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ling," said Manasseh sullenly. " You yourself, if you only chose."

" If I only chose?" echoed the President enquiringly.

" If you only chose my daughter. Are you not a bach- elor? I am convinced she could not say nay to anyone present — excepting the Chancellor. Only no one is really willing to save the community from this scandal, and so my daughter must marry as best she can. And yet, it is a handsome creature who would not disgrace even a house in Hackney."

Manasseh spoke so seriously that the President fumed the more. " Let her marry this Pole," he ranted, " and you shall be cut off from us in life and death. Alive, you shall worship without our walls, and dead you shall be buried 1 behind the boards.' "

" For the poor man — excommunication," said Manasseh in ominous soliloquy. " For the rich man — permission to marry the Tedesco of his choice."

"Leave the room, fellow," vociferated the President. "You have heard our ultimatum ! "

But Manasseh did not quail.

"And you shall hear mine," he said, with a quietness that was the more impressive for the President's fury. " Do not forget, Mr. President, that you and I owe allegiance to the same brotherhood. Do not forget that the power which made you can unmake you at the next election ; do not forget that if I have no vote I have vast influence ; that there is not a Yahid whom I do not visit weekly ; that there is not a Schnorrer who would not follow me in my exile. Do not forget that there is another community to turn to — yes! that very Ashkenazic community you contemn — with the Treasurer of which I talked but just now ; a community that waxes daily in wealth and greatness while you sleep in


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cod, vainly strove to utter the order for the beggar's expul- sion.

" Don't stare at me, Gomez," Manasseh cried imperiously. " Can't you see the President wants a glass of water? "

The beadle darted a glance at the President, and, per- ceiving his condition, rushed out again to get the water.

This was the last straw. To see his authority usurped as well as his seat maddened the poor President. For some seconds he strove to mouth an oath, embracing his supine Councillors as well as this beggar on horseback, but he pro- duced only an inarticulate raucous cry, and reeled sideways. Manasseh sprang from his chair and caught the falling form in his arms. For one terrible moment he stood supporting it in a tense silence, broken only by the incoherent murmurs of the unconscious lips ; then crying angrily, " Bestir your- selves, gentlemen, don't you see the President is ill?" he dragged his burden towards the table, and, aided by the panic-stricken Councillors, laid it flat thereupon, and threw open the ruffled shirt. He swept the Minute Book to the floor with an almost malicious movement, to make room for the President.

The beadle returned with the glass of water, which he well-nigh dropped.

" Run for a physician," Manasseh commanded, and throw- ing away the water carelessly, in the Chancellor's direction, he asked if anyone had any brandy. There was no response.

" Come, come, Mr. Chancellor," he said, " bring out your phial." And the abashed functionary obeyed.

"Has any of you his equipage without?" Manasseh demanded next of the Mahamad.

They had not, so Manasseh despatched the Chief of the Elders in quest of a sedan chair. Then there was nothing left but to await the physician.

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"You see, gentlemen, how insecure is earthly power," said the Schnorrer solemnly, while the President breathed stertorously, deaf to his impressive moralising. " It is swal- lowed up in an instant, as Lisbon was engulfed. Cursed are they who despise the poor. How is the saying of our sages verified — 'The house that opens not to the poor opens to the physician.' " His eyes shone with unearthly radiance in the gathering gloom.

The cowed assembly wavered before his words, like reeds before the wind, or conscience-stricken kings before fearless prophets.

When the physician came he pronounced that the Presi- dent had had a slight stroke of apoplexy, involving a tempo- rary paralysis of the right foot. The patient, by this time restored to consciousness, was conveyed home in the sedan chair, and the Mahamad dissolved in confusion. Manasseh was the last to leave the Council Chamber. As he stalked into the corridor he turned the key in the door behind him with a vindictive twist. Then, plunging his hand into his breeches-pocket, he gave the beadle a crown, remarking genially, "You must have your usual perquisite, I suppose."

The beadle was moved to his depths. He had a burst of irresistible honesty. " The President gives me only half-a- crown," he murmured.

" Yes, but he may not be able to attend the next meeting," said Manasseh. "And I may be away, too."


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CHAPTER VI.

SHOWING HOW THE KING ENRICHED THE SYNAGOGUE.

The Synagogue of the Gates of Heaven was crowded — members, orphan boys, Schnorrers, all were met in celebration of the Sabbath. But the President of the Mahamad was missing. He was still inconvenienced by the effects of his stroke, and deemed it most prudent to pray at home. The Council of Five had not met since Manasseh had dissolved it, and so the matter of his daugh- ter's marriage was left hanging, as indeed was not seldom the posture of matters discussed by Sephardic bodies. The authorities thus passive, Manasseh found scant difficulty in imposing his will upon the minor officers, less ready than himself with constitutional precedent. His daughter was to be married under the Sephardic canopy, and no jot of synagogual honour was to be bated the bridegroom. On this Sabbath — the last before the wedding — Yankele was to be called to the Reading of the Law like a true-born Portuguese. He made his first appearance in the Synagogue of his bride's fathers with a feeling of solemn respect, not exactly due to Manasseh's grandiose references to the ancient temple. He had walked the courtyard with levity, half prepared, from previous experience of his intended father-in-law, to find the glories insubstantial. Their unex- pected actuality awed him, and he was glad he was dressed in his best. His beaver hat, green trousers, and brown coat equalled him with the massive pillars, the gleaming cande- labra, and the stately roof. Da Costa, for his part, had made no change in his attire ; he dignified his shabby vestments, stuffing them with royal manhood, and wearing


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his snuff-coloured over-garment like a purple robe. There was, in sooth, an official air about his habiliment, and to the worshippers it was as impressively familiar as the black stole and white bands of the Cantor. It seemed only natural that he should be called to the Reading first, quite apart from the fact that he was a Cohen, of the family of Aaron, the High Priest, a descent that, perhaps, lent something to the loftiness of his carriage.

When the Minister intoned vigorously, " The good name, Manasseh, the son of Judah, the Priest, the man, shall arise to read in the Law," every eye was turned with a new inter- est on the prospective father-in-law. Manasseh arose com- posedly, and, hitching his sliding prayer-shawl over his left shoulder, stalked to the reading platform, where he chanted the blessings with imposing flourishes, and stood at the Minister's right hand while his section of the Law was read from the sacred scroll. There was many a man of figure in the congregation, but none who became the platform better. It was beautiful to see him pay his respects to the scroll ; it reminded one of the meeting of two sovereigns. The great moment, however, was when, the section being concluded, the Master Reader announced Manasseh's donations to the Synagogue. The financial statement was incorporated in a long Benediction, like a coin wrapped up in folds of paper. This was always a great moment, even when inconsiderable personalities were concerned, each man's generosity being the subject of speculation before and comment after. Ma- nasseh, it was felt, would, although a mere Schnorrer, rise to the height of the occasion, and offer as much as seven and sixpence. The shrewder sort suspected he would split it up into two or three separate offerings, to give an air of inex- haustible largess.

The shrewder sort were right and wrong, as is their habit.


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The Master Reader began his quaint formula, " May He who blessed our Fathers," pausing at the point where the Hebrew is blank for the amount. He span out the prefatory "Who vows" — the last note prolonging itself, like the vibration of a tuning-fork, at a literal pitch of suspense. It was a sensational halt, due to his forgetting the amounts or demanding corroboration at the eleventh hour, and the stingy often recklessly amended their contributions, panic- struck under the pressure of imminent publicity.

" Who vows — " The congregation hung upon his lips. With his usual gesture of interrogation, he inclined his ear towards Manasseh's mouth, his face wearing an unusual look of perplexity ; and those nearest the platform were aware of a little colloquy between the Sc/inorrcr and the Master Reader, the latter bewildered and agitated, the former stately. The delay had discomposed the Master as much as it had whetted the curiosity of the congregation. He repeated :

" Who vows — cinco livras " — he went on glibly without a pause — "for charity — for the life of Yankov ben Yitz- chok, his son-in-law, &c, &c." But few of the worshippers heard any more than the cinco liv?'as (five pounds). A thrill ran through the building. Men pricked up their ears, incredulous, whispering one another. One man deliberately moved from his place towards the box in which sat the Chief of the Elders, the presiding dignitary in the absence of the President of the Mahamad.

" I didn't catch — how much was that?" he asked.

" Five pounds," said the Chief of the Elders shortly. He suspected an irreverent irony in the Beggar's contribution.

The Benediction came to an end, but ere the hearers had time to realise the fact, the Master Reader had started on another. "May He who blessed our fathers!" he began,


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 various symptoms; ulcers of course galore; a man with a bit of a broken spear head in an abscess in the thigh; one which I believe a professional enthusiast would call a "lovely case" of filaria, the entire white of one eye being full of the active little worms and a ridge of surplus population migrating across the bridge of the nose into the other eye, under the skin, looking like the bridge of a pair of spectacles. It was past eleven before I had anything like done, and my men had long been sound asleep, but the chief had conscientiously sat up and seen the thing through. He then went and fetched some rolls of bark cloth to put on my plank, and I gave him a handsome cloth I happened to have with me, a couple of knives, and some heads of tobacco and wished him good-night; blockading my bark door, and picking my way over my sleeping Ajumba into an inner apartment which I also blockaded, hoping I had done with Egaja for some hours. No such thing. At 1.45 the whole town was roused by the frantic yells of a woman. I judged there was one of my beauties of Fans mixed up in it, and there was, and after paying damages, got back again by 2.30 ., and off to sleep again instantly. At four sharp, whole town of Egaja plunged into emotion, and worse shindy. I suggested to the Ajumba they should go out; but no, they didn't care a row of pins if one of our Fans did get killed, so I went, recognising Kiva's voice in high expostulation. Kiva, it seems, a long time ago had a transaction in re a tooth of ivory with a man who, unfortunately, happened to be in this town to-night, and Kiva owed the said man a coat.

Kiva, it seems, has been spending the whole evening demonstrating to his creditor that, had he only known they were to meet, he would have brought the coat with him—a particularly beautiful coat—and the reason he has not paid it before is that he has mislaid the creditor's address. The creditor says he has called repeatedly at Kiva's village, that notorious M'fetta, and Kiva has never been at home; and moreover that Kiva's wife (one of them) stole a yellow dog of great value from his (the creditor's) canoe. Kiva says, women will be women, and he had gone off to sleep thinking


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This time the thrill, the whisper, the flutter, swelled into a positive buzz. The gaze of the entire congregation was focussed upon the Beggar, who stood impassive in the blaze of glory. Even the orphan boys, packed in their pew, paused in their inattention to the Service, and craned their necks towards the platform. The veriest magnates did not thus play piety with five pound points. In the ladies' gallery the excitement was intense. The occupants gazed eagerly through the grille. One woman — a buxom dame of forty summers, richly clad and jewelled — had risen, and was tiptoeing frantically over the woodwork, her feather waving like a signal of distress. It was Manasseh's wife. The waste of money maddened her, each donation hit her like a poisoned arrow ; in vain she strove to catch her spouse's eye. The air seemed full of gowns and toques and farthin- gales flaming away under her very nose, without her being able to move hand or foot in rescue ; whole wardrobes per- ished at each Benediction. It was with the utmost difficulty she restrained herself from shouting down to her prodigal lord. At her side the radiant Deborah vainly tried to pacify her by assurances that Manasseh never intended to pay up.

" Who vows — " The Benediction had begun for a fourth time.

" Cinco livras for the Holy Land." And the sensation grew. " For the life of this holy congregation, &c."

The Master Reader's voice droned on impassively, inter- minably.

The fourth Benediction was drawing to its close, when the beadle was seen to mount the platform and whisper in his ear. Only Manasseh overheard the message.

"The Chief of the Elders says you must stop. This is mere mockery. The man is a Schnorrer, an impudent beggar."


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rich people to present these Benedictions to one another. And so the endless stream of donatives flowed on, pro- voking the hearers to fever pitch. The very orphan boys forgot that this prolongation of the service was retarding their breakfasts indefinitely. Every warden, dignitary and official, from the President of the Mahamad down to the very Keeper of the Bath, was honoured by name in a special Benediction, the chief of Manasseh's weekly patrons were repaid almost in kind on this unique and festive occasion. Most of the congregation kept count of the sum total, which was mounting, mounting

Suddenly there was a confusion in the ladies' gallery, cries, a babble of tongues. The beadle hastened upstairs to im- pose his authority. The rumour circulated that Mrs. da Costa had fainted and been carried out. It reached Manas- seh's ears, but he did not move. He stood at his post, unfaltering, donating, blessing.

"Who vows — cinco livras — for the life of his wife, Sarah ! " And a faint sardonic smile flitted across the Beggar's face.

The oldest worshipper wondered if the record would be broken. Manasseh's benefactions were approaching thrill- ingly near the highest total hitherto reached by any one man upon any one occasion. Every brain was troubled by surmises. The Chief of the Elders, fuming impotently, was not alone in apprehending a blasphemous mockery ; but the bulk imagined that the Schnorrer had come into property or had always been a man of substance, and was now taking this means of restoring to the Synagogue the funds he had drawn from it. And the fountain of Benevolence played on.

The record figure was reached and left in the rear. When at length the poor Master Reader, sick unto death of the oft-repeated formula (which might just as well have covered


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His eyes twinkled continuously throughout.

The next day, Manasseh fared forth to collect the hundred pounds !

The day being Sunday, he looked to find most of his clients at home. He took Grobstock first as being nearest, but the worthy speculator and East India Director espied him from an upper window, and escaped by a back-door into Goodman's Fields — a prudent measure, seeing that the incredulous Manasseh ransacked the house in quest of him. Manasseh's manner was always a search-warrant.

The King consoled himself by paying his next visit to a personage who could not possibly evade him — none other than the sick President of the Mahamad. He lived in Devon- shire Square, in solitary splendour. Him Manasseh bearded in his library, where the convalescent was sorting his collec- tion of prints. The visitor had had himself announced as a gentleman on synagogual matters, and the public-spirited President had not refused himself to the business. But when he caught sight of Manasseh, his puffy features were dis- torted, he breathed painfully, and put his hand to his hip.

" You ! " he gasped.

" Have a care, my dear sir ! Have a care ! " said Manas- seh anxiously, as he seated himself. " You are still weak. To come to the point — for I would not care to distract too much a man indispensable to the community, who has already felt the hand of the Almighty for his treatment of the poor — "

He saw that his words were having effect, for these pros- perous pillars of the Synagogue were mightily superstitious under affliction, and he proceeded in gentler tones. "To come to the point, it is my duty to inform you (for I am the only man who is certain of it) that while you have been away our Synagogue has made a bad debt ! "


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" A hundred pounds ! "

"A hundred pounds!" echoed the President, seriously concerned at this blot upon his year of office. " And who is the debtor?"

" I am."

" You ! You have borrowed a hundred pounds, you — you jackanapes ! "

"Silence, sir! How dare you? I should leave this apartment at once, were it not that I cannot go without your apology. Never in my life have I borrowed a hundred pounds — nay, never have I borrowed one farthing. I am no borrower. If you are a gentleman, you will apologise ! "

" I am sorry if I misunderstood," murmured the poor President, " but how, then, do you owe the money? "

"How, then?" repeated Manasseh impatiently. "Can- not you understand that I have donated it to the Syna- gogue? "

The President stared at him open-mouthed.

" I vowed it yesterday in celebration of my daughter's marriage."

The President let a sigh of relief pass through his open mouth. He was even amused a little.

"Oh, is that all? It was like your deuced effrontery; but still, the Synagogue doesn't lose anything. There's no harm done."

" What is that you say?" enquired Manasseh sternly. " Do you mean to say I am not to pay this money? "

" How can you? "

" How can I ? I come to you and others like you to pay it for me."

" Nonsense ! Nonsense ! " said the President, begin- ning to lose his temper again. " We'll let it pass. There's no harm done."


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" And this is the President of the Mahamad ! " soliloquised the Schnorrer in bitter astonishment. "This is the chief of our ancient, godly Council ! What, sir ! Do you hold words spoken solemnly in Synagogue of no account? Would you have me break my solemn vow? Do you wish to bring the Synagogue institutions into contempt? Do you — a man already once stricken by Heaven — in- vite its chastisement again?"

The President had grown pale — his brain was reeling.

" Nay, ask its forgiveness, sir," went on the King implac- ably ; " and make good this debt of mine in token of your remorse, as it is written, ' And repentance, and prayer, and charity avert the evil decree.' "

"Not a penny !" cried the President, with a last gleam of lucidity, and strode furiously towards the bell-pull. Then he stood still in sudden recollection of a similar scene in the Council Chamber.

" You need not trouble to ring for a stroke," said Manas- seh grimly. "Then the Synagogue is to be profaned, then even the Benediction which I in all loyalty and forgive- ness caused to be said for the recovery of the President of the Mahamad is to be null, a mockery in the sight of the Holy One, blessed be He ! "

The President tottered into his reading-chair.

" How much did you vow on my behalf? "

" Five pounds."

The President precipitately drew out a pocket-book and extracted a crisp Bank of England note.

" Give it to the Chancellor," he breathed, exhausted.

" I am punished," quoth Manasseh plaintively as he placed it in his bosom. " I should have vowed ten for you." And he bowed himself out.

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day from Sephardic celebrities, pointing out that now a foreign Jew — Yankele" to wit — had been admitted to their communion, it behoved them to show themselves at their best. What a bad effect it would have on Yankele" if a Sephardi was seen to vow with impunity ! First impres- sions were everything, and they could not be too careful. It would not do for Yankele to circulate contumelious reports of them among his kin. Those who remonstrated with him over his extravagance he reminded that he had only one daughter, and he drew their attention to the favourable influence his example had had on the Saturday receipts. Not a man of those who came after him in the Reading had ventured to offer half-crowns. He had fixed the standard in gold for that day at least, and who knew what noble emulation he had fired for the future ?

Every man who yielded to Manasseh's eloquence was a step to reach the next, for Manasseh made a list of donors, and paraded it reproachfully before those who had yet to give. Withal, the most obstinate resistance met him in some quarters. One man — a certain Rodriques, inhabiting a mansion in Finsbury Circus — was positively rude.

" If I came in a carriage, you'd soon pull out your ten- pound note for the Synagogue," sneered Manasseh, his blood boiling.

" Certainly I would," admitted Rodriques laughing. And Manasseh shook off the dust of his threshold in dis- dain.

By reason of such rebuffs, his collection for the day only reached about thirty pounds, inclusive of the value of some depreciated Portuguese bonds which he good-naturedly accepted as though at par.

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2 Chron. 5:11-14: “Tt came to pass when the priests were come out of the Holy place.”

I want you to see how they came; 120 of them with different instruments, yet all making the same sound; the Levites arrayed in white linen, emblematic of purity. “It came to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the Lord; and when they lifted up their voice with the trumpets and cymbals and instruments of music, and praised the Lord.”

There were 120 priests blowing trumpets, there were singers and instruments of music, but they were as one, to make one sound. “For He is good; for His mercy endureth forever”; then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the Lord; so that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord had filled the “house of God.”

The 120 priests who were supposed to minister, stood like statues, and the Holy Ghost took the meeting. The entire building was filled with the glory of God.

All this demonstration, the house filled with the glory of God, was brought about by the 120 priests blowing the trumpets; the sounding of the different instruments mingled with the voice of the great company of singers; the whole object being to glorify God, and all making one sound.

God wants perfect harmony. No one criticising, no one finding fault, but all sounding forth His praise; and in white—purity. If we go out to meet God clothed in white, washed in the blood

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locked up the proceeds of Sunday's operations, and, indeed, nearly all his loose cash, in his safe, for, to avoid being put to expense, he rarely carried money on his person, unless he gathered it en roufe, he took his way to Bishopsgate Within, to catch the stage for Clapton. The day was bright, and he hummed a festive Synagogue tune as he plodded leisurely with his stick along the bustling, narrow pavements, bordered by costers' barrows at one edge, and by jagged houses, over- hung by grotesque signboards, at the other, and thronged by cits in worsted hose.

But when he arrived at the inn he found the coach had started. Nothing concerned, he ordered a post-chaise in a supercilious manner, criticising the horses, and drove to Clapton in style, drawn by a pair of spanking steeds, to the music of the postillion's horn. Very soon they drew out of the blocked roads, with their lumbering procession of carts, coaches, and chairs, and into open country, green with the fresh verdure of the spring. The chaise stopped at " The Red Cottage," a pretty villa, whose facade was covered with Virginian creeper that blushed in the autumn. Manasseh was surprised at the taste with which the lawn was laid out in the Italian style, with grottoes and marble figures. The householder, hearing the windings of the horn, conceived himself visited by a person of quality, and sent a message that he was in the hands of his hairdresser, but would be down in less than half an hour. This was of a piece with Manasseh's information concerning the man — a certain Belasco, emulous of the great fops, an amateur of satin waistcoats and novel shoestrings, and even said to affect a spying-glass when he showed at Vauxhall. Manasseh had never seen him, not having troubled to go so far afield, but from the handsome appurtenances of the hall and the stair- case he augured the best. The apartments were even more


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to his liking ; they were oak panelled, and crammed with the most expensive objects of art and luxury. The walls of the drawing-room were frescoed, and from the ceiling depended a brilliant lustre, with seven spouts for illumination.

Having sufficiently examined the furniture, Manasseh grew weary of waiting, and betook himself to Belasco's bed- chamber.

" You will excuse me, Mr. Belasco," he said, as he entered through the half open door, " but my business is urgent."

The young dandy, who was seated before a mirror, did not look up, but replied, " Have a care, sir, you well nigh startled my hairdresser."

"Far be it from me to willingly discompose an artist," replied Manasseh drily, " though from the elegance of the design, I Venture to think my interruption will not make a hair's-breadth of difference. But I come on a matter which the son of Benjamin Belasco will hardly deny is more press- ing than his toilette."

" Nay, nay, sir, what can be more momentous?"

"The Synagogue ! " said Manasseh austerely.

"Pah! What are you talking of, sir?" and he looked up cautiously for the first time at the picturesque figure. "What does the Synagogue want of me? I pay my finta and every bill the rascals send me. Monstrous fine sums, too, egad — "

" But you never go there ! "

" No, indeed, a man of fashion cannot be everywhere. Routs and rigotti play the deuce with one's time."

"What a pity!" mused Manasseh ironically. "One misses you there. 'Tis no edifying spectacle — a slovenly rabble with none to set the standard of taste."

The pale-faced beau's eyes lit up with a gleam of interest.

" Ah, the clods ! " he said. " You should yourself be a


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buck of the eccentric school by your dress. But I stick to the old tradition of elegance."

"You had better stick to the old tradition of piety," quoth Manasseh. " Your father was a saint, you are a sin- ner in Israel. Return to the Synagogue, and herald your return by contributing to its finances. It has made a bad debt, and I am collecting money to reimburse it."

The young exquisite yawned. " I know not who you may be," he said at length, " but you are evidently not one of us. As for the Synagogue I am willing to reform its dress, but dem'd if I will give a shilling more to its finances. Let your slovenly rabble of tradesmen pay the piper — I cannot afford it!"

" You cannot afford it ! "

"No — you see I have such extravagant tastes."

"But I give you the opportunity for extravagance," ex- postulated Manasseh. "What greater luxury is there than that of doing good ? "

" Confound it, sir, I must ask you to go," said Beau Be- lasco coldly. " Do you not perceive that you are discon- certing my hairdresser?"

" I could not abide a moment longer under this profane, if tasteful, roof," said Manasseh, backing sternly towards the door. " But I would make one last appeal to you, for the sake of the repose of your father's soul, to forsake your evil ways."

"Be hanged to you for a meddler," retorted the young blood. " My money supports men of genius and taste — it shall not be frittered away on a pack of fusty shopkeepers."

The Schnorrer drew himself up to his full height, his eyes darted fire. " Farewell, then ! " he hissed in terrible tones. " You will ?nake the third at Grace ! "

He vanished — the dandy started up full of vague alarm,


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Synagogue?" asked the Beau sullenly. "Where are your credentials? "

"Was it to insult me that you called me back? Do I look a knave? Nay, put up your purse. I'll have none of your filthy gold. Let me go."

Gradually Manasseh was won round to accepting ten sovereigns.

" For your father's sake," he said, pocketing them. " The only thing I will take for your sake is the cost of my con- veyance. I had to post hither, and the Synagogue must not be the loser."

Beau Belasco gladly added the extra money, and reseated himself before the mirror, with agreeable sensations in his neglected conscience. "You see," he observed, half apolo- getically, for Manasseh still lingered, " one cannot do every- thing. To be a prince of dandies, one needs all one's time." He waved his hand comprehensively around the walls which were lined with wardrobes. " My buckskin breeches were the result of nine separate measurings. Do you note how they fit?"

"They scarcely do justice to your eminent reputation," replied Manasseh candidly.

Beau Belasco's face became whiter than even at the thought of earthquakes and devils. " They fit me to burst- ing ! " he breathed.

" But are they in the pink of fashion? " queried Manasseh. " And assuredly the nankeen pantaloons yonder I recollect to have seen worn last year."

" My tailor said they were of a special cut — 'tis a shape I am introducing, baggy — to go with frilled shirts."

Manasseh shook his head sceptically, whereupon the Beau besought him to go through his wardrobe, and set aside anything that lacked originality or extreme fashionable-


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ness. After considerable reluctance Manasseh consented, and set aside a few cravats, shirts, periwigs, and suits from the immense collection.

" Aha ! That is all you can find," said the Beau glee- fully.

" Yes, that is all," said Manasseh sadly. " All I can find that does any justice to your fame. These speak the man of polish and invention ; the rest are but tawdry frippery. Anybody might wear them."

" Anybody ! " gasped the poor Beau, stricken to the soul.

"Yes, I might wear them myself."

" Thank you ! Thank you ! You are an honest man. I love true criticism, when the critic has nothing to gain. I am delighted you called. These rags shall go to my valet."

" Nay, why waste them on the heathen?" asked Manas- seh, struck with a sudden thought. " Let me dispose of them for the benefit of the Synagogue."

" If it would not be troubling you too much ! "

"Is there anything I would not do for Heaven?" said Manasseh with a patronising air. He threw open the door of the adjoining piece suddenly, disclosing the scowling valet on his knees. "Take these down, my man," he said quietly, and the valet was only too glad to hide his confusion at being caught eavesdropping by hastening down to the drive with an armful of satin waistcoats.

Manasseh, getting together the remainder, shook his head despairingly. " I shall never get these into the post- chaise," he said. " You will have to lend me your carriage."

"Can't you come back for them?" said the Beau feebly.

" Why waste the Synagogue's money on hired vehicles? No, if you will crown your kindness by sending the footman along with me to help me unpack them, you shall have your equipage back in an hour or two."


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again, and swore that the carriage was hired, to be paid for out of the ten pounds.

"Hired?" echoed Manasseh resentfully. "Do you not recognise the arms of my friend, Beau Belasco?" And he presently drove off with the note, for Rodriques had a roguish eye. And then, parting with the chariot, the King took his way on foot to Fenchurch Street, to the house of his cousin Barzillai, the ex-planter of Barbadoes, and now a West Indian merchant.

Barzillai, fearing humiliation before his clerks, always car- ried his relative off to the neighbouring Franco's Head Tav- ern, and humoured him with costly liquors.

" But you had no right to donate money you did not possess ; it was dishonest," he cried with irrepressible ire.

" Hoity toity ! " said Manasseh, setting down his glass so vehemently that the stem shivered. " And were you not called to the Law after me? And did you not donate money? "

" Certainly ! But I had the money."

"What! ft?rtyou?"

" No, no, certainly not. I do not carry money on the Sabbath."

" Exactly. Neither do I."

" But the money was at my bankers'."

" And so it was at mine. You are my bankers, you and others like you. You draw on your bankers — I draw on mine." And his cousin being thus confuted, Manasseh had not much further difficulty in wheedling two pounds ten out of him.

" And now," said he, " I really think you ought to do something to lessen the Synagogue's loss."

" But I have just given ! " quoth Barzillai in bewilderment.

" That you gave to me as your cousin, to enable your


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 the affair had blown over and the bill renewed for the time being. The creditor had not gone to sleep; but sat up thinking the affair over and remembered many cases, all cited in full, of how Kiva had failed to meet his debts; also Kiva's brother on the mother's side and uncle ditto; and so has decided to foreclose forthwith on the debtor's estate, and as the estate is represented by and consists of Kiva's person, to take and seize upon it and eat it.

It is always highly interesting to observe the germ of any of our own institutions existing in the culture of a lower race. Nevertheless it is trying to be hauled out of one's sleep in the middle of the night, and plunged into this study. Evidently this was a trace of an early form of the Bankruptcy Court; the court which clears a man of his debt, being here represented by the knife and the cooking pot; the whitewashing, as I believe it is termed with us, also shows, only it is not the debtor who is whitewashed, but the creditors doing themselves over with white clay to celebrate the removal of their enemy from his sphere of meretricious activity. This inversion may arise from the fact that whitewashing a creditor who was about to be cooked would be unwise, as the stuff would boil off the bits and spoil the gravy. There is always some fragment of sound sense underlying African institutions. Kiva was, when I got out, tied up, talking nineteen to the dozen; and so was every one else; and a lady was working up white clay in a pot.

I dare say I ought to have rushed at him and cut his bonds, and killed people in a general way with a revolver, and then flown with my band to the bush; only my band evidently had no flying in them, being tucked up in the hut pretending to be asleep, and uninterested in the affair; and although I could have abandoned the band without a pang just then, I could not so light-heartedly fly alone with Kiva to the bush and leave my fishes; so I shouted Azuna to the Bankruptcy Court, and got a Fan who spoke trade English to come and interpret for me; and from him I learnt the above stated outline of the proceedings up to the time. Regarding the original iniquity of Kiva, my other Fans held the opinion that the old Scotch lady had regarding certain passages in the


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and 'prentices and students swaggered in to abuse the Ministers, and all kinds of men from bloods to barristers loitered to pick up hints to easy riches. Manasseh detected his quarry in the furthermost box, his face hidden behind a broadsheet.

" Why do you always come to me?" muttered the East India Director helplessly.

"Eh?" said Manasseh, mistrustful of his own ears. "I beg your pardon."

" If your own community cannot support you," said Grobstock, more loudly, and with all the boldness of an animal driven to bay, " why not go to Abraham Goldsmid, or his brother Ben, or to Van Oven, or Oppenheim — they're all more prosperous than I."

" Sir ! " said Manasseh wrathfully. " You are a skilful — nay, a famous, financier. You know what stocks to buy, what stocks to sell, when to follow a rise, and when a fall. When the Premier advertises the loans, a thousand specula- tors look to you for guidance. What would you say if / presumed to interfere in your financial affairs — if I told you to issue these shares or to call in those? You would tell me to mind my own business ; and you would be perfectly right. Now Schnorring is my business. Trust me, I know best whom to come to. You stick to stocks and leave Schnorring alone. You are the King of Financiers, but I am the King of Schnorrers."

Grobstock's resentment at the rejoinder was mitigated by the compliment to his financial insight. To be put on the same level with the Beggar was indeed unexpected.

" Will you have a cup of coffee? " he said.

" I ought scarcely to drink with you after your reception of me," replied Manasseh unappeased. " It is not even as if I came to schnorr for myself; it is to the finances


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of our house of worship that I wished to give you an oppor- tunity of contributing."

a Aha! your vaunted community hard up?" queried Joseph, with a complacent twinkle.

"Sir! We are the richest congregation in the world. We want nothing from anybody," indignantly protested Manasseh, as he absent-mindedly took the cup of coffee which Grobstock had ordered for him. " The difficulty merely is that, in honour of my daughter's wedding, I have donated a hundred pounds to the Synagogue which I have not yet managed to collect, although I have already devoted a day-and-a-half of my valuable time to the purpose."

" But why do you come to me? "

" What ! Do you ask me that again? "

"I — I — mean," stammered Grobstock — " why should I contribute to a Portuguese Synagogue?"

Manasseh clucked his tongue in despair of such stupidity. " It is just you who should contribute more than any Portuguese."

" I ? " Grobstock wondered if he was awake.

" Yes, you. Was not the money spent in honour of the marriage of a German Jew? It was a splendid vindication of your community."

" This is too much ! " cried Grobstock, outraged and choking.

"Too much to mark the admission to our fold of the first of your sect ! I am disappointed in you, deeply disappointed. I thought you would have applauded my generous behaviour."

" I don't care what you thought ! " gasped Grobstock. He was genuinely exasperated at the ridiculousness of the demand, but he was also pleased to find himself preserving so staunch a front against the insidious Scluwrrer. If


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he could only keep firm now, he told himself, he might emancipate himself for ever. Yes, he would be strong, and Manasseh should never dare address him again. " I won't pay a stiver," he roared.

" If you make a scene I will withdraw," said Manasseh quietly. " Already there are ears and eyes turned upon you. From your language people will be thinking me a dun and you a bankrupt."

" They can go to the devil ! " thundered Grobstock, " and you too ! "

" Blasphemer ! You counsel me to ask the devil to con- tribute to the Synagogue ! I will not bandy words with you. You refuse, then, to contribute to this fund?"

" I do, I see no reason."

" Not even the five pounds I vowed on behalf of Yankele himself — one of your own people ? "

" What ! I pay in honour of Yankele — a dirty Schnon-er / "

"Is this the way you speak of your guests?" said Manasseh, in pained astonishment. " Do you forget that Yankele has broken bread at your table? Perhaps this is how you talk of me when my back is turned. But, beware ! Remember the saying of our sages, ' You and I cannot live in the world,' said God to the haughty man. Come, now ! No more paltering or taking refuge in abuse. You refuse me this beggarly five pounds? "

" Most decidedly."

" Very well, then ! "

Manasseh called the attendant.

"What are you about to do?" cried Grobstock appre- hensively.

" You shall see," said Manasseh resolutely, and when the attendant came, he pressed the price of his cup of coffee into his hand.


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In the Laramie Plains, as in much of the West, communities tend to be located near riparian areas. Planning for expected development and other land use changes is needed for conserving wildlife habitat in the area. The Wyoming toad, along with an estimated 90 percent of the total wildlife species and 70 percent of bird species in Wyoming (Nicholoff 2003), uses wetlands and riparian habitats either daily or seasonally.

Population growth in the State of Wyoming is expected to continue. Between 2000 and 2005, Wyoming ranked 31st in population growth, but from 2006 to 2007, Wyoming jumped to ninth in population growth (Hulme et al. 2009). From 1978 to 2007, total land in agriculture in Wyoming declined from 33.6 million acres to 30.2 million acres, a decrease of more than 10 percent. Albany County alone saw a 6-percent decrease in farm lands from 2002 to 2007 (USDA 2007). However, much of the residential growth in Wyoming is considered rural, with a housing density of 1 unit per 40 acres (Hulme et al. 2009). Increasingly, these exurban homes are often second homes. From 1990 to 2000, Wyoming saw a 30-percent increase in second home buying, and 7.2 percent of total housing units in Albany County are second homes. People are drawn to the open space, abundant wildlife, and recreational opportunities that are available, but exurbanization leads to increased habitat fragmentation and a shift from traditional agriculture practices.

Wyoming ranked seventh in production of crude oil and second in the production of natural gas in 2010, with production occurring throughout the State (Petroleum Association of Wyoming 2012). Also, Wyoming ranks 10th in the nation in proven reserves of crude oil and second in proven reserves of natural gas. Proven reserves are the amount estimated to be recoverable from well-established or known reservoirs. Because of high proven reserves within the State and the increased nationwide need for energy, oil and gas development is likely to continue throughout the State.


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Grobstock flushed in silent humiliation. Manasseh rose.

Grobstock's fatal strain of weakness gave him a twinge of compunction at the eleventh hour.

" You see for yourself how unreasonable your request was," he murmured.

" Do not strive to justify yourself, I am done with you," said Manasseh. " I am done with you as a philanthropist. For the future you may besnuff and bespatter your coat as much as you please, for all the trouble I shall ever take. As a financier, I still respect you, and may yet come to you, but as a philanthropist, never."

"Anything I can do — " muttered Grobstock vaguely.

" Let me see ! " said Manasseh, looking down upon him thoughtfully. " Ah, yes, an idea ! I have collected over sixty pounds. If you would invest this for me — ' :

" Certainly, certainly," interrupted Grobstock, with con- ciliatory eagerness.

" Good ! With your unrivalled knowledge of the markets, you could easily bring it up to the necessary sum in a day or two. Perhaps even there is some grand coup on the tapis, something to be bulled or beared in which you have a hand."

Grobstock nodded his head vaguely. He had already remembered that the proceeding was considerably below his dignity ; he was not a stockbroker, never had he done anything of the kind for anyone.

" But suppose I lose it all? " he asked, trying to draw back.

" Impossible," said the Scluwrrer serenely. " Do you forget it is a Synagogue fund ? Do you think the Almighty will suffer His money to be lost?"

"Then why not speculate yourself?" said Grobstock craftily.

" The Almighty's honour must be guarded. What !


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 to the natural man; but he that hath the Spirit can discern spiritual things.

There are many kinds of power, and many spirits going out in the world today; and we are told to try the spirits; they are many. Everything is revealed by God through the blessed Holy Ghost. There is only one Spirit we want anything to do with; not our own spirit, nor any other spirit, but the Spirit of the living God. As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God; and He will lead us into all truth, all the way; will lead us where we can get the truth. The child of God will be lead into the Baptism of the Holy Ghost and fire; the Pentecostal Baptism.

Then we can go from one deep thing to another. The Holy Ghost is sent to us by Jesus Christ, and all gifts come through the Holy Ghost. Jesus said He shall not speak of Himself, but of Me; He will speak to you and show you the things to come. We believe it. Glory to God!

This is the Holy Ghost who came at Pentecost, and turned Jerusalem upside down; and Jesus said that when the Holy Ghost came, He should abide with us forever, even unto the end. The work of the Spirit is foolishness to the natural man; he cannot comprehend it.

Unless you will hear the voice of God, the voice of the natural man will make you attribute what you see, to excitement, or to some other power. When the Holy Ghost is poured out there are always two classes; one is convinced and convicted, and accept it; the other says, if I accept, I will have to lead a different life, and be a gazing stock for the world; they are not willing to pay the price, so they begin to draw back. First they wonder at the strange acts, then when they won’t accept, they begin to despise. Every one who continues to despise the works of the Holy Ghost will perish.

There are many powers in the world, that are not of God, but are counterfeit; but where there is a counterfeit there is always a genuine. No one ever tries to counterfeit anything that is not genuine; that is a sure evidence that it is genuine.

The devil shows his power in a good many ways to deceive people; he tries to substitute some other power for the power of God. It was so in the time of Moses and the time of the prophets. God’s power was especially in the world at certain

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A few days after the Royal Wedding, the glories of which are still a tradition among the degenerate Schnorrers of to-day, Manasseh struck the Chancellor breathless by handing him a bag containing five score of sovereigns. Thus did he honourably fulfil his obligation to the Syna- gogue, and with more celerity than many a Warden. Nay, more ! Justly considering the results of the speculation should accrue to the Synagogue, whose money had been risked, he, with Quixotic scrupulousness, handed over the balance of five hundred pounds to the Mahamad, stipulat- ing only that it should be used to purchase a life-annuity (styled the Da Costa Fund) for a poor and deserving member of the congregation, in whose selection he, as donor, should have the ruling voice. The Council of Five eagerly agreed to his conditions, and a special junta was summoned for the election. The donor's choice fell upon Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa, thenceforward universally recognised, and hereby handed down to tradition, as the King of Schnorrers.


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 sound rules for macabre composition. A ghost story, he believes, should have a familiar setting in the modern period, in order to approach closely the reader’s sphere of experience. Its spectral phenomena, moreover, should be malevolent rather than beneficent; since fear is the emotion primarily to be excited. And finally, the technical patois of “occultism” or pseudo-science ought carefully to be avoided; lest the charm of casual verisimilitude be smothered in unconvincing pedantry.

Dr. James, practicing what he preaches, approaches his themes in a light and often conversational way. Creating the illusion of every-day events, he introduces his abnormal phenomena cautiously and gradually; relieved at every turn by touches of homely and prosaic detail, and sometimes spiced with a snatch or two of antiquarian scholarship. Conscious of the close relation between present weirdness and accumulated tradition, he generally provides remote historical antecedents for his incidents; thus being able to utilise very aptly his exhaustive knowledge of the past, and his ready and convincing command of archaic diction and colouring. A favourite scene for a James tale is some centuried cathedral, which the author can describe with all the familiar minuteness of a specialist in that field.

Sly humorous vignettes and bits of lifelike genre portraiture and characterisation are often to be found in Dr. James’s narratives, and serve in his skilled hands to augment the general effect rather than to spoil it, as the same qualities would tend to do with a lesser craftsman. In inventing a new type of ghost, he has departed considerably from the conventional Gothic tradition; for where the older stock ghosts were pale and stately, and apprehended chiefly through the sense of sight, the average James ghost is lean, dwarfish, and hairy—a sluggish, hellish night-abomination midway betwixt beast and man—and usually touched before it is seen. Sometimes the spectre is of still more eccentric composition; a roll of flannel with spidery eyes, or an invisible entity which moulds itself in bedding and shows a face of crumpled linen. Dr. James has, it is clear, an intelligent and scientific knowledge of human nerves and feelings; and knows just how to apportion statement, imagery, and subtle suggestion in order to secure the best results with his readers. He is an artist in incident and arrangement rather than in atmosphere, and reaches the emotions more often through the intellect than directly. This method, of course, with its occasional absences of sharp climax, has its drawbacks as well as its advantages; and many will miss the thorough atmospheric tension which writers like Machen are careful to build up with words and scenes. But only a few of the tales are open to the charge of tameness. Generally the laconic unfolding of abnormal events in adroit order is amply sufficient to produce the desired effect of cumulative horror.

The short stories of Dr. James are contained in four small collections, entitled respectively Ghost Stories Of An Antiquary, More Ghost Stories Of An Antiquary, A Thin Ghost And Others, and A Warning To The Curious. There is also a delightful juvenile phantasy, The Five Jars, which has its spectral adumbrations. Amidst this wealth of material it is hard to select a favourite or especially typical tale, though each reader will no doubt have such preferences as his temperament may determine.

Count Magnus is assuredly one of the best, forming as it does a veritable Golconda of suspense and suggestion. Mr. Wraxall is an English traveller of the middle nineteenth century, sojourning in Sweden to secure material for a book. Becoming interested in the ancient family of De La Gardie, near the village of Raback, he studies its records; and finds particular fascination in the builder of the existing manor-house, one Count Magnus, of whom strange and terrible things are whispered. The Count, who flourished early in the seventeenth century, was a stern landlord, and famous for his severity toward poachers and delinquent tenants. His cruel punishments were bywords, and there were dark rumours of influences which even survived his interment in the great mausoleum he built near the church—as in the case of the two peasants who hunted on his preserves one night a century after his death. There were hideous screams in the woods, and near the tomb of Count Magnus an unnatural laugh

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To sit out a play is a bore; to sit out a dance demands less patience. Even when you do it merely to prevent your partner dancing with you, it is the less disagreeable alternative. But it sometimes makes you giddier than galoping. Frank Redhill lost his head—a well-built head—completely through indulging in it; and without the head to look after it, the heart soon goes. He held Lucy's little hand in his hot clasp. She wished he would get himself gloves large enough not to split at the thumbs, and felt quite affectionate towards the dear, untidy boy. As a woman almost out of her teens, she could permit herself a motherly feeling for a lad who had but just attained his majority. The little thing looked very sweet in a demure dress of nun's veiling, which Frank would have described as "white robes." For he was only an undergraduate. Some undergraduates are past masters in the science and art of woman; but Frank was not in that set. Nor did he herd with the athletic, who drift mainly into the unpaid magistracy, nor with the worldly, who usually go in for the church. He was a reading man. Only he did not stick to the curriculum, but fed himself on the conceits of the poets, and thirsted to redeem mankind. So he got a second-class. But this is anticipating. Perhaps Lucy had been anticipating, too. At any rate she went through the scene as admirably as if


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she had rehearsed for it. And yet it was presumably the first time she had been asked to say : " I love you " — that wonderful little phrase, so easy to say and so hard to be- lieve. Still, Lucy said and Frank believed it.

Not that Lucy did not share his belief. It must be for love that she was conceding Frank her hand — since her mother objected to the match. As the nephew of a peer, Frank could give her rather better society than she now en- joyed, even if he could not give her that of the peer, who had an hereditary feud with him. Of course she could not marry him yet, he was quite too poor for that, but he was a young man of considerable talents — which are after all gold pieces. When fame and fortune came to him, Lucy would come and join the party. En atteyidant, their souls would be wed. They kissed each other passionately, seal- ing the contract of souls with the red sealing-wax of burning lips. To them in Paradise entered the Guardian Angel with flaming countenance, and drove them into the outer dark- ness of the brilliant ball-room.

" My dear," said the Guardian Angel, who was Lucy Grayling's mother, " there is going to be an interval, and Mrs. Bayswater is so anxious for you to give that sweet re- citation from Racine."

So Lucy declaimed one of Athalie's terrible speeches in a way that enthralled those who understood it, and made those who didn't, enthusiastic.

The applause did not seem to gratify the Guardian Angel as much as usual. Lucy wondered how much she had seen, and, disliking useless domestic discussion, extorted a prom- ise of secrecy from her lover before they parted. He did not care about keeping anything from his father — especially something of which his approval was dubious. Still, all's fair and honourable in love — or love makes it seem so.


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Frank took a solemn view of engagement, and em- braced Lucy in his general scheme for the redemption of mankind. He felt she was a sacred as well as a precious charge, and he promised himself to attend to her spiritual salvation in so far as her pure instincts needed guidance. He directed her reading in bulky letters bearing the Oxford post-mark. Meantime, Lucy disapproved of his neckties. She thought he would be even nicer with a loving wife to look after his wardrobe.

II.

When Frank achieved the indistinction of a second-class, as prematurely revealed, he went to Canada, and became a farm-pupil. It was not that his physique warranted the work, but there seemed no way in the old country of mak- ing enough money to marry Lucy (much less to redeem mankind) on. He was suffering, too, at the moment from a disgust with the schools, and a sentimental yearning to " return to nature."

The parting with Lucy was bitter, but he carried her bright image in his heart, and wrote to her by every mail. In Canada he did not look at a woman, as the saying goes ; true, the opportunities were scant on the lonely log-farm. Absence, distance, lent the last touch of idealisation and enchantment to his conception of Lucy. She stood to him not only for Womanhood and Purity, but for England, Home, and Beauty. Nay, the thought of her was even Culture, when the evening found him too worn with physical toil to read a page of the small library he had brought with him. He saw his way to profitable farming on his own account in a few years' time. Then Lucy would come out to him, if they should be too impatient to wait till he had made money enough to go to her.


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Lucy's letters did nothing to disabuse him of his ideals or his aims. They were charming, affectionate, and intel- lectual. Midway, in the batch he treasured more than east- ern jewels, the sheets began to wear mourning for Lucy's mother. The Guardian Angel was gone — whether to con- tinue the role none could say. Frank comforted the orphaned girl as best he could with epistolary kisses and condolences, and hoped she would get along pleasantly with her aunt till the necessity for that good relative vanished. And so the correspondence went on, Lucy's mind improving visibly under her lover's solicitous guidance. Then one day Redhill the elder cabled that by the death of his brother and nephew within a few days of each other, he had become Lord Redhill, and Frank consequently heir to a fine old peerage, and with an heir's income. Whereupon Frank re- turned forthwith from nature to civilisation. Now he could marry Lucy (and redeem mankind) immediately. Only he did not tell Lucy he was coming. He could not deny him- self (or her) the pleasure of so pleasurable a surprise.

III.

It was a cold evening in early November when Frank's hansom drove up to the little house near Bond Street, where Lucy's aunt resided. He had not been to see his father yet ; Lucy's angel-face hovered before him, warming the wintry air, and drawing him onwards towards the roof that sheltered her. The house was new to him ; and as he paused outside for a moment, striving to still his emotion, his eye caught sight of a little placard in the window of the ground floor, inscribed "Apartments." He shuddered, a pang akin to self-reproach shot through him. Lucy's


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aunt was poor, was reduced to letting lodgings. Lucy her- self had, perhaps, been left penniless. Delicacy had re- strained her from alluding to her poverty in her letter. He had taken everything too much for granted — surely, straitened as were his means, he should have proffered her some assistance. A suspicion that he lacked worldly wis- dom dawned upon him for the first time, as he rang the bell. Poor little Lucy ! Well, whatever she had gone through, the bright days were come at last. The ocean which had severed them for so many weary moons no longer rolled be- tween them — thank God, only the panels of the street-door divided them now. In another instant that darling head — no more the haunting elusive phantom of dream — would be upon his breast. Then as the door opened, the thought flashed upon him that she might not be in — the idea of wait- ing a single moment longer for her turned him sick. But his fears vanished at the encouraging expression on the face of the maid servant who opened the door.

" Miss Gray's upstairs," she mumbled, without waiting for him to speak. And, all intelligent reflection swamped by a great wave of joy, he followed her up one narrow flight of stairs, and passed eagerly into a room to which she pointed. It was a bright, cosy room, prettily furnished, and a cheerful fire crackled on the hearth. There were books and flowers about, and engravings on the walls. The little round table was laid for tea. Everything smiled " welcome." But these details only gradually penetrated Frank's consciousness — for the moment all he saw was that She was not there. Then he became aware of the fire, and moved involuntarily towards it, and held his hands over it, for they were almost numbed with the cold. Straightening himself again, he was startled by his own white face in the glass.

He gazed at it dreamily, and beyond it towards the fold-


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ing-doors, which led into an adjoining room. His eyes fixed themselves fascinated upon these reflected doors, and strayed no more. It was through them that she would come.

Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to him. When she came through those doors, what would be the effect of his presence upon her? Would not the sudden shock, joyful though it was, upset the fragile little beauty ? Had he not even heard of people dying from joy? Why had he not prepared her for his return, if only to the tiniest extent ? The suspicion that he lacked worldly wisdom gained in force. Tumultuous suggestions of retreat crossed his mind — but before he could move, the folding-doors in the mirror flew apart, and a radiant image dashed lightly through them. It was a vision of dazzling splendour that made his eyes blink — a beautiful glittering figure in tights and tinsel, the prancing prince of pantomime. For an infinitesimal fraction of a second, Frank had the horror of the thought that he had come into the wrong house.

"Good evening, George," the Prince cried: "I had almost given you up."

Great God ! Was the voice, indeed, Lucy's? Frank grasped at the mantel, sick and blind, the world tumbling about his ears. The suspicion that he lacked worldly wis- dom became a certainty. Slowly he turned his head to face the waves of dazzling colour that tossed before his dizzy eyes.

The Prince's outstretched hand dropped suddenly. A startled shriek broke from the painted lips. The re-united lovers stood staring half blindly at each other. More than the Atlantic rolled between them.

Lucy broke the terrible silence.

" Brute ! "


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It was his welcome home.

" Brute?" he echoed interrogatively, in a low, hoarse whisper.

" Brute and cad ! " said the Prince vehemently, the mu- sical tones strident with anger. " Is this your faith, your loyalty — to sneak back home like a thief — to peep through the keyhole to see if I was a good little girl — ?"

" Lucy ! Don't ! " he interrupted in anguished tones. "As there is a heaven above us, I had no suspicion — "

" But you have now," the Prince interrupted with a bitter laugh. Neither made any attempt to touch the other, though they were but a few inches apart. " Out with it ! "

" Lucy, I have nothing to say against you. How should I? I know nothing. It is for you to speak. For pity's sake tell me all. What is this masquerade?"

"This masquerade? " She touched her pink tights — he shuddered at the touch. "These are — " She paused. Why not tell the easy lie and be done with the whole busi- ness, and marry the dear, devoted boy? But the mad instinct of revolt and resentment swept over her in a flood that dragged the truth from her heart and hurled it at him. " These are the legs of Prince Prettypet. If I am lucky, I shall stand on them in the pantomime of The Enchanted Princess ; or, Harlequin Dick Turpiii, at the Oriental Theatre. The man who has the casting of the part is coming to see how I look."

"You have gone on the stage?"

"Yes; I couldn't live on your lectures," Prince Prettypet said, still in the same resentful tone. " I couldn't fritter away the little capital I had when mamma died, and then wait for starvation. I had no useful accomplishments. I could only recite — Athalie."

" But surely your aunt — "


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" Is a fiction. Had she been a fact it would have been all the same. I had had enough of mamma. No more leading-strings !"

" Lucy ! And you wept over her so in your letters? "

" Crocodile's tears. Heavens, are women to have no lives of their own? "

"Oh, why did you not write to me of your difficulties?" he groaned. " I would have come over and fetched you — we would have borne poverty together."

"Yes," the Prince said mockingly. " ' 'E was werry good to me, 'e was.' Do you think I could submit to government by a prig?"

He started as if stung. The little tinselled figure, looking taller in its swashbuckling habits, stared at him defiantly.

"Tell me," he said brokenly, "have you made a living?"

" No. If truth must be told, Lucy Gray — docked at the tail, sir — hasn't made enough to keep Lucy Grayling in theatrical costumes. I got plenty of kudos in the Provinces, but two of my managers were bogus."

"Yes?" he said vaguely.

" No treasury, don't you know? Ghost didn't walk. No oof, rhino, shiners, coin, cash, salary ! "

" Do I understand you have travelled about the country by yourself? "

" By myself ! What, in a company ? You've picked up Irish in America. Ha ! ha ! ha ! "

"You know what I mean, Lucy." It seemed strange to call this new person Lucy, but " Miss Grayling " would have sounded just as strange.

" Oh, there was sure to be a married lady — with her husband — in the troupe, poor thing ! " The Prince had a roguish twinkle in the eye. " And surely I am old enough to take care of myself. Still, I felt you wouldn't like it.


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That's why I was anxious to get a London appearance — if only in East-end pantomime. The money's safe, and your notices are more valuable. I only want a show to take the town. I do hope George won't disappoint me. I thought you were he."

" Who is George ? " he said slowly, as if in pain.

The shrill clamour of the bell answered him.

"There he is!" said the Prince joyfully. "George is only Georgie Spanner, stage-manager of the Oriental. I have been besieging him for two days. Bella Bright, who had to play Prince Prettypet, has gone and eloped with the property-man, and as soon as I heard of it, I got a letter of introduction to Georgie Spanner, and he said I was too little, and I said that was nonsense — that I had played in bur- lesque at Eastbourne — Come in !"

"Are you at home, miss?" said the maid, putting her head inside the door.

" Certainly, Fanny. That's Mr. Spanner I told you of — " The girl's head looked puzzled as it removed itself. " And so he said if I would put my things on, he would try and run down for an hour this evening, and see if I looked the part."

"And couldn't all that be done at the theatre?"

" Of course it could. But it's ten times more convenient for me here. And it's very considerate of Georgie to come all this way — he's a very busy man, I can tell you."

The street-door slammed loudly.

A sudden paroxysm shook Frank's frame. " Lucy, send this man away — for God's sake." In his excitement he came nearer, he laid his hand pleadingly upon the glittering shoulder. The Prince trembled a little under his touch, and stood as in silent hesitancy. The stairs creaked under heavy footsteps.


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David danced with all his might before the Lord. The word is full of dancing. Where dancing in the Bible is mentioned, it always signifies victory for the Lord’s Hosts. It was always done to glorify God. The Lord placed the spirit of power and love of the dance in the Church, and wherever the Scripture speaks of dancing it implies that they danced by inspiration, and were moved by the Spirit, and the Lord was always pleased, and smiled His approval; but the devil stole it away and made capital of it. In these last days, when God is pouring out His Spirit in great cloudbursts and tidal waves from the floodgates of Heaven, and the great river of life is flooding our spirit and body, and baptizing us with fire and resurrection life, and divine energy, the Lord is doing His acts, His strange acts, and dancing in the Spirit and speaking in other tongues, and many other operations and gifts. The Holy Ghost is confirming the last message of the coming King, with great signs and wonders, and miracles. If you read carefully what the Scripture says about dancing, you will be surprised, and will see that singing, music and dancing has a humble and holy place in the Lord’s Church. Read Psa. 149:3. Let them praise His name in the dance, let them sing praises unto Him with the timbrel and harp. (Psa. 150:4.) Praise Him with the timbrel and the dance, praise Him with the stringed instruments and organ. Jere. 31:15, Then shall the virgins rejoice in the dance, both young and old men together.

(2 Sam. 6:14.) David danced before the Lord with all his might; his wife did not like it, she scolded him and made light of him, said he was dancing before the maidens like a lewd fellow, made out as if he was base and low, but he answered, I was not dancing before men, but before the Lord; showing that he had

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252 252 THE PRINCIPAL BOY.

" Go to your room," he said more imperatively. Even in the wreck of his ideal, it was an added bitterness to think that limbs whose shapeliness had never even occurred to him, should be made a public spectacle. " Put on decent clothes."

It was the wrong chord to touch. The Prince burst into a boisterous laugh. " Silly old MacDougall ! "

The footsteps were painfully near.

"You are mad," Frank whispered hoarsely. "You are killing me — you whom I throned as an angel of light ; you who were the first woman in the world — "

"And now I'm going to be the Principal Boy," she laughed quietly back. " Is that you, dear old chap? Come in, George."

The door opened — Frank, disgusted, heart-broken, moved back towards the window-curtains. A corpulent, beef-faced, double-chinned man, with a fat cigar and a fur overcoat, came in.

" How do, Lucy? Cold, eh ? What, in your togs ? That's right."

"There, you bad man ! Don't I look ripping?"

" Stunning, Lucy," he said, approaching her.

" Well, then, down on your knees, George, and apologise for saying I was too little."

" Well, I see more of you now, he ! he ! he ! Yes, you'll do. What swell diggings ! "

" Come to the fire. Take that easy-chair. There, that's right, old man. Now, what is it to be? There's tea laid — you've let it get cold, unpunctual ruffian. Perhaps you'd like a brandy and soda better? "

"M' yes."

She rang the bell. "So glad — because there's only tea for two, and I know my friend would prefer tea," with a


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sneering intonation. " Let me introduce you — Mr. Redhill, Mr. Spanner, you have heard of Mr. Spanner, the celebrated author and stage-manager? "

The celebrated author and stage-manager half rose in his easy-chair, startled, and not over-pleased. The pale-faced rival visitor, half hidden in the curtains, inclined his head stiffly, then moved towards the door.

" Oh, no, don't run away like that, without a cup of tea, in this bitter weather. Mr. Spanner won't mind talking business before you, will you, George? Such a dear old friend, you know."

It was a merry tea-party. Lucy rattled away bewitchingly, overpowering Mr. Spanner like an embodied brandy and soda. The slang of the green room and the sporting papers rolled musically off her tongue, grating on Frank's ear like the scraping of slate pencils. He had not insight enough to divine that she was accentuating her vulgar acquirements to torture him. Spanner went at last — for the Oriental boards claimed him — leaving behind him as nearly definite a promise of the part as a stage-manager can ever bring him- self to utter. Lucy accompanied him downstairs. When she returned, Frank was still sitting as she had left him — one hand playing with the spoon in his cup, the rest of the body lethargic, immobile. She bent over him tenderly.

" Frank ! " she whispered.

He shivered and looked up at the lovely face, daubed with rouge and pencilled at the eyebrows with black — as for the edification of the distant "gods." He lowered his eyes again, and said slowly : " Lucy, I have come back to marry you. What date will be most convenient to you?"

" You want to marry me," she echoed in low tones. " All the same ! " A strange wonderful light came into her eyes. The big lashes were threaded with glistening tears.


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She put her little hand caressingly upon his hair, and was silent.

" Yes ! it is an old promise. It shall be kept."

" Ah ! " She drew her hand away with an inarticulate cry. " Like a duty dance, but you do not love me? "

He ignored the point. " I am rich now — my father has unexpectedly become Lord Redhill — you probably heard it!"

" You don't love me ! You can't love me ! " It sounded like the cry of a soul in despair.

" So there's no need for either of us to earn a living."

" But you don't love me ! You only want to save me."

" Well, of course Lord Redhill wouldn't like his daughter- in-law to be — "

"The Principal Boy — ha! ha! ha! But what — ho! ho ! ho ! I must laugh, Frank, old man, it is so funny — what about the Principal Boy? Do you think he'd cotton to the idea of marrying a peer in embryo ! Not if Lucy Gray knows it ; no, by Jove ! Why, when your coronet came along, I should have to leave the stage, or else people 'ud be saying I couldn't act worth a cent. They'd class me with Lady London and Lady Hansard — oh, Lord ! Fancy me on the Drury Lane bills — Prince Prettypet, Lady Red- hill. And then, great Scot, think whom they'd class you with. Ha ! ha ! ha ! No, my boy, I'm not going to marry a microcephalous idiot. Ho ! ho ! ho ! I wish somebody would put all this in a farce."

" Do I understand that you wish to break off the engage- ment?" Frank said slowly, a note of surprise in his voice.

" You've hit it — now that I hear about this peerage busi- ness — why didn't you tell me before? I'm out of all the gossip of court circles, and it wasn't in the Era. No, I might have redeemed my promise to a commoner, but a


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lord, ugh! I never had your sense of duty, Frank, and must really cry ‘quits.’ Now you see the value of secret engage- ments — ours is off, and nobody will be the wiser — or the worse. Now get thee to his lordship — concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, no longer preying upon thy damask cheek. I was alway sorry you had to keep it from the old buffer. But it was for the best, wasn’t it?—-ha! ha!—it was for the best! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!”

Frank fled down the staircase followed by long peals of musical laughter. They followed him into the bleak night, which had no frost for him; but they became less musical as they rang on, and as the terrified maid and the landlady strove in vain to allay the hysterical tempest.

IV.

The Oriental, on Boxing Night, was like a baker’s oven for temperature, and an unopened sardine-barrel for popu- lousness. The East-end had poured its rollicking multitudes into the vast theatre, which seethed over with noisy vitality. There was much traffic in ginger beer, oranges, Banbury cakes, and “bitter.” The great audience roared itself hoarse over old choruses with new words. Lucy Gray, as Prince Prettypet, made an instant success. The mashers of the Oriental ogled her in silent flattery. Her clear elocution, her charming singing voice, her sprightly dancing, her chic, her frank vulgarity, when she “let herself go,” took every heart captive. Every heart, that is, save one, which was filled with sickness and anguish, and covered with a veil of fine linen. The heir of the house of Redhill cowered at the back of the O.P. stage-box — the only place in the house disengaged when he drove up in a mistaken


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dress-suit. It was the first time he had seen Prince Pretty- pet since the merry tea-party, and he did not know why he was seeing her now. He hoped she did not see him. She pirouetted up to the front of his box pretty often during the evening, and several times hurled ancient wheezes at the riotous funnymen from that coign of vantage. Spoken so near his ear, the vulgar jokes tingled through him like lashes from a whip. Once she sang a chorus, winking in his direction. But that was the business of the song, and im- personal. He saw no sure signs of recognition, and was glad.

When, during the gradual but gorgeous evolution of the Transformation Scene, he received a note from her, he remained glad. It ran, " The bearer will take you behind. I have no one to see me home. Always your friend — Lucy." He went " behind," following his guide through a confusion of coatless carpenters waving torches of blue and green fire from the wings, and gauzy, highly coloured White- chapel girls ensconcing themselves in uncomfortable atti- tudes on wooden pedestals, which were mounting and descending.

Georgie Spanner was bustling about, half crazed, amid a hubbub perfectly inaudible from the front ; but he found time to scowl at Frank, as that gentleman stumbled over the pantaloon and fell against a little iron lever, whose turning might have plunged the stage in darkness. Frank found Lucy in a tiny cellar with whitewashed walls and a rough counter, on which stood a tin basin and a litter of " make up" materials. She had " changed " before he came. It was the first time for years he had seen her in her true womanly envelope. Assuredly she had grown far lovelier, and her face was flushed with triumph ; otherwise it was the old Lucy. The Prince was washed off with the paint.


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Rh Frank's eyes filled with tears. How hard he had been on her! Nay, had he not misjudged her? She looked so frail, so little, so childish, what guile could she know? It

was all mere surface-froth on her lips! How narrow to set up his life, his ideals, as models, patterns! The poor little thing had her own tastes, her own individuality! How hard she worked to earn her own living! He bent down and kissed her forehead, remorsefully, as one might kiss an over-


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scolded child. She drew his head down lower and kissed him — passionately — on the lips. " Let us wait a little," she said, as he spoke of sending for a hansom. " Sloman, the lessee, gives a little supper on the stage after the show — he'll be annoyed if I don't stay. He'll he delighted to have you."

The pantomime had gone better than anyone had ex- pected. It had been insufficiently rehearsed, and though everybody had said " it'll be all right at night " — in the immemorial phrase of the profession — they had said it more automatically than confidently. Consequently every- one was in high feather, and agreeably surprised at the accuracy of the prophesying. Even Georgie Spanner ceased to scowl under the genial influences of success and Sloman's very decent champagne. The air was full of laughter and gaiety, and everybody (except the clown) cracked jokes. The leading ladies made themselves pleasant, and did not swear. Everybody seemed to have acquired a new respect for Lucy, seeing her with such a real Belgravian swell. Probably she would soon have a theatre of her own.

It was the Prig's first excursion into Bohemia, and he thought the natives very civil-spoken, naive, and cordial. Frank had no doubt now that Lucy was right, that he was a Prig to want to redeem mankind. And the conviction that he lacked worldly wisdom was sealed for aye.

V.

So he married her.


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was the most curious case of croup I had ever attended.

Not that there was anything unusual about the symptoms —they were so correct as to be devoid of the slightest interest. Certainly they were not worth while being called up for in the middle of the night. The patient it was that attracted my attention. He was a handsome baby of one year and nine months—by name Willy Streetside—with such an expression of candour and intelligence that I was moved to see him suffer. I sat down by his bedside, took his poor little feverish hand, and felt the weak quick pulse, and knew it had not much longer to beat. I put the glass of barley and water to his lips, and he drank eagerly. He seemed to be an orphan, in charge of a strange, silent serving-man, apparently the only other occupant of the luxurious and artistically furnished flat. I judged Downton to be a man of some culture, from the latest magazines strewn about the bedroom; but I could not help thinking that a female, more familiar with infantile ailments, might have been more useful. Apathetic and torpid though I was, from eighteen hours' continuous activity in a hundred sickrooms, my eyes filled with tears, and I sat for an instant, holding the little hand, listening to the poor child's painful breathing, and speculating on the mystery of that existence so early recalled. All his organs were sound. But for this accidental croup, I told myself, he might have lived till


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eighty. " Poor Willy Streetside ! " I murmured, for his curious name clung to my memory.

Suddenly the baby turned his blue eyes full on me, and said :

" I suppose it's all up, doctor? "

I started violently, and let go his hand. The words were perhaps not altogether beyond the capacity of an infant ; but the air of manly resignation with which they were uttered was astonishing. For more reasons than one, I hesitated.

"You need not be afraid to tell me the truth," said the baby, with a wistful smile ; " I'm not afraid to hear it."

" Well — well, you're pretty bad," I stammered.

" Ah ! thank you," the child replied gratefully. " How many hours do you give me? "

The baby's gravity took my breath away. He spoke with an old-world courtesy and the ingenuous stateliness of an infant prince.

" It may not be quite hopeless," I murmured.

Willy shook his head, the pretty, wan features distorted by a quaint grimace.

" I suppose I'm too young to rally," he said quietly, and closed his eyes.

Presently he re-opened them, and added :

" But I should have liked to live to see the Irish question settled."

"You would? " I ejaculated, overwhelmed.

" Yes," he said, adding with a whimsical expression in the wee blue eyes : " You mustn't think I crave for earthly im- mortality. I use ' settled ' in a merely rough sense. My mother was an Irish poetess, over whose songs impetuous Celts still break their hearts and their heads."

I gazed speechless at this wonder-child, pushing the


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golden locks back from his feverish baby-brow, as if to assure myself by touching him that he was not a phantom.

" Ah, well ! " he finished, " it doesn't matter. I have had my day, and mustn't grumble. I scarcely thought, when I witnessed the dissolution of the third Gladstone Government, that I should have lived to see him Premier a fourth time. Three doctors told me I was breaking up fast."

I began to be frightened of this extraordinary infant, divining some wizardry behind the candid little face — some latter-day mystery of re-incarnation, esoteric Buddhism, what-not. The child perceived my perturbation.

"You are thinking I have packed a good deal into my short life," he said, with an amused smile. "And yet some men will make a Gladstone bag hold as much as a port- manteau. Gladstone has done so ; and why not I, in my humble degree? "

"True," I answered; "but you cannot begin to pack before you are born."

"You are entirely mistaken," replied the baby, "if you think I have done anything so precocious as that."

"Then you must have lived an odd life," I said, puzzled.

" You have hit it ! " exclaimed the child, with a suspicion of eagerness, not unmingled with surprise. " I did not mean to tell anyone ; but since you are a man of science and I am on the point of death, you may as well know you have guessed the truth."

"Have I?" I said, more bewildered than ever.

"Yes. In all these years no one has suspected it. It has been carefully kept from outsiders. But now it would, perhaps, be childish folly to be reticent about it. It is the truth — the plain, literal truth — I have lived an odd life."

"How did it begin?" I asked, scarce knowing what I said or what I meant.


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"You shall know all," said Willy. " I must begin before I was born — before I could begin packing, as you put it."

His breath came and went painfully. Overwrought with curiosity as I was, I experienced a pang of compunction.

"No, no; never mind," I said; "you have not the strength to speak much — you must not waste what you have."

"It can only cost me a few minutes of life — I can spare the time," he answered, almost peevishly.

Now that he had been strung up to speaking point, he seemed to resent my diminished interest.

I put the glass of barley and water to his lips, and forced him to moisten his throat.

" I can spare the time," he repeated, while an air of grim satisfaction came over the tiny features. " I have stolen plenty — I have outwitted the arch-thief himself. I have survived my own death."

"What ! " I gasped. "Have you already died? "

" No, no," he replied fretfully ; " I am only just going to die. That is how I have survived my death. How dull you are ! "

" You were going to begin at the beginning," I murmured feebly.

" No ! What is the use of beginning at the beginning?" this enfant terrible enquired, in the same peevish tones. " I was going to begin before the beginning."

"Yes, yes," I said soothingly, patting his golden curls; " you were going to begin before you were born."

" With my mother," he said more gently. " She did not lead a very happy life — it enabled her to hymn the wrongs of her country. Her childhood was a succession of sorrows, her girlhood a mass of misfortunes ; and when she married the man she loved, she found herself deserted by him a few


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months later. It was then that she first conceived the thought that has changed my life. It came to her in a moment of tears, as she sat over the ashes of her happiness. From that moment the thought never left her."

There was a wild look in the baby's eyes. I began to suspect him of premature insanity.

"What was this thought?" I murmured.

" I am coming to it. There came into her head suddenly the refrain of a song she had learnt at school : ' Life like a river with constant motion.' ' The river of life ! The stream of life ! How true it is ! ' she mused. ' How much more than mere metaphors these phrases are ! Verily, one's life flows on towards the dark ocean of death, irresistibly, un- restingly, willy-nilly — whether swift or slow, whether long or short — whether it flows through pleasant champaigns or dreary marshes, past romantic castled crags, or by bleak quarries. What is the use of experience, of knowledge of past bits of the route, when no two bits are ever really alike, when the future course is hidden and is always a pano- rama of surprises, when no life-stream knows what awaits it round the corner every time it turns, when the scenery of the source avails one nothing in one's resistless progress towards the scenery of the mouth ? What is life but a series of mistakes, whose fruit is wisdom, maybe, but wisdom over- ripe? We do not pluck the fruit till it will no longer serve our appetites. Nothing repeats itself on the stage of existence — always new situations and new follies. Experi- entia docet. Experience teaches, indeed ; but her lesson is that nothing can be learnt.' "

The baby paused, and reached out his wasted hand for the glass. His pinafore and his tiny shoes on the chest of drawers caught my eye, and moistened it with the thought he would never don them again.


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" As my mother brooded upon this bitter truth," he resumed, when he had refreshed himself, "and saw how sad an illustration of it was her own life — with its sufferings and its mistakes — she could not help wishing existence had been ordered otherwise. If we had had at least two lives, we might profit in the second by the first. But, she told herself, with a sigh, this was vain day-dreaming. Then sud- denly the thought flashed upon her. Granting that more than one life was impossible upon this planet, why should it not be differently distributed ? Suppose, instead of flow- ing on like a stream, one's life progressed like a London street — the odd numbers on the one side and the even on the other, so that after doing the numbers i, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11, &c, &c, one could return and do the numbers 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, &c, &c. Without craving from Providence more than man's allotted span, what if, by a slight re-arrangement of the years, it were possible to extort an infinitely greater degree of happiness from one's life-time ! What if it were possible to live the odd years, gleaning experience as well as joys, and then to return to the even years, armed with all the wisdom of one's age ! What if her child could enjoy this inestimable privilege ! The thought haunted her, she brooded on it day and night ; and when I was born, she drew me eagerly towards her, as if to see some mark of promise written on my forehead. But a year passed before she dared to think her wish had found fulfilment. On the eve of my first birthday she measured and weighed me with intense anxiety, though pretending to herself she only wished to keep a register of my growth. In the morning I was more by a year's inches and pounds. I had shot up at a bound into my third year, and manifested sudden symptoms of walking and talking. She almost fainted with joy when my unexpected teeth bit her finger. She could not get my


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shoes on me, nor my frock. But, although my mother had made no preparations for my changed condition, she wel- comed the trouble I put her to, and carefully laid aside my useless garments, knowing I should want them again. The neighbours noticed nothing; they thought me a big boy for my age, and extremely precocious. When I was in my fifth year I went on the stage as an ' infant phenomenon,' my age being attested by my certificate of birth, though you will of course see that I was really in my ninth. In the next few years I made enough money to gild my mother's few declin- ing years ; and when I retired temporarily from the boards at the advice of my critics, it was of course with the inten- tion of studying and returning to the stage when I was younger. And so I advanced to manhood, skipping the alternate years. I rejoice to say that my mother, though she died when I was seventy-three, had the satisfaction of knowing what felicity her unselfish aspiration had brought into my life, She told me of my strange exemption from the common burden of continuous existence, as soon as I had skipped into years of discretion. Not for me did Time pass with that tragic footstep which never returns on itself; f or me he was not the irrevocable, the relentless. I regretted my lost youth — but it was not with hopeless, passionate tears, with mutinous yearnings after the impossible ; it was as one who waves a regretful adieu to a charming girl he will meet again."

"Ah ! but you will not meet her again," I said softly.

" No ; but the feeling was the same. Of course, when I was thirty I did not know I should die before I was two. I had no more privilege of prescience than the ordinary mortal. But in everything else how enviable was my lot compared to his whom every day is sweeping towards Death, for whom no vision of renewed youth gleams behind


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the black hangings ! Oh ! the glory of growing old without dread, with the assurance that age, which is ripening you, is not ripening you for the Gleaner, that the years will add wisdom without eternally subtracting the capacity for joy, and that every tottering step is bringing you nearer, not the Grave, but the joyous resurrection of your youth ! "

"And you have experienced that?" I cried, with envious incredulity.

"Yes," answered the baby solemnly. "Of course I pre- pared for the Great Change. Not that Nature did not her- self smooth the metamorphosis. The loss of teeth, the gradual baldness, the feeble limbs, everything pointed to the proximity of my Second Childhood. I knew that my odd life had not much longer to run, that at any moment the transformation might take place and the even numbers begin. Giving out that I was going to explore the African deserts, and accompanied only by my faithful body-servant, Downton, I retired to Egypt to await the great event, having previously ordered baby-linen and the various requisites of infantile toilette. I had at one time meditated providing myself with parents, but ultimately concluded that they would prove too troublesome to manage, and that it would be better to trust myself entirely to the management of Downton, since I had already placed myself in his power by leaving him all my money."

" But what necessity was there for that? " I enquired.

" Every necessity," he replied gravely. " Do you not see that I had to arrange all my affairs and make my will before being born again, because afterwards I should not be of legal age for ten years. At first I thought of leaving all my money to myself and passing as my own child, but there would have been difficulties. I was unmarried and seventy-seven. Downton could easily pretend his septuagenarian master