the wife.

"What's the use?" said Snengkeld. "Care killed a cat."

"And perhaps you may," said John Kenneby, trying to comfort him; "who
knows?"

"It's all in the hands of Providence," said Kantwise, "and we should
look to him."

"And how does it taste?" asked Moulder, shaking the gloomy thoughts
from his mind.

"Uncommon," said Snengkeld, with his mouth quite full. "I never eat
such a turkey in all my life."

"Like melted diamonds," said Mrs. Moulder, who was not without a
touch of poetry.

"Ah, there's nothing like hanging of 'em long enough, and watching of
'em well. It's that vinegar as done it;" and then they went seriously
to work, and there was nothing more said of any importance until the
eating was nearly over.

And now Mrs. M. had taken away the cloth, and they were sitting
cozily over their port wine. The very apple of the eye of the evening
had not arrived even yet. That would not come till the pipes were
brought out, and the brandy was put on the table, and the whisky was
there that made the people's hair stand on end. It was then that the
floodgates of convivial eloquence would be unloosed. In the mean time
it was necessary to sacrifice something to gentility, and therefore
they sat over their port wine.

"Did you bring that letter with you, John?" said his sister. John
replied that he had done so, and that he had also received another
letter that morning from another party on the same subject.

"Do show it to Moulder, and ask him," said Mrs. M.

"I've got 'em both on purpose," said John; and then he brought
forth two letters, and handed one of them to his brother-in-law.
It contained a request, very civilly worded, from Messrs. Round
and Crook, begging him to call at their office in Bedford Row on
the earliest possible day, in order that they might have some
conversation with him regarding the will of the late Sir Joseph
Mason, who died in 18--.

"Why, this is law business," said Moulder, who liked no business
of that description. "Don't you go near them, John, if you ain't
obliged."

And then Kenneby gave his explanation on the matter, telling how in
former years,--many years ago, he had been a witness in a lawsuit.
And then as he told it he sighed, remembering Miriam Usbech, for
whose sake he had remained unmarried even to this day. And he went
on to narrate how he had been bullied in the court, though he had
valiantly striven to tell the truth with exactness; and as he spoke,
an op