744 the rope, which hangs like a white streak against the black rocks, and hand over hand go up, and stand once more at the end of the gallery, and leaving a candleend burning at the place of descent, steer for the upper main cavern. For some moments we cannot find the way out, so filled up with gravel is it; and we begin to half-fancy we must have made a mistake and taken the wrong turn; but a second careful search shows the opening, and we speedily scramble through, and then turn down for the head of the cascade. Here we find a new state of affairs, for, instead of boldly springing over the edge of the precipice, the water has forced its way through the floor, leaving a bank across the line of its old leap. On examination, this is found to consist of shingle, held in position by a great tree, which some flood has carried down and wedged like a dam across the channel, to catch and hold everything which the stream washes against it; and the water itself, headed back by it, has made a way down a fissure in the limestone. The sun is sinking in a purple sea of cloud as we come out into daylight, and the scent of new-mown hay is wafted on the rising breeze as we climb the bank of the dry channel and set out in the hazy evening, homeward bound. Thus a fourth attempt to get through Goyden has failed, and the question we now discuss is, can it ever be done? The results of this last venture are, it must be owned, rather discouraging. Evidently there is a large deposit of gravel spread over a considerable distance, which every "fresh" adds to; and when we come to think that no flood-debris of any moment is washed out at the lower openings below Lofthouse, and that there are no bars or shingle beds formed near these outlets, we are led to fear that for a long length somewhere the subterranean passage is pretty effectually blocked. Perhaps it is even silting up; and a succession of heavy floods may in coming years so choke the channel that the Nidd, instead of diving out of sight for nearly three miles, will once more roll its brown waters along its ancient bed in the open air between ash fringed banks and limestone scaurs. Be this as it may, it will take more than another exploration to satisfy us that the passage of Goyden Pot is impracticable; and until the new-found subterranean lakelet is proved to have no second outlet, we still cherish the hope of being able to follow the river Nidd throughout its three miles of hidden passage. From Longman's Magazine. THE LOST CONSCIENCE. CONSCIENCE was lost; but things went on as before. The streets and theatres were always crowded, men went about their business as usual, stirred by the same ambitions; and if a good thing came in their way, each still struggled to be the first to snap it up. No one noticed that something had suddenly disappeared, that in the great orchestra of life one flute had ceased to play. Some people even began to feel themselves more free and more at ease in their minds; they walked with a lighter step, and understood better the joy of tripping up a neighbor, the delight of flattering, cringing, deceiving, lying, and slandering. It seemed as if all the difficulties of life had been done away with by magic. Men did not walk the common earth, they felt themselves carried along above it ; nothing affected them, nothing made them stop to think. Everything, present and future, seemed to belong to these happy people who had lost conscience without even knowing their loss. It had disappeared suddenly — in an instant. Yesterday conscience had been there, visible to all eyes, a tedious hangeron, always demanding attention, and now suddenly its place was empty. Many troublesome ideas had disappeared with it, and particularly that moral discomfort which attends an inner monitor. Now, nothing was left to hinder men from floating down the stream of life enjoying all the pleasures that came in their way. The children of this world felt that they had shaken off the last chain which bound them; and it is needless to say that they hastened to enjoy their liberty. Now came the opportunity of the violent. Nothing was heard of but crime and robbery, and a general ruin began. Meanwhile the unfortunate conscience lay bruised and trodden under foot in the highway, every one kicking it as he passed. Men walked over it as they would have done over any other miserable rag, wondering how it was that such a thing was allowed to lie in the busiest thoroughfare of a well-ordered town, in broad daylight. Heaven knows that the poor outcast might have lain there long enough, but for a wretched drunkard, who, after eying it stupidly, picked it up, in the hope that he might be able to sell it for a glass of brandy. All at once, he felt a sort of From the Russian of Chtchédrine. Translated by Ed. O'Farell. Paris: Librairie des Bibliophiles. 1881. at other times he had been encumbered with heavy chains, but to-day their weight was doubled because he understood clearly what chains they were. Our drunkard began to shed idle tears; the worthy folk who were passing promptly gathered round him, declaring that nothing but drink was the matter with him. "My friends, I cannot help crying," said the unhappy drunkard; "it is too much for me," and the people shouted with laughter. They did not perceive that he had never been more sober than at this moment, and that he had really made a discovery which was breaking his heart. If this crowd had made a similar discov ery itself, it would certainly have understood that a sorrow's crown of sorrow is to find one's conscience when one least expects it; it would have realized that it also was as degraded in mind and body as the drunkard who was bemoaning himself before it. "No," said the wretched creature, "I must rid myself of this, cost what it may, or I am done for," and he prepared at once to throw his windfall into the road, but was prevented from doing so by a policeman, who said, shaking his finger at him,— electric shock through his whole being. He looked about him confusedly, and felt that the fumes of wine were clearing away from his brain. Little by little there came back to him the bitter knowledge of his real condition a knowledge from which he had escaped at the price of drowning all his energies in drink. At first he felt nothing but fear, that unreasoning fear which sometimes seizes a man when he is dimly aware that some danger threatens him. Then his memory awoke; then his imagination began to speak. From the darkness of the shameful past his pitiless memory recalled every deed of violence, treachery, and injustice of which he had been guilty, everything that marked the degradation of his soul, while his imagination gave fresh life to all the details. At last he had awakened from his long sleep, but only to find himself in a court of justice, where he was at once judge and prisoner. His past life seemed to the miserable drunkard one long crime, one perpetual shame. It was not after question, examination, and analysis that this became clear to him, the first glance was enough. He saw his own degradation, and felt a thousand times more severely punished by this tribunal which he had himself set up, and before which his own will had brought him, than he could have been by the harshest human judgment. He would not even plead in extenuation that the greater part of this past life, which he so deplored, had been beyond his control-degraded, miserable drunkard that he was; that a mysterious power had cast him into this world, and driven him through it, as a hurricane, whirling across the steppes, drives before it a slender blade of grass. What was his past life? Why had it taken that course and not another? And he himself, what was he? These were questions to which there was no answer. He was only conscious of complete ignorance and deep Some seconds passed before Prokoritch astonishment. And now that conscience opened his drowsy eyes; then he felt a had found him, what good could she do? cold shudder pass over him. He had a Had she come merely to ask him merci- sort of vision that he was carrying on his less questions, to which there was no business without a proper license; but answer? Had she visited this ruined after a sharp look round he saw that he dwelling only to revive in it its former had all the papers the blue, the yellow, life? But then, ruined as it was, such aand the green - demanded by the author. shock would be more than it could bear.ities. Then he glanced at the scrap of Alas! Conscience awakened brought nei- paper that he found in his hand, and ther hope nor peace, she only shook off seemed to recognize it. her lethargy to lead him into a court, where his plea of guilty led to no punishment. Formerly he had lived surrounded by a mist; to-day there was the same mist, but it was thronged with faces dire; "See here, my good fellow, it strikes me that you are looking out for a chance of distributing revolutionary pamphlets on the sly. We'll soon have you in the lockup." The drunkard hastily hid his find in his pocket, and made off. He went stealthily, looking round to see that no one was watching him, towards the wineshop of an old acquaintance of his named Prokoritch. Before going in he peeped carefully through the window, and seeing that there were no customers in the shop, and that Prokoritch was dozing behind his counter, he opened the door quickly, ran in, and, without giving Prokoritch time to recognize him, thrust into his hand the terrible find, and fled. "Ah! ab!" said he, "it's the same mor. sel that I got rid of with so much difficulty just before I bought my license; yes, it's the very same." When he was satisfied on this point, he soon came to the conclusion that his ruin was a certain thing. This is the argument that he followed, as it were, mechanically. "A man is in business, this pest falls upon him; there's an end of it. No more business for him." Seized with a fear hitherto unknown to him, he began to tremble and grow pale. Conscience, awakened in him, murmured, "No, no; it won't do to go on letting the poor people make themselves shamefully tipsy.' Beside himself with terror, he called his wife, Arina Ivanovna, to his assistance. Arina Ivanovna ran to him; but no sooner did she recognize the involuntary acquisition made by Prokoritch, than she cried out in great excitement, 66 Help! Police! Stop thief!" Why am I to be instantly ruined through this miserable thing?" said Prokoritch to himself, wondering who had passed it on to him. Meanwhile, by degrees, the tavern filled with people; but Prokoritch, instead of serving his customers with his usual good-will, astonished them profoundly by not only refusing to sell them any wine, but also by pointing out to them, in the most touching way, that for the poor all misfortunes began through drink. "If," said he, through his tears, 66 you would be satisfied with one little glass, that would be all very well-it would even be a good thing for you; but your only idea is to take every possible opportunity of swallowing whole caskfuls, and then what happens? You get drunk, they run you in, and you get a hundred lashes for your trouble. Consider, my friends, is it worth while to go through all this, and spend all your earnings upon a stupid fellow like me into the bargain?” "Why, Prokoritch, you must be mad!" said all his astonished customers. "That's not very surprising, my friends. when one is suffering from a misfortune such as has befallen me," answered Prokoritch. See for yourselves the sort of license I have received," and he showed them the conscience which the drunkard had thrust upon him, and asked if any one of them would like to have it. But as soon as they saw what it was, the question became, who could get to the most respectful distance from it, and no one seemed in any hurry to accept the offer. "You see the grand license, who will have it?" repeated Prokoritch, getting "My friends, this is what I think; there is only one thing left for me to do, that is to die. I no longer wish to deceive my neighbors, or to make the poor people intoxicated with brandy. Therefore, what is left to me but to die?" "He is right," his customers said, laughing at him. "I even have an idea," continued Prokoritch, "that I should like to break all the bottles you see round you, and let the contents of the casks run into the next canal, to get rid of the temptation to drink." Here Arina Ivanovna broke in with the simple words, 66 Just try one or two, and see." Her heart, it was evident, had not been touched by the divine gift which had so suddenly descended upon Prokoritch. But it was not easy to check him; he went on shedding bitter tears and talking continually. When a misfortune like mine overtakes a man," he said, "it's his fate, he was born to be unlucky. In thinking over his position, in trying to place himself, he would not dare to say, I am a trader,' or I am a merchant.' He could not do so without deep uneasiness. He would simply have to say, 'I am an unlucky wretch.'" And during the whole day Prokoritch gave himself up to these flights of philosophy, for though Arina Ivanovna resolutely opposed her husband's idea of breaking the bottles and pouring their contents into the canal, still they did not sell any wine. Towards evening Prokoritch's sadness wore off, he became even gay; and as he went to bed he said to Arina Ivanovna, who was crying, "Well, my dear wife, though we have gained nothing to-day, what does that matter? How light one feels when one has a clear conscience!" And, indeed, he was asleep almost before his head touched his pillow; slumbering peacefully and not even snoring, whereas in the days when he made money and had no conscience he invariably snored. Arina Ivanovna, however, saw things in a somewhat different light. She understood very clearly that for a tavern-keeper conscience was by no means an agreeable acquisition, or one likely to be profitable, so she made up her mind that at any price this unwelcome guest must be got rid of. She waited patiently all that night, but hardly had the dawn begun to appear through the dusty windows of the tavern, when she softly stole the conscience from her sleeping husband and hastened outing, meanwhile, the number of bags, made with it into the street. of lime-tree bark, that he might be expected to bring in with him; for as a rule he took plenty of these out, and brought them back full of his pilferings. But today he returned without a single bag. On perceiving this Madame Lovets lost her temper at once, and darting up to her husband she said, It happened to be market-day, the carts of the country folk were already coming in, one after another, and Lovets, the police inspector, himself was hastening to the market-place to see that everything went on in proper order. When she saw him Arina Ivanovna had what seemed to her a brilliant idea. She ran after him until she was breathless, and, as soon as she had overtaken him, with surprising dexterity she slipped the conscience into the pocket of his overcoat without his knowing it. This Lovets was not an absolutely shameless rogue, but as he was not particular he indulged pretty freely in various little malpractices. His manner was not insolent, but he was gifted with a too inquisitive glance. He had not had a hand in any very discreditable affair, but he snapped up willingly anything that came. within his reach. In short, he was a very respectable rogue. But now, all at once, this man began to turn over a new leaf! When he reached the market place he realized that all the goods in the carts and shops or upon the stalls did not belong to him, but to other people. Never before had he been conscious of this feeling. He rubbed his eyes, saying to himself, "Am 1 ill? All this must be a dream!" He went up to a cart meaning to help himself to some of its contents, but his arms hung powerless at his sides. He moved towards another intending to pull the beard of a moujik, but to his horror his hands remained clenched. Then he was terrified and said to himself, "What is the matter with me? I shall be ruining my profession forever. It will be better for me to go home as I seem to have taken leave of my senses!" Hoping always that this mysterious affliction would presently pass away, he walked through the market looking about him. It was crowded with all sorts of things, above all he noticed much poultry, and everything seemed to say to him, "You have only to stoop down and help yourself." The country people, however, became bolder, seeing that our friend was not going on as usual, and that he contented himself with looking very hard at their goods. They even dared to make fun of him, calling him “Niigaud Niigaudovitch" (son of a simpleton). "No, I have some unheard-of illness," said Lovets to himself, and he went home empty-handed. His wife was waiting for him, calculat 66 began repeated Oh, very well, then, let your conscience feed you till next market-day. I have nothing to give you for dinner," Madame Lovets declared. Lovets hung his head, for he knew this was an argument to which he had no answer. He took off his overcoat, and immedi ately his ideas changed entirely. Conscience remained in the pocket of the coat hung upon the wall, and Lovets at once felt light and free and more like himself. Once more it seemed to him that nothing in the world belonged to other people; that it was all his by right. The aptitude for appropriating and consuming everything came back to him. "Ah! ah! my good friends, now you won't get off so easily,” he cried, rubbing his hands; and he promptly put on his coat again, to hasten back to the market. But, strangely enough, he had scarcely got it on when his impulse stopped short. He seemed to himself to be two men. One, without the overcoat, impudent and unscrupulous; the other, with it, timid and modest. Although he found himself animated by the best intentions, he did not give up his idea of going back to the market. "Per haps," he thought, "I may end by getting the better of it." But the nearer he got to the market, the faster his heart beat and the more he felt impelled to show some kindness to all these poor people, who worked in the rain and mud from morning to night to gain two copecks. He no longer thought of taking other people's property. On the contrary, he felt his purse a burden to him now he realized that it contained, not his money, but his neighbors'. "Here are fifteen copecks for you, friend," he said to a peasant, giving him the money. "Why do you give it to me, simple. ton? " "It is to make up for my former injustices. Pardon me, for the love of God." "May God forgive you, then." In this way he went through the market, giving away all his money, and when it came to an end he no doubt felt a great weight lifted from his mind. Nevertheless he became very thoughtful. ," "I have certainly caught some illness,' he said again to himself. "I had better go home, and I can take the opportunity of collecting together all the poor I meet by the way, and giving them a meal; "and he proceeded to do as he had said. He picked up numbers of beggars on the road, and brought them into his courtyard. At the sight of them Madame Lovets held up her hands in horror, asking what he would do next. Lovets came up to her and said in a caressing tone, "Just see these good people whom I have brought you, my little Theodosia. Feed them, for the love of God." But he had hardly time to hang his coat upon the peg, when he again felt clear of all impediments. Seeing from the window all the beggars of the town assembled in his courtyard, he could not understand what they meant by coming there. What were they come for? Would he have to go out and beat them all? scrap of dirty, oily paper. As soon as she had unfolded this paper, she cried out, "Ah, here's an explanation of the tricks he has been playing us; he had conscience in his pocket," and she began to think. What puzzled her was how to get rid of conscience, and to whom she could pass it on. She did not wish to crush with one blow whoever she should choose as the victim, but only to cause him a little temporary inconvenience. After some consideration she made up her mind that she had better bestow conscience upon the Jew banker, Brjotski, the promoter of great commercial enterprises, and director of innumerable railway companies. "His back is broad enough, at any rate," she said to herself, "it won't hurt him." Having decided this, she slipped conscience carefully into a stamped envelope, upon which she wrote Brjotski's name and address, and then threw it into the letterbox. 66 'Now," she said, going back to her husband, "you can go to the market boldly." Brjotski was seated at dinner surrounded by his family. One of his sons, a boy ten years old, was next him; this child was pondering over banking transactions. "What are all these people doing "What would happen, father," he said, here?" he asked, going towards the court-"if I invested the money you have given yard. me at twenty per cent. a month? How much should I have at the end of the year?" "What? All these people? They are the worthy vagabonds you have just told me to feed," replied Madame Lovets dryly. "Let them be turned out this minute," he cried angrily; and he rushed about the house like a madman. He paced up and down the rooms a long time, repeating incessantly, "What can have happened to me?" How was it that a man who used to be exact, even fierce, in the fulfilment of his professional duties, had suddenly become limp as a rag? 66 "Theodosia Petrovna, my good woman, for Heaven's sake have me tied up," he entreated. "I feel that to-day I am capable of committing follies which it would take a year to repair." Madame Lovets saw that her husband must be very ill indeed. So she put him to bed and made him swallow a hot draught. After about a quarter of an hour it occurred to her to go and search the pockets of her husband's coat, to see if he had a copeck left. One of them contained an empty purse; in the other she found a "At simple or compound interest?" asked Brjotski. "Oh, compound interest, of course." "At compound interest that would come to forty-five roubles and seventy-nine copecks, not counting the fractions." 66 Then, father, I shall invest it like that." "Invest it by all means, my boy, but take care that you get a very good security." On the other side of the table sat another of Brjotski's sons, who was seven years old. He also was occupied with an elementary problem in mental arithmetic. Further off sat two more, who were both engaged in calculating the amount of interest one owed to the other on a loan of sugar-candy. Opposite Brjotski, his beautiful wife sat in state, holding in her arms her baby girl, who already clutched instinctively at her mother's gold bracelets. In short Brjotski was a happy man. He was just tasting a new sauce, so delicious that he would |