Weekly Mail

I AT THE BARLEY MOW. SEQUEL TO FREE-AXD-EASY EVENING. Time was when the free-and-easy evening at the local public-house was an affair to be remembered. Men went early and returned early, but not always in a condition that met with the approval of the folks at home. home. Now, however, things are different, the I. police regulations having done much to bring about the alteration. Recently a few friends had a convivial evening at the Barley Mow public-house, Royal-hill, Greenwich. Everything went well until Inspector Wallis came on the scene. A sense of duty compelled that officer to tell John Williams Rollins, the landlord, that several of the guests had drank not wisely but too well. Wallis told the Greenwich magistrate that about 35 men were seated at tables, on which were glasses of beer. They were singing, and some were knock- ing. In a chair was a man shouting, Let's have another song and some more drink." He was drunk, and when witness asked him to stand up he did so, but fell back in the chair. Two drunken men came apparently from another room, and passed downstairs, the potman standing by. In a few minutes Rollins came into the room, and witness asked, "Do you know what is going on here?" He said, "Yes, a sing-song." He pointed to the man in the chair, saying he waa incapably drunk. Defendant said, I don't I think so." The man stood up, but had to support himself by the table. Defendant said, "They are having it on their own. free-and-easy. I have not seen much of them. I They order the beer and I send it up." Witness took the man, who gave the name of Leonard Fogg, into custody. At first defendant took no steps to remove the men, but later he elosed the concert. Fogg looked like a vice-chairman. "I don't know what a man looks like who is a vice-chairman." said Mr. Travers Hunt phreys. amid laughter. The Inspector: Well, he was sitting at the other end of the table from the chairman. Mr. Humphreys applied for an adjourn- ment, which was granted.

LIEUTENANT'S SMILE. FIGHTING A POLICE V. PUBLIC CASE. The case against Lieutenant C. H. Forbes, R.N., aged 33, who was remanded on Monday last at Marlborough-street charged with dis- orderly conduct and refusing to move on," was again before Mr. Kennedy. Lieutenant Forbes protested, it will be recalled, against his arrest and against tli5 indignity of being marched to the static.^ held by the collar of his coat. Mr. Barrington Matthews, for the defence, asked for an adjournment of the case until the end of October. Mr. Forbes, he said, had importa.nt witnesses, who were unable at present to attend, and he had also to join his ship for a short cruise. Mr. Kennedy: I regret that Lieutenant Forbes should try to make a case out of this. It might have ended at once. If, however, it is his wish Mr. Matthews: It is, sir. Mr. Muskett (for the prosecution): I shall" also ask your indulgence on behalf of the police, who wish to call further available evidence. Mr. Kennedy: Yes. I suppose the police will want to call more evidence. We shall have the case going on for weeks and weeks. It has so little in it, and I do not think it is worth remanding. I must not say any more. The case was adjourned until October 26. Lieut,enant Forbes, who stood smiling by the dock, was bound over as before in. his on recogn isances.

BOY CAUSES A GIRL'S DEATH Running away from a boy who was annoy- ing her as she came out of school in White. horse-street on Tuesday, Lily Beatrice Borchard, aged twelve, of 17, Matlock-street, E., fell under the wheels of a pair-horse van, and was killed. At the inquest at Stepney, the boy, named William Joslin, aged eleven, living in Caley- street, was described as a regular young terror." He attended school at Bernera- street, as none of the schools nearer at hand would have him. One mother said that, unless something was done to the boy, her girl's life would not be safe. The jury returned a verdict of "Accidental Death," expressing the opinion that Joslin was responsible and that he should be severely censured and flogged by his father.

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+ + X all bights reserved. ■&■ IA BLIND MAN'S j | VENGEANCE. | I BT <> | JOHN K. LEYS. X Author of The Lindsays," The Black Terror, JT A Mai den'a Victory," In the Toils," "A Broken Fetter," &c. CHAPTER XXilI. The force of the blow had been calculated IWlth Professional accuracy. Before many te<^ates k&d Passed Harry Aylmer partly <^z ^ere<i bis senses. He got up, and in. a he uid ln'arirle^ looked about him. At first .^led !.n ^ae least know what had hap- ;had nt not even know that someone ithat an<^ ^^ed him. The only thought hoQje as In his mind was that he must get his «fs soon as possible. He struggled to ^°ldin lurclle(1 against the railings, and he Wa]? them reached the street. There 'of th« Ki a constable came by. The pain dazcri °w was still pretty bad. and he felt "savaQf queer. l- caivL man, I wish y-ou would call me >,See me borne. I feel rather bad." ^hougjjf added, as if it were an after- j "I think someone must have 'Xf^down." '•table eQ-down' Perhaps, sir?" said the con- !hig KniJT1111 a &rin. He flashed the light of Ithat s-eye on Harry's face, and noted !*rhatev Was very pale. He had no doubt ,had t fr that he had been dining out, and *bat h ■? t<3° much wine, with the result fallen down, thua adding still 60 lbe confusion in his brain. "Thaf,r ^ome> sir," said the constable. r ? exactly what I want to do. Where 1 set a cab?" 8iv/f y SUre to be one at the corner. Can IJe ec yo» an arm, sir?" I behind Harry, with the benevolent 'ar 3iS°n, ,of supporting him with his arm as fussed ca,betand, and in doing so he infant IIlgIde the boundary wall. The same a. dark he Parted, and turned his light upon ■*4iJ J „ °la-ss lying at the foot of the boundary 0nA 3raTds away- tiici-yin Inomeilt. sir," he said to Harry, and 'fce g to the dark mass he saw that (as Ylll Pel-ted) it was the body of a man the w 5Jubled up, almost crushed against •lou^hprf '"ho constable bent over and to,] the forehead. Then he lifted an arm Hajrv 11 -^t dropped like lead. l>Ut J*8 sti^ close to the street entrance, /Gently he oould walk alone, for he toe ?w talking, rather unsteadily, towards "hides P<>ii'ceinan took a few long *><1 wa<s by his side in a moment. ■Jairf you say your name was, sir?" "be officer. id jJ^n t say my name was anything," ^^e forT'' sharply. "What d'ye want my address will be sufficient, sir," said le. blandly. "Must give it to the jj an; sir." ly-conceived idea that the i^as i^3"11 Wad suspecting him of something Iuj0 to rest, and lie fell hack at once 3}ru a balf-stupefied condition. "Seventeen, ^Q-street, Warwick-square," he said, 8d(b. g> iQ his bemused condition, his old he address of the house at which been staying when Levi made the ^Pt on his life. Ping a pace or two behind, the police- jjjL whipped out a note-hook and entered ^ta^r€6s' Then, stall keeping cloee to iTio^?r 8 e"ww, be blew hia whistle—a. long, note- What d'ye do that for?" said Harry, with ;im r°wn- "I'm not drunk, as you seem to yn a^lne. I got a blow on the head. I tell ■t 1,1 and that stunned me for a moment or _^0' but I'm aJI right now, and quite capable [ <aking care of myself." I believe you are, sir," said the constable, L Something in the man's tone made Harry and look at him. but his expression was [absolutely wooden. I They were now within a. few steps of the bstand, and Harry quickened his pace. "Not so fast, sir, if you please," said the Policeman, still supporting him by the arm. -And again he blew his whistle. "What are you doing that for?" demanded ^fiarry. "Want to speak to my mate. sir. Can't ■leave my 'beat, you see, without first speaking to him." 'But there is no necessity for you to leave ^our beat," said Harry. "Cab, there! Han- 8oDl! I'm much obliged to you," and he tried slip a shilling into the constable's hand, v^t the policeman, would not advance his ^•Hd—would not see the shilling. He was ^xiously glancing down the street, and the ^bman was fumbling with the reins. Harry I ^-ttibered into the cab and sat down, "TeH the man to drive on," he said. L,Jlst then a burly form came quickly up street. L^.he constable made a sign to the driver, f hicb was equivalent to an order to delay ,or a moment, and drew his comrade, who just come up, to the back of the cab. vv, t made you so long of coming?" he ispered, fiercely. "Listen, now. It'a l°Us- This young gentleman—at first I fca he was a bit screwed, but soon I wasn't liquor. He was talking very w^en I came on him, quite upset like, tjj n°t ten yards from where he was stajid- s I came on the dead body of a man." "ou don't say so!" Fact. At least, he seemed to me to be jQ ~J*\ I believe he is dead. The body i6 lying R'iM 'na^e the boundary wall at Blexham- 3"oi —where there used to be a garden, know. You slip down there, and see if a^ytthing lying about that migh.t be in the way of evidence, and I'll stop 1th, ^th him. I think I'll take him to ,?WTi-etreet," on!" shouted Harry. "Why the ,7'Chief don't you drive on?" j: rigiht, sir. A buckle has come undone, si, ^on't be a moment getting it right, ■ siaid the cabman through the hole in to roof; then he bent down and whispered 11: the constable: I muet be off. You can't D me waiting here all night." ^hd the constable whispered back that one .^tearcely a minute elapsed, and the second in .eman came running up with something 0j his hand. "I found this within two yards ri -u^e be said. And you were A S"t, Jim. It's a stiff 'un, sure enough." he spoke he handed a walking-stick to ,f other constable. pardon, sir, but did you leave this r^bincL'" asked the first policeman, looking <(at the cab. It MY stick? I'm not sure. Yes, I believe is. I remember now. Much obliged to 1 for finding it, constable." He searched g bis pocket for half a crown, but the oon- .table persisted in looking the other way. fere's something for your trouble. And I wish you would make that cabman drive 3- Is he drunk? We can't wait here all ^fbt, you know." f Certainly not, sir." He stepped upon the °otboard and said a word or two to the .abman over the roof of the cab. The cab ^'Ove off, and the policeman subsided into .^acant seat. I say, no necessity, for you to come with you know," said Harry, half angry and alarmed. "I tell you again I'm as sober f< you are." ^Haven't a doubt of it, sir." en what are you doing in my cab?" "lvhy I thought rou would perhaps give I a lift as far as the office. You pass right front of it." i„3arry was silent for a moment or two. me my stick." he said sharply. ''Are you sure it is yours, sir?" a^ked the Policeman, civilly, still holding it up to the ^Sht. 'Of course it is. Give it to me, if you Olease." til just take care of it for a little, if yon mind," said the policeman. "You might ^?P it again, you know." y^he cab drew up with a jerk. They were at rown-street Police-station. The constable ■^ttiped out. 'Would you mind getting out here for a ''jj'ffient, sir?" he said. "Do you mean that you are actual'y going arrest me?" I only want you to answer one or two ques- **Ons inspector on dtPfry may have to put you. If he is satisfied, of course it will be 1 right, sir." lla,rry stood on the steps, trying to think ^°ut it all meant. Did it only mean that. constablio had mistaken the confusion a( tnitellect, resulting from the blow he had Reived, for drunkenness? It must be that. "t the man bad acknowledged that he was I!ooer. it. was very stupid, very absurd. He up the broad step^, the policeman fol- ^Wiing his heels. The hansom had dis- ^'P'Pea.red. liehimd a high desk sat a police inspector, *Ith a great ledger open before him. Harry invited to stand in front of the desk hide the conetabde told liis story. nc "wn'em. I came upon the gentleman lie Wlu standing at the entrance of Blexhain- F^fdens. He spake to me. He wai; dazed in manner, and at first I thought he had had much to drink. Then I saw he was sober, ??t upset about something. I asked him for name and address. He declined to give name "I did not!" interjected Harry. *Tei'tlher the cone-t able nor the inspector, wh,> busy writing, took the smallest notice of iuterruiption, I ik The address he gave was No. 17, Brmuton- street." That was not the address I gave," Harry interpolated; at least, if I did, I gave the wrong one. I told you someone gave me a blow on the head." You said you had hurt your head, if I remember right, sir. I thought you meant you had fallen on the pavement." Never mind. Go on. The prisoner can give his version afterwards," said the inspector. "The prisoner! Harry started at the word. I don't yet know what I am charged with," he said; "but no one answered him. The constable went on: It seemed to me doubtful if the gentlema,n could walk without help, and as I went to support him I noticed the body of a. man lying near-" "The what?" cried Harry, white and staring. Lying about ten or twelve yards away, inside the boundary wall of Blexham-gardons. I whistled for assistance, and Constable No. E527, who came to me, gave me the loaded cane which I now produce. The prisoner acknowledged that it was his, and desired me to give it to him, which I declined to do. There is a large stain upon it, still wet, which seems to be a bloodstain. I then brought the prisoner to the station." "Listen to me!" cried Harry. "I don't know whether this man is telling the truth or not. I suppose he is. But if there is a dead body lying there, I swear before heaven II know nothing of it. As I told the con- stable, someone gave me a severe blow on the head. I was stunned, and when I came to myself I was dazed and queer in the head." I ought to caution you that whatever you say will be taken down, and may be used in evidence against you," said the inspector. "Oh, I know that." "Where were you when this happened?" "Just coming out of Blexham-gardens-the house, I mean." "Must have passed close to where the body was lying," said the constable, in an under- tone. "Did you see it?" asked the inspector. "There was no body there when I came past," said Harry. At that moment the tramp of men walking in step sounded on the pavement at the back. Then a policeman came in by another door and whispered a word to the.inspector. "You have no objection, sir, I suppose, to look at the body, and tell us whether you can identify it?" "Oh, no!" said Harry. They led him into a. back yard, dimly lit by moving lanterns. On a stretcher lay something covered by a. tarpaulin. Two constables held their bull's-eyes; a third turned back the tarpauilin. Harry bent down, and saw the face of Williams. It was a terrible shock to him, but by this time he was holding himself well in hand. He knew that keen eyes were watching him, and he gave no sign. "Do you know the man, sir?" asked the inspector. "No!" "Never saw him before?" "Not to my knowledge." "The poor fellow could hardly be mistook -he has only one eye," observed one of the men. There was a. frightful smear of blood on one side of the dead man's head. Already the face was turning grey and rigid. The tarpaulin was turned up so as to cover iU and the party went back to the office. "I'IID. afraid we must detain you, sir," said the inspector. "I suppose so," said Harry; but it strikes i me as rather absurd. What motive could I have for murdering a man of that class? If it had been the other way about His hand went up to the breast-pocket of his overcoat. The diamonds were gone! The instpecitor noticed the expression of his face. "Have you lost anything, sir?" he inquired, politely. liike a flash of lightnin,g it struck him that if he said that he had been robbed of jewels worth some thousands of pounds it would naturally be aoked how he came to have euoh valuable diamonds in his posses- sion. Then the whole ghastly jstory of the fire amd the robbery might come out. It wae safer, he thought, to admit nothing, and he answered, No." CHAPTER XXIV. Aylmer was annoyed, perplexed, exaspe- rated at the turn events had taken, but he was scarcely alarmed. He knew very well that he was entirely innocent of causing the death of the man Williams, or even of strik- ing him; and he could not conceive it pos- sible thcut in this country, and in the end of the nineteenth century, a man could be convicted of a crime of which he was entirely guiltless. It was not until after he had been brought up at the police-oourt, and remanded, that he began to be uneasy; but it was only at hi? second appearance at the police-court that he began to understand how terrible was tihe peril that confronted him. For on that occasion the first witness was Solomon Levi. It was evident that the Jew was labouring under great excitement. His sightless face worked painfully, and he kept it continuously turned towards the dock, as if he would feast his eyes on the spectacle it presented, if he could. He did not say more than this: The prisoner was his clerk. One night there was a fire at his house. During the fire the prisoner reached his (witness's) room by means of a ladder. He spoke to him, a,nd was quite certain that it was he. He was not rescued by the prisoner, however, but by the firemen. From the fact that the prisoner was present at the fire, when he would naturally be at the other end of Lon- don, he entertained a certain belief as to the origin of the fire; but he had no evidence to go upon. Harry's friend and employer, Coverdale, had employed a lawyer for him aa a matter of course—a Mr. Lake; and when this evi- dence was given Mr. Lake rose and whis- pered to his client: Is this true? Partly," said Harry. "Yes, you may take it as true; but I can't gee what this has to do with the charge of murder." "Nor I." said the lawyer; and presently he took the objection. If you wait a little, I think you will see," said the solicitor on the other side. And then, without anyone telling him, Harry understood! The evidence went to the question of motive. They were going to show that he knew the murdered man, that he knew him well, that Williams was dangerous to him, had been blackmailing him, perhaps, so that he hod a keen interest in getting rid of him. But how could the police have learnt all this? Why, from the Jew! Levi must have told them. This terrible charge must be of his contriving. This must be his scheme of vengeance—his revenge was to send him to the scaffold to suffer death for a crime he had never committed! So overwhelmed was Harry by the awful- ness of this conviction that his very heart trembled, and already he saw himself walk- ing in that grim last march to the platform of death. He could not attend properly to the evidence, nor give coherent instructions to his solicitor. So rambling and inconse- quent, indeed, were his utterances, that the lawyer turned and said angrily to a friend: Either the man is guilty and too much upset to think or talk sensibly, or he is a stark lunatic." It was not until he had been taken back to his cell that he was able to pull himself together and consider what ought to be his line of defence. He could see now what the prosecution were going to do. They were going to prove that he had a motive—a very strong motive -both for hating Williams and for wishing to be free of him. And he had denfed to the police-inspector that he knew Williams at all! That was another point against him— and a bad one. He knew he had not killed the man, but someone had done the deed. Could the man who murdered Williams be the man who had stunned him? It was possible, but not Ifkely, for he had lost the diamonds, which almost certainly were taken from him by the man who had knocked him down. But that man, whoever he was, would naturally try to escape from the neighbourhood as soon ae possible. He would not remain to lie in wait for Williams, or for any similar reason Williams might have attacked and robbed him, and might have been himself imme- diately afterwards attacked and robbed- attacked with such violence that death was the result. Or Williams might have been loitering about the spot, meaning to speak to him, ahd might have seen a stranger knock him down and ro-b him, and might then have lost his life in an unsuccessful attempt to do as much for the stranger. But whichever theory was the correct one, Harry saw that both were equally incapable of proof. How could he prove that anyone had robbed him? Madame Leoni could prove that he took a number of magnificent bril- liants with him when he left her flat; and the police could prove that he had no such valuables about him when he was arrested. But it was possible that he might have handed. them to someone in the interval. And he had deliberately denied that he had lost anything when the police asked him the ques- tion! It did not seem as if the episode of the diamonds could do much to help him; and there was another objection to mentioning them. If he said that he had been robbed of diamonds and pearls worth several thousand pounds, he wculd naturally be asked where he got 'them. If he declined to answer such a question as that, he might as well spare himself the trouble of mentioning the matter I at all. And what could he say but that he had stolen them from the Jew? Surely, if that story came out, it would prejudice the jury terribly against him; and there was the further consideration—it was possible, surely, tha.t he might escape a con- viction on the capital charge. He refused to think that it was not possible that he should escape. But if he spoke of the jewels, and made it a part of his defence that he was robbed of them, then if he was acquitted on the murder charge he would be re-arrested immediately, either on the charge of stealing the jewels or of being unlawfully in possess- sion of them, and he would infallibly be sent to penal servitude—a fate which he judged, to be only less terrible than death itself. He resolved, therefore, to say nothing about the. diamonds, merely stating that he had been knocked down, he believed, by someone who meant to rob him, and had been rendered insensible; and tha.t he had not noticed the body of the dead man owing to the confused state his intellect was in from the blow he had received. That was the simple truth, and he did not think that he could better it. He had quite brains enough to see that in his story, as he told it, there were scarcely the materials for a successful defence. But he could not help it. Evidently, he thought, he could do little to struggle against. the' toils that were hemming in him, and nothing to break them. It was better, surely, to accept this blow—even if it were to prove a death-blow—quietly, like a man. Miriam, in these days before the trial, suf- fered almost as much as Harry himeelf did. It was enough to upeet a woman to have a guest who had scarcely left the shelter of her roof murderously attacked, and then himself charged with murder. But in these weeks of silent worship on Harry's part Mil,ila,m had come to consider him as her lover, her undeclared lover. She had not asked her heart what answer she should make when the time came. She knew that he loved her fervently, passionately, and his love had pleased and gratified her. It was frightful to think that he should be in prison on such a charge. Not for one moment did sihe believe him guilty. But there were several things she did not understand. Wbat had become of the diamonds, and the pearls too? Why had Harry not said that the object of the thief who stunned him with a blow was to secure these precious stones and pearls? But nothing had been said in the papers about any jewels having been found on him. Did that mean that he had lost them? Then why did he not say that he had been robbed of them? Again, she could not foget his fencing with the question of the ownership of the jewels. He had said they were not his, but would not say to whom they really belonged. True, her father had described them wrongly. But was it credible that he should have lost a diamond set of such value. and just about the same time Aylmer have acquired posses- Harry bent down and saw the face of Williams. sion of another set, not the same but just as valuable, which did not belong to him, but to some mysterious unknown person? It was not credible. Miriam could not come to any other conclusion than this—that the two sets of diamonds were one and the same. But in that case heor Mr. Aylmer must be her father's old clerk-the man who had not only robbed him and set fire to his house, but had bar-' baronsly left him to perish in a burning house! But that was not to be believed. And so. in great perplexity, misery, and grief, she waited for tihe trial. More even than Miriam, Alice Mayne was horrified and grieved by the charge brought against her cousin. And she was not only sthookod, she was terrified. She knew how reckless and violent he could be, and she knew what cause he had had to hate his former master. She remembered how he ha.d been out all nigiht on the day of his wife's death. She understood how strong must be his motive for getting rid of anyone who knew what he had done, a-nd made a profit out of that knowled ge. And yet she did not believe that he had wilfully and intentionally taken Williams's life. She did not think him guilty of that; but might he not have ^ruck him, maddened, perhaps, by demands t^»t he could not meet and dared not reject, And struck so hard that he killed him? That seemed the most likely solution of the difficulty; but it did not explain why Harry denied that he had struck him, or anyone. Surely the most sensible thing would have been to admit that he had struck him in anger, but without a murderous intention. Was it too late? Could not this defence still be put forward? She did not know, but she knew one who must be able to answer such a question, one who might even help to save her cousin from the awful doom that threatened him. It was ten o'clock in the morning when the thought occurred to her. and by eleven she was sit- ting in the client's chair in Hubert Graham's room. He listened to her in silence while she told her story, and it was not impossible that he understood before she had finished that it was for this man s sake that his own love had gone so long unrequited. But if this were so, Graham gave no sign that he knew or guessed at the depth of the grief she was feeling. He only tried to make it clear to her that the law only recognised one solicitor or firm of solicitors as repre- senting any person, and that it would be most unprofessional, impracticable, and im- possible for him to interfere with Aylmer's defence, or with the lines on which his counsel might choose to conduct it. There was one thing he could do. Through his friendship with one of the Under-Sheriffs he could secure for her a seat in court on the day of the trial. He would call for her, he said, take her into the court, and stay by her. And if he could see his way to being of service to Aylmer's own lawyers-if any point occurred to him that seemed likely to be worth following up, or if he could be of use in interviewing a doubtful witness, or in any other conoei.vabic way—he would be only too happy. You are very kind," said Alioe, and she tried to feel grateful; but the amount of help her lover could offer fell so woefully phort of what he had expected from him that it was with a keen sense of disappointment that she left his office. But as the day drew near—the day that was to see her Harry restored to the world and freedom, or condemmed to a shameful and terrible death—she felt thankful that sh j had a strong arm to lean against. Graham was as good is his word. At nine in the morning his cab stopped at Alice's door. She was ready for him, and did not keep him waiting a. moment. By haf-past nine they were seated in the oourt-house. Then came a.n hour or two of tedious wait- ing. The officials read newspapers, and talked to one another in an undertone. By- and-bye the barristers strolled in. Some began to study briefs; eome pretended to etudy the brief of a friend; some made sketches on the back of the calendar of prisoners; some told or listened to humo- rous stories. Then a man put a big glass urn on the table in the well of the court, and the associate, putting his hand into the urn, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and read out a name. The man whose name was called cried "Here!" and. getting up I from his seat in the middle of the court. was piloted by constables to a place set apart furnished with three short pews. He was the first of the men chosen to try Harry Aylmer for his life. Eleven more were chosen, and then there was a. little stir and a hush, and a tall, V stout figure in brilliant scarlet, followed by two or three gentlemen in uniforms, came on the Bench by a door that opened behind the judge's chair. The men in wigs and gowns rose and bowed; the scarlet-olad judge bowed in response, and took his heat. "Put up Henry Aylmer," said the asso- ciate of the court to the chief gaoler; and almost at once Harry Aylmer, looking j dreadfully pale and thin, stepped into the dock. Alice started when she saw him, and with difficulty choked back a cry. "Are you Henry Aylmer?" asked the asso- ciate. "That is my name," said Harry. "Henry Aylmer, you stand indicted that on the seventh day of October last you did of malice aforethought feloniously kill and murder one George Williams. How say you, Henry Aylmer, are you guilty or not guilty of the murder wthereof you stand indicted?" "Not guilty!" said Harry, proudly holding up his head. ("Surely they must believe him! Oh, surely they must believe him!" Alice said to her- self as she watched him.) "-Henry Aylmer," went on the calm, level voice of the associate, thcee are the jury who are to try you. If you object to them, or to any of them, your time is when they come to the Book to be sworn, and before they are sworn, and you will be heard. Robert Fairchild, stand up, if you please. Take the Book in your right hand. You will well and truly try, and true deliverance make, be-tween our Sovereign Lady the Queen and the prisoner at the bar, and a true verdict give according to the evidence, eo 'help you, God! Kiss the Book." The man kissed the Book and sat down. Another rose at the earae instant, and the oath was repeated twelve times. Then the panel was called over, each man answering to his name, and the associate said: "Gentlemen, Henry Aylmer has been] indicted for murder, and has put himself upon his country, which country you are. Your duty is to find the prisoner guilty or not guilty, and to hearken to the evidence." He sat down. An enormously stout gentle- man, wearing deep cuffs of fine lawn turned back over the sleeves of his rich silk gown, stood np, and in low, unctuous, hesitating tones, began to address them. The trial had begun. (To be continued.)

LAUGII & GROW FAT HUMOROUS PARS FROM EVERYWHERE A health officer recently received the following note from one of the residents in his district: Dear Sir,—I beg to tell you that my child, aged eight months, is suffering from measles as required by Act of Parliament." Did you tell that young man not to call here 'any more?" asked Mabel's father, severely. N—no." + "Why not? I didn't think it was necessary. I don't see how he could call any more now. He calls seven times a week." Father," said a youngster, on being scolded, I heard Mr. Watte say that great men's sons never did any good. I ain't a scolded, I heard Mr. Watte say that great men's sons never did any good. I ain't a great man's eon, ia.T}~] I?" Up to a late hour father's mind had not found n, suitable answer. QUACK DOCTOR. Gentlemen, I have sold these pills in your nuarket-plaoe for the past ten years. Never during that period have I had a single com- plaint about them. What does that prove to you,. gentlemen?" "I reokon that proves that dead men tell no tales," replied am onlooker as he moved away. ONLY A LEGEND. Tourist (visiting an ancient castle): Are there any legends connected with this old castle ? Guide: Oh, yes. It is said that in ancient times a stranger once visited this castle, and gave no tip to the guide. Thereupon the latter threw the visitor into the moat. But don't be frightened. Of course, We only an idle legend. THE GREEN AND THE RED. A Philadelphia man says that he not long ago chanced to enter his drawing-room at an unusual hour for him, when he found his cook, an Irishwoman lately arrived in Phila- delphia, gazing with much interest at the aquarium. "Well, Honoria," asked the master of the house, in a somewhat sarcastic tone, "I trust that you find the fish interest- ing." "Indade I do," was the emphatic response of Honoria; "upon me soul they're lovely! Ye wouldt bol,ave it, eor, but this is the fir-rst time I iver seen red herrings alive!" A REVELATION. A burly old skipper and his scarcely less burly mate entered a restaurant in Southampton, and demanded a table dotty dinner. In a few minutes a waiter approached and, with a considerable amount of flourish placed two plates of thin, watery-looking fluid before the pair. "Hi, me lad, wot's this stuff?" demanded the mariner, gazing in amazement at the decoction in front of him. Soup, sir." replied the waiter. Soop shouted the old sea dog; "soop! By gum, Bill (turning to his mate), just think o' that. 'Ere's you an' me been sailing on scop orl our lives, an' never knowed it till now! A MARRIAGE PRESENT. A Congressman on a visit to New York called on an old friend in town, an alder- man. While they were chatting, an Italian couple came in and asked in broken English if the alderman would unite them in mar- riage. The alderman performed the cere- mony, and, after accepting the modest fee, politely handed the bride an umbrella. The Congressman observed the proceedings gravely, and, after the couple went out, asked:—"Do you always do that, Charles?" Do what? Marry them? Oh, yes." No, I mean give the bride a present." A present! Why, wasn't that her um- brella? gasped the alderman. No, it was mine." replied the Congress- man, sadly. "YOU CAN GO AHEAD." "I have come to get my wife photographed." said the determined-looking man as he entered the studio, followed by a. meek- looking woman. You can make people look all right, sir, can't you? Certainly, sir," replied the photographer, confidently; "that is part of my business, you know." "Well, Maria, here, fell out of the window last year and injured her nose. You can straighten it out, I suppose?" Certainly." And you can push in Maria's ears, so that she won't look so much like a rabbit? oü, I think so." And what about the squint in her left eye? Oh, I can touch it out in the negative." "And the freckles?" "They won't appear in the picture at all." And will the hair be red? Oh, no." Well, you can go ahead. Sit down there, Maria, and try to look pleasant."

Do not be persuaded to take any substitute for Gwilym Evany Quinine Bitters. See that tho Dame Gwilym Evans" is on the label, on the stamp, and on the botttfe. TTien yen are safe. Sold everywhere in botD«e, 2*. g<L &od M. etch. W1796

£ By EMINENT AUTHORS. £ CONQUERED BY LOVE. —, Although she was young and pretty, and very rieh and fashionable, Mrs. Kenwieke had a good, kind heart, and strove to fill her station in life with modesty and fidelity. When she married Mr. Renwicke, the wealthy widower, twelve years ago, there were plenty of ill-natured remarks by plenty of ill-natured people; and when Amy Ren- wicke presently ran away from her father's house and married a man of whom all her friends disapproved, there was no lack of censorious tongues to say that Mrs. Renwicke was at the bottom of it, and was, doubtless, glad enough to be rid of a handsome grown- up step-daughter. That M.r. Renwicke was too much taken up with his new wife to remember the old wife's daughter all the world declared, for he had banished her from his heart for ever, and would not bear her name mentioned by his most intimate friends. But no one knew, or, indeed, would have believed, how Mrs. Renwicke grieved over her step- daughter's flight, and unjustly blamed her- self as having been the possible cause. She sought in vain to soften the stern father's heart towards his disobedient daughter; and when she saw that her entreaties and tears failed *to move him, she gave up, knowing well that all other means were hopeless. From time to time she heard of her step- daughter, and from her own ample allowance she was always ready to give generously; but the girl was stubborn and proud, like her father, and it was difficult at times to assist her in suoh a way as she was willing to accept. Then Mr. Renwicke took his wife abroad with him, and in the period of their absence it was impossible for Mrs. Renwicke to keep trace of Amy, whose silly pride prevented her from responding to her stepmother's kindness in the same spirit in which it was offered. Mrs. Renwicke, returning with her husband to London after an absence of two years on the Continent, learned that Amy and her worthless husband were both dead, having fallen the victims to a prevailing epidemic the second winter after their runaway mar- riage. Mrs. Renwicke broke the news to her husband; but she could scarcely tell how it affected him, for he heard her with coldness and silence. Amy Walters had one child left—a girl- little more than an infant; and Mrs. Ren- wicke, who would gladly have adopted it and I reared it as her own, could gain no trace of it. Mrs. Renwicke had no children. You know, my dear husband," she said, a little tremulously and blushing very much, how I love children, and since Heaven has not given us any, I have been thinking that, perhaps, it is because there are so many in the world who ha.ve no homes and no mothers." "And so you want to adopt a child, my pet? Bless your tender little hea.rt! Adopt a dozen, if you like." People called Mr. Renwicke a stern, hard man—as, indeed, he was; but his wife heard' such comments regarding him with un- feigned surprise, for never—except in the matter of his daughter's marriage—had she known him to be anything but kind and gentle. The permission which he eo lavishly accorded her gave her genuine delight, and, flinging her snowy arms about his neck, she thanked him again and again. It was now five years ago since Amy Walters died, and Mrs. Renwicke judged that the child she was in quest of must be about six years old. Many were the little wanderers whom she clothed and fed and for whom she provided comfortable homes. More than once she had almost decided on the adoption of some little girl, but her heart cried out for the one she was in quest of and bade her wait a little longer. So ehe found protectors for the little ones she was interested in, and waited, hoping against hope for the one that Fate seemed to ordain for her. In this way two years passed by, and Mrs. Renwicke s lovely face and generous hand were well known in the haunts of misery and squalor and disease with which this great city is filled. It was the day before Christmas, and Mrs. Renwicke was hurrying along Oxford-street. For the first time for years she had for- gotten, for the moment, her little waifs, and the especial desire of her heart. She was prepa.ring a Christmas surprise for her hus- band, and was quite absorbed in. her subject. Please give me a penny! Mrs. Renwicke stopped and looked down at the little mite beside her, not in anger, but so gently that the child said again, shyly, and loosing her hold of the dress, but look- ing up with a confident expression, Pleaee give me a penny." "What do you want with a penny?" she asked. I don't know. Old Bess said I must ask every lady I saw to give me a penny. Oh, there's another! Please give me a penny!" A showily-dressed woman turned and frowned on the child; and Mrs. Renwicke smiled and said, You musn't ask any more people for pennies. I will give you all the pennies your require." "Oh, will you? My! How nice! I'm so glad, because, ma'am, you see, I didn't like asking, only old Bess said she'd beat me if I didn't; and I never was beat—Jack never let anyone touch me." Mrs. Renwicke silently thanked heaven that the child had not been accustomed to ill- usage; for it was to be seen at a glance that she was not one of the miserable, abused little ones she had feared to find her. She asked only a couple of questions more. How many pennies have you got for old Bess?" The child unclosed the fingers of a slender, delicate, but dirty, little hand, and showed a small collection of pennies, about half a dozen. "And what is your name, little one?" "Amy Walters." Mrs. Renwicke felt that the child but echoed the name her own lips .would have spoken; but it was such a joyous assurance that she had found the little stray one at last that she caught her in her arms a.nd covered the dirty little face with kisses, much to the scandal of many elegant passers-by. Mrs. Renwicke soon perceived that she was attracting an unpleasant degree of attention, and, signalling the nearest cab, she lifted little Amy into it, and then, from the child's rather unintelligible description, started in search of the place she called home. It was not easily found, but the cabman, spurred to his best efforts by the promise of a goodly recompense, was at last successful. It was a long drive, however, and before it came to on end Mnj. Renwicke had learned that the child knew of her own history. She had been brought up since she could remember in the home of the woman whom she called old Bess, but had been the especial charge of Jack, the old womaa's grandson. J a.e.k had received little Amy from her mother, who died in old Bess's ho:i-c, her father having died in the hospital a week before. Amy knew nothing of her mother, except that she bore her name; and, indeed, that was all that Jack knew—dear old Jack, good old Jack, he had always been so kind; and he called her his little girl, and took such care of her. But now he was gone to sea, and old Bess said "she must make enough, money, somehow, to pay for her keep." Mrs. Renwicke's thankfulness to heaven that she had found the little one in time to save her from want and sorrow was deep and fervent. Old Bess, when at last found, in a miser- able room of a rickety lodging-house, turned out to be rheumatic and bedridden, but with a decided tendency to drink. Jack's mother, who lived in another part of the house, "looked after her" and "kept an eye on little Amy." Mrs. Renwicke found them quite willing to part with the child for a "consideration," which she afforded to such a liberal extent that both women voluntarily gave her all the information regarding Amy's parents which they possessed. It was meagre enough, but served as further proof that the little girl was Mr. Renwicke's grand-daughter. A letter without any address was also given to Mrs. Renwicke by Jack's mother. It contained Amy Renwicke's certificate of marriage, and also the date of little Amy's birth and baptism. An unfinished letter in Amy Walters's handwriting was enclosed, but owing to the letter having no address upon it the people who had cared for the orphan child were unable to make any use of it. Mrs. Renwicke was a joyful woman when she took her little treasure home with her. Mr. Renwicke took such very little notice of children that Christmas passed and many weeks succeeded before he once looked at little Amy closely enough to have known her again in the street if he had met her there, and his wife saw with great delight that, although he had gone so far as to compli- ment her upon her choice, he really had not noticed the child's looks a.t all. I Ohristmas time came again, and Mr. Ren- I wicke acknowledged Amy's existence so far as to give her a magnificent Ohristmas tree, liadon with handsome presents. The little girl's delight and gratitude were so voci- ferous as to attract more than his ordinary attention, and a look as of sudden remem- brance and recognition flashed a moment from his eyes, but he said nothing, and Mrs. from his eyes, but he said nothing, and Mrs. Renwicke was careful to avoid all remark that might lead to any special questions regarding Amy. Several years passed, and Amy had grown into a tall and beautiful girl—so like her mottoer tlrat Mrs. Renwicke marvelled if it k could be possible her husband did not see 1 the resemblance. Christmas time once more! A glorious clear night it was that ushered in the Christmas Day. The keen frosty air had blown brilliant roses into Mrs. Renwicke's cheeks, and her husband complimented her beauty and the youthfulness of her appear- ance ;tiS she came after dinner and sat down beside him, teljing him of the many pleasures she had prepared for her varjous protegees to gladden their young hearts on the morrow. "And Amy?" asked Mr. Renwicke, holding Ins wife's hand and gently caressing it. "Amy is not forgotten, dear husband, be sure." Oh, I am sure; I think I'm a little jealous of Amy. You don't give me half so many OhTistmas boxes since her arrival." Mrs. Renwicke laughed a merry, sweet laugh, and declared he should have a lovely wax doll, with blue eyes and yellow hair, just like Amy's. "Ain't Amy rather old for dolls, dear? By the way, how old is Amy, dear?" Mrs. Renwicke's heart beat uncomfortably fast, but she answered bravely, "Amy will soon be twelve years old, dear." Mr. Renwicke started, and his wife felt his clasp tighten on her fingers. He looked away from her for some moments, gazing sadly into the bright coal fire- She didn't speak, and after a few minutes he spoke again, very softly. "Do you know, pet, I have had a strange, fancy lately? If Amy had had a child, I could swear that Amy was her daughter."

I A FORCED MARRIAGE. I The first lady that wiU enter this room you will ask to be your wife," said Mrs. Anthony to a young man standing before her turning his hat and squeezing it out of all shape in a fit of bewilderment border ng upon despair. You will obey my orders ipplicitly continued the old lady, "or n.y estate will go to someone else." But, my dea.r aunt," ventured Willie Mackin without being able to proceed, because his aunt interrupted him im- I have had enough of your buts, and will patiently, saying: not listen to any more. You will do my bidding, or else you know the consequences. Come, Lizzie," she continued, turning to her daughter, a young lady of about nineteen, let us leave Willie alone. He must have a few minutes of quiet reflection to be pre- pared for what he will have to do." She closed the door, and he wildly paced the room for a few minutes in great rest- lessness. Should he sell himself for the for- tune which* his aunt had promised to bestow on him under the condition of marrying any woman she would choose for him? Three years ago, when her husband died, she had persuaded him to leave his profession and manage her cattle ranch for her, which was one of the largest in the States, pro- mising him to make him sole proprietor of it, leaving to her daughter Lizzie a large amount of movable property for a dowry, under the condition that he should marry soon and settle in the neighbourhood, where ehe wished to remain, because she oould not know, she eaid, -whom her daughter would marry and where she would have to go. The agitation in which Willie found him- self when left alone at the close of the 0001- versation did not last long. He soon came to the conclusion that whoever the lady might be who should next enter the room he would treat her in a manner that would thoroughly disgust and prevent her from attempting to force him to offer his hand or induce her to reject it if he should proceed to make an offer. He seated himself in an easy chair and turned his back to the door. It was ju?t on the stroke of two when he heard a. knock at the door. He made no reply. The knock- ing was repeated once, twice. No reply. Then the door opened, and, by the sound of rustling silk, he perceived that a lady had entered the room and was advancing towards him. He did not stir. Then he heard a woman's voice just behind his chair saying: I regret to disturb you. sir. Can I see Mrs. Anthony for a minute?" He was startled. What voice was that? He had heard it before. He knew it but too well. Had he not been travelling all over the country these three years in search of the owner of the voice* He turned around suddenly. "Is it you?" cried he, almost beside him- Aelf with delight, Miss lJaura? Oh, wlhat blissful surprise this is." As he rose, Laura, in utter surprise and bashfulness, had retraced her steps towards the door. But Willie was before her immedi- ately, and, seizing her hand. eaid: What do you think, my beloved angel, to turn away fr^-m me? Do you imagine I would let you go again? 0!h, Mr. Mackin!" she ejaculated, a deep red rendering her beautiful face more charming. "This meeting is too surprising. I had no idea I should meet you here." But she did not withdraw her hand from hie, and listenoo quietly to his soothing words. He led her to a settee and took a seat by her side, saying: After three years of fruitless search what strange coincidence leads you to my side here, ir. my own home, my dear girl? And without waiting for a. reply he continued: But ought I not to reproach you for the sudden, unkind manner in which you left me three years ago?" They had met three years ago at a bath- ing place on the Atlantic, where Willie had gone for a change, and Laura wa's nursing her sick mother. They had seen each other daily, and loved, but had not come to an explanation on account of the unexpectedly sudden departure of Laura, which had taken place without a word of warning to Willie. My poor mother," Laura exclaimed, was very low, and when. I arrived home that after- noon she told me she must go away; the sojourn there made her worse, and she wanted to go further south. I pleaded for one day's delay. It was no good. She had made up her mind that her health required her immediate departure. Poor mother! She travelled to her grave. The long journey so exhausted her that after her arrival in Florida she never rose from her bed again. She died six weeks after our arrival." Willie spoke words of comfort to the weeping girl, and, partly from curiosity, partly from a desire to turn her thoughts upon other matters, he asked her: Where are you at present, and what brings you to this house? Laura was startled, and jumped up, saying, full of anxiety: "Oh, I quite forgot. I was sent here with a message to Mrs. Anthony. Where is she? I really must see her right away." My aunt is in her room, but will be here soon, I guess. Meanwhile, take it easy, my good girl, and tell me first the message that brought you here." "My message, yes. In the surprise of find- ing you here I forgot a.ll about it. Mrs. Ira sends me to tell Mrs. Anthony that she had been unavoidably detained, and could not be here till about four o'clock. But that clock is nearly four now. Please, Mr. Mackin, do not detain me; let me see Mrs. Anthony right away, or it will be too late, and I shall lose my situation. I am afraid," she said, imploringly and full of anfiety. Mrs. Ira?" repeated Willie in a peculiar tone of inquisitiveness. The rich widow that has already buried two husbands, and might have been my mother? You are sent by her? In what relation do you stand to her?" "I am companion to Mrs. Ira. I have been with her for three weeks now." You a dependent upon that frivolous woman, that man hunter," he cried indig- nantly. "That has lasted long enough, Laura. You shall stay there no longer. Listen to me," he added, as she was about to remonstrate; "there is no doubt there is something providential in this meeting here to-day. They want to get me married in this house, and have provided a wife for me whom I do not know. My aunt has schemed the thing. She would not tell me her name, but said she would send the lady she bad selected for me to see me in this room, where I was to wait for her. She said the first lady that should enter this room I was to ask to be my wife. Now, Laura, you are the first who has entered, so I am bound to ask you. Will you be my wife?" Laura was speechless. She stood trembling and uncertain, feeling keenly that the way she was acting was by no means very dig- nified. Willie, seeing her confusion, embraced her fervently, and whispered: "Tell me, my beloved Laura, did you forget me, or do you still love me as much as I do you? I did not forget you. Willie, and I never will." She suffered him to kiss her passionately. Then he said: You did not answer my question. Will you be my wife, my beloved little wife? She did not answer, but she permitted him to press her to his heart add imprint a kiss on her rosy lips as fervent and long as if he would never separate again from them. Suddenly they were startled by the noise of a door opening. It was Mrs. Anthony, who came to ascertain the success of her scheme. She uttered a cry of surprise, and sank in the nearest arm- chair utterly discomfited. Willie advanced towards her with a radiant face and eaid with an unmistakable seriousness: My dear auntie, how shall I thank you? You are the most amiable aunt that ever was. First you frighten me out of all my senses, and then you surprise and make me the happiest of mortals by introducing to me, for my wife. the prettiest, the most lovable creature I ever saw in my life," with which words he introduced Laura to Mrs. Anthony by a movement of his hand. I—I," stammered the old lady; "I intro- duced that girl to you!" No question about it," said Will'e. She was the first lady that entered the room after you had left it. I asked her to be my wife and this moment, when you had come in, she had just consented to be." The Lord is my witness," said Mrs. Anthony, but was interrupted by a footman entering and announcig Mrs. Ira, who had just arrived. "Tell her," cried Willie, in a loud voice of command, "that Mrs. Anthony is not prepared to receive any more visitors to-day." "-No. no," cried Mrs. Anthony. But Willie motioned to the servant, who left the room. What are you doing, Willie? Do you want to ruin me? What does all this comedy mean?" No comedy, my dear aunt. In fact, I fail to understand you myself now. Did I not obey your orders to the letter? "Obeyed my orders? Why, Willie, I do not know who that lady is. I never saw her is my life." Then Willie proceeded to tell his aunt how he had met Laura before, and that they had been lovers all these years, although they had been separated and had not seen each other for yeaJs. He told her of his journey and the clues he had followed in so many directions, and how they had all proved false, and he described his disappointments in colours so vivid as to touch the heart of his aunt, who grew even more interested in La-ura, and looked at the pretty girl more and more attentively. When he had concluded his recital he called Laura, who approached unhesitatingly. But the good old aunt arose to meet her, and embraced her warmly. Be it èo." said she, good-humouredly. Besides, how could I do otherwise? Yon have obeyed my orders, and thus you are justified."