below to see him dashed to pieces. Don
Saltero chanced to be passing, and seeing
what was the matter, he scrambled up, and
brought Nicholas safely down, who trembled
too much to stand. The Don crowned his
good deed by carrying him home, the crowd,
of course, following. Mrs. Fleming gratefully
invited him to tea. The acquaintance
thus begun continued; though the appearance
of the Don by daylight was by no means so
radiant as might have been expected; indeed,
to impartial eyes, he had a drunken, dissipated
look; also, he was much addicted to
profane swearing. The neighbours began to
talk of his frequent visits, but it was all
gossip, and nobody seriously believed
anything, until they were astounded by the
widow's announcement, that she intended to
marry him!

If good advice could have saved a woman,
she had a good chance of salvation, for every
body remonstrated. The clergyman called; her
best customers declared they would withdraw
their patronage; the clerk of the parish, who
had only lost his wife six months, considered
the case so urgent, that waiving decorum, he
came and precipitately offered himself as a
substitute for Don Saltero; but Mrs. Fleming
was bewitched. And indeed it must be
owned, that the clerk was an ugly little
old man, with a red scratch wig, and bandy
legs; so the poor clerk had only his good
intentions for his pains; and was moreover
obliged, in virtue of his office, to say ''Amen"
to the marriage he had tried so much to
prevent.

Mrs. Fleming discovered that her husband's
name was Timothy Salt, instead of Don
Prosper Saltero. The day after the wedding,
the circus went away, carrying off the
Spanish dress, and the diamond brooch
likewise. Timothy Salt had been a vagabond all
his life: his original calling having been that
of a travelling tinker. His wife was rather
shocked when she heard this, for tinkers and
thieves were synonymous to her mind; but
she consoled herself by thinking that he was
not a common tinker. He showed, however,
no disposition to work, of any sort: he spent
his days in the public-house, drinking and
playing at cards, and making the most of the
ease and plenty into which he had fallen.
At first, he was tolerably good natured to
his wife; and, though his habits were a
terrible innovation on her orderly ways, she
tried hard to be blind and contented. But
after a while the good humour wore off;
and when he came home drunk he took
to ill-using his wife both by word and
deed.

Nicholas came in for a full share of his
step-father's brutalities; but the blows he
took with Spartan fortitude, and the curses,
which frightened him far more, he heard in
silence. This state of things at home wrought
a great change in Nicholas. He was
passionately fond of his mother, and his one
idea was to become her protector. He had
heard the neighbours talk, and he knew that
his mother had lost all their consideration by
her foolish marriage; but this only made him
care for her the more. In those days, children
who minded their books, were considered
on the high road to fortune; and Nicholas
worked very hard at his lessons, to be able
the sooner to help his mother. He became her
companion, and endeavoured to console her
by the promise of all he would do when he
grew older. In the meanwhile, the neighbours
held aloof; the chief ladies for whom
Mrs. Salt worked, removed their custom, as
they had threatened; the clergyman looked
stiff when he met her; and the poor woman
was made to feel what it was to get down in
the world. Her husband's demands had
eaten up nearly all her savings, and it
became a question of how much longer she
would be able to hold things together.

One day, Timothy announced suddenly that
he was going to look for work. The truth was,
he had wearied of his prosperity, and a desire
to ramble seized him. She made no objection,
but began to prepare his clothes, that he
might go respectably. The man had a
devilish vein of irony running through his
character. Coming home about half-drunk,
and seeing her busy ironing his shirts, he
looked on for a while, lounging on the
doorpost, with a pipe in his mouth.

' I tell you what, missus," said he, at last,
"I am not going to be made fine for the sake
of your pride. I don't care what the neighbours
think of me, or of you either— so here
goes."

With this he flung the shirts, the ironing-
blankets, and the board into the midst of the
road. He then seized hold of Nicholas, who
had looked too delighted when he talked of
going, gave him a savage beating; and then,
going to an old box he had brought with
him, he took out an old velveteen suit, in
which he dressed himself, and slouching a
battered hat over his face, he took out a tin
pot and some other articles, which he slung
over his shoulder; and then, with a stout
stick in his hand, he stood before his wife
as sturdy and ill-looking a ruffian as one
would wish NOT to meet at dusk in a lonely
road!

"Ay, missus, you may look, but this is the
way I travel when I go to look for work.
Give me some money, and let me off."

The poor woman meekly yielded the last
of her hoarded guineas, and saw her husband
pass out in the sunshine of a sultry August
afternoon. He went up the principal street,
and a villainous broken-haired terrier, which
seemed to have risen out of the ground,
followed at his heels. What a contrast to
the man whom she fancied she had married!
Then she reflected that it was all her own,
fault, and she covered her face with her
hands, and wept bitterly. Nicholas, sore
from his recent beating, limped across the