in now. Though gracious Providence has cast a black pall before the future, we have reason to be thankful that things are as they are. "Well, Grantley, my boy, I don't know what your intention is, but I think that we have played enough to-night; and I really have now more than I know what to do with. I tremble to think what I shall lose when you do get into your old lucky form again!"

"It's no use saying that," said Grantley, with a groan: "my luck has filed entirely. I never, in the whole course of my existence, was so sold as to-night. I could have sworn I was going to put some coin in my pocket! But, as you say, it's no use playing any more, and" as a transient feeling of remorse crossed him "it's about time I was going home. I think I have given you cheques for the amount I have lost to-night? It has not been such a trifle that it has escaped my memory!"

voices in a large sea-cave. They would not have felt half so comfortable had they known that, in the loneliest, darkest part of the next street-if anything one more doubtful in character than the one they were walking in-there lurked three desperate men, three men, of whom one wished to commit murder, and the other two robbery, with or without violence, as the case might be. The odds were rather too desperate, and it seemed likely that the lord who, in the Christ-church days, used to have as many as six distinct summonses served on him for fighting in the street of Abingdon and elsewhere, and thought it "no end of a lark"-because probably the "cads" did not mind assault and battery from the wealthy young peer, as long as he cured their ills with golden plaisters-was now likely to get enough muscular occupation to last him for several months to come. The conspirators had not long to wait. Grantley and his friend at length reached the corner of the street, and came in full view of the three men.

'And if you'll take my advice, you will button your coat over that gorgeous watchchain, or you might be coming to grief in this infernally low-lived place. I wouldn't trust but that some crop-haired gentleman might not fancy that bit of jewellery."

"Yes, thanks for that suggestion; though, if the crop-haired gentleman fought fair, I should not mind at all, especially with this trifle of a loaded cane, and my own fists. I did not learn boxing at Sam Evans's, when I was up at the 'Varsity, for nothing. He used to say I was his best man; and tears would come into the old villain's eyes because it didn't please heaven to have me made a prizefighter-ha! ha!"

"I wish I had brought my revolver with me," said Grantley; "it is ill tempting Providence: however, I wish them joy of all they can get out of me in the way of ready cash."

In the way of money, certainly, Harry Grantley; but there is a thing called revenge, and Luigi della Croce is determined to prove what that can do!

When the two men, chatting and laughing, left the house, the streets seemed tolerably deserted and quiet; not a living being was to be seen all down the length of the dismal alley. All the noisome creatures, in human guise, that so lately had infested it, seemed to have slunk back into their lairs; for even those who live by their own evil wits must sleep sometimes, supposing that, God help them! they have somewhere to sleep in an old cask, I believe, is considered a hopeless luxury, and, combined with a little straw, is to them a perfect Bed of Ware. Not even a stray policeman was to be seen; and the steady footfall of Grantley and his companion fell with a strange eerie sound on the deserted pavement; and the sound of their voices, as they talked, sounded

"Shady customers!" muttered the peer;

inclinations are vartuous'! They seem to me to be meditating an ugly rush. But what the deuce is the matter with you, Grantley, man? Have you seen a ghost? You surely don't funk over this, do you?"

"No, I am all right," answered the captain.

But the fact was that, by the light of the lamp, he had recognized the Italian-and certainly the expression of the man's face did not seem the most amicable in the world. It flashed across him in an instant what Della Croce was there for, with those two murderous-looking roughs.

"You're just thinking that the man with the hairy cap will be an ugly customer to tackle,” said his companion, tightening the strap of what he pleasantly styled his "smasher" round his waist, and preparing for the worst. “I am sorry you haven't got your revolver. We must try and wake up the Bobbies, if the worst comes to the worst."

Thus speaking, they neared the three men who were lying in wait for them, and, just as they passed, the Irishman pushed up against Grantley, with the not very obvious remark of "Who are you a-shovin' of ?"

Grantley was about to return the compliment, when Della Croce impatiently thrust the Irishman aside, and rushed upon Grantley, saying, with a voice of the most fiendish malignity, "Now, Signor Grantley, we meet again; but the chances are with me this time!"

In shorter time than I can write it (I wonder, though, why this formula must be comme il faut in scenes of this kind!), he had signalled to the ruffian I call Sykes, who sprang upon Grantley with a hideous curse, and bore him, by sheer force and weight, to the ground.

Now, then, shoot him! D-n you, be quick!" growled he.

And Della Croce came up, and, with a pistol

do!" laughed Lord Salford. "It was very well meant of you, but it didn't do: better luck next time!"

If looks could have killed, he would have been a dead man that moment; for, between pain and rage, the expression of Mr. Sykes's face was very horrible.

"Where's the other fellow ?" said Grantley, who seemed just to have awaked from some horrid dream. It was only a moment ago that the Italian's vengeful, pale face was gloating over him, and the pistol's cold barrel pressing against his forehead; so it must not be supposed that he felt very collected.

"Why, the other beggar has bolted!" laughed his companion. "Very good dodge of his too. I can't make out, though, what on earth the man wanted with those two roughs. He seemed rather a decent-looking man, and very attentive to you."

"I'll tell you some day all the mystery of it," said Grantley. "I can scarcely make out how I escaped. Do you know the man had a pistol within an inch of my nose, but somehow or other it missed fire. I never had such a narrow shave, even amongst the Pindarries."

"Born for greatness, my boy, born for greatness!" laughed the other. "He that is born to be hung,' &c., &c. But I say, let us look to the other dungeon villain!' He don't seem to be inclined to come to. I hope that last tap of mine didn't settle him. Hot and strong he did get it, though, when I got a fair blow at him. But, by Jove, I believe I have murdered the man! Come, you Bobby, try and get this man to."

They stooped down over the bleeding, mangled Irishman, and examined him attentively. "He is breathing, I think. Oh, all right; it is only a stun. He'll come to directly.”

And soon he did come to, and gazed about him in a dazed, bewildered manner, as if he didn't quite realize his position. The first intelligible sound that came from him was an unmistakable oath, and after that he feebly inquired where he was, and where Mr. Sykes was, and seemed to be considerably relieved on hearing that the latter was in custody.

eh?

"How d'ye feel now?" said his late antagonist: "rather shaky, I suppose I shouldn't have given you such a warming if you hadn't so kindly tried to throttle me!"

As for Mr. Sykes's wrath, when he saw that the Italian had escaped, it was most terrific. A string of oaths rolled from his lips, mingled with contempt for all foreigners generally.

"I know that brute wouldn't stand by us! Fust of all he was too much of a fool to fire off a pistol, and then too much of a coward to stay by a man!"

Mr. Sykes, having indulged in his taste for ornamental antithesis thus, said no more, but resigned himself to his fate and the policeman, like a sullen dog that he was. As I shall not want these men any more for the purpose of my story, I may as well say at once that the Irishman, on his recovery, got off very easily indeed,

"You have succeeded?" were the first words that came from Nathalie's lips as he entered the room in the hotel where she was staying.

"Diavolo! though, I have not, signora," said the Italian. "Everything was splendidly planned, and likely to succeed, and by this time your enemy and mine would have been no more, when my pistol missed fire; and you know that personally I am-"

"No match for him!" sneered the actress"I should think not. Then I suppose the fact is, that you ran away? There, you need not rave!" she went on, in her most contemptuously-pitying stage tone. "You might drive yourself into a tempest of fury, and it wouldn't have the slightest effect on me. You might have known that I have been too much accustomed to stage-wrath to care for that in the least. But Luigi della Croce, you have a poor idea of an Italian's vengeance. I thought they always made sure. Why, I am sure that my letter, though a random shot, did twice the execution that your blundering violence did."

"It is disappointing," said the Italian, suddenly; "and I suppose you hate me now. You might consider, though, the life that I have led amongst these ruffians for some time past. God! the very thought of it maddens me! You might have a little pity on me. I have been devoted to you!"

Having, in a previous number, furnished a brief sketch of the phenomena, purely physical, which characterized the epidemic of St. Médard, it remains to notice those of a mental and psychological character.

One of the most common incidents connected with the convulsions of that period was the appearance of a mental condition, called, in the language of the day, a state of ecstasy, bearing unmistakable analogy to the artificial somnambulism produced by magnetic influence, and to the trance of modern spiritualism.

During this condition, there was a sudden exaltation of the mental faculties, often a wonderful command of language, sometimes the power of thought-reading; at other times, as was alleged, the gift of prophecy. While it lasted, the insensibility of the patients was occasionally so complete, that, as Montgéron says, "they have been pierced in an inhuman manner, without evincing the slightest sensation;" and when it passed off, they frequently did not recollect anything they had said or done during its continuance.

At times, like somnambulism, it seemed to assume something of a cataleptic character, though I cannot find any record of that most characteristic symptom of catelepsy, the rigid persistence of a limb in any position in which it may be placed. What was called the "state of death" is thus described by Montgéron: "The state of death is a species of ecstasy, in which the convulsionist (whose soul seems entirely absorbed by some vision) loses the use of his senses, wholly or in part. Some convulsionists have remained in this state two or even three days at a time, the eyes open, without any movement, the face very pale, the whole body insensible, immovable, and stiff as a corpse. During all this time, they give little sign of life, other than a feeble, scarcely perceptible respiration. Most of the convulsionists, however, have not these ecstasies so strongly marked. Some, though remaining immovable an entire day or longer, do not continue during all that time deprived of sight and hearing, nor are they totally devoid of sensibility; though their members, at certain intervals, become so stiff that they lose almost entirely the use of them."

The "state of death," however, was much more rare than other forms of this abnormal condition. The Abbé d'Asfeld, in his work against the convulsionists, alluding to the state of ecstasy, defines it as a state "in which the soul, carried away by a superior force, and, as it were, out of itself, becomes unconscious of surrounding objects, and occupies itself with those which imagination presents ;" and he

adds: "It is marked by alienation of the senses, proceeding, however, from some cause other than sleep. This alienation of the senses is sometimes complete, sometimes incomplete.

Montgéron, commenting on the above, says: "This last phase, during which the alienation of the senses is imperfect, is precisely the condition of most of the convulsionists, when in the state of ecstasy. They usually see the persons present; they speak to them. Sometimes they hear what is said to them; but as to the rest, their souls seem absorbed in the contemplation of objects which a superior power discloses to their vision."

And a little further on he adds: "In these ecstasies the convulsionists are struck all of a sudden with the unexpected aspect of some object, the sight of which enchants them with joy. Their eyes beam; their heads are raised toward heaven; they appear as if they would fly thither. To see them afterwards absorbed in profound contemplation, with an air of inexpressible satisfaction, one would say that they are admiring the divine beauty. Their countenances are animated with a lively and brilliant fire; and their eyes, which cannot be made to close during the entire duration of the ecstasy, remain completely motionless, open, and fixed, as on the object which seems to interest them. They are in some sort transfigured; they appear quite changed. Even those who, out of this state, have in their physiognomy something mean or repulsive, alter so that they can scarcely be recognized.

....

It is during these ecstasies that many of the convulsionists deliver their finest discourses and their chief predictions; that they speak in unknown tongues; that they read the secret thoughts of others, and even sometimes that they give their representations"-in allusion to crucifixion and other symbolical representations, to which the convulsionists were much given. This state of ecstasy is one which has existed, probably, in occasional instances, through all past time, especially among religious enthusiasts. The writings of the ancient fathers contain constant allusions to it. St. Augustine, for example, speaks of it as a phenomenon which he has personally witnessed. Referring to persons thus impressed, he says: "I have seen some who addressed their discourse sometimes to the persons around them, sometimes to other beings, as if they were actually present; and when they came to themselves, some could report what they had seen, others preserved no recollection of it whatever."

A provincial ecclesiastic, quoted by Montgéron, and who, it should be remarked, found fault