ing you were at Hastings I
write now to say that we are on our way. Besides myself I am bringing
dear Aunt Jane you will remember--now unfortunately a confirmed
invalid--and my boy Tom who has got a bad leg, and Uncle William and his
three daughters, and my dear Sue, who, I am sorry to say, is still
suffering, but I think a week at Hastings will do us all a world of
good--particularly to have you to amuse us all the time.

"Yours very truly,"

And a signature was attached which I could not myself read.

The next day in London a hansom pulled up close to where I was walking,
and a friend of Toole's jumped out, and, seizing my hand, he said, "I
say, Furniss, you travel about a lot, lecturing and all that kind of
thing--do you know Smoketown?"

[Illustration: SAVAGE CLUB.
MY DESIGN FOR THE MENU 25TH ANNIVERSARY DINNER.
_The Original Drawing was by request presented to His Royal Highness._]

"Smoketown!" I said, "Smoketown!" (Truth to tell, at the moment I had
quite forgotten all about my letter to Toole; then it dawned upon me.)
"Oh, yes--well," I said; "I had one night there, and some frightful
friends of Toole's bored my life out. He had invited them, I believe, to
stop with him in London, and they--"

"Just the people I want. What's their name?"

"I forget that entirely."

"Can you read this?" he said, producing my letter.

"No," I said; "I can't read that signature."

"Do you know where they are likely to put up in town?"

"Not the slightest idea."

"I've tried every hotel in London."

"Temperance?" I asked.

"No, not one. Happy thought!--of course that is where they'll be."

"Try them all," I said, as I waved my hand. And off the cab rushed to
visit the various temperance hotels in London.

The next day I returned to Hastings, and went straight to Mr. Toole's
hotel. Getting the hall porter into my confidence, he sent up a message
to Mr. Toole that a gentleman with a large family had arrived to see
him; and the porter and I made the noise of ten up the stairs, and
eventually the gentleman and family were announced at Toole's door. I
shall never forget poor Toole, standing in an attitude so familiar to
the British public, with his eye-glass in his hand and his eyes cast on
the ground--he was afraid to raise them. As soon as he did, however, his
other hand caught the first book that was handy, and it was flung at my
head.

Bohemiani