me, a policeman was strolling along in the
direction of the Regent's Park.

The carriage passed me — an open chaise
driven by two men.

"Stop!" cried one. "There's a policeman.
Let's ask him."

The horse was instantly pulled up, a few yards
beyond the dark place where I stood.

"Policeman!" cried the first speaker. "Have
you seen a woman pass this way?"

"What sort of woman, sir?"

"A woman in a lavender-coloured gown——"

"No, no," interposed the second man. "The
clothes we gave her were found on her bed. She
must have gone away in the clothes she wore
when she came to us. In white, policeman. A
woman in white."

"I haven't seen her, sir."

"If you, or any of your men meet with the
woman, stop her, and send her in careful keeping
to that address. I'll pay all expenses, and a fair
reward into the bargain."

The policeman looked at the card that was
handed down to him.

"Why are we to stop her, sir? What has
she done?"

"Done! She has escaped from my Asylum.
Don't forget: a woman in white. Drive on."

LOVED AND LOST.
"ICH HABE GELEBT UNO GELIEBT."

So you tell me Annie's dying, dying all for love of
  me!
Spirits gone and beauty flying, cheek as pale as
  flesh may be;
And you sue me for your sister, telling me I shall
  repent,
I shall mourn her when I've missed her, when my
  present rage is spent.

Mabel Durham, rage no longer fires my spirit, shakes
  my frame;
There is yet a passion stronger, which I do not care
  to name,
Deeper in its root than many which more rapidly
  enslave:
Mabel, between me and Annie falls the shadow of a
  grave!

Ellen Vaughan, her rank forgetting, promised to
  become my bride;
Every night the sun in setting saw me whispering
  by her side—
Whispering 'mid her golden tresses, whispering in
  her trellised ear.
Ah! those days which memory blesses. Ah! these
  days so dark and drear!

Loved we with a love so holy, so intense and so
  entire,
Jealousy progressed but slowly, when she tried to
  thin its fire;
We were heart and heart together, love was unto
  love avowed.
Hast thou marked the summer weather specked by
  but one fleecy cloud?

That small cloud was Annie's raising. Ere its
  influence passed away,
I had marked Nell's bright eye glazing, seen her
  lithe form turn to clay;
She who would have fronted danger, learned at
  gossips' breath to pale,
She herself to doubt a stranger, sank beneath the
  slanderer's tale.

False and fickle then they called me, lightly wooing,
  lightly won;
Every woman's eye enthralled me, but my heart was
  caught by none;
I had proffered vows to many, whom I since had
  met with scorn;
I had whispered love to Annie, e'en while pledged to
  Ellen Vaughan!

Lies prevailed, and Ellen faded. I was absent. When
  I came,
But her closing eyes upbraided, scarce a word her
  lips could frame;
All she said was meek and loving, prayer that sin
  might be forgiven,
Not a sentence of reproving— peace on earth and
  hope in Heaven.

Ellen died, and then I learned it— learned what said
  the public liar!
Anger in my memory burned it, stamped it there in
  words of fire!
O'er her grave I swore detection, swift discovery of
  the hand
Which had stabbed my life's affection, which my
  death in life had planned.

Soon I knew my false accuser; Mabel, now you know
  her too.
Think you, e'en lest you should lose her, I could
  e'er your sister woo?
Vengeance I've foresworn; but never, to the latest
  hour of life,
Could I venture to forgive her, dream of making her
  my wife!

ITALIAN DISTRUST

MR. GALLENGA, in his late work on Piedmont,
referred to at page 461 of this journal,
has had the courage to tell his countrymen a
number of home truths, which, whatever may
be the fruit they are destined to bear, have
assuredly not increased his own popularity
amongst them. It is not at any time a very
gracious task to comment upon the social life
and civilisation of a people; the moment chosen
for the present criticism was peculiarly unhappy.
For a long time back it has been the habit
for all writers on Italy to hold a certain
tone of compassionate pity for the people.
Compared with their great ancestors, whose
monuments stood around on every side, it was
not very difficult to disparage them; and it was
actually to satiety that we were told they were
priest-ridden, bigoted, superstitious, ignorant,
lazy, and regardless of truth. The English
clergyman who passed his winter at Rome came
back full of the gross ignorance of the priesthood,
their lax morals, and their infidelity. The
English politician brought back stories of
numberless atrocities in the administrative rule of the
peninsula— men arrested on mere hearsay, and
left to rot out the remainder of life in a gaol. The
English sentimental tourist recorded his griefs