site, wrapped, as it seemed, in a white sheet. A corner of the sheet was drawn up round the head and hung over the face like a cowl, so that, although the person was looking out of window, no trace of form or feature could be seen; and the arms, which were crossed, were also tightly covered by the sheet. For a few seconds it paused at the window, and I, sitting partly behind any window curtain, could see without being seen. Then it entered the inner room, into which I could see very distinctly, as the windows were open.

And here it seems necessary to state that the effect produced upon me at the time by this person in a sheet has been intensified, and has received an added horror, from circumstances which occurred later. It is difficult to describe that which follows without allowing this horror to creep in, and yet, so far as I can remember, I was not sensible of it at the time, and felt only a strange attraction and interest; and a half surprise that any one should dress up and play the fool at 7 o'clock in the morning.

The figure, as I have said, entered the inner room, and stood for some time quite motionless by the bed-side. Then slowly the arms were stretched out, pointing at something or some one in the bed; the head, still covered by the sheet, was bent downwards; the whole attitude was that of one speaking with an earnest and eager intensity. But soon there was the strangest change the figure started, gave a wild bound, and commenced leaping and dancing round the bed, standing with outstretched arms for a moment at the foot of it, and then springing first to one side and then to the other with such wonderful rapidity that it was impossible to follow every movement. At length there was a pause; again the hands and arms were stretched out, again they pointed, and, as it seems to me now, in bitter mockery, to the bed, and then the body swayed and bent backwards, and the head was thrown up in one long burst of uproarious laughter. It seemed to me that I could hear the mocking sounds even above all the noises in the street. do not know if I turned away for a moment, or if the figure crouched down, but I remember my surprise at finding that it had left the bedroom, and was again standing at the window of the ante-room. From thence it passed out into the passage, and I saw no more of it.

I

The bed was, as usual, occupied, but I do not remember noticing any movement on the part of the occupier.

Early in the summer evening I returned from my daily work, and sat at the window to watch the sun, as, like a solitary eye of fire glowing through mist and smoke with a dim angry light, it sank down into the heart of the

great city. The blinds of the rooms opposite were drawn down, and the windows were closed, and they remained so on the following morning. But in the evening, as I watched from my window in the dusk, I saw two men coming down the street, bearing on their shoulders a coffin. They stopped at the house opposite, and carried the coffin in and up the stairs, and through the ante-room, and into that room with the bed, which was opposite to mine. I saw the shadow of it cast upon the white window blinds, for some one went first, carrying a candle.

And then I knew that there was death in the room, and that the antic which had mocked and made sport on the previous day, had mocked at the dying or the dead.

The following day was Sunday, and I was again at my window when the plain deal coffin was carried down-stairs and put into a shabby hearse. This was followed by a street cab, and one small person sprang quickly into it, closely muffled in a large black cloak. I could not tell whether this person was young or old, and could only guess whether it was man or woman; but something in the rapid resolute movements at once recalled the sheeted figure which had startled me three days before. I could not watch the house again, it was too terrible; and on the following day when I returned home, I saw that the bed had been removed, the windows were wide open, and there were new bills, announcing that the rooms were "To Let, Unfurnished."

THE MECHANICAL SEMPSTRESS.

OUR readers will doubtless remember that in a recent number of ONCE A WEEK, that of August 20th, there appeared a paper under the above title, in which the comparative merits of certain sewing machines and their application were discussed. There was no intention on the part of either Editor or writer to show any invidious preference for any particular machine beyond that which facts and the best information warranted, and subsequent inquiry has only confirmed the conviction of both of them that the statements made in this particular article were mainly and substantially just. It is necessary that the Editor should state this in declining to insert a controversial letter on the same subject in which the statements of the original paper are questioned, or rather qualified, and which would entitle the writer of the latter to an equally lengthy reply. There are obvious limits to which we can open our pages to such discussions, and we see no reason to go beyond them on the present occasion.

ED. O. A W.

glorious uncertainty of "cricket," or the law, the uncertainty of getting back from Sark is far greater.

Approaching Sark for the first time by steamer, it seems hopeless to try to land. The sea is deep, clear, and green, close up to the foot of rocks, which, like the fiords of Norway, of precipitous granite, rise before us; their height is grand to a degree; their form grander still. A heavy sea dashing against them, as it wrings and twists the seaweed clinging to their bases -the water itself effervescent, foaming, and boiling seems to defy us; at length, on the south-west side of the island, we found the boats were being lowered from the out-turned davits, and a certain bustle on deck suggested landing, but where? At last a small heap of stones was pointed out at the foot of some of the rocks, called the harbour. And how puny man's handywork seemed in the midst of such natural grandeur! What a contrast to the majesty of the unhewn rock! But getting into the boats and landing, we find ourselves on a very small piece of shingle; and then, how to get out or up? Through a small natural arch, called the Creux, is the way up to the Heights. The tail-piece to this article is a sketch taken from inside, looking towards the shingle landing place. This is the only entrance to the island. Happily for human nature, no human voice, recommending tea-gardens, shrimps, or hot water at twopence per head, "salutes the ear:" not even the simple luxury of a sanded floor at a little road-side public-house is there to welcome the stranger. This is indeed a treat, a place to be taken note of. One thing in going you must do, take your own lunch. Having obtained some information previously about the place, we immediately started for that part of the island called the "Coupée." A ground plan❘ of Sark would be somewhat like an hourglass in shape, with the western lobe smaller than the eastern. The road in the narrow neck connecting the peninsulas is about 434 feet high, width at base 300 feet, top 20 feet or 30 feet; and certainly when it blows fresh-really fresh-it takes one's best sea-legs, with cricket spikes or Tyrolese "crampons," to keep up against it. And it then takes, I should say, the nerves of a member of the Alpine Club to walk across it. It was once crossed under the most remarkable circumstances. young lady stopping in the island, was out for a ride, when something frightened the horse, which, starting off, ran away with her, and made for the Coupée. The marvel was that they were not both dashed to pieces; but the horse kept his feet, the girl her seat, and the moment they arrived on the opposite side, she swooned and fell off. Knowing the difficulty

A

of the passage, I should not have mentioned this, but as it is known to be a fact, and one which can be quoted with good authority, I thought it would add interest; besides, every place of this sort has some tradition or tale, or legend attached to it. The Rocher Bayard on the Meuse, for instance, affords a good instance.

Whilst gazing at the Coupée, one cannot but wonder that the sea has not undermined this thin-waisted natural wall-way, producing a huge freshwater-gate as a bridge between the two parts of Sark. Down on the left hand of the Coupée is an ocean cauldron, generally known as the "Pot," which Neptune seems to keep boiling; to judge from the spoon-drift and spray which come up when the sea rushes madly into concave rocks, and swells round and round, lashing itself into foam and froth till it makes itself heard as one of the roaring lions of the place. Great and majestic as this scene was, the subtlety of its beauty and grandeur was unfortunately far beyond the reach of art: although it fills the spectator with admiration, delight, and a certain awe, yet it convinces him of the very finite power he has of representing to others phases of nature which he perhaps most deeply feels himself. Working round the island to the Guernsey side we come to more fantastic forms of rocks-some, like the Needles at the Isle of Wight, but larger, are very striking; and then passing on still more to the eastward we arrive at Les Boutiques. What a horrible name for caverns. Surely they must have been christened by some ironical Frenchman, who thought it the best name for a series of caverns which belong to a nation of shopkeepers.

The rock scenery, or rockscapes, as our Transatlantic friends would call it, is certainly most varied and grand, but the great difficulty is in getting down to the shore, and if once there to get back again.

The island of Sark lies about midway between Guernsey, Jersey, and Cape Rose on the Coast of Normandy, but rather nearer to the islands than to the mainland; and though small in size, it is far from being inconsiderable. In its shape it is nearly oval, and it has another and smaller island attached to it by a narrow isthmus; but the two together are not above three miles in breadth. Sark rises high above the sea, and may be said to be regularly fortified by a rampart of steep impenetrable cliffs, so that it has but one access, which, though in itself easy and commodious, might be rendered impervious to invasion, let the enemy's force be what it will.

In point of climate this island is equal to any of the group, and the soil is so fertile that it produces more corn than sufficient for its