an ugly laugh, and exclaim, "I dessay; very sorry for poor Ben, ain't you, Poll ?"

"Sorry? of course I am. So ought you to be; he's your brother!" my mother would answer. "Ba-a-a! you take me for a poor, soft-headed fool, don't you?" would be my father's next remark. "Don't I know you? Haven't I remarked it, over and over again? Turkey's the place for you, marm!"

There must have been another dreadful mystery couched in this sneer about "Turkey;" for, the first time my father ventured to mention it, my mother flew at him like a tiger, and shook him by the collar of his jacket, at the same time screaming out at him talk of a sort which I did not understand, but he evidently did, and which, combined with the shaking, seemed to completely astonish and take him all aback, making him look quite pale and cowed-so much so, that there was an end to the row, and father took up his cap and went off.

If, however, my poor mother imagined that she had effectually conquered him of his sneering about Turkey, she was grievously mistaken. Without doubt, my father had been turning the subject ́over in his mind, and upbraiding himself for being such a coward as he had shown himself. The very next evening there was another row, and scarcely was it commenced when father called her something, and told her to " go to Turkey!" Presuming, as I suppose, on her previous success, mother flew at him again; but this time he was cool, and prepared for her. He caught her a hit in the face that sent her staggering to the fender. "You won't try that again, my beauty," said my father.

And she did not. Whenever he spoke of the eastern country in question as being a proper place for her to reside in, (which was neither more nor less than every time he quarrelled with her,) she would make no reply save a look of contempt, and utter a little laugh that set my father foaming almost.

Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Eliza lived in furnished apartments, in a street somewhere near St. Martin's Lane, Westminster. They ate and drank of the best, and wore such fine clothes as made everybody in Fryingpan Alley stare when, by a rare chance, they came to see us. The business in which Ben Ballisat (my name is James Ballisat, at the reader's service) was engaged was a flourishing one. Each succeeding visit saw him richer than the preceding; till, finally, he came wearing kid gloves and patent-leather boots, while Aunt Eliza was attired in a dress of peach-colored silk, and a bonnet that excited in our alley a universal hum of astonishment and admiration.

Occasionally, my mother went to see Aunt Eliza. She never seemed to care about seeing Uncle Ben, and that was easily avoided if she chose her time; for my uncle invariably went out at about three in the afternoon, and remained out until late. He told Aunt Eliza that he held a situation at a fashionable tavern at the west-end of the town, where there were billiard tables kept.

had great gold ear-rings in her ears; but she looked very pale and unhappy,) she held up her finger, and pointed back up the stairs she had descended.

"Ben's out, isn't he?" asked my mother. "Hush! no, he's up-stairs," replied my aunt. "What! Has he left his place, then; or is he ill ?"

"No; he's still in his situation, and he's well enough," said Aunt Eliza; "but he's been getting tipsy again. I'm sure I don't know what is coming to him; he keeps me sitting up night after night, and it is breakfast time before he comes home. It was ten this morning when he came home in a cab, too tipsy to stand. He's lying on the bed asleep, now, just as he came home."

We went up-stairs, and mother went into the bedroom with Aunt Eliza, to take her bonnet off, and I went in after them. There I saw Uncle Benjamin, lying across the white bed, and under the white curtains, with his muddy boots on his feet, and wearing his coat, which looked as though he had had a tumble in the gutter.

"He's been lying like that since he came in," said Aunt Eliza.

"And hasn't he had anything to eat ?" said my mother.

"He has been asleep all the time, and I don't like to wake him. It makes him so dreadfully cross to wake him."

"Well, if he was my husband, I should wake him, and give him a strong cup of tea."

"But, my dear, I can't do that," returned my aunt. "The cupboard is empty, Polly. I wish he would rouse; we can't have any tea until he does, for I have not got any money."

"Perhaps he is no richer than you are; how do you know you will be better off for money when he wakes than you are now? It's about ten to one that my Jim has a single penny when he comes home drunk," observed my mother, who, now I come to think of it, seemed rather pleased to have found out that fine gentleman Ben was, after all, no better than her Jim in some respects.

"No fear of that," replied Aunt Eliza, pridefully; "Ben has always got plenty of money, that's one comfort. I know that he has got some loose silver in his waistcoat pocket, for I heard it rattle when he lay down. You can see that he has. Look, Polly, that left-hand pocket is quite bulgy with it."

"Well, of course, we all have our own way of managing," said my mother (we had returned to the front room by this time,) "and you have your way, Liz; but all I know is, that if I had a husband asleep and tipsy, with a pocketful of money, and if I had no money and wanted a cup of tea, you wouldn't catch me sitting like a dummy until it happened to please his lordship to wake up."

This, however, could have been nothing but foolish bragging on my mother's part. She touch a penny of my father's money while he was asleep! She dare not approach him to loosen his neckerchief when he came home helplessly, speechlessly tipsy, and lay sprawling over a chair, with his head all askew, and snorting and gasping at every breath.

"I liked it well enough," replied Uncle Benja

min.

"But wasn't it very nice, Ben-extra nice ?" "Get out with you," said Uncle Ben, laughing;

"What would you do, then, Polly?" asked Aunt Eliza.

"Do! why, help myself."

"It would serve him right, certainly; and if I thought he would not make a fuss about it

"Lor', what nonsense," interrupted my mother. "Where's the harm? What's his is yours, isn't it? But please yourself; don't let me give you advice that may get you into trouble; you know Ben's temper better than I do, of course. He's like all the rest of 'em, I suppose-shows a bit of the devil when he's scratched."

"Oh! I'm not afraid, Polly; don't think that. If he has any of the devil in him, he never shows it to me."

"I'll tell you what we will do for a lark, Liz, if you like," said my mother, presently. "One of us will creep in and take enough money out of that waistcoat pocket to buy something very nice indeed for tea-something that will make him think how kind and good-natured you are; and then, when he has eaten it and we have got him to say how much he liked it, we will laugh at him for standing treat without knowing it. What is there that he likes very much, Liz ?"

"Well, there's pickled salmon," replied Aunt Eliza, laughing, and readily agreeing to the joke; "he greatly inclines to that when he wants to sober himself; or there's lobsters, which he likes better still. But lobsters are so dear."

"Never mind," said my mother, "we'll have a lobster; if you are afraid, Liz, I'll take the money out of his pocket, and you shall go and spend it." So, creeping quietly on tiptoe into the room where Uncle Ben lay still asleep, my mother presently returned with a half-crown and a shilling in her hand.

แ

"Here is the money, Liz," said my mother; now, you run away and buy a lobster-a big one, mind—and what else you want, while I make the kettle boil."

The lobster was bought, and when the tea was all ready Uncle Ben was awoke. Aunt went in to wake him, and, as we could hear, she told the truth when she said that it made him cross to be awoke out of his sleep. He grumbled and swore at a tremendous rate, until aunt made him understand that we were in the front room, and then he moderated his tones, and presently made his appearance in his shirt-sleeves and his slippers. At first he seemed ashamed that my mother should have found him in such a disgraceful state, and was snappish in his answers to aunt; but he grew better-tempered when he sat down to the lobster, and laughed and told us some funny stories, at which my mother and aunt seemed greatly amused. On the whole, it was as jolly a tea as one could wish to sit down to. When it was at an end, and my uncle had withdrawn from the table, said Aunt Liza, as she was preparing to take away the tea things

"Well, now you have finished your tea, Ben, perhaps you will tell us how you liked it ?"

"But wasn't it a lovely lobster, Ben?" asked my mother.

"I don't mind confessing to you that it was a lovely lobster, Polly," replied Uncle Ben; "but I mustn't do as much with Liz. You don't know how artful she is. If I was to say to her that I liked it very much, she would not only want me to give her back the money she gave for it, but something in addition for the trouble of getting it." Then turning to his wife, he continued"Thank'ee for your lobster, Mrs. Extravagance. I'm glad to see you can afford such luxuries; I can't."

So saying, he pulled out a handsome cigar-case, and lit a cigar with the air of a man on perfect good terms with himself. This was capital sport for my mother and Aunt Liza, and they laughed very heartily over it.

"It is good to see the clever ones taken in once in a while; isn't it?" said my aunt.

"What do you mean, taken in ?" asked Uncle Ben, pausing between the puffs of his cigar. "It was a lobster, wasn't it?"

"Yes, and you paid for it, you goose," laughed my mother.

He laughed too, but it was plain that he did not exactly see where the joke was. "I see," said he; "you mean to say that I shall pay for it in the long run. Not the least doubt of it."

"No: we don't mean anything of the sort," replied my mother, still laughing; "we mean that it is already paid for with ready money—with your ready money, Ben."

"My ready money!"

"Not half an hour ago," said both women, clapping their hands in great glee, to see how foolish he looked.

"Rubbish!" said Uncle Ben; "I haven't paid for a pen'orth of anything since I've been home, I'll swear. What ready money are you talking about?"

"Some of that you've got in your waistcoat pocket, Benny, dear," answered his wife. "Polly took it out and I spent it."

If he did not see the joke now, he never would see it. Evidently something came home to him with appalling suddenness, but it wasn't anything funny. His face went white, as though he were about to faint and fall, and unknown to him, the cigar dropped from between his lips and lay smouldering on the new hearth-rug. "Out of my pocket-my waistcoat pocketwhile I was asleep!" stammered he. "Out of which pocket? which? which ?"

"The left-hand pocket-yes, that one, (he clapped his hand on it.) Not much, dear; only threeand-sixpence, Ben-a shilling and a half crown. I shouldn't have thought of it, only Polly "

"Hang Polly and you too!" interrupted my uncle, fiercely, bustling about in a tremendous hurry, and putting on his coat and hat. "I want to hear none of your infernal excuses; tell me where you palm-where you passed the half-crown and the shilling?"

"The fishmonger in Castle Street had the halfcrown, and the grocer next to the trunk shop had the shilling," replied my Aunt Eliza, beginning to cry. "Don't be angry, Ben; I'll never do it again."

"Then you are a great fool, Liz," spoke my mother, who was much put out to see the savage way in which Uncle Ben was going on. "Never cry about nothing, girl. Why, what harm have you done?"

"What harm!" repeated Uncle Benjamin, furiously.

'Yes, what harm?" replied my mother, coolly. "I'd be ashamed if I were you, Ben; you, with a pocketful of money, making all this fuss about a trumpery three-and-sixpence. Anybody, to hear you, would think that your money was bad, and that you were afraid of its being brought back to you by the people who had taken it."

Without doubt this was a random shot, but it hit the mark most cruelly. Uncle Benjamin was walking the room to and fro in a bewildered manner when she began to speak, but her words brought him suddenly to a dead standstill. He faced round at mother paler than ever, and with his eyes filled with tears, and laying one hand on her shoulder, he shook his fist in her face:

"You cruel wretch," cried he; " you wicked wretch! you knew it all along! you knew it, and you came here purposely to sell me."

And as though really she had been guilty of so base a thing, and they who had bought him were in a hurry to complete the transaction, there came a single rap at the street door even while he was speaking. Hearing the knock, Uncle Benjamin made a few hurried steps towards the passage, but before he could reach it the street door was opened by the landlady; and in walked a fishmonger, and a grocer, and a policeman.

"Beg pardon, sir, and ladies both," said the policeman, entering the room with the other two men, and putting his back against the door; hope we don't disturb you. We've merely called to see if you happen to have any more of this sort of article to dispose of. If so, I'll take it off your hands without further trouble."

As he spoke, he held out a bright new shilling and a half-crown in the palm of his hand.

Uncle Ben was evidently not unprepared for something of the sort. Oh, yes," said he, in a loud devil-may-care voice; "it's all right; you're come to the right shop, my man, for that sort of coin. I can change you a twenty pun' note if you don't object to take gold as well as silver. Look

here."

And so saying, he took from his waistcoat pocket, and from a pocket inside the breast of his waistcoat, several little packets of money done up in soft white paper, and all as spick and span new as the shilling and half-crown the policeman held in his hand. As he recklessly flung down the little packets, the papers burst, and the coins went rolling and chinking amongst the cups and saucers in the tea-tray at a tremendous rate.

"That's the lot, my friend," said Uncle Benjamin, addressing the officer, and at the same time clasping his hands together. "And now, if you've got such a thing as a pair of bracelets about you, I'll thank you to slip them on me quick. If you don't you may have to book a worse charge than that of smashing against me." Luckily, the policeman did not miss the signi

ficant glance with which Uncle Benjamin regarded my mother as he spoke, nor that his eyes, with a dangerous expression in them, shifted from her to a broad bread-knife lying handily. In a twinkling the handcuffs were produced from the officer's pocket, and Uncle Ben's wrists locked securely together.

It was a perfectly clear case against the passer of counterfeit coin, and Uncle Ben was sentenced to transportation beyond the seas for the term of his natural life. There was no help for it but that my mother should be a witness in the case, and the least she could make of what she had to say told strongly against him, and made him grin with hate and grate his teeth as he stood there in the dock listening to her. He had got it into his obstinate head that she had sold him, and nothing could shake his opinion.

"That is my own brother's wife-that is," spoke he, when my mother had given her evidence. "That's my own brother's wife," said he, at the same time showing her to the people in court with his pointed finger. "She comes to my house, and she eats my bread, and sits, and laughs, and talks with us, and all this after she has set the trap. She wheedles me and my innocent wife, who, as true as there is a Lord above us, knew no more of my ways of getting money than her unborn baby. She comes to us, and eats, and drinks, and laughs, and talks, till presently, them as she had sold me to comes and takes me. Bad luck to you, Polly! Beware of her, Jim!" (my father was in court to hear the trial,) “she is a bad one.”

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH THE READER IS MADE ACQUAINTED WITH AN OCCURRENCE WHICH HAPPENED ON A MEMORABLE FRIDAY.

It is my sincere belief that my mother no more deserved to be stigmatised as Judas, through her connexion with that unlucky business of Uncle Ben's, than the reader's respected self; at the same time, I am bound to admit that my father appears to have thought otherwise, and for my own part I hardly know whether to wish that such was really his impression. If so, it was some excuse for his brutal behaviour towards her. Only some, however; not enough, by a very long way, to justify him in beating, and taunting, and worrying her to death. And that's what it came

to.

At the same time, I must do my father the justice to state my opinion, that while he was bullying and beating her he did not have it in his mind that he was killing her. I am willing to give him credit for thinking that she was of the same hardy and enduring kind as the majority of the women living in our alley. I judge so, from many reasons; from the one which I am about to relate more than any other.

It was on a Friday afternoon, in the summer time, that, coming in from play in the alley, I made my way up-stairs to the front room in which we lived, and, to my great astonishment, was peremptorily refused admittance by a person of the name of Jenkins, who with her husband lodged on the floor below ours, but who on this occasion was in our room. As I turned the latch, I could

hear her hurrying towards the door; and putting out her head, she very sharply requested me to run and play, as no little boys were wanted there. I recall with regret the fact that I, smarting under a sense of indignity put on me by Mrs. Jenkins, and further exasperated by hearing the lock click as she turned the key, began to bawl my loudest, and to batter and kick the door, demanding of my mother to turn out Mrs. Jenkins instantly, and to cut me a thick slice of bread and treacle. Presently, however, I was calmed. My mother came to the door.

"Don't make mammy's head ache, Jimmy," said she kindly. 'Mammy's ill, dear. Don't cry. Buy a cake, Jim."

And hearing a metallic sound at my feet, I looked down and saw that she had pushed a farthing through the chink at the bottom of the door; so I went off and bought a brandy-ball.

It was near my father's time for returning from the market when I went indoors again. Just, however, as I reached the first landing, there came a hasty creaking of boots behind me, and in an instant I was overtaken and passed by a tall gentleman in black clothes, who took the stairs two at a time, as though in a mighty hurry, and arriving at our room-door, as I could plainly hear, rapped at it and went in, closing the door behind him. This, of course, was a settler for me. I sat down in a corner of the stairs to wait until the creaky boots came down again.

But they didn't come down, and I waited and waited until I dozed off to sleep, and so my father (who that evening happened to be later than usual) found me. He had been drinking a little, I think, and began to bluster and talk loud, asking me where the something my mother was, and why the something else she did not take better care of me.

"Mother's up-stairs, father," said I.

"Up-stairs! and leave you laying about on the stairs to be trod on! We'll thundering soon see what that means."

And raging like a bull, he was stamping up the stairs, when I called after him—

"There's somebody up with her, father." "Somebody! Who ?"

"A gentleman with ".

"A what! a gentleman ?"

"A gentleman with a white thing round his neck, and creaky boots. Mrs. Jenkins is up there, too, father."

Hearing this explanation, my father turned slowly back, laughing a little, and tossing his head.

66

"Come on, Jimmy," said he, softly, taking me up in his arms; we don't want nothing to say to Mr. Gentleman. I know who he is, Jim. Let's come down to old Jenks, and see what he's got to say about it."

So we went down and knocked at old Jenkins's door. At first it seemed that there was nobody within; but when father knocked again, louder, Mr. Jenkins made his appearance, rubbing his eyes as though he had been awoke out of a sleep. He laid hold on my father by the jacket-sleeve and pulled him into the room.

"You haven't been up, Jim, have you ?" asked he, eagerly.

"No, I'm just a-goin'," replied my father; "what's up? anything the matter? Anything uncommon, I mean?"

"Beggar the things! to think that you should have gone past the door and me not hear you," replied Mr. Jenkins, evasively.

"Gone past the door! why shouldn't I?" asked my father, beginning to look serious.

"Come in, that's a good fellow, and I'll tell you all about it. You must know, Jim, that I promis ed my old woman that I would lay wait for you on the landing, just to give you a hint like; but you see, Jim, I get up so jolly early, and you was so late to-night before you came home, that I""A hint of what?" interrupted my father.

Dozed off, I suppose," continued Mr. Jenkins, nervously. "I wouldn't go up, Jim, if I was you. Fact, that's what I was laying wait to tell you; leastways I ought to have done. My old woman is up there, you know. She said she would when it happened. Bless you, the place was full of women till the doctor came, and then says he, 'Which of you may I regard as this poor creature's nuss? Will you be so good as to regard me as such, sir?' said my old woman. so,' said the doctor; and now all the rest of you hook it, for this is, I am sorry to say, a case that requires the greatest amount of uninterruption.' Them wasn't the exact words, but my old woman can tell you. He turned 'em all out, howsomever."

་

'I will

"Why, course he did," answered my father. "Get out with you, trying to frighten a fellow. Why, aint you old enough to know that they always do turn 'em out when they find a pack of 'em chattering and jawing together ?"

"What's the time, Jim ?"

"After six-half-past," my father replied, beginning to whistle, as though to show his superiority to Mr. Jenkins's ungrounded croaking.

Half-past three-half-past four! Ah, he's been up there, barring the time he run home and back again to fetch something-he's been up there four hours-four solid hours, Jim. That's a good while, don't you know?" observed Mr. Jenkins, wagging his head seriously.

"That aint no manner of odds, I tell you," maintained my father, stoutly; they always do stay a long while. Why, when this young shaver as I've got in my arms was born ".

"Oh! I never met such a fellow for argument as he is," ejaculated Mr. Jenkins, distressfully turning away, and making a pretence of mending the fire. "Talk about breaking it to him gradual! It 'ud puzzle a lawyer to do it." Then turning in desperation, and with the poker in his hand, towards my father, said he—

"Since you must know, Jim Ballisat, there's something wrong up there;" and he jerked his thumb towards the ceiling. "How wrong?"

Altogether wrong, Jim. wrong."

Al-to-gether

It wasn't Mr. Jenkins's words, so much as the way in which he delivered them, that seemed to impress my father. He had no heart for further argument. He took off his hairy cap, and lowered himself down on to a chair by the window, with me on his knees.

"When was she took ?" he presently asked. "A little afore tea-so I'm told," replied Mr. Jenkins.

"If it had been on a Sunday I should have been at home," observed my father; "p'r'aps it's best as it is, though. She didn't want me, I'll wager it, Jenks."

"A-askin' and a-wantin' to see me!" replied my father, huskily, and after a considerable pause. "Well, that is rum! Don't it strike you as being rum, Jenks ?"

"Aint I been trying to make you understand how rum it all is ?" replied Mr. Jenkins.

"Ah! but that part in pertickler. A-wanting me and asking after me these three hours! Why, she knows that I'm never home until five. What makes her in such a hurry, I wonder? It's about the rummest thing I ever heard tell of:"

"You'd say so if you had heard a few of the queer things she has been saying," returned Mr. Jenkins. "Oh! I can't tell you half, even if I had a mind to. P'r'aps she's light-headed." "Not she," replied my father, emphatically. "What queer things did she talk about? You might tell a fellow, Jenks."

"Oh, you never heard! I want him to kiss me,' says she. 'I want him to hold my hand in his and kiss me. I want to be good friends with him before I go,'" said Mr. Jenkins.

I believe, now that the ice was broken and the old fellow had gained courage, that he would have favoured my father with a repetition of some other queer things my mother had given utterance to; but hearing as much as he had, my father got up hastily from his chair, and after walking up and down the room two or three times, (so softly that you could scarcely hear the fall of his hob-nailed boots upon the bare floor,) presently halted, with his back to Mr. Jenkins and his face towards a picture of the Burning of the Houses of Parliament that hung against the wall. Several times I thought that he was about to put his cap on, but he never got it higher than his eyes.

manner.

"Of course it will be good," said my father. "She'll come if you call her, won't she?"

Mr. Jenkins looked very much as though he wasn't quite sure of that. With a delicacy and consideration that did him honour, he did not trouble my father with his private reasons for suspecting that his wife might not respond promptly and cheerfully to his summons; but the fact was, he had already once in the course of that afternoon ventured on exactly the same service as that my father now requested of him. He had gone up to make inquiries as to when it was

All the time Mr. Jenkins was creeping up the stairs, my father continued staring steadfastly at the Burning Houses of Parliament, his chest heaving (as I could tell by the painful pressure of the pearly buttons on his waistcoat against my legs) as though he found it tremendously hard work. We heard the door overhead open, and Mrs. Jenkins say, "I heard him; I was just coming;" and down she came along with her husband.

She had her apron to her eyes as she came down; and as soon as ever she entered the room where we were, she threw up both her hands, and began moaning and shaking her head, as though the scene she had just left was woeful enough, but, borne in mind and taken together with the spectacle which now met her gaze, was too excruciating for human endurance, and cut her up completely. She sank into a chair, and covering her head with her apron, rocked, and choked, and sobbed in a way that frightened me very much.

"Has mother got up yet, ma'am?" I asked her. But the circumstance of my addressing her seemed to throw her into acuter agony even than before; such, at least, might be fairly assumed from her behaviour.

"Has she got up? No, my poor lamb," she gasped; "no, you poor motherless orphan, you! She'll never get up again."

For a moment my father withdrew his gaze from the Houses of Parliament, and looked at Mrs. Jenkins as though he had something to say; but he said nothing. He hastened back with all speed to the conflagration, indenting my calves with his pearly buttons most cruelly.

"She's sinking fast, Jim !" pursued Mrs. Jenkins. "The doctor says that it is only her sufferings that keeps her alive; and that when they are over, which is expected minute by minute, it will be all over."

Having thus, with many gasps and chokings, delivered herself of the dreadful intelligence, Mrs. Jenkins renewed her rocking and moaning, while her old husband walked round her and hugged her, to comfort her. As for me, although my mind was too childish to grasp the full meaning of what Mrs. Jenkins told us, I found quite enough in it to frighten me; so, slipping down out of my father's arms, I ran to Mrs. Jenkins and buried my head in her lap.

No movement of mine, however, or of Mrs. Jenkins, or of her distressed husband, could distract my father's attention from the picture against the wall. His interest in it appeared to become more absorbing each moment, so that his forehead presently sank down upon it; and between the fitful pauses in Mrs. Jenkins's lamentations, a strange noise of "Pit! pat! pit!" could be plainly heard. The picture of the Burning of the Houses of Parliament was a cheap and flimsy affair, and, being gummed only at the top, the heat had caused its bottom part to curl up, scrollwise. My father leaning his head against the wall, I think it must have been his tears dropping into this scroll that caused the sound of "Pit! pat!" Suddenly, however, and by a tremendous effort, he seemed to smother his grief; and, taking his pocket