the queen's palace. When I entered the inner hall, I saw a very lady-like old woman most beautifully dressed, with numerous jewels on, seated on a splendid throne, and great numbers of women's servants and table attendants near her, standing in respectful attitudes. When I saw she was the palace mistress I saluted her most respectfully. She returned the salute, and told me she was glad to see me, and wished me to be seated. When I sat, she said:

"The princess says, 'I have read your note, I am favourable to your petition and I know its import. There is nothing to hinder my accepting you, but you might as well have not said anything about your being yourself a king when you wear the dress that you have now on. All men are the same as to flesh and blood, but the only true men are the followers of Islam. I have been long desirous of getting married, and you care not for worldly wealth, but I have great abundance of it. But there is one condition which must be fulfilled before I give my hand to any one.'

I said: "I am ready heart and hand to agree to it."

She said: "Then go for the present; to-morrow you shall hear more about it."

SUMMER.

THE Summer can but half express her heart
In light and blossoms, and soft fragrant breath;
She smileth, mute as an ecstatic death,
In Joy's embrace. The cuckoo does his part,
Luring to leafy distance. And the lark
Sings till we cannot see the sky for tears.

The nightingale makes mournful-sweet the dark,
And brings pathetic memories from lost years.
We know the songful language of the streams;
But these reveal not Summer's hidden soul,

That trembles round us as through hush of dreams,
And thrills us with vague yearning for some goal
Unknown. O, life! so little understood,

When shall we find thy secret perfect good?

HOPE DOUGLAS.

FITZ.

III.

YES. Mincing-lane had a great deal to say about the collapse of Tamberlyk Brothers, and the sudden death of its sole representative. Men who metaphorically had licked Mr. Tamberlyk's shoes, now declared they never had the slightest faith in his judgment or his integrity, and his sudden decease was commented upon by more than one pious tongue as coming retributively to a man whose estate could only pay five shillings in the pound.

But to Harcourt Tamberlyk and his wife, and to Mrs. Jones, these events were indeed terrible. Mrs. Jones had made her little dash with her very little property, and when she had caught her fish, as she thought, in a rich son-in-law, she allowed the remains of it to run out as coolly as the banker's cashier shovels the sovereigns across the counter. The trio looked aghast! Harcourt was the first to in some degree recover, and he put forth, with the utmost gravity, one after another, schemes whereby they might not only live, but speedily become rich. They were of a very varied character, beginning with the expression of his assurance that he had simply to apply for an important Government appointment, to obtain it, and ending with a proposition that he should turn cab-driver, and Fitz should sell cigars.

While this miserable lout was thus proving to Fitz the value, in stormy times, of a husband who could boast a fair exterior and a few showy accomplishments, and nothing else, Fitz herself roused and faced about. The qualities which had caused her to be pronounced "fast," stood her in good stead now. She might have been a pink of propriety, and she would have gone to the wall. She might have been a pattern to all well-bred young ladies, and she would quickly have ate porridge in the workhouse. But the strong vitality which might, indeed, have sped her along a little too freely when the road was smooth and the sky clear, aided her wonderfully now that the path was rough and the wind blew. There was the lout, and there was the half-dazed mother to be supported somehow, and she must support them.

And so little Fitz did. Dear girl! She accepted the aid of some former friends just in this way and to this extent. She had a few accomplishments, and these were turned to good account, and as she toiled from morning till night her receipts were soon more than a trifle. Of course, the whole style of living had to

be altered. A very humble small house in the suburbs was now their abode, and all superfluities disappeared. Still they lived decently, and very welcome help came from an anonymous friend in a way which afforded not the least chance of his or her identification. Of Rosina they heard nothing.

You don't suppose, reader, that Mrs. Jones and Mr. Harcourt Tamberlyk were at all grateful to Fitz for all these efforts? Certainly not. Mrs. Jones grumbled at her privations, and the lout freely expressed his opinion that the influence which so sustained his wife in her exertions was a desire to degrade him (the lout), and make him appear a useless being.

"It's only a nasty spiteful feeling of yours," the wretched creature would growl. "Why should you keep on working like a slave? I am your husband, and I ought to support you, oughtn't I?"

Well, Harkey, I have no objection. Why don't you go to work?"

"There now! Just see.

There's an insult. How can I work when there is nothing to do? But just you sit still for a fortnight, and I'll show you the way to earn money."

Fitz was not convinced, and so she toiled on, far, far beyond her strength, and with a strong impression what the end would be, still with steady purpose and unfailing spirit.

Late one evening she was returning home from the West-end, weary both in mind and body, when a vagabond insulted her. It added to the bitterness of the affront that the man was of a stamp she six months back so admired. He was tall and good-looking. He was well and richly dressed, and he had just come from a fashionable club-house. He had half an hour to spare, and he saw Fitz, and very gracefully accosted her, but she knew and felt the covert insult." Tears (very rare things with her) filled her eyes, and she hastened onwards.

But Captain Blennerstone was not to be shaken off. He persevered, and Fitz, frightened, did the worst thing she could, she fled down a dark by-street, the captain putting his dignity in his pocket, and unceremoniously following. The flight and the chase soon ended. Fitz was tripped up by a scraper, and falling heavily forwards, lay terribly injured on the pavement. The captain, aghast at the thought of involving himself in disagreeables if he rendered assistance, retreated as fast as he could; and it was several minutes before a good Samaritan, in the shape of an avowed garotter, happening to pass that way, tenderly lifted the unconscious girl, and obtained the assistance of a policeman, who conveyed her to the nearest hospital.

When the night and the next day passed, and Fitz was still absent, Mrs. Jones and her great prize of a son-in-law were indeed stricken with horror. Mr. Harcourt made an effort, and learned that Fitz had left a certain house at a particular hour. He never prosecuted his inquiries further, and he never saw his wife again.

What was to be done? If neither her mother nor her husband cared much for the loss of Fitz, they most certainly did care for the loss of the money she had been accustomed to bring home. Were they to go to the workhouse? The elderly Mrs. Jones and the young Mr. Tamberlyk were not people to bear their trouble with equanimity, so they soon fell to quarrelling. The crisis approached.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you idle young man," exclaimed Mrs. Jones, late one evening, when grim despair seized hold of the unlucky couple. "Are we to sit still and starve ?"

"No," replied young Tamberlyk, moodily, "you may do as you please, but I'm off."

"What! and leave me here alone?" cried the poor lady, panicstricken. "What is to become of me?"

"Don't know-don't care," was the kind response. "You say you havn't a relative or friend in the world, and I'm pretty much in the same condition. We must fight for ourselves. Here I go." And he took his hat.

"Oh, don't go. You mustn't go,” implored his mother-in-law, scared at the thought of being left alone.

"But I am going." And he put on his hat and left the room. He was at the top of the stairs, when Mrs. Jones caught him by the arm. "You shall not leave me," she screamed frantically.

Harcourt struggled with her. She threw her arms round him, and dragged him back into the room.

Harcourt's passion was roused.

"Let me go, you fool!" he exclaimed, savagely, and he was again at the stair-head, the shrieking woman clinging to him with all her strength. They both nearly fell.

"Stupid!" shouted Harcourt, "away with you!" And exerting himself powerfully, he flung his unfortunate mother-in-law from him. Then he turned to descend, but once more, with the energy of despair, the frenzied woman seized him. He sprang forward. Mrs. Jones stumbled, and fell heavily to the bottom of the stairs.

Harcourt stood still for a moment, and his cheek blanched. "She must be killed!" he muttered, as he peered down upon

what seemed a little heap of clothing huddled on the lowest stair. He listened, but there was no sound. He was so horrified he dared not descend. It was nearly dark, and he could see no movement. He could hear nothing save the beating of his own heart. The miserable man almost fainted.

"There is nobody in the house," he thought. "If anybody outside or next door heard the noise just now, and she really should be dead, they'll think I've-I've. Good Lord!”

Such a thundering knock at the door! Harcourt ran back into the sitting-room. The window was open, and without thought he thrust his head out.

"Open the door directly," cried a man below.

"What do you want? Go away!" replied Harcourt, in tremulous tones.

"I am a policeman. Let me in immediately, or I will force an entrance.'

"For Heaven's sake go away," quavered Harcourt. "There is a lady-ill-in bed.”

The answer was a fierce shaking of the door. "Wait—wait a minute," he said, entreatingly. "Be quick, then."

Yes, he was very quick. He glided down the stairs, and looked at the body. Mrs. Jones was dead. One glance was sufficient. Fool to the last, the wretched man ran hastily into the back garden. He leaped the garden wall, and by the time the policeman had forced the front door, had examined the corpse, and, nodding to himself, said, "I thought as much; foul play here," Harcourt was more than half a mile away.

It was a dark, cold, wet night. Choosing all the narrow streets he could find, and not noticing particularly where they led, but yet with a dim desire to reach the great City, Harcourt Tamberlyk hastened along, running in the localities where he was likely to be unobserved, and carefullly walking in those more frequented. His reason was for the time gone. No real murderer ever felt a heavier burden than he, or was more afraid of the consequences. He saw it all. The arrest, the trial, the conviction, and the scaffold. On, on, on.

He had reached the middle of one of the quieter bridges, and was indulging in an idiotic chuckle at the thought of having nearly placed the river between him and his imaginary pursuers, when his arm was seized.

"Heavens! Mr. Tamberlyk, what is the matter?"

There was only surprise in the voice; but to Harcourt the tones of a judge pronouncing sentence could not have been