authority to keep him still, as she flitted from room to room. She never ran, but glided, and was always stately even at topmost speed. Mayne noticed that she had none of the high spirits of her younger sister, though there was so slight a difference in years between them. Like one who takes a hand at whist to oblige others, she did not seem to enjoy the game, though she played it very much better than the volunteers in question. Ere she could speak to the rest, the dreaded form of the Robber King withdrew the curtain, and, in a voice that was meant for one of Murder,' cried 'all caught.' Nay, sir, you are wrong,' said Evelyn. There are two more yet to find-Miss Hurt and George.'

They count as one, for I always catch 'em together,' replied Frankie, and off he flashed to complete his victory.

At this speech, so corroborative of what all had been saying, or thinking, every one instantly glanced at Evy, except Mr. Dyneley, who wheeled round and stared at the painted window, as though he would have stared through it. This delicacy of conduct (as is often the case) cost the Curate dear, for if he had witnessed, like the rest, the calmness and unconcern with which Evelyn received this compromising intelligence, he would have been well assured that George Gresham, at least, was not a rival to be feared.

After this it was agreed by tacit consent that Robber King had been played out, and the more so since the Great Baba was clamorous for 'Ghostisses,' in which the game had been to his mind hitherto shamefully deficient.

So in the deepening dusk they all repaired to the library and told terrible tales from which the Baba, in Evy's arms, snatched a fearful joy.

For my part, 1 dote on Ghosts, but the common sense and practical sagacity of the world have become so great that I dare not repeat these stories. One of them, however, is worth recording, first because it took the un

usual course of demonstrating that inanimate as well as animate objects are subject to supernatural influences, and secondly, because it was told by the very last person in that part of the country who would have been suspected of telling stories, namely, Mr. Raynes. Moreover it had the very rarest and most valuable attribute that a ghost story can have, it was the record of a personal experience of the narrator,

'It was in the afternoon of this very month some ten years ago,' began Mr. Raynes, that I entered the Great Western express at Minden to go down to Exeter. I was late, and hurried at the station, and in my confusion left behind me on a bench on the platform a little black bag full of papers of great importance. I had just retired from my profession——'

'What's dat?' inquired the Great Baba, who wished to have every particular explained to him at all times, but especially regarding so important a subject as Ghostisses.

A great many people besides this intelligent infant would also have been glad to learn what Mr. Raynes' calling had been previously to his undertaking the rôle of a country gentleman, so that the question was as full of interest as of pertinence.

'When people are wise, Baba,' observed Mr. Raynes, and have made a little money to live upon, they proceed to enjoy themselves for the rest of their lives without working one bit more, and that is called retiring from their profession.'

This explanation, accompanied as it was by one of the most tremendous grins of which the human muscles are capable, was apparently found satisfactory by his interlocutor. So Mr. Raynes continued as follows: 'In that bag, I say, I had the title-deeds of The Lilacs, of which I had become possessed that very day; and, being in very good spirits, I was not at all in a humour to be frightened by ghosts, or anything else, until I found myself alone in the railway carriage without

the bag. The instant I had taken my seat, and the train began to move, I knew that I had left it behind me, and the sense of loss was most acute and depressing. I did not reflect at the time (being quite unused to business matters) that no one could easily make use of the deeds but myself, but really felt as if I had become suddenly beggared. The change from gaiety of heart to despondency was overwhelming. Had there been any communication between guard and passenger at that epoch, which there was not, I think I should have stopped that down express for the purpose of informing its custodian that I had left a black bag at Minden station, and would be obliged to him to reverse the engine and fetch it.

A prey to these anxious thoughts, I happened suddenly to look up, and there, in the opposite corner of the carriage, stood the very bag, before me, with a copy of the Evening Standard half thrust into its mouth, as I well remember to have left it. The carriage was a first-class one, and tolerably well lighted, so that there could be no mistake about it, although five minutes before I could have taken my Bible oath that no bag was there. I verily trembled with agitation, and I must needs confess with something like superstitious fear, so confident was I both that there it was and there it had not been. I had not a doubt that it was my bag and no other, and yet it was some seconds before I could compose my mind, and assure myself how it had got there; namely, that I had flung it there myself as I hurriedly entered, but that in the gloom of the carriage, as compared with the light from which I had come, it had escaped my observation. My mind gradually calmed down from excitement to content and gratitude, and presently I got up, walked to where the bag lay in its corner, and was about to take the newspaper out to read, when that journal was suddenly drawn down into the bag as though by some hidden hand

within it, and its half-open mouth was closed in my very face with a sharp snap.

'Anything more surprising it has never been my lot to experience, and very few things more alarming; if it had been a black dog instead of a black bag that had thus snapped at me I should not have been half so disconcerted. I suddenly felt cowed and uncanny, as though in an unseen presence that had some connection with the bag, and as different from the proud possessor of that desirable estate, The Lilacs, as he had been half an hour ago as it is possible to conceive. It was my own bag, to all appearance, and yet it had never snapped its faithful lips at me before, or shown any external symptoms of vitality. I am ashamed to say that I left the thing where it was untouched, and without making any further attempt to establish its identity, till the train stopped at Swindon, when I stepped out with great alacrity -almost into the arms of the guard. "What is it sir?" inquired he, as I stared back into the carriage.

"Well, there's a bag," said I, not liking to say "My bag,' which, as it turned out, was lucky.

"Ah, yes; I was coming for that," said he. "There's a sad story about that bag, or at least its owner. He had put it in this carriage, with his newspaper in it, but delayed to get in himself till after the bell rang. The train started at the same moment, and he was caught between the wheels and the platform and killed on the spot. Leastways, so the telegram says. So, if one may say so, the bag belongs to a Dead Man."›

When the audience had recovered from the shock of this recital, and were asking, according to custom, what became of Mr. Raynes' own black bag (as if that were the object of interest), Mr. Frederick Mayne was trying to remember under what circumstances he had heard this story before. That he had heard it he felt certain, and also that he had not read it. Some one

COPYRIGHT, AND AMERICAN MAGA

ZINE LITERATURE.

T is interesting, yet rather sad, to

quitous copyright system are re-acting upon our neighbours in the States. One by one their magazines are ceasing to afford a field for native talent, and are becoming mere reproductions of essays and articles from the English periodicals. Take for example the June number of Appleton's Journal. It contains a critical paper on the 'Shakspearian Myth' and a short tale, both by American authors. All the other articles are foreign. Justin McCarthy's new history is laid under contribution. Senor Castelar is honoured by a translation, and Froude by the excerption of a chapter from his life of Cæsar. The periodical novel is by Besant and Rice (who, by the way, are now imitating Wilkie Collins' style in telling their tale by means of 'The Deserted Wife's Narrative,' and the 'Injured Sister's Story'), and the remaining papers are taken impartially from Fraser and Blackwood. I do not deny that the magazine is a very readable one, but if all the American periodicals are to become eclectic selections for which nothing is paid, it is a bad outlook for American authors. Depending as the Journal does on extraneous aid, no wonder that its homemade departments show a terrible falling off in ability. One in particular, styled 'Imitation in Art,' is a delightful specimen of outspoken ignorance as to what is meant by the canon that art is not imitation. Apparently the writer's standard is what will pay? for he mentions that such and such a painting is the only one that can be

I wish some competent authority would inform us what good purpose is supposed to be served by the creation in Canada of titles borrowed from the feudal institutions of England. We have now a new batch of Knights and Ladies. What does it all signify Sir Samuel Leonard, Sir Richard John, Sir Charles, Sir Alexander are we to understand that Her Majesty, recognising the pre-eminent merits and public services of these gentlemen, has singled them out for this mark of her favour? Or are they the mere nominees of their respective parties for the purpose in question? If so, how often will a batch of new names be sent home? Has the thing any natural limits of its own that are not likely to be passed? Is Knighthood the highest honour to which a Colonist can aspire? If titles serve any good purpose, why not raise Sir John A. Macdonald to the peerage, and let Canadian society have whatever benefit may come of being able to boast a live lord of home growth? It is quite possible there are some serious arguments in favour of the creation of a titled aristocracy in Canada; but I confess myself wholly ignorant as to what they are. Is it supposed that Canadian loyalty will be stimulated by the bestowal of such distinctions on our leading men, and on some who are not

leading men at all? It is possible that the recipients of titles might feel themselves bound more closely to the fountain of honour, and that their gratitude might take the shape of a lively expectation of further favours to come; but how about their relations and duties to the country here that has made them what they are? Is it safe or proper that our politicians should always be on the side of the Court? What is wanted in a public man is, that he should have a lively sense of what is due to his own constituents-using that word in its widest signification-not that he should be captivated by honours conferred by a power across the sea. We want men who can gaze upon honours irretortis oculis, and who do not require titles to give them a due sense of their own dignity. As to stimulating the loyalty of the Canadian people at large by this decoration of their public men, the idea is most chimerical. I am mistaken if four Canadians out of five do not see more to laugh at than anything else in the whole business. What has So and-So ever done, they will say, that forthwith I must Sir' him and 'Lady' his wife? The answer to such a question might not be easy to give.

I would, therefore, object to these titles as tending to divide the allegiance of our public men, and make them hover, as it were, between their simple duty as Canadians and the temptation to flatter Imperial ideas! There is, however, another consideration which seems to me even more important, and that is, that all imitation, in a new country, of the forms of an old aristocracy is socially corrupting. The root idea of aristocracy is privi lege founded on might, or at least upon fait accompli, not right, and wherever aristocracy is imitated there will be a similar development of the idea of privilege. 'Society,' in the narrow sense, will set up its interest against those of society in the wide sense, and we shall have a language

and sentiments which, to any one brought up in liberal traditions, are offensive and nauseating in the highest degree. We shall have a wretched little class, thinking that all the world exists simply to furnish it with its luxuries, its leisure, its vicious idleness, its inane enjoyments. The whole spirit of the age is opposed to such a development of class feeling, and tends more and more to stamp all superiority in wealth, education, or talents, with the serious legend, Responsibility.' If we in Canada wish to march in the front of civilisation we should put away from us all devices that tend to cultivate individual egotism, to stimulate social rivalries, and to obscure the truth, that only as a man places his superior gifts in all simplicity at the service of his fellowmen-is he really entitled to honour? Titles, as tending to increase all the illusions of personal vanity, and to corrupt society by the institution of false ideals and a false worship, should be repudiated by an intelligent and self-respecting people.

VOX CLAMANTIS.

THE MORAL NATURE AND INTELLECTUAL POWER.

I have been very much struck by the following remarks in Dr. R. M. Bucke's recent work on "Man's Moral Nature : "The activity and efficiency of the intellectual nature is largely dependent upon the degree of development of the moral nature, which last is undoubtedly the drivingpower of our mental mechanism, as the great sympathetic is the drivingpower of our bodily organization. What I mean is, and I think everyone will agree with me here, that, with the same intellectual power, the outcome of that power will be vastly greater with a high moral nature behind it than it will be with a low moral nature behind it. In other