Madame Roland (Mathilde Blind), 333.-Madonna of the Tubs, The (Elizabeth Stuart Phelps), New Rendering of the Psalms, A, (John De Witt, D. D.), 111.-Norway, The Story of, (Boyesen), 444.-Not in the Prospectus (Parke Danforth), 327. Old Doctor, The, 439.-Old Salem (Eleanor Putnam), 224.-One Thing Needful, The (M. E. Braddon), 439.-Ottilie and The Prince of the One Hundred Soups (Vernon Lee), 439.- Outlines of Universal History, 445. Pearl Series, 668.-Pere Goriot (Balzac), 99.-Peterkin Papers, The, 668.-Phelps's (Elizabeth Stuart) Burglars in Paradise, 107; The Madonna of the Tubs, 668.-Poetry as a Representa- tive Art (Raymond), 221.-Pomegranate Seed, 325.-Poverty Grass (Lillie Chace Wyman), 439.-Prince Otto (R. L. Stevenson), 328.-Prose Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Recent Fiction, 99, 325, 435..-Riverside Museum, The, 670.-Riverside Pocket Series; Watch Salammbo (Gustave Flaubert), 102.-Santa Barbara (Edwards Roberts), 560.-Schiller's Ausgewählte Briefe, 559.-Signs and Seasons (John Burroughs), 220.-Southern California, (Theodore S. Van Dyke), 673.-Stevenson's (Robert Louis) Kidnapped, 328; Prince Otto, 328.--Story of Don Miff, The (Virginius Dabney), 326.-Story of the Nations, The: Carthage (Church and Gilman), 672; Germany (Baring, Gould and Gilman), 444; Hungary (Vam- béry), 672; Norway (Boyesen), 444; Spain (E. E. Hale and Susan Hale), 444.-St. John's Eve (Gogol), 437.-Studies in Shakspere (R. Grant White), 331.-Study of Dante, A (Susan Tales of Eccentric Life (Hammond and Lanza), 325.--Taras Bulba (Gogol), 438.-Tcherny- Vambéry's, The Story of Hungary, 672.-Vedder's Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam, 668. War and Peace (Tolstoï), 436.-What's to be Done? (Tchernychewsky), 106.-White Heron, A Young People's Histories, 443.-Young People's History of England, 445. Building of a State, The: IX. The Mechanic's In- The English Crisis.-The Suggestion of Federation..... Magazines and Great Public Questions.--The Riparian Discussion.-The San Francisco Boys' The State Campaign.-The Municipal Tickets.-The Prohibition Movement.-The Labor Movement. The American Movement.-The Independent Movements.-Women upon the The Chief Need of Observatories.—Mr. Lowell and Charles Francis Adams.—The Elections.— 664 III. CHATA AND CHINITA. A NOVEL OF MEXICAN Life. It is not to be supposed that this bloody deed occurred entirely unsuspected. Pedro, the gatekeeper, lay half-stunned upon the stones, where he had been cast by the man who called himself Planillos, and listened with strained ears to every sound. No indication of a struggle reached him, but his horrified imagination formed innumerable pictures of treacherous violence, in which one or the other of the men who had left him figured as the victim. He dared give no alarm; indeed, at first he was so un. nerved by terror that he could neither stir nor speak. At length, after what appeared to him hours, but was in reality only a few minutes, he heard the shrill neigh of the horse, and the sound of rearing and plunging, followed by the dull thud of retreating footsteps, and shrill whistles in challenge and answer from the watchmen upon the hacienda roof, who, however, took no further steps towards investigating the drunken brawl, which had taken place, almost out of hearing, and quite out of sight, and which there fore, as they conceived, could in no wise endanger the safety or peace of the hacienda. Their signals, however, served to arouse Pedro, who, shaking in every limb, his brain reeling, his heart bursting with apprehension, crawled to the postern, and after many abor-/ tive efforts managed to secure the bolts. He then staggered to the alcove in which he slept, and searching beneath the sheepskin mat which served for his bed, found a small flask of aguardiente, and taking a deep draught of the fiery liquor, little by little recovered his outward composure. No more for that night, however, did sleep visit his eyes; and he spent the hour before dawn in making to himself wild excuses for his treason, in wilder projects for flight, and in mentally recapitulating his sins, and preparing himself for death; so it can readily be imagined that it was a haggard and distraught countenance that he thrust forth from the postern at dawn, when with the first streak of light came a crowd of excited villagers to the gate, to beat upon it wildly, and with hoarse groans and cries to announce that Don Juan had been found murdered under a mesquite tree ! VOL. VIII.-1. (Copyright, 1886, by OVERLAND MONTHLY CO. All Rights Reserved.) "Impossible! Ye are mad! Anselmo, thou art drunk-raving!" stammered forth the gatekeeper. "Don Juan is at the hacienda de beneficio." "Thou liest!" cried an excited villager; "he is in purgatory! God help him! Holy angels and all saints pray for him!" "Ave Maria! Mother of Sorrows, by the five wounds of thy Son, intercede for him!" cried a chorus of women, wringing their hands, and gesticulating distractedly. "Open the gate, Pedro!" demanded the throng without; by this time almost equaled by that within, through which the administrador, Don Rafael Gomez, was seen for cing his way, holding high the great keys of the main door. He was a small man, with a pale but determined face, before whom the crowd fell back, ceasing for a moment their incoherent lamentations, while he helped Pedro to unlock and throw open the doors. "Good Heavens, man, are you mad?" he exclaimed, as Pedro darted from his side, and rushed towards the group of rancheros, who, bearing between them a recumbent form, were slowly approaching the hacienda. "Ah! Ah, that is right!" as he saw that Pedro, with imperative gestures and a few expressive words, had induced the bearers to turn, and proceed with the body towards the hacienda de beneficio. "Better there than here. What could have induced him to roam about at night? I have told him a score of times his foolhardiness would be the death of him!" and with these and similar ejaculations Don Rafael hastened to join the throng by this time pouring into the gates of the hacienda de beneficio. Meanwhile came from within the great house the cries of women, above which rose one piercing shriek; but few were there to hear it, for in wild excitement, men, women, and children followed the corpse to the hacienda, thronging the gates, which were closed in their faces, or surrounding with gaping looks, wild gesticulations, and meaningless inquiries the tree beneath which the murdered man had been found, thus completely obliterating the signs of the struggle, and flight of the murderer, even while most eagerly seeking them. John Ashley had been an alien, and a heretic. No longer ago than yesterday, there had been many a lip to murmur at his foreign ways. In all the history of the hacienda de beneficio never had there been known a master so exacting with the laborer, so rigorous with the dishonest, so harsh with the careless; yet he had been withal as generous and just as he was severe. The people had been ready to murmur, yet in their secret hearts they respected and even loved the young Ingles, who knew how to govern them, and to gain from them a fair amount of work, for a fair and promptly paid wage; and who, from a half ruinous, ill-managed source of vexation and loss, was surely but slowly evolving order and the promise of prosperity. The bearers and the crowd of laborers belonging to the reduction works were admitted with their burden, and as they passed into the large and scantily furnished room which John Ashley had called his own, they reverently pulled off their wide, ragged straw hats, and many a lip moved in prayer as the people, for a moment awed into silence, crowded around to view the corpse, which had been laid upon a low, narrow bed, with a striped jorongo thrown over it. As the coarse covering was thrown back, a woeful. sight was seen. The tall, lithe figure, the straight features, the downy beard shading cheeks and lips of adolescent softness, the long lashes of the eyelids now closed forever, and the fair curls resting upon the marble brow, all showed how comely he had been. The women burst into fresh lamentations, the men muttered threats of vengeance. But who was the murderer? Ay, there was the mystery. "He has a mother far off across the sea," said a woman, brokenly. "Ay, and sisters," added another; "he bade us remember them when we drank to his health, on his saint's day. In my country we keep birthdays,' he said—I suppose, poor gentleman, he meant the saints had never learned his barbarous tongue-and |