o call it?"

"_My Tenant_."

For a moment she seemed to be puzzled. "But I mean the other," said
she, nodding towards the manuscript in my hand.

"Indeed, that is its name," said I, and showed her the title on the
first page. "And I've a really splendid idea for the third act," I
added, as we shook hands.

I mounted the stairs to my room, tossed the manuscript into a chair,
and began to wind up my watch.

"But this other wants a third act too!" I told myself suddenly.

You will observe that once or twice in the course of this narrative
my pen has slipped and inadvertently called Miss Jarmayne "Clara."

THE RIDER IN THE DAWN.

_A passage from the Memoirs of Manuel (or Manus) McNeill, agent in the
Secret Service of Great Britain during the campaigns of the Peninsula
(1808-1813). A Spanish subject by birth, and a Spaniard in all his
up-bringing, he traces in the first chapter of his Memoirs his descent
from an old Highland family through one Mantis McNeill, a Jacobite agent
in the Court of Madrid at the time of the War of Succession, who married
and settled at Aranjuez. The second chapter he devotes to his youthful
adventures in the contraband trade on the Biscayan Coast and the French
frontier, his capture and imprisonment at Bilbao under a two years'
sentence, which was remitted on the discovery of his familiar and
inherited conversance with the English tongue, and his imprisonment
exchanged for a secret mission to Corsica (1794). The following extract
tells of this, his first essay in the calling in which he afterwards
rendered signal service to the Allies under Lord Wellington.--Q._

If I take small pleasure in remembering this youthful expedition it is not
because I failed of success. It was a fool's errand from start to finish;
and the Minister, Don Manuel Godoy, never meant or expected it to succeed,
but furthered it only to keep his master in humour. You must know that
just at this time, May, 1794, the English troops and Paoli's native
patriots were between them dislodging the French from the last few towns
to which they yet clung on the Corsican coast. Paoli held all the
interior: the British fleet commanded the sea and from it hammered the
garrisons; and, in short, the French game was up. But now came the
question, What would happen when they evacuated the island? Some believed
that Paoli would continue in command of his little republic, others that
the crown would be offered to King G