* but I should be a baby to let you out on such a paper as that.”

“Well,” said I, “Child's is but a step from this; you may go and get the cash-just giving me an acknowledgment."

Nabb drew out the acknowledgment with great punctuality, and set off for the bankers', whilst I prepared myself for departure from this abominable prison.

He smiled as he came in. have touched your money; you, that you are the most extortioner I ever met with."

“Well," said I, “you and now, I must tell infernal rogue and

"O no, Mishter Shtubbish," says he, grinning still, “dere is som greater roag dan me-mosh greater."

"Fellow," says I, "don't stand grinning before a gentleman; but give me my hat and cloak, and let me leave your filthy den."

"Shtop, Shtubbsh," says he, not even Mistering me this time, "here ish a letter, vich you had better read."

two thousand pounds. As for the detainer against me, I was obliged to go through the court for the relief of insolvent debtors. I passed through it, and came out a beggar. But, fancy the malice of that wicked Stiffelkind; he appeared in court as my creditor for £3, with sixteen years' interest, at five per cent., for a PAIR OF TOP-BOOTS. The old thief produced them in court, and told the whole story-Lord Cornwallis, the detection, the pumping, and all.

Commissioner Dubobwig was very funny about it. “So Doctor Swishtail would not pay you for the boots, eh, Mr. Stiffelkind "

"No; he said, ven I ask him for payment, dey was ordered by a yong boy, and I ought to have gone to his schoolmaster."

“What, then, you came on a bootless errand, eh, sir?" (A laugh.)

“Bootless, no sare. I brought the boots back vid me; how de devil else could I show dem to you? (Another laugh.)

“You've never soled them since, Mr. Tickle

"Fleet Street."

“You see," says Mr. Nabb, as I read this dreadful letter, “you see, Shtubbsh, dere vas two debts, -a little von, and a big von. So dey arrested you for the little von, and attashed your money for de big von."

Don't laugh at me for telling this story; if you knew what tears are blotting over the paper as I write it; if you knew that for weeks after I was more like a madman than a sane man- a madman in the Fleet Prison, where I went, instead of to the desert island. What had I done to deserve it? Hadn't I always kept an eye to the main chance ? Hadn't I lived economically, and not like other young men? Had I ever been known to squander or give away a single penny! No! I can lay my hand on my heart, and, thank Heaven, say, No! Why-why was I punished so?

Let me conclude this miserable history. Seven months-my wife saw me once or twice, and then dropped me altogether-I remained in that fatal place. I wrote to my dear mamma, begging her to sell her furniture, but got no answer. All my old friends turned their backs upon me. My action went against me--I had not a penny to defend it. Solomonson proved my wife's debt, and seized my

now I have showed him up in a court of justice ; dat is vat I ave done, and dat's enough." And then the old wretch went down, whilst everybody was giggling and staring at poor me--as if I was not miserable enough already.

"This seems the dearest pair of boots you ever had in your life, Mr. Stubbs," said Commissioner Dubobwig, very archly, and then he began to inquire about the rest of my misfortunes.

In the fulness of my heart I told him the whole of them; how Mr. Solomonson the attorney had introduced me to the rich widow, Mrs. Manasseh, who had eighty thousand pounds, and an estate in the West Indies. How I was married, and arrested on coming to town, and cast in an action for two thousand pounds, brought against me by this very Solomonson for my wife's debts.

"Stop," says a lawyer in the court. "Is this woman a showy black-haired woman, with one eye very often drunk, with three childrenSolomonson, short, with red hair?"

"Exactly so," says I, with tears in my eyes. "That woman has married three men within the last two years. One in Ireland, and one at Bath. A Solomonson is, I believe, her husband, and they both were off for America ten days ago."

"No," said Mr. Dubobwig, "Mr. Stubbs is the

To breast the world with, and to cleave your way,
No maudlin dreamer, that will need her care,
She needing yours. There-there-I love you Ned,
Both for your own, and for your mother's sake;
So win our boat-race, and the cup, next month,
And you shall have her." With a broad, loud
laugh,

A jolly triumph at his rare conceit,
He left the subject; and across the wine,
We talk'd-or rather all the talk was his-
Of the best oarsmen that his youth had known,
Both of his set, and others-Clare, the boast
Of Jesus', and young Edmonds, he who fell,
Cleaving the ranks at Lucknow ; and, to-day,
There was young Chester might be named with
them.

"Why, boy, I'm told his room is lit with cups
Won by his sculls. Ned, if he rows, he wins;
Small chance for you, boy." And again his laugh,
With its broad thunder, turn'd my thoughts to
gall:

But yet I mask'd my humour with a mirth
Moulded on his; and, feigning haste, I went,
But left not. Through the garden-porch I turn'd,
But on its sun-flecked seats, its jessamine shades
Trembled on no one. Down the garden's paths
Wander'd my eye, in rapid quest of one
Sweeter than all its roses; and across

Its gleaming lilies and its azure bells,
There, in the orchard's greenness, down beyond
Its sweetbriar hedge-row, found her-found her

there,

A summer blossom that the peering sun
Peep'd at through blossoms,-that the summer airs
Waver'd down blossoms on, and amorous gold,
Warm as that rain'd on Danaë. With a step,
Soft as the sun-light, down the pebbled path
I pass'd, and, ere her eye could cease to count
The orchard daisies, in some summer mood
Dreaming (was I her thought?), my murmurd
"Kate"

Shock'd up the tell-tale roses to her cheek,

And lit her eyes with starry lights of love
That dimm'd the daylight. Then I told her all,
And told her that her father's jovial jest
Should make her mine, and kissed her sunlit tears
Away, and all her little trembling doubts,
Until hope won her heart to happy dreams,
And all the future smiled with happy love.
Nor, till the still moon, in the purpling East,
Gleam'd through the twilight, did we stay our talk,
Or part, with kisses, looks, and whisper'd words
Remembered for a lifetime. Home I went,
And in my college rooms what blissful hopes
Were mine!-what thoughts, that still'd to happy
dreams;

Where Kate, the fadeless summer of my life,
Made my years Eden, and lit up my home
(The ivied rectory my sleep made mine),
With little faces, and the gleams of curls,
And baby crows, and voices twin to hers.
Oh, happy night! Oh, more than happy dreams!
But with the earliest twitter from the eaves,
I rose, and, in an hour, at Clifford's yard,
As if but boating were the crown of life,
Forgetting Tennyson, and books, and rhymes,
Even my new tragedy upon the stocks,

I thronged my brain with talks of lines and curves,
And all that makes a wherry sure to win,
And furbish'd up the knowledge that I had,
Ere study put my boyhood's feats away,
And made me bookworm. All that day my hand
Grew more and more familiar with the oar,
And won by slow degrees, as reach by reach
Of the green river lengthen'd on my sight,

Its by-laid cunning back; so, day by day,
From when dawn touch'd our elm-tops till the

moon

Gleam'd through the slumbrous leafage of our lawns,

I flashed the flowing Isis from my oars,
And dream'd of triumph and the prize to come;
And breathed myself, in sport, one after one,
Against the men with whom I was to row,
Until I feared but Chester-him alone.
So June stole on to July, sun by sun,

And the day came; how well I mind that day!
Glorious with summer, not a cloud abroad

O hope, was hope a prophet truth alone?
There was a murmur in my heart of "Yes,"
That sung to slumber every wakening fear
That still would stir and shake me with its dread.
And now a hush was on the wavering crowd
That sway'd along the river, reach by reach,
A grassy mile, to where we were to turn-

A barge moor'd midstream, flush'd with fluttering flags.

And we were ranged, and, at the gun, we went,
As in a horse-race, all, at first, a-crowd;
Then thinning slowly, one by one dropp'd off,
Till, rounding the moor'd mark, Chester and I

To dim the golden greenness of the fields,
And all a happy hush about the earth,
And not a hum to stir the drowsing noon,
Save where along the peopled towing-paths,
Banking the river, swarm'd the city out,
Loud of the contest, bright as humming-birds,
Two winding rainbows by the river's brinks,
That flush'd with boats and barges, silken-awn'd
Shading the fluttering beauties of our balls,
Our college toasts, and gay with jest and laugh,
Bright as their champagne. One, among them all,
My eye saw only; one, that morning, left
With smiles that hid the terrors of my heart,
And spoke of certain hope, and mock'd at fears-
One, that upon my neck had parting hung
Arms white as daisies-on my bosom hid
A tearful face that sobb'd against my heart,
Filled with what fondness! yearning with what
love!

O hope, and would the glad day make her mine!

Left the last lingerer with us lengths astern,
The victory hopeless. Then I knew the strife
Was come, and hoped 'gainst fear, and, oar to oar,
Strain'd to the work before me. Head to head
Through the wild-cheering river-banks we clove
The swarming waters, raining streams of toil;
But Chester gain'd, so much his tutor'd strength
Held on enduring-mine still waning more,
And parting with the victory, inch by inch,
Yet straining on, as if I strove with death,
Until I groan'd with anguish. Chester heard,
And turn'd a wondering face upon me quick,
And toss'd a laugh across, with jesting words:
"What, Ned, my boy, and do you take it so?
The cup's not worth the moaning of a man,
No, nor the triumph, Tush! boy, I must win."
Then from the anguish of my heart a cry
Burst: "Kate, O dearest Kate-O love-we lose !"
"Ah! I've a Kate, too, here to see me win,"
He answer'd; "Faith! my boy, I pity you."

"Oh, if you lose," I answered, "you but lose
A week's wild triumph, and its praise and pride;
I, losing, lose what priceless years of joy!
Perchance a life's whole sum of happiness-
What years with her that I might call my wife!
Winning, I win her!" Oh, thrice noble heart!
I saw the mocking laugh fade from his face.
I saw a nobler light light up his eyes;
I saw the flush of pride die into one
Of manly tenderless and sharp resolve ;
No word he spoke; one only look he threw,

That told me all; and, ere my heart could leap
In prayers and blessings rain'd upon his name,
I was before him, through the tracking eyes

Of following thousands, heading to the goal,
The shouting goal, that hurl'd my conquering

name

Miles wide in triumph, "Chester foil'd at last!"
Oh, how I turn'd to him! with what a heart!
Unheard the shouts-unseen the crowding gaze
That ring'd us. How I wrung his answering hand
With grasps that bless'd him, and with flush that
told

I shamed to hear my name more loud than his,
And spurn'd its triumph. So I won my wife,
My own dear wife; and so I won a friend,
Chester, more dear than all but only her,
And these, the small ones of my college dreams.

T was usually my custom of an afternoon to read Law for a couple of hours, a course of training preparatory to committing myself to the tender mercies of a special pleader; and as Sir John's well-stored library afforded me every facility for so doing, that was the venue I generally selected for my interviews with Messrs. Blackstone, Coke upon Lyttelton, and other legal luminaries. Accordingly, on the day in question, after having nearly quarrelled with my mother for congratulating me warmly on the attainment of my wishes, when I mentioned to her Lawless's proposal, found fault with Fanny's Italian pronunciation so harshly as to bring tears into her eyes, and grievously offended our old female domestic by disdainfully rejecting some pet abomination upon which she had decreed that I should lunch, I sallied forth, and, not wishing to encounter any of the family, entered the hall by a side door, and reached the library unobserved. To my surprise I discovered Lawless (whom I did not recollect ever to have seen there before, he being not much given to literary pursuits) seated, pen in hand, at the table, apparently absorbed in the mysteries of composition.

"I shall not disturb you, Lawless," said I, taking

down a book. "I am only going to read Law for an hour or two."

"Eh! disturb me?" was the reply; "I'm uncommon glad to be disturbed, I can tell you, for hang me if I can make head or tail of it! Here have I been for the last three hours trying to write an offer to your sister, and actually have not contrived to make a fair start of it yet. I wish you would lend me a hand, there's a good fellow-1 know you are up to all the right dodges-just give one a sort of notion, eh? don't you see?"

"What! write an offer to my own sister? Well, of all the quaint ideas I ever heard, that's the oddest-really you must excuse me."

"Very odd, is it?" inquired Coleman, opening the door in time to overhear the last sentence. "Pray let me hear about it then, for I like to know of odd things particularly; but, perhaps, I'm intruding?"

"Eh? no; come along here, Coleman," cried Lawless, "you are just the very boy I want-I am going to be married-that is, I want to be, don't you see, if she'll have me, but there's the rub; Frank Fairlegh is all right, and the old lady says she's agreeable, so everything depends on the young woman herself-if she will but say 'Yes,'