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THE
MISrtR Of M CLIFFS.
An Autobiography.
By Rett Winwood, *
Author of ‘Nobody's Wife,’ ‘The Broken Mar
riage Bond,' ‘Ethel Dreeme ’ ‘The White Spectre ’
‘Sweetheart and Wife,' ‘The Ohilton Estate,' ‘The
Wronged Heiress,’ etc., etc
CHAPTER ID.
IK THE DABK.
There wap an instant s silenoe,—without the
room as well as in it—so deep, so profound
that it couid hear my own heart beat; and
Mrs. Vann’s suppressed breathing, at the other
end of the table, sounded like thunder in my
keenly sensitive ears.
‘Palgrave? eohoed Richard Vann’s voice, at
last. And then he swore an oath too fearful to
be recorded here. ‘A Palgrave in this house?'
‘Ye?, Dick.’
‘Wbat in tbe foul fiend’s name, did you mean
by bringing one of that race here?
‘I didn’t know—it was the merest accident—
Mrs. L'vingstone recommended her, but neg
lected to mention the name, and I have but just
learned it ?’
‘Of cour;e you will send her away in the
morning?' he said, angrily.
‘How can I? What excuse could I offer?’
‘A dozen, if you wer9 so disposed. You wo
men never laok for excuses.’
‘But Miss Palgrave suits me, and I have as
good as told her so already.’
‘That’s unfortunate.’ Then followed a brief
silence. ‘You are sure, quite sure, Louise, she
has not come hero to sift that d— d business to
the bottom, and the governess dodge is all a
hoax? he demanded, quite anxiously.
‘I m certain oi it, Dick,* was the decide 1 , an
swer, ‘j>he knows nothing, suspects nothing.
Take care you don ‘t arouso her suspioiou.
1 hurried out on purpose to warn you.*
‘Now c .me with me, and be introduced, and
so have it all over. ‘
Every word of this conversation had reached
my ears distinctly. I felt frightened, puzz'ed,
perplexed. What did it all mean? What was
there in the mere mention of my name to agi-
ta'e these people so unacoountably ?
I glanced quickly at Mrs. Vann. She still sat
with her head dropped on her breast, and her
m .ssive brow wrinkled. She had heard noth
ing—that was evident. She sat the length of
the table further away from the door than my
own position.
While I was still studying her face somewhat
cnrionsly, Mrs. Fanshawa entered, followed by
h A r brother, and the introduction took place.
The gentleman was scowling fiercely, when he
first came in. But, the moment his eyes fell
upon me, he gave a slight start, and his features
lighted up in a wonderful manner.
T am gl id to welcome you to Cedarcliffs, Miss
Palgrave,’ he said, with extreme cordiality, and
held out his hand to me.
I interpreted readily the change in his de
meanor, and the admiring glance he bestowed
upon my poor self. Evidently he found me
much more favorable than he had anticipated,
and this was his involuntary homage to my
good looks.
Personal vani y has nothing to do with this
admission. A pretty woman was never yet
wnoi® <?e«>^i8eidus*JI ‘e*
They require a stricter nurss than they have
been accustomed to. But they are naturally
sweet tempered, and obedient'
‘I expect to make their acquaiatanoe in the
morning, sir.'
‘You have not seen them ? Then I cannot
ask your present impression. Of course they
are faulty—all children are. But I love tbe
little creatures very dearly, and am anxious to
make them happy.’
He paused abruptly, with a sharp glanoe into
my eyss that somehow gave me the impression
there was much more he would gladly have said,
had he deemed it advisable.
Obeying a sudden impulse. I drew nearer to
him and cried earnestly :
‘They are orphans! That is enough to insure
my warmest sympathy. You shall see, Colonel
Fsnshawe, how well I am going to'fulfill my
truBb*
‘Thank you. God bless you. 1
He oaught my hand, wringing it almost pas
sionately. ‘They need a friend in this house,*
he added, in a low, hurried voice. T am glad to
believe you will prove that friend. *
‘Surely, Mrs. Fanshawa ’
‘We will not speak of her,* he interrupted,
quite sternly. ‘As she herself has often de
clared, she has no vocation for the role of nurs
ing-maid.’
There was something indescribably bitter in
the curl of his handsome lip. I could not un
derstand it. Had he no love, no respect, for the
marvelously beautiful woman he had made his
wife?
After a moment's silence, he added :
‘You may think I have spoken too plainly,
Miss Pa'gr*ve. But I wish to impress upon you
the necessity of being a very true friend to the
children intrusted to your care. I could not
have done this so effectually in any other man
ner.’
1 looked at him in deep bewilderment.
•I’m afraid I do not yet understand all you
would like me to do Colonel Fanshawa.’
‘No matter. Evarything will be clearer to
you when you have been at Cedarcliffs a few
days.’
‘Does any danger menace the children? Sare
ly you do not mean that.’
A quick shudder ran all over him.
‘No, I pray heavan it is not so bad as that!
he cried. ‘B it you mast watfth over them very
tenderly. Promise me, Miss Palgrave, that
yon will be to them all a mother or an elder
sister might ba.’
‘No promise is necessary. I think I know my
duty, Colonel Fanshawa.
‘I can trust you—I will trust you : You have
a tru honest face, thank God !
He turned away from me, sighing heavily,
and went beck to his old position by the table.
The interview was at an end.
I stood looking at him a moment, my heart
in my mouth. I wanted to say something about
his kindness to me at the station—my gratitude
for the timely assistance he had rendered. Bnt (
something in this manner forbade any allusion
to what had passed.
‘I will not detain you,’ he said kindly. ‘Good
night.’
Thus dismissed, I stole softly up to my bed
room, and locked the door ; for my heart was
too full to brar the ordeal of any more curious
eyes upon me. that night—Mrs. Fanshawe's ts
pecialiy. A blind, unreasoning distrust of the
woman had been awakened in my soul. Some
how I felt safer and calmer with a stout key
turned between ns two.
It is strange my thoughts should have con
centrated themselves upon her so soon after
that visit to the library, and in such a manner—
;noh -ppyepomed dislike. But perhaps
in Caristendom. And there is a ; the niost of mysteries In which 1 found mysmi
veriest saint
nameless something that enables a woman to
understand an admiring glance as perfectly as
she would comprehend the spoken words.
This something—tall it instinct, or what you
will heloed me to guess what was passing in
Richard Vann‘8 mind.
In looks —and in character, ss I afterwards
discovered—he was like his mother. There was
the same massive brow, hard, dark eyes, and
sharply-cleft lips ; the same nameless expres
sion about the mouth that gave one the idea of
hidden cunning, and latent capabilities of evil.
The face filled me with repugnance, though he
was a strikingly handsome man. The features
wore a hardened,dissipated expression that even
a novice in the ways of the world, like myself,
could not fail to interpret.
He began to talk quite volubly, but had got
no further than the veriest common-places, when
a servant came to the door and announced that
Colonol Fanshawe was waiting in the library.
‘Colonel Fanshawe ! He has returned, then?
cried his wife in unaffected surprise.
‘Y< s, madam. He arrived before dark, and
walked over from the station.*
•That is strange. I did not expect him to
night. ‘
Mrs. Fanshawe seemed to be speaking to
herself. Her countenance expressed simple
suvp ise—not rapture, none of the delight of
love.
•My husband has been to Naw York,‘she
added, turning to me. ‘You must both have
come up by the same train. I wish you had
fallen in with each other. ‘
I thought of Sir Liuncelot with a half-regret
ful sigh and did not echo the wish.
‘Is not your master coming to take tea with
us ?‘said Mrs. Fanshawe, again addressing the
servant.
•No. madam. He wishes to be excused. But
I have told him that the—the—young lady has
arrived, and he wishes to see her when she is
at liberty.'
The servant was evidently at a loss how to
designate me.
‘Miss Palgrave will join him in a few moments,
yon may tell him so. ‘
‘Yes, madam. 1
‘If you please. Mrs. Fanshawe, 1 said I, anx
ious to get the dreaded interview over. ‘I will
go at once. ‘
‘As you like, ‘ was the careless answer* ‘James
will attend you. ‘
Rising, I followed the servant from the room,
and, a moment later, was ushered into the libra-
ry _a grand, slately-looking apartment where
there were a f»reat many books ; and marble
busts, and rare old pictures in prolusion
A gentleman sat at a table of inlaid wood,
near one of the lofty windows, writing. ‘Miss
Palgrave,' announced the servant, and then dis
creetly withdrew, leaving me to face the situa
tion alone.
The gentleman put down his pen, and cor
dially came forward tc greet me. T telt anxious
to make your acquaintance as soon as possible, 1
he said, holding out his hand.
That voice—that face! I Rtood likeone sud
denly turned to stone. It was my Sir Liuncelot
as I had foolishly termed him !
I felt ready to sink through the floor in
mingled confusion and distress ; but he shook
tn .re'b k ^ firsfassw-ft* ,?*" s,**?
<<m> jon h»vs oom. to teaoh are not mj own f 1 “« h " i b "" , A *
he said.
Yes, she did tell me, 1 1 faltered.
‘I hope you will love them, Miss Palgrave. 1
He said this in an eager, wistfnl tone of voico
that thrilled me strongly. Unlike tbe other
mem.bejs of his family,my name of i self did not
seem to impress him in oneway or another. I
remarked this fact, in spite of my agitation.
‘I hope so, sir. I am fond of children, gen
erally. 1
‘Tuat is well, 1 and he smiled quite cheerfully,
as if the admission pleased him. ‘You will find
your charges very troublesome at first, no doubt.
involved—and which she had helped to wear
about me—had something to do with the feel
ing.
CHAPTER IY.
WHAT THE ST EM BllOUGHT.
Early the next morning the patter of little
feet sounded in the corridor ontside my door,
and I heard the murmur of childish voices,
pleading and expostulating as children wild.
‘Please, Susan, let us go in. We will be good.
We won’t disturb her.’
‘No, no,’ was the girl's answer. ‘Miss Pal
grave is asleep, most likely. Come away, I tell
you.’
‘Miss Palgrave belongs to us,’ I heard a small
voiee retort. ‘Didn’t she come here to be our
governess? You naughty Susan, go away.’
I was already up and dressed—for my night
bad teen a sleepless one—and sat reading by
the sunny window. But I now put down my
book, and opened the door to the little tyrants.
‘Let them come in, Sasan,’ I said. ‘I shall be
glad to have then..’
Waiting for no second invitation, they bound
ed into the room, and nearly smothered me with
kisses and embr ces.
‘I thought, mayhap, you would not wish to be
disturbed,' said Susan, half-apologetically ; and
then she went away, leaving the children with
me.
Like two cunning little fairies they looked,
with tossing curls, bright feces, aDd sparkling
eyes, and my heart went out to them at once.
Wonderfully winsome and pretty were they,
and I no longer felt surprised at the singular
solicitude Colonel Fanshawe manifested in their
welfare.
‘God help me to do my duty by them,’ I said
to myself, ail kissed the round, glowing cheeks,
and clasped them closely in my arms.
They remained with me until the breakfast-
bell rang and then I sant them away, going
down alone.
Richard Vann stood by the hall window, look
ing out. He turned at the sound of my step on
the stairs, coining towards me with a cheerful
‘good morning.’
‘I must pilot yon to the breakfast-room, Miss
Palgrave, es there is nobody else here to per
form that duty,’ he said playfully.
‘I think 1 could find the way by myself.’
The words were not very courteous. But I
felt angry w’ith him for having waited for me
there, as, evidently, he had done.
‘No matter,’ he returned, glancing at me
sharply, ‘We will go together.’
‘Are w*e laid ?’
‘A little.
This was true. The other members of the
household were already gathered about the
tal 1 • when we entered the breakfast-room.
The meal was a sltaigely unsociable one.
Colonel Fanshawe was present, but he sipped
his coffee in utter silence. Mrs. Fanshawe
lo ked bored and unhappy, and had come down
to the table in an untidy dressing-gown, that
somehow gave to her features a pinched, sharp
ened expression. Mrs. V rn was pM >* thau she
was the night before, and dark circles couid be
distinguished underneath her eyes, as though
she had kept a sleepless vigil.
Richard alone seemed to be in cheerful spirits.
He talked incessantly, and rather incoherently,
it was, I felt decidedly uncomformble for Lis
conversation was addressed exolusiv ly to me.
‘You have msde a conquest of Dick, wh.sper-
ed Mrs. Fanshawe,jwheujfinally we arose to leave
the table. T never saw him so attentive to a
lady on so short an acquaintance.’
•1 think you must be mistaken,’ was my cold
reply. ‘I have done nothing to merit his at
tentions.’
A smile parted her rosy lips.
‘Don’t be angry with me for talking nonsense,
my dear. It is n’t worth while.’
‘But it is nonsense.’
‘I don’t known,’ with a shrug. ‘At any rate,
the admiration of a handsome man like Dick is
not to be despised.'
‘No ; but it may be very annoying.’
A cloud came over the pretty face so smiling
bnt a moment before.
‘You onght to be thankful for any break in the
dreadful monotony of tbe life yon are likely to
lead here,’ she said impatiently. ‘A woman with
a particle of spirit wonld be.’
‘I am used to monotony, and rather like it’
‘Umph! I don’tl’
‘The mistress of a beautiful place like this,
onght to be very happy.’
‘Do yon think so ? Then yon are laboring
under a delusion and she passed on, leaving
me to follow or remain, as I saw fit.
I decided to go at once to the nnrsery. I al
ready knew the way. My two pnpi''S, Lottie
and Tressy,.welcomed me tumultuously, and we
were soon on a very friendly footing. They
proved to be affectionate children, whose hearts
were easily won.
Two or three days went by uneventfully, and
then the shadow of the great horror in which
my life at Cedarcliffi was destined to culminate,
began to darken ominously about me.
It was a hot, stirless day. Lottie and Tressy
had fallen fast asleep, curled up in their little
bed, overpowered by the intense heat. I sat
near by,inclined to fall into a doze myself, when
there oame a sift tap on the door, and Mrs.
Fanshawe entered.
Her eyes were bright and burning. They in
stantly fastened themselves upon my face with
a restless expression I oould not understand.
The pretty pinkWd’vHalte cheeks had lost their
usually fresh color. The woman's whole man
ner betrayed intense bat repressed excitement.
‘The heat is stifling;” she gasped. ‘Come out
with me into the fresh air. I’m sure I eonld
breathe easier, onoe away from the house. You
will go ?’
•Certainly, if you wish it’
I took down my hat and scarf from the nail
where they huDg. Mrs. Fanshawe only flung a
black lace shawl over her head. Bat it gave her
the look of a Spanish senorita, the soft clinging
lace harmonizing well (with her ^clear-cut fea
tures.
We went down stairs together. Mrs. Fans
hawe seemed strangely impatient Every move
ment betrayed the nervous restlessness that,
possessed her. She would not remain a mo
ment in the grounds, but led the way straight
downTto the sea. »
Overhead the sky looked like a dome of brass,
in. which swung the sun, a great ball of liquid
fire ; bnt afar off imthe distant horizon, loomed
a line of blaok, jagge"J clouds. Even at that
distance I oonld discern a - greenish tinge in
their ebon gloom.
‘There ip goiDg to be a storm,’ I said.
‘Yes ; itJjis coming up rapidly. I like a storm,
don t you ?’
‘No I answered, shrinking from the feverish
glare of her eyes.
‘Are you afraid? Humph! I had thought
better of you. I despise a coward.’
‘Women are expected to be timid,’
*S ime women—jes. I am not of that number.’
She pushed me aside impatiently, for we were
now on the verge of a cl:ff that overlooked the
sea, aid kneeling on the hArd rock, she turned
her gaze with a strange intensity upon the glit
tering waves that broke with silvery ripples
along the line of yellow beach that ^stretched
aw Ay before us.
‘I hate the sea—and yet it has a singular fas-
cinaiion,’ she said, at iast, as if speaking to her
self. ‘Sometimes I almost wish it was human —
something with which I could measure my
strength, Enoso r^.wieamdSpervert it.’
‘ tea Tewa-towfe
so venomously thui'l drew baok and looked at
tier in growing wonder.
‘Why do you hate it so bitterly ? I asked.
‘It has borne away from me all that was best
and dearest—all !hat made life endurable.’
‘Drowning must be a terrible death.’
I spoke the words with a quick shudder.
For the first time,Mrs. Fanshawe glanced round
at me. Aa evil saeer distorted her beautiful
face.
•You jump at conclusions,’ she said. ‘My
friend was not drowned. Bnt he might as well
be, with all these cruel waves rolling between
us.’
Again her head dropped upon her brsast,
and thos ) lovely eyes, now so wil.l in their ex
pression, so full of boding sorrow, once more
swept the far horizon, where sea was sky and
sky ws» sea.
Was some subtle voice whispering in her ear
a warning of the terrible trial through which
she Was so soon to pass?
I think so now ; at the time I was simply puz
zled. A new pha@3 of her characttr was, un
expectedly, being ’.aid bare to me. All selfish-
ms’ and vanity saemed to have been blotted
outjof her nature, for the moment, and she
crouched there upon the bare rocks, as humble
and abjoct as the most wretched of God’s crea
tures.
The air grew .more stifling. A sultry veil of
languor hung over everything. The leaves
hung motionless upon the trees ; even the sea
was still, except the dull, low moan that seems
so much like a human voice overburdened with
sorrow.
Nearer and nearer swept that pall of greenish
black, until the sun was blct .ed out, and t' •
whole wts'.era heaven seemed shrouded in <u -
eral hangings.
Mrs. Fanshawe did not stir. She had fa. si
lent and motionless for a long time. At last I
gathered courage enough to touoh her arm.
•We ought to go back,’ I said. ‘The tempest
will >on burst upon us.’
S • sprang impatiently away.
‘Go back,’ she muttered, ‘to that hateful
house, and to him ? No! I would rather bravo
the fury of the elements.’
Again her feverish gaz i swept the sea ; but
only for a moment. She had been growing paler
and paler for some time ; and now, suddenly,
she clutched my dress, and pointed eagerly to
ward the horizon line.
‘Look, Marian,’ she cried, calling me by that
Dame for the first iime. ‘Do you see nothing ?
Tuera is a sail boat becalmed beyond that
jutting liDe of rocks. I’m sure of it! I’ve
been watching it this long time.’
A convulsive trembling seized upon every
limb as she spok-. She clung to me like a
frightened child.
‘Look, pleaso look, Marian,’ she pleaded, ‘and
tell rne.if I am right.’
I strained my eyes in the direction she had
indicated. Tne,re wa3 some dark object vaguely
outlined agaiast the sky. But I could not make
it out.
‘It may be a boat, or may not,’ I said, impa
tiently. ‘We had -better hurry back to Cedar-
cliffs and send down some of the men to watoh
it.’
‘No, no, no !'
‘What has come over you, Mrs, Fanshawe?,' I
asked, looking her steadily in the lace. ‘You
frighten me. ‘
‘I don't know. I can scarcely breathe. There
is such a weight here,* laying one handover her
heart, ‘Bear with me, Marian. ‘
She looked at me so wistfully that I eonld not
help humoring her ; and eyen while she looked,
a sudden, reverberating peal of thunder shook
the earth, and a few big drops ef rain splashed
upon the rocks.
The storm had burst sooner than we antici
pated.
Mrs, Fanshawe quickly caught my hand, and
led me down half a doz on j igged steps, to a rude
cave formed ia the face of the cliff, by the pe
culiar conformation of the rocks.
‘We will be safe here,* she said, ‘and the rain
cannot reach us. ‘
Of course the narrow opening fronted the sea.
I cast a half frightened glance behind me, as
we sprang into the cave, and saw that the tem
pest was striding like a thing of life over the
tnrgid, waves,bellying black as it came, and shut
ting off everything behind it like a great, gloomy
wall.
I crouched into the farthest corner, covering
np my face, The next instant a roar filled the
air, as if a million of fiends had suddenly been
let loose. and before my closed lids played an
incessant glare of light.
Mrs. Fanshawe knelt besides me, and I oould
feel her shiver dreadfully every now and then ;
bnt I knew it was not from fear, beoanse of the
vi ilence of the storm.
That awfnl, deafening roar lasted about an
boar ; then the thunder rolled away,and a patch
of bine sky smiled down upon ns from above.
Mrs. Fanshawe orept wearily back to the clifl
again. I shall never forget with what an expres
sion she gazed down at the sobbing, foam-crest
ed waves below.
‘Treacherous—false and treacherous I’ she
muttered between her teeth. ‘Ah, how many
hearts you have broken —how many lives en
gulfed !‘
She stopped suddenly, and glanced down at
the sandy beach jnst below, with glaring eyes,
and her hand at her throat, as though she were
ohoking.
‘My God ! ‘ she shrieked. ‘There he is 1 there,
there!
I did not more than half comprehend her,bnt
my eyes eagerly followed the direction of her
shaking Auger. Sure enough, the body of a
man was lying od the gleaming sand below.
‘Who can it be ?’ I said tremblingly.
She did not stop to answer. A path led round
the base of the cliff to the beach. Before the
words were fairly out of my month, she was
darting like a flash, along this path.
I followed more slowly. When I gained the
beach, Mrs. Fanshawe was setting on the wet
sand, her rich robes trailing out all unheeded
on the lapping tide, and that poor senseless fig
ure raised in her arms so that the ghastly face
rested against her bosom.
‘I knew it was he,’ she moaned, rooking to
and fro. ‘There were voices in the air that
told me he was near. I have felt his presence
all day long.’
Going np to them, and trembling very muoh,
I leaned over them both.
‘He is dead !’ I cried.
The face looked so white and livii I eonld
not believe a living soul wonld ever again ani
mate it. ^Anybody would have shared my disbe
lief, seeing him as I saw him then.
But Mrs. Fanshawe shook her head angrily.
‘Little fool, he has only fainted,’ she said.
‘Water ! Ba quick !’
She tore off his hat—it had been crushed so
tightly over his brow that the action of the
waves had not displaced it—and tossed it to
wards me. I ran ankle-deep into the tide, and
was stooping to fill the hat, when a name in the
crown caught my eye.
‘Louis Remington.”
What fatality was here ? It was the sight of
this very name, among the arrivals, I felt as
sured, that caused Colonel Faushawo to faint,
that memorable day, in the cars.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
he dii iriin
eftdSSING THE
Charon and His Ferry-Boat.
Startling Disclosures in Use Infer
nal Reitionsi.
CHAHTER VIII.
This sudden incursion of our guide into the
regions of metaphysics disconcerted us all some
what, and we were irritated at finding that the
subject was as obscure and confusing to us, ai
spirits, as it bal been when we were mortals;
added to which, the fatal transparency of our
spirit-natures,’and the patentoy of our inmost
thonghts, deprived us of that power of conceal
ing mental bewilderment which is essential to
a comfortable discussion of metaphysical ques
tions. The only person who seemed not ill at
ease under the turn which the conversation had
taken was the country gentleman. In life he
had had, as he had told Minos, a singular pas-
sioi for mentally fuddling himself, as it were,
with the consideration of abstruse mental prob
lems, and he declared, with pleasure, that his
head was already beginning to sp n round and
round, as it had used to do when the vicar and
he got fairly on to the subject of Free Will.
But during this conversation we had arrived
at another quarter of the City, and we now stood
before a large building in the host style of spir
itual architecture.
‘The Courts of Justice,’said the apparitor, in
dicating it.
‘Humph!’ muttered the M. C., gloomily,
‘crime here, then, as well as poverty!’
‘To be sure,’ replied our guide, cheerfally,
‘aud civil litigation in abundance. Conceive a
thriving city without it! Criminal business is
of course somewhat limited by the inability of
spirits to commit crimes of violence; but there
are plenty of offeDcas against property. The
doings in the money market alone supply a suf
ficient calendar of such crimes, besides contrib
uting to fill the cause list with civil actions.
Neither the civil nor the criminal side of the
Court, however, is, I think, much worth visit
ing. The proceedings are so absurdly simple
and expeditious. In the spirit-world, as you
are aware, the secret thoughts of every one are
visible to his fellow; and the consequence is,
that in criminal cases the Court ha3 only to
look at the prisoner in order to see at once
whether or not he is guilty of the crime with
which he is charged' In civil cases the pro
ceedings are lees simple, though there too of
cerise, the Court derivts great assistance from
t! e tramp irency of the plaintiff and defendant.
No o.j i course can prosecute a claim which
he hn iws to bo unjust, or resist one whioh he
knows to be just. But, ia many cases, botu the
plaintiff and defendant honestly believe in the
justice of their respective claims, and then it is
necessary to call aud examine—that is, inspect
witnesses, a glance at whom is sufiiiient to re
veal the true state of facts. Tuis makes these
trials tediously long, at least, according to our
reckoning. Some of them have been known to
last many rninuUs whereas the crimiual cases—
but here we are within a few yards of the Crimi
nal Court, peep into it for yourselves;' and lead
ing us through a lofty vestibule of the Court, he
threw open a swinging door on the left hand.
The C^urt was in construction not unlike one
of the courts ol the earth; save that there was
no provision for accomodating counsel and at
torneys. It consisted in fact of a bench, a dock,
and a witness-box, and the rest of the space was
occupied by spectators. On the bench there
was seated a single judge, and two streams of
spirits were passing into and oat of the dock,
and into and out of the witness-box, respec
tively, with a rapidity almost too quiek for the
eye to follow. Each spirit as he passed through
the dook would p me for an inconceivably
short period of time, and simultaneously the
spirit then passing through the witness-box
would pause also. Each of the pairs of spirits
consisted of a prisoner and his prosecutor, and
in the inconceivably short period of time du
ring which they both passed, the former was
judged and condemned, and directed by a ges
ture to piss on. The calendar is thus got through
with considerable expedition.
Oa a sudden, however, the continuity of these
singular process ons was broken by what seemed
to ns a 8till more singular interruption, While
one of the spirits was making the usual pause
in the dock, and another pausing in the wit
ness-box, the judge made a different gesture,
and the prisoner spirit instead of passing on
with his companions flitted across to the wit
ness-box and passed out among the prosecutors,
while the prosecutor flitted past him into the
dock aud joined the procession of prisoners.
We looked inquiringly at the apparitor for an
explanation.
•Bah!’ he said, ‘you are unaccustomed to such
rapid procedure, and your eye is not yet quick
enough to recognise its j ustice; but I may ex
plain it to yonr reason. That prisoner is inno
cent, and being innocent it follows from data
with which you are already familiar, that the
proseo .itor must have known of his innocence*
That being so, the latter is guilty of false accu
sation, and the shortest method of dealing with
the case is to make the two change places.
When yonr eye gets more aooustomed to the
nse of its new power, you will be able to dis
cover a false prosecutor's guilt by direct ocular
inspection instead of by inference only. The
spectators can do so, for yon see the change of
places b tween the two excited no surprise
amongst them.’
‘How extraordinary ! said the M. C , ‘that a
spirit should with such certainty of detection,
dare to prefer a false accusation.’
•It is not unfrequently done, however,’ re
plied the apparitor. •Perpetually gazing as
they do on the inmost thonghts of others, many
spirits have the greatest difficulty in realising
the fact that their own are tqually exposed.’
‘The proceedi..gs in these courts,’ continued
the apparitor, as we turned to go; ‘are far less
interesting dow, than they were some iittle
time back.’
‘How is that? we enquired.
‘Well’, replied our guide. ‘At the time I re
fer to, some very violent reforming moralists
had just arrived here, aud they broached the
idea that in a s'ate of society where motives,
desires, intentions, etc., were as capable of de
tection and proof, as are overt ac.s upon earth,
they should be as liab.e to punishment. Ic was
not, they argued, the mare act which was con
sidered to j istifv the punishment even under
human codes of law, but the mens rea of which
the act was only the evidence. Where therefore
t\is mens rea w,;,- not matter of inference, but
obj -ot of direct vicion, it was the bounden duty
of a well-ordered slate to visit it with the same
punishment as the act. The idea was so thor
oughly logical, and was advocated with so muoh
ability, that for a short time it was put into
praoiioe.’
•And with what result?' erquired the M. C.,
deeply interested.
‘Oh, the most absurd you can conceive,’ was
the reply, ‘in the first place it produced tho
utmost confusion throughout the whole city.
For a few days everybody seemed to be engaged
in arresting and prosecuting everybody else.
Nobody was safe. The most respectable spirit
was liable to be given in charge by a total
stranger for an evil t loug’atof the most tempo
rary nature. Oi one occasion a spirit of the
highest character was descending the steps of
his house when he happened to see on the other
side of the way a ptr ;on with whom he had had
a quarrel some time back, and a beggar who was
passing by, immediately handed him over to
the pcli ie on a cia ge of ill-feeling. Tue po-
ancicr s as.v -at 1 ;! active commissioner, one
day made a raid upon the stock exchange, and
apprehended nearly the whole of the members,
on warrants charging them with covetouanoss
and a ‘wish that it were possible to defraud
each other with impunity.' It was no uncom
mon thing for a rich and a poor spirit simulta
neously to seize each o.her in the street, aud
clamour for the police, the former accusing the
latter of envy, and the latter retaliating with an
accusation of seifishntss. Bit it was the crown
ing absurdity of the trial which gave tne final
blow to the new criminal code.’
‘How so?'we enquired.
‘Why.’said the apparitor, ‘the reformers who
introduced the new system were under the self-
delusion which I referred to a little while ago.
They had not realised the fact that they were
themselves as transparent as the persons against
whom they had been so rigorously legislating,
and though they took the greatest care in se
lecting from amongst their number the fittest
possible persons to be j udge and public prose
cutor, it was found impossible to obtain any of
sufficient internal purity, to make their a sump
tion of either function anything but the grossest
and most painful absurdity. It was too ridicu
lous to have a judge trying a ‘coveting case,’
when the prisoners and every one else could
see him plainly longing for something of his
neighbour s; or a public prosecutor declaiming
against a prisoner charged with ‘malice,’ when
tfie working in his own breast of the most acri
monious feelings towards his late mother-in-law,
was patent to every spectator in court. They
tried for a short time to mitigate the absurdity
by a distribution of work, putting for instance
spiri s liable to covet >ns inclinations, to try
‘malice cases,’ at- *, vine ce^sa but they found
that the classes were c.-uictently sharply di
vided, aud the old anomaly would be always
reourring. At last, solvuntur risu tabulae A very
monstrous case turned up, in whica the j idge
was so obviously the moral inferior of the pris
oner, that the whoie court burst into laugdi.er,
in which, to do Dim j istice, ‘the learned j idga
j lined,’as you say on earth when sotneooay
makes a more than usually stupid j ike. Tne
prisoner could not be discharged because it is
contrary to the law existing. He was senteDCid
and then pardoned, and the next day the new
criminal code was repealed, and now we attempt
the punishment oDly of overt acts.’
‘It was certainly a remarkable experiment,’
said the M. C., ‘and, suceesd’al or not, it does
the highest credit to the boldness and origi
nality of the statesmanship of those who initi
ated it.’
•The bold and original statesmen are not fir
from you at this moment,’ said our guide, point
ing to a building of a more modern order of
spiritual arcuitecture which adjoined the Oou ts
of Justice we ha l just quieted. ‘Yonder is the
Chamber of representatives. The members are
now sitting, in fact, they sit en permanence, as
becomes au immor al assembly,’
•I should like, of all things, to be present at
one of their debates,’said the M. C., eagerly,
‘Can it be done?’
‘Nothing ers er,’ replied our guide. ‘The
public are admitted without my restriction in
tho way of ticket or orde*. In fact,’ be cou.in-
ued, with a slightly melancholy smile, ‘n o such
restricti n is necessary, as you will ima >ine
when you learn the sut ject of debate. Tue”gat-
lery is generally empty, save for a few who go
there to indulge a few minutes’ curiosity, or lo
ridicule the members. But here weate.’ And,
passing ander an arched gateway of imposing
appearance, we followed him up a winding
staircase into the gallery of the chamber.
CHAPTER IX.
The Chamber of Representatives in the City
of the Earthly Life is in appearance something
likeour own House of Representatives, with the
exception that there is n o table, and the impor
tant consequence of this exception that there is
(Continued on seventh page.)
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