"A lot o' registered letters, most of 'em broke
open, tied up in pocket-'ankerchief and shoved
under the seat where Pond was sittin'."

"Brayvo!" cried old Barnett, "brayvo! But
have you got anything that can be identified—
anything that can be swore to?"

"Well, I don't know!" said the guard,
grinning. "I don't think there'll be much
difficulty in the owner's swearin' to this!" and
he held up the torn cover of the packet which
Mr. Twinch had posted. Old Barnett glanced
at its contents, then clapped his hands and burst
into a roar of laughter.

The fact that the postman who called at The
Grove as usual on the 1st of January, brought no
letter for my Aunt Letitia, created immense
consternation in our family circle. My mother seemed
much vexed, and even my father, usually a
taciturn man, allowed that it was "confoundedly
unfortunate." As for my aunt, we never heard
what happened, but it was generally understood
that she had a relapse. The day passed on, and
Mr. Butterworth arrived; he manifested great
concern at hearing of my aunt's illness, and
plainly showed that he had missed the real object
of his visit. He was dull and silent, and when
my mother left the gentlemen sitting over their
wine, scarcely a word was exchanged between
them, and my father was just nodding off to
sleep when he was aroused by a loud ring at the
gate, followed by the entrance of the servant, who
stated that a rough-looking man wanted to speak
to Miss Letitia, and would take no denial. My
father immediately went out into the hall,
closely followed by Mr. Butterworth, and there
they found a tall fellow, who introduced himself
as a member of the county constabulary, and
who reiterated his wish to speak with
(apparently reading from something in his hand)
"Miss L. Pemberton."

"You can't see her," said my father: "she's
ill, and in her room. I'm her brother; what do
you want?"

"Well, sir," said the man, ponderously, "there
have bin a robbery, and we want the lady to
swear to some of the swag."

"Some of the swag?" said Mr. Butterworth.

"Some of the swag!" repeated my father.
"What does the man mean?"

"Why the man means just this," said the
constable; "the mail's been robbed, and 'mongst
the things broke open was this addressed to Miss
L. Pemberton. There won't be no difficulty
about her recognisin' it, I fancy." And as the
wretch spoke he drew from a packet a top row of
dazzling false teeth!

Yes, that was the secret of Aunt Letitia's
illness. A year or two before, when nature failed
her, she called in the assistance of art, and
availed herself of the services of Mr. Twinch,
but an accident occurring on the fatal boiled-beef
day, the teeth were sent back to their creator,
who had the strictest injunctions to return them,
renovated, by the first of January. Mr. Twinch
obeyed these orders implicitly; and, had not Mr.
Pond and his friend selected that very night for
the robbery of the mail, all would have been
well. As it was, the teeth were detained by the
lawyers for the prosecution until after the trial,
at which they were produced, and at which my
aunt also was compelled to appear; though
strongly against her will. But, when once on
her mettle, she behaved with great spirit, and
gave her evidence with such clearness (albeit
with a pretty lisp), that she was complimented
by the judge, and was the main cause of Mr.
Pond and his friend being found guilty, and
sentenced to fifteen years' transportation.

It has never been known to this day whether
Mr. Butterworth was in court. At all events,
three days after he called at The Grove, and then
found that he had business which would oblige
him to take lodgings in the neighbourhood for a
month. At the end of that time I was measured
for a new suit of clothes, and wore them one
morning when they seemed to have dinner—
champagne, cold fowls and things—at twelve
o'clock; and when Mr. Butterworth had on a
blue coat, and when Aunt Letitia laughed a good
deal, and cried all over my new jacket, as she
bade us good-by, and told us she was then Mrs.
Butterworth.

Now ready, Stitched in a Cover, price Fourpence,
MRS. LIRRIPEE'S LODGINGS,
FORMING THE
EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS.
CONTENTS:
How Mrs. Lirriper carried on the Business.
How the First Floor went to Crowley Castle.
How the Side-Room was attended by a Doctor.
How the Second Floor kept a Dog.
How the Third Floor knew the Potteries.
How the Best Attic was under a Cloud.
How the Parlours added a Few Words.

On the 4th of January, 1864, will be commenced, to be completed in Six Numbers of ALL THE YEAR ROUND, a
New Story, called A WHITE HAND AND A BLACK THUMB.

Volume XI. will begin on the 15th of February, 1864, with a New Serial Story, entitled QUITE ALONE, by
GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.