was on the eve of being entered, and, to the unspeakable indignation of the school, George Paradyne's was one. A new boy (leaving other things that some two or three of them knew of out of the question) who had but just come in, to thrust his name indecently amidst the old pupils! This was said from mouth to mouth; and Trace had a sore battle with himself not to disclose the disgrace of the past.

The Head Master came into the hall and called up Talbot. The boy had been at home for a week or two, and only returned that morning. 'Are you feeling strong, my lad?"

"Quite so, thank you, sir. I have been to the seaside."

"Have you!" returned the Master, some surprise in his tone, for he knew how limited funds were at Talbot's home.

"Sir Simon Orville came to see my mother the day after I got home; he insisted that she should take me to the seaside," said Talbot with a smile, as if he had divined those thoughts. The doctor understood the rest in a moment.

"I'm proud of Sir Simon; I'm proud to call him a friend," cried he warmly. "I am glad you've been."

"If you please, sir, I wish my name to be entered for the Orville Exhibition," Talbot stayed

to say.

'Do you? Very well. How old are you?" Close upon seventeen."

"All right. I don't care how many of you enter. Only one can gain it; but it will get the rest on in their studies. I'll just make a note of your name in pencil now."

He looked for his lead-pencil, and could not see it. Then remembering that he had missed it the previous day, he put his hand in his pocket for his gold one, and it was not there.

Not there!" Dr. Brabazon sent his thoughts backwards, trying to recollect when he last used

his pocket; or carry it away in his hand? He could not tell. Here, it certainly was not at present; and the Head Master rose and went to his study himself. When called out of school the previous afternoon he had sat there for some time with the visitor, who had come on business. Subsequently, he and Miss Brabazon had gone out to dinner: and, in short, his memory showed no trace of the pencil since he was using it in the hall. He could not find it in the study, and went to the sitting-room, interrupting his young daughter, who had quitted her French exercise to drop airy courtesies before the glass.

Rose, have you seen my gold pencil?"

Oh, papa," said Rose, demurely, making believe to be stooping down to tie her shoe. "Pencil case! No, I've not seen it. Why, papa, you are always losing your things."

A just charge, Miss Rose. The doctor, an absent man, often did mislay articles. "But they are always found again, papa, you know; as this will be."

However nothing seemed so certain about it this time. The search for the pencil went on; and went on in vain. Quite a commotion arose in the house, especially in the hall, where the search was greatest.

་་

"It could not go without hands," said the doctor, after turning everything out of his desktable. 'If I had let it fall in getting up when I was called out, some of you would have heard it."

One of the boys, and only one, affirmed that he saw the doctor with it in his hand as he left the hall. It was Trace: and there were few things Trace did not see with those drawntogether eyes of his. Dr. Brabazon believed Trace was mistaken. If he had carried it away in his hand, he thought he should not fail to remember it; besides, others of them would surely have noticed it. Trace persisted: he said he saw the diamond gleam.

Well, the pencil was gone. Gone! Dr. Brabazon looked out on the sea of faces, curious ideas hovering around his mind. He did not admit them; he would not have accused any of the boys for the world; no, nor suspected them: but it was very strange.

it) was stolen. Had they got a black sheep amongst them? If so, which was it?

But in a day or two Trace's assertion proved to be correct. Dr. Brabazon saw the friend who had called upon him, and this gentleman said he

had observed a gold pencil in the doctor's hand when he came into the study that day; and he, the doctor, had put it into the large inkstand on the table, as he shook hands with him. This news, if anything, complicated the affair; and appeared entirely to exonerate the boys, had exoneration been required. It also drew it into a smaller nutshell: and the hypothesis that arose now was, that some one had come in by the glass window and taken it. Dean, the doctor's servant, a faithful man who had lived with him for many years, said freely that it was late when he went in that night to close the shutters. He found the glass door on what he called "the catch," that is, pushed close to, but not shut, which was nothing unusual. On the following morning the doctor was in his study by six o'clock, and opened the shutters himself, his frequent custom. The pencil was certainly not in the inkstand then.

"I say, Trace, do you think the German would take the pencil?"

It was Lamb who put this question. Morning school was over, and the boys were in the quadrangle, discussing the loss and other matters. Trace looked up quickly.

masters, boys, servants, take the lot-the German is the one who seems most in need of money. One may say that much without treason. Look at his engaging Mother Butter's cheap lodgings! and living on potatoes and such things!"

"The other day he was dining off a suetpudding: he eat it with salt," interrupted an eager voice.

"How fond he must be of salt!" exclaimed Savage. And the boys laughed.

He's working at some translation like old Blazes-sits up at night to do it," resumed Powell. "He told Loftus minor it was for a bookseller, who was to give him thirty pounds for it. He'd not work in that way'if he didn't need money."

But where does his money go? His salarywhat does he do with it?" wondered the boys. "He must have private expenses," said Trace. "What expenses?"

This was a poser. They had once had an usher who indulged himself in horse exercise; they had had another who gave forty-five pounds for a violin, and half ruined himself buying new music. Mr. Henry did neither.

Perhaps he has got a wife and family," hazarded Brown major, impulsively.

The notion of Mr. Henry's having a wife and family was so rich, that the boys laughed till their sides ached, which rather offended Brown major.

"I'm sure I've heard those foreign French fellows often marry at twenty-one; Germans too," quoth he. "You needn't laugh. When a man's got a wife and family, he has to keep 'em. His money must go somewhere. Dick Loftus said some new boots came home for him the other day, and he couldn't pay for them. What are you staring at, Trace?"

Trace was not staring at Brown major or any one else in particular. The mention of the boots called up a train of ideas that half startled him.

"Be quiet, Onions; you are always too outspoken. I'd rather not 'think' about it on my own score," was Trace's cautious answer.

"Upon my word and honor, I think it must have been the fellow!" cried Lamb, vehemently; and for once in his life Mr. Lamb spoke according to his conviction. "It stands to reason: who else was likely to be there?"

very evening of the loss; the following day (when they were in the midst of searching for the pencil), Mr. Henry had gone by train into London after morning school, and was not back until three o'clock. Soon after he returned, Trace, by the merest accident, saw him take out his purse, and there were several sovereigns in it. The thing, to Trace's mind, seemed to be getting unpleasantly clear; but he said no

"

What are you all doing here?" exclaimed

Gall, coming up at this juncture. "Holding a council?"

They told him in an undertone: that the German master had been pacing about before the study-window the night the pencil must have been lost out of the room; and they spoke of his hard work, his want of money, all the rest they had been saying and hinted.

Gall stopped the hint in its bud. The suspicion was perfectly absurd as regarded Mr. Henry, most unjustifiable, he told them; and they had better get rid of it at once.

It was rather a damper, and they began to disperse. Gall had a great deal of good, plain, common-sense; and his opinion was always listened to. Trace rose from the projecting base of a pillar on which he had been seated, knees to nose, put his arm within Gall's and drew him

away.

He told him everything; this fact of seeing the money in Mr. Henry's purse, which he had not disclosed to the rest. Gall would not be convinced. It might look a little suspicious, he acknowledged, but he felt sure Mr. Henry was not one to do such a thing: he'd not dare to do it. Besides, think of his high character, as given to the Head Master from the university of Heidelberg.

Trace maintained his own opinion. He thought there were ways and means of getting those high characters furnished when people had a need for them; he had mistrusted the man from the first moment he saw him. "Look at him going peaching about the smoking; look at the mean way he lives, the food he eats," continued Trace, impressively. "He must have private expenses of some sort; or else what makes him so poor?"

And most likely has," was the scornful rejoinder. 'But he'd not make his dinner of potatoes and work himself into a skeleton to pay back debts in Germany. Rubbish, Gall!"

"Look here, Trace, I know nothing of Mr. Henry's private affairs; they may be bad or good for aught I can tell; but if I were you, I'd get rid of that suspicion as to the pencil-case. Rely upon it, it wont hold water."

on her hands and knees, searching round the edge of the carpet.

"A pencil-case will roll into all sorts of odd places," she observed, as if in apology, springing to her feet. "I cannot understand the loss; it is troubling me more than I can express."

It must have been lost through the window, Miss Brabazon," said Trace. "That is, some one must have got in that way."

"Yes; unless it rolled down and is hiding itself," she answered, her eyes glancing restlessly into every corner. "I think I shall have the carpet taken up to-morrow. It will be a great trouble, with all this fixed furniture."

"I don't think you need have it done," observed Trace, who was standing with his back to her before the large bookcase. "I fancy it went out through the window."

"You have some suspicion, Trace. What is it?"

"If I have, Miss Brabazon, it is one that I cannot mention. It may be a wrong suspicion, you see; perhaps it is."

"Trace," she said, laying her hand upon his arm, her voice, her eyes full of strange earnestness, "you must tell it me. Tell me in confidence; I have a suspicion too; perhaps we may keep the secret together. I would give the pencil and its value twice over to find it behind the carpet, in some crack or crevice of the wainscoting—and I know it is not there."

She spoke with some passion. The words, the manner altogether, disarmed Trace of his caution; and he breathed his doubts into her ear. They were received with intense surprise.

Mr. Henry! that kind, gentlemanly German master! Why, Trace, you must be dreaming." Trace thought himself an idiot. "To tell you the truth, Miss Brabazon, I fancied you were suspecting him yourself, though I don't know why I took up the notion," he resumed, in his mortification. But for that, I should not have mentioned it. I wont eat my words, though, as I have spoken; I do believe him to be guilty." "I cannot think it; but just go over your grounds of suspicion again. I was too much surprised to listen properly."

44

powder on the fifth of November? I'm sure you did not leap apart more startled than did Trace and Miss Brabazon at the entrance of Mr., Henry. He had come to see after Trace and the book; the Head Master thought Trace must be unable to find it.

Away went Trace. Miss Brabazon stooped to put down the corner of the hearth-rug, saying something rather confusedly about searching for the pencil, now that it was known to have been lost in that room. It happened that Mr. Henry, an out-door master, had not heard that that fact was established. Miss Brabazon told him of it.

"Some one must have got in through the unfastened window, and taken it," she continued, looking at him. "It is very curious. Strangers are never there: the grounds are private."

the delivery of the letter. I saw one in his hand."

She went at once to question the servants, but could hear no tidings of any letters having been delivered by hand that night. Dean was positive that no such letter had been delivered: one came the previous night, he said, for Mr. Baker, and he took it to him. Miss Brabazon went back to the study, and asked Mr. Henry, waiting there by her desire, whether he had not made a mistake in the night.

None whatever," was his reply. "I had received a letter from Heidelberg that day, inclosing an order for a little money due to me, and when I met this man I was considering how I could shape my duties on the following one, so as to have time to go to London and get it cashed."

"And did you go?"

Yes, as soon as morning school was over. I told the doctor what my errand was. When I left, they were searching the hall for the pencil." This, if true, disposed of one part of Mr. Trace's suspicions. Miss Brabazon thought how candid

"I had been hard at work at my translation, the one I told the doctor of, and strolled across for a breath of fresh air. This man was coming along the path, must have just passed the window, and I asked him what he wanted. He replied that he had a letter for Dr. Brabazon." "Why did you not speak of this before, Mr. Henry?"

"I never thought to connect it with the loss. It was believed that the pencil was lost from the hall. The man did not seem in the least confused or hurried. I should fancy his business was quite legitimate, Miss Brabazon; merely

:

A fountain playing in the stillness
Of a hush supremely sweet,
Moonlight shimmering rays of silver
At the marble Undine's feet;
Faint, delicious odors, floating
Dreamy, on the summer air-
Night of soft Italian summer,
How divinely fair!

Eyes of dark and melting splendor,
Where the soul of genius lay,
Eyes, oh so bewitching tender,
That they stole my heart away.

VOL. IV., No. 4.-19

Lips that told the olden story,

Which, however old it be,

Holds for each that same sweet glory

That it held for me.

Years have passed, and by the fire-light,
As I watch the embers glow,
Thought goes back to that divine night
By the Arno's moonlit flow.

O, Italia! fair Italia!

The poet-artist's treasure-trove! Thou holdest the sweetest memory,

My heart's bright dream of love.