"How dare you allow strangers to enter my
room in this manner? Take that bird and that
mischievous cat and that nasty guinea-pig, away,
directly."

"It's of no use, doctor," said Tom; " we
have found you out, and you can't deceive us any
more. I have thought until now that you were
an incarnate fiend, but I find you belong to the
other side." Tom evidently meant that the
doctor was a sort of angel, but he did not
use the word; being probably struck with
the incongruity of associating an angelic
embodiment with a wide-awake hat and Blucher
boots.

The doctor laughed: which encouraged Tom
to address a moral lesson, on the doctor's
conduct, to Mrs. Mavor.

"To all of us, Mrs. Mavor, he has made
himself out a diabolical person: fierce, bloodthirsty,
cruel. We had made a little Paradise among
ourselves, and he entered it, like the beguiling
serpent, and made us all wicked and unhappy.
What did he do it for?"

Mrs. Mavor, seeing that the doctor was getting
the worst of it, plucked up courage and spoke out.
"He does it everywhere beyond the boundaries
of Povis-place, and I'll tell you what he does it
for. He is ashamed of being good, and kind, and
tender-hearted!"

"A pretty thing to be ashamed of," said Tom.
"I've half a mind to punch his head!"

"No, don't," said the doctor, laughing. " Sit
down and have a cup of coffee, and then Mrs.
Mavor will come and join us in a game of whist,
and we'll have a potato-salad for supper, and
I'll brew such a bowl of punch as I flatter
myself no man on the face of the earth besides
myself—"

"Doctor," said Tom again, "you're a humbug."

We told all to the society, and the next time
the doctor came among us at Mrs. Lirriper's
here, he was received with shouts of derisive
welcome.

The doctor gave a party in Povis-place, and
we were all invited. There was so much victuals,
there were so many bottles of German wine, and
there was so large a number of guests, that Mrs.
Mavor's small tenement was in some danger of
bursting. If I remember rightly, the provisions
were on the scale of a ham and two fowls and a
dozen of hocheimer, to each guest: to say
nothing of the potato-salad, which was made in a
bran new wash-hand basin, purchased for the
occasion.

And after supper there was a presentation.
The loving-cups had been redeemed; and one
more was added to the number; and there they
were, all bright and glittering—having been
rubbed up expressly for the occasion—in a row
upon the table. And the extra one was
inscribed, " To the Doctor, from Tom, Ned, Sam,
Will, Jack, Charley, and Harry, a Token of
Friendship and Esteem."

Though our old heroes and idols are all set
up on their pedestals long ago, Major, we are
still given to cynical and audacious talk in our
society, which is still held in my rooms here.
But it deceives no one; and when the doctor
tries to be fierce, he blushes at the feeble
and foolish attempt he is making to conceal
the tenderness of the kindest heart that ever
beat.

IV.

HOW THE SECOND FLOOR, KEPT A DOG.

Mrs. Lirriper rather objects to dogs, you
say, Major? Very natural in a London house.
Shall I tell you why I hope she will not object
to my dog, major? Help yourself. So I will.

"Ah, but, to goodness, look you, will her
bite?" exclaimed an old Welshwoman, as she
pulled her big hat further on her head, and
looked askance at the big black dog which the
man sitting next her had just hauled on to the
coach-roof.

"It isn't a her, and he won't bite," was the
sententious reply of the dog's master.

Not a pleasant-looking man, this; tall and
thin, whiskerless and sallow faced; his head
looking more like a bladder of lard surmounted
by a scratch-wig, than anything human: dressed
all in black, with a stiff shiny hat, beaver gloves,
and thick lustreless Wellington boots. He had
enormous collars encircling his face and growing
peakedly out of a huge black silk cravat; he
had a black satin waistcoat and a silver watch-
guard, and an umbrella in a shiny oilskin case,
and a hard slippery cold black cowskin bag, with
J. M. upon it in staring white letters; and he
looked very much like what he was—Mr. John
Mortiboy, junior partner in the house of Crump
and Mortiboy, Manchester warehousemen,
Friday-street, Cheapside, London.

What brought Mr. John Mortiboy into Wales
to spend his holiday, or what induced such a
pillar of British commerce to encumber himself
with a dog, is no business of ours, Major. All I
know, is, that he had been set down at the
Barberth-road station, had dragged the black
cowskin bag from under his seat, had released the
dog from a square bare receptacle which the
animal had filled with howls, and had mounted
himself and his dog on to the top of the coach
travelling toward the little watering-place of
Penethly. The dog, a big black retriever, lay
on the coach-roof with his fine head erect, now
gazing round the landscape, now dropping
his cold muzzle between his paws and taking
snatches of sleep. His master sat on the
extreme edge of the seat, with one Wellington
boot very much displayed and dangling in
the air, and he, the Wellington boot's owner,
apparently deriving much enjoyment from the
suction of his umbrella-handle. He cast his
big eyes round him now and then at certain
portions of the scenery pointed out by the
coachman, and expressed his opinion that it
was " handsome," but beyond that never vouch-
safed a word until the coach drew up at the
Royal Inn at Penethly, when he went at once
round to the stables and superintended the
preparation of a meal for his dog, then ordered a