retire before; I cannot sleep if I do. Let us have a quiet game at écarté, picquet, or even cribbage, if you prefer it," said Percy.

66

Why, really, it's very unfortunate," said Jack, stammering, "I certainly can play at cribbage-a little; but I have no cards in the house. It shall be remedied to-morrow.

"Send to the hotel," said Percy, "I am sure they keep cards at so respectable a place."

Digby was summoned, and ordered to apply to the landlord for the loan of a pack of cards. He looked very much surprised, but condescended to obey the order, and in the course of ten minutes returned with a very dingy something which the landlord assured him was the only thing in the shape of a pack of cards that he had.

Percy Bolton looked at them, took up the tongs, and coolly put them behind the fire.

"You have a rick-yard handy, I presume," said he, addressing Samuel Digby, who was gazing, in a bewildered way, at the perishing pack; "Go there, sirrah, and pull out some wheat-straws, and bring them here."

Sam did as he was ordered to do, wondering what in the world the Lunnun chap could want with them. He lingered in the room to discover the secret, and when he saw them cut up into bits of unequal length, and heard a proposal that they should draw for the longest at a guinea a chance, he turned up his hands and eyes, and rushed out of the room to tell his wife of the shameful prodigality of their guest.

Jack declined the offer of "pulling straws" for a guinea, and as nothing else could be done for his amusement, Percy threw himself on the sofa, and fell asleep.

He

Jack was dreadfully annoyed, and did not know what to do with himself or his guest when he should arouse himself from his slumbers. took up a book; but, just as he had commenced reading it, Mister Digby opened the door, and in a most mysterious way beckoned to his master to come out of the room.

"What is the matter?" asked Jack.

"Matter enow and some to spare," said Sam, "That chap's servant wants split-beyans for his horses, and because there's none to be had in the village, wants I to get upon ter nag that's racked up for the night, and ride down to mill for some."

"And that's not all," said Mary; "he says he shant sleep in a bed without curtains, and with calico sheets-wont drink table-beer, and expects my husband to clean his boots for him."

"Well, never mind-it will be only for a few days-get him some split-beans, and do what he requires-just to oblige me," said Jack Hatton; but neither Mary or her husband seemed at all inclined to comply with his wishes. Fortunately for him and his peace and comfort, Mr. Timkins consented to give his horses some oats, and requested permission to take up his head-quarters at the public-house in the village, which was not above fifty yards from the Dale Cottage. Of course, he was indulged in his wishes, and Digby and his wife were satisfied. Percy Bolton was rather amused when his host told him of the circumstance, and having worn away a most tedious evening, went to bed about ten o'clock, pleading, as an excuse for his early retirement, the fatigue occasioned by travelling some twenty miles.

Jack Hatton was very miserable, because he saw that his invitation was a dead failure, as far as the first evening had gone. "On hospitable thoughts intent," he rose early and despatched his man, Digby, to procure a hamper of the best claret that could be bought in the countrytwo packs of Hunt's best cards, and a bushel of split-beans. He had invited a small party to dinner, which was, in fact, the largest he could procure. There was the rector, the apothecary, the gentleman who kept the harriers, and a couple of men who farmed their own land, and were guardians of their respective parishes.

Dinner was ordered at five o'clock, and Percy Bolton, who had had a cup of tea in bed, managed to "get valeted" and made his appearance a little before three. Jack had anticipated a pleasant morning with his friend, a walk round the grounds, or a drive about the country; but to every proposal he made, Bolton gave a negative nod and a shrug of the shoulders, and decided on staying in-doors and teaching Jack écarté. As Digby had returned with the cards, he could not excuse himself on the plea which had availed him on the previous night. Down they sat, and when the dinner guests arrived, they found their entertainer deep in the mysteries of the game, ten pounds out of pocket, the table-cloth not laid, and Mrs. Digby and her husband in a very bad humour.

Jack's friends were introduced in form, and Percy Bolton received them most civilly. He then retired to dress, although his friend declared that such a proceeding was quite unnecessary- "it was only a bachelor's party." Percy, however, persevered, and Mr. Timkins having been found, with some difficulty for he was at skittles-managed to make his master presentable at about a quarter past six. The dinner, of course, was spoiled. The fish was boiled to rags, the beef roasted to cinders, and the limbs of the chickens refused to remain in their respective sockets. Jack could not apologise to his country friends, for fear of offending his London guest, so he let them make it out in the best way they could; although it was clear to him that they enjoyed nothing but the bread and cheese with which the meal finished.

Percy took it very coolly; seemed quite unconscious of having been the cause of the failures before him, and begged that he might have a couple of poached eggs, as he really could not venture upon overdone meat or poultry.

"Never mind," said Jack to himself, "When the claret comes, it will be all right."

But it was not.

Percy tasted it, and declared that "it was loadedtasted so strongly of Frontignac, that he could not drink it."

Then Jack was in despair. He passed a most miserable evening, and when he dismissed his country friends, who thought his London friend a puppy and a fool-for he neither talked, drank, nor smoked-he heartily regretted having invited them to meet him.

"I never had the luck to meet such a set of men before, and I hope I never shall again," said Percy, when Jack returned from seeing his company mounted; "but come; get out the books, and I will give you your

revenge."

The cards were produced, and, to the horror of Mrs. Digby, her master played until four in the morning, and lost nearly thirty pounds. Nor was that the worst of the business; he did not go to bed before he had promised Percy to return with him to London on the following day, and spend a week with him "in return for the very agreeable visit he had made at the Dale Cottage."

CHAP. IV.

THIS, our concluding chapter, is, of necessity, a very short one; but it reveals important secrets.

Jack Hatton went up to town with Percy Bolton, and was introduced into what he termed "the best set." He was initiated into the mysteries of hazard, rouge-et-noir, and roulette. He was also taught how to make up a book for the Derby, Oaks, or any other turf event; and although any thing but a gambler by inclination, he was in a very fair way of being "completely cleaned out," had not a friend-an humble one it is truenamely, Samuel Digby, saved him, and just in the nick of time.

Two very nice young men, with moustaches and curly whiskers, had been invited at eight precisely to dine at Bolton's lodgings in St. James's Street. At ten minutes before eight Jack was disturbed at his toilet by Sam, who rushed into the room pale as death, and too much agitated to speak. He tried, but could not articulate-so he put a dingy-looking wafered letter into his master's hand, and sat himself down on the nearest chair.

Jack was amazed, and thought that some sad event had occurred in Wiltshire, but a glimpse at the note showed him it was from Mr. Timkins, to the landlord of the hotel in his parish, with whom the aforesaid Timkins had formed an amicable alliance in the skittle-ground of the hostelry. It was fortunate that the worthy landlord could not read, and that Samuel Digby happened to drop in for a drop of something just as Posty brought the "pistle." He good-naturedly consented to decipher it for the ignoramus, but long before he had gone over two lines of it, he discovered its importance, and brazenly asserted that it was directed to himself, and had been delivered by mistake. The exact contents were

never known to any one but himself and his master; for he read it over, told his wife he must go up to town to meet his master, drove over to the Devizes, got on the Bath coach "up," and, as we have seen, arrived in town just before his master was going down to dinner.

At that dinner was a fourth seat, like the celebrated Banquo's, unoccupied. Percy Bolton wondered where his friend could be. Timkins went into the spare room to look for him, but found, not the man, but a note, which ran thus:

up

"Percy Bolton,

"You are a villain. I thank my good luck that your plans for ruining me have been discovered in time. To what I have lost to you, you are welcome. What I have left, I shall enjoy in the country.

"Your's,

"JOHN HATTON."

The Bath mail had two vacant places, and Sam and his master got home about two in the morning. Mrs. Digby was dreadfully annoyed to hear a loud cry at the gates of Dale Cottage, and asserted to herself that her husband was very tipsy when she heard him scream out, as he threw his hat up into the air," Hurray! country for ever! we've been and beat the Lunnuners!"

Had Jack Hatton remained and dined at that party, his doom would have been sealed. As it was, he had to "pinch for it" for many years to come; long after he read of his friend Percy's exclusion from society, as a man suspected of availing himself of his talents for "jumping the

cut."

THE TRAVELS AND OPINIONS OF MR. JOLLY GREEN.

CHAP. VI.

FOLLOWING my gloomy janitor-for such I felt he was-I retraced my steps through the gardens of the Tuileries: how changed were they now! But a few minutes before I stood within their precincts free as "the wild gazelle on Judah's hills," and now, like a second Caligula, led through the streets of Rome, I was a state prisoner, the victim, I doubted not, of a base conspiracy, with all but manacled limbs, though still untamed in spirit.

For purposes of his own, or probably fearing a popular tumult, the Sbirro avoided the Place du Carrousel, and issuing from the gardens on the opposite side, led me furtively along the obscure quays which border the darkly-flowing river, that moist refuge of the blighted heart in the last throe of its agony. We passed along a range of buildings which I afterwards understood was the winter palace of the tyrant, and is called the Louvre, and continuing our course straight on, at length reached the Pont Neuf, so fatally known in history as the Bridge of Sighs, where, had not my mind been pre-occupied with the bitter sense of my wrongs, I saw many things which might have given it materials for deep-seated and intense thought. As it was, there only flitted before my eyes visions of hapless animals of the poodle race awaiting the inexorable shears of the tondeur, in my ears there rang only the cries of the vendors of lemonade, and in my nostrils rose but the smell of the savoury kabaub, cooked in the open air, of which the Parisian has always been so fond since the day when his ancestors first learnt its value beneath the banners of St. Louis, on the parched plains of America. Oppression had not yet entirely dimmed my every faculty, nor injustice dulled my sense of hunger, -for I had set out that morning without my breakfast; but still, like Othello's villany, my perceptions were "yet confused,”—a condition of mind which possibly was increased by the effects of the deleterious Havannahs of Monsieur Moïse. But for this I might have taken some note of the grim discourse of the slavish tool of tyranny who had dogged my footsteps to perdition's verge. I have mentioned the general proneness of the French nation for conversation;-I can add, from my own experience, that it is indulged in under the most harrowing circumstances. This man-this delegate of a corrupt government-dared to address to me words of inquiry or observation, I knew not which. I turned a deaf ear to them, for I had not read the romances of Mrs. Radcliffe for nothing, and the scared familiar of the Inquisition, who had sought with wily tongue to lure me to confession, shrunk abashed before my firm silence. When he perceived my impassibility, he pointed to the ornament which I had purchased that morning, and which hung proudly glittering on my breast, a gilded bauble, "which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore," but against this also I was proof. It was clear that he wished me to offer him a bribe that I might regain my liberty, for venality finds no such mart as among the employés of the French government; but conscious in my right, and glorying in the name of a British prisoner, I strode unregardless on. I could hear the deep muttering of disap

pointed cupidity, but it fell on my ear like the withered leaf before the autumnal blast.

We crossed the Pont Neuf about halfway, till we stood beneath the statue of the warrior-king whose name is immortalised in the national anthem of France, the "Marseillaise" of monarchy, if I may be allowed the expression. Here we bid adieu to modern civilisation, and turning our faces from the sun, plunged into the dark obscure of that part of Paris which is called the city. I knew that they were leading me to prison, nor was I wrong, for a few minutes brought us to the "Palais de Justice," an edifice of which it may be truly said with Lafontaine, “that he who enters there leaves hope behind."

We ascended a lofty flight of steps, and traversing an immense hall, the ceiling of which is carved with Doric sculpture, and the pillars which support it are of the vaulted order, my truculent guide beckoned me to approach a low-browed portal which frowned mysteriously on one side of the hall. To disobey was madness, surrounded as I was by myrmidons who, I could observe, noted my minutest action, and I followed on. The "familiar” led the way, and we entered a dark chamber, filled with a gaping multitude, whose heavy masses formed an impenetrable background to the gloomy tableau. In this chamber several functionaries were seated, arrayed in sweeping robes, and wearing on their features the imperturbable expression with which the law invariably chisels its votaries. I was led into a small box and motioned to a seat-the French absurdly call it a bank—which I accepted with a dignified air, while a buzz of curiosity arose in the court. It is not often, I apprehend, that such a prisoner had been seen as the unflinching Jolly Green!

I turned my eyes towards the judgment-seat, and gazed hardily upon the arbiter of my destiny. He was a man of sallow complexion, in whose veins the warm life-blood of humanity was chilled beneath the icy fangs of time; no genial smile irradiated his countenance, no sympathy glistened in his eye; hard as the hiccory of his native plain, he sat the dumb image of inexorable fate.

After a few trifling cases had been rapidly disposed of, for there was a manifest eagerness in all present to see me put on my trial, my accuser stepped forth and harangued the judge, with a degree of volubility which I found extremely difficult to follow. From certain significant words, however, I gathered the substance of the accusation. I distinctly noted, that he spoke of the king-of my reading the opposition journal (for such, I presume, is Galignani's newspaper) in the gardens of the palace; and of the apostrophe which I made beneath the column of Napoleon, which, doubtless, he distorted into treason; and while he dwelt upon this latter circumstance, he pointed significantly to my person, tapping himself on the breast at the same time. To give weight to his assertions, I plainly heard him utter the well-known expression, "La Legion d'Hon-an oath to which a Frenchman invariably appeals on all occasions of great solemnity.

neur,

The judge frowned, and a loud whisper spread through the court; it was plain that I was about to be interrogated-perhaps, be submitted to the question.

I was ordered to rise. I did so.

Then followed the sickening formalities to which the innocent prisoner is always subjected. As clearly as I could make out, I was asked my