the dangers of the highway are reduced to a
minimum. As regards the perils of damp
sheets and doubtful fare, I can make your
mind easy. I shall ask the hospitality of my
cousin, Anna Meadows, at their pretty place
near Brighton, and occupy the bachelors' room."

"At least, you will take Charles?"

(Charles was the bishop's nephew, his chaplain
and secretary.)

The bishop hesitated. It was clear he
purposed to have gone alone, but his wife's tone
of entreaty prevailed. Moreover, he was very
fond of his nephew.

"Well, well, Charles shall go."

They set off that day, and the next, May
the eighth, saw them, to the delight of their
amiable host and hostess, comfortably
established at Parkhurst Dene. Mrs. Meadows was,
indeed, a little disappointed next morning,
when her right reverend guest announced,
with some reluctance, that a business engagement
of a pressing nature would compel him
to absent himself for that evening and night,
but that he would return early on the morrow.
Except that his destination was Brighton, the
bishop added no further particulars, and, the
distance being but eight miles, the carriage
was not ordered till four o'clock, at which
time, accompanied by his nephew, he took his
departure. He had made a feeble effort to
shake off this faithful companion, but Charles
had laughingly reminded him of the promise
his aunt had exacted from him, not to lose
sight of the bishop till the latter returned in
safety. So the prelate had given way.

During the drive, their conversation turned
upon the state of the agricultural districts.
There had been some threatening of disturbance,
and several incendiary fires visible from
Brighton, but the presence of a large cavalry
force at the latter place kept the fashionable
folks entirely at their ease, as regarded a visit
from the "mob."

After passing through the village of Portslade,
the bishop began to scrutinise the locality
with keen interest.

"Here are spots," he observed, "in which
escape or concealment would not be difficult
for those misguided persons, should these ample
rick-yards tempt them to fresh crime. We are
approaching a still more broken——–My
friend," added the bishop, taking advantage
of the carriage walking up a hill to accost a
rustic who was at hand, "do you know
Coldstone Bottom—and—and Twin-Tree-lane?"

"I 'low I do," said the man, "whereby I've
lived at Coldstone better nor twenty years.
'Tother's to the left, handy."

For the remainder of the drive the bishop
was silent and meditative. They were quickly
in Brighton, when the bishop drove to the
York Hotel, dismissed the carriage, and ordered
apartments.

"We will dine together, Charles, at seven,"
he said to his nephew; "the evening is at
your own disposal, for my work, which may
possibly detain me to a late hour, admits of no
assistance or interference."

There was an emphasis on the latter words
that forbade remonstrance. But the Reverend
Charles Lileham was sensible of an undefined
anxiety which induced him to resolve that,
happen what would, he must not let his
honoured relative wander far from his sight. It
was a little before eleven when the bishop,
suddenly rising, put on his greatcoat, took his
hat and stick, and affectionately pressing his
nephew's hand, walked quietly forth alone.

That night, the ninth, of May, was a festival
one at Brighton. A gentleman of the highest
distinction, in his line, was receiving the
compliment of what might be justly called a
"public" dinner, inasmuch as it was held
at the Clenched Fists, Birdcage-lane, North-
street, and was open to any gentleman
interested in the matter to the amount of three-
and-sixpence, liquors not included.

It was well attended, for Mr. William Beekes,
far better known as the "Bradford
Dumpling," retired champion of England, was the
son of a much-respected yeoman farmer in the
vicinity, and, though making Bradford the city
of his adoption, had never forgotten the peaceful
village that gave him birth. The heads he
had punched in youth were, like his own,
tinged with grey—for the Dumpling had
attained the (for the ring) patriarchal age of
forty-five—but his visits were hailed with
undiminished enthusiasm, and, moreover, this
ninth of May was the anniversary of the last
great triumph of his professional career.

The festivities were prolonged to a late hour.
At that disturbed period it was felt that the
usual loyal toasts should be received with
double honours, if not with double draughts,
and it was past ten o'clock before the chairman
arrived at the great toast of the evening.

A song (patriotic), and another (pugilistic),
with choruses to both, wound up the evening;
when, as closing time approached, it was
proposed to escort the ex-champion to his private
residence in Burr-alley, West-street, give him
three cheers, and dismiss him to his slumbers.
But to this little attention the Dumpling
opposed a strenuous opposition. He preferred
walking home quietly, alone and unrecognised,
indeed he was not going home, leastways,
not yet. He had an engagement beyond the
town, Patcham way, and it was near upon
the time. To the playful comment of one
of his friends that it was a "rum start," the
Dumpling merely responded with a wink. To
another, a little fluttered with drink, who
affectionately insisted upon bearing him
company whithersoever he was bound, the
Dumpling offered just sufficient personal violence to
disable him from doing anything of the sort,
and, having at length shaken off his friends,
strode away. It was at this time nearly half-
past eleven.

The same evening Colonel Spurrier,
commanding the gallant Hussar regiment at that
time occupying Brighton barracks, had dined
at the mess. The circumstance was not of
frequent occurrence, the colonel being a
married man, and having a house in Brunswick-