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Photographic

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WHAT IT DID^ AND HOW IT DID IT.

&btttt»0 St0m^t

BERNARD BIGSBY,

^«M<?r 0/ " Ellen's Secret," " Flowers and Thorns," « J/j/ Note Book."

CO:E»TrR,IC3-I3:X EIDIXtOlST,

HUNTER, ROSE & CO., PUBLISHERS.

1872.

. .3

k-ft&t

BOO:gS'RT .T .ER.

Begs to inform his numerous fi^lends and the public, thit hi
is making a Specialty this season of Juvenile Literature, und
has a well-aelected Stock of Holiday Presents for the Yoaiaj
Folks, also winter evening Gaines in great variety.

His set of Parlor Croquet is in great demand, having now
established itself as the most popular of Evening Games, and
he has much pleasure in referring to the following articU whleli
appeared in " The Mail" of the 2nd December :

" Tow better Christmas Presents can be found than a gofwl in-door edition
of the Game of Croquet. We have baen sh >wn a box got up by Mr.
MAR8HAbL, and can apeak for its elegance and completeness as a Drawinj^-
room or Nursery play-thing."

ROBERT MARSHALL,

47 KING SrEEET WE3T.

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.

WHAT IT DID, AND HOW IT DID.IT.

-• -^^ •-

Sb Cljristmiis Storus^

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

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

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.

''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<r two locul br.itiches to reach my des-
tination and. the railway authorities perversely declining; to make any ex-
traordinary prepiratlons for the pref^sure of Christmas time, the lines were
ehoked, and the t flic was deliyed.

At list, fuily tlirce hours behind my time, I arrived at the junction of
Mudborough, only to find that the train had left for Milton, the place
I was direct d to get down at, and that there was little chance of continu-
ing my journey that nit;ht. But the station-master, doubtless touched at
my misfortune, and with a heart softened by the genial influence of the
season, promised me a lide in the guard's van of a luggage train that
would be passing at midnight, and would drop me at ftliltou about one
o'clock in the morning.

It was after one though when I got there, and the cnly living S' ul to
receive me was a cheen% g ■ d-tompered, though half fr zen signal-man, who,
after a juU at my brandy fl.i«k, which he dccl.ired t' contain " main good
liquor, any hi w," inf ruicd me that Ashleigh Magna was "better iia' six
moile away, and welly seven," that there was no possibility of getting any
kind < f a c nveyanee at this r adside ])lace, that the stati( n was locked up,,
and that the ■ iily thing I could d > 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.

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

" 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

" THAT HOWL OF PUNCH/"

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<xe of Milton could boast of no
young men of his age and nink in life, and it was not very remarkable then
that he was to be found daily at the lodgings of our curate, the i^everend
Edwin Loder, who had assumed the curacy of Milton for about two years.
This gentleman was essentially what you would call a broad churchman,
not very particular in his creed or his habits ; there was a want-of wash-
ingncss about his linen, a stale ^mell of last week's bird's-eye about his
clothes, and the collars of his coats were invariably t leaginous, and looked
as if they had lately been scraped. Nevertheless, on the whole, he was a
kind hearted, good man, and there was not a cottage in the place where
his knock was n .t more welcome than that of even the dignified Vicar
him.self

Old Macfarlane approved of his son's acquaintance ; he thought it a
cheap way . f keeping him from more expensive amusements.

So things went on until the whole village was thrown into a state of
curiosity, by the arrival on a long visit of the Reverend Edwin Loder's
sister.

Divers were the opinions expressed by the Miltonions as to the qualifi-
cations of their new lady guest. The Miss [largraves, thj parish doctor's
daughters, who were themselves gloomy young ladies of five-and-thirty with
dark features and a mis.sion for tra^-ts, ho})ed that she had been well brought
up, but thought her very vain and very frivolous ; Miss Fry. who kept the
post-office, described her as ins-ipid and fade— which l-ist expletive she had
seen in one of her own library-books, and marked especially for the occa-
sion ; Miss Wilks, the dress-maker, c lUed her w ix-doll-like and red-headed,
but upon receiving an order for a silk costume, confessed that she very much
improved upon acquaintance ; Mr. Tomo the bookseller, vowed th it she
was beauty personified; and it was very generally believed that Mr. Pill-
bury, the chemist's assistant and local poet, had written some exquisite
lines, where ' divine and shrine," and ' heart and dart," " love and above,"
' rang'' ill and angel," had served to beatify her as a sdnt or a goddess.

And what did Harold Macfarlane think of her? At first he was dazzled
with her beauty ; then, as he became more intimate with her and was put
at ease by her genial manner and unsophisticated kindness, he fell hopeless-
ly, helplessly, head over heels in love with her.

i, more than

ecn brouj^ht
fellow ; but
f that upae-

it his whole
P contritdic-
now wildly
jul'iting, to-
iD fact, you
and yet be

boast of no
rkable then
e i\everend
; two years,
shurchnian,
int-of wash-
) about his
and looked
B, lie was a
(lace where
itied Vicar

ought it a

a state of
LD Loder's

le qualiB-
1 doctor's
irty with
brought
kept the
e she had
the occa-
i-headed,
ry much
til it she
Mr. Pill-
exquisite
above,"
;>)(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

« 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!"

'*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

" 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.

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

"THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!''

'H 1

" 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<hortly after his accession. He was in one of his fits— as the domestics
termed his periods of despondency. At his feet lay a noble Labrador dog,
between whose paws nestled a tiny black-and-tan terrier. He was deep in
his reflections of the past ; vision after vision floated across his imagina-
tion ; when suddenly he was startled from his reverie by a servant catering
the room and presenting him with a card. It was a dirty little bit of
paste-board, and yet as Harold read its superscription, his countenance be-
came livid, and an involuntary " Heavens I " burst from his lips.

" What did you say, Sir?" said the surprised domestic.

"Tell him — tell him — I — I will see him, and send him here." Then
he looked once more at the card and read, " Lewis Abrahams, Outfitter,
t lothier, and General Dealer, 6, Scragg's Court, Houndsditch. N. li.
Gentlemen's wardrobes bought for cash."

nil

''THAT BOIVL OF PUNCH!"

The words seemed to him written in letters of flame : they burnt into
his very soul.

The Jew entered the room. Until the servant had closed the door, he
stood respectfully, bowing to his host, who eyed him with a fierce glance of
hatred, like an animal at bay.

" Vot," said the Jew, and is this the vay you receive an old friead ?
Ma tear young gentlemans, this is not goot manners."

" Hold ! " said Harold. " I will secure the outer door of the passage
to prevent interruption. Then let no unnecessary word drop from your
lips. Say all you have to say — say it quickly, and be gone."'

" Bless ray heart ! just the same high-spirited, joking gentlemans he
always vos."

" You have come about that deed."

" Just for a setil'^ment. It's true there's four more years to run, but I
thought now you was cuch a great gentlemans, you'd like to have the mat-
ter put an end to. Sho for old friendship's sake, I went to all the expense
of coming down here to see you."

" Have you got the deed with you ?"

*' Ma friend has down stairs."

" Well, T»hat am I to do ?"

*' Vhy, you see, Mr. Macfarlane, ve've made a very sad discovery — the
names on the deeds, Sir, are forged, every one of 'em. Ve've the witnesses
attesting it ready to swear they never wrote a letter of their names, more-
over your respected father mentions in his will these very leases, and de-
clares them free of 'nortgage. Oh, Mr. Macfarlane, Mr. Macfarlane, vot
ish to become of you ?" and the old hypocrite held up his hands with an
air of intense comnii^seration.

" How much do you want ]" said Harold, sternly.

"Oh, it ii^h'nt mt, ma tear gentlemans, I wouldn't hurt a hair of your
head ; but, look you, it's ma friend in the City ; bless your lives, he's a
terrible bad man, and he declares he'll transport you."

'•' How much does he want ?'

" Oh, tear, tear, vot a funny gentlemans it ish," and he laughed aloud
in admiration of the joke.

" Veil, look you, Sir, ma friend thought under the circuni-tances that
as you'd come "

" To the point at once !" cried Harold, impatiently.

The old jQVi looked all around the room with a mysterious air, then
dabbing one fat finger emphatically on the palm of his hand at every s^yl-
lable he uttered, he said,

"Thirteen thousand — pounds."

Waiting to enjoy the blank look of utter astonishment depicted on his
victim's countenance, he added, " ten for 111 friend in the City and three
for me."

For a few minutes Harold was silent. Then turning upon his persecu-
tor with all the intensity of a fixed desperation, he said,

'• I will not pay you one penny more than five thousand jounds."

" Now, ma tear young gentlemans," said the Jew, with an air impudent-

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

( /

''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

"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."

''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. '<No, I

md all eyes

, I married

gle woman ;

ed into by

lat I went

cry I have

it last they

y poor bat-

rom you, I

and would

billiard cue

earted cow-

1 fled from

)ned assist-

sweet mo-

lisgust, the

lad plucked
our busi-
lordon, do
^d pounds,

HOfF MACFARLANE WENT THROUGH THE FIRE. 31

"A lie! a lie ! a lie!" screamed Bella, " Harold Macfarlane never
touched it. Abrahams pencilled the signatures, and I inked them over.
I gave Abrahams the forged document, and Abrahams got the money. No,
no, Abrahams and I committed the forgery — didn't we, Mothusalem?"

" I think we'd better go," said Abrahams, getting up nervously from \\\n
.seat; bat Gordon and his assistant stood so provokiugly in the doorway,
tliat the suggestion was not carried out.

"Mr. Gordon, could I speak to you for one moment in the lobby?"
said the curate.

" Certainly, Sir," said the obliging detective. " Bill," he added, " keep
a skinned eye on these cusses, and call me if they move."

In a few minutes the door was re opened, and Mr. Loder made his ap-
pearance alone, whilst at the same time Gordon beckoned to his assistant
and Bella to leave the room, and the party was left as before the interruption.
The clergyman sat ominously at the table. The deepest anxiety wa«
depicted in the countenance of the conspirators.

" Mr. Jackson, Mr Abrahams, and Air. Isaacs, if I acted according to
my own sense of duty, I should persuade my friend to allow Mr. Gordon
to take you into custody, on a charge of conspiracy to defraud by threats,
and an assault with intent to murder, but, as doubtless you are cunning
enough to sec, we should be sorry to disclose to the world family secrets,
therefore I now offer you these terms, which I am sure my friend will
accede to.

" First. That you deliver up all claim to the document now in the pos-
session of Sergeant Gordon, forged by Lewis Abrahams ani Bella Jack-
son, upon payment of the sum of two thousand pounds, to be invested in
the hands of trustees, for the sole use of the saitl Bella Jackson.

"Secondly. That Jackson signs a deed of separation from his wife, and
leaves England for ever, under pain of instant apprehension on his appear
ing again in Great Britain.

" And, Thirdly. That the strictest silence is observed towards all matters
connected with this unpleasant affair. Further punishment I think unne-
cessary. From what Mr. Gordon says, Mr. Isaacs and Mr. Abrahams,
you are drifting fast towards a sentence of transportation ; and, Mr. Jack-
son, your actions fully assure me of your weaving the net of your own
retribution."

Crest-fallen and cowed, the three vil'ains sneaked buck to town, and by
the principal actors in my little story were heard of no more. It is true
that a few years afterwards a man named Agustus Jackson, and answering
the description of our friend, suffered, in Carolina, the last penalty by
Lynch law, for having foully murdered his wife, under peculiarly atrocious
circumstances, but whether this was the Simon Pure or rot, we have no
means of ascertaining.

Harold and Gertrude Loder were married, ar d now live at Milton Hall,
while Mr. Loder, an inveterate old bachelor, resides at the rectory.
* * * * # #

At a fashionable southern watering-place, Mrs. Jackson's Boarding-
House is known far and wide for the comfort of its interior and the kind

" THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!''

nesB and propriety of its In llady, and in the summer months the hall of the
establishment is sadly luui ored with diminutive spades and buckets and
straw hats, the property of certain little visitors, annually increasing in
number, who come under the cliarge of their nurse from Milton Hall.

"Now," said I, looking to my right-hand neighbour, "Irving, it isyomr
turn."

There needed no pressing, for the ice was broken, and he at once pro-
ceeded with the adventure at the White House at Midnight.

IN THE WHITE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.

'T one end of our village, down beside the brook, with seven
sjannt poplar trees in front of it, stood the White House,
it wasn't white; it had been once, but now it wore a dingy,
yellowy aspect, and towards the basement was green with
wall moss.

Of course the walls were low and gloomy, and in the garden
the rank and unhealthy grass and weeds had it all their own
y^ way ; of course the gates creaked when they were opened, and
the doors groaned when they were closed ; for the White House was,
according to well-authenticated topographical history, haunted.

For years it had been untenanted, and after dusk any smock-frock'd
native having to pass that way, hurried his pace, and nervously looking
over his shoulder, got out of the unhallowed locality as fast as his legs
would carry him.

Of course there had in by-gone days been a murder committed there,
and popular prejudice lent such an odium to the place that the proprietor,
an old maiden lady living in the neighbourhood, could induce no one, even
under most advantageous terms, to occupy it.

Thus year after year it remained empty and desolate. It is quite true
that at diflferent periods strange lights had been seen at the windows, and
more than once some terror-stricken passer-by swore to having been terri-
fied out of his wits by a figure in white flitting about among the attenuated
poplar trees, or beating its breast at the casement of one of the upper
stories.

To the truth of these facts, that the light did burn, and the figure did
appear, I myself can testify. Again, you will find a most elaborate account
of the whole occurrences immortalized in the Reports of the Association
for the Elucidation of the Mysteries of Haunted Houses contributed by a
very distinguished member of that learned society, who came to take note*
upon the spot.

I said I was an authority upon the matter, and now I will tell you why.

m/h-!,

Hy^iA

IN THE fTHITE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.

no one, even

I was the gho9t. My hand placed the liglits in the windows, my form
flitted about amont; the poplar trees, my voice uttered the whrieks that
cliilled the hearts of' the villagers. Not all mine was the work though, for
Jack Charters shared in the glory, or discredit, of the transaction.

Naturally fond of a practical joke, we had again and again availed our-
selves of the character of place to spread terror through the whole neighbour-
hood, and with such success that our exploits frequently found their way into
the monstrosity paragraphs of the local newspaper.

At last we were all astonished to hear that the White House was let, and
our surprise soon culminated by the fact tliat it was occupied.

The family that came to it consisted simply of three persons. An elder-
ly, white-haired, smooth-faced gentleman, a beautiful young lady of nine-
toon, and a small maid of all work. They led a peculiarly retired life, and
there was about them an air of mystery, that would have made them ob-
jects of considerable curiosity ,jhad they not possessed the attraction of living
in a haunted house. As it was cvory eye was turned upon them, and
every tongue talked of them.

But the gossips could make nothing of them. Mr. Garston, the gentle-
man, followed no occupation, was very reserved in his conversation, made
no acquaintances, and repelled the advances of the doctor, the parson, and
other respectable inhabitants, who tendered him on his first arrival various
little courtesies. Miss Foster, the young lady, although called upon by
the (lite of our fair society, was universally '' engaged," and made no
friends. The maid-of-all-work was impenetrable and unpumpable. Not a
word could be got out of her, even when subjected to the hydraulic pres-
sure of the cross questioning of the vicar's eldest and elderly daughter.

At length came the dreadful news — they didn't go to church. Only
those who have lived in a country village can understand the full meaning
of this discovery. Is it to be wondered at then, that in the course of a
few weeks it was universally agreed upon on all sides that they were no better
than they ought to be. These damaging aspersions soon gained additional
colour by the fact that Mr. Garston was addicted to talking to himself —
an eccentricity, that, in the minds of the neighbours, gave rise to many
unpleasant surmises. These were strengthened by the story of the curate,
who asserted that walking down a by-lane one afternoon, he suddenly
turned a corner, and came upon the stranger, beating his breast, wringing
his hands, and vociferating wildly.

The reverend gentleman could not clearly understand what he uttei'cd,
but he distinctly heard the words "murder", and " remorse;" and upon
making himself seen, Mr. Garston, displaying the deepest confusion, hur-
ried away in the opposite direction.

Again, Miss Foster was noticed to be sad and pensive, as though per-
petually depressed by some hidden grief. All these facts, added to the
perverse silence of the diminutive hand-maiden, substantiated the impres-
sions of the villagers, and various surmises were afloat respecting the
strangers. Moreover, who but some utterly hardened and fearless evil
doers would consent to occupy a house known to be haunted ? why that
fact alone was enough to condemn them as out-casts from society.
c

MiiiiiiiMili

HI III*

" THAT BOWL OF PINCH!

At this time I was articled to Blair and Hnioothly, LincolD'H Idd Fields,
and consequently left the village, but I continued to receive periodical re-
ports of all that went on there.

The marriage ,of a .sister filled our house with visitors, and as I was ex-
pected to 4ake part in the ceremony, it was agreed that I should take up
my quarters in Jack Charters' lodgings.

A few days before going down into the country, I had been attracted by
a sale of some theatrical properties, and had laid out a few shillings in the
purchase of curious drosses, that I knew would be useful to me some day or
other.

One was a tight-fitting demon's costume, black body, tail, hideous musk,
three pronged fork and all, that doubtless figured in some Christmas panto-
mime. This was so suggestive of fun to be got out of the unsophisticnted
Boeotians I was about to visit, that I tossed it into my portmanteau to be
made use of if opportunity occurred.

Jack Charters was delighted with it. He made me put it on for his es-
pecial inspection, and vowed it was perfection itself.

" My dear boy," he said, "it must have dropped from the clouds tor
the very purpose I want it."

"What's that?"

" Why, all the prestige we got up about tho ghost at the White House
13 waning away. The people are so involved in the mystery of its occu-
pants that they forget all about the ghost. This mustn't be."

"Certainly not,"

" That confounded old prig, Garston, too, hasn't a bit of reverence for
us, and vows that if all the ghosts of the other world came, he wouldn't
run ; and if we could only give him a good fright, the success of our spirit-
ing would be immortal."

" How shall it be done ? "

" I don't knoNv. You see there's that pretty girl there, and I shouldn't
like to frighten her."

" There's no one else there but the girl and the servant ? "

" Well yes, there is to day a stranger. [ went into the Red Lion this
morning for a glass of bitter, when a spruce old gentleman, rather u stout
party, came to enquire where Mr. Garston lived. He was immediately
set upon by the landlady, who tried all she knew to pump him, but it was
no go. So I blandly inibrmed liim that Mr. Garston lived at the haunted
house. ' The what?' says he. ' The haunted house,' says I, very solemn-
ly, and looking all over as if I meant it. ' What, a house with a ghost in
it ? ' 'Yes,' says I. ' And do you mean to say that in these days of steam
engines and daily news-papers there are io be found fools in England,
stultified enough to believe in ghosts ? ' So saying he caught up his carpet
bag, which bythe-bye clearly demonstrates his intention of stopping all
night, and went away. I should amazingly like to frighten that old party."

" I've got it," I said.

" Got what 1 "

" An idea. It'll want a little pluck to carry it out, but still it's feasible."

"Quick then, what is it?"

/.V TIIK WHITE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.

ID Fields,
odical re-

1 was ex-
d take up

true ted by
igs in the
ime day or

ijous mask,
mas pimto-
phistionted
iteiiu to be

for his es-

clouds for

hite House
of its occu-

bverence for
le wouldn't
f our spirit-

shouldn't

I feasible.

'• You know the lumber room that leads from the stablc-loft to the
house ? "

"Yes."

'< And the bauk stairs that lead fiom the lumber room to the sittiDg
room?"

" Every inch of them."

" Well, what more easy than to get into the lumljer room — You and I
know how to do that, old fellow, don't we ? "

" I should think so," said he with a grin.

"And," I continued. " to creep down the stairs, open the door and show
oneself. Onn poop will be enough for them I guess. The old fogies
are sure to be alone, and if they are not, I can but come back again."

"Good, very good," said Jack enthusiastically.

And .so it was proposed, seconded, and unanimously carried, that the
plan should be put into operation that very night.

At nine o'clock, according to arrangement, I proceeded in j/ersom'i dlaboli
on the expedition.

Jack stood in the lane to hold the top-coat with which I had covered
my satanity while g< .ing through the village. I was not long in reaching
the lumber room ; this feat 1 accomplished easily enough; but the dilKeul-
ty was to lind my way in the dark to the top of the stairs.

I am ni)t naturally timid, but tliat night I seemed to feel a shivery sen-
."■ation as I crept through the hlackncs>, perhaps occasioned by the strange
stories I had heard about the inhabitants of the place. Once I paused de-
termining to give up the adventure, when to my horror I heard a wild, un-
earthly shriek, so piercing, so agonizing, that my heart stopped beating and
I was frozen to the spot with terror.

All round uie Tvas black as a plague of Egypt, and you know well
what cowards darkness makes of us. Then in an utterance broken with
sobs came a pitiful, wailing, woman's voice, imploring forgiveness and par-
don. The tone was so plaintive, so despairing, and yet so sweet, that the
words entranced me. It was an agonized appeal, and was succeeded by a
heavy fall.

There was murder being done. I ci ild hear the scuffling of feet, the
dragging of a heavy body, and then came the tierce, stern voice of a
man, " Traitress, you shall die ! "

•' Die," cried the sweet voice" " Oh, my father, not yet, not yet. Si>
young, so unprepared, spare me, spare me."

Unable to endure it any longer I rushed to the stairs, crept cautiously
down them, and with beating hca?t, gazing through a chink in the door,
beheld a sight that chilled the very blood in my veins.

A young and beautiful woman lay upon the ground, grasping Garston's
hand, who tried to throw her off. Her dishevelled hair fell loosely over
her shoulders, and her face looked up with an expres.sion of agony and ter-
ror I shall never to my dying day forget. He stood like a maniac over
her, his eyes starting trom their sockets in the wildness of his fury. In
his right hand gleamed an open knife. One wild flourish and he plunged
it into her breast.

msm

l!l

" THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!"

I saw her fall, saw her eyes swimming in death as she rested one mo-
ment with her hands ou the floor, and the next dropped lifeless at his feet.

My heart was bursting: I could not speak or move, I was stunned witli
with horror — I fainted.

When I came to myself I was sitting in front of a large fire : a stout
old gentleman was pouring down my throat a stiff dose of brandy, while
Garston, the murderer, was chafing my hands; and, could I believe my
powers of vision ! Miss Foster, the victim, was composedly doing up her
back hair in front of the mirror.

"It's all right, he's coming round," said the stout one cheerily. " By
jingo ! but it was sublime, beat Leah into fits; it'll bring the house down.
That scene would be a fortune in itself, but," he added, seeing I was con-
scious, " how the dickens came you there 1"

" I d-do-do-n't know," I said, my teeth chattering so I could hardly
speak.

After a time explanation followed. It turned out that Mr. Garston
was an actor of no mean note, that he had discovered in his niece. Miss
Foster, the germs of marvellous tragic talent, and that she might pursue
her studies without interruption under his own experienced guiding, he
had taken the AVhite House, being moreover assured that as the house had
the reputation of being haunted, it wouM be free from visitors at the
times of these rehearsals.

The stout gentleman was the manager of one of the largest London
Theatres, and had come on this especial night to form his judgment of the
result of their labours.

The fright had not been all on my side ; for hearing me fall on the stairs
they had opened the door and found me — but Mr. Garston was too fami-
liar with stage demons to be taken in, and justly guessing that I was some
one come with the intention of frighteniug them, and that I had been my-
self frightened into a tit by their own handiwork, they dragged me into
the room and acted the part of the good Samaritan.

I spent with them a very pleasant evening, having received permission to
go and change the costume I wore for less diabolical garments, and to bring
back with me Jack Charters, who had been waiting ingloriously in a driz-
zling rain, considerably astonished at my continued absence.

We are both going with passes to sec the first performaiice of the piece,
and if Miss Foster act one-half as well then as she did on that memorable
night, she deserves to be styled the Queen of Tragedians.

Massey was the next victim, but he was ready for the sacrifice,

Davy, however, insisted on an intermission for the brewing of a fresh

bowl, and this being accomplished, the narrator related all the incidents

and misfortunes of

ill

DR. JVINSOM'S WOOING.

. one mo-
t his feet,
anod with

e: astoitt
idy, while
)elieve my
,ng up her

y. " By

)use down.
I was con-

iild hardly

r. Garston

iece, Miss
jrht pursue
juiding, he
house had
;ors at the

!St London
nent of the

1 the stairs
s too fanii-
was some
been my-
d me into

•mission to

lid to bring

iu a driz-

the piece,
lemorablc

)f a fresh
incideots

DR. WINSOM'S WOOING.

^R. WINSOM, M.D., was an eminently respectable man. His
residence, a handsome modern mansion in a west-end square,
was the perfection of respectability.

Respectability blazed in the shining brass plate on his hall
door, it glowed in the deep red velvet of his dinina-room cur-
tains, it peeped modestly over the precise muslin blinds of the
upper chambers, it resounded In the sonorous blows of his mas-
sive knocker, it pealed in the metallic tinkle of his area bell, it
vivified itself in the demure propriety of his immaculate man-servant, it
stared at you from the busts and pictures that adorned his walls, and awed
you into a state of nervous admiration in the mahogany substantiality of
the equipments of his consulting room.

But the double distilled essence of the intensity of respectability culmi-
nated in the person of the doctor himself It pervaded his whole presence,
from his cravat to his boots.

Medical opponents might sneer at his skill, question his nerve, or laugh
at his pedantry, but they could as soon have robbed him of his shadow as
of his respectability. It was his stock-in-trade, and he throve upon it.
Canton might make the blind see, and Yearsley the deaf hear, but men of
all ailments flocked to Winsom simply because he was such a respectable
man.

" Pompous brute ! " said Johnson.

" Ignorant as a pig ! " said Robson.

" Knows literally nothing of even the elements of his profession 1" said
Dodson.

But the voices of Johnson, Robson, and Dodson were drowned by the
calls of costormongers in the slums of Whitechapel ; and Winsom lived
and moved, and had his being in Bdgravia.

Dr. Winsom confessed to one fault, he was short-sighted. It was a vul-
gar failing, but he rendered it exquisitely respectable by the supreme clas-
sicality of his gold-mounted spectacles. He had lived the two score and
ten years of his life unblessed by much of the .society of ladies, and he was
peculiarly reserved and retired in their presence ; but as only vulgar peo-
ple are confident and assuming, this was a failing rather in his favour.

He had several admirers ; maiden ladies of uncertain ages, who came to
receive his alimentary admonitions, and expressed their vehement anxiety
as to the accurate carrying out of his prescriptions by repeated visits to
his sanctum.

One young lady of fifty peculiarly distinguished herself by the warmth
of her fossilized affections. Miss Euphemia Dodd had long set her cap at
the doctor. For years she had hunted him down, but although he would
pocket all the .superfluous guineas the ancient maiden could spare from lier
attenuated resources, not one word of love came from his recalcitrant lips.

. ■ ■^A^^t-:At^>vfW^'^ ■f■^;^^^:l^^-^:-

I'l

''THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!"

[tilillii

By every art in her power she tried to fire the spark of Hymen id the
doctor's bosom, and the only consolatioo she attained was the fact that

' « — No other fairer rival
Gained the dowry of his love. "

And yet Cupid shot a straight shaft at hist right into the centre of the
doctor's unsusceptible heart.

To Acacia cottage, the dwelling place of the chaste Euphemia, came on
a brief visit a niece of that lady, one Lucy Dodd. She was a fair haired
girl of two and twenty, full of animation, vivacity and coquetry. Like Im-
perial Caesar, she came, and saw, and conquered. At the first interview
the doctor admired her, at the second liked her, and at the third adored
her.

It was amusing to sec how the aged spinster copied her youthful relation
in dress, in manners, and coiffure ; and to hear her relate the fable of some
personal friend having taken them for sisters, was refreshing in the ex-
treme.

Lucy's sojourn was to be short, and the doctor felt that he must make
hay whildt the sun shone.

The natural respectability of his disposition developed itself even in his
love-making. He did not come empty-handed to the shrine of his devo-
tions, but brought his ofi'ering of jewels and of gold — a pair of bracelets
— and he determined to seize the occasion of presenting them as a fit
opportunity for the momentous proposal.

The day arrived. With less respectability of demeanour than the doc-
tor had evinced in any action for years, he hastily got into his brougham,
and bade the coachman drive to the habitation of his charmer.

The wheels of the carriage had almost rolled him to his destination,
when, with a sudden start, he felt in his pockets, in his cushion bag, burst
into a most plebeian perspiration, and muttered :

" Heavens ! " I've forgotten my spectacles. 'What shall I do ? Drive
back and fetch them ?"

Alas, he had judiciously timed his arrival when he knew, cunning man,
that the aunt would be absent from home at a Dorcas Meeting, of which
she was a distinguished member, and upon reflection, too, he thought that
the accident was a fortunate one, the absence of his glasses would make him
look younger, so he resolved to go at once to his fate.

'* Arc the ladie£ at home ? " he blandly enquired of the domestic.
'* Miss Dodd is out, sir, but Miss Lucy is in the drawing-room."

Glorious opportunity ! The very hour, too, seemed to favour his mis-
sion, for it was dusk; and to his delight he found the lamps unlit, and
the object of his devotion enjoying a quiet musing in the twilight.

Huiried out of propriety by the nervousness of his emotion, like ail
bashful men, he plunged at once without preface, in medias res.

' My dear young lady, do not move I beseech you. I am really most
delighted to find you alone. 1 have come in fact with that hope."

The lady begged him to be seated.

U Will you do me the honour — I may say, give me the unbounded

DR. WINSOM'S WOOING.

nen ia the
ct that

ntre of the

I, came on

fair haired

Like Im-

t interview
ird adored

if ul relation
ble of some
in the ex-
must make

even in his
jf his devo-
>f bracelets
m as a fit

nn the doc-
brougham,

lestination,
bag, burst

Drive

ining man,
of which
)ught that
make him

domestic.

\v his mis-
mlit, and
t.
[n, like ail

3ally most
inboundcd

=slt

happiness of receiving this little present — these tiny bracelets, that "

said the doctor, taking her unresisting hand, and clasping them on her
wrists, "shall have the happiness of — of — "

The lady gave a sigh.

" C)h, thank you, thank you, Dr. Winsom ! '

" Adorable creature ! " cried the stricken one, falling on one knee b;^fore
the lady, " from the moment that I saw you I was struck by your beauty
and grace. I worship you, I adore you. 1 know I am old ! "

' No, no, no !" faintly cried the lady, as she grasped both his hands in
hers.

" May I hope ? Will you return my affections? Will you be my
wife?"

"Yes! yes ! yes ! " with an eagerness that electrified the doctor with

joy.

" Oh, how happy you have made me ; but we have one difficulty, my
dearest child "

" None whatever," sighed the maiden, " I am my own mistress."

" Yes, but your aunt ?"

The lady started wildly and clasped his hand tighter.

"Do not be alarmed," continued the doctor, "I shall go to the old
lady and say boldly, * I want your niece to be my wife. I must, can, and
will marry Miss Lucy."

" I.ucy!" shrieked the damsel.

" Lucy, then, be it," cried the enraptured suitor, ** dearest Lucy, I

Why, mercy ! what's the matter? she's fainted.'"

Too true. The lady fell back upon the sofa apparently lifeless, while
the doctor, frightened half out of his wits, rushed to a side table, seized a
bottle of Eau-de-colygne, th;it opportunely stood there, and saturating his
handkerchief with it bathed her temples.

Wliat a position for him to be caught in if any one came into the room !
Each inst. it, too, expecting Miss Euphemia's return, he was paralyzed
with apprehension.

She came to herself again at last, and faintly desired him to let her re-
tire to her chamber.

"Merely a little hysteria, my darling," he muttered, and led her ten-
derly to the door, not half sorry to be rid of the dilemma. Then hastily
wiping the perspiration from his brow, he rushed to his carri:ige.

Having a patient's house to call at on his way home, where he expected
to be delayed, he dismissed his brougham, and resolved to walk the rest
of the way home.

On knocking at the door, to his surprise the servant began to titter.

" How is your master ? "

"He-he-he," laughed the man, "he's better," then unable to conceal
his merriment any longer, he burst into a smothered roar.

lltt<?rly indignant, the doctor turned on his heel and left the house, in-
tending to write a protest to the fellow's master.

As he went along, to his amazement, the passers oy stared at him and
laughed ; every person had a grin on his face as he strode along the street ;

THAT BOWL OF PUNCH/''

at last, unable to endure it any longer, he turned angrily on a labourer
who was more demonstratively cacchinatory than the re^.t, "What are you
grinning at, fellow? "

" Whoy, you be so black !''

" Black!" said the doctor, "who the dickens would look anything else,
annoyed as I am by a parcel of fools 1 "

But the crisisof his astonishment came when his own dignified man-servant,
who rarely even smiled, burst into a vulgar guflFaw the moment he saw him.

Running to his dining-room mirror he found to his horror that his face
was black — black as that of the Moor of Venice. Merciful Providence,
what did it mean 1

Rushing to his lavatory he scrubbed with soap and water his oflFending
features, but jniserahik visu, his eiforts were useless.

More soap more hot water, scalding water ; alas, all in vain, he was
dyed as black as a negro.

Then in a paroxysm of the most undignified trepidation he sat down in
a chair to think.

Suddenly he started iip.

" That accursed harridan ! I see it all. The old fool has a camera and
takes portraits ; she has emptied a bath of nitrate of silver into that Eau-
de-cologne bottle, and by all that's sacred, I've deluged Lucy with it !"

Sending for some solution of cyanide of potassium and other chemicals,
he managed to change the colour of his countenance into a dirty yellow,
and awaited further amendment from the hand of time.

Securing immediately t\o services of a brother physician to attend up-
on his most pressing patients, he took to his bed, and ordered no interruption.

On the next day a card was brought up to his bedside, and he was told
that a lady desired to see him, who would take no refusal.

It was Lucy.

Hastily dressing, with beating heart, he hurried down stairs.

She was there, closely veiled, alas, he knew the cause, and opposite to
her sat a young gentleman of five and twenty, with a supercilious grin up-
on his features.

" Miss Lucy," stammered the doctor, turning his back upon the young
man, and trying to address his lady-love coufidentia'ly, "has your com-
plexion suffered much."

" Mine? Certainly not, Dr. Winsom."

" Thank goodness."

" But, Sir,," said the young lady severely, " when on Tuesday last,
I returned from|the Dorcas Meeting whither I had been in Aunt Euphemia's
place, I found her in an almost fainting condition, with her face as black as
ink."

" And," cried the young gentleman, starting angrily from his seat, and
continuing the story, "she says that you presented her with some jewels,
which she will keep as evidences of your perfidy, proposed to marry her,
and upon her refusing, dashed some terrible drug in her face that has
occasioned this disfigurement."

" Are you mad ? " groaned the miserable doctor.

\ i a liiiii

THE SHADOtr.

" Now, Sir, as I am about to be immediately allied in marriage to Miss
Lucy here, and shall so become a connection of the lady you have so gross-
ly ill-used, I take it upon myself to offer this unprotected woman my as-
sistance to shield her from your brutality, and as such is the case I warn
you to take care of yourself."

" He ought to be severely punished," said Lucy, who forthwith sank in
the Doctor's estimation from summer heat to zero.

•* He shall be ! " cried the gentleman, " a magistrate's summons shall be
immediately issued against him."

Sayinec which and offering his arm to the lady, he led her from the room,
and banged the door to with an explosion like the discharge of a park of
artillery.

Poor Dr. Winsom ? He feels that the brightness of his respectability
is dimmed for ever. At every knock that comes to the door his heart
beats, every policeman he meets he thinks is looking suspiciously at him,
and he goes about in a daily dread of exposure.

But up to this period he has received no notice of an action, nor the
return of his rubies, but he has been much cheered by a report that has
just reached his ears, that Miss Euphemia Dodd is going to bless with her
heart and hand a Baptist missionary lately returned from a ten years' resi-
dence in Africa, and of strange, ancient-maidism proclivities.

pus grin up-

Frank Barrington was the only one who hesitated to begin a story, but at
last he overcame his innate modesty and said " My life has been eventful
enough but at the moment I can think of nothing more interesting than
an incident of my boyhood which I shall entitle

THE SHADOW.

T the age of fifteen I left the grammar school of my native
village to take my place at the desk of a distant relation of
our vicar, one Arthur Grindley, who traded in a dingy, slip-
pery, bye-street of the City of London, under the style and
^ title of Grindley and Co., Accountants. It was very little
accountancy that I saw carried on during the two years that
I was tliere, for the truth is that " old Grab," as we called
him, was neither more^nor less than a bill discounter and money
lender. I say as ire called him, and by we I mean Mr. Archibald Hare,
Sneaking Jemmy, and myself.

Mr. Archibald Hare was old Grab's chief clerk and cashier, and was
about the last man you would have expected to find occupying uch a
place. He was young, handsome, genial, and open-handed, and but ill-ada pted
by nature for the unclean ways of usury, but, as Fate had driven him into
such muddy paths, he trod over the miro as gingerly as he could, and con-
taminated himself as little as possible whilst diligently doing his master's
bidding.

''THAT BOWL OF PUNCH f"

;' !

Ilii

Sneaking Jemmy, or Samson Ogden, as he signed his name in decrepit,
rheumatic Icttera, for his hand-writing was cramped and twisted as his
own evil disposition, was old Grab's general information-hunter. When
any unlucky individual came to our place to borrow money, we alway.s
cliarged him a substantial fee for " enquiries," and these were conducted,
for the modest consideration of twenty -five shillings weekly, by Mr. Saai
son Ogden. He was eminently adapted for his occupation. A meek, little
insignificant, stooping, shabby-genteel figure covered a spirit as full of wiles
and subtleties as a serpent's. He had a retentive memory, and to aid
this he locked in the recesses of a fat dropsical old pocket-book the secrets
of a hundred houses. He could tell you how Jones, the rich tea dealer,
just before his daughter married a baronet, was driven to realize his super-
fluous plate and jewels, how the Reverend Theodore Chantwell, the popu
lar west-end preacher, did little bills at forty per cent, per quarter, and
how Lord Scattergold, the privy councillor, borrowed two hundred pounds
from his butler to keep the bailiflFs from his door. He could tell you all
this, and more, but he wouldn't, for, true to his calling, he was preterna
turally unpumpable.

Now for a few words about old Grab himself, and then I will go on with
my story. If you had met Mr. Arthur Grindlcy in society you would
have ejaculated, " What a remarkably benevolent man that must be !" His
face wore the aspect of a patriarch, and, like Massey's friend Doctor
Wiusom, in every movement of his body respectability glowed and gleamed;
from his gold eye-glass to his uncrumpled cravat he was one personifica-
tion of benevolence. If a client came to him to complain of cruel
brutality, cold-blooded rapacity, and actual legal robbery under the
cloak of "Bill of sale" or "deed of rights," he would wash his hands
in invisible soap and water, gently utter a few words of sympathy,
and oilily insinuate into the mind of the victim an absolute reverence
for his persecutor ; for, you must know, Mr. Grindlcy was far too
.sensible a man to carry on at our oifice any of the work of collecting the
moneys lent in different quarters. This was always done by a low firm of
solicitors who refused no act of meanness at his bidding. None of us knew
where he lived, or how he lived — there had been various canards afloat,
that he had been seen to enter a gorgeous carriage in the Poultry, which
carried him home to a palatial manison at Brompton, that he changed hi.s
clothes every night at a coffee shop, and putting on mean habiliments, crept
to a miserable attic in Leicester Square, and that he was positively known to
spend his spare evenings in sitting to a great painter as a model of biblical
patriarchs.

When not at the office in Old Broad Street, I lived with Mr. Hare in a
neat little house at Peckham, my friends paying a trifle for my board, but
not half enough to compensate him and his dear little wife for the comforts
they provided me with. He and Roselyn Grey had been married about eight-
een months, and a better looking couple it would be hard to find in a day's
march. One little chubby, good tempered baby blessed their union, and
was, of course, the idol of its doting parents.

But all of a sudden, when it exactly began I do not know. Hare became

|lc

immmimiamMUm

THE SHADOW.

ame in decrepit,
I twisted as his
■hunter. When
oney, we always
were conducted,
ly, by Mr. Sam
A meek, little
t as full of wiles
ry, and to aid
-book the secrets
rich tea dealer,
realize his super-
twell, the popu
per quarter, and
hundred pounds
uld tell you all
he was preterna

will go on with

)ciety you would

fc must be!" His

3 friend Doctor

ed and gleamed;

one personifica-

mplain of cruel

cry under the

wash his hands

s of sympathy.

solute reverence

y was fsir too

|of collecting the

y a low firm of

one of us knew

canards afloat,

Poultry, which

he changed hi.s

bilimcnts, crept

tively known to

odel of biblical

Mr. Hare in a

my board, but

for the comforts

3d about eight

find in a day's

|eir union, and

Hare became

subdued and thoughtful— even irritable at times, and more than once a
tear was in Roselyn's eye at a harsh word, to which she had been hereto-
fore unaccustomed. To j<11 her enquiries from me as to whether anything
was worrying " Archie " at the office 1 could but answer that I knew of

^nothing, neither was I able to deny that I saw the change as well as hor-

fself

Sometimes when there was an especial press of business. Hare and 1

'"- were kept in the City until a late hour in the evening, not that my services

■ were absolutely required, but I really stayed to accompany him on his way
home. Letter after letter he had to answer, column after column of figures

>he had to justify, and bill after bill he had to enter in the bulky ledgers,
jHthat were so heavy with their records of human miseries that I could
™hardly lift them. 1 often used to speculate in my own small mind, what
:a blessing it would be to humanity if Mo. 57, Old Hroad Street were burnt
^\o the ground, and these volumes of iniquity destroyed. Our offices con-
isiatcd of four large rooms, two on each side of an entering passage. The
lleft-hand ones were occupied by old Grab, and the right hand ones by Mr.
|Hare and myself: the outer of the two being the clerks' room, and
^the inner one being devoted to the use of clients as a waiting chamber.

* One afternoon old Grab, who usually left at five o'clock, come into our
TTOom with a large roll of papers in his hands.

* " Mr. Hare," he said in his oiliest accent, " I am sorry to keep you, but
\ must get you to attend to these little matters before you go."

I " With pleasure. Sir," Hare replied cheerfully.

■ '' I have jotted down a list of notices you will kindly pen. This account
"of Bells must be closed — Putney cannot have the loan without further se-
curity — Greatorex must take the consequences of his own imprudence, tell

fim I can do nothing for him — Moore must pay or sell at once — and Sir
ohn Gore may count upon my immediate attention to his request."
He then blandly bade us " Good night," and withdrew ; but he came
Isack in a moment and said, as if it had been a matter of second thought,
/*** And. Mr. Hare, yon may as well enclose Mr. Gregory these three five-
^ound notes he sent this morning, and tell him that nothing shall induce
le to renew his bill, which you may also post on to Smirkc with orders to
kue at once — without a moment's delay.

Hare, who had listened mechanically, started at this, and turning on his
Itool confronted his master.

« " Sir, excuse me making the remark, but I do most earnestly beg you
think twice over the step you are taking. When I went at your bid-
ling the other day to Mr. Gregory's house, I saw his young wife, and — and
-and," beseemed ashamed of his weakness, " it will break up his home- -
lin him. They have one little child, and they seemed so like myself and
ay wife and little one that — "
J " You grew sentimental."

^ He heeded not the sneer. " Moreover, Mr. Gregory " he continued
y has been grossly misled— swindled 1 may say — by an old school-fellow, a
"iroung man of fortune who has gambled away his means and dragged his
jriend into the mire with him."

''THAT BOWL OF PUNCH!''

" Really, Mr. Hare," said Grindley, " I must beg you, ae 1 have had
occasion to do before, to obey my instructions without commenting upon
my right to give them — " then, as if waiving all further disputation, " Good
night— good night, be careful with the gas," and he was gone.

Hare sat sullenly for a few moments, then unlocked a desk and took out
Gregory's promissory note, over which he pondered for some time before he
took his pen to write.

It was a habit of mine to retire into the waiting room, put out the gas, and
have a nap on a particularly soft couch that adorned the apartment, and this
evening I was very tired, for we had had several late nights in succession,
and the scratch, scratch, scratch of Hare's pen was a potent lullaby, and I fell
asleep. How long I slept I do not know : but suddenly I woke up for
moment, forgetting where I was. From the door-way of the other room
there was a broad ray of light across the floor, and half-way up the oppo-
site wall ; and for an instant there passed across this the sJuidoiv of a man.
So strongly did the prof^e come out, that I could see the very guise it wore ;
it looked like the figure of a crouching man, with one curious curl on the
top of his head, — a sticking up piece of hair, that at school we used to call
a top-knot, and a long straggling imperial on the chin, and in his hand he
carried a cane, with a large i-ing at the top. Before I could recover my
senses it was gone, and rubbing my eyes, I ran into the other room, but
there, at the side-desk, sat Hare, with his back to me, hard at work as ever,
and scratch, scratch, scratching with his inevitable pen.

I was so fully convinced that what I had seen was a mere reflex of my
dream, that I thought no more of it until long afterwards, when the remem-
brance of it gave me cause for vexation, that I had not paid sufficient atten-
tion to it at the time. It was eleven o'clock, and Hare said, " Harry, I am
dead-beat, I cannot do any more to-night, put away those papers, and let us
go home. I am ((uitc done up, for I have twice found myself nodding over
my work, and once I believe I fairly went to sleep. Heigho ! Roscy will
be tired of waiting for us."

He looked pale and haggard, and this was the first time I had ever known
him to leave his work undone, but of course it was only my duty to do as
I was bid.

That night, just as I had dropped off to sleep, I was awakened by Hare,
who was standing at the side of my bed, looking very haggard and rest
less.

" Mr. Barrington," he said, " I am sorry to disturb you, but do you
remember putting away Gregory's bill, for I cannot recollect seeing what
became of it when we left the office ?"

I rubbed my eyes, for I was only half awake, and tried to collect mj
thoughts.

" No," I said, " I know nothing about it. I never saw it after Mr. Grind-
ley gave it to you."

" Then I suppose I must have put it away with the other papers, but 1
am not half satisfied. Goodnight."

Not half satisfied about it ! no, that I was sure he was not, for he went
away looking very dejected and care-worn.

P
ai

;ifi
lei

lei]

ihe

THE SHADOW.

u, ae I have had

jommcnting upon

sputation, "Good

rone.

iesk and took out

ne time before he

t out the gas, and
)artment, and this
hts in succession,
lullaby, and I fell
J I woke up for
of the other room
-way up the oppo-
sfuidow of a num.
cry guise it wore ;
irious curl on the
Dol we used to call
md in his hand he
; could recover my
18 other room, but
rd at work as ever,

mere reflex of my
, when the remem-
id sufficient atten-
lid, " Harry, I am
papers, and let us
pelf nodding over
gho! Rosey will

; I had ever known
my duty to do a?

wakened by Hare,
liaggard and rcst-

lyou, but do you
])llect seeing what

fied to collect mj

it after Mr. Grind

Ither papers, but 1

Is not, for he went

^ On the next morning we were at the office fully an hour before opening
Ti time, and searched in every hole and corner for the missing bill, but all
J iu vain, for it was nowhere to be found. Poor Hare was almost distracted.
' " I would not have had this happen for a thousand pounds. Mr. Grindley
has again and again accused me of more interest iu Gregory than mere sym-
Ipathy instigated, and now I do not know what he will think."
C! He very soon did know what Mr. Grindley thought, for the two were
? closeted together in the inner sanctum, and I heard old Grab's voice spcak-
vHug in a tone of bitter indignation, and Hare's in earnest remonstrance,
^^rcscntly the door opened, and Hare came out with his face flushed with
fshame, whilst Grindley stood majestically on the threshold, and, like some
j)atriarch of a transpontine theatre, declaimed.

'; " Go, ungrateful and miserable robber, but be assured that your ill gotten

Jgain will do you no good, for the money that Gregory gives you will be a

Ipoor recompense for the loss of place ;md character. Go, but remember you

■^0 not pupishmentless, for I will make honest men point their finger on you

land cali you tuief, and I will follow you up to the very end."

I To my surprise Hare answered nothing, he seemed dazed and horror-

Istricken, then collecting his little properties that lay about the office, he left

■without even a word to me, and I was too much affected to break in upon

|hi8 trouble, even though it was to assure him of my belief in his iuno-

3ence.

In a few minutes Old Grab called me into his room, and after a long

.Jiatribe against the immorality, ingratitude, and dishonesty of Hare, in-

-^formed me that I was of course to be no longer an inmate of his house, but

■that other quarters would be prepared for me, and that I was from that

j^ime forth to drop all acquaintance with the Hares. To this I manfully

•eplicd, •

Mr. Hare never stole your bill, and I will sooner go home than obey

rou. I shall not give up his acquaintance until I know that he is a thief."

Mr. Grindley seemed vexed at my obstinacy, but muttpving something

ibout "the rash confidence of youth," evinced, to my surprise, no external

injier.

I did not give up the ac({uaintance of the Hares, although ray new where-
ibouts was at the other side of London, I was greatly pained at the suffer-
ings Miey had to endure, for month after month dragged them into deeper
lifficulties. Baffled on all sides Hare could obtain no employment, and
laving first sold every available article of luxury, he at last disposed of his
irnit :re, took his wife and little one into lodgings, and so step by step 1
atched with intense chagrin their progressive decay. Few could recognize
the seedy, shabby, broken down unfortunate, the light-hearted Archie
are, who but a few months ago was in the prime of youth and buoyancy
^f spirit ; Rose, too, sank into a haggard shadow of her former self, but, by
ler faint attempts to be cheerful, kept up her husband's courage.
% Meanwhile a year had elapsed, and Christmas was again approaching,
jpne morning to my surprise, Rose, so careworn and different from her former
;lf, came into the office and desired to speak to Grindley. " I am going,"
le said, "to plead for Archie ; he can get no work to do so long as Mr.

4fi

" THAT BOWL OF tUNVII r

iiiii'P

^l!l

! !

■^

Grindley refuses him a character. Let the place be ever so menial, I will
implore him to give him a chance of living."

I ushered her into the room without giving notice, contrary to all rule, for
i was afraid he would refuso to see her. Hooted to the spot I did not offer
to leave them. Rose made a passionate appeal to the hard-hearted old man
in the name of her ruined husband, of her helpless babe, and her own bitter
sorrow, nay, she even went down on her knees to the flinty hearted old money
lender, but he sternly refused her prayer, so she went away more heart-
broken than ever, and the last words he said to her were, " if he were my
own son, and had done such a deed, I would let him die in a ditch before T
would stretch out my hand to save him."

T had for a long time encouraged in my own mind a desire to see more
into the private life of my employer, and at last I made up my determination
to follow him home from the office. It was quite an adventure : fur there was
such an air of mystery attachable to him that 1 was prepared for no little
discovery, though hardly for so important a one as I was about to make.

So, in accordance with my intentions, 1 followed him one evening, keep-
ing close after him all the way home. That home was a very pretty sub-
urban mansion at Highgate, and as he got down from the omnibus a beauti-
ful young lady of .seventeen, one of the sweetest girls I ever saw in my life,
came half way down the gravelled walk to meet him. There was something
so angel like in her beauty, that I stood at the gate watching them into the
house, regardless of being seen, but they were too engrossed in their meet-
ing to notice my presence.

It was as though T had .seen a vision of Paradise, I was chained to
the spot, and bound by some strange fascination. It was not that I had any
chance of. seeing her again that I waited, but I found a satisfixctiou in
watching her shadow on the drawing room window blind as she occasionally
flitted to and fro.

At last she came and stood clo.se to the window, and was immediately
joined by another — but that other shadow ! the sight of it sent through
me a thrill of amazement and wonder; It was the ahadow of the man that I
had seen on tke^iiijht that Gmjon/'s hill wns lost. Of this I was convinced, for
ambiguous and fleeting as shadows are, there was about this one uuniis-
takeable evidence. I do not for one moment mean to assert that I could
recognize a person from seeing his shadow even under the most pronoun-
ced circumstances, but I felt .sure that the shadow I was looking then at
and the shadow I had .seen in Old Broad Street were made by one and the
same figure.

Hastily making up my mind to a course of action, and goaded on by
the remembrance of all the wrongs my friends the Hares had suffered. I
boldly rang at the garilen gate and asked to be shown into the presence of
Mr. Grindley. Whilst I was speaking to the .servant the young lady I have
told you of crossed the hall, and hesitated for a moment to ask in a petu-
lant tone of voice, which showed how much her will was law in the place,
what was the matter. Something within me seemed to whisper to me
that it was better that I should speak to her than to old Grab, so stepping

'i o\

(

THE SJUWfP.

a menial, I will

y to all rule, for
; 1 did not offer
learted old man
I her own bitter
irtcd old money
ay more heart-
' if he were my
a ditch bei'ore I

jirc to see more
y determination
e : fur there was
red for no little
)OUt to make,
e evening, keep-
very pretty sJub-
nnibus a beauti-
• saw in my life,
3 was something
ig them into the
id in their meet-
was chained to
t that I had any
satisfaction in
she occasionally

las immediately
sent through
\thii man that I
; convinced, for
Ithis one unmis-
brt that I could
most pronoun-
looking then at
]by one and the

goaded on by

had suffered, I

,he presence of

ng lady I have

lask in a petu-

]w in the place,

whisper to me

,b, so stepping

boldly inside I said, " I have a matter of tho deepest importance to com-
municato to Mr. Grindley, but perhaps it would be as well that you should
bear my message, if you will kindly do so, as I should not like to intrude
upon him disagreeable news without preparation."

She bowed me into an adjoining roon) with the most condescending wave
of her hand, and closing the door awaited my announcement.

In a few hurried but expressive words, for the deep interest I felt in the
matter lent me an eloquence that surprised me, I laid before her all the in-
justice that my injured friend had received, and by the earnestness of my
munncr made her a convert to the opinion that the realities of the two
shadows were one and the same person.

" Let us not be hasty," she said, '' for it is his son — my kind, good uncle's
only sou, whom he idolizes, but who, T have strong reason to believe, is
utterly unworthy of his affection."

Almost while she spoke the door opened, and there entered Mr. (jrind-
ley, followed by a young, handsome, dissipated looking man, who glanced
at me with supercilious impertinence. Not .so 5lr. Grindley. He
turned upon me a vexed and anxious face, and said sharply, " VVell, Sir,
what do you want ? "

Before 1 could answer, the young lady spoke.

" Uncle," she said, " this gentleman has come to communicate to you u
great discovery, lie h;is found out, * " here she turned fully round

and faced the younger gentleman — " the person who purloined from your
office a bill, for the loss of which your late clerk has been unjustly reduced
jto want and misery.'

"God bless me," said the old gentleman, visibly affected, "what do you
I mean? "

" I mean," I said decisively, '• that Mr. Hare is perfectly innocent oi"
I all the charges you have brou>,'ht against him; and that he is innocent, that
gentleman there, your own sou, will, I am sure, give his testimony."

For the moment I was frightened at the effect of my words. T he
jcolour fled from his cheeks and lips, and he gasped in a vain effort to speak.
Guilt was written on his brow as clear as murder was on Cain's. This
[evident self-acknowledgment of complicity led me to a bolder accusation.
" There, Mr. Grindley, stands the man who can tell about Mr. Gregory's
Dill. And he knows well what I am saying when I remind him that I was
[in the office when he possessed him.self of it."

" Did-you-you-you take it ? " stammered the old man, appealing to his
Ipon. A look of abject humiliation was all the answer In; received; but that,
ms enough to convince him of the truth of my statement.

" It is too dreadful," sighed the father, " I can bear no further explana-
tion now; leave me, and do you give me, my son, a written statement of it
%11. If there is one loop-hole of mercy you shall have the benefit of it, but
you have broken my heart — for from what I have heard of your action.s
Jtlsewbere I feel that there is little hope for any vindication."
' His manner was painful and subdued, and I felt heartily sorry for him.
, "You, Mr. Barrington, had better return home, and to-morrow I will
communicate further with you."

THAT BOJVL OF PUNCH T

\'<

On the morrow I was ut the office betimes, and waited anxiously for the
coming of my employer. But T waited in vain. At hist, to my surp'-ise,
I heard the frou-frmi of a lady's dress on the stairs, and the noxt moment
Mr. Grindley's n'ece stood before me.

" First of all," she said, " before I offer a word of explanation, take me
to Mrs. Gregory, for every moment that that cruel wrong remains unredress-
ed is an additional sin."

We found the Gregorys in great trouble, and considerably surprised at
our arrival. But after a good cry ^i the part of both the ladies, who from
that moment for long afterwards ■ ued fast friends, and much recipro

city of joy between Hare and mys. , an explanation followed. It appeared
that Albert Grindley had g(jt into debt and difficulty, and, among
his other liabilities, had induced Mr. Gregory to lend him money.
This gentleman afterwards became himself embarrassed, and in the course of
time got into the hands of Grindley /v/v, who threatened him with the im-
mediate execution of the law. In his dilemma Gregory insisted on the
younger Grindley returning the bills or enduring immediate exposure.
Albert Grindley, distracted with the crisis of his position, determined to
communicate with Mr. Hare, and for that purpose visited our office. On
entering he found Mr. Hare asleep, and the much dreaded bill lying un-
heeded at his elbow. The tcMnptation proved too great lor him. He steal-
thily seized the bill and hurried with it to Gregory, who was quite ig-
norant of the means by which he had acquired possession of it.

And after all, what a silver linip'» there came to the dark cloud that
lowered over the fortunes of the ' f^orys ! That day before Christmas
day was the turning period of th cs. Just retribution was done by

Mr, Grindley, who not only gave u. temporary help, but stayed not un-
til he had laid the foundation of their fortunes. Albert Grindley emi
grated and did well in the colonies, for the fellow had some good in him
after all, and the fair niece with the golden locks is a portly dame with a
husband of aldermanic proclivities, who bids fair one day or other to be
come Lord Mayor of London, but I will warrant that not one forgets the
joys and the sorrows, the relief and the disappointment that were born ol'
that momentary, visionlcss, vague and fleeting glimpse I got of The Sha

DOW.

" Come, Davy, it's your turn, so fire away," said Barrington,

" I can no tale unfold," cried the little man striking a tragic attitude.

" You must — you must ! "

Now the punch had wrought its wor': upon Davy ; his eyes twinkled
with unwonted excitement, and his face was flushed and hair ruffled, or to
put it in plain terms, he was slightly inelriated.

" I cannot tell a tale, but I'll sing a song."

" Bravo ! "

' ' You must all j oin chorus. I composed it myself, so never mind blunders.

QxiouBly for the
to my Burp'"ise.
3 noxt moment

nation, take me
nains unredresH

ibly surprised at
ladies, who from
id much recipro
cd. It appeared
ty, and, amout:
nd him money.
1 in the course of
lim with the im-

insistcd on the
ediatc exposure.
1, determined to

our office. On
:d bill lying un-

him. He steal
jho was quite ig
)f it.

dark cloud that
before Christmas
on was done by

t stayed not un-
[t Grindley crai

ime good in him

tly dame with a
or other to be
one forgets the

at were born ol'

Itrot of The Sha

kgtOD.

ragic attitude.

lis eyes twinkled
lir ruffled, or to

77/ /v SIIAI>OH\

Thus saying, he flourished his meerschnum and began, with a good deal
"j( of onorgetic action, to sing to the rollicking tune of ' The .Men of merrie

Kngland,"

THK MKEHSCHAT^I.

The Hjiilnr may hou-st of liiu frou-going baik,

The Holtlior liis cnloura nuiy prize.
The poet may sing of tlio lioavti) wing'd lark,

.Vnd tho lover of .Vnnie's bright (jjoh ;
The sclioohnaii luay ghuUlcn Iuh lifo with his hooks,

The statoaman amliition dosire,
Tho maiden may dream of her darling's good looks,

.\nd the matron of costly attir«).

Hut give me tlio Moorschaum the bonnie brown bowl —
With its ruddy clioeks, glowing and ripe ;

.\nd I'll sing, as the 9moko-ch)nil8 up heavenwards roll,
Of the glorious joys of a pipe !
A pipe, boys, a pipe

Like Venus, slio sprang from the froth of (ho sea.

Pure and white as your lady-love's hand ;
And they 8<jnght tho rich anibor her husband to be,

And they bound thnni both fast witli a band
t)f glowing whitu silver, a wedding ring there,

That clasps the In'ight tapering stems,
He, all golden clouded — she, dainty and fair,

Like a queen from the kingdom of gems.

Then give me the Meerschamu— the bonnie brown bowl—
With its ruddy cheeks, glowing and ripe.

And I'll sing as the smok»!-clouds up heavenwards roll,
(^f the gl(jriou8 joys of a pipe !
A pipe, boys, a pipe !

Should your lover prove false, should your friend prove a foe,

And your fortune a castle in Spain,
JShould your heart be ci-ushed down by its burden of woe.

And your mind bo distracted with pain.
Why, light up yoiir pipe, bojs, bid sorrow good-bye.

See the smoke to the ceiling up-curl,
And you'll find, as you follow the wreaths with your eye,

The dark clouds of your sc)rrows unfurl.

Then give me the Meerschaum — the bonnie brown bowl —

With its ruddy cheeks, glowing and ripe.
And I'll iiing as the smoke-clouds up heavenwards roll,

Of the glorious joys of a pipe !

A pipe, boys, a pipe ! ^ = .

mind blunders.

W® ^^'^fi all flourishing our favourites, and roaring out the chorus with
[ spirit inspired by the punch and Davy's energetic example, when the

ittii

I 11

iiiii'

" THAT BOWL OF PUNCH ."'

!'iii

iiii'j!

door opened, and iu walked the Gordon, followed by Mrs. Douglas, while
Mr. Archibald Shuffles brouglit up the rear.

We were too much astoni.shed at the apparition even to rise from our
seats, but were more surprised to see the nonclialance with which Davy
accepted the ilcitnnt'inciif.

He stood with his back to the fire, stuck hi.s pipe in his mouth and his
thumbs in the arms of his waistcoat, and smiled blandly at the iucomers.

Mrs. Bleakiron wa.< the first to break silence. •• My dear,'' she said to
her diufijhter, '• I am afraid we are intruding. This dreadful atmosphere
will kill you. Oh, dear —cough, cough, cough ! "

'• Shuffles," said Davy patronizingly. " pat her on her back."

Shuffles ! had a bomb-.<hell exploded, it could not have caused greater
consternation. He, the pet es.sence of div'nity of a whole paradise of
ladies, to be called Shuffles !

This wis more tliau Juliana could hear, and springing to the front, she
launched forth.

" David, how dare you ? What does this all mean. My friend insulted
— my house — m irama don't cry — turned into a pot-house, and -boo-hoo-
hoo— " she buried her face in her pocket-handkerchief.

" Never mind me, Mrs. Douglas." said Mr. Shuffles, with an air of sweet
resignation, *' If my opinion is a.sked, I must candidly say that 1 am grieved
to find Mr. Douglas in such u position ; but these little crosses "

•Shuffles, don't be a fool," ^aid Davy, " Have a glass of punch like a
BKui. and leave Juliana alone ; you've got quite enough to attend to at
home, without spooning about with other men's wives."'

"Really, Mr. Douglas! " began the victim indignantly.

" And really. Mr. Shuffles," sneered Davy ' I must speak plainly to
you. I don't like your visits here. What am I to Lhink when I come home
day after day and find you at my house ? Your attention. Sir, must either
be" devoted to my wife, or my mother-in law.

'• Oh, theba.se wretch ! " .'^hrieked Mrs. I'leukiron.

'' -Vnd in either case they are discreditable. ''

" It's a .slander. Your words are iietii.nable."

'■ Rrini: an action, bring forty of them, bring the whole Court of the
Common Pleas. Here, I take these gentlemen to witness. My wife and
her precious mother pretend to go to Brighton "'

'• We missed the train, and went to spend the evening wUh Mrs. ShufflcB,"
shrieked the Goruon.

'' And." continued Davy. •• at twelve o'clock at night turn up with you.
It's very suspicious, sir. -very suspicious."

"Good gracious! " ejaculated the old gentleman, utterly jighast at the
absurdity of the accusation.

•' Leave my house. Sir.'' cried Davy. ■ and never set foot iu it again,"

Livid with fear or rtige the abashed Mr. Shuffles, without even a word of
adieu to the ladies, took his departure.

• I will go too," sobbed Mrs. Bleakiron. • My pojf, poor child, what
have you come to ? '

" I will go with you, mamma. Oh the cruel wretch ! ''

THE SHADOJV

luglas, while

ise from our
which Davy

outh and his
; iucomers.
" she said to
1 atmosphere

lused greater
e paradise of

the front, she

rieud insulted
iiud -boo-hoo-

au air of sweet
It 1 am grieved

sses

f punch lilvC a
to attend to at

^eak {ilainly to

I come home

T. muHt cither

|e Court of the
My wife and

tlrs. Shuffles,"

up with you.

iighast at the

" Go ! " cried Davy, '■ go, if you like, but, if yuu do. you'll never come
back a,^ain. If you put your foot outside my door, I'll sell everything iu
the house to-morrow, and. by Jove, I'll— I'll — go off to America.'"

•• He'll break my heart I "

'• He'll do no such thing," said Davy. " If you'll only act like a rea-
sonable woman, he'll make you a good husband."

" You do not love me ! "

" Not a bit,'' interrupted Mrs. Bloukirou. ■ Oh that I should have
nestled such a \iper ! '

" I do, " said David firmly, " but I have made up my mind to one thing.
I'll be master of my own house, and I begin my authority b} ordering a
cab for Mrs. Bleakiron." He rang the bell as he spoke.

That infuriated lady rushed out of the room, followed by hor daughter,
and in a few moments, by the violont banging of doors, wo know that she
had left the house.

We did not long delay our departure, and, although we were glad to sec
Davy make a stand for his rights, wo wore all grieved at the unpleasant
nature of the explosion, and we trembled for our poor little friend's personal
safety, for Juliana in a temper was no joke.

But our sympathy was all wasted, for 1 met the little man a I'ow days
afterwards, and he assured mo that the effects of the eruption had been
wonderful : his wife was a changed woman : and for the first time in her
life she respected her husband. Woman is a paradox. As long as Davy
bent to her will, and bowed on every possible occasion to her opinion, .she
treated him with an indifference bordering on contempt. The moment he
turned round upon her, and showed his authority, she began to admit his
position as her husband.

Weaned from the prejudicial influence of her mother — who eutirely
broke off what little communication existed between them by marrying a
decayed curate, who, having vegetated on sixty pounds a year far a quartiu-
of a oentury, and thinking that her jointure would be a pleasant addi
tion to his income, had taken his prize to an out-of-the-way village in Nor-
thumberland — Mrs. Douglas' union improved rapidly.

In fact, I may say that she is one of the pleasantest, cheeriest women of
my acquaintance. Many a snug little supper we have at her house.

Davy to this day wonders however he found courage to take the bull by
the horns, and vows that he nevor dared have douc it had it not been for
That Bowi, ok Punch.

liu it agam.

pven a wo:

rd of

f>r c

hild, what

f ' ■

■n

111

lii.
If

i (

•1 1

E*?S3«*5i-

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I'. A

immiSam

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RESTRICTED USE

Use in L ibrary only.
Author: Bernard Bigsby
Title: "That bowl of punch!"

Call No.: A

819.3
.B488t

Ace. No.: 43801

Copy No.: