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about Miriam's intention of accepting Mr St Quentin, or she might have been prepared for his reception of the exciting item of village gossip which she now retailed to him. He merely remarked that it would be a great pity any decent woman should become the wife of such a man, but that he supposed the poor girl wished, like her mistress, to better herself.'

'Like Miriam!' exclaimed Mrs Cooke, aghast at the comparison. 'What can you mean?'

'How can you ask? Miriam Clint married an old man to better herself-it is the word that shocks you, my dear, not the fact; and this young woman may, perhaps, if this story you have heard of her anomalous position at the Firs be the truth, be scheming, without assistance, to do what Miriam was backed up in doing by every one.'

But, my dear John, think of the difference, think of her position !'

'But, my dear Fanny, think of his age, his character, and his habits!'

"It is impossible you could approve?' said Mrs Cooke, rather bewildered.

'I certainly do not approve; but, supposing this gossiping story to have any foundation, which I do not believe, you should bear in mind that vulgar but veracious proverb, that "what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander."'

The immediate result of this conversation was a letter from Mrs Cooke to Miriam, which sufficiently accounted for the impression produced on Florence by her interview with that lady. She had indeed been regarded with suspicion, and purposely reminded of her station. It is the most exquisitely funny complication,' wrote Miriam to poor Florence, 'that ever occurred. I am so possessed with the comicality of the idea, that I can hardly take a serious view of the inconvenience it might have led to, if we had found it out sooner, when the time which will set it all to rights was farther away. I laughed until I nearly cried over her letter; and Mr St Quentin had one of his most severe fits of curiosity over it, but I need hardly say he did not get the slightest satisfaction. My dear, romantic, sentimental, devoted Rose, to think of you being solemnly and circumstantially accused of scheming to make papa marry you! Undue influence, indeed! "Oh, Sir Pitt! Sir Pitt! I I am married already!"-only it is Amelia who is in the scrape, and not Becky. I cannot fancy anything more amusing: and how like the people at Drington to get up such a story. Just think of all your care and kindness being thus interpreted! Of course it is not worth being annoyed about for one moment, and it will certainly increase the piquancy of the "situation," when the truth comes out. There is no chance, I had almost said no hope, of its coming to papa's ears-no one ventures to talk gossip to him-but, if it only could, just imagine the rage he would be in! I am sure it would be quite a revelation to him that any one had ever dared to talk of him and his affairs; and I could find it in my heart to wish, for once, to see him in one of his very finest frenzies. I flatter myself I have answered Fanny Cooke's letter with admirable discretion. She most sincerely believed she was doing her duty in writing to me. I fully recognised her zeal and fidelity, and then went on to say that I was about to repose a confidence in her which would at once convince her that the rumour she had heard was utterly

unfounded, and relieve her from anxiety on my account. I told her that my confidential maid had a prior attachment of long standing, to a young man with whose merits and fidelity to her I was intimately acquainted-that the engagement had already subsisted some years, and that Mrs Dixon had entered my service, and subsequently assumed her present responsible task, in consequence of this estimable young man's absence in a foreign country, from which he hoped to return sufficiently well off to enable him to put an end to their separation-that Mrs Dixon's attendance on my father was an immeasurable boon to me, and that I most earnestly hoped no ill-natured gossip might ever come to her ears, rendering it impossible for her to continue to do me this great service. Admire, I beg, my dear, the ingenuity with which I have told nothing but the truth, and yet completely routed Fanny's suspicions! You have a prior attachment, you have been engaged to Walter for some years, and he does hope to put an end to your separation. Depend upon it, Fanny will oe very kind to you in future, and will put down the village gossip with a high hand. We may safely trust her for that. I was so much amused at the whole business, and so preoccupied with my letter to her, that I have no doubt Mr St Quentin is convinced I am "carrying on" some deep-laid scheme.'

It would be difficult to describe the feelings with which Florence read this letter. They amounted to positive horror, and included some of the very keenest suffering through which she had ever passed. The shock of the discovery that she was suspected of a design, which not all the force of her reasoning upon the absolute ignorance of her true history by all around could cause her to think of without a horrible sense of its outrageous nature, was much increased by Miriam's mode of treating it. There was something so keenly hurtful to her delicacy, to her feelings of every kind, in this cruel rumour, and Miriam could regard it only in the light of a joke! She felt as if she must needs sink under this trial, as if it were quite too much for her, the filling up of her cup with a draught too bitter to be drunk. She shut herself up in her room, and wept the bitterest tears that had ever fallen from her eyes, tears which had an unreasonable kind of humiliation in them. She could not possibly bear this, she thought, and yet, what could she do? To go away would be to lose all she had striven so hard for; and yet, to remain under such a suspicion, watched by the servants, every action imputed to a motive which she shuddered to think of, notwithstanding its absurd impossibility-could she do that? She was turning these things in her mind, and was feeling quite sick with crying, when she was told that Mr Martin wished to see her. She went down-stairs quickly, without giving a thought to her red and swollen eyelids and pale cheeks.

Mr Martin glanced sharply at her, as she entered the study, where he was alone. Mr Clint had not yet risen. The doctor had had a hint from Mrs Dixon on the previous evening, that he was in one of his very bad fits. These had recurred of late more frequently, and he now made few attempts at concealment, and no efforts at all at self-control.

'H-m,' said Mr Martin audibly, adding in his thoughts: she has heard it, and has been crying her pretty eyes out.'

He asked her a few questions about his patient, and then said:

drink! Do you know what drink has been to me?' 'I think I do. The destruction of your body and mind.'

'I have not met many sensible women in my life, but you are one of the most sensible women I have met. Now, I am going to speak plainly to you. Some foolish people here have been telling lies about you, prompted by idleness and ignor-will serve it yet. ance, and in some degree by jealousy.' man, you know.'

Florence sobbed.

'You have heard this, and you were in doubt about what you ought to do. I am right, am I

not?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Now, this is what you ought to do. You are of incalculable value here, you are doing your duty admirably, and no reasonable person who has ever spoken ten words to you could believe one word of this nonsense. If you allow it to influence you, you will be very unkind to Mrs St Quentin, and very cruel to this unhappy man, who has nothing but increased suffering before him. I took it for granted you would act consistently with your character, before I said anything to you; and I have effectually prevented your being annoyed, by informing Mrs Ritchie that the gossip had come to my ears, and that if it reached Mr Clint's ever so faintly, it would cost every servant at the Firs their place. I believe they are thoroughly ashamed of themselves, and that you will have no annoyance whatever. You will promise me to think no more about it?'

'Don't trouble yourself about my mind, that's not your business. It has served my turn, and it You can't make me out a mad

'Not yet, perhaps,' said Mr Martin, with grave and deliberate emphasis; but you are coming to that. You certainly will come to it, if you have a few more such fits as this has been.'

'So that I shall not be able to arrange my affairs, eh? and your worthy favourite, my good and dutiful son, who has not sent me a line for nearly two years, will come in for my property, without any trouble. Is that your meaning '

'Not exactly. You are a long way off the state of mind in which a man ceases to be competent to make an unjust will. The power to do wrong lasts long, unhappily. But you are day by day destroying your judgment, deadening your conscience, and reducing yourself to a lower level of intelligence.'

'Hah! Well, as you are concerned only with my body, let me tell you, once for all, and pray remember it practically, for you will be spared a deal of talk, and I a deal of listening; I will not give up drink, and I will not drink less, so long as I feel disposed to drink as much. There is nothing else I care for; there's no man, woman, child, animal, or thing of value to me, in comparison with 'I will try,' said Florence simply. drink, or, indeed, of any value at all, and life "That's right. I will go and see Mr Clint in his without drink would be a rotten bargain. room; I cannot wait for him any longer.'

Mr Martin came out from that visit to his patient looking very serious. Their interview had been long and unpleasant. The doctor had never told Reginald Clint before in so many words that he was drinking himself to death, surely, and now by no means slowly. He had told him so on this occasion, and in the plainest and most emphatic terms depicted the sufferings to which he would inevitably subject himself. The man's appearance was more ghastly on this occasion than he had ever seen it. A fixed yellow hue pervaded his skin, and hard red blotches marked his sunken cheeks. He had made an attempt to dress himself, but had been too sick and giddy to succeed, and Mr Martin found him lying on his bed in his shirt and trousers, exhausted, feverish, and in one of his most sullen and dangerous moods. But he had to deal with the only person who had never been afraid of him.

'I suppose you mean that I can't recover, in any case?' asked Mr Clint, with a fierce glance at Mr Martin, then instantly turned away.

'I do mean just that; but your life might be greatly prolonged, and your pain much alleviated, if you would use the reason which you still retain, and give up drink. If you would even moderate your indulgence in it, it would make a great difference to you during the remainder of your life.'

Reginald Clint raised himself up, hitched his back against the bed, and turned towards Mr Martin, griping the bed-clothes in his coarse, bony, yellow hand. His voice was hoarse, partly from illness, but still more from passion, as he said, scowling the while as few but he could scowl:

'What is it that possesses you to talk such cursed nonsense to me? You know me long enough and well enough to know the folly of it. Give up

won't get me to make it.'

You

'Good-bye,' said Mr Martin abruptly, and he turned towards the door, without the least effort to disguise his disgust.

Late in the evening, Mr Martin received a note from Mrs Dixon. She was directed by Mr Clint to request that Mr Martin would come to the Firs at twelve o'clock on the following day without fail. She added a few words on her own account, to the effect that Mr Clint had been very ill all day, and had eaten nothing.

At noon, the next day, Mr Martin presented himself at the Firs. He found Mr Clint in his study, seated at his writing-table, on which lay a large folio of foolscap, covered with writing in lawhand. Mr Standish was in the room, and he bowed to Mr Martin, who was surprised by a certain formality in the appearance of both gentlemen, without speaking.

'How do you do, Martin?' said Reginald Clint, looking up at him with a queer expression. I am all right to-day, you see, and have sent for you quite in a friendly way. No cursed doctoring today. I've taken your advice, though, in one respect, if I've neglected your physic; in fact, I had had the same bright idea myself, and I have sent for you to ask you to witness my will.'

Mr Martin looked incredulous and uncomfortable. Mr Standish spoke.

'Yes, Mr Martin; this is Mr Clint's will, for which he favoured me with instructions some little time ago. He particularly wishes for your signature as one of the witnesses.'

Mr Martin began, but

'If any other friend'Mr Clint interrupted him. 'Curse it, man, don't you know I haven't a friend in the world but yourself? What objection can you have?'

'I have none,' said Mr Martin, with a mental calculation on the use of codicils in case he should find out that Walter was ill-treated by this document, and gain the chance of influence by his complaisance.

Why couldn't you say so at first, then? Now for the other witness. Mrs Ritchie will do.' 'Hadn't you better employ Mrs Dixon, if you don't want this talked about?' suggested Mr

Martin.

'Mrs Dixon. No-I-I think not,' answered Mr Clint. His tone was embarrassed, and a quick glance passed between him and the lawyer, who slightly shook his head. I prefer to employ Mrs Ritchie.'

'As you choose,' said Mr Martin.

The bell was rung, and there was an embarrassed pause. Mrs Ritchie came, and had the service which was required of her elaborately explained. She complied with her master's request, with that amusing mixture of pride and apprehension of mysterious consequences peculiar to persons of her class who are called upon to 'sign' anything, and in a few minutes the proceedings were completed. Then Mr Martin went away at once, on the plea of business, leaving the lawyer and his client together.

YARKAND AND KASHGAR. AMONG the numerous records of travel which, during the last ten years, have opened up to our knowledge the hitherto almost fabulous lands of the East forming the boundaries between India and Russia, none is more interesting than Mr Shaw's account of the expedition from the Indian side of the Himalaya to Yarkand and Kashgar, made by himself and Lieutenant Hayward. Mr Shaw started from the Kangra Valley, under the snowy Himalaya, where, as he says, 'interest is naturally attracted to the mysterious regions which exist beyond the great mountain rampart which bounds the whole northern side of the Indian empire. Explorers find that in whatever part of its length that boundary is attacked from the south, they have first to cross a wide extent of mountainous country, often consisting of high parallel ranges divided by great rivers (both ranges and rivers running longitudinally in the same direction as the entire chain), and that they reach a high barren plateau, supported on the outer ranges, as on a series of walls. This high barren plateau is Thibet, which extends behind the whole length of the Himalaya, and is supported by them. Imagine a wall supporting behind it a high terrace of gravel; suppose this gravel terrace to be hogbacked in the middle, so that the waters rising there run away to the right and to the left till they each find a low place in the wall, and escape away through it-this is the relation which Thibet and its rivers and the Himalayan chain bear to one another.'

The object of the expedition was to find out what lies on the further side of this barren gravel terrace, whence strange people stray down every year through the mighty passes in the wall' into

Visits to High Tartary, Yarkand, and Kashgar (formerly Chinese Tartary), and return journey over the Karakoran Pass. By Robert Shaw. London: John Murray.

the Kangra Valley-unprepossessing, dirty, goodhumoured people, with high cheek-bones, and long pig-tails, who pitch queer-shaped black tents by the roadside, and trade in petty wares.

Sportsmen who had penetrated the wilder parts of Ladakh, brought enticing reports of the wonderful animals to be found there, and dim notions prevailed about the curious customs of the Buddhist inhabitants. Ladakh is a month's march across the mountains; and all the region beyond, the Chinese Tartary of the maps, the Little Bucharia of romance, the country whose sovereign won Lalla Rookh for his bride, was then almost entirely unknown. Ladakh is not to be reached without difficulty and suffering; but they are repaid by the novelty of the scenes through which the way lies. Having come through the glacier-passes of the Himalaya, the travellers came upon the vast tableland of Thibet, of which Mr Shaw says: "Lying at an elevation equal to that of Mont Blanc, this plateau consists of broad valleys without water, which seem a few hundred yards wide, and are really plains of many miles in extent. On either side arise rolling mountains of red, yellow, and black; everything is bare granite, both mountains and plains. When you begin to despair of finding those great traveller's requisites, water and wood, your guide will lead you into a recess of the hills, where a small stream, derived from some distant snow-bed far up the hillsides, has given rise, before disappearing under the gravel, to a thicket of brushwood two or three feet high, and where groups of shallow pits, surrounded by loose stone walls, each with its rough fireplace in the middle, point out where the wandering tribes of Thibetans occasionally pitch their tents. If you are wise, you will take advantage of these sheltering side-walls, low and creviced though they be, for suddenly, in the afternoon, there will arise a terrific blast of deadly cold wind, which, if it strike you, will numb all the blood in your body under a dozen coverings, and make you hardly believe that you are in the same country where in the morning you were guarding against sunstroke, and nearly blinded by the insufferable glare.'

The air is so clear that there is no perspective; everything appears on one plane, and that close to the eyes. The scattered villages on the borders of Ladakh are mean and monotonous; the description of one suffices for all. "The first object is a long, low, broad wall, covered with flat stones, inscribed with sacred sentences in two differThis is a ent styles of the Thibetan character. "mané," and there are several in every village. At each end there is probably a "chorten," in form a large square pedestal, surmounted by a huge inverted tea-pot, all whitewashed, while crowning all is a small wooden globe or crescent supported on a sort of obelisk. These erections are supposed to contain the bodies of sainted Lamas, who have been buried in a standing position. Little pigeonholes at the sides are filled with numerous small medallions composed of clay, mixed with the ashes of other dead Lamas, who are thus, in a material sense, transformed at death into the image of their gods. The scattered houses are flat-roofed, twostoried, built of huge sun-dried bricks, finished off with brilliant red and white stucco over the doors and windows. On the roofs are small piles of horns, stuck all over with small flags, and rags of coloured cotton. Fierce-looking black yaks graze

about the fields, and grunt discontentedly. Perched on some neighbouring pinnacle, or jammed against the vertical face of some rock, is the Lama's monastery. Such is a Thibetan village, without a tree, except a few stunted willows along the life-giving water-courses; while all above, to the very edge, is a howling wilderness of gravel, with no signs of man's existence.'

At Ladakh, Mr Shaw made acquaintance with several Turkee merchants, to whose mysterious country he was bound, and who were men of fine appearance and dignified manners, free from Indian cringing or Thibetan buffoonery. He decided on travelling in Turkestan in the character of a merchant, preceded by a confidential messenger bearing gifts to the king and the chiefs. The usual difficulties attendant upon such an expedition having been surmounted, Mr Shaw crossed the Chang-la,' a very easy pass of the Indus Valley, and fairly began his exploration. A few days later, he writes in his journal from the Chang-Chenmo Valley: The snow is a yard deep on the Nasnick Pass. The ink is hard frozen in my pen every minute, as I write this, and a waterwagtail has hopped in between me and the fire to warm itself! I am not a yard from the fire in front of my tent.' Then came a delightful journey across valleys a thousand feet higher above the sea than the summit of Mont Blanc! The cold was frightful, the rarity of the air almost unendurable, but the scenery grand, and eagles, antelopes, blue hares, and wild asses abundant. After many days, the first sight of a Kirghiz yourt bespoke their advance into the mysterious land. At this place, Shahidoola, they were detained while messengers went forward to announce their coming to the king; but they were perfectly well treated. It is amusing to observe that almost identical measures were taken to hamper and hinder Mr Shaw in Western Thibet with those from which Mr Cooper suffered so much in Eastern Thibet. They filled up the interval with yak-hunting; and at length the messengers returned, and the caravan resumed its journey through the tremendous Saugor Pass, the eleventh since they left India. A truly wonderful climb up a narrow winding gorge, with awful precipices and cliffs on either hand, the road strewn with dead horses, killed by its toil-an ascent of the 'col,' and then the glorious spectacle of a chaos of lower mountains, and beyond them a level horizon indistinctly bounding what looked like a distant sea. This,' says the writer, was the plain of Eastern Turkestan, and that blue haze concealed cities and provinces, which, first of all my countrymen, I was about to visit.'

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From this point the hardships of the journey decreased, but its interest and romance grew daily. The chiefs met him, and invested him with bright robes of honour; the king's guest none could welcome too warmly; roads were mended for him, passes were bridged over, gifts of every kind were showered upon him, until he became very uncomfortable lest all this should be done from a misconception, and he supposed to be a government envoy. A great dignitary was ordered to travel with him. Altogether, the narrative has a quite delicious Arabian Nights' flavour, and one expects the train of slaves bearing trays of jewels to arrive on the scene. Riding on together, Mr Shaw and the Yoozbashee converse on many topics-for instance, the distinction between England and India, which

the Yoozbashee but dimly appreciated at first; our wars with the Russians and Chinese (the enemies of the Atalik Ghazi); and our friendship for the Sultan of Room (Turkey), for whom he and his people have the greatest reverence. Wonderful feats of horsemanship by their attendants beguiled the way, and at every village the distinguished party was entertained with true oriental dignity and solemnity. So on and on they rode through this curious country of strange tribes, suffering much at times from dust-storms, and receiving occasional augmentation of the numbers of their caravan from travellers who had journeyed from far more remote regions, who praised Bokhara tantalisingly, the marvels of which wonderful place the pseudo-dervish, Arminius Vambery, is soon going to relate to us. There were deserts to cross, and beautiful horned animals to see; at each town the governor came out to meet Mr Shaw, carrying a tremendous feast for the whole party, so that they always had a great deal too much food and tea; and messengers, clad in gorgeous robes, were perpetually scouring up to the caravan with greetings and assurances.

Thus they reached Yarkand, a flat walled city in a dusty plain, into which they passed, escorted by another Yoozbashee and thirty horsemen, through a gate in the mud-wall, thirty feet high, and first beheld a tall square scaffolding, like that of a house in process of building, with an upper and lower platform at the top, which was, they were told, the execution stage! Then the two Yoozbashees brought the traveller to a house furnished with luxurious comfort, and told him it was his, and that he should presently be taken to see the Shaghawal, a great dignitary, who is not only governor of Yarkand, but the second man in the kingdom, his position answering to that of the Grand-vizier in Turkey. The Shaghawal proved to be a most courteous accomplished gentleman, and friendly relations were established between them at once; but Mr Shaw was destined to be detained in something not unlike honourable captivity at Yarkand. They could not quite make him out; they did not altogether believe his account of himself; and he discovered that his friend, the first Yoozbashee, who was supposed to have returned to his own place, had, in reality, set out for Kashgar, no doubt to confer privately with the Atalik Ghazi, as Yakub Bey, the ruler of this strange land, calls himself. Mr Shaw made himself very comfortable under the circumstances, which, considering the murderous reputation of the people, and the recent assassination of Schlagintweit, was courageous on his part, and made such investigations of the city, exclusive of the fort, as he was permitted to make. All his wants were lavishly supplied; splendid presents were made him; he had much pleasant and instructive intercourse with the Shaghawal; he saw the city (and finds very little indeed to say about it); but he found all sorts of obstacles to his getting on to Kashgar. They were ultimately removed; and Mr Shaw, mounted on a fine gray horse from the Shaghawal's stables, and clad in a splendid fur robe, which enabled him to endure the terrible cold of the journey, set out for Kashgar, there to behold the mysterious king. Sand-tracts, sandhills, deserts, lonely farms, dim mountain-ranges in the distance, everywhere ice, and cold piercing wind; a horrid journey, but a brief one, for they started from Yarkand on the 4th January, and on

the 11th, Mr Shaw records in his journal: Another success has been achieved, and I am now writing from the second capital of Eastern Turkestan.' Mr Shaw's first audience of the king took place on the following day. It was followed by a long, apparently purposeless detention; then a second interview, in which many civil things were said about the greatness of England and its queen, and the littleness of Turkestan and its king; but still, like the Egyptian, the monarch would not let the foreigner go. On the first occasion, the scene was impressive. Entering the gateway of the palace,' says the writer, we passed through several large quadrangles, whose sides were lined with ranks upon ranks of brilliantly attired guards, all sitting in solemn silence. Entire rows of these men were clad in silken robes, and many seemed to be of high rank, from the richness of their equipment. For the first time, I saw soldiers armed with bows, and carrying quivers full of arrows. They were Kalmaks. The numbers, the solemn stillness, and the gorgeous colouring, gave a sort of unreality to this assemblage of thousands. In the innermost court, smaller than the rest, only a few select attendants were seated. Here none entered with me but the Yoozbashee. Approaching a kind of pavilion, with a projecting verandah roof, elaborately painted in arabesques, I entered a side-door. I passed through a small ante-chamber, and was conducted into a large hall, in the middle of which, close to a window, was seated a solitary individual, who, I knew, must be the king. I advanced alone, and when I drew near, half rose on his knees, and held out both hands to me. I grasped them in the usual Turkee fashion, and, at his invitation, sat down opposite him.'

The Atalik Ghazi is evidently a remarkable man. A despot, but an active, hard-working, foreseeing, law-enforcing, shrewd, and grave sovereign, an individual to be respected, and whose rule will be regretted when it shall have passed away. He seems to be the most remarkable object in Kashgar, which city, beyond its remoteness, has nothing to arrest the attention, or distinguish it from the ordinary eastern towns. When Mr Shaw at length succeeded in getting away, he carried assurances of the good-will of the Atalik Ghazi towards England and the English rule in India, and had evidently convinced the suspicious dignitaries of the secluded kingdom, that no political or social danger to them lurked in the visit of the brave and adventurous explorer.

A COUNTING-HOUSE ROMANCE.

IN NINE CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER VII.

THAT Something very unusual was astir in the firm of Perrow and Son, was palpable to every clerk in their offices; and while the disturbed and harassed air of the partners attracted attention, the fact that for two whole days Vann had been sent for but once, interested the staff still more, and many a conjecture was uttered in reference to this change. Vann had been sent for once, as has just been said, and that was when Mr Ambrose had left the office, after a long conversation with his father. Mr Perrow asked Vann, as a favour, to allow the proposal to stand over for two days, during which time the firm would be better enabled to see what could be done, and all parties might be more

satisfied. To this Vann did not object, merely hinting in his reply, that if any further delay were then sought, all amicable negotiations would be at an end. Vann had consented to this delay because it appeared, on due reflection, to be better for his interests that the partners should have time to brood over the danger, which would certainly not appear smaller the more they thought about it; but there was one great inconvenience attending the postponement of their offer: he would not be able to tell Mr Capelmann that terms for his admission to the firm of Perrow and Son had been arranged; he doubted not, however, that he should be able to dazzle the baker's eyes with his glittering visions, even if they were somewhat more vague than he had intended.

At anyrate, he kept to his appointment, which was more than could be said of Mr Capelmann, for Vann found that he was out; but a message was left with the assistant, that if Mr Vann called, he was to be good enough to wait. Accordingly, he was ushered into the usual sanctum, where, to his surprise, he found Bessy at needlework. She apologised for the absence of her father, who had been compelled to drive out of town for a few miles, but who certainly would soon be home. To this the clerk returned a suitable reply, and then set seriously to work to improve his opportunity: he found, however, that the spirit of boldness which served him so well with the father, was not yet potent enough to assist him with the daughter; nevertheless, he did not remain quite so silent as his habit had been. After talking of the weather until he was ashamed of the empty words he was uttering, he got so far as to deliver a pointblank compliment, the first of any kind he had ever paid Miss Bessy. The young lady wore a green frock, which certainly became her very well, and Mr Vann remarked upon its being the first time he had seen her dressed in green, and that she appeared to great advantage in it, which, however, he added, you could not fail to do in anything.' Miss Bessy blushed at the compliment, but was not so much disconcerted at hearing it as Vann seemed to be after saying it. She had sufficient presence of mind to go on with the conversation, and consulted him about certain prevalent colours and modes of dress, until at last the clerk found himself holding quite an animated conversation with her, and was extremely sorry to hear the baker come in, especially as Bessy, with her sweetest smile, gathered up her work and left them. More over head and ears in love than ever, Vann was in an excellent mood for his mission; and as soon as his host was comfortably seated, he cut short his apologies, and introduced his theme.

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'I daresay you wondered at my making a formal appointment with you for to-night,' began Vann ; but I had some important subjects to speak upon, and I thought I would make sure of you.' 'Perfectly right, sir, perfectly right,' assented the baker.

'Ahem!' said Vann, clearing his throat with an effort, as he approached the crisis, 'I should commence by telling you that a great change in my affairs is likely to take place very soon-a change very much to my advantage, Mr Capelmann.'

I am glad to hear it, Mr Vann,' replied the baker, finding that his companion paused.

'Thank you,' said the clerk. I have known you a long time, and have respected you very much;

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