was completed; then the second was finished; and now the third was ready for the printer's hands. But who should have it? Ah, there was the rub! Belinda knew no publishers and had no influence. How could she get anyone to take the novel up? And yet, if she was to believe the Author, there was plenty of room for untried talent. According to that interesting periodical publishers were constantly on the lookout for undiscovered genius. Why should she not try the firm of Messrs. Binding and Print? She made up her mind. She set her face hard, and muttered, "Yes, they shall do it! Douglas the Doomed One shall appear with the assistance of Messrs. Binding and Print!" And when Belinda made up her mind to do anything, not wild omnibus-horses would turn her from her purpose.

Volume II.—Wide Awake.

Messrs. Binding and Print had received their visitor with courtesy. They did not require to read Douglas the Doomed One. They had discovered that it was sufficiently long to make the regulation three volumes. That was all that was necessary. They would accept it. They would be happy to publish it.

"And about terms?" murmured Belinda.

"Half profits," returned Mr. Binding, with animation.

"When we have paid for the outlay we shall divide the residue," cried Mr. Print.

"And do you think I shall soon get a cheque?" asked the anxious authoress.

"Well, that is a question not easy to answer. You see, we usually spend any money we make in advertising. It does the work good in the long run, although at first it rather checks the profits."

Belinda was satisfied, and took her departure.

"We must advertise Douglas the Doomed One in the Skatemaker's Quarterly Magazine," said Mr. Binder.

"And in the Crossing Sweeper's Annual," replied Mr. Print. Then the two partners smiled at one another knowingly. They laughed as they remembered that of both the periodicals they had mentioned they were the proprietors.

Volume III.—Fast Asleep.

The poor patient at Slocum-on-Slush moaned. He had been practically awake for a month, and nothing could send him to sleep. The Doctor held his wrist, and as he felt the rapid beats of his pulse became graver and graver.

"And you have no friends, no relatives?"

"No. My only visitor was the man who brought that box of books from a metropolitan library."

"A box of books!" exclaimed the Doctor. "There may yet be time to save his life!"

The man of science rose abruptly, and approaching the casket containing the current literature of the day, roughly forced it open. He hurriedly inspected its contents. He turned over the volumes impatiently until he reached a set.

"The very thing!" he murmured. "If I can but get him to read this he will be saved." Then turning to his patient he continued, "You should peruse this novel. It is one that I recommend in cases such as yours."

"I am afraid I am past reading," returned the invalid. "However, I will do my best."

An hour later the Doctor (who had had to make some calls) returned and found that his patient was sleeping peacefully. The first volume of Douglas the Doomed One had the desired result.

"Excellent, excellent," murmured the medico. "It had the same effect upon another of my patients. The crisis is over! He will now recover like the other. Insomnia has been conquered for the second time by Douglas the Doomed One, and who now shall say that the three-volume novel of the amateur is not a means of spreading civilisation? It must be a mine of wealth to somebody."

And Messrs. Binding and Print, had they heard the Doctor's remark, would have agreed with him!

All the Difference.

[102]

RES ANGUSTA DOMI.

(In a Children's Hospital.)

"My pore Yabbit's dead!" "How sad!" "Dadda killed my pore Yabbit in Back Kitchen!" "Oh dear!" "I had Taters wiv my pore Yabbit!"

"A LITTLE TOO PREVIOUS!"

["I desire to submit that this is a very great question, which will have to be determined, but upon a very different ground from that of the salaries of the officers of the House of Lords.... If there is to be a contest between the House of Lords and the House of Commons, let us take it upon higher ground than this."—Sir William Harcourt.]