"My friend the surgeon was instantly sent
for, and from him I gained the particulars which
follow:

"Turning the poor fellow over on his face,
and cutting open his garments to examine the
wound, the surgeon said to those who were
standing around: 'The ball has entered his back;
if by chance it should have glanced off and
passed round by the ribs, as will sometimes
happen, this wound would not be fatal.'

"'It is fatal,' said the wounded man, with a
sudden effort. 'Have I been waiting for this
stroke so long, and shall it fail to do its work
when it comes? It is fatal,' he gasped again,
'and I shall die—but not here.'

"I have to relate a horrible and incredible
thing, which, impossible as it seems, is yet true.

"The German locksmith started up from
where he lay, pushing aside all those who stood
around him with an unnatural and inconceivable
strength. His body swayed for an instant from
side to side, and then he darted forwards. The
crowd gave way before him, and he rushed from
the house. He tore along the streets—the few
people whom he met giving way before him, and
looking after him in horror as he flew along—his
clothes cut open at the back, blood-stained and
dripping, and with death in his regard. Not one
pause, not an abatement in his speed till he
reached the infirmary, passed the man who kept
the door, and up the stairs he flew, nor stopped
till he came to a bed which stands beneath the
window, and across which the shadow of a
cypress falls when the sun begins to sink.

"It was the bed on which his friend had
breathed his last.

"'I must die here,' said the German
locksmith, as he fell upon it. 'It is here that I
must die.'

"And there he died. The haunting thought
which had made his existence a living death was
justified. The presentiment had come true at
last; and when the thunder-cloud, which had
hung so long over this man's life, had discharged
its bolt upon his head, it seemed to us as if the
earth were then lighter, for the shade had
passed away.

"Is death the name for a release like this?
Who could look upon his happy face, as he lay
upon that bed, and say so?

"It was not the end of a life—but the
beginning."

CHAPTER THE LAST.

THE discovery of my friends Clipper and
Mathews, which would have made my stay in
Paris all the pleasanter, was made, as is often
the case, just too late. It was time for me to be
off. I was getting weary of my holiday, and,
having spent my money, was anxious to get back
and make some more. Two days after hearing
the story of the German locksmith, I got up one
morning at half-past six, and taking a hasty
breakfast at Paris, was in London and at home
in time for supper.

And now—back among the mean and ugly
streets, the dull monotonous miles of shabby
brick and mortar, of our huge and melancholy
capital—what are my sensations? what do I
find now? This: that the friendly faces which
those screens of brick and mortar hide, the
doors so gladly opened to admit me, the hands
stretched out to bid me welcome, the daily
interchange of thought and observation, the social
meal, the fireside group, the thought that there
are among those who greet me daily some who, in
the midst of those cares of their own, which
naturally must have such a hold on every human
soul, have yet a corner in their hearts where an
interest in what affects me finds a place—these
things, do they not compensate for all the gaiety
and charm of the beautiful and brilliant town in
which I have lived a month alone?

Indeed they do. It was a selfish thought
that wish to be alone, lest the plans of a
companion should clash with mine, and I should fail
to have my way in everything. Besides, did I
get my way after all? Not always. Nor was
it always a pleasant one when I did.

Who is free? Who is independent? Who
does as he likes? If friends and associates do
not interfere to change our plans, are there not
fifty other ways besides in which they may
be overthrown and dashed aside? Better a
thousand times to be bored by others than to
bore oneself. Better anything than for man
to be alone.

APPALLING DISCLOSURE FOR THE
LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

ENGLAND has the happiness of knowing that
the new Ministry has been set in working order
at last. If the representation of almost all the
contradictory forms of political opinion, and the
official union of statesmen who have been
hitherto remarkable for their capacity of
disagreeing with one another, be the secret
for forming a permanent Government, the
new administration may look forward to a
long life, and the free and independent electors
may shut up the vote-markets all over the
country for some time to come. To the Ministry,
generally, a patriotic private individual
has nothing particular to say. They have their
lessons to practise in fitting themselves for their
new places. The Premier has to learn the
necessity of treating the House of Commons (as
purporting to represent the small nation who
take the liberty of occupying Great Britain) with
some little respect and civility. The Foreign
Secretary has to steer the British nation
carefully through the shoals, quicksands, and
whirlpools of existing continental complications—no
more spirited or honest man than he, could try to
do it. The Chancellor of the Exchequer has to
collect all his powers of persuasion, with the object of
reconciling his countrymen to some few additional
figures on the tax-collectors' bills. Other minor
members of the Ministry, in and out of the
Cabinet, have other responsibilities to confront.

The one exceptional person of quality, so
far as I can see, whose official occupations
are not likely to be at all affected by these
stirring times, is the noble lord who presides