in the army, and had both experience and skill.
He got her bonnet off, and at sight of her head
looked very grave.

In a minute a bed was laid in the drawing-
room, and all the windows and doors open; and
Edward, trembling now in every limb, ran to
Musgrove Cottage, while Mrs. Dodd and Julia
loosened the poor girl's dress, and bathed her
wounds with tepid water (the doctor would not
allow cold), and put wine carefully to her lips
with a teaspoon.

"Wanted at your house, pray what for?"
said Mr. Hardie superciliously.

"Oh, sir," said Edward, "such a calamity.
Pray come directly. A ruffian has struck her,
has hurt her terribly, terribly."

"Her! Who?" asked Mr. Hardie, beginning
to be uneasy.

"Who! why Jane, your daughter, man; and
there you sit chattering, instead of coming at
once."

Mr. Hardie rose hurriedly and put on his hat,
and accompanied him, half confused.

Soon Edward's mute agitation communicated
itself to him, and he went striding and trembling
by his side.

The crowd had gone with insensible Maxley
to the hospital; but the traces of the terrible
combat were there. Where Maxley fell the last
time, a bullock seemed to have been slaughtered
at the least.

The miserable father came on this, and gave a
great scream like a woman, and staggered back
white as a sheet.

Edward laid his hand on him, for he seemed
scarce able to stand.

"No, no, no," he cried, comprehending the
mistake at last; "that is not hers—Heaven
forbid! That is the madman's who did it; I
knocked him down with his own cudgel."

"God bless you! you've killed him, I hope."

"Oh, sir, be more merciful, and then perhaps
He will be merciful to us, and not take this
angel from us."

"No! no! you are right: good young man.
I little thought I had such a friend in your
house."

"Don't deceive yourself, sir," said Edward;
"it's not you I care for:" then, with a great cry
of anguish, "I love her."

At this blunt declaration, so new and so offensive
to him, Mr. Hardie winced, and stopped
bewildered.

But they were at the gate, and Edward
hurried him on. At the house door he drew
back once more; for he felt a shiver of
repugnance at entering this hateful house, of whose
happiness he was the destroyer.

But enter it he must; it was his fate.

The wife of the poor Captain he had driven
mad met him in the passage, her motherly eyes
full of tears for him, and both hands held out to
him like a pitying angel.

"Oh, Mr. Hardie," she said in a broken voice,
and took him, and led him, wonderstruck, stupified,
shivering with dark fears, to the room where
his crushed daughter lay.

A HANDFUL OF HUMBUGS.

WHAT is a Humbug? A Humbug is one
who, standing at the Great Tribunal of Public
Opinion, endeavours to wrest from those before
whom he appears, a verdict more favourable
than his rightful claims justify. Humbug is
an absurd offence, however, rather than a
crime: which is indicated by the fact that this
peculiar kind of misdeed has got to be called
by a name, which has in it something comic.
Such words as Hypocrite, Deceiver, Perjurer,
are applied to the more serious offenders in this
way. We change our tone when we talk of a
Humbug. We do not suppose him to be covering
base designs with a specious exterior
carriage; he has no such aims in view, as lie
in the black heart of an lago or a Tartufe. He
is only an ambitious sinner; a man who feels
his deficiencies, and tries by any means to hide
them. He is to a certain extent, no doubt, a
cheat, but he does not want to cheat you out of
your money or your property, but only out of a
little— or a great deal if he can get it—of your
admiration and respect.

Humbug, then, being an offence against the
social, and not the civil or criminal code, is only
punishable socially. The penalty commonly
enforced against it, is of a negative rather than a
positive sort, and consists in the WITHDRAWAL
OF CONFIDENCE. Of course, this particular
punishment is administered in a greater or a less
degree, according to the nature of the offence—
nay, in many cases it is omitted altogether.
Perhaps Cordial Humbug is the most heavily
visited in this way, though I am not at all sure
that it is the worst form in which this vice
shows itself. Be that as it may, Cordial Humbug
is a thing that people will not stand.

When Mr. Hearty, meeting you on your
return from Boulogne, grasps your hand and
almost wrings it off, exclaiming at the same
moment, " Dear old boy—how glad I am to see
you back again—now come, let's hear all about
your travels"—when this happens, you will, if
you know the world, return Hearty's greeting
civilly, and, asking after Mrs. Hearty, will soon
bring the interview to a close. But if, on the
other hand, you are really ignorant of the nature
of Hearty and his tribe, you will probably
launch out into some account of how you have
massed the last fortnight, when it is not unlikely
that Mr. H. will interrupt you by remarking
that "you cannot tell him about it there, but
that you must come and see him, and then you
can have a long comfortable talk about it—now,
when will you come and have a chop?" Hearty
concludes by asking. "Well," you reply, "let
me see, this is Monday. On Tuesday I've got
to make some arrangements about sending my
boy to school, and Wednesday there's— "

"Ah," cries Hearty, who has been getting