respectable wine and cigar merchant at the
West-end—had, in an evil hour, discounted it.

The only witness called to support these
statements was the plaintiff's clerk. That
young gentleman simply swore that he saw
the money paid to the "party " whose name
appeared as the last of the indorsers. In his
cross-examination, he said yes, he was Mr.
Oloman l'Evy's nephew. His duties as clerk
were very light, for the plaintiff had no regular
office nor wine-cellar, and bought his cigars,
like any other gentleman—when he wanted to
smoke. The "party" for whom the bill was
discounted was his (witness's) father, who was
Mrs. l'Evy's brother. Knew Higgs (St. John
Clare, Thompson, and Company). Was no relation
whatever to Higgs—at least would not
have been, if plaintiff had not married his
(witness's) aunt; and if Higgs had not been
Mrs. l'Evy's son by a former husband—which
he was. But what had that to do with it?

As the counsel for the defence could not
prove the negative that the defendant never
had received a farthing of consideration for
his bill, he relied upon his eloquence in
denouncing the transaction as a wicked fraud,
and on the facts elicited in the cross-examination
of the plaintiff's witness.—The judge,
however, summed up with the simple remark that,
although the evidence in support of the
plaintiff's case was of an extremely suspicious
character; yet, no direct evidence had been
adduced on behalf of the defendant to rebut it
—and the jury returned a verdict for the
plaintiff.

That day week was passed by the Rev.
Carmichael Crample in the receiving ward of
Whitecross Street prison! The hope which
had buoyed him up, even to the last, had now
fled. Thoughts of his parish, his home, and
the dear ones there lamenting, overcame him.
He sat in the darkest corner of the dismal
apartment, and wept.

The condition of affairs at Crookenden will
be best understood from the following letter,
written by the Honourable Kenrick Speckle,
B.A. (youngest son of the Earl of Pompton),
whom Dr. Recumber had sent down to do
duty while Crample was going through the
Insolvent Court. The letter was addressed to
Sir Richard Rumble, Bart., Baliol College,
Oxford.

"Parsonage, Crookenden, Hunts.

"MY DEAR DICK,

"Here's a go!—Old Drizzle, who is keeping
the best living in our family warm for me till I
can complete my title for orders, is at death's
door; and I shall not become due for full orders
for another twelvemonth. Even if he hold out
three months longer (and I'm game to lay a
thousand to twenty he doesn't) I shall be bowled out.

"I was packed off from Town by my antique
brother-in-law, Recumber, under the plea that I
can read for my title, down here, as well as
anywhere else; and do him a service at the same time.
he fact is, the regular Crookenden Curate has
gone up for a six weeks' whitewash. Our old friend
l'Evy is the executioner.

"Instead of a parsonage, this is more like the
Valley of the Shadow. The weeping and wailing
and gnashing of teeth, are indescribable. The
hostess—a limp lady, with a faded face—cries
all breakfast-time; and, when I ask the second
daughter for an egg, she bursts into tears. The
two little boys cry over their milk-and-water,
and Molly, the servant, never comes into one's
presence without similar demonstrations. The
very tradesmen are melancholy. I ordered, and
paid for—(what d 'ye think of that?)—a quarter of
a hundredweight of the best almond hard-bake,
for distribution amongst the parochial juveniles,
yesterday. They sucked every ounce of it; in the
dumps.

"I don't think there is a smile to be had, for
love or money, in the whole parish; and, if I did
not contrive a chat, now and then, with the eldest
daughter of the house of Crample, I should
abscond. It is martyrdom to be here! She (Jane
Crample I mean) has wonderful sense—and only
rising nineteen; she sings much better than
Miss Huskle, our Oxford prima donna. Indeed, all
the sense and talent of the family seem centred in
her. Five feet five and a half, I should say—splendidly
proportioned—and a wonderful complexion.
She puts the best face on things, and keeps her
spirits up, like a little heroine. I had a gossip
with her last night, alone, and she spoke so
sensibly of her father's affairs that—but I'm boreing
you, Dick.

"I will tell you what I wish you would do! Just
ride over to the governor, and hint that, if old
Drizzle should pop off, a month or two too
soon, Jane's father would be a capital warming-
pan for me. The living is worth eight hundred
a year, and would be a lift for him, and save the
dear old boy from the Insolvent Court.

"Yours ever,
"KEN. SPECKLE."

Not only did Sir Richard ride over to the
Earl of Pompton and make the suggestion;
but, it actually had to be put into force in less
than a week; for, as Dr. Drizzle died next day
no time was to be lost.

When Mr, Oloman l'Evy saw the appointment
of Crample to the new living, in the
newspapers, he instantly posted off to Whitecross
Street. He expressed intense
commiseration for the curate's sufferings, and
told Mr. Crample he was willing to release
him on his own personal security. Another
bill at two months, for nearly double the
amount of debt and costs. Peggs nipped the
transaction in the bud. He happened to
come down at the same time, paid the money
by his master's orders (B. and B. took only
ten per cent, upon such transactions); and
the clergyman, no longer in difficulties, went
down by express train to lighten the hearts
and dry the eyes, not only of his dearest
and nearest, but of the whole parish. Slicer
and Plumley had not to wait long for the
amounts of their respective bills; and the
charity-girl not only got her sixpence, but as
many other sixpences for distribution among
her schoolfellows, as made capitalists, for one
whole evening, of the entire multitude.

At the end of the year, it turned out that