During the years he had served as master of fence at the English Court, thesons of royalty had learned to thrust and parry and cut as only De Vaccould teach the art, and he had been as conscientious in the discharge ofhis duties as he had been in his unswerving hatred and contempt for hispupils.

And now the English King had put upon him such an insult as might only bewiped out by blood.

As the blow fell, the wiry Frenchman clicked his heels together, andthrowing down his foil, he stood erect and rigid as a marble statue beforehis master. White and livid was his tense drawn face, but he spoke noword.

He might have struck the King, but then there would have been left to himno alternative save death by his own hand; for a king may not fight with alesser mortal, and he who strikes a king may not live -- the king's honormust be satisfied.

Had a French king struck him, De Vac would have struck back, and gloried inthe fate which permitted him to die for the honor of France; but an EnglishK

mouth and forked tongue thrust out. I painted the eyes red for anger.

"'There, stand so!' I said, 'and glare and hiss at my foes.'

"In the stern I curved the tail up almost as high as the head. There I put the pilot's seat and a strong tiller for the rudder. On the breast and sides I carved the dragon's scales. Then I painted it all black and on the tip of every scale I put gold. I called her 'Waverunner.' There she sat on the rollers, as fair a ship as I ever saw.

"The night that it was finished I went to my father's feast. After the meats were eaten and the mead-horns came round, I stood up from my bench and raised my drinking-horn[3] high and spoke with a great voice:

"'This is my vow: I will sail to Norway and I will harry the coast and fill my boat with riches. Then I will get me a farm and will winter in that land. Now who will follow me?'

"'He is but a boy,' the men said. 'He has opened his mouth wider than he can do.'

"But others jumped to their feet with the

nt. I should say, in the neighborhood of one o'clock, but of course we can't be absolutely certain."

Gaunt had approached the body, and was passing his fingers lightly and thoroughly over it.

"No doubt about robbery being the motive?" he asked, as he worked.

"Oh, no," the Inspector put in, easily. "No weapon found, window open, tracks before window in the carpet and on the curtains, and Mr. Appleton's jewelry and money gone."

"I understand." Gaunt bent and sniffed the powder-blackened shirt about the wound. "Looks as if Mr. Appleton might have recognized, or thought he recognized, the thief, doesn't it, when he let him get as near as he did to shoot him, without attempting to get on his feet, or make any outcry?"

'"Maybe he did jump to his feet, and fell back again when he was shot?" suggested the Inspector, thoughtfully.

"Hardly, seeing the way he was clutching the arms of the chair. Even death didn't release that vise-like grip. He might have clutched his breast whe

ntry. It might, I thought, be the Happy Future, or Utopia, or the Land of Simple Dreams; an errant mote of memory, Henry James's phrase and story of "The Great Good Place," twinkled across my mind, and passed and left no light.

The man I saw wrote with a thing like a fountain pen, a modern touch that prohibited any historical retrospection, and as he finished each sheet, writing in an easy flowing hand, he added it to a growing pile upon a graceful little table under the window. His last done sheets lay loose, partly covering others that were clipped together into fascicles.

Clearly he was unaware of my presence, and I stood waiting until his pen should come to a pause. Old as he certainly was he wrote with a steady hand. . . .

I discovered that a concave speculum hung slantingly high over his head; a movement in this caught my attention sharply, and I looked up to see, distorted and made fantastic but bright and beautifully colored, the magnified, reflected, evasive rendering of a palace

olmasterj. Story of the Three Sisters and Their Mother theSultanah3. History of the Kazi Who Bare a Babe4. Tale of the Kazi and the Bhang-Eatera. History of the Bhang-Eater and His Wifeb. How Drummer Abu Kasim Became a Kazic. Story of the Kazi and His Slipperd. Tale of Mahmud the Persian and the Kurd Sharpere. Tale of the Sultan and the Poor Man Who Brought To HimFruitf. The Fruit-Seller's Taleg. Tale of the Sultan and His Three Sons and theEnchanting Birdh. Adventure of the Fruit-Seller and the Concubinei. Story of the King of Al-Yaman and His Three Sons andthe Enchanting Birdj. History of the First Larrikink. History of the Second Larrikinl. History of the Third Larrikinm. Story of a Sultan of Al-Hind and His Son Mohammedn. Tale of the Fisherman and His Sono. Tale of the Third Larrikin Concerning Himself5. History of Abu Niyyah a

ychical experiences which had befallen him. I at least was sound in nerve and brain, and it was with something of the pleasurable thrill of anticipation with which the sportsman takes his position beside the haunt of his game that I shut the laboratory door behind me, and partially undressing, lay down upon the rug-covered settee.

It was not an ideal atmosphere for a bedroom. The air was heavy with many chemical odours, that of methylated spirit predominating. Nor were the decorations of my chamber very sedative. The odious line of glass jars with their relics of disease and suffering stretched in front of my very eyes. There was no blind to the window, and a three-quarter moon streamed its white light into the room, tracing a silver square with filigree lattices upon the opposite wall. When I had extinguished my candle this one bright patch in the midst of the general gloom had certainly an eerie and discomposing aspect. A rigid and absolute silence reigned throughout the old house, so that the low sw

Raynold Cobham, and their company rode out on the one side and wastedand exiled the country, as the lord Harcourt had done; and the kingever rode between these battles, and every night they lodged together.

OF THE GREAT ASSEMBLY THAT THE FRENCH KING MADE TO RESIST THE KING OFENGLAND

Thus by the Englishmen was brent, exiled, robbed, wasted and pilledthe good, plentiful country of Normandy. Then the French king sent forthe lord John of Hainault, who came to him with a great number: alsothe king sent for other men of arms, dukes, earls, barons, knights andsquires, and assembled together the greatest number of people that hadbeen seen in France a hundred year before. He sent for men into so farcountries, that it was long or they came together, wherefore the kingof England did what him list in the mean season. The French king heardwell what he did, and sware and said how they should siever returnagain unfought withal, and that such hurts and damages as they haddone should be dearly revenged;

wolfish hardness that suggested the nomad. He was closer to the basic Turanian rootstock than was the Turk; nearer to the wolfish, wandering Mongols who were his ancestors.

"Speak, Ak Boga," said the Amir in a deep powerful voice. "Ravens have flown westward, but there has come no word."

"We rode before the word, my lord," answered the warrior. "The news is at our heels, traveling swift on the caravan roads. Soon the couriers, and after them the traders and the merchants, will bring to you the news that a great battle has been fought in the west; that Bayazid has broken the hosts of the Christians, and the wolves howl over the corpses of the kings of Frankistan."

"And who stands beside you?" asked Timour, resting his chin on his hand and fixing his deep somber eyes on the Scotsman.

"A chief of the Franks who escaped the slaughter," answered Ak Boga. "Single-handed he cut his way through the melee, and in his flight paused to slay a Frankish lord who had put shame upon him aforetim

tells me he has the piece and that it is weak, having historic interest only. I cannot find much about the Polish poet, Julius Slowacki, who died the same year, 1849, as Edgar Allan Poe. Tarnowski declares him to have been Chopin's warmest friend and in his poetry a starting point of inspiration for the composer.

In July 1829, accompanied by two friends, Chopin started for Vienna. Travelling in a delightful, old-fashioned manner, the party saw much of the country--Galicia, Upper Silesia and Moravia--the Polish Switzerland. On July 31 they arrived in the Austrian capital. Then Chopin first began to enjoy an artistic atmosphere, to live less parochially. His home life, sweet and tranquil as it was, could not fail to hurt him as artist; he was flattered and coddled and doubtless the touch of effeminacy in his person was fostered. In Vienna the life was gayer, freer and infinitely more artistic than in Warsaw. He met every one worth knowing in the artistic world and his letters at that period are positive

expansive gaze over all allying and allied species, the intellect bodies forth to its vision the full appointed form of natural majesty; and after having experienced the manifold analogies and differentials of the many, is thereby enabled, when it returns to the study of the one, to view this one of human type under manifold points of interest, to the appreciation of which the understanding never wakens otherwise. If it did not happen that the study of the human form (confined to itself) had some practical bearing, such study could not deserve the name of anatomical, while anatomical means comparative, and whilst comparison implies inductive reasoning.

However, practical anatomy, such as it is, is concerned with an exact knowledge of the relationship of organs as they stand in reference to each other, and to the whole design of which these organs are the integral parts. The figure, the capacity, and the contents of the thoracic and abdominal cavities, become a study of not more urgent concernment to t