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Head-quarters for SNOW SHOES, MOCASSINS. LACROSSE & all out-door and Parlor Games. MALCOLM MORISON, Wholesale Dealer in BOTTLED ALES, PORTER, &C. MASONIC HALL, 22 TORONTO STREET, '^•h homk: I^^E'ws, — EDITED BY — BEmT-A.Itr) BIC3-SBTr, Is published every Saturday, price 5 cents, or free by post to any part of Canada, 6 cents. To subscribers the charge is $2.00 a year, or $i foi six months ; always in advatice. The rate for advertising is 5 cents per line. There is a reducttin for repeating, and special contracts for long periods are entered into. PUBLISHING OFFICE-BAY STREET, TORONTO. t h WHAT IT DID, AND HOW IT DID.IT. -• -^^ •- Sb Cljristmiis Storus^ BT BERNARD BIGSBY, jiu/A^ of " Ellen's Secret;' " Flowers and ThornSy" " My Note Book:* -» * I CONTENTS . I. Ohristmas Day with a Vengeance. n. How Harcld Maofarlane went thicngh the Fira> m. In the White Honse at Midnight. IV. Dr. Winsom's Wooing. V. The Shadov. VT. What that Bowl of Punch did. C0ront0: HUNTER, ROSE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 1872. ILntcred according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and wveuty-two, by Bbrn vrd BmsBy, in the offloe of the Minister of Agriculture. ' hiimlred TO THE READER It has been suggested to the author that the publication of this brochure, under the title of "That Bowl of Punch," might lead the public to entertain the opinion, that he godfathers proclivities to habits of indulgence and excess. The fairness of such an assumption he indignantly challenges He looks upon the habitual drunkard as a social leper, whose breath is poison, who barters the love of wife and child, the ties of home, high self-esteem, and all that makes life pure and happy for a grovelling, base, and sensual gratification of a selfish passion. He, then, dedicates these pages to those to whom the motto nunc est hihendum has a limited and sensible sig„ification-ia fact to all good lovers of temperance and sobriety who, like him- self, can use, not abuse, a gift of an all-wise Providence. 4-3J^i i( THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!" THE BREWING. 'IS intimate friends never spoke of him as Mr. David Douglaa ; to th'^m he was simply Mrs. David Douglas's husband ; he the parasite, she the plant. He, an insignificant incubus in the family circle ; she, the fountain-head of all its glory. And yet Davy — as we affectionately called him — was not always milkand-watery in disposition. Once he used to be positively perky — I use the term advisedly — perky ; for he was a little man with big, explosive ideas, that he jerked out with much gesticula- ti »n. Nay, sometimes he was even obnoxiously demonstrative and opinion- ated, and ready to argue the point with anyone who differed in sentiment from him. But from the day that Davy led to the altar the magnificent Juliana Bleakiron, his individuality was gone; he came back from his marriage tour an altered man, and it soon became apparent to his friends and asso- ciates that the little fellow was suffering from a chronic and virulent at- tack of hen-pecking. In addition to this marital affliction, a mother-in- law, of more than ordinary interfering proclivities, drove the sharpest little pins and needles of petty persecutions into his unhappy person, and led him the life of a dog. His cheery loud laugh soon degenerated into a listless smile, and hi« self-sufficient air gave place to an humility that would have been the envy ■of Uriah Heap himself. Month after month passed by in perpetuated afflic- tion ; old friends tried to laugh him out of his horrors ; but the evil was past curing by a joke. To me he confessed that, if he could only get rid ''THAT BOWL OF PUNCH I " of the Gorgon, as ho profanely styled Mrs. Bleakiron, ho would be enabled, as ho thought, to modulate the iuiinoderate transports of Juliana, and make the recalcitrant wife bendable to his lawful authority. All his personal luxuries — his pipe, his game at billiards, his dog. nay, even his old companions — were sacrificed on the altar of his hymeneal de- votion. Then, again, ho had his penances of commission as well as omis- sion ; for the ladies afiected piety, and he went thr' ujih a rigorous course of serious autobiographies, three Sunday services, Sabbatical cold dinners, and the Reverend Archibald Shuffle — the latter affliction being the high priest of a new sect of tho " peculiar people " species. Knowing his position so well, I was considerably surprised one winter's day to meet Davy in tho highest possible spirits. In brighter times he had a jocular way of singing some snatch of a comic-song chorus, and dan- cing an accompanying break-down on the pavement, and, to my utter amazement, the moment he met me he began, ** Ki-fol-de-ridJlc-loll-de-ri-do-da ! " flourished his cane in the air, and struck an attitude worthy of the Champion Clogger himself " Horace, my boy," he cried, "give me your fin." I shook hands with him heartily, right glad to see him so merry. " You were just the fellow I was looking for," he continued. "Will you come to my house to-night for a vesperial peck and a game at Loo ? There'll be Frank Barrington, Jack Irving, Walter Holbrooke, and Paul Massey — all men of our set. Come early, and bring your pipe." " But, iMrs. Douglas ?" I stammered. " Oh, there's the joke," grinned Davy. " Mrs. D. and the Gorgon are going to Brighton by the 5.30 from London Bridge, and I am left till next Tuesday a disconsolate bachijlor. Ri-fol-de riddle-kll ! " and he fairly danced with delight at his temporary emancipation. Rejoicing ai my friend's joy, I promised compliance with his wishes. The men I was going to meet were all good fellows. Frank Barrington was about forty, a handsome man, engaged as pecretary of a railway in India, and home with his wife and family for a year's leave of absence ; Irving was a junior partner in a firm of solicitors ; Paul Massey was a sur- geon, rising rapidly in his profession ; Walter Holbrooke was an emigration agent ; and I, Gerald Grey, held a clerkship in the Woods and Forests. We were a merry party when we drew our chairs round the tire in Davy't* dining-room. The flames gave forth a ruddy cheerfulness, the 1 THE BREWING. f kettle sang snuglj on the trivet, the decanters, glasses, and golden lemons glistened on the table, and we were prepared to make a night of it. The centre-piece was a large china Bowl, with an old-fashioned punch- ladle, which had descended to our host through several generations of Douglases. This was The Fowl. " Now," said David, ttnderly taking down from a shelf a manuscript receipt-book, that had been compiled in bye-gone days by his great grand- mother, a dame famous far and wide for her confections, " I'll read the directions ; and, Gerald, will you brew ?" " With all my heart," I replied, turning back my sleeves and pr( par- ing for action. " Hub the sugar over the lemon until it has absorbed all the yellow part of the skin, then put the sugar into the bowl; add the lemon-juice (free from pips), and mix thofce ingredients together." '* Mixed they are. Sir." '< Pour over them the boiling water." "How much?" v "About a pint and take care that it boils." " Take care that it boils ! Why, the kettle is fuming and fretting and puffing out volumes of steam, as if it uared me to lay hold of it and make it do its duty." " Add a tumbler of rum, a tumbler of brandy, some nutmeg — half a tea- spoonful — and mix discreetly. Then spice it according to taste." It was finished at last. There it stood upon the table, its hot breath heavy with the odours of Indian spices, and offering up its incense of vapour, while it ladened the air with delicious aromas. Again and again the ancient ladle did its duty. Then the sparks glowed in the bowls of the mist-compelling meerschaums, and there rdled to the ceiling thick, wreathing clouds of fragrant tobacco smoke. The cold, polished, immaculate poker and tongs had forgotten their ac- customed mathematical neatness, and lay honestly begrimed with unwonted labour, while the fire entered inti* the spirit of the thing, and crackled^ and roared and tossed its tiny sparks up the chimney in wild and exube- rant glee. How could we leave such a merry companion to take our places at the card-table ? The thing was impossible. "THAT BOWL OF BUNCH!" among " Look here, boys," said Barrington, "let's do as the Christmas Annual fellows always do, when down in a diving bell, or up in a balloon, or snow- bound at a village inn, each man tell a tale or sing a song." It was agreed upon.^ Then came the momentous question — who should begin -and seeing a good deal of hesitation amongst us, Walter Holbrooke, who was never backward in coming forward, started with a relation of how he spent CHRISTMAS DAY WITH A VENGEANCE. SHUT the ledger with a bang, locked up the cash-box, and gave the keys of the board-room to our antediluvian housekeeper with "a happy new year," and a more than usually liberal largess lo help her to spend one, and I, Walter Holbiooke, secretary to the Philanthropic Association for the promotion of the emigration of paupers to Figi-land, hurried off to catch the mid day train from St. Pancras to the north, for I was bound a Christmassing to an old farmhouse the hills and wolds of Derbysliire. There are few localities left in " merrie " England where the observance of our ancestral customs is so properly acknowledged, and few people re- tain 80 many of the rites and ceremonies of bygonedom tas the mid country folk that dwell in secluded nooks and corners of the Peak mountains; and I was anticipating a rare treat. There I knew that the yule-log would burn brightly, and that the bon- nie lassie that first saw it drawn up to the broad hearth, would faithfully look for a husbind within seven weeks and a day. There I was sure of the big, fliring dish of Snap-Dragon, and the mighty bowl of posseLmade of brown, homebrewed ale and creamy white milk — none of your tins of coranressed quackeries to be found in this land of pastoral richness — and the fishing with wooden spoons for the lidy's wedding ring out of a glo- rious jorum of frumenty. Hither I knew would come the mummers with fantastic dress and time- honoured drollery, and the morrice dancers with white duck trousers, va- riegated ribbons, and c lats of a dozen hues ; and I saw in my mind's eye the lovingness with which we welcomed the waits and plied them with hot elderberry wine to keep the cold out and give them lusty voices to sing their song of grateful remembrance. Ijere. too, I knew that a plum- pudding meant a plum-pudding, and not a petty apology of a cannon-ball-sized thing, like an overgrown dumpling, Bucli as Londoners believe in ; but a substantial twenty -pounder, with a sprig of holly as big as a geranium stuck in its sugary top. Here, too, I knew that the noble Baron of Boef lorded it in all his ma- jesty, and that turkeys, geese, fat ca})ons, rabbits, hares, and such small deer, were simply thrown into the feast as mtke-weights, hardly to be accounted for. Of all these good things I had anticipatory v'sions, and my heart leapt CHRISTMAS DAY WITH A VENGEANCE. and at the prospect that lay before me. It is true that since I was a boy of ten- -and I have now seen nearly thirty Cliristmiis Days —I had not been to the land of spa and heather, but had spent uiy life in London, and wa« looked upon as a cockney by country people ; but n»y hoart was always true to my native county, and I thought that going there meant almost the same as g^'ing home. A few words are necessary to tell you whom I was about to visit, and, as there is a little bit of romance attachable to it, you will, I am sure, par- don me the necessity of the explanation. My father was always supposed during hi"* '.ifetime to be a man of con- siderable means, but, upon his death, to the astonishment of all his neigh hours, his estate turned out to be heavily mortgaged, -^nd there was little or nothing left for his widow and two sons. iMy elder brother, Francis Henry, then twenty-five years old, and fifteen years my senior, resolved upon seeking his i'ortune in Australia, and my mother and I with heavy liearts saw him on board the emigrant ship at Gravesend, ere we dropped into our places as atoms of the great world of London life. Years passed by, and we heard n ithing of Frank, beyond that he had joined an exploring expedition, and had been since lost sight of In course of time my mother went to her grave in the full belief th it her first- born was no longer a living man, and this opinion of hers I fully shared. After many vicissitudes and ups and downs of fate, I found myself, as I have told yoa, in the secretaryship of the benevolent institution to which I have still the honour to belong. One day a farm-labourer, in presenting himself to me as a candidate for aid in migration, gave as the name of his last employer, Francis Henry Holbrooke, gentlem:in firmer Ashhngh Magna, Derbyshire. Struck by the name, I questioned him, and learnt the further ])articulars th it this gentleman had only lately settled in the neighbourhood, that he had spent many years in Australia, and that he was about forty -five years old. Feeling it my duty to leave no stone unturned to discover my lost brother, but fully assured that it would simply turn out a curious coinci- dence, so certain was I in my own mind of poor Frank s death, I wrote to the address given, and told him who and wliat I was. The answer I received was laconic enough in all onscience, and from its sheer prai ticability would, I am afraid, have greatly shocked all the learned gentlemen now trying to solve the mysteries of the TicLborne labyrinth. He simply said, "If you are my brother Walter, wiite and tell me the name of the ship I went out in, and what I gave you, and what you gave me on board of her at Gr.ivesend." To this I as curtly replied, " The ship was the Jresfrni Star ; I gave you a clasp knife with a buck- horn handle and four blades, and you gave me a green le ither purse, with a crown pirce and a shillin < in it." Then came a letter full of brotherly affection, deploring our long separa tion, and begging me to come to his liou>e, and stay as long as I liked. And thither upon the twenty fourth day of December I was bound, with a heart as light as that of any one of the top coated and muffled-up pleasure-seekers that left London on that bitterly cold winter's morning. 10 ''THAT BOWL OF PUNCH 1" The train reached Derby all rijiht, but here I found that my troubles commenced, for I had to travel alon was to walk it. " But," said I ucolicus, " where be ye goin' ti, m(rn?" '• To .Mr. Holbrooke, « f the (irange. " " Oi know 'un ; his tit and dog-cart were waitin' here welly two hour, an' t' coachman swore he were starved to death wi' the cold." " Which way had I better go?" " Whi»y y u mun keep t' high road till you get to Newti n old Church, about f ur moile ayon ; then, if thee was t" crass through the spinney, thee canst get over the stubb!e into the forty-acre^ an' the Grange lies just in the hollow below you. '• Aftci I get ti) the church, shall I turn to the right or the left?" " lloight mun, roight : the Stactite cave be on thy left. Thee munna go there, for there be as many holes i' the spinney o' that soide as there be burrows in a warren.' Leaving my friend my portmanteau I lit my pipe, and set out at a good, swinging, tivc-mile-an hour pace, that, much sooner than I had anticipated, brought me to the old chu.-ch at the roadside, which was little better than a ruin, having 1 ng fallen into disuse. Here the rad dived between two "sjinneys,' but i'or the life of me 1 could not remember which side to take for the short cut that was to lead me to r>y brother's hou.'-e. I will try them both, I th. ught, and see from the other side which looks likeliest. It was to the left I turned for there was an inviting gap in the hedge that led me to the fatal mistake. It was a bright moonlight night, a small fall of snow had been frozen • the gnuind and trees, and lent their leaves and branches the appearance (; ' having been crystnlizcd. Brushing aside the frozen underwood, with a steady step I advanced; but in a moment — how I hardly knew, for the shock was .so fudd n — the ground seemed to open beneath me, and 1 fell into a yawning chasm of impenetrable darkness. So CHRISTMAS DAY fTITU A FEiVGEAACE. 11 hour, thee sudden was it that there were to me but two sensations — the one of clinging wildly to the yielding brushwood, the other of a sharp, convulsive jerk that stunned me. My first impulse when I came to my t^enses was to ri>e, but the ag ny at once sufficed to show me that I had broken my leg and badly hurt my shoulder. Still my presence of mind did n t forsake me. Although every movement gave me the most excruciating pain, I managed to draw from my pocket my box of wax matches, and with extreme difficulty to strike a light; but being able to see but little with ihi.s, I placed a pile of them on the gr und and lit them. Then what a sight met my gaze. I was in a lofty cavern whose wnlls were hung with glistening cry^^tals ; mas- sive pillars rose here jmd there in fantastic shapt's, while great blocks of glistening ores flashed back their rays c f gold and silver from a hundred sides. At my feet ran a black, slimy sfreani. that I could hear in the dis- tance falling with a sullen roar into some hidden depths below. In a mo- ment I k ew all. I was in the stalactite cavern ! Then the matches went ■ ut, and left me to the impenetrable darkness, the drip, drip, dripping of the crystals, and the hollow, distant moan of the falling stream. Heaven i elp me! what was to become of me ? I shouted, and from twenty echoes my voice came back to me, like the mocking ■ f demons. Then the pain in my leg and shoulder became unbearable, and I pictured to myself my going delirious and dying of hunger and < f being found weeks hence, perhaps months, for few visitors I knew came to these places in the winter time, lying dead where I then lay. Then, in spite tif pain and anxiety, the cold drove me into a kind of fitful doze, and for an hour I almost slept. When 1 awoke, a faint ray of light quivered r und ma, and I was enabled to see somewhat more of my whereab uts. Just above me was the hole through which I had fallen, and around me lay some of the debris that I had brought down with me in my Btruggles. I couli see into the bright air above, and once more I gathered up all my strength to shout ; bu my voice seemed like me to be bound in that terrible dungeon, and wasted itself in vain echoes, weaker and weaker, till in the blank distance it died altogether away. I pictured to myself the joyous crowds going happy day all England would have but me. I imagining rich dainties and fre.-h drinks, for I was faint and feverish, and then 1 fell into a torpid stupor of deadened despair that lasted for hours. Prom this I was wakened by the sharp, clear-ringing tinkle of a sheep bell. Then once more I shouted. I yelled and shrieked with all the agony of desperati' n, and fell back exhau.^ted on the cold rock. '1 hen, in a few minutes, my heart gave a great bound as I heard 8 me- thing splash ng in the stream liigher up from where I lay. 1 turned mj eager gaze there, and with aching eyes tried to penetrate into the blackness. Nearer something came, and nearer, and at last, shaking the water I'rom him on all sides, a noble colleydog crept from the stream into the light before me. At first he refused to c me close to me, but at last he yielded to my coaxing, and I clasped him round the neck The splendid brute seeinod then for the first time to realize that I was wounded ; with gentle softness he licked to church, and the teased my fancy by It " THAT BOWL OF PUNCH! " my face and whined his Bympathy, and then with intense agony I managed to tie my handkerchief round his neck and sent him on his errand for help. I heard him splashing through the water, and prostrated by the exertion, I fainted. When I came to myself I was lying in a large, comfortable chamber, whose walls were lit up by the ru'ldy glow of cheerful fire, and by my bed- side stood an elderly gen'leman, anxiously watching me. Near him was a lady, who seeing me try to rise, spoke tn me in a gentle tme. " Do not move, Walter, you are now in your brother's house ; I am your new sister; keep up a brave heart, and all will be well yet. Lie still, dear, for we must have no exertion." The grave gentleman, whom I afterwards learnt to be the kindest doctor I ever knew, gave me a draught, and in a few minutes I was in a sound, refreshing sleep. My kind nurse told me at last how it was that I was rescued, and I cannot do better than j,jive the narrative of my preservation in her own words: — " At four o'clock on the afternoon of Christmas Day, we were sitting down to dinner, when the shepherd came to Francis, and said that his dog Ranger had come to him dripping with wet, and with a handkerchief tied round his neck, which, upon examination, was marked " W. Holbrooke." The man thought the incident sufficiently important to be mentioned, ana I was going to send him away with a laugh at his puzzleu air, when I saw your brother turn pale, lay down the carving-knife, and leave the room in evident agitation." " He returned in a moment. ' Nelly,' he said to me, * Ranger's feet are covered with mud from the copper stream. He has been into the stalactite cavern, and as true as Heaven, Walter has got in there somehow or other.' He then went in search of you leaving us before an untasted dinner^ as miserable a party as ever sat down on a Christmas Day. " We were not kept long in suspense, for in less that half an hour the waggoner's lad came running back with a message for me to get warm blankets, send for the doctor, and have all ready ; • For,' little Jim added, * they've found a poor gentleman frozen to death, and master's crying like a school boy.' " Thus passed my Christmas Day, but I have spent many a merry one since then at Ashleigh Gra..ge. Through Frank's intervention, the lord of the manor has made such a belt rf protection round the treacherous spinney, that T think it will be a long time ere another wanderer spends his Christ- mas Day in the stalactite cavern." "And what became of Ranger?" said Frank Rarrington. " Ry Jove, sir, I would have bought that dog a silver collar and kept him on the iai of the land as long as I had a sixpence to call my own, if I had been you." "So I did," replied Holbrooke; '• I brought him to London, where he came to a melancholy end — whether he was poisoned by an old maid who af:ony I managed 3 errand for help, by the eiertion, srtable chamber, , and by my bed- Near him was a ne. ouse ; I am your Lie still, dear, le kindest doctor ^as in a sound, rescued, and I ition in her own ^^e were sitting lid that [lis dog nd kerchief tied V. Holbrooke." mentioned, ana lir, when I saw ^e. the room in anger's feet are to the stalactite show or other. ' ted dinner, aB f an hour the le to get warm tie Jim added, ''s crying like lerry one since le lord of the Jrous spinney, ids his Christ- " By Jove, lim on the f « : id been you." Ion, where he )ld maid who HOW MACFARLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 1$ lived near me and kept cats, or whether he tried to swallow a piece of London fog which stuck in his throat and chckcd him, I do not know — but he died. We buried him in the back court, and a friend wrote his elegy — an acrostic — which, if Ranger had been a spaniel, which he wasn't, and if the ' humble mound of earth ' had not been u flagged pavement, which it was, would have been very appropriate : — * Reader, beneath thia monnd of humMe clay A favourite spaniel's sad remains decay ; No dog as he so learn'd in sporting lore, Oay was his hark, and quick his progress o'er Each field and cover where the game would dwell. Ranger! dear honest fellow, fare-thee-well!' "But I see that Grey is longing to distinguish himself, so I will light my pipe and pass the office of tale-teller to him." " So be it," I said ; " then I will relate to you the wonderful experience* ©f a friend of mine, which I shall entitle HOW HAROLD MACFARLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. NDRE W MACFARLANE was not apleasant old man. There was nothing reverend about his appearance, manners, or habits; when he smiled, his face relaxed into a contortion, between a grin and a sneer ; and a scowl sat more accustomedly on his features, that seemed chiselled in some hard, uncutable wood. He was thin, tall, and angular in his proportions, and his knuckles were very bony, and gave his clawey fingers the ap- pearance of having been tied into knots. His voice was feeble, and always in the utterance of a long sentence, degenerated into an inarticulate snarl. In his dress he was slovenly and dirty ; and his small eyes peered with a sharp cunning from beneath his shaga;y eye- brows. In fact, Andrew Macfarlane was as objectionable an old party as you would find in a long day's march : but Andrew Macfarlane had one re- deeming quality, one great virtue, that spread a cloak of utter concealment over all his inferior infirmities; he was rich, so rich, that there was a report in the Village of Milton, where he lived, that he could not count his own money. So rich, that the Vicar, when he met him, put on a fat, unctions smile, shook his hand with the warmth and impression due to the ownerof thousands, and enquired with well expressed anxiety after the health of his esteemed parishioner and his amiable son. Talking about his son, reminds me to tell you that Andrew Macfarlane u " THAT HOWL OF PUNCH/" II had one boy, tho apple of his eye, whom he loved, if posBible, more than his bajrs of gold. Harold Macfarlane was not a bit like his father. Had he been brought up by a careful hand, he would have turned out a fine manly fellow ; but what healthy plant could grow up under the sickening shade of that upae- tree-of-a-father of his ? At twenty years of age he had many excellent qualities ; but his whole disposition was saturated with selfishness. He was a mass of contriidic- tions too — at one moment joyous, at another moment sullen - now wildly demon!? trative, now stupidly phlegmatic — to day cold and calculating, to- morrow ready to act iinpetuou.'-ly on the spur of the moment ; in fact, you might be acquainted with Harold Macfarlane for a long time, and yet be uuiible to de.«cribe his di.'iposition. He had but few associates : for the Villa)(Mes3. dazzled was put lopelees- HOfr 3fA CFARLANE WENT TIIROUGIl THE FIRE. 16 One d;iy old Macfarlane sat alone in his library, chuckling over the fire, with a letter in his hand. Thei'3 was 3ome curious, indefinable similarity between the old man and the ancient oak chair he sat in ; it looked a crab- bed, stiff backed, can't-he-comfur'iible piece of furniture, with a rugged, impossible seat, and it had abou' it a general air of coldness, hardness, and twistedness of character. The letter evidently pleased him; he read it again and again, and every time he read it, the grin that turned into the sneer w;»a more and more apparent in his face. " Two thousand a-year on coming of age," he chuc- kled, "and eight thousand down on her marriage! and as his little niiux of a niece will be visiting in my neighbourhood, he hop3s it will please Pro- vidence that Harold and she will meet and like each other. Like her I ho shall like her — how could he help liking her with such a dowry ? Oh, we'll have her here; we'll give her a welcome; we'll Well, what do you want?" The last part of his sentence he jerked out like the snap of the lid of a snuff box. And well he might stare : for at the door there entered an ap- parition past all powers of description. It was a withered, shiivelled-up old woman of eighty, toothless, witli nose and chin almost touching, and crowned with an enormous coal-scuttle bonnet. She stood like some resus- citated mummy. " Well," repeated the old man testily, " what do you want]" "Which 1 curtsies when I sees yer !" said the ancient, making two straight bobs up and down. "In the name of goodness," cried Macfarlane, "who are you ]" " Which I seed 'em in the back sitting-room with the grsen curtains, and Mary Anne says she to me, ' do you go straight and tell Mr. Macfar- lane their doin's.' He was a-kissin of her, and she says, ' never till death do us part, for ever and ever. Amen.' " ' Whom did you see? What did you seel Where did you see it ?" ejaculated the mystified old man, when his visitor, whose breath .seemed all gone, made a pause and sat down exhausted on the very edge of the chair, with a mittened claw resting i n each knee, and staring him wildly in the face. " And he says to her," went on the old woman, when she had recovered sufficient breath to speak, " ' though seas do us sever — from morning till night — which I never loved any one but you.' " Pausi ig once more to re- cruit her enirgies, she wound herself up agjiin and went on, "Which I see it from the very beginning, and him owing four weeks' rent— not as I hold with Roman candles and crosses, which wa.s the first we had — but her designing ways was dreadful, and I says to Mary Anne, ' Master Harold Macfarlane will marry her, and that'll be the end on't.' " " Marry whom ?" almost shrieked the miser. " That's just what I said it was -he never knows one word about it. I'll go and tell him, and now I'm come. Oh, dear, oh, dear, that 1 should ever live to see the day." Unable to endure the suspense any longer, Mncfarlane vehemently rang the bell, and his house-keeper, Mrs. Deborah Bland, appeared. She was 16 « THAT BOIVL UF PUNCU!" III! an auhtcre woman of sixty, with a frowning, dejected face, nnd the tones of her voice c;irae harsh and grating, like the echo of a stone wall. In her answers she wf.s lacon'o almost to insolence. " Who is this creature ?" cried Macfarlane. " Mrs. VVilderspinn, where the curate lodges." '' What does she want I" " She only means to ttll you that Master Harry is courting Miss Loder,. and she saw them at it." '• Courting Miss Loder !" said the miser, agha.st at news so antagonistic to his wishes. "Yes, ' croaked the housekeeper, " Master II ardd takes after his mother, and has none of his father's prudence. ' Hastily dismissing the two crones, after having made Mrs. Wilderspinn promise that if she saw any more hilling and cooing on the part of the young couple, she would let him know, Mr. Macfarlane settled himself once more in his chair for reflection. For a time his looks wore a puzzled and harassed exterior, but by-and- bye the grin that turned into a sneer came back to his features, and he geemed to solace himself in hia trouble. " I must send him away for a month or two to London for a change of scene ; he shall forget all about this young person ; if I offer decided opposition, the idiot will think himself a martyr, and marry the girl in spite of me. No, he shall go away and forget her, and then, leave me to get rid of the parson and his confounded petticoats." And so it was arranged that Harold should go on a visit for the first time to an aunt then residing in Bayswater. A few days suflieed to make the necessary preparations, and on the eve of his departure Harold found himself in his father's presence in the library. "Now about to-morrow," said the father, "you are going for the first time to leave home and get into the way of temptation. Remember my •words ; money is the great source of all the comforts of this life ; with money you can command the respect, nay, the very adoration of all men ; if you have it, the proud and insolent will bow down before you ; with it yon can luy the love of sweetheart, the affection of wife, and the ad- miration of friends. There is nothing in the wide world you cannot buy for money." " And how much of the precious treasure do you intend to give me ?"" was the pertinent question of the stripling. " How much 1 Ah, there it is. Now, Harold, do you think you can take care of it, keep it, look at it day after day, handle the golden, shining ■overeigns, and not want to spend them ]" " I do not know. You have kept me so short all my life, that I cannot tell what I may do with it when I have any." " Well, we will try you ; here are twenty pounds; more T cannot spare; let us see how you manage your first fortune. Why, God bless the boy, he's not astonished, — he handles them as if they were coppers,— and puts them into his pockets without counting them. Oh, Harold, Harold, I fear all my precepts are lost upon you." Ii 'i-k. the tones of all. In her Miss Loder^ antagonistic • his mother, Wilderspino part of the himself once but by-and- res, and he ige of scene ; position, the )f me. No, if the parson or the first 1 on the eve the library. )r the first Qoniber my life ; with of all men ; )u ; with it d the ad- iannot buy give me .'' you can en, shining t I cannot not spare; s the bciy, and puts :old, I fear HO W MACFARLA NE JP ENT THRO UGH THE FIRE. 1 7 Hastily wishing his father adieu, Harold retired to his room, where, after lying awake half the night thinking of his fair inamorata he went to sleep. In the morning he started on his travels, and was soon swallowed up as a drop in the great ocean of London society. H< * * * * Mr. Augustus Jackson, or Ous Jackson as he is called by his more in- timate associates, resides in a large private house at a West End square. In front of his mansion hangs a glowing red lamp, that in the distance you would take for the symbol of a medical man's habitation, but on closer ap- proximation would find it ornamented with a gilt legend recording the fact that here they provide " Billiards and Pyramids, Public and Private," while underneath on a black board is volunteered the further information that there is "Pool every evening after eight " On entering the passage, and mounting some provokingly spiral stairs, you come upon a red-baize door, in the middle of which is a round glass window, like an eye in the head of a Gorgon, and underneath this is suspended an elaborate card bear- ing the inscription, " Pause till the stroke is made." Having paused till the stroke is made, you find jourself in a large room, containing two bil- liard tables ; and having accustomed yourself to the hazy and smoky atmos- phere of the place, you further discover that it is ornamented by the pre- sence of several fast-looking, slangy, sealskin-waistcoated, horsey, ringy and pinny human bipeds called men about-town. Upon exploring the further recesses of this temple of the green cloth, you are surprised to observe a neat little chamber, where, enshrined among glit- tering pewter tankards, piles of shining glasses, small mountains of cigar- boxes, and fat little electro-plated kegs of ardent spirits, the presiding goddess of the place, Miss Bella Fleetlove, holds her court. She is essentially a fine young woman, demonstrative in dress and action her hair is absolutely illuminated with stars of steel and gaudy ribbons, while her dress is resplendent with yards of glistening bugles. Opposite to this charming priestess of Bacchus, with his arms resting on the back of a chair, stands Harold Macfarlane. It is scarcely four months since he left the little unsophisticated Village of Milton, and already he has glided into the torrent of London fast life. His pale cheeks and sunken eyes tell tales of nightly debauchery, while the intimate terms en vhich he is apparently with the young lady, show that he is no unfrequent visitor at the house. "Bella, you look charming to-night." Bella giggles, and tells him to "go along." "No, but you do," continues Master Hopeful, with more seriousness of manner, " and without any joking I'm uncommonly fond of you; beeides, you've got more sense in your little finger than many other women in their whole bodies." " Oh, Mr. Macfarlane," simpers Bella. " And I'll tell you what it is, Bella, I want to ask your advice on a very important matter." "Indeed!" B T 18 '*THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!'' "When I waa in the country I was spoony upon a girl who came to visit our village. The governor wished to cut oflF the connection, and sent me to town. I came firnt on a visit to an aunt of mine ; but after a time got a kennel of my own, and I don't intend to go back to any one else'a roof in a hurry, I can tell you." "Quite right too." " Well, all this has cost money. The governor is not sufficiently liberal, Bella, and I'm in a deuce of a fix for the needful. Of course I don't care a button for the girl now, but as long as she's at Milton I can't go back again, so what am I to do ?" ** Have you tried Jackson ?" " What, borrow money from him," says Harold in a tone of intense disgust. " Yes, my dear, Jackson's one of the most accommodating creatures in the world ; he's a perfect conjuror ; he'll take a little dirty slip of paper, witii one or two insignificant autographs written upon it, and in ten minutes turn it into a heap of shining gold — to say nothing of wine, and coals, and ancient pictures of the last century, that are worth any price — if you do not want to sell them." " What, draw a bill ?" " A post-obit," says the syren, who shows by her familiarity with the term that this is not the first time she has been engaged in such allurements. Harold requires a little clearer definition of the plan, and, being satis- fied with it in all particulars, lights another cigar, and declares that Bella is " the most delightful young lady he ever came across in his life time." This was the first step in the ladder of ruin that Harold took, and it was marvellous with what a power of adaptability he plunged into the down- ward career of vice and its attendant disgrace. Facilis descensus averni. It is astonishing how easy it is to go down hill. In six months' time Harold found himself involved in a perfect quagmire of difficulties. To his other accomplishments he had added that of betting upon horse-racing, and as the good things that his sporting asso- ciates "put" him on were always "scratched," or "roped," or had some petty accident that just prevented the certainty of their winning, day after day found him more deeply involved with the book-makers. At last his position grew desperate. Jackson was importunate for the repayment of various sums he had advanced to him, worse than importu- nate, for he treated him with an air of familiarity more galling than the very annoyances of his dunning. The young man's blood boiled against the petty tyranny of his creditor, and things were looking as black as they could do. Then the crisis came. Harold vows to this day that he never knew how it all happened. There had been a great dissipation at the billiard rooms ; he had an indistinct remembrance of signing an agreement under the dic- tation of Jackson and a Jewish attorney of low proclivities, whom he had often met in the place — of sitting with his arm round Bella's waist — and of singing a comic song with much pathetic tenderness, to the delight of the assembled company ; he had visions, too, of a pair-horse fly with a coach- ILLUI HOfF MACFARLANE rENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 19 aae to visit 1 sent me \ time got else's roof tly liberal, don't oarc I't go back of intense features in paper, with jn minutes I coals, and -if you do ith the term ■ements. being satis- i that Bella fe time." ook, and it the down- ito go down a perfect added that lorting asso- )r had some day after bte for the m importu- than the |led against (ack as they • knew how ard rooms ; ler the dic- lom he had eaist — and I delight of 1th a coach- man in white gloves — of an avenue of little boys— of a limp pew opener, perpetually bobbing up and down in a continued series of curtsies — of a clergyman putting to him some personal questions as to his future inten - tions respecting a young lady by his side, on whose finger he placed a little gold ring— of a rej)eated reiteration on his part that that was the happiest moment of his life — of oceans of champagne — of much protracted hilarity — and ho awoke to the dull reality of life to find himself married ! Married ! What a jingling of bells and odour of orange blossoms there is in the word; but to Uarold it was but the tolling of the knell of his worldly career. When his brain cleared itself of the fumes of the wine, and the fermentation of the excitement of the last few days, marriage seemed to him little better than a moral transportation for life. When he found himself and Bella the occupants of his lodgings in Duke Street, he awoke to the extent and depth of his misery. Nay, his fickle mind soon exaggerated every imperfection of the poor girl, until she became to him a hideous deformity — a horror— a ghost that was to haunt him through life. In addition to this feeling of incompatability came want of means, and "When Poverty enters the door, young Love Will out at the window fly." Now, as in this case there was no young Love at all, but only a spurious little fiend, begotten of sensuality and recklessness, he did not fly out at the window, but sat brooding and plotting mischief in the heart of the unhappy Harold. Then came to his aid the Demon of Drink. He tried to drown his cares in sparkling wine and ardent spirits ; but the cares evidently could swim well, for they rose to the surface, even more grasping, and gnawing, and harrying than ever. The worst of it all was that old Macfarlane was unaware of his son's dis- grace ; he only knew that Harold was constantly writing to him the most importunate letters, begging for monetary assistance, which he responded to with a very sparing hand After the lapse of a few months, Harold and Bella were sitting by their " ain fire-side." He in a dilapidated coat, no collar on, and unshaved; she with a perfect snow-storm of curl papers on her head, dowdy, drabby, and unwashed. "Bella," said Harold, ''what a cursed thing this waiting is to bo sure. If the governor would only write and say he wouldn't lend the money, I should know what to do, but the anxiety of uncertainty is terrible." •' He lend you twenty pounds !" said Bella, with a toss of the head, that set each individual curl in a quiver, " I wouldn't give you that !" — and she snapped her fingers with a savage little hang — "for all you get from such a greedy, miserly old curmudgeon as he is." "What must I do?" sighed Harold. "What must you do !" sneered Bella. "I don't believe you've got any more courage than a schoolgirl. Do you think, if I were you, with a father rolling in money, I'd be one day in this state of poverty ?" " What would you do ?" 1 I 20 " THAT liOlFL OF PUNCH I" " I'd go to AbrahaniH and take his offer." She uttered this Bcntenctf slowly, BO as to give full emphasis to each word. It seemed as if she had summoned an evil spirit to hor elbow; for, as she spoke, a low tap came to the door, and in obedience to an order to come in, an old, unrevcrend man entered the apartment. Hideously Uf,'ly, with features of the most pronounced Hebrew type, Lewis Abrahams stood the incarnation of human subtlety. " Ooot morning, ma tears," was his salutation. Bella jumped up, and eagerly welcomed him. " Goot morning, iMr. Macfurlane," continued the Jew, suffering himself to be relieved by Bella of his hat and stick, and seating himself by the fire. " And how is it mit you to-day, my fine geutlemans?" ** Abrahams," said Harold, turning savagely to his visitor, " when I look at you I can almost lead myself to believe in the existence upon earth of a devil." " Ha, ha, ba I" laughed the Jew, rubbing his hands, and chuckling at the joke. " I could You come at a time when my mind is distempered by trou- ble to put temptation before me, and you arc so infernally ugly." " Oh, vat a merry geutlemans," said Abrahams in actual glee at the compliment, " why how you talk, and me not spoken a word this blessed mornin'." " Not spoken — no, but you look it ; your very eyes, man, lell your tale. Drop all your humbug, and come to the point at once." "Veil, then, look you now, you owe me von hundred and seventy poundsh." "Of which I never had forty." " No, no, but you owe it me — von hundred and seventy poundsh." " Well ?" " Veil ! but it ish not veil. You have not paid me my moneysh, and I must have it." " If you can get it." " But, ma tear young friend, I vill get it. Now, look you, I don't vant to be hard on such a nice young gentlemans and his beautiful lady" — here a bow and a smile to Bella, who acknowledged the compliment with an ex- pressive shrug — "but I must have my moneysh." '• Drive me ! hound me on, curse you !" cri'd Harold, starting up in a frenzy of excitement, "but, do what you will, I won't have anything to do with that villanous document you are always harping upon There ! I see it sticking out of your pocket; take it away, man, hide it, burn it don't try to tempt me with it, or I'll beat your shrivelled old carcase to a mummy!"' He got up and sat down again in his passion, and then gloomily stared at the fire. " Vhy, look you how you storm ! And see vot a little bit of writing it is to make such a bobbery about. Veil, veil, if you vo'nt, you vo'nt young mans, so I'll just lay it on the mantel-piece, and call again as I come back from the City," So saying he took his departure, Bella following him into the passage, where an earnest whispering ensued between the two. f > J i ill ims^''': 'WW9- I/O W MAC FA RLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 2 1 s BcntcDce Bella onmo bnck full of sinilea : wild, hoyden playfulness had taken the place of the sullen acerbity of her manners. " Harold," she said, "don't bo so foolith ; Old Methusalcm isn't half such a brute as ho looks: let us take a peep at this piece of paper, and sec what it's all about." She opened the document, and read the contents aloud. It was a deed of assignment of sume property, valued at two thousand pounds, situated at Milton. It was cunningly devised, and gave the holder and his heirs pos- session of certain houses at the expiration of loa.«e3, varying from seven to nine yeans. At the end was written in pencil a singularly accurate fao-ji- mile of old Macfarlane's signature and the names of two attesting witnesses. " And so," she continued, " all you have to do is just to ink over this little bit of pencil work and take it to Abraham's friend in the City, who will give you one thousand pounds money down. W^y, bless my life, it's like coining money ! ' " Forging, Bella, forging." '* Forging, what nonsense ! Is'nt it all in the family 1 Does'ut it belong to you as well as him ? Besides, who's to know 1 The chances arc a thousand to one he'll never live to see one lease die out, and Abrahams vows it shall all be kept as secret as the grave for seven years." Eve tempted Adam, and ho ate the forbidden fruit. When Abrahams ■came back ut night the tracing was effected, and, after a visit to the City be relieved Harold of his pressing necessities by the advance of a thousand pounds. Then came the expected letter from his father; how anxiously he had awaited it, and now he hardly cared to open it. On breaking the seal, he took out four five-pound notes, and read as fillows ; — " I am sorry to find that you cannot make your exceedingly liberal allcwance meet your expenses. When I was your age, I lived upon fifteen nhilliD 1 a week, and saved out of that; but young people will be young people, and I hope the experience you have bought will be valuable to you. I have some very startling news to give you. You may remember making the acquaintance of an exceedingly amiable young person, Miss Loder, the sister of our friend and late curate. Shortly after his removal from the parish (for unfortunately for us all, the rector was induced to dis{.cnse with his services,) I discovered that she was the niece e f an old and worthy friend of mine, a man of large means, and moreover, his adopted child. Hearing much of her high personal character and sweetness of disposition, I went to the place of her brother's present residence, a neighbouring village, and they are now both frequent guests in my house. I beg you at once to come home and cultivate an acquaintance that always gave me so much pleasure to see you forming. I shall take no denial, and shall expect to see you at the end of the week at the latest. I enclose you £20. Take the number of the notes carefully, and use thom judiciously," " Too late, too late !" groaned Harold, as he crushed the letter in the grasp of his clammy hand. Then Bella took it and read it. She sat some time poring ever it, at last she said : i^ttutadtttiilii w 22 "THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!'' 'H 1 i " Is this the girl you were making love to before you cr>me up t«' town V " Yes." " Well, see here, I don't believe you care a rush for me. Oh, it's no> good looking like that — I know you don't ; let's make an end of this, for my life has been wretched ever since I was tied to you. I'm sick to death of my share of the bargain. Give me three hundred pounds — you've three-fifty left now you know — and make me an allowance of a cow- pie of hundred for life, and, I'll never let you see my face again." Harold started as if he was stung. " And so you would sell my love for that ? " •* Your love! " sneered the wife, '* if you show your love by talking and worriting a poor girl to death, it would be dear if it were given away. Lor," she added, " are you such a poor pitifu' fool as to think that I can't see through you ] Let us have no hypocrisy, but get the matter settled at once. I am not going to lead ihis life any longer. If I have married eo much above me, why am I not taken to your friends ? Why haven't 1 a house of my own, and a carriage to ride in, and servants to wait upon me ? If I am the wife of this fine gentleman, I will no longer be hidden away as if I was the wife of a — a." No simile sufficiently applicable occurred to her, 60 she hid her face in her hands and tried to weep. It did not take Harold long to make up his mind to a step so consonsot with his own feelings. Sick to death of the terrible turmoil of his London life, he longed for the peace of his native village. The Jewish lawyer was called in, and after having eflfected a legitimate deed of separation, the man and wife, whom but two months before the priest had joined in bonds of wedlock, went on their separate ways of lile. They killed the fatted calf at Milton Hall when the heir came back again. Even old Macfarlane and the ante-diluvian Mrs. Bland turned their wrinkles into smiles, and forgot the first principles of their economi- cal natures in the delight at the advent of their darling. But what Harold prized more than all was the kind reception of the Loders. The curate squeezed his hand with the warmth of an old and loved friend, and Ger- trude Loder gave him a timid but hearty welcome. Have you ever noticed in all the works of nature the marvellous effectR of re-action ? The burst of a thunder storm leaves a soft and gentle ze- phyr to fan the placid summer air ; the roar of the fall of an avalanche is succeeded by unnatural stilness ; in the din of war culminates the auger of a nation, so soon to drop into the serenity of peace; the outbreak of emotional passions in the breast of a man leaves him after his paroxyemn subdued and gentle as a child. And so the great moral and physical ele- ment of reaction told its tale on Harold ; from the turmoil and dissipation of London to the lethetude of Milton was a chlingc that gave a shock to his whole system. With a natural taste for a rustic life, the calm quiet of the village fell upon him like a spell. The joints of his disposition had been dislocated ^me up t» Oh, it's n(f of this, for .'m sick t& d poundB — ice of a co«- r alkingand ;iven awaj. that 1 can't er settled at married bo haven't 1 a it upon me ? Iden away at occurred to 30 coDSonsut r his London I a legitimate before the ways of life. came back land turned ;ir ecouonii- ?hat Harold The curate and Ger- llous effectR gentle ze- ralanche Ib the auger itbreak of iparoxyeme lysical ele- liseipation shock to ullage fell dislocated IlOff' MACFARLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 25 and torn asunder by the rack of disquiet, and now Peace, the gentle heal er, came to pull them back into their places again. Of all the moments of his life-time these were the most impressionable. Subdued in mind and body, he was plastic in all things, and as the hand of heaven willed it, he fell into the guidance of good people. The Loders were his salvation ; under tho influence of their companionship his mind rioared from the filthy, muddy slough into which it had sunk, and the ho- nest grain of manly thoughts displaced the rank weeds of his nature. A year elapsed, and who would know Harold ? Who would recognize in the genial, high-minded young man the sickly, broken-down rake of Duke Street ? It is true that every now and then an ashy whiteness of despair comes like a ghost to overcloud his features ; but even the recur- rence of his momentary sadness becomes less and less frequent. Encouraged by the curate and urged by his father, possessing, too, all the advantages of opportunity, no wonder that his heart, now more purified, yielded to the seductive influence of his former love. He had to worship his idol in secret, however, for he dared not breathe one word of the depth of his affection. All the gossip in the village were astonished as time flew by that Miss Loder remained a spinster ; but it was universally agreed upon that Harold was engaged to her, and that they must be married eventually. At last a report was prevalent in the village that old Macfarlane was ill, and this was speedily followed by the news of his death. A wet season had brought bad crops ; the miser had taken one of his largest farms from the hands of his tenant, thinkii g to make more of his acres, when the de- luge came, and crop after crop was mildewed and spoiled. The loss was too much for him, and hurried him to his srave. Thus Andrew died and Harold ruled in his steat!. In a brief time a great change came over the h"!) young and cheerful servants glided about the hcusc, the gardens assumed an air of neatness, and Mrs. Bland retired on a pension to adorn a modest cottage at the back of the rectory. The whole village felt the change. There was more work to be done, r.Aore money spent, more given away, and the young squire was the most popular man in the county. In the library before the fire sat Harold one dark November afternoon j J burnt into the door, he jrce glance of old friend ? the passage p from your 3ntlemans he to run, but I lave the mat- 1 the expense iscovery — the the witnesses names, more- eases, and de- acfariane, vot ands with an hair of your lives, he's a mghed aloud 'tances that |)us air, then it every syl- picted on his [y and three pis persc'cu- inds." Ir impudeut- IIOJV MA CFARLANE WENT IHROUGH THE FIRE. 25 ly soothing, *' be persuaded by an old friend, turn over in your mind vot I offer, for itish not pleasant to be transported, and vot vill poor Mrs. Macfar- lane think ? Besides the gentlemans in the City vill nbt drive you to your vit's end ; he vill not ask you for an answer till you have time to think of it. By this day eight months you will have all your moneysh free from the hands of trustees and other meddlers, and on that day I shall come for your answer. But, by Israel, you must say yes or no for I vill — I mean he vill — not bate a farthin'." ** Then I have ei:;ht months for reflection." "You have." " So be it. And now let mo put a few questions to you. What has become of my — my — my " "Wife? Veil, you see, Mr. Macfarlane, poor Bella, — I mean Mrs. Macfarlane - took to drinking; she's very goot all other vays, but she trinks, trinks, trinks morning, noon and night, and, look you, so much brandy is goot for no one. ' ' " And she is staying — " " Veil, ma tear Sir, if you vant her, send to Grus Jackson, and he'll let her know." Having enjoined Abraham's secresy in the neighbourhood upon all mat- ters relating to his private history, Harold terminated the interview, con- senting to pay the earnest demands of a few pounds for expenses. Five months of the eight had wafted away upon the wings of time, and April had brought its showers and its flowers, when Harold resolved to pay a visit to London upon some necessary business. Tottenham Court road on a Saturday night is not a very likely place for a gentleman to select for a promenade, but Harold had strolled out of Ox- ford Street, and impelled by curiosity, had continued his walk among the busy crowds of the poor man's street-fair. Here stood a woman selling p^reen-groceries, there a man with stationery : cauliflowers, toys, rings, keys, watch-guards, pictures, hardware, and all the requisites and orna- ments of a poor man's home, covered the stalls in unlimited profusion, while the flaring naphtha lights lent (juite a picturesque glare to the scene. Harold's attention was presently attracted to where a small crowd had assembled at the corner of a street. A young woman stood defiant in front of a man, who threatened her with fierce impre- cations. They were better dressed people than one generally finds in a street broil, and consequently their quarrel excited considerable attention. At last the man struck the woman, not once, but twice, severe blows with his open hand on her cheek. To Hainld's intense disgust, not a man among all those present, attempted to interfere ; a few women gave it as their opinion that it was a shame ; and there the affair would have ended, had not our hero sprung in front of the woman, and before another blow could fall upon l;er, stretched the bully at full lengih on the pave- ment, where he lay, for the moment stunned and motionless. Harold then turned to say a word of encouragement to the woman. The ( / 26 ''THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!" Ill gas-lamp now glared fully on her features, and revealed to his utter aeioa- ishment the terror-stricken oountenance of Bella ! H«ggard, wan, with the weald the ruflBan's fingers had made across her cheeks, her face looked up into his like some ghost's : she stared at him with a wild frightened look, and the next moment was gone. She had disa;-peared in the crowd, and in vain he sought everywhere for her, and the man had meanwhile sneaked away, and Harold stood utterly amazed at the adventure. Had it not been for the presence of the crowd, he would have thought it some wild delusion of his brain that had conjured up a shadowy phantasy. Feeling that Bella might have got into trouble through not having a suflBcient allowance, he forwarded her fifty pounds, with a promise to pay that additional sum annually. On the day before the eventful day that was to bring Harold a visit from Mr. Abrahams, that respectable gentleman was an inmate of the inner tem- ple of Mr. Gus Jackson's Billiard Establishment; the worthy proprietor was also there, and Bella graced the room with her presence, ''here was an unwholesome smell of yesterdaj 's smoke, hanging about the place, that would not be overcome even by the strong flavour of kippered herring that pervaded the atmosphere from the remnants of Mr. Jackson's breakfast. Presently there entered an oleaginous duplicate of Abrahams himself, who was facetiously introduced by that gentleman as ** ma friend from the City." The friend from the City begged that they would at once commence business, for business, he philosophically observed, was the soul of life. Jackson thereupon took from a box some papers, and sat down at a round table in the centre of the room. " Gents," he began, after clear- ing his throat and apologizing for a bone that had stuck fast there, " to- morrow's payday at Milton ; young Macfarlane '11 have to disgorge thir- teen thousand pounds, and wc must divide it among our home charities. Do you all understand that 1 " "Yes, yes." "Well then, what are our plans ? Shall we all go down together from Euston by the nine train ? " "Yes." "Mr, Isaacs," turning to the last comer, "is it understood that you are perfectly obdurate, and, notwithstanding our earnest entreaties, are deter- mined to punish the unfortunate beggar ? " " In the interest of commercial rectitude, certainly," snuffled Isaacs. " But that in con ideration of his youth and natural verdancy you will consent to receive the sum of thirteen thousand pounds as a penalty for his transgression, and forgive him the proper punishment for his wicked- ness?" "Certainly." This very important matter being agreed upon, the trio went out to- gether, leaving Bella alone in the room. utter aetoB- acroBs her red at him •ywhere for ood utterly the crowd, ad coujured t haying a aiise to pay a. visit from ! inner tem- proprietor ''here was place, that lerring that •yakfast. Qs himself, riend from I commence he soul of own at a ter clear- lere, '* to- corge thir- charities. ether from it you are are deter- Isaacs. y you will ty for his wickcd- t out to- HO W MA CFARLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 2T The moment they were gone she drew her chair to the fire, and crouch- ed over it. She had a nasty way of muttering to herself when unduly excited. "Yes, yes," she cried, "I'll sell him, if I die for it. He has beaten me like a dog, sold me as he would a beast, driven the very soul out of my body, and now I'll turn upon him. That poor flat was kind to me; he didn't care for me, but he was kind to me, and they shan't ruin him, form sell the lot of them." In her fury she almost screamed. Then getting up from her chair, she took a small key from her pocket, and opened the box from which Jackson had extracted the papers. " Here it is," she continued, " Deed of assignment between Andrew Macfarlane on the one part, gentleman, and Joseph Isaacs on the other part, merchant. Now for a blaze !" Seating herself once more, she held the paper over the fire, and glanced over its contents. With the lithe, noiseless step of a tiger when he crouches on his prey, Jackson crept into the room, his eyes gleaming with unnatural ferocity ; his right hand clutched a billiard cue, and the nervous twitching of his countenance told of the passion that was working within him. Kella's hand was poised over the fire, when there came a blow, a crash, a wild, despairing shriek, and the hapless woman fell senseless across the fender. " By heavens, I've done for her !" First taking the papers and putting them carefully into the box, he and the two Jews, who had entered the room, turned their attention to the vic- tim of his violence. She lay without symptom of life, her face crushed in by the terrible blow that had been dealt her. They carried her into an adj '"ning chamber and laid her on a bed. They chafed her hands, and poureu »randy down her throat, and then they looked eagerly and anxiously into each other's faces, and Jackson, pale and horror-stricken, muttered " She's dead !" The two Jews, trembling in every limb, implored him to act at once with decision. So assuring themselves that Bella was absolutely dead, they locked up the room and adjourned to the parlour, where, having carefully removed every trace of the scuffle, they began to devise the best means of escape and concealment. " Oh, tear, oh, tear, this is a terrible bad job," sighed Mr. Abrahams ruefully, " vot vill become of you I don't know, Gus Jackson, indeed I don't." " Become of ms, you mean," said Jackson savagely, " don't think to >hirk out of your share, for we shall all sink or swim together." The Jews looked in no way comforted by this assurance. " Let us buy some petroline, get some shavings, and when all the customers are gone to- night, set fire to the place." The suggestion was Isaacs'. " No, no," said Jackson, " that will never do. When a man wants to burn a house down, the fire, curse it, won't do its work ; wood won't burn, paper won't blaze, and if it failed it would only cause the quicker discovery of the body." •AaM3*ESill??Siil / 28 "TEAT BOWL OF PUNCH!'' ill " That's true enough, Gus Jackson," said Isaacs, " I had a friend, a most industrious young man, who insured his goods for five hundred pounds, and although he placed little heaps of shavings lighted all over the floors, and poured gallons of turpentine down the walls, the firemen put his blaze out in ten minutes." " No good trying that," repeated Jackson. " I think I had better keep that room where she lies locked up, give a notice in the saloon that in con- sequence of the tables wanting re-covering and cushioning, we shan't open for a day or two ; go down to Milton and get Macfarlane's money, and get off to America as fast as I can go." And so this plan was agreed upon, and the Jews departed. In a few hours the saloon was filled with visitors. Jackson was rallied again and again by his patrons on his seediness. Every now and then he went to listen at the door where the corpse lay, eagerly hoping to hear the faintest movement inside. Had a thousand pounds depended upon the effort, he dared not have entered the chamber. At every fresh entrance into the billiard room his craven heart sunk deeper into despair. At last a wild delirium of panic-fright seized him, and as soon as he could prevail upon all to go away, he collected some little valuables, locked up the house, called a cab, and drove to the Euston station. Depositing in the cloak- room his luggage, he proceeded to the West-end, where in wild dissipation he endeavoured to drown the terrible phantom that drove him to a freneied madness. « « # « ♦ Harold on the eventful day was mournfully prepared to receive his visi- tors. He was not alone this time, for he had in his hour of bitterness confided the whole of his terrible secret to his friend, Mr. Loder, who sat with him anxiously awaiting the catastrophe. It came at last. Jackson and the Jews were somewhat confounded to find a second person present to receive them. The former then, with an air of consummate im- pudence, held out his hand to Harold, and jauntingly hoped he was well. Harold, indignantly, motioned them to seats, and this being accomplished, he bade them instantly state their business, •' Is the reverend party confidential ?" asked Jackson, in no way abashed by the coldness of his reception. " He is my friend, and perfectly aware of all the incidents of this sad affair. To save you the trouble of recapitulation I will then myself pro- ceed to business." " Very goot. Be quiet, Gus," said Abrahams. " You see, sir," said Jackson, turning to Mr. Loder, " my friend, Mr. Abrahams was applied to by Mr. Macfarlane, in his father's lifetime, for a loan on a deed of assignment on some houses, and not being able to advance the money himself, he persuaded his friend, the gentleman sitting there, to oblige him. He agreed, and now he has made the discovery that the sig- natures of the deed were forgeries." " And what have you got to do with this 1" demanded the clergyman. \\ i 1 a friend, a dred pounds, 2r the floors, )ut his blaze I better keep that in cou- shan't open mcy, and get I was rallied and then he 5 to hear the ed upon the Bsh entrance lir. At last ould prevail up the house, in the cloak- d dissipation to a freneied jive his visi- ness confided at with him icond person lira mate im- bc was well, icomplished, i^ay abashed )f this sad Imyself pro- friend, Mr. jtime, for a to advance ig there, to lat the sig- brgyman. HOW MACFARLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 29 "What have I got to do with it ! That's a good 'un. Didn't that fel- low," j)ointing to Harold, ''come up to London a stranger, didn't I treat him like a brother, open my house to him, lend him money, and introduce him to my friend — didn't he gain the affections of a young lady, a close re- lation of my own, marry her, and in seven months desert her and leave her like a dog, when she mij>ht have died, for all he cared, if I hadn't taken her back to my house — didn't he borrow money from my friend on a forged document f And then you ask what I had to do with it ! Oh, I've nothing to do with it whatever, of course, but if my friends will be advised by me, they'll not stop here to be catechised by a parson, but go and get a warrant cut against him ; and when your friend is standing in a felon's dock, he will find that Augustus Jackson has something to do with it." " Do not be so impatient, Mr. Jackson. I fully understand your posi- tion, and having heard all that has occurred, I may as well state at once, that I see, alas, no way of saving my friend's reputation, but by compro- mising the matter. The only difiiculty we shall have will be about terms. Let us, therefore, come to this point at once," Mr. Loder said quietly. "Oh, there's no difficulty there," sneered Jackson, "because my friend has made up his mind, and all the parsons in the world won't alter it." " You have not mentioned the terms." " No, I have not, and don't intend to. Harold Macfarlane knows what they are. You don't catch me compounding felony, Gus Jackson gets up too early in the morning for that, my reverend gent." " Then what are we to do ?" "Nothing, if you don't want. Here we are; if you like to offer terms yourselves, do so ; if you like to say in a friendly sort of a way, 'Jackson, my dear feller, my friend's been and gone and done a wicked, foolish thing, that is likely to bring him into difficulty. You, as a sort of connection of his, can perhaps persuade the kind-hearted old gentleman he's robbed to have mercy upon him, and we'll pay ." " How much ?" asked Loder eagerly. Mr. Jackson disdiined a reply, and Harold here interrupted. Turning to the strange Jew, he said : ' You are the holder of this document. For its restoration to me, 1 will give you five thousand pounds." " Thank you, Sir, but I value it at more than doubb that sum, besides, in the interests of commercial rectitude ." "Not one farthing more." " Come along, gents," said Jackson, taking up his hat and moving to the door, " my relative seems determined to run his neck into a noose, so let's go and get a policeman, and " " Not need to go very far, Mr. Jackson," said a voice that came from the doorway, and the next moment a florid, full complexioned, middle aged man stepped into the room, followed by another counterpart of himself, and a female closely veiled brought up the rear. " How do you do, Mr. Jack- son ? Mr. Abrahams, your most devoted ; Mr. Isaacs, alias Mr. Sinker, my respects to you, gentlemen, both," turning to the curate and Harold, * good morning." wm 30 ''THAT BOJVL OF PUNCH!'' !P ill " Can it be Sergeant Gordon ?" stammered the trembling Jackson, with his eyes starting out of their sockets. *' Sorry to interrupt this snug little party," said the sergeant, but busi- ness is busines!?, as Mr. Isaacs so often says, and I won't detain you many minutes. May I first ask what you wanted a policeman for, Mr. Jackson ?" <' I — I — I — didn't — that is to say — no — no." The words would'nt come out, the eye of the sergeant seemed to look him through, and he felt that murder was written on his brow like that of Cain. " You didn't, didn't you? well, that is a pity, for there's one wants you, and he has come all the way down from London for the pleasure of meet- ing you." ' Wh-a-a-t for?" stammered Jackson, " I didn't do it. Indeed, in deed I didn't. She got drunk and fell over the landing, and " " Liar! " cried the female, advancing to the front, throwing off the veil that concealed her bandaged features, and exhibiting the well-known face of Bella. The effect was magical. Jackson and the two Jews sat livid with fright, Mr. Loder sprang to her and pressed her into a seat; for, notwithstanding the flush of excitement, she seemed weak and tottering. " My poor creature, what do you want here?" " To give my husband in charge ! " she shrieked, with a wild frenzy of excitement. Harold sprang from his seat. *' No, no, Bella, not from you ; let not the blow come from you," "You, poor dupe!" cried Bella, now hysterical in emotion. "No, 1 mean that pitiful cur sitting there," she pointed to Jackson, and all eyes were turned on him, " Years ago, long before I ever knew you, I married that villain ; to carry on his monstrous robberies, I lived as a single woman ; for money I let him sell me. It was a deep-laid scheme entered into by Isaacs, Jackson and Abrahams, to hold you in their clutches, that I went through the mockery of marriage with you. Oh, the misery I have endured ! My brutal husband beat me and used me cruelly; at last they found out that I had some spark of womanly feeling left in my poor bat- tered nature. ' Hearing of their scheme for extorting money from you, T seized upon the document upon which they held your ransom, and would have burned it, but when in the act Jackson struck me with a billiard cue and stunned me. Only stunned me, you miserable chicken-hearted cow- ardj" — turning to Jackson— "he thought he had killed me and fled from the house. I lay still enough till he was gone, then I summoned assist- ance, sought out Sergeant Gordon, and now have come for one sweet mo- ment of vengeance for all my miseries." She stood like a Nemesis, withering with a look of supreme disgust, the cowering Jackson, " I don't see," said Isaaes, who, watching how things stood, had plucked up some courage, " how this little matrimonial squabble affects our busi- ness. Harold Macfarlane, I accuse you of forgery. Sergeant Gordon, do your duty. This document, on which I advanced two thousand pounds, is forged — is forged, I repeat, by that man there," ickson, with t, but buai- a you many ■.Jackson?" )ul(l'ntcorae he felt that 3 wants you, ire of meet- Indeed, in ; off the veil nown face of 1 with fright, vithstandinj: ild frenzy of ?ou. m. '