babies—the little man said nothing, but
sneered, and made the chips fly faster.

"You're on your way now to a country
where twins are no object: your passage is
paid, and you've only got now to pray for the
good gentlemen that have given you a chance
of earning an honest living."

No answer.

"I see them all here except Mary, the
young lady of the family. Pray has she taken
rue, and determined to stay in England after
all; I expected as much—"

As he spoke, a young girl, in the neat dress
of a parlour servant, came out of the shade.

"Oh! you are there, are you, Miss Mary?
So you have made up your mind to leave your
place and Old England to try your luck in
Australia; plenty of husbands, there, ha, ha!"

The girl blushed, and sat down to sew at
some little garments. Fresh, rosy, neat, she
was as great a contrast to her brother, the
brown ragged ploughboy, as he was to the
rest of the family, with their flabby, bleached
complexions.

There was a pause: the mate having done
his duty by finding the parochial dignitary's
protegées, had slipped away to more important
business; a chorus of sailors "yo heave
ho-ing" at a chain cable had ceased, and for
a few moments, by common consent, silence
seemed to have taken possession of the long
dark gallery of the hold.

Mr. Lobbit was rather put out by the
silence, and no answers; he did not feel so
confident as when crowing on his own dung-
hill, in Duxmoor; he had a vague idea that
some one might steal behind him in the dark,
knock his hat over his eyes, and pay off old
scores with a hearty kick: but parochial
dignity prevailed, and, clearing his throat
with a "hem," he began again—

"John Bodger, where's your coat ?—what
are you shivering there for, in your sleeves?
—what have you done with the excellent coat
generously presented to you by the Parish—
a coat that cost, as per contract, fourteen
shillings and fourpence—you have not dared
to sell it, I hope?"

"Well, Master Lobbit, and if I did, the
coat was my own, I suppose?"

"What, sir?"

The little man quailed; he had tried to
pluck up his spirit, but the blood did not
flow fast enough. He went to his berth and
brought out the coat.

It was certainly a curious colour, a sort of
yellow brown, the cloth shrunk and cockled
up, and the metal buttons turned a dingy
black.

Mr. Lobbit raved; ''a new coat entirely
spoiled, what had he done to it?" and as
he raved, he warmed, and felt himself at
home again, Deputy Acting Chairman of
the Duxmoor Vestry. But the little man,
instead of being frightened, grew red, lost his
humble mien, stood up, and, at length, when
his tormentor paused for breath, looked him
full in the face, and cried, "Hang your coat!
—hang you!—hang all the parochials of
Duxmoor! What have I done with your
coat? Why I've dyed it ; I've dipped it in
a tan-yard; I was not going to carry your
livery with me. I mean to have the buttons
off before I'm an hour older. Gratitude
you talk of;—thanks you want, you old
hypocrite, for sending me away. I'll tell
you what sent me,—it was that poor wench
and her twins, and a letter from the office,
saying they would not insure your ricks,
while lucifer matches are so cheap. Ay, you
may stare—you wonder who told me that
but I can tell you more. Who is it that
writes so like his father the Bank can't tell
the difference?"

Mr. Lobbit turned pale.

"Be off!" said the little man; "plague us
no more. You have eaten me up with your
usury; you've got my cottage and my bit of
land; you've made paupers of us all, except
that dear lass, and the one lad, and you'd well-
nigh made a convict of me. But never mind.
This will be a cold, drear Christmas to us,
and a merry, fat one to you; but, perhaps,
the Christmas may come when Master Joseph
Lobbit would be glad to change places with
poor, ruined John Bodger. I am going where
I am told that sons and daughters like mine are
better than 'silver, yea, than fine gold.' I leave
you rich on the poor man's inheritance and
poor man's flesh and blood. You have a son
and daughter that will revenge me. 'Cursed
are they that remove landmarks, and devour
the substance of the poor!'"

While this, one of the longest speeches that
John Bodger was ever known to make, was
being delivered, a little crowd had collected,
who, without exactly understanding the merits
of the case, had no hesitation in taking side
with their fellow-passenger, the poor man
with the large family. The Irish began to
inquire if the stout gentleman was a tithe-
proctor or a driver? Murmurs of a suspicious
character arose, in the midst of which, in a
very hasty, undignified manner, Mr. Lobbit
backed out, climbed up to the deck with
extraordinary agility, and, without waiting to
make any complaints to the officers of the
ship, slipped down the side into a boat, and
never felt himself safe, until called to his
senses by an attempt on the part of the boat-
man to exact four times the regular fare.

But a good dinner at the Globe (at parochial
expense) and a report from the agent that the
ship had sailed, restored Mr. Lobbit's equanimity,
and by the time that, snugly packed in
the mail, he was rattling along toward home by
a moonlight Christmas, he began to think
himself a martyr to a tender heart, and to console
himself by calculating the value of the odd
corner of Bodger's acres, cut up into lots for
his labourers' cottages. The result, fifty per
cent., proved a balm to his wounded feelings.

I wish I could say that at the same hour
John Bodger was comforting his wife and