SECOND FLOOR ROMANCE. He was the second floor lodger. She was his landlady's niece. For eighteen months she had called him at eight o'clock precisely, and laid his simple meals twice a day. During that period he had merely regarded her as an essential particle of the lodging- house. Perhaps he was dull of observation. Stephen Lamb was 49, short, and spare of figure, sallow of skin, and existed behind tinted spectacles. His valuation of himself was small, rendering him nervous and retiring in manner, and wholly unattractive. "He must be a good little man," once re- marked the landlady. "Corner home regular, drinks water, and pays me every Monday morning on the stroke of the clock, and "And lives like a mole," concluded her niece, contemptuously. Stephen's attention was first attracted by a rent in her gown. He became interested in the frayed snag, which gaped for two whole days. "Why don't you mend it ï" he asked on the third morning. "That's my business." The retort was sharp. He blushed behind his newspaper, reproved for his first remark. The next day he saw that it was mended in a zig-zag of white cotton. He reflected tha.t common-sense would have darned dark stuff with olack thread, and regarded the in- dividual laying his supper as a curiosity. "Well?" she interrogated, placing a. fork geometrically straight on the table-cloth. "I was wondering, he said, confused, "why-w hy" "Why I mended it with white cotton ? Because I couldn't find black." Then lie ventured to study the speaker's face, and noted that her eyes were blue, dark blue, and that her mouth curved prettily. Her attire was careless, even to untidiness, at which he winced. Her clothes did not seem to belong to her; she only wore them, and through them her figure W revealed the slenderness of an over-grown child. He watched her hands moving like quicksilver over the table, and listened to the aggressive creaking of her shabbily-shod feet. With half-closed eyes, lie tried to imagine her decked in cuffs and collar and a few more hairpins. "The mole is beginning to see," she thought, as she whisked about the room consciously. "I suppose she would be called a 'Uorothy-dni-ggte-tail!' he admitted to him- self with reluctance. "But how pretty she is -how pretty He blinked through his spectacles until lie had idealised the whole of her common-place little body into an ethereal vision. The exaggeration was due to having existed meta- phorically blind for so long. He lived the life of a carefully-regulated clock, clerking in a mercantile office upon JE120 a year. Steady, but lacking ambition, his "rises"' were slow and infinitesimal. One day he took cold in a November fog, and his landlady, without remunerative con- sideration, made him poultices and applied them. He was not so patient nor so grateful as might have been expected. "I intend to get up," lie announced from a raw chest after a week in becl. The good woman expostulated, but he had his way. Although simple in mind, he pos- sessed a mulish tendency. "Il was ghastly upstairs, •Jenny," he con- fided to the niece. "I seem to have been there seven months instead of as many days. She sympathised without her natural abruptness of speeoh, and he shifted in his chair to look at her. "Jenny," he said solemnly, "if I were to die I should like you to have ail my books on the shelf there. You've dusted them for So long. While upstairs I was thinking "Nonsense," she interpolated. "You have the blues, I guess." Although her tone was tart, the former gentleness he had noticed in her bearing remained. She stirred the fire and laughed. It was such a cheery laugh that he caught it from her, and responded huskily, "Don't go, Jenny, you do me good 1" She hummed a little tune while lighting tne gas and drawing the blind, and was care- ful to walk on her toes. "I like to hear your shoes creaking," he said; "that was one of the things I missed upstairs." She lingered a, little while, and finally went away in a. hurry. "I wonder if she is too old to hang iip her stocking on/Christmaa Eve?" lie solilo- quized. "Should like to put in some bon- bons and some hairpins and some ribbon and lace—things like other girls wear. Per- haps she would call that "rubbish,' though. I wish He went on wishing a great many things, among them that he were clever instead of good. I'rom.earliest- recollections he had been called "a good boy," in the nursery, and at the school, and in the office where he clerked. But just now he was in the mood to be contrary. He wanted to say a, great deal to Jenny, and didn't know how to say it. Subsequently, when she opened the door a couple of inches to inquire if he wanted any- thing el,se that night, he started giriltily and said: "Xo, thank you," instead of detaining her. When the door had closed he remained staring at the panels. The regular tick-tick of the little clerk's life became uneven. He continued to drink water, but sometimes arrived at his office five minutes late. And once he forgot the Monday morning payment to his landlady. She let the day go by without comment, but when Tuesday evening waned, and there was no sign from him, she told her niece to throw out a reminder, which Jenny did reluctantly. "I've never done such a thing before," he exclaimed, two red spots adorning his cheek- bones. "The fact is, I-I didn't go to church on Sunday, and the omission must have made me miscalculate the days." The fact was true, but as an excuse for his forgetfulness he privately scorned it. He brooded. "Perhaps I'm going to be ill. I don't feel myseit exactly. My own machinery seems to have stopped, and something else to be pro- I pelling me along. I don't know where—and I don't care Then he trembled at the recklessness of his new attitude, and endeavoured to collect his former self. For ten days he went about with inward sentinel over his thoughts and actons a.t the end of them lie had lost his appetite and wore the expression of a hunted criminal. "You're overworking," Jenny remarked, meeting him on the stairs one morning. The sallowness of his face had deepened, and his shoulders were more contracted. He shrank away from her solicitude, magnifying it to himself when alone. At odd moments ne stealthily studied his countenance in the mantelpiece mirror, observing critically that his^ features were sharpening. "I suggest a man in love!" be muttered, his mouth twitching in comical dismay. "And I am 49—and look it!" By and bye his distress gave way to a thrill at once pleasurable and lugubrious in its conscious hopelessness. But lie hugged the spasm to his breast, feeding it with i: asive hopes, until it had fastened on the very pivot of his lonely existence. He 00- came buoyant in gpirits and youthful in manner. The beggars in the streets received his charity in pennies ad lib., their outward wretchedness reproaching his inward joy. His newly born happiness was self-created. He cherished it continually, guarding it with jealous care, fearing an outside world might crush it. Partlv for this reason he hesitated to speak to Jenny; he preferred living in the ideality of his love to risking certain pos- sibilities. It was with a painful effort that lie fixed the date of his proposal; and he looked forward to the day as a man antici- pates his execution, with a feverish hope of a timely reprieve. What if she shattered his dreams with a laugh of derision? The doubt came to him suddenly in the office, and he made his first blot in the ledger. He had decided to "put his fate to the test" on Easter Monday, being a special day y r, and one likely to colour the occasion with brightness. There was a week to the good in which he could live in the heaven of his imagination. He grudged the nights which were passed in sleep, and woke to count with regard another day nearer to the end of his suspense. Finally his natural sense of terror overpowered his yearning. He juggled with his reason in persuading himself that any day would be as good as the one determined. "I'm going to spend my Easter holidays away—with some relations," he told Jenny, awkwardly jerking out the lie. "I'm going to have some—some jolly times." "I hope you will, she said with sincerity. "Holidays in a lodging-house must be awful. I was sorry for you at Christmas." "Were you, Jenny ?'' He laid a detaining hand on her shoulder as she moved to the door. If he had not previously tortured himself enough he might have risked every hope at that moment and spoken. He said something incoherently re- lative to "a jolly bank holiday" for herself, and mildly cursed his stupidity when the opportunity had slipped from him. It was on the day Stephen ran away to spend hig vacation, in another second floor sitting-room in the next street, that Jenny became engaged to the drawing-room lodger. When, at four o'clock on the bank holiday, Stephen Lamb let himself into his old apart- ments with the latch-key and crept up to his parlour with the stealth of a burglar, he found his own society in unfamiliar surround- ings too depressing. "I'll do it to-night," he muttered, crouch- ing in the armchair. "The first time I see her I'll say—F)i say"- He mumbled and shivered, and started violently at every sound about the house. until the door opened suddenly, and he shrank into the utmost limits of the chair. It was Jenny carrying a bedroom caudle. She went straight to the mirror and surveyed herself with steady interest. He saw that she wore a new gown, and that her hair was all pinned up. There was a festive importance about the lace frills at her throat and wrists, which made her unfamiliar to his eye. "I hardly knew you, Jenny," he said in a whisper. "I came back half an hour ago," he explained, as she confronted him with a gasp of surprise. "I don't like—my rela- tions." "You must be cold," she commented. "I'll put a match to the fire-it is laid." He sat there shivering while the faggots crackled. "A new rig, Jenny, eh?" j-es, I thought I had trailed about in my aunt's skirts and old bodice long enough, so I gently hinted at being fitted up like other girls." "You look better than other girls, Jenny. You"- but there he stopped. The muffin bell in the street gave him an inspiration. "I could just eat a muffin," he said, betray- ing some excitement. "Get enough for us both, Jenny, and well toast them up here." The coals had flamed and burned red when she returned with the muffins and the tea- tray. As she knelt on the hearthrug with the toasting fork, she was sensible to his scrutinv. "Do you think that two people could live on £ 120 a year, and not be uncomfortable?" lie asked, without a prelude. "If the woman had any 'grit' in her—yes," I she answered promptly. "I am sure that she has r' "Then I shouldn't lose any time," she advised. "You live such a drearv, vegetable kind of life." "Dreary, vegetable kind of life he echoed. Her advice had opened the way for him. Why couldn't he plunge into it? Why couldn't he do the thing like other fellows? His heart was thumping under his waistcoat with love's eloquence, but his tongue was heavy, and he hadn't the courage to touch her. As she turned the muffin over, lie de- cided that "when the other .side was done," he would say something, however wild and stupid; that the finish of that muffin should see her resting in his arms, and the joy of his life begun. He compared the long, lonelv emptiness of the past with the warm promise of the future, and laughed aloud, exultantly. Trepidation had given way to confidence. It was all so near, almost within his hands In a few more seconds he would be breath- ing a prayer of thankfulness. In a few more seconds-- "You must wish me a double' happiness this Easter," she was saying in a soft, shy voice. "I am going to be married at Whit- suntide." She held the toasting-fork listlessly, and the half-dons muffin slipped unheeded among the ashes. Mechanically he picked it up while the low voice murmured on about "Somebody's" virtues and goodness, and the little house that "Somebody" had fixed upon and, finally, the nobility and devotion of that wonderful "Somebody." Stephen listened, and the half-expectant smile on his lips straightened into two sharp lines. He laughed a little imitation laugh in response to her full one, as she unconsciously burst his pretty air-bubble. For an instant lie was tempted to make an outcry of the pain that had fastened on his heart. In the next- "This muffin is spoilt," he said, slowly blowing at the smudgy ash marks. "Let's try another, Jenny."—"Black and White."
■1W———————MWEBai A wise man's day is worth a fool's life.— Arabic. Wine invents nothing, it only tattles.- Schiller. (-roodne^s thinks no ill where no ill seems.— MiltOft. There is nothing good or evil save in the will.—Epictetus. Valour employed in an ill quarrel turns to cowardice.—Massinger. There fire more men ennobled by stud$- than 'by 'nature;.—Cicero. If you waste time trying to discover what you are here for, the Lord himself will be at a loss to account for having made you. An Era of Prosperity—Business of all kinds is reviving; even the train robbers ,are making bigger hauls than they made last year. As soon as the engagement is announced the average young man begins to observe that tthere are other girls besides his betrothed who are pretty. "Has old Tough quit smoking ?" inquired one man of another. "I don't, know whether he has or not, but he died the othtT day," was trie evasive reply. Office Boy: Dere's two men out deri" wante to see yer: one of 'em's a. poet and tother'n' 's a deef man. Editor Well go out and tell ifce poet tfaofc tfce deaf man is the editor.
XORJIAX ROSS, FOR THE MURDER, OF HIS MISTRESS. I The trial and execution of Norman Ross, for the murder of his mistress, sheds an odd light on certain phases of social life a century and a half ago. "The parti-coloured tribe of servants denominated footmen" were a very different class from the footmen of to- day. Half-braggart, half-bully, the footman of that time was an armed ruffian in livery, who wasi allowed to ride roughshod over eveiybody, provided that he paid a certain amount of deference to his employer. To such a daring pitch had their impudence arrived that they created a riot at the theatre in Drury Lane, even in the presence of the Heir Apparent to the Throne. One evening when the Prince and Princess of Wales, the father a.nd mother of King George III., attended the performance, these miscreants commenced it, dreadful uproar. It was then the custom to admit servants in livery into the upper gallery gratis, in compliment to their employers, on whom they wtre sup- posed to be in attendance and, not content with peaceably witnessing the performance, they frequently interrupted those who had paid for admission, and, assuming the pre- rogative of critics, hissed or applauded 'with the most offensive clamour In consequence of these violent proceedings, the manager shut the door against them, unless they each paid their shilling. Upon one occasion, when that part of the Royal Family already- mentioned were present, they mustered in a gang to the number of three hundred, broke open the doors of the theatre, fought their way to the very door of the stage, and tn their progress 'wounded twenty-five peaceable people. Colonel De Veil, then an active magistrate for Westminster, happened to be pres-nt, an) in vain attempted to read a proclamation against such an outrage; but, though they obstructed him in his duty, he caused the ringleaders to be secured, and the next day committed three of them to New- gate. At the ensuing sessions they were con- victed of the riot and sentenced to imprison-, ment. In the meantime the choler of these upstarts was raised to such a pitch that they sent the following threats to the manager: — "To Mr. Fleetwood, in LincolnVTnn-Fields, "Master of the Theatre Drury Lane. "Sir,—We are willing to admonish you be- fore we attempt our design, and provided you I The murderer wa.s discovered. Use lie civil and admit us into our gallery, f which is our property, according to formalities; and, if you think proper to come to a compo- sition this way, youll hea-r no further; and, if I not, our intention is to combine in a bodv, incognito, and reduce the playhouse to the ground. Valuing uo distinction, we are un- demnifkd 1" The manager carried this letter to the Lord Chamberlain, who ordered a detachment of fifty soldiers to do duty there each night, and thus deterred the rowdies from carrying their threats into execution. At the Edin- burgh Theatre it was also a custom to admit men 'wearing livery into the gallery gratis and, when Garrick's farce, "High Life Below Stairs," was performed there, a most violent clamour broke out in the gallery, so as to entirely interrupt the performance and put the other part of the audience in fear of the consequences. Thei hardy Scotchmen, he wever, laid hold of the rioters, and kicked every one of them out of the house, where. without paying, they never more entered. Having thus referred to an evil which existed in 1751, to an extent which it is almost impossible for us to realise, who are not troubled by turbulent crowds of armed re- tainers in the service of the rich, it is time to proceed to The History of Worm an Ross. Ross was born of decent parents, in Inver- ness, and received an education by which he •would have been fitted to fill a situation in a merchant's counting-house.. The difficulty in obtaining such employment, however, in- duced him to enter the service of a lady, who had always exhibited great kindness towards his family, and lie soon afterwards accom- panied her son to the Continent in the capa- city of valet-de-chambre. He continued in this situation during five years, v" en he re- turned to Scotland, and was employed by an attorney in Edinburgh; but, having con- tracted an intimacy among other servants of the day, from their instruction he acquired all the fashionable habits of drinking, swear- ing, and gaming, and was dismissed on account of his impudence and the irregu- larities of his conduct. He was subsequently engaged by a Mrs. Hume, a widow lady of good fortune, ".vhose residence, during the summer, was at Ayton-a village about four miles from Berwick-upon-Tweed. The ex- travagance of our hero, and an unfortunate intercourse which lie had with a fellow-ser- vant, soon compelled him to look for some other means of procuring money besides that which was honestly afiorded 1) Im by his mistress; and, having exhausted the patience of his friends by borrowing from them re- peatedly, he formed the resolution of robbing his employer. It would appear that Mrs. Hume slept in a room on the first floor, and that the keys of her bureau were usually placed under her head for safety. Sundav night was the time fixed upon for the com- mission of the robbery; and, 'waiting in his bedroom without undressing himself, till he judged the family to be asleep, he descended, and, leaving his shoes in the passage, pro- ceeded to his lady's bed-chamber. rpon his endeavouring to get possession of the keys, the lady was disturbed, and, being dreadfully alarmed, called for assistance; but, the rest of the family lying at a distant part of the house, her screams were not heard. Ross immediately seized a clasp knife that lay on the table, and cut his mistress's throat in a most dreadful manner. This horrid act was no sooner perpetrated than, without waiting to put op his shoes or to secure either money or other effects, he leaped out of the window, and, after travelling several miles, concealed himself in a field of corn. In the morning the gardener discovered a livery hat, which the murderer had dropped in descending from the window; and, suspecting that something extraordinary had happened, lie alarmed his fellow-servants. The disturbance in the house brought the two daughters of Mrs. Hume downstairs, but no words can express the horror and consternation of the young ladies upon beholding their parent weltering in her blood and the fatal instrument of death lying on the floor. Ross being absent and C, His Shoes and Hat Being Found it was concluded that he must liav;3 coin* mitted the barbarous deed; and the butler, therefore, mounted a horse and alarmed the country, lest the murderous villain should escape. The butler was soon joined by great numbers of horsemen, and towards the con- elusion of the day. when both men and horses were nearly exhausted through excessive fatigue, the murderer was discovered in a field of standing corn. He was immediately secured, and, being brought to trial, he had the effrontery to declare that he was admitted to share his mistress's bed, and that his custom was always to leave his shoes at the parlour door; that, on the night of the murder, he proceeded as usual to her room, but on entering it his horror was aroused at discovering her to be muidered. He leaped out at the window to search for the perpe- trators of the deed, and, dropping his hat, he thought it better not to return until night. Ha.ving been found guilty, he was sentenced to have his right hand chopped off, then to be hanged till dead, the body to be hung in chains, and the right-hand to be affixed at the top of the gibbet with the knife made use of in the commission of the murder. Upon receiving sentence of death he began seriously to reflect on his miserable situation, and the next day he requested the attendance of Mr. James Craig, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, to whom he confessed his guilt, declaring that there was no foundation for his reflections, against the chastity of the deceased. Six weeks elapsed between the time of his trial and that of his execution, during which he showed every sign of the most sincere penitence, and refused to accom- pany two prisoners who broke out of gaol, saying he had no desire to recover his liberty, but that, on the contrary, lie would cheerfully submit to the utmost severity of punishment, that he might make atonement for his wicked- ness. The day appointed for putting the sentence of the law into force being arrived, Ross walked to the place of execution, hold- ing Mr. Craig by the arm. Having addressed. a pathetic speech to the populace, and prayed some time with great fervency of devotion, the rope was put round his neck, and he laid his right hand upon the block, when it was struck off by the executioner at two blows. He was immediately afterwards run up to the gallows, when, feeling the rope drawing tight, by a convulsive motion of the arm, he struck the bloody wrist against his cheek, which gave it a ghastly appearance. The sentence was subsequently fully carried into effect. The execution took place on the 8th of January, 1751.
WEDDING SUPERSTITIONS. Among the immense number of supersti- tions in the world, the great proportion clus- ter about the continually recurring phenomena. of existence—birth, marriage, and death. A few of those connected with weddings are given as the season approaches when mar- riages occur most frequently in the fashion- able world A maiden should never be married. in colours if she wishes to be happy, the iv.osb unfortunate colours being yellow and green. t Widows who tarry ouwht not to be dressed in white. Wednesday is the mos" fortunate day for marriages, Saturday the most unlucky. The 13th of the month is unfortunate for a-1 purposes. If a. wedding party should meet a funeral on the way to church, separation will ensue. Birds in flocks are lucky, and the sun to shine upon a biTcle is most propitious, denot- ing success in all matters and mutual love.. If a green pea pod containing nine peas is put by a maiden over the hall door, she wd» be married if the first stranger who entei'9 happens to be a bachelor. Eveything commenced upon the first day oi the moon is supposed to turn out successful.. To dream of a wedding means a death, and to dream of a death foretells a wedding. To change the date for a wedding is coD" sidered unlucky. Two spoons in one cup is a sign of a wed- ding. -P It is unlucky to be married in the waning of the moon.
Silence, when nothing need be said, is th3 eloquence of discretion.—Boyc. To know that which before us lies in daily life is the prime wisdom.—Milton. When the world dissolve" all places wHI be hell that are not Heaven.—Marlowe. The most substantial glory of a country is in its virtuous great men.—Fisher Ames. Life without industry is guilt, and industry without art is brutality.-Ru-skin. Individuality is everywhere to he spared and e ted as the root of everything good. —l^ichter. God writes the Gospel not in the alone, but on trees and flowers and cloud3 and stars.—Luther. Dora: Have you decided what you wi11 wear at the hotel hop to-night. Cora V. you know, 1 have thought of absolutely nothing. "What I'm afraid of," said the captain Of the overdue ship, waiking distractedly to a!:i$J fro on the bridge of the labouring vessel. 1 that when we ge tinto port there will be thousand or more women wanting to kl me." Mrs. Strngmind (1910).—"By all, IY\e:¡,n.9 us pass this Bill establishing -,i, whil)pio- I believe in protecting the weak and do trodden. Any woman who will so far bo herself as to strike her husband ought to e » lashed into reform. I am for the meapu Applause in the gallery, where one or two even shed tears of gratitude. Then the for whipping husband-beaters passed »ri phaaitly.
would remove his diffiewties-n-iale him a t rich man, enable him to quit Thistleden. and enjoy a. life of pleasure and luxury somewhere in England, where those who knew of his assumption of Steenie's naaie could uol trouble him. And, instead of going home, the laird stayed in the city until dusk, when, with his bonnet down over his eyes, and his plaid wrapped around his neck, to hide his iden- tity, he walked slowly along the West Port, in search of the men who, he believed, would carry out the scheme upon which lie had resolved. He dare not enter the whisky shop which Burke and Hare frequented, for fear of being recognised by someone; and for nearly three hours he patiently perambulated the vicinity of their haunts before Burke, alone, emerged from the public-house. I want a few words with you, Mr. Burke," whispered the laird, taking Burke's arm. "A!) Is it you, Ia.ird ? What's the job this time? Got another shot for us at Thistleden?" "Xot exactly. Do you happen to know where Mary Paterson lives now?" "Ay. She bides with a man named Lind- say and his wife, in a cottage cut on the road to Buckstane. And the other leddy lives with them." "What other lady'(' asked the laird. "They call her Mistress Steenie Macduff. I was out there yesterday, buying old shoon, for trade'—and the scoundrel gave vent to a laugh—"hasn't been very good lately, and I saw your niece and Mrs. Steenie in the garden. While I was bargaining with Mrs. Lindsay over two pairs of brogues, a boy from the city brought a. letter and asked if Mistress Steenie Macduff lived there; he had a letter for her from Buchan, the agent in George-street." "Is the cottage a. big one?" asked the laird. "Xo there'll be only two bedrooms, so far as I could see." "inen Mary and the other woman will sleep together. Burke, would you like to earn a udred pounds?' "That uep<auus; what do you want done for th-i money?" "Put the two women out of the 'way for tne, and the money is yours." "But how, laird ? They never go out after dart -that I know, for I have been watching for your niece some time. And Lindsay is (tt hor.te by six every evening." "A pound or two of gunpowder would do it," whimpered the laird. "But where could that be got? I could not get it. What excuse could I give for "wanting such a quantity?" "The store over at the quarries 'would supply you. Two men who meant to succeea would have no difficulty in getting into the store, and the rewt would be easy enough. A long piece of stving, damped and rubbed with the powder, would burn long enough to enable you to get far away." "Sure the ould man himself must be at your elbow, or you couldn't think of such things," answered Burke. "We could, maybe, manage it that way, but how much of the money will you pay down now?" "Ten pounds," promptly replied the laird. "Xot enough. What would hinder you telling us to go to Jericho after the job was done ? We must have at least the half of the money in hand, or I don't touch it." "You can't have so much. All I have is a. pound or two over twenty; and, if I had a thousand. I wouldn't trust you with more. Take that, or I'll say good night to you." Burke was too avaricious to refuse, and lie clutched the little bundle of C-1 notes handed to him by the la.ird, saying: "Consider the job done; we'll come out to Thistleden at dusk to-morrow evening for the rest of the money. Mind and have it ready." And Laird Macduff returned home with an fixuitant- feeding, not a ark of compunction finding its way into his breast for the two ner-,r relatives who were to be removed from his .th by a violent death. Burke now rejoined his companion, Hare gru«i biiugly asking him where he had been so iong. "Come out, and I'll tell you," and the mysterious way in which Burke spoke enabled Hiure to guess that there was work to be done in their own special line. "We have got a little business to do, some- time to-night. The laird has been here, and lie wants us to get rid of two women for him. The scheme is a bit risky, but the pay is good. I have got J620 on account." "Twenty on account? And as much more to come, I suppose? Burke, we'll be gentle- z, men yet, my boy." "Eighty pounds to come, Hare, if we manage the affair properly. We're to make a bit of a hole in a cottage wall, fill the hole with gunpowder, and set fire to itL" "Risky, did you say? It's too dangerous. Where are we to get the powder?" "Steal it. There is plenty kept in the quarsy huts not far from the oottage where fehe women are living." "If we 'were caught, it would be a hanging •ifiner, Burke." "So would our 'shot' business, you fool, tmd we have managed that all right. But if you are too much afraid, say the word, and I'll do it myself." "No, no; I'm not afraid. Let us start at once." "What? Where are the tools for breaking into the quarry store? Come down to my house and have some supper; there will be plenty of time to get through with the other business." An hour afterwards, when it was still but l.ne o'clock, the two men left the city behind, hut in a. direction almost opposite to that they intended Afterwards to proceed. But they knew the necessity of not being seen to go in the direction of the quarry or of the cottage occupie-d by the Lindsays. The old proverb that "Satan helps his own" was once more exemplified. Though defended by a strong door and huge padlock, Burke had not much difficulty in obtaining ingress into the roughly-built little building used as a powder store at the quarries. But the stock ofgunpowder in the store happened to be small, and Burke was somewhat doubtful of the effect that v dd be produced by the two, little linen bags of the explosive they carried away with them. It was a. very dark cloudy night—"couldn't have suited them better," said Buike, as they neilnd the doomed cottage. They had not met a single human being since they left the shelter of an outhouse, prior to crossing the country "towards their destination. A long piece of string had been carefuHy prepared, to do duty as a fuse, and, creeping stealthily across the little garden in front of the cot- tage, the two men examined the stone wall underneath the window of the room in which, as Burke declared, slept the two women, Mary Paterson and her aunt Alice. "We're in luck," whispered Hare "here's a stone out; hole left for air-feel it," and, seizing Burke's hand, he guided it to the hole, Burke being partly "moon-blind," and not able to see much in the dark. get away—I'll do it," said Burke, z, and Hare w& ready enough Lo obey. Thrusting the two bags of gunpowder into the square hole, one of the bags being open, with the end of the string in it, tied securely, so that when he took the string 'vith him it would not come out of the bag, Burke went the length of the string, keeping to the back of the cottage, lest any passer-by should see the burning fuse, and then, his com- panion having supplied him with a scrap of burning tinder, procured by a flint and steel, Burke lit the string, crossed the warden leapt the wall, and ran off silently in his bare feet as fast as he could. "Stop, you fool Let us make sure that it goes off!" said Burke, his more timid accomplice being desirous of getting a way quickly. A couple of minutes--they seemed ten to the two waiting men-and then a sheet of flame, followed by a terrific explosion, was the signal for the flight of the perpetrators of the diabolical crime. Not until they were completely exhausted, and had put a couple of miles between them and the scene of their awful outrage, did they stop. "I say, Burke, we have richly earned that money. Do you think we shall get it ?' (ToU continued. Commenced Mcy 12, 1895.)