sung, while Brother Buss, P.M. and P.Z., who
has just come in, and Brother Putt, G.A.D.C.,
his fellow house-committeeman who has already
welcomed us, beat time joyously to the good
old “jolly good fellow” tune. This song
is a little surprise prepared every year for the
birthdays of governess and matron, and the
amiable assumption of delight at an unexpected
novelty which beams from the latter’s kindly
face when the well-worn tune is sung, is not
the least pleasing incident of the day.

The Freemasons’ Boys’ School is at Woodlane,
Tottenham, and in it from eighty to a hundred
sons of Freemasons are clothed, educated,
and provided for, with similar comfort and
completeness. The institution for the relief of
aged Freemasons and their widows, though
neither so wealthy nor so liberal as the other
two, provides an asylum for, and grants annuities
to, the old and infirm.

These are some of the secrets of freemasonry.
The coffins in which, as many of my friends
firmly believe, we immure young and tender
candidates; the painful brandings which make
sitting down impossible; the raw heads, red-hot
pokers, and gory bones, with which we heighten
the awesomeness of our dreadful oaths; the
wild revels and orgies which some ladies
believe in,—must be left in obscurity. Having
shown the fair fruits of masonry, I must leave
you to form your unaided judgment of the tree
which brings them forth. Besides, I dare not
reveal more. The learned author of many
volumes of masonic lore has stated his firm
conviction that Adam was a Freemason, and
that the order, and its accompanying blessings,
extend to other worlds than this. I offer no
opinion on any such highly imaginative
hypothesis, but confine myself to the stout
assertion that Freemasons have a tie which is
unknown to the outer world, and that their
institution is carefully adapted to the needs,
hopes, fears, weaknesses, and aspirations, of
human nature. That it has unworthy members
is no more an argument against the order,
than the bitter sectarianism of the Rev. Pitt
Howler, and the fierce uncharitableness of Mrs.
Backbite, are arguments against Christianity.

THE SECOND MRS. TILLOTSON.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “NEVER FORGOTTEN.”
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER XIII. SUSPICION.

SOME of the bank shareholders were in such
good humour with their large dividends, and
especially with the successful introduction of
“the great Lackson” into their society, that they
anxiously cast about for some way of exhibiting
their overflowing gratitude, and proposed
presenting a gorgeous silver testimonial to the
chairman. This “graceful act,” as the papers
called it, was enthusiastically carried out. A
plateau, candelabra, and et cæteras, of massive
silver, and into which had been ingeniously
worked all sorts of banking emblems, was very
soon constructed by Messrs. Tilbury, the eminent
silversmiths, and was ready for presentation.
The shareholders particularly admired the
little miniature cash-shovel, beautifully bound
with gold instead of brass, and the pile
of imitative coin and notes which was at the
base. As one of the shareholders said with
justice, “You could see the very Queen’s head
on the half-crown.”

This was presented to Mr. Tillotson at
his own residence by a deputation of
shareholders, who made speeches, in which it was
said very often, “You, sir, having stood by
the cradle of the company; and you, sir, having
nursed its tender years and seen it through
many shocks; you, sir, had now the proud
satisfaction of standing by and seeing it
arrive at all the strength of a lusty
manhood.” Mr. Tillotson listened with true
modesty and secret astonishment to this
description of his services, and acknowledged the
receipt of this sumptuous present “in a suitable
manner.” The deputation was then
entertained at an “elegant repast,” when there
were more healths and more speeches.

This suggested to Mr. Tillotson that it was
time for him to entertain some of his brother
directors magnificently. This, too, was strongly
pressed on him by the secretary, who said,
truly, that these things were all advertisements,
and better than advertisements.
He was growing interested in the bank, too,
himself, and though there was that little shadow
at home, still on the whole he was very happy,
and thanked God every morning for being
privileged to enjoy so much undeserved happiness.
Everything would, no doubt, come right;
and he had such sweetness and patience, and
was ready to lay everything to the account of
his own defects or fault, that he had very soon
argued himself into something like calm and
acceptance of everything that came.

“This is to be your feast, Mrs. Tillotson,”
he said to his wife. “Who will you ask?
We must have our friend Ross, who is behaving
so well, and our dear captain and his niece;
but she will not come; and ‘the great Lackson,’
as they call him, and the Tilneys; and I have
asked, without consulting you, Mr. and Mrs.
Bunnett, great City people, and our people, too—
they will amuse you—and Mr. Nelgrove,
another City man, and one or two more I should
like to ask. I begin to take interest in
these things. Six months ago the idea of my
giving a dinner would have been the most comical
thing in the world.”

“You are so kind—so good,” she said;
“more good to me than I deserve.”

Yet, when she was alone, she began thinking
with a sort of dread of Ross, and how he would
behave before company, and how, if he should
arrive in a humour of disappointment, what a
scene he might bring about. But presently
came a note from him in this pleasant strain:

“Dear Tillotson. I shall be glad to feast