last we reached's I walked boldly upstairs, humming the gambling air from Robert le Diable, determined, if I were challenged, to stake my life against a ducat. There were several gentlemen smoking in the room, and the fumes of their cigars at once affected my chest. I shall never forget the countenances of some of them when I began to cough. There were two or three at the roulette table who were mere lads, and after that cough they seemed to regard me as a ghost. They watched me as I moved about the brilliantly lighted rooms, and at length one, with the same red spot upon his cheek that I had, took up his hat and hurriedly walked out. It was some time before I could get any one to sit at the same table with me; but at last a haggard man, with sallow brow and unshaved chin, was introduced to me by Stapylton, and we began to play. I staked every penny I had on the first game, and won: I staked the doubled amount on the second, and lost. Then I pulled my hat over my forehead, shook hands with Stapylton, who was deep in a game, and went away.'

Breaking off his narrative, he threw himself back on his seat, clutched his hands spasmodically above his head, as if to ease some contraction of the chest, sipped his tea, and went on

F

'After I gained the street, I walked rapidly towards Westminster Bridge. Sick, houseless, and penniless, I contemplated Suicide. As I crossed from George Street to Parliament Street a sharp spasm seized me at the heart, and I had to rest myself against the door of the Telegraph Office to save myself from falling. A crowd quickly gathered around me, and a gentleman came up, and, seeing I was very ill, felt my pulse and told me to lean upon his shoulder. He half led half carried me to an hospital, not fifty yards distant, and here I was taken in for the night. The next day I was removed to Brompton. There I remained for six months, and at length left of my own accord.'

(More tea-more clutching of the hands above the head.)

'I left London-wandered anywhere by day, laid my head anywhere at night. It was a strange life, that hurrying through the country without aim or object! Now and then I would write something for the local paper of a provincial town through which I was passing, and so earn a shilling or two; but, as my disease increased, the effort of stooping to write became too great, and I had to give up the task. At length-like

wretch in the same condition-I joined a set of strolling players, wrote their bills, and appeared occasionally in any piece where I could be of use. You remember I always had a good voice, and the company discovering this, when I was not too ill I was sent before the curtain to give a comic song. The time came, however, when my voice entirely deserted me, and then, seeing I was a burden to the rest, I one night stole from the barn where we were all sleeping, and determined to come up to town. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and I well remember picking my way out of the place, over my slumbering companions, many of them with the paint still upon their cheeks, and their heads pillowed on their spangled robes. It was a dreary walk to London, but I got here at last. It is just a fortnight since I arrived, and I have managed--God only knows how!-to live since then. The cold nights we have had of late, however, have sorely affected me, and my last dream told me'

He broke off a moment. I couldn't speak although I strove.

'told me,' he continued, 'I should die tomorrow !'

I looked up, and saw the Dark Shadow was

upon him. He saw me start, and tried to smile. I prayed him to accompany me home, but he refused. I prayed him to divide with me my little stock of money, but his only answer was, 'It is too late!'

It is too late! My poor friend-my dear brother in letters-he who in his happier days was wont to set the table in a roar, died on the day to which his dream had pointed, and now

His space in all the pomp that fills
The circuit of the summer hills

Is-that his grave is green.

X.

Y

ANOTHER OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

OUNG FRED BUMPINGTON was the

proudest youth in our school. He had

a thorough hatred to trade (Bumpington senior was something in the Foreign Office, and Fred was his only child), and used to wonder how a boy could exist under the painful knowledge that his father was a chandler. Bumpington -who was as big as he was proud-was much respected by the school: had he been a little boy and ignorant of the divine art of which in those days Tom Spring was chief professor, Bumpington would have had his pride licked out of him during his first half. As it was, his lordliness grew with his growth and strengthened with his strength; when he used to walk out at the head of the school, and some of us would cast glances, sweet and sly, at the young ladies from Miss Gerund's