of the whole five day after day.

Buerger's Brave Man was a coward compared to him; for he not only gave
his days, but his evenings also, joining in endless games of whist,
drinking much weak tea, and listening to any amount of twaddle on all
subjects.

The society was not such as intelligent men enjoy, being composed of two
Egyptian boys and three fussy old ladies. One of them was immensely
stout, wore a bright green cap, with half-a-pint of scarlet cherries
bobbing on her brow. She talked on all subjects, and handed round an
album full of her own poems on all occasions. The second must have been
a sister of 'Mr. T.'s Aunt,' so grim and incoherent was she. Sitting in
the corner, she stared at the world around her with an utterly
expressionless countenance, and when least expected broke out with some
startling remark, such as, 'If that fence had been painted green we
should get to heaven sooner,' or 'Before I had fits my memory was as
good as anybody's, but my daughter married a clergyman, and took it with
her.'

The third antiquity was the hostess, a buxom lady, much given to gay
attire and reminiscences of past glory, 'Before me 'usband went into
public life.' The strangers innocently supposed the departed Mr. K. to
have been an M.P. at least, and were rather taken aback on learning that
he had been a pawnbroker.

The Egyptian youths were handsome, dark lads, with melodious voices,
lustrous eyes, and such fiery tempers that one never knew whether they
were going to pass the bread or stab one with the carving-knife.

As a slight mitigation of this slow society, the Russian from Pension
Paradis appeared with his broadcloth more resplendent than ever. The
ladies had seen him in Rome; but the fever scared him away, and he was
now fleeing from another lodging-house, where the hostess evidently
intended to marry him to her daughter, in the MacStinger fashion.

In this varied circle did the devoted being afore-mentioned pass many
hours after the day's hard labour was happily over, and when anyone
pitied him for leading the life of a galley-slave, he hid his anguish
and answered with a smile,--

'My brother told me to do it, and I never disobey Tom. In fact, I find I
rather like it.'

That last fib was truly sublime, and the name of Cassabianca pales
before that of one who obeyed fraternal commands to the letter, and
tried to love his duty, heavy as it was. If, as has been sometimes
predicted, England had gone under