of the two sisters were pressed together. Such
little power as there was left seemed to be spent
in that kiss, and when Pauline raised herself,
and looked down again with dim eyes, she saw
a sweet and gracious tranquillity below, and
a smiling repose, which told her that that little
heart was no more to be fretted by man's
cruelty.

All through the fatal and immemorial routine
which succeeds a departure such as has
been witnessed—through the early blinding
stupefaction, the dismal leading away, the
horrible sense of solitude, and the tremendous
and gaunt desertion which walks in and takes
possession of the house like an ogre, with tears
after a time beginning to flow in frantic bursts—
when in this dismal succession that Sunday was
nearly spent, and evening had drawn on,
Pauline was seen sitting in the drawing-room,
stiff, hard, stony, with strained eyes that had
shed few tears, and had an almost fierce look.
The faithful maid flitted up to her at times in
alarm, and spoke to her softly and soothingly,
but she did not hear.

Alarmed, the brother came down with red
and swollen eyes, took her hand in his, and
with a broken voice tried some of the hackneyed
"common forms" of comfort. The faithful servant
came and joined him, adding her voice. She,
indeed, felt it as sorely as any of them, and her
consolation made its way through sobs. But
Pauline did not hear them. Her eyes were on
some object in the window, where there was no
perceptible object.

He grew alarmed. "Come, Pauline, dearest,
try. Do speak to us! We all feel and are
heart-broken, but we must help each other. We
have to live for our dear mother now!"

A flash came into Pauline's face—a flash that
made him draw back. She started to her feet.
With a sharp, hard tone, they heard now for the
first time. She said:

"Yes. We have something else to live for,
too. If I had not that to think of, I should
die. There is a murderer to bring to justice.'"

END OF THE FIRST PART OF NEVER FORGOTTEN.

         DID DICK WHITTINGTON SELL
                        HIS CAT?

SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON, the Dick
Whittington of all schoolboys, has in late years been
rather critically situated. Learned men have
been, and still are, disputing whether there ever
was such a person; whether, if this be answered
in the affirmative, he ever did the things which
the story-book imputes to him; whether he
really came up to London as a poor boy, and go
through the marvellous career which ended in
the attainment of civic honours. Many other
popular stories and ballads are being melted
down in the same kind of crucible of criticism.

Many young readers would deem it absolutely
cruel to doubt the existence of their favourite
Dick. What is the story? Dick Whittington
was a very poor orphan boy, who, plunged in
poverty, and hearing that the streets of London
were "paved with gold," trudged up to the
mighty metropolis, having an occasional lift on
the way by the kindly aid of a waggoner.
Arrived in London, he soon knew what it was to
have a keen appetite without a dinner, and
weary bones without a bed; but after a time he
obtained admission into the house of Mr.
Fitzwarren, a rich mercer in the City. He was
employed in some very humble capacity, and was
kindly treated by his master and by Miss Alice
Fitzwarren, his master's daughter; but the
cook, a morose and cross-tempered woman, ill-
used him. He slept in a wretched garret, where
the rats and mice were so numerous and so
troublesome that he could obtain but little
sleep; and therefore he bought a cat for a
penny, to scare away the intruders. Soon after
this, Mr. Fitzwarren engaged in an extensive
venture or speculation: sending out merchandise
to foreign parts, in order to sell at a great profit.
Being a kind man, he gave to all the persons in
his service an opportunity of engaging in the
venture, promising them the full profits that
might arise therefrom. They did so. Poor
Dick, having nothing but his cat, sent that.
When the ship was gone, Miss Alice gave him a
penny to buy another cat, and was otherwise
good to him; but nevertheless the cook was so
cruel that one day he ran away, and got as far
as Highgate. Sitting down on a stone by the
wayside, miserable and heart-broken, he
pondered on his forlorn condition, and wondered
what would become of him. Presently he
heard Bow Church bells ring out, and they
seemed to him to say:

             Turn again, Whittington,
             Thrice Lord Mayor of London.

He did turn again, and went back to Mr.
Fitzwarren's, encouraged by the singular notion
that had entered his mind. Meanwhile, strange
events had occurred. The ship in which Mr.
Fitzwarren's merchandise had been embarked
was wrecked on the coast of Barbary. The
captain managed to gain the favour of the king,
and was invited to dinner at the palace. During
dinner, rats and mice ran over the table in such
numbers as to annoy the captain, who ventured
to express his astonishment. The king
said that, however much he lamented it, he
knew of no means for keeping the animals
away. Whereupon, the captain said that the
wrecked ship contained a cat which would soon
settle the business. The king asked him to
bring the cat on the following day. No sooner
did pussy see the rats and mice, than she killed
several, and scared away the rest. The king
and queen were intensely delighted, and offered
a casket of jewels for the cat; which the captain,
of course, accepted. When he returned
to England, he gave an honest account of the
affair, and Mr. Fitzwarren handed over to Dick
the full value of the casket. Dick now became
wealthy. He rose in life as a trader, married