we have the combined declaration of Samuel,
George, Josiah, and John Thomas Brown—
fortified by that of another witness named—ah!
yes!—also named Brown—that the appointment
of James Brown as land steward to the
Browne Browne estate?, supplied John Brown,
James Brown's son and agent, with all the
opportunity—Peter that—is, George of course,
I mean James Brown, himself, enjoyed.

"The evidence of the succeeding witness,Brown
—Josiah—stay, gentlemen—George Brown,"
continued his lordship, wiping his brow—"the
son, I take it, of William Brown (this similarity
of surname is most embarrassing)—Brown, I
say, our tenth witness and ninth of the name!—
this young Brown's testimony contradicts in
one material particular that of Stephen Brown.
George Brown asserts—Stephen Brown as
positively denies that James Brown, Thomas
Brown, and a third individual named let me
see, ha!—I should have been surprised to find
it otherwise!"—(a laugh)—"also Brown—that
these three Browns, together with James Brown
of Brownham—'which,' gentlemen?—why,
gentlemen, the Brown—the—the witness—father
Brown, the Brown brother—I protest, gentlemen,
in all my judicial experience, I never met
witli so singular a case. Not only have we to
deal with the evidence of twenty-nine individuals
of similar name, but my learned friends on
either side have joined the conspiracy, and are,
moreover, instructed by solicitors of that name;
while the foreman and five other members of
the jury are Browns also!"

A hearty laugh followed the judge's sally.
It was silenced by the officer of the court. His
name was Brown.

Tradition had it that an innocent stranger,
employed in some matter of business, descended
at the Brown Bear from the Brown coach,
driven by old Mat Brown, and inquired for
the dwelling of a Mr. Brown. Forty fingers
referred him to every point of the compass.

"I was told he would be known at the Bear,"
faltered the traveller.

"Rather think he were," returned a
bystander. "It's kep' by Mister Brown."

"Not mine, though," said the stranger,
smiling. " Perhaps the postmaster——"

"His name's Brown."

"Or the clerk could——"

"So's hisn."

"So's yourn," remarked another bystander
to the last speaker, apparently for the information
of the traveller.

"Ain't he got some other name for to tell'n
by?" asked the first speaker; " Chucks? or
Perky? Big? Booser? Cock-eye? Peddling?
Thief? Tnere's sued a lot of 'em, you see."

"I do see," said the stranger, sullenly.
"Hang the name! Well, then, John Brown;
I don't know that he has any other."

"Which on 'em, now? there's a tidy lot o'
Johns. What's he like, sir? " asked old Mat,
as he prepared to remount his box.

"Well, except that he has parchment-coloured
whiskers, and——"

"'Whitey' Brown, for tuppence!" sung out
old Mat. "Show the gen'l'man his place, Bill
Brown."

Mat was right.

Brown, the clerk, was perhaps my most
esteemed friend. He was a fine old patriarch,
with long hair, intensely white, falling over the
collar of his black coat—for, more scrupulous
than any divine of my acquaintance, he never
departed from the clerical sables and white tie
—and, even when engaged in that livelier
portion of his duties, which consisted in grave-
digging, merely laid aside, for the moment, his
coat and cravat. At church he was supported,
on either side, by his son and grandson, both
destined for the clerkly office in due succession,
both copying, in the minutest particular, the
style and manner of their elder, even to the
adoption of those little errors and mispronunciations
which had been handed down from the
remotest Brown of whom any record existed.
The reverend vicar, whose scholarly and sensitive
ear was outraged by these "improvements,"
did make a faint attempt to correct them. He
might as well have striven to move the church
itself. Mr. Brown had bowed stiffly and respectfully,
as in acquiescence, but indemnified himself
on the earliest occasion, by repeating, in
a raised, instructing tone, the disputed words.
To say truth, pastor Brown was a little afraid
of clerk Brown, so the matter was allowed to
drop. The old gentleman was a conservative to
the backest bone. He was such a foe to innovation,
that the changes in the book of Common
Prayer, rendered necessary by those which
occurred in the reigning family of this realm, always
cost him a pang. Though by principle a loyal
man, it was some time before Mr. Brown could
be got to lend a cordial assent to the accession
of our present gracious sovereign in lieu of
him for whom he had so long prayed, and only
yielded his sanction to the birth of a Prince of
Wales on its being pointed out to him that it
was but reverting to a form he had used half a
century since.

Dear old boy! To the day of his death he
never made up his mind how to deal with that
response in the churching of women, in which,
in the event of a plurality of ladies, some
deviation from the printed text is unavoidable.
Mr. Brown effected a compromise. He altered
half. "Who putteth their trustesses in Thee,"
appeared to reconcile the difficulty.

Brown, surnamed Cocky, or Cock-eye—I never
ascertained which, or whether it bore reference
to a peculiarity of vision, or to a certain arrogance
of manner, both of which he possessed
—Brown, I say, conducted the village school.
A real blessing and benefactor to the matron
Browns of the vicinity, Cocky gathered up the
noisier elements of the place, and, from nine
to two o'clock, toiled at the education of his
shock-headed pupils in a manner never before
attempted. From the moment lessons began,
till they ended, the schoolroom was in a
perpetual tumult, above which Cocky's voice
might be occasionally heard rising in a