She entered, and found a weazened old man
seated, mending his own coat.

He rose, and she told him she was a district
visitor. He said he had heard of her; they
called her the beautiful lady in that court. This
was news to her, and made her blush. She asked
leave to read a chapter to him; he listened as to
some gentle memory of childhood. She
prescribed him a glass of port wine, and dispensed
it on the instant. Thus physicked, her patient
became communicative, and chattered on about
his native place—but did not name it—and talked
about the people there. Now our district visitor
was, if the truth must be told, a compounder.
She would permit her pupils to talk about earthly
affairs, on condition they would listen to heavenly
ones before she went. So she let this old man
run on, and he told her he had been a banker's
clerk all his life, and saved a thousand pounds,
and come up to London to make his fortune on
the Stock Exchange; and there he was
sometimes a bull, and sometimes a bear, and, whichever
he was, certain foxes called brokers and
jobbers got the profit and he the loss. "It's all
the same as a gambling table," said he. "The
jobbers and brokers have got the same odds the
bank has at Rouge et Noir, and the little
capitalist like me is doomed beforehand." Then he
told her that there was a crossing-sweeper near
the Exchange who came from his native place,
and had started as a speculator, and come down
to that, only he called it rising, and used to
speak with a shudder of when he dabbled in
the funds, and often told him to look sharp and
get a crossing. And lo! one day when he was
cleaned out and desperate, and hovering with
the other ghosts of little capitalists about the
tomb of their money, he saw his countryman fall
flat, and the broom fly out of his hand. Instantly
he made a rush, and so did a wooden-legged
sailor; but he got first to the broom, and began
to sweep while others picked up his countryman,
who proved dead as a herring; and he succeeded
to his broom, and it made money by the
Exchange, though he never could: still, one day he
picked up a pocket-book in that neighbourhood,
with a lump of money, which he straightway
advertised in—no newspapers. And now Julia
thought it time to interpose the eighth commandment,
the golden rule, and such branches of
learning.

He became a favourite of hers: he had so
much to say: she even thought she had seen his
face before: but she could not tell where. She
gave him good books and tracts; and read to him,
and ploughed his heart with her sweet voice, and
sowed the good seed in the furrows—seed which,
like wheat or other grain, often seems to fall flat
and die, but comes out green after many days.

One Saturday she invited him to dine with the
servants next day. He came during church-time,
and went away in the afternoon while she was
with her mother. But she asked Sarah, who
proved eager to talk about him. " He was a
rum customer; kep' asking questions all dinner-
time. 'Well,' says I, 'you're good company,
you are; be you a lawyer? for you examines us;
but you don't tell us nothing.' Ye see, miss,
Jane she is that simple, she was telling him
everything, and about Mr. Alfred's lawsuit with
his father and all."

Julia said that was indiscreet; but after all
what did it matter?

"Who knows, miss?" Sarah replied: "least
said is soonest mended. If you please, miss,
who is he? Where does he bide? Where does
he come from? Does he know Hardies?"

"I should think not. Why?"

"Because I'm much mistaken if he doesn't."
Then putting on a stolid look, she asked. "Does
he know your papa?"

"Oh no, Sarah. How should he?"

"There now," said Sarah: "miss, you are all
in the dark about this old man: I'll tell you
something; I took him out of the way of Jane's
temper when she began a dishing up, and
I had him into the parlour a minute; and in
course there he sees the picture of your poor
papa hung up. Miss, if you'll believe me, the
moment he claps eyes on that there picture, he
halloes out, and out goes his two hands like this
here. 'It's him!' says he; 'it's him!' and
stares at the picture like a stuck pig. Forgot I
was close behind him, I do believe. 'She's
his daughter,' says he in a whisper, a curious
whisper; seemed to come out of his stomach.
'What's the matter now?' says I, just so. He
gave a great start, as if my speaking had wakened
him from a dream, and, says he, 'Nothing,' as
quiet as a lamb. 'Nothing isn't much,' says I,
just so. 'It usedn't to be anything at all when
I was your age,' says he, sneerin'. But I paid
him in good coin; says I 'Old man, where you
comes from do the folks use to start and hallo out,
and cry "It's him! she's his daughter!" and
fling their two arms abroad like a windmill in
March, and all for—nothing?' So at that he
changed as white as my smock, and fell all of a
tremble. However, at dinner he perks up, and
drew that poor simple Jane out a good one. But
he didn't look towards me much, which I set
opposite to watch my lord."

"Sarah," said Julia, "this is really curious,
mysterious; you are a good, watchful, faithful
girl; and, to tell the truth, I sometimes fancy I
have seen Mr. Barkington's face; however, I
will solve this little mystery to-morrow; for I
will ask him: thank you, Sarah."

On Monday she called on Mr. Barkington to
solve the mystery. But, instead of solving, her
visit thickened it; for Mr. Barkington was gone,
bag and baggage. When Edward was told of
this business, he thought it remarkable, and
regretted he had not seen the old man.

So do I; for it is my belief Edward would have
recognised him.

DAVID DODD.

The history of a man is the history of his mind.
And that is why you have heard so little of late