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28, 1863.] daughters shed floods of tears, and Sir John was as sulky as a bear for three weeks after—that Count Cochinski made such dazzling offers to Miss Leonora Fowler, when he came to stay with the Roosters, that she closed with him at once.

One day Reuben received a letter, of which the following is a true copy:

Hatcham Lodge, March —, 18—. ,—You darling old poky thing! I can just picture you now, going down the village, with your umbrella under your arm, to call on Widow Drum, that old lady who is so distressingly deaf that you have to shout to her as if you were hailing a ship. A ship did I say? That brings me to my news, which I won’t put, as horrid men declare we do, all in the postscript. My dear Reu, I am going among the Russian bears. Only think of it! Doesn’t it make you shiver? That great land of ice-palaces, fir-forests, wolves following the sledges, knouts, &c. But I can’t believe Count Cochinski is a Tartar. He is a most gentlemanlike man, speaks English with, oh! the least possible accent, and so young-looking; he has a daughter of eighteen, and looks only thirty-five!! He is very handsome, with small black mustachios (I never know how to spell that word). We sail from London for Hamburgh, as the Baltic is exceedingly dangerous at this season. I think Lady Rooster has (entre nous) behaved rather ungratefully, after all I have done for those darling girls, but I will not dilate on my private griefs. I will rather remain, ever Your loving Sister,

P.S.—After all, I must have a horrid postscript. I cannot go to London alone. I shall be utterly distracted with so many boxes, &c. You, dearest, must come too. It will do you good. You have actually never been to London. Write, like a darling brother, and say you will meet me at Eggleton Junction, on Wednesday morning next, for the 11.34 up-train (am I not commercially accurate?).

Reuben was a model brother, and met his sister at Eggleton. While he was waiting for the train, and setting his watch by the station-clock, the glass fell out, and was broken to pieces on the pavement. There was a quarter of an hour to spare, so he ran off to a watchmaker’s in Eggleton. The proprietor of the shop was out, but would be in in a minute, so the boy said. Reuben waited and waited, but the watchmaker did not come, so he left his watch in the shop, consoling himself with the thought that it was safer there than in his pocket amid the roguery of London. At last the train arrived, and a lovely face, set in a charming bonnet, smiled upon him from one of the carriage-windows. The commercial traveller opposite envied Reuben that resounding kiss. The loving pair reached London without adventure, and drove straight to Clucking’s Hotel, a hostelrie described in the advertisements of Bradshaw as being within five minutes’ walk of the Colosseum, the Bank of England, and all the theatres. Mr. Clucking probably labours under some optical delusion. The evening was spent by Leonora in making sundry purchases of a feminine character, which dipped so deeply into her purse that she begged her brother to discharge the hotel bill, promising early remittances from Russia. The Chanticleer was advertised to sail on the following morning, and at ten o’clock, on that eventful day, Reuben and his sister went on board. Count Cochinski, who was calmly pacing the quarter-deck, received Miss Fowler with cordiality, and her brother with lofty civility. Reuben soon began to find himself de trop. The Chanticleer showed no signs of speedy departure, but kept blowing off her superfluous steam in a recklessly extravagant manner, and receiving into her interior more barrels of porter than Reuben conceived all the English in Hamburg could drink in a twelvemonth. Leonora retired below, where, aided by the officious stewardess, she began to unpack her boxes and arrange her cabin. The Count continued to pace the deck in silence, so Reuben amused himself for awhile watching the cargo being taken in. Here, however, he was perpetually getting in the way, heavy chests were slung with a “By your leave, sir,” on to the deck within an inch of his toes, until at last, the second mate, an over-worked person, with a dirty pocket-book in his hand, asked if he was a passenger, and upon Reuben’s replying in the negative, said he’d better clear out of the gangway, if he didn’t want to do himself a mischief. The bewildered curate retired precipitately into the cabin to bid his sister farewell.

“Then you’ll pay the hotel bill, dear brother?” said she in the course of their parting words. “Have you money enough?”

“Oh yes, I’ve the whole of my quarter’s pay, seventeen pounds fifteen,” he replied. “I wonder the waiter let us go without paying.”

“But you’re to sleep there to-night,” rejoined Leonora: “besides, you look such a respectable old dear, they’d trust you anywhere.”

With a final embrace, and a formal bow to the Count on deck, Reuben took his departure.

Which of the sights of London should he go and see? was his next consideration. He hailed the first omnibus that passed, determining to settle the question there, as being a place of comparative solitude and seclusion. Two young ladies charitably contracted their crinolines, and allowed Reuben to plunge down between them. After he was fairly settled in his seat, he glanced shyly at his fair neighbours. Both were elegantly dressed and nice-looking. One was a brunette, something like Leonora; the other was a mild, placid, innocent-looking blonde, who sat with her eyes cast down, and her neatly-gloved hands clasped together, the image of a modern Madonna. Reuben was a prudent young man, and took the opportunity of being in such respectable company to examine his pocket-book. The contents were “in order,” as commercial men say. He folded the two sovereigns and the half-sovereign into the three five-pound notes, putting five shillings into his waistcoat pocket for casual expenses, as his other money had been exhausted by cabs and porterage, then replaced the notes and gold in his pocket-book, which he carefully lowered into the breast-pocket of his overcoat. In Cheapside the brunette got out, followed immediately by the blonde lady. Reuben proceeded as far as Charing Cross, where he alighted, and commenced sight-seeing in earnest. He visited the Polytechnic and Zoological Gardens; made one or two trifling purchases in the Pantheon, and then stared into