 The Miss Crumptons, or to quote the authority of the inscription on the garden gate of Minerva House Hammersmith, the Mrs. Crumpton, were two unusually tall, particularly thin and exceedingly skinny personages, very upright and very yellow. Miss Amelia Crumpton, owned to thirty-eight, and Miss Maria Crumpton admitted she was forty, an admission which was rendered perfectly unnecessary by the self-evident fact of her being at least fifty. They dressed in the most interesting manner, like twins, and looked as happy and comfortable as a couple of marigolds run to seed. They were very precise, had the strictest possible ideas of propriety wore false hair and always smelt very strongly of lavender. Minerva House, conducted under the auspices of the two sisters, was a finishing establishment for young ladies, where some twenty girls of the ages from thirteen to nineteen inclusive acquired a smattering of everything, and a knowledge of nothing, instruction in French and Italian, dancing lessons twice a week, and other necessaries of life. The host was a white one, a little removed from the roadside, with close palings in front. The bedroom windows were always left partly open to afford a bird's eye view of numerous little bedsteads with very white dimity furniture, and thereby impress the passer-by with a due sense of the luxuries of the establishment, and there was a front parlor hung round with highly varnished maps which nobody ever looked at, and filled with books which no one ever read, appropriated exclusively to the reception of parents, who, whenever they called, could not fail to be struck with the very deep appearance of the place. Amelia, my dear, said Miss Maria Crumpton, entering the school-room one morning with her false hair in papers, as she occasionally did, in order to impress the young ladies with a conviction of its reality. Amelia, my dear, here is a most gratifying note I had just received. You needn't mind reading it aloud. Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note with an air of great triumph. Cornelius Brooke Dingwell Esquire, M. P., presents his compliments to Miss Crumpton, and will feel much obliged by Miss Crumpton's calling on him, if she conveniently can, to-morrow morning at one o'clock, as Cornelius Brooke Dingwell Esquire, M. P., is anxious to see Miss Crumpton on the subject of placing Miss Brooke Dingwell under her charge at Delphi Monday morning. A member of Parliament's daughter ejaculated Amelia in an ecstatic tone. A member of Parliament's daughter repeated Miss Maria with a smile of delight, which, of course, elicited a concurrent titter of pleasure from all the young ladies. "'It's exceedingly delightful,' said Miss Amelia, whereupon all the young ladies murmured their admiration again. Quarters are but schoolboys and court-ladies schoolgirls.' So important an announcement at once superseded the business of the day. A holiday was declared in commemoration of the great event that Miss Crumpton's retired to their private department to talk it over. The smaller girls discussed the probable manners and customs of the daughter of a member of Parliament, and the young ladies verging on 18 wondered whether she was engaged, whether she was pretty, whether she wore much bustle, and many other weathers of equal importance. The two Miss Crumptons proceeded to the Delphi at the appointed time next day, dressed, of course, in their best style, and looking as amiable as they possibly could, which, by the by, is not saying much for them. Having sent in their cars through the medium of a red-hot-looking footman in bright livery, they were ushered into the august presence of the profound Dingual. Cornelius Brooke Dingual Esquire MP was very hotty, solemn, and portentous. He had, naturally, a somewhat spasmodic expression of countenance, which was not rendered the less remarkable by his wearing an extremely stiff cravat. He was wonderfully proud of the MP attached to his name, and never lost an opportunity of reminding people of his dignity. He had a great idea of his own abilities, which must have been a great comfort to him, as no one else had. And in diplomacy on a small scale, in his own family arrangements, he considered himself unrivaled. He was a county magistrate, and discharged the duties of his station with all due justice and impartiality, frequently committing poachers, and occasionally committing himself. Miss Brooke Dingual was one of that numerous class of young ladies who, like adverbs, may be known by their answering to a commonplace question, and doing nothing else. On the present occasion, this talented individual was seated in a small library at a table covered with papers, doing nothing, but trying to look busy playing at shop. Acts of parliament and letters directed to Cornelius Brooke Dingual Esquire MP were ostentatiously scattered over the table, at a little distance from which Mrs. Brooke Dingual was seated at work. One of those public nuisances, a spoiled child, was playing about the room, dressed after the most approved fashion, in a blue tunic with a black belt, a quarter of a yard wide, fastened with an immense buckle, looking like a robber in a metal-drama, seen through a diminishing glass. After a little pleasantry from the sweet child, who amused himself by running away with Miss Maria Crumpton's chair as fast as it was placed for her, the visitors were seated, and Cornelius Brooke Dingual Esquire opened the conversation. He had sent for Miss Crumpton, he said, in consequence of the high character he had received of her establishment from his friend Sir Alfred Muggs. Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgements to him, Muggs, and Cornelius proceeded. One of my principal reasons, Miss Crumpton, for parting with my daughter, is that she has lately acquired some sentimental ideas which it is most desirable to eradicate from her young mind. Here the little innocent before noted fell out of an armchair with an awful crash. "'Notty boy!' said his mama, who appeared more surprised at his taking the liberty of falling down than at anything else. I'll ring the bell for James to take him away. "'Pray don't check him, my love,' said the Diplomatist, as soon as he could make himself heard amidst the unearthly howling consequent upon the threat and the tumble. It all arises from his great flow of spirits. This last explanation was addressed to Miss Crumpton. "'Certainly, sir,' replied the antique Maria, not exactly seeing, however, the connection between a flow of animal spirits and a fall from an armchair. This was restored, and the MP resumed. "'Now I know nothing so likely to affect this object, Miss Crumpton, as her mixing constantly in the society of girls her own age. And as I know that in your establishment she will meet such as are not likely to contaminate her young mind, I propose to send her to you.' The youngest Miss Crumpton expressed the acknowledgement of the establishment generally. Maria was rendered speechless by bodily pain. The dear little fellow, having recovered his animal spirits, was standing upon her most tender foot by way of getting his face, which looked like a capital O in a red-lettered play-bill, on a level with the writing-table. "'Of course, Lavinia will be a parlour-borner, and on one point I wish my directions to be strictly observed. The fact is that some ridiculous love affair with a person much her inferior in life has been the cause of her present state of mind. Knowing that, of course, under your care she can have no opportunity of meeting this person, I do not object to—indeed, I should rather prefer—her mixing with such society as you see yourself.' This important statement was again interrupted by the high-spirited little creature in the excess of his joyousness, breaking a pane of glass, and nearly precipitating himself into an adjacent area. James was wrung for considerable confusion and screaming succeeded. Two little blue legs were seen to kick violently in the air as the man left the room, and the child was gone. Mr. Brooke Dingwell would like Miss Brooke Dingwell to learn everything, said Mrs. Brooke Dingwell, who hardly ever said anything at all. Certainly said both the Miss Crumptons together. And as I trust the plan I have devised will be effectual in weaning my daughter from this absurd idea, Miss Crumpton—continued the legislator—I hope you will have the goodness to comply in all respects with any request I may forward to you. The promise was of course made, and after a lengthened discussion conducted on behalf of the Dingwells, with the most becoming diplomatic gravity, and on that of the Crumptons, with profound respect, it was finally arranged that Miss Lavinia should be forwarded to Hammersmith on the next day but one, on which occasion the half-yearly ball given at the establishment was to take place. It might divert the dear girl's mind. This, by the way, was another bit of diplomacy. Miss Lavinia was introduced to her future governess, and both the Miss Crumptons pronounced her a most charming girl—an opinion which, by a singular coincidence, they always entertained of any new pupil. Courtesies were exchanged, acknowledgments expressed, condescension exhibited, and the interview terminated. Preparations to make use of theatrical phraseology, on a scale of magnitude never before attempted, were incessantly made at Minerva House to give every effect to the forthcoming ball. The largest room in the house was pleasingly ornamented with blue calico roses, plaid tulips, and other equally natural-looking artificial flowers, the work of the young ladies themselves. The carpet was taken up, the folding doors were taken down, the furniture was taken out, and route seats were taken in. The linen drapers of Hammersmith were astounded at the sudden demand for blue, sarsenet ribbon, and long white gloves. Dozens of geraniums were purchased for bouquets, and a harp and two violins were bespoke from town, in addition to the grand piano already on the premises. The young ladies who were selected to show off on the occasion, and due credit to the establishment, practiced incessantly, much to their own satisfaction, and greatly to the annoyance of the lame old gentlemen over the way, and a constant correspondence was kept up between the Mrs. Crumpton and the Hammersmith pastry-cook. The evening came, and then there was such a lacing of stays and tying of sandals and dressing of hair as never can take place with a proper degree of bustle out of a boarding-school. The smaller girls managed to be in everybody's way, and were pushed about accordingly, and the elder ones dressed and tied and flattered and envied one another as earnestly and sincerely as if they had actually come out. How do I look, dear, inquired Miss Emily Smithers, the belle of the house, of Miss Caroline Wilson, who was her bosom friend, because she was the ugliest girl in Hammersmith or out of it? Oh, charming, dear, how do I? But a lightful, who never looked so handsome, returned the belle, adjusting her own dress, and not bestowing a glance on her poor companion. I hope young Hilton will come early, said another young lady, to miss somebody else in a fever of expectation. I'm sure he'd be highly flattered if he knew it, returned the other, who was practicing de-té. Oh, he's so handsome, said the first, such a charming person added a second. Such a distangue air, said a third. Oh, what do you think, said another girl, running into the room? Miss Crumpton says her cousin's coming. What? Theodosius Butler, said everybody in raptures. Is he handsome, inquired a novice? No, not particularly handsome, was the general reply. But oh, so clever! Mr. Theodosius Butler was one of those immortal geniuses who are to be met with in almost every circle. They have, usually, very deep monotonous voices. They always persuade themselves that they are wonderful persons, and that they ought to be very miserable, though they don't precisely know why. They are very conceited, and usually possess half an idea, but with enthusiastic young ladies and silly young gentlemen, they are very wonderful persons. The individual in question, Mr. Theodosius, had written a pamphlet containing some very weighty considerations on the expediency of doing something or other, and as every sentence contained a good many words of four syllables, his admirers took it for granted that he meant a good deal. Perhaps that's he exclaimed several young ladies as the first pull of the evening threatened destruction to the bell of the gate. An awful pause ensued. Some boxes arrived, and a young lady, Miss Brooke Dingwell, in full ball-costume, with an immense gold chain round her neck, and her dress looped up with a single rose, an ivory fan in her hand, and a most interesting expression of despair in her face. The Miss Crumpton's inquired after the family with the most excruciating anxiety, and Miss Brooke Dingwell was formally introduced to her future companions. The Miss Crumpton's conversed with the young ladies in the most mellifluous tones in order that Miss Brooke Dingwell might be properly impressed with their amiable treatment. Another pull at the bell. Mr. Dadson, the writing-master, and his wife, the wife in green silk with shoes and cap trimmings to correspond, the writing-master in a white waistcoat, black knee shorts, and ditto silk stockings, displaying a leg large enough for two writing-masters. The young ladies whispered one another, and the writing-master and his wife flattered the Miss Crumpton's, who were dressed in amber with long sashes like dolls. She pulls at the bell, and arrivals too numerous to particularize. Pappas and mamas and aunts and uncles, the owners and guardians of the different pupils, the singing-master Signo Lubschini in a black wig, the Piano Forte player, and the violins, the harp, in a state of intoxication, and some twitty young men who stood near the door and talked to one another, occasionally bursting into a giggle, a general hum of conversation, coffee handed round and plentifully partaken of by fat mamas who looked like the stout people who come out in pantomimes for the sole purpose of being knocked down. The popular Mr. Hilton was the next arrival, and he having, at the request of the Miss Crumpton's, undertaken the office of the master of the ceremonies, the quadrils commenced with considerable spirit. The young men by the door gradually advanced into the middle of the room, and in time became sufficiently at ease to consent to be introduced to partners. The writing-master danced every set, springing about with the most fearful agility, and his wife played a rubber in the back parlor, a little room with five bookshelves dignified by the name of the study. Setting her down to wist was a half-yearly piece of generalship on the part of the Miss Crumpton's. It was necessary to hide her somewhere, on account of her being a fright. The interesting Lavinia Brooke Dingwell was the only girl present who appeared to take no interest in the proceedings of the evening. In vain was she solicited to dance. In vain was the universal homage paid to her as the daughter of a member of parliament. She was equally unmoved by the splendid tenor of the inimitable Lopschini, and the brilliant execution of Miss Letitia Parsons, whose performance of the recollections of Ireland was universally declared to be almost equal to that of Moshele's himself. Not even the announcement of the arrival of Mr. Theodosius Butler could induce her to leave the corner of the back drawing-room in which she was seated. Now, Theodosius, said Miss Maria Crumpton, after that enlightened pamphleteer had nearly run the gauntlet of the whole company, I must introduce you to our new pupil. Theodosius looked as if he cared for nothing earthly. She's the daughter of a member of parliament, said Maria. Theodosius started. And her name is, he inquired, Miss Brooke Dingwell—Great Heaven!— poetically exclaimed Theodosius in a low tone. Miss Crumpton commenced the introduction in due form. Miss Brooke Dingwell languidly raised her head. Edward, she exclaimed, with a half-sreak on seeing the well-known Nanking Legs. Fortunately, as Miss Maria Crumpton possessed no remarkable share of penetration, and as it was one of the diplomatic arrangements that no attention was to be paid to Miss Lavinia's incoherent exclamations, she was perfectly unconscious of the mutual agitation of the parties, and therefore, seeing that the offer of his hand for the next quadril was accepted, she left him by the side of Miss Brooke Dingwell. Oh, Edward exclaimed the most romantic of all romantic young ladies, as the light of science seated himself beside her. Oh, Edward, is it you? Mr. Theodosius assured the dear creature in the most impassioned manner that he was not conscious of being anybody but himself. Then why—why this disguise? Oh, Edward, mevel Walter, what have I not suffered on your account? Lavinia, hear me, replied the hero in his most poetic strain. Do not condemn me unheard, if anything that emanates from the soul of such a wretch as I can occupy a place in your recollection. If any being so vile deserve your notice, you may remember that I once published a pamphlet, and paid for its publication, entitled, Considerations on the Policy of Removing the Duty on Beeswax. I do, I do, sobbed Lavinia. That, continued the lover, was a subject to which your father was devoted heart and soul. He was, he was, reiterated the sentimentalist. I knew it, continued Theodosius tragically. I knew it. I forwarded him a copy. He wished to know me. Could I disclose my real name? Never. I assumed that name which you have so often pronounced in tones of endearment. As Mevel Walter, I devoted myself to the stirring cause. As Miss Mevel Walter, I gained your heart in the same character I was ejected from your host by your father's domestics, and in no character at all have I said spin enabled to see you. We now meet again, and I proudly own that I am Theodosius Butler. The young lady appeared perfectly satisfied with this argumentative address, and bestowed a look of the most ardent affection on the immortal advocate of beeswax. May I hope, said he, that the promise your father's violent behaviour interrupted may be renewed. Let us join this set, replied Lavinia coquettishly, for girls of nineteen can coquette. No, ejaculated he of the Nankines, I stir not from this spot writhing under this torture of suspense. May I, may I hope? You may. The promise is renewed. It is. I have your permission. You have. To the fullest extent. You know it, returned the blushing Lavinia. The contortions of the interesting Butler's visage expressed his raptures. We could dilate upon the occurrences that ensued, how Mr. Theodosius and Miss Lavinia danced and talked and sighed for the remainder of the evening, how the Miss Crumptons were delighted there at, how the writing-master continued to frisk about with one horsepower, and how his wife, from some unaccountable freak, left the whist-table in the little back parlour, and persisted in displaying her green head-dressed in the most conspicuous part of the drawing-room, how the supper consisted of small triangular sandwiches and trays, and a tart here and there by way of variety, and how the visitors consumed warm water disguised with lemon and dotted with nutmeg under the denomination of negus. These and other matters of as much interest, however, we pass over for the purpose of describing a scene of even more importance. A fortnight after the day to the ball, Cornelius Brooke Dingwell Esquire MP was seated at the same library-table and in the same room as we have before described. He was alone, and his face bore an expression of deep thought and solemn gravity. He was drawing up a bill for the better observance of Easter Monday. The footman tapped at the door. The legislator started from his reverie, and Miss Crumpton was announced. Permission was given for Miss Crumpton to enter the sanctum. Maria came sliding in, and having taken her seat with a due portion of affectation, the footman retired, and the governess was left alone with the MP. Oh, how she longed for the presence of a third party! Even the facetious young gentleman would have been a relief. Miss Crumpton began the duet. She hoped Mrs. Brooke Dingwell and the handsome little boy were in good health. They were. Mrs. Brooke Dingwell and little Frederick were at Brighton. Much obliged to you, Miss Crumpton, said Cornelius in his most dignified manner, for your attention in calling this morning. I should have driven down to Hammersmith to see Lavinia, but your account was so very satisfactory, and my duties in the house occupy me so much that I determined to postpone it for a week. How has she gone on? Very well indeed, sir, returned Maria, dreading to inform the father that she had gone off. Ah, I thought the plan on which I proceeded would be a match for her. Here was a favorable opportunity to say that somebody else had been a match for her, but the unfortunate governess was unequal to the task. You have preserved strictly in the line of conduct I prescribed, Miss Crumpton, strictly, sir. You tell me in your note that her spirits gradually improved. Very much indeed, sir. To be sure I was convinced they would. But I fear, sir," said Miss Crumpton, with visible emotion, I fear the plan has not succeeded quite so well as we could have wished. No, exclaimed the Prophet. Bless me, Miss Crumpton, you look alarmed. What has happened? Miss Brooke Dingwell, sir—yes, ma'am—has gone, sir, said Maria, exhibiting a strong inclination to fate. Gone? Eloped, sir. Eloped? Who with? When? Where? How? Almost wreaked the agitated diplomatist. The natural yellow of the unfortunate Maria's face changed to all the hues of the rainbow as she laid a small packet on the member's table. He hurriedly opened it, a letter from his daughter and another from Theodosius. He glanced over their contents. Eh, this reaches you far distant, appeal to feelings, love to distraction, beeswax, slavery, etc., etc. He dashed his hand to his forehead and paced the room with fearfully long strides to the great alarm of the precise Maria. Now, mind. From this time forward, said Mr. Brooke Dingwell, suddenly stopping at the table and beating time upon it with his hand, from this time forward, I never will, under any circumstances, whatever, permit a man who writes pamphlets to enter any other room of this house but the kitchen, and allow my daughter and her husband one hundred and fifty pounds a year, and never see their faces again. And dammy, ma'am, I'll bring in a bill for the abolition of finishing schools. Some time has elapsed since this passionate declaration. Mr. and Mrs. Butler are at present rusticating in a small cottage at Bell's Pond, presently situated in the immediate vicinity of a brick field. They have no family. Mr. Theodosius looks very important and writes incessantly, but in consequence of a gross combination on the part of publishers none of his productions appear in print. His young wife begins to think that ideal misery is preferable to real unhappiness, and that her marriage contracted in haste and repented at leisure is the cause of more substantial wretchedness than she ever anticipated. On cool reflection Cornelius Brooke Dingwell Asquire MP was reluctantly compelled to admit that the untoward result of his admirable arrangements was attributable not to the Miss Crumpton's but his own diplomacy. He, however, consoles himself like some other small diplomatist by satisfactorily proving that if his plans did not succeed they ought to have done so. The Nervahouse is in status quo, and the Mrs. Crumpton remain in the peaceable and undisturbed employment of all the advantages resulting from their finishing school. CHAPTER IV The Tugs' at Ramsgate Once upon a time there dwelt in a narrow street on the surrey side of the water within three minutes' walk of old London Bridge Mr. Joseph Tugs, a little dark-faced mad with shiny hair, twinkling eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring from the centre button of his waistcoat in front to the ornamental buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tugs, if not perfectly symmetrical, was decidedly comfortable, and the form of her only daughter the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tugs was fast ripening into that state of luxuriant plumpness which had enchanted the eyes and captivated the heart of Mr. Joseph Tugs in his earlier days. Mr. Simon Tugs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte Tugs' only brother, was as differently formed in body as he was differently constituted in mind from the remainder of his family. There was that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weakness in his interesting legs which tell so forcibly of a great mind and romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such a being possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually appeared in public in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings, and was observed to be particularly attached to a black glazed stock without tie or ornament of any description. There is perhaps no profession, however useful, no pursuit, however meritorious, which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. Mr. Joseph Tugs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer was beyond the breadth of Calumny, but no, the neighbors stigmatized him as a chandler, and the poisonous voice of Envy distinctly asserted that he dispensed tea and coffee by the quatern, retailed sugar by the ounce, cheese by the slice, took backo by the screw, and butter by the pat. These taunts, however, were lost upon the tugs's. Mr. Tugs attended to the grocery department, Mrs. Tugs to the cheese-mongery, and Mrs. Tugs to her education. Mr. Simon Tugs kept his father's books and his own counsel. One fine spring afternoon the latter gentleman was seated on a tub of weekly dorset behind the little red desk with a wooden rail, which ornamented a corner of the counter, when a stranger dismounted from a cab and hastily entered the shop. He was habited in black cloth and bore with him a green umbrella and a blue bag. Mr. Tugs said the stranger inquiringly. My name is Tugs, replied Mr. Simon. It's the other Mr. Tugs, said the stranger, looking towards the glass-door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the inside of which the round face of Mr. Tugs senior was distinctly visible, peeping over the curtain. Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish that his father would advance. Mr. Joseph Tugs, with considerable celerity, removed his face from the curtain and placed it before the stranger. I come from the temple, said the man with the bag. From the temple, said Mrs. Tugs, flinging open the door of the little parlour and disclosing Mrs. Tugs in perspective. From the temple, said Mrs. Tugs and Mr. Simon Tugs, at the same moment. From the temple, said Mr. Joseph Tugs, turning as pale as a Dutch cheese. From the temple, repeated the man with the bag. From Mr. Cowher as the solicitors. Mr. Tugs, I congratulate you, sir. Ladies, I wish you joy of your prosperity. We have been successful, and the man with the bag leisurely divested himself of his umbrella and glove as a preliminary to shaking hands with Mr. Joseph Tugs. Now the words we have been successful, had no sooner issued from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tugs rose from the tub of weakly dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell into the arms of his anxious mother and fainted away without the slightest ostensible cause or pretense. Water! screamed Mrs. Tugs. Look up, my son, exclaimed Mr. Tugs. Simon! Dear Simon! shrieked Mrs. Tugs. I'm better now, said Mr. Simon Tugs. What! successful! And then, as corroborative evidence of his being better, he fainted away again, and was born into the little parlour by the united efforts of the remainder of the family and the man with the bag. To a casual spectator, or to any one unacquainted with the position of the family, this fainting would have been unaccountable. To those who understood the mission of the man with the bag, and were moreover acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon Tugs, it was quite comprehensible. A long, pending lawsuit respecting the validity of a will had been unexpectedly decided, and Mr. Joseph Tugs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds. A prolonged consultation took place that night in the little parlour. A consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tugs's. The shop was shut up at an unusually early hour, and many were the unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for quarterings of sugar or half-quarterings of bread, or penriths of pepper, which were to have been left till Saturday, but which fortune had decreed were to be left alone altogether. We must certainly give up business, said Mr. Tugs. Oh, decidedly, said Mrs. Tugs. Simon shall go to the bar, said Mr. Joseph Tugs. And I shall always sign myself Simon in future, said his son. And I shall call myself Charlotte, said Mr. Tugs. And you must always call me, Ma, and Father Pa, said Mrs. Tugs. Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits, interposed Miss Tugs. I'll take care of all that, responded Mr. Joseph Tugs complacently. He was, at that very moment, eating pickled salmon with a pocket-dive. We must leave town immediately, said Mr. Simon Tugs. Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to being genteel. The question then arose, where should they go? Gravesend, mildly suggested, Mr. Joseph Tugs. The idea was unanimously scouted. Gravesend was low. Margate insinuated Mrs. Tugs, worse and worse, nobody there but tradespeople. Brighton, Mr. Simon Tugs, opposed, in insurmountable objection. All the coaches had been upset, in turn, within the last three weeks. Each coach had averaged two passengers killed and six wounded, and in every case the newspapers had distinctly understood that no blame whatever was attributable to the coachmen. Ramsgate ejaculated Mr. Simon thoughtfully. To be sure how stupid they must have been not to have thought of that before. Ramsgate was just the place of all others. Two months after this conversation the city of London Ramsgate steamer was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her band was playing, her passengers were conversing. Everything about her seemed gay and lively. No wonder the Tugs's were on board. Charming, ain't it? said Mr. Joseph Tugs in a bottle-green great-coat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue traveling cap with a gold band. Sole-inspiring! replied Mr. Simon Tugs. He was entered at the bar. Sole-inspiring! Delightful morning, sir, said a stoutish military-looking gentleman in a blue shirt-out, butted up to his chin, and white trousers chained down to the soles of his boots. Mr. Simon Tugs took upon himself the responsibility of answering the observation. Heavenly, he replied, You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of nature, sir, said the military gentleman. I am, sir, replied Mr. Simon Tugs. Not much, sir, inquired the military gentleman. Not much, replied Mr. Simon Tugs. You've been on the continent, of course, inquired the military gentleman. Not exactly, replied Mr. Simon Tugs, at a qualified tone, as if he wished it to be implied that he had gone half-way and come back again. You, of course, intend your son to make the grand tour, sir, said the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tugs. As Mr. Joseph Tugs did not precisely understand what the grand tour was, or how such an article was manufactured, he replied, Of course, just as he said the word, there came, tripping up from her seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce-colored silk cloak, and boots of the same, with long black ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptionable ankles. Walter, my dear, said the young lady to the military gentleman. Yes, Melinda, my love, responded the military gentleman to the black-eyed young lady. What have you left me alone so long for, said the young lady? I have been stared out of countenance by these rude young men. What, stared out, exclaimed the military gentleman, with an emphasis which made Mr. Simon Tugs withdraw his eyes from the young lady's face with inconceivable rapidity. Which young man, where, and the military gentleman, clenched his fist, and glared fearfully on the cigar-smokers around? Be calm, Walter, I entreat, said the young lady. I won't, said the military gentleman. Do, sir, interposed Mr. Simon Tugs, they ain't worth your notice. No, no, they are not indeed urged the young lady. I will be calm, said the military gentleman. You speak truly, sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance which may have spared me the guilt of manslaughter, calming his wrath the military gentleman rung Mr. Simon Tugs by the hand. My sister, sir, said Mr. Simon Tugs, seeing that the military gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta. My wife, ma'am, Mrs. Captain Waters, said the military gentleman presenting the black-eyed young lady. My mother, ma'am, Mrs. Tugs, said Mr. Simon. The military gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies, and the Tugs' looked as unembarrassed as they could. Walter, my dear, said the black-eyed young lady after they had sat chatting with the Tugs' some half-hour. Yes, my love, said the military gentleman. Don't you think this gentleman, with an inclination of the head towards Mr. Simon Tugs, is very much like the Marcus Carowini? Lord bless me very, said the military gentleman. It struck me the moment I saw him, said the young lady. Gazing intently and with a melancholy air on the scarlet countenance of Mr. Simon Tugs, Mr. Simon Tugs looked at everybody, and finding that everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty in disposing of his eyesight. So exactly the air of the Maquis, said the military gentleman, quite extraordinary, sighed the military gentleman's lady. You don't know the Maquis, inquired the military gentleman. Mr. Simon Tugs stammered a negative. If you did, continued Captain Walter Waters, you would feel how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance, a most elegant man, with a most prepossessing appearance. He is, he is indeed, exclaimed Belinda Waters energetically. As her eye caught that of Mr. Simon Tugs, she withdrew it from his features in bashful confusion. All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tugs's, and when, in the course of further conversation, it was discovered that Miss Charlotte Tugs was the facsimile of a titled relative of Mrs. Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tugs herself was the very picture of the Dowager Duchess of Doubleton, their delight in the acquisition of so gentile and friendly an acquaintance knew no bounds. Even the dignity of Captain Walter Waters relaxed to that degree that he suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. Joseph Tugs, to partake of cold pigeon pie and sherry on deck, and a most delightful conversation aided by these agreeable stimulants was prolonged until they ran alongside Ramsgate Pier. Good-bye, dear, said Mrs. Captain Waters, to miss Charlotte Tugs just before the bustle of landing commenced. We shall see you on the sands in the morning, and, as we are sure to have found lodgings before then, I hope we shall be in separables for many weeks to come. Oh, I hope so, said Miss Charlotte Tugs emphatically. Tickets, ladies and gentlemen, said the man on the paddle-box. Walter Porter, sir, inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks. No, my dear, said Captain Waters. Good-bye, said Mrs. Captain Waters. Good-bye, Mr. Simon, and with the pressure of the hand which threw the amiable young man's nerves into a state of considerable derangement, Mrs. Captain Waters disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce-coloured boots were seen ascending the steps. A white handkerchief fluttered, a black eye gleamed. The waterses were gone, and Mr. Simon Tugs was alone in a heartless world. Silently and abstractly did that two sensitive youth follow his revered parents at a train of smock-frocks and wheel-barrows along the pier, until the bustle of the scene around recalled him to himself. The sun was shining brightly. The sea, dancing to its own music, rolled merrily in, crowds of people promenaded to and fro, young ladies tittered, old ladies talked, nursemaids displayed their charm to the greatest possible advantage, and their little charges ran up and down and to and fro and in and out under the feet and between the legs of the assembled concourse in the most playful and exhilarating manner. They were old gentlemen trying to make out objects through long telescopes, and young ones making objects of themselves in open shirt-collars, ladies carrying about portable chairs and portable chairs carrying about invalids, parties waiting on the pier for parties who had come by the steam-boat, and nothing was to be heard but talking, laughing, welcoming, and merriment. Fly, sir, exclaimed the chorus of fourteen men and six boys, the moment Mr. Joseph Tugs, at the head of his little party, set foot on the street. Here's the gentleman in at last, said one, touching his hat with mock-politeness. Where he glad to see you, sir, been a-waiting for you these six weeks. Jump in, if you please, sir. Nice light fly in a fast trotter, sir, said another, fourteen mile an hour, and surrounded objects rendered invisible by extreme well-all city. Large fly for your luggage, sir, cried a third. Very large fly here, sir, regular blue-bottle. Here's your fly, sir, shouted another aspiring charioteer, mounting the box and inducing an old grey horse to indulge in some imperfect reminiscences of a canter. Look at him, sir, temper of a lamb and haction of a steam engine. Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable a quadruped as the last named, Mr. Joseph Tugs beckoned to the proprietor of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined with faded, striped calico, and the luggage and family having been deposited therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings. How many beds have you got, screamed Mrs. Tugs out of the fly to the woman who opened the door of the first house, which displayed a bill intimating the departments were to be let within? How many did you want, ma'am?" was, of course, the reply. Three. Will you step in, ma'am?" Down got Mrs. Tugs. The family were delighted. Splendid view of the sea from the front windows, charming. A short pause. Back came Mrs. Tugs again. One parlor and a mattress. Why, the devil didn't they say so at first, inquired Mr. Joseph Tugs, rather pettishly. Don't know, said Mrs. Tugs. Wretches exclaimed the nervous Simon. Another bill, another stoppage. Same question, same answer, similar result. What do they mean by this, inquired Mr. Joseph Tugs, thoroughly out of temper? Don't know, said the class at Mrs. Tugs. All was the vey here, sir, said the driver, by way of accounting for the circumstances in a satisfactory manner, and off they went again to make fresh inquiries and encounter fresh disappointments. It had grown dusk when the fly, the rate of whose progress greatly belied its name, and climbing up four or five perpendicular hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house with a bay window, from which you could obtain a beautiful glimpse of the sea if you thrust half of your body out a bit at the imminent peril of falling into the area. Mrs. Tugs alighted. One ground floor, sitting room and three cells with beds in them upstairs. A double-house, family on the opposite side, five children milk and watering in the powder, and one little boy expelled for bad behavior screaming on his back in the passage. What's the terms, said Mrs. Tugs? The mistress of the house was considering the expediency of putting on an extra guinea, so she coughed slightly and effected not to hear the question. What's the terms, said Mrs. Tugs, in a louder key? Five guinea's a week, ma'am, with attendance, replied the lodging-house-keeper. Attendance means the privilege of ringing the bell as often as you like for your own amusement. Rather, dear, said Mrs. Tugs, oh, dear, no, ma'am, replied the mistress of the house with a benign smile of pity and the ignorance of manners and customs which the observation betrayed, very cheap. Such an authority was indisputable. Mrs. Tugs paid a week's rent in advance and took the lodgings for a month. In an hour's time the family were seated at tea in their new abode. Capital shrimps, said Mr. Joseph Tugs. Mr. Simon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphatically said, shrimps. Well, then shrimps, said Mr. Joseph Tugs. Shrimps or shrimps don't much matter. There was pity blended with malignity in Mr. Simon's eye as he replied, don't matter, father, what would Captain Water say if he heard such vulgarity? Or what would dear Mrs. Captain Water say, added Charlotte, if she saw mother, ma, I mean, eating them whole, heads and all? It won't bear thinking of, ejaculated Mr. Simon with a shudder. How different, he thought, from the dowager dusts of Dobbleton. Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Water's, is she not, Simon, inquired Mr. Lotta. A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr. Simon Tugs, as he replied, an angel of beauty. Hello, said Mr. Joseph Tugs. Hello, Simon, my boy, take care. Married lady, you know, and he winked one of his twinkling eyes knowingly. Why, exclaimed Simon, starting up with an emulation of fury, as unexpected as alarming, why am I to be reminded of that blight of my happiness and ruin of my hopes? Why am I to be taunted with the miseries which are heaped upon my head? Is it not enough to, to, to?" and the orator paused. But whether for want of words or lack of breath was never distinctly ascertained. There was an impressive celebrity on the tone of this address, and in the air with which the romantic Simon at its conclusion rang the bell and demanded a flat candlestick which effectually forbade a reply. He stalked dramatically to bed, and the Tugs's went to bed, too, half an hour afterwards, in a state of considerable misdivacation and perplexity. If the pier had presented a scene of life in bustle to the Tugs's on their first landing at Ramsgate it was far surpassed by the appearance of the sands on the morning after their arrival. It was a fine, bright, clear day with a light breeze from the sea. There were the same ladies and gentlemen, the same children, the same nursemaids, the same telescopes, the same portable chairs. The ladies were employed in needlework, or watch-guard making, or knitting, or reading novels. The gentlemen were reading newspapers and magazines. The children were digging holes in the sand with wooden spades and collecting water therein. The nursemaids, with their youngest charges in their arms, were running in after the waves and then running back with the waves after them, and now and then a little sailing-boat either departed with a gay and talkative cargo of passengers or returned with a very silent and particularly uncomfortable-looking one. Well I never exclaimed Mrs. Tugs as she and Mr. Joseph Tugs and Miss Charlotte Tugs and Mr. Simon Tugs, with their eight feet in a corresponding number of yellow shoes, seated themselves on four rush-bottomed chairs, which being placed in a soft part of the sand, forthwith sunk down some two feet and a half. Well I never. Mr. Simon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the chairs and removed them further back. Why, I'm blessed if there ain't some ladies are going in," exclaimed Mr. Joseph Tugs, with intense astonishment. "'Law-pa!' exclaimed Miss Charlotte." "'There is, my dear,' said Mr. Joseph Tugs, and sure enough four young ladies, each furnished with a towel, tripped up the steps of a bathing-machine. In went the horse, flandering about in the water, round turned the machine, down sat the driver, and presently outburst the young ladies aforesaid, with four distinct splashes." "'Why, that singada, too,' ejaculated Mr. Joseph Tugs, after an awkward pause. Mr. Simon coughed slightly. "'Why, here some gentlemen are going in on this side,' exclaimed Mrs. Tugs, in a tone of horror. Three machines, three horses, three flounderings, three turnings round, three splashes, three gentlemen, desporting themselves in the water, like so many dolphins. "'Why, that's singada,' said Mr. Joseph Tugs, again. Miss Charlotte coughed this time, and another pause ensued. It was agreeably broken. "'How'd you do, dear? We have been looking for you all the morning,' said a voice to Miss Charlotte Tugs. Mrs. Captain Waters was the owner of it. "'How'd you do?' said Captain Walter Waters, all suavity, and a most cordial interchange of greetings ensued. "'Belinda, my love,' said Captain Walter Waters, applying his glass to his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea. "'Yes, my dear,' replied Mrs. Captain Waters. "'There's Harry Thompson. Where,' said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye, bathing. "'Law so it is. He don't see us, does he?' "'No, I don't think he does,' replied the Captain. "'Bless my soul, how very singada!' "'What!' inquired Belinda. "'There's Mary Golding, too. "'Law—where?' Upwent the glass again. "'There,' said the Captain, pointing to one of the young ladies before noticed, who, in her bathing-costume, looked as if she were enveloped in a patent macintosh of scanty dimensions. "'So it is, I declare,' exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters. "'How very curious we should see them both.' "'Very,' said the Captain, with perfect coolness. "'It's the regular thing here, you see,' whispered Mr. Simon Tugs to his father. "'I see it is,' whispered Mr. Joseph Tugs in reply. "'Queer, though, ain't it,' Mr. Simon Tugs nodded ascent. "'What do you think of doing with yourself this morning?' inquired the Captain. "'Shall we lunch at Pegwell?' "'I should like that very much indeed,' interposed Mrs. Tugs. She had never heard of Pegwell, but the word lunch had reached her ears, and it sounded very agreeable. "'How shall we go?' inquired the Captain. "'It's too warm to walk.' "'A she,' suggested Mr. Joseph Tugs. "'A she,' suggested Mr. Joseph Tugs. "'She's,' whispered Mr. Simon. "'I should think one would be enough,' said Mr. Joseph Tugs aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of a correction. "'However, two she's, if you like.' "'I should like a donkey so much,' said Belinda. "'Oh, so should I,' echoed Charlotte Tugs. "'Well, we can have a fly,' suggested the Captain, and you can have a couple of donkeys.' A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Captain Waters declared it would be decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy was obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tugs would be gowns enough to accompany them. Mr. Simon Tugs, blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly protested that he was no horseman. The objection was at once overruled. A fly was speedily found, and three donkeys, which the proprietor declared on his solemn asseveration to be three parts blood and the other corn, were engaged in the service. Kim up shouted one of the two boys who followed behind to propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotte Tugs had been hoisted and pushed and pulled into their respective saddles. "'High, high, high,' groaned the other boy behind Mr. Simon Tugs. Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling against the heels of Simon's boots, and Simon's boots nearly scraping the ground. "'Way, way! Woo!' cried Mr. Simon Tugs, as well as he could, in the midst of the jolting. "'Don't make it gallop,' screamed Mrs. Captain Waters behind. "'My donkey will go into the public house,' shrieked Miss Tugs in the rear. "'High, high, high,' groaned both the boys together, and on went the donkeys as if nothing would ever stop them. Everything has an end, however. Even the galloping of donkeys will cease in time. The animal which Mr. Simon Tugs mistrode, feeling sundry uncomfortable Tugs at the bit, the intent of which he could by no means divine abruptly sidled against a brick wall and expressed his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Simon Tugs's leg on the rough surface. Mrs. Captain Waters' donkey, apparently under the influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly head-first into a hedge and declined to come out again, and the quadruped on which Miss Tugs was mounted expressed his delight at this humorous proceeding by firmly planting his forefeet against the ground and kicking up his hind legs in a very agile but somewhat alarming manner. This abrupt termination to the rapidity of the ride naturally occasioned some confusion. Both the ladies indulged in vehement screaming for several minutes, and Mr. Simon Tugs, besides sustaining intense bodily pain, had the additional mental anguish of witnessing their distressing situation without having the power to rescue them by reason of his leg being firmly screwed in between the animal and the wall. The efforts of the boys, however, assisted by the ingenious expedient of twisting the tail of the most rebellious donkey, restored order in a much shorter time that could have reasonably been expected, and the little party jogged slowly on together. "'Now let him walk,' said Mr. Simon Tugs, "'it's cruel to overdrive him.' "'Very well, sir,' replied the boy, with a grin at his companion, as if he understood Mr. Simon to mean that the cruelty applied less to the animals than to the riders. "'What a lovely day, dear,' said Charlotta. "'Charming, enchanting, dear,' responded Mrs. Captain Waters. "'What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tugs!' Simon looked full in Belinda's face as he responded. "'Beautiful indeed!' the lady cast down her eyes, and suffered the animal she was riding to fall a little back. Simon Tugs instinctively did the same. There was a brief silence, broken only by a sigh from Mr. Simon Tugs. "'Mr. Simon,' said the lady, suddenly, in a low tone, "'Mr. Simon, I am another's.' Mr. Simon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which it was impossible to convert. "'If it had not been,' resumed Belinda, and there she stopped. "'What? What!' said Mr. Simon earnestly. "'Do not torture me. What would you say?' "'If I had not been,' continued Mrs. Captain Waters. "'If, in earlier life, it had been my fate to have known, and be loved by, a noble youth, a kindred soul, a congenial spirit, one capable of feeling and appreciating the sentiments which, "'Heavens, what do I hear?' explained Mr. Simon Tugs. "'Is it possible? Can I believe my—' "'Come up!' This last unsentimental parenthesis was addressed to the donkey, who, with his head between his forelegs, appeared to be examining the state of his shoes with great anxiety. "'High, high, high!' said the boys, behind. "'Come up!' expostulated Simon Tugs again. "'High, high, high!' repeated the boys, and whether it was that the animal felt indignant at the tone of Mr. Tugs' command, or felt alarmed by the noise of the deputy proprietor's boots running behind him, or whether he burned with a noble emulation to outstrip the other donkeys, certain it is that he no sooner heard the second series of high-highs, that he started away with a celerity of pace which jerked Mr. Simon's hat off instantaneously, and carried him to the Pegwell Bay Hotel in no time, where he deposited his rider without giving him the trouble of dismounting, by sagaciously pitching him over his head into the very doorway of the tavern. Great was the confusion of Mr. Simon Tugs, when he was put right end uppermost by two waiters, considerable was the alarm of Mrs. Tugs in behalf of her son, agonizing were the apprehensions of Mrs. Captain Waters on his account. It was speedily discovered, however, that he had not sustained much more injury than the donkey. He was grazed, and the animal was grazing. And then it was a delightful party to be sure. Mr. and Mrs. Tugs and the Captain had ordered lunch in the little garden behind, small saucers of large shrimp, dabs of butter, crusty loaves, and bottled ale. The sky was without a cloud. There were flower-pots and turf before them. The sea from the foot of the cliff, stretching away as far as the eye could discern anything at all, vessels in the distance with sails as white and as small as nicely gut up cambrick handkerchiefs. The shrimps were delightful, the ale better, and the Captain even more pleasant than either. Mrs. Captain Waters was in such spirits after lunch, chasing first the Captain across the turf and among the flower-pots, and then Mr. Simon Tugs, and then Miss Tugs, and laughing too quite boisterously. But as the Captain said, it didn't matter who knew what they were there. For all the people of the house knew they might be common people, to which Mr. Joseph Tugs responded to be sure, and then they went down the steep wooden steps a little further on, which led to the bottom of the cliff, and looked at the crabs and the seaweed and the eels, till it was more than fully time to go back to Ramsgate again. Finally Mr. Simon Tugs ascended the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one, and Mr. Simon Tugs discovered that the foot and ankle of Mrs. Captain Waters were even more unexceptionable than he had first supposed. Taking a donkey towards his ordinary place of residence is a very different thing, and a feet much more easily to be accomplished than taking him from it. It requires a great deal of foresight and presence of mind in the one case to anticipate the numerous flights of his discursive imagination, whereas in the other all you have to do is to hold on and place a blind confidence in the animal. Mr. Simon Tugs adopted the latter expedient on his return, and his nerves were so little discomposed by the journey that he distinctly understood they were all to meet again at the library in the evening. The library was crowded. There were the same ladies and the same gentlemen who had been on the sands in the morning and on the pier the day before. There were young ladies in maroon-coloured gowns and black velvet bracelets dispensing fancy articles in the shop and presiding over games of chance in the concert-room. There were marriageable daughters and marriage-making mamas gaming and promenading and turning over music and flirting. There were some male beau doing the sentimental in whispers and others doing the ferocious in mustache. There were Mrs. Tugs in amber, Mrs. Tugs in sky blue, Mrs. Captain Waters in pink. There was Captain Waters in a braided shirt-out. There was Mr. Simon Tugs in pumps and a gilt waistcoat. There was Mr. Joseph Tugs in a blue coat and shirt-frill. Numbers three, eight, and eleven cried one of the young ladies in the maroon-coloured gowns. Numbers three, eight, and eleven echoed another young lady in the same uniform. Number three's gone, said the first young lady. Numbers eight and eleven. Numbers eight and eleven echoed the second young lady. Number eight's gone, Mary Ann, said the first young lady. Number eleven screamed the second. The numbers are all taken now, ladies, if you please, said the first. The representatives of Numbers three, eight, and eleven, and the rest of the numbers, crowded round the table. Will you throw, ma'am, said the presiding goddess, handing the dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady with four girls. There was a profound silence among the lookers on. Throw, Jane, my dear, said the stout lady. An interesting display of bashfulness, a little blushing in a Cambric handkerchief, a whispering to a younger sister. Amelia, my dear, throw for your sister, said the stout lady, and then she turned to a walking advertisement of Rowland's MacArthur oil, who stood next to her and said, Jane is so very modest and retiring, but I can't be angry with her for it. An artless and unsophisticated girl is so truly amiable that I often wish Amelia was more like her sister. The gentleman with the whiskers whispered his admiring approval. Now, my dear, said the stout lady, Miss Amelia threw, eight for her sister, ten for herself. Nice figure, Amelia, whispered the stout lady to a thin youth beside her. Beautiful, and such a spirit! I am like you in that respect. I cannot help admiring that life and vivacity. Ah, a sigh! I wish I could make poor Jane a little more like my dear Amelia. The young gentleman cordially acquiesced in the sentiment, both he and the individual first addressed, were perfectly contented. Who's this, inquired Mr. Simon Tugs of Mrs. Captain Waters, as a short female in a blue velvet hat and feathers was led into the orchestra by a fat man in a black tights and cloudy Merlin's? Mrs. Tippen of the London theatres, replied Belinda, referring to the programme of the concert. The talented Tippen, having condescendedly acknowledged the clapping of hands and shouts of bravo which greeted her appearance, proceeded to sing the popular caffetina of Bid Me Discourse, accompanied on the piano by Mr. Tippen, after which Mr. Tippen sang a comic song accompanied on the piano by Mrs. Tippen. The applause consequent upon which was only to be exceeded by the enthusiastic approbation bestowed upon an air with variations on the guitar by Mrs. Tippen accompanied on the chin by Master Tippen. Thus passed the evening, thus passed the days and evenings of the Tugs' and the Waters' for six weeks, sands in the morning, donkeys at noon, pier in the afternoon, library at night, and the same people everywhere. On that very night six weeks the moon was shining brightly over the calm sea, which dashed against the feet of the tall gaunt cliffs, with just enough noise to lull the old fish to sleep, without disturbing the young ones, when two figures were discernible, or would have been, if anybody had looked for them, seated on one of the wooden benches which are stationed near the verge of the western cliff. The moon had climbed higher into the heavens by two hours journeying, since those figures first sat down, and yet they had moved not. The crowd of loungers had thinned and dispersed, the noise of itinerant musicians had died away, light after light had appeared in the windows of the different houses in the distance, blockade man after blockade man had passed the spot, wending his way towards his solitary post, and yet those figures had remained stationary. Some portions of the two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the moon fell strongly on a puce-colored boot at a glazed stock. Mr. Simon Tugs and Mrs. Captain Waters were seated on that bench. They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the sea. "'Walter will return to-morrow,' said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully breaking silence. Mr. Simon Tugs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry bushes as he replied, "'Halas, he will.' "'Oh, Simon,' resumed Belinda. The chaste delight, the calm happiness of this one week of platonic love is too much for me. Simon was about to suggest that it was too little for him, but he stopped himself and murmured unintelligibly. And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is, exclaimed Belinda, is now to be lost for ever. "'Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda,' exclaimed the excitable Simon, as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face. It was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase. "'Do not say for ever, I must,' replied Belinda. "'Why?' urged Simon. "'Oh, why? Such platonic acquaintance as ours is so harmless that even your husband can never object to it.' "'My husband,' exclaimed Belinda. You little know him. Jealous and revengeful, ferocious in his revenge, a maniac in his jealousy. "'Would you be assassinated before my eyes?' Mr. Simon Tugs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his disinclination to undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of anybody. "'Then leave me,' said Mrs. Captain Waters. "'Leave me this night for ever. It is late. Let us return.' Mr. Simon Tugs sadly offered the lady his arm and escorted her to her lodgings. He paused at the door. He felt a platonic pressure of his hand. "'Good night,' he said, hesitating. Good night,' sobbed the lady. Mr. Simon Tugs paused again. "'Won't you walk in, sir?' said the servant. Mr. Tugs hesitated. "'Oh, that hesitation!' He did walk in. "'Good night,' said Mr. Simon Tugs again, when he reached the drawing-room. "'Good night,' replied Belinda. "'And, if at any period of my life, I—hush!' The lady paused, and stared with a steady gaze of horror on the ashy covenants of Mr. Simon Tugs. There was a double knock at the street door. "'It is my husband,' said Belinda, as the captain's voice was heard below. "'And my family,' added Simon Tugs, as the voices of his relatives floated up the staircase. "'The curtain—the curtain,' gassed Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the window before which some chint's hangings were closely drawn. "'But I've done nothing wrong,' said the hesitating Simon. "'The curtain,' reiterated the frantic lady. "'You will be murdered!' The last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed Simon concealed himself behind the curtain, with pantomimic suddenness. "'Enter the captain,' Joseph Tugs, Mrs. Tugs, and Charlotte. "'My dear,' said the captain, left Tettit slaughter. Two iron-shot boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Simon to advance, and acknowledged the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the table. Mr. Simon's fears almost overcame his reason. "'The brandy, my dear,' said the captain. "'Here was a situation. They were going to make a night of it, and Mr. Simon Tugs was pent up behind the curtain and afraid to breathe. "'Slaughter,' said the captain, a cigar. "'Now, Mr. Simon Tugs never could smoke without feeling it indispensably necessary to retire immediately, and never could smell smoke without a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced. The captain was a professed smoker. So was the lieutenant. So was Joseph Tugs. The apartment was small. The door was closed. The smoke powerful. It hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found its way behind the curtain. Simon Tugs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use. Oat came the cough." "'Bless my soul,' said the captain. "'I beg your pardon, Miss Tugs. You dislike smoking?' "'Oh, no, I don't indeed,' said Charlotte. "'It makes you cough. Oh, dear, no. You cough just now. Me, Captain Waters, law, how could you say so? Somebody coughed,' said the captain. "'I certainly thought so,' said Slaughter. "'No, everybody denied it.' "'Fancy,' said the captain. "'Must be,' echoed Slaughter. Cigars resumed. More smoke. Another cough. Smothered, but violent. "'Damned odd,' said the captain, staring about him. Singular ejaculated the unconscious Mr. Joseph Tugs. But Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then at another, then laid down his cigar, then approached the window on tiptoe, and pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the curtain. Slaughter ejaculated the captain, rising from the table. What do you mean?' The left tenet, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr. Simon Tugs behind it, pallet with apprehension, and blew with wanting to cough. "'Aha!' exclaimed the captain ferociously. "'What do I see? Slaughter, your sabre!' "'Simon!' screamed the Tugs's. "'Mercy!' said Belinda. "'Platonic gasped Simon. "'Your sabre,' roared the captain. "'Slaughter, unhand me! The villain's life! Murder!' screamed the Tugs's. "'Hold him fast, sir!' Faintly articulated Simon. "'Water!' exclaimed Joseph Tugs. Then Mr. Simon Tugs and all the ladies forthwith fainted away and formed a tableau. "'Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the six weeks' acquaintance. A troublesome forum and an arbitrary custom, however, prescribed that a story should have a conclusion in addition to a commencement. We have, therefore, no alternative. Left-tenet slaughter brought a message. The captain brought an action. After Joseph Tugs interposed, the left-tenet negotiated. When Mr. Simon Tugs recovered from the nervous disorder into which misplaced affection and exciting circumstances had plunged him, he found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance, that his father was minus fifteen hundred pounds, and the captain plus the precise sum. The money was paid to hush the matter up, but it got abroad not outstanding, and there are not wanting some who affirm that three designing imposters never found more easy dupes than did Captain Waters, Mrs. Waters, and left-tenet slaughter in the Tugs' at Ramsgate. CHAPTER V Horatio Sparkens Indeed, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention on the last assembly-night, said Mrs. Mulderton, addressing her spouse, who, after the fatigues of the day in the city, was sitting with a silk handkerchief over his head, and his feet on the fender drinking his port. Very great attention, and I say again every possible encouragement ought to be given him. He positively must be asked down here to dine. "'Who must?' inquired Mr. Mulderton. "'Why, you know whom I mean, my dear? The young man with the black whiskers and the white cravat, who has just come out at our assembly, and whom all the girls are talking about. Young, dear me, what's his name? Marianne, what is his name?' continued Mrs. Mulderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was engaged in netting a purse and looking sentimental. "'Mr. Horatio Sparkens, ma,' replied Miss Marianne, with a sigh. "'Oh, yes, to be sure, Horatio Sparkens,' said Mrs. Mulderton. "'Decidedly the most gentleman-like young man I ever saw. I am sure, and the beautifully made coat he wore the other night, he looked like Prince Leopold, ma, so noble, so full of sentiment,' suggested Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration. "'You should recollect, my dear,' resumed Mrs. Mulderton, that Teresa is now eight and twenty, and that it really is very important that something should be done. Miss Teresa Mulderton was a very little girl, rather fat, with vermilion cheeks, but good-humored, and still disengaged, although to do her justice, the misfortune arose from no lack of perseverance on her part. In vain had she flirted for ten years, in vain had Mr. and Mrs. Mulderton assiduously kept up an extensive acquaintance among the young eligible bachelors of Camberwell, and even of Wandsworth and Brixton, to say nothing of those who dropped in from town. Miss Mulderton was as well known as the lion on the top of North Thumbelon House, and had an equal chance of going off. "'I am quite sure you'd like him,' continued Mrs. Mulderton. "'He is so gentlemanly, so clever,' said Miss Marianne, and has such a flow of language,' added Mr. Teresa. "'He has a great respect for you, my dear,' said Mrs. Mulderton to her husband. Mr. Mulderton coughed and looked at the fire. "'Yes, I'm sure he's very much attached to past society,' said Miss Marianne. "'No doubt of it,' echoed Mr. Teresa. "'Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence,' observed Mrs. Mulderton. "'Well, well,' returned Mr. Mulderton, somewhat flattered, "'if I see him at the assembly to-morrow perhaps I'll ask him down. I hope he knows we live at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, my dear. Of course, and that you keep a one-horse carriage. "'I'll see about it,' said Mr. Mulderton, composing himself for a nap. "'I'll see about it.' Mr. Mulderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas was limited to Lloyd's, the exchange, the India House, and the bank. A few successful speculations had raised him from a situation of obscurity and comparative poverty to a state of affluence. As frequently happens in such cases, the ideas of himself and his family became elevated to an extraordinary pitch as their means increased. They affected fashion, taste, and many other fooleries in imitation of their betters, and had a very decided and becoming horror of anything which could by possibility be considered low. He was hospitable from ostentation, illiberal from ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. Him and the love of display induced him to keep an excellent table. Convenience and a love of good things of this life ensured him plenty of guests. He liked to have clever men, or what he considered such at his table, because it was a great thing to talk about, but he never could endure what he called sharp fellows. Probably he cherished this feeling out of compliment to his two sons, who gave their respective parent no uneasiness in that particular. The family were ambitious of forming acquaintances and connections in some sphere of society superior to that in which they themselves moved, and one of the necessary consequences of this desire added to their utter ignorance of the world beyond their own small circle was that anyone could lay claim to an acquaintance with people of rank and title had a sure passport to the table at Oak Lodge, Camberwell. The appearance of Mr. Horatio Sparkens at the assembly had excited no small degree of surprise and curiosity among its regular frequenters. Who could he be? He was evidently reserved and apparently melancholy. Was he a clergyman? He danced too well. A barrister? He said he was not called. He used very fine words and talked a great deal. Could he be a distinguished foreigner come to England for the purpose of describing the country its manners and customs and frequenting public balls and public dinners, with the view of becoming acquainted with high life, polished etiquette, and English refinement? No. He had not a foreign accent. Was he a surgeon, a contributor to the magazines, a writer of fashionable novels or an artist? No. To each and all these summarizes there existed some valid objection. Then, said everybody, he must be somebody. I should think he must be reason Mr. Mulderton within himself, because he perceives our superiority and pays us so much attention. The night succeeding the conversation we have just recorded was assembly night. The double-fly was ordered to be at the door of Oak Lodge at nine o'clock precisely. The Miss Mulderton's were dressed in sky-blue satin trimmed with artificial flowers, and Mrs. M, who was a little fat woman, in ditto-ditto, looked like her eldest daughter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Mulderton, the eldest son in full dress costume, was the very beau-ideal of a smart waiter, and Mr. Thomas Mulderton, the youngest, with his white dress-stocked blue-coat bright buttons and red watch-rimmon, strongly resembled the portrait of that interesting but rash young gentleman, George Barnwell. Every member of the party had made up his or her mind to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Heratio Sparkins. Mr. Risa, of course, was to be amiable and interesting, as ladies of eight and twenty on the lookout for a husband usually are. Mrs. Mulderton would be all smiles and graces. Miss Marianne would request the favour of subversives for her album. Mr. Mulderton would patronise the great unknown by asking him to dinner. Mr. Mulderton intended to ascertain the extent of his information on the interesting topics of snuff and cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Mulderton himself, the family authority on all points of taste, dress and fashionable arrangement, who had lodgings of his own in town, who had a free admission to a covered garden theatre, who always dressed according to the fashions of the months, who went up the water twice a week in the season, and who actually had an intimate friend who once knew a gentleman who formerly lived in the Albany, even he had determined that Mr. Heratio Sparkins must be a devilish good fellow, and that he would do him the honour of challenging him to a game at billiards. The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family on their entrance into the ballroom was the interesting Heratio, with his hair brushed off his forehead and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the seats. There he is, my dear, whispered Mrs. Mulderton to Mr. Mulderton. How, like Lord Byron, murmured Miss Teresa, or Montgomery, whispered Miss Marianne, or the portraits of Captain Cook suggested Tom. Tom, don't be an ass, said his father, who checked him on all occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming sharp, which was very unnecessary. The elegant Sparkins attitudinised with admirable effect until the family had crossed the room. He then started up with the most natural appearance of surprise and delight, accosted Mrs. Middleton with the utmost cordiality, saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting manner, bowed to and shook hands with Mr. Mulderton with a degree of respect, amounting almost to veneration, and returned the greetings of the two young men in a half-gratified, half-patronising manner, which fully convinced them that he must be an important and, at the same time, condescending personage. Miss Mulderton, said her ratio, after the ordinary salutations and bowing very low, may I be permitted to presume to hope that you will allow me to have the pleasure— I don't think I am engaged, said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful affectation of indifference, but really so many her ratio looked handsomely miserable. I shall be most happy, simpered the interesting Teresa at last. Her ratio's countenance brightened up like an old hat in a shower of rain. A very gentile young man certainly, said the gratified Mr. Mulderton, as the obsequious sparkons at his partner joined the quadruple which was just forming. He has a remarkably good address, said Mr. Frederick. Yes, he's a prime fellow, interposed Tom, who always managed to put his foot in it. He talks just like an auctioneer. Tom, said his father solemnly, I think I desired you before not to be a fool. Tom looked as happy as a cock on a drizzly morning. How delightful, said the interesting Horatio to his partner, as they promulgated the room at the conclusion of the set. How delightful, how refreshing it is to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes and the troubles of life, even if it be but for a few short fleeting moments, and to spend those moments fading and evanescent though they may be, in the delightful, the lesser society of one individual, whose frowns would be death, whose coldest would be madness, whose falsehood would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss, the possession of whose affection would be the brightest and best reward that heaven could bestow on man. What feeling, what sentiment, thought this Teresa, as she leaned more heavily on her companion's arm. Not enough, enough, resumed the elegant Sparkins with a theatrical air. What have I said? What have I, I, to do with sentiments like these? Miss Mulderton, here he stopped short. May I hope to be permitted to offer the humble tribute of, really, Mr. Sparkins, returned the enraptured Teresa, blushing in the sweetest confusion. I must refer you to Papa. I never can't without his consent, ventured to surely he cannot object. Oh, yes, indeed, indeed, you know him not, interrupted Mr. Teresa, well knowing that there was nothing to fear, but wishing to make the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel. He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus. Return the adorable Sparkins with some surprise. Is that all, thought the disappointed Teresa? What a fuss about nothing! It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you to dinner at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next at five o'clock, if you have no better engagement, said Mr. Mulderton at the conclusion of the evening, as he and his sons were standing in conversation with Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Horatio bowed his acknowledgments and accepted the flattering invitation. I must confess, continued the father, offering his snuff-box to his new acquaintance, that I don't enjoy these assemblies half so much as the comfort. I had almost said the luxury of Oak Lodge. They have no great charms for an elderly man. After all, sir, what is man, said the metaphysical Sparkins. I say, what is man? Ah, very true, said Mr. Mulderton, very true. We know that we live and breathe, continued Horatio, that we have wants and wishes, desires and appetites, certainly, said Mr. Frederick Mulderton, looking profound. I say we know that we exist, repeated Horatio, raising his voice. But there we stop. There is it into our knowledge. There is the summit of our attainments. There is the termination of our ends. What more do we know? Nothing, replying Mr. Frederick, than whom no one was more capable of answering for himself in that particular. Tom was about to hazard something, but fortunately for his reputation, he caught his father's angry eye and slunk off like a puppy convicted of petty larceny. "'Upon my word,' said Mr. Mulderton, the elder, as they were returning home in the fly, that Mr. Sparkins is a wonderful young man, such surprising knowledge, such extraordinary information, and such a splendid mode of expressing himself. I think he must be somebody in disguise,' said Miss Marianne. How charmingly romantic! He talks very loud and nicely, timidly observed Tom. And I don't exactly understand what he means. "'I almost begin to despair of your understanding anything,' Tom,' said his father, who, of course, had been much enlightened by Mr. Horatio Sparkins' conversation. "'It strikes me, Tom,' said Mr. Risa, that you have made yourself very ridiculous this evening.' No doubt of it cried everybody, and the unfortunate Tom reduced himself into the least possible space. Last night Mr. and Mrs. Mulderton had a long conversation respecting their daughter's prospects and future arrangements. Mr. Risa went to bed, considering whether in the event of her marrying a title she could conscientiously encourage the visits of her present associates, and dreamed all night of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes, bridal favours, and Horatio Sparkins. His surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning, as to the mode of conveyance which the anxiously expected Horatio would adopt. Did he have a jig? Was it possible he could come on horseback? Or would he patronize the stage? These and other various conjectures of equal importance engrossed the attention of Mrs. Mulderton and her daughters during the whole morning after church. Upon my word, my dear, it's the most annoying thing that vulgar brother of yours should have invited himself to dine here to-day," said Mr. Mulderton to his wife. On account of Mr. Sparkins coming down, I purposely abstained from asking any one but Flamwell. And then to think of your brother, a tradesman, it's insufferable. I declare I wouldn't have him mention his shop before our new guest. No, not for a thousand pounds. I wouldn't care if he had the good sense to conceal the disgrace he is to the family, but he's so fond of his horrible business that he WILL let people know what he is. Mr. Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large groaser, so vulgar and so lost to all sense of feeling that he actually never scrupled to a vow that he wasn't above his business. He'd make his money by it, and he didn't care who noted. Ha! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how do you do? said Mr. Mulderton as a little spoffish man with green spectacles entered the room. You got my note. Yes, I did, and here I am in consequence. You don't happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name, you know everybody? Mr. Flamwell was one of those gentlemen of remarkable extensive information who one occasionally meets in society, who pretend to know everybody, but in reality know nobody. At Mulderton's, where any stories about great people were received with a greedy air, he was in a special favorite, and knowing the kind of people he had to deal with, he carried his passion of claiming an acquaintance with everybody to the most immoderate length. He had rather a singular way of telling his greatest lies in parenthesis, with an air of self-denial as if he feared being thought egotistical. Why, no, I don't know him by that name, return Flamwell in a low tone, with an air of immense importance. I have no doubt I know him, though. Is he tall? Middle-sized, said Mr. Eesa. With black hair, inquired Flamwell, hashing a bold guess. Yes, return Mr. Eesa eagerly. Rather a snub-nose. No, said the disappointed Teresa. He has a Roman nose. I said a Roman nose, didn't I, inquired Flamwell? He's an elegant young man, oh certainly, with remarkably preposessing manners. Oh, yes, said all the family together. You must know him. Yes, I thought you knew him if he was anybody, triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Modrigan. Who do you think he is? Why, from your description, said Flamwell, ruminating and seeking his voice almost to a whisper, he bears a strong resemblance to the honourable Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne. He's a very talented young man, and rather eccentric. It's extremely probable he may have changed his name for some temporary purpose. Teresa's heart beat high. Could he be the honourable Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne? What a name to be elegantly engraved upon two glazed cars tied together with a piece of white satin ribbon. The honourable Mrs. Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne. The thought was transport. It's five minutes to five, said Mr. Modrigan, looking at his watch. I hope he's not going to disappoint us. There he is, exclaimed Mr. Teresa, as a loud double-knock was heard at the door. Everybody endeavored to look, as people, when they particularly expect a visitor, always do, as if they were perfectly unsuspicious of the approach of anybody. The room door opened. Mr. Barton, said the servant, confound the man, murmured Modrigan. Ah, my dear sir, how do you do? Any news? Why, no, return the grocer, in his usual bluff manner. No, none particular, none that I'm much aware of. How do you, girls and boys? Mr. Flamwell, sir, glad to see you. Here's Mr. Sparkins, said Tong, who had been looking out at the window, on such a black horse. There was a ratio, sure enough, on a large black horse, riveting and prancing along, like an astly super-numerary. After a great deal of raiding in and pulling up with the accompaniments of snorting, rearing, and kicking, the animal consented to stop at about a hundred yards from the gate, where Mr. Sparkins dismounted and confided him to the care of Mr. Modrigan's groom. The ceremony of introduction was gone through in all due form. Mr. Flamwell looked from behind his green spectacles at her ratio, with an air of mysterious importance, and the gallant ratio looked unutterable things, at Theresa. See, the honourable Mr. Augustus, what's his name, whispered Mrs. Modrigan to Flamwell, as he was escorting her to the dining-room. Why, no, at least not exactly, returned the great authority. Not exactly. Who is he, then? Hush, said Flamwell, knotting his head with a grave air, judging that he knew very well, but was prevented by some grave reasons of state from disclosing the important secret. It might be one of the ministers making himself equated with the views of the people. Mr. Sparkins, said the delighted Mrs. Modrigan, prayed to vie the ladies. John put a chair for the gentleman between Mr. Theresa and Mrs. Merrienne. This was addressed to a man who on ordinary occasions acted as half-groom half-gardener, but who, as it was important to make an impression on Mr. Sparkins, had been forced into a white neckerchief and shoes, and touched up and brushed to look like a second footman. The dinner was excellent. Horatio was most attentive to Mr. Theresa, and everyone felt in high spirits, except Mr. Modrigan, who, knowing the propensity of his brother-in-law, Mr. Barton, endured that sort of agony which the newspapers and foremost is experienced by the surrounding neighbourhood, when a pot-boy hangs himself in a hayloft, and which is much easier to be imagined than described. Have you seen your friends, Thomas Nolan, lately, Flamwell, inquired Mr. Modrigan, casting a side-long look at Horatio, to see what effect the mention is so great a man had upon him? Why, no, not very lately. I saw Lord Gumbelton the day before yesterday. All. I hope his lordship is very well," said Modrigan, in a tone of the greatest interest. It is scarcely necessary to say that until that moment he had been quite innocent of the existence of such a person. Why, yes, he was very well, very well indeed. He's a devilish good fellow. I met him in the city, and had a long chat with him. Indeed I'm rather intimate with him. I couldn't stop to talk to him as long as I could wish, though, because I was on my way to a banker's, a very rich man, and a member of parliament, with whom I am also, rather, indeed I may say, very intimate. I know whom you mean, returned the host, consequently, in reality knowing as much about the matter as Flamwell himself. He has a capital business. This was touching on a dangerous topic. A talking of business, it deposed Mr. Barton from the centre of the table, a gentleman whom you know very well, Modrigan, before you made that first lucky speck of yours, called at our shop the other day, and, Barton, may I trouble you for a potato, interrupted the wretched master of the house, hoping to nip the story in the bud. Certainly, returned the grocer, quite insensible of his brother-in-law's object. And he said, in a very plain matter, flurry if you please, interrupted Modrigan again, dreading the termination of the anecdote, and fearing a repetition of the word shop. He said, says he, continued the culprit, after dispatching the host, says he, how goes on your business? So I said jokingly, you know my way, since I, I'm never above my business, and I hope my business will never be above me. Mr. Sparkins, said the host, vainly endeavouring to conceal his dismay, a glass of wine, with the utmost pleasure, sir. Happy to see you. Thank you." We were talking the other evening, resumed the host, addressing Horatio, partly with the view of displaying the conversational powers of his new acquaintance, and partly in the hope of drowning the grocer's stories. We were talking the other night about the nature of man. Your argument struck me very falsely. And me, said Mr. Frederick, Horatio made a graceful inclination of the head. Pray, what is your opinion of women, Mr. Sparkins, inquired Mrs. Modrigan, the young lady, simpered. Man, replied Horatio, man, whether he range the bright gay flowery plains of a second Eden, or the more sterile barren, and I may say commonplace regions to which we are compelled to accustom ourselves in times such as these, man, under any circumstances or in any place, whether he were bending beneath the withering blasts of frigid zone, or scorching under the rays of a vertical sun, man without woman would be alone. I am very happy to find you entertain such honorable opinions, Mr. Sparkins, said Mrs. Modrigan. And I, added Mr. Risa, Horatio looked histolite and the young lady blushed. Now, it's my opinion, said Mr. Martin, I know what you are going to say, interposed Modrigan, determined not to give his relation another opportunity, and I don't agree with you. What, inquired the astonished grocer? I am sorry to differ with you, Barton, said the host, in as positive a manner as if he really were contradicting a position which the other had laid down, but I cannot give my assent to what I consider a very monstrous proposition. But I meant to say, you never can convince me, said Modrigan, with an air of obstinate determination, never. And I, said Mr. Fredrig, following up his father's attack, cannot entirely agree on Mr. Sparkins' argument. What, said Horatio, who became more metaphysical and more argumentative, as he saw the female part of the family listening in wonderful delight, what, is effect the consequence of cause, the precursor of effect? That's the point, said Flamwell. To be sure, said Mr. Modrigan, because if effect is the consequence of cause, and if cause does precede effect, I apprehend you are wrong, added Horatio. Decidedly, said the toad eating Flamwell, at least I apprehend that to be the just and logical deduction, said Sparkins, in a toad of interrogation. No doubt of it, chimed in Flamwell again, it settles the point. When perhaps it does, said Mr. Fredrig, I didn't see it before. I don't exactly see it now, thought the grocer, but I suppose it's all right. How wonderfully clever he is, whispered Mrs. Modrigan to her daughters as they retired to the drying-room. Oh, he's quite a love, said both the young ladies together. He talks like an oracle. He must have seen a great deal of life. The gentlemen being left to themselves, a pause ensued, during which everybody looked very grave, as if they were quite overcome by the profound nature of the previous discussion. Flamwell, who had made up his mind, find out who and what Mr. Horatio Sparkins really was, first broke silence. Excuse me, sir, said that distinguished personage. I presume you have studied for the bar. I thought of entering once myself. Indeed I'm rather intimate with some of the highest ornaments of that distinguished profession. No, said Horatio, with a little hesitation. Not exactly. But you have made much among the silk gowns, or I mistake, inquired Flamwell deferentially. Nearly all my life, returned Sparkins. The question was thus pretty well settled in the mind of Mr. Flamwell. He was a young gentleman about to be called. I shouldn't like to be a barrister, said Tom, speaking for the first time, and looking round the table to find somebody who would notice the remark. No one made any reply. I shouldn't like to wear a wig, said Tom, hesitating another observation. Tom, I beg you will not make yourself ridiculous, said his father. Pray listen, and improve yourself by the conversation you hear, and don't be constantly making these absurd remarks. Very well, father, replied the unfortunate Tom, who had not spoken a word since he had asked for another slice of beef at quarter-past five o'clock p.m., and it was then eight. Well, Tom, observed his good-natured uncle, never mind. I think with you, I shouldn't like to wear a wig. I'd rather wear an apron. Mr. Mulderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed, for if a man's above his business, the cough returned, with tenfold violence, and had not ceased until the unfortunate cause of it, in his alarm, had quite forgotten what he intended to say. Mr. Sparkins, said Flamwell, returning to the charge, do you happen to know Mr. Delfontaine of Bedford Square? I have exchanged cards with him, since which indeed I have had an opportunity of serving him considerably, replied Horatio, slightly coloring no doubt, and having been betrayed into making the adornment. You are very lucky if you have had an opportunity of obliging that great man, observed Flamwell, with an air of profound respect. I don't know who he is, he whispered to Mr. Mulderton confidentially, as they followed Horatio up to the drawing-room. It's quite clear, however, that he belongs to the law, and that he has somebody of great importance and very highly connected. No doubt, no doubt, returned his companion. The remainder of the evening passed away most delightfully. Mr. Mulderton, relieved from his apprehensions by the circumstance of Mr. Barton's falling into a profound sleep, was as affable and gracious as possible. Mr. Rissa played the fall of Paris as Mr. Sparkins declared in a most masterly manner, and both of them, assisted by Mr. Frederick, tried over glies and trios without number. They having made the pleasing discovery that their voices harmonized beautifully. To be sure they all sang the first part, and Horatio, in addition to the slight drawback of having no ear, was perfectly innocent of knowing a note of music. Still, they passed the time very agreeably, and it was past twelve o'clock before Mr. Sparkins ordered the morning couch-looking steed to be brought out, an order which was only complied with on the distinct understanding that he was to repeat his visit on the following Sunday. But perhaps Mr. Sparkins will form one of our party tomorrow evening, suggested Mrs. M. Mr. Maltotin intends taking the girls to see the pantomime, Mr. Sparkins bowed, and promised to join the party in box forty-eight in the course of the evening. We will not tax you for the morning, said Mr. Rissa bewitchingly, for Ma is going to take us to all sorts of places shopping. I know that gentlemen have a great horror of that employment. Mr. Sparkins bowed again, and declared that he should be delighted, but business of importance occupied him in the morning. Flamwell looked at Maltotin significantly. It's term time, he whispered. At twelve o'clock on the following morning the flag was at the door of Oak Lodge to convey Mrs. Maltotin and her daughters on their expedition for the day. They were to dine and dress for the play at a friend's house. First driving thither with their band boxes, they departed on their first errand to make some purchases at Messers John, Spruggins, and Smiths of Tottingham Court Road, after which they were to go to Red Mains and Bond Street, thence to innumerable places that no one ever heard of. The young ladies beguiled the tediousness of the ride by eulogizing Mr. Horatio Sparkins, scolding their mamma for taking them so far to save a shilling and wondering whether they should ever reach their destination. At length the vehicle stopped before a dirty-looking, ticketed linen draper shop with goods of all kinds and labels of all sorts and sizes in the window. There were dropsicle figures of seven, with a little three farthings in the corner. Perfectly invisible to the naked eye, three hundred and fifty thousand ladies' boas from one shilling and a penny-hapenny, real French kid shoes at two and nine pence per pair, green parasols at an equally cheap rate, and every description of items, as the proprietor said, and they must know best, fifty percent undercost price. Lorama, what a place you have brought us to, said Mr. Risa. What would Mr. Sparkins say if he could see us? Ah, what indeed, said Miss Marianne, horrified at the idea. Pre-beseeded ladies, what is the first article? Inquire the obsequious master of the ceremonies of the establishment, who, in his large white neck-cloth and formal tie, looked like a bed-portrait of a gentleman in the Somerset Host Exhibition. I want to see some silks, answered Mrs. Maudreton. Directly, ma'am, Mr. Smith, where is Mr. Smith? Here, sir, cried a voice at the back of the shop. Pre-bake haste, Mr. Smith, said the emcee. You never are to be found when you're wanted, sir. Mr. Smith, thus enjoined to use all possible dispatch, leaped over the counter with great agility, and placed himself before the newly arrived customers. Miss Maudreton uttered a faint scream. Miss Teresa, who had been stooping down to talk to her sister, raised her head and beheld Horatio Sparkins. We will draw a veil, as novel writers say, over the scene that ensued. The mysterious philosophical, romantic, metaphysical Sparkins, he who, to the interesting Teresa, seemed like the embodied idea of the young dukes and poetical exquisites in black silk dressing-gowns, and ditto-ditto slippers, of whom she had read and dreamed, but had never expected to behold, was suddenly converted into Mr. Samuel Smith, the assistant at a cheap shop, the junior partner in a slippery firm of some three weeks' existence. The dignified envanishment of the hero of Oak Lodge on this unexpected recognition could only be equaled by that of a infertive dog with a considerable kettle at his tail. All the hopes of the Maudretons were destined at once to melt away like the lemon ices at a company's dinner. All necks was still to them as distant as the North Pole, and Miss Teresa had as much chance of a husband as Captain Ross had of the Northwest Passage. Years have elapsed since the occurrence of this dreadful morning. The daisies have thrice-bloomed on Camberwell Green. The sparrows have thrice-repeated their vernal chirps in Camberwell Grove, but the Miss Maudretons are still unmated. Mr. Teresa's case is more desperate than ever, but Flamwell is yet in the zenith of his reputation, and the family have the same predilection for aristocratic percentages with an increased aversion to anything low. End of Section 50.