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man to life again.
concealed the knife. But now that the pris-
oner had escaped the dangers of the war,
and had not therein expiated his crime, and
moreover had had the hardihood to return
to that little village, no one knew with what
intention, though it was naturally supposed❘
to be with the resolution of taking up his
future residence there, it was to be feared
that he might corrupt, with his sinful tenden-
cies, the natural purity and innocence of
the society of the place; and thereby it be-
came proper that the long-delayed exposure
should at last be made. Were there any
other questions to be asked?

Therefore he had weakly | ber his interview with the prisoner upon the
previous morning, and he recalled the fact
that upon speaking about the death of the
murdered man, Grayling had changed the
subject. Had that been from accident, or
from a desire to avoid a painful discussion?
If the latter, was it not in itself a kind of ev-
idence of guilt? And if so, was he, the Jus-
tice, justified in keeping it to himself? On
the other hand, had he any business to make
profit of testimony not formally called for by
the State? But might he not act upon it,
without disclosing it, as long as he knew of
it himself? Would there not then be this
further difficulty, that he had no right to
form his mind upon any evidence that had
not been openly presented and reduced to
writing? All this troubled the Justice very
much. As has been intimated, he was not
especially learned in the law, having had but
few cases in his career except those relating
to trespass and petty theft. His only other
important case-one of forgery-had hap-
pened many years ago; and in that matter he
had had the advice and assistance of the far
more intricate knowledge of the Justice of
Leeward. Now he would like to have coun-
sel about this affair, also, but did not know
where to look for it. If he spoke about it to
Counselor Braisdell, the man would proba-
bly insist upon the presentation of the evi-
dence. If he mentioned it to Counselor
Lote, he, on the contrary, would demand the
suppression of it. They were both, of course,
interested upon their own sides, and neither
would relieve the difficulty by giving a friend-
ly and impartial answer.
matter was not pressing.

No: at least, not then. The Court was very much obliged to the Doctor for his lucid testimony; and though it could not of ficially sympathize with the weakness that would persuade him to conceal a crime, must yet attribute it to kindness of heart, and would consider that the present clear exposure went far to make amends. There would probably be an adjourned examination, the present hearing having been merely preliminary to a more extended investigation. In that case, the Doctor might probably be wanted again, inasmuch as the district attorney would then be present, and most likely would wish to go over some of the ground again. Though, the Court must say, so able had been the cross-examination so far, that it was not improbable the district attorney would be content with reading over the testimony already taken. No: Doctor Gretchley was required no longer at present; and only letting it be understood that he must hold himself in readiness for any further call, he might now go. The Doctor thanked the Justice for his courtesy, and descending from the platform, made his way out of the court.

After that, there was silence for a few moments, during which the Justice was buried in troubled reflection. A sudden idea had come into his head, causing him due perplexity. Ought he not to offer himself as a witness to a matter which he personally knew about, and which might prove of some importance? For he had chanced to remem

But, after all, the It could hold over

very well to the next examination, and then the district attorney would be present, and he, perhaps, might show a proper spirit, and advise about the difficulty outside the court. Moreover, it might not turn out to be of much importance, after all, since there appeared to be sufficient evidence already to justify a committal.

The poor Justice's concluding reverie was broken in upon by the Colonel, who at that point addressed him:

"I wish to observe, Judge Peters—”

"Wait a moment, Colonel," his counsel | Counselor Braisdell, somewhat triumphantly.

hurriedly interposed in a half-whisper, scenting danger; "you must remember that you had better now always speak though me. If you have anything really important to say " "Yes, I know all that very well," responded Grayling, somewhat imperiously; and, in spite of his late resolves upon the subject of discipline, moved now to assert his own will. "And yet I wish to unburden myself of something before this examination goes any further. I desire from the first no concealment; not only wishing the truth for itself, but perhaps more selfishly to avoid the suspicion that might be produced against me were it ever known that anything had been concealed. I wish, therefore, to admit that I was in the village, secretly, one evening about the time of the commission of the deed. Furthermore-"

"Sit down sit down!" whispered his counsel, still more imperatively; "what is the use of having counsel if you cannot speak through them?"

"It is a very important admission, indeed, and looking strongly towards probable guilt.“

"Certainly they must go in," added Courselor Lote, promptly recovering himsel "We hope for and intend no concealment. When our evidence is all in, it will then be seen, not only what is here stated, that my client was there upon that very evening, but also why he was there, and in what manner that very circumstance will fully show his innocence. All we now require is a short adjournment."

"The examination will then stand adjourn ed to When shall we put it, Mr. Lote?" said the Justice. "There will, of course, be other witnesses for the State; Mr. Crusty, especially, who, I regret to learn, is this morning to ill too appear. And doubtless you will have witnesses for the defense who-"

"Our witnesses," rejoined the dispirited counsel, not sure that he would be able to procure a single witness for the defense, but trying to keep up his courage by pretense of vast crowds who must have seen some other man commit the murder, and were all coming to testify thereto "our witnesses may not be ready to-morrow, and we would

"I was there about that time," repeated Grayling, without seeming to hear the appeal. "Furthermore, however, I will say that I know nothing about the murder; that until a month ago I never learned that the mur-like to examine more carefully than hereto dered man was dead at all; while until this last hour I did not hear that he had come to his death through violence. That is all at present."

He sat down again; and from the way the crowd of spectators looked around knowingly at each other, they seemed to think that, though all, it was enough to do a great deal of damage. What an admission to make, to be sure! And why could not his counsel have been in time to make him keep it to himself? Why, here was enough to hang a dozen men! The Justice, too, looked sorry, and bent over his paper with a regretful air, as he wrote down the Colonel's words.

"I suppose they must go in," he muttered. "Of course they must go in," exclaimed

fore the scene of the the transaction And-"

"Well, then, we will say the day after to morrow. That will give you time to loo about you a little. Meanwhile, it will be suf ficient if Colonel Grayling remains at th hotel, in charge of the constable. We nee not apprehend that not apprehend that at the present any mor rigorous measures will be needed for his se curity. And of course," added the Justice feeling that now again he could drop the in flexible demeanor, and assume a more friendl and sympathetic tone-" of course, Colon Grayling, you must be aware that I hope yo can ere long be able to procure the prope evidence to show that all this has been a mi take." LEONARD KIP.

[CONTINUED IN NEXT NUMBER.]

CALIFORNIA WINTER.

This is not winter: where is the crisp air,
And snow upon the roof, and frozen ponds,
And the star-fire that tips the icicle?

Here blooms the late rose, pale and odorless;
And the vague fragrance in the garden walks
Is but a doubtful dream of mignonette.
In some smooth spot, under a sleeping oak
That has not dreamed of such a thing as spring,
The ground has stolen a kiss from the cool sun
And thrilled a little, and the tender grass
Has sprung untimely, for these great bright days,
Staring upon it, will not let it live.

The sky is blue, and 'tis a goodly time,
And the round, barren hillsides tempt the feet;
But 'tis not winter: such as seems to man
What June is to the roses, sending floods
Of life and color through the tingling veins.
It is a land without a fireside. Far
Is the old home, where, even this very night,
Roars the great chimney with its glorious fire,
And old friends look into each other's eyes
Quietly, for each knows the other's trust.

Heaven is not far away such winter nights:
The big white stars are sparkling in the east,
And glitter in the gaze of solemn eyes;
For many things have faded with the flowers,
And many things their resurrection wait.
Earth like a sepulcher is sealed with frost,
And Morn and Even beside the silent door
Sit watching, and their soft and folded wings
Are white with feathery snow.

Yet, even here,

We are not quite forgotten by the Hours,

Could human eyes but see the beautiful

Save through the glamour of a memory.

Soon comes the strong south wind, and shouts aloud
Its jubilant anthem. Soon the singing rain

Comes from warm seas, and in its skyey tent

Enwraps the drowsy world. And when, some night,
Its flowing folds invisibly withdraw,

Lo! the new life in all created things.
The azure mountains and the ocean gates
Against the lovely sky stand clean and clear
As a new purpose in the wiser soul.

E. R. SILL.

THE MOJAVE DESERT.

The western portion of this waste is called the Mojave Desert-and I here use the word waste advisedly, for desert is a misnomer when applied to a region more like that of the Mosaic myth. The boundaries of that particular part of California known as the Mojave Desert are not very well defined, especially on the southward and eastward sides, on which it merges imperceptibly into the Colorado Desert; but it may be considered as occupying the north-western portion of San Bernardino County, the south-eastern corner of Kern County, and the north-eastern corner of Los Angeles County, the greater part of its area lying within the first-named county. In the counties of Kern and Los Angeles, the desert fills the space lying between the Sierra Nevada, on the north, and the various ranges of the Sierra Madre, on the south, extending westward in wedge-like shape to the point where the Sierra Nevada and the Coast Range separate. On the very inaccurate masses of this region the western arm is absurdly called the "Palm Plains."

In the days of our boyhood-O, Jones of my bosom, Millardo Consule-the map of North America contained, in the vast country lying to the westward of the upper Rio Grande, a patch of irregular shape and extensive area, entitled "The Great American Desert." This region the topographer, perchance pseudo-patriotically emulative of his fellow-craftsman of the Eastern Hemisphere, delineated as a sandy waste, similar to its African counterpart. Our occidental Sahara, moreover, was of great utility to the maker of maps, who, year by year, drew its western boundary nearer to the Pacific, triumphantly pointing out this addition to his map as an evidence of the amount of geographical knowledge acquired during the previous twelvemonth, and thus imposing upon a good-natured public, which allowed itself to be deceived by the simple artifice; just as, to this day, it is cozened by a not unlike trick of the publisher of minor dictionaries, who yearly inserts, in the same old lexicon, a new title-page. Well do I remember that our young imag-The extreme length, from east to west, of inations, fed upon the work of that Caledonian Munchausen, Gordon Cumming, and his French rival, Gérard, looked forward to the day when we, also, should become envied of all boys because of slaughter among the lions and other feræ naturæ of the Great American Desert. This, however, is neither here nor there. At length the wonted an nual increase of the desert ceased; then it began to contract in size: for its eastern limit receded before the westward march of the nation, while its western boundary, like the sagacious Indian of story, could be pushed no more thitherward because of the Pacific Ocean, and in this case, the dawning fact of California; and finally, the Great American Desert became reduced, little by little, to the barren lands known to the school-boy of to-day.

the Mojave Desert is about one hundred and fifty miles, and its width, from north to south, is about one hundred miles. But its extent must not be computed from these dimensions; it does not contain more than from one thousand to twelve hundred square miles an area which is as nothing in the immensity of California.

The general surface of the desert is from two thousand to two thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea, and is curiously broken by ranges of hills, often rising to the dignity of mountains, and capriciously running in every direction, as well as by detached hills, or "buttes"; while the more level portions of the plain are traversed by ridges of sand, not unlike the dunes of the seaside. and, like them, the effect of the high winds which sweep over the loose soil. At times,

In

especially during the so-called spring and | yet unrisen sun-god, the whole eastern rim of autumn of southern California, this sand, and the desert dances in fantastic mirage, resempebbles even larger than a hazel-nut, are bling, in effect, the weird tumbling of the blown hither and thither, like drifting snow. surges, when one at sunrise looks thitherward In the gullies on the northern and western from the deck of a ship in mid-Atlantic. flanks of the hills, this material has accumu- the glare of the fierce sun of noontide the lated during the ages to an extraordinary hills appear in their true light-cold, gray, hight above the desert level, and up these and desolate, each jagged peak distinct and slopes the sand-loving yucca and the muscrú clearly cut against a sky cloudless as that of climb. No bowlders are to be found on the Italy, their sides deeply seamed by frequent desert, but angular fragments and water- cloud-bursts. Just before the gloaming deepworn pebbles of quartz, flint, and igneous ens into night, the waning light brings out rocks are strewn everywhere. Pieces of lava, Pieces of lava, upon their flanks, in kaleidoscopic succession, roughly rounded by almost constant motion the choicest bits of color from Nature's palduring the months referred to, are found farette-all tints of yellow and red, purple and from the hills, while the cones of pines and other like trees are rolled onward to a distance of miles from the parent bough on the summits of the two great mountain chains that hem the desert in. On the southern and eastern margins of the many shallow ponds, of which some are entitled to be termed lakes, and indeed are so called, the pebbles lie as on the beach of the sea. Where rock appears in the hills, it is always in situ, thrusting itself forth in angular, misshapen crags, such as the Spaniard calls farallon. To the southward of Buckhorn Springs, the old immigrant road, leading westward from the Colorado River across the desert, and through the Tejon Pass and Cañon to the Tulare Plains, winds for some distance between low outcroppings of a very coarse syenite, worn and split by the alternate frost and sunshine of many centuries into huge blocks, lying one upon another these resemble the weird fortifications of some long gone race of giants.

The air of the desert is so dry and pure, that distances are exaggerated and objects magnified. The mirage simulates water on the surface of the dry lakes: to the eastward in the morning, to the westward when the sun has passed the meridian. Seen in the exquisitely clear atmosphere attending the dawn of a midsummer day, the distant mountains are of a deep indigo blue, which becomes lighter as the sun mounts up above them; and at this hour, while the western sky is amethystine with reflections from the

blue and green, variegated as those with loving brush she lavishes in autumn upon the wooded hills that caress thy windings, O, lordly Hudson, thou most beautiful of rivers. These discolorations are due to the various minerals the hills contain: for silver, iron, copper, lead, tin, antimony, and arsenic are present, singly or one or more together, in almost all of the ranges. Some "prospecter," poet as well as miner, has bestowed its fitting name upon the Calico Range. In this range, as well as in others, some rich silver mines have been discovered recently; and when the desert is bisected in each direction, as it will be ere long by the Atlantic and Pacific and the California Southern railroads, a new mining district will be made of easy

access.

Earthquakes have played queer pranks on the desert. Toward its western end, a shallow trench, now obliterated in places, cuts in a straight line over hill and dale from near Gorman's to the mountains back of Elizabeth Lake; it seams the earth like the furrow of some Titan's plow marking the border of his domain, and was the work of the same earthquake that opened a large fresh-water pond, much frequented by waterfowl, near a salt lake on the Liebre “ranch,” and closed a spring far away to the eastward, which had yielded hitherto an unfailing supply.

Earthquakes, too, have upheaved capriciously the broken strata of primeval rocks, cropping out fantastically along the hilltops. Some of the mountains in the

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