not to mention the subject, anywhere or in any
way, and to remove him—for a while at all
events—out of France. Even I, safe as an
Englishman, and even Tellson's, important as
they are to French credit, avoid all naming of
the matter. I carry about me, not a scrap of
writing openly referring to it. This is a secret
service altogether. My credentials, entries, and
memoranda, are all comprehended in the one
line, 'Recalled to Life;' which may mean
anything. But what is the matter! She doesn't
notice a word! Miss Manette!"

Perfectly still and silent, and not even fallen
back in her chair, she sat under his hand, utterly
insensible, with her eyes open and fixed upon
him, and with that last expression looking as if
it were carved or branded into her forehead.
So close was her hold upon his arm, that he
feared to detach himself lest he should hurt her;
therefore he called out loudly for assistance
without moving.

A wild-looking woman, whom, even in his
agitation, Mr. Lorry observed to be all of a red
colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed
in some extraordinary tight-fitting fashion, and
to have on her head a most wonderful bonnet like
a Grenadier wooden measure, and good
measure too, or a great Stilton cheese, came running
into the room in advance of the inn servants, and
soon settled the question of his detachment from
the poor young lady, by laying a brawny hand
upon his chest, and sending him flying back
against the nearest wall.

("I really think this must be a man!" was Mr.
Lorry's breathless reflection, simultaneously with
his coming against the wall.)

"Why, look at you all!" bawled this figure,
addressing the inn servants. "Why don't you
go and fetch things, instead of standing there
staring at me? I am not so much to
look at, am I? Why don't you go and fetch
things? I'll let you know, if you don't bring
smellin-g salts, cold water, and vinegar, quick, I
will!"

There was an immediate dispersal for these
restoratives, and she softly laid the patient
on a sofa, and tended her with great skill
and gentleness: calling her "my precious!"
and "my bird!" and spreading her golden hair
aside over her shoulders with great pride and
care.

"And you in brown!" she said, indignantly
turning on Mr. Lorry; "couldn't you
tell her what you had to tell her, without frightening
her to death? Look at her, with her
pretty pale face and her cold hands. Do you
call that being a Banker?"

Mr. Lorry was so exceedingly disconcerted
by a question so hard to answer, that he could
only look on, at a distance, with much feebler
sympathy and humility, while the strong
woman, haying banished the inn servants under
the mysterious penalty of "letting them know"
something not mentioned if they stayed there,
staring, recovered her charge by a regular series
of gradations, and coaxed her to lay her drooping
head upon her shoulder.

"I hope she will do well now," said Mr.
Lorry.

"No thanks to you in brown, if she does. My
darling pretty!"

"I hope," said Mr. Lorry, after another
pause of feeble sympathy and humility, "that
you accompany Miss Manette to France?"

"A likely thing, too!" replied the strong
woman. "If it was ever intended that I should
go across salt water, do you suppose Providence
would have cast my lot in an island?"

This being another question hard to answer,
Mr. Jarvis Lorry withdrew to consider it.

  THE GOOD OLD And Whereas.

I AM not an unreasonable man, but I have my
prejudices. Good, wholesome, sterling, British
prejudices, which I hold in common with all
right-minded inhabitants of this tight little
island, and won't abate for anybody. Let the
gentlemen who write in the newspapers take this
fact to heart, and save themselves a world of
trouble. What do I want with dinners à la
Russe, for example, with all their culinary
fripperies? If I dine at home I delight to look
at my wife over the top of a hot joint (the bigger
the better), while she, dear soul, smiles pleasantly
on me through the steam from the pudding. If
I honour the theatre with my presence in pursuit
of the British Drama (which I can never
discover), I don't go there in expectation of being
comfortable, but of being melodramatically
excited. And, as this has a tendency to create
thirst, I like to have my ginger-beer and oranges
brought to me in the pit. If anybody's
knees are damaged in the process, I can't help
that.

When I go to law, or rather when I used
to go to law (for the County Courts have
robbed the process of one-half its pleasurable
excitement), I knew what that meant. Now,
I don't. I solemnly declare that I am so
perplexed by the innovating tendencies of this
degenerate age, that I don't know what the law is
coming to.

Take that most magnificent and perfect
product of the human intellect, built up by the
accumulated wisdom of ages—the law of real
property. What is it coming to? The old-
established, well appointed legal conveyance is
to be taken off the road. Feoffment, grant,
release, confirmation, surrender, assignment,
defeasance, feoffments to uses, covenants to stand
seised to uses, bargain and sale, lease and
release, are to haunt the legal mind as relics
of a bygone age.

But this is not the end of it. The titles
tinkered up into a respectable state of soundness,
by the gentlemen of ten years' experience in the
trade, are to be registered (as vulgar stoves and
coffee-pots are registered, I suppose); the certificate
of registration is to officiate as a patent
litigation annihilator, guaranteed to effectually
quench the professional prying of the most
sceptical lawyer for ever.