VIII.

On this night our good friend, John Ripley, was also afflicted with mental aberration of a temporary kind. It took the form of hallucinations respecting the map of London, and of a diseased tendency to wander about railway stations. Five hours ago the aberrated part of his mind tried to persuade the other part that having visited the newspaper office to correct a proof, the best way home was round by the railway terminus above mentioned, and along the Surrey side of the river to the next bridge. He happened to be at that terminus exactly as the train came in which Cicely ought to have travelled in, but had failed to catch. Without the aberrated part of his mind confessing to the other part what it was doing, it caused him carefully to scrutinise every carriage and to ascertain without a doubt that Miss Berington was not among its passengers. And now that the bridge is getting deserted, except by a miserable young man who leans over the parapet and gazes at the reflection of the lights in the water below, and a broad-shouldered bullnecked artisan, who stands half-a-score of yards from him, and also looks down at the water; now that Cicely is but five miles from the terminus, he is there again. He has a confused idea about writing an article on railway stations in general, and his wool-gathering wits set themselves to prove that he is there for purposes of observation. He tries to think of a suitable title, but fails to hit upon anything striking. He speaks to a porter, and asks him when he thinks the B

express will be in. The porter tells him it is signalled, but that it will not be at the terminus for a quarter of an hour. There has been something wrong with the metals, and they have to come slowly with the trains. Ripley mentally jots this down for his article-want of proper care of the line outside Metropolitan stations, and determines to take a brisk walk to the centre of the bridge and back.

He

Arthur has determined to leap over the bridge into the water below. Who is that man there, leaning over the parapet? He will be gone soon, and then Is he watching him? How quiet it is getting, he thinks, as a weird soliloquy, like a troubled dream, passes through his brain. has not a friend in all that city, that half shapes itself through the gloom. He is disgraced. Tunwell and Octave's man will be asking for him to-morrow. What will Hayter think when he hears of it, confound him, and that Ripley, who tried to give him good advice. And his mother, who believed in him so? He cannot bear the thought of her. He is a hopeless scamp. Now, when this man has come past who is just coming on to the bridge, he will jump. Will it be cold? He is hot enough, his brain seems on fire. Why does not that man move? He is still leaning over the bridge. He will not wait for him to go away. Now, when this rapidly approaching figure has gone by. Good heavens! it is Ripley Arthur springs upon the parapet; but Ripley has sprung forward, making a grab at him, has seized his wrist; but with the impetus of his spring, Arthur is over and dangling, struggling. Ripley tightens his grasp like iron. Arthur's teeth are at his fingers; he wildly tries to plunge off into the depth below. Anything rather than be

pulled back by Ripley. Two brawny hands are thrust down. They belong to the man who was looking over the bridge. One of them twists itself in Arthur's collar, the other grasps him by the hair.

No word is spoken in this desperate struggle. Will no one ever come along the bridge? The two men cannot lift him in the position in which they are, and he struggling so wildly. Thank heaven, that train in sooner than the porter had predicted. A four-wheeler

There are only a few more agonising seconds, and the two, assisted by the driver, have dragged Arthur back from death, but half-strangled. The bull-necked artisan has nearly garrotted him in his efforts to save him, and he lies insensible. His deliverers stand breathless. Cicely sits still, summoning all her courage, and tries to stop the beating of her heart.

The cabman comes to the door.

"What is the matter," she says.

"Some young fellow trying to throw himself over.

wrong I suppose."

"How very dreadful!”

Another gone

"Would you mind stopping while I take one o' the lamps to look at him, miss?"

"Do whatever you can."

Oh, what a dreadful place this London was, she thought. And it might be a young man away from home, like Arthur!

She got out of the cab, with a shrinking, terrified curiosity, as the cabman held the light to the young man's face. And then her beating heart seemed to give one terrible leap, and leave her dead for the moment, as the consciousness that it was Arthur came to her like some blinding flash of lightning.

But she was too strong and healthy to swoon, and in a trice she was untying her poor brother's cravat.

"Go and get some water," she said to the cabman.

"Your wrist is bleeding, sir," she said to Ripley, as he supported Arthur's head with one hand and held the lantern with the other. "You had better tie it up." She passed him her pocket handkerchief. A great coolness and self-possession had come over her, as it does over some women at terrible times.

Arthur groaned. She bathed his temples, and after a time he looked about in a vacant way, and they got him into the cab. She had already given the cabman her brother's address, and she now said, in the most passionless tone in the world,

"He is my brother. I am very much obliged to you. We must get him home, and get a doctor."

Ripley mounted the box beside the driver. Cicely had not known him in the least; she would have known nobody. When they neared the lodgings he got down, and said he would send a doctor. She thanked him in the same firm, mechanical tone in which she had previously spoken.

"Well, I am blowed," said the bull-necked artisan, as the four-wheeler moved off. He was just enough under the influence of liquor to be communicative, and to be ready to do anything. "Now what do you think o' this 'ere, ladies and gentlemen ?" he said, addressing the small crowd which had gathered, "A chap knocks me down, and munce arter, I follers him and tracks him to this 'ere bridge, and saves his beggaring life. Six munce ago that 'ere young swell knocks me down. Well, I saves him. Am I dreaming? Now, none o' yer chaff, am I dreaming. His sister driving up is about the most dooced extr'or'nary thing as ever I see. None o' yer laughing. You save fler's life? You! Ne'er a one on yer! Axally saves his life-saves it."

And he walked off, with a triumphant wave of the hand.

IX.

Cicely's pocket handerchief exercised a remarkably healing power on the wound in Ripley's wrist, and he kept it as a treasure for a long time. Arthur, poor fellow, after a long illness, showed the wonderful power of youthful vitality, and recovered. By the following May he again resumed his business duties, and Cicely came to London with him. They took a small home, and his sister was his housekeeper. The lessons of the previous year, bitter as they had been, were not lost upon him, and John Ripley became his guide, counsellor, and friend. Cicely had always admired the honest John, and when two years after the occurrences we have narrated, he asked her hand, she gave him a frank "Yes," which made him very happy. Arthur lives with them, and daily shows the result upon his character of the "Lessons in Life" which he, in common with all of us, daily receives.

REDBARN.

OUR TEA TIME.

A CHRISTMAS RHYME FOR THE JUVENILES.

The table set and spread with wholesome fare,
The hissing urn proclaims its presence there,
And sings its song, to woo with joyous glee
Its nuptial union with the fragrant tea.
Meanwhile the bairns consigned to nurse's care,
With shining faces, and with smooth-brushed hair,
Impatient wait, till pealing forth to tell
That tea is ready, rings the welcome bell.
Then what a sound of little clattering feet,
As five dear laddies run with joy to greet,
Their home-returning father, glad if he
Come back in time to join them all at tea.

But ah! the sadness on each little face,
When bursting in the room, they see no trace
Of him they seek for, till the shrewd young Paul
Darts out again and looks into the hall.
And, there upon the hatstand, soon can see
His father's hat, as plain as plain can be;
Then, back again, cries out, "I know he's here,
Come on and hunt, we'll find him, never fear."
Then round the room they seek in every nook,
Till the dear mother, guiding by a look
The youngest, points with glances to the ground,
And there, beneath the table, father's found.
Then who that reads would not a father be,

Or would not envy, if he could but see,

That father romped upon, loved, squeezed, caressed,
While fragrant kisses on his cheeks are pressed?

Now, round the table each one takes his place,
The little flaxen heads are bowed, while grace
Is said, with reverence, " Father dear, in heaven,
Our hearts most thankful make for this food given."
Then, during tea the little ones will tell

Of school, of lessons badly learned, or well,
Or sweet-voiced mother, with a gentle look
And tone, will read some interesting book.
Some story of adventure on the sea,

Of hardy men, from sense of danger free,
Who sailed where frost subdued the water's roll,
And in the realms of ice did seek the pole.
Or, with brave Nelson on the Spanish main,
Fight England's naval battles o'er again,
Or off the coast of Afric, with the brave,
Chase the foul slaver, and release the slave.
And as she reads of England's victory,
Each cries, 66 Oh, mother, I'll a sailor be !"

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*

Or, stories of strange lands, of golden shores,
Of land-locked seas, or how Niagara pours
Her mighty flood, like adamantine wall,
And shakes the earth with thunders of her fall.
Sometimes the classic tales of Rome or Greece,
How Jason bravely won the Golden Fleece,
Rock-bound Andromeda, Prometheus' fire,
Brave Perseus, or Orpheus' magic lyre.
Sometimes the much-loved gems of fairy lore,
Or tales of chivalry, an endless store;
How on the field of Waterloo did stand
The thin red line of Wellington's brave band,
Nor shrank one faltering soldier from his post,
But firm withstood Napoleon's mighty host.
Or later yet, for England still can claim,
Place for her sons upon the scroll of fame.

For while brave Chard and Bromhead live, who dare
Deny to them an honoured mention there;

And as she reads of England's victory,

Each cries, "Oh, mother, I'll a soldier be!"

And best of all, she reads the sacred book,

How God's own son came down from heaven, and took

Our nature, lived and died to prove

To unbelieving man His boundless love.

THE twenty-fourth Annual Meeting of the Birmingham Central Literary Association was held at the Grand Hotel, on Friday, October 8th, 1880, 120 members being present. An Address was delivered by the President, Mr. Howard S. Pearson, on "Birmingham in the Twentieth Century." A vote of thanks was passed to the retiring officers, and the following gentlemen were elected for the present Session, viz. :

Messrs. L. Brierley, F. R. Heath, A. Holden, R. Pardoe, C. C. Smith, J. W. Tonks, and G. Zair were elected members of the Committee. October 22nd.-DEBATE: "That the Solution of the Irish Land Question is to be looked for in the direction of the views enunciated by the Irish Land League." Affirmative, Mr. Frank R. Heath; negative, Mr. H. S. Pearson. On the motion of Mr. Charles Lean, seconded by Mr. J. W. Tonks, the debate was adjourned. Meeting, semi-public-120 members and friends present. November 5th.-ADJOURNED DEBATE: "That the Solution of the Irish Land Question is to be looked for in the direction of the views enunciated by the Irish Land League." Affirmative, led by Mr. Chas. Lean, and supported by Mr. C. C. Smith, Mr. James McClelland, Mr. A. Liddell, and Mr. W. A. Phipson; negative, Messrs. J. W. Tonks, R. C. Jarvis, E. M. Coleman, and Jacob Rowlands. Votes-affirmative, members only, 28; negative, 22. Members and friends-affirmative, 38; negative, 29. Meeting, semi-public-112 members and friends present.

November 19th.-DEBATE: "That a Senate or Upper House of Parliament, with Life Peerages, should be substituted for the