Page:Monthly scrap book, for January.pdf/13

 in the centre of the "overright street," assumed a more sedate and business-like pace, and proceeded to the door. "It's late," quoth he, as the clocks around tinkled the tenth hour—"but never mind—the fellow! I'll switch him." So saying he applied his staff with great vigour to the stout door-pannels. A hollow sound, and several faint echoes succeeded, but no mortal answer was returned—"Ah! curse him! he's a-bed, is he?" said Darby, "Well that's the better—I'll have him up—I will, by the holy Salt! Och! it's worried you'll be to-night, Misther Grogan, I'll engage." The door was again assailed with redoubled vigour; and as soon as the echoes subsided, a light step was heard within, as if stealthily approaching the door. Darby waited a few moments, but the utmost silence prevailed—he knocked impatiently again—"Hollo! is any one there?"

No voice replied, and Darby repeated his terrible peal upon the door.

(To be concluded in our next.)

At a town in the west of England a club of twenty-four people assembled once a week to drink punch, smoke tobacco, and talk politics. Each member had his peculiar chair, and it was a rule, that if a member was absent his chair should remain vacant.

One evening at the meeting of the club there was a vacant chair, which had remained empty