Original Tale. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF CHRISTOPHER CONGLETON.

Otago Witness, Issue 555, 19 July 1862, Page 7

Original Tale.

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF CHRISTOPHER CONGLETON.

CHAPTER XIV.

AN LVESING WITH ANCUI.NT CIIIViLRY.

The firm of Me^rs. Quirk and C;)., Letterpress, Copperplate, and Lithographic Printers, where plain and ormmeutal painting was executed in a workmanlike manner, consisted, firstly, of Mrs. Isabella Quirk, a widow lady ! who went to b»d in her mittens; secondly, of Miss Sally (oth rwise Miss Sarah) Quirk, a pre n;thlrely old young lady, in whose cup of life sharp acid had been liberally dissolved ; thirdly, of Mr. David Quirk, the only male representative of the firm (of whom more anon); and fourthly, of Mi >s Alice Quirk, a lass of nineteen, whose bright eyes and happy face shone like a gleam of sunlight in the gloomy house. The husband and lather of these, Mr. Faithful Quirk, had departed this world for a better some three months before my introduction to the establishment. For all the use he had be^n to society, he might have' taken his leave borne seven years before he actually gave up the ghost, being for that space of time confined, helpless and bedridden, to his home. The business had for these sesen years been carried on by his widow (she might have been called a widow even then) under the practical eye of one Mr. Peter Blake. But as Mr. David Quiik, male representative of the firm, aged one and twenty, had, upon his father's decease, entertained the idea that he was fully capable of superinteudinj: the business, the services of Mr. Kter Blake were dispensed with, to the infinite annoyance of Miss Sally Quirk, between whom and that gentleman a mild attachment was supposed to have existed for a considerable period of time. Not that it wis likely ever to have come to anything. Not that it ever took a tangible shape or form. Xot that it was ever expressed in words between the twain. But that, as it were, it had the effect of toning clown into a more youthful aspect the increving years of the blushing virgin. And now she pined away, lonely and forsaken What wonder that her voice occasionally had a raspy sound from the conflict of emotions within her tender breast ! What wonder tlirs her nose, sliaipened as it were upon the Grindstone of Disappointed Afleethn, should daily assume a more peaked and pointed appearance! Towards her mother this young lady's conduct was querulous; towards h»r brother, contemptuous ; towards her sister, disdainful. Her conduct to her mother may have been unwarrantable; to her sister unreasonable; but to her brother, it doubtless had a dash of justice in it. For, since the dismissal of Mr. Peter Blake, the business of Quirk and Co., was not earned on as efficiently as it might have been. David Quirk's time was so much taken up with rat-pit?, billiards, and skittles, that it was only by fits and starts he could afford to attend to 'the printing department of his business, and as a necessary consequence it was gradually falling into decay. One of the principal supports of the establishment was the contract it held for the printing of the Weekly Slasher, an organ devoted to every species of sporting in low life. But for this, the firm of Quirk and Co., might have shut up shop, without sustaining any considerable loss. It was, perhaps, a fortunate thing for me that I obtained admission into an office of this description, as 1 was enabled, without being apprenticed, to obtain a knowledge of the business. Mr. Whiteberry steadily assisted me, and as I made myself as useful and willing as possible, I soon got into favor with the firm, and was allowed to sleep on the premises. This materially lessened my expenses, and I was able to put by a little every week for future emergencj 7 .

It was, however, at the best, a dismal life. I look back to it with feelings of infinite satisfaction that I have escaped its thraldom. It was hard up-hill for me to accustom myself to it, but I have since had reason to congratulate mysoelf on the experience I gained during my novitiate in the office of the Weekly Slasher. As I grew older, I reproached mys.lf more and more that I had allowed the imposture in relation to myself to remain uncontradicted. But, after a time, a feeling of callousness crept over me, and I sometimes thought of it as if it really had occurred to some one else, instead of to myself. So some months passed, without the occurrence of a single event to disturb the even tenor of my life.

It was, as I have said, a dull monotonous state of existence. I used to rise in the morning at about seven o'clock, and, after a hurried breakfast, commenced the day's work with the broom. On these occasions Miss Sally Quirk would often waylay me, and imperatively order me to sweep up the kitchen, which at first T would do, but as her brother David, whenever it came under his notice, as imperatively ordered me to " tell Sally to lv.ng herself, and sweep up the kitchen herself," I grew to be regardless of her orders— to the amazed discomfiture of the young lady, who would regard me with a malevolent eye, as if the greatest satisfaction she could derive in life would be the twisting of my neck. After I had swept up the wl.ola establishment, and sorted the "p.ye," I would employ my time (if I had no eriands to run) in gaining a knowledge of the art of printing, until dinrer-time arrived. I would then proceed to a cook-shop hard by, anil purchase a quarter of a pound of boiled beef lor two-pi-nee half-penny, which I would have served up to me in a cabbage leaf, with a liberal supply of mustard. This, with a half- penny loat. and a cupful of cold water, would make me a very good dinner. Sometimes, when I was flush of money, I would treat myself to a half-pennyworth of currant pudding, or of ra:ne refection of a thick yellow pasty nature — the ingredients for the making of which I have never to this day discovered. The presiding divinity behind the cook-shop counter would serve me this comestible (also enclosed in cabbage-leaf) so smoking hot that I sometimes dropped it upon the floor, whereupon she would chuckle aloud with the most intense enjoyment. Dinner being finished, I would, in company with one or two of the apprentices, stroll to the river, where we passed the time in dodging one another over the barges ; at other times we would boldly jump into an unoccupied boat, and pushing oursehes out u\to deep water, have a few minutes' row on the cheap.

Of an evening now and then I used to visit the bar parlor of the Good Woman, in company with Mr. Whiteberry, whose varying temper, when under the influence of drink, afforded me matter for much contemplation. Sometimes he was despondently drunk, and on such occasions would talk so lugubriously as generally to impart a portion of his despondency to those around him. At other

times he was uproariously drunk, and had to he violently restrained from the committal of the maddest possible freaks. Most frequently he would be, as I first saw him, argumentatively drunk, and then nothing could stop the torrent of words with which he deluged the company. We were often accompanied by Mr. David Quirk, who, as regarded matters convivial, was on the most familiar - erms with all the workmen. He was the cause of a great deal of distress of mind to his family, as no arguments or persuasion could stop him in the headlong course of dissipation in which he was indulging. He was essentially a fast young man. ife wore fast trotvsers, fast waistcoats, fa&t coats.

He wore a fast neckkerchiof, in the centre ot

which was displayed the fastest of fast pins, being a representative of two diminutive jockeys, mounted on two impatient race horses, whose eyes, tails, and legs expressed as plainly as possible the determination to arrive first at the wiuning post or perish is

the attempt. Not only were his clothes fast, but his manner was fast, and ensured him easy access to those circles wherever fast young men indulge their favorite propensities. He wa-> looked upon by the elite of a certain portion of the community as the knowinrist of all knowing cards in th 3 mysteries of Boxiaiu, and, in a certain inysterio.u closet in the establishment, kept a liberal supplj' of bjxing oves. It was his wont to se luec tie im-

ary stranger to this sicrod spot, and there and *hci displaying the coireuts of his cup - board, ofL-r to »ive him the first tap on the nose for a pot of half-and-half, v/hieh was his maximum of noomhy bli3s lie hid the entrte to the Green Room* of certain Theatres of low repute, where he held the reputation of being a jolly good fellow, and, so far as spending his mo-icy was concerned, he wii a jolly good fellow with >ut the shadow of a doubt. How such a scapegrace could be horn in' sue!) parents as Mr. Faithful Q lirk and Mm. Isabella Quirk, is on? of those extraordinary tVeaks of nature for which there is no accounting. For his father (whose proper name was Reuben) had gaine 1 tlic soubrii/iicf of Faithful for his extreme carefulness and cl )se attention to all matters of business, urn! for his t>ober and serious attention to his private affairs; and his mother was one of thus .* sedate, precise, and prim kind of women, who would not walk at :f quicker rate than twelve mile an hour if their lives depended on it. Hut theie was not the slightest doubt that their only sou was a Scapegrace of the very highest order. He himself would ivit have disputed the fact if it had been m?ntionel to him, but would have assented to it as something creditable.

Being a seapjgncs of the very highest order, he on? evening too-: me to the stalls of tie lioyal Columbia Theatre. The theatrewas not open, and around its doors were ass.Tabled a vast crowd of hu:nin brings, of both sexes, and in visions styes of progression, from te*; years upwards, making a most vehement deuionstra'i >;i ag-iinst the panels. The prices of admission wfro : — Dre^ circle, one shilling, stalls ni.icpenoe, boxes sixpence, pit fourponce, gallery tw.ip.Mi.'e. Avoilinj the mob out Mile, David Q.iirl; conducted me down a dark narrow pipage, the exi-tcne of which must only hive been known to the initiated. It was so d.irk th it I raised several abrasions on my heal by collision with j'ltting beain-s, and after falling up three or four steps found myself in one of the dressing rooms of the theatre. Therein were congregated aWmt six individu ils "miking up" for the performance. One tremendous fellow, with a pair of magnificent moustachois done in cork, and a gigantic pair of c lives (1 discovered afterwards that they were not of nature's bestowing), ln- hi my companion welcome to the realms of Thespian s.rt, in a voice which soundod as if the spe-iker wis confined in a hogshead, a;id spoke through a b'ing-hole. Various nods and familiar greeting came from all in the room, and in a i'ew seconds we were as much at home a. if we had been bred and born in a Given Rojiu. I siy we, but I cannot conscientiously mclii le myself, for I was too lull of womkr at what I snv to presume to be familiar. There v,a< the tremendous fellow with the big calves, whom David Quirk accosted as Hob, and who accosted David as " Cully," arraying himself in a most magnificent pair of slashed yellow satin breeches, rather soiled from continual wear, but still retaining a great deal of splendor. Over his Herculean calves were drawn a pair of soded white cotton tights. Around his bulky waist was a flaming red silk sash, with enormous fringes, and a broad black belt, in which was ostentatiously displayed two daggers and three pistols, set out in symmetrical array. lie had on a ballet shirt of a doubtful white color, and over this a blue velvet jacket, with slashed sleeves and large brass buttons. Upon his head was carelessly thrown a peake 1 black hat, with a stained red feather, drooping over his capacious brow. He presented a most imposing appearance, and yet withal was filled with a charming con lescemion, partaking with the utmost affability of a draught out of the pewter proffered him by David. I did not hm c time to enter into an examination of the other individuals in the ro ).«, but they all appeared to have a most extraordinary/>e«c/i'/«/ for burnt cork, rouge, and filse calves. One fellow even was sticking piece-* of pluffy wool upon his nose and cheeks, smothering them with red paint, with which delectable article he was giving his eyebrows a treat. He was fitting a close-cropped carrotty wig upon his head as we went out of the room to secure a good seat in the front. There was nobody in the house, as we stepped down from the stage. The theatre was dimly lighted, and presented a most dismal appearance. The noise outside was terrific, but presently the doors opened with a great crash, and tin hungry amusement-seekers poured in. The pit and the gallery appeared to be in m»t favor with the populace, who in a short time occupied every available s;\at. The visitors to the stalls and boxes lounged in more slowly, but b}' the time the lights were turned up, the house presented a very respectable appearance, beinw filled in ev-Ty part. The contrast between the empty theatre and a* it was now, with a r feet sea of faces surging around me, was wonderful, and I had the opportunity of studying a perfectly new phase of human niture. One of the strangest features of the whole scene to me, was, to see numbers of people, immediately they were comfortably seated, pull out from some mysterious receptacle, blue pocket-hand-kerchiefs filled with sandwiches, biscuits and poloneys. The sight of these eatables appeared to possess the owners with a most insatiable appetite, for they immediately fell to and proceeded to devour them with fury, as if the only reason they had come to the thca're for was to gorge themselves to the fullest extent. Consequently, from one bench to another, invitations were passing to ha\j£ a poloney or a sandwich, which invitations were in many instances reciprocated by the production of flat stone bottles, which were speedily glued to many mouths, and gradually tilted in the air. The audience were

evidently full}' bent upon enjoying themselves, and vehemently applauded at every legiti • mate or illegitimate opportunity. Thu% when the lights were turned up, and a bright blaze broke out upon the living sea, there was much clapping of hands, stamping of feet, and other marks of approval. When the musicians straggled into the orchestra, they were also vehemently applauded, but it did not appear to me as if thw had the slightest effect upon those phlegmatic individuals who might have been by themselves in the Desert of Sahara for all the heed they paid to the

audience. The occupiers of the gallery were the most noisy in their demonstrations and peremptorily issued their commands with stentorian lungs, " Now, then, scrape up catgut," followed by a hoo-o-o-o of applause, or dissension (I could not well comprehend which) appeared to be a iinorite exclamation with theoc denizens of the clouds. "Up with the nig," " hoo-o-o-o-o," " scrape up, you (not to he mentioned) catguts," hooi.s,

yells, shouts, screams, snatches of songs, and rude imitations of the bagpipes, filled up the time until the band struck up v/ith a crash, the sound of which was speedily drowned beneath the roar of delight that followed. .. had now time to turn my attention to the bill, which David had purchased from a bloated old woman, who announced with the most praiseworthy persistency that she sold " Apples, oranges, nuts, ginger-beer ; bill of the play only a penny." The first thing that caughl my eye was the announcement that the distinguished melo-dramatic actor, Mr. Horace Herbert tfaint Herbert Fitzherbert, was now '• undergoing " an engagement, effected with him at an enormous outlay by the spirited proprietors of the Royal Columbia Theatre. This was his third appearance on the Columbia 's boards, and the piece in which he would

exhibit his transoen lent abilities was the thrilling and exciting m.-10-dranu of The I>kn:l Stain .-el Burner, or, Th' 3 Knight of the Sable Plume. The Ivuight of the JJio.).l Sc:ii:ij 1 Banne;, (for thi two hundred and thirtyseventh ti'iis) Mr. II mice Herbert Saint Herbert Fitz'urbort, us p'.Jiyo 1 by him with tremendous success at :i!l the Lo-i lon and Metropolitan Thcitres. E lith Plantaganet, by Miss Emily Trevor. To be followed by a Fas do FiscimMon, by that world-famed dnnseiv; Mdile. Ccjile ; a comic son,-- by Sim Jacobs, entitled The Jolly Drunke-i * Cobbler ; the Clog Hornpipe, by Mr. DlcVsey. The wh ne to onelude with the domestic drama, in tli.,e acts, (which his drawn tears from striij hearts, and been t'uo fortunate means of ■jforming thousands of misguiled iud"\ 'duals), entitled, The Trials and Vicissitudes of a Servant (J-irl, -which will wind up with a (Inn " Allegorical Tableaux in Colored '•"'ires. As I come to t'.K bottom of the prograni'ne, the music ceases; a bell rings, a shufilhg tV:os ])!,ice in the house, a moan-nTs breathless expectation, the b?Il ■rin a^ain, and the curtain rises on The IJlo Stained iJanner. S:ene First : A wood. In t!i2 distance t!i3 battlemsnted Castle of the PI intagenets. Enter two Ruffians, in leathern je> kins and butT gloves. Times are very bad with them. They want a pur.se full of gnlc l they want blood, and Ahr! t'ney wane R-r-r-r-i -revenge. They roll their eyes, tlioy Knash their teeth. What is that they see V The Castle of Plan tag met ! There sits tiie lordly tyrant who gr-r-r-inds his vassals to th? dust. Shall lie be allowed to go on in his distardly coursj? No! A thousand echoe3 catch up the enthusiastic declaration. No ! no! no! R-r-r-r-revonije ! IJ-r-r-r-revenge ! Ahr! Who cones here? As they live, it is the lovely Edith, the heiress to those baronkl hall. They'll r.ivish her from the domest'e hearth, and bear her senseless form to mountain wilds. ILi! ha! ha! Exit Ruffims. Knter .Edith, slowly and pensively. (A round of applause.) She bows, nnd tells ttie audience that she has just dis nounted i'nrn her snowwhite palfrey outside. This accounts for 1 coming h\ without a hit, an 1 wuh her h hanging down her hick over a white inns' frock. The spirkling foliagj of the Uv t'jinnted her t) a stioll. She sighs. Win is the stranger c he met nina days and n-hilf a2.'o upon this very spot ? She did mt see his fice, but the beitiug of her heart, the clouds w'thin tlie sky, the dew upon the gra->s, the s;'a r kli:ig colored birds, warbling delic'io^--notes o'er trelliced flow'rs, whisper to her t.i s-hc loves him. Why should !>he disgji-:e tlu secret? Ah! would he but come a^ai.i ! Could she but see once more his manly ibnn, she'd die conVit Cue to the musicians, w! j strike up a lively air, to whicli thj love] ■ Edith sings a lively song, cxp;essive of lr wish to quit the sordid world, ano with her love b;> whirled to ot'.ie. 1 lands. On .sorrow bent I'd die content it' h fl were i)y my side ; oh, take me, love, to ivahn-s above, and nnke me thy own bride. Enter Uuflims behind. They roam about the stage with stealthy steps. The /draw thvir knives, and breathe upon tlk-m. Expectation is in every eye. The Hum" ins advance. The high-horn maiden continues her song. The Ruflims retreat. They advance again. The house is breathless. Seize her! (Slow musij). Oh, spire me, spire me! she cries. Spire you, bold daughter of Plantaganet the Ruthless ! (Q'liok music.) Spare you ! Never! Did thy gory sire spaie my white-haired p-p-p-parent, when, with ! is bloody sword, ha clove him down from head to foot, and by that act sent him writhing in the dust ? Spare you ! Not if lightnings fhshed and thunders rolled — (Quicker music) not if all the powers of earth, sei, air, intervened their forma protecting, shall }ou be spared! R-r-r r-revenge! (Quickest music.) She struggles from their grasp. She falls upon her knees, and wafts an unaudible prayer into the centre of the chandelier. They drag her to her feet. The RulnanV forms are ber.t this way and that way, this way and that way again, in their efforts to secure their pr n ". They appear determined to rend her lov v form into small pieces, and running oil - t either end of the stage with .the fragme.i \ Help me, oh help me! A sudden tumult . * heird without, (Mu-.ic, fortissimo). Make way, there, make way, is heard, at least three yards from the spot. A rustle of agitation runs through the audience. Siie shrieks louder. I hear his loved step without, she cries. A roar of passion rumbles over the house, ;mi like a flash of lightning, a form of clephint n: proportions dashes in, and with one blow l,u - the two Ruffians dead upon the stage Ileicla.l in black mail. Ilis vizor is down, and towering in his helmet is a sable plume, lie supports Edith on o.ie arm; he raises the other aloft to the skies, and the curtain drops upon the tableaux, the whole theatre trembling with the applause that gicets the heroic deed. Vociferous cries for " Fitz Fitz," bring that hero to the frpnt of the curtain, lie iai.- - cs his vizor, an 1 wiping his brow with a snowwhite cambric, bows gracefully to his a linkers, and retires. On every side of me I hear expresiions of approval at the spectacle. Two 3 r oun«j ladies belaud me criticise the genius and grace of the great Horace Herbert Saint HcrbcM't Fitzherbert. de was a splendid fellow. Such eyes ! such hair ! such legs ! He was a duck of a man. These words interrupt somewhat the progress of my thoughts, which are trying to work out some meaning to what I have seen. The process is a long one, and is nothing near finished when Act the Second (scene, a hall in the castle ; appointments, two chairs and a deal table) introduces Plantaganet the Ruthless, whom I dh • cover is the big-calved man I saw dressing ' the Greenroom. He looks very ruthless an I very fierce ; and is accompanied by the pair of dead Ruffians, who now appear as Retainers. I recognised them by their buff boots. From a confidential conversation between the trio, I learn that Plantaganet the Ruthless is not the rightful owner of the bat demented castle, Seventeen years ago he killed a noble princ • in cold blood, and murdered his beautiful clv^-yild, the last, last scion of a noble race. O, nagony ! He beholds their mangled corses, he sees the death sweat ber-reaking on their brows. The demon ef remorse is tearing at his \itals. Oh, would he could recal the past, and restore the two wooden chairs and deal table to their rightful owner ! Hut it is too late, and Ha! ha! ha! he will die as he has lived, a bold marauder. Enter the Comic Man, with the pUiify wool upon his cheeks and nose. Ilis entrance is the signal for a burst of merriment. He makes a grimace, and the audience goes into convulsions. lie does a double shuttle, and the applause is deafening. When silence is restored, lie addresses Plautagauet the Ruthless. >Speaking through his nose, he informs the tyrant that a gentleman iv black, the image of his grandmother, with a ragged handkerchief tied upon a pole for a liag, is without, and demands admission. How now, vnrlct ! frowns PlautaganuL. How ? replies the funny man, Why, through the door to be sure. Hoars of laughter greet this sally. You jest, sirrah, gloomily observes the Ruthless. Jest what 1 said to him, replies the Comic Man, and the two young ladies behind me wipe their eyes, and declare it is quite side-splitting. Expressing his determination to cast the intruder into the moat, Plantaganet retires to carry his threat into execution. Enter Waiting Maid, with small apron, and short petticoats, as was the fashion of waiting maids in £the days of chivalry. Between her and the low comedy man an amusing dialogue takes place, followed by a dvz' , "with my rumti-iddity-idq," and concludi"^ with a dance. Other tragic scenes and com":; s. cues follow- The plot is thickening rat. ier too fast for my limited comprehension, and 1 have given up all hope of unravelling it. The Knight of the Blood-stained Banner has been thrown into prison, afttr a desperate fight with eight stout retainers, and is released by the Lands of the lovely Edith, to whom he sweats

etc r- nl fealty. The last scene is the same as the ii--.!, a wovl. with tke battleinented castle in the define-. IM.mtaganet the Ruthless ctrui-- 3 . 1 1 3 is miA with rage. His pri-umer h\* e-c.--.pdd. ![<e gnashes his teeth. He'll «'i: -'i t!i ■ wide worl f through, but he will iiiU him. [' Jtirpj.* ! Ye search not lon'^. Behold him here ! He enters, the Knight o." the Sable Plume At length we stand front to front. Bick to thy teeth the lying words. Villian ! Defend t!]y't<elf ! They fight to music. One, t\v >, up: one. two, down; one, two, three, four, sideways. They turn round, and, when they meet, slash their 'swords terrifically. The gallant Knight is getting the worst of it. He is forced upon one knee. He recovers his po^icion, and h forced upon the other. lie fights round the stage in this position. By a herculean effort he gains his feet. The swords ilish fire. Ah, the usurper yields ! He stumbles-. He lies prostrate on the ground. Over him glares the Knight. Recreant, be( thy miserable life ! NVver ! Die then, remorseless tyrant ! A piercing shriek resounds without, and the next instant Edith interposes her protecting ."> n. Spare him, oh> spare him, he is my f-f .'-",> tlicr. The sword drops from his nerveless grasp. He bursts into tears, and, kneeling, supports the bead of the Ruthles?. It is too late. The death-rattle is sounding very loudly in his throat. The Knight of theSvile Plume raises his vizor. Ah, what is that s'jir upon thy brow ? Avenging heave.i ! It is his c'jild These posscsjio.is are thine. Take them. Take my daughter. Her 1 >ye will recompense for her father's hate. Ber-ber-b rless you. my children! 1 die hap-p'ip-pap-pappy ! Which he prooee Is to do in the most; approved style, by h'vi'ig flat on the broad of his back, and stretching out his arms and legs to their fullest extent. Thus ended the Blood Stained Banner; or, the Knight of the Sable Plume ; though, what the first title had to do with the play rem tins for ever a mystery. The Pas de Fascination by that world-famed dans'tH^, Mdile. Cjcile (a young lady with a tremendous development of muscle in he;- le.>;s) ; the Jolly Drunk-e.i Cobbler, by Sim Jacobs, dressed in appropriate costume, with a rod night-cap and shortpipe; and the Clog Hornpipe, by M_. Dickscy, were eminently successful. I did not see much of the he.irt-'-stirnnij drama of The Trials and Vici--.it uJes of a Servant Grirl, as two tail individuals insisted up >v standing up in front of me. Cut over their shoulders 1 saw the rays of the Allegorical Tableaux in Colored Fire->, which allegory may have certainly conveyed a good iikkml, but hid a deei'led sulphureous smell.

Mr. David Qujrk had not been wiili me during tli j whole of the performance, having occasionally retired to whet his whistle behind the scenes. The ciUei'tunment being concluded,^he expressed his intention of visiting tiie Ci Icr CVlhr, and treating me to a jolly good supper, of which I was not sorry, as i was very liungrv, In company with two or three- of the thentt-ie.il>;, we therefore wended our way to the cider cellar, which we found filled with a motley company of gormandisers, who were citing with a great deal of noise. Ordering a cln;> lor me and oysters (to commence with,) for himself and theatricals, David Quirk bade me fall to. Accordingly I fell to upon the chop and potatoes, when all at once 1 heard a voice which sounded strangely familiar. '• You will be kind enough," spoke the voice, apparently to the waiter, " to bring me i de\ illed kidney, and to look sharp about it. My bowels yearn for food." He had no time to say more, for our cj T e3 meeting at that moment, caused \\h speech to be suddenly arrested. My consternation was not less than his, and 1 sat open-mouthed gazing at the individual I saw before me. (To be continued. J