"Are you going to tell Kate?" whispered Mrs. Aubrey, sorrowfully. "Surely, love, you have suffered enough through my weakness. Wait till to-morrow. Let her—poor girl!—have a few more happy hours!"

"No, Agnes—it was my own weakness which caused me to be surprised into this premature disclosure to you. And now I must meet her again to-night, and I cannot control either my features, or my feelings. Yes, poor Kate, she must know all to-night! I shall not be long absent, Agnes." And directing her maid to remain with her till he returned, he withdrew, and with slow step and heavy heart descended to the library; preparing himself for another heart-breaking scene—plunging another innocent and joyous creature into misery, which he believed to be inevitable. Having looked into the drawing-room as he passed it, and seen no one there—his mother having, as usual, retired at a very early hour—he rang his library bell, and desired Miss Aubrey's maid to request her mistress to come down to him there, as soon as she should be at leisure. He was glad that the only light in the room was that given out by the fire, which was not very bright, and so would in some degree shield his features from, at all events, immediate scrutiny. His heart ached as, shortly afterwards, he heard Kate's light step crossing the hall. When she entered, her eyes sparkled with vivacity, and a smile was on her beauteous cheek. Her dress was slightly disordered, and her hair half uncurled—the results of her sport with the little ones whom she had been seeing to bed.

"What merry little things, to be sure!" she commenced laughingly—"I could not get them to lie still a moment—popping their little heads in and out of the clothes. A fine time I shall have of it, by-and-by, with Sir Harry! for he is to be my tiny little bed-fellow, and I dare say I shall not sleep a wink all night!—Why, Charles, how very—very grave you look!" she added, quickly observing his eye fixed moodily upon her.

"'Tis you who are so very gay," he replied, endeavoring to smile. "I want to speak to you, dear Kate," he commenced affectionately—at the same time rising and closing the door—"on a serious matter. I have received some letters to-night"——

Kate colored suddenly and violently, and her heart beat; but, sweet soul! she was mistaken—very, very far off the mark her troubled brother was aiming at. "And, relying on your strength of mind, I have resolved to put you at once in possession of what I myself know. Can you bear bad news well, Kate?"

She turned very pale, and drawing her chair nearer to her brother, said, "Do not keep me in suspense, Charles—I can bear anything but suspense—that is dreadful! What has happened? Oh dear," she added, with sudden alarm, "where are mamma and Agnes?" She started to her feet.

"I assure you they are both well, Kate. My mother is now doubtless asleep, and as well as she ever was; Agnes is in her bedroom—certainly much distressed at the news which I am going"——

"Oh why, Charles, did you tell anything distressing to her?" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, with an alarmed air.

"We came together by surprise, Kate! Perhaps, too, it would have been worse to have kept her in suspense; but she is recovering!—I shall soon return to her. And now, my dear Kate—I know your strong sense and spirit—a very great calamity hangs over us. Let you and me," he grasped her hands affectionately, "stand it steadily, and support those who cannot!"

"Let me at once know all, Charles. See if I do not bear it as becomes your sister," said she, with forced calmness.

"If it should become necessary for all of us to retire into obscurity—into humble obscurity, dear Kate—how do you think you could bear it?"

"If it will be an honorable obscurity—nay, 'tis quite impossible it can be a dishonorable obscurity," said Miss Aubrey, with a momentary flash of energy.

"Never, never, Kate! The Aubreys may lose everything on earth but the jewel HONOR, and love for one another!"

"Let me know all, Charles: I see that something or other shocking has happened," said Miss Aubrey, in a low tone, with a look of the deepest apprehension.

"I will tell you the worst, Kate—- a strange claim is set up—by one I never heard of—to the whole of the property we now enjoy!"

Miss Aubrey started, and the slight color that remained faded entirely from her cheek. Both were silent for very nearly a minute.

"But is it a true claim, Charles?" she inquired, faintly.

"That remains to be proved. I will, however, disguise nothing from you—I have woful apprehensions"——

"Do you mean to say that Yatton is not ours?" inquired Miss Aubrey, catching her breath.

"So, alas! my dearest Kate, it is said!"

Miss Aubrey looked bewildered, and pressed her hand to her forehead.

"How shocking!—shocking!—shocking!" she gasped—"What is to become of mamma?"

"God Almighty will not desert her in her old age. He will desert none of us, if we only trust in him," said her brother.

Miss Aubrey remained gazing at him intently, and continued perfectly motionless.

"Must we then all leave Yatton?" said she, faintly, after a while.

"If this claim succeeds—but we shall leave it together, Kate."

She threw her arms around his neck, and wept bitterly.

"Hush, hush, Kate!" said he, perceiving the increasing violence of her emotions, "restrain your feelings for the sake of my mother—and Agnes."

His words had the desired effect: the poor girl made a desperate effort. Unclasping her arms from her brother's neck, she sat down in her chair, breathing hard, and pressing her hand upon her heart. After a few minutes' pause, she said faintly, "I am better now. Do tell me more, Charles! Let me have something to think about—only don't say anything about—about—mamma and Agnes!" In spite of herself a visible shudder ran through her frame.

"It seems, Kate," said he, with all the calmness he could assume—"at least they are trying to prove—that our branch of the family has succeeded to the property prematurely—that there is living an heir of the elder branch—that his case has been taken up by powerful friends; and—let me tell you the worst at once—even the lawyers consulted by Mr. Parkinson on my behalf, take a most alarming view of the possibilities of the case that may be brought against us"——

"But is mamma provided for?" whispered Miss Aubrey, almost inarticulately. "When I look at her again, I shall drop at her feet insensible!"

"No, no, Kate, you won't! Heaven will give you strength," said her brother, in a tremulous voice. "Remember, my only sister—my dearest Kate! you must support me in my trouble, as I will support you—we will try to support each other"——

"We will—we will!" interrupted Miss Aubrey—instantly checking, however, her rising excitement.

"You bear it bravely, my noble girl!" said Mr. Aubrey, fondly, after a brief interval of silence.

She turned from him her head, and moved her hand—in deprecation of expressions which might utterly unnerve her. Then she convulsively clasped her hands over her forehead; and, after a minute or two, turned towards him with tears in her eyes, but tranquillized features. The struggle had been dreadful, though brief—her noble spirit had recovered itself.

——'T was like some fair bark, in mortal conflict with the black and boiling waters and howling hurricane; long quivering on the brink of destruction, but at last outliving the storm, righting itself, and suddenly gliding into safe and tranquil waters!——

The distressed brother and sister sat conversing for a long time, frequently in tears, but with infinitely greater calmness and firmness than could have been expected. They agreed that Dr. Tatham should very early in the morning be sent for, and implored to take upon himself the bitter duty of breaking the matter as gradually and safely as possible to Mrs. Aubrey; its effects upon whom, her children anticipated with the most vivid apprehension. They both considered that an event of such publicity and importance could not possibly remain long unknown to her, and that it was, on the whole, better that the dreaded communication should be got over as soon as possible. They then retired—Kate to a sleepless pillow, and her brother to spend a greater portion of the night in attempts to soothe and console his suffering wife; each of them having first knelt in humble reverence, and poured forth the breathings of a stricken and bleeding heart, before Him who hath declared that he is ever present to HEAR and to ANSWER prayer.

Ah! who can tell what a day or an hour may bring forth?

* * * * *

"It won't kindle—not a bit on't—it's green and full o' sap. Go out, and get us a log that's dry and old, George—and let's try to have a bit of a blaze in t'ould chimney, this bitter night," said Isaac Tonson, the gamekeeper at Yatton, to the good-natured landlord of the Aubrey Arms, the little—and only—inn of the village. The suggestion was instantly attended to.

"How Peter's a-feathering of his geese to-night, to be sure!" exclaimed the landlord on his return, shaking the snow off his coat, and laying on the fire a great dry old log of wood, which seemed very acceptable to the hungry flames, for they licked it cordially the moment it was placed among them, and there was very soon given out a cheerful blaze. 'T was a snug room. The brick floor was covered with fresh sand; and on a few stools and benches, with a table in the middle, on which stood a large can and ale-glasses, with a plate of tobacco, sat some half-dozen men, enjoying their pipe and glass. In the chimney corner sat Thomas Dickons, the faithful under-bailiff of Mr. Aubrey, a big broad-shouldered, middle-aged man, with a hard-featured face and a phlegmatic air. In the opposite corner sat the little grizzle-headed clerk and sexton, old Hallelujah—(as he was called, but his real name was Jonas Higgs.) Beside him sat Pumpkin, the gardener at the Hall, a very frequent guest at the Aubrey Arms o' nights—always attended by Hector, the large Newfoundland dog already spoken of, and who was now lying stretched on the floor at Pumpkin's feet, his nose resting on his fore feet, and his eyes, with great gravity, watching the motions of a skittish kitten under the table. Opposite to him sat Tonson the gamekeeper—a thin, wiry, beetle-browed fellow, with eyes like a ferret; and there were also, one or two farmers, who lived in the village.

"Let's ha' another can o' ale, afore ye sit down," said Tonson, "we can do with another half gallon, I'm thinking!" This order also was quickly attended to; and then the landlord, having seen to the door, fastened the shutters close, and stirred the crackling fire, took his place on a vacant stool, and resumed his pipe.

"So she do take a very long grave, Jonas?" inquired Dickons of the sexton, after some little pause.

"Ay, Mr. Dickons, a' think she do, t'ould girl! I always thought she would—I used to measure her (as one may say) in my mind, whenever I saw her! 'Tis a reg'lar man's size, I warrant you; and when parson saw it, a' said, he thought 'twere too big; but I axed his pardon, and said I hadn't been sexton for thirty years without knowing my business—he, he!"

"I suppose, Jonas, you mun ha' seen her walking about i' t' village, in your time!—Were she such a big-looking woman?" inquired Pumpkin, as he shook the ashes out of his pipe, and replenished it.

"Forty year ago I did use to see her—she were then an old woman, wi' white hair, and leaned on a stick—I never thought she'd a' lasted so long," replied Higgs, emptying his glass.

"She've had a pretty long spell on't," quoth Dickons, after slowly emptying his mouth of smoke.

"A hundred and two," replied the sexton; "so saith her coffin-plate—a' see'd it to-day."

"What were her name?" inquired Tonson—"I never knew her by any name but Blind Bess."

"Her name be Elizabeth Crabtree on the coffin," replied Higgs; "and she be to be buried to-morrow."

"She were a strange old woman," said Hazel, one of the farmers, as he took down one of the oatcakes hanging overhead; and breaking off a piece, held it with the tongs before the fire to toast, and then put it into his ale.

"Ay, she were," quoth Pumpkin; "I wonder what she thinks o' such things now—maybe—God forgive me!—she's paying dear for her tricks!"

"Tut, Pumpkin," said Tonson, "let t'ould creature rest in her grave, where she's going to, peaceably!"

"Ay, Master Tonson," quoth the clerk, in his reading-desk twang—"THERE be no knowledge, nor wisdom, nor device!"

"'Tis very odd," observed Pumpkin, "but this dog that's lying at my feet never could a' bear going past her cottage late o' nights—hang me if he could; and the night she died—Lord! you should have heard the howl Hector gave—and a' didn't then know she were gone—it's as true as the gospel—it is—actually!"

"No! but were't really so?" inquired Dickons—several of the others taking their pipes out of their mouths, and looking earnestly at Pumpkin.

"I didn't half like it, I can tell you," quoth Pumpkin.

"Ha, ha, ha!—ha, ha!" laughed the gamekeeper—

"Ay, marry, you may laugh," quoth Pumpkin, "but I'll stake half-a-gallon o' ale you daren't go by yourself to the cottage where she's lying—now, mind—i' the dark."

"I'll do it," quoth Higgs, eagerly, preparing to lay down his pipe.

"No, no—thou'rt quite used to dead folk—'tis quite in thy line!" replied Pumpkin—and, after a little faint drollery, silence ensued for some moments.

"Bess dropped off sudden like, at the last, didn't she?" inquired the landlord.

"She went out, as, they say, like the snuff of a candle," replied Jobbins, one of the farmers; "no one were with her but my Missis at the time. The night afore, she had took to the rattles all of a sudden. My Sall (that's done for her, this long time, by Madam's orders,) says old Bess were a good deal shaken by a chap from London, which cam' down about a week afore Christmas."

"Ay, ay," quoth one, "I've heard o' that—what was it?—what passed atwixt them?"

"Why, a' don't well know—but he seemed to know summat about t'ould girl's connections, and he had a book, and wrote down something, and he axed her, so Sall do tell me, such a many things about old people, and things that are long gone by!"

"What were the use on't?" inquired Dickons; "for Bess hath been silly this ten years, to my sartin knowledge."

"Why, a' couldn't tell. He seemed very 'quisitive, too, about t'ould creature's Bible and prayer-book (she kept them in that ould bag of hers)—and Sall said she had talked a good deal to the chap in her mumbling way, and seemed to know some folk he asked her about. And Sall saith she hath been, in a manner, dismal ever since, and often a-crying and talking to herself."

"I've heard," said the landlord, "that squire and parson were wi' her on Christmas-day—and that she talked a deal o' strange things, and that the squire did seem, as it were, struck a little, you know—struck, like!"

"Why, so my Sall do say; but it may be all her own head," replied Jobbins.

Here a pause took place.

"Madam," said the sexton, "hath given orders for an uncommon decent burying to-morrow."

"Well, a' never thought any wrong of ould Bess, for my part," said one—and another—and another; and they smoked their pipes for some short time in silence.

"Talking o' strangers from London," said the sexton, presently—"who do know anything o' them two chaps that were at church last Sunday? Two such peacock chaps I never see'd afore in my time—and grinning all sarvice-time! the heathen!"

"Ay, I'll tell you something of 'em," said Hazel—a big broad-shouldered farmer, who plucked his pipe out of his mouth with sudden energy—"They're a brace o' good ones, to be sure, ha, ha! Some week or ten days ago, as I were a-coming across the field leading into the lane behind the church, I see'd these same two chaps, and on coming nearer, (they not seeing me for the hedge,) Lord bless me! would you believe it?—if they wasn't a-teasing my daughter Jenny, that were coming along wi' some physic from the doctor for my old woman! One of 'em seemed a-going to put his arm round her neck and t' other came close to her on t' other side, a-talking to her and pushing her about." Here a young farmer, who had but seldom spoken, took his pipe out of his mouth, and exclaiming, "Lord bless me!" sat listening with his mouth wide open. "Well," continued the former, "a' came into the road behind 'em, without their seeing me; and"—(here he stretched out a thick, rigid, muscular arm, and clinched his teeth)—"a' got hold of each by the collar, and one of 'em I shook about, and gave him a kick i' the breech that sent him spinning a yard or two on the road, he clapping his hand behind him, and crying, to be sure—'You'll smart for this—a good hundred pound damages!' or summat o' that sort. T' other dropped on his knees, and begged for mercy; so a' just spit in his face, and flung him under t' hedge, telling him if he stirred till I were out o' sight, I'd crack his skull for him; and so I would!" Here the wrathful speaker pushed his pipe again between his lips, and began puffing away with great energy; while he who had appeared to take so great an interest in the story, and who was the very man who had flown to the rescue of Miss Aubrey, when she seemed on the point of being similarly treated, told that circumstance exactly as it occurred, amid the silent but excited wonder of those present—all of whom, at its close, uttered vehement execrations, and intimated the summary and savage punishment which the cowardly rascal would have experienced at the hands of each and every one of them, had they come across him.

"I reckon," said the landlord, as soon as the swell had a little subsided, "they must be the two chaps that put up here, some time ago, for an hour or so. You should ha' seen 'em get on and off the saddle—that's all! Why, a' laughed outright! The chap with the hair under his chin got on upon the wrong side, and t'other seemed as if he thought his beast would a' bit him!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed all.

"I thought they'd a' both got a fall before they'd gone a dozen yards!"

"They've taken a strange fancy to my churchyard," said the sexton, setting down his glass, and then preparing to fill his pipe again; "they've been looking about among 'em—among t'ould gravestones, up behind t'ould yew-tree yonder; and one of them writ something, now and then, in a book; so they're book-writers, in coorse!"

"That's scholars, I reckon," quoth Dickons; "but rot the larning of such chaps as them!"

"I wonder if they'll put a picture o' the Hall in their book," quoth the sexton. "They axed a many questions about the people up there, especially about the squire's father, and some ould folk, whose names I knew when they spoke of 'em—but I hadn't heard o' them for this forty year. And one of 'em (he were the shortest, and such a chap, to be sure!—just like the monkey that were dressed i' man's clothes, last Grilston fair) talked uncommon fine about young Miss"——

"If I'd a' heard him tak' her name into his dirty mouth, his teeth should a' gone after it!" said Tonson.

"Lord! he didn't say any harm—only silly like—and t' other seemed now and then not to like his going on so. The little one said Miss were a lovely gal, or something like that—and hoped they'd become by-and-by better friends—ah, ha!"

"What! wi' that chap?" said Pumpkin—and he looked as if he were meditating putting the little sexton up the chimney, for the mere naming of such a thing.

"I reckon they're fro' London, and brought toon tricks wi' 'em—for I never heard o' such goings on as theirs down here afore," said Tonson.

"One of 'em—him that axed me all the questions, and wrote i' t' book, seemed a sharp enough chap in his way; but I can't say much for the little one," said Higgs. "Lud, I couldn't hardly look in his face for laughing, he seemed such a fool!—He had a riding-whip wi' a silver head, and stood smacking his legs (you should ha' seen how tight his clothes was on his legs—I warrant you, Tim Timpkins never see'd such a thing, I'll be sworn) all the while, as if a' liked to hear the sound of it."

"If I'd a' been beside him," said Hazel, "I'd a' saved him that trouble—only I'd a' laid it into another part of him!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" they laughed—and presently passed on to other matters.

"Hath the squire been doing much lately in Parliament?" inquired the sexton, of Dickons.

"Why, yes—he's trying hard to get that new road made from Harkley bridge to Hilton."

"Ah, that would save a good four mile, if a' could manage it!" said one of the farmers.

"I hear the Papists are trying to get the upper hand again—which the Lud forbid!" said the sexton, after another pause.

"The squire hath lately made a speech in that matter, that hath finished them," said Dickons, in a grave and authoritative tone.

"What would they be after?" inquired the landlord of Dickons, of whom, in common with all present, he thought great things. "They say they wants nothing but what's their own, and liberty, and that like"——

"If thou wert a shepherd, Master Higgs," replied Dickons, "and wert to be asked by ten or a dozen wolves to let them in among thy flock of sheep, they saying how quiet and kind they would be to 'em—would'st let 'em in, or keep 'em out?—eh?"

"Ay, ay—that be it—'tis as true as gospel!" said the clerk.

"So you a'n't to have that old sycamore down, after all, Master Dickons?" inquired Tonson, after a pause in the conversation.

"No; Miss hath carried the day against the squire and Mr. Waters; and there stands the old tree, and it hath to be looked to better than ever it were afore!"

"Why hath Miss taken such a fancy to it? 'Tis an old crazy thing!"

"If thou hadst been there when she did beg, as I may say, its life," replied Dickons, with a little energy—"and hadst seen her, and heard her voice, that be as smooth as cream, thou would'st never have forgotten it, I can tell thee!"

"There isn't a more beautiful lady i' t' county, I reckon, than the squire's sister?" inquired the sexton.

"No, nor in all England: if there be, I'll lay down twenty pounds!"

"And where's to be found a young lady that do go about i' t' village like she?—She were wi' Phoebe Williams t'other night, all through the snow, and i' t' dark."

"If I'd only laid hands on that chap!" interrupted the young farmer, her rescuer.

"I wonder she do not choose some one to be married to, up in London," said the landlord.

"She'll be having some delicate high quality chap, I reckon, one o' these fine days," said Hazel.

"She will be a dainty dish, truly, for whomever God gives her to," quoth Dickons.

"Ay, she will," said more than one, in an earnest tone.

"Now, to my mind," said Tonson, "saving your presence, Master Dickons, I know not but young Madam be more to my taste; she be in a manner somewhat fuller—plumper-like, and her skin be so white, and her hair as black as a raven's."

"There's not another two such women to be found in the whole world," said Dickons, authoritatively. Here Hector suddenly rose up, and went to the door, where he stood snuffing in an inquisitive manner.

"Now, what do that dog hear, I wonder?" quoth Pumpkin, curiously, stooping forward.

"Blind Bess," replied Tonson, winking his eye, and laughing. Presently there was a sharp rapping at the door; which the landlord opened, and let in one of the servants from the Hall, his clothes white with snow, his face nearly as white, with manifest agitation.

"Why, man, what's the matter?" inquired Dickons, startled by the man's appearance. "Art frightened at anything?"

"Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" he commenced.

"What is it, man? Art drunk?—or mad?—or frightened? Take a drop o' drink," said Tonson. But the man refused it.

"Oh, Lord!—There's woful work at the Hall!"

"What's the matter?" cried all at once, rising and standing round the new-comer.

"If thou be'st drunk, John," said Dickons, sternly, "there's a way of sobering thee—mind that."

"Oh, Master Dickons, I don't know what's come to me, for grief and fright! The squire, they do say, and all of us, are to be turned out o' Yatton!"

"What!" exclaimed all in a breath.

"There's some one else lays claim to it. We must all go! Oh, Lud! oh, Lud!" No one spoke for a while; and consternation was written on every face.

"Sit thee down here, John," said Dickons at length, "and let us hear what thou hast to say—or thou wilt have us all be going up in a body to the Hall."

Having forced on him part of a glass of ale, he began,—"There hath been plainly mischief brewing, somewhere, this many days, as I could tell by the troubled face o' t' squire; but he kept it to himself. Lawyer Parkinson and another have been latterly coming in chaises from London; and last night the squire got a letter that seems to have finished all. Such trouble there were last night wi' t' squire, and young Madam and Miss! And to-day the parson came, and were a long while alone with old Madam, who hath since had a stroke, or a fit, or something of that like, (the doctors have been there all day from Grilston,) and likewise young Madam hath taken to her bed, and is ill. Oh, Lud! oh, Lud! Such work there be going on!"

"And what of the squire and Miss?" inquired some one, after all had maintained a long silence.

"Oh, 't would break your heart to see them," said the man, dolefully: "they be both pale as death: he so dreadful sorrowful, but quiet, like, and she now and then wringing her hands, and both of them going from the bedroom of old Madam to young Madam's. Nay, an' there had been half a dozen deaths i' t' house, it could not be worse. Neither the squire or Miss hath touched food the whole day!"

There was, in truth, not a dry eye in the room, nor one whose voice did not seem somewhat obstructed with his emotions.

"Who told thee all this about the squire's losing the estate?" inquired Dickons, with mingled trepidation and sternness.

"We heard of it but an hour or so agone. Mr. Parkinson (it seems by the squire's orders) told Mr. Waters, and he told it to us; saying as how it was useless to keep such a thing secret, and that we might as well all know the occasion of so much trouble."

"Who's to ha' it then, instead of the squire?" at length inquired Tonson, in a voice half choked with rage and grief.

"Lord only knows at present. But whoever 'tis, there isn't one of us sarvents but will go with the squire and his—if it be even to prison, that I can tell ye!"

"I'm Squire Aubrey's gamekeeper," quoth Tonson, his eye kindling as his countenance darkened, "and no one's else! It shall go hard if any one else here hath a game"—

"But if there's law in the land, sure the justice must be wi' t' squire—he and his family have had it so long?" said one of the farmers.

"I'll tell you what, masters," said Pumpkin, mysteriously, "I shall be somewhat better pleased when Jonas here hath got that old creature Bess safe underground!"

"Blind Bess?" exclaimed Tonson, with a very serious, not to say disturbed, countenance. "I wonder—sure! sure! that ould witch can have had no hand in all this—— eh?"——

"Poor old soul, not she! There be no such things as witches now-a-days," exclaimed Jonas. "Not she, I warrant me! She hath been ever befriended by the squire's family. She do it!"

"The sooner we get that old woman underground, for all that, the better, say I!" quoth Tonson, significantly.

"The parson hath a choice sermon on 'The Flying away of Riches,'" said Higgs, in a quaint, sad manner; "'tis to be hoped that he'll preach from it next Sunday!"——

Soon after this, the little party dispersed, each oppressed with greater grief and amazement than he had ever known before. Bad news flies swiftly—and that which had just come from the Hall, within a very few hours of its having been told at the Aubrey Arms, had spread grief and consternation among high and low for many miles round Yatton.



CHAPTER X.

Would you have believed it? Notwithstanding all that had happened between Titmouse and Tag-rag, they positively got reconciled to one another—a triumphant result of the astute policy of Mr. Gammon. As soon as he had heard Titmouse's infuriated account of his ignominious expulsion from Satin Lodge, he burst into a fit of hearty but gentle laughter, which at length subsided into an inward chuckle which lasted the rest of the day; and was occasioned, first, by gratification at the impression which his own sagacity had evidently produced upon the powerful mind of Titmouse; secondly, by an exquisite appreciation of the mingled meanness and stupidity of Tag-rag. I do not mean it to be understood, that Titmouse had given Mr. Gammon such a terse and clear account of the matter as I imagine myself to have given to the reader; but still he told quite enough to put Mr. Gammon in full possession of the true state of the case. Good: but then—instantly reflected Gammon—what are we now to do with Titmouse?—where was that troublesome little ape to be caged, till it suited the purposes of his proprietors (as Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap might surely be called, for they had caught him, however they might fail to tame him) to let him loose upon society, to amuse and astonish it by his antics?—That was the question occupying the thoughts of Mr. Gammon, while his calm, clear, gray eye was fixed upon Titmouse, apparently very attentive to what he was saying. That gentleman had first told the story of his wrongs to Snap, who instantly, rubbing his hands, suggested an indictment at the Clerkenwell sessions—an idea which infinitely delighted Titmouse, but was somewhat sternly "pooh-poohed!" by Mr. Gammon as soon as he heard of it,—Snap thereat shrugging his shoulders with a disconcerted air, but a bitter sneer upon his sharp, hard face. Like many men of little but active minds, early drilled to particular and petty callings, Snap was equal to the mechanical conduct of business—the mere working of the machinery—but, as the phrase is, could never see an inch beyond his nose. Every little conjuncture of circumstances which admitted of litigation, at once suggested its expediency, without reference to other considerations, or connection with, or subordination to, any general purpose or plan of action. A creature of small impulses, he had no idea of foregoing a momentary advantage to secure an ulterior object of importance—which, in fact, he could not keep for a moment before his thoughts, so as to have any influence on his movements. What a different man, now, was Gammon!

To speak after the manner of physiologists, several of my characters—Titmouse, Tag-rag, (with his amiable wife and daughter,) Huckaback, Snap, and old Quirk himself—may be looked on as reptiles of a low order in the scale of being, whose simple structures almost one dash of the knife would suffice to lay thoroughly open. Gammon, however, I look upon as of a much higher order; possessing a far more complicated structure, adapted to the discharge of superior functions; and who, consequently, requireth a more careful dissection. But let it not be supposed that I have yet done with any of my characters.

Gammon saw that Tag-rag, under proper management, might be made very useful. He was a moneyed man; a selfish man; and, after his sort, an ambitious man. He had an only child, a daughter, and if Titmouse and he could only be by any means once more brought together, and a firm friendship cemented between them, Gammon saw several very profitable uses to which such an intimacy might be turned, in the happening of any of several contemplated contingencies. In the event, for instance, of larger outlays of money being required than suited the convenience of the firm—could not Tag-rag be easily brought to accommodate his future son-in-law of L10,000 a-year? Suppose that, after all, their case should break down and all their pains, exertions, and expenditure be utterly thrown away! Now, if Tag-rag could be quietly brought, some fine day, to the point of either making an actual advance, or becoming security for Titmouse—ah! that would do—- that would do, said both Quirk and Gammon. But then Titmouse was a very unsafe instrument—an incalculable fool, and might commit himself too far!

"You forget, Gammon," said old Mr. Quirk, "I don't fear this girl of Tag-rag's—because only let Titmouse see—hem," he suddenly paused, and looked a little confused.

"To be sure—I see," replied Gammon, quietly, and the thing passed off. "If either Miss Quirk or Miss Tag-rag becomes Mrs. Titmouse," thought he, "I am not the man I take myself for."

A few days after Titmouse's expulsion from Satin Lodge, without his having ever gone near Tag-rag's premises in Oxford Street, or in short, seen or heard anything about him, or any one connected with him, Titmouse removed to small but very respectable lodgings in the neighborhood of Hatton Garden, provided for him by Mr. Quirk. Mrs. Squallop was quite affected while she took leave of Titmouse, who gave her son a penny to take his two boxes down-stairs to the hackney-coach drawn up opposite to the entrance of Closet Court.

"I've always felt like a mother towards you, sir, in my humble way," said Mrs. Squallop, in a very respectful manner, and courtesying profoundly.

"A—I've not got any—a—change by me, my good woman," said Titmouse, with a fine air, as he drew on his white kid glove.

"Lord, Mr. Titmouse!" said the woman, almost bursting into tears, "I wasn't asking for money, neither for me nor mine—only one can't help, as it were, feeling at parting with an old lodger, you know, sir"—

"Ah—ya—as—and all that! Well, my good woman, good-day, good-day!" quoth Titmouse, with an air of languid indifference.

"Good-by, sir—God bless you, sir, now you're going to be a rich man!—Excuse me, sir."—And she seized his hand and shook it.

"You're a—devilish—impudent—woman—'pon my soul!" exclaimed Titmouse, his features filled with amazement at the presumption of which she had been guilty; and he strode down the stairs with an air of offended dignity.

"Well—I never!—That for you, you little brute," exclaimed Mrs. Squallop, snapping her fingers as soon as she had heard his last step on the stairs—"Kind or cruel, it's all one to you!—You're a nasty jackanapes, only fit to stand in a tailor's window to show his clothes—and I'll be sworn you'll come to no good in the end, please God! Let you be rich as you may, you'll always be the fool you always was!"

Had the good woman been familiar with the Night Thoughts of Dr. Young, she might have expressed herself somewhat tersely in a line of his—

"Pygmies are pygmies still, though perched on Alps."

And, by the way, who can read the next line—

"And pyramids are pyramids in vales,"

without thinking for a moment, with a kind of proud sympathy, of certain other characters in this history? Well! but let us pass on.

The day after that on which Mr. Gammon had had a long interview with Titmouse, at the new lodgings of the latter,—when, after a very skilful effort, he had succeeded in reconciling Titmouse to a renewal of his acquaintance with Tag-rag, upon that gentleman's making a complete and abject apology for his late monstrous conduct,—Mr. Gammon wended his way towards Oxford Street, and soon introduced himself once more to Mr. Tag-rag, who was standing leaning against one of the counters in his shop in a musing position, with a pen behind his ear, and his hands in his breeches' pockets. Ten days had elapsed since he had expelled the little impostor Titmouse from Satin Lodge, and during that interval he had neither seen nor heard anything whatever of him. On now catching the first glimpse of Mr. Gammon, he started from his musing posture, not a little disconcerted, and agitation overspread his coarse deeply-pitted face with a tallowy hue. What was in the wind? Mr. Gammon coming to him, so long after what had occurred! Mr. Gammon who, having found out his error, had discarded Titmouse! Tag-rag had a mortal dread of Gammon, who seemed to him to glide like a dangerous snake into the shop, so quietly, and so deadly! There was something so calm and imperturbable in his demeanor, so blandly crafty, so ominously gentle and soft in the tone of his voice, so penetrating in his eye, and he could throw such an infernal smile over his features! Tag-rag might be likened to the animal, suddenly shuddering as he perceives the glistening folds of the rattlesnake noiselessly moving towards, or around him, in the long grass. One glimpse of his blasting beauty of hue, and—Horror! all is over.

If the splendid bubble of Titmouse's fortune had burst in the manner which he had represented, why Gammon here now? thought Tag-rag. It was with, in truth, a very poor show of contempt and defiance, that, in answer to the bland salutation of Gammon, Tag-rag led the way down the shop into the little room which had been the scene of such an extraordinary communication concerning Titmouse on a former occasion.

Gammon commenced, in a mild tone, with a very startling representation of the criminal liability which Tag-rag had incurred by his wanton outrage upon Mr. Titmouse; his own guest, in violation of all the laws of hospitality. Tag-rag furiously alleged the imposition which had been practised on him by Titmouse; but seemed quite collapsed when Gammon assured him that that circumstance would not afford him the slightest justification. Having satisfied Tag-rag that he was entirely at the mercy of Titmouse, who might subject him to both fine and imprisonment, Mr. Gammon proceeded to open his eyes to their widest stare of amazement, by assuring him that Titmouse had been hoaxing him, and that he was really in the dazzling position in which he had been first represented by Gammon to Tag-rag; that every week brought him nearer to the full and uncontrolled enjoyment of an estate in Yorkshire, worth L10,000 a-year at the very lowest; that it was becoming an object of increasing anxiety to them (Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap) to keep him out of the hands of money-lenders, who, as usual in such cases, had already scented out their victim, and so forth. Tag-rag turned very white, and felt sick at heart in the midst of all his wonder. Oh, and his daughter had lost the golden prize! and through his misconduct! He could have sunk into the cellar!—Mr. Gammon declared that he could not account for the singular conduct of Mr. Titmouse on the melancholy occasion in question, except by referring it to the excellent wines which he had too freely partaken of at Satin Lodge, added (said Gammon, with an exquisite expression of features which perfectly fascinated Tag-rag) to a "certain tenderer influence" which had fairly laid prostrate the faculties of the young and enthusiastic Titmouse; that there could be no doubt of his real motive in the conduct alluded to, namely, a desire to test the sincerity and disinterestedness of a "certain person's" attachment before he let all his fond and passionate feelings go out towards her—[At this point the perspiration burst from every pore in the devoted body of Tag-rag]—and that no one could deplore the unexpected issue of his little experiment so much as now did Titmouse.

Tag-rag really, for a moment, scarcely knew where he was, who was with him, nor whether he stood on his head or his heels, so delightful and entirely unexpected was the issue of Mr. Gammon's visit. As soon as his faculties had somewhat recovered themselves from their temporary confusion, almost breathless, he assured Gammon that no event in the whole course of his life had occasioned him such poignant regret as his treatment of Titmouse on the occasion in question; that he had undoubtedly followed unwittingly (he was ashamed to own) the example of Titmouse, and drank far more than his usual quantity of wine; besides which he had undoubtedly noticed, as had Mrs. T., the state of things between Mr. Titmouse and his daughter—talking of whom, by the way, he could assure Mr. Gammon that both Mrs. and Miss T. had been ill ever since that unfortunate evening, and had never ceased to condemn his—Tag-rag's—monstrous conduct on that occasion. As for Miss T., she was growing thinner and thinner every day, and he thought he must send her to the country for a short time: in fact—poor girl!—she was plainly pining away!

To all this Mr. Gammon listened with a calm, delightful, sympathizing look, which quite transported Tag-rag, and satisfied him that Mr. Gammon implicitly believed every word that was being said to him. But when he proceeded to assure Tag-rag that this visit of his had been undertaken at the earnest instance of Mr. Titmouse himself, (who, by the way, had removed to lodgings which would do for the present, so as they were only near to their office, for the purpose of frequent communication on matters of business between him and their firm,) who had urged Mr. Gammon to tender the olive branch, in the devout hope that it might be accepted—Tag-rag's excitement knew scarce any bounds; and he could almost have started into the shop, and given orders to his shopmen to shut up shop half an hour earlier for the rest of the week! Mr. Gammon wrote down Titmouse's direction, and handing it to Mr. Tag-rag, assured him that a call from him would be gratefully received by Mr. Titmouse. "There's no accounting for these things, Mr. Tag-rag—is there?" said Mr. Gammon, with an arch smile, as he prepared to depart—Tag-rag squeezing his hands with painful energy as Gammon bade him adieu, declaring that "he should not be himself for the rest of the day" and bowing the aforesaid Mr. Gammon down the shop with as profound an obsequiousness as if he had been the Lord High Chancellor, or even the Lord Mayor. As soon as Gammon had got fairly into the street, and to a safe distance, he burst into little gentle paroxysms of laughter, every now and then, which lasted him till he had regained his office in Saffron Hill.

The motive so boldly and skilfully suggested by Gammon to Tag-rag, as that impelling Titmouse to seek a reconciliation with him, was greedily credited by Tag-rag. 'Tis certainly very easy for a man to believe what he wishes to be true. Was it very improbable that Tag-rag, loving only one object on earth, (next to money, which indeed he really did love with the best and holiest energies of his nature,) namely, his daughter; and believing her to be possessed of qualities calculated to excite every one's love—should believe that she had inspired Titmouse with the passion of which he had just been hearing—a passion which was consuming him—which could not be quenched by even the gross outrage which—— but faugh! that Tag-rag shuddered to think of. He clapped his hat on his head, and started off to Titmouse's lodgings, and fortunately caught that gentleman just as he was going out to dine at a neighboring tavern. If Tag-rag had been a keen observer, he could hardly have failed to discover aversion towards himself written in every feature and gesture of Titmouse; and also the difficulty which he experienced in concealing his feelings. But his eagerness overbore everything; and took Titmouse quite by storm. Before Tag-rag had done with him, he had obliterated every trace of resentment in his little friend's bosom. Thoroughly as Gammon thought he had armed Titmouse against the encounter—indeed, at all points—'twas of no avail. Tag-rag poured such a monstrous quantity of flummery down the gaping mouth and insatiate throat of the little animal, as at length produced its desired effect. Few can resist flattery, however coarsely administered; but as for Titmouse, he felt the delicious fluid softly insinuating itself into every crevice of his little nature, for which it seemed, indeed, to have a peculiar affinity; 'twas a balm, 'twas an opiate soothing his wounded pride, lubricating all his inner man; nay, flooding it, so as at length to extinguish entirely the very small glimmering spark of discernment which nature had lit in him. "To be forewarned, is to be forearmed," says the proverb; but it was not verified in the present instance. Titmouse would have dined at Satin Lodge on the very next Sunday, in accordance with the pressing invitations of Tag-rag, but that he happened to recollect having engaged himself to dine on that evening with Mr. Quirk, at his residence in Camberwell—ALIBI HOUSE. As I have already intimated in a previous part of this history, that most respectable old gentleman, Mr. Quirk, with the shrewdness natural to him, and which had been quickened by his great experience, had soon seen through the ill-contrived and worse-concealed designs upon Titmouse of Mr. Tag-rag; and justly considered that the surest method of rendering them abortive would be to familiarize Titmouse with a superior style of things, such as was to be found at Alibi House—and a more lovely and attractive object for his best affections in Miss Quirk—Dora Quirk—the lustre of whose charms and accomplishments there could be no doubt, he thought, would instantly efface the image of that poor, feeble, vulgar creature, Miss Tag-rag; for such old Quirk knew her to be, though he had, in fact, never for a moment set eyes upon her. Mr. Tag-rag looked rather blank at hearing of the grand party there was to be at Alibi House, and that Titmouse was to be introduced to the only daughter of Mr. Quirk, and could not for the life of him abstain from dropping something, vague and indistinct to be sure, about "entrapping unsuspecting innocence," and "interested attentions," and other similar expressions—all of which, however, were lost upon Titmouse. Tapping with an auctioneer's hammer on a block of granite, would make about as much impression upon it as will hint, innuendo, or suggestion, upon a blockhead. So it was with Titmouse. He promised to dine at Satin Lodge on the Sunday after the ensuing one—with which poor Mr. Tag-rag was obliged to depart content; having been unable to get Titmouse up to Clapham on either of the intervening evenings, on which, he told Mr. Tag-rag, he was particularly engaged with an intimate friend—"in fact, one of HIS SOLICITORS;" and Tag-rag left him after shaking him by the hand with the utmost cordiality and energy. He instantly conceived a lively hatred of old Mr. Quirk and his daughter, who seemed taking so unfair an advantage. What, however, could be done? Many times during his interview did he anxiously turn about in his mind the expediency of proffering to lend or give Titmouse a five-pound note, of which he had one or two in his pocket-book; but no—'twas too much for human nature—he could not bring himself to it; and quitted Titmouse as rich a man as he had entered that gentleman's lodgings.

The "intimate friend" to whom Titmouse alluded as having engaged himself to dinner with him, was, in fact, Mr. Snap; who had early evinced a great partiality for him, and lost no opportunity of contributing to his enjoyment. Snap was a sharp-sighted person, and quickly detected many qualities in Titmouse, kindred to his own. He sincerely commiserated Titmouse's situation, than which, could anything be more lonely and desolate? Was he to sit night after night in the lengthening nights of autumn and winter, with not a soul to speak to, not a book to read, (that was at least interesting or worth reading;) nothing, in short, to occupy his attention? "No," said Snap to himself; "I will do as I would be done by; I will come and draw him out of his dull hole; I will show him life—I will give him an early insight into the habits and practices of the great world, in which he is so soon to cut a leading figure! I will early familiarize him with the gayest and most exciting modes of London life!" The very first taste of this cup of pleasure was exquisitely relished by Titmouse; and he felt a proportionate gratitude to him whose kind hand had first raised it to his lips. Scenes of which he had heretofore only heard and read—after which he had often sighed and yearned, were now opening daily before him, limited as were his means; and he felt perfectly happy. When Snap had finished the day's labors of the office, from which he was generally released about eight or nine o'clock in the evening, he would repair to his lodgings, and decorate himself for the night's display; after which, either he would go to Titmouse, or Titmouse come to him, as might have been previously agreed upon between them; and then,—

"The town was all before them, where to choose!"

Sometimes they would, arm in arm, each with his cigar in his mouth, saunter, for hours together, along the leading streets and thoroughfares, making acute observations and deep reflections upon the ever-moving and motley scenes around them. Most frequently, however, they would repair, at half-price, to the theatres; for Snap had the means of securing almost a constant supply of "orders" from the underlings of the theatres, and also from reporters to the Sunday Flash, (with which Messrs. Quirk and Gammon were connected,) and other newspapers. Ah, 'twas a glorious sight to see these two gentlemen saunter into a vacant box, conscious that the eyes of two-thirds of the house were fixed upon them in admiration, and conducting themselves accordingly—as swells of the first water! One such night counterbalanced, in Titmouse's estimation, a whole year of his previous obscurity and wretchedness! The theatre over, they would repair to some cloudy tavern, full of noise and smoke, and the glare of gaslight—redolent of the fragrant fumes of tobacco, gin, and porter, intermingled with the tempting odors of smoking kidneys, mutton-chops, beefsteaks, oysters, stewed cheese, toasted cheese, Welsh rabbits; where those who are chained to the desk and the counter during the day, revel in the license of the hour, and eat, and drink, and smoke to the highest point either of excitement or stupefaction, and enter into all the slang of the day—of the turf, the ring, the cockpit, the theatres—and shake their sides at comic songs. To enter one of these places when the theatre was over, was a luxury indeed to Titmouse; figged out in his very uttermost best, with satin stock and double breastpins; his glossy hat cocked on one side of his head, his tight blue surtout, with the snowy handkerchief elegantly drooping out of the breast-pocket; straw-colored kid gloves, tight trousers, and shining boots; his ebony silver-headed cane held carelessly under his arm! To walk into the middle of the room with a sort of haughty ease and indifference, or nonchalance; and after deliberately scanning, through his eye-glass, every box, with its occupants, at length drop into a vacant nook, and with a languid air summon the bustling waiter to receive his commands, was ecstasy! The circumstance of his almost always accompanying Snap on these occasions, who was held in great awe by the waiters, to whom his professional celebrity was well known, (for there was scarce an interesting, a dreadful, or a nasty scene at any of the police-offices, in which Snap's name did not figure in the newspapers as "appearing on behalf of the prisoner,") got Titmouse almost an equal share of consideration, and aided the effect produced by his own commanding appearance. As for Snap, whenever he was asked who his companion was, he would whisper in a very significant tone and manner—"Devilish high chap!" From these places they would repair, not unfrequently, to certain other scenes of nightly London life, which, I thank God! the virtuous reader can form no notion of, though they are, strange to say, winked at, if not patronized by the police and magistracy, till the metropolis is choked with them. Thus would Snap and Titmouse pleasantly pass away their time till one, two, three, and often four o'clock in the morning; at which hours they would, with many yawns, skulk homewards through the deserted and silent streets, their clothes redolent of tobacco smoke, their stomachs overcharged, their heads often muddled, swimming, and throbbing with their multifarious potations—having thus spent a "jolly night," and "seen life." 'T was thus that Snap greatly endeared himself to Titmouse, and secretly (for he enjoined upon Titmouse, as the condition of their continuance, strict secrecy on the subject of these nocturnal adventures) stole a march upon his older competitors for the good opinion of Titmouse—Messrs. Quirk, Tag-rag, and even the astute and experienced Gammon himself. Such doings as these required, however, as may easily be believed, some slight augmentations of the allowance made to Titmouse by Messrs. Quirk and Gammon; and it was fortunate that Snap was in a condition, having a few hundreds at his command, to supply the necessities of Titmouse, receiving with a careless air, on the occasion of such advances, small slips of paper by way of acknowledgments; some on stamped paper, others on unstamped paper,—promissory notes, and I. O. U's. Inasmuch, however, as Snap was not always possessed of a stamp on the occasion of a sudden advance, and having asked the opinion of his pleader (a sharp fellow who had been articled at the same time as himself to Messrs. Quirk and Gammon) as to whether an instrument in this form, "I. O. U. so much—with interest," would be available without a stamp, and being informed that it was a very doubtful point, Snap ingeniously met the difficulty by quietly adding to the principal what might become due in respect of interest: e. g. if L5 were lent, the acknowledgment would stand for L15—these little slips of paper being generally signed by Titmouse in moments of extreme exhilaration, when he never thought of scrutinizing anything that his friend Snap would lay before him. For the honor of Snap, I must say that I hardly think he deliberately purposed to perpetuate the fraud which such a transaction appears to amount to; all he wanted was—so he satisfied himself at least—to have it in his power to recover the full amount of principal really advanced, with interest, on one or other of these various securities, and hold the surplus as trustee for Titmouse. If, for instance, any unfortunate difference should hereafter arise between himself and Titmouse, and he should refuse to recognize his pecuniary obligations to Snap, the latter gentleman would be provided with short and easy proofs of his demands against him. 'T was thus, I say, that Snap rendered himself indispensable to Titmouse, whom he bound to him by every tie of gratitude; so that, in short, they became sworn friends.

I will always say for Gammon, that, whatever might have been his motive, he strenuously endeavored to urge upon Titmouse the necessity of acquiring, at all events, a smattering of the elements of useful education. Beyond an acquaintance with the petty operations of arithmetic requisite for counter-transactions, I will venture to say that poor Titmouse had no serviceable knowledge of any kind. Mr. Gammon repeatedly pressed him to put himself under competent teachers of the ordinary branches of education; but Titmouse as often evaded him, and at length flatly refused to do anything of the kind. He promised, however, to read such books as Mr. Gammon might recommend; who thereupon sent him several: but a book before Titmouse was much the same as a plate of sawdust before a hungry man. Mr. Gammon, himself a man of considerable acquirements, soon saw the true state of the case, and gave up his attempts in despair and disgust. Not that he ever suffered Titmouse to perceive the faintest indication of such feelings towards him; on the contrary, Gammon ever exhibited the same bland and benignant demeanor, consulting his wishes in everything, and striving to instil into him feelings of love, tempered by respect, as towards the most powerful—the only real, disinterested friend he had! To a very great extent he succeeded.

Titmouse spent several hours in preparing for an effective first appearance at the dinner-table at Alibi House. Since dining at Satin Lodge, he had considerably increased his wardrobe both in quantity and style. He now sported a pair of tight black trousers, with pumps and gossamer silk stockings. He wore a crimson velvet waistcoat, with a bright blue satin under-waistcoat, a shirt-frill standing out somewhat fiercely at right angles with his breast, and a brown dress-coat cut in the extreme of the fashion, the long tails coming to a point just about the backs of his knees. His hair (its purple hue still pretty distinctly perceptible) was disposed with great elegance. He had discarded mustaches; but had a very promising imperial. The hair underneath his chin came out curling on each side of it, above his stock, like two little tufts or horns. Over his waistcoat he wore his mosaic gold watch-guard, and a broad black watered ribbon, to which was attached his eye-glass—in fact, if he had dressed himself in order to sit to a miniature painter for his likeness, he could not have taken greater pains, or secured a more successful result. The only points about his appearance with which he was at all dissatisfied, were his hair—which was not yet the thing which he hoped in due time to see it—his thick red stumpy hands, and his round shoulders. The last matter gave him considerable concern, for he felt that it seriously interfered with a graceful carriage; and that the defect in his figure had been, after all, not in the least remedied by the prodigious padding of his coat. His protuberant eyes, of very light hue, had an expression entirely harmonizing with that of his open mouth; and both together, quite independently of his dress, carriage, and demeanor—(there is nothing like being candid)—gave you the image of a—complete fool. Having at length carefully adjusted his hat on his head, and drawn on his white kid gloves, he enveloped himself in a stylish cloak, with long black silk tassels, which had been lent to him by Snap; and about four o'clock, forth sallied Mr. Titmouse, carefully picking his way, in quest of the first coach that could convey him to Alibi House, or as near to it as might be. He soon found one, and, conscious that his appearance was far too splendid for an outside place, got inside. All the way along, his heart was in a little flutter of vanity, excitement, and expectation. He was going to be introduced to Miss Quirk—and probably, also, to several people of great consequence—as the heir apparent to L10,000 a-year! Two very respectable female passengers, his companions, he never once deigned to interchange, a syllable with. Four or five times did he put his head out of the window, calling out in a loud peremptory tone—"Mind, coachman—Alibi House—Mr. Quirk's—Alibi House—Do you hear, demme?" After which he would sink back into the seat with a magnificent air, as if he had not been used to give himself so much trouble. The coach at length stopped. "Hallibi Ouse, sir," said the coachman, in a most respectful tone—"this is Mr. Quirk's, sir." Titmouse stepped out, dropped eighteenpence into the man's hand, and opening the gate, found himself in a straight and narrow gravel walk, of about twenty yards in length, with little obstinate-looking stunted shrubs on each side. 'T was generally known, among Mr. Quirk's friends, by the name of "the Rope-walk." Titmouse might have entered before as fine-looking a house, but only to deliver a bundle of drapery or hosiery: never before had he entered such an one in the reality of guest. It was, in fact, a fair-sized house, at least treble that of Satin Lodge, and had a far more stylish appearance. When Titmouse pulled the bell, the door was quickly plucked open by a big footman, with showy shoulder-knot and a pair of splendid red plush breeches, who soon disposed of Titmouse's cloak and hat, and led the way to the drawing-room, before our friend, with a sudden palpitation of the heart, had had a moment's time even to run his hands through his hair.

"Your name, sir?" inquired the man, suddenly pausing—with his hand upon the handle of the door.

"Mr. Titmouse!"

"I—beg your pardon, sir; what name?"

Titmouse clearing his throat repeated his name—open went the door, and—"Mr. Ticklemouse," said the servant, very loudly and distinctly—ushering in Titmouse; on whom the door was the next instant closed. He felt amazingly flustered—and he would have been still more so, if he could have been made aware of the titter which pervaded the fourteen or twenty people assembled in the room, occasioned by the droll misnomer of the servant, and the exquisitely ridiculous appearance of poor Titmouse. Mr. Quirk, dressed in black, with knee breeches and silk stockings, immediately bustled up to him, shook him cordially by the hand, and led him up to the assembled guests. "My daughter—Miss Quirk; Mrs. Alderman Addlehead; Mrs. Deputy Diddle-daddle; Mrs. Alias, my sister;—Mr. Alderman Addlehead; Mr. Deputy Diddle-daddle; Mr. Bluster; Mr. Slang; Mr. Hug; Mr. Flaw; Mr. Viper; Mr. Ghastly; Mr. Gammon you know." Miss Quirk was about four or five and twenty—a fat young lady, with flaxen hair curled formally all over her head and down to her shoulders; so that she very much resembled one of those great wax dolls seen in bazaars and shop windows. Her complexion was beautifully fair; her eyes were small; her face was quite round and fat. From the die-away manner in which she moved her head, and the languid tone of her voice, it was obvious that she was a very sentimental young lady. She was dressed in white, and wore a massive gold chain—her fat arms being half covered with long kid gloves. She was sitting on the sofa, from which she did not rise when Titmouse was introduced to her—and the moment afterwards, hid her face behind the album which had been lying on her knee, and which she had been showing to the ladies on each side of her; for, in fact, neither she nor any one else could, without the greatest difficulty, refrain from laughing at the monkeyfied appearance of Titmouse. The alderman was a stout, stupid little man—a fussy old prig—with small angry-looking black eyes, and a short red nose; as for his head, it seemed as though he had just smeared some sticky fluid over it, and then dipped it into a flour-tub, so thickly laden was it with powder. Mr. Deputy Diddle-daddle was tall and thin, and serious and slow of speech, with the solemn composure of an undertaker. Mr. Bluster was a great Old Bailey barrister, about fifty years old, the leader constantly employed by Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and was making at least a thousand a-year. He had an amazingly truculent-looking countenance, coarse to a degree, and his voice matched it; but on occasions like the present—i. e. in elegant society—he would fain drop the successful terrors of his manner, and appear the mild, dignified gentleman. He therefore spoke in a very soft, cringing way, with an anxious smile; but his bold insolent eye and coarse mouth—what could disguise or mitigate their expression? Here he was, playing the great man; making himself, however, most particularly agreeable to Messrs. Quirk and Gammon. Slang was of the same school; fat, vulgar, confident, and empty; telling obscene jokes and stories, in a deep bass voice. He sang a good song, too—particularly of that class which required the absence of ladies—and of gentlemen. Hug (Mr. Toady Hug) was also a barrister; a glib little Jewish-looking fellow, creeping into considerable criminal practice. He was a sneaking backbiter, and had a blood-hound scent after an attorney. See him, for instance, at this moment, in close and eager conversation with Mr. Flaw, who, rely upon it, will give him a brief before the week is over. Viper was the editor of the Sunday Flash; a cold, venomous little creature. He was a philosopher—and of opinion that everything was wrong—moral, physical, intellectual, and social; that there was really no such thing, or at least ought not to be, as religion; and, as to political rights, that everybody was equal, and if any were uppermost, all ought to be! He had failed in business twice, and disreputably; then had become an Unitarian parson; but, having seduced a young female member of his congregation, he was expelled from his pulpit. An action being brought against him by the mother of his victim, and heavy damages obtained, he attempted to take the benefit of the Insolvent Debtors' Act—but, on account of Miss——, was remanded for eighteen months. That period he employed in writing a shockingly blasphemous work, for which he was prosecuted, and sentenced to a heavy fine and imprisonment. On being released from prison, saturated with gall and bitterness against all mankind, he took to political writing of a very violent character, and was at length picked up, half starved, by his present patron, Mr. Quirk, and made editor of the Sunday Flash. Is not all this history written in his sallow, sinister-eyed, bitter-expressioned countenance? Woe to him who gets into a discussion with Viper! There were one or two others present, particularly a Mr. Ghastly, a third-rate tragic actor, with a tremendous mouth, only one eye, and a very hungry look. He never spoke, because no one spoke to him, for his clothes seemed rather rusty black. The only man of gentlemanlike appearance in the room was Mr. Gammon; and he took an early opportunity of engaging poor Titmouse in conversation, and setting him comparatively at his ease—a thing which was attempted by old Quirky, but in such a fidgety-fussy way as served only to fluster Titmouse the more. Mr. Quirk gave a dinner-party of this sort regularly every Sunday; and they formed the happiest moments of his life—occasions on which he felt that he had achieved success in life—on which he banished from his thoughts the responsible and dignified anxieties of his profession; and, surrounded by a select circle of choice spirits, such as were thus collected together, partook joyously of the

"Feast of reason, and the flow of soul."

"This is a very beautiful picture, Mr. Titmouse, isn't it?" said Gammon, leading him to the farther corner of the drawing-room, where hung a small picture, with a sort of curtain of black gauze before it. Gammon lifted it up; and Titmouse beheld a picture of a man suspended from the gallows, his hands tied with cords before him, his head forced aside, and covered down to the chin with a white nightcap. 'Twas done with sickening fidelity; and Titmouse gazed at it with a shudder. "Charming thing, isn't it?" said Gammon, with a very expressive smile.

"Y—e—e—s," replied Titmouse, his eyes glued to the horrid object.

"Very striking thing, that—a'n't it?" quoth Quirk, bustling up to them; "'twas painted for me by a first-rate artist, whose brother I very nearly saved from the gallows! Like such things?" he inquired with a matter-of-fact air, drawing down the black gauze.

"Yes, sir, uncommon—most uncommon!" quoth Titmouse, shuddering.

"Well, I'll show you something most particular interesting! Heard of Gilderoy, that was hanged for forgery? Gad, my daughter's got a brooch with a lock of his hair in it, which he gave me himself—a client of mine; within an ace of getting him off—flaw in the indictment—found it out myself—did, by gad! Come along, and I'll get Dora to show it to you!" and, putting Titmouse's arm in his, and desirous of withdrawing him from Gammon, he led him up to the interesting young lady.

"Dora," said Mr. Quirk—"just show my friend Titmouse that brooch of yours, with Gilderoy's hair."

"Oh, my dear papa, 't is such a melancholy thing!" said she, at the same time detaching it from her dress, and handing it to her papa, who, holding it in his hands, gave Titmouse, and one or two others who stood beside, a very interesting account of the last hours of the deceased Gilderoy.

"He was very handsome, papa, wasn't he?" inquired Miss Quirk, with a sigh, and a very pensive air.

"Wasn't bad-looking; but good looks and the condemned cell don't long agree together, I can tell you!—Had many"——

"Ah, papa!" exclaimed Miss Quirk, in a mournful tone, and, leaning back in the sofa, raised her handkerchief to her eyes.

"You are too sensitive, my love!" whispered her aunt, Mrs. Alias, squeezing the hand of her niece, who, struggling against her feelings, presently revived.

"We were looking just now," said Mr. Hug, addressing Mr. Quirk, "at a very interesting addition to Miss Quirk's splendid album—that letter of Grizzlegut."

"Ah, very striking! Value it beyond everything! Shall never forget Grizzlegut! Very nearly got him off! 'T was an '&c.' that nearly saved his life, through being omitted in the indictment. 'Fore gad, we thought we'd got 'em!"

They were alluding to an autograph letter which had been addressed to Mr. Quirk by Grizzlegut, (who had been executed for high treason a few weeks before,) the night before he suffered. He was a blood-stained scoundrel of the deepest dye, and ought to have been hanged and quartered half a dozen times.

"Will you read it aloud, Mr. Hug?" inquired Miss Quirk; and the barrister, with solemn emphasis, read the following remarkable document:—

"Condemned Cell, Newgate, Sunday night, half-past 11 o'clock, 30th April, 18—.

"SIR,

"At this awful moment, when this world is closing rapidly upon me and my fellow-sufferers, and the sounds of the wretches putting up the Grim Gallows are audible to my listening ears, and on the morrow the most horrible death that malicious tyrants can inflict awaits me, my soul being calm and full of fortitude, and beating responsive to the call of GLORIOUS LIBERTY, I feel prouder than the King upon his throne. I feel that I have done much to secure the liberties of my injured country.

'For Liberty, glorious Liberty, Who 'd fear to die?'

Many thanks to you, sir, for your truly indefatigable efforts on my behalf, and the constant exercise of a skill that nearly secured us a Glorious Acquittal. What a Flame we would have raised in England! That should have blasted the enemies of True Freedom. I go to Hereafter (if, indeed, there be a hereafter), as we shall soon know, not with my soul crammed with Priestcraft, but a Bold Briton, having laid down my life for my country, knowing that Future Ages will do me Justice.

"Adieu, Tyrants, adieu! Do your worst!! My soul defies you!!!

"I am, Sir, "Your humble, obliged, and "undismayed servant, "ARTHUR GRIZZLEGUT

"To CALEB QUIRK, ESQ.

"'Tyrants grim, Will, on the morrow, cut me limb from limb:— While Liberty looks on with terrible eye, And says, I will avenge him by-and-by.'

"ARTHUR GRIZZLEGUT."

The reading of the above produced a great sensation. "That man's name will be enrolled among the Sidneys and the Hampdens of his country!" said Viper, with a grim and excited air. "That letter deserves to be carved on a golden tablet! The last four lines are sublime! They are worthy of Milton! He was a martyr to principles that are silently and rapidly making their way in this country!"—How much farther he would have gone on in this strain, seeing no one present had resolution enough to differ with or interrupt him, even if they had been so disposed, I know not; but fortunately dinner was announced—a sound which startled old Quirk out of a posture of intense attention to Viper, and evident admiration of his sentiments. He gave his arm with an air of prodigious politeness to the gaunt Mrs. Alderman Addlehead, whose distinguished lord led down Miss Quirk—and the rest followed in no particular order—Titmouse arm in arm with Gammon, who took care to place him next to himself (Gammon). It was really a dashing sort of dinner—such, indeed, as Mr. Quirk had long been celebrated for. Titmouse had never seen anything like it, and was quite bewildered—particularly at the number of differently shaped and colored glasses, &c. &c. &c, appropriated to his individual use! He kept a constant eye on the movements of Gammon, and did whatever he did (the two appearing moved by the same set of springs), and was thus saved not a few embarrassments and annoyances. What chiefly struck his attention was a prodigious number of dishes, great and small, as if half a dozen dinners had been crowded into one; the rapidity with which they were changed, and plates removed, in constant succession; the incessant invitations to take wine, flying about during the whole of dinner. For a considerable while he was too much flurried to enjoy himself; but a few glasses of champagne succeeded in elevating his spirits to the proper pitch—and (had he not been checked) would soon have driven them far beyond it. Almost everybody, except the great folk at the very top of the table, asked him to take wine; and on every such occasion he filled his glass. In fact Gammon, recollecting a scene at his own chamber, soon perceived that, unless he interfered, Titmouse would be drunk long before dinner was over. That gentleman had not imagined the earth to contain so exquisite a drink as champagne; and he could have fallen down and worshipped it, as it came fizzing and flashing out of the bottle. Gammon earnestly assured him that he would be ill if he drank so much—that many eyes were upon him—and that it was not the custom to do more than merely sip from his wine-glass when challenging or challenged. But Titmouse had taken a considerably greater quantity on board, before Gammon thus interfered, than that gentleman was aware of; and began to get very confident and voluble. Guess the progress he had made, when he called out with a confident air—"Mr. Alderman! Your health!"—whether more to that great man's astonishment, or disgust, I cannot undertake to say: but after a steady stare for a moment or two at Titmouse, "Oh! I shall be very happy, indeed, Mr. Gammon," he called out, looking at the latter gentleman, and drinking with him. That signified nothing, however, to Titmouse, who, indeed, did not see anything at all pointed or unusual, and nodding confidently to the alderman, gulped down his wine as eagerly as before.

"Cool puppy, that, Miss Quirk, must say," snuffled the offended alderman, to Miss Quirk.

"He's young, dear Mr. Alderman," said she, sweetly and mildly—"and when you consider the immense fortune he is coming into—ten thousand a-year, my papa says"——

"That don't make him less a puppy—nor a brute," interrupted the ruffled alderman, still more indignant; for his own forty thousand pounds, the source of all his social eminence, sank into insignificance at the sound of the splendid income just about to drop into the lap of Titmouse. Mr. Bluster, who headed the table on Miss Quirk's left hand side, and who felt that he ought to be, but knew that in the presence of the alderman he was not, the great man of the day, observing the irritation under which his rival was suffering, resolved to augment it as much as possible: wherefore he immediately raised his threatening double-glasses to his eyes, and in a tone of ostentatious condescension, looking down the table to Titmouse, called out, "Mr. Titmash—may I have the honor of drinking wine with you?"

"Ya—as, brother Bumptious," replied Titmouse, (who could never bear to hear his name mispronounced,) and raised his glass to his eye; "was just going to ask you!" All this was done in such a loud and impudent tone and manner, as made Gammon still more uneasy for his young companion. But his sally had been received by the company as a very smart retort, and produced a roar of laughter, every one being glad to see Mr. Bluster snubbed, who bore it in silent dignity, though his face showed his chagrin and astonishment; and he very heartily agreed, for once in his life, with the worshipful person opposite to him, in his estimate of our friend Titmouse. "Mr. Titmouse! Mr. Titmouse! my daughter wonders you won't take wine with her," said Mr. Quirk, in a low tone—"will you join us? we're going to take a glass of champagne."

"Oh! 'pon my life—delighted"—quoth Titmouse.

"Dora, my dear! Mr. Titmouse will take wine with you!—Jack," (to the servant,) "fill Miss Quirk's and Mr. Titmouse's glasses to the brim."

"Oh no! dearest papa—— gracious!" she exclaimed, removing her glass.

"Pho! pho!—nonsense—the first time of asking, you know, ah, ha!"

"Well! If it must be," and with what a graceful inclination—with what a sly searching glance, and fascinating smile, did she exchange courtesies with Titmouse! He felt disposed to take wine with her a second time immediately; but Gammon restrained him. Mr. Toady Hug, having become acquainted with the brilliant prospects of Titmouse, earnestly desired to exert his little talents to do the agreeable, and ingratiate himself with Mr. Titmouse; but there was a counteracting force in another direction—viz. the attorney, Mr. Flaw, who had the greatest practice at the Clerkenwell sessions; who sat beside him and received his most respectful and incessant attentions; Hug speaking ever to him in a low confidential whisper, constantly casting a furtive glance towards Bluster and Slang, to see whether they were observing him. In "strict confidence" he assured Mr. Flaw how his case, the other day, might have been won, if such and such a course had been adopted, "which would have been the line he" (Hug) "would have taken;" and which he explained with anxious energy. "I must say, (but don't mention it!) that Mr. Flip regularly threw the case away—no doubt of it! By the way, what became of that burglary case of yours, on Friday, Mr. Flaw? Uncommonly interesting case!"

"Found guilty, poor fellows!"

"You don't say so?"

"Fact, by Jove, though!"

"How could Mr. Gobble have lost that verdict? I assure you I would have bet ten to one on your getting a verdict; for I read over your brief as it lay beside me, and upon my honor, Mr. Flaw, it was most admirably got up. Everything depends on the brief"——

"Glad you thought so, sir," replied Flaw, wondering how it was that he had never before thought of giving a brief to Mr. Hug.

"It's a great mistake of counsel," quoth Hug, earnestly—"not to pay the utmost attention to their briefs! For my part," he continued in a lower tone, "I make a point of reading every syllable in my brief, however long it is!"

"It's the only way, depend on it, sir. We attorneys, you know, see and know so much of the case, conversing confidentially with the prisoners"——

"Ay, and beyond that—Your practical suggestions, my dear sir, are often—— Now, for instance, in the brief I was alluding to, there was, I recollect—one most—uncommonly acute suggestion"——

"Sir—you're uncommonly flattering! Am particularly obliged to you! May I ask, what it was that struck you?"—inquired the attorney, briskly, his countenance showing the progress of Hug's lubricating process.

"Oh—why—a—a—hem!" stammered Hug, somewhat nonplussed—(for his little fiction had been accepted as a fact!) "No; it would hardly be fair to Gobble, and I'm sorry indeed"——

"Well, well—it can't be helped now—but I must say that once or twice latterly I've thought, myself, that Mr. Gobble has rather—— By the way, Mr. Hug, shall you be in town this week, till the end of the sessions?"

"Ye—e—s!" hastily whispered Hug, after glancing guiltily towards his brethren, who, though they did not seem to do so, were really watching him with ill-subdued fury.

"I'm happy to hear it!—You've heard of Aaron Doodle, who was committed for that burglary at——? Well, I defend him, and shall be happy to give you the brief. Do you lead Mr. Dolt?" Hug nodded. "Then he will be your junior. Where are your chambers, Mr. Hug?"

"No. 4, Cant Court, Gray's Inn. When, my dear sir, does the case come on?"

"Thursday—perhaps Wednesday."

"Then do come and breakfast with me," quoth Hug, in a whisper—"and we can talk it over, you know, so nicely together!"

"Sir, you're very polite. I will do myself the pleasure"—replied Mr. Flaw—- and good-naturedly took wine with Mr. Hug.

This little stroke of business over, the disengaged couple were at liberty to attend to the general conversation of the table. Mr. Bluster and Mr. Slang kept the company in almost a constant roar, with descriptions of scenes in court, in which they had, of course, been the principal actors; and according to their own accounts they must have been wonderful fellows. Such botherers of judges—particularly aldermen and police magistrates!—Such bafflers and browbeaters of witnesses!—Such bamboozlers of juries!

You should have seen the sneering countenance of Hug all the while. He never once smiled or laughed at the brilliant sallies of his brethren, and did his best to prevent his new patron, Mr. Flaw, from doing so—constantly putting his hand before his mouth, and whispering into Mr. Flaw's ear at the very point of the joke or story—and the smile would disappear from the countenance of Mr. Flaw.

The alderman laughed till the tears ran out of his little eyes, which he constantly wiped with his napkin! Amid the general laughter and excitement, Miss Quirk, leaning her chin on her hand, her elbow resting on the table, several times directed soft, languishing looks towards Titmouse, unobserved by any one but himself; and they were not entirely unsuccessful, although Titmouse was wonderfully taken with the stories of the two counsellors, and believed them to be two of the greatest men he had ever seen or heard of, and at the head of their profession.

"'Pon my soul—I hope, sir, you'll have those two gents in my case?" said he, earnestly, to Gammon.

"Unfortunately, your case will not come on in their courts," said Gammon, with a very expressive smile.

"Why, can't it come on where I choose?—or when you like?" inquired Titmouse, surprisedly.

Mr. Quirk had been soured during the whole of dinner, for he had anxiously desired to have Titmouse sit beside him at the bottom of the table; but in the little hubbub attendant upon coming down to dinner and taking places, Titmouse slipped out of sight for a minute; and when all were placed, Quirk's enraged eye perceived him seated in the middle of the table, beside Gammon. Gammon always got hold of Titmouse!—Old Quirk could have flung a decanter at his head.—In his own house!—at his own table! Always anticipating and circumventing him.

"Mr. Quirk, I don't think we've taken a glass of wine together yet, have we?" said Gammon, blandly and cordially, at the same time pouring one out for himself. He perfectly well knew what was annoying his respected partner, whose look of quaint embarrassment, when so suddenly assailed, infinitely amused him. "Catch me asking you here again, Master Gammon," thought Quirk, "with Titmouse!" The reason why Mr. Snap had not been asked was, that Quirk had some slight cause to suspect his having presumptuously conceived the notion of paying his addresses to Miss Quirk—a thing at any time not particularly palatable to Mr. Quirk; but in the present conjuncture of circumstances quite out of the question, and intolerable even in idea. Snap was not slow in guessing the reason of his exclusion, which had greatly mortified, and also not a little alarmed him. As far as he could venture, he had, during the week, endeavored to "set" Titmouse "against" Miss Quirk, by such faint disparaging remarks and insinuations as he dared venture upon with so difficult a subject as Titmouse, whom he at the same time inflamed by representations of the splendid matches he might very soon command among the highest women of the land. By these means Snap had, to a certain extent, succeeded; but the few melting glances which had fallen upon Titmouse's sensitive bosom from the eyes of Miss Quirk, were beginning to operate a slight change in his feelings. The old alderman, on an intimation that the "ladies were going to withdraw," laid violent hands on Miss Quirk, (he was a "privileged" old fool,) and insisted on her singing his favorite song—"My Friend and Pitcher"!! His request was so warmly seconded by the rest of the company—Titmouse loud and eager as any—that she was fain to comply. She sang with some sweetness, and much self-possession; and carried Titmouse's feelings along with her from the beginning, as Gammon, who was watching him, perceived.

"Most uncommon lovely gal, isn't she?" whispered Titmouse, with great vivacity.

"Very!" replied Gammon, dryly, with a slight smile.

"Shall I call out encore? A'n't that the word? 'pon my soul, most lovely gal! She must sing it again!"

"No, no—she wishes to go—'tis not usual: she will sing it for you, I dare say, this evening, if you ask her."

"Well—most charming gal!—Lovely!"——

"Have patience, my dear Titmouse," said Gammon, in a low whisper, "in a few months' time you'll soon be thrown into much higher life than even this—among really beautiful, and rich, and accomplished women"—[and, thought Gammon, you'll resemble a monkey that has found his way into a rich tulip-bed!]

"Fancy that girl Tag-rag standing beside Miss Quirk!" whispered Titmouse, scornfully.

"Ha, ha!" gently laughed Gammon—"both of them, in their way, are very worthy persons; but"—Here the ladies withdrew. 'Twas no part of Gammon's schemes, that Titmouse should become the son-in-law of either Quirk or Tag-rag. Mr. Gammon had formed already, vastly different plans for him!

As soon as Quirk had taken the head of the table, and the gentlemen drawn together, the bottles were pushed round very briskly, accompanied by no fewer than three different sorts of snuff-boxes, all belonging to Mr. Quirk—all of them presents from grateful Old Bailey clients! One was a huge affair, of Botany Bay wood, with a very flaming inscription on the inside of the lid; from which it appeared that its amiable donors, who were trying the effect of a change of climate on their moral health at the expense of a grateful country, owed their valuable lives to the professional skill and exertions of "Caleb Quirk, Esq." In short, the other two were trophies of a similar description, of which their possessor was very justly not a little proud; and as he saw Titmouse admiring them, it occurred to him as very possible that, within a short time, he should be in possession of a magnificent gold snuff-box, in acknowledgment of the services he should have rendered to his distinguished guest and client. Titmouse was in the highest possible spirits. This, his first glimpse into high life, equalled all his expectations. Round and round went the bottles—crack went joke after joke. Slang sang song upon song, of, however, so very coarse and broad a character as infinitely disgusted Gammon, and apparently shocked the alderman;—though I greatly distrust that old sinner's sincerity in the matter. Then Ghastly's performances commenced. Poor fellow! he exerted himself to the utmost to earn the good dinner he had just devoured; but when he was in the very middle of one of his most impassioned scenes—undoubtedly "tearing a passion to rags,"—Mr. Quirk interrupted impatiently—"Come, come, Ghastly, we've had enough of that sort of thing—it don't suit—d'ye see—at all!—Lord bless us!—don't roar so, man!"

Poor Ghastly instantly resumed his seat, with a chagrined and melancholy air.

"Give us something funny," snuffled the alderman.

"Let's have the chorus of Pigs and Ducks," said Quirk; "you do that remarkable well. I could fancy the animals were running, and squealing, and quacking all about the room!" The actor respectfully did as he was desired, commencing with a sigh, and was much applauded. At length Gammon happened to get into a discussion with Mr. Bluster upon some point connected with the Habeas Corpus Act, in which our friend Gammon, who never got heated in discussion, and was very accurate in whatever he knew, had glaringly the best of it. His calm, smiling self-possession almost drove poor Bluster frantic. The less he knew, of course the louder he talked, the more vehement and positive he became; at length offering a bet that there was no such thing as a writ of Habeas Corpus before the time of Charles II.;[20] at which Gammon bowed, smiled, and closed the discussion. While engaged in it, he had of course been unable to keep his eye upon Titmouse, who drank, consequently, claret, port, sherry, and madeira, like a little fish, never letting the decanter pass him. Every one about him filled his glass every time—why should not he?

Hug sat next to Viper; feared him, and avoided discussion with him; for, though they agreed in the lowest Radical politics, they had a personal antipathy each to the other. In spite of their wishes, they at length got entangled in a very virulent controversy, and said so many insulting things to each other, that the rest of the company, who had for some time been amused, got at length—not disgusted—but alarmed, for the possible results—fully expecting the exchange of a brace of wine-glasses against each other's heads! Mr. Quirk therefore interfered.

"Bravo! bravo! bravo!" he exclaimed, as Viper concluded a most envenomed passage, "that will do, Viper—whip it into the next Flash—'t will be a capital leader! It will produce a sensation! And in the mean time, gentlemen, let me request you to fill your glasses—bumpers—for I have a toast to propose, in which you'll all feel interested when you hear who's the subject of it. It is a gentleman who is likely soon to be elevated to a station which Nature has formed him—hem! hem!—to adorn"——

"Mr. Quirk's proposing your health, Titmouse!" whispered Gammon to his companion, who, having been very restless for some time, had at length become quite silent—his head resting on his hand, his elbow on the table—his eyes languidly half open, and his face exceedingly pale. Gammon saw that he was, in truth, in an exceedingly ticklish condition.

"I—wish—you'd—let me—go out—I'm devilish ill"—said Titmouse, faintly. Gammon made a signal to Quirk, who instantly ceased his speech; and coming down to Titmouse, he and Gammon hastily led that gentleman out of the room and into the nearest bed-chamber, where he began to be very ill indeed, and so continued for several hours. Old Quirk, who was a long-headed man, was delighted by this occurrence; for he saw that if he insisted on Titmouse's being put to bed, and passing the night—and perhaps the next day—at Alibi House, it would enable Miss Quirk to bring her attractions to bear upon him effectively, by exhibiting those delicate and endearing attentions which are so soothing and indeed necessary to an invalid. Titmouse continued desperately indisposed during the whole of the night; and, early in the morning, it was thought advisable to send for a medical man, who pronounced Titmouse to be in danger of a bilious fever, and to require rest and care and medical attendance for some days to come. This was rather "too much of a good thing" for old Quirk; but there was no remedy. Foreseeing that Titmouse would be thrown constantly, for some little time to come, into Miss Quirk's company, her prudent parent enjoined upon Mrs. Alias, his sister, the necessity of impressing on his daughter's mind the great uncertainty which, after all, existed as to Titmouse's prospects; and the consequent necessity there was for her to regulate her conduct with a view to either failure or success—to keep her affections, as it were, in abeyance. But the fact was, that Miss Quirk had so often heard the subject of Titmouse's brilliant expectations talked of by her father, and knew so well his habitual prudence and caution, that she looked upon Titmouse's speedy possession of ten thousand a-year as a matter almost of certainty. She was a girl of some natural shrewdness, but of an early inclination to maudlin sentimentality. Had she been blest with the vigilant and affectionate care of a mother as she grew up, (that parent having died when Miss Quirk was but a child,) and been thrown among a set of people different from those who constantly visited at Alibi House—and of whom a very favorable specimen has been laid before the reader—Miss Quirk might really have become a very sensible and agreeable girl. As it was, her manners had contracted a certain coarseness, which at length overspread her whole character; and the selfish and mercenary motives by which she could not fail to perceive all her father's conduct regulated, gradually infected herself. She resolved, therefore, to be governed by the considerations so urgently pressed upon her by both her father and her aunt.

It was several days before Titmouse was allowed, by his medical man, to quit his bedroom; and it is impossible for any woman not to be touched by the sight of a sudden change effected in a man's appearance by severe indisposition and suffering, even be that man so poor a creature as Titmouse. He was very pale, and considerably reduced by the serious nature of the attack, and of the powerful treatment with which it had been encountered. When he made his first appearance before Miss Quirk, one afternoon, with somewhat feeble gait, and a languid air which mitigated, if it did not obliterate, the foolish and conceited expression of his features, she really regarded him with something akin to interest; and, though she might hardly have owned it even to herself, his expected good fortune invested him with a sort of subdued radiance. Ten thousand a-year!—Miss Quirk's heart fluttered! By the time that he was well enough to take his departure, she had, at his request, read over to him nearly half of that truly interesting work,—the Newgate Calendar; she had sung to him and played to him whatever he asked her; and, in short, she felt that if she could but be certain that he would gain his great lawsuit, and step into ten thousand a-year, she could love him. She insisted, on the day of his quitting Alibi House, that he should write in her album; and he very readily complied. It was nearly ten minutes before he could get a pen to suit him. At length he succeeded, and left the following interesting memento of himself in the very centre of a fresh page:—

"Tittlebat Titmouse Is My name, England Is My Nation, London Is My dwelling-Place, And Christ Is My Salvation. "TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE, "halibi lodge."

Miss Quirk turned pale with astonishment and vexation on seeing this elegant and striking addition to her album. Titmouse, on the contrary, looked at it with no little pride; for having had a capital pen, and his heart being in his task, he had produced what he conceived to be a very superior specimen of penmanship: in fact, the signature was by far the best he had ever written. When he had gone, Miss Quirk was twenty times on the point of tearing out the leaf which had been so dismally disfigured; but on her father coming home in the evening, he laughed heartily—"and as to tearing it out," said he, "let us first see which way the verdict goes!"

Titmouse became, after this, a pretty frequent visitor at Alibi House; growing more and more attached to Miss Quirk, who, however, conducted herself towards him with much judgment. His inscription on her album had done a vast deal towards cooling down the ardor with which she had been disposed to regard even the future owner of ten thousand a-year. Poor Snap seemed to have lost all chance, being treated with greater coldness by Miss Quirk on every succeeding visit to Alibi House. At this he was sorely discomfited; for she would have whatever money her father might die possessed of, besides a commanding interest in the partnership business. 'T was a difficult thing for him to preserve his temper under such circumstances, in his close intimacy with Titmouse, who had so grievously interfered with his prospects.

The indisposition I have been mentioning, prevented Titmouse from paying his promised visit to Satin Lodge. On returning to his lodgings from Alibi House, he found that Tag-rag had either called or sent every day to inquire after him with the most affectionate anxiety; and one or two notes lying on his table apprised him of the lively distress which the ladies of Satin Lodge were enduring on his account, and implored him to lose not a moment in communicating the state of his health, and personally assuring them of his safety. Though the image of Miss Quirk was continually before his eyes, Titmouse, nevertheless, had cunning enough not to drop the slightest hint to the Tag-rags of the true state of his feelings. Whenever any inquiry, with ill-disguised anxiety, was made by Mrs. Tag-rag concerning Alibi House and its inmates, Titmouse would, to be sure, mention Miss Quirk, but in such a careless and slighting way as gave great consolation and encouragement to Tag-rag, his wife, and daughter. "Miss Quirk," he said, "was well enough—but devilish fat!"—When at Mr. Quirk's, he spoke somewhat unreservedly of the amiable inmates of Satin Lodge. These two mansions were almost the only private residences visited by Titmouse, who spent his time much in the way which I have already described. How he got through his days I can hardly tell. At his lodgings he got up very late, and went to bed very late. He never read anything excepting occasionally a song-book lent him by Snap, or a novel, or some such book as "Boxiana," from the circulating library, and the Sunday Flash. Dawdling over his dress and his breakfast, then whistling and humming and looking out of the window, took up so much of every day as he passed at his lodgings. The rest was spent in idling about the town, looking in at shop windows, and now and then going to some petty exhibition—as of sparring, cock-fighting, etc. When evening came, he was generally joined by Snap, when they would spend the night together in the manner I have already described. As often as he dared, he called at Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's office at Saffron Hill, worrying them not a little by inquiries concerning the state of his affairs, and the cause of the delay in commencing proceedings. As for Huckaback, by the way, Titmouse cut him entirely; saying that he was a devilish low fellow, and it was no use knowing him. He made many desperate efforts, both personally and by letter, to renew his acquaintance with Titmouse, but in vain. I may as well mention, by the way, that as soon as Snap got scent of the little money transaction between his friend and Huckaback, he called upon the latter, and tendering him twelve shillings, demanded up the document which he had extorted from Titmouse. Huckaback held out obstinately for some time—but Snap was too much for him, and talked in such a formidable strain about an indictment for a conspiracy (!) and fraud, that Huckaback at length consented, on receiving twelve shillings, to deliver up the document to Snap, on condition of Snap's destroying it on the spot. This was done, and so ended all intercourse—at least on this side of the grave—between Titmouse (as far, at least, as his intentions went) and Huckaback.