"Be cool," whispered Mac to Talman, as he and Mr. Watson accompanied him into the front office, leaving the little man and a stranger behind. "Have you got the bonds we ordered ?" said Mac to Talman. "Yes, sir. Mr. L has them all on the desk." "Count them over, Watson," said Mac-, " and see that they are correct, while I write the cheque. Six hundred thousand the bonds, and eleven hundred dollars commission and charges," repeated Macas he wrote two cheques upon the Central Bank, giving them to Talman to get certified, and the latter left for that purpose. Mac retired from the office, saying he would return in a few minutes. Mr. Watson remained conversing with Mr. L- upon various subjects, and observing the bonds upon the desk, suggested that it would be more prudent to lock them in the safe until his clerk's return with the cheques. Mr. L thought so too, and locked them in the safe, and put the large key in his pocket. "I have known," observed Mr. Watson, "in an office exposed to the street as this is, that bonds have been snatched up-and we are alone here." "It is much safer," said the old broker, as he pushed the key to the bottom of his pocket. "But where is Talman? he's a long time gone to get those cheques certified," he added. Yes," observed Mr. Watson, "has he far to go? I'll just walk up Wall Street and look for him." The office of King & Co. was locked, every one had left, and Mr. Watson walked his way up Wall Street, and having turned the corner, jumped into a car, and was in Jersey City in a few minutes to keep an appointment. Three-quarters of an hour had elapsed. Talman returned breathless to the office. "The bank refuses to certify the cheques-there are no funds! King & Co. are not known there! It is a fraud!" said Talman. "Where are the bonds? Have you delivered them ?" The old man was paralysed. "What! A bogus cheque ?" he exclaimed. "We have lost our commission, but the bonds are secure. Here they are." Here they are." He wiped the perspiration which stood upon his brow, took the key from his pocket, and opened the safe. "The bonds are gone!" he shrieked, and fell back in a swoon into his chair. The bonds were gone! The back of his safe had been entirely extracted, all its contents ransacked, and thrust into the safe of King & Co., which had been fixed into the partition which separated the two offices. Mac never returned, the office of King & Co. was deserted, and once again to let to next door neighbours. A Race for the Ring. BY JOHN SHEEHAN. "Twas down the ancient forest glade, But one upon the green bank lay As though she wished to shun him. "Hark! stole away!" arose the cry, With many a loud view-hallo; Love's hue-and-cry rings through the sky, "Hark! follow! follow! follow!" Fred's father laughed to see him bolt; Fan's mother thought her silly, The ladies backed the Derby colt; The men bet on the filly. Fan's robe, alas! a mile too long, Howe'er she wound and tucked it, Would still escape, and still go wrong, Clearing at length the greenwood shade Woe worth the brake! woe worth the gown! As on the maiden rushes, Her tiresome train once more is down, L'ENVOI Ye maids who love th' Olympic sport Your legs get caught by Cupid's snare, And your hearts too 'mongst the brambles! Things. ONCE upon a time, whilst visiting a Sunday-school in the country, I was a witness of the following painful incident. A lady of gaunt presence and aggressive mien had just laid down the law to a class of small girls that created matter was divided into two great classespeople and things; "and now," said the teacher, reversing the finger with which she had thrust this precept down the open mouths before her towards her own fair bosom, "and now, Sarah Clarke, what am I?" "A spiteful old thing," was the reply. I was shocked! I was more shocked still when the weeping culprit confessed that this description of her teacher was founded upon. an expression let fall by Miss Rose, and which she (the guilty one) had overheard. Now "Miss Rose" was the Vicar's eldest daughter, and it was part of the lex non scripta of the village that everything Miss Rose said or did was right. So the little damsel had not answered without authority; and who can say but that, after all, she might have been justified? I only know that the upshot of the incident was, that a certain young gentleman, about whom, as it appeared, the gaunt instructress of youth had been talking, had an interview with the Vicar next morning, and that a marriage (to which that lady was not invited) was the consequence. This little tale is told to illustrate the danger of definitions. I write of THINGS. What things? I decline to define them. I am conscious that were I to try and do so, I should be tripped up on every page. Why do I not qualify my subject then, and write "Some Things," or Things in this connection or that connection, at the head of my paper? Because my "things" are, emphatically, things no more or less. We speak of them, we hear of them as things; and things, pure and simple, they shall be. "Do wait two moments, whilst I put on my things," says some enchantress who will accept your escort (say, to Kensington Gardens). You wait three-quarters of an hour, and are rewarded by a vision of sweetness and light. She has put on her things. What things? Palpably a dress, bonnet, boots and gloves; but impalpably a score of things that you cannot buy in shops, which go to make up the fascinating picture. But you cannot even tell me on the morrow what things, bought in shops, she put off or put on. Of course I allude only to those outward things which a bachelor may wot of and name. You can only say "she changed her things.” I accompany you to your chambers where you live. I open the Clearing at length the greenwood shade Woe worth the brake! woe worth the gown! As on the maiden rushes, Her tiresome train once more is down, And all you racing youths, beware, Lest 'midst your picnic gambols And your hearts too 'mongst the brambles! |