ur peace.

`Oh, leave a kiss within the cup, And I'll not ask for wine.'

And 't is no use asking for wine, or for gin either,--not a drop in the
noggin!"

All this while Gabriel, disdaining the recommendations held forth to
him, was employed in brushing his jacket with a very mangy-looking
brush; and when he had completed that operation he approached his uncle,
and coolly thrust his hands into that gentleman's waistcoat-pockets.

"Uncle, what have you done with those seven shillings? I am going out to
spend the day."

"If you give them to him, Tom, I'll scratch your eyes out," cried the
model; "and then we'll see how you'll sing. Whip him, I say, whip him!"

But, strange to say, this liberty of the boy quite reopened the heart
of his uncle,--it was a pleasure to him, who put his hands so habitually
into other people's pockets, to be invested with the novel grandeur
of the man sponged upon. "That's right, Cupid, son of Cytherea; all's
common property amongst friends. Seven shillings, I have 'em not. 'They
now are five who once were seven;' but such as they are, we'll share.

'Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown.'"

"Crowns bear no division, my uncle," said Gabriel, dryly; and he
pocketed the five shillings. Then, having first secured his escape by
gaining the threshold, he suddenly seized one of the rickety chairs by
its leg, and regardless of the gallantries due to the sex, sent it right
against the model, who was shaking her fist at him. A scream and a
fall and a sharp twit from the cage, which was hurled nearly into the
fireplace, told that the missive had taken effect. Gabriel did not wait
for the probable reaction; he was in the streets in an instant. "This
won't do," he muttered to himself; "there is no getting on here. Foolish
drunken vagabond! no good to be got from him. My father is terrible, but
he will make his way in the world. Umph! if I were but his match,--and
why not? I am brave, and he is not. There's fun, too, in danger."

Thus musing, he took his way to Dalibard's lodgings. His father was at
home. Now, though they were but lodgings, and the street not in fashion,
Olivier Dalibard's apartments had an air of refinement, and even
elegance, that contrasted both the wretched squalor of the abode Gabriel
had just left and the meanness of Dalibard's former quarters in London,
The change seemed to imply that the Provencal had already made some way
in the world. And, truth to s