the passage money is pRid, and I am booked for to-morrow week. Only another week, by Jove! even if all's well Hut all was not well, and poor Ben's forebodings were close to the truth. When we had reached Waterloo, the man Railsford, whom I had seen twice in Fisher-street, stepped from the crofd which was hurrying towards the streets, touched Hen on the arm, and took him aside, where they were joined by a third man, who was also unmis- takably of the police pattern. Presently they all three returned to me, Ben walking in the middle. Maud," he said, "these gentlemen have made up their minds at last, so good-bye for the present, "Oil, Rcn I" "There, there; you are going to be brave you know, and fight my battles," he said; so get a cab as soon as you can, and take your box home to Lvdia, and tell her the news. I think she is pre- pared, too. Good-bye God bless you! You will hear from me soon." He stooped and kissed me, and then, with a de- tective officer on each side of him, my lover was marched away to "durance vile."

CHAPTER VIII. THE RETDHN. I went home by cab from Waterloo Station to Fisher-street. It seemed an extravagant proceed- ing, but Ben had wished it, and there was my box under my own protection, at least. It was nine o'clock when the cab stopped oppo- site my front door, and I saw, with faint surprise, that the shop was closed an hour before time. That was a new vaHation of the Fisher-street pro- gramme, at which I should have been more asto- nished with less upon my mind. But nothing seemed to surprise roe greatly that night. I was like someone stunned, and had a confused perception of surroundings. To come back was like dashing once more into the vortex for ever whirling in Soho, and to grow giddy with the velocity with which life spun round there. Mrs. Bond ran to the door to see the cab arrive- came out on to the pavement to receive me, and stood there in her black cap and scarlet flowers, all smiles and curiosity. Well, who'd a' thought of your coming back in the midst of it?'' she said. "They sent for you, I suppose. And such a bother, too. Such a pity just"at Christmas time, and we are all so sorry. Has Mr. Wellmore-^— What bother—what pity P" I exclaimed. Ah, you don't know—you haven't heard; but there's been a crowd round half the day, and your sister thought she'd better shut up shop, and get away from it, and very properly; and then thuse dreadful gasmen carrying off the meter, just because you're a little bit behind. Why, Bond's always behind, and I knocked at the door, and it was instantly opened by Lydia, who did not regard Mrs. Bond pleasantly. I thought it was you, child," she said to me, and Mrs. Bond murmuring a "Good evening," glided softly back to her own premises and stood on her door-step, apparently interested in wbtt was going on on the other side of the way. The cabman carried my box into the shop, which was only lighted by the paraffin lamp on the table in the parlour, received his fare and departed; then the door was shut, and I put my arms round Lydia and kissed her with more love in my kisses than I had ever lavished on hor before, with more love in my little aching heart for her than there had ever been till that day. "Good gracious, Maud!" she exclaimed pre- sently, and very much astonished at my greeting, you've broken my glasses, I believe, and scratched me all down the side of my nose with them. Whatever have you come flying back like this for!" But she hr'd me for a moment tightly to her, and looked with her ke* rey eyes closely into my face. 661 wanted to get home," I explained. Ah! well, I'm glad to see you," she replied, M although a day or two longer would have been all the better for you, and," she added, after a moment's pause—" all the better for me." As she passed into the room I followed her. taking off my hat and jacket en route, so I was prepared to sit down facing her when she sat down too and was looking hard at me again. Why all the better for you, Lydia ?'' I asked. The-the place would have been more like the home it was. But now!" "Now?" I repeated. Well, now—there's a. difference. Cannot you see that ? Yes. Mrs. Bond has told me some news, but it is not like the hard cruel news which I bring back, Lydia. Ben——" "Yes. You need not say any more. I can guess," she remarked, as I paused for a moment to get my strength together, and to tell her of all that had happened. You can guess ?" Ben is arrested for the murder of Mr. Mack- ness." Yes." "I have been prepared for it," said Lydia, but I am none the less very deeply grieved. She sat with her hands clasped looking at the fire-grate, which I noticed for the first time was black and empty. Before I could reply to her she said again- The police were here this afternoon." Here!" Yes; after father and Ella had gone, and Ben had started for Woking," said Lydia, the police came with a search warrant, and ransacked his rooms." What was the use of that?" I do not know," she replied. They did not say anything to me but good-day when they came down again, but they were upstairs a long while." Did they take anything away with them ?" "Nothing-so far as I know." I wonder why they suspect him like this," I said. Is everybody who saw Mr. Mackness that day under suspicion of murder, do you think ?" "It looks like it. Well," said Lydia, almost cheerfully," he need not fear. and you, Maud, need not grieve. There is no proving Mr. Wellmore anything but an honest English gentleman, rough of speech at times, unceremonious very often, but a true gentleman, Maud, to his heart's core. And so I wish you joy of him again." She held a. hand that trembled a little towards me, and I pressed it in my own for a while, not letting it go at once as she had expected. "You have a great deal to tell me, Lydia," I said. Not a very great deal," was the slow reply. About father and Ella, about the trouble here, about yourself." She looked doubtfully towards me." I don't know what you mean by about my- self," she said, in a strange, hesitating way, and with her colour changing as she spoke. I have nothing particular to say at present. I don't often talk of myself, Maud. You must know that by this time. But to-night you will, for my sake—pre- sently." That is not likely," she said, shaking her head with no little energy. Ah, well! we shall have time to talk of that," I said. "Now about our little business troubles. When did they cut the gas off ?" This morning." Was it so very difficult to meet their claims ?" I asked. Is it so bad as all this, then ?" It is rather bad," said Lydia, speaking quietly, but under protest, as it seemed to me. But why do you want to worry me about it ? The poor- rate took all the spare cash last week, and there was not enough for the gas this—that's all." It is astonishing how anxious the parish authorities are to get in all the money they can for the poor. What a deal they collect, and what a deal the poor get out of it! Ah, these should be fine times for Lazarus, I thought a little bit- terly, but they are not. Here had the poor-rate collector taken away all our ready money but the relieving-officer would have cursed us as impostors if we had asked him for a loaf of bread, or have thrown it in our faces if we had lost a day's work in waiting our turn for it with the rest of the starvelings. And already I was beginning to feel one of them! Did father or Ella know about the gas f" It was after they had gone." I am glad of that. What are we going to do to-morrow night ?" It, will be laid on to-morrow again," she replied. Ben found it out, and went and paid tho claim at the office before he came down to vou. I felt I could not answer for a while. I sat very still, and tried to keep firm. It would not do to give way after all the bracing effects of country air; besides, I had promised Ben to be, from this day, very strong and brave, and I would be till the end of it all. When Ben is released, Maud, you must marry him, and go away to America at once," said Lydia, suddenly. "I think he would be glad. I think the risk of his getting a living is not great, and he would be pleased at your faith in him. I don't like his going abroad without you." Was she thinking of one James Wollmore, who went abroad without her—the James Wellmore, of whom I hoped to speak soon, and for a reason of my own ? And what is to become of you ?" I inquired. I shall always be able to get my own living, she answered. Ella with father, you with Ben, and there will be only myself to think of, and I can get rid of the shop, and settle down." She spoke with some degree of hesitation. Is that your only reason for wishing me to leave you, Lydia ii" Will not that do ?" she asked, sharply. Not at an." You trouble me a little, Mitud," she confessed. I have another reason, but I did not want to allude to it to-night." 1 wish you would." I was thinking, then," she said, speaking with a sudden and remarkable rapidity, that—t.h.it if anything happened to nie-its it might happen to anyone in a city where death is common and natural, and very often unexpected, Maud-that you would be left quite alone in the world—help- less and unprotected, and not knowing what to do." And to avoid all thi", Lvd," I said, I am to leave you helpless and unprotected, and alone, in the same terrible position from which you would save me!" I am older than you." You are not stronger." i She glanced at me curiously, but said, "I can gat on so well by myself, I am sure." Until I can leave you well and strong and happy and prosperous-" Oh, good gracious! she interrupted. With a future before you," I continued, and with some chance, not remote, of seeing you again, you will have to bear with me, to put, up with me, to be content with all the love I have for you, which is not so small, Lyd, despite the trouble I have been to you all my life. So I shall Dot go awav from you yet awhile." -1 Yes," she said in a lower tone, I think you will, But we will talk of this some other time. I —I don't quite make you out to-night. You are different somehow." I am different. I have been thinking, Lydia." c, Of what ?" II Of what a deal you have done for Ella and me in my life, and what a poor return for all your kindness, and sacrifice, and thought for us it has all been. And it is not too late, thank God, for one little woman to be grateful, is it ?" I leaned forward and bowed my head upon her lap, and I felt the thin, cool hands rest upon my hair caressingly. There was a long silence, and presently her voice said in an unsteady, whispering tone- What has been said about me since you have been at Woking ?" Nothing against you, at all events. Shall I tell you?" No. Not now," she said after another little pause, you have come back with your heart too full, that's all. And you have been talking a lot of nonsense, and Ben's arrest has upset you, and made you excitable and hysterical. Let us get supper ready, and then I have a question to ask you -a question that is on my mind, child." About Ben ?" I don't say that." Did she think the mention of my lover's name —my lover's troubles-would hring me to myself more quickly ?-and perhaps she was right; not that I had forgotten him, or that he did not belong to this story too, or that I loved him less, because I had begun to love my half-sister more. We bustled about and prepared our little meal We bustled about and prepared our little meal of bread and cheese together, then we sat down, and instead of talking of business, or bad times, or even Ben, as I thought had been suggested by my sister Lydia's last remark, she said quietly, but with her eyes fixed on me very critically too— Who do you think, Maud, killed Richard Mack- ness ?" (To be continued.)

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GHOSTS AND GHOST STORIES, ALSO SUPERSTITIONS, LEGENDS, FAIRY TALES, ETC. COMPILED AND COLLECTED BY, THE « DUTCHMAN." GERTRUDE'S BIRD-A NORSE LEGEND. The following is from Dr. Dosent's popular tales from the Norse: In those days when our Lord and St. Peter wandered upon earth they came once to an old wife's house who sat baking. Her name was Gertrude, and she had a red hurtch on her head. They had walked a long way and were both hungry, and our Lord begged hard for a bannock to stay their hunger. Yes; they should have it. So she took a little tiny piece of dorg and rolled it out; but as she rolled it it grew until ir, covered the whole griddle. Nay, that was too big: limy could not have that. So she took a tinier bit still; but when that was rolled out it covered the whole griddle just the same, and the bannock was too big, she said they could not have that either. The third time she took a tinier lot still-so tiny you could scarcely see it; but it was the same story over again—the bannock was too big. "Well," said Gertrude, I can't give you anything you must just go without, for all these bannocks are too big." Then our Lord made wroth and said," Since you love me so little as to grudge me a morsel of food, you shall have this punish- ment—you shall seek your food between bark and bole, and never get a drop to drink save when it rains." Ha had scarce said the last word before she was turned into a great black woodpecker, or Gertrude's bird, and flew from her kneading- trough right up the chimney; and till this very day you see her flying about, with her red hurtch on her head, and her body all black, because of the soot in the chimney and so she harks and taps away at the trees for her food, and whistles when rain is coming, for she is ever athirst, and then she looks for a drop to cool her tongue. If the story teaches no other lesson, it at least teaches us that of charity and tells the punishment of greed. ABOUT SNEEZING. There are so many superstitions about sneezing that, one might almost fill a small book on this subject alone. Here is an entire week of sneezes Sneeze oil Monday, sneeze for danger; Sneeze on Tuesday, kiss a stranger Sneeze on Wednesday, receive a letter Sneeze on Thursday, something belter; Sneeze on Fri iay, expect sorrow Sneeze on Saturday, joy to-morrow Sneeze on Sunday, Monday borrow. THE GHOST LORD BROUGHAM SAW. I At Kougelf, near Gottenberg, says Lord Brougham, who was on a tour in Northern Europe, we stopped to cat some cold provisions, and then continued our journey in the dark. The carriage being shut, we were not actually frozen, but the road was ex- ceedingly rough, and we went at a foot pa"; besides, it was more hilly than is usual in Sweden. At one in the morning we arrived at a decent inn, and decided to stop for the night. We found a couple of comfortable rooms. Tired with the cold of the previous day, I was glad to take advan- tage of a hot bath before I turned in and here a most remarkable thing happened to me, so re- markable that I must tell the tale from the begin- ning. After! left the HighSchool I went with G- my most intimate friend, to attend the classes in the University. There was no divinity class, but we frequently in our walks discussed and specu- lated upon many grave subjects, particularly upon the immortality ot the soul and on a future state. This question and the possibility, I will not say of ghost-walking, but of the dead appearing to the living, were subjects of much speculation, and we actually committed the folly of drawing up an agreement written with our blood to the effect, that whichever of us died first should appear M the other, and thus solve any doubts we lnci enter- tained of the life after death." After we had finished our classes at the college G- went to India, having got an appointment there in the Civil Service. He seldom wrote to me, and after the lapse of a few years I had almost forgotten him moreover, his family having little connection with Edinburgh, I seldom saw or hoard anything of him through them. So that, all the old schoolboy intimacy having died out, I had nearly forgotten his existence. I had taken, as I have said, a warm bath, and, while lying in it and enjoying the com- fort of the 1kj.t. after the late freezing I had under- gone, I turned my head roilnd, looking towards the chair on which I had deposited my clolhes, as I was about to get up out of the bath. On the chair sat G- looking calmly at me. How I got out of the bath I know not, but on recovering my senses I found myself sprawling on the floor. The apparition, or whatever it was that had taken the likeness of G had disappeared. The vision produced such a shock that I had no inclination to speak to anyone. But the impression it madA upon me was too vivid to be easily forgotten, and so strongly was I affected by it that I have here written down the whole history, with the date- December 19—and all the particulars as they are now fresh before me. No doubt I had fallen asleep, and that the appearance presented so distinctly to my eyes was a dream I cannot for a moment doubt. Yet for years I had had no com- munication with G- nor had there been any- thing to re-call him to my recollection. Nothing had taken place during our Swedish travels either connected with G- or with India, or with any- thing relating to him or to any member of his family. I recollected quickly enough our old dis cussion and the bargain we had made. I could not discharge from my mind the impression that G-- must have died, and that his appearance to me was to b ■ received by me as a proof of a future state; yet ali the time I felt convinced that the whole was a dream, and so painfully vivid and so unfading was the impression that I would not bring myself to talk of it or to make the slightest allusion to it. I finished dressing;, as we had agreed to make an early start. I was ready by six o'clock, the hour of our early breakfast. Soon after my return to Ehnburgh there arrived a letter from India announcing G 's death, and stating that he had died on the 19di of December. WHISTLING. v Arabians say that after puckering thu mouth for wllistling- it takes forty days to purifv thai useful member of the body, while the Tongaest- and Ice- landers consider whistling to be disrespectful to the Supremo Being. The peasants of North Ger- many claim that to whistle in the evening will make tha angels weep. JANUARY TRADITIONS. January is more marked than any other month of the year for a variety of days connected with old superstitions, traditions, and curious obser- vances and the month in old times was consi- dered an unlucky one. In an ancient, calendar of the time of Henry II. the 1st of January itself is set down aa a dies mala, and, later on, in a manu- script calendar of the time of Henry VI. we find six more unlucky days marked in January, namely, the 2nd, 4th, 5th, 7th, 10th, and 13th. There arealsoseverai meteorological pmverbs about month, as If the grass grows in Janiver it grows thr worse forlt, all the year." "A January spring is worth naething," and "Under water, dearth; under snow, bread." Few people, probably, in these busy days remember it was not till 1753 that, the 1st of January became the initial day of the legal as it had long been of the popular year though the change had been made in Scotland long before; while what our ancestors describe as the blackest month of the year" was originally called by the Saxons" Wolf Monat" and subse- quently "After Yule." AFTER-DEATH VISITATION. At the close of the Burmese War Lieut,enAnt K- a young officer who had been severely wounded in one of the actions and subsequently attacked by fever, was sent home on sick certifi- cate some months before the return of his regi- ment, whose term of ollice had nearly expired. Ho left many friends behind him, but none from whom he more deeply regretted to part than Mr. P-, the British Collector at Madeira, with whom he had been for years on terms of most fam.itM intimacy. The very first night of his landing in England, after an absence which dated from boyhood, he lay long awake in his bed at the hotel where he had taken up his quarters. He felt very restless, and thought over all he had gone through in India and the friends he had left probably to see no more. Among these he thought of hit friend the collector. It was iust past midnight, and he was still meditating, when he heard someone in the room, though he had locked the donr before undressing. He looked to the side from which the sound came. and distinctlv saw hia friend not far from the bed, gazing at him vary mournfully. Astonished beyond measure, he prepared to step out of bed, exclaiming, What, brings vou here, P ?"His friend waved his hand as if to wave him off, shook his head sadly, and gliding towards the door disappeared. K re- mained awake nearly the whole night quite unable as if to wave him off, shook his head sadly, and gliding towards the door disappeared. K-- re- mained awake nearly the whole night quite unable to account for what had happened. In due course th* mails arrived from India, bringing news that P-- had died from cholera at Madeira, after a few hours'illness, on the very night on which he appeared to Lieutenant K SLEEPING IN CHURCH. On the 17th April, 1725, John Rudge bequeathed £1 per year to the Parish of Tryssel, Shropshire, to fee a poor man to go about the church and keep the people awake. Less liberal. Richard Dovey, of Farncote, gave eight shillings to another parish for the same purpose, while in Cheshire the churchwarden performed the duty. As late as thirty years ago a wand forked at one end so as to catch the nape of the neck was employed, but more gallantly, in another place a fox's brush was at one end for the ladies, while the hard bud was applied to the men.

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FEMININE FANCIES, FOIBLES, AND FASHIONS. By A LADY. [All Rights Reserved.] Anxious to secure the Life of George Eliot" on the first day of its issue, I set my name down at Mudie's Library a fortnight in advance, and so was able to walk off triumphantly with the two first volumes under my arm, whilst others with less foresight must wait indefinitely for their turn for perusal. Most journals contain critical notices of the book, but this is not a critical notice. I want merely to make a few extracts for the behoof of other women, who may not have nn oppor- tunity of reading the "Life" for themselves at present. I have not space nor inclination to dis- cuss those deeper questions which it suggests. Simple chit-chat is all I aspire to. It would be impossible to attempt more in such a column as I am penning to-day. The frontispiece in both first and second volumes is, in each case, a portrait Of George Eliot; that taken at the age of 30 gives one a very pleasant impression of her. The face is attractive from its very intelligence, but the features are too large, some say harsh, to be strictly beautiful. The dress she wears is neat- looking and tasteful, as if some care and attention had been bestowed upon it. The wide turn-down lace collar has a chemisette of lace also, the dress being made open to display this piece of feminine finery. The bodice is laced across the bust, and the portrait shows abundant hair, carefully dressed in long full braids reaching below the ears, as was the fashion of the time. Later in life George Eliot confesses she cares nothing for dress, and that she detests shops more and more every day. She re- cords, in a letter to a. friend, that when the art decorator, Mr. Owen Jones, was engaged in ar- ranging a new residence for them he lectured her for neglecting her appearance so much, and in deference to his opinion she describes herself, as on one occasion wearing a grey moire antique gown. The residence referred to was The Priory, 21, North Bank, N.W., at present occupied by Mr. Wilson Barrett, of the Princess's Theatre. It is delightfully situated close to Regent's Park, sur- rounded by high walls and a lovely garden, and, though within half an hour's ride of the centre of London, is almost entirely removed from the roar of the cabs, to which urban sound George Eliot frequently alludes as being so distracting. The fogs, to which she had even a greater objection, she could not escape; but at North Bankthegifted writer seems to have found a long-sought and greatlv-desired haven of rest and happiness, frequent flights into the country being still needful, however, to recruit exhausted mental and bodily powers, London air being constantly productive of intense headache and terrible nervous depression. The second volume of the Life contains views of Griff and Foleshill, both homes of George Eliot in her girlhood. To the first-named Mr. Robert Evans took his family when the future genius was a little maid of four years old. It is a pleasant- looking red brick house, a homestead, the back view showing compact farm buildings and other signs of the agricultural pursuits in which Mr. Evans was engaged. In these his youngest daughter seems to have taken consider- able interest; and the understanding remarks concerning top-dressings, aftermaths, manures, and sub-soils which we meet with in her novels prove what she herself says, that her father, in his frequent drives in the country, was often accom- panied by his little gin, who even then developed the taste for acquiring knowledge of every sort which in after life so much distinguished her. Mr. Evans early in life was a builder; afterwards he became a farmer and land agert. In the characters of Adam Bede and Caleb Gath, in Middlemarch," George Eliot has reproduced some of the characteristics displayed by her father, though she denies that either is a portrait. In Scenes of Clerical Life the author doe? not deny drawing on her experience of certain acquain- tances in the representations given. Maggie Fulliver's childhood is thought to bear some resem- blance to that of George Eliot herself. Her aunt, who was a Methodist preacher in her youth, in t.he course of her ministrations under- WcTt an experience that suggested Hetty Sorrel and the child murder in "Adam Bede," the aunt posing as Dinah Morris; but we are told Dinah was an ideal portrait in other respects, being described as gentle tempered, with hnir inclining to red, and pale, calm face; whilst Miss Evans's aunt, is said to l1'iVe been an energetic sort of per- son, with piercing eyes and coal-black hair—not at all like the gentle "prototype, if prototype she may be called, drawn in "Adam Bede." In her own pale-faced, delicate mother, with her swift deci- sions and sharp, incisive speech, George Eliot found material for the construction of theinimitable Mrs. Poyser- .ne of George Eliot's most delightful creations. I have heard many of her most intelligent admirers declare they experienced less pleasure in reading George Eliot's books than might be because of their invariable melancholy terminations, and the sadness such ending inspired! But they are far truer to actual life than if the happy ever after" system had been adopted, and everyone's experience must justify the conclusion railed at—for what is the use of crying peace when there is no pe;tce? And it is in the very conscientious delineation of life and character as it, is which constitutes the chief merit and attraction of George Eliot's writings. Does she not '1<1.Y ''Life is to most a doubtful good, and that it is a problem which grows more complex every day." Ot herwhere she says, No sooner do we find the key of life than it opens the gate of de it h," Again she pronounces, "I fpel the weiyht of this unintelligible world." The circumst.ancesof George Eliot's life, like those of Currer Bell, were not favourable to buoyancy of spirits. Both appear to have suffered from the evils of which dyfpupsia if. so terribly proli tic, amI ngst which a depressed state of the anim.il spirits ranks as suffering even before the throbbing headaches against which both had to .struggle as best they might. To the influence of the wither George Eliot was singularly susceptible. When foggy she says she loses all faith in her own capacity and tremhies under a deep distrust of her po»ver to Satisfy others or that most exigfntofatlcritics, herself. Oppressed by a combination of these evils she used to say she worked liks a sick nigger with the lash behind him." George Eliot makes • ouching allusion to the love and the brightness that compassed her in her own dwelling, and several lIf her manuscripts contain dedications to Mr. Lewes as the husband to whose inspiration she owes all the success she has attained in life. She also says she has no regrets for the step she had taken Indeed, but for her own and Mr. Lewes's continual ill-health, her cup of happmeRs seems tf) have been full to the brim, In one of her letters Mrs. Lewes tfclls a friend that her husband described Charlotte Bronte to her as a little, provincial, ugfy, old maid." That Currer Bell liked and trusted Mr. Lewes we know. She said she could not hate him though she tried, and George Eliot in the early stage of their intercourse refers to Lewes as a man whom she is beginning to like, though he has hitherto coine in largely for vituperation. One amusing anecdote I must relate. I have only seen it amongst, one set of extracts from the "Life." 51 I hope it will have the merit of novelty. Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Ameri- can genius, whilst visiting Carlyle on one occasion, denied the existence of the Evil One. Much shocked, Carlyle set himself to correct this heresy of opinion by taking Emerson to every den of infamy accessible to them. At each fresh hideous revelation of vice and crimo Carlyle turned triumphantly on the sceptic with, Do you believe in th" Devil 11007" Of all her novels Romolo," said her husband, "ploughed most deeply into her." The author says, in reference to it, "I began it a young woman I finished it an old woman." yet the dates were not far apart. C'I read slowly," she other- where says," and few books." But in the list I notice many the meaning of which can only be grasped by the very highest intelligence, In allusion to a book-marker that a friend had sent, she says if it were a little longer it might find honourable lodgment in the Book of Books, which George Eliot refers to as the Bible which he (Mr. Lewes) does not read himself, but has no objec- tion to see me read." In one place we are told that, to crown her other troubles, Mrs. Lewes had lost the pen which had been a faithful servant for eight long years. The true mother's love she bore to Mr. Lewes's sons is betrayed in a number of delightful letters to them. The gift of a knife to one son, which has other attachments beside the blades, will," so Mrs. Lewes jokingly thinks, equip him efficiently were the mischances of Robinson Crusoe to befall him." Of the eldest son, Charles, who is her special favourite, and of whom she is lull of loving praise George Eliot thus wrote to a friend:—"1 always hoped Charles would be able to choose, or rather find, the other half of himself before he was twenty-three," and she says afterwards that they must not regret that event, has happened a year and a half earlier. I must not go on multiplying extracts, but com- mend Mr. Cross's book to my readers one and all, envyiug them the delight of finding some new revelations of her thoijghts in George Eliot's letters and journals—a delight which, after read- ing the third volume, will, alas! be closed to me. 1 took advantage of the fine afternoon on Sun- day to take a walk in Hyde Park, and found very many well-dressed people there enjoying the im- proved condition of thtl weather; and the dresses worn,I noticed, were more spring-like and brighter than I have seen for some weeks, the bad weather seeming to paralyse all effort in relation to the toilet, the thickest materials, weather- proof, and no fripperies, being the joint dictates of inclination and common sense. And behold! a return to crinoline!! I had heard, and now I see, that dressmakers are putting a ring of steel in the hems of our gowns, and it goes all round! This steel is the thin end of the wedge. Its cir- cumference is quite modest at present; how long it. will continue to be so I cannot say.Anent, it there is just now running in my mind the old saying, First creep, and then go." Plain skirts-I do not mean the housemaid's skirt—but one stretched plainly across a well-stiffened foundation with paniers above and falling drapery at the back, are those most worn. Pmsh, velveteen, and other heavy materials are employed for the skirt, and silk, satin, or cashmere for the bodice and drapery. Waistcoats, of some form or other, enter largely into our fashions, and the modified Zouave jacket is adopted by some women, but I think it is ¡' becoming to few. I have seen some skirts made of Irish poplin. This lovely, enduring material is too little patronised, but as I see her Majesty has ordered several pieces of poplin for the Princess Beatrice's trousseau, perhaps Roval patr m-ige will give a stimulus to its sale. I have just bought | a moss-green pophn the surface is glossy as silk, and as soft and rich-looking as can be desired, j Formerly, spite of their excellent wearing qua lit ips, Irish poplins did not look worth the high price paid for them. Now, beauty of ap- pearance is associated with durability, and no be'ter combination can be wisticd for. I hear the Qut cn's order includes a pale blue poplin, a white one, flowered with forget-me-nots, and a pure white poplin. Apropos of dress skirts, women who find the plain skirt too severe for their style may secure a fashionable substitute in one box-plaited to the knees, or a little below them, then gathered with three threads, so as to form a sort of band two inches or more in width below this the material falls as one deep flounce. Panicrs would be worn above. This is truly an age of luxury, and one evidence of the fact is that the costliest of all furs, ermine, is now used for a lining to cloaks and sorties-de- bal," indeed, for all sorts of mantles, their price being, of course, extravagantly augmented by such lining. There are some simple pelerines designed for early spring wear. These are cut straight, a little above the waist, like a scarf, bur, are made to fit the neck. The fronts are cut long and square. fall- ing to the knees, and are semi-fitting, all the edges being bordered with fur. The newest walking dresses have long sleeves, with narrow fur bands at the wrists, the fur corresponding to that on the pelerine which is made to accompany. Removable trains are sent home with most even- ing toilets. They are very useful, and if well cut. should not betray their adjustable character. Vel- vet trains are most worn, and, as coloured velvet bodices are worn above lace skirts, black oi white, the addition oî a train matching bodice effects an agreeable transformation when required. Gold and silver laces, used with discre- tion, are in high favour for ball toilets the purpie shades growing HO fHshion:1blø harmonise beautifully with gold trimmings, and silver lace tones exquisitely w:th the pais blues and pinks that are also fashionably worn. A reader has written to ask me if coffee is "bad for the complexion." Only so far as it dis- agrees, as it often does with people of bilicas temperament. I have been told that it acts in the same way as sal volatile. Those unable to taka that stimulant will find coffee produce correspond- ing nausea. and depression, instead of exhiiaratioa and relief.

SPIRIT OF THE WELSH PKESS. [BY GWYLIEDTDD.] The spirited resistance of the curate of Llanfair* fechan at the disestablishment meeting reeem.lv held at that place has given some trouble to the leading advocates ot that crusade. The editor ol the Genedl, who wa.s the chief speaker at the recent meeting, has lost his temper over the matter and gives vent to his wrath in a lengthy and chamcteristic leading articl0. It appears, according to Gicalia, that a disestablish- ment meeting was held at Llanfairfechan, a village on the Carnarvonshire coast, at which the Church party carried a resolution in favour of the Establishment. Another meeting was held a fortnight, ago, when the Rev. Abel J. Parry, editor of the Genedl, and one of the paid agents of the Liberation Society, attEnded. The meet ing was in a room underneath the Methodist Chapel. Num- bel's of sympathisers came from Penmaenmawr and Aber, and they were admitted to the room through the chapel, so as to prevent the Church party occupying any of the front seats. The Rev. E. Hughes, of Llanfairfechan, led the opposition, and a stormy meeting was the result, and about an equal number of hands held up for and against the resolution." The editor of the Genedl states that ''a number of soft-headed knaves (dihirod penfedJol) broke up the first meeting, but at the second meet j ng, notwithstan- ding the trickery (ystryw) of the Church party and the swarm of National School children brought in, they could not show more thaOl 60 hands, although most of them held up both hands, whilst the disestablishment party numbered 350 at the least." I cannot understand why this vir- tuous editor should lose his temper and call his opponents bad names, if the meeting showed seven to one in his favour. It is the disappointed who usually get out of temper. Here is a speci- men of his style .—" But to return to these curates. What, in the name of common sense, to say nothing of religion, can they have in view by their idiotic conduct ? Every sensible person, Church, and Nonconformist, is ashamed at the conduct' of these clerical sprigs. if these silly curates like to make themselves the laughing- stocks of their neighbours, let the responsibility rest upon themselves." The Amseroedd combats the suggestion thrown ou' last week by one of the Radical papers, that Walet should not send any but Nonconformist member to Parliament, and hopes the day is far distant when that system will be attempted. A little mixture is the best, and on this principle we believe that Wales is willing tu allow Sir Watkin and Lord Emlyn to retain their seats." The Llan refers to the discussion on disestab- lishment in the London Daily News, and quotes some of the theories for the disposal of the revenues of the Church advocated in that paper. Mr. Hopps recommends the elimination of all doctrines that would offend the diffe- rent denominations, so that the sects may became united in one body, without creed or doc- trine. A Mr. Wallace would hand over the revenues of the Church to a body of learned men, who would be authorised to do what they thought bos. with them. Tiley are to tie denominated Rt:. turs," and must be weil-versed in medicine, SLatute law, and the laws ot healtb and philosophy. Thev are also to be men of good social siauding. so as to be able to associate witli the best society. Tlie churches anil caihe'iruls nre also to be placed under their control,to be used as they think best for tile general benefit 01' the cMnmunity. The editoi wisely aùds :11 is unnecessary to make any rc- marks on thes.. novel theories, hut it is time for ChurcAmeu to open their eyes and see what is meant by the word disestablishment by those who make sucll a noise about Ii." TIle Gultur/d has a significant ar'.icie entitled, "Sign.. ül llit: l imes," in which the writer discerns breakers ahead of tile Clllvilli.4ic Methodist body: —"The old order pas"etll aWilY. giving place to the new. The tendency or tt". present day is towa'-ds i quality—political, religious, and !,p<,ial. Tlie same principle applies to literat ure. Modern philosophy is largely charged ">ith the element of doubt, and this piincipie is be^inninj; to be felt Hnd cherisheJ in Wa'cs. These \\iij ailed, the Cal. vinistic Methodists more than any other body, for it, audit alone, 18 of a purely Welsh origin. With regard to its IUlure we shall only express a h pe thai it will ue given 10 It leaders WHO will under- 8tllnd the signs of the times, and that the Churches Il1IlY be saved fruln narrow-minded, ignorant, and Pharisaic oiffcials desiitute of t-ympaihy with the thoughtful and cultured of the rising generation." The Ji'oner has a leading article in deience of "Poaching and Poachers." It appears that twe Bethesda quarrytnen were convicted of taking saimon out üf season. Tne HethesJa correspon- dent ot that paper says-.—"Some weeks ago two of our quarrvmen had a longing for salmon, and in order to grati If their appetite they went to the Kiver Ogwen and Wok the. fish. Lord 1't'nrilyn's keepers caught t helll, and they were bruugltt b010re the magistrates and lined. Let. not the workmen be disheartened, for 1883 is not far off, when they will show the aristocracy who is wllo." Theedttor, instead of condemning poaching, and showing to the ignorant quarry-men what injury they were doing to the good ot the people by destroving salmon out of season—as one would expect from so moral a paper—makes the follow- ing comments:—"It appears to us that the tines imposed on these men were too heavy, if there were to be tine" at all. but this is tlie lot of many when the laws of hunting and fishing are violated, although many a man, WHO has a large family, is tempted to look for a rabbit, a hare, or a fish to feed himself and cluldien when in want. These laws are a load (Inci-a) on the country, a hornd {dybryd) injustice io the tenants, and must bj wiped off from the statute book ol the realm." The American J/rycii has a sensible article on the "Reform of the Eisteddfod." Among other matters tile editor says: —" it would lJe It great blessing to the nation if the Eisteddfod were made an authority and standard un the subjects of language and literature. Now it is not an autho- rityon any matter. It ollgllt to ue a sufhcipnt Parliament to make a law or, the orthography of the language. And why should not some of the rules ol Bardism be altered The commil lees of the various l.isteddfodau wiii excuse us in calling atten- tion to the importance ot selecting and publishing the subjects for competition in time. ln contrast to the enlightened views of the Drych, the indifference of the Tarinn to the National Etsteddfod is striking. On the 18th," it says in its issue of the 29t,h, "the committee of the Aberdare Eisteddfod announced that the deputation from the National Eisteddfod Associatio-i would be at Aberdare on the 30th, and that they hoped that their friends, far and near, would be present on the occasion and support the glorious institution, and fill the meeting with Welsh fire." The meeting was over before one-tenth of the readers of the paper saw this notice. The Tartan is published at Aberdare, and the publisher is a member of the committee, and yet he allows an entire week to pass before making the announce- ment public. This is a new method of kindling Welsh fire" and enthusiasm on behalf of the National Eisteddfod. There is hope of the end of the correspondence about the Chair Prize at the Liverpool Eisteddfod. At the end of a long anonymous letter in the Gwalia is the following refreshing note:—"We believe that quite enough, perhaps too much, has been said on this subject. Let it be known that we shall not publish a line more." The Rev. Waldo James has been on a visit to the Baptist Churches of the United States, and gives the result of his experience in Seren Cyniru. Mr. James says that too many Welsh ministers go to America at the same time, and that it is useless for those who have been failures at home to ex- pect invitations from Churches in the States. A poor minister is more tolerated in Wales than ic the Far West. Neither do the Americans care to see these unfortunate men but they are always delighted to receive the visits of our popular preachers. The Tyst champions the extreme party in the dispute about the new cemetery at Rhymney. I am surprised to find the organ of the Independents calling Canon Evans a Jesuit The consecration of churchyards has existed from time immemorial, and it shows bad taste on the part of the advocat es of the aban- donment of the ceremony to speak disrespectfully of those who regard the old institution with respect and veneration. The Tyst says" There is great rejoicing in the camps of Nonconformity over the victory they have won. They are to be con- gratulated upon the successful effort they made to free themselves from the tyrannical grasp of the Established Church, which constantly takes to itself what costs thQ. ratepayers an enormous amount of money."

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