purchase that had been forgotten. She never
appeared again.

After waiting some time, Mrs. Clements
became alarmed, and ordered the cabman to drive
back to her lodgings. When she got there,
after an absence of rather more than half an
hour, Anne was gone.

The only information to be obtained from the
people of the house, was derived from the
servant who waited on the lodgers. She had
opened the door to a boy from the street, who
had left a letter for "the young woman who
lived on the second floor" (the part of the house
which Mrs. Clements occupied). The servant
had delivered the letter; had then gone down
stairs; and, five minutes afterwards, had
observed Anne open the front door, and go out,
dressed in her bonnet and shawl. She had
probably taken the letter with her; for it was not
to be found, and it was therefore impossible to
tell what inducement had been offered to make
her leave the house. It must have been a strong
one—for she would never stir out alone in London
of her own accord. If Mrs. Clements had
not known this by experience, nothing would
have induced her to go away in the cab, even for
so short a time as half an hour only.

As soon as she could collect her thoughts, the
first idea that naturally occurred to Mrs.
Clements, was to go and make inquiries at the
Asylum, to which she dreaded that Anne had been
taken back.

She went there the next day —- having been
informed of the locality in which the house
was situated by Anne herself. The answer
she received (her application having, in all
probability, been made a day or two before
the false Anne Catherick had really been
consigned to safe keeping in the Asylum) was, that
no such person had been brought back there.
She had then written to Mrs. Catherick, at
Welmingham, to know if she had seen or heard
anything of her daughter; and had received an
answer in the negative. After that reply had
reached her, she was at the end of her resources,
and perfectly ignorant where else to inquire,
or what else to do. From that time to this, she
had remained in total ignorance of the cause of
Anne's disappearance, and of the end of Anne's
story.

OUR EYE-WITNESS AT THE NATIONAL
GALLERY.

PROCEEDING with that examination of the
leading ornamental characteristics of our metropolis
which has included its statues, its public
buildings, and some of its private houses and
shops, we come to a consideration of a certain
collection of pictures lodged in one of the public
buildings which has been already described (not
favourably), and which collection must be looked
upon as one of the public decorative features of
London.

The British public is long-suffering and
patient. It takes, for the most part, what is given
to it, and bears what is inflicted on it, with a
gentle acquiescence. So long as it is allowed
to yawn occasionally, and to change frequently
its supporting leg from the right to the left
and back again, it will submit to almost any
amount of boring that its tormentors think
proper to inflict. The public is, in the mass,
reverential, and has an implicit confidence—
Heaven help it! —- in professors. When Professor Conkey tells it that it must go through a
collection of ten thousand cases full of shells ;
when Professor Pradam commands its attention
to a similar number of fossils ; when Professor
Fluffy commands it to contemplate a million or
two of moths, every grain of whose down
becomes at last a weight of tons upon the
spectators' spirits, the public "supposes it is all
right," and does as it is bid.

But, O much-enduring and sweet-tempered
public! you are none the less taken in and
cruelly dealt with. Professor Fudge, known as
the Eye-witness, is determined to turn king's
evidence upon all other professors, and to
implore you to throw their yoke off, to think for
yourselves, and to become emancipated once
and for ever from a blind allegiance to "collections."

It is pitiful to see how, when a solemn
professor —- suppose we call him Waghorn—- when a
solemn Professor Waghorn tells the public he is
going to enunciate an opinion, the public " waits
for the Waghorn," and believes implicitly. What
your Eye-witness has to propose, by way of
remedy, is a simple and easily organised arrangement.
He proposes that in all collections of
scientific and artistic treasures, there shall be
two departments: one for the public, containing
the things which it gives that public pleasure to
see; one for the professors, consisting of all the
boring things which it gives the public pain to
see; and that for these last, THE PROFESSORS
THEMSELVES SHALL PAY.

Now, this question concerning the national
collection of pictures in Trafalgar-square being
one of considerable importance, your Eye-witness
desires to give in his report, rather in the
form of legal evidence, than in any less exact
manner. He will suppose himself, with the
reader's permission, in a witness-box before a
Jury, consisting of the whole of his fellow-
countrymen; Professor Waghorn, and the ghost
of Sir George Beaumont on the bench. The
evidence given by the Eye-witness—- who mounts
the witness-box with a catalogue of the national
collection in his hand, and who presents rather a
worn appearance (in consequence, probably, of
his recent endurances)—- is to this effect:

His name is Fudge —- David Fudge. His
residence is at No. 2, Lumbago-terrace. Has had
a long and careful Art-education, and has been
engaged, during a great period of his life, in Art-
studies. Considers himself, therefore, qualified
to give an opinion on matters connected with the
Fine Arts. Has been to the National Gallery.
Has been recently—- yesterday in fact. Thinks
there are some very noble pictures in that
collection. Thinks, also, that there is a great deal
of rubbish. (Shudder through the frame of the