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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.) ■t