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are empowered, with the consent of the accused parties, accused of any crime for which he may be tried by the Court of General Sessions of the Peace, to try such accused parties, and if found guilty by the police magistrate they may be sentenced by him to the same punishment they would have been liable to if tried by the General Sessions. As the General Sessions of the Peace have jurisdiction to try most of the high crimes, except capital felonies, forgery, libel, perjury, it will be seen what immense power is here given to a sole occupant of a judicial bench, the police magistrate, he being entrusted with the same power as a whole Court of General Sessions of the Peace, composed of an experienced judge, county attorney, grand and petty jury. effect, the police magistrate has jurisdiction to try offences, for which if the prisoner be found guilty, he has power to sentence him to be committed to the Provincial Penitentiary or to the common jail for two years, in the same manner as the General Sessions might do after a conviction obtained after full investigation of the facts by a grand jury and a petty jury and the judicial mind of an experienced judge brought to bear on the question at issue between the Crown and the subject. Every conviction under the Act, it is also declared, shall have the same effect as a conviction upon indictment for the same offence would have had. As if to add a refinement of cruelty, it is enacted that no conviction, sentence, or proceeding under the Act shall be quashed for want of form, and no warrant of commitment upon a conviction shall be held void by reason of any defect therein, if it be therein alleged that the offender has been convicted and there be a good and valid conviction to sustain the same. What a wide departure is this from old established law that any party accused should have the benefit of a trial by his peers! Here neither a grand or petty jury

investigate the charge, but a police magistrate, and he, not necessarily a lawyer or skilled in the law, is made judge of both Law and Fact. The anterior principle was that the judge should decide the law and the jury pronounce on the fact. By this statute a police magistrate is vested with despotic power without appeal to try both law and fact, and on conviction sentence the prisoner in some cases to imprisonment in the Penitentiary, in others to years' imprisonment in the common jail. Despotic power may well be wielded in uncivilized countries at Ujiji, in dark Africa, at Unyanyembe, or on the banks of the Nile. but ought not to exist in a free country. The law is founded on the principle that accused parties may not wish to be under accusation for a period of time before they can be brought before the regular tribunal for jury trial, and therefore, may, with their own consent, be tried by this one-man-power, a police magistrate. But when the bailable nature of offences is considered, and when it is further considered that the parties accused of crime brought before a police magistrate are in many cases half idiots, mentally incapable, from drink or nervous incapacity, to determine whether they desire to be tried by a jury or not, with no counsel to advise them, suddenly thrown on their own resources, how idle is it to say that consent or non-consent should have weight in such cases! And what is the delay in such cases to be compared with the danger of absolute injustice being done when a prisoner is tried by a police magistrate who knows he is acting without appeal, and determining the guilt or innocence of the prisoner, when the evidence, if sifted by competent counsel or an intelligent jury, might be the means of shewing the party on trial an innocent man. Not long since a deaf and dumb mute was placed in a police court dock, charged with crime. He was asked

by his worship if he would be tried by him or a jury? Being deaf and dumb, he stood dumb. He had no counsel. A slate was produced and the question asked. A policeman and the magistrate thought the court had got his consent! The consent, such as it was, placed him on trial, and he was convicted by his worship and sent to prison. Of what value

vas this kind of consent?

This is only one of many instances which might be cited in illustration of this dangerous law. What are called Interim Sessions, trials by a Judge of Sessions without a jury, is something better than a trial by a police magistrate. The Judge of Sessions must be a lawyer at all events

-with experience in legal matters. But even such trials are a wide departure from what whilome was considered some security for the subject, namely, that he should have a public trial in a public court, that the public might

see how justice was administered. But here the Interim Sessions is only a public court in name-more of a private court in fact. The court, all told, is generally composed of the Judge, the Crown Attorney, the Clerk, the Sheriff or his Deputy, the counsel for the prisoner (if he have one), and the prisoner in the dock; the audience, sometimes a couple or three small boys who drop in for curiosity. It may be that justice may be well administered in such a court and by such means, but most people consider that an open court is one of the safeguards for the protection of the liberty of the subject. It is to be hoped that our legislators will look to these matters, and that the whole law of consent trials by police magistrates, or at Interim Sessions, will be reviewed and amended that this Bridge of Sighs' may be demolished, and more countenance given to the liberty of the subject, and trial by jury.

idle. Tom went to town, in order to obtain what Desdemona called the -most important of the properties-the special license. The clergyman was found in an old friend of Tom's, who consented, on learning the whole cir cumstances, to perform the ceremony. The plot was, in fact, completely worked out, and, as Desdemona said, nothing remained but to hope that the situations would go off without any hitch.

On Wednesday, things being in this forward state, Desdemona and Tom walked across the park to the game

'Nor do I,' Tom confessed.

'I can see you do not. "How in the looks doth conscious guilt appear." If it were only not for Lord Alwyne and Miranda

'It does seem hard,' said Tom, 'that a fellow can't be allowed to make himself a fool in his own way.'

'That is not the way to put it at all,' said Desdemona, rousing herself for an apology. 'Let me put it so that we shall be able to comfort ourselves with noble motives. All wicked people do that you know. Fancy the pious rapture of Guy Fawkes just before he was going to light the match; think of the approval which the conscience of Ravaillac must have bestowed upon him on the king's coach coming in sight.

Let us apply the same balms to our own case. People may say— people who don't understand motives-that we two were Alan's most intimate and trusted friends, and that, notwithstanding, we deliberately conspired together to frustrate his most cherished project.'

I think, Desdemona,' said Tom, 'that you must have learned the art of comforting a sinner from the Book of Job. To be sure, people may say that; but you forget that we haven't been found out yet. And Harry won't tell.'

'It will come out some day,' said

Desdemona, gloomily. 'Crimes like ours always do come out. I shall very likely reveal the secret on my death-bed. That will be a bad job for you. Or else you will go mad with the suspicion that I may some day tell, take me to a secret place in a forest, push me down a deep well, and drop big stones on my head. I shall creep

out when you are gone, nothing the worse except for a bump as big as a cricket-ball on my skull, and a broken leg; and I shall creep after you, taking revenge in separate lumps as the opportunity offers. When I have got all the revenge that a Christian woman wants, I shall disclose myself, and you will die-under the lime-light, repentant, slowly, and to the music of the stringed instruments.'

'Thank you,' said Tom. Now, tell me, please, how we ought to put it to ourselves.' "This ex

'Thus,' said the actress. travagance of Alan affects others beside himself. The result of the step he proposes would be so disastrous that at any cost it must be prevented. He does not know the girl whom he is going to marry; he has conceived an entirely wrong impression of her character. His father, my old friend

And mine,' said Tom, feeling comfort in that reflection.

Will be deeply grateful to us. Miranda will be grateful. After a time, Alan will be grateful; and as for the rest of the world, why-il y a des reproches qui louent.'

'Yes-and Harry? Do you think he will be grateful after a time, too?' asked Tom. You see, Desdemona, your estimate of the young lady's character is not a high one.'

Grateful? Well, in a way. The man's in love with her. He does not, in his heart, believe that she is a bit better than the majority of women in her class. But just now it is good for him to think so. Depend upon it, Tom, it is not a bad thing for a man to find out that his wife is no better

a human creature than himself, probably not so good.'

'Desdemona,' said Tom, 'don't be hard on your sex.'

'I am not,' she replied; I am only just. Do you think Nelly an angel?'

'Yes,' he said stoutly, I do, and I don't want any other kind of angel. People my paradise with one angel, and let her be Nelly, with all her moods and wilfulness, just as she is, I shall be satisfied.'

'You are a good fellow, Tom, and you deserve her. Pity that, while you were about it, you could not have made that little document in your pocket a transferable ticket. We might then,

at the very last moment, change the names from Harry and Alma to Tom and Nell.'

He shook his head sadly.

'The good old days!' she lamented. 'Oh for a postchaise and four, and Gretna Green! or for a Fleet parson! What opportunities our ancestors had!'

'You can get a special license now,' said Tom, 'costs five guineas-that is what I've got for Harry.'

us.

'It is the one thing they have left

Then, Tom, if you do not immediately-but here comes the third conspirator.'

Tom explained to Harry that he had gone to London in order to obtain, through certain legal persons, a document which made it possible for him and Alma to get married to each other. And then he handed him the precious epistle.

'And with this bit o' paper,' said Harry, doubtfully, it is lawful for Alma and me to marry?'

He turned it all ways to catch the light, and blushed to think of the solicitude of the greatest persons in the realms after his welfare.

'And now,' said Desdemona, 'when shall we marry them?'

'The sooner the better,' said Harry. If there's going to be words, best .have them over.'

He was thinking of Bostock, but it

seemed almost as if he was thinking of future matrimonial jars.

'We might manage on Friday,' said Tom. I am afraid it is too late to arrange for to-morrow. My friend

the curate will do it on any day. After the marriage you can drive to Dalmeny Hall, and then send for Mr. Dunlop and have it out. You can

tackle the Bailiff afterwards.'

'Ay,' said Harry; 'I'm not afeard of the Bailiff. There'll be a vast deal of swearing, and that's all. Bailiff Bostock knows me. It is the Squire I am afeard on. He'll take it hard me an old servant, and-there-once almost a friend I was, when we were both boys.'

You are a friend of his still, Harry,' said Tom. 'When he understands that it was your own bride he was going to take, it will all come right. But perhaps just at first there may be some sort of shindy.'

'It cannot be on Friday,' said Desdemona. 'I remember now that Alma's wedding-dress is not to be ready till Friday afternoon. The poor girl must wear her fine frock, if only for once. You must arrange, Tom, to get the ceremony over and to drive back to the Hall before they ought to be starting for church. That, I think, I will be the most effective as well as the most considerate way of leading up to the situation. It is not bad, as dramas go.' She sprang from her chair, alert and active, and became again an actress. A rehearsal. Stand there, Harry, as far back as the footlights-I mean the fender-will allow. Miranda and I are grouped here in an attitude of sympathetic expectation.' (Here her face suddenly assumed a look of such deep sympathy that Tom burst out laughing, and Harry was confounded.) 'Alan is in the centre, up the stage; on your arm, Harry, is Alma.' (Harry involuntarily glanced at his manly arm, as if Alma might really, by some magic of this wonderful lady, be there, but she was not.) She is in her beau

tiful wedding frock and bonnet; she is looking shy and a little frightened, but so pretty that she has engaged the sympathies of the whole house. Alan, taken by surprise, takes a half-step forward; Miranda and I, surprised and wondering, take a half-step nearer him; we murmur our astonishment; Miranda, who is statuesque, and therefore does not gesticulate, turns her eyes mutely upon Alma; I, who am, or was thirty years ago, mignonne, hold up my hands-it is a very ef fective gesture, if done naturally; and then, Tom (I am afraid I'must put you in the last scene, and concealment will be impossible), you step forward— oh, Tom!' (here she betrayed a little irritation because Tom, instead of throwing himself into the situation, was actually grinning), why can't you act a little? You step forward easily and quietly--you make a point, because your knowledge is the key of the whole situation-and you say, taking Alma by the hand, "Alan, let me present to you-Harry Cardew's wife!" Now, that is really a very telling situation, if you could only think of it.'

6

the world's a stage." Yes; and there is always an audience. And none of us ever play our little part without some to applaud or some to hiss. They are a sympathetic audience, and they express their feelings vigorously. Dear me! he does not think of the situation. Live, Harry Cardew, as if you were always on the boards-walk, talk, think, as if you were speaking before the theatre. Do you understand ?'

The honest gamekeeper did not. He had never seen a theatre.

'However,' continued Desdemona,

we are preparing the last scene of a comedy which will be numerously attended, and keenly criticised, so to speak; we must not spoil it by carelessness in the final tableau. We must make all we can out of it. As for you, Harry, you will be a hero for a few days. And you, Tom, must make up your mind to criticism. Play your part boldly. Make your mark in the last act. In the evening there will be a grand Function in the Abbey, at which you, too, ought to be a hero.'

'And the row with Bostock?' asked Harry, who believed that this lady was able to control the future exactly; has your ladyship fixed when and where that is to come off?"

No; in fact, I quite forgot that detail. But it does not matter so much, as it will not probably get into the papers. A mere piece of by-play, an episode. It ought, perhaps, to come before the last situation; but, after all, it does not greatly signify. I suppose the farmer is certain to use language of the strongest.'

After all-saving your ladyship's presence-what,' asked Harry, what matters a few damns?'

'Nothing,' said Desdemona, quoting Bob Acres. 'They have had their day. And now, Harry, take great care of the document. We shall tell Alma -not to-morrow, but on Friday. Perhaps a hint to-morrow will keep up her spirits.'

'He is much too good for her,' said Desdemona; but I am in hopes it will turn out well. There is one great point in favour of their happiness.' 'What is that?'

'She is afraid of him,' said Desde-mona, student of womankind. 'A wholesome terror of her husband, with such a girl, goes a long way. She will feel that she has got a man to rule her.'

At the Abbey they found that Lord. Alwyne had arrived. He was, in fact, sitting with a bevy of Sisters. Noth