considered "Jack" as one who had had
unfair advantages. Many was the ten-pound
note that went off to these applicants, to
say nothing of a little annuity here and
there. By gentlemen of his family the
honour of Uncle Jack's name to their bills
was eagerly sought; but on this point he
was inflexible. Here, too, they considered
they were scurvily treated, and loudly
inveighed against Jack's selfishness, he who
had such advantages, being "pushed on"
in every way; and they grudgingly accepted
the twenty pounds or so, which was
humbly offered as a solatium. Such a loan
was, of course, but a handsome synonym
for gift.

It was always gala time for us when
Uncle Jack arrived from the country,
and put up at our hostelry. Between
him and me there was the most perfect
accord, chiefly as to mechanical taste—
repairs, sharpenings, &c. He knew the
most acceptable present he could offer me
was a penknife, which he usually chose
of beautiful workmanship, and, knowing
beforehand that it would be seized by the
officers of justice and confiscated, he, with
rare delicacy, stipulated with the authorities
that I should be allowed to retain it. I am
sorry to say this engagement was only held
to during his presence, as some fatal wilfulness
was sure to precipitate me into an
unmeaning overt act, such as cutting open
a "darby" to look at his springs, or in
gashing my thumb frightfully. Imbrued
in my own blood, I was seized and never
saw the instrument again.

     CHAPTER IV.    AN EXPEDITION.

THE present occasion was too serious for
these delassements. An agitated council
was held almost in the hall, and I heard
the question put, "Well, can you go?"

To be sure, my dear," was the answer.

"Then that's all right. And the chariot
is ready, and John, and—"

"O, tut, nonsense!" protested Uncle
Jack. "Indeed, no. To be battering your
beautiful carriage all down the country
roads. No. I'll just get a chaise comfortably
from Baker's."

He shrank from the profanity of laying
hands on the sacred vehicle, which he
reverenced as though it had newly come from
Hooper's. But such protest was unavailing.
That good fellow, Tom Butler, had
at once volunteered to go down, and
represented affecting even a kind of interest in the
deceased, having met him, he said, somewhere
at dinner. This kindness was so like
Tom, and was really delicacy on his side,
for he knew that in these mortuary arrangements,
a handsome show and an air of crowd
and pomp, while it soothes the poignancy
of grief, at the same time ministers to the
pride of the living. Mr. John was presently
taken into council, as if he was an "elder,"
and seemed to speak with great collectedness,
gravity, and weight, with many a "So
best," "So be it," and was listened to with
respect. The past was utterly forgotten,
and the captain, who respected him highly,
said he must own that John had made the
coach "look better than the first day. You
could see yourself in it." Mr. John took this
compliment modestly, and "must say that,
as far as 'shamying' went, and polishing,
he had spared neither wind, limb, or bone."
I almost think he was going to add something
about being "heart-scalded;" but,
in delicacy to the situation, he refrained.
After we were led away up to bed, a new
surprise was in store for us. We were just
going to sleep, when a deputation seemed
to fill the room, dazzling lights to multiply,
and a crowd to enter. The crowd was
only the head of our house and the captain.

"There's news for you, my boy," he said.
"Mamma has given leave, and you can go
in the back seat. Will you be ready at
seven sharp?"

"Miss Simpson will get him up, and his
new clothes have come back."

"That's a good lad," said the captain.
"And I'll bet my new hat it's a fine account
I'll bring back of him. You won't mind
sitting behind with John in the dickey, for
a time, that is; but we'll have you in now
and again, my boy, on the folding-up seat."

Mind the dickey behind! Why, it was
the very spot I would have chosen the
paradise of the vehicle with the sunny
day, the quick motion, above all, that
translation into a genuine actual reality, instead
of the meagre coach-house pantomime of
clambering into a merely stationary back
seat poor enough entertainment. Now, if
I was so minded, I could rehearse, with
real danger, that performance of mounting
and scaling the seat hastily.

It was hard to sleep that night, but it
was contrived somehow. Betimes I was
awake, and saw with exquisite delight the
new extra superfine black suit lying neatly
folded beside me. There was, besides, a
hat, about the size of a little flower-pot, an
article without which it was impossible to
have the true air of mourning. I had never
had one on my head before, save, of course,
in the way of sportive experiment. Once,