of manner; "I think--at
least if my memory does not play me false--you are a contributor to its
funds, are you not?"

"Well, a--no. I have not the pleasure--a--"

Miss Flouncer was evidently a little put out.

"Then I trust, my dear madam," said I, hasting to her relief by
affording her an opportunity of being generous, "that you will allow me
to put down your name as an annual subscriber."

Miss Flouncer, being a _very_ strong-minded woman, had recovered herself
very suddenly, and replied with calm deliberation, accompanied by an
undulation--

"No, Captain Bingley, I have made it a rule never to give charity from
impulse; I always give, when I _do_ give--"

"Ahem!" coughed Gildart slightly.

"When I _do_ give," repeated Miss Flouncer, "from principle, and after a
careful examination of the merits of each particular case."

"Indeed!" said Sir Richard, with an appearance of faint surprise; "what
a bore you must find the examination of the cases!"

"By no means, Sir Richard. _Very_ little time suffices for each case,
for many of them, I find, almost intuitively, merit dismissal on the
spot; and I assure you it saves a great deal of money. You would be
surprised if you knew how little I find it necessary to give away in
charity in the course of the year."

Miss Flouncer undulated at Sir Richard as she gave utterance to this
noble sentiment, and Mrs Bingley applauded it to Mr Stuart, who took
no notice of the applause, and indicated no opinion on the point
whatever.

"Now," continued Miss Flouncer, firmly, "before I become a subscriber to
your society, Captain Bingley. I must be quite certain that it
accomplishes much good, that it is worthy of support."

Being somewhat fired by the doubt that was implied in this speech, I
replied with warmth--

"My dear madam, nothing will gratify me more than to enlighten you."

Hereupon I began an address, the substance of which is set down in the
following chapter.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

JACK TAR BEFORE AND AFTER THE INSTITUTION OF THE S.F.M.S.

One beautiful evening in autumn, many years ago, a sailor was observed
to approach an English village which lay embosomed among trees, near the
margin of a small stream whose waters gleamed in the rays of the setting
sun.

The village was an inland one, far removed alike from the roar and the
influences of the briny ocean. It must have cost the sailor some pain
to reach it; for he walked with a crutch, and one of hi