and challenge the stranger with. "Ho
there without! the watchword!" Perhaps he is
simply intoxicated and can't find his latch-key.

I remember well when I first set out for my
castle. I had sticks, and I took them away in
two vans—so you see there were a good many
bundles of them. I will notice here an
aggravating perversity of landladies. When you are
a bad lodger and don't pay the rent regularly,
they give you warning and bundle you out with
contempt; and equally, when you are a good
lodger and do pay the rent regularly, and you
give them warning, they sweep out the dust
upon you while you are superintending the
packing. There is no pleasing them.

I will not dwell upon the sensation which my
departing sticks created in the street, further
than to say that hardened old householders eyed
them critically, and I believe did not think
much of them; while lodgers, sighing for the
time when they too would be full blown, gazed
after the vans sadly, wondering when it would
be their turn. Oh, bless you, they knew all
about it. It had been the talk of the
neighbourhood for some time, that the lower part of
number twenty was going to take a 'ouse; and
the knowledge of the disgusting fact had stirred
much bile. Landladies would sooner forgive
you rent than forgive you taking a house. Such
conduct on the part of a lodger they regard as
upstart impertinence, and if they only knew
where you were going to, they'd go and warn
the landlord to look sharp after his money.

There are two ordeals on this exciting occasion—
coming away from the lodgings and arriving
at the castle. In both cases your sticks are
criticised. In the former, the neighbours are
curious to know what you have got new since
you came there; in the latter, they are anxious
to ascertain whether you are under or above the
mark of the neighbourhood. However good
your sticks may be, they never show to advantage
heaped on a van. A van is a cruel expositor
of the insides of things; and if there is a
deal-topped table in your collection, it is sure to
be uppermost. Classically and allegorically, a
bundle of sticks signifies strength; from the
furnishing point of view it signifies weakness.

But I must pause on the threshold of my castle
to relate how I summoned up courage to "take"
it. I will confess that I walked round it a
good deal. I had difficulty in persuading
myself that I was in a position to take a house and
be the sole master of it. It was too much
glory, too much happiness. When I called at
the agent's office, I was almost afraid lest the
aged clerk might think me too young and
inexperienced. I half expected that he would
address me as the conscientious publican
addresses the urchin of tender years who asks
for a glass of gin and cloves for his own drinking
—"You go along home to your mother, and
don't talk nonsense." I looked through the
window for some time, and fancying that the
clerk had a very full, I may say overflowing,
sense of the responsible character required for
taking a house, I had thoughts of approaching
him with the ingenious evasion of the Scottish
gentleman who said the sulphur was nae for
himsel', but for a freen' ootside. I was haunted
by the dread that I was not sufficiently responsible-
looking; that I might look good for rent,
but not for rent with rates and taxes combined.

Some say that the eyes are the windows of
the soul, and the best signals of the character
within; others go by the mouth, the nose, and
the chin. Give me the voice. I have often been
horribly frightened of great personages until I
heard them speak, when all my dread vanished
in an instant. The voice told me they were
human. So, when I summoned up courage to
address the house-agent's clerk, and he replied
with a few words of ordinary greeting, I knew
that he was a man. His eyes indicated nothing;
his nose and chin were cast in the mould of
severity. It was his voice that betrayed him.
And the tones of his voice said, "I am only a
clerk, my master doesn't give me much salary,
and I like a glass of ale." Ah, that weakness
of human nature for a glass of ale! Amiable,
but fatal! When I observed that that clerk
had a voice mellowed by malt, I knew how to
deal with him. There were "lots of parties
after the house," he said. It was dry weather,
I observed; would it be consistent with his duty
to houses, land, and estates, if he were to step
round the corner? He was a wonderfully
intelligent clerk. He did not want sentences
finished and oracles explained. He knew by
intuition what stepping round the corner meant.
He made me no direct answer, but just said,
"George, mind the office for a minute or two."

"They keep a good glass of Kennett round
the corner," he said, when we got outside. A
glass of Kennett was the open sesame to that
clerk's favour. He told me that there were
several parties after the house, and that I
must conclude the matter at once if I wanted
it, as houses in that terrace were in great
demand. In the warmth of his friendliness—
Kennett is warming—he let out a secret usually
strictly guarded by house-agents—the name and
address of the landlord. His parting advice to
me was to see the landlord without an hour's
delay, get the preference, and return and sign
the agreement. I took the hint, got the
preference, returned and signed the agreement, and,
as I was passing out of the office, two of the
"parties" who had been after the house, were
venting their wrath and disappointment upon
the head of my friend the clerk, who had just
informed them that the house was let.

A glass of Kennett ale did it! It is not that
there is much in a glass of Kennett ale, nor in a
shilling or sixpence dropped now and then by
way of gratuity, but such small acts of largess
are regarded as friendly, and they beget friendliness.
In this world there are many little treasure
boxes of favour and good will that fly wide
open to you if you only drop the smallest piece
of coin into them. There are people who never
learn this worldly philosophy—penny wise and
pound foolish folks, who on all occasions sternly
refuse to give any one a single farthing over his