of a surfeit from pudding, Mock and Gibby
might have been now hunting sea-birds'
eggs for their dinners."

In the next story—The Adventures of
l'Honorable M. Belfast—the scene is dated,
Gravesend, second of June, eighteen hundred
and fifty-two. The Honorable Belfast is
giving orders to his valet-de-chambre, Jim.
Jim is to admit no one but Sir Richard Linn,
the Baronet Nithsdale, and M. Clifton, and
to bring down stairs his best dressing-case,
his fowling-piece number three, and a certain
choice picture. Jim bows to the earth
before the honorable member of the Chamber
of Commons, and exits.

Monsieur Belfast looks mournfully at
the pendule, and then, with a slow, sad step
enters his bedroom. After having shut and
double-locked the door, he opens the window,
and gazes on the Thames, which flows
beneath. It is low water, and a bank of
yellow mud lies below the window. " No,
no," he murmurs to himself, " it would
be a dirty death,—unworthy of a gentleman."
Turning from the window, he sits down at
a rosewood table, and gently raises the
cloth, which covers half-a-dozen little bottles.
"Let us put these in order," he mutters,
taking up phials marked Digitaline, Laudanum
de Sydenham, Chlorhydrate de
Morphine, Curare de Java, Acide
Hydricyanique. "Devil, I have only six drops.
It must have evaporated," he mutters;
and, replacing the phial, he takes up a
pistol, snaps it several times, then loads
and caps it carefully, and places it like
a sentinel before the collector of poisons.
Next he draws out a pair of razors, strops
them, tries them on the palm of his hand,
and places them crosswise beside the pistol.
Three knocks at his chamber-door interrupt
his pleasing reflections. " They are punctual,"
he exclaims. " It seems I am never to know
disappointment.' '

The raps announce the three expected
guests. They enter; they compliment
the Honorable Belfast on his personal appearance.
The baronet, Nithsdale, declares that
he looks younger, handsomer, and jollier than
ever. The rest echo the opinion, praise his
house, where he can see the regattas from
the windows; every polite speech seems
to make Mr. Belfast more angry; but he
restrains himself, and asks them to accompany
him to the drawing-room, where "port and
cigars will amuse them while he talks of
serious matters." Jim, in answer to the bell,
brings in an immense silver salver covered
with bottles and glasses. Monsieur Belfast
presents him with a purse, saying,—"Jim, in
eight days you will enter the service of my
relation M. Weems as first valet-de-charnbre.
Go, and admit no one!"

The stage being clear, and the actors all
present, the Honorable Belfast proceeds to
question his friends as to their courage. He
ascertains that the baronet Nithsdale, in
hunting the crocodile between Syout and
Keneh, had nearly been devoured four or
five times; that Sir Richard Linn had been
pierced by a poisoned arrow near Chadnegre;
that he first became indigo blue, while his
head swelled like a balloon; afterwards yellow
as saffron, and wasted until he was nothing
but skin and bone; but that the poison being
of second quality, he had finally recovered.
As to Mr. Clifton, he had been hardened to
death in all its forms, on the hulks of
Plymouth. With these antecedents Mr.
Belfast feels satisfied that his three friends
have a full stock of calmness and moral
courage, and would approve of his
decision, after they had answered his
question.

This question was, Do you consider me
really happy?

"We do," they replied in chorus.

Further cross-examination, which we need
not repeat, brought out the opinion of the
three drinkers of grog; that Lady Belfast
was very fond of her husband, and that the
Honorable Belfast was sound in wind and
limb, very handsome, and enormously rich.
But, when they were asked whether they
would undertake to say that these causes
of happiness would endure for ever? like
sensible men they hesitated.

"You are right," observed Belfast; " Lady
Belfast owned to me one day, that she first
admired me for my raven hair. Should I
become bald like you, Clifton; should I lose
my fortune, or have to wear a wig, I should
no longer be perfectly happy, therefore I
am determined to depart before trouble
comes."

After announcing this determination the
three friends, on being asked their opinion
seriatim, approve the suicidal resolution with
a unanimity which strikes the M.P. with
astonishment mingled with admiration.
Belfast next proceeds to present the gun
number three to the baronet crocodile-
killer, the enamelled dressing-case to Sir
Richard, and a painting by Ostade to the
Doctor.

"Adieu, my friend," murmurs Nithsdale,
wiping away a tear.

"Think of us sometimes, my good Belfast,"
sighs Richard Linn.

"If you choose fire-arms," said Dr. Clifton,
"put the barrel to the left temple, but not
too near. That is the best plan; no fear of
wounding without killing outright." With
this bit of advice Belfast retires behind the
scenes into the darkness of his chamber;
there he hears the noise of a file, and finds
a robber breaking open his cash-box; he points
a pistol at him.

"Fire," says the robber; " if you miss,
Lowel Lowel won't miss you."

Mr. Belfast is terrified at the name of the
greatest bandit in England. A conversation
ensues, in which the M.P. consents to the