were at their wits' end, and within a week
The Adamant was in Chancery, a candidate for
winding up. The Vice-Chancellor took his time
over the process; but he wound us up pretty
tightly at last. Had each of the shareholders
borne his fair share of the debts, it would not
have pressed very severely upon any one; but the
great majority of them were men of straw, and
the Vice-Chancellor does not trouble himself
about phantoms. He came down upon those
who had moans, or reputation, and the burden
fell, very properly, upon the directors and
certain tradesmen who had signed their names for
shares as a means of forwarding their own business.
Happily for the peace ot mind of such of
us as felt the responsibility of our position, the
policy-holders came to no harm. In the
confusion of the break-up, a clerk borrowed the
policy-book and transferred the business of The
Adamant to another office.

AN EASTER REVIVAL.

A PLEASANT place, the Fenchurch-street Railway
Station, to a person who knows at which of
the numerous pigeon-holes he should apply for
his ticket, and who does not mind running the
chance of being sent to Margate when his destination
is Kew. A pleasant place for a person without
corns, who is, what grooms say of horses, " well
ribbed up," and whose sides are impervious to
elbow pressure: who is complacent in the matter
of being made the resting-place for bundles in
white-spotted blue cotton pocket-handkerchiefs,
who is undisturbed by squirted tobacco-juice,
who likes the society of drunken sailors, Jew
crimps, and a baby-bearing population guiltless
of the wash-tub. It has its drawbacks, the
Fenchurch-street Railway station, but, for that
matter, so has Pall Mall. It was crammed last
Easter Monday—so crammed that I had literally
to fight my way up to the pay-place, above
which was the inscription, "Tickets for the
Woodford line," and when I had reached the
counter, after many manifestations of personal
strength and activity, it was disappointing
to receive a ticket for a hitherto unheard-of
locality called Barking, and to be severely told
that I could not book to Woodford for twenty
minutes. I retired for a quarter of an hour into
the shadow of one of the pillars supporting the
waiting-hall, and listened to the dialogue of two
old farmers who were patiently waiting their
turn. "A lot of 'em!" said one, a tall old man
with brown body-coat, knee-cords, and top-boots,
having at his feet a trifle of luggage in the shape
of a sack of corn, an old saddle, and a
horsecollar. "A lot of 'em! all a pleasurin'
excursionin', I s'pose!" "Ah!" said the other,
a wizen dirty-faced little fellow in a long drab
great-coat reaching to his heels, "it were
different when we was young, warn't it, Maister
Walker? It was all fairs then!" "Stattys!"
said the first old boy, as though half in correction;
"there were Waltham Statty, and Leyton
Statty, and Harpenden Statty, and the gathering
of the beastes at Cheshunt, and that like !" And
then the two old fellows interchanged snuff-boxes
and shook their heads in silent lamentation over
the decadence of the times. The twenty minutes
wore away, the Barking people disappeared
slowly, filtering one by one through the smallest
crack of a half-opened door, and a stout policeman,
shouting, "Now for the Woodford line!"
heralded us to the glories of martyrdom through
the same mysterious outlet.

  What took me out of town last Easter
Monday? Not a search for fresh air; there
was plenty of that in London, blowing very fresh
indeed, and rasping your nose, ears, and chin,
and other uncovered portions of your anatomy,
filling your eyes and mouth with sharp stinging
particles of dust, and cutting you to the very
marrow, whenever you attempted to strike out
across an open space. Not an intention to see
the country, which was then blank furrow and
bare sticks, where in a couple of months would
be smiling crops and greenery; not with any
view of taking pedestrian exercise, which I
abominate; not to join in any volunteer evolutions;
not to visit any friends; simply to see
the " revival of the glorious Epping Hunt"
which was advertised to take place at
Buckhurst Hill, and to witness the uncarting of the
deer before the Roebuck Inn.

  We were not a very sporting "lot" in the railway
carriage into which I forced an easy way.
There were convivialists in the third and second
classes (dressed for the most part in rusty black,
carrying palpable stone-bottles, which lay
against their breast-bones under their waistcoats,
and only protruded their black-corked
necks), who were going " to the Forest," and
who must have enjoyed that umbrageous retreat
on one of the bitterest days in March; but we
had no nonsense of that kind in my first-class
bower. There was a very nice young man opposite
me, in a long great-coat, a white cravat,
and spectacles, which were much disturbed in
their fit by the presence of a large mole exactly
on the root of his nose between his eyebrows,
upon which the glasses rode slantingly, and
gave him a comic, not to say inebriated, look:
a curate, apparently, by the way in which he
talked of the schools, and the clubs, and the
visitings, and the services, to the old lady whom
he was escorting; a clean, wholesome-looking
old lady enough, but obviously not strong in
conversation, as she said nothing the whole
journey but, with a sigh of great admiration,
"Ah! Mr. Parkins!" and rubbed her hands
slowly over a black and white basket, like a
wicker draught-board. Then there were two
City gentlemen, who had "left early," as they
called it, and were going to make holiday in
digging their gardens, who, after languidly
discussing whether the reduction in the Budget
would be on insurance or income, waxed warm
in an argument on the right of way through
Grunter's Grounds. And next to me there was
a young lady, who, from the colour and texture
of a bit of flesh between the end of her
puce-coloured skeepskin glove and the top of her