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[ATX RIGHTS RESERVED.] THE MYSTERY OF THE LEADEN DISC. BY CHRISTIAN LYS, Author ':{ "Tlio Fortress of Yadasara." "Tho jVly.-tory of I.aiSyplaco." Hepsworth Mil. lions," Mysterious Miss Wilton," -0. CHAPTER XYII. J KENSINGTON OAIiDEVS. Mr. Groyson's sojourn at the Warren was of si-.ort duration. Perhaps he felt that in- suPieiHiii Ji'airence was paid to hit, opinion, for Beatrice, in her anxiety ro protect her cousin from all unnecessary alarm, combated moat of her father's ideas concerning the mystery, and many of the various solutions of it which he had evolved with much thought. Mr. G-roysou meant no harm, and: Hallulay's strange conduct would certainly have influenced the opinion of a man far loss susceptible to suspicion than he was, but at his best he was a Job's comforter. He had an irritating way in argument, giving the im- pression that he had had more opportunities of adequately judging the circumstances than anyone else. besides which he often forgot en- tirely that Mrs. Halliday was an interested fwison. and that even veiled criticisms of her husband were altogether unwarrantable in her presence. To do him justice, his most direct suspicions against Halliday were only confid-ed to his dlwghtcr, who. having some- ihing of her father in her, met argument with I argument, and as often as not drove Mr. Greyson into a corner. I have absolute faith in Mr. Halliday." she said after one of these encounters, and have good hope that the mystery will soon be cleared up now that Mr. Owen has gone to town." And what particular advantages has Mr. Owen over auv other man in such a case as this? asked Mr. Greyson. He is Mr. H alii day's friend." The reply seemed to bring this line of argu- ment to a, "No thoroughfare". Mr. Grey- son appreciated the fact, for he attacked from another point. It appears to me, Beatrice, that, consider- ing all the circumstances, you are shewing r. certain want of feeling in this affair. You have, as it were, managed to step outside the tragedy, and seem to be able to consider it with a coldness and precision which aston- ishes me. No one would imagine that poor Fletcher was to have been your husband." I am astonished at myself, father, and I nm very glad you have mentioned the subject. It gives me an opportunity of saying what I have wanted to say for a long time. I don't know whether you will understand me when I say that I can hardly believe that I ever was going to marry Harold Fletcher." Mv dear Beatrice, the vagaries of women are proverbially difficult to understand. In your Case they are particularly so, seeing that yon chose Fletcher entirely against my ad- vice." "Of course, the i.rouLIr of those about me, the peculiar circumstances, the um-rf.iity. have tended to throw the consideration of my own trouble into the background." Beatrice vent on. Do not imagine i claiming to have made great sacrifices for others I am not. Had my grief been as poignant as it ought to have been, I should not have, been able to conceal it probably. That it was not has troubled me. The horror of the tragedy has afFected me far more than the fact that I have lost a lover. I am bound to conclude that. there was little true love in my feelings for Harold Fletcher." This confession was n triumph for Mr. Greyson. "If I remember rightly," he re- marked. I expressed myself in very similar terms when you became engaged." I believe you did but I do not imagine it ever occurred to you that, in a sense, you were the cause of my precipitate choice." I was? he exclaimed. Oh, you are a dear, good father in most ways," she said, dipping her arm through his. bur, your-love has kept me in a sort of bondage. Your old friends were very nice. but not particularly attractive to a young girl, and I had no real friends of my own age. You liked to have me with you. and did not care for me to go anywhere without you. I grew up in your generation, not in my own, and the brief glimpses I had of my own made it all the more desirable in my eyes. To ob- tain freedom to live my own life seemed worth any sacrifice. I liked Harold, and in his friendship saw that freedom, while in your advice I only heard a selfish note, the complaint of a father who was not all suffi- cient for his daughter's happiness. Forgive me, I do not suppose you will understand." Ma. i-ailced I don't." My mother would have done," said Beatrice, softly; and in a sad mood she left him and entered the house. This sudden outburst had taken Mr. Grey- son by surprise. Some fathers would have blamed themselves, and sought. to undo the past with caresses and loving words, but he was it,-)[ this k'ud of father. Had his been a t stronger character, and his daughter s a weaker one than it was, he would have been an actual tyrant; as it was, he had the will to be one without the power. The result was inevitable, he endeavoured to conceal his weakness by self-assertion. It was in this spirit, no doubt, that he an- nounced on the following day that be was ob- liged to return home. He had only expected to come for a day or two, he said, and his business was urgent. Why should not Ethel and the boy come and stay with us? said Beatrice. It would do you good, Ethel. Lo be aw ay from the Warren for a little while, and, besides, Mr. Halliday is in London." s It was this last argument which finally de- cided Ethel Halliday, so in t,« o Lillie Beatrice became hostess in Kensington, and did her utmost to keep hope and trust nourishing in the heart of her visitor. Ethel had written to Jack Owen to inform him of the visit to town, and, without delay, Owen made his appearance in Kensington. He had verv little to tell Ethel. No, I have not "['11 Bertram," he said. in answer to 11. eager questions. but I have little doubt that he is working along similar lines to myself. I may run across him at any IIlOllunt. But have you made anv progress?" Yes, honestly yes. I have got a man help- ing me whose information I believe will lead us to the man who killed Harold Fletcher." And Bertram? Had he got hold of this friend of mine when he first camto town, I exlwct the nustery would have beon solved bv this time. I >luul almost certainly know more to-morrow night. When he was leaving Beatrice went to the u"or with. him. She felt that Owen had not said all he might have done. "There is something more," she said. "A little, but nothing alarming" '• I very often walk in Kensington Gardens pad: she? said. I shall to-morrow morn- •• I shall m ike a point of doing so mvself to-morrow." Ov-en answered; and the night was spent by him in pleasurable anticipation. Of course, she only wanted to hear his news, but he wouid be with her alone. He would have travelled all night for such a purpose. They miss sonic of life's pleasantest hours who stay late in bed. There are many pos- sibly -who hardly know how beautiful the world is in the early morning, robed in its jewels of dew. and resounding with t-lie wak- ing anthem of thv birds. Nor are the breesy downs, nor far depths of quiet country, neces- sary to rLis enjoyment. The Londoner can h ve it if he will, yet few of them know how beautiful Kensington Gardens are in the early morning. The sun had been up some little time when Beatrice Greyson entered them. but it was still early. There was still th" sense of hav- ing the world practically to oneself. Her step was elastic, and a very fair face met the kisses of the morning air. For a while she forgot the sadness of life, the trouble and death which stalk gr::r-v;saged and even-paced with it, and which had touched her and those she loved so nearly. Youth had caught her up and turned her eyes from gazing on sadness, turned them towards the beautiful and de- sirable, and she walked briskly, looking and listening for a kindred spirit. A hasty step behind her, a choery greeting, and she turned to face Jack Owen. The sight of him appeared to gather many past and fleeting thoughts, anci ,) unite these i.n one great conviction which S<a DEEPER AV:O of colour into her cheeks iliuu tb,- morning air had set there. canie to hear yoir ii, And I—yes. I came to tell it \ou." and then, after a pause, during which he i-eemed to think of something else besides his news, he went on: Of course, they do not know that vou have come here this morning—I mean Mrs. Haliidav does not know?" "No." I neither want to alarm li-. r nor to raise false hopes." Owen saio..it, down? and he flicked the dust, jrum a tteut I with his handkerchief. SINV last iiii!)I',lo say lllUCh," said Beatrice. "I have nothing very certain to tell." an- ) swered Owen, "but to-night I hope to learn I more"; and then he told her of Wargrave's visit on the day lie, had left the Warren, and how he had found the leaden disc on the previous evening, and the meaning of it. Harold Fletcher was a member of this club," he went on. and by its preposterous rules had in some way forfeited his life. I have little doubt that he paid the penalty at the hands of some other member, and that the murderer dropped the token by accident." But 'voii foiiii(I it in -)Ii-. Hillilli-s desk," said Beatrice. Oh. yes. Bertram had probably found it in the picture gallery." He said nothing about it at the inquest." I lie did not attach any import- ance to it. perhaps never connected it with the tragedy at all." Ow(.n said. "I know the thought that is in vour mind, Miss Greyson; the samf idea came into mine. It was natural. You may be quite easy on that point. War- gra\e continues to go to the club, and lie has taken means to find out that Bertram Halli- day never was a member of it. B(,s;(Ies. it is within my knowledge that he has never been away constantly from the Warren for a night or two at. a time as he must have been to have attended this club." ''You have not seen Mr. Halliday?" said Beatrice after a pause. No and I no idea where he is. I have made careful inquiries, and none of his acquaintances in London—whom I know, at least—have seen him. unless, of course, he has requested them not to give any information. No doubt he is going upon some line which I his knowledge of Harold Fletcher justifies him in believing will lead to the desired solu- tion. but he does not know Wargrave and this club, and I Liney J shall get d the truth first." "To-night?" asked Beatrice. Perhaps that is too much to expect, but to-night we make a big step in the l ight dircc- tion. Wargrave has a particular friend at the club, who I judge would hack out of it if he could get. his courage to the sticking place. I am going to see this friend to-night. He and Wargrave will leave the club together, and as soon as the latter leaves him I shall tackle him and demand an interview." But you are a stranger, he will refuse." I know enough to make him fear me." Owen returned. "You must he careful. Fear makes men desperate." In my pocket at the present moment is a revolver loaded in e,ery chamber, Miss Grey- son. It was the first purchase I madv on arriving in London. 1 am rather a crack shot, too." She looked up at him a little fear in her eyes. And were the danger a hundred times greater than it is, I should go Oil for tlh" «ake of ray friends, for Bertram, for Ethel—and for vou." £ But—don't you see, Mr. Owen, some of these villains may have marked you already." "That is why I go armed," said Owen. "I shall not be careless, yon may trust me for that. Life has lately become very precious to me. A short while ago it seemed to hold very little for me. I seemed to have stepped into the sunshine too late. It was not mine to en- joy. The change came suddenly. You can perhaps guess when, Miss Greyson." Is it quite fair to speak of it? she asked. There were tears in her eyes. and she did not pretend to misunderstand him. Perhaps not," he answered, but I have some excuse. Fear makes men desperate, you have said so, and to be sileiit, altogether might mean to lose altogether. Presently there will come brighter days, we hope can you Lid me look forward to them? rnease, Mr. Owen. 1 I love you, Beatrice. I must tell you so lest you should never know. It is on my con- science that I came near to hating the poor fellow who is dead because you belonged to him, because you loved him. I tell you that' I love you; I tell you now because I want you to know it. to get accustomed to the thought when this shadow which "is over us all has passed away, because it may clear away for us all except you. The man you loved is dead. It may be a lifelong sorrow to you, and if some day you will let me step into the place he was to fill, I want you to know that I shall understand what the past has been to you. My love shall fill the blank as best it can. I will say no more, and I do not ask you to say anything now." She was silent for a little while. You have not told me whether you made any in- quiries at Harold's chambers," she said pre- sently. "Yes, I went there, and he appears to have left them some time." I Left t h-em So the housekeeper said. She did not know where he had gone to." "But I have written to him there quite re- cently. and the letters have not been returned." She knew nothing about- Harold Fletcher, she said, except that he had left." Owen was tracing lines on the ground with the point of his stick. He did not want to look at her while he answered her ques- tions concerning Fletcher. He did no- Nvisil her to think that anything ug»i><r.t her ctcad lover pleased him. The crunching of the gravel told him that someone was parsing, but he did not look up. Beatrice looked at the passer, but, would have taken little notice of the man had he not turned quicklv to look at them. It seemed to her that he did so on hearing the mention of Fletcher's name. Did you see that man ? "she asked. As Oweu looked up the man ttii-iled roiiric], and he saw his face for a moment. What about him? I do not know him. Do you? No. but I am sure he heard you mention Harold's name and was startled." | It was probably your fancv." "I feel sure it was not. 'We must go. They will be wondering where I am. and ask awkward questions." They walked slowly side by side. It had been an eventful morning for them both. They walked in silence. How could they talk of ordinary things after what had passed between them? I will go on alone now," Beatrice said, stopping suddenly. "You will let ine know at once what happens to-night?" Yes." And—and. Jack, be careful for our sakes," and she had gone almost before he realised that she had called him Jack for the first time in her life. CHAPTER XVIII. THE BLACKSMITH AT WORK. Although it pleased Aaron Toosey to say that Tom Mason neglected his business to go I walking with Mary, it is not necessary to suppose that the old man really meant what he said. He probably knew as well as every- one else in the village that the blacksmith was not a man either to neglect his work or to skimp it. Any job he undertook was cer- tain to be done to the best of his ability. When he had promised Mr. Owen that, he would keep an eye upon the Warren he con- sidered that he had undertaken to 8JIId a. considerable time watching the house, and he began at once to redeem his promise. The only person he told besides Mary was Mrs. Norris at the lodge. She was an old friend, and seemed to have a definite place in his life. Her lodge had long been the objective of most of tlie walks he and Mary took together, and she was more interested in their love affair and their future than any- one else. She was very surprised when Tom told her of his promise to watch the house, and smiled at the futility of doing so. Ghosts never appear when they're watched for," slip remarked. Strikes me they never appear at all 'cept to scare fearful folk an' children. an' them [ as a' got too much liquor on board," Tom answered. Mayb as you'll change your mind some day," said Mrs. Norris. I'm always open to learn. Mrs. Norrie, I an' I don't mind a bit owning up when I'm wrong." Mary Toosev professed that she was not afraid of ghosts, but at the same time she did I not dislielieve in them. She would have been very reluctant to wander about the grounds of the Warren alone after nightfall, would possibly have considered such a proceeding something like flying in the lace of Provi- I dence. but. she had unlimited faith in Tom. and with him would have gone anywhere. I alwnys look upon em as poor souls as I is not hul)py," she. SoeLziq to me it's quite likclv we might be able to help 'em, so it would be wrong an' foolish to be afraid of 'em." Thus she steered a middle course between Tom's unbelief and Mrs. Norris's faith. "This poor soul won't be happy if I gets hold on him," said Tom, confidently. I don't Jmow .whether you've thought of it. Tom Mason, but there's some danger in hanging about the grounds after dark,' said Mrs. Norris. The keepers are always on the look-out for poachers, and they might mistake you for one." "I'll take my chance of that," was the answer. "This murder up at the house makes it necessary to get at the bottom of the ghost story, an' I'm goin' to do my best to get at the bottom of it." And you're not the first as has tried to do that. Tom." said Mr*. Norris, and wiser heads than yours, too, and there's never been anything found out', remember that. Don't you be one of them as don't believe in any- thing they can't see. If we had to prove everything before we believed it, we'd never. Ivelieve anything at all. Look at religion, that'll shew you." I'm not the only one as don't believe in ghosts," said Tom. "There's Mr. Owen." Aye, and he's a very nice gentleman, but. that doesn't say he is always right," said Mrs. Norris. There have been others just as disbelieving as Ir. Owen is, just as anxious to l,nn'e that they were right but have they done it? No. And it's not to be supposed that they were all fool- before Mr. Owen's time. If the mystery could have been found out it would have been done long ago." ago." There was no denying the force of this argument. Tom Mason did not attempt to do so, but at the same time it carried no con- viction to his mind, and he walked about the grounds with Mary, intensely hnppy in her company, as he always had been, but not too absorbed to prevent his keeping a sharp look out, especially when daylight was fading. Some little chaff he had to put up with. Mrs. Halliday had given out that the black- smith and Mary had her permission to use the grounds when they liked, but she had mentioned no reason. The men employed about the Warren soon supplied one. and de- clared that Torn's love affair must have been laughed at in the village, since he found it con- venient to conduct it in such privacy. Perhaps I' he had had a row with old Aaron, some of them suggested, and, in short, Tom Mason was the occasion of a good deal of laughter. It requires a strong man to put up with being laughed d, but Tom stood the ridicule with- out flinching. of these men about the place might be the ghost, he argued, and in the process of making fun of him some word I of confession or betrayal might slip out un- awares. So the blacksmith kept both bis eyes and ears open, and was much more on the alert than even Mary suspected. And night after night. after seeing Mary home, Mason came swiftly back to the War- ren. but not to the gates. There was a place where the fence was hidden by a slip of wood and undergrowth, and where, within the grounds, at this point the woods were very dense, no trodden path through them. It was a spot where his entrance would not be likely to be fieen, except, perhaps, by some poacher who had already discovered this point of vantage. For such Mason was always on the watch, and he went warily on account of the keeners- In his walks with Mary he had become accustomed to the grounds, had familiarised himself with the many paths through the woods, and had learnt the chief beats of the keepers. Night after night he had watched the terrace on all sides of the house, conceal- ing himself in some convenient shrubbery, and creeping from cover to cover stealthily when he wanted to alter his position. He came to the conclusion that: had his con- scieiyse allowed him to become a poacher he ) would have been a very successful one. Of these midnight w&tchings Mrs. Norris knew little, itnd even Mary was not aware that they were so constant. Masoi: fell- that the utmost secrecy was desirable, .ince, he argued, any one using the ghost story for own purpose must know the history and the habits of the family very intimately. It was a fixed idea with him that whoever had com- mitted the murder had mistaken Mr. Fletcher for Mr. Halliday. The former was unknown in Chelford, and even if there were someone desirous of killing him, the wouldbe assassin would hardly choose a time when his victim was staying in a country house, the arrangements of which were unfamiliar to him, and which was situated in a neighbourhood to which he was an entire stranger, and where,, therefore, his ignorance of the locality might hinder his successful escape. If Mason succeeded in catching the ghost he expected to recognise some man well known in the village, or more likely at the Warren itself. At first Mason had concentrated big atten- tion on that part of the terrace which was outside the biHiard room and immediately underneath the picture gallery. Legend and superstition agreed that this was the ghost's walk, and those who professed to have heard the ghost had heard him there. The people who had actually seen him were few, and their description of the kind of person they had seen was very hazy and in- definite. But while he watched, this portion of the terrace was destitute of aU mystery. No shadows moved across it, although on one occasion Mason thought he heard footsteps. On tin; side of the house which was at right angles to the billiard-room frontage, the walls were densely covered with creepers. It has been said that in places flags were wanting in the terrace to make room for the roots of creepers, and on this side of the house there were more of these spaces than on any other. Mason was standing in a shrubbery on the lawn below the terrace watching this side of the house one night, when a slight sound, dif- ferent from the night sounds to which he had become accustomed, startled him into sudden attention. He could not define the sound, nor could he locate it exactly. A great bank of clouds had covered the moon, and the terrace was dark; but constant watching had made the blacksmith's eyes keen, and he thought he saw a movement against the dark background of creepers. He waited, and then was certain that someone, or some- thing, moved there. It is not to be supposed that his heart did not beat a little faster. The silence, the hour, and the circumstances made indiffer- cnoe impossible, but he had no real fear. Grasping the cudgel he carried more firmly, he had stepped from the shrubbery prepara- tory to rushing upon that moving shadow, when a gleam of moonlight shot out for an instant, and then as suddenly died awav- Whether it bad caught his own figure, sil- houetting it upon the lawn, Mason did not know; but it had caught the figure on the terrace. In that momentary gleam of light Mason saw a tall form standing there, abnormally tall it seemed, wrapped from head to foot in a mantle, only a white face shewing, and a white hand, which seemed to hold the cloak together at the throat. Perhaps a spasm of fear caught. the black- smith's heart, for the figure looked unearthly. but only for a moment did he pause. The next he had rushed forward and sprung upon the terrace, his cudgel ready, and again the moonlight came clear and strong for the space of a minute or more. Were there echoing footsteps, or were they only born of fancy? For a minute every corner of the terrace was bathed in silvery light, and there was no tall figure to b seen. Mason was alone there I iN be continutd-I

ht^ — ALWAYS B MOTHER SFTOEL'S Svnrr gives you "I could not cat, the least morsel with- K health by restoring your stomach, liver, out pain, followed by wind. I suffered K and bowels to natural working activity constantly from ,hct><lache with black I ill-health is tht n i:nponsibl-e. It enables specks dancing before my* eves. But B you to digest your food and to draw MOTHEB .Si-itoKt.'s SY;I> cured me." jj from it the nourishment it contains: Mrs. Barnes, 13'J, U]>«r Bridge Road, B strength is then assuicJ. Chelmsford. S-g — CURES £ I Indigestion « Biliousness ] The 2,'6 Bottle contains three t;:r.os :.R much a-p th' 31^ rile. ffHBHBBnnBBMTlinHBBB—iii—i——■inBiii—ni nnmm II I '!t. li Hill II M II

BITS FROM BOOKS. DENNIS. Dennis was a small white pig, the pet of a United States man-of-war. He was smuggled on 'board at a Chilian port, and saved from the batcher to become a member of the family. His beauty and intelligcnc so appealed to ali hearts that he soon had the run of the ship. Mr. J. D. Jerrold Kelley tells Dennis's story in The Ship's Company." The pig was entered on the roster as Dennis O'Queriquna, which name was soon shortened into Dennis O'Kcrry. Never was a pig better cared for. Every morning he had his bath, and was scoured and brushed into a state of tnowv whiteness. He feasted with dignified ease in the exclusive precincts of the galley, and during the day lolled about the deck or Pttended drills. At night he shared some sailor's hammock, and the favoured tar gave a part of his blanket or pea- jacket to his bedfellow. On Saint Patrick's Day Dennis was gay with green ribbons, and bore a mealy potato spliced to his tail. Such a pampered pig could not possibly stay small. Dennis began to acquire undue fat, be- came touchy and captious, and the happy time ended. One day his fate was sealed. You'll have to 6cnd that pig ashore. The executive officer reports him unfit for duty," said the captain, and the man who took especial charge of Dennis was summoned. Bari)e, my man, it's Fourth of July next week. Dennis must be put ashore or eaten by that time. If you wish, you may have him for dinner on the holiday." Barbe glared in horror. Why, sir, I'd as soon eat my brother as Den- nis," he replied. lie's weathered o' all we have, and I'd as lief stick a knife into a babby. Of course if it's go ashore, sir. go it is; but I'd like to make terms wth the man who's to have him, so Dcnnis'll get the kindness he's learnt with us. sir." Tho ship was tying off Papeete, and Dennis went ashore the next day, bag. hammock, rib- bon, potato and all. The men were clustered about the gangways to salute him, and the offi- cers waved a farewell from aft. As his pigship pulled under the bows there rose a hearty cheer; it was the last ship's greeting Dennis was to know. The countryman to whose charge Dennis was consigned was to take him inland to a plantation. During the few days which elapsed before the pig's removal from the shore Dennis was sullen and despondent. He spent his time lying in the shade, his noM* buried in the ground, paying attention to no one. One day the ship's men came ashore on leave. Dennis, moping with his eyes closed, heard their landing. Up he sprang, and bounded to the shore to meet his old friends. While the sailors remained he was radiantly happy, but when they went on board again he fell into his gloomy way, When the time came for Dennis's journey to hia inland home, he refused to go. He was too frt>avy to be carried, he would not be led, and his present owner had promised never to use co- ercion. Finally the guardian appealed to the sailors. The boatswain came on shore with a couple of tars. Thev hired a cart and the boatswain whistled, faennis sprang at once to the familiar call. The cart drove on and the pig trotted con- tentedly behind it. When Dennis was fairly, started, outside the limits of the town, the boat- swain and the bailors slipped away, and Dennis proceeded with his new master, to end his daya in rural peace and plenty.

PEEK-A-BOO. The cunningest thing that a baby can do Is the very first time it plays peek-a-boo; When it hides its pink little face in its hands. And crows, and shews that it understands What nurse, and mamma, and papa, too, Mean when they hide and cry Pcek-a-boo." Oh. what a wonderful thing it is. When they find that baby can play like this. And everyone listens and thinks it true That baby's gurgle means "Peek-a-boo"; And over and over tho changes are rung On the marvellous infant who talks so young. I wonder if anyone ever knew A baby that never piayed 'Tis old a, she kills are. I believe Cain was taught by Mother Eve For Cain was an innocent baby, too. And I'm sure he played pc-ek-u boo. peek-a-boo; And the whole world full of the children of men Have all of them played that game since then. I Kings and princes and beggars, too, Every one has played peek-a-boo. Thief and robber and ruffian bold, The crazy tramp and the drunkard old. I All have been babies who laughed and knew How to hide and play peek-a-boo, -From Kingdom of Love. and Other Poems." By ELLA WHEKLEK WILCOX {Gay and Bird). -——————

A SURGEON AND HIS SUBJECTS. The following story is told by the Rev. Robert Yates Whytehead, a descendant of an old York- shire family, who is now Rector of Lawford, in his Records of an Old Vicarage (John Long): In the early part of last century one of the best-known surgeons in Leeds was Mr. C. T. Thackrah. He was in partnership with Mr. Brooke, and to them was bound as apprentice in 1820 Mr. Whyiehead's father. Five other ap- T, t, wore similarly bound, the idea being that, they should recti.r « nrarticsl training be- fore they entered upon the I mversu\ <_uu,c. Mr. Thackrah was accustomed to give lce-tures on anaiomy, for which the "subjects" and dia- grams were prepared by the appientices. In his book the Rector of Lawford relates that bodies were^hard to get as subjects." and one winter Mr. Thackrah was at his wit's end how to pro- vide for the suitable illustration of an important I oc" s: course of lectures. His narrative proceeds: So three of the students determined to rise to the occasion. The graveyard of the old parish church was in the middle of the towo. It was crossed by several footpaths. But these were not lighted at night, and as a dark graveyard is not a favourite place of resort they were seldom used after dark. In a lartre town like Leeds burials were of con- stant occurrence, and it was not difficult to ar- range with the old soxron to give them the tip cs to where and when a body could be resurrec- ted without much risk of discovery or interrup- tion. The sexton himself kept conveniently out of tho way. but his wife was induced for a con- sideration to act as guide. Whilst two of the students were at work at the newly-made grave the other kept guard at a safe distance. And it was arranged that if anyone came within view of the operations lie should give them a signal to lie low, whilst he was to allay suspicion by ap- pearing to be courting the sextoness, leaning against one of the headstones. All went well until the diggers had ju6t sue- against one of the headstones. All went well until the diggers had just sue- ceeded in raising the bodv from its resting-place, when one of the old Charlies," or watchmen, came near the scene of action. His suspicions were aroused he sprang his rattle There was no time to lose if they were to escape with their booty. They hastily thrust the body into a sack y I and took to their heels. Then began a hue-and- cry other watchmen and loafers joined in the pursuit. The three depredators fled as if for their lives. Being young and active they soon left their pursuers some distance behind- although the one of them who wa,, burdened with the sack had to set the pace for his com- panions. Still, they managed at length to get out of sight, and almost out of earshot, of their followers. Suddenly, on turning a corner, they received a check they found themselves in a blind alley, with a high wall at the end of it. Two of them managed to climb over the wall and get clear away: but the third, weighted with the sack, only just succeeded (as his pursuers turned the corner) in scrambling over the wall, and landing in a, cesspool which took him up to his neck He had sufficient presence of mind to restrain him- self from naughty words," and remained in this unsavoury hiding-place until the coast was clear and he could safely but sadly wend his way Homeward.

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SOMETHING FOR YOUNG FOLKS. GRANNIE'S BRIGHT SIDE. It's too wet to play in the garden this morning," grumbled Nora. Never mind, my dear. Think how thirsty the poor flowers are. They were drooping their heads this morning as if they were longing for a drink," saiJ grandma. Don't you think they could have waited till to-morrow, when it was not a half-holi- day? Letty drawled, drumming her fingers on the window pane, down which the rain- drops were pattering merrily. What about that doH's dress you began yesterday?" grandma asked, with a smile. I thought you were 60 anxious to get it finished, Nora." I So I was, but I wanted to go out to-day, grannie. The new croquet set. came home last night, and we are simply longing to have a try with the uew hoops, aren't we, Letty!" Yes. but grannie doesn't think about that. She doesn't mind so long as she has her book and her knitting." Grannie looked up from her work and shouk her head brightly. "Grannie Iia« her share of disappoint- ments, though you children don't always see them," she said. « "I thought grown-up people could do as they liked," Letty said. I think it would be very nice to be grown up, even if little things did come in the way sometimes." [ But, Letty," grannie answered, "if you cannot bear little disappointments plea- santly, how could you bear those real troubles that come in later life?" "I don't know, grannie but how do you manage? for it doesn't matter whatever hap- pens, you always smile and look as if it was just what you wanted." Perhaps that is because I always look for the bright side, Letty," the old lady said, quietly. "But suppose there is no bright side,; grannie, what then? asked Nora. I never found anything happen to me yet that hadn't a bright side, my dears; nor anything that I could not thank God with all my heart that it was no worse." "A note for you, ma'am," said a servant, entering the room with a letter, and the boy is waiting for an answer, please, ma'am." J Dear me dear I wonder where my spectacles can be. I cannot see to write without, and I fear I must have left them on my dressing-table." Ah, grannie cried Letty, mischievously, "now I have caught you." "Yes. grar.uie; what is bright side of I losing spectacles?" chimed in Nora. Why, having two dear little grand. daughters to search for them," was the lauglung reply; at which both little girls scampered upstairs, and grannie's spectacles were found at once.

HOW THEY PLAYED DRAGON." Little Ah Lee and little Oh Me Played in the shade of a mulberry-tree. Said little Ah Lee to little Oh Me, A terrible dragon I'm going to be, And I'll catch you and eat you up, little On .NIP "Please don't, and I'll give you a rosebud," said she. But dragons don't care about rosebude," said lie. Then I'll give you my tiny silk slippers." said she. "Why, dragons don't even wear shoes'" laughed Ah Lee. "Then I'll give you my necklace of coral," said she. But; dragons don't want any coral, you How silly of dragons! Then how would it be If I gave you a big currant cake: asked Oh Me. Whv, that would be splendid! cried little Ah Lee.

MINNIE'S ADVENTURE. There were ten of them just out, such Weeny, fluffy things. Little Minnie was very sorry. They could only say. Week, week,' and I thought they would say, 4 Quack, quack,' she said. Ic-u see, they were all her own. and she had fed the mother hen all by herself every morning, although she was oiilv four. She had laughed 10 see the baby ducks shako their heads when they got out of the bhell. She fed them now. and when they were a week old she was toid she might let them out with the hen. She carefully lifted the slide, and let the hen out.. Ob, look. daddy she said. as the little ducks came to a puddle, and paddled about in the dirty water. When they came to the pond the firsc one went right in. 4. Minnie rau as quickly as she e.-v.ld, riofat into the pond. crying:' Oh, mv ickie duck will he deaded W But it was not the duck, but Minnie who would have been drowned if daddy had not been there. She was, oh, so wet and dirty! but she quite forgot to cry in her surprise at eeoinp all ten ducks in th- of tne pond, while the mother hen called then; in vain.

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SOME MODERN EPIGRAMS. The following smart sayings are ulled from Charles Marriott's "The House on the Sands" (John Lane): Feminine co-operation has certain disadvantage* which justify a man reserving a corner of his affairs from the most loyal woman. The shortest and most comprehensive criticism of any political or social system is that it dis- regards human nature. When a man has to give all his time to de- fending his past actions, you can't blame him for negtactinsc the future. No man and woman can foel more confidently euro of each other than they who recognise and respect the obstacle which divides them. I'd rather trust my instincts than my opinions any day, Americans don't think, they calculate; they are amazingly clover, hut not very wise; they have no statesmen, only fioliticians. Even a fooi may he efficient if hir) foolishness fits the office. Achilles was not a modest man, but no doubt there were moments in which he comprehended that possibly he might not make the same figure in battle that he did in his tent. Being interested implies a loss of mental equilibrium. The only way to save yourself from lost ilia- lions io to have uoao.