and saw Macha standing in the doorway with her last-born baby in her arms, who clutched a rose in his little fist; by which preconcerted sign I was informed that Casimir Barinski was safe on board the steam launch.

Paulina received me very affably, although this was not a receptionnight, and she was alone in the déshabille of a white-laced cashmere peignoir. I noticed there was a moist glitter in her eyes and a something subdued and yet ecstatic in her manner, which proved sufficiently that Casimir's flirtation of the preceding day had altogether blinded her and turned her head. She looked like a woman who is in love, and whose passionate artifices are triumphant. Certainly at that moment she would have scorned to do an unkind thing to Ioulka Zezioff, for it was a much greater womanly feat to seduce a lover from his betrothed by the simple might of her charms, instead of having recourse to police interference to crush her rival. At the age of forty, so far as I have seen, women take an extraordinary delight in winning a love battle in a fair fight.

Paulina and I talked about Casimir, for his name seemed to fly incontinently from her lips, so that she could allude to nothing else; but we did not touch upon his marriage or proposed departure in Paulina's company, I being supposed to know nought of this last scheme. We conversed rather about his family, his talents, his sufferings in Siberiaand hereon my fair hostess soon began to shed hysterical tears, vowing that, after all, it was not she who had caused Casimir to be sent into exile, for that he would have been arrested in any case, the Government having long noted down his family for persecution. It was but natural that the unhappy woman should now seek to disculpate herself of her great crime against the man she loved, and should lay particular stress on the pardon she had obtained for him. She seemed to be working herself up to the conviction that, since it was she who had prevented the patriot from ending his days in the Oural mines, the remainder of his life properly belonged to her; which proves once again that woman's logic is often at fault.

I said nothing that might grieve the Countess, for it was my duty tɔ be courteous, as a visitor in her own house; and so we talked confidentially enough for a couple of hours. It was about ten o'clock, I think, and I was on the point of taking my departure, when a footman came in with a letter on a tray, which he handed to his mistress. Paulina begged my leave to open it; but the instant she had glanced at the first lines, she started to her feet, shot me a glance of viperous hatred such as a she-wolf may throw when she has fallen into a trap; then, bereft of all colour, she flew to her desk, and snatched up a pen. She wrote for a minute, panting as her pen flew over the paper; then, without blotting what she had written, she hastily folded the sheet, enclosed it in an envelope, and handed it to the footman, who retired.

This done, Paulina advanced towards me with flashing eyes and arms folded, whilst, in a voice that was almost a scream, she exclaimed

"Do you know what I have just done? I have signed an order for the arrest of those two Zezioffs."

"It was a useless piece of work, for they went away this afternoon, and are over the frontier by this time," replied I, calmly.

This information staggered her for a moment. "Fool that I am; I should have had them seized two days ago!" she ejaculated, gasping. "But, anyhow, Casimir Barinski shall not escape. I know that he is to leave for Kaptcha to-morrow, disguised as a peasant."

"And what if you do prevent his escape? Love him as you may, you can't force him to marry you against his will."

"But I can send him back to Siberia, and will. I would rather see him there than married to that drudge of a girl!"

"Tut, tut!" said I. "Our enemies are bad enough, but they won't cancel an Imperial pardon for the sake of advancing your love affairs. You haven't the power you boast, Paulina."

This sally drove her almost mad.

"Haven't I the power?" shrieked she, as she spread out her hands wildly. "Know that I am queen of this town, and have been for years. I am the only person here in direct relation with the Police Minister at St. Petersburg; and a line of mine could send you, priest as you are, to Siberia."

"I don't believe it," said I; "and in any case feel no fear," nor did I feel any.

“Ah, you think you can defy me, but you will do well not to go too far!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands, and looking as if she would

smite me.

"I do defy you,” said I, standing up, in wrath; "for there isn't a priest in Poland who would give you absolution if you once laid a finger on one of our order. If we don't all hold together from brotherly love, we do from the necessity of mutual protection, as you well know, else you would have disposed of me long ago."

"I am too good, and that is my weakness!" said Paulina, panting as she dropped, half fainting, on to the sofa. "I have let myself be held in bondage by your superstitions like a child; but I'll turn schismatic."

"And I'll excommunicate you from the sacraments, and denounce you to the Camarilla as a heretic and a traitress, with whom no pact of faith need be kept," cried I, paying her back glance for glance, without quaking.

I knew the sort of woman with whom I had to deal, you see. Half choking with rage, she pointed to the door, and I walked out; but I felt quite confident that she would neither molest me nor suffer others to do so. Religion, as she practised it, was half the business of Paulina's life, and she had need to believe in the inviolability of its ministers. She would have known no peace in sinning if she had destroyed one of us priests, who have power to absolve sins.

All this did not prevent my passing a very anxious night, for I had

hoped that the news of Casimir's flight, or the intention of it, would not reach the Countess till morning, by which time all researches would be vain. I was not so sure that they would be vain at this hour, if actively conducted; and every time I heard the tramping walk of the night police under my window, I quaked lest one of these individuals should knock at my door, and request me to accompany him to the central office, there to answer questions as to my connivance in Casimir's flight. There was no knocking, and I received no police visit till ten o'clock next morning. At that hour a crop-headed man in plain clothes arrived at the church, and told me laconically that I was wanted to identify a dead body.

"Whose dead body!" I asked, my tongue almost cleaving to my palate.

"Casimir Barinski's," he answered. "The man was overtaken as he was trying to escape in peasant's clothes; and as he offered resistance, he was shot down."

"Where? On the road to Kaptcha?"

Precisely," replied the policeman, with a significant look into my eyes. "It was on the road to Kaptcha."

VI.

Some poor peasant it was who had paid for Casimir Barinski with his innocent life; and, by the time the mistake was discovered, Casimir was safe in Gallicia, with Stanislas Planiwitz's pots and chests of tea. He soon afterwards married Ioulka Zezioff in Paris, and is now employed as a journalist, I believe, in the French capital. I was never molested about his escape, nor was Macha, though, thanks to Nicholas Levitski (as I suppose), we were both suspected; but, then, the Russian police have a policy about hushing up disagreeable matters when these are beyond remedy.

As for Paulina Marienha, she remained six months without coming near me, and I, for my part, did not go near her. One day, however, she walked into our church bravely, attired after her wont, and, sending for me out of the sacristy, said, with a grave sort of downcast smile, that she had come to make a confession. Prepared, by her manner, for something serious, I took my seat in the central box of the confessional, while she knelt in that to the left.

"Father," she began, "I accuse myself of the sin of ill-temper in often speaking sharply to my maid—"

And that was how the Countess Paulina squared her accounts with heaven.

Aesthetic Analysis of an Obelisk.

I HAD climbed with a friend up the steep down which overhangs Ventnor, and reached the obelisk at Appuldurcombe. From its base the eye ranges over the loveliest panorama in the Isle of Wight. The Solent gleams blue in the sunlight to northward, and the Channel, studded with white sails, spreads below us to the south; while at the eastern and western ends of the island, the great chalk cliffs of the Culvers and the Main Bench stand out in dazzling purity against the purple waters of Sandown Bay and Freshwater Gate. Around us on every side stretches an undulating reach of tilled or wooded country, all the more grateful, perhaps, for its trim neatness to an eye wearied with the rank luxuriance of tropical hill-sides. But what strikes one most in the prospect, is the singular way in which every conspicuous height is crowned by some kind of monument or landmark, giving to each portion of the scene an individuality and a topographical distinctness of its own. Here, close at hand, is the Appuldurcombe Obelisk, built on a commanding point of view by Sir Richard Worsley, the former owner of the great house which stands in solitary grandeur, shrouded by the elms of the park, at our feet. The obelisk has been struck by lightning and shaken to its very base; while the topmost stones have fallen in a long line on the down, still preserving their relative positions, and impressing the visitor with a very massive idea of ruin. Looking northward, we see the monument on Bembridge cliffs and the sea-mark on Ashey Down; while on the opposite side the St. Catherine's beacon and Cook's Castle stand out amongst a number of minor pillars. We had been discussing some question of æsthetics on our way, and as we gazed round upon this exquisite view —a mere hackneyed English scene, it is true, and perhaps on that account not worth the trouble of a description to those who measure nature with a foot-rule, but lovely, indeed, to anyone who worships beauty for its own sake, and acknowledges it wherever he may find it-my friend inquired of me, "How do you account, on general æsthetic principles, for the pleasure we derive from an obelisk?"

The question was not one to be answered in a moment. Indeed, the actual analysis into simple psychological elements of any æsthetic object, however slight, is a lengthy task; for many separate factors, intellectual, emotional, and sensuous, must be taken into consideration and duly co-ordinated. We talked over the point as we returned to Ventnor, and several other observations occurred to me in the course of our rambles

afterwards; so I propose to set down in this paper the net result of our joint investigations. The starting point of our exposition will seem at first sight sufficiently remote from any question, either of obelisks or of æsthetics, but I trust that as I proceed its relevancy to the main subject will become clearer.

A baby of my acquaintance, aged seven months, is very fond of hearing a spoon knocked against a finger-glass. One day the spoon was put into her hands, and after a series of random efforts she at last succeeded, half by accident, in striking the glass and producing the musical note which pleases her. This performance gave her the most intense delight, as was evidenced by her smiles and chuckles. She continued her endeavours with varying success, and soon learnt how to direct her muscles so as to bring about the desired effect. Every exercise of this power gives her acute pleasure, and is followed by a crow of excitement and a glance around which asks mutely for the sympathy or approbation of bystanders. Evidently, even at this early age, the gratification of power, the pleasure of successful effort, is a feeling within the range of her unfolding intelligence.

Another baby, half a year older, is in the habit of pursing her lips and blowing upon her papa, who thereupon pretends to be knocked down, and falls upon the carpet. In this case the gratification is even more evident, and the supposed effect is more conspicuous and striking. Other children, again, push down grown-up people with their hands, and are delighted at their resistless fall. The main element in all these pleasures is the production of a noticeable effect; and it is obviously desirable, both for the individual and the race, that such efficient action should be followed by pleasurable feeling. The power to produce great mechanical results and the will to initiate them are necessary factors of success in the struggle for life amongst the higher animals.

Boys a little more advanced in nervous and muscular development derive analogous pleasure from somewhat similar exercises. They love to roll huge stones close to the edge of a hill, and then watch them tearing down its slopes, rooting up the plants or shrubs, and thundering into the valley beneath. At other times they band together to fling a small boulder into a lake, and revel in the exhibition of power given by its splash and roar. And this enjoyment is probably not confined to human beings; for our congeners, the monkeys, delight in similar displays; and those of them who are trained in the Malay peninsula to pick and fling down cocoa-nuts from the palms, chuckle and grin over each nut as it falls, with true boyish merriment.

But the most conspicuous manifestation of these feelings is to be seen when the constructive faculty comes into play. The first desire of children in their games is to build something big, a visible trophy of their architectural skill. On the sea-shore they pile up great mounds of sand, or dig a pit surrounded by a mimic rampart. If they can get at a heap of bricks or deal planks, they will arrange them in a pyramid, and will judge their success by the height which they can attain. Indoors their