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ionships, and when we have mastered these and their chief modifications and combinations, we have the essence of grammar as truly as if we knew the name for every possible combination which our seven fundamental relationships might have. Since rhetoric is the art of appealing to the emotions and intelligence of our hearers, we need to know, not the names of all the different artifices which may be employed, but the nature and laws of emotion and intelligence as they may be reached through language; for if we know what we are hitting at, a little practice will enable us to hit accurately; whereas if we knew the name of every kind of blow, and yet were ignorant of the thing we were hitting at, namely the intelligence and emotion of our fellow man, we would be forever striking into the air,---striking cleverly perhaps, but ineffectively.

Having got our bearings, we find before us a purely practical problem, that of leading the student through the maze of a new science and teaching him the skill of an old

lerk, whilehis father continued to speak through the door. "He isn'twell, please believe me. Why else would Gregor have misseda train! The lad only ever thinks about the business. Itnearly makes me cross the way he never goes out in theevenings; he's been in town for a week now but stayed homeevery evening. He sits with us in the kitchen and justreads the paper or studies train timetables. His idea ofrelaxation is working with his fretsaw. He's made a littleframe, for instance, it only took him two or three evenings,you'll be amazed how nice it is; it's hanging up in hisroom; you'll see it as soon as Gregor opens the door.Anyway, I'm glad you're here; we wouldn't have been able toget Gregor to open the door by ourselves; he's so stubborn;and I'm sure he isn't well, he said this morning that he is,but he isn't."

"I'll be there in a moment", said Gregor slowly andthoughtfully, but without moving so that he would not missany word of the conversation. "Well I can't think of anyother wa

ed a glass of it in place of his breakfast and how he thentook a second glassful in order to give himself courage, the last onejust as a precaution for the unlikely chance it would be needed.

Then he was so startled by a shout to him from the other room thathe struck his teeth against the glass. "The supervisor wants to seeyou!" a voice said. It was only the shout that startled him, this curt,abrupt, military shout, that he would not have expected from thepoliceman called Franz. In itself, he found the order very welcome."At last!" he called back, locked the cupboard and, without delay,hurried into the next room. The two policemen were standing there andchased him back into his bedroom as if that were a matter of course."What d'you think you're doing?" they cried. "Think you're going to seethe supervisor dressed in just your shirt, do you? He'd see to it yougot a right thumping, and us and all!" "Let go of me for God's sake!"called K., who had already been pushed back as far as his ward

ss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needs straightening to." He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.

"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.

"In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will fin

ing at thewindow where the merrymaking was, and called to him to come in; and hecould not withstand the temptation, but went in, and forgot the goldenbird and his country in the same manner.

Time passed on again, and the youngest son too wished to set out intothe wide world to seek for the golden bird; but his father would notlisten to it for a long while, for he was very fond of his son, andwas afraid that some ill luck might happen to him also, and preventhis coming back. However, at last it was agreed he should go, for hewould not rest at home; and as he came to the wood, he met the fox,and heard the same good counsel. But he was thankful to the fox, anddid not attempt his life as his brothers had done; so the fox said,'Sit upon my tail, and you will travel faster.' So he sat down, andthe fox began to run, and away they went over stock and stone so quickthat their hair whistled in the wind.

When they came to the village, the son followed the fox's counsel, andwithout looking about him w

pree on shore suffices to unfold for himthe secret of a whole continent, and generally he finds the secretnot worth knowing. The yarns of seamen have a direct simplicity,the whole meaning of which lies within the shell of a cracked nut.But Marlow was not typical (if his propensity to spin yarns beexcepted), and to him the meaning of an episode was not insidelike a kernel but outside, enveloping the tale which brought itout only as a glow brings out a haze, in the likeness of one ofthese misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectralillumination of moonshine.

His remark did not seem at all surprising. It was just like Marlow. It wasaccepted in silence. No one took the trouble to grunt even; and presentlyhe said, very slow--

"I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here,nineteen hundred years ago--the other day. . . . Light cameout of this river since--you say Knights? Yes; but it is like arunning blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clou

marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road. Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened the door. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through the window, he would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequented thoroughfare; there is a cab stand within a hundred yards of the house. No one had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man and there the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room.

All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavo

I cannot tell; but conclude theywere all lost. For my own part, I swam as fortune directed me, andwas pushed forward by wind and tide. I often let my legs drop, andcould feel no bottom; but when I was almost gone, and able tostruggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by thistime the storm was much abated. The declivity was so small, that Iwalked near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjecturedwas about eight o'clock in the evening. I then advanced forwardnear half a mile, but could not discover any sign of houses orinhabitants; at least I was in so weak a condition, that I did notobserve them. I was extremely tired, and with that, and the heatof the weather, and about half a pint of brandy that I drank as Ileft the ship, I found myself much inclined to sleep. I lay downon the grass, which was very short and soft, where I slept sounderthan ever I remembered to have done in my life, and, as I reckoned,about nine hours; for when I awaked, it was just day-light. Iatte

ast in the carp-pond at the end of the King's Walk. With the enthusiastic egotism of the true artist, he went over his most celebrated performances, and smiled bitterly to himself as he recalled to mind his last appearance as "Red Reuben, or the Strangled Babe," his début as "Guant Gibeon, the Blood-sucker of Bexley Moor," and the furore he had excited one lovely June evening by merely playing ninepins with his own bones upon the lawn-tennis ground. And after all this some wretched modern Americans were to come and offer him the Rising Sun Lubricator, and throw pillows at his head! It was quite unbearable. Besides, no ghost in history had ever been treated in this manner. Accordingly, he determined to have vengeance, and remained till daylight in an attitude of deep thought.

III

The next morning, when the Otis family met at breakfast, they discussed the ghost at some length. The United States Minister was naturally a little annoyed to find that his present had not b