The Polish Jew /: a machine-readable transcription.

Front matter. 1 0001

This Number is Complete, Unchanged and Unabridged. Vol. ,XCV. |.ffiîEE.S GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, Nos. IT to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. PRICE Ś} IO CENTS.!ť No. 1924 The Seaside Library, Issued Daily. By Subscription, $36 per annum. Copyrighted 1884, by Gkorse Monuo. Entered at the Post Office at New York at Second Class Rates. January 5, 1885. Copyrighted 1884, by George Monro. THE POLISH JEW. By ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN. 1*é34T^ TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY CAROLINE A. MERIGHI. ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN'S WORKS CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY: 212 Brigadier Frederick. PRICK. I NO. . 10c 1924 The Polish Jew PRICE. 10c F. DU BOISGOBEY'S WORKS CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY: NO. PRICE. 709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part I. . 20c 709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Part II. . . 20c 1062 The Severed Hand (La Main Coupee) . 20c 1123 The Crime ofthe Opera House. First half . 20c 1123 The Crime of the Opera. House. Second half 20c 1142 The Golden Tress......20c 1225 The Mystery of an Omnibus . . . 20c 1241 The Matapan Affair. First half . '. . 20c 1241 The Matapan Affair. Second half . . 20c 1307 The Robbery ofthe Orphans; or, Jean Tour- niol's Inheritance . . . . . 20c 1356 The Golden Pig (Le Cochon d'Or). Part I. 20c 1356 The Golden Pig. Part II.....20c 1432 His Great Revenge. First half ... 20c 1432 His Great Revenge. Second half . . . 20c 1465 The Privateersman's Legacy. First half . 20c 1465 The Privateersman's Legacy. Second half . 20c 1481 The Ferry-boat (Le Bac) .... 20c 1534 Satan's Coach (L'Equipage du Diable). First half........20c 1534 Satan's Coach (L'Equipage du Diable). Second half........20c 1550 The Ace of Hearts (L'As de C ur). First half 20c 1550 The Ace of Hearts (L'As de C ur). Second half...... .20c 1602 Marie-Rose; or, The Mystery. First half . 20c 1602 Marie-Rose; or, The Mystery. Second half . 20c 1717 Sealed Lips.......20c 1742 The Coral Pin......30c 1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. First half . . 20c 1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. Second half . . 20c 1799 The Steel Necklace.....20c 1800 Bertha's Secret. First half . . . .20c 1800 Bertha's Secret. Second half ... 20c 1874 Piedod-che. A French Detective (Le Coup d' il) '.......ť20c 1885 The Sculptor's Daughter (Margot la Balafrée) Firsthalf.......20c 1885 The Sculptor's Daughter (Margot la Balafrée) Second half.......20c 1886 Zenobie Capitaine. First half . . . 20c 1886 Zenobie Capitaine. Secoud half. . . 20c NEW YORK: GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 17 to 27 VANDEWATER STREET.

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THE HEW YORK FASHION BAZAR.-Adverbising Department. _0 PS c M w w t= r. 5C < >Ś hi ac H S H 6- f. h M oc x o 3D K Ph >-. ri < Tiie ClrislmasJiisMon Bazar. LOVELT MMI8TKE HOYELTIES. NOW READY. THE JANUARY NUMBER OF the iff^rsTv -^tozris: MONTHLY Fas zar, Prioe 25 Cents Per Copy. Subscription Price, $2.50 Per Year. IT CONTAINS RICHLAND BEAUTIFUL COSTUMES FOE THE Opera, Balls and Parties, Fashionable Winter Overgarments, EVENING DRESSES FOR YOUNG LADIES, Furs, Cloaks, Dolmans, Wraps, Jackets, Newmarkets, Ulsters, and Sacques. Winter Wool an_d Cloth Suits. Velvet grows in favor as the winter advances The new brocades show gold and silver grounds with raised designs upon their surfaces of piush, aud velvet flowers in ricli contrasting shades of wine garnet, olive, gendarme blue, and royal cardinal Lyons velvets come in superb colorings, and beaded and embroidered. *,\77"in.ter lEvEillinery. THE NEWEST SHAPES OF WINTER HATSAM BONNETS, Among the new millinery goods are French felt dotted with chenille and trimmed around the brims with puffings ťf velvet to correspond. Felt bonnets are pretty and comfortable for general winter wear, and the new close, princess shapes are very becom- ing to most faces. The return to a comparative simplicity in hat and bounet shapes is to be hailed with the greatest satisfaction. WINTER FASHIONS FOR CHILDREN, Overgarments for Boys and Girls. The January number contains the commencement of an original, entirely new story, entitled Phyllis' Probation. By the author of " A Fatal Dower," " A Great Mistake," etc. Also the continuation of Lester's Secret. By MARY CECIL HAY, author of " Old Myd- delton's Money," etc. The conclusion of A WEEK IN KILLARNEY. By "THE DUCHESS." It contains also the continuation of THE BELLE OF SARATOGA. And the conclusion of SWORN TO SILENCE; OR, Aline Rodney's Secret. By MRS. ALEX. McVEICJH MILLER. New Embroidery Patterns and Novelties in Fancy Work. Six Extra Pages are devoted to new designs in Em- broidery and Fancy Work. __ CHOICE SELECTION OP SKETCHES. ESSAYS, FASHION ITEMS, PERSONALS, HOME INFORMATION, HUMOR- OUS MATTER, POETRY AND BIOGRAPHY WILL BE FOUND IN EACH NUMBER. Munro's Bazar Pinned Paper Patterns. We are prepared to supply Munro's Bazar Pinned Paper Patterns, cut and pinned into the shape of gar- ments of all fashions published in this Magazine. The New York Monthly Fashion Bazar is for sale by all newsdealers. It will also be sent postage pi'epaid, for 2n cents per single copy. The subscription price is $2.50 per year. Address GEORGE MUNRO. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street. New York. P. O. Box 3751. Monro's Bazar Pinned Paper Patterns. We are prepared to supply Munro's Bazar Pinned Paper Patterns of all the Costumes, Mantles, Jackets, etc., published in the Magazine. These patterns are far superior to any that have hitherto been sold in America. Ihey are cut on scientific principles by the First American Modistes, and are guaranteed 'for good fit and style. They will prove of very great advantage to all dressmakers, enabling them to make up, with the greatest ease, any costume represented in this favorite Magazine. These patterns, fashioned into shape, will likewise be of very great service to those ladies who have their dresses made up at home. PLEASE REMEMBER that the patterns furuished by us are fashioned into shape; every seam is formed, each fold and plait is laid the pocket, collar, cuffs, etc., are all pinned in their proper places; in short, when one of Munro's Bazar Patterns is unfolded it shows just how the gar- ment will look when completed. DIRECTIONS FOR TAKING MEASURES, And Form of Writing them Down. Around Under chest. Waist. arm. Front. Back. Hip 42 32 21 14 16 No. 1 is Measuring Around the Chest. See Cut. First. 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Place the end of tape ine as high up on the baek of the neck as the dress can be worn, .and measure down the full length to waist. Suppose that is 16. No. 7 is Measuring around the Hip. See Cut. Seventh. Take the hip measure. Place the tape measure around the hip, six inches below the waist, UEOK.fi. E IflUJXRO, PI. ISLISllEIB, and draw the measure as tight as you want the dress to be when completed. Suppose that to be 42 inches. Munro's Bazar Pinned Paper Patterns. We are prepared to supply Munro's Bazar Pinned Pa- per Patterns, cut and pinned into ihe shape of garments of all fashions illustrated in the New York. Monthly Fashion Bazar. Parties ordering patterns should be particular to state the. number of costume and date of Bazar containing the illustration or plate. The priceť of patterns are as follows : Ss. a to Ss 8 S ha Wrap.....................................$0.50. Cape.......................... ......... 50. Jacket..................................... 50. Vest ....................................... 50. Basque..................................... 50 Over Skirt.................................. 50. u " double sided..................... 50. Eedingote.................................. 50. Polonaise................................... 50. " double sided..................... 75. Trimmed Skirt............................. 75. Untrimmed Skirt........................... 75. Skirt, Double Sided, Trimmed............. 75. " Train, " .............. 75. .............. 75. Adjustable Train, Trimmed.......... 75. " Untrimmed....... 75. ....... 75. Wrapper................................... 75. Tea Gown.................................. 75. Ulster.................................... 75. Ss~s lfg-1 Riding Habit. " " with Petticoat.............. " " " and Pants... Princess Dress.........................___ Walking Costume......................... Indoor " ......................... Reception " ......................... Dinner " ..................... Ball " ......................... Whole " Double Sided Dress____ Chemise, Drawers or Night Dresses. 1.00. 1.00. 1.00. 1.50. 1.50. 1.50. 2.00. 50. (Princess)............... 50. Corset..................................... 50. CHILDREN'S PATTERNS. Princess Dress, 2 to 9 yrs.................. " " 10 to 15 yrs................ Polonaise, Double Sided, 10 to 15 yrs....... 50 50 50 50 Wrap, Jacket, Basque, etc., each.......... 50 Overskirt................................... 50 Trimmed Skirt............................. 50 Ulster and Pelisse, each.................... 50 Pinafore and Apron........................ 50 Night Dress, Chemise, Drawers, etc., each. 50 Boys' Dress, 2 to 5 yrs...................... " Suit, Coat, Vest and Pants........... Blouse. Shirt Waist. 75 75 1.50 1.00 75 75 75 The extra postage to residents in Canada can be calculated by adding 10 cents to the price named iu this list. 50 1.(1ť 75 50 50 Overcoat............................ 50 Ora'o,o o o-fl Ht PhB.1. § $0.75 75 75 75 75 75 75 75 75 1.00 1.0ť 1.00 1.00 10ť 1.00 1.0ť 1.00 1.0ť 1.00 1.00 1.0ť 1.00 1.0ť 1.00 1.25 1.25 1.25 2.00 2.00 2.00 2.5ť' 75 75 75 75 75 75 75 75 75 75 P.O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. MUNRO'S DIALOGUES AND SPEAKERS, PRICE TEI\- CENTS EACH. These books embrace a series of Dialogues and Speeches, all new and original, and are just what is needed to give spice and merriment to Social Parties, Home Entertainments, Debating Societies, School Recitations Amateur Theatricals, etc. They contain Irish, German, Negro, Yankee, and, in fact, all kinds of Dialogues and Speeches. The following are the titles of the books: and No. 1. The Funny Fellow's Dialogues. No. 2. The Clemenee and Donkey Dialogues. No. 3. Mrs. Smith's Boarders' Dialogues. No. 4. Schoolboys' Comic Dialogues. No. 1. Vot I Know 'Bout Gruel Societies Speaker. No. 2. The John B. Go-off Comic Speaker. No. 3. My Boy Vilhelm's Speaker. The above titles express, in a slight degree, the contents of the books, which are conceded to be tho best series of mirth-provoking Speeches and Dialogues extant. P. O. Eox STNi, C ABaE MUNRO. Publisher. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street. New York.

Pages 3-12. 3 0003

This Number is Complete, Unchanged and Unabridged. Vol Yf*V J SINGLE T YUI. AL; V . JNUMBER. ; GEORGE MUNKO, PUBLISHER, Nos. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. . PRICE (IO CENTS. No. 1924 ^ŤŤ.^S,ťť^ťť^-,..,,.^, THE POLISH JEW. By ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN. TRANSLATED PROM THE FRENCH BY CAROLINE A. MERIGHI. PART FIRST. CHRISTMAS EVE. A room in an Alsatian inn. Tables, chairs, a cast-iron stove and large clock. At the back, doors and windows. A door on right communicating with interior. Kitchen-door on left. Near door, large oaken sideboard. Lighted candle on table. Catherine, wife of the burgomaster, discovered at her spinning-wheel. Heinrich, the forester, enters at the back; he is covered with snow. CATHERINE. HEINRICH. Heinrich (stamping). Snow, Madame Mathias, nothing but snow. (Places his gun behind clock.) Catherine. The village again, Heinrich? Heinrich. Yes, yes; one must take a little pleasure on Christmas Eve. Catherine. Your corn-sack is ready at the mill, you know? Heinrich. All right, all right; I'm in no hurry. Walter will put it in his cart presently. Catherine. Is the Anabaptist still here? 1 thought he went away long ago. Heinrich. No, no! He's at the Golden Sheep, drinking away. I saw his cart just now in front of Harvig, the grocer's, with the "Śugar, coffee, and spices all covered with snow. Ha! ha! ha! He's a high liver. He likes good wine, and he's right. We're going oft together. Catherine. Then you're not afraid of an upset? Heinrich. Bah! you'll lend us a lantern, won't you? want a pint of white wine, that's all; you know the light Hiinevir wine? (He sits down with a laugh.) Catherine (calling out). Loďs! Lois (from kitchen). Madame? Catherine. Bring a pint of Hiinevir for Master Heinrich. Loďs. Right away. Heinrich. That wine warms one Up, and that's what 1 want in such weather as this. Catherine. Yes; but take care, it's heady. Heinrich. Don't be alarmed, it won't hurt me. But tell me, Madame Mathias, where's the burgomaster? Is he ill? Catherine. He went to Ribeauville three days ago. II. THE SAME. LOĎS. Loďs (coming from kitchen). Here's your bottle and a Master Heinrich. Heinrich. All right. (Pours out a glassful.) So the burgomas- ter's at Ribeauville, is he? Catherine. Yes; we're expecting him to-night; but there's no use counting upon a man when he's once ofi and away. Heinrich. Did he go to buy wine? Catherine. Yes. Heinrich. Your Cousin Both will be sure to keep him. Now that's a thing that I should like, to go every now and then to travel in a vine-growing country. I had rather do lhat than be a forester. Your good health, Madame Mathias. Catherine (to Loďs). What are you listening there for, Loďs? Have you nothing to do? (Loďs starts to go without replying.) Put some oil in the little lanlern tor Heinrich to take with him. 111. THE SAME, EXCEPTING LOĎS. Catherine. Servants always must know whatever is going on. Heinrich. I'll wager that the burgomaster has gone to buy wine for the wedding-feast. Catherine (laughing). 1 dare say. Heinrich. Just now, at the Golden Sheep, they were saying that Mademoiselle Mathias and Quartermaster Christian were going to make a match of it. I could scarcely believe it, however. Chris- tian is a good, honest man, and a handsome fellow, too; no one can deny that; but he has nothing but his pay, and Mademoiselle An- nette is the richest girl in the village.

4 0004

THE POLISH JEW. Catherine. Then it's your opinion, Heinrich, that money's every- thing? Heinrich.--No, ho; on the contrary. But 1 think that the burgomaster Catherine. That's where you're mistaken; Mathias did not even ask, " What are you worth?" He said at once, " If Annette is will- ing 1 am." Heinrich. And is Mademoiselle Annette willing? Catherine. Yes, she loves Christian. And, as the happiness of our child is our only wish, we do not care for money. Heinrich. lt you are all of you satisfied, I'm sure I am. 1 think that Christian's a lucky man, and 1 should like to be In his place. IV. THE SAME. NICKEL. Nickel (entering with a corn-sack on his head). Here's your bag of corn, Master Heinrich, and a heavy one it is, too! Heinrich. All right. Nickel; put it in a corner somewhere. Catherine (going lo kitchen-door). Loďs, you may give Nickel his soup. Heinrich (rising). Ah! let me see if Ihave all 1 want to take with me. (Opens his game-bag.) Here's the corn, here's the tobacco, and the spice, and the small shot, and two pounds ot soap. There's something wanting. Ah! the salt! I've left the salt on old Har- vig's counter. How vexed my wife would have been! (Exit.) V. . CATHERINE, NICKEL, THEN HEINRICH. Nickel. You must know, madame, that the river is frozen so that if the mill is stopped, the ice will soon reach the sluice, and if it goes on grinding the big wheel may be broken, as it was once before. The sleet is still falling. I don't know what to do about it. Catherine. Wait till Mathias comes. We have not much more to grind this week. Nickel. No; the Christmas work is all done twenly sacks. Catherine. Well, then, go to supper. Mathias will soon be here. (Heinrich appears at back, with a package in his hand.) Heinrich. I've got it! I've everything 1 want now. (Puts pack- age in game-bag.) Nickel. Then 1 may stop the mill, may 1, Madame Mathias? Catherine. Yes; and then get your supper. (Nickel goes out by kitchen-door. Annette enters by door on right.) VI. CATHERINE. HEINRICH. ANNETTE. Annette. Good-morning, Master Heinrich. Heinrich (turning round). Ah! it's you, is it, Mademoiselle Annette? Good-evening, good-evening We were talking about you jusl now. Annette. About me? Heinrich Yes, yes. (He puts down his game-bag; then, with a look of admiration:) Oh! how well you look, and how becoming your dress is! Anybody would Ihink that you were going to a wedding. Annette. You must be joking, Master Heinrich. Heinrich. No, no; I'm not. I say what 1 think; you know that very well. Those rosy, round cheeks of yours, that pretty cap, and neat dress, and those little shoes are not lo please an old forester like me. They're tor some one else to see (winking), and 1 know who it is. Ha! ha! ha! Annette. Ohl how you talk! Heinrieh. Yes, yes; I will talk about your being a pretty girl, with a fine figure of your own, a charming girl, and the tall man with brown mustache and high boots is not at all to be pitied. I don't pity him in the least. (Walter partly opens the door at back, and puts iu his head. Annette looks at him.) VII. THE SAME. WALTER. Walter (laughing). Ah! she tuins round! It, cannot be he it is not he! (Enters.) Annette. Who, Father Walter? Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, Walter (laughing loudly). Ha! ha! ha! that's the way young girls are. Up to the last moment, they keep up the pretense. Annette (in a tone of simplicity).--! don't understand you at all. I don't know what you mean. Walter (shaking his finger at her). Ah! is that so, Annette? Well, then, listen, as you pretend to deny, and will not tell me any- thing, and take me for an old fool, with no eyes in my head, it shall be me, Daniel Walter, who will have the fastening on ot your garter. Heinrich. No; it shall be me. Catherine (laughing). You two old fellows are crazy! Walter. We're not so crazy as we seem. I say that 1 will fasten the bride's garter, and meantime we must take a good drink in honor of Christian. We shall see whether Annette will dare re- fuse. I say that, if she refuses, she don't love Christian. Annette. Oh, 1 like good wine, and when it is offered to me 1 take it, that's all! All (laughing). Ah! now we know what we wanted to find out, ha! ha! ha! Walter. Bring the bottle, bring it here and let us drink with Annette. It will be the first time, but 1 don't believe that it will be the last, for we shall touch glasses at every christening. Catherine (calling out). Loďs! Loďs! go to the cellar. Take a bottle from the small vault. (Loďs enters and sels a lighted lantern upon the table, then goes out). Walter. What's that lantern for? Heinrich. To tie to the cart. Annette (laughing). You'll start by moonlight. (Blows out the lantern.) Walter (laughing). Yes, yes, by moonlight, so he will. (Loďs brings a bottle and glasses, then returns to kitchen. Heinrich pours out the wine.) To the health of the quartermaster and the pretty A.nnette! (They touch glasses and drink.) Heinrich (setting down his glass). It's fine, very fine, but no matter, things did not go on in this way in my time. Catherine. What things do you mean? Heinrich. I mean being married. (Rises, assumes a military position and stamps his foot.) lt was necessary then to fall into file. (Reseats himself.) Yes, if by ill luck a stranger had come to take the prettiest girl in the country, the most captivating and the richest a thousand thunder-bolts! why Heinrich Schmitt would have cried out: " Halt! we'd like to see you do it!" Walter. And 1 would have picked up my pitchlork and made a run at him. Heinrich. Yes, but the young men nowadays have no spirit in them; they think of nothing but drinking and smoking. What a pitv! 1 haven't a word to say against Christian. No; 1 respect and honor him ; but 1 maintain that such a match is a disgrace to the young men hereabouts. Annette. But what if 1 would not marry any one else? Heinrich (laughing). There ought to be a struggle, any way. Annette. Yes, but 1 should fight, and the man of my choice would help me. , Heinrich. Ah! if that's the way of it, I've nothing more to say. 1 had rather drink Christian's health than fight with Annette. (They laugh and touch glasses.) Heinrich (gravely). Listen, Annette, I'll tell you something to please you. Annette. What is it, Father Walter? Walter. As 1 was coming along, just now, 1 saw the quarter- master returning with two gendarmes. He is taking off his high boots, I'm sure, and in a few minutes Annette. Listen! Catherine. It is the wind rising. 1 hope that Mathias is not out upon the road. Annette. No, no it is he! (Christian appears at the back.) Vlll. THE SAME. CHRISTIAN. All (laughing). It is he! it is he! Christian (shaking the snow from his hat and stamping). What weather! Good-evening, Madame Mathias; good evening, Made- moiselle Annette. (He takes her hand.) Walter. She was right. Christian (surprised, as the others laugh). Well, what's new? Heinrich. We're laughing, quartermaster, because Mademoiselle Annette said before you came in: " It is he!" Christian. So much the better; that shows that she was thinking of me. George Munro, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C.

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THE POLISH JEW. ' Walter.- should say it did; she turned her head every time the door opened. Christian. Is that true, Mademoiselle Annette? Annette. Yes, it is true. Christian. That's right now ! that's plain speaking. 1 am very glad to hear Mademoiselle Annette talk like that. (He hangs up his hat and places his sword in a corner.) It warms me up and I need warming. Catherine. You have been to some distance, have you not, Mon- sieur Christian? Christian. To Howald, Madame Mathias, to Howald. What a snow-storm! I have seen storms in Auvergne and in the Pyrenees, but 1 never saw anything like this. (Seals himself and warms his hands at the ť<itove and shivers. Annette, who has gone out in haste, returns from the kitchen with a jug of wine, which she places upon the stove.) Annette. Let the wine warm, it will be all the better. Walter (laughing, and to Heinrich). What care she takes of him! She would not have gone to look for sugar and spice for us. Christian. Ah! but you don't pass your days inthe snow; you don't need to be warmed up. Wiilter (laughing). No, we don't need warming up, thank Heaven! We don't shiver like the quartermaster. It's a sad thing I o see a quartermaster shivering alongside of a pretty girl who is giving him sugar and spice. Annette. Hold your tongue, Father Walter; you ought to be ashamed to say such things. Christian (smiling). Defend me, Mademoiselle Annette, do not let Father Walter abuse me. It is all very well to laugh at the wind and snow when by a good fire. I should like to see how he would look after being for five hours outside, like me. Catherine. Did you pass five hours in Howald, Christian? That must have been terrible hard work. Christian. One must submit. At two o'clock they camé to tell us that the smugglers from Banc de la Roche would cross the river at nightfall with tobacco and gunpowder; we had to mount our horses. Heinrich. Then the smugglers appeared? Christian. No, the rascals! They had been warned; they went another way. I could scarcely feel my hands, they were so numb. (Annette pours out some of the wine into a glass and hands it to him.) Annette. Here, Monsieur Christian, this will warm you. Christian. Thanks, Mademoiselle Annette. (Drinks.) That does me good. Walter. The quartermaster is not hard to please. Catherine. Bring the decanter, Annette. There's nothing in my water-can. (Annette goes to take the decanter from the sideboaid on the left. To Christian.) Never mind, Christian, you're lucky, for the wind is still higher now than then. Christian. Y'es, it was rising when we met Doctor Frantz. (Laughs.) Just fancy that old dunce coming back from Sclmee- berg with a great big stone that he had found among the ruins ! The wind was blowing and the snow had almost buried him in his sleigh. Catherine (to Annette, who is pouring water into the can). Thanks, that is enough. (Annette goes to replace the decanter upon the sideboard, then takes her work-basket and seats herselt beside Catherine.) Heinrich (laughing). People may well say that men of learning are all crazy. How often I've seen the old doctor go miles and miles out ot his way to look at stones covered with moss and of no use to any one! Must he not be crazy to do that? Walter. Yes, he's an original ; he likes everything that belongs to the past; old ways and old stones; but that does not prevent him from being the best doctor in these parts. Christian (filling his pipe). Certainly not, certainly not. Catherine. What a blast! 1 hope that Mathias has had the good sense to stop somewhere. (To Walter and Heinrich.) If you had started you would be comfortable at home by this time. Heinrich (laughing). It is alt Mademoiselle Annette's fault. She ought not to have blown out the lantern. Annette. Oh, you were very glad to stay.- Walter. Madame Mathias was right, all the same: we should have done better to go then. Christian. Tlie winter is terribly cold in these parts. Walter. Not every year, quartermaster; we've had nothing like this for fifteen yeais. Heinrich. No, not since the " Pole's winter." I do not remem- ber such snowr since then. But that year Schneeberg was white in the early part of November and the cold lasted till the end of March. When the thaw came all the rivers overflowed and the fields were full of drowned moles and mice. Christian. Is that why it was called thc " Pole's winter?" Walter. No, it's on acount of something else, something very terrible that the people here will always remember. Madame Mathi- as remembers it, I am sure. Catherine. 1 do indeed, Walter; it made a great stir at the time, that affair did. Heinrich. There was the chance for you to win the cross, quarter- master. Christian. What was it? (The wind howls outside.) Annette. The wind howls more loudly still. Catherine. Yes, my child. I trust that your father has not started for home. Walter (lo Christian). ! can tell you the whole story, for 1 was a witness to it. lt is exactly fifteen years to-day since I sat at this very table with Mathias, who had bought his mill just five or six months before, and with Diedirich Omacht, Johann Roeber, who was called the " little shoemaker," and several others who are now sleeping be- side the tall yew tree, on the hill-side. We shall all go the same way, sooner or later, and happy is he who has nothing on his con- science! (A.t this moment, Christian stoops, takes up an ember, holds it in the hollow of his hand and lights his pipe.) We were playing cards and there were still many persons in the room, when, just as it struck ten, the sounds of bells were heard and a sleigh stopped at the door, and almost immediately a Pole entered. He was a Polish Jew, a man between forty-five and fifty, and robust and well built. 1 can see him now as he looked when he entered, with his green cloak bordered with fur, his sable cap, his thick brown beard and high boots topped with rabbit-skin. He was a corn-dealer. He said as he came in: " Peace be with you!" Every- body turned round and we all thought: " Where did lhat man come from? What does he want?" for the Polish Jews who deal in grain do not usually come here till February. Mathias said to him, " What can 1 do for you?" but he, instead of replying, began to unfasten his cloak and a broad belt which was buckled about his waist. He put the belt upon the table and the clink of gold was heard, and he said: " The snow is deep, the road is bad, put my horse into the stable; 1 shall start again in an hour." He then took a bottle of wine, without further words to any one, for he seemed sad and preoccupied. At eleven o'clock Yeri, the watchman, came in, every- body went away and the Pole remained alone. (Loud blast of wind without and noise of breaking window-panes.) Catherine. Good heavens! what is that? Heinrich. It is nothing, Madame Mathias, a broken window-pane, that's all ; some one must have left a window open. Catherine (rising). I must go and see. (Goes out.) Annette (calling out). Y'ou must not go outside. Catherine (from the kitchen). Don't be afraid, I'll come back at once. IX. THE SAME, EXCEPTING CATHERINE. Christian. I do not see as yet how 1 could have won the cross, Father Waller. Walter. Wait, Monsieur Christian, wait: on the morrow, the Pole's horse was tound under the great bridge at Wechem, and a hundred paces from it the green cloak and cap, soaked with blood, near the stream. As for the man, no one ever knew what became of him. Heinrich. All this is strictly true. The police from Rothau came next day, in spite of the snow, and it is since then that some of them have been stationed here. Christian. And was no inquiry made? Heinrich. Inquiry? well, I should say so! The old quartermaster, Kelz, look pains enough about it! How he ran about, and brought up witnesses, and wrote out reports! To say nothing of the pains taken by Bénédum, the justice of peace, and Richter, the procurator, and old Doctor Hornus, who examined the cloak, the cap, and the staff. Christian. Was no one suspected? Heinrich. Of course, somebody is always suspected; but proof is what is wanting. At that time, you see, the two Kasper brothers and Yokel Hierthčs, who live at the other end of Ihe village, kept an old bear with his muzzle and ears all torn, a jackass, and three big dogs which they took to the fairs to fight. This gave them a great deal ot money and they drank plenty of brandy. When the Pole disappeared they were at Wechem, and it was said that they had made their animals tear him to pieces, and that the reason why only the cloak and cap had been found was that the beat and the dogs had had enough without them. The rascals were arrested, of course,

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6 THE POLISH JEW. and were kept in prison tor fifteen months; but in the end, nothing could be proved against the Ilierthčs, and in spite of all, they had to be released. Their bear and dogs and jackass were all dead. They set to work as repairers of tin ware and Monsieur Mathias rented his hut at the corner of the Chenevierčs to them. They live there and nevei pay a farthing of rent. Walter. Mathias is too kind to those scamps. He ought to have sent them off long ago. Christian. I am astonished at all (his story; 1 never heard a word of it before. Heinrich. There was no chance. I should have thought that you knew it better than we did. Christian. No, this is the first 1 have heard of it. (Re-enter Catherine). X. THE SAME, AND CATHERINE. Catherine. 1 was sure that Loďs had left the kitchen window open, lt is in vain that 1 tell her to close the windows, that girl never minds. And now every pane is broken ! Walter. The girl's young yet, Madame Mathias; at her age, girls have their heads full of all sorts of nonsense. Catherine (reseating herself). Fritz is outside, Christian, he wishes to speak to you. Christian. Fritz, the policeman? Catherine. Yes, 1 told him to come in, but he would not. He says it is something concerning the service. Christian. Ah! very well. 1 know what it is. (Rises, takes his hat, and goes toward the door.) Annette. You'll come back, won't you, Christian? Christian (at the door). Yes in an instant. (Exit.) XL THE SAME, EXCEPT CHRISTIAN. Walter. That's what I call a good man, a mild man, but one who does not let rascals trifle with him. Heinrich. Yes, Monsieur Mathias is lucky in finding such a son- in-law as he; everything has gone well with him ever since I first knew him. First, he bought this inn where Georges Hoűte ruined himself. Everybody thought that he would nevei be able to pay ior it, and all at once good custom comes along; he kept on making _money, and paid up, and then bought the great meadows at La Bruche, the hemp-field at Houx, twelve acres at Finckmath, and the saw-mill at Trois-Chęnes. Then his mill, then his wood-yard. Mademoiselle Annette grew up he put his money out at good in- terest, and was made burgomaster. All he wanted was a son-in- law, an honest man, careful and steady, who did not squander his money, and would please his daughter, and be respected by one and all. Well, Christian Bęme comes along, a reliable man, ol whom nothing but good can be said. The only thing that one can think is that Monsieur Mathias was born under a lucky star. While others are toiling painfully to make both ends meet at the end of the year, he is always adding to his wealjh and prosperity. Am 1 right or not, Madame Mathias? Catherine. We don't complain, Heinrich; on the contraiy. Heinrich. And the. best thing about it all is that you both deserve it, no one is envious of yoa; everybody thinks They are worthy people, aud have won their wealth by toil. And everybody rejoices for Mademoiselle Annette's sake. Walter. Yes, it's a good match. Catherine (listening). That's Christian coming back. Annette. Yes. (The door opens and Mathias appears, wrapped in a long cloak, white with snow, a seal-skin cap upon his head, a long riding-whip in his hand and spurs upon his boots.) XII. THE SAME. MATHIAS. Mathias (in a cheerful tone), Aha! it is 1, it is I! Catherine (rising). Maihias ! Heinrich The burgomaster! Annette (running up to kiss him). You've come home! Mathas. Yes, yes thank heaven! 1 am here. What a snow- storm! what a snow-storm! I left the wagon at Bichem in Johann's care; he'll biing it to-morrow. Catherine (going to kiss him and take off his cloak). Let me take It. We are very glad that you came back to-night. How anxious we have been ! Mathias. I thought of that, Catherine, and that is why 1 returned. (Looking round the room.) Aha! Father Walter and Heinrich. You will have nice weather going back ! Catherine (calling out at kitchen-door). Loďs! Loďs! bring the warm shoes for Monsieur Mathias. Tell Nickel to take the horse to the stable. Loďs (at the door). Yes, madame, right away. (Looks round with a laugh, then disappears.) Heinrich (laughing). Mademoiselle Annette wants us to leave by moonlight. Mathias (laughing). Ha! ha! ha! Much moonlight you'll have! Annette (taking oft his muffler).-We thought that Cousin Both would not let you start. Mathias. My business was all done this morning, and 1 wished to start; but Both kept me to see the play! Annette. Is Hanswurst the clown at Ribeauville? Mathias. lt was not Hanswurst, it wras"a man from Paris, who magneti/.es people, and puts them to sleep. Annette. Puts them to sleep? Mathias. Yes. Cathcrine. Does he make them swallow something, Mathias? Mathias. No, he looks at them, and makes gestures, and they sleep. It is astonishing; it I had not seen it, 1 could not believe it. Heinrich. Corporal Stenger was telling me about it the other day ; he saw thc same thing at Severn. The Parisian puts people to sleep, aud makes them do anything he wishes. Mathias (seating himself, and beginning to pull off his boots). So he does. (To his daughter.) Annette! Annette. What is it, father? Mathias. Look in the large pocket of my overcoat. Walter. People are getting to know too much the world will soon come to an end. (Loďs comes in with the burgomaster's shoes.) Xlll. THE SAME. LOĎS. Loďs. Here are your shoes, burgomaster. Mathias. Thank you, thank you! Here, Loďs, take my boots; remove the spurs, aud hang them in the stable with the harness. Loďs. Yes, burgomaster. (Goes out. Anette, who has taken a box from the pocket of the coat, goes up to her father.) Annette. What is it? Mathias (patting on his shoes.) Open the box. (She opens the box and takes out an Alsatian head-dress with gold and silver spangles upon it. Annette. Oh, heavens! how lovely! Mathias. Well, what do you think of that? Annette. Oh! is it for me? Mathias. Whom do you think it is for? Not tor Loďs, 1 presume? (All draw near to look at the head-dress. Annette puts it on, and looks at herself in the glass.) Heinrich. That's as handsome as anything can be. Mademoiselle Annette. Walter. And it becomes you as well as if it had been made on purpose for you. Annette. What in the world will Christian think when he sees me? Mathias. He'll think that you are the prettiest girl in the whole country. (Annette goes up to kiss him.) Mathias. That is my wedding-present, Annette. You must put that head-dress on upon your wedding-day, and always keep it. In fifteen or twenty years from now, you will remember that it was your father who gave it to you. Annette (with emotion). Yes, father. Mathias. All I ask is that you may be happy with Christian. Now, bring me something to eat, and a bottle of wine. (Catherine goes into the kitchen. To Walter and Heinrich.) You'll take.a glass of wine with me, won't you? Heinrich. With pleasure, burgomaster. Walter (laughing). Yes, we'll make that little effort for your sake. (Catherine brings in a ham from the kitchen; she is followed by Loďs, with a glass and a bottle.) Catherine (laughing). Didn't you bring anything for me, Mathias? Bee what men are! When he was courting me, he always came with his hands full of ribbons; but in those days Mathias (merrily). Hold your tongue, Catherine, hold your tongue. I wanted to surprise you, but now you force me to tell you that the shawl, the head-dress, and all the rest are in my big trunk on the wagon. Catherine. Ah, if the rest is in the wagon, I've nothing more to

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THE POLISH JEW.

say. (Sits down and spins. Loďs spreads the cloth and puts a plate, bottle and glass on table. Mathias seats himself and begins to eat hungrily. Walter and Heinrich drink. Loďs goes out.) Mathias. Cold gives one a good appetite. To your good health! Walter. -To yours, Mathias. Heinrich. To yours, burgomaster. Mathias. Has not Christian been here to-night? Annette. Yes, father. Some one came for him; he will return. Mathias. Ah! very good! Catherine. He came late, on account of being on duty near Ho- wald, on the lookout for smugglers. Mathias (eating). It's the very deuce to be on duty in such weather as this. There were five feet of snow on the river-side. Walter. Yes, we were talking about that; we were saying to the quartermaster that since the " Pole's winter " the like had never been seen. (Mathias, who had taken up his glass, sets it down with- out drinking.) Mathias. Ah! were you talking about that? Heinrich. You must remember, Monsieur Mathias, how the whole valley below the great bridge was filled up with snow that winter. The Pole's horse, under the bridge, had only its head out, and Kelz came to the lodge in the forest for help. Mathias (in a tone of indifference). That may be. But that is an old story; it's like an old granny's stories, no one pays any attention to it. Walter. But it is very strange that no one could ever fiud out what was done with the body. Mathias. They were too cunning! No one will ever know any- thing about it. (Drinks. At this moment, the sound of bells is heard in the street, then the noise of horse's feet, which ceases in front of the inn. Everybody turns round. The door at the back opens and a Polish Jew appears on the threshold. He wears a green coat trimmed with fur and a sealskin cap. High boots coming up to the knees. He looks around gloomily. Profound silence.) XIV. THE SAME. TIIE POLE, THEN CHRISTIAN. The Pole (entering). Peace be with you! Catherine (rising). What can 1 do for you, sir? The Pole. The snow is deep the road is bad. Put my horse Into the stable, 1 shall start again in an hour. (He opens his cloak, unbuckles his belt and throws it upon the table. Mathias rises with both hands resting upon the arms of his chair; the Pole looks at him, he totters, puts out his arm and falls with a terrible cry. All are terrified.) Catherine (rushing toward him). Mathias! Mathias! Annette (hurrying up to him). Father! (Walter and Heinrich raise Mathias, Christian appears at the dooi at back.) Christian (on threshold). What is the matter? Heinrich (pulling off Mathias's cravat in haste). The doctor go for a doctor as fast as you can! PART SECOND THE BELLS. Mathias' bedroom. Door on left opening into the main room of the inn. A staircase on right. Windows at back opening upon the street. A desk of old oak with brass inlay between windows. A bed with a canopy, a large closet, tables and chairs. An earthen- ware stove in middle of room. Mathias is seated in an arm-chair near the stove. Catherine, in gala-dress, and Dr. Frantz, with a holiday coat, a ied waistcoat, breeches, high boots and a wide- brimmed Alsatian hat ot felt, are standing near him. 1. MATHIAS. CATHERINE. DR. FRANTZ. Doctor. Are you better, burgomaster? Mathias. 1 am very well. Doctor. Does your head ache now? Mathias. No. Doctor. -Have you any ringing in your ears? Mathias. I am very well, I tell you, as well as ever that's clear enough, I should think. Catherine. He has been having bad dreams tor some time and rtalks in his sleep and gets up to find cold water. Mathias. Anybody may be thirsty in the night. Doctor. Certainly but you must take care of yourself. You drink too much white wine, burgomaster; white wine brings on gout and causes pain in the back of the neck: two fine maladies, but very dangerous for all that. Our old landgraves, margraves and rhinegraves, lords ot Sandgau and Brisgau, and of Upper and Lower Alsatia, almost always died of rising gout or of apoplexy. Now, these noble maladies attack burgomasters, notaries and rich citizens. They are honorable very honorable, but very fatal. Your accident of night before last came from that. You drank too much Rikewir with your cousin Both, and the extreme cold affected you because all the blood had gone to your head. Mathias. My feet were cold, that is true; but you need not go so far to look tor the cause: the Polish Jew is the cause of it all. Doctor. How is that? Mathias. Long ago 1 saw the poor devil's cloak that the quarter- master, old Kelz, brought, back with the cap; the sight upset me, because the Jew harl been at our house the night before. I had for- gotten all about it, when last night the corn-merchant came in and said the very same words that the other man uttered. He seemed like a ghost to me. I know very well that there are no such things as ghosts and that the dead are dead indeed; but still one does not always remember that. (Turning to Catherine.) 'Did you send for the notary? Catherine. Yes -be easy! Mathias. lam so; but the wedding must come oft as soon as possible. When a healthy man of sound mind and body can have such attacks, everything ought to be settled beforehand and nothing put off till the morrow. What happened tome night before last may happen again to-night; I may die and I must first see my chil- dren happy. That is what I wish. And now, let me have no more explanalions. Let it be the white wine or the cold or the Pole that gave me Ihe attack, it all comes to the same thing. My mind is as clear as anybody's and the rest does not matter. Doctor. But it may be better, burgomaster, to put off the sign- ing of Ihe contract till later you understand the excitement of affairs relating to money. Mathias (putting up his hands impatiently). Good heavens! let every one mind his own business! With all your if s and and's, one don't know which way to turn. Let doctors attend to doctoring, and let others do as they please. You have bled me, well and good ! I am cured so much the better! Let the notary be sent for and the witnesses, and let it all be ended at once. Doctor (to Catherine, in a low tone). His nerves are still un- strung; the best way to do is to let him have his fancy. (Walter and Heinrich came in, left, in gala dress.) 11. THE SAME. WALTER. HEINRICH. Walter. Well, we heard that you were better. Mathias (turning toward them). Ah! it is you! Well and good; 1 am happy to see you. (Shakes hands with them.) Walter (smiling). You are quite recovered, then, my good Mathias? Mathias (laughing). Yes, it's all over. What a strange thing it was, though! It is Heinrich, with his old story about the Jew that brought that upon me. Ha! ha! ha! Heinrich. Who could have foreseen such a thing? Mathias. Nobody. Then that man coming in just at that mo- ment! What a strange chance! What a strange chance! Did it not seem as though he came on purpose? Walter. Upon my word, doctor, you may believe it or not, but I myself, when the Pole came in, felt my hair stand on end. Catherine. How can sensible men have such fancies as these? Mathias. As 1 escaped, after all, thanks to heaven, you must know, Walter and Heinrich, that we are going to arrange the matter of Annette and Christian's marriage. This may be a warning to make haste about it. Heinrich. Oh, no, burgomaster, there's no danger. Walter. It is nothing it is all over, now, Mathias. Mathias. No, no. 1 always profit by a good lesson, that is my way. 1 choose you, Walter and Heinrich, for my witnesses. The contract will be signed here at eleven o'clock, after mass; every one has been informed. Walter. Well, as you insist upon it Mathias. 1 do insist upon it. (To Catherine.) Catherine! Catherine. What is it? Mathias. Is tho Pole still here? Catherine. No, he left yesterday. He was very sorry for all this trouble. Mathias. Gone! so much the worse! 1 would have liked to see

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8 THE POLISH JEW. him and shaken hands with him, and invited him to the wedding. 1 have no grudge against the man; it is not his fault that all Polish Jews are alike, and wear the same kind of cap, the same beard and the same cloak. He was not the cause of anything that happened. Heinrich, No, he cannot be blamed for it. Walter. lt is understood, then, that we are to be here at eleven. Mathias. -Yes. (To the doctor.) 1 take this opportunity to invite you too, Monsieur Frantz. If you will come to the wedding, we shall be glad to see you. Doctor. I accept your invitation with pleasure, burgomaster, with pleasure. Heinrich. That's the bell again. We'll see you soon again, Mon- sieur Mathias. Mathias. Yes, soon again. (Shakes hands with them. Walter, Heinrich, and the doctor go out.) 111. MATHIAS. CATHERINE. Catherine (calling out on staircase). Annette! Annette! Annette (from her room). I'm coining down. Catherine. Come down, the bells have rung twice. Annette (as before). I'm coming! Catherine (to Mathias). She. will never get through. Mathias. Let the child alone; you know very well that she is dressing herself. Catherine. lt does not take me two hours to dress. Mathias. But (hat's not the same thing, li you are a little late, the seat will be there all the same, no one will take it. Catherine. She is waiting tor Christian. Mathias. Well, is not that quite natural? He ought to have been here this morning, and he must have been detained. (Annette comes in, radiant with smiles, and wearing her fine Alsatian head- dress and gold-embroidered waist.) IV. THE SAME. ANNETTE. Catherine. You got through at last, did you? Annette. Yes, 1 am ready now. Mathias (looking at her with emotion). Oh, how lovely you look, Annette! Annette. I put on the head-dress. Mathias. That was right. (.Annette looks at herselt in the glass.) Catherine. Good heavens! we shall never be there in time. Come," Annette, come! (She takes up her prayer-book, which, is on the table.) Annette (looking out of the window). Christian has not come yet. Mathias. No, he must certainly have been called away. Catherine. Come he can see you by and by. (Goes out, fol- lowed by Annette.) Mathias (calling out). Annette! Annette! have you nothing to say to me? Annette (returning to kiss him). You know very well that 1 love you. Mathias. Yes yes. Go, now, my child, your mother cannot keep quiet. Catherine (calling from oui side). There's the third bell! (An- nette goes out.) Mathias (in a surly tone). The third bell! the third bell! Would not any one think that the curate was waiting for them to begin? (The outside door is heard lo close. The village church bells ring; people in holiday clothes pass by the windows, and all is then still). V. MATHIAS, ALONE. Mathias They are outside now. (Listens, then rises and looks out of the window.) Yes, everybody is at the church. (Walks about, then takes a pinch of snuff fiom his snuff-box and inhales it noisily.) All is going on well. Everything is as it should be. What a lesson, Mathias, what a lesson! A mere nothing, and the Jew would be talked about again and everything would go to the devil. 1 might as well say that you would be taken out to be hung. (Re- flects, then, with indignation.) 1 cannot imagine what becomes of my brains sometimes. I must be crazy! A corn-merchant comes in to say good-evening, just as though all Polish corn merchants were not alike! (Shrugs his shoulders, then becomes suddenly calm.) It 1 should talk till the crack ot doom, it would not alter any- thing. Fortunately, people are so stupid that they do not undeistand anything. (Winks, then resumes his seat in the arm-chaii.) Yes yes people are stupid. (Pokes the fire.) It is that man from Paris who caused it all he annoyed me. The rascal wanted to put mc to sleep, too, but 1 thought at once: Stop! stop! Take care, Mathias this way of putting people to sleep is a snare of Satan you might begin to talk. (Smiling.) One must be cunning. I must not run my head into the noose. (Laughs mockingly.) You will live to be an old man, Mathias, and the best man in the country; you will see your children and grandchildren happy, and on your grave there will be a fine tombstone with an inscription in gold letters that will run from top to bottom. (A silence.) Come! come! everything is going on well! But, if 1 sleep and Catherine chatters like a mag- pie to the doctor, 1 must sleep upstairs, and lock my door; the walls have ears sometimes. (Rises.) Now, let me count the money for my son-in-law, my son-in-law who is fond of me. (Laughs.) And take care that he upholds his father-in-law, it his father-in-law should happen to say anything foolish after drinking a drop too much. Ha! ha! ha! Christian's a cunning fellow, not like Kelz, who is half blind and half deaf, and makes reports half a yard long with nothing in them; no, he is very likely to find a good scent. The first time 1 saw him, 1 said to myself: You shall be my son-in- law, and if the Pole undertakes to rise from the grave, you will send him back to the other world again. (Becomes serious, and goes toward the writing-desk, which he opens. Then seats himself, takes out a large bag of gold, which he empties upon the desk, and begins to count slowly, piling it up with care. This occupation makes him look solemn. From time to time he stops, looks at a coin, and after weighing it upon the tip of his finger, goes on counting out the money. In a low tone.) Heie are thirty thousand. (Counting the piles.) Yes, thirty thousand livres a fine supply for Annette. Ha! ha! ha! it is good to hear it click, the quartermaster will be pleased, (Goes on, then examines a coin more attentively than the rest.) Old gold. (Turns it toward the light.) Ah! that one, too, came out of the belt. The belt did us a great deal of good. (Thoughtfully.) Yes yes without it the inn would have been a failure. It was high time. Eight days more and Ott, the bailifl, would have come in his pleasure-car. But it was ail right, we had the money it was supposed to be an inheritance from Uncle Martine. (Ile puts the coin upon a pile, wliich he goes over again.) The belt took a bad thorn out of our flesh. Poor Catherine! (Looking at the piles.) Thirty thousand livres. (The sound of a bell is heard. Listens.) lt is the bell at the mill. (Calling.) Nickel! Nickel! (The door opens. Nickel appears on the threshold with an almanac in his hand.) VI. MATHIAS. NICKEL. Nickel. Did you call me, burgomaster? Mathias. Is there any one at the mill? Nickel. No, sir; all our men are at the church. The wheel fe stopped. Mathias. 1 heard the bell. Were you in the lower room? Nickel. Yres, sir. 1 did not hear anything. Mathias. That is very strange. 1 thought (Puts his little finger into his ear.) That ringing in the ears must be coming back again. (To Nickel.) What were you doing in there? Nickel. 1 was reading the newspaper. Mathias. It has ghost stories in it, 1 suppose? Nickel. No, burgomaster, but there's a strange story in it. People living in a little Bavarian village and who were robbers, were found out after twenty-three years through an old blade that was discovered at a blacksmith's shop, in a pile of old iron. They were all arrested together, like a pack of wolves, the mother, the two sons, and the grandfather. They were hung in a row. Look. (Hands the almanac to him.) Mathias (curtly). No matter take it away! You had better be reading your prayer-book. (Nickel goes out). VII. MATHIAS ALONE, THEN CHRISTIAN. Mathias (shrugging his shoulders). People hung after twenty- three years, on account of an old knife-blade! Fools they must have been fools they should have done as 1 did left no proof any- where. (Begins to count again.) I said thirty thousandlivres yes that is right one two three. (His words finally become io-

9 0009

THE POLISH JEW. 9

Ťdistinct. He takes up the piles of gold and lets them drop into the .bag, which he ties up with care.) How lucky they are! I get no such presents. _ 1 had to earn it all, little by little. But that is the way it is some are lucky and others have to make their way them- selves. (Rises.) Everything is arranged now. (A tap on the win- >dow-pane. He looks out. In a low tone.) It is Christian. (Raising his voice.) Come in, Christian, come in! (Goes toward the door. Enter Christian.) Christian (shaking hands with ^him). Well, Monsieur Mathias, .aďe you better? Mathias. Yes, 1 am well. You see, Christian, Ihave just been counting out Annette's dowry fine clinking louis good gold! It's a pleasure to look al it, even though one has to give it away. It jeminds one of work and steadiness and lucky days. 1 can see all my young lite before me, and I think how much good it will do to my children; it goes to my very heart! Christian. 1 believe you, Monsieur Mathias. Money earned by honest toil is the only money (hat brings good luck:; it is like good .seed, that always comes up well and brings a fine crop. Mathias. That is exactly what I was saying to. myself. Iwas thinking that is very fortunate when the good seed falls into good soil. Christian. Do you wish that the contract should be signed to-day? Mathias. Yes, as soon as possible; that will be all the better. I never like to put things off. 1 cannot endure people who never make up their minds. When we are once agreed, thŤe is no reason for putting things off from week to week ; it shows a want of firmness, and men ought to know what they really intend to do. Christian. Ah! Monsieur Mathias, I ask nothing better; but 1 thought that perhaps Mademoiselle Annette Mai bias. Annette loves you so does my wife everybody is fond of you. (He closes the desk.) Christian. Well, then, we will sign today. Mathias. Yes; and when the contract is signed, we will have the wedding. Christian. Monsieur Mathias, you could not say anything that would please me more. Mathias (smiling). One can be young but once and youth must be made the most of. Now the dowry is ready, and 1 hope that you will be satisfied with it. Christian. You know, Monsieur Mathias, that 1 have but little myself to add to it 1 have only Mathias. You have your energy, your steadiness, and your pay; as for the rest, 1 will take care of that : 1 wish you to have money. But, Christian, you must promise me one thing. Cnristian. What is it? Mathias. Young men are ambitious; they want to get on, that's natural. 1 ask you to remain in this village, whatever happens, so long as Catherine and I live. You see, we have but one child, we idolize her, and if she went away, it would break our hearts. Christian. I assure you, Monsieur Mathias, that 1 could never be .so happy as with Annette's family, and Mathias. Do you promise me to remain, even though you are -offered a higher position elsewhere? Christian. Yes. Mathias. Do you give me your word of honor? Christian. I give it to you with pleasure. Mathias. That is enough. 1 am satisfied. (Aside.) I had to Ťsk it. (Aloud.) Now let us speak of something else. You were late this morning, were you detained? Annette waited for you, but at last Christian. Ah! it was an astonishing thing, such athing as never happened to me before. Just fancy my reading reports from five o'clock until ten ! The time slipped away, and the more 1 read the more 1 wanted to read. Mathias. What reports were they? Christian. They related to the affair of the Polish Jew who was killed on the great bridge. Heinrich told me all about it night be- fore last, and it was running in my head, lt is very surprising, Monsieur Mathias, that nothing was ever found out about it. Mathias. Yes yes. Christian (with admiration). Do you know that the fellow who did the deed must have been a cunning rascal, all the same? Why, do you know, everybody was upset by it ; the police, the court, and the mounted brigade ; everybody was looking for the criminal, but nobody found the least proof. I read it all, and 1 cannot get over .my surprise. Mathias. Yes, he was no fool. Christian. No fool! he must have been a very cunning man; a man who might have become the best police-officer in the depart- ment. Mathias. Do you think so? " Christian. 1 am sure of it. There are so many ways, you see, of finding people out in the most trifling affairs, and so few are able lo escape, that in such a case as this, extraordinary talent must have been displayed. Mathias. Do you know, Christian, that what you say shows your good sense? 1 have always thought that it required a thousand times more cunning, bad cunning, you understand, and evil trickery to escape the police, than to discover criminals, because everybody is against you. Christian. Of course. Mathias. It is so and besides, the man who hasdonea bad deed, when he has succeeded, is tempted to do so again and again, as gam- blers aie tempted to play. He finds it very convenient to have money without working for it; he almost always tries his hand again and is caught at last. I think that it must require courage to resist, after the first deed has been done. Christian. You are right, Monsieur Mathias; and the man of whom we are speaking must have been tempted for a long time. But the most surprising thing is that no trace of the Pole's body should ever have been found; do you know what 1 think about it? Mathias. What do you think? Christian. At that time there were several lime-kilns near the Wechem coast. I think that the bod}7 must have been consumed in one of those furnaces; and that is why nothing was found but the cloak and cap. Old Kelz, who went to work in the old way, never thought of that. Mathias. It may be. I never thought of that. You are the first who Christian. Yes, Monsieur Mathias, 1 would slake my life upon it! And that idea leads to man}'other things. If one could but find out who had the lime-kilns at that time Mathias. Take care, Christian. 1 owned some myself ; I had one at the time that the mishap occurred. Christian (laughing). Oh, you, Monsieur Mathias. (They both laugh. Annette and Catherine appear at back.) Annette (without). He is here! (Christian and Mathias turn round. The door opens. Catherine appears, then Annette.) V11I. THE SAME. CATHERINE. ANNETTE. Mathias. Well, Catherine, have the rest come? Catherine. They are all below already; the notary is reading the contract to them. Mathias. Good! good! (Annette and Christian meet and talk in a low tone.) Christian (holding Annette's hands). Oh, Mademoiselle Annette, how lovely you look with lhat pretty head-dress! Annette. Father brought it to me from Ribeauville! Christian. That's the right kind of a father! Mathias (looking at himself in the glass). A man ought to shave on such an occasion as this. (Turning round with a pleasant look.) Aha! Master Quartermaster, this is the decisive moment. Christian (without turning). Yes, Monsieur Mathias. Mathias. Well, then, do you know what you should do, now that everybody is of the same mind, father, mother, and daughter? Christian. What should 1 do? Mathias. You should greet your future wife; give hera kiss, you know. Ha! hal ha! Christian. May I, Mademoiselle Annette? Annette (giving him her hand). Oh, I don't know, Monsieur Christian. (Christian kisses her.) Mathias. You must become acquainted. (Annette and Christian look at one another with emotion. A silence. Catherine, who is seated near the stove, covers her face with her apron ; she seems to be weeping. Mathias (taking Catherine's hand). Catherine, look at those good children how happy they are! When 1 think that we were like them (Catherine says nothing. Mathias, aside, and thoughtfully:) It is indeed so, I was once like him. (Aloud.) Come! come! all is well! (Taking Catherine's arm and drawing her after him.) Come, we must leave these children to themselves. I am sure that they have a great deal to say to one another. Why are you crying? Are you vexed? Catherine. No. Mathias. Well, then, as it had to come some day, we could not have hoped tor anything better. (They go out.)

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10 THE POLISH JEW. { IX. CHRISTIAN. ANNETTE. Christian. Is it really true, Annette, that we are to be married? Can it be true? Annette (smiling). The notary is here, if you wish to see him. Christian. No; but I can scarcely believe in my own happiness. 1, Christian Bęme, a mere quartermaster, am to marry the prettiest, girl in the whole country, the daughter of Monsieur Mathias, the burgomaster, and the most respected, as well as the richest man here! do you know that it seems like a dream to me? But can it really be true, Annette? Annette. Y'es, indeed, it is really true. Christian. How strangely things happen! The good Lord must smile upon me, it must be so. As long as 1 live, Annette, 1 shall remember the first time that I saw you. It was last spring, in front of the fountain, among thc young village girls; you were laughing together and washing linen. Iwas coming from Wasselon on horse- hack with old Fritz; we were bringing a dispatch. 1 can see you now, with your little scarlet pett icoat, your white arms, and your red cheeks; you turned your head and looked at me as 1 rode up. Annette. It was two days after Easter, 1 remember it very well. Christian. True as heaven. 1 can see you still. I said to Fritz, without seeming to mean anything serious, " Who is that pretty girl, Father Fritz?" " That s Madamoiselle Mathias, quartermas- ter, the burgomaster's daughter, the richest and prettiest girl in the country." Then 1 thought at once, " She is not for you, Chris- tian, although you have gone through four campaigns and got two wounds." And ever since that time I have been saying to myself, " flow fortunate some people are! People who never have risked their lives and yet have the best of luck. A rich man will come along, the son of a notary, or a brewer, or no matter what, and he Will say, " She suits me exactly," and off she will go! Annette. Oh, 1 should never have consented. Christian. But suppose you had loved him? . Annette. But 1 should not have loved him, as I love another. Christian (with feeling). Annette, you will nver know how happy it makes me feel to hear you say that. No, you will never know. (Annette blushes and casts down her eyes. A silence. Christian takes her hand.) You remember, Annette, that day at *he end of the harvest, when the last sheafs were being taken in and you were in the wagon with your nosegay and with three or four other giils from the village? You were singing old songs. 1 list- ened to you from a distance, and 1 said to myseit: " She is there!" Then I began at once to gallop along the road. Then you saw me, and all at once you stopped singing. The otheis said to you: " Sing, Annette, sing!" But you would not sing any more. Why would you not sing? Annette. 1 don't know. I was ashamed. Christian. You did not yet feel any love for me? Annette. Oh, yes, I did! Christian. Did you already love me? Annette. Yes! Christian. Do you know that Iwas pained by that thing? 1 thought that you would not sing before a gendarme because you were too proud. Annette. Oh, Christian! Christian. Yes, it grieved me very much. 1 grew very sad.* Father Fritz said to me: " Something ails you, quartermaster, some- thing ails you." But 1 would not admit it, and 1 replied : " Let me alone! mind your own business, that's the best thing you can do." 1 was vexed with myself; if 1 had not known what my duty was, I should have written my reports out all wrong. Annette. But you loved me all the same? Christian. Yes, 1 could not help it. Every time that 1 passed by your house and you were looking Annette. And 1 was always looking. 1 heard you coming, you know. Christian. Every time, 1 thought: "What a pretty girl! what a pretty girl! whoever marries her will be a lucky man." Annette (smiling). And you came every night. Christian. After I got through. I was always the first at the inn, undei pretense of taking my beer; and when you brought it to me yourself, I could not help getting red in the face. It is strange for an old soldier, a man who has fought. But it is true. You could see that, could you not? Annette. Yes and I was glad to see it. (They look at one an- other and laugh.) Christian (pressing her hands in his). Oh, Annette, Annette, how 1 love you 1 Annette. I love you dearly, too, Christian. Christian. But did you love me from the first? Annette. Yes, from the first day that 1 saw you. Do you know that 1 was sitting one day at this very window with Loďs, and we were spinning and thinking of nothing at all. All at once Loďs said to me: " There's the new quartermaster!" I opened the window and when 1 saw you on horseback I thought at once: " He would suit me exactly." (Hides her face in hei hands as though ashamed.) Christian. Just think! without Father Fritz 1 should never have dared to ask for your hand. You were so much, so very much above a mere quartermaster that 1 should never have had the au- dacity to do so. If I should tell you what it was that gave me cour- age, you would not believe it. Annette. Nevermind! tell me! . Christian. Well, one evening when 1 was grooming the horses, Fritz said to me, all at once: " Quartermaster, you're in love with Mademoiselle Mathias." When I heard that, I could scarcely stand. " You love Mademoiselle Mathias. Why don't you ask for her as- your wife?" " 1 1 do you take me for a tool? Would such a girl marry a quartermaster? You cannot mean what you say, Fritz?" " Why not, Mademoiselle Mathiiis likes you, and every time the burgomaster sees you, he calls out: ' Good-morning, Mon- sieur Christian, how are you? Come to see me oftener; 1 have re- ceived some Wolxheimer and we'll drink a bumper of it together. I like smart young men.' " And it was true, Monsieur Mathias did say so to me. Annette. t)h, 1 know very well that he liked you. He is such a good father! Christian. Yes, it was very polite for him to say that; but to be- lieve that he would give me his daughter as easily as he shook hands with me, that seemed lo be so very different a matter, you see. Be- sides, what Fritz said and nothing at all was about the same to me, and 1 said to him : " The proof that I'm not such a fool as you take me for, Father Fritz, is that I'm going to ask to be changed to an- other post." " Don't do that! don't do that! I'm sure that all will be well, but you've no courage; for a proud man who has given, proof ot merit it's simply astonishing. But as you won't venture, I will." " You?" " Yes, 1." And 1 do not know how it was that he started off without any reply from me. Good Heavens! when he had gone, I wanted to call him back. Everything seemed to spin round, and 1 was ashamed of myself. I went upstairs and hid be- hind the blinds and the time seemed very, very long but Fritz, still lingered. 1 imagined that he was being told that you were too young, and that there was plenty of time to wait and so forth and so forth, and that at last he was put out of the door. Annette. Poor Christian! Christian. At long last, he came back. 1 heard him calling out in the garden: "Quartermaster, where the mischief are you?" " I'm here. Did you get the mitten?" J" The mitten? no danger! what nonsense! everybody wants you, the father and the mother " "And Mademoiselle Annette, too?" "Mademoiselle Annette? well, 1 should say she did!" Then, when I heard that I was so happy! you know that Father Fritz is by no means beautiful, but 1 took him this way (puts his arm round Annette's neck) and kissed him (kisses Annette, who laughs), that way! 1 was never so happy in my life. Annette. Just like me when they said to me: " Monsieur Chris- tian has asked to marry you, will you have him?" 1 said right away : " 1 will not marry any one else. 1 had rather die than marry anyone else! 1 wept without knowing why, and my father kept saying to me: " Come! come! don't cry, you shall have him, as you wish to have him." That did not keep me from crying all the same. (They laugh. The door opens. Mathias appears on the threshold; he is in holiday attire; plush breeches, high boots, a red vest, a coat with metal buttons and a broad-brimmed Alsatian hat. THE SAME, MATHIAS. Mathias (in a serious tone). Well, my children, everything is- ready! (To Christian.) You know what the contract says, Chris- tian, do you want tD read it over? Christian. No, Monsieur Mathias, there's no need of that. Mathias. Then you have only to sign. (Going to the door.) Come in, Walter and Heinrich come in all of you. The great affairs of life ought to be open to all, That is our old custom in Alsatia, and a good one it is. It makes acts much more sacred than documents can make them. (While Mathias is speaking, Walter, Heinrich, Mother Catherine, Loďs, Nickel and stranger enter. Some shake hands with Christian, others congratulate Annette. They gradually take their places. The old notary comes in last, bowing

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THE POLISH JEW. 11 right and left, and with his portfolio under his arm. Loďs rolls the arm-chair up to the table. A general silence. The notary seats himself and all those present, men and women, gather about him.) XI. THE SAME, WALTER, HEINRICH, CATHERINE, THE NOTARY, LOĎS, NICKEL, PEASANTS. Notary. Witnesses, you have heard the reading of the marriage- contract of Monsieur Christian Bęme, quartermaster in the gendar- mery and Mademoiselle Annette, daughter of Hans Mathias, and ibis lawful wife, Catherine, formerly Catherine Weber. Has any Śone anything to say? (A silence.) If you wish, 1 will read it over Śagain. Several. No, no, there's no need of that. Notary (rising). We will now go through with the signing. Mathias (in a loud voice and solemnly). Wait a moment, let me say a few words. (Turning lo Christian.) Christian, listen to me: I look upon you now as a son, and 1 intrust Annette's happiness to jou. Ś You know that one's child is the dearest thing on earth or, if you do not know it now, you will one day know it our greatest joy, our hope and our whole life, and for her sake nothing is pain- ful, neither toil, weariness, nor privation; everything is sacrificed for one's child, and our greatest sufferings are nothing to the misery of seeing that child unhappy. You understand, then, Christian, how great is my confidence in you, how highly I esteem you, to confide our only child to you without tear, and even with willing- ness. Many rich suitors have appeared. If I had thought only of fortune, I might have listened to them, but I place integrity and courage, which many set little store by, far before wealth. They .are the true wealth the wealth which our ancestors thought the most of; and 1 hold them Ťabove all else. By dint of piling up money, by saving, one may have too much of it, but one has never too much honor. I have, therefore, repelled all who offered money .alone, and I welcome into my family the man who has only his good record to bring into it, his courage and his excellent heart. .(Turning toward those present and raising his voice still more.) Yes, I choose Christian Bęme from among all others, because he is an honest man, and 1 know that he will make my daughter iappy. Christian (with feeling). 1 promise you that I will, Monsieur IMathias. (Presses his hand.) Mathias. Now, let us sign. Notary (turning round in his chair). The words that you have all "heard are wise words, full of good sense and good judgment, and show the wisdom of Monsieur Mathias. 1 have drawn up many marriage contracts in the course of my life, and il was always the meadows that married the houses, the orchards that married the ..gardens, and the money-bags that married the other money bags. But the marriage of wealth with honor and good character is what I look upon with admiration. Believe me, 1 have had great experi- ence, and 1 predict that this will be a happy marriage, as it is a wise one, and such as worthy people deserve. Such marriages are be- coming more and more rare. (To the burgomaster.) Monsieur Mathias! Mathias. What is it, Monsieur Hornus? Notary. 1 must shake hands with you, you have uttered wise words. Mathias. I have said what 1 thought. Walter. Yes, yes; you are of that way of thinking, but, un- fortunately, there are few who are like you. Heinrich. 1 am not easily moved, but I must approve of what you have said. (Annette and Catherine embrace with tears. Several Śother women surround them, some of them are sobbing. Mathias opens the desk; he takes out a large money-bag, which he sets upon the table, in front ot the notary. Every one looks on with surprise.) Mathias (gravely). Notary, here is the dowry; it has been ready for two years past. It is not a mere promise, it is not paper; it is gold thirty thousand francs in good French gold. All present (in a low tone). Thirty thousand francs! Christian. lt is too much, Monsieur Mathias. Mathias (laughing heartily). Hush, hush, Christian, there's no bargaining between father and son. When we are gone, Catherine and I, you'll find that there's more in store. What pleases me most is that this money is money that was honestly made money the source of which 1 know. I know that there's not a dishonestly gotten coin in it all 1 know (Noise of a bell inside the money- bag.) Notary (turning round). Come, Monsieur Christian, sign. (Christian goes up to sign. Mathias remains motionless with hi3 eyes fixed upon the bag, as though stupefied.) Walter (passing the pen to Christian). We don't sign such con- tracts every day, quartermaster. Christian (laughing). Ah! no, Father Walter no! (Signs and hands the pen to Catherine.) Mathias (aside, looking right and left). The other sheard nothingl Notary. Burgomaster, it is your turn, and then all is done. Calherine. Here's the pen, Mathias. 1 cannot sign. I have made my mark, a cross. Mathias (aside). It must be the blood in my head that makes a ringing in my ears. Notary (pointing to the place on the contract). Here, burgo- master next to Madame Catherine. (The noise of the bell in- creases.) Mathias (aside and in a rough tone). Mathias, you must be bold! (Goes up, signs with a firm hand, then clutches the bag and empties the money suddenly upon the table. Some of it falls on the floor. General astonishment.) Catherine. Good gracious; what are you doing? (Runs after the fallen coins.) Mathias (aside). lt was the blood in my head.. (Aloud.) 1 wish that the notary should count the dowry out before all of you. (With a strange smile.) Some one might think that there was copper in the bottom of the bag. Christian (quickly). What can you be thinking of, Monsieur Mathias? Mathias (putting out his hand). Listen, Christian, secrets are for rascals. With honest people everything should be open. They must all be able to say: " 1 was there, 1 saw the dowry upon the table in pure gold. (To the notary.) Count it. Monsieur Hornus. Walter (laughing). You have queer notions sometimes, Mathias. Notary (gravely). The burgomaster is right, it is more regular in this way. (Begins to count. Mathias leans over with his hands upon the edge of the table and looks on. All draw near. A silence.) Mathias (aside, with his eyes fixed upon the pile of gold). lt was the blood in my head. PART THIRD. THE BURGOMASTER'S DREAM. A room on the first floor, in the house of Mathias. An alcove on the left, a door on the right, two windows at the back. Night. I. (Mathias, Walter, Heinrich, Christian, Annette, Catherine; Loďs bringing in a lighted candle and a decanter. They enter abruptly and seem to be merry with wine.) Heinrich (laughing). Ha! hal ha! all ends well! we needed something to finish oft with ! Walter. How much Wolxheimer we have drunk! We shall remember Annette's marriage-contract for a long time. Christian. Then it is settled, Monsieur Mathias, you will sleep here? Mathias. Yes, it is settled. (To Loďs.) Loďs, set down the candle and the decanter upon the night-table. Catherine. What a strange idea, Mathias! Mathias. 1 must have air; 1 don't want to have another rush of blood to the head. Annette (in a low tone to Christian) He must be let alone he has notions of his own. ' . Christian. Well, then, Monsieur Mathias, if you think that you will be more at ease here Mathias. Yes. I know what 1 require. Heat was the cause of my accident this will help me. (Seats himself and begins to, take off his coat. Sound ot singing below.) Heinrich. Hark! hear how the rest are enjoying themselves! Come, Father Walter, let us go down again! Walter. You left just at the wrong time, Mathias; you are for- saking us. Mathias (abruptly). I have my reasons, deuce take it! From eleven in the morning to midnight is quite enough. Catherine. Yes, the doctor I old him to beware of white wine it might do him a great deal of harm; he has taken too much of it to- day. Mathias. No matter no matter. I'll drink some cold water be- fore I go to bed, that will quiet me. (Two or three of the carousers come in, jostling on another.)

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12 THE POLISH JEW. The first. Ha! ha! ha; we're very merry we're very merry ! Another. Good-night, burgomaster, good-night 1 Another. Say, Heinrich, the watchman's down-stairs, let me tell you! Heinrich. What does he want? The carouser. He wants us to close up the house, it is time. Mathias. Give him a good bumper, and then good-night to all! Walter. There's no rule for a burgomaster's house. Mathias. The rule is the same tor one and all. Catherine. Well, Mathias, we'll go down. Mathias. Yes, yes, go! Let me be quietl Walter (shaking hands with him). Good-night, Mathias. 1 hope you will have no bad dreams. Mathias (roughly). I never dream. Good-night, all of you, gol go! Catherine. When he takes a notion into his head (Goes out. All go out laughing and calling out from the staircase :) Good- night, good-night, burgomaster! (Annette and Christian remain.) MATHIAS. ANNETTE. CHRISTIAN. Annette (leaning over to kiss Mathias). Good-night, father, sleep well. Mathias (kissing her). Good-night, my child. (To Christian, who is near Annette). 1 shall be better here; all that white wine, and the shouting and singing make my head ache. 1 shall sleep better here. Christian. Yes, the room is cool. Good-night sleep well. Mathias (pressing their hands). Do the same, my children. (An- nette and Christian go out.) HI. MATHIAS, ALONE. Mathias (listens, then rises and locks the door). At last 1 am rid of them ! All is well. The quartermaster is secured. 1 can sleep in peace! (Seats himself again, and continues to.remove his coat.) If any new chance brings up trouble for the father-in-law of the quartermaster, all will soon be quieted down. (Yawns, and then listens to the singing below.) We must learn how to arrange our lives one has to have the good cards in one's hand. Good cards, that's the thing! The luck can be brought about. (Rises from the arm-chair, and goes toward the alcove. At that moment the door of the inn below opens, and the singing is heard in the street. Mathias lifts the curtain and looks out.) They do not want anything more, they have all they wish. Hal ha!, ha! what holes they'll make in the snow before they get home! Wine is a strange thing a glass of wine makes everything look bright. (The singing dies away. Mathias opens the windows, draws in the blinds, and comes down toward the alcove.) Yes, all is well! (Takes the decanter and drinks.) All is well! (Puts the decanter back on night-table, goes into alcove and draws curtains. Blows out light.) You may boast of having managed your affairs well, Mathias. (Yawns slowly and lies down.) No one will hear you if you dream and talk in your sleep, no one. Dreams are folly! (Silence.) IV. THE DREAM. Mathias (asleep in the alcove). Then the court, the judge, the pro- curator, magistrates, gendarmes, and public. (The back of the stage changes slowly. The light which is dull at first grows brighter, and the scene becomes clearly visible; a tribunal is seen: a vast dark hall, with benches in a half-circle on the front, filled with spectators; two arched windows with iron frames ; three judges with robes and caps at the back and seated, a clerk on the right and the procurator on the left. A small side-door communicating with a wicket. A table below the judges' seats; on table, a green cloak trimmed with fur, and a seal-skin cap. The judge rings his bell. Mathias, in rags, and haggard, comes in at the side-door surrounded by gendaimes. The sufferings of confinement in prison are visible in his face. He seats himself upon the bench; three gendarmes take their places be- hind him. All this mysterious scene takes place in a half-light; the words' and sounds are murmurs. As the action becomes more definite, the words become more distinct, lt is the work of the sleeper's im- agination, his dream which is materialized. At a gesture of the judge, the clerk reads in a tone, as if reading a psalm, the accusation itself and the depositions of the witnesses. The words: Night of twenty-fourth December Barucn Koweski Mathias the innkeeper great cunning surrounding himself with marks of public esteem escaped for fifteen years the hour for justice a trifling circum- stance the Hierthčs brothers are heard from time to time. A tresh silence. At the end of the reading, the scene grows lighter.) Judge. Accused, you have heard the depositions of the witnesses ;. what have you to say in reply? Mathias. Witnesses! men who saw nothing, who live at two or three leagues from the place where the crime was committed in the night, and in the winter. Do you call those men witnesses? Judge. Reply quietly; your angry gesticulations will do you no good. You are a cunning man. Mathias. No, judge, I am a simple-minded man. Judge. You must have chosen your time you turned suspicion away from yourself you got rid ot all material proof. You are a dangerous being. Mathias. Dangerous because no proof can be found against me. All honest men must be dangerous, then, as there is nothing against them? Judge. The voice of the public accuses you. Mathias. Listen, gentlemen, when a man is prosperous when he rises above others, and wins wealth and esteem, thousands envy him. You know that; it is a thing that is made apparent every day. Well, then, unfortunately for me, thousands of envious persons in the last fifteen years have seen my business prosper, and that is why they all accuse me; they would like to see my downfall aud my de- struction. But ought just men, men of good sense, to listen to such, jealous persons? Ought they not to force them to be silent? Ought they not to blame them tor what they are doing? Judge. You are very eloquent, accused: you must have been studying this speech tor a long time. But we have clear insight, and see what is going on within you. Why do you hear the sound of those bells? Mathias. I do not hear the sound ot any bells. (Noise of bells., outside.) Judge. That is false! You hear lhat sound at this very moment. Explain why this is so. Mathias. lt is nothing it is the blood in my head that makes my ears ring. Judge. If you do not tell us the cause of this noise, we will sum- mon the magnetizer to explain ft to u°. Mathias. lt is true that I hear this noise. Judge. Clerk, write down that he hears the noise. Mathias (quickly). Yes but I hear it in my dreams. Judge. Write down that he hears it in his dreams. Mathias. Any good man may dream. A. looker-on (in a low tone to the person nearest to him). That is true, we dream in spite of ourselves. Another (to his neighbor). Everybody dreams. Mathias (turning to the public). Listen ; do not be afraid on my account. All this is but a dream. If it were not a dream, would the judges wear wigs, as in the time of the old nobility, more than. a hundred years ago? Did such madmen ever exist as would trouble, themselves about a sound of bells heard in a dream? They might as well sentence a dog for growling in his sleep. What kind ol judges would you call such men? Men like these would hang their fellow-creature for idle thoughts alone'. (Bursts into a loud laugh.) Judge (in a tone of severity); Accused, be silent! You are draw- ing near to the judgment-seat of heaven, and you dare to laugh you dare to brave the eye of God! (Turning toward the judges.) Gen- tlemen, this sound ot bells comes from a recollection. Recollections, make up a man's whole lite; we hear the voice ot those we have loved, even after they are dead and gone. The accused hears this- noise, because he has a remembrance in his mind which he is hiding from us. The Pole's horse had bells upon his neck. Mathias. That is tajse! I have no remembrance like that. Judge. Be silent. Mathias (angrily). A man cannot be sentenced on account of a mere supposition. There must be proof. 1 do not hear any sound- of bells. Judge. Clerk, take down that the accused is contradicting him- self. He has taken back what he admitted before. Mathias (in a rage). No; 1 do not hear anything. (The noise of the bells is heard.) lt is the blood rushing to my head. (The noise increases.) I ask to have Christian, my son-in-law, brought here. (Raising his voice, and looking round on all sides). Why is not Christian here? (Silence. The magistrates look at one another. Whispering in the crowd. The noise of the bells becomes faint.) Judge (in a grave tone). Accused, do you persist in your denials?.

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THE POLISH JEW. IS Mathias. Yes. 1 have too much blood in my head, that is all. There is nothing to bring against me. It is the worst kind of in- justice to keep an honest man in prison. 1 am suffering unjustly. Judge. You persist in denying, then? Well, then, 1, Rudiger, Baron of Mersbach, Provost of His Imperial Majesty of Lower Al- satia, assisted by my council and judges, Louis of Falkenstein and Feininger, doctors-of-law, considering that this matter has been dragging along tor fifteen years, and that it is impossible to clear it up by ordinary means; considermg the sagacity, the cunning, and the audacity of the accused ; considering that the witnesses who might give us inf omiation in this laborious task, on which the honor of our court depends, are now dead; considering that the crime can- not go unpunished, that the innocent cannot suffer for the guilty; considering lhat this trial must serve as an example tor all time, to restrain the cupidity and greed of those who believe themselves to be safe because long years have past for all these reasons, 1 order you to summon the magnetizer. Officers, bring in the magnetizer! Mathias (in a terrible tone) 1 object to this 1 object to it! Dreams prove nothing. Judge (in a resolute tone). Bring in the magnetizer. Mathias (striking upon the table). This is abominable! lt is con- trary to justice! Judge. If you are innocent, why do you fear the magnetizer? Because he reads the soul. Be calm, it is best for you, or your out- cry will show you to be guilty. Mathias. 1 demand that Linder, the lawyer from Severn, be sent for; in such a matter, I do not care tor the cost. I am calm, as a man should be who has nothing to reproach himself with. 1 am not afraid of anything; but dreams are dreams. (Calling out.) Why is not Christian here? My honor is his honor. Bring him here! Heis an honest man. (Violently.) Christian, Ihave made you rich; defend me now! (A silence. The stage grows dark. Mathias, in the alcove, sighs and tosses about. All becomes daiic. After an instant, the court reappears from the darkness, and suddenly be- comes light. Mathias has fallen sound asleep again.) V. THE SAME. THE MAGNETIZER. Judge (to the magnetizer). Be seated. Magnetizer. Judge, and gentlemen of the jury, it is the will of this tribunal that has forced me to come here; but for that, tear would have kept me away. MathiaS. The nonsense of these magnetizers is of no account; they deceive people in order to make money. Their tricks are mere scientific humbug. 1 saw one of them at my Cousin Bôth's house in Ribeauville. ť Judge (to the magnetizer). Can you put this man to sleep? Magnetizer (looking at Mathias). 1 can. Are there any remains of the victim? Judge (pointing to the objects upon the table). This cloak and cap are all. Magnetizer. Put the cloak upon the accused. Mathias (with a frightful cry), I will not sufter that! Judge. I order it to be done. Mathias (struggling). Never, never! Judge. Then you are guilty 1 Mathias. Where is Christian? Where is Christian? He will tell you that 1 am a good man. A Spectator (in a low tone). This is terrible! Mathias (to the gendarmes who are putting the cloak upon him). Kill me at once ! Judge. Your resistance betrays you, wretched man! Mathias. I am not afraid. (He has the cloak on, and shudders. In a low tone, and talking to himself.) 11 you go to sleep, Mathias, you are lost! (Remains standing with his eyes staring before him, as though petrified with horror.) A Woman of the People (rising). 1 wish to go away; let me out! Officer. Silence, there! (The woman re-seats herself. Profound silence.) Magnetizer (with his eyes fixed upon Mathias). He sleeps. Mathias (in a hollow tone). No no 1 will not Magnetizer. It is my will! Mathias (panting). Take it off! take it off! Magnetizer (to Judge). He sleeps. What must 1 ask him? Judge. What he did on the night of Ihe twenty-fourth of De- cember fifteen years ago. Magnetizer. Are you back at the night of the twenty-fourth of December, 1808? Mathias. Yes. Magnetizer. What time is it? Mathias. Half-past eleven. Magnetizer. Speak it is my will! Mathias. The guests are leaving the inn. Catherine and little Annette have retired. Kasper cemes back, and tells me that the fire in the lime-kiln is lighted. I answer him: " Very well, goto bed;- 1 will go down there." He goes upstairs. I remain alone with the Pole, who is warming himself at the stove. Outside everything is still. Nothing is to be heard but the sound of the bells on the horse- under the shed. There are two ieet of snow on the ground. (A si- lence.) Magnetizer. What are you thinking about? Mathias. I am thinking that 1 must have money that it 1 have not three thousand francs by the thirty-first, the inn will be taken away from me. 1 am thinking that there is no one outside that it- is dark, and that the Pole will follow the main road, all alone in the snow. Magnetizer. Then you have made up your mind to attack him? Mathias (after an instant of silence). The man is strong heiť broad-shouldered. 1 think that he would make a stout resistance if attacked. (Mathias makes a movement.) Magnetizer. What is the matter? Mathias (in a low tone). He is looking at me. He has gray eyes. (In a tone as if communing with himself.) I must do the deer" Magnetizer. Have you made up your mind? Mathias. Yes I will do the deed. I will venture 1 will venture. Magnetizer. Speak ! Mathias. But 1 must have light I will go out. It is quite dark my steps will not be seen in the snow. (Lifts his hand and seems to be looking for something.) Magnetizer. What are you doing? Mathias. I am feeling in the sleigh to find out if there are any pistols there. (The jury look at one another and there is a stir in the crowd.) Nothing! 1 will do the deed yes, 1 will! (Listens.) There is no sound from the village. Anna Weber's child is crying. A goat is bleating in the stable. The Pole is walking up and down the room. Magnetizer. Are you going in? Mathias. Yes. He has laid six francs upon the table. 1 must give him his change. He looks at me fixedly. (A silence.) Magnetizer. Does he say anything to you? Mathias. He is asking me how far it is to Mutzig. Only four lit- tle leagues. I wish him good-night. He replies: Heaven bless, you!. (A silence.) Oh! oh! (Matbias's face changes.) Magnetizer What is the matter ? Mathias (in a low tone). The belt! (Suddenly, and in a harsh tone.) He is going he is gone! (Mathias now skulks along with his limbs bent and seems to be following in his victim's track. The Magnetizer raises his finger lo call the attention of the court. Ma- thias puts out his hand.) The ax! where is the ax? Ah, here, behind the door. How cold it is ! the snow is falling and not a star to be seen. Courage, Mathias, the belt will be yours, courage! (A. silence.) Magnetizer. He has gone. Will you follow him? Mathias. Yes. Magnetizer. Where are you now? Mathias. Beyond the village in the fields. How cold it is! (Shivers.) Miignetizer. Did you take the.cross load? Mathias. Yes, yes. (Putting out his arhi.) Here's the greit bridge and down there at the bottom is the stream. How the dogs howl at Daniel's farm, how they howl ! How red old Finck's forge is, on the shore there! (In a low tone, as though speaking to him- Ś self.) To kill a man to kill a man! You will not do that, Ma- thias, you will not do that! God will not suffer it to he done. (Begins to skulk along again with his body bent.) You are mad! Listen, you will be rich, and your wife and child will have all they need. The Pole came so much the worse! so much the worse! he should not have come. You can pay everything, you will not be in debt any more. (Exclaiming in a harsh tone.) There is no God,, you must kill him! The bridge! the bridge already! (A silence;: stops and listens.) No one to be seen on the road no one. (With terror.) What stillness! (Passes his hand over his brow.) You are warm, Mathias, your heart is beating fast, that is because you have been running. One o'clock is striking at Wechem the moon is rising. The Pole has, perhaps, gone by already. So much the betteri'so much the better! (Listening.) The bells! yes! (Crouches down suddenly and remains motionless. A silence. All eyes are upon him. ln a low tone.) You will be rich you will be rich you will be rich ! (The noise of the bells is heard again. A young woman covers her face with her apron, others turn away their

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.14 THE POLISH JEW. heads. Suddenly Mathias rises up with a kind of howl and gives a terrible blow upon the table.) Ah! ah! I have you! Jew! I have you! (Rushes forward and strikes wdth fury.) A woman. Oh! heavens! (Faints away.) Judge (in a loud voice). Take that woman away! (The woman is removed.) Mathias (raising himself up again). He is dead! (Bends over and looks; then strikes a final blow.) He does not stir it is all over! (Rises up and gives a sigh, then looks around.) The horse has gone on with the sleigh. (Listening.) Some one is coming! (Turns round in terror and is about to fly.) No, it is the wind in the trees. ^Stooping down.) Quick! quick! the bell! Ihave it! ha! (Makes a gesture as though fastening the belt about his waist.) It is full of gold, full of gold! Make haste, Mathias, make haste! (Bends down and seems to be putting the body upon his shoulders, then goes around the table belonging to the court-house, with his body bent and with a heavy step as though bearing a burden.) Magnetizer. Where are you going? Mathias (stopping). To the lime-kiln. Magnetizer. Are you there now? Mathias. Yes. (Seems to be placing his burden upon the ground.) How heavy he was! (Breathes hard, then bends down and seems to be taking up the body again. In a hoarse voice.) Go into the fire, Jew! go into the fire! (Seems to be pushing with a rod and with all his migbt. Suddenly he utters a cry of horror and sinks down, with his face between his hands. In a low tone.) What eyes! oh! what eyes! (A long silence. Raises his head.) You are crazy, Mathias. Look! there is nothing now but bis bones. The bones are burning too. Now for the belt. Put the gold in your pockets. That is it. N'd one will ever know anything. There will be no proofs found. Magnetizer (to the judge What else must 1 ask him? Judge. It is enough. (To the clerk). Have you taken it all down? Clerk. Yes, judge. Judge. Then let him be awakened and let him see it himself. Magnetizer. Wake up! it is my will! (Mathias awakes and seems to be dazed.) Mathias. Where am I? (Looks around.) Ah! yes. What is going on? Clerk. Here is your deposition. Read it. Mathias (after reading a few lines). 1 am lost! 1 have told all! 1 am lost ! Judge (to the jury). You have heard, he has condemned himself. Mathias (tearing off the cloak). 1 protest! it is false! You are rascals, all of you! Christian, my son-in-law. Where is Christian? Judge. Silence this man, gendarmes! (Gendarmes surround Mathias.) Mathias (struggling). It is an insult to justice! I am deprived of my only witness. 1 protest before heaven! (ln a thrilling voice.) Christian, they are trying to kill your wife's father! help! help (Struggles like a madman.) f-i Judge (in a tone of sadness). Accused, you force me to tell you Śwhat I wished to keep back from you: On learning the accusation against you, Christian Bęme killed himself. (Mathias stands as though stupefied with his eyes upon the judge. A profound silence. The jury confer with one another in a low tone. After a moment, the judge rises.) i Judge (slowly). As,, on the night of the twenty-fourth of Decem- ber, 1808, between midnight and one o'clock, Hans Mathias com- mitted the crime of assassinating Baruch Koweski, with the aggra- vating circumstance of premeditation, and by night, and also committed the.crime of theft with arms in his hands, we sentence him to be hung by the neck till he is dead. (Turning to officers.) Officers, bring in the hangman. (A great stir in the crowd. Officer opens door onYight; a short rnan dressed in red, with a pale face and brfll- iant eyes appears upon the threshold. A profound silence. The judge extends his arm toward Mathias. Loud noise of bells. Ma- thias puts his hands to his head and staggers. Everything vanishes. The room in the burgomaster's house reappears, lt is broad day- light; the sun is shining through the blinds and makes long bars of light upon the floor. The curtains ot the alcove stir. The decanter falls from the night-table and is broken. At the same moment joy- ous music is heard in front of the inn, playing the old air of " Lau- terbach;" many voices are heard singing. It is the groomsmen giving the " dawn-serenade " to the affianced bride. The noise of pedestrians is heard in the street. A window is opened and the music ceases. Loud laughter and many voices calling out: " There she is! there's Annette 1" The music and singing begm again. A great stir below. Rapid steps are heard dn the stairs and a knock at Mathias's door.) Catherine (outside, calling). Mathias, get up! lt is broad day- light. All our guests are below. (Silence. Louder knocking.) Christian (calling). Monsieur Mathias! Monsieur Mathias! (Si- lence.) .How he sleeps! (Other steps heard on stairs. Louder knocking still.) Walter (calling). Get up, Mathias! What ails you? The wed- ding has begun, hop!.hop! (Long silence.) It is strange! he does not answer! Catherine (anxiously). Mathias! Mathias! (Whispering, a dis- cussion, then Christian's voice says, loudly and curtly:) No, it is useless, let me do it! (Aud almost immediately the door which is violently shaken, gives way. Christian appears iu full uniform.) Christian (on threshold). Monsieur Mathias! (Sees fragments of decanter on floor, runs to alcove, pulls back curtains, and utters a cry). Catherine (entering in alarm). What is the matter, Christian? what is the matter? Christian (turning round hastily). Do not look, Madame Cath- erine! (Puts his arms about her and draws her toward the door, and calls out in an agitated voice:) Doctor Frantz! Doctor Frantz! Catherine (struggling). Let me go, Christian. I must see! Christian. No! (Calling out on the staircase to those below.) Prevent Annette from coming up. Oh, heaven! oh, heaven! (Meantime Walter, Heinrich, and a great many of the guests, men and women, have entered the room; they gather around the alcove. Heinrich opens the window and throws open the blinds). Walter (looking at Mathias). His face is all black! (General amazement. Doctor Frantz comes in in breathless haste. They stand aside to let him pass). Doctor (hastily). He has had a fit of apoplexy. (Taking his in. struments from his pocket.) Hold his arm, Master Waller. If the blood will but come! (Musicians come in with their instruments in their hands^ a crowd of carousers follow, whispering to one another and treading en tiptoe; then a young woman, with a child in her arms, appears upon the threshold, and stops, astonished at seeing so many persons in the room. The child is playing with a toy trumpet.) Walter. The blood will not flow. Doctor. No. (Turning round angrily.) Make that child stop its noise. The young woman. Keep still, Ludwig! Give that to me. (Tries to take the toy. The child resists, and begins to cry.) Doctor (in a tone of sadness). 'Tis all over. The burgomaster is dead white wine has killed him. Walter. Oh, my poor Mathias! (Leans upon the bed with his face between his hands, and weeps. The heart-rending cries of Catherine and Annette are heard outside.) Heinrich (looking at the body of Mathias). What a misfortune! He was such a good man ! A spectator (in a low tone to his neighbor). It is the death that is the most easy of all. There is no pain. THE END.

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THE THREE SISTERS OF THE BRIARS. 15 The Three Sisters ofthe Briars: WHO THEY LOVED, AND WHO LOVED THEM. By OWEN LANDOK. " Yes, sir! the family is broken up, and there is to be a sale next Thursday. Maybe you would like to come and buy some of the things. They say it will be an uncommon good sale, and you can get a catalogue of Mr. Reece, the auctioneer, in the High Street." The man was a stranger to me, but he had stopped on seeing me staring at a bill pasted on the wall outside the Briais, and civilly offered a little information in addition to that which 1 obtained through the medium of paper and printer's ink. He looked like a working-man, but somehow his look and manner conveyed to me an impression that he and labor of any sort were not on the best ot terms. I thanked him, and was passing on, but he followed me up to in- form me that he would be at the sale, and it I wanted a man to look after any lots 1 might purchase he was the man to do it. Mean- while would I give him a trifle just to help him over this day. " Work's uncommon bad," he said, with a whine; " there's hun- dreds about the country doing nothing but look for it." 1 gave him a few pence to get rid of him, not being in the humor to bear his importunity with that equanimity which, I may truth- fully state, generally characterizes me under trying circumstances. No; I could not bear to have listened to the chatter of anybody, tor years ago 1 had known the Briars well, and one of its inmates had been very dear to me. No matter which 1 loved of the three sisters living with that prim maiden aunt. It does not trouble me now. The tide of events came between us, and 1 saw the waters broaden out, driving her to the east and me to the west, until the sun set upon my life and the darkness of love's despair rested upon me. But enough of my poor little trouble, a mere bantling in the misery of the world, that came and died ere it matured into a great agony it was not a mighty monster of misery to dog a man to his grave. It is gone, it is of the past, let it rest. Three sisters, Grace, Gwendoline, and Mary, and the stiff Miss Janet Everingham. The girls were all beautiful, and the aunt bore in her face the remnants of a grace of outline that must have been striking ere time scored and marred it with its iron hand. How well 1 remembered them as I wandered sadly back to the inn that stood in the heart of the little town ot Chipstone. Ten years before 1 had been known there passing well; but ten years' absence abroad had made some change in me, and many who knew me once were gone, others were dead, a few grown into senility, and the rest had doubtless forgotten that I ever existed. I lingered in the town, making daily pilgrimages to the Briars, only to read that dismal bill, and returning with a heart of lead, until the day of the auction, when 1 took my seat in the drawing- room with some two score others, and the auctioneer from an ex- temporized rostrum on the table plunged into his labors. There was nothing in the room that was familiar to me. All was changed. The disorder of a sale was there, and 1 sat dreaming of the place as it once had been, heedless of what was passing. It was an honest sale. The Jews were strangely conspicuous by their absence, and the furniture dealer evidently indifferent to or oblivious of the sale. The furniture was old, and more fit for the collector of the curious than for the modern householder, and for the most part sold for a song. I bid for nothing, bought nothing, until lot ninety-six was brought in. The moment 1 saw it 1 awoke from my trance. It was an old bureau, and used to stand in what was the nursery when Grace, Gwendoline and Mary were children. It was always a favorite room with the girls, and they used to receive their most intimate friends there. 1 had spent many happy afternoons, and often seen somebody what does it matter now which of the three it was? writing on the opened lid of the old bureau, let down smd kept in place by the curiously simple wooden slides familiar to our grandfathers. 1 was not rich, 1 had little money to spare, and had not come to the sale to buy; but 1 felt an impulse to purchase that old bureau. It would be a burden lo me, of course what else could it be to a man constantly shifting from place to place; but, nevertheless, 1 felt that it must be mine. The only other competitor for its possession was an old woman, who had bid something for most lots and bought nothing. She stopped at nine shillings; I bid ten, and the bureau was mine. Having got it, 1 bethought myself of tvhat was to be done with it. Hovering outside tbe room 1 discovered my communicative friend of the Saturday before, and he volunteered to get the bureau away to the inn in a " twinkling." With the rapidity of a magician he obtained a truck from somewhere, and with the aid of two others, stamped like himself with the idler's and odd-man trade- mark, my purchase was safely conveyed to the inn. The landlord evidently thought 1 was insane to buy " that old lumbering thing," but he expressed his willingness to give it house room until I finally settled what I would do with it. Accordingly it was placed in the apartment 1 occupied at night, and 1 was left alone with my purchase. The key was in the lock, and I turned back the bolt, then drew out the supports, opened it, and sat down. It was to all appearance in every respect just as it had been when I knew it ten years ago. The papers and neatly docketed letters were gone, of course; but the drawers were there, the full length ones at the top, and the shorter ones at the bottom to make room for the " secret drawer," which would never have remained a secret five minutes from any one really looking for it. To this 1 turned, for in it 1 remembered SHE used to keep certain papers which, in her pleasant, laughing way, she called important. I had no hope of finding any of these documents when 1 touched the spring, but as the front fell down 1 saw there was a packet in- side. I took it out, and looked at it. Did it contain a secret or not? Assuredly not, 1 soon concluded, for it was folded in the form of ordinary manuscript, and was simply tied round with a piece of . Berlin wool. 1 released the fastening, and opening it saw that there was not one manuscript only, but three each bearing a separate title, written by a once dear, familiar hand. 1 first locked the door, then sat down to peruse the lines that would have been very precious to me ten years before. Here is the first story. THE UNSEEN LOVER AT THE BRIARS. We had given up all hope of any lovers coming to the Briars, for Aunt Janet had, by skillful rudeness and timely coldness, reduced our circle of acquaintances to some half a dozen old maids, and about the same number of elderly married people without chil- dren, each and all of them total abstainers from the lighter graces of existence, deliberate haters of mirth, and devout believers in the necessity for strapping and bandaging the minds of the young, so as to keep them within the bounds of a stern and solemn existence. Am I saying too much when 1 aver that the very song of birds was an offense to these good people, and shall I be guilty of gross exaggeration when I state that Ihe light of the sun was an intrusion upon the darkness of their daily lives? 1 think not. They had no

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16 THE THREE SISTERS OP THE BRIARS. music or sunshine in their hearts, or if they had, they kept it tram- pled down and extinguished by a pious fanaticism that would have been of service at the time of the Inquisition, but was totally out of place in these more enlightened times. George Burdleigh, of course, came to see us a great deal; but George was an orphan, and now at all frivolous, as Aunt Janet used to say. But then she did not see anything of our private receptions in the old nursery, and how very merry, in a subdued way, we used to be. Poor George! 1 wonder where he is. Perhaps I may tell you something ot him by-and-by. Now 1 am writing about our _ first lover Percy Towers who fell in love with Grace. We girls, chaperoned by Aunt Janet, had been having tea with Mrs. Roderick, really the least animated woman I ever met, and we were quite depressed and bowed down with the weight of her solemn talk about " The whole duty of Woman," when we left the house, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief, as we walked as airily as we dare through Chipstone Market Place. On market day there is much wild excitement at Chipstone, but on other days a sensation of stagnation prevails. Accustomed, as we were, to the dear dull old place, we girls very seldom went into it without having a feeling upon us that every living thing, except the cats and dogs, and the pigeons belonging to the Blue Lion, had .gone to bed. As for seeing anything of the place when the rural gallants were laboriously dissipating on market days, Aunt Janet was too watchful and too wary of our welfare to permit such a thing. Still we had been there; once when auntie, in perfect health, was away for a day to consult a London physician, and again when she was really ill, and had to put up with the local practitioner. Per- haps we also went on two or three other occasions, but our peeps at ŚChipstone in its more lightsome hours were very rare. What did we know of the world? What could we know of it, and especially of that part of it called man? Poor George! 1 will iell yiou something about him by and by was almost as unsophisti- cated, as ourselves, or pretended to be, and that was the same thing. We knew nothing ot the world, or of man nothing nothing. George had been gone from Chipstone about a month when we left Mrs. Roderick's and sauntered into the market pliice, Aunt Janet, secure in the quietude of an ordinary day, walking on a few paces ahead, and leaving us to look to the right or the left, or any- where we pleased, undisturbed. We let her go until there Was the frightful distance ol quite ten yards between us, when suddenly we found an opaque object between her and us, und that object a MAN. He emerged from a passage next to the confectioner's, and he ran .against Grace, being apparently in a hurry. Grace did cot scream; she knew better for auntie, in a serene state of unconsciousness, was still going on ahead but smiled in reply to the apology ten- dered. 1 saw him glance at her sweet face, hesitate a little, then go on. " He was handsome," said Grace, breathlessly. " And a stranger," said Gwendoline. " And how nice he looked when he smiled." "I think he ought to have apologized more profusely," said Grace, doubtfully. " He seemed in such a hurry to get it over." I said nothing. Being the youngest, 1 was very wary of speaking, for 1 had found that words addressed to my elders had not the weight they ought to have had. Even Grace and Gwendoline were infected, in a slight degree, with the way our friends had of ignoring the opinions of those younger than themselves. But I did not care much for the looks of the stranger, handsome as he might be, and there was a boldness in his briet stare at Grace which 1 instinctively objected to. On reaching home we hastened to the nursery. How absurd it was for three grown women to cling to that place of refuge, but we were free from Aunt Janet there, to talk over this stranger. Grace and Gwendoline spoke of him with bated breath as they might have done had they been forlorn maidens and he a prince out of the story book; but 1 well 1 said nothing worth mentioning. The youth of Chipstone may have had something to do with the enthusiasm of my sisters. 1 fear they were not very shining lights in the kingdom ot man. Chipstone, in fact, was a very good place; everybody, or nearly everybody, took life very solemnly and serious- ly, and young people were " kept under." in contrast to them the youthful farmers who came up on market days, and smoked cigars .at high noon, were the wildest of creatures. The dress, look, and bearing of this stranger was something differ- ent to the Chipstone beaux. He came upon Grace like a star from another firmament. She said so, and she looked as if she meant it. Aunt Janet suspected nothing. She had not seen the stranger, and, secure in her precautions to. keep her stronghold free from in- vasion, never so much as suspected that the enemy was at the gate. Nor did 1 suspect anything would follow that chance meeting, and ere long Grace ceased to speak of the stranger. When Gwen- doline spoke ot him, as she continued to do for weeks, she would turn away and not answer her. But Grace was changed. She had grown thoughtful, and showed a strong inclination to spend much of her time alone. The nursery was often left a whole afternoon to Gwendoline and myself, while Grace would saunter about the shrubberies in the grounds, or sit alone in a Swiss summer-house down by the miniature lake. She always took a book with her, and we, seeing it was her humor, let her be at peace. George was gone, as 1 have told you, and it was then that we began to miss him dearly. He was always pleasant, and could talk when he chose, and 1 dare say he would have sung but for fear of Aunt Janet, who looked upon all singing, except Tate and Brady's hymns, sung through the nose, as vanity. So things went on for about five weeks, and summer began to wane. No other great excitement had come to ripple the even life ot the Briars. Everything seemed quieter than ever, until one night at the end of August. 1 had gone to my room, but not to rest, for the night was very beautiful, and a broad, full moon rising over the hill. I sat by my window thinking, and did not hear the door open or Grace enter; nor was 1 aware ot her presence until 1 found her kneeling at my feet looking up into my face through tears that dimmed her eyes. " Grace, dearest, what has happened?" 1 exclaimed. " Nothing," she said, "lam well and happy; but oh! Mary, 1 want you to tell me that you love me as much as ever that you will always hold me in your heart." "Of course I shall," I answered; "have We not always been happy together?" "Yes, yes; but 1 have been cold to you. 1 have been hiding away." " Never mind that, dearest, lt is well foi all of us that we should now and then be,apart." " Now and then apart," she repeated, slowly. "Ah! only now and then." She buried her face in my lap, and I could see her quiver as if in pain, but she uttered no sound. The paroxysm was over in a few minutes, and she was looking at me again. " Kiss me, Mary," she said. 1 kissed her, and she kissed me, again and again, clinging to my neck. Then, with a quick movement, rose up and left me. I thought she was unwell, and determined to go to her room later on, and see if she was more composed. 1 did so, but found the door locked a most unusual thing; but without any great uneasiness, went to rest. 1 was dreaming of fields and flowers, when a hand was laid upon my shoulder. 1 awoke, to find Aunt Janet and Gwendoline in the room with the daylight on their faces. Aunt Janet upstood, stern and rigid; Gwendoline, with a terrified face, cowered behind her. Accustomed as 1 had been to the hard, cold ways ot my aunt, 1 had never seen her in a very angry mood. Now she was terrible in her fierce anger. " Get up," she said, " and tell what is your share in bringing dis- honor on this house." I rose up, trembling. The absence of Grace from the room was like the opening ot the " Book of Fate" to me. 1 guessed the worst, and guessed the truth. " 1 have done nothing," 1 said. " 1 have done nothing." " Grace is gone," said Aunt Janet, her dark brows bending over her eyes, " with the man she loves, as she has had the madness to write to me. Do you know who it is?" " No," 1 answered, " but I can guess. It maybe the stranger we met one day at Chipstone." " This is more than you have told me," said Aunt Janet, turning upon Gwendoline, " 1 shall know all by-and-by." " You can learn nothing more from me," 1 said. Aunt Janet paced up and down, her strong, vigorous tread mak- ing the old floor creak. With uncertain fingers 1 began my morn- ing toilet. " And to think that it should come to this," she said, " after the way 1 have watched ovei you." " Perhaps, aunt, you have watched over us too much," Gwendo- line suggested. Aunt Janet turned upon her with a fury that made her quail. " What do you children know? How have you learned to fathom the depth of the abyss into (which Grace has plunged? But she is gone now ; she is to be as one dead here. Never breathe her name in my rjresence again." She left us, and for awhile Gwendoline and 1 were still and silent.

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THE THREE SISTERS OF THE BRIARS. 17 Then we both, without a word, burst out sobbing, and so found re- lief for our overcharged hearts. The gloom that must have always rested on the Briars we were familiar with, and had ceased to regard it; but the gloom that now settled down darkened our young lives. I was nineteen then, Gwendoline was twenty, and Grace just twenty-two old enough to be women, but even Grace was a child in experience of the world. And she had obeyed the impulses of a child, intensified by the feelings of a woman. A lover had come and wooed and won her I dare say easily enough. She had trusted him, as those who have but an imperfect knowledge of the world trust others. That much we knew, but no more except that he, whoever he might be, had been seen hovering about our house and in the lane in the rear from which an ordinarily active man could easily gain access to the gar- den. The Swiss chalet and Ihe little lake were there, and now we understood why Grace had been so fond of the place. We had never gone out much, but now we ceased to go out at all, except at very rare intervals, when some small business in the town called us there. Our hearts might be broken or breaking, but | with misery or without, in sickness, sorrow, and trouble, there is I one thing a woman always does, she goes a-shopping when she can. j No need of Aunt Janet to tell us that we had lost all our acquaint j ances, and as far as Gwendoline and myself were concerned, it was a loss we bore with commendable fortitude. But it is not pleasant to be ignored, and all Chipstone had cut us. Piety and stern moral- ity set their faces against the inmates of a house branded with shame, j We were ignored outside, but we knew, we felt that we were not ! entirely forgotten. The post brought us many printed admonitions, I and we were regaled by stories of those who had fallen into " the pit," written surely by children, tor children, and most assuredly of no possible good to old or young. Aunt Janet received many, and in what way they affected her 1 do not know. She sat stiff and stern at the table, opening the en- velopes, glancing at their contents and laying them aside without moving a muscle of her face. Grace, she never spoke of, and for aught we observed she might never have been an inmate of Ihe Briars. So passed a year a dull, colorless year of stifled misery, a time of silent anguish, twelve long months of hope deferred without a word from Grace. Gwendoline and 1 longed, thirsted, prayed for it, but the far off echo of her sweet voice never reached us. " 1 cannot bear it," said Gwendoline one day, as we saunteied in our garden. Aunt Janet sat at a distance, spectacles on nose, knitting. " Grace must have written," 1 replied. Jt was a remark 1 had often made, and Gwendoline always assented to it, as she did now. " But with a letter-bag that is always closed at night and opened in the morning by AuDt Janet, what can we know more than she chose to tell us?" Gwendoline said. " 1 believe she has heard from Grace. 1 will ask her it she has!" " No, Gwendie," I said, " you would get no answer, and if you did it would not be one to satisfy you." " But I will do it," she answered, and bracing herself up for the struggle, walked boldly up to Aunt Janet. I followed behind, half- hearted, yet resolved to bear my share of the battle. " Aunt Janet, I wish to ask you a question." Her head, cov- ered with iron-gray hair, was raised, and the cold steel-like eyes looked us through. " 1 have expected lo hear of it betoie," she said. "No names. 1 have forbidden it. You wish to know if I have heard from some- body." " Y'es, aunt." Poor Gwendoline's voice had no more sound in it than the wheeze ot a mouse. 1 simply had no voice at all. " 1 have heard several times. Perhaps you would wish to know if 1 have replied." " If you please, auntie." " 1 have NOT." lt would not be easy to express in print even by the largest capi- tals the peculiar emphasis put upon the latter word. There was a finality in it which told us that no more was to be said and we turned away. " Poor Grace!" I said. But Gwendoline's eyes were flashing, and 1 saw rebellion in the horizon. Butshesdd nothing to me then, but ere long the new order of things began. Brindel, our butler, received the letter-bag in the morning, and clung to it with the devotion of an old servant until he gave it up to his mistress. He was a native of Chipstone, swathed, nursed, and cradled in the solemnity of its good people, impregnated with their gloomy views, but sedately cheered by the \ conviction that if ninety per cent, of living creatures were doomed to everlasting misery, he at least was among the rescued. To him, on the morning following, as he crossed the hall with the letter-bag in his hand, came Gwendoline. " You keep the key of that bag?" she said. " Yes, miss," he replied, "it is locked by Miss Everingham at night, and 1 take charge ot it till the morning." " Give it to me," said Gwendoline. Brindel was not given to staring, but he opened his eyes wide on hearing such an unparalleled demand as this. " Pardon me, miss, but 1 dare not do it. It would be as much as my place is worth." Gwendoline was prepared for this emergency, and with a quick movement, quickly and gracefully done, so as to put the action far outside the pale ot a vulgar snatching, she secured the bag. " Tell Miss Everingham lhat I have it," she said, and walked upstairs. Breathless with amazement, I upon the first-floor landing saw and heard all. Gwendoline, pale, but with a determined look upon her face, came up and beckoned me into her room. " I am going to open it," was all she said; and taking up a shaip pen-knife, prepared for the act, deliberately cut o^en the leather bag. There were three letters inside. " Two for Aunt Janet," she said coolly, "and one forme. I have performed this little feat, most opportunely, lt is a letter from Grace. We will read it by and by. Breakfast is ready. " She thrust it into her bosom, and, with the two letters for Aunt Janet in her hand, walked calmly down-stairs. As for poor me, 1 was in a maze of fear, doubt, and horror; in short, I was not fully prepared to endorse what Gwendoline had done, or braced up to bear my share of the consequences. Aunt Janet was awaiting us, and the mournful Brindel putting coffee upon the table. He had evidently lodged a complaint against Gwendoline, and been honored with some stinging reproach tor his lack of attention. Perhaps he may have been suspected of being in collusion with us. " Good-morning," said Aunt Janet, and took her seat at the table. " Two letters 'for you, aunt," said Gwendoline, " 1 opened the bag this morning." " So Brindel tells me," Aunt Janet rejoined. " Will you have tea or coffee?" " Coffee, please." Breakfast passed over as quiet as usual, but afterward the mon- soon came. When Brindel had cleared away, Aunt Janet, always armed and ready, came out and fell upon us with sword and mace, opening the battle by attacking me. * " Mary, it is you who urge your sister on. Where is the letter you took from the bag this morning?" " lt was addressed to me, and 1 have it," Gwendoline said. | " Mary is not to blame. But how do you know there was a letter J for either of us?" Aunt Janet turned pale, but she answered with composure, " I ! am a" wil ness to your removing it; 1 was passing your door at the ! time. Pray remember that you left it ajar. 1 am no eavesdropper. " Notwithstanding this assurance, we were both convinced that she had been listening. I don't know if it was tbe doubting expression ot our faces that suddenly roused the long-pent-up violence of her nature, but .in a moment she had, as it were, leapt into a flame, and was raging like a forest on fire. Aunt Janet had always shown herself to be cold, quiet, and deter- mined. From the time she took charge of us Grace was just twelve at the time she had dogmatically pursued her way: What she said was law, and no dispute allowed. We had yielded to her ruling, and no previous explosion bad taken place We did not dream such a thing possible, and were ill prepared for the outburst that came with scorching force upon us. " Was it for this that she had taken charge ot us?" she asked;: " and was her life, one of self-abnegation, and a long battle against the temptations in the world, to be embittered by the shame ot others?" " You are all rebellious," she cried, with her arms extended and fingers working convulsively, " you have plotted to bring all my labor to nought, to make my toil unfruitful, and to leave me no har- vest to gather in, when it shall be asked of me in the Great Day wdiat 1 have done." Then she went into other matters, we keeping a dismayed silence, and a great tact hitherto unknown to us was laid bare. We were really independent of her. Our father had left, us four hundred a. year apiece on reaching the age of twenty, lt is strange, but true.. AYe knew absolutely nothing of our inheritance.

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18 THE THREE SISTERS OF THE BRIARS. " 1 was not appointed to take care ot you," she said. " 1 under- took that duty, a distasteful task, but the Spirit moved me to it be- cause it was right. 1 have striven to shield you from sin, and I have tailed. The fault is not mine, and now I wash my hands of you " The intensity of the action with which she accompanied the final words of her long, passionate outpouring, left us no doubt as to her intention. She was going to leave the Briars and its inmates to their fate. lt was said, and it was done. She left us that very morning, and Chipstone also. Heaven only knows the full force of the tempest that rent her soul, but it must have been very terrible. I do not wish to judge her, but 1 think that self was at the bottom of it. all. ln and around Chipstone she had been renowned for her austere piety. All her religious duties were performed with a regularity which, in that n-.spect, left nothing to be desired; and she had lab- ored to make us run in the same groove. She believed that success had crowned her efforts until Grace left us. She had, in her quiet way, made an exhibition ofthe "Three Sisters of the Briars," as we were called, and, in a dumb way, expressed herselt thus: " See what I have done for them? They are the children of a man and woman of the world people who liked mirthful society and a gay life. They inherit the weakness of those who brought them into the world; but 1 have strengthened them, aimed them; I have put on them the armor which will defy the arrows of the wicked." And yet she had tailed failed most dismally. Chipstone, HER Chipstone, had seen and recognized tbe fact, and laid the sin of Grace's backsliding, by casting her off, at Aunt Janet's door. Itwas thai which had secretly maddened her, and Gwendoline's rebellion brought about the final explosion. While Aunt Janet was hurriedly packing her boxes, which she did without assistance, having declined the offer ot Brindel's help, Gwendoline and 1 kept in the room ic a semi-dazed state, talking, at times, in a feeble, uncertain way. We were fairly taken aback by the sudden turn of events. It is the positive truth that, until Aunt Janet was gone, neither of us thought of reading Grace's letter; but the sound of the cab roll- ing away awoke us from what 1 may be allowed to call a trance of surprise. " She IS gone!" said Gwendoline. " Yes," I said. Then we breathed hard, and looked at each other. " Freedom is ours," said Gwendoline; and then, like two birds released from a dismal cage, we began to sing. A minute later and we were on the verge of crying. Then Gwendoline brought out Grace's letter. " Let us see what our darling says," she said. Thc contents were another great surprise. lt began with a gentle reproach for our silence. She asked if we were never going to answer her letters. " Aunt Janet writes lo me, but in a strain that is very oppressive. She says 1 am not to come to the Briars again, and 1 think it a very harsh sentence. Percy pre- tends to laugh al tbe letters, but 1 am sure they make him angry. We are very poor, of course, but he is kind to me, and lam happy." " She thinks we have read her previous letters," said Gwendoline. "1 think it abominable of Aunt Janet to keep them back, and I don't want to be hypocritical and say that 1 am sorry she is gone for 1 am not." Nor could I say that 1 regretted her burred departure. Reflection was pointing out that we were as slaves set free, and a world of de- lightful surprises lay before us. " Where is Grace living?" 1 asked. "At Laurel Road, Camberwell," replied Gwendoline " and Cam- berwell is near London. Oh! Mary, shall we, shall we?" "Do what?" I asked. " Go up to London and surprise her." " What should we two babes do there?" " Oh! we could take care of ourselves," said Gwendoline lightly; " but of course we must gel some money first." " Mr. Wolfe will give us that," 1 said. He was our family lawyer, but hitherto we had rarely spoken to him. Aunt Janet had transacted all the business which bad to be done. Now Gwendoline was going to be manager, and guardian, and all the rest of it, until I had reached another birthday. Perhaps no living man has ever been more surprised than Mr. Wolfe was when Gwendoline and 1, with trembling courage, marched into his office, and our explanation of the state ot affairs put him, ill may use such an expression, "on Ids back." It is rather slangy, I know, but 1 cannot think of anything else which will at all adequately describe his mentsil condition. But he could not deny tacts. He was trustee, and Grace and Gwendoline cou: d draw four hundred pounds a year from certain funds vested in his name, which, of course, he would now transfer to them, as 1 believe he ought to have done before. But let that rest. He advanced us som mouey, and without enlightening him as to our intentions, we went home, packed our boxes, and set out for London. THE LOVER WHO CAME BOLDLY TO THE DOOR. All Chipstone was aghast. Y'es; 1 think that is a fitting expression to use when describing the agitated state of that very little but decidedly officious market town. Gwendoline and 1 had been to London and had returned. We found Brindel the worse for drink, and it appeared that he had drunk up all the port wine in the cellar. We discharged him, or rather Gwendoline did. 1 never saw moral strength so suddenly developed in a living being. To see her in London, one would have thought her an old traveler, although everything must have been new and bewildering to her as it was to me. Even the cabman who took us to Camber- well could see that she was not to be shamefully put upon, and did not charge more than double his fare. On Gwendoline 1 now relied, and she relied fully upon herself. Though inexperienced, she had plenty of common sense, and was not easily imposed upon. She bore herself at all limes with the calmness indicative of tbe utter absence of self-consciousness which characterizes a thorough-bred woman. We have seen Grace, and found things a little different to what we expected. Laurel Road, Camberwell, was without laurels, and a most depressing place. Grace and her husband were living on the first floor, in rooms so tastelessly furnished that it gives me the heart- ache now to thiuk of them. Everything was so cheap and miserably gaudy. As tor the flimsy chairs, 1 was atraid to sit down upon them. We found her alone, and she was nearly mad with delight when we were shown in. Our coming was so unexpected. I am sure she kissed me fifty times before she had spoken as many words. " Percy is out," she said; " he is looking tor something suitable for a gentleman to do." "And who is Percy?" 1 inquired. "Don't forget, dear, that thanks to Aunt Janet we know absolutely notning about him." " Percy is tbe third son ot Sir Edgar Towers," Grace exclaimed. " His father is poor tor a baronet, and all the money goes to tbe eldest son, wliich is very hard upon poor Percy." " Very hard," we echoed. " And again, his choice ot a profession was unfortunate," Grace continued. " He is called to the bar, but the bar doesn't do anything for him. He was down our way on circuit, as he calls it, when we first saw each other. Ah ! darlings, it was to be, you know, and it is." we laughed at the fatalistic idea, but Grace was serious. She continued her explanations, and told us that they were a little behind with the rent, and the landlady rather rude, but wc were not to mind her. " Shewill be perfectly civil again when Tercy pays her bill," Grace said. We were glad to have good news for Grace; and when we toll her lhat she was mistress of four hundred a year, siie fairly cried for joy. She was drying her eyes when Percy came in. 1 had seen him but once before, but 1 had not forgotten his face. It was handsome, but there was a heavy cloud upon it, which was onlv a little lightened as he favored us with a smile of courtesy on being introduced. " You come from Miss Everingham, 1 presume," he .said. " My last letter to her " " We know nothing ot," interposed Gwendoline. "Grace, ex- plain things; and may I ring, and ask for a cup of tea?" " You may ring," said Percy, gloomily " but I'll bet ten to one the old woman takes no notice of it." 1 did ring, but there was no response; but as soon as Percy heard the good tidings we had brought his whole air changed. His face brightened, his eyes flashed joy, and his whole demeanor became hilarious. " Hang it!" he said; " we need not put up with the old woman's impudence, and we won't." He tugged at the bell violently, and kept it going until a flushed and terrified woman appeared. Her cap was awry, and she held in her hand half a dozen forks brought upstairs unconsciously. " Now, Mrs. Gunter," said Percy, " did you not hear the bell?"

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THE THREE SISTERS OF THE BEIA_RS. 19 "I was in the back hattic, sir," replied Mrs. Gunter, "and wasn't sure it might be next door." He told her to get some tea at once, and bid her make up the bill to the-hour and he would pay it. "If you will lend me twenty pounds," he said to Gwendoline. " 1 shall be obliged. We will re- turn it to you when Grace draws some money." This Gwendoline did, and the tea and bill being brought, he paid the now abject Mrs. Gunter and dismissed her. " Take care ot Grace," he said, " while 1 go and look up a place more suitable for us. We will leave here to night." He went off in the highest spirits, and Grace descanted on his kindness he was so ready to do anything for her comfort, and always energetic. It was such a pity that he had nothing to do. We endorsed her sentiments as far as we could, and 1 must say that I did a little violence to my feelings by doing so. 1 did not like Percy any more than 1 did at first, and yet 1 could not have named the source of my antipathy. He was handsome and courteous, and quite nice with his " sisters," Gwendoline and myself, but there was something about him that repelled me, and I was sorry he was Grace's husband. Percy returned two hours later with the intelligence that he had taken apartments " up west " in Mount Street, and thither we all ad- journed with the least possible delay. Il was quite exciting, the ' packing up in a hurry, and the drive through London after the shops ! were lit up. 1 felt as it I were iu Fairy-land. The apartments in Mount Street were a little better furnished than i those in Camberwell, but otherwise 1 failed to see any improvement, j Percy, however, comforted us with the assurance that Grace was now in another atmosphere, in a better land, and among superior people. Grace seemed to be very happy, and she told us afterward that she had now no care. Percy was now independent, and free from I" anxiety, and she, like a mirror, reflected his happiness. Our stay in town was bright enough. Percy, supplied with money, took us about. Like, all country people, we wanted lo see the sights, and insisted on going to the Tower, up the Monument and St. Paul's, and to Madame Tussaud's. 1 rather fancy that none of these places were to Percy's taste, but he bore his martyrdom with good humor. Personally, 1 must confess, that the Tower has a tendency to de- ! press rather than elevate the spirits, and once up the Monument aud \ St. Paul's is suffieienffor a lifetime. Maturity and experience has since told me that we can have a position in society without ascend- ing the multitude ot steps iu either, to stand with trembling knees and look down upon a map ot London al our feet. We returned to Chipstone, as Ihave said, and Chipstone was aghast at our dreadful goings on. We two girls lived without a guardian or chaperon, and Gwendoline bought apretlypony and handsome carriage to drive about in. We were really quite shocking in our innocent blundering. As for that wretch Brindel, he went about drinking and saying all sorts ot wicked things until he got another place. He did not come to us for a character, and soon after robbed his mistress, and was prosecuted for lbs crime, and also for obtaining a situation with a false character, which he wrote himself, lt was, on that ac- count, a very good one. He got two years' imprisonment, and we have never heard of him since. Aunt Janet, did not write to us, but communicated in a printed form. Stories and lectures ot the very goody sort were showered upon us. For months there was scarcely a post that did not bring us one or more; but in time they began to dwindle down, and at last fell away altogether. Good advice, printed and posted, comes Śexpensive in the long run. So we lived on at the Briars alone with the servants two women and old Boggles, the gardener. Boggles, tor a time, was our cham- pion, which we did not know until Peggy, the housemaid, let out the secret. We noticed that Boggles for weeks always had a black-eye, or per- haps two. lt was quite interesting to note the rise, progress, and decay of each in turn, from the swelling stage down to the final chameleon-like hues. But still we did not think it respectable, and intended speaking to him when Peggy interposed. "Don't do that. Miss Gwendoline and Miss Mary,'' she said. '* Mister Boggles" Peggy called every man Mister " gets them eyes for you." "For us!" we exclaimed; and Gwendoline remarked, "It begets them for us he keeps them entirely to himself." "You don't quite understand, Miss Gwendoline." said Peggy. " Mister Boggles goes out and fights them as talks after Mr. Brin- del, and sometimes he gets the best ot it iind sometimes the worst." We understood her then, and Boggles from lhat time was precious to us. We said nothing to him about his being our champion, but we quietly heaped favors upon him, and maae his path ot life smooth with a supply of good velveteen coats and the best tobacco. Percy did not seem to be in a hurry to come down, but Grace wrote often, saying she would soon come. At last she did come, and alone, poor thing! " Percy thinks he shall be able to work himself in some Govern- ment post," she said, " and is looking up some ot his old friends. Mr. Wolfe had given us a hint about Percy. He had, as the law then entitled him to do, got possession ot her money, and had with- drawn it entirely from our lawyer's keeping. Little as we knew ot the world, we did not quite like that. But we were happy. Grace was with us. We three Were to- gether again. Our Aunt Janet, " the woman with the iron hand," as Gwendoline callec her, was away. Ah, what delightful times we had, in spite of the virtuous indignation and the cold stares with which Chipstone favored us. The spring came, and Grace was still with us. Percy did not comedown, but he wrote often, and said he was " working his way," but he did not send her any money. Early in the spring there was an addition to thc Briars. Grace gave birth to a little boy. He came as a revelation to us, and we could talk and think of nothing else. All tbe house was sacrificed to that precious child. He was like Percy, and so we wrote and told him; and he sent back a loving letter to Grace, promising to come down in a few days. How she watched for him, how she yearned for him; but the tew days elapsed, aud lie did not appear. Oue day, however, we were honored with a visit. Gwendoline and 1 were doing our share toward killing Grace's bov with kindness, when Peggy brought up a card, and said that the gentleman was below in the drawing-room. " The gentleman!" cried Grace, from the couch on which she was reclining too weak yet to help us with coddling the little one; " it must be Percy. " " Mr. Cornwall Steyne," read Gwendoline, holding the card over. the baby's head. " A friend of Percy's," said Grace. " I have seen him once. He js very genial, and Percy says he is tnekinde.st fellow in thé world." 1 was not disposed to take Percy's recommendation, and therefore not at all inclined to trouble myself about Mr. Steyne, so I begged ot Gwendoline to go down to him. She went, and stayed what 1 thought a most unreasonable time with him, and when she came back she was quite glowing with pleasure. "' You seem to have been in most congenial society," 1 said sar- castically. " Really he is very nice," replied Gwendoline. " Fancy his com- ing down here especially to inquire after Grace, lie says that he heard Percy speak of his little son and heir, and he promised to come and see how he was getting on." " In the place of Percy?" " Percy, it seems, is kept in town by important business." " Does .Mr. Steyne want to see the baby?" 1 asked. " Yes, and he is coming to-morrow to luncheon," replied Gwen- doline. " I invited him." Grace and 1 both threw up our hands in horror. What would be said now? but Gwendoline in her determined way said she did not care. " It will do no harm," she said, "lam independent of all idle talkers. 1 like Mr. Steyne, and 1 am sure that he likes me, so 1 in- vited him to luncheon, and it must be a swell affair. Do you think tbat Boggles could wait? He is at present free from contused optics." I can be determined also at a pinch, and I stood firm against any attempt at show in our quiet household for a stranger. 1 also doubted Boggles as a butler. He would be wanting to rake the dirty plates like weeds off the table, or something of that sort, and Gwen- doline yielded so far; but the luncheon she arranged for was fully worthy of the occasion. Mr. Steyne came very punctually on tbe morrow, and 1 received him with a matronly stiffness I thought proper to assume on the oc- casion. His arrival had somehow put me into this position of cha- peron to Gwendoline, and 1 was prepared to do my duty with requi- site firmness. But alas! who could be firm with honest, genial, generous, hand- some Cornwall Steyne. Truly one ťf the best men I have ever known. I only know of one man who could be compared to him, and he is far, far away. Cornwall secured my sisterly affections at once, and witli true chaperonic instinct I saw that he was bent upon wooing and winning Gwendoline. But I had not the authority of a chaperon or a guardian to say yea or nay. ln any case 1 should have had two willful people to deal with, and as matters were 1 was powerless. With a wisdom and discretion decidedly beyond my years, I re-

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20 THE THREE SISTERS OF THE BRIARS. 1 replied. ' we are absolutely We see no man or might except Bog- solved to favor the suit of Cornwall Steyne, and was exceedingly gracious to him. lt was 1 who pressed him to stay and partake ot four o'clock tea. " You must have mercy upon us," 1 said, "it is not often lhat we get an opportunity to speak to a civilized stranger." " But you have neighbors," he said. " People who live near us, but nothing more,' " Do they not call?" "No." " But you must have friends," he urged. "None, 1 assure you," 1 replied calmly; ' alone, Chipstone is virtually a wilderness to us. woman beyond our domestics at the Briars. 1 gles, who is in love with Gwendoline and myself, and is our cham- pion." "And may 1 ask, who is Boggles?" inquired Cornwall Steyne, with a jealous glare in his eyes. " Our gardener," 1 answered. He laughed lightly at this, and afterward talked pleasantlv. But he seemed to be reflective, and went away with the look of a man who has an insolvable problem to solve. He called the next day and merely left a card. This looked bad from a cbaperonic point ot view, and Gwendoline was cross for the rest of the afternoon. But he did not leave Chipsione, and the fol- lowing day we met him in the High Street, and put all the gossips on the qui vive by securing him as a cavalier servanti while we did our shopping. Somehow, Gwendoline or 1 found an excuse for going shopping nearly every morning for a wtek after this, and we always met Cornwall Steyne. We went together, as a rule, but once Gwendo- line went alone. She was absent a long while, and I gathered from her talk that she had wandered a little way into the country with Cornwall. "I asked him to come home to luncheon," she said, " but he pleaded an engagement. It was not very kind of him to say no." A day or two after this, 1 went out in the morning alone. Gwen- doline stayed with Grace, who was not so well, thanks to a letter from Percy, telling ber that he could not come to the Briars for a while. Ere 1 had gone far 1 met Cornwall, who begged of me lo turn into one of the little by-ways with him. " 1 want to speak to you," he said. " 1 have a favor to ask." " Would not Gwendoline have been more pliable?" 1 asked. " No," he said. " 1 prefer you. lt is you who are the ruling spirit of tlie Briars, and what you say will be law. The favor I have to ask of you is, lhat you will write to my mother, and ask her to stay with you." I stared at him a little, and he affected to laugh; but he was more troubled than 1 had ever seen him, and in a hesitating way he went on " My mother is a widow. 1 dare say 1 have told you. If have not, 1 ought lo have done so. She is very quiet and nice, and will take to you girls immensely. Do ask her, please." " Will you come io see us then?" iasked. "Yes, with pleasure," he replied; "with more pleasure than 1 can express in words. " 1 understood him, but, of course, we could not talk about it. The dear fellow, in his generous way, was giving us a chance ot con- founding all the scandal-mongers of Chipstone. He knew, and we knew, that our chief sin was ignorance of the world and indifference to the laws by wdiich society attempts to govern itself. Mrs. Steyne was a woman ot birth and prestige, and her being at the Briars would be like girding it round and about with impregnable lines of defense. 1 asked him where 1 should write; and he gave me Mrs. Steyne's address in London. " Of course 1 have already written to her," he said, " and I have her answer that she will be only too glad to know you." " Or any other friends her son may know," 1 said. " Well, I suppose it is so," he answered, with a laugh; " I am a king in ber eyes, and the king can do no wrong." lt was clear to me that he had helped us out ot a dilemma, so 1 wrote to Mrs. Steyne without delay, and within a week she was at the Briars. Mrs. Steyne had been a great beauty in her time, and was very handsome still She had a presence that made itself felt, and a quiet warmth toward us that charmed us immensely. Without lecturing, as our Aunt Janet used to do, she quietly put lis right in fifty little matters, and led us to see Ihe simple errors of our ways. Ere long Cornwall, who was a frequent visitor, proposed to Gwen- doline, and his mother approved ot his choice. She so doted upon him, that 1 believe, and 1 say it without any disparagement of Gwendoline, who was well worthy of him, that if be had honestly chosen to rnarry the daughter of a savage chief, her motherly satis- faction could have been no less. If " Cornie," as she called him, chose, his choice must be correct. During the three weeks consumed in leading up to this point Grace still waited for Pere}', and lie was apparently as far off as ever iu coming to see us. I never liked him, and now something akin to hatred of him look possession ot ne. " Why should he torture poor Grace with this suspense?" 1 said to Gwendoline; " why does he not come? Somebody ought to say something to him." " Somebody has written something," replied Gwendoline. " Can you keep a secret?" "Oh! yes!" " Cornie has written to him, and he has written a very abrupt, not to say rude, reply. Cornie says that he has been very wild, and is careless to a culpable degree." " Poor Grace!" " Ah! poor Grace. 1 am afiaid she will have more thorns than roses with that man. All the time she has been here he has not sent her a penny, and it is her own money too. What a cruel law it is to make man master ot all we possess." How could we give vent to the suspicion lhat was in both our minds? Comparing notes afterward we found that the same idea had been haunting us both. Percy Towers was tired ot Grace, and was spending his time and ber money in a manner congenial to him. There was a warp in the woof of this man, and nobody on earth could set it right, lie was born with a bent in the wrong direction, and no effort had been made to make him grow straight. Whatever good he showed was transitory, while the evil was permanent. Meanwhile it had leaked out in Chipstone that Grace was married to the son ot a baronet, and all the petty society graciously forgave her for a sin she had never committed. Mrs. Steyne's coming re- moved the shadow from Gwendoline and myself, and the weather- vane ot public opinion veered suddenly round. It was astonishing wnat a number of friends we suddenly had, and by the advice of Mrs. Steyne, in whom we had learned to con- fide, we received them good-humoredly. Even Mrs. Roderick honored us with a call, and with mournfulness referred to Aunt Janet as her poor mistaken friend, Miss Everingham. When the approaching marriage ot Gwendoline and Cornwall was announced we had not an open and avowed enemy in the place. lt was on the eve ot their wedding that a letter in Percy's hand- writing came for Gwendoline. The post-mark was Paris, and some good spirit whispered to me to hold it back for thc present. He had previously been asked to come to the wedding, and had pleaded the old plea " he had business of importance on hand, and must re- main in town for the present." And yet here he was plainly in Paris, although a few days before he could not leave London, lt was clear to me that something was wrong, and with a vague tear upon me, 1 went through the cere- mony and the gayeties of the day. As I had mistrusted Percy Towers by instiuct, so I believed in Cornwall Steyne, and in neither case did I err. Gwendoline drew a prize in the marriage lottery, and the radiance 1 saw on her face as he took her from her home, thank God, never utterly died away. It has sobered down, as all the joys ot our young lives must with years, but the source ot it remains unclouded. All Chipstone shared in the wedding. If not invited to the wed- ding they thronged into Ihe church. Boggles, although ldo not as- sume that HE was part of Chipstone, was there with a great while favor made by his sympathizing wife, and somewhat scandalized us by putting deep-toned " Amen's " into the service where they were neither expected nor wanted. But Boggles, though simple, had been true, and we could forgive him much, even his running after the carriage containing the bride and bridegroom, huzzaing like a madman. Cornwall gave him a very handsome " tip " as he went away. The happy pair, to use the acknowledged phrase, went away to Paris to spend a month or so, and then returned to Fenrnoor, Corn- wall's home in Lincolnshire. Ere the honeymoon was out Sirs. Steyne had left us, and Grace and 1, with the baby, had the Briars to ourselves. But what of Percy's letter? It was so base a thing, that as I thiuk of it now my blood tingles. He had left ber, for good feeling that their union had been inharmonious. They had been " married, not mated," he coolly wrote, and he hoped that she would soon for- get him. Her money, he deeply regretted, had been " lost " that is, lie had spent it, and who he went away lo Paris with 1 alone guessed. Grace never measured nor guessed the depth of his base- ness.

21 0021

THE THREE SISTER.5 OF THE BRIARS. 21 THE LOVER WHO WENT AWAY. The last story will be a very short one, as it mainly concerns my- self, and I do not care to dwell upon my past. After Gwendoline's marriage, Grace and I and the baby tell upon a solitude almost as great as the Briars bad known immediately after Aunt Janet went away. We only faintly encouraged society, and society, accepting the situation, fell away from us. Grace pined, but she did not complain. In her little boy she found a joy which I hoped would have been a panacea for her suffering. But although it was something, it was not all that could be desired. The ohild was at once a source of joy and pain. She loved to look upon him, but then he was so like his father. Young Percy Grace named him after his lather was a very pretty child. Peggy doted upon him, and Boggles would doff his hat to the child in the garden, and call him " Sir Percy." " He'll be the lad," I heard him say on one occasion, " to make amends for his father. Ah, he'll live to be a bright man of the world." But Boggles, with all his fidelity, was a pool prophet. Little Percy was not long for this world. We never knew what was the matter with him, and no doctor we sought could tell us; but, after appearing robust for a year, he suddenly began to fall away, and in six months he was dead. Grace's grief was not outspoken; it was too deep for words. The utter desolation of her heart she could find no way ot expressing, rt even she had desired it. But grief did not kill her at once; it sel- dom does when the age of womanhood is realized. It only dragged her slowly and surely down. As for myself, I had my secret sorrow. None knew how George had loved me, or why 1 had deliberately chilled him and sent him away. If 1 had permitted him lo tell me how he loved me, wnat could 1 have told him but the truth. But you will remember that this was in the days of Aunt Janet's rule the time of iron oppression when I knew that I should have been mocked as a forward child it his secret had been declared, and all of us scourged for" my sin. 1 thought it better that George should be discouraged and sent away, but 1 never dreamed that he would be absent so long. We had no words; I received his advances coldly. I refused to be ever alone with him, even for a moment. He read, and yet misread me; he believed that I wished him gone, and yet did not love hinr. He was right and he was wrong, and he went away. How often during these lonely years 1 have spent with Grace, brightened only with the periodical visils ot Gwendoline and Corn- wall, have 1 sat and watched the avenue, hoping to see bis dear familiar form. Ahl what would I give for a glimpse of his face again. Is this an unmaidenly confession? 1 think not. 1 am twTenty- seven years of age, and I shall live and die an old maid. Why should 1 be ashamed of loving? Love is the gladness of the heart, the fulness of affection; and without it life is as dreary as the moor, and as monotonous as the beating of an Indian drum. It is all one note without music. I remember the night when George went away. He came in as he used to do, with the familiarity oi an old friend, and he sat down beside me. 1 was seated by this old bureau on which 1 write. " I bave settled to travel a little," he said, " and 1 amgoing away to-morrow." " Y'ou ccnild not do better," 1 answered. " Traveling is necessary to a man; it completes his education." It was a cold, unfeeling way to receive such an announcement, and little more passed between us. he bid us all adieu, parting with Grace, Gwendoline, and myself, in the nursery, and with Aunt Janet in the hall. After he was gone Aunt Janet remarked to me: " 1 diil not notice until to-day that George Burdleigh was no longer a boy; 1 highly approved of his going away." And from that liour I have never seen him. No word or sign has come from him, and he must be dead. Poor George! and yes it is so poor Mnry! Grace lingered 'on for eight hours, and has at last succumbed. Her husband left her, but would not allow himself to be forgotten. Cast off bv his father and friends, he has, in the abject poverty to which he has reduced himself, had the meanness to appeal to her and to me for help. He has beaten the life out ot her bv inches, and she is gone, ooor thing. Why is there not a law to punish the slow murderer as well as the swift death-dealing assassin? The latter is the more merciful man ot the two. 1 have had her buried in the grave where the little one lies, on the sunny side of our fine old church; and now here alone I pen the slory of our simple lives, lt is settled that I shall now go down to Fenwold to live with Gwendoline; and the Briars and its contents are to be disposed of. If 1 bad hope, 1 would wait a little longer; but hope is dead within me, and 1 leave here, taking with me my secret, to be known only when I am gone; and these words 1 pen will be found in the secret drawer of my old bureau. ******** Here ended the manuscript, and as 1 slowly rolled it up, 1 pondered on its concluding lines with an aching heart. 1 saw how the ob- stinacy of my nature, which I called strong resolve, has kept me from happiness all these years; and 1 reviled myself most bitterly. Was it too late to make amends? Alary must still be living, and I could easily trace and seek her out. A few inquiries would suffice. 1 had just formed this resolve, when 1 was aroused from my reverie by a knock at the door. " Who is there?" 1 inquired. " Me, sir; the chambermaid," was the reply. I was in no humor to commune with chambermaids, but 1 unlocked the door and let her in. " lt you please, sir, here is the auctioneer's young man, who wishes to speak to you," she said. " I'll come down to him," 1 replied. He was in the coffee-room awaiting me with a book and pencil in his hand. " You bought lot ninety-six, 1 believe," he said. I bowed in assent. " A paper has been accidentally left in one of the drawers. Miss Everingham is very anxious to regain possession of it. lt is in a secret drawer, and 1 am instructed how to open it." lie had got thus tar when I stopped him with a gentle motion ot my hand. " 1 have found the papers," 1 said, " and shall be glad to restore tbeni to Miss Everingham herselt. lt is a whim of mine lo do so. Where can 1 find her?" " She is staying tor a day or two, until her affairs are settled, at the cottage of her old gardener," replied the clerk; "it is a little way down Nursery Lane." " 1 know it," 1 said, " and will go at once." Twilight was in the lane when 1 entered it. The hedgerows had been allowed to grow high, and had been trimmed so as to nearly meet overhead. The place was almost as still as tbe aisle of an empty church. With quick, noiseless steps, yet fast beating heart 1 wended my way. Tlie robin piped in the thorn bush, the blackbird whistled and twitted from the summit of a tall elm, and these sounds only broke- the stillness. I had journeyed to within sight of the cottage gate, when I saw it swinging on its hinges, and a woman dressed in black came forth. 1 had no need lo speculate who it was, tor the figure in my eyes was unchanged. We approached each other, she without any sign ot recognition. I raised my bat, and she stepped back with a Hushed face. "Pardon me," I said in a low tone, "but you sent for some papers you left in an old bureau which 1 purchased at the Briars. 1 thought it better to come myself, because " I sprung forward and threw my arm around her. or she would have fallen. " George!" came faintly from her lips, and 1 clasped her tightly, whispering words o! hope and joy in her ears. " And you do not think me so much changed?" she said by and by, as we*sauntered slowly toward the cottage. " 1 see no change in you," I replied, " unless it is that you arc more beautiful than vou were when 1 left you long ago." " And yet 1 am growing old." " You can never seem old to me, Alar}-." lt was a look that answered me, and together we lingered until the gloom of night had fallen, and even then there was no darkness lor us. The rays of the sun of love have returned to us, and hence- forth we shall know no more night on earth. A. love that has In en tried by a parting of ten years' duration will noi pale or wither under the minor cares of life. THE END. A I ||n ť ť Send $1, $-3. $3. or $"> for a retail I Ś II HI I I V box by express of tlie best Candies I | il 111 I I in America, put up elegantly ond w il 11 U I strictlypare, suitable for presents. Refers to all Chicago. Trial orders solicited. Ad- dress C. F. GlSTHEIt, Confectioner, 78 Madison St., Chicago. Seaside Library No. 1818. "CALLED BA CEY. " By Hugh Conway. Price 10 Cents P. O. Box ST51. GEORGE MCNRO, Publisher. 17 to -ĎI Vandewater St., N. Y. Seaside Library No. 1705. " THE SILVERADO SQUATTERS." By Robert Loris Stevenson. Price 10 Cents. GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher. P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y.

Back matter. 22 i

THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. List op Authors. The Seaside Library ORDINARY EDITION. GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 17 to 27 Vandewater St., P. O. Box 3751. NEW YORK. The following works are for sale by all news- dealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by the pub- lisher. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. LIST OF AUTHORS. EDMOND ABOUT'S WORKS. 796 Romance of a Brave Man............ 20 801 The Man with the Broken Ear....... 10 807 Captain Bitterlin................... 20 1203 Germaine.......................... 20 1380 Tolla: A Tale of Modern Rome...... 10 1457 The Fellah......................... 10 WM. HARRISON AINSWORTH'S WORKS. 44 The Tower of London............... 20 313 Old St. Paul's ...................... 20 348 Mvsterieť of the Court of the Stuarts.. 10 360 Windsor Castle...................... 10 1200 Beau Nash; or, Bath in the Eighteenth Century.......................... 20 Î228 Stanley Brereton.................... 20 1383 The Constable de Bourbon........... 20 MRS. ALEXANDER'S WORKS. 30 Her Dearest Foe . .................. 20 36 The Wooing O't..................... 20 46 The Heritage of Langdale............ 20 370 Ralph Wilton's Weird............... 10 400 Whicli Shall it Be?.................. 20 532 Maid, Wife, or WidŤw.............. 10 1231 The Frčres.....:...................20 1259 Valerie's Fate...................... 10 1391 Look Before You Leap.............. 20 1502 The Australian Aunt................ 10 1595 The Admiral's Ward................. 20 1721 The Executor..............'......... 20 THOMAS ALEXANDER'S WORKS. 567 Fish and Fishing.................... 10 571 Game Birds......................... 20 ALISON'S WORKS. 1673 Princess Charmian.................. 10 J785 "So Near, and Yet So Far"......... 10 F. ANSTEY'S WORKS. 1415 Vice VersS; or, A Lesson to Fathers.. 20 1449 The Black Poodle................... 10 BERTHOLD AUERBACH'S WORKS. 422 On tiie Heights..................___ 30 454 Little Barefoot...................... 20 841 Brigitta............................. 10 1239 Spinoza............................ 20 1347 The Professor's Lady................ 10 MISS JANE AUSTEN'S WORKS. 819 Pride and Prejudice................. 20 836 Sense and Sensibility............... 20 956 Emma.................. 20 987 Mansfield Park...................... 20 10,50 Northamrer Abbey.................. 10 1313 Lady Susan (with Illustration), and The Watsons.......................... 10 HONORE DE BALZAC'S WORKS. 410.Eugenia Grandet ................... 10 1564 The Purse, and Albert Savarus......10 R. M. BALLANTYNE'S WORKS. 1140 Snowflakes and Sunbeams from the Far North; or, tbe Young Fur Traders. 20 1729 Tlie Red Eric; or, The Whaler's Last Cruise............................ 10 1730 Tho Fire Brigade; or. Fighting the Flames.................... 10 1731 Erling the Bold..................... 10 MAGDALEN BARRETT'S WORKS. 365 Lester Ashland's Wife............... 10 547 The Banker's Daughter.............. SO &5 Mother aud Son.............,......10 i AKTSTE BEALE'S WORKS. 1358 The Miller's Daughter........... 1474 Simplicity and Fascination....... ...... 20 .....20 1672 Idonea ............................ 20 1787 The Fisher Village.................. 10 CUTHBERT BEDE'S WORKS. 514 Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green (150 illustrations)....................... 20 1061 Little Mr. Bouncer and his Friend Ver- dant Green........................ 10 ADOLPHE BELOT'S WORKS. 845 876 882 934 1021 1036 1057 1078 llll 1191 1353 1353 The Stranglers...................... 20 La Graude Florine................... 20 The Parricide...................... 20 Dacolard (Sequel to " The Parricide") 20 The Parisian Sultana................ 20 The Thirst for the Unknown (Sequel to "The Parisian Sultana")........20 The King of the Gamblers........... 20 The Black Venus (Sequel to " The Thirst for the Unknown ").......... 20 Article 47.......................... 20 The Woman of Fire................. 20 Marguerite Lacoste ; or,Fleur-de-Crime. Part 1............................20 Marguerite Lacoste ; or,Fleur-de-Crime. Part II........................... 20 E. BERGER'S WORKS. 1178 Charles Auchester................... 20 1188 Counterparts; or, The Cross of Love. First half......................... 20 1188 Counterparts; or, The Cross of Love. Second half....................... 20 WALTER BESANT AND JAMES RICE'S WORKS. 236 Shepherds All and Maidens Fair..... 10 300 By Celia's Arbor................... 20 380 Tlie Golden Butterfly................ 20 441 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay............ 10 446 When the Ship Comes Home......... 10 700 The Seamy Side................... 20 702 Sweet Nelly, My Heart's Delight...... 10 726 Ready-Money Mortiboy.............. 20 909 " Over the Sea with the Sailor ". ... 10 1104 The Chaplain of the Fleet............ 20 1167 The Captains' Room................. 10 1297 Tbe Revolt of Man (by Walter Besant) 10 1340 They Were Married !................ 10 1433 All Sorts and Conditions of Men: An Impossible Story................. 20 1448 The Case of Mr. Eucraft............. 10 1482 ' ' Let Nothing You Dismay " (by Walter Besant)............................ 10 1487 The Humbling of the Memblings (by Walter Besant)................. 10 1492 The Monks of Thelema.............. 20 1623 The Ten Years' Tenant.............. 10 1732 All in a Garden Fair: The Simple Story of Three Boys and a Girl (by Walter Besant).................... 20 1748 A Glorious Fortune (by Walter Besant) 10 1749 Uncle Jack (by Walter Besant)....... 10 1754 Love Finds the Way, and Other Stories 10 M. BETHAM-EDWARDS' WORKS. 893 Forestalled......................... 10 1200 Exchange No Robbery.............. 10 1414 The Svlvestres; or, The Outcasts..... 20 1470 Kitty............................... 20 1706 "Disarmed!"....................... 10 1714 Pearla; or, The World After an Island 20 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON'S WORKS. 1859 Railroad and Churchyard........... 10 1480 Tlie Wedding-March................. 10 1546 Captam Mansana.................... 10 1630 Svnnôvé Solbakken. A Norwegian Tale..........................Tf. 10 WILLIAM BLACK'S WORKS. 13 A Princess of Thule................ 20 28 A Daughter of Heth................. 10 47 In Silk Attire....................... 10 48 Tlie Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 51 Kilmenv........................... 10 53 The Monarch of Mincing Lane....... 10 79 Madcap Violet (small type)......... 10 604 Madcap Violet (large type)........... 2C 242 The Three Feathers................. 10 390 Tlie Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena............. 10 417 Macleod of Dare.................... 20 451 Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart.......... 10 568 Green Pastures and Piccadiily........ 10 816 White Wines: A Yachting Romance.. 10 826 Oliver Goldsmith................... 1Ű 950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times.....2<J 1025 The Pupil of Aurelius............... 10 1032 That Beautiful Wretch.............. 10 1161 The Four MacNicals.................10 1364 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands....................... 10 1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People.................... 10 1556 ShandonT3ells....................... 20 1683 Yolande............................ 2f E. OWENS BLACKBURNE'S WORKS. 954 The Glen of Silver Birches........... 10 1080 The Love that Loves Al way......... 20 1571 The Heart of Erin. An Irish Story of To-Day.........................20 1618 A Bunch of Shamrocks.............. 10 R. D: BLACKMORE'S WORKS. 126 Erema; or, My Father's Sin.......... 20 535 Lorna Doone........................ 20 660 Cripps, the Carrier.................. 20 754 Mary Anerley...................... 20 769 Clara Vaughan...................... 20 932 Cradock Nowell. First half.........20 932 Cradock Nowell. Second half....... 20 984 TUe Maid of Sker................... 20 1131 Christowell........................ 20 1236 Alice Lorraine: A Tale of the South Downs........................... 20 GEORGE BORROWS WORKS. 1368 Lavengro : The Scholar The Gypsy-ť- The Priest........................ 20 1379 The Romany Rye (A Sequel to " La- vengro").......................... 20 MISS M E. BR ADDON'S WORKS. 26 Aurora Floyd....................... 20 69 To the Bitter End................... 20 89 The Lovels of Arden................ 20 95 Dead Men's Shoes................... 20 109 Eleanor's Victory.................... 20 114 Darrell Markham.................... 10 140 Tlie Lady Lisle___.................. 10 171 Hostages to Fortune................. 20 190 Henry Dunbar...................... 20 215 Birds of Prey....................... 20 235 An Open Verdict................... 20 251 Lady Audley's Secret...............20 254 The Octoroon....................... 10 260 Charlotte's Inheritance............... 20 287 Leighton Grange.................... 10 295 Lost for Love...................... 20 322 Dead-Sea Fruit...................... 20 459 The Doctor's Wife.................. 20 469 Rupert Godwin..................... 2u 481 Vixen............................... 20 482 The Cloven Foot.................. 20 500 Joshua Hagsťird's Daughter..... . . 20 519 Weavers and Weft............___10 525 Sir Jasper's Tenant... ............ 20 539 A Strange World.................... 20 55C Fenton's Quest.....................20 562 John Marchmont's Legacy..........20 572 The Lady's Mile................... 20 579 Strangers and Pilgrims............ 20 581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon).......................... 20 619 Taken at the Flood................'.. 20 641 Only a Clod...................____ 20 640 Publicans and Sinners.............. 20 656 George Caultield's Journey.......... 10 665 The Shadow in the Corner___........ 10 666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh.............."___ ....... 20 701 Barbara; or, Splendid Miserv........20 705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon)......................... 20 734 Diavola; or. Nobody's Daughter. Part 1........................... 20 734 Diavola; or, Nobody's Daughter. Part II........................... 20 811 Dudlev Carleon..................... 10 828 Tlie Fatal Marriage.................. 10 837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie...... 20 943 Asphodel........................... 20 1154 The Misletoe Bough................ 20 1265 Mount Royal........................ 20 1469 Flower and Weed................... 10 1553 The Golden Calf..................... 20 1638 A Hastv Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon)........................ 20 1715 Phantqm Fortune................... 20 1736 Under the Red Flag................. 10 CHARLOTTE. EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE'S WORKS. 3 Jane Eyre (in small type)............ lQ 396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type)... 20 162 Shirley............................. ÎK

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. List of Authors. 811 The Professor....................... 10 329 Wuthering Heights..... ............ 10 438 Villette............................ 20 967 The Tenant of Wildfell Had......... 20 iOSS Agnes Grey......................... 20 RHODA BROUGHTON'S WORKa 186 ' ' Good-Bye, Sweetheart "........... 10 269 Red as a Rose is She................ 20 285 Cometh Up as a Flower.............. 10 402 " Not Wisely, But Too Well "....... 20 458 Nancy.............................. 20 526 Joan............................... 20 762 Second Thoughts.................... 20 1727 Belinda............................20 ROBERT BUCHANAN'S WORKS. 1135 The Shadow of the Sword........... 20 1289 The Martyrdom of Madeline......... 20 1506 Love Me Forever. A Christmas Carol in Prose.......................... 10 1752 God and the Man................... 20 1759 Annan Water....................... 20 .809 The New Abelard................... 10 CAPT. FRED BURNABY'S WORKS. 448 On Horseback through Asia Minor.... 20 767 A Ride to Khiva...................10 BEATRICE M. BUTT'S WORKS. 574 Delicia.............................20 605 Hester.............................. 10 856 Miss Molly.......................... 20 913 Passion Flowers.................... 10 1554 Géraldine Hawthorne................ 20 B. H. BUXTON'S WORKS. 831 Jennie of " The Prince's"....... 873 From the Wings................ 1103 Sceptre aud Ring..............., ....... 20 .......20 ,.......20 ADA CAMBRIDGE'S WORKS. 486 My Guardian....................... 20 1294 A Mere Chance.....................20 MRS. H. LOVETT CAMERON'S WORKS. 182 Juliet's Guardian.................... 10 356 Deceivers Ever...................... 10 ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY'S WORKS. 885 Wooe.d and Married ............... 20 708 Nellie's Memories................... 20 949 Qtieenie's Whim.................... 20 1815 Not Like Other Girls............... 20 CHRISTINE CARLTON'S WORKS. 1820 Muriel; or, Because of His Love for Her.............................. 20 1323 A D.iughter of Italy................. 10 1830 Howell Farnsworth's Son............ 20 THOMAS CARLYLE'S WORKS. 952 Carlyle's Essays on Characteristics, Richter, Burns, Luther's Psalm, Schiller, and Memoirs of Mirabeau, with a Biographical Sketch of Thos. Carlyle by C. N. Williamson....... 20 957 Reminiscences by Thomas Carlyle. Edited by James Anthony Froude.. 20 973 Essays on Goethe................... 20 CERVANTES' WORKS. 691 Don Quixote. 691 Don Quixote. 691 Don Quixote. 691 Don Quixote. 691 Don Quixote. Illustrated. Illustrated. Illustrated. Illustrated. Illustrated. Part I... Partll.. Part III. Part IV. Part V.. VICTOR CHERBULIEZ'S WORKS. 419 Mademoiselle Saint-Maur's Lover..... 10 432 Jean Teterol'3 Idea.................. 10 435 Samuel Brohl and Company.......... 10 HENRY COCKTON'S WORKS. ?39 Valentine Vox. Part II........... Î59 Valentine Vox. Part I............ 20 20 WILKIE COLLINS' WORKS. ID The Woman in White 14 The Dead Secret...... 22 Man and Wife........ 82 The QueeD of Hearts.. 38 Antonina............ 42 Hide-and-Seek........ ..........20 ..........20 ..........20 ..........20 ..........20 .......... 20 76 The New Magdalen................. 10 94 The Law and'The Lady............. 20 t80 Armadale........................... 20 191 Mv Lady's Money................... 10 325 The Two Destinies................... 10 350 No Name.......................... 20 W .aiter Dark.......................10 409 The Haunted Hotel.................. 10 433 A Shocking Story................... 10 487 A Rogue's Life...................... 10 551 The Yellow Mask................... 10 583 Fallen Leaves....................... 20 654 Poor Miss Finch.................... 20 675 The Moonstone...................... 20 696 Jezebel's Daughter.................. 20 713 The Captain's I ast Love............. 10 721 Basil............................... 20 745 The Magic Spectacles................ 10 905 Duel in Heme Wood................ 10 928 Who Kilted Zebedee?................ 10 971 The Frozen Deep................... 10 990 The Black Robe..................... 20 1164 Y'our Money or Your Life..........10 1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time....................... 20 1770 Love's Random Shot................ 10 LUCY RANDALL COMFORT'S WORKS. Claire's Love-Life................... 10 Love at Saratoga...................20 Eve, The Factory Girl............... 20 Black Bell.........................20 Corisande Three Sewing Girls............... His First Love.................... Nina; or, The Mystery of Love..!.. Vendetta; or. The Southern Heiress. Wild and Wilful .................. Elf rida; or, A Young Girl's Love-Story 20 Love and Jealousy (rlluslrated)....... 20 Married for Money (illustrated).......20 495 552 Ç72 716 854 907 1019 1133 1192 1254 1533 1709 1810 REV. W. J. CONYBEARE AND REV. J 8. HOWSON'S WORKS. 730 The Life and Epistles of the Apostle Paul. First half.................. _j0 730 The Life and Epistles of the Apostle Paul. Second half................ 20 J. FENIMORE COOPER'S WORKS. 222 Last of the Mohicans................20 224 The Deerslayer...................... 20 226 The Pathfinder...................... 20 229 The Pioneers........................ 20 231 The Prairie......................... 20 233 The Pilot........................... 20 585 The Water-Witch...................20 590 Tiie Two Admirals.................. 20 615 The Red Rover...................... 20 761 Wing-and-Wing.......,.............20 940 The Spv............................ 20 1066 The Wyandotte..................... 20 1257 Afloat and Ashore................. 20 1262 Miles Walliugford (Sequel to "Afloat and Ashore ")...................... 20 1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Vignerons.......................... 20 1605 TheMonikins....................... 20 1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedic- tines. A Legend of the Rhine.....20 1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan's Peak. A Tale of the Pacific.................. 20 GEORGIANA M. CRAIK'S WORKS. 252 Hard to Bear........................ 10 506 Sylvia's Choice............. ........ 20 543 Anne Warwick...................... 10 798 Leslie Tvrrell..................... 10 916 Faith Unwin's Ordeal............... 20 1157 The Cousin from India............ 10 1446 Esther Hill's Secret.................. 20 JOYCE DARRELL'S WORKS. 1357 The Sapphire Cross.................. 10 1765 Winifred Power..................... 20 A. DAUDET'S WORKS. 557 Sidonie............................. 20 501 The Nabob......................... 20 578 Jack............................... 10 719 Kings in Exile...................... 20 1162 Noma Roumestan................... 10 1583 L'Évangéliste. A Parisian Romance 10 RT HON. BENJAMIN DISRAELI. EARL OF BEACONSFIELD'S, WORKS. 255 Lothair............................. 20 392 Vivian Grey........................ 20 405 Henrietta Temple................... 20 884 Endvmion..................ť....... 20 918 Tancred; or. Tlie New Crusade......20 933 The Yonng Duke................... 20 969 Coningsby : or. The New Generation.. 20 983 Contarini Fleming. An Autobiography 20 994 Miriam Alroy....................... 20 999 Venetia............................20 1002 Ixlon............................... 10 1009 SFbS.......,........%tr............ 20 CHARLES DICKENS' WORKť 20 The 01d Curiosity Shop..............9. 100 A Tale of Two Cities................2C 102 Hard Times......................... 10 118 Great Expectations.................. 20 187 David Copperfield................... 20 200 Nicholas Nickleby...................20 243 Barnaby Rudge..................... 20 218 Dombey and Son.................... 20 239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins).................... 10 247 Mar tin Chuzzlewit................... 2C 873 The Cricket on the Hearth........... 10 284 Oliver Twist........................ 20 289 A Christmas Carol................... 10 297 The Haunted Man................... 10 304 Little Dorrit........................ 20 303 The Chimes...................... 10 317 The Battle of Life................... 10 325 Our Mutual Friend.................. 20 337 Bleak House........................ 20 352 Pickwick Papers.................... 20 859 Somebody's Luggage................10 867 Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings............. 10 372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices.. 10 375 Mugby Junction.................... 10 403 Tom Tiddler's Ground............... 10 493 The Uncommercial Traveler......... 20 521 Master Humphrey's Clock........... 10 625 Sketches by Boz.................... 20 639 Sketches of Young Couples......... 10 827 The Mud fog I'apcrs, &c.............. 10 860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood........ 20 900 Pictures From Italv................ 10 1411 A Child's History of England........ 20 1464 The Picnic Papers................... 20 1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches........................... 10 WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF "DORA THORNE." 449 More Bitter than Death.............. 30 618 Madolin's Lover..................... 20 656 A Golden Dawn..................... 10 678 A Dead Heart....................... 10 718 Lord Lynne's Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth................ 10 746 Whicli Loved Him Best............20 846 Dora Thome___.................... 20 921 At War with Herself...............10 931 The Sin of a Lifetime................ 20 1013 Lady Gwendoline's Dream........... 10 1018 Wife in Name Only.................2(1 1044 Like No Other Love................ 10 1060 A Woman's War.................. 10 1072 Hilary's Folly....................... 10 1074 A Queen Amongst Women........ . 10 1077 AGilded Sin........................ 10 1081 A Bridge of Love................... 10 1085 The Fatal Lilies..................... 10 1099 Wedded and Parted................. 10 1107 A Bride From the Sea.............. 10 1110 A Rose in Thorns.................. 10 1115 The Shadow of a Sin................ 10 1122 Redeemed by Love.................. 10 1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring........ IC Uâ7 Love's Warfare...................... 20 115a Repented at Leisure................20 1179 From Gloom to Sunlight.............20 1209 Hilda.............................. 20 1218 A Golden Heart..................... 20 1266 Ingledew House.................... 1G 1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring............. 20 1305 Love For a Day; or, Under the Lilacs. 10 1357 The Wife's Secret................... 10 1393 Two Kisses......................... 10 1460 Between Two Sins.................. 10 1640 The Cost of Her Love.............. 20 1664 Romance of a Black Veil............ 20 1704 Her Mother's Sin.................... 20 1761 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms....... 2C RICHARD DOWLING'S WORKS. 896 High-Water Mark................... 10 929 Under St. Paul's.................... 20 1152 My Darling's Ransom................ 10 1477 Last Christmas Eve.................. 10 1563 Sweet Inisfail. A Romance......... 20 ANNA H. DRURY'S WORKS. 683 Called to the Rescue...,............. 2? 823 The Story of a Shower.............., lt F. DU BOISGOBEY'S WORKS. 709 Old Age of Monsieur Lecoq. Parti.. 2C 709 Old Ago of Monsieur Lecoq. Part n 2C 1062 The Severed Hand (La Main Coupée). 2< 1123 The Crime of the Opera House. First naif.............................. 21 1123 The Crime of the Opera House. Sec- ond half.... ........... ......... >

24 iii

MUNRO'S PUBLICATIONS. THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. LATEST ISSUES, 20 20 20 20 10 20 10 20 NO. PRICE. 1739 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, and Otheu Stories. Florence .Marryat 10 1790 Regimental Legends. J. S. Winter 20 1791 A rdrey Ferris..................... 10 1Î92 Mark Seaworth. A Talk of the Indian Ocean. W. H. G. Kingston 20 1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. F. DuBois- gobey. First half................. 20 1793 Chevalier Casse-Cou. F. DuBois- gobey. Second half............... 20 1X1 A Son of the Soil. Mrs. Oliphant.. 20 1795 The Silverado Squatters. Robert Louis Stevenson................... 10 1796 A Heal Queen. R. E. Francillon.. 20 1797 A Beautiful Butterfly. Mattie E. Randall........................... 10 1798 Hestek: A Story of Contemporary Life. Mrs. Oliphant.............. 1799 The Steel Necklace. F. Du Bois- gobey ........................... 1800 Bertha's Secret. F. Du Boisgobey. First half......................... 1800 Bertha's Secret. F. Du Boisgobey. Secoud half....................... 1801 Susan Drummond. Mrs. J. H. Riddell 1802 Framley Parsonage. A. Trollope .. 1803 The Midshipman. W. H. G. Kingston 1804 The Laird of Norlaw. Mrs. Oli- phnnt ............................ 1805 La .Mere Bauche. Anthony Trollope 10 1806 Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith...... 20 1807 Steven Lawrence. Airs. Annie Ed- wards............................ 20 1808 Through the Stage Door. Harriett Jay............................... 20 1809 The New Aiselard. Rob't Buchanan 10 1810 Married for Money (illustrated). Lucy Randall Comfort.................. 20 1811 Ali:. Nobody. Mrs. John Kent Spender 20 1812 Called Back. Hugh Conway...... 10 1818 The Treasure-Ship. A Tale of New York. P. Hamilton Myers... 20 1814 JaCk's Courtship. A Sailor's Yarn of Love and Shipwreck. W. Clark Russell........................... 20 1815 Not Like Other Girls. Rosa Nou- chette Carey....................... 20 1816 An Old Man's Love. Anthony Trol- lope........................... 10 1817 Readiana: Comments on Current Events. Charles Keade.......... 10 1818 " Thb Way of the World." David Christie Murray.................. 20 1819 Vivian Grosvenor; On, Kenneth Farrand's Reward. Christine Carlton........................... 20 1820 Life on the Mountain and Prairie. >tC Edward S. Ellis.................. 10 1821 The Man She Caked For. F. VV. Robinson........................ 20 1822 Pretty Miss Neville. I!. M. Croker 20 1823 Proper Pride. !.. M. Croker...... 20 1824 Peeress and Player. F, Harryat 20 1825 The Masterofthe Forges. Georges Olmet............................. 20 1826 The Patriot Spy of Brandywine. John F. Cowan................... 20 1827 The Fair Maid of Perth. Sir Wal- ter Scott.......................... 20 1828 Barbara's Lovers. Clara Percy..... 20 1829 Only Mattie Garland. Lucy Ran- dall Comfort................"...... 20 1830 Lottie and Victorine; or,Working their Own Way. Lucy Randall Comfort..........................: 20 1831 St. Ronan's Well. Sir Walter Scott 20 1832 Mabel and May.................... 10 1833 The Mother's Secret; or, Whose Child Was She? Magdalen Barrett 20 1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl's Love Story. Lucy Randall Comfort.... 20 . Thb Depth of Love; or, A .Mother's Sacrifice........ť............... 10 1836 The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, Bart.. AI. P., Formerly known as " Tommy Up- more." R. D. Blackmore.......... 20 NO. PRICE. 1837 The Bride of Monte - Cristo. A Sequel to "The Count of Monte- Cristo," by Alexander Dumas...... 20 1838 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse Princess of Great Britain and Ireland. Biographical Sketch and Letters...................... 20 1839 Market IIarisorough and iNsrDE tiieBah. J. G. Whyte-Melville___20 1840 John IIoi.dswortii, Chief Mate. AV. Clark Russell ..................... 20 1841 MÉRINDOL. F. Du Boisgobey........ 20 1842 The Iron AIask (Les Deux Merles de Monsieur de Saint-Mare). First half. F. Du Boisgobey.................. 20 1842 The Iron AIask (Les Deux Merles de Alonsieur de Saint-Mars). Second half. F. Du Boisgobey............ 20 1843 In the West Countrie. May Crom- melin............................. 20 1844 Fair But False, and The Heiress of Arne. By the Author of " Dora Thorne".......................... 10 184,5 The Giant's Robe. F. Anstey...... 20 1846 The Three Brides. Charlotte AI. .Yonge............................ 20 1847 A Fair Country AIaid. D. Fairfax Byrrne............................ 20 1848 The Black Dwarf, aud A Legend OF Montrose. By Sir Walter Scott, Bart........................ 20 1849 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgiana AI. Craik.......................... 20 1850 Silvermead. By Jean MidcUemas... 20 1851 Princess Napraxine. By "Ouida." 20 1852 M.Y Ducats and My Daughter...... 20 1853 Love and Money; pr, A Perilous Secret. Charles Reade........... 20 1854 Piccadilly. A Fragment of Contem- porary Biography. By Laurence Oli- phant ............................ 10 1855 The Betrothed. AlessandroManzoni First half......................... 20 18.55 The Betrothed. Alessandro Manzoni Secoud half........................ 20 1856 "I Say No." Wilkie Collins........ 20 1857 Dissolving Views. Airs. Andrew Lang 20 1858 Dorothy Forbter. Walter Besant.'. 20 1859 Berna Boyle. Airs. J. 11. Riddell.. 20 1860 Lucia, Hugh, and Another. Airs. J. II. Needed..................... 20 1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Ink/. AIeriyai.e'sFortunes. Lucy Ran- dall Comfort....................20 1862 Venus's Doves. Ida Ashworth Taylor 20 1863 The Surgeon's Daughters. -Mrs. Henry Wood. A AIan of His Word. W. E Norris............. 10 1864 Lancelot Ward, AI.P. George Temple........................... 20 1865 PKVERn, of the Peak. Sir Walter Scott, Bart........................ 30 1866 The Baby's Grandmother. L. B. AValford.......................... 20 1867 Lancaster's Choice. Airs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.................... 20 1868 A Fatal Dower. liv Uie Author of "His Wedded Wile"............. 20 1869 A Great AlrsTAKE. Bv the Author of " His Wedded Wife".............. 20 1870 A Fair .Maid. F. W. Robinson..... 20 1871 0ťmnia VANITAS: A Tale of Society. Airs. Forrester..................... 10 1872 Under the Lilies and Roses. Flor- ence Marryat (Mrs. Francis Lean)... 20 1873 Zéro: A Story of AIonte Carlo. Mrs. Campbell Praed.............. 20 1874 Piédouche, A French Detective. (Le Coup d' il.) F. Du Boisgobey. 1875 "For Perciyal." Margaret"Veley.. 1S76 "Corinna." A Study. "Rita"___ 1877 An Isiimaei.ite. Aliss AI. E. Braddon 1878 Klytia. " A Story of Heidelberg Cas- tle. George Taylor............... 1879 For Life and Love. Alison....... 10 1S80 Little Goldie. A Story of Wom- an's Love. Airs. Sumner Hayden.. 20 '.X 20 20 0 20 20 20 20 20 NO. PRIC-C. 1881 Miss Tommy, and In a House-Boat. Aliss Mulock.................... io 1882 Stella. Fanny Lewald. (From the German by Beatrice Marshall)...... 1883 Sunshine and Roses. By the au- thor of "DoraThorne "............ 1884 Donal Grant. George Macdonald.. 1885 The Sculptor's Daughter (Margot la Balafrée). F. Du Boisgobey. Frist half.................. ........... 1885 The Sculptor's Daughter (Margot la Balafrée). F. Du Boisgobey. Sec- ond half.......................... 20 1886 Zénobie Capitaine. F. Du Bois- gobey. First half................ 20 1886 Zénobie Capitaine. F. Du Bois- gobey. Second half............... 20 1887 A "Drawn Game. Basil............. 20 1888 Haco the Dreamer. A Tale of Scotch University Life. William Sime.............................. 20 1889 The Blatchford Bequest, and Oth- er Stories. Hugh Conway, author of "Called Back'"................. 10 1890 The Asiazon. Carl Vosmaer......10 1891 Doctor Jacob. Miss Betham-Edwards 20 1892 Between the Heather and the Northern Sea. AI. Linskill....... 20 1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and Other Adventures. AVilliam Black..................... 20 1894 The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tali: for a Land-Baby. Rev. Charhs Kingsley, Canon of Chester....... 10 1895 The Armourer's Prentices. Char- lotte M. Yonge.................... 10 1896 AIixed Motives.................... 11 > 1897 The Daughter of the Stars, and Other Tales. Hugh Conway, au- thor of ' ' Called Back ".......'..... 10 1898 Joy; or, The Light of CollvIIome Ford. Alay Crommelin........... 20 1899 A North Country AIaid. Airs. li. Lovett Cameron...........ť........ 20 1900 Doris. "TheDuchess"............ 10 1901 AIlTCHELHURST Pl.ACE. Margaret Veley............................. 10 1902 Love and Mirage; or, The Waiting on an Island. Al. Betham-Edwards 10 1903 ťIohn Bull's Neighbor in Her True Light. By a " Brutal Saxon " 10 1904 The Iron Hand. F. AT arden...... 20 1905 The Lover's Creed. Airs. Cashel Hoey............................. 20 1906 In Cupid's Net. Bertha Al. Clay, author of " Dora Thorne ".......*. 10 'i907 Dark Days. Hugh* Conway........ 10 1908 The Gambler's Wrr-'E............. 20 1909 Beyond Pardon.................... 20 1910 A "Week in Killarney. By "The Duchess"......................... 10 1911 Peril. Jessie Fothergill............ 20 1912 Two Years Before the AIast. R. H. Dana. Jr....................... 20 1913 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline Rod- ney's Secret. Airs. Alex; McVeigh Aliller............................ 20 1914 By Mead and Stream. Charles Gibbon 20 1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas. 1884. (Edited by Aliss Al. E. Brad- don)............................. 20 1916 Face to Face: A Fact in Seven Fables. R. E. Francillon........ 10 1917 A Bit of Human Nature, David Christie Murray................... 10 1918 In Luck at Last. Walter Besant___10 1919 Tin: Prodigals: And Their Inherit- ance. Mrs. Oliphant.............. 10 1920 A Woman's Love Story. A Novel.. 10 1921 The Portent. George Macdonald.. 10 1922 Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for AIen and Women. George Alacdonald........................ 10 1923 Raymond's Atonement. (From the German of E. Werner.) By Chris- tina Tyrrell....................... 20 1924 The Polish Jew. Erckmann-Cluitrian 10 For sale by .all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on receipt of IC cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. (P. 0. Box 3751.) GEORGE MUMĎO, Publisher, 17 to 27 Vandewater St., New York.