drove the Hansom cab in London for his daily
bread.

During my short sojourn in Paris, I saw but
little of my former friend. I dined with him
one day at the Café de Paris, and he partook of
what hospitality I could offer him at the Hôtel
des Princes. But, although so long known to
each other, we felt that we could be now
less intimate than ever, and neither of us
seemed inclined to renew the terms on which
we were before. When we parted, it was with
little regret on either side. As I steamed away
in the train for Calais, I wondered to myself
whether we should ever meet again, and, if so,
where that meeting would be.

It took place within a twelvemonth. I had
kept up when in England my old Indian custom
of taking a constitutional walk before breakfast.
One summer morning I had wandered very early
into Hyde Park, and stood looking at a battalion
of the Guards going through their drill. On
such occasions there are always more or less men
of the vagabond order present, many of them
having used the benches of the Park for their
beds during the night. An individual of this
kind—a man in rags, without a hat on his
head, and his scanty torn coat showing he
had no shirt—asked me for alms. Without
looking at his face I gave him a sixpence, when
he, as if involuntarily, pronounced my name.
I turned round, and beheld Benton. I gave him
what money I had in my purse, told him to get
food and decent clothes forthwith, and where he
could hear of me. He went his way, and two
days later called on me at my club, with respectable
clothes on, and looking, if not well, at any
rate very much better than when I had seen
him in the Park.

His was merely a repetition of the old old
story: Money quickly got, quickly spent. In
no place can riches be made to vanish with
greater celerity than in Paris. Gay suppers,
card-parties, betting, which was certainly not
limited, and other nameless means of helping
him to spend his money, together, very soon
eased poor Benton of what he had above the
world. A run of unfortunate speculations
hastened his downfall, and to avoid being arrested for
debt he fled from France. When he reached London
the sum total of his wealth amounted to less
than fifty pounds, and with the habits of self-
indulgence which he had contracted, this money
had hardly lasted him a month. Little by little
he had pawned watch, rings, trinkets, and
lastly clothes, until he was left with barely a
decent suit to his back, or a change of linen in
his possession. By degrees even these he had
parted with, until he was left without the
means to pay for a meal. When I met him,
he had slept for a week in a tramps' lodging-
house, and had scarcely tasted food for twenty-
four hours.

The question now was, how to provide for this
unfortunate man, or where to find him what
would keep him from the workhouse. Relatives
or friends he had none whatever. My own
means would not afford me the wherewithal
of supporting my vagabond friend, and yet it
was impossible to leave him to starve. For
nearly four months I supplied him with a
pound a week, and to do him justice he paid
his way honestly with this small sum. Amongst
my Indian acquaintances I got up a small
subscription, which enabled us to provide Benton
with a couple of suits of clothes, and after a
great deal of trouble we managed to obtain him
a situation on a branch railway in the north of
England as ticket-collector. The salary he got
was only thirty-five shillings a week, but after
all he had passed through, we thought that he
would not for the present attempt to revert to
his former wanderings.

But who can control the movements of
a man who has the soul of an Arab? Three
months after we thought that Benton had
at last settled down for life, he had left his
situation, and gone to the prairies of South
America with a hunting party of English
gentlemen who wanted a servant well
acquainted with the best modes of keeping
fowling-pieces in order. Since that he has
found his way northward to California, and
from that by ship to Australia. Last week I
had a letter from him saying that he was now
keeping a general store near some newly
discovered gold-fields in the colony of Victoria.
I dare say he will turn up in London before
Iong.

On Thursday, 12th December, will be published
THE
EXTRA DOUBLE NUMBER FOR CHRISTMAS,
ENTITLED
NO THOROUGHFARE.
BY CHARLES DICKENS
AND WILKIE COLLINS.

To commence in the Number dated Saturday,
January 4, 1868,
THE MOONSTONE;
A NEW SERIAL STORY
By WILKIE COLLINS.

On the 16th instant will be published, bound in cloth,
price 5s. 6d.,
THE EIGHTEENTH VOLUME.

END OF THE EIGHTEENTH VOLUME.