unfrequently that our misfortunes are heralded in
by sensations of unaccustomed happiness. If
the reverse of this holds true, we may venture
to be the less disturbed by sad presentiments.

When Miss Carrington made her appearance
at the dinner-table that day she seemed to come
provided with the means of casting a shadow
over everything. The very tablecloth seemed
to take a lower tone, and there was not a bit of
sparkle left in the electro-plate. She had a
dreadful way of establishing herself at table as
if for some serious business, and was always
at this time fostered with especial care by her
attendant, who had an aggravating way of
ducking under the table with a footstool, and
coming to the surface again with a determination
of blood to the head and an expression of
martyrdom very trying to witness. This done,
Miss Cantanker would place by her mistress a
decanter of a peculiarly hideous character,
containing some wine which had been specially
ordered for her by Captain Scraper, and in
which she had the most implicit confidence.

"I don't think I shall want any to-day, Jane,"
said Miss Carrington, rather faintly.

"Begging your pardon, miss, you do want it,
and this day most particular. For you are low,
and must be kep' up."

It certainly did seem to be the case that Miss
Carrington was in want of some assistance from
without in the way of a stimulant. She looked
both depressed and ill, and appeared to be not
in the sweetest of tempers. As the meal
advanced, and under the influence of certain doses
of Captain Scraper's cordial, she seemed to
rally, however, a little, and was able to make
herself generally agreeable by keeping up a
running conversation with her domestic.

"You heard from my former servant, your
married niece, to-day, Jane, didn't you?"

"Yes, miss," replied Miss Cantanker. "I did."

"Good news, Jane, I hope?"

"No, miss. The news was not good; and
coming from that quarter it very seldom is.
The baby is taken bad with croup, and the
youngest but one have got the measles at the
same time. Her husband, miss, is out of work,
and has taken to drinking, because he says his
home's so miserable."

"Oh, that is bad," said Gabrielle, ever ready
to conciliate. She was not to be allowed,
however, to sympathise in this case, as Miss
Cantanker took care to insinuate, by continuing to
talk to her mistress, and taking no notice of
Mrs. Penmore's remark.

"The rent is all behind, miss," continued the
fair creature; "and the bailiffs is to be put in
possession immediate."

"Well, Jane," remarked her mistress, with a
soupçon of annoyance in her tone, "when
asked for news of your married niece, I
expected something very different from this."

"Ah, and so did I, miss, and many's the
bitter tear I've shed over that very letter, as
goodness knows."

There could be no doubt that this was an
exhilarating kind of thing. It was an exhilarating
thing for Miss Carrington, who had her
domestic with her all day long, to take this
opportunity of discoursing with her, and, in
addition to this, the subject of conversation
which had been chanced upon was one eminently
qualified to raise the spirits of persons not
overburdened with pecuniary resources.

Penmore tried hard to turn the conversation
into some more satisfactory channel; but not to
much purpose. We all know what turning a
conversation is. Stemming a mountain torrent
is child's play to it.

The conversation turned itself presently, but
the new channel was rather a muddy one, it
must be owned.

There came up a dish that was not so fortunate
as to find favour in the eyes of Miss
Carrington. This is a faithful history—an attempt
to present things as they really are—and it must
be frankly acknowledged that the dish was a
failure. It was of the nature of a hash, or
vamp-up, and he who should have said that it
was both watery and tasteless, would only have
spoken the words of truth, bitter though such
words might have been.

"Jane," said Miss Carrington, laying down
her knife and fork, "what did my last medical
attendant say was the kind of nourishment best
suited to my constitution?"

Miss Cantanker's answer was oracular.

"' Your mistress,' he said, taking me aside as
he left the house, 'is of a delicate constitution,
and requires nootriment—nootriment, Mrs.
Cantanker,' he says, 'in everything, if you
please. The best of roast and the best of biled;
but always fresh meat, and never anythink in
the way of 'ashes or kickshaws of any sort or
kind.' Those, miss, was his very words."

"I'm very sorry," put in poor Gabrielle.
"But the fact is, there was so much of the leg
of mutton left yesterday, that I didn't know
what was to be done with it. I gave the
servant the most particular directions, and it
ought to have been quite strong and nice."

"Don't attempt to eat it, miss. I can do
you something with nootriment in it for
supper," whispered Miss Cantanker.

"Oh, this is not all," said Gabrielle, quickly.
She had heard the Cantanker utterance, as had
indeed been intended. "There is a fowl coming,"
she added.

There was a fowl coming—something like a
fowl—with bones that would have been big
enough for the substructure of an eagle, with
legs that no mortal hand could dissever, with
muscles and tendons that must have made the
animal the terror of the dunghill, and a mature
fowl, too; none of your paltry little unfledged
chicks with nothing on them. After wrestling
with this veteran for some time, and till his
arms actually ached, Gilbert at last laid down
the knife and fork one on each side of the
animal, and fairly burst into a roar of laughter.
He had been annoyed inexpressibly by what had
been going on during the meal, had had the
greatest difficulty in keeping his temper, and
now the pent-up feeling had found a vent—it