Wild Rose (A Standalone Reverse

Harem Paranormal Romance) Michaela

Haze
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/wild-rose-a-standalone-reverse-harem-paranormal-ro
mance-michaela-haze/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Blood Rush: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (Love &

Judgment - Book 1) Michaela Haze

https://ebookmass.com/product/blood-rush-a-reverse-harem-
paranormal-romance-love-judgment-book-1-michaela-haze/

Fateful Allure: A Standalone Reverse Harem Novel

Jessica Sorensen

https://ebookmass.com/product/fateful-allure-a-standalone-
reverse-harem-novel-jessica-sorensen/

Sacrificial Sinners: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance

(Blackwood Institute Book 2) J Rose

https://ebookmass.com/product/sacrificial-sinners-a-dark-reverse-
harem-romance-blackwood-institute-book-2-j-rose/

Skeletal Hearts: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Sabre

Security Book 2) J Rose

https://ebookmass.com/product/skeletal-hearts-a-dark-reverse-
harem-romance-sabre-security-book-2-j-rose/
Blood Oath: A Paranormal Reverse Harem Romance (Cursed
Legacies Book 1) Morgan B Lee

https://ebookmass.com/product/blood-oath-a-paranormal-reverse-
harem-romance-cursed-legacies-book-1-morgan-b-lee/

The Librarian's Monsters: A Monster Reverse Harem

Standalone (Books & Monsters) Eve Newton

https://ebookmass.com/product/the-librarians-monsters-a-monster-
reverse-harem-standalone-books-monsters-eve-newton/

The Inheritance: A Reverse Harem Romance Cassie Cole

https://ebookmass.com/product/the-inheritance-a-reverse-harem-
romance-cassie-cole/

Rolling with my Stepbrothers: A Reverse Harem Romance

Sylvie Haas

https://ebookmass.com/product/rolling-with-my-stepbrothers-a-
reverse-harem-romance-sylvie-haas/

Bosses With Benefits: A Reverse Harem Romance Cassie

Cole

https://ebookmass.com/product/bosses-with-benefits-a-reverse-
harem-romance-cassie-cole/
WILD ROSE
By Michaela Haze
 WILD ROSE
Originally published in the United States/United Kingdom in 2023 by
DIRTY JEANS PUBLISHING
www.michaelahaze.com
Copyright © Michaela Haze 2023
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. All
characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
 WILD ROSE
My twin sister, Lexi, is a null Witch and the toughest B this side of the Red City. She's got the whole
bounty hunter/mercenary thing down.
Me?
I'm more at home in a greenhouse than in a dive bar.
I tend to my garden, not to my muscles.
When Lexi goes missing just hours before her biggest job yet, a career-changing gig as the head of
security for a band called The Elementals, it's up to me to step up. All I have to do is pretend to be
Lexi for three tour stops.
Easy Sweet Pea-zy, right?
Well... no.
Turns out, The Elementals have a stalker.
Coupled with death threats and numerous people on their tour going missing, I've walked into
something that I am hilariously ill-equipped for.
I've got to find out who's behind the threats to save my sister, but I didn't expect to actually care about
the four big lugs in the band-- four men that think they are Gaia's gift to the world.
I know I'm going to get my heart broken,
They think I'm my sister, and everyone falls in love with Lexi.
Just once, I wished they would fall in love with me.

**Wild Rose is a slow burn, reverse harem, standalone, paranormal romance novel. It contains
scenes of MM, MFM, and multiple partner relations**
 PREFACE

The little girl scrambled across the dirt as she searched for a weapon.
A rock. A stick. Anything she could use to fight off the other children as they hugged her legs.
Their fists were filled with a foul-smelling collection of herbs—no doubt stolen from one of their
Witch parents—ready to stuff in the little girl's mouth to smother her pitiful cries.
“Show us your magic.” Cassie Whitney sneered. “Prove you’re not a null like your sister!”
A chorus of agreement rose up from the other children.
The little girl sniffed and turned her face away. Her cheek brushed the dry grass as she bit
back a sob. She wanted to show them so badly, but her Mama said she could never tell.
“Rosie Rosie, born of two, the ugly girl, through and through!” One of the boys jeered.
“That was pretty good!” Cassie sat back and smirked.
The other children took up the rhyme, forming a chorus of small voices.
The little girl’s blood felt like a tumultuous sea. Roaring and crashing against her eardrums.
She wanted to hurt Cassie Whitney, but she didn’t know how.
“Hey!” A voice called through the clearing.
All the children looked up as her sister Lexi stepped out from the trees. The little girl’s twin
lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. “You get!” Lexi shouted. “Or I’ll steal your magic and feed it
to the dogs!”
None of the children knew if Lexi could do such a thing, but they didn’t have to be told twice.
They raced from the clearing as fast as their little legs could carry them.
The only one that stopped to look back was Cassie Whitney, her eyes narrowed as she studied
the twins. Taking their measure before deciding the fight wasn’t worth it and walking away.
Lexi bent down to help her sister, but Rosie shoved her hands away. Tears continued to fall
from Rosie’s face, mixing with the snot on her upper lip.
“It’s all your fault.” Rosie wailed, banging her fists on the ground before standing up. Her new
dress was ruined, and she had been so excited to wear it to school—now it was covered in grass
stains.
“Rosie—” Lexi moved forward, concern in her eyes.
Rosie pushed her away so hard that Lexi fell down on her butt.
“It’s all your fault for being a null. Why couldn’t you just be normal? They’re taking it out on
me because they’re scared of you.”
“You pushed me,” Lexi said numbly, her eyes round with shock.
Rosie growled. “You stay away from me, y’hear?” The little girl turned and raced away, her
pigtails bouncing off her shoulders as she ran back to the house.
Rosie found her Mama in the kitchen, staring down at her teacup with her lips pursed and her brow
furrowed. Rosie never knew what her Mama saw, but it was safe to say that Mama saw a lot more
than two eyes would allow. Rosie knew she was in trouble when her Mama’s eyes lifted to meet hers.
“Mama—”
“Don’t you ever push your sister.” Her voice could have frozen a lake.
“But she—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Rose Prudence Boudaire.” Her mother's voice brokered no argument.
Rosie sniffed away the residue of her tears before wiping her cheek with the sleeve of her
grass-stained cardigan. “The other kids were bullying me,” Rosie said weakly.
Her mother shifted in her chair until she faced her youngest child. “You wanna be a null like
your sister?” She narrowed her cornflower blue eyes.
“N-no.” Rosie hung her head. “I just wish they knew—”
Rosie hadn’t seen her Mama move, but the little girl’s head snapped to the side with the force
of the blow. The bite of a slap and the metallic taste of blood on her lip.
“They can never know.” Her Mama’s eyes were wild, and her hand was still raised. “They’ll
take you from me. People will use you. You think what I just did was bad? They’ll pinch you. Hit you.
Kick you until they get what they want. Juicers don’t live long lives, Rosie. They just don’t. They get
all used up, and people get greedy.”
Rosie hiccuped a sob. “Sorry, M-Mama.”
“Go to your room and read your books, Rosie Boudaire, and don’t bother me again.” Her
Mama turned away.
Conversation over.
Unless Rosie wanted another slap.
 PROLOGUE

Plenty of rituals required a person to be nude—but as far as I was aware, my Mama wasn’t mixing up
a spell so much as she was dancing naked in the rain.
I’d never seen my middle-aged mother shaking her booty on the grass while being pelted with
rain before.
It was a Louisiana fall. The oppressive heat of summer had died a death, but it wasn’t
unknown to have a thunderstorm or two as the weather shifted.
Something had shifted in her with the seasons.
My Mama was a cold woman with a wit that could cut a pumpkin in two. Lexi, my twin sister,
had inherited her sharp tongue, which made their relationship a tightrope that neither Boudaire woman
wanted to cross.
Mama wasn’t acting right.
She hadn’t been acting right since she had gone into the cottage at the end of summer to clear
out some of the junk in the attic. Mama had come out brandishing a knife, shouting that our father must
have left it behind—which was confusing because, as far as I knew, our father had never lived in the
Boudaire homestead.
Mama had pushed the knife into my hands and told me to get rid of it. She had even suggested
giving the null blade to Lexi—the first time Anne-Marie Boudaire had said my twin’s name in years.
And now Mama was dancing in the rain.
Fear dropped in my stomach like a seltzer tablet in a glass of water.
I snapped the curtains closed, picking up my rain boots and a blanket from the bed before I
raced downstairs to bring Mama inside.
The rain smacked me in the face when I stepped off the porch, colder than a Witch’s tit.
“Mama!” I called out. “Come inside; it's time for breakfast!”
My mother didn’t bother turning as she raised her hands to the sky. “Rosie!” She called back.
“Praise Gaia; she has gifted us rain for the harvest. Four elements for my lovely land and my lovely
daughter!”
I didn’t point out that the only harvest we had going on were the plants in my greenhouse and
that Mama hadn’t picked up a trowel in years. “Come on.” I urged again. “We can praise Gaia
inside.” I unfurled the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Mama had always been a tall, thin, but overbearing figure. Her hair pulled back in a low bun,
and her lips pinched tight. Now, she felt frail. When had I grown taller than her? When had my mother
grown so small?
My Mama sighed, pushing her wild chestnut hair away from her face as she let me pull her
inside. “I want toast. With grape jelly.” She said petulantly.
The cold rain clung to me, and my teeth clattered, but Mama seemed impervious. “Sure thing.”
I tried to smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Do you want to go and get dressed while I make your
toast?”
 Mama narrowed her eyes. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing, Rosie.”
My brow furrowed as I affected innocence. “I have no idea what you mean, Mama.”
She scoffed, tightening the blanket around her shoulders as she strode into the kitchen, trailing
water on the hardwood floors. She walked over to the stove-top kettle and began to fill it.
“You need to think about collecting more lavender. Ms. Whitney mentioned she needs some
for her Sleepytime tincture.”
“Yes, Mama.” I pulled my mother’s favorite mug out of the cabinet and placed it on the side. It
had a picture of a Dachshund in a hot dog costume.
We had never owned a dog, let alone a dachshund.
Mama snatched up the mug and pulled out the tea leaves, measuring them with a critical eye. I
watched her in silence before making her toast and setting the table.
We ate breakfast without saying a word to each other; Mama ignored her tea until the steam
had long since disappeared. She drained the mug in one go, frowning at the tea leaves. She shook her
head before huffing and sitting back, crossing her arms over her chest. The blanket slipped off her
shoulder, but she didn’t have a care to pull it back around her body.
“What’s in the leaves today?” I asked, the same way I asked every morning.
“Your wastrel of a father.” Anne-Marie Boudaire snapped.
I mimed an oh and looked down at my hands, picking the skin from the side of my thumb.
Mama must have been in a bad mood if she was talking about the sperm donor I had never met.
“Do you know the difference between a Witch and a Witchling, Rose?” Mama said as if the
fog had cleared from her eyes, and she stared me down.
“Witches harness from the earth and feed it in equal measure, but Witchlings use their own life
force. Like a candle. It’s part of the demonic pact they made with the devil.” I said as if reciting the
Magus Lexicon word for word. I wondered why I was being treated to an impromptu lesson.
My mother hmmphed. “Yes. As you say.” She pushed herself out of her chair, knocking the
mug over. The dregs of the tea spilled onto the pockmarked dining table. I sat silently, watching the
amber liquid crawl across the wood.
“You’re a good girl, Rose Prudence Boudaire.” Mama sniffed. “You should get on harvesting
that lavender in case Ms. Whitney visits. The garden is quiet of bees now that summer’s over.” Mama
drifted away, the blanket trailing behind her like a wedding train.
I looked out the window, watching the raindrops trail across the glass pane.
Mama was losing it.
Ms. Whitney grew her own lavender. She had done for years. It sat on her front porch, proud
and true. Her house was painted the same dusky purple as the fragrant plant.
I needed to talk to Lexi.

I always struggled to make conversation with Lexi, my older (by six minutes) twin sister.
Lexi might have worn my face, but she had a kind of hardness. Something that made people
think twice before they took advantage. She could make a person question themselves with a single
look, and I knew because I’d been on the receiving end more than once.
I wish I could have said what type of child Lexi was, but I didn’t remember much past the age
of five. She had been sequestered to the annex on the edge of the property from a young age when
Mama realized she was a null Witch.
 I used to be jealous of Lexi’s nanny, Adelaide, who had lived in the main house before Lexi
moved into the cottage on the edge of Boudaire land. Adelaide was the best cook this side of the
Mississippi River.
I sent my sister a text, settling for a simple set of emojis, to let Lexi know I wanted to talk.
Three eggplants—because I’d told her about my eggplant problems a few weeks ago, and she
had been the one to suggest moving them.
I put my phone in the pocket of my overalls, racing across the garden in the rain to get to the
greenhouse. I was elbow deep in mulch when my phone rang.
Anyone that knew me knew that I never answered on the first ring. Touch screens don’t tend to
recognize fingers covered in potting soil. I wiped my hands on my thighs and answered the phone,
immediately greeted by the sound of Lexi’s laughter—I quickly realized I’d broken a social rule I
didn’t know existed.
“Did you get laid?” Lexi cackled, gasping as if she couldn’t contain her mirth.
I had no idea what she was talking about. “What?” I moved my phone from one ear to the
other as I sat back on the ground and crossed my legs. “Why on Gaia’s earth would you think that?”
“The eggplants. People use eggplants as a symbol for dicks.” Lexi replied.
I couldn’t help the sharp exhale that escaped my nose. Eggplant emojis = penises?
Who knew?
I would have told Lexi all about my dating life, but we didn’t have that kind of relationship—
Lexi attracted men like flies to manure, unlike me.
“I was referring to my vegetable garden.” I tried not to sound uppity. “It’s taken ages for my
eggplants to grow, but I moved them from one side of the greenhouse to the other, and they’ve been
thriving. I told you about moving them last month.”
“Huh.” She sniffed. “Did you know that people call them Aubergines in the UK?”
My brow furrowed as I digested that little tidbit. “You’re so random,” I told my twin. I was
reasonably sure she had never been to England, let alone eaten any ‘aubergines’ there. “Did you get
my parcel?” I’d driven into town a week prior to FedEx the null blade to New Orleans the moment
Mama had gone down for her nap.
“You can’t keep sending flowers in the mail,” Lexi chided. “The moment I touch them, they
die.”
That was very true.
I thought of the beautiful peonies that I had cultivated out of season. They were the same color
as Lexi’s dyed pink hair. I had mixed my blood into the soil. In theory, the flowers should have stayed
in full bloom for a few months at least.
My magic was immune to Lexi’s null abilities, so keeping the peonies alive should have been
a cinch—but apparently not.
I hadn’t told her how much love went into growing that gift. I tried to mask the hurt in my
voice, but I wasn’t sure how successful I was.
“I’ve learned that the hard way,” I said simply. “No. It’s not a plant. I found something in the
attic. Mom said it used to belong to dad. If you can believe it.” Neither of us had ever met our father. I
didn’t even know who he was. My mother had been tightlipped about the subject whenever I had
asked as a child. I struggled to find the words to describe how frightened I had been when I saw
Mama outside the cottage on the edge of the property, brandishing a knife that looked like an ebony
claw.
“Dad?” Lexi’s voice was blank. She knew that our sperm donor was a sensitive subject.
“What did you find?”
“It’s some kind of blade. To be honest, I think it looks like a tooth.” I stretched out my legs and
looked up at the glass roof of the greenhouse. The rain trailed down the glass panes while steam
fogged on the inside. “Apparently, it’s a null blade. Mom doesn’t want it in the house. She thinks it
was left for you, whatever that means. Apparently, he used to carry a knife or something.”
“Mom must have been in a good mood if she talked about him,” Lexi noted casually.
I wanted to tell her so badly.
To tell her that Mama wasn’t doing well.
Mama had been standing in the garden naked. Mixing up potions that could level cities, her
hair was falling out. Besides the worrying questions about Witchlings, I was beginning to suspect that
Mama was losing her mental facilities.
I needed to talk to Ms. Whitney, the coven healer.
“She was having one of her moments,” I said carefully.
Lexi and Mama didn’t have the best relationship. They didn’t have a relationship at all. I
loved Mama even though she was a complex woman—and it would have hurt to hear my twin wish
her ill. No matter how deserved.
I injected some cheer into my voice. “Anyway, I thought it might be useful. You always did
love a good weapon.” I chirped.
The phone beeped, signaling that a call was waiting, but when I checked my screen, it wasn’t
mine. “Do you need to get that?” I asked Lexi.
“Nah,” She replied, a bit too casual for my liking.
I shook my head as if she could see my expression. Lexi was secretive as all get out, but that
was her way. We talked briefly before Lexi volunteered the first information about herself that I had
heard in a long time.
“I don’t feel like I work enough,” She said through a yawn. Lexi owned a security company in
New Orleans called Dare Security. “We’ve been around for a year, and it’s just bouncer gigs at the
local clubs. There’s something big coming up, though. I don’t want to jinx it until it’s a sure thing.”
Lexi offered her null services for a price, but Dare Security mostly worked contracts for the
clubs on Canal Street. The ones that only let supes in. I knew she struggled. I had offered her help and
the little money I had more than once. She always said no.
I found myself smiling as my sister’s excitement grew wings. Before I could congratulate her,
she said her goodbyes and hung up the phone.
I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t normal for Lexi to race off to do whatever it was that Lexi did.
She had a freedom that I could only dream of.
I liked coven life well enough, but it came with strings.
My phone vibrated in my pocket just as I’d padded onto the sodden lawn to return to the
house.
Dill: Are we still on for Gios at six?
My stomach did a flip.
Gios was the only Italian restaurant in Beaux Bridge. It was the place people went for
birthdays, proposals, and all manner of celebrations.
I’d only been a handful of times, but I loved their breadsticks beyond reason. It was a shame
that I could only consume a few before they became a tried-and-true threat to my waistline.
R: I’ll be there with bells on! I replied, followed by several bell emojis and a grinning face.
We hadn’t been dating long. About a month, but that was the longest I had dated anyone. Dill
hadn’t met my mother yet, as he lived on the other side of town and worked at the car dealership. He
was one hundred percent non-magical and a world away from coven life.
I held my phone to my chest as an unabashed smile crossed my lips. Unable to keep in my
excitement, I had a skip in my step as I walked to the house.
“You look cheerful today, despite the foul weather, Miss Rose.” A firm voice broke me from
my reverie, and I skidded to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps.
Ms. Whitney, the coven’s healer, sat on my porch swing. Her cane propped up on the column
by the steps, her body clothed in a misshapen cardigan that she had knitted herself—the pattern a
rainbow of daisies and swirls. Ms. Whitney and I both attended the coven’s Tuesday Knit nights. We
rotated between houses.
I had no idea how old Ms. Whitney was, but when I asked Mama, she once told me that Ms.
Whitney had been around before Mama was born and would likely still be around after she had died
too.
Ms. Whitney had a young daughter that I called a friend on a good day and competition on a
bad one. We were the same age, shy a season, but Cassie was a master potion maker, like her mother.
Something I was more jealous of than I wanted to admit.
Cassie Whitney liked to come to my garden and pick the best herbs and flowers for herself.
She’d been a terrible child, but I wasn’t innocent in that regard either. We had come to an
uneasy truce, though I knew that any snippet of information I shared in Cassie Whitney’s presence
would be twisted and distributed among my peers for their amusement.
I bit my tongue around Cassie because Ms. Whitney was one of the coven’s elders. If I ever
needed her help, I knew my generosity would put me in good stead.
“Ms. Whitney.” I dipped my head at the elderly woman. “It truly is a rainy day. Are you sure
you should be out when it’s so slippery?”
Ms. Whitney blew a raspberry. “I might be old, but I won’t dissolve in the rain, young lady.”
I bit back a smile. “Sorry, Ms. Whitney.”
“Too right.” She sniffed. “I had a feeling I was needed this morning?”
I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth. Her ‘feelings’ really were uncanny. Her soothsayer
abilities rivaled Mamas. “We should go inside,” I suggested.
Ms. Whitney’s eyes softened. “Sure thing.”
I opened the front door, offering my hand to help Ms. Whitney stand. We walked into the
house, pausing in the entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs. The house was quiet, and I suspected my
mother had gone down for her midafternoon nap.
“I’ll put some tea on,” I suggested, moving towards the kitchen, making sure to pull Ms.
Whitney’s chair out for her.
The elderly woman got comfortable as I put on the stove-top kettle. “Have you got any of that
ache-and-pains tea you used to brew for Annette when she was pregnant?” She asked.
I bit back a smile. “Of course.” I moved some of the glass jars on the top shelf to the side to
bring out my concoctions. It was a dried mixture of garlic, valerian root, and a host of other
ingredients that I had grown in my greenhouse. I kept my head down as I fixed the tea.
“How’s your Mama doing?” Ms. Whitney asked as I placed the mug in front of her. She
cupped her hands around her tea and inhaled the steam.
I glanced at the ceiling as if my mother could hear me even though she was on the other side of
the house. “She was dancing in the rain this morning,” I noted, keeping any emotions out of my voice.
“She’s been talking about my father a lot. Going into the attic of the cottage. I don’t know if she’s—”
 Ms. Whitney hummed, interrupting me. “The attic, you say?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “She found a null blade.”
“Ah.” Ms. Whitney nodded sagely. “How long has she been having these turns?”
“She went into the attic in late summer. I’m not sure what she did in there, but she hasn’t been
acting right since.” As soon as I realized the words, I knew they were true. “This morning, she asked
me about the differences between Witchlings and Witches, and I think she forgot that I’m an adult now.
Like we’d gone ten years in the past, and she was reading me for my first blood ceremony.”
“Witchlings, you say?” A troubled look crossed Ms. Whitney’s wrinkled face. “Oh dear.”
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. “Will you have a look at her?” I asked the healer.
Ms. Whitney drained her tea to the dregs and stood up. “Times a wasting. Is she in her room?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know where it is, child.” Ms. Whitney smiled softly. “I’ll show myself up. I’m certain you
have lots to do.”
I found myself nodding even though I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed to do at that
moment.
Ms. Whitney shuffled off through the house, and I made myself busy and went to the office
overlooking the back lawn. Sitting at my desk, I pulled out my planner from the drawer and opened it
up to the day's date.
The inspirational quote over today’s date had me feeling all kinds of ways.
When things go wrong, don’t go with them.
I didn’t have much time before the coven meeting that afternoon. I didn’t have time for an
overbearing sense of foreboding.
I liked making time each day to write in my ‘happiness planner’—I knew it was pretentious.
An activity that belonged to some famous influencer, not a Witch in Beaux Bridge. But I couldn’t help
it.
Something about writing in my planner made me feel like a dog that had been petted just the
right way—when you scratch a hidden spot, and they start thumping their leg, just like that.
When I was done writing, I went to my crystal collection and arranged them based on how the
stones felt that day. A small piece of obsidian demanded my attention, and I picked up the rounded
pebble, studying its polished surface. Obsidian was an excellent choice for staying grounded. Maybe
the stone knew something I didn’t.
I pulled my fanny pack out of my closet and adjusted it on my hips, placing my crystals inside.
I had a feeling that I needed them close.
The leaves had turned, leaving crispy offerings all over the back lawn, just waiting to be
raked. I wanted to go to the market in the afternoon, but I wasn’t sure I’d have time once Mama woke
up.
I’d spent time on the vegetables that morning, but I had some daffodils I was cultivating out of
season—something to help with Mama’s lucidity.
I hadn’t mentioned why I was growing daffodils. Mama often told me I should focus on the
spell ingredients that would benefit the coven—even if they were less interesting to grow.
Something in me had chafed at that. I liked growing things but didn’t like being told to do it. It
made my stomach hurt.
I checked my phone for the seventh time. Lexi hadn’t gotten back to me after she’d rushed off
the phone earlier in the morning. I tried not to be worried. That was just Lexi’s way.
I knew she’d lied to me when she said nothing was wrong—Call it twin intuition—but there
wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it over a hundred miles away from New Orleans.
I sat at my desk, staring at the blank entries in my planner.
Ms. Whitney wasn’t upstairs for long when I heard her heavy steps on the stairs, and I rushed
out to greet her.
The moment I caught sight of her face, my stomach dropped to my ankles, and my blood ran
cold.
A million scenarios raced through my head.
Did Mama have Alzheimer’s? Dementia? Brain cancer?
I opened my mouth to ask but realized I didn’t want an answer.
Ms. Whitney lifted a shaking hand to her face and rubbed her mouth as if struggling to find
words. Her hand was covered in blood.
“Your mother…” Ms. Whitney’s eyes rolled up to meet mine. “She’s gone. She’s dead, Rose.”

It was custom to burn a Witch before sunset on the second day. Giving enough time for a soul to leave
a body but not so much for an enemy to steal the body and drain their blood.
Funeral rites demanded a pyre, and though Lexi could have made the journey with a day’s
drive, none of the coven wanted her there—you couldn’t perform a ritual with a null Witch in the
vicinity.
Still, I wanted to tell her. I needed to tell her. It was the right thing to do.
My sister wasn’t answering her phone, and by the time the pyre was constructed, the coven
took my phone away—unable to stand the sight of my desperate tears as I listened to the phone ring
and ring.
I couldn’t stop the guilt that pressed down on me, stifling every breath. I had gotten the
childhood Lexi had dreamed of, and now Lexi would never be able to mend her relationship with
Mama.
Mama’s death hadn’t truly hit me yet. It was like a veil had fluttered down on my brain,
separating my thoughts and emotions. I looked down at my hands; they didn’t belong to me. I ate food,
but I couldn’t taste it.
I kept expecting to hear my mother muttering around the house and reading her tea leaves.
Mama liked to know the future, and some part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that she had known
what was coming.
I had caught a glimpse of Mama’s body after Ms. Whitney had called some of her family to
come and help with the body.
Mama’s face had been stained with dried blood from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
 CHAPTER ONE

“You’re still welcome at the Beaux Bridge coven, Rose. The rent on the antebellum is paid through
until Yule. Just let me know if you want to continue the lease. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I stood at the crossroads, but I had no idea what laid down either path.
When I was a child, I’d pack my bag and threaten to run away, but I never got past the front
door before Mama found me and marched me back to my room. She would make me kneel on dried
peas with my arms over my head. The pain had been unbearable; it took three attempts before I
learned my lesson.
The morning after the funeral, I got in my Mini Cooper and got on the River Road to New
Orleans.
I told myself I wasn’t angry with Lexi, but that wasn’t true. She hadn’t answered one of my
calls, and though I knew she was busy, there wasn’t an excuse.
The people pleaser in me wondered if I had said something to upset her on the phone when we
last spoke. No matter how much I tried to pretend, a wave of roaring anger crept up on me in the face
of Mama’s death. It burned the nagging, guilty voice away like the flames of the funeral pyre.
It didn’t take more than a couple of hours to get to NOLA, with traffic on the freeway going
into the city.
I’d visited my sister every couple of months since I had turned twenty-one, and now I was
twenty-five. I had stayed at Lexi’s apartment before. A single bedroom in an aging building called
The Magnolia. The only benefit I could see to the place was the parking lot by its side, but it was the
kind of lot that collected shadows. Lexi had inherited the apartment from her old nanny, Adelaide,
who had passed away just shy of ten years ago.
I didn’t know if I intended to confront Lexi. To scream and shout and demand to know what
was so important that she couldn’t even answer my calls. Our mother had died. Or maybe I just
needed to fall to my knees and let someone hold me. To show the weakness I’d never been allowed to
show when Mama was alive.
I parked my car in Lexi’s spot and tried calling her again. She didn’t answer. I used my key to
enter the building and rode the ancient elevator up to the top floor.
The hallway was decorated with patterned wallpaper. Birds, sitting on branches, the paper
aged and yellowing. Peeling in several places. Dark wood paneling stood at waist height, and one of
the sconces flickered as I walked past.
I knocked on Lexi’s door once and let myself in after a suitable amount of time.
Lexi’s décor style could only be described as minimalist or even militant. She didn’t collect
knick-knacks or books. Her television was old, and I doubted it was even plugged in.
I closed the door with a soft click and stepped onto the fluffy Berber rug. A soft mew greeted
me as Lexi’s tortoiseshell cat, Rogue, darted out from under the coffee table. Her tail flicked, the end
tipped with white.
At least Rogue seemed happy to see me. I bent down and picked her up, scratching behind her
ears as I padded further into the apartment.
The bed was made with two large duffel bags on top of the plain black bedspread.
Lexi had mentioned a job opportunity. Was she going on a business trip? I wondered.
Lexi’s apartment was small enough that it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t home.
I sunk down on the edge of her bed as the cat leaped from my arms and hopped onto the floor.
My anger was fading, replaced with a dark tsunami of emotion I knew would drag me under.
I pulled out my phone and looked at the list of calls I’d made in the last twenty-four hours.
I had called my twin over forty-six times.
Where the hell was she?

I drove to Canal Street, one of the busiest streets in New Orleans and the home of Dare Security,
Lexi’s business. Located over the cutest little French café, with a display of fat glistening pastries, I
took the metal steps two at a time. My thumbs were hooked into the strap of the fanny pack on my
hips.
The words ‘Dare Security’ were painted on the glass of the door at the top of the stairs. EDM
music pumped through the bottom of the door, and the force of the bass shook the glass.
My fingers twitched as my hand hovered over the door handle.
The imaginary scenario in my head involved screaming at Lexi, primarily for ignoring me. For
letting me deal with everything alone, even though I had always been alone—I had written and
rewritten the script a dozen times, but I didn’t know how it would play out in real life.
I liked making scripts in my head. It helped when confronted with a new and frightening
situation. However, even in my imagination, I struggled with the words I would say when I faced my
twin.
I pushed open the door. The only part of my body that moved were my eyes as I stood at the
threshold.
The music was louder, more discordant. Enough to scatter my thoughts.
A woman sat at a desk, hammering away at her keyboard. Her hair was ebony black and tied
in two space buns. Her eyeliner was sharp enough to gut a fish.
With wide eyes, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Lexi wasn’t there.
The woman’s eyes flicked to mine before doing a double take. Concern coated her features as
she stood up and raced towards me, her arms outstretched.
“I was so fucking worried!” The stranger squealed as she bundled me into a hug that was so
tight it felt like a compression sock.
I patted her shoulder, unable to speak as the lack of oxygen cut off my words.
I didn’t know what to do. No one hugged me like that.
“You said you had a job in the Red City, and I was halfway convinced you were committing
death by demon.” The woman shook her head, tightening her grip. “And you dyed your hair?” Judging
by the woman’s shrill disbelief, that was a greater crime than anything else.
It took a moment for her words to sink in. I managed to pry her fingers from my shoulders,
holding the shorter woman at arm's length. “Lexi is in the Red City?” I demanded; shock and
bewilderment coated my face.
Her eyes widened, and her head tilted to the side. “You’re not Lexi?” She said slowly.
“I’m Lexi’s sister, Rose.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
 The woman pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before cursing as she stomped back to her
desk. “Lexi mentioned a sister. She didn’t say you were identical twins.” Her voice was strained.
I remained by the door.
The woman studied me more closely. “I’m Kailee. Lexi’s business partner.”
Nodding staunchly, I looked around the office before stepping inside. I brought my hands to
stomach level as I twisted my fingers together, unable to decide where to put my hands.
“You live in Beaux Bridge, outside of Baton Rouge?” Kailee slumped down in her chair. “I’m
guessing you came down because Lexi has gone AWOL?”
“You still didn’t tell me about the Red City,” I pointed out. “Why is Lexi in the Red City?”
Ever since the golden Gates of Hell opened decades ago, Demons that had chosen to remain in
the Human Realities were relegated to the Red Cities—cities entirely under demonic control. The
demons sacrificed their freedom in exchange for living without being hunted.
I had to admit that my guilty pleasure was watching reality TV produced in Red Cities
worldwide. Real Housewives of the Red City. The Seven Circle Challenge and Gluttons for
Punishment were just a few that I had seen, though the latter was not to my taste.
It was a well-known fact that no human entered the Red City unless they didn’t have a choice.
Prisoners with life sentences could be bought and traded to demons in exchange for servitude. The
kind of person that went into the Red City of their own free will was not someone I would associate
with in my sheltered existence.
“Well?” I demanded when Kailee didn’t answer me.
“Mr. Bub.” She sighed as if that was the answer to everything.
My brow furrowed as I tried to reconcile my knowledge of Lexi’s demonic contract. “He can
do that? The demon can just demand she drops everything before sending her to the most dangerous
place on the earth?”
I didn’t know much about the demon that Lexi worked with, just that she called him Mr. Bub.
Kailee nodded glumly.
I cursed.
“Are you okay?” She asked. “You look like you’ve been crying.” Her wide, dark eyes seemed
so sincere that I answered.
“My mom died a couple of days ago.” My voice sounded robotic to my own ears. “When Lexi
didn’t answer, I came down to tell her in person…”
Kailee exhaled a deep breath. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she
struggled with what words to offer. She settled on: “Bummer.”
I quirked a brow.
“I honestly don’t know what to say. Lexi told me about her childhood. I’m not sure if I can feel
bad that your mom is dead.” Kailee said.
I flinched. “She was still our Mama.”
“Yeah,” Kailee replied, her eyes drifting to the middle distance as if she was thinking of
something else. “Family is weird sometimes.” She shook her head to clear it and turned back to me.
“I’m sorry you drove down, but Lexi isn’t here. She told me she would be gone long enough to miss
The Elementals gig. Which sucks, by the way.”
I nodded as if I knew what she was talking about.
“Are you staying at her apartment?” Kailee asked.
I shrugged.
“I only ask because Lexi asked me to feed Rogue, but if you’re staying, you can do it.” Kailee
flicked her hair.
I licked my lips. “I don’t know if I’m staying yet.”
I had to get back to Beaux Bridge, didn’t I? Except I didn’t. Not really.
What waited for me back in the empty antebellum? Creaky floorboards and Mama’s perfume?
“I’m sure Lexi won’t mind if you stay at her place.” Kailee offered, her eyes softening as she
took in my lost and hopeless expression.
“Yeah.” I agreed carefully.
One night wouldn’t hurt.

Dill sent me a few messages, asking me about the funeral service and if I felt up to talking.
I didn’t.
The only good thing about Lexi’s apartment (apart from Rogue) was the abundance of snacks,
baked goods, and other treats that filled her cupboards.
I had to watch my weight, and Mama didn’t let me forget it, but Lexi had always been blessed
with the ability to eat whatever she wanted and never gain weight.
I guessed that was the benefit of making a deal with a Gluttony demon.
My phone vibrated with another message from Dill.
D: You’re not home. I came over, but one of your neighbors said you drove down to New
Orleans?
R: I’m at my sisters’ apartment. I replied.
D: Text me the address, and I’ll drive down. I want to see you.
I frowned at my phone and put it on the couch face down. New Orleans wasn’t a long drive
from Beaux Bridge. A couple of hours at most.
But…Dill and I hadn’t been dating long. We hadn’t even slept together.
Maybe he just wants to comfort you. Perhaps he’s a good person and wants to make sure
you’re okay? The rational voice in my head chimed in.
I pulled my lips to the side.
It would be nice to have someone with me. I’d counted on Lexi’s presence to stop me from
overthinking about Mama and every facet of my life affected by her absence.
Maybe having Dill around would be a good thing?
Before I could change my mind, I texted him the address.

I fell asleep on the couch, jerking awake when someone hammered at Lexi’s door like cops about to
raid the apartment.
The light flickered as the Real Housewives of the Red City played on Lexi’s tiny television
screen. Margot, a blonde model married to a Greed demon, filled the screen as she lamented that her
husband Balaam had given her a sacrificial goat to celebrate their anniversary instead of a Birkin.
Whoever was at the door knocked again, growing impatient. I crept to the door and used the
peephole, frowning when Dill’s familiar face filled the fishbowl lens. His close-cropped dark hair
and his clean-shaven jaw. He checked his Rolex before lifting his hand to knock again.
 My furrowed brow didn’t go away as I pulled the chain off the door and stood in my wrinkled
clothes, bleary-eyed, as I wondered why my boyfriend of a month stood at my sisters’ door.
I’d texted Dill the address, but I hadn’t expected him to race out the door that moment to see
me. It was almost midnight.
Then I felt bad because if I had been honest with myself, I probably wouldn’t have done the
same for Dill if he had been in the same boat.
“Oh, Rosie, honey.” Dill crooned as he held out his arms and scooped me into a hug. The
scent of his cologne was enough to make my nostrils burn. It wasn’t unpleasant so much as unfamiliar.
Dill and I might have been dating, but our interactions were conversations over dinner and a few
pecks on the cheek.
“Dill?” I patted him on the shoulder as if he was the one that needed my condolences. “What
are you doing here?”
“I went to your house, and some of your neighbors mentioned that you were alone in the city.”
He pulled back, his eyes soft. “Where’s your sister?”
I glanced back into the apartment. “She’s at work.” I kept it vague. “Do you want to come in?”
It was midnight, and I didn’t want to disturb the other apartments—most of Lexi’s neighbors were
elderly.
I led Dill inside, taking his coat and placing it over the back of the couch when I couldn’t find
a coat hook. Dill seemed more content to study the sparse décor as I fired up Lexi’s coffee machine
and found her K-cups thrown into a drawer without rhyme or reason.
The disorganization made my skin crawl, but I reminded myself that it wasn’t my apartment.
Dill greeted Rogue, though the cat ran away into the bedroom. “How long has your sister
lived here?” Dill asked, eying the sparse walls.
“Ten years, I think,” I turned around and placed Dill’s cup on the kitchen island.
“How’d she take your mother's passing?” Dill wondered, ignoring the mug.
I shrugged. I didn’t have an answer to that. I didn’t want to tell Dill that Lexi was in the Red
City for some reason. MIA. Demons and Witches might have been common knowledge, but they were
still on the fringe of the general population. Everyone knew a family friend who had a nephew with a
barber who could mix a potion, apparently. Real Witches tended to keep their magic under wraps.
Dill and I hadn’t had the ‘I’m a Witch’ talk yet.
Mama used to say there was no end to people wanting a spell mixed up to hex their neighbor
for growing their lawn too long, and it was better to just stay out of their way.
That went double for my kind of magic.
“I really need to get some sleep.” I winced.
Dill startled as if he hadn’t considered that I might be tired after the day I’d had. “Sure. I’ll
take the couch. Do you have some blankets? I can take you out to breakfast in the morning.”
“The blankets are in the hallway cupboard,” I said. “I’ll get them.”
“Your sister won’t mind me staying here?” There was something in his voice that I didn’t
recognize. I couldn’t put my finger on it. “What time is she coming back?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m sure she won’t mind if you take the couch. I’ll text her to let
her know.” Not that she ever looked at her phone.
Dill followed me as I found some blankets and laid them on the couch.
“The bathroom is down the hall,” I told him stiffly.
His eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re doing okay, Rosie? I can go if you need me
to. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t alone right now. It must be hard. You and your mom were
close.”
A stab of guilt rocked me. I had treated Dill’s concern as a burden rather than kindness. What
was wrong with me?
“I think I just need sleep.” I rubbed my eyes.
Dill studied my face before nodding and offering a smile. He sat down on the couch and got
comfortable. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it before I trudged to the bedroom.
I was a bad daughter, and now I was a bad girlfriend.
One of these days, I wanted to get something right.

It was the dead of night when I woke up gasping from a nightmare I could barely remember. My throat
was dry, and my grief forgotten for a moment as I glanced at the window—finding it was still dark.
My eyes didn’t open all the way, as I clung to sleep even as I got out of bed to search for a glass of
water.
The apartment was familiar enough that I found my way to the kitchen without much fuss. It
was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning unit.
Once I got my glass of water, I turned back to Lexi’s bedroom, moving as quietly as possible,
so I didn’t wake Dill.
I padded back through the living room, but the couch was empty. Dill’s blanket had been slung
to the floor, and the light from the open bathroom door shone a streak down the hallway.
I listened for a moment, but there was no sound from the bathroom, even though the door was
wide open.
Was Dill okay? Had he gotten up to go to the bathroom and slipped?
Maybe he was raiding Lexi’s medicine cabinet, though I wasn’t sure what he would find there
apart from tampons and toothpaste.
I didn’t know what possessed me to pad down the bathroom.
I didn’t know why I didn’t call out.
When I reached the bathroom threshold, it took a moment for my brain to catch up to my eyes
and another to try and make sense of what I was seeing.
Dill, my boyfriend, had his hands in my twin sister’s laundry basket and appeared to be
smelling a pair of her panties.
I was a vinyl record, skipping over a scratch. Perplexed as I tried to wrap my head around
what I was seeing. The first thing to come to mind jumped to my mouth before I could stop it. My
voice was dull to my own ears. “Those aren’t mine.” I pointed out.
Dill turned at the waist, hunched over like some kind of panty-sniffing Gollum. He didn’t say
a word as we stared at each other for the most prolonged moment of my life.
Dill put the panties down in the hamper, methodically turning to the faucet to wash his hands
using Lexi’s bar soap. He took his time lathering up his hands before wiping them on the threadbare
towel.
“Well?” I demanded, my anger like a crack in the frozen lake of my grief.
Anyone who knew me said I was sweet, polite, and kind, if not naïve.
Those same people said I had the temper of a peewee soccer dad on steroids.
My fists shook, and my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. I patted my hip for my
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
percentage on the gross receipts was suggested, and brought in a
great deal more money to our exchequer than the modest weekly
salary would have given us. The public came in goodly numbers to
see the new optical wonder, and all went well as long as the author
remained in London and could devote his time and energies to the
daily exhibition; but the time was now drawing rapidly near when,
according to contract, he must leave for Australia.
Professor Pepper has invariably told his numerous patrons that,
although obliged to keep secret for a reasonable time all optical
illusions that he produced, he would ultimately tell the public all
about it.
The metempsychosic era at the Polytechnic in 1879 was marked
by the production of various stories, which were nicely edited and
corrected by a lady of well-balanced, tasteful, and poetic mind—viz.,
by Miss Walker, the sister of the author’s very able coadjutor.
The entertainment opened with a vacant stage, disclosing a sort
of inner apartment about twelve feet square, tastefully upholstered,
and closed by a curtain which could be lowered at pleasure, without
interfering with the great roller and white curtain upon which
Dissolving Views were shown. The author’s adopted son, for he
never had any children of his own, was now seen walking through
the inner apartment to the foot-lights, where he bowed and,
addressing the audience, had hardly got as far as the words, “Ladies
and Gentlemen,—I am sorry to inform you that something has
detained Professor Pepper—” when my voice was heard crying out:
“Stop, stop; I am here!” and, appearing out of nothing and without
the aid of trap doors or descent by the help of the copper wires, the
author stood in the midst, and bowed his acknowledgments for the
hearty greeting kindly given him by his audience. The entertainment
now proceeded, and, after apologising for the gloom he was about to
cast upon the meeting by the harassing story he was about to relate,
finally stated that his subject would be those “fearful bags of
mystery” called “sausages,” remarking incidentally that though,
thanks to Government analysts, many persons had heard of the
examination and analyses of this dietetic refresher of the inner man,
no one probably had ever seen sausages put together again, as it
were, and formed into the very animal from which they were
originally educed. A large white dish of sausages was now produced.
They were placed in a wire basket, such as pot-plants are
suspended in from windows and verandahs, and hung up in the
inner chamber. About one minute elapsed; the sausages were gone,
and out of the basket came the author’s dear little sagacious white
poodle, with his blue ribbon and little bells, wagging his tail, barking
at the audience, and coming down to lick the hand of his master. The
poor little creature was accidentally poisoned by eating bits of meat
the rats had dropped whilst scuttling to their holes to die of the too
rapid poison prepared by the author for those pests of domesticated
people.
Then the metamorphoses proceeded. Oranges were changed
into pots of marmalade, and given away to the boys, and a chest of
tea was converted into a tray carrying a steaming teapot, sugar, milk,
cups of tea, and handed by the attendants to the ladies in the
reserved seats only—such is the blighting influence of cash, which
caused the one-shilling people to be neglected and the
eighteenpenny-reserved-seat folks to have their teas. The ghost of
Banquo in “Macbeth,” and the ditto in “Hamlet” followed, with the
curious change of a deserted piano into one at which played and
sang a living member of the fair sex, attended by a gentleman in
faultless black coat and white tie, who turned over her music; and
this Part. I wound up with the change of a gentleman into a lady, who
walked down to the foot-lights, sang a song, and then vanished into
“thin air.”
But all these changes could only happen in the smaller inner
apartment, the actors might walk anywhere else at pleasure, and out
of the charmed circle Walker could not change to Pepper, or the
latter refer to the living beings when they faded out of sight as
regular “Walkers.”
So much for what was done, and now the anxious reader is
getting impatient, and if a lady is doubtless curious (the poor men
never are so) to know how it was all done, and as the illusion has
apparently left the domain of optical science and is now relegated to
the conjuring profession, the author has no hesitation in fulfilling his
long-ago promise made to the public to let, as Mr. Cremer, jun., says
in his most amusing book on “Conjuring,” the cat out of the bag.
Before the illusion can please the eyes, the proper apparatus for
producing it must be constructed; and the key to the result consists
in the use, not of clear plate glass employed in the ghost illusion, but
of engraved silvered glass.
Ordinary looking-glass, such as is used for common mirrors or
looking-glasses, is usually made by attaching an amalgam of tin-foil
and quicksilver to one side of a clean sheet of plate or other glass.
Glass prepared in this way cannot be successfully engraved, and
when the chisel or other tool is drawn with pressure across it, is
liable to chip; and instead of clear, sharp engraved lines being
obtained, they are ragged, and, in most cases, large patches of the
amalgam are torn off.
This is not the case when glass really silvered by successful
chemical processes is used, and when pure metallic silver is
precipitated on to the surface of the best and flattest plate glass.
When Mr. Walker and myself commenced our experiments in March,
1879, the so-called “Patent Silvered Glass” was expensive and
confined to moderate-sized pieces of plate glass. Our first care,
therefore, was to construct a table that could be brought by screws
to a perfect level, and one that would carry a plate of glass at least
twelve feet six long by six feet eight wide. Such a plate being most
carefully cleaned, and quite free from grease, was placed upon the
table, and levelled by means of spirit levels, just as a plate of glass
used for the old collodion process would be levelled, in order that the
fluid should not run off at one edge, leaving the other comparatively
dry; and now came the knotty point—Which was the best silvering
process to use? On consulting the best records of this art, we found
valuable information in the English Mechanic, Vol. xxi., No. 542.
The reader will find the following process very successful if
minutely carried out in all its technical details—

To Silver Glass.
 Prepare two solutions.
1. Argentic nitrate is dissolved in distilled water, and ammonia
added to the solution till the precipitate first thrown down is almost
entirely re-dissolved. The solution is filtered and diluted, so that 100
cc. contain one gramme of argentic nitrate.
N.B.—100 cc. are equal to rather more than 3½ fluid ounces.
2. Two grammes of argentic nitrate are dissolved in a little
distilled water, and poured into a litre of boiling distilled water. 1·66
gramme of Rochelle salt is added, and the mixture boiled for a short
time, till the precipitate contained in it becomes grey; it is then filtered
hot.
The glass, having been thoroughly cleaned with (1) nitric acid, (2)
water, (3) caustic potash, (4) water, (5) alcohol, and lastly distilled
water, is to be placed in a clean glass or porcelain vessel, the side to
be silvered being placed uppermost. Equal quantities of the two
solutions are then to be mixed and poured in, so as to cover the
glass. This should be done while the glass is still wet with distilled
water.
In about an hour the silvering will be completed. Then pour off the
exhausted liquid, carefully remove glass, wash in clean water, rub off
silver where deposited where not required, allow to dry, and varnish
silvered side with any thin varnish which does not contract much in
drying.
The time required for the operation depends on temperature.
If the solutions be warmed to about 30°C., the silver is deposited
in a few minutes; but it is safer to use them cold.
The inside of test tubes, bulbs, &c., are silvered by putting the
solutions into them, no second vessel being then required.
Throughout the whole operation the most scrupulous cleanliness
is the grand essential.
100 cc. are equal to rather more than 3½ fluid ounces.

1 gramme = 15·432 grains.

 1 litre = 35¼ fluid ounces.

The plate of glass being thus carefully silvered is allowed to dry

thoroughly, and is finally varnished with a good thick varnish,
containing plenty of red lead, so that the back surface of the silver
mirror has a smooth and red appearance, while the varnish protects
the delicate film of metallic silver.
An ordinary photographic picture on glass is really represented
by precipitated metallic silver, but the metal in this case is in minute
particles, which do not shine or reflect light.
The silvered plate glass is now engraved in the following simple
manner. Being placed in a support or rack against the wall, and quite
upright, a chisel—or rather, a series of chisels—are drawn across
the surface in straight lines, and perpendicular, by the use of a large
T-square. Every time the chisel is drawn with pressure across the
varnished back of the glass a portion of the silver is removed,
leaving a straight line quite clear or transparent, and, in fact, laying
bare the surface of the plate glass.
The lines were ruled in three degrees of comparison: thick,
thicker, thickest; and considerable skill and experience—which no
description can teach—were required to get these correctly
engraved.
 a b c d, the Plate Glass;
e straight lines engraved on silvered side and
gradually increasing in thickness from e to f.

The engraved silver glass plate moved through a groove in the

woodwork at the top of the chamber, and was supported below on a
beautiful carriage, the wheels of which were covered with vulcanised
indiarubber rings, and moved on a tramway below the floor of the
room, perpendicularly. The glass could be made to slide at an angle
of forty-five degrees, and as it always made a rumbling noise while
moving, the music of the band concealed that defect. The ground
plan of the apartment is shown on the opposite page.
Some idea of the cost of making a full-sized apparatus, with
hangings and curtains and engraved glass, may be gathered from
the fact that the author’s outfit for Australia with a certain number of
dresses cost £327 12s. 1d. Whilst the author was travelling through
Australia Mr. James Walker, with his great inventive genius, made a
further improvement, by which the concealed figure at k was done
away with, and the whole apartment thrown open to the public gaze.
This was done to illustrate a clever sketch written by Mr. Burnand
called “Curried Prawns.”

Ground plan of chamber.

a a′ a″ a‴, floor of the apartment; b b, groove at

an angle of 45°, in which the glass moved;
a″ to c groove continued outside of the
apartment used when the glass was moved
away; e f g h, short flight of three or four
steps, as the room must stand some
distance from the floor to allow of carriage
moving on tramway.

N.B.—The groove a to c was concealed from the

audience by handsome curtains, which were
 repeated at the same angle on the other side, from
m to d.

K.—Place where the objects to be reflected in

the looking-glass were placed, but quite
concealed from the audience with a door,
closed when the exhibition was going on.

a c d e are the outside of the room, 12 feet square, engraved

glass running from h a to a d. The wing e g is placed square; this is
an immense advantage, as it renders unnecessary any counterpart
at c n, and as, of course, it cannot be seen, the light from the foot-
lights on e g is not seen by reflection at c n. When the wing e g was
at the same angle as h a, this was always a weak point in the
illusion, as when the glass crossed, the reflection of e g, unless very
dimly illuminated, always shewed. Now it does not matter when e g
is placed as in drawing. The frontage to the audience, instead of
being from a f, is now extended to e—i.e. 12 feet—consequently the
return sides f e and c b can be removed. This plan, of course,
precludes the use of “trick” chairs, baskets, &c. &c.; but it has a good
many other advantages in its favour, for with a “sociable” in the
middle of the room made in two exact halves, these halves trick or
cover one another when the glass is pushed across, and of course
this movement is not seen by the audience; then any person or
persons can be made to appear gradually, sitting or standing, at l or
m, right in the middle of the wide open room. Mr. Walker tried this
effect at the Polytechnic Institution, and it was capital—the ensemble
is more imposing. This plan of shewing the illusion is the plan for the
stage, as the necessity for darkening the stage in front is nearly
wholly avoided. The back of the side-wing i k can be painted black,
so that its reflection shall not be seen. In lieu of the gas-jets, as now
arranged, there is a gas-lamp; this is placed on a pedestal or small
table. The shadow of the “sociable” to a great extent covers or hides
the path along which the glass travels. Mr. Walker says: “I thought
out this way for Mr. Irving’s necessities, but I did not hear anything
from him; and it has come in well for Mr. Burnand’s sketch, which
has been produced.” In this sketch, a gentleman afflicted with
dyspepsia through eating “curried prawns” (the name of the piece),
calling on some friends, where he has promised to help them in
some amateur theatricals, looks at the different costumes of
Mephistopheles, Faust and Marguerite, and throws them carelessly
on the seat at m, walks down the steps (which we shall double in
width) the glass now crosses, and, whilst in a fit of melancholy, he
wonders if Mephistopheles will appear. Sure enough, he does.
Mephistopheles then comes down in front, and with incantations
makes, successively or together; Faust and Marguerite appear; they
then disappear in the same manner.
The author’s friends and the public all know how steadily he has
opposed the so-called Spiritual deceptions, which generally are not a
half nor a quarter as clever as the tricks of a first-rate conjuror.
 Punch instructs us what to do at a Spiritual séance, which, if
done, would certainly astonish the person performing the part of the
materialised spirit. Punch writes—“How to behave at a Spiritual
séance.—Always try to hit the happy Medium.”
The author thought the time had now arrived when a new
generation who knew not the ghost might be interested in its revival,
and with that idea the authorities at the present Polytechnic
concurred, so that by the time these pages are read it is hoped the
ghost will be in full career once more, and if the author only receives
a tenth part of the great patronage he received in 1863 he will be
amply repaid for all his exertions in reproducing the ghost illusion.
And he desires thankfully to acknowledge the very kind help he has
received from Robert Mitchell, Esq., the Secretary and Manager of
the numerous classes and useful lectures now so well conducted at
Mr. Quintin Hogg’s Polytechnic.

The author hopes to show “something new” at the Polytechnic;

and a lady in miniature, as it were from Liliput, dances on a silver
waiter held out by the author; and the great man Napoleon I., for
whom, like Alexander the Great, the world was too small, stands in
the palm of the hand of the author.
If “duffers,” &c., did not exist, the illusion would be explained to
the public; but ten years need not elapse before they know all.

FINIS.
Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited,
La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.
 Selections from Cassell & Company’s
Publications.
Illustrated, Fine-Art, and other Volumes.
Abbeys and Churches of England and Wales, The: Descriptive, Historical,
Pictorial. 21s.
Adventure, The World of. Fully Illustrated. Yearly Vol. 9s.
American Authors At Home. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 5s.
American Library of Fiction. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. each.
The Yoke of the Thorah. Karmel the Scout.
By Sidney Luska. By Sylvanus Cobb, Junr.
Section 558; or, Another’s Crime.
The Fatal Letter. By Julian Hawthorne.
By Julian Hawthorne.
Who is John Noman? Veiled Beyond, The.
By Charles Henry Beckett. By S. B. Alexander.
The Tragedy of Brinkwater. Orion the Gold Beater.
By Martha L. Moodey By Sylvanus Cobb, Junr.
“89.”
By Edgar Henry.

American Yachts and Yachting. Illustrated. 6s.

Arabian Nights Entertainments, Cassell’s Pictorial. 10s. 6d.
Architectural Drawing. By Phené Spiers. Illustrated. 10s. 6d.
Art, The Magazine of. Yearly Vol. With 12 Photogravures, Etchings, &c., and several
hundred choice Engravings. 16s.
Bismarck, Prince. By Charles Lowe, M.A. Two Vols. 10s. 6d.
Black Arrow, The. A Tale of the Two Roses. By R. L. Stevenson. 5s.
British Ballads. With 275 Original Illustrations. Two Vols. 7s. 6d. each.
British Battles on Land and Sea. By James Grant. With about 600 Illustrations.
Three Vols., 4to, £1 7s.; Library Edition, £1 10s.
British Battles, Recent. Illustrated. 4to, 9s.; Library Edition, 10s.
British Empire, The. By Sir George Campbell, M.P. 3s.
Browning, An Introduction to the Study of. By A. Symons. 2s. 6d.
Butterflies and Moths, European. By W. F. Kirby. With 61 Coloured Plates. Demy
4to, 35s.
 Canaries and Cage-Birds, The Illustrated Book of. With 56 Facsimile Coloured
Plates, 35s. Half-morocco, £2 5s.
Cannibals and Convicts. By Julian Thomas (“The Vagabond”). 5s.
Captain Trafalgar. By Westall and Laurie. 5s.
Cassell’s Family Magazine. Yearly Vol. Illustrated. 9s.
Celebrities of the Century. 21s.; Roxburgh, 25s.
Children of the Cold, The. By Lieut. Schwatka. 2s. 6d.
Choice Dishes at Small Cost. By A. G. Payne. 1s.
Choice Poems by H. W. Longfellow. Illustrated. Cloth, 6s.
Cities of the World. Four Vols. Illustrated. 7s. 6d. each.
Civil Service, Guide to Employment in the. 3s. 6d.
Civil Service.—Guide to Female Employment in Government Offices. 1s.
Clinical Manuals for Practitioners and Students of Medicine. A List of Volumes
forwarded post free on application to the Publishers.
Clothing, The Influence of, on Health. By F. Treves, F.R.C.S. 2s.
Colour. By Prof. A. H. Church. With Coloured Plates. 3s. 6d.
Columbus, Christopher. By Washington Irving. Three Vols. 7s. 6d.
Commerce, The Year Book of. 5s.
Commodore Junk. By G. Manville Fenn. 5s.
Cookery, A Year’s. By Phyllis Browne. 3s. 6d.
Cookery, Cassell’s Dictionary of. Containing about Nine Thousand Recipes. 7s.
6d.; Roxburgh, 10s. 6d.
Cookery, Cassell’s Popular. With Four Coloured Plates. Cloth gilt, 2s.
Cookery, Cassell’s Shilling. 384 pages, limp cloth, 1s.
Countries of the World, The. By Robert Brown, M.A., Ph.D., &c. Complete in Six
Vols., with about 750 Illustrations. 4to, 7s. 6d. each.
Cromwell, Oliver. By J. Allanson Picton, M.P. 5s.
Culmshire Folk. By the Author of “John Orlebar,” &c. 3s. 6d.
Cyclopædia, Cassell’s Concise. With 12,000 subjects, brought down to the latest
date. With about 600 Illustrations, 15s.; Roxburgh, 18s.
Cyclopædia, Cassell’s Miniature. Containing 30,000 subjects. 3s. 6d.
Dairy Farming. By Prof. J. P. Sheldon. With 25 Coloured Plates. 21s.
Dead Man’s Rock. A Romance. By Q. 5s.
Dickens, Character Sketches from. First, Second, and Third Series. With Six
Original Drawings in each by F. Barnard. In Portfolio, 21s. each.
 Dog, Illustrated Book of the. By Vero Shaw, B.A. With 28 Coloured Plates. Cloth
bevelled, 35s.; half-morocco, 45s.
Dog Stories and Dog Lore. By Col. Thos. W. Knox. 6s.
Dog, The. By Idstone. Illustrated. 2s. 6d.
Domestic Dictionary, The. Illustrated. Cloth, 7s. 6d.
Doré Gallery, The. With 250 Illustrations by Doré. 4to, 42s.
Doré’s Dante’s Inferno. Illustrated by Gustave Doré. 21s.
Doré’s Dante’s Purgatorio and Paradiso. Illustrated by Doré. 21s.
Doré’s Fairy Tales Told Again. With Engravings by Doré. 5s.
Doré’s Milton’s Paradise Lost. Illustrated by Doré. 4to, 21s.
Earth, Our, and its Story. By Dr. Robert Brown, F.L.S. With Coloured Plates and
numerous Wood Engravings. Three Vols. 9s. each.
Edinburgh, Old and New. With 600 Illustrations. Three Vols. 9s. each.
Egypt: Descriptive, Historical, and Picturesque. By Prof. G. Ebers. With 800
Original Engravings. Popular Edition. In Two Vols. 42s.
“89.” A Novel. By Edgar Henry. Cloth, 3s. 6d.
Electricity, Age of. By Park Benjamin, Ph.D. 7s. 6d.
Electricity, Practical. By Prof. W. E. Ayrton. 7s. 6d.
Encyclopædic Dictionary, The. A New and Original Work of Reference to all the
Words in the English Language. Complete in Fourteen Divisional Vols., 10s. 6d. each;
or Seven Vols., half-morocco, 21s. each; half-russia, 25s.
England, Cassell’s Illustrated History of. With 2,000 Illustrations. Ten Vols., 4to,
9s. each. Revised Edition. Vols. I., II., and III., 9s. each.
English History, The Dictionary of. Cheap Edition. 10s. 6d.
English Literature, Dictionary of. By W. Davenport Adams. Cheap Edition, 7s.
6d.; Roxburgh, 10s. 6d.
English Literature, Library of. By Prof. Henry Morley.

Vol. I.—Shorter English Poems. 7s. 6d.

Vol. II.—Illustrations of English Religion. 7s. 6d.
Vol. III.—English Plays. 7s. 6d.
Vol. IV.—Shorter Works in English Prose. 7s. 6d.
Vol. V.—Sketches of Longer Works in English Verse and Prose. 7s. 6d.

English Literature, Morley’s First Sketch of. Revised Edition, 7s. 6d.
English Literature, The Story of. By Anna Buckland. 3s. 6d.
English Writers. By Prof. Henry Morley. Vols. I. to V. 5s. each.
 Æsop’s Fables. Illustrated throughout by Ernest Griset. Cheap Edition. Cloth, 3s.
6d.
Etching. By S. K. Koehler. With 30 Full-Page Plates. £4 4s.
Etiquette of Good Society. 1s.; cloth, 1s. 6d.
Europe, Pocket Guide to, Cassell’s. Leather. 6s.
Eye, Ear, and Throat, The Management of the. 3s. 6d.
Family Physician, The. By Eminent Physicians and Surgeons. New and Revised
Edition. Cloth, 21s.; Roxburgh, 25s.
Fenn, G. Manville, Works by. Picture boards, 2s. each; or cloth, 2s. 6d. each.
My Patients. Being the The Parson o’ Dumford.
Notes of a Navy Surgeon. The Vicar’s People. In cloth
Dutch the Diver. Sweet Mace. only.
Poverty Corner.

Ferns, European. By James Britten, F.L.S. With 30 Facsimile Coloured Plates by

D. Blair, F.L.S. 21s.
Field Naturalist’s Handbook, The. By the Rev. J. G. Wood and Theodore Wood.
5s.
Figuier’s Popular Scientific Works. With Several Hundred Illustrations in each. 3s.
6d. each.
The Human Race. The Ocean World.
World Before the Deluge. The Vegetable World.
Reptiles and Birds. The Insect World.
Mammalia.

Fine-Art Library, The. Edited by John Sparkes, Principal of the South Kensington
Art Schools. Each Book contains about 100 Illustrations. 5s. each.
Engraving. The Education of the Artist.
Tapestry. (Non-illustrated.)
The English School of Painting. Greek Archæology.
The Flemish School of Painting. Artistic Anatomy.
The Flemish School of Painting.

Flora’s Feast: a Masque of Flowers. With Coloured Designs by Walter Crane.

5s.
Flower Painting in Water Colours. With Coloured Plates. First and Second Series.
5s. each.
Flower Painting, Elementary. With Eight Coloured Plates. 3s.
Flowers, and How to Paint Them. By Maud Naftel. With Coloured Plates. 5s.
Forging of the Anchor, The. A Poem. By Sir Samuel Ferguson, LL.D. With 20
Original Illustrations. Gilt edges, 5s.
Fossil Reptiles, A History of British. By Sir Richard Owen, K.C.B., F.R.S., &c.
With 268 Plates. In Four Vols., £12 12s.
 France as It Is. By André Lebon and Paul Pelet. With Three Maps. Crown 8vo,
cloth, 7s. 6d.
Franco-German War, Cassell’s History of the. Two Vols. With 500 Illustrations. 9s.
each.
Fresh-water Fishes of Europe, The. By Prof. H. G. Seeley, F.R.S. Cheap Edition.
7s. 6d.
Garden Flowers, Familiar. By Shirley Hibberd. With Coloured Plates by F. E.
Hulme, F.L.S. Complete in Five Series. 12s. 6d. each.
Gardening, Cassell’s Popular. Illustrated. 4 vols., 5s. each.
Geometrical Drawing for Army Candidates. By H. T. Lilley, M.A. 2s.
Geometry, First Elements of Experimental. By Paul Bert. 1s. 6d.
Geometry, Practical Solid. By Major Ross. 2s.
Germany, William of. By Archibald Forbes. Cloth, 3s. 6d.
Gladstone, Life of W. E. By G. Barnett Smith. With Portrait. 3s. 6d.
Gleanings from Popular Authors. Two Vols. With Original Illustrations. 4to, 9s.
each. Two Vols. in One, 15s.
Great Painters of Christendom, The, from Cimabue to Wilkie. By John Forbes-
Robertson. Illustrated throughout. 12s. 6d.
Gulliver’s Travels. With 88 Engravings by Morten. Cheap Edition. Cloth, 3s. 6d.;
cloth gilt, 5s.
Gum Boughs and Wattle Bloom, Gathered on Australian Hills and Plains. By
Donald Macdonald. 5s.
Gun and its Development, The. By W. W. Greener. With 500 Illustrations. 10s. 6d.
Guns, Modern Shot. By W. W. Greener. Illustrated. 5s.
Gunmaker of Moscow, The. By Sylvanus Cobb, Junr. 3s. 6d.
Health at School. By Clement Dukes, M.D., B.S. 7s. 6d.
Health, The Book of. By Eminent Physicians and Surgeons. Cloth, 21s.; Roxburgh,
25s.
Health, The Influence of Clothing on. By F. Treves, F.R.G.S. 2s.
Heavens, The Story of the. By Sir Robert Stawell Ball, LL.D., F.R.S., F.R.A.S.
With Coloured Plates and Wood Engravings. 31s. 6d.
Heroes of Britain in Peace and War. In Two Vols., with 300 Original Illustrations.
5s. each; or One Vol., library binding, 10s. 6d.
Homes, Our, and How to Make them Healthy. By Eminent Authorities. Illustrated.
15s.; Roxburgh, 18s.
Horse, The Book of the. By Samuel Sidney. With 28 Facsimile Coloured Plates.
Enlarged Edition. Demy 4to, 35s.; half-morocco, 45s.
 Household, Cassell’s Book of the. Vol. I. 5s.
Household Guide, Cassell’s. Illustrated. Four Vols., 20s.
How Dante Climbed the Mountain. By Rose E. Selfe. Illustrated, 2s.
How Women may Earn a Living. By Mercy Grogan. 6d.
India, Cassell’s History of. By James Grant. With about 400 Illustrations. Library
binding. One Vol. 15s.
Indoor Amusements, Card Games, and Fireside Fun, Cassell’s Book of.
Illustrated. 3s. 6d.
Irish Parliament, The; What it Was and What it Did. By J. G. Swift MacNeill,
M.A., M.P. 1s.
Irish Union, The; Before and After. By A. K. Connell, M.A. 2s. 6d.
John Parmelee’s Curse. By Julian Hawthorne. 2s. 6d.
Karmel the Scout. A Novel. By Sylvanus Cobb, Junr. Cloth, 3s. 6d.
Kennel Guide, The Practical. By Dr. Gordon Stables. 1s.
Khiva, A Ride to. By Col. Fred. Burnaby. 1s. 6d.
Kidnapped. By R. L. Stevenson. Illustrated Edition. 5s.
King Solomon’s Mines. By H. Rider Haggard. Illustrated Edition. 5s.
Ladies’ Physician, The. A Guide for Women in the Treatment of their Ailments. By a
Physician. 6s.
Lady Biddy Fane, The Admirable. By Frank Barrett. Crown 8vo, 5s.
Landscape Painting in Oils, A Course of Lessons in. By A. F. Grace. With Nine
Reproductions in Colour. Cheap Edition, 25s.
Law, How to Avoid. By A. J. Williams, M.P. 1s. Cheap Edition.
Legends for Lionel. By Walter Crane. Coloured Illustrations. 5s.
Letts’s Diaries and other Time-saving Publications are now published exclusively
by Cassell & Company. (A list free on application.)
Life Assurance, Medical Handbook of. By James Edward Pollock, M.D., and
James Chisholm. 7s. 6d.
Local Government in England and Germany. By the Right Hon. Sir Robert
Morier, G.C.B., &c. 1s.
London (Ancient and Modern). From the Sanitary and Medical Point of View. By G.
V. Poore, M.D., F.R.C.P. Illustrated. 5s.
London, Greater. By Edward Walford. Two Vols. With about 400 Illustrations. 9s.
each.
London, Old and New. Six Vols., each containing about 200 Illustrations and Maps.
Cloth, 9s. each.
 Longfellow’s Poetical Works. Illustrated, £3 3s.; Popular Edition, 16s.
Master of Ballantrae, The. By Robert Louis Stevenson. 5s.
Mechanics, The Practical Dictionary of. Containing 15,000 Drawings. Four Vols.
21s. each.
Medicine, Manuals for Students of. (A List forwarded post free.)
Metropolitan Year-Book, The. Paper, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.
Milton’s L’Allegro and Il Penseroso. Fully Illustrated. Cloth, 2s. 6d.
Modern Europe, A History of. By C. A. Fyffe, M.A. Complete in Three Vols. 12s.
each.
Music, Illustrated History of. By Emil Naumann. Edited by the Rev. Sir F. A. Gore
Ouseley, Bart. Illustrated. Two Vols. 31s. 6d.
National Library, Cassell’s. In Volumes, each containing about 192 pages. Paper
covers, 3d.; cloth, 6d. (A List of the Volumes already issued will be sent post free on
application.)
Natural History, Cassell’s Concise. By E. Perceval Wright, M.A., M.D., F.L.S.
With several Hundred Illustrations. 7s. 6d.
Natural History, Cassell’s New. Edited by Prof. P. Martin Duncan, M.B., F.R.S.,
F.G.S. Complete in Six Vols. With about 2,000 Illustrations. Cloth, 9s. each.
Nursing for the Home and for the Hospital, A Handbook of. By Catherine J.
Wood. Cheap Edition. 1s. 6d.; cloth, 2s.
Nursing of Sick Children, A Handbook for the. By Catherine J. Wood. 2s. 6d.
Oil Painting, A Manual of. By the Hon. John Collier. 2s. 6d.
Orion the Gold Beater. A Novel. By Sylvanus Cobb, Junr. Cloth, 3s. 6d.
Our Own Country. Six Vols. With 1,200 Illustrations. 7s. 6d. each.
Painting, Practical Guides to. With Coloured Plates and full instructions:—
Marine Painting. 5s. Tree Painting. 5s.
Animal Painting. 5s. Water-Colour Painting. 5s.
China Painting. 5s. Neutral Tint. 5s.
Figure Painting. 7s. 6d. Sepia, in Two Vols., 3s. each;
Elementary Flower Painting. 3s. or in One Vol., 5s.
Flower Painting, Two Books, 5s. each. Flowers, and How to Paint Them. 5s.

Paris, Cassell’s Illustrated Guide to. Cloth, 2s.

Paxton’s Flower Garden. By Sir Joseph Paxton and Prof. Lindley. Three Vols.
With 100 Coloured Plates. £1 1s. each.
People I’ve Smiled with. By Marshall P. Wilder. 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.
Peoples of the World, The. In Six Vols. By Dr. Robert Brown. Illustrated. 7s. 6d.
each.
Phantom City, The. By W. Westall. 5s.
 Photography for Amateurs. By T. C. Hepworth. Illustrated. 1s.; or cloth, 1s. 6d.
Phrase and Fable, Dictionary of. By the Rev. Dr. Brewer. Cheap Edition,
Enlarged, cloth, 3s. 6d.; or with leather back, 4s. 6d.
Picturesque America. Complete in Four Vols., with 48 Exquisite Steel Plates and
about 800 Original Wood Engravings. £2 2s. each.
Picturesque Canada. With 600 Original Illustrations. 2 Vols. £3 3s. each.
Picturesque Europe. Complete in Five Vols. Each containing 13 Exquisite Steel
Plates, from Original Drawings, and nearly 200 Original Illustrations. Original Edition.
Cloth, £21; half-morocco, £31 10s.; morocco gilt, £52 10s. The Popular Edition is
published in Five Vols., 18s. each.
Pigeon Keeper, The Practical. By Lewis Wright. Illustrated. 3s. 6d.
Pigeons, The Book of. By Robert Fulton. Edited and Arranged by L. Wright.
With 50 Coloured Plates, 31s. 6d.; half-morocco, £2 2s.
Poets, Cassell’s Miniature Library of the:—
Burns. Two Vols. 2s. 6d. Milton. Two Vols. 2s. 6d.
Byron. Two Vols. 2s. 6d. Scott. Two Vols. 2s. 6d.
Hood. Two Vols. 2s. 6d. Sheridan and
Goldsmith. 2 Vols. 2s. 6d.
Longfellow. Two Vols. 2s. 6d. Wordsworth. Two Vols. 2s. 6d.
Shakespeare. Illustrated. In 12 Vols., in Case, 12s.

Police Code, and Manual of the Criminal Law. By C. E. Howard Vincent, M.P.
2s.
Poor Relief in Foreign Countries, &c. By Louisa Twining. 1s.
Popular Library, Cassell’s. Cloth, 1s. each.
The Russian Empire. The Story of the English Jacobins.
The Religious Revolution Domestic Folk Lore.
in the 16th Century. The Rev. Rowland Hill: Preacher and Wit.
English Journalism. Boswell and Johnson: their Companions
Our Colonial Empire. and Contemporaries.
John Wesley. History of the Free-Trade Movement
The Young Man in the in England.
Battle of Life.

Post Office of Fifty Years Ago, The. 1s.

Poultry Keeper, The Practical. By Lewis Wright. With Coloured Plates and
Illustrations. 3s. 6d.
Poultry, The Book of. By Lewis Wright. Popular Edition. 10s. 6d.
Poultry, The Illustrated Book of. By Lewis Wright. With Fifty Coloured Plates.
Cloth, 31s. 6d.; half-morocco, £2 2s.
Pre-Raphaelites, The Italian, in the National Gallery. By Cosmo Monkhouse.
Illustrated. 1s.
 Printing Machinery and Letterpress Printing, Modern. By J. F. Wilson and
Douglas Grey. Illustrated. 21s.
Queen Victoria, The Life and Times of. By Robert Wilson. Complete in Two
Vols. With numerous Illustrations. 9s. each.
Queer Race, A. By W. Westall. 5s.
Quiver, The. Yearly Volume. Illustrated. 7s. 6d.
Rabbit-Keeper, The Practical. By Cuniculus. Illustrated. 3s. 6d.
Railway Guides, Official Illustrated. With Illustrations, Maps, &c. Price 1s.; cloth,
2s.

Great Northern Railway.

Great Western Railway.
New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition.
London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway.
London and North-Western Railway.
New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition.
London and South-Western Railway.
Midland Railway.
South-Eastern Railway.

Railway Library, Cassell’s. Crown 8vo, boards, 2s. each.

Dead Man’s Rock By Q.
A Queer Race. By W. Westall.
Captain Trafalgar. By Westall and Laurie.
The Phantom City. By W. Westall.
Another’s Crime. By Julian Hawthorne.
The Yoke of the Thorah. By Sidney Luska.
Who is John Noman? By Charles Henry Beckett.
The Tragedy of Brinkwater. By Martha L. Moodey.
An American Penman. By Julian Hawthorne.
Section 558; or, The Fatal Letter. By Julian Hawthorne.
The Brown Stone Boy. By W. H. Bishop.
A Tragic Mystery. By Julian Hawthorne.
The Great Bank Robbery. By Julian Hawthorne.

Representative Poems of Living Poets American and English. Selected by the

Poets themselves. 15s.
Richard, Henry, M.P. A Biography. By Charles S. Miall. 7s. 6d.
Rivers of Great Britain, The: Descriptive, Historical, Pictorial. RIVERS of THE
EAST COAST. With numerous highly-finished Engravings. Royal 4to, with Etching as
Frontispiece, 42s.
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, as Designer and Writer. Notes by William Michael
Rossetti. 7s. 6d.
Royal River, The: The Thames, from Source to Sea. With Descriptive Text and a
Series of beautiful Engravings. £2 2s.
 Russia. By Sir Donald Mackenzie Wallace, M.A. 5s.
Russia, Truth About. By W. T. Stead. 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d.
Russo-Turkish War, Cassell’s History of. With about 500 Illustrations. Two Vols.,
9s. each.
Red Library, Cassell’s. Stiff covers, 1s. each; cloth, 2s. each.

The Prairie.
Night and Morning.
Kenilworth.
The Ingoldsby Legends.
The Tower of London.
The Pioneers.
Charles O’Malley.
Barnaby Rudge.
Cakes and Ale.
The King’s Own.
People I have Met.
The Pathfinder.
Evelina.
Scott’s Poems.
Last of the Barons.
Adventures of Mr. Ledbury.
Ivanhoe.
Oliver Twist.

Selections from Hood’s Works.

Longfellow’s Prose Works.
Sense and Sensibility.
Lytton’s Plays.
Tales, Poems, and Sketches. Bret Harte.
Martin Chuzzlewit (Two Vols.).
The Prince of the House of David.
Sheridan’s Plays.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Deerslayer.
Eugene Aram.
Jack Hinton.
Rome and the Early Christians.
The Trials of Margaret Lyndsay.
Poe’s Works.

Old Mortality.
The Hour and the Man.
Handy Andy.
Scarlet Letter.
Pickwick (Two Vols.).