in on the " fine passage in our burial
service" with the inopportune remark,
made in a rude, enthusiastic, "blurted- out"
fashion:

"Oh, I say! here's the tailor. He's
coming to measure me!"

Mr. Bickers looked angry and offended.
"Take him away!" was the cry. "Go up
stairs, sir!" But it was true—quite true.
The tailor had been sent for to
accommodate me with a suit which would figure
in the bill as "an extra double-milled wire-
wove superfine black jacket," with
everything to match; and the operation was
got through with speed. More marvellous
still, it was to be sent home in the morning.
There were other signs and wonders.
My quick eye had noted motion and
general operations in the stable, and,
stealing out, I found John in the act of what
he called "shamying" the green chariot.
But he was mysterious about that great
family monument, and declined to admit
me into confidence. "We'd see to-morrow
or next day "—a term which, unknown to
him, corresponded to the popular relegation
to the Greek kalends—things, of
course, of which he had never heard. A
more interesting spectacle was his
operations with the lamps, into which he was
fitting candles. He said this, too, would
be explained "to-morrow or next day."
It was most singular. Death, it really
seemed to me, without irreverence, was
a most singular, mysterious, yet not
un-interesting thing, since it brought with it
such dramatic events, carriage lamps, &c.,
and, above all, suspension of house
discipline. Dinner, even, of which Mr.
Bickers was induced to stay and partake,
was got over in a spasm, after which he
walked up and down, and I well remember,
in the absence of the head of the house,
got into a discussion with Miss-Simpson,
who, presuming on the crisis and general
laissez faire established, had supported an
opinion. "Ma'am," I heard him say,
distinctly, "you are a fool!"—a rudeness
to which she replied by rising and leaving
the room, saying that "he quite forgot
himself, and that no gentleman would
address any lady in that way." Everybody
sat up very late that night.

On the next morning there was greater
joy and excitement in the house. John
was heard below in the hall saying to some
one, "Then, indeed, it's I that am glad to
see you, captain! Welcome a thousand
times from over the mountains, captain,"
for with a profusion of this sort of Eastern
salutation did he usually love to greet his
friends. Down we came stumbling,
scrambling; female voices were heard more faintly
behind, for "the captain"— ncle Jack—
was infinitely popular in that house.
Between me and him especially there was a
community and fellowship, born of similar
tastes. He understood me; every one
understood him. He was long and lame, had
a hooked "Duke's" nose, and, indeed, he
was said to resemble that eminent
commander, but with the gentlest, softest blue
eyes. His history was said to be curious;
the youngest of innumerable younger sons,
with a commission begged for him,
certainly not purchased, he had been sent out
from his native bogs with—he often told it—
"a five-pound note in his pocket." Yet
from that hour he wanted nothing, and his
own father owned sometimes, "he must
say that from the day Jack left him he
had never written for so much as twenty
pounds in all his life." A scarcely fair
way of putting it, as implying that
application had been made for sums lower in
amount by Uncle Jack, who owned to me
modestly, that he could never bring
himself to trouble them for sixpence. God
knows, he said, they had mouths enough to
fill. From that hour he never wanted
anything, simply because he never wanted
friends. Generals clung to him with an
almost romantic friendship, and, as these
were "jobbing" days, one of them
triumphantly carried through a most
flagrant job, triumphing in the interest of
his friend Jack. He was not forty, but
was placed on the retired list in the enjoyment
of full pay. He used to relate the
stages of that corrupt transaction, half
comically, half with a little shame. "To
think of my useless four bones costing the
country all that, and with all those honest
hard-working fellows struggling to make
both ends meet." He had a charming
little villa and farm combined, far down in
the country, which bore the name of Lota,
and where it was known that Uncle Jack
kept the best horse, and the neatest little
carriage, and the best dog, with a good
gun, and a good bottle of wine, and a jar
of whisky "that was worth drinking."
Indeed, these things came to him without
trouble, of course allowing for his own
nice judgment in such matters, having the
"best eye for a horse in the whole country."
As may be conceived, his gentle nature was
turned to profit by numerous reduced
relations who had started far more
auspiciously in the world, and who now