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"I am Mrs. Duncombe," she said, presently, and without waiting for the questions-indeed, the old lawyer had gone on writing as if no one was in the office at all, which was his pleasant way of giving sinners time for meditation and repentance-" and I am here in answer to an advertisement which my nephew read to me. Because I don't read papers myself, as a general rule, my eyes not being so good as they were, and the news not up to what it used to be and one has a right to expect." She paused for a moment only. "There may be, perhaps, two Mrs. Duncombes in the world. But there can't be two in connection with the sweet flower, which her initials were A. H."

"It is a goodish bit, indeed. Now for our questions, Mrs. Duncombe."

"As many as you like, sir; but not too fast, through the breath being shorter than it was twenty years ago, when first I set eyes on that most blessed of little girls."

"Yes. When did you make the acquaintance of Mr. Anthony Hamblin?"

"A fortnight before he brought me the child. I answered an advertisement for a careful person who would take charge of a child; references required. I referred to the parish doctor-the same who attended my husband in his last illness and the vicar, the same who buried him. They spoke to my respectability, and Mr. Hamblin

"Tell me, if you please," said Mr. Billiter, took me on at a truly liberal salary, being a most "what those initials stand for?"

"Aha!" she replied, with a look of profound caution, which sat comically upon her jovial and easy face. "And suppose you want to find out the dear young lady yourself, and you've got designs upon her, and you've sent to me to help you do a mischief to my dear darling?"

"Shall we divide the name into syllables, then?" asked Mr. Billiter. "That will be fair. I will begin. Now, then, A, L—AI.”

"There you are with your Al," responded the lady, pleased with this ingenious manœuvre. "Al. I, i-there you are with your Ali."

"S, O, N―son," Mr. Billiter went on gravely. "And there you are with your Alison," she added. "That's the Christian name right enough, and the only girl I ever meet with such a name out of a printed twopenny book. Now the surname. H, A, M-Ham; there you are with your Ham."

"B," Mr. Billiter added, emphasizing with his forefinger.

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"B," taking the word out of his mouth; there you are with your B-Ham-bee," as if it was a syllable."

“L, I, N—lin; which completes the name." "There you are with your Hamblin-there you are with your Alison Hamblin. Lord help you, sir, I taught that little dear to spell myself, though rather rusty after all these years, and a spelling-bee not to my taste, nor a prize likely at my time of life. There you are with your Alison Hamblin. To think that I should ever have spelled her name turn-about with a lawyer! Well, sir, you haven't told me what you want to do to the dear child."

"No harm, Mrs. Duncombe quite the contrary. We want to do her as much good as possible. We want to protect her against a man who is trying to keep her out of her property."

"Is he, now? The pretty dear! And a goodish bit of property, too, I shouldn't wonder."

generous and open-handed gentleman, though never, seemingly, knowing the real value of money, and too liberal to the poor-a thing which does them more harm than good in the long run-"

'Pray excuse me. Mr. Hamblin engaged you, on the strength of those references, to take care of the child?"

"He did, sir. He placed me in a house furnished with everything you could wish, except that the cabinets and the chests of drawers were new and used to crack of a night, which is fearsome to a lonely widow woman; and a fortnight later he brought me the prettiest child, of a year old or thereabouts, that ever laughed in a nurse's eyes, or said 'Ta' for a piece of sponge-cake."

"He brought you the child? Did you not, then, go for it yourself?"

"No; he brought her. He came by the train."

"Where did he come from?"

"Surely it was not my place to ask? He had no servant with him; he brought the infant in his own arms."

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"Mr. Hamblin said her name was Alison Hamblin, and that her mother was dead; then he went away. In a fortnight he came again. In a little while he used to make me send a daily report to his office in London of the child's health and progress; and he used to run down from Saturday to Monday when she got a little older. He had a bedroom in the house-his own house it was."

"Ay," said Mr. Billiter, "we remember that he used to go down to Brighton."

"The little maid grew up much like her father, only dark-complexioned; and that fond of him as she couldn't bear to say good-by, and

was always reckoning up the days to Saturday. Well, the time went on, and I was sorry indeed, I can tell you, when the day came that Mr. Hamblin said he thought the sea-air had made her a strong child, and that he intended taking her to live with him in London. So we had to part; and it was terrible-"

necklace.

Gilbert had already ascertained its existence, and that it was safe, and in Alison's custody; but no amount of searching could find the box in which, twenty years before, the child's clothes were dispatched. Mrs. Duncombe, exuberant in her demonstrations of affection and anxiety to help, herself conducted the search in

The good woman paused, while hot tears ran the trunk-room, lumber-room, and every garret down the furrows of her nose.

"It does you credit, Mrs. Duncombe," said Mr. Billiter, referring, perhaps, to the present rather than to the past tears. “Mr. Hamblin, then, took her away. What did he do for you?" "He bought me an annuity, sir; one hundred pounds a year it is, and a permanent income for a woman that would otherwise have been in the workhouse in her old age. Wherefore I say every day, 'God bless him and magnify his name!'"

"

'Thank you, Mrs. Duncombe. But he is dead-yes, Mr. Anthony Hamblin was drowned in the Serpentine in that accident of January last."

"Dear, dear me!" she sighed; "poor dear gentleman! This is more trouble. And Miss Alison, sir?"

"She is well. But her succession and title to the estates are disputed. We want to find, Mrs. Duncombe-we must find out somehow, when and where, and to whom, Mr. Hamblin was married. We were in hopes that you would know something about it. Can you not tell us where the child came from? Was there no mark at all upon her clothes? Was there no railway-label on her box? Think; even the least hint might be of use."

But she shook her head. "I know nothing, sir-no more than I have told you. A child was brought to me, and I took care of her for nine years or thereabouts. Where she came from I know no more than the baby herself knew."

"Then, Mrs. Duncombe, I am afraid you are no use to us. But you shall have the advertised reward for producing yourself."

And the dear young lady, sir-may I see her?"

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and attic where was hidden away the accumulated worthlessness of half a dozen generations. Many curious things were found, but no such box as they wanted.

So far, therefore, the advertisements had not proved a success. Gilbert waited, like the Earl of Chatham, longing to be at 'em; or like Charles the Wrestler, wondering if his antagonist would come on; or like a knight-errant who wanted nothing so much as to go out instantly and slay the loathly worm, if that crafty creature, safe and snug in its cave, would only come forth to do battle and be killed.

Perhaps the parish clerks had not seen the advertisements. "All parish clerks," Gilbert thought, “do not take in daily papers." He hit upon a novel device of a more searching and thorough character. He sent a circular to every beneficed clergyman in the country, asking him to make special search. There are about twelve thousand parishes and district churches. The thing made a capital job for an agency, which charged sixpence a hundred for addressing the envelopes, and paid the women who did the work fourpence-halfpenny. This shows what a good thing it is to have middle-men, and proves the beneficence of Providence in multiplying them so mightily that they cut each other's throats, instead-as they would do were their number less

of waxing strong, devouring the rest of mankind, getting all the money into their own hands, consuming the harvests, eating up the butter, bread, oil, honey, wine, fruit, corn, cattle, and all the fat of the land. Yet, though many women worked, several days passed before the circulars could be issued and answers received.

This time the recipients of the circular did answer; at least a good many of them sent answers. They were all to the same effect. Search had been made, and no such marriage had been discovered. Some sent useless returns, finding the marriage of a certain Hamblin a hundred years back, and demanding the reward by return of post. When it did not come, they wrote again, asking indignantly for the cause of delay, and threatening legal proceedings. Others, while admitting that their search had been fruitless, took the opportunity of advocating the claims of their Restoration Fund; their Increase of Beneficed Clergy Stipend Fund; their SoupIt was, indeed, very little to go upon-a coral kitchens; their Pickled Onions Fund; their Fund

Assuredly; here is her address." Mr. Billiter wrote it down for her. Go whenever you please. I think she will like to see you again. And-and-Mrs. Duncombe, if you stay in the house a day or two, you might look round. Perhaps that very same box may be lying in some attic-there is always a box-room in those big houses-and you might find the railway-label; or -or if you can pick up anything, or remember anything, or find out anything, let me know. Now, good morning."

for enabling the Clergy to see their Way out of It; their Deaconesses' Aprons Fund; their Sisters' Cold Shoulder of Mutton Fund; their Schools; their Impoverished Bishops' Fund; their Homes; their Penitentiaries; and their Grand National Society for the Pauperization of the British People, officered entirely by the Bishops and Clergy of the Church of England, and embracing the aims and objects of all the preceding minor societies. No fewer than twenty-five sent in a bill for time spent in conducting the search. Eight hundred and thirty-seven curates, answering for their rectors and vicars, hinted at the patronage of the Hamblins (which consisted of one small living), and their own unappreciated merits. Three hundred and sixty-five asked for nominations to City schools for their boys. One hundred and fifty-two asked for scholarships on the City Companies' Foundations for sons about to go to Oxford or Cambridge. All alike addressed the advertisers in terms of affectionate intimacy, as if they were all round grateful, personal friends, who could refuse each other nothing. And most of them exhibited a proficiency in mendicity to be equaled in no other profession. This was gratifying so far; and Gilbert, who opened and read the letters, felt that this universal confidence in the generosity of a stranger had taught him to love his fellow creatures more deeply. At the same time, there was no discovery.

He then hit upon a third plan. If he could not find proof of the marriage, he might get upon the trace of the unknown mother.

He drew up a crafty advertisement, in which, after a brief preamble addressed to the relations and friends of missing people, he stated that at some unknown period, probably about twentyone or twenty-two years before the date of the advertisement, a young lady, name unknown, was believed to have contracted a secret marriage, presumably under an assumed name, with a certain A. H.; that she was believed to have died within two years of the marriage; that she had left one daughter, whose initials were also A. H.; that information which would prove the marriage was now being sought, and would be very liberally rewarded.

This masterpiece he inserted in all the papers, and waited for a reply. There were hundreds of answers.

Observe that Gilbert's advertisement gave certain data-probable date, marriage, birth of a daughter, death, initials of husband, initials of child-six in all. Obviously, therefore, the replies which fell short in any one of these data would certainly be useless; or, as one or two of them might have been missed by unlearned readers, it was reasonable to suppose that some at least

would be considered. But the mind of the middle- and lower-class Briton is illogical. He considers one fact at a time. Therefore, when the advertisement appeared, everybody from whose hearth daughter, sister, aunt, or great-aunt had eloped, disappeared, or run away any time during the last fifty years wrote in reply. It was astonishing, first, to mark how common an incident in family life of a certain rank this misfortune must be; secondly, to see how long and with what keenness it is remembered; and, lastly, how ready a large proportion of the bereaved are to make money out of the calamity, should a way seem open.

This time Gilbert's opinion of human nature was lowered and not raised at all by the correspondence which ensued. For some, writing as if with a bludgeon in the left hand, ready for transfer to the right when the pen was dropped, called Heaven to witness that the villain had been found at last, and demanded compensation-large and liberal compensation. Others, adopting a more Christian line, thanked Providence that the sinner was repentant, and asked what sum the advertiser proposed to pay for loss of services, anxiety, wounded honor, hope deferred, affections blighted, and lacerated feelings. Others, again, still with an eye to business, wrote to say that they held in their hands information which would prove of the highest value, but could not part with it without a proper understanding beforehand. One or two informed the advertiser that the young person wanted was not dead at all, but alive, and quite ready to forgive the past in return for an annuity or proper settlement. Some concurred in demanding that the daughter should be restored to her mother's people, of course with liberal compensation and large annual allowance for her keep. Every side of human selfishness seemed laid bare in this correspondence.

Yet there was another side, else it would have been too contemptible. Dozens of letters came, written while the eyes were blurred with tears, and the mind was sick with sadness at the revival of past unhappiness. These went to the young man's heart, and brought the tears to his own eyes as he read them. They came from old ladies, from middle-aged ladies, from women of all classes. They were written in forlorn hope: they all told the same monotonous tale, how a girl had wandered from the fold and never come back again; how the mother, aged now, or her sisters, were waiting still in hope that the prodigal daughter might return. They gave their own particulars, and they asked if these would suit the story of the girl about whom the advertisers were inquiring.

"Is it a great and bottomless gulf, this London?" thought Gilbert. "Are there, every year,

hundreds of girls who listen to the voice of the tempter? Are there yearly hundreds of homes saddened irretrievably by the flight of one? Anthony Hamblin could not have been such a man."

"It could not be," he repeated, "that Anthony Hamblin was a vulgar and selfish deceiver of girls. Yet Alison's mother must have had an existence. Suppose they found her relations among the canaille who burned to make money out of their own shame! Better, almost, that her friends should be found among those who still wept for the loss of their sister." It must be owned that at this period doubts assailed the young man. He found himself sometimes in the Slough of Despond, sometimes on the Hill Difficulty, sometimes in the Castle of Despair. Yet he met Alison with brave eyes, and words of courage. He would not dishearten her. To Alison, indeed, it seemed as if the arrival of Mrs. Duncombe was all that was wanted to prove her

own case.

The confidence of the partners in the power of advertising rapidly diminished. They sent secretly to one Theodore Bragge, formerly of the Metropolitan Detective Police, and, unknown to Gilbert, sought his advice.

Mr. Bragge's appearance was disappointing. Nothing of the sleuth-hound about him at all. No more intelligence in his face than in that of any ordinary police - constable. "But a solid face," said Augustus Hamblin. Solidity, in fact, was the one virtue Mr. Bragge's face could boast. He was clean-shaven, rather red in the nose, and looked like a butler out of place.

When the case was thoroughly put before him-it was curious that a man of such remarkable acuteness should be so slow in mastering facts-Mr. Bragge sat down and tapped his nose. Anybody can execute that simple feat. It is only when Thaumast, Panurge, and Theodore Bragge perform it that one is struck by the boundless capabilities of so simple an action.

"This will be, likely, a longish case." "But do you think you can unravel it ?” Mr. Bragge smiled superior. "There is no case, gentlemen," he said, "that I would not undertake." (Which was strictly true.) "I called this a longish case, not a difficult one. You have heard, perhaps, of the great Shottover case? I was the man who unraveled that. However, I do not boast."

He proceeded to point out how expensive a process is detective work, and then, armed with a check on account, went away to begin his work

at once.

He began it by a preliminary meditation, which commenced in a neighboring tavern immediately after his interview with the partners, and

lasted till eleven o'clock in the evening. It was interrupted by a whisky-and-water hot at four, a steak at five with a pint of stout, six whiskysand-water between six and eleven, and an animated conversation during the evening with a few friends.

An English Secret Service officer tries clumsily to do what the Continental secret police are supposed, I do not know how truly, to do cleverly. It sends men to watch, spy, and ask questions. The men always get found out in their watching at the very beginning of their investigations. They are not good actors; they can not disguise themselves; they are not generally clever; they are not always commonly intelligent. But people believe in the private-inquiry man; they think that he who owns such an office must have sources of information at his command not to be got at by anybody else; they believe that he can discover a criminal, unearth a lover, prove a marriage, or find a will, when all the rest of the world have failed.

Let us, in justice to these gentlemen, acknowledge that they do nothing to undermine or lessen this belief. Quite the contrary: they accept the position assigned to them. They are professors of sagacity. In a sense they are professors of the science of human nature. Thus upon two or three axioms, science rests, according to these savants—

1. Everybody is, has been, or will one day be engaged in some crime.

2. There is nothing, in reality, but the Seamy Side. The rest is pretense.

3. Truth is to be sought, not in a well, which would be foolishness; but behind and beneath the walls and roofing of lies which it is necessary to build round her in order to protect her against the wicked world's shower of gold.

4. Good men are those who only lie in the way of business.

5. Suspect every friend: look on every stranger as an enemy.

6. The booniest companion is often he whom you should trust least. Virtue does not necessarily accompany good-fellowship.

7. If there is a choice of motives, choose the

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Meantime, he cheerfully undertook the search. He wrote on the third day that he had found a clew. On the sixth day he said they were following up the clew. On the tenth day he said, darkly, that other paths were opening, and that more money would be necessary. This was as exciting, if it should prove as unprofitable, as the search for the philosopher's stone. The partners, rejoicing in their secret, sent more money. "It was," said Augustus, "trained intelligence lady's mother. She must have had a mother."

against the brute force of advertising; and, in the long run, trained intelligence must win."

(To be continued.)

The man with the solid face received the money, and followed up his clews. Trained intelligence, acting on the decalogue of scientific maxims quoted above, quickly jumped at the conclusion that there never had been any marriage at all, which was not what the partners wanted. "But we can find, perhaps, the young

IT

PARLIAMENTARY GOVERNMENT IN AMERICA.

T must be accounted one of the notable facts in the history of the Anglo-Saxon race, and likewise in the annals of representative institutions, that the Government of the United States, formed originally for the needs and exigencies of three millions of people, inhabiting a narrow strip of seaboard, has remained without any material change for nearly a century, and is found to work as well for a nation now fifteen times as numerous, occupying a territory fifty times greater. Indeed, it may truthfully be said to work with less friction and more general satisfaction now than then. Its infancy was embroiled with controversies, respecting the interpretation of the Constitution, so fierce that the Union was more than once in real danger before it had come of age. Some of the States had to be dragged into the Federal compact, and others were threatening to go out long before the institution of slavery became a rock of offense between North and South.

The task of statesmanship during the first quarter of a century was not so much to make it work well as to make it work at all. At the present time nobody looks upon a separation of the States as possible, and none desire it except a few straggling adherents of the Lost Cause, whose voice is as ineffectual and unheeded in the general movement as that of the irate Tory at the creation of the world who demanded that chaos be preserved.

How far this contentedness with existing institutions is to be ascribed to material prosperity, how far to the excellence of the institutions themselves, and how far to the inherited conservatism of the race, it would be futile to inquire. The country has advanced in wealth with great rapidity, notwithstanding temporary checks, during the whole period of the national existence; and few people desire to change their condition when

they are well off. Apart from this, the Americans are at heart, and perhaps without knowing it themselves, among the most conservative peoples in the world. Although nobody is readier than the Yankee to devise and adopt new modes of doing things, and while the earth does not contain a more ubiquitous traveler or daring speculator, nobody offers a more angry resistance to anything in the nature of organic change. The wicked persecution of the abolitionists during a quarter of a century was part and parcel of the national tendency to cling to whatever is, for not one in twenty of the Northern people who participated in it, and voted with the slaveholders, had any pecuniary interest in slavery direct or indirect. The uprising in behalf of the Union was a conservative rather than an antislavery uprising. President Lincoln uttered the voice of the majority of the nation when he said that if he could save the Union by freeing all the slaves he would do that, and if he could save it by freeing none he would do that, and if he could save it by freeing some and not freeing others he would do that. Catholic emancipation was carried in England half a century ago. It was not carried in the State of New Hampshire until a few years since, if indeed it has been fully effected even yet. The laws of Rhode Island regulating the right of suffrage were, until a recent period, as fantastic as those of England before the Reform Bill, and the States of Vermont and Connecticut are full of rotten boroughs to this day-each town electing one member of the Legislature without regard to population.

It may be said that national vanity is accountable for this fixedness of attachment to national institutions. It is immaterial what name it is called by. The conservatism of one country is most commonly vanity in the eyes of another. The English fondness for titles and a state church

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