poses,' was, that Wells, instead of being cheerful and full of anecdote, "his custom always of the afternoon," was dull and restless, and neither encouraged Daly in his drolleries, nor laughed when he made an effort, and volunteered a joke. Sniggs was fidgetty about Tom, and so was I, and the result was, that which is by no means unfrequent in society, the "merry men all," when brought together, were as dull and gentlemanly as possible.

One anecdote Daly gave us, which made Wells smile, but the rather, I believe, because he knew the hero of the tale, or, at least, the hero as Daly told it, for it did not appear to me quite impossible that my friend might have heard Wells speak of the reverend personage upon whom he fathered it. Sniggs had been describing the various tracasseries of poor Tom Falwasser during his confinement at his house, and amongst other things, told us that his restlessness was such that he never could get him to lie still, even when rest would be most

advantageous.

"Gad," said Daly, "that only shows the difference of dispositions; perhaps age has something to do with it-an old friend of mine, Doctor Doldrum, of Dorchester-rich-snugsmug incumbent of a fine fat living, and a bachelor, was regularly hunted by the old maids and widows of his neighbourhood. They were sure he would find a wife such a comfort.-His house only wanted a lady to take care of it,— and accordingly he was never left at rest upon this important topic.

"One however of these anxious creatures took the lead of the others; and when he once happened to be seized with a somewhat serious illness, resolved upon nursing him, which she did most assiduously-ay, and kindly too. He began to recover; but the listlessness of fever hung about him; and although his doctors ordered him to get up every day, there he lay, indolent and weak, and so he went on for a week or more, without once leaving his

nest.

VOL. I.

"Pray try and get up, Doctor," said the attentive Mrs. Mantrap.

"I am too weak, Ma'am," said the Doctor; "I will try to-morrow."

"Fine day," said Mrs. Mantrap, "beautiful breeze-let Thomas wheel you into the garden?" "I can't, Ma'am," said the Doctor; "I'm too weak."

"Do, Doctor?"

No, Ma'am, no," said Doldrum.

"Dear me, dear me," said Mrs. Mantrap, losing patience with her patient, "will nothing make you get out of your bed?"

"No, Ma'am," said the Doctor, with a deep sigh and a look of despair-" nothing—except, indeed, your getting into it."

"This brusquerie broke off the acquaintance, and Doldrum died in a state of single blessed

This, however, I regret to say was, if not the first, the last bit of merriment of the day; for just as Daly had finished his anecdote, looking

himself as grave as a judge, a message from Sniggs's young gentleman, Mr. Tibbs, took him away before the time at which he had intended to go. We were at least Wells and I-considerably agitated by the sudden manner in which the message was announced; and I -full to a certain degree of a kind of internal superstition-anticipated the worst.

Wells, who saw what was passing in my mind, and knowing that I was specially prohibited from even entering the apothecary's house, followed Sniggs, promising to bring me an authentic account of poor Tom's state; and thus, in no humour for such a scene, I was left for a short time tête-à-tête with Delaville Daly or Daly Delaville, whichever it best suited himself to be. "Sibthorpe Hopkins, or Hopkins Sibthorpe."

"Odd, isn't it?" said he, when Wells was fairly out of hearing-" deuced odd, that 'we should be both here together,' as the new song says? Wells is a capital fellow-liked him the moment I saw him-always have a respect for

the cloth-especially when a dinner is in the way. You told me you were coming here; so, thinks I to myself, I'll just pave the way and meet him-did it in my best style."

"You seem to have done so," said I, in a tone and manner which must have practically convinced the yet untamed madcap that I had very materially altered my views of life and society.

"Never see a Domine," said Daly, "but think of the horrid tricks we used to play Carbo Cockletop, the curate of Cranberry, where I was at all the school I ever had-we called him Carbo because he looked like a Wallsend polished -devout but dirty, poor dear fellow! Amiable, confiding, dim-eyed, and dignified, if not in his profession, certainly in his manner; he had a fashion of throwing himself with a magisterial air backwards on the seat in the pulpit after his preliminary prayer. Upon that seat did I regularly do hen's work every Sunday."

"Hen's work?" said I gravely, and really not comprehending him.