Packing her jewels and valuables in a portmanteau, she left her house. When her husband returned at night the wife of his bosom was gone; neither did she return. He was disconsolate, and sought her sorrowing. Some miles away she had a poor widowed sister, and there the old woman found shelter. But there paralysis seized her, and a doctor had to be called in. He acted in the double capacity of doctor and lawyer, for he drew up a will, put a pen into her hands, and guided her gently while she signed it. "All her worldly goods were left to her sister." Ultimately the husband found out where she was located, and frequently called at the house, but the door was barred against him. It was winter-time, and the snow lay on the ground. At midnight a cab drew softly up to the house where the old woman lay. Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door, and the sister came down to answer. Thoughtlessly she opened the door, when she was seized by two men, who locked her in the front parlour while they ran upstairs, rolled the old woman in warm blankets, carried her to the cab, and away they went. A nice room and another doctor were awaiting her. Another will was drawn up, which the old woman signed. "All her worldly goods were left to her dear husband." Next morning the sister applied for a summons against the young husband, but the magistrate decided that the man had a right to run away with his own wife. All might have gone merrily for the husband, but the old lady died. The sister went to the police, who arrested him for causing his wife's death. For many days the case was before the court, half a dozen doctors on each side expressing very decided opinions. Ultimately he was committed for trial. Doctors and counsel galore were concerned, but the jury acquitted him at last. And then came another trial. Counsel and doctors were again concerned. Which will was to stand? I don't know how they settled it, but one thing I am sure about--when the doctors and lawyers had got their share, and the counsel had had a good picking, there was not much left for the loving husband and the dear sister. Since writing the above, the following paragraphs have appeared in the daily press: "WIDOWER'S PATHETIC PLIGHT. "'My wife is lying dead in the house, and the landlord threatens to eject me at twelve o'clock if I am not out. What can I do?' Thus asked a respectable-looking working man of Mr. d'Eyncourt at Clerkenwell Police-Court. 'Has he given you notice?' 'Yes; but how can I go just now? The funeral is to-morrow, and I have offered to go on Wednesday, but he says he will put me in the street to-day.' 'Well, he's legally entitled to do so, I am afraid. I can do nothing.' 'I thought that perhaps you might ask him to let me stay for a day or two.' 'No, that is a matter for you. I cannot interfere,' the magistrate observed in conclusion." "LONDON LAND WITHOUT AN OWNER.