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 nine in the evening, they had a slight repast, and at ten o'clock precisely repaired to the cottage.

Here Aunt Eleanor received them as before, and when she had indulged in many expressions of gratitude, and Sylvester had reiterated his wish to be allowed to sit up with them, in vain, the reverend gentleman gave them his blessing, and he and his companion were left for the night.

But that friendship which existed the night before had vanished, They were no longer friends. Jones stood near the door with a basket in his hand, while the reverend gentleman sat by the fire.

To say that Jones much admired this arrangement, were to say that which is not exactly correct, lie did not much admire it. Nor could he conceive how long he should have to stand there. There was, moreover, no show of anything to eat that in his view looked ominous: still he did fondly imagine that the basket which he held in his hand contained something substantial and nice, of which he might by-and-by perhaps come in for a share. This, therefore, did not distress him much. But when he looked at his position as a servant, standing as he was in the presence of a master who, being indignant, might not, perhaps, even permit him to sit, he did not presuming to take a seat without permission think his case hard. It was, however, in his view, perfectly clear that he couldn't continue to stand there all night. He knew that he must drop some time or other, and that was, as far as it went, a comfort. He had not been accustomed to stand long in one position: still being resolved to keep up as long as possible, he had recourse to a variety of manoeuvres. Sometimes his whole weight was on his right leg, and sometimes it rested on his left: sometimes he planted one shoulder against the wall, and sometimes he planted the other; and thus, by virtue of moving about, twisting his hips, and vexing his spine, he managed to stand there for more than an hour.

At length, when he fancied that "drop he must," the reverend gentleman turned round, and said, "Now, sir, bring me that basket."

This was a great relief to Jones: as he took the basket forward, in the full conviction of there being something therein delicious, he felt reinspired with hope, but when the reverend gentleman on receiving it said, coldly, "That will do!" he returned to his corner, to contemplate the scene in a state of mind bordering on despair.

But even under these adverse circumstances, Jones could not curb his imagination. It dived into the basket, and there conceived a couple of ducks, a pigeon-pic, some bread and cheese, and the materials for punch. This he thought was not bad. Nor as a vision was it. It sustained him for a time, and when at length the reverend gentleman drew forth a bottle, he felt that that vision was about to be realised. One bottle only, however, was produced, and that was a peculiarly-shaped bottle. Jones had never seen such a bottle before. It wouldn't stand. But that it contained something nice, he felt fully convinced.

"Now, sir, hand me one of those tumblers," said the reverend gentleman. "The largest."

Jones with alacrity obeyed, and when the reverend gentleman had