unexpected deaths of no less than three persons -one by a fever, a second in a duel, and a third through some disease of infancy-in consequence of which, Appleby's father is now Earl of L, and he himself is the Lord Viscount F."

66

And no longer"-Ape Appleby, Henry was about to say, but stopping himself short, added, "no longer Mr. Appleby."

You would have done better to have finished your sentence, Milner," retorted Marten; "you were going to say Ape Appleby."

"When we find ourselves on the high-road towards what is wrong, is it not always well to turn back ?" replied Henry. "I am always sorry whenever I have used nick-names; I know they are wrong; and I am sorry, Marten, that I rubbed up that foolish story of the ape; not because the-the-not because Mr. Appleby is now a lord, but because such things are not right, and should not be done."

"Really, Henry,” replied Marten, brightening up again, "it is impossible to be angry with you for five minutes together; there is such a downright strait-forward desire in you to do right, and you turn about so promptly and decidedly when you think that you have done wrong, that you would baffle the veriest cynic on the

face of the earth, and compel him to speak well of you. But come, come on-I see the crowd again at the end of this long field; let us hasten to the town, get the letter, and make the best of our way back again. Of course I shall keep clear of the races; and you, I make no doubt, have no manner of desire of seeing them."

"I never heard my uncle say much about these sort of things," replied Henry; "but I think, nay I am sure, that he would rather that we should not go on the course."

"Well, then," replied Marten, "we will merely go to the post-office, and return immediately."

"Suppose, then," said Henry, "we take the back way to the office-I think I can find that way-and return by the same direction."

This was agreed upon.

CHAP. XI.

The Fall of Bajazet.

WHEN Our arch foe has a mind to do us an ill turn, his wit, which is no doubt much superior to ours, yea, even to that of the wisest of us, is never at a loss to fit the means to the end. Now it is certain that there is no description of person against whom our great enemy has a deeper grudge than against a fine young man who desires to do well. When such are striving to do well in their own strength, he, however, seldom despairs of having them for his own in the long run, although his infernal sagacity teaches him that he must sometimes go warily to work, and not show his cloven feet until he sees some little probability of success.

And now, my young reader, I must request you to leave Marten and Henry, for a short time, to pursue their way to the post-officeHenry being Marten's pilot through the more obscure windings and alleys of the city to the street in which the post-office is situated

-and accompany me to one of those two large inns which are situated at the entrance of the Foregate Street. There, in a convenient parlour, on the left hand of the entrance, was a cloth laid, and every thing prepared for a hot luncheon, a dinner, a dejeunée à la fourchette, or whatever else you may choose to call it; which said savory meal was to accommodate the delicate appetites of certain young gentlemen of our acquaintance, who had got together nobody knows how, or through what medium, unless we have recourse to the old adage-birds of a feather flock together. These worthies were no others than Mr. Clayton, Mr. Wellings, and the two younger Hargraves. And just at the moment which might be coincident with the passage of Marten and Henry over the bridge, the following conversation was taking place between these heroes.

"He's a rum concern, if ever there was one," said Mr. Clayton; "yet he's a good fellow too, that he is; I sha'n't forget that business of the chocolate-eh, Wellings, you know-the chocolate."

"Pooh," said Wellings.

"He brought us off there, Wellings, did not he? or we should have been roasted as dry as peas in an oven," rejoined Mr. Clayton.

"What is that," said Mrs. Hargrave's dear Benjamin-"what is it?" snuffing at the same time as for a good story.

Wellings.

"I bar tales told out of school," replied young But, I say, he's as rum a concern as ever I knew, that he is; and you say that he proved himself such when he was at your house."

"Yes," said Benjamin; "as I was telling you, he swallowed the ale, though it was some of the old stout, for I got it myself out of the left-hand bin, you know, Sam."

"Well-and he gulped it all down, you say," replied Wellings.

"As sure as a gun," returned Benjamin; "and it worked up into his head in a second. I saw him blink, and rub his eyes, and look quite funny. It was rare sport. But, as I was saying, he is now on the road; I saw him standing there, at the Yellow Lion, down at Powick Bridge, and another young man with him; a Mr. Mr.-I forget his name, who is now at his uncle's. Bell, that is my sister, says she saw this Mr.

at Church last Sunday, a fine looking sort of man—that is, as Bell says.'

"I wish," replied Wellings, "we could get Milner in here, and try him again; I'll come over him on the score of old acquaintance."