some chums in Australia who get on, and some who don't. Bless you, it is just the same as at home. Your brother, Cicely, my dear, would get on anywhere. A man like that is born to conquer the world. Yours, Chris, nowhere. Not but what he is a splendid fellow, Cicely, this lover of yours, full of pluck, dexterity, and strength; believe me, we are proud of him. I, too, am one of the sort who don't get on. I tried-in fact, I tried everything, and I have been everywhere; there is hardly a thing a man can do to earn an honest penny that I have not done. For twenty years and more I worked at such things as a decent English mechanic scorns, happy to get the work to do. Don't pity me, my dears. There are plenty like me abroad, gentlemen born and educated, who somehow have made a mess of life and failed. You can't walk along the streets of Melbourne without meeting a dozen like me. We swarm -the men who can't pass the exams., and the men who have got into debt, and the rest of it. We are everywhere; you might make a dozen rattling good regiments out of the gentlemen and the younger sons who are knocking about Australia and the Pacific. Why, the other day they had a dinner for public schoolmen only, at Levuka, and a couple of hundred sat down-fancy a couple of hundred in Fiji alone-most of them in their rags, poor beggars! For twenty years and more I wandered about, leading the vagabond life which never ends in anything. When I got work I did it; when I got no work I somehow did without it. Never without tobacco for a pipe, and very seldom beyond the reach of a dinner. Can you wonder that men who roam about the world like this do not often write to their old friends ?"

"Poor Uncle Jack !” said the girls.

"At last I remembered the one talent which I possessed. Strange that I should have neglected it so long!"

"What was that?"

"You do not know, I suppose, why I left home. Of course you do not. Your father even never knew, I believe. I think,” he went on slowly, "I think there was too much strictness in my up-bringing. It is not so very uncommon a thing for a lad to owe a hundred or so in his third year at Cambridge; I don't think so much need have been made of that offence; and it is not very uncommon for a young man to fall in love-it was the Curate's daughter and I hear she has long since married, and is now the wife of an Archdeacon; but the crowning offence was that I once played in the Richmond Theatre. And my father destined me for the Church! I acted in a theatre! All these things together drove him to despair. He gave me fifty pounds, and bade me go seek my fortune out of the country; if I wanted more help I was to ask him for it, and he would consider. But he would not have his name disgraced at home by a profligate son-he called me a profligate son because I played Mercutio and kissed the Curate's daughter!"

แ

"Poor Uncle Jack!" whispered the girls, with the sympathy which came of having been themselves kissed.

"I had almost forgotten that I could act, though I always went about singing. Mind you, up-country, in a lonely hut, with, perhaps, only one or two other men, a chum who can sing keeps the other fellows in heart. One day when I was about at my lowest, I had an inspiration. An inspiration must be acted upon while it is red-hot. I carried mine out at once. I sat down with some paper (which I borrowed) and a pencil; I wrote out all the songs I knew; I went to a man who keeps pianos and runs shows, and I made a proposition to him. He accepted it, and ever since that time I have been going about the country with a Variety Entertainment." "A Variety Entertainment ?"

"Yes; my man makes the engagements, hires the room, finds bills and pianos, and the rest of it, and takes half the profits. Sometimes I pick up a stray actor or actress, and we have a little acting as well as singing. Very popular I am in some districts, I assure you. At a Variety Entertainment I sing, play, and recite. And I can make up very well. Stay, I will show you one of my characters-the 'Gentleman Tramp'-and I will sing you my patter song about him.”

He went into the hall, and came back in two or three minutes hastily "made up." His trousers were rolled up half-way to his knee; he had no coat, but wore one of the girl's shawls thrown picturesquely over his shoulders; he had on a slouched felt hat, and his shirt-sleeves were rolled-up, showing brown arms tattooed. In his mouth was a short black pipe. They recognised at once, without being told, the Australian tramp. He limped as he walked, with a slouch in his step, and he looked before him, shading his eyes, as if looking along a hot and dusty road. Then he sat at the piano, and played a rattling, unscientific accompaniment, while he sang in a rich, clear, and flexible voice, none the worse for his fifty years:

"The ship was outward bound, when we drank a health around ('Twas the year fifty-three, or thereabout),

We were all for Melbourne Ho! where, like peas, the nuggets grow, And my heart, though young and green, was also stout.

"I was two-and-twenty then, and like many other men

Among that gallant company afloat,

I had played in the eleven, and pulled five or six or seven

In the 'Varsity or else the College boat.

"We were rusticated, plucked, in disgrace, and debt, and chucked,.
Out of patience were our friends-and unkind.

But all of us agreed, that a gentleman in need,
His fortune o'er the seas would surely find.

"So we liquored up and laughed, day by day aboard that craft,
Till we parted at the port, and went ashore;

And since, of that brave crew, I have come across a few,
And we liquor and we talk, but laugh no more.
"For if damper and cold tea the choicest blessings be,
We are certainly above our merits blessed :
And a gentleman in need, as is readily agreed,
May very well dispense with all the rest.

"But as each man tells his tale, 'tis monotonous and stale,
As if adventure's game was quite played out;

And every honest chum, to the same hard pan must come,
And no more luck was travelling about.

""Tis how one in far Fiji, went beach-combing by the sea;
One in Papua pioneered and died;

One took coppers on a car, or mixed nobblers at a bar,
Or in country stores forgot Old Country pride.

"And how one lucky swain thought he'd just go home again,
And was welcomed with cold shoulder by his friends;
And how one dug for gold, and, as usual, he was sold;
And how one peddled pins and odds and ends.

"And how in coral isles one courted Fortune's smiles,
And how one in a shanty kept a school;

North and south, and east and west, how we tried our level best,
And did no good at all, as a rule.

"And how some took to drink, and some to printer's ink,

And shepherded or cattle-drove awhile:

But never that I know-and so far as stories go

Did one amongst us all make his pile.

"Well: 'tis better here than there, since rags must be our wear;

In the bush we are equal-every man.

And we're all of us agreed, that a gentleman in need

Must earn his daily damper-as he can.'

He stopped, and limped out as he had come in. When he returned he had resumed his ordinary appearance. But the girls were crying.

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Why," he said cheerfully, "you mustn't cry over a ne'er-doweel like me. You see, I've obeyed my father; I have disgraced the family name abroad, not at home. Nobody has had to blush because the profligate who fell in love at twenty, and played in a theatre, has all his life expiated those sins by rough and common work. If you had seen these hands of mine four years ago, they were hard and horny with rough work. Now they are smooth again-a gentleman's hands, because, with my Variety Entertainment, I have been leading a life distantly resembling a gentleman's," "Poor Uncle Jack!" murmured the girls for the tenth time, at least.

"I began to do pretty well with my Show--even to lay up money

—a little money; and one day a yearning came over me, such as I had never felt before, to go home again, and see the old place. I could not think that my father would be living, but I thought of my brother Sam, and of the girl whom I loved, and the house you know, and all. I remembered that if I started just then there would be the sweet, soft English summer, and all the trees out and the flowers. Then I counted my money. I had just enough for my journey home-second class—and back again; and a month or so at home living moderately. I resolved that I would see you— not expecting whom I should see-make no pretence or brag about success, ask for no help, and, after a few days here, go to London, and so back to Melbourne. I have spent a little more money than I expected, and therefore-and-well, that is all, my dears. Your rich Uncle Jack, who had such lakhs of rupees, has got all his money in a little purse in his pocket, He is nothing in the world but a strolling vagabond, a tramp, a singer, a lecturer, and small actor. He makes people laugh. That is all."

"Oh! Uncle Jack," cried Cis, "he makes girls happy!" She threw her arms round his neck and kissed him, while her tears fell upon his face. And, oh! oh! oh! we are so sorry."

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"Yes, I have been able to make you happy. It seems to me wonderful that I should have been permitted—a hardened old tramp and vagabond like me-to do something for two sweet English girls. It is truly wonderful!" His voice dropped lower, and his eyes softened first, and then grew humid. "On the way out I shall think of it. Yes; all the rest of my life I shall think of it. Your voices, my dears, will be with me, and your eyes will follow me. After thirty years, it does a man good to get a little happiness. Just as one was beginning to grow a bit tired, and feel jaded, as if there wasn't much more cheerfulness left in the world, came the chance to me the blessed chance, for which, I assure you, my dears, I am indeed grateful. Why, the memory of you two girls, and your ready welcome and love to a stranger-could I ever forget it? Yet, I have only seen you and talked with you three times, and to-morrow will make the fourth, all in a fortnight! Wonderful how soon a fortnight passes! Good-night, my dears. Remember sometimes, in your happiness, that poor old vagabond and tramp, your Uncle Jack."

VIII.

THE WEDDING PRESENT.

IF these interesting orphans had been married in the sacred odour of filial obedience, and with full paternal or stepmaternal consent, the ceremony could not have aroused greater public excitement. It is inadequate to say that the sun rose dancing: that all the larks began to carol in concert from an early hour: that the rose-bushes

put on their sweetest rose-buds: that the leaves of the trees rustled their most melodious whispers: and that, to those who had ears to hear, the goddess who loves orchards, gardens, roadside limes, willows, and alders by the banks of streams, and all such sweet things as belong to cultivated nature, was singing all the morning a Wedding Hymn equal to anything penned by Elizabethan poets. As to the church itself, it was full; all the eight-and-twenty eligible young ladies, six of whom were bridesmaids, were present --a parterre of gaily-blooming flowers. As regards the late unhappy differences of opinion, they were forgotten; quite clearly, the opinions of an uncle, newly arrived from abroad, with mountains of gold and silver, must be correct; nor could anybody approve of opinions, however plausibly they might be set forth, which led to such results as the turning out of a young lady's wardrobe upon the cold flint stones. No one knew how many millions would be given to the brides and bridegrooms by their uncle, but it was quite certain-everybody knew it that Mrs. Branson, if she intended to enforce her so-called rights, would have to do so in a Court of Law, and that Mr. John Branson was willing, if necessary, to carry the case even up to the Lords. The fact that the newly-married couples were risking their fortunes, and defying their stepmother, no doubt added to the interest with which they were regarded. We all remember how the whole population used to turn out in order to gaze upon the procession of men about to be hanged. Perhaps, also, everybody was desirous of seeing the miraculous uncle-l'Oncle Dieu-Donné-so wonderfully and Providentially bestowed on the orphans when their need was sorest.

I have always been of opinion that the wedding ceremonies in this country are shamefully curtailed, to the great loss and detriment of the bride. We ought to consider that the bridegroom has many opportunities of making a public appearance, and walking round, so to speak, before the eyes of man. He may go into Parliament or into the Vestry; he may join the Salvation Army, or the Advanced Radical Debating Society, or the Peckham Rye House of Commons. But the bride has but this one short show: a poor quarter of an hour in white satin and veil, and then to go in again, like a bad singer, although she has played her part with admirable presence of mind, grace, and beauty. Only a quarter of an hour! Why there are some countries, described by the learned Monsieur Picart, where they keep the wedding ceremonies going for three days, during which the bride continually sits before the assembled multitude, rejoicing all eyes by her surpassing loveliness, and eating Turkish Delight, honey, chocolate-creams, treacle, and jam without intermission.

It was all over; where there had been four were now only two; the vestry business was completed; the organ had pealed forth its Wedding March; the brides and bridegrooms and best men and