MESOSTICH No. 7. In this you will find, as you know French of course, I. Tattered velvet, rags of silk, Wore the hero of this ilk. 2. Her eyes, t'is said, grew "soft for an hour; 3. Will it never improve this year? No never! Correct answers have been received from Artemisia-Quite a young thing too-Charmione-S.P.E-Shark-DowagerBeolne-What, Never?-Brevette-P.V.-Nursery-La Belle Alliance-Miserere; 13 correct and 48 incorrect-total 61. ACROSTIC AND MESOSTICH RULES. 1. Each number of the St. James's Magazine will contain a Double Acrostic and a Mesostich. 11. In each competition Three Annual Prizes, in money (1st prize twenty-five guineas, 2nd prize ten guineas, 3rd prize five guineas), will be awarded to the three most successful solvers. -11.-Special competitions will be held for guessing off ties (if any). Iv.-Prize-winners will be required to furnish their names and addresses for publication. v.-The same solver may win prizes in both competitions. VI.-Only one word can be accepted as the solution of each light. VII.-Answers addressed to "The Acrostic Editor," 5, Friar Street, Ludgate Hill, E.C., must be posted in time to be received by the first post on the 10th of each month, or on the 11th, if the 10th falls on a Sunday. VIII. In accordance with the wishes of numerous Subscribers, the Acrostic and Mesostiches for March, June, September and December will be in French. St. James's Magazine. AUGUST, 1879. HUBERT MAITLAND'S WRAITH. A NOVEL. BY FELIX HOLLAND. CHAPTER XVII. PHILIP OUT OF HIS ELEMENT. HILIP arose and exchanged the troubled dreams of night for those of day. The unrest which had seized on him was merging to despair. The exubera t S gladness of Mr. Scroggs failed to cheer him, and escaping from the house he found himself wandering under the elms of Kensington Gardens. All day long he remained there, sometimes lying listlessly on the grass, some* sauntering through the shady avenues, playing, with a poor forced smile, with the children who were about, or deciphering names which idiot youths had carved in the smooth bark of beeches twenty, forty, sixty years agonames which ironic Nature had preserved longer than many a fashionable fame that dainty lips have bruited under their shadows. Sometimes a school-girl or governess would pass and glance shyly at the beautiful boy's face, he heeding them not. When evening came he returned to the Crown and Candle. He took down the violin, and played the dolefulest airs of a dozen doleful operas, and naturally failing to escape his distracting thoughts by such efforts, he again strolled out into the twilight. But there was no peace, the demon jealousy had seized on him, and he wandered up and down the road as aimless and restless as the first stray autumn leaves that rustled at his feet. VOL. XXXVI H Soon he was startled by the sound of approaching wheels, and, stepping aside, a light carriage whirled swiftly by, not so swiftly, however, but that he had time to recognize Emily Aldair. She greeted him with a sad sweet smile, and a little flutter of her tiny gloved hand, which the speed of the horses prevented his returning, and the next moment was far away in the twilight, leaving Philip standing confused but ungladdened by the road side. As he strained his eyes after the vanishing carriage his heart ceased beating, and his knees smote together as if inspired with an ungovernable terror. But it was not for long. Soon the pent up yearning overmastered every other feeling, and with crimsoned cheeks and flashing eyes he gave a great forward bound. His resolution was taken. He would follow her, would feast his eyes once more upon her face, speak to her, if it were possible, one word of unreproachful deathless devotion and farewell, and then, and then, well? anything, vagabondage, madness, death, what mattered then? Reckless of all but his purpose, he bounded along the dusty road, and was soon nearly abreast of the carriage. Then he slackened pace. He did not wish Emily to see him thus. No, he would follow and accost her when she alighted. He could easily keep pace with Aldair's greys, and open the carriage door at the journey's end, touch her hand as she alighted, feel her breath on his cheek, perhaps be thanked by her. For a good six miles the horses bounded on, but it seemed hardly one to him. The coachman drew up at the gates of a large old-fashioned mansion, beyond whose slanting grounds the river lay gleaming. But, alas! a swarm of ladies and gentlemen clustered to the carriage door, and with a smile for all except the weary pedestrian, who stood panting under the shadow of the hedgerow, she rustled up the garden walk and into the house. Philip felt sick and faint; he had overtasked his strength, and but for the support of the thick privet hedge he would have fallen. A peal of merry laughter brought him to himself. Then a swarm of ladies and gentlemen poured from the house into the garden. There they formed an irregular procession, and laughing and chatting, streamed past him and down the narrow road. Then Philip noticed that all the gentlemen had suits of white flannel under their overcoats, and wore blue and white caps-they were going for a moonlight trip on the river. And Emily was there-he could not see her face, but the fairy-like form was unmistakable in its delicate grace and beauty, both the more remarkable by contrast with the great-bearded, rudely clad companion on whose arm she leant. Him, too, Philip thought he recognized, but could not be sure, his rough boating suit had so transformed him, and a pang of jealous envy shot through his heart. The party turned down an umbrageous lane, which in a few seconds brought them to the river side, where a fleet of boats lay darkling on the moonlit water. The great bearded man for a moment relinquished Emily's little hand and gave some hurried directions to his companions, then the boats were drawn up to the wooden steps, and the whole company embarked and rowed away, Emily's burly partner taking his seat opposite her and leading the way, his long sculls bending beneath his grip, like willow wands in the water. For three hundred yards Philip saw them gliding away, and heard their laughter dying on the breeze. They disappeared, and the watcher turned away. Another fleet of empty pleasure boats were moored at a wharf near at hand. Philip ran to them; they were for hire, and selecting the smallest and swiftest of these, he was soon afloat and in chase of the pleasure party. Now the cleverest young man of continental rearing is apt to find himself rather awkward in a Thames outrigger, and with many curses on his clumsiness and foolhardy conceit, the boat attendant ordered him "to come back and get in a tub." But Philip knew no danger, and by dint of brute strength and ignorance tugged the dapper little craft down the stream. The pleasure fleet was now in sight, for it had turned back and was creeping up under the bank. Fearing to be recognized, Philip steered to the opposite side. The pleasure party raised à loud shout as he passed, but he was so intently trying to discèrn Emily's slim little figure to heed its import. And in the silence that followed the e cry he noticed for the first time the dull roar of a cataract; it was Teddington weir. But he discerned his danger too |