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W .â€" BEYOND. RECALL CHAPTER V. srsrs I.\' THE nioirr nqsn. “ Are ye mocniin’, matey 2" asked the l burglar, in a hoarse whisper. pausing after a couple of heat strides forward. , I made no rep 5'. Tragic affrays areso common in the papers ? that one reads of this man being killed or that one badly maimed almost with indif-a ference ; but to hear the shot fired which = you know may have puts man to death within a few hundred paces is another thing. I could not. move, could not speak. for the sickening apprehension of what was going on behind in the place I had but just nowi escaped from. “ Well, stay where y’are,” growled my companion, taking my silence in bad part, and he plunged on with a curse. Long after he was gone out of hearing, I stood there, expecting some soundâ€"another shot, acry, a whistle, the approaching foot- I steps of Hockey or the policeâ€"anything to “ Don’t. tell me that‘s London mud on yonrl sleeves ! Look at. itâ€"it’s yeller 3 Oh, you don"t deceive inc 2 And them geloshes--â€" how did you come by them when you went out in your hobuails ?” . I laughed. It was my hungry look that [had condemned me, just. as my homeless- ness had damned me in the eyes of the constable. “ I’m sorry to see you laugh, young man,” said she, her voice losing its harshness. “ Pd 5. rather see you breakin’ your heart a-crying. I’ve got a son, Heaven help me ! He was a jobbing turner in the Curtain Road same as what you are a carver ; and what with the cutting trade and strikes, and adrop of drink, and a gal, and one thing and another, hard on him, and that made him Worse.” She ' broke off, her thick lips trembling ; then swallowing her bitter reflections, she pursued, “ And so young man, if this is the first timeâ€"and I do is, for you ain't given to swcarin' he went wrong. I was Glancing that way, think it, against the wall. and learning the times of the trains to Liver- Leadenhall Street. The clerk gaped at me I opened the telegram in an instant; it likes fool. A good many unhappy men run thus :â€"â€" must have one into that office too with the same erran as mine; but perhaps I was the first to apply in November dressed in light cricketing ilannels ! “ I want tago to New-York.” lbegan. “ When ‘3” he asked, closing his mouth at last. “ As soon as I can.” “ One of our steamers leaves Liverpool to~morrovi . ” “ That will do.” . l {"1’5ht I don’t know if there’s a berth c t.’ “Can't you find out 2” “ Yes, in half an hour, if you like to pay for a wire.” I paid a shilling, and said I would wait for the reply. He sent a boy to the post with a telegram, and withdrew into an inner office to tell his fellow clerks of the queer customer who wanted to emigrate. I saw a row of heads with their noses on a level with the top of the ground glass with which the lower part of the partition was glazed. There were time tables hanging up I occupied myself in take the place of that void in which I seem- drinkin’, and do behave yourself mare like a. pool till the reply telegram was handed in. ed to exist; yet'I heard nothing but the throbbing of the blood in my veins, and the pccpsional pat of ii. drop falling upon a dead ea . I found myself at the palings of the park without knowing how I got there. I must have turned about and gone up the hill mechanically. In the same unconscious way I made my way across 'Wimbledon and so down into Putney. There I noticed that it wasaquarter to six by the clock of the post otllce. It must have been eight when got to the house where I lodged in Old Street Road. My landlady met me on the stairs, a can- dlein her hand, for the fog here was black, and the darkness greater than at Richmond in the middle of the night. . “Oh, you‘re come home, are you ‘2” said the woman, blocking the passage. “What's gone of your hat ‘2” I put my hand to my head and discover- ed that I was listless. I did not notice it before. “And what in the world are you been a- doin’ to yourself? You’re all of a mess of mud from end to side.” “I must have fallen down," I said, pas- sing her, and going towards my room. “Oh, well, look here, young man," she called after me, “if you can afford to go out a-sprcein’ all night you can just manage to . pay me what’s my dues.” She broke off to exclaim, as 1 went up the next flight of stairs, and the light of her lamp fell upon my feet, “W911, I never; if you ain’t got on goloshes. Look here,‘misterâ€"” ' But. I had reached my room, and shutting the door, I lost the rest. Still, as I went about to find matches and light my lamp, I heard her talking to the lodgers below in a high voice that was meant. for my ear. ‘ sunk down on a chair before the lamp that cast a dim glimmer on the grimy table. I wanted to concentrate my thoughts, to form some clear and distinct idea of what should be done in the crisis to which inat- ters had come. That. is what I had been vainly attempting to achieve as I plodded liomoward. It seemed as if the fog had got into my mind and blurred all ideas in dense obscurity. As I sat down something in my pocket chinked against the chair. It was the purse given me by Hebe. Even-that had gone out of my mind. Now, as I hold it in my hand, the soft, cool kid reminded me of her touch. Would these gentle fingers ever clasp my hand again? I asked myself my heart sinking with a diiu foreboding] that we had parted for ever, that the course I sought to find must lead me far from her. It. is in losing a treasure that one realizes all its value. That’s the way of the world â€"to mourn for those a little timely consid- eration would have kept. . “ She never reproached rue,” I said to myself, still tenderly caressing the purse : “ never murmured against the hard fate to which her folly and love have brought her. How soft and low her voice was! How bravely she hoped on when I was sunk in cowardly despair ! Oh, what I have lost ! If I could but. recall those‘ last few hoursâ€" only the last minuteâ€"that I might leave her at least the hope of better things ! What has she to hope for? What signs of tender- ness or manly strength have I given her ‘2" In this strain I continued to indulge my re- morse for some time, and then, wit-11 a l heavy sigh, I summoned all my resolution to settle practically what it was I had to do. The better feeling that had come into my heart when I found myself aoaptive had not left mo when I found myself once more free. No: I would make a rent ellort. I would do what was right. clung to that idea as the one chance of redeeming myself and retrieving the past. One thing was clear; I must no longer burden her with my misfortunes. I would go away and leave her in peace. I opened the purse and pour- ed out. the9 contents on the table. There was quite a lot of gold. I spread it out on the tal Is. The board, dark before, was luminous now with the glitter of it. I feast- ed my eyes on it, saying to myself that not a farthinf should be miss nt; all should be employs to the good on she had in view when she pressed me to accept it. Oh, it should come back to her with rich interest ! At that moment the door was burst open rudely, and my landlady came in with her invariable “ Look here, young man l" But there she stopped, for her eyes fell on the gold. She came up to the table in silence and rested her knuckles on it, looking down at the money, her mouth open, and her eyes round with wonder. There she stood. her lips firmly closed, and, bending her brow, . looked straight- at me. " Are on a miscr or-â€"or what 2” she ask- ed, in a ow tone. “ What does it matter to you what I am?” said I. “ It matters a good bit to me. You haven't paid me for a fortnight, and I’ve seen you eating dry bread more like a starv- ed dog than a Christian. You’ve been get- tinga thinner and more haggard and more wil looking every day." " Take wh'it I owe you," said I pushing a sovereign across the table. - “ No, i won't touch it «fore I know it's honestly come '- y. I've managed to keep myself sirai Lt in spite of hrxrd times. Nothing um ceaid against my house, and I ain't goiui; :4: get myself into trouble for a fox“ shillii gs." “1).; you :2 til: I'm a thief?” lashed, the - littlc blood I had in my vcim rushing hot} up jam ri‘Y fare. , ,, . i .. 1 ;; . ~ 1.13:: ai'ectlmts more? "led; she, I”; , he: run I had raised up: young ent than a cabinet maker, mostlyâ€" and so e you’re that. done by hunger you can’t stand it no longer, I‘ll let you ofl'your rent, and maybe I’ll find a few sixpences to get 3 our tools out. of pawn, and help you on a bit till you get a bit of a job. But don’t you touch a. penny of that money. It’s the devil’s wage and can do you no good. “It's an angel’s gift and will make ainati of me,” cried I, springing up. “And let me get out of your debt to begin with ” She looked at me steadily and then at the money. I could see by the hardening of her face that she still doubted inc ; but the bad times weighed in my favor, and she at length took up the sovereign and gave me the change. For all that she couldn't leave the room without. protest. “Mind,” says she, “if 1 find you’ve been deceiving me I’ll be the first to round on you.” I gathered up the money and put it in my pocket. Then I found an old cap, and went out with a. feverish eagerness to be making some practical progress, though yet with no definite object. At the pawn- broker’s in Shorcditch I redeemed my tools and the old cricketing suitI had brought with me to London; then I turned into a coffee shop and ate heartily. It was still night to me. The gas flared from the brackets against the greasy wall. Beyond the windows, where the steam de- scribed the smears of yesterday’s cleaning, all was black. A boy coming in with a batch of papers under his arm was the only sign that another day was'come. Then my heart beat quickly as I thought that those papers told of last night’s tragedyâ€"of my escape. When the waitress laid one of them on the table before me I scarcely dared to open it. It was a. surprise not to see a biz, headline marking the new murder and burg- lary ; a still greater when I failed to dis- cover a single line referring to it anywhere. I eagerly got another :and another paper, searchin g them through now with the hope of not. finding what I sought. Not a word ! Then that shot I board had not taken of- fectâ€"no murder had been done, and the mere escape of an unmerciful gang of burg- lars had been thought of insufficient. iii- terest to form a paragraph. \Vell, that was something ! The fog was clearing off when I went out, and the sun shining by the time I got back toiny lodgings. It was one of those sudden changes that sometimes occurin November. I washed and changed my clottes, looking like another man for it: then I shouldered my tool bag and went out, feeling that I might- not return. My landlady was stand- ing at her parlor door as I passed through the passage. She shook her head, but said nothing. It struck meashe suspected 1 had put on this suit as a disguise. But it was a. strange one, if my end was to escape notice. People stored to see a cricketer with an artisan’s tool bag on his shoulder. The costume in itself was sufficiently out. of keeping with the time of year ;but it was warm and dry ; that was all I cared about. I had taken a panel carved in high relief to an art. dealer in Clieupsidc. He promis- ed to put. it in the window and sell it if he could. That. was months before ;siuce then I had gone week oft-er week past. the shop without. going inâ€"the sight of my work in the wmdow wassufiiciently discouraging. Tliither I bent my steps nowâ€"for the last time, I expected. There was a scafi'olding in Moorgatc Street, and a poster upon it. caught my eye; it advertised a cheap line ofpackets to New York I read it through, and went on, with a presentiment that I should come back to read it again. Vilien I came to the shop in Cheapside I stopped dead short before the window, and could hardly breathe for the bounding of my heart. My panel was gone ! For a moment my head turned with a delirious belief that my talent was at last recognisedâ€"that my panel was soldâ€"that others might be orderedâ€"that, after all, I might not have to go to New York-that. I might still stay near her, and achieve suc- cess in the way she hoped for. And why should I not. Was not- the field as open and as large in England as in America? Now I had a little money, could I not wait and study and work with hope and con~ fidence, proving to her from time to time that Iliad turned over a new leaf and re- covered my manhood '2 These and many more wild speculations and hopes were crowded into that one minute, and then they died in an instant, making a dull void in my heart asI crossed the thrrshold, and caught sight. of my panel upside down at the back of the shop amongst empty picture frames. “ We’ve given it a fair trial, and it’s no use,” said the shopkeeper; “ people don‘t vrant that kind of thing. Now if you could turn out something humorous in the animal line and get it reproduced in imitation torra cotto, we could sell ’em by the gross." I shook my head, and said I Would take my panel away, and so I went. out into the crowded street, more than before an object of remark by having a panel under one arm to balance the tool bag over the other shoulder. Instinctiver I went back to the scaffold ing in Moorgate Street. I read the roster through slowly. At. the foot was the ad- dress of London agents in Leadenhall Street. That was close by. Why no: go ihero at ems: and take a berth? The thing would in. finance then. Better that than wasting my money in dribble-ts on_a forlorn hope. For her sake I ought to go. That settle-d i it. “ You can have a berth," said the clerk ; I “ but ycu’ll have to be aboard, with all ' yang-drape, by ten o’clock to-morrow morn- ing. “ I shall have plenty of time if I take the last. train tonight. from St. Paucras.” Then I paid my money, and went out with a feeling that I was going the right road now. Nearly opposite the agents’ was an out- fittcr’s shop, where there seemed to be I everything an emigrantmight want. I went 9 in there and bought what. was necessary, with abox to pack my tools, panel, and everything in. At the man's suggestion, I changed my flannels and canvas shoes for one of the suits I had bought, making use of a dressing room that adjoined the shop. I looked up my chest and took the key, .with a guarantee from the outfitter that I should find it aboard the steamer when I reached Liverpool. Here was another step made, and my heart was the lighter for it ; and so I went out with something of my old elasticity and buoyancy. But though my hands were unencumbered, and I was no longer in flannels, the passers by regarded me with curiosity. It is seldom one sees a man dressed completely in brand new clothes I from cap to boots ; the only men I know of l that are distinguished in this way are re- leased convict-s. , It was long since I had felt so easy at. heartâ€"so well pleased with myself. I turn- ed into a. chop house and ate a good dinner with real pleasure. By that. time it was two o’clock. I knew of a. stationcr’s shop in the City Road where one can sit down and write letters ; and thither I bent my steps, resolved to write a. letter to my wife. As I walked along, my whole soul warm and tender with love and regrets, I thought out all I would say that. might. make me merit the forgivancss of past faults which I knew “ From Major Clevcden : Post Office. Shoreditch.â€"-Have you seen or heard of Mr. Wyndham! Should he arrive in the course of the day, telegraph to me at once. Address as above. The major to have telegraphed from Shoreditch must clearly have been to my lodgings to find me. The address was known to my wife. Why was he so aux- ious to. find me 2 "Can you tell me what it means, Kit? asked Mr. Lonsdale, as I dropped my hand with the telegram in it'on my knee. “ I am trying to think, " said I, vaguely. “We could not understand it by any hy- pothesis, and so I thought it best to come up at once and see theinajor himself. I've been in a fonnwhecl cab to the post office, Shorcditch. He is not there ; but 1 am ready to go and find him at Richmond if it is expedient or advisable.” ‘ I saw that. something must. be done to pre- vent his going there with the telegram and his endless talk, which could not fail to arouse old Thane’s suspicion ; so, slapping I dared not. open the paper until I got into South Street, where there were but few peeple to watch me. There was, all detailed in full, with the large headline I had expected. A policeman had been shot. The burglars had escaped in the dense fog. The police were in ,\os~ session of information which would probab- ly lead to the cant-tire of the murderer. M y landlady was standing on he: theshold with her hands on her hips. She started at seeing me. “ What, you've chanced ’em again !" she said, referring to my clothes. “ Look here. young man,.if you've deceived me about t? at money, if you ve passed stolen propert ‘ ’l on to me, l round on you ; mind that. said I would, and I will." “ Has any one been here _to see inc 2" I asked, impatiently. " . g “ Yes, more has. He's left. a letter for you, and the sooner I get that out of my hands the better pleased I shall be. I’ve had trouble enough, and I don’t want to get into more.” She gave me a letter from her pocket. I tore it open. There was but one line on my knee, as if suddenly remembering a lost“ the sheet of paper. Here it is :â€" fact, I said â€" “ Why, that must be the Major Clevcden wllio gave me a commission for an over-man~ te .” “ Dear me, now, that is strange. “'hat a trifle to cause so much uneasiness. One would have thought it a matter of life and death by his sending a telegram. Progress and science are all very well. but their effect upon quiet, old-fashioned folks is startling “ Get out of the country at once, if you love her lâ€"‘ C.’ ” I needed no further incentive. A cab was crawling along the street. I sprang in and told the driver to take me to St. Pancras. As he turned around I caught a. gliin se of my landlady ; her lips bunched tip ; liar face as hard as iron. She shook her head at me ominously. “ When‘s the next. train for Liverpool ‘2" in the extreme. So you know the major, Iuskeda porter as I jumped out of the 912 ch “ I have met him once,” I replied. “So have I, and that’s all. last week at the Cedars ; I suppose you met him there also 2'” “ The Cedars ‘3” I said, as if I did not quite understand. _ “ Yes ; the Cedars at Ham. there to see an old friend of yours, and still older friend of mineâ€"Miss Thane. Hebe Thane,” he continued in explanation, for I still “ You know that she has left me, and is living with her father, who has come home a millionaire from India.” _ “ No,” I said. It was riot a, moment to be punctilious about a. falsehood. “ You have not heard of that? Well you surprise me. I thought every one must have heard of it. To be sure, though, Lon- don is a vast cityâ€"a prodigious city. He came home soon after you left. and took us all by surprise. Never gave us any warning of his coming. Between you and me, if he had not found her so attractive and charm- ing, he Would have gone away as he came and left Hebe still with us. Perhaps I on ht. not to say this. However he Was de- lig fed with the dear girl, and has furnish- ed her with a house and surroundings worthy of a. princess. I went to see her last. week, as [ tell you, and it was there I met Major Clevedenâ€"a most delightful, amiable geiitleman, as 1 daresay you have found him.” “ Yes,” said I, with a. deep earnestness well enough hcr gentle heart would accord, that struck him. “ I am glad you think so {for quite between in the future than she-had reason to expect 1 ourselves, I should not; be in the least; 3111‘. from mv late conduct. \Vrapt in these prised if he makes Hebe-I mean Miss nearly 14 years 01,]. thoughtsiI trudged briskly along, taking Thaneâ€"his wifeu" I raised my eyebmws and Shrugng my could occupy herself with dressing, and no notice of the people 1 passed, and jost- ling more than one in my haste to get on, On the pavement just outside the North London terminus in Liverpool Street, I nearly knocked a. stout old gentleman off ‘ the pavement, as he stood with'liis hands behind him looking at. a. time bill. \Vitli a. hurried apology I pushed on, when he call- ed after meâ€" - “Wyndham! \Vyndham! Kit W'ynd- ham 1” - Then stopping to see who it was that called me, I found myself face to face with my kind old friend, Mr. Lonsdale, the Vicar ofâ€"-(?) “Why, you’re the very man, of all others, I most want to see," he said. “ I’ve come up to London on your account. This is a provideutial meeting indeed; most providential l ” “ There’s nothing wrong ! ” I said, fal- \and encourage her to hope for better things I tering : for a sudden foreboding of ill ever- came me. “ I don’t know, my good fellow, ” he re a z‘ u e n . plied. Let us go into the waiting 10cm. of this station, where we may talk it over. CHAPTER VI. "‘3‘, ARRESTED. . "' ‘ As we hurried upthe steps to the platform, he told me that he had been looking at the bill to find when the next train left for Richmond, and that there was not one for half an hour. This gave definite shape to my apprehensions. “He could have no object in going to Richmond on my ac- count, unless Hebe had sent for him," thought I; and that call must have been made with reference to “but had taken place in the past night. “ However,” he added, pausing to get breath at the head of the stairs, " now we have met by this happy accident, you may be able to save me that journey, and so en- able me to return to’â€"-â€"by the next train, and set Mrs. Lonsdale’s mind at case. We never got a telegram before, and it. quite up- set us I assure you.” We went into the waiting room and rest- ed ourselves in a quiet corner, and while I waited in patient anxiety the old gentleman explored his pockets one after the other, talking all the while in a low voice. “ We had just finished breakfast," he said “when the despatch was brought to us. Wherc can I have put it? It’s a very thin one. And the moment she saw it, Mrs. J Lonsdalc said, ‘ Something’s happened to that poor young man, I feel sure. Ladies, you know, are so prone to make conclusions of that sort. You see Kit, we have not heard a word about you for ten months. Where can I have put it? ‘ l’ooh, pooh, my dear,’ said I ; ‘ the young fellow is making his fortune.’ I always predicted that, Wyndham. ‘He’s got his hands full of Work. and has no time to think of us. ’ When we are happy, we are prone to be a little carelessâ€"a little neglectful; like children who err from want of '.hought. I must have put it in my other pocket. ‘ Wyndham, you may depend up. on it, is prispemus: I am seldom wrong in gauging character: and from the first I maintained that you were bound to succeed. And here you are, to verify my words, inasnit of clothes that looks as if you had just come out of the tailor’s. ” “That is it, " I broke in ; “the buff en- vclo . ” “ car me, so it is. I thought. it. was .1 soup ticket. Now ta-ll rvu - and {plotting ileum for fierce-teas. 1 I found my way to the shipping agents in 0! ‘hi‘l' " .r, , .N‘ 7s l ‘ » l him at my old lodgings. shoulders as if such a thing were possible, and might. very well happen, for all I_ cared. “ I am glad, also, to see that. sign of in- diiference, Wyndham,” continued the old man ; “ and now I will tell you why, Mrs. Lonsdale would persist in upholding that. you were attached to our den r girl ; that is another of the conclusions that ladies in- variably make when they see two young people together. Of course I knew. I said from the first that you were much too sensible to entertain a high regard of that kind fora young lady whose station was considerably above your own. Mrs. Lous- dale even went so far as to maintain that you and our dear Hebeâ€"Miss Thaneâ€"had formed a secret: engagement, and that you had gone to London to make a fortune in order to be in a position to marry her. It was nonsense, of course ; but the worst of such nonsense is that you can never get it out of n. lady’s head, though I’ve almost lost my temper with Mrs. Lous- dule upon this subject. And so, you see, when the telegram came she would insist upon it that it referred to some unfortunate escapade you had got into through your at- tachment to Miss Thaneâ€"drawing her con- clusions from the telegram being sent by this major. “Fall, I shall now have the pleasure of undcceiving her when I get home ; a pleasure not entirely self congra- tulatory. but a. pleasure arising frmn the vindication of your character for common sense and straightforwardness. And it is also a pleasure to me to think thtt no un- happy engagement exists between you and this wealthy young lady, for though your clothes are new and respectable, they do not suggest that appearance which would be necessary to compensate a wife for giving up such tremendous advantages of position and surroundings as Miss Thane now cu- joys." He continued to stream on in this strain, but I ceased to take in more than the mere tone of his monologue : for out of the hum and whirl of the traffic in the street below the hoarse voices of the newsboys ditched themselves in tones that. struck anew terror into my mind. “Spcshul! Speshul! Extry s eshul l" they cried. “ Darin’burglary on murder this day." It now occurred to me for the first time that. the events at Ham had taken place too late for publication in the morning papers. I could hear nothing but those cries outside now ; the vicar’s voice was but. an accom- panying drone to my car. A bookstall was just opposite the waiting room. Presently I saw a boy hang up the contents bill of an evening paper, and I saw in large letters upon itâ€"” Daring Bur- glary at Ham Eâ€"Desperate Encounterâ€"A l’olictman Killed 2” Every instant 1 ex- cted the vicar to catch sight of the sheet; list he still (ironed on, occu led solely with his own opinions and re actions. Sud- denly he started up. " Bless my heart,” said he; " five min- utes to three. I shall lose my train." He shook hands hurriedly, and we parted, to my intense safiiifaction. I slippe‘l a penny into a boy's hand and took his paper. There was a tumult in my brain. One thing I recognised-Abe major had sought me on some pressing occasion connected with the nigh t’u events. I must l cab. “ It’s running in on the main line now. I met him Look sharp, sharp, sir ‘2" I got my ticket. and ran along the plat- form. The engine was hissing; the doors were slamming too ; a bell ran . I pushed my way through 9. knot of poop c waiting to 1 wont see their friends off, and sprang into a car- ”, riage. I was the last one. “ Got your ticket?" asked the uard. I held it up. He nodded and low his pretended not to comprehend. WhiStle- “Thank Heaven," I murmured, “she’s safe 1” The engine snorted ; the train began slow- ly to move. “Hold hard there l” called a voice in a tone of authority, and at the same moment the door was burst open and two incu pre- sented themselves. I thought I knew the look of one ; though be worse. morning suit, he had the unmistakable air of a constable. “ That‘s him,” said he, looking at me. “ Come out, sharp i" said the other. “ What for?" I demanded. “ W hat for ?--why, for murder ; that’s what for.” (To in: CONTINUED.) The Queen's Dolls. Miss Francis Low describes the large collection of dolls dressed by Her Majesty when a. girl at Kensington Palace. The article has been read and revised by the Queen, who sent, through Sir Henry Pou- sonby, the following memorandum :â€"-“ Her Majesty was very much devoted to dolls, and indeed played with them till she was Her favourites were small dollsâ€"small wooden dolls, which she who had a. house in which they could be Iplaced. None of Her Majesty’s children But in my heart I felt the mm” M jeal°u§y' cared for dolls as she did ; but then they had girl companions, which she never had. Miss Victoria Conroy (afterwards Mrs. Hammer) came to see her once a week, and occasionally others played with her. but with these exceptions she was left alone with the companionship of her dolls." In a. postscript Sir Henry Ponsonby adds: “Since writing the above I have been informed that it is not correct that ‘none of Her Majesty's children cared for doll’s,’ as the four eldest Prim ceases were very fond of them.” In a. sub- sequent noto Sir Henry addszâ€"“Tlio Queen usually dressed the dolls from some costumes she saw either in the theatre or - private life. ” There is, indeed (Miss Low writes), ample evidence in the care and at- tention laVished upon the dolls of the im- mense importance with which they were regarded by their Royal little mistress :and an additional and interesting proof of this is to be found in what one might call the “ doll’s archives.” These records are to be found in an ordinary copy-book, now a. little yellow with years, on the inside cover of which is written inn. childish, struggling, but determined handwritingâ€"“ List of my. dolls.” Then follows in delicate feminine writing thenumc of the doll, by whom it was dressed, and the character it represent» ad. though this particular is sometimes omitted. When the doll represents an actress, the date and name of the ballet are also given, by means of which one is enabled to determine the date of the dressing, which must have been between 1831 and lS33, when, Sir Henry says, “ the dolls were packed away. Of the 132 doll: pre- served, the Quecn herself dressed no is war than 3‘2, in a few of which she was helped by Baroness Lehzcn, a fact that is scrupu- lously recorded in the book ;and they do- serve to be handed down to posterity as an example of the patience and in sanity and exquisite handiwork of a two vc-yonr-old princess. Adventures of a Shipwrecked Urew. News has, according to the Exchange Telegraph Company, reached London from Japan of the total loss of the British ship North America off the coast beLchn Yoko- hama and Kobe, during it typhoon, on July ‘23. Soon after leaving Kobe the wind com- menced to rise, and all soils were eventually furlcd. The gale increased to a typhoon, and every stitch of canvas was blowu from the yards. The ship was have to, and when night fell itwas reckoned she was drifting four miles an hour. Earl ' next morning she struck on the rocks, an the captain (ad- dressing the crew) told them it. was now every man for himself. A large crowd of Japanese had collected on the shore, and with their assistance a rope was passed from the ship to a tree and the crew landed in safety. The men met with ever kindness, and, to quote the oilicial report y the cap tam, " they treated unto the best. as if we pere distin uished visitors instead of poor shipwreckci sailors." On news of the wreck sp-eading, the Governor appeared on the scene with a company of soldiers and placed a nerd over the cargo which was washing ashore. Afters tramp of ten miles across the mountains, the men found anative craft, see him, and lshould not be likely to find which took them on to Kobe, where they I knew not why, ~ 1 I felt- that every one was looking at me. - [landed in the clothes given them by the I native fishermen. .. - ' -’ _ tang» . a;