ON the next day, I was introduced to the Jew's workshop, and tothe eminent gentlemen occupying it. My model Rembrandt was putbefore me; the simple elementary rules were explained; and mymaterials were all placed under my hands.

Regard for the lovers of the Old Masters, and for the moralwell-being of society, forbids me to be particular about thenature of my labors, or to go into dangerous detail on thesubject of my first failures and my subsequent success. I may,however, harmlessly admit that my Rembrandt was to be of thesmall or cabinet size, and that, as there was a run onBurgomasters just then, my subject was naturally to be of theBurgomaster sort. Three parts of my picture consisted entirely ofdifferent shades of dirty brown and black; the fourth beingcomposed of a ray of yellow light falling upon the wrinkled faceof a treacle-colored old man. A dim glimpse of a hand, and afaint suggestion of something like a brass washhandbasin, completed the job, which gave great satisfaction to Mr.Pickup, and which was described in the catalogue as--

"A Burgomaster at Breakfast. Originally in the collection ofMynheer Van Grubb. Amsterdam. A rare example of the master. Notengraved. The chiar'oscuro in this extraordinary work is of atruly sublime character. Price, Two Hundred Guineas."

I got five pounds for it. I suppose Mr. Pickup gotone-ninety-five.

This was perhaps not very encouraging as a beginning, in apecuniary point of view. But I was to get five pounds more, if myRembrandt sold within a given time. It sold a week after it wasin a fit state to be trusted in the showroom. I got my money, andbegan enthusiastically on another Rembrandt--"A Burgomaster'sWife Poking the Fire." Last time, the chiar'oscuro of the masterhad been yellow and black, this time it was to be red and black.I was just on the point of forcing my way into Mr. Pickup'sconfidence, as I had resolved, when a catastrophe happened, whichshut up the shop and abruptly terminated my experience as a makerof Old Masters.

"The Burgomaster's Breakfast" had been sold to a new customer, avenerable connoisseur, blessed with a great fortune and a largepicture-gallery. The old gentleman was in raptures with thepicture--with its tone, with its breadth, with its grand feelingfor effect, with its simple treatment of detail. It wantednothing, in his opinion, but a little cleaning. Mr. Pickup knewthe raw and ticklish state of the surface, however, far too well,to allow of even an attempt at performing this process, andsolemnly asserted, that he was acquainted with no cleansingpreparation which could be used on the Rembrandt without dangerof "flaying off the last exquisite glazings of the immortalmaster's brush." The old gentleman was quite satisfied with thisreason for not cleaning the Burgomaster, and took away hispurchase in his own carriage on the spot.

For three weeks we heard nothing more of him. At the end of thattime, a Hebrew friend of Mr. Pickup, employed in a lawyer'soffice, terrified us all by the information that a gentlemanrelated to our venerable connoisseur had seen the Rembrandt, hadpronounced it to be an impudent counterfeit, and had engaged onhis own account to have the picture tested in a court of law, andto charge the seller and maker thereof with conspiring to obtainmoney under false pretenses. Mr. Pickup and I looked at eachother with very blank faces on receiving this agreeable piece ofnews. What was to be done? I recovered the full use of myfaculties first; and I was the man who solved that important anddifficult question, while the rest were still utterly bewilderedby it. "Will you promise me five and twenty pounds in thepresence of these gentlemen if I get you out of this scrape?"said I to my terrified employer. Ishmael Pickup wrung his dirtyhands and answered, "Yesh, my dear!"

Our informant in this awkward matter was employed at the officeof the lawyers who were to have the conducting of the caseagainst us; and he was able to tell me some of the things I mostwanted to know in relation to the picture.

I found out from him that the Rembrandt was still in ourcustomer's possession. The old gentleman had consented to thequestion of its genuineness being tried, but had far too high anidea of his own knowledge as a connoisseur to incline to theopinion that he had been taken in. His suspicious relative wasnot staying in the house, but was in the habit of visiting him,every day, in the forenoon. That was as much as I wanted to knowfrom others. The rest depended on myself, on luck, time, humancredulity, and a smattering of chemical knowledge which I hadacquired in the days of my medical studies. I left the conclaveat the picture-dealer's forthwith, and purchased at the nearestdruggist's a bottle containing a certain powerful liquid, which Idecline to particularize on high moral grounds. I labeled thebottle "The Amsterdam Cleansing Compound"; and I wrapped round itthe following note:

"Mr. Pickup's respectful compliments to Mr.--(let us say, Green).Is rejoiced to state that he finds himself unexpectedly able toforward Mr. Green's views relative to the cleaning of 'TheBurgomaster's Breakfast.' The inclosed compound has just reachedhim from Amsterdam. It is made from a recipe found among thepapers of Rembrandt himself--has been used with the mostastonishing results on the Master's pictures in every gallery ofHolland, and is now being applied to the surface of the largestRembrandt in Mr. P.'s own collection. Directions for use: Lay thepicture flat, pour the whole contents of the bottle over itgently, so as to flood the entire surface; leave the liquid onthe surface for six hours, then wipe it off briskly with a softcloth of as large a size as can be conveniently used. The effectwill be the most wonderful removal of all dirt, and a completeand brilliant metamorphosis of the present dingy surface of thepicture."

I left this note and the bottle myself at two o'clock that day;then went home, and confidently awaited the result.

The next morning our friend from the office called, announcinghimself by a burst of laughter outside the door. Mr. Green hadimplicitly followed the directions in the letter the moment hereceived it--had allowed the "Amsterdam Cleansing Compound" toremain on the Rembrandt until eight o'clock in the evening--hadcalled for the softest linen cloth in the whole house--and hadthen, with his own venerable hands, carefully wiped off thecompound, and with it the whole surface of the picture! Thebrown, the black, the Burgomaster, the breakfast, and the ray ofyellow light, all came clean off together in considerably lessthan a minute of time. If the picture, was brought into courtnow, the evidence it could give against us was limited to a bitof plain panel, and a mass of black pulp rolled up in a duster.

Our line of defense was, of course, that the compound had beenimproperly used. For the rest, we relied with well-placedconfidence on the want of evidence against us. Mr. Pickup wiselyclosed his shop for a while, and went off to the Continent toransack the foreign galleries. I received my five and twentypounds, rubbed out the beginning of my second Rembrandt, closedthe back door of the workshop behind me, and there was anotherscene of my life at an end. I had but one circumstance toregret--and I did regret it bitterly. I was still as ignorant asever of the young lady's name and address.

My first visit was to the studio of my excellent artist-friend,whom I have already presented to the reader under the sympatheticname of "Dick." He greeted me with a letter in his hand. It wasaddressed to me--it had been left at the studio a few days since;and (marvel of all marvels!) the handwriting was Mr.Batterbury's. Had this philanthropic man not done befriending meeven yet? Were there any present or prospective advantages to begot out of him still? Read his letter, and judge.

"SIR--Although you have forfeited by your ungentlemanly conducttoward myself, and your heartlessly mischievous reception of mydear wife, all claim upon the forbearance of the most forbearingof your relatives, I am disposed, from motives of regard for thetranquillity of Mrs. Batterbury's family, and of sheergood-nature so far as I am myself concerned, to afford you onemore chance of retrieving your position by leading a respectablelife. The situation I am enabled to offer you is that ofsecretary to a new Literary and Scientific Institution, about tobe opened in the town of Duskydale, near which neighborhood Ipossess, as you must be aware, some landed property. The officehas been placed at my disposal, as vice-president of the newInstitution. The salary is fifty pounds a year, with apartmentson the attic-floor of the building. The duties are various, andwill be explained to you by the local committee, if you choose topresent yourself to them with the inclosed letter ofintroduction. After the unscrupulous manner in which you haveimposed on my liberality by deceiving me into giving you fiftypounds for a n audacious caricature of myself, which it isimpossible to hang up in any room of the house, I think thisinstance of my forgiving disposition still to befriend you, afterall that has happened, ought to appeal to any better feelingsthat you may still have left, and revive the long dormantemotions of repentance and self-reproach, when you think on yourobedient servant,

"DANIEL BATTERBURY."

Bless me! What A long-winded style, and what a fuss about fiftypounds a year, and a bed in an attic! These were naturally thefirst emotions which Mr. Batterbury's letter produced in me. Whatwas his real motive for writing it? I hope nobody will do me sogreat an injustice as to suppose that I hesitated for one instantabout the way of finding

"Much better, sir," answered my grandmother's venerable butler,wiping his lips carefully before he spoke; "her ladyship's healthhas been much improved since her accident."

"Accident!" I exclaimed. "What, another? Lately? Stairs again?"

"No, sir; the drawing-room window this time," answered thebutler, with semi-tipsy gravity. "Her ladyship's sight havingbeen defective of late years, occasions her some difficulty incalculating distances. Three days ago, her ladyship went to lookout of the window, and, miscalculating the distance--" Here thebutler, with a fine dramatic feeling for telling a story, stoppedjust before the climax of the narrative, and looked me in theface with an expression of the deepest sympathy.

"And miscalculating the distance?" I repeated impatiently.

"Put her head through a pane of glass," said the butler, in asoft voice suited to the pathetic nature of the communication."By great good fortune her ladyship had been dressed for the day,and had got her turban on. This saved her ladyship's head. Buther ladyship's neck, sir, had a very narrow escape. A bit of thebroken glass wounded it within half a quarter of an inch of thecarotty artery" (meaning, probably, carotid); "I heard themedical gentleman say, and shall never forget it to my dying day,that her ladyship's life had been saved by a hair-breadth. As itwas, the blood lost (the medical gentleman said that, too, sir)was accidentally of the greatest possible benefit, beingapoplectic, in the way of clearing out the system. Her ladyship'sappetite has been improved ever since--the carriage is out airingof her at this very moment--likewise, she takes the footman's armand the maid's up and downstairs now, which she never would hearof before this last accident. 'I feel ten years younger' (thosewere her ladyship's own words to me, this very day), 'I feel tenyears younger, Vokins, since I broke the drawing-room window.'And her ladyship looks it!"

No doubt. Here was the key to Mr. Batterbury's letter offorgiveness. His chance of receiving the legacy looked nowfurther off than ever; he could not feel the same confidence ashis wife in my power of living down any amount of starvation andadversity; and he was, therefore, quite ready to take the firstopportunity of promoting my precious personal welfare andsecurity, of which he could avail himself, without spending afarthing of money. I saw it all clearly, and admired thehereditary toughness of the Malkinshaw family more gratefullythan ever. What should I do? Go to Duskydale? Why not? It didn'tmatter to me where I went, now that I had no hope of ever seeingthose lovely brown eyes again.

I got to my new destination the next day, presented mycredentials, gave myself the full advantage of my highconnections, and was received with enthusiasm and distinction.

I found the new Institution torn by internal schisms even beforeit was opened to the public. Two factious governed it--a gravefaction and a gay faction. Two questions agitated it: the firstreferring to the propriety of celebrating the opening season by apublic ball, and the second to the expediency of admitting novelsinto the library. The grim Puritan interest of the wholeneighborhood was, of course, on the grave side--against bothdancing and novels, as proposed by local loose thinkers andlatitudinarians of every degree. I was officially introduced tothe debate at the height of the squabble; and found myself one ofa large party in a small room, sitting round a long table, eachman of us with a new pewter inkstand, a new quill pen, and aclean sheet of foolscap paper before him. Seeing that everybodyspoke, I got on my legs along with the rest, and made a slashingspeech on the loose-thinking side. I was followed by the leaderof the grim faction--an unlicked curate of the largestdimensions.

"If there were, so to speak, no other reason against dancing,"said my reverend opponent, "there is one unanswerable objectionto it. Gentlemen! John the Baptist lost his head throughdancing!"'

Every man of the grim faction hammered delightedly on the table,as that formidable argument was produced; and the curate sat downin triumph. I jumped up to reply, amid the counter-cheering ofthe loose-thinkers; but before I could say a word the Presidentof the Institution and the rector of the parish came into theroom.

They were both men of authority, men of sense, and fathers ofcharming daughters, and they turned the scale on the right sidein no time. The question relating to the admission of novels waspostponed, and the question of dancing or no dancing was put tothe vote on the spot. The President, the rector and myself, thethree handsomest and highest-bred men in the assembly, led theway on the liberal side, waggishly warning all gallant gentlemenpresent to beware of disappointing the young ladies. This decidedthe waverers, and the waverers decided the majority. My firstbusiness, as Secretary, was the drawing out of a model card ofadmission to the ball.

My next occupation was to look at the rooms provided for me.

The Duskydale Institution occupied a badly-repaired ten-roomedhouse, with a great flimsy saloon built at one side of it,smelling of paint and damp plaster, and called the LectureTheater. It was the chilliest, ugliest, emptiest, gloomiest placeI ever entered in my life; the idea of doing anything but sittingdown and crying in it seemed to me quite preposterous; but thecommittee took a different view of the matter, and praised theLecture Theater as a perfect ballroom. The Secretary's apartmentswere two garrets, asserting themselves in the most barefacedmanner, without an attempt at disguise. If I had intended to domore than earn my first quarter's salary, I should havecomplained. But as I had not the slightest intention of remainingat Duskydale, I could afford to establish a reputation foramiability by saying nothing.

"Have you seen Mr. Softly, the new Secretary? A mostdistinguished person, and quite an acquisition to theneighborhood." Such was the popular opinion of me among the youngladies and the liberal inhabitants. "Have you seen Mr. Softly,the new Secretary? A worldly, vainglorious young man. The lastperson in England to promote the interests of our newInstitution." Such was the counter-estimate of me among thePuritan population. I report both opinions quite disinterestedly.There is generally something to be said on either side of everyquestion; and, as for me, I can always hold up the scalesimpartially, even when my own character is the substance weighingin them. Readers of ancient history need not be reminded, at thistime of day, that there may be Roman virtue even in a Rogue.

The objects, interests, and general business of the DuskydaleInstitution were matters with which I never thought of troublingmyself on assuming the duties of Secretary. All my energies weregiven to the arrangements connected with the opening ball.

I was elected by acclamation to the office of general manager ofthe entertainments; and I did my best to deserve the confidencereposed in me; leaving literature and science, so far as I wasconcerned, perfectly at liberty to advance themselves or not ,just as they liked. Whatever my colleagues may have done, after Ileft them, nobody at Duskydale can accuse me of having ever beenaccessory to the disturbing of quiet people with usefulknowledge. I took the arduous and universally neglected duty ofteaching the English people how to be amused entirely on my ownshoulders, and left the easy and customary business of makingthem miserable to others.

My unhappy countrymen! (and thrice unhappy they of the poorersort)--any man can preach to them, lecture to them, and form theminto classes--but where is the man who can get them to amusethemselves? Anybody may cram their poor heads; but who willbrighten their grave faces? Don't read story-books, don't go toplays, don't dance! Finish your long day's work and thenintoxicate your minds with solid history, revel in thetoo-attractive luxury of the lecture-room, sink under the softtemptation of classes for mutual instruction! How many potent,grave and reverent tongues discourse to the popular ear in thesesiren strains, and how obediently and resignedly this same wearypopular ear listens! What if a bold man spring up one day, cryingaloud in our social wilderness, "Play, for Heaven's sake, or youwill work yourselves into a nation of automatons! Shake a looseleg to a lively fiddle! Women of England! drag the lecturer offthe rostrum, and the male mutual instructor out of the class, andease their poor addled heads of evenings by making them dance andsing with you. Accept no offer from any man who cannot be proved,for a year past, to have systematically lost his dignity at leastthree times a week, after office hours. You, daughters of Eve,who have that wholesome love of pleasure which is one of thegreatest adornments of the female character, set up a society forthe promotion of universal amusement, and save the British nationfrom the lamentable social consequences of its own gravity!"Imagine a voice crying lustily after this fashion--what sort ofechoes would it find?--Groans?

I know what sort of echoes my voice found. They were sodiscouraging to me, and to the frivolous minority ofpleasure-seekers, that I recommended lowering the price ofadmission so as to suit the means of any decent people who werewilling to leave off money-grubbing and tear themselves from thecharms of mutual instruction for one evening at least. Theproposition was indignantly negatived by the managers of theInstitution. I am so singularly obstinate a man that I was not tobe depressed even by this.

My next efforts to fill the ballroom could not be blamed. Iprocured a local directory, put fifty tickets in my pocket,dressed myself in nankeen pantaloons and a sky-blue coat (thenthe height of fashion), and set forth to tout for dancers amongall the members of the genteel population, who, not beingnotorious Puritans, had also not been so obliging as to taketickets for the ball. There never was any pride or bashfulnessabout me. Excepting certain periods of suspense and anxiety, I amas even-tempered a Rogue as you have met with anywhere since thedays of Gil Blas.

My temperament being opposed to doing anything with regularity, Iopened the directory at hazard, and determined to make my firstcall at the first house that caught my eye. Vallombrosa ValeCottages. No. 1. Doctor and Miss Dulcifer. Very good. I have nopreferences. Let me sell the first two tickets there. I found theplace; I opened the garden gate; I advanced to the door,innocently wondering what sort of people I should find inside.

If I am asked what was the true reason for this extraordinaryactivity on my part, in serving the interests of a set of peoplefor whom I cared nothing, I must honestly own that the loss of myyoung lady was at the bottom of it. Any occupation was welcomewhich kept my mind, in some degree at least, from dwelling on thebitter disappointment that had befallen me. When I rang the bellat No. 1, did I feel no presentiment of the exquisite surprise instore for me? I felt nothing of the sort. The fact is, mydigestion is excellent. Presentiments are more closely connectedthan is generally supposed with a weak state of stomach.

I asked for Miss Dulcifer, and was shown into the sitting-room.

Don't expect me to describe my sensations: hundreds of sensationsflew all over me. There she was, sitting alone, near the window!There she was, with nimble white fingers, working a silk purse!

The melancholy in her face and manner, when I had last seen her,appeared no more. She was prettily dressed in maize color, andthe room was well furnished. Her father had evidently got overhis difficulties. I had been inclined to laugh at his odd name,when I found it in the directory! Now I began to dislike it,because it was her name, too. It was a consolation to rememberthat she could change it. Would she change it for mine?

I was the first to recover; I boldly drew a chair near her andtook her hand.

"You see," I said, "it is of no use to try to avoid me. This isthe third time we have met. Will you receive me as a visitor,under these extraordinary circumstances? Will you give me alittle happiness to compensate for what I have suffered since youleft me?"

She smiled and blushed.

"I am so surprised," she answered, "I don't know what to say."

"Disagreeably surprised?" I asked.

She first went on with her work, and then replied (a littlesadly, as I thought):

"No!"

I was ready enough to take advantage of my opportunities thistime; but she contrived with perfect politeness to stop me. Sheseemed to remember with shame, poor soul, the circumstances underwhich I had last seen her.

"How do you come to be at Duskydale?" she inquired, abruptlychanging the subject. "And how did you find us out here?"

While I was giving her the necessary explanations her father camein. I looked at him with considerable curiosity.

A tall stout gentleman with impressive respectability oozing outof him at every pore--with a swelling outline ofblack-waistcoated stomach, with a lofty forehead, with a smoothdouble chin resting pulpily on a white cravat. Everything inharmony about him except his eyes, and these were so sharp,bright and resolute that they seemed to contradict the blandconventionality which overspread all the rest of the man. Eyeswith wonderful intelligence and self-dependence in them; perhaps,also, with something a little false in them, which I might havediscovered immediately under ordinary circumstances: but I lookedat the doctor through the medium of his daughter, and saw nothingof him at the first glance but his merits.

"We are both very much indebted to you, sir, for your politenessin calling," he said, with excessive civility of manner. "But ourstay at this place has drawn to an end. I only came here for there-establishment of my daughter's health. She has benefitedgreatly by the change of air, and we have arranged to return hometo-morrow. Otherwise, we should have gladly profited by your kindoffer of tickets for the ball."

Of course I had one eye on the young lady while he was speaking.She was looking at her father, and a sudden sadness was stealingover her face. What did it mean? Disappointment at missing theball? No, it was a much deeper feeling than that. My interest wasexcited. I addressed a complimentary entreaty to the doctor notto take his daughter away from us. I asked him to reflect on theirreparable eclipse that he would be casting over the Duskydaleballroom. To my amazement, she only looked down gloomily on herwork while I spoke; her father laughed contemptuously.

"We are too completely strangers here," he said, "for our loss tobe felt by any one. From all that I can gather, society inDuskydale will be glad to hear of our departure. I beg yourpardon, Alicia--I ought to have said

Her name was Alicia! I declare it was a luxury to me to hearit--the name was so appropriate, so suggestive of the grace anddignity of her beauty.

I turned toward her when the doctor had done. She looked moregloomily than before. I protested against the doctor's account ofhimself. He laughed again, with a quick distrustful lo ok, thistime, at his daughter.

"If you were to mention my name among your respectableinhabitants," he went on, with a strong, sneering emphasis on theword respectable, "they would most likely purse up their lips andlook grave at it. Since I gave up practice as a physician, I haveengaged in chemical investigations on a large scale, destined Ihope, to lead to some important public results. Until I arrive atthese, I am necessarily obliged, in my own interests, to keep myexperiments secret, and to impose similar discretion on theworkmen whom I employ. This unavoidable appearance of mystery,and the strictly retired life which my studies compel me to lead,offend the narrow-minded people in my part of the county, closeto Barkingham; and the unpopularity of my pursuits has followedme here. The general opinion, I believe, is, that I am seeking byunholy arts for the philosopher's stone. Plain man, as you seeme, I find myself getting quite the reputation of a DoctorFaustus in the popular mind. Even educated people in this veryplace shake their heads and pity my daughter there for livingwith an alchemical parent, within easy smelling-distance of anexplosive laboratory. Excessively absurd, is it not?"

It might have been excessively absurd, but the lovely Alicia satwith her eyes on her work, looking as if it were excessively sad,and not giving her father the faintest answering smile when heglanced toward her and laughed, as he said his last words. Icould not at all tell what to make of it. The doctor talked ofthe social consequences of his chemical inquiries as if he wereliving in the middle ages. However, I was far too anxious to seethe charming brown eyes again to ask questions which would besure to keep them cast down. So I changed the topic to chemistryin general; and, to the doctor's evident astonishment andpleasure, told him of my own early studies in the science.

This led to the mention of my father, whose reputation hadreached the ears of Doctor Dulcifer. As he told me that, hisdaughter looked up--the sun of beauty shone on me again! Itouched next on my high connections, and on Lady Malkinshaw; Idescribed myself as temporarily banished from home for humorouscaricaturing, and amiable youthful wildness. She was interested;she smiled--and the sun of beauty shone warmer than ever! Idiverged to general topics, and got brilliant and amusing. Shelaughed--the nightingale notes of her merriment bubbled into myears caressingly--why could I not shut my eyes and listen tothem? Her color rose; her face grew animated. Poor soul! A littlelively company was but too evidently a rare treat to her. Undersuch circumstances, who would not be amusing? If she had said tome, "Mr. Softly, I like tumbling," I should have made a clown ofmyself on the spot. I should have stood on my head (if I could),and been amply rewarded for the graceful exertion, if the eyes ofAlicia had looked kindly on my elevated heels!

How long I stayed is more than I can tell. Lunch came up. I eatand drank, and grew more amusing than ever. When I at last roseto go, the brown eyes looked on me very kindly, and the doctorgave me his card.

"If you don't mind trusting yourself in the clutches of DoctorFaustus," he said, with a gay smile, "I shall be delighted to seeyou if you are ever in the neighborhood of Barkingham."

I wrung his hand, mentally relinquishing my secretaryship while Ithanked him for the invitation. I put out my hand next to hisdaughter, and the dear friendly girl met the advance with themost charming readiness. She gave me a good, hearty, vigorous,uncompromising shake. O precious right hand! never did I properlyappreciate your value until that moment.

Going out with my head in the air, and my senses in the seventhheaven, I jostled an elderly gentleman passing before the gardengate. I turned round to apologize; it was my brother in office,the estimable Treasurer of the Duskydale Institute.

"I have been half over the town looking after you," he said. "TheManaging Committee, on reflection, consider your plan ofpersonally soliciting public attendance at the hall to becompromising the dignity of the Institution, and beg you,therefore, to abandon it."

"Very well," said I, "there is no harm done. Thus far, I haveonly solicited two persons, Doctor and Miss Dulcifer, in thatdelightful little cottage there."

"You don't mean to say you have asked

"To be sure I have. And I am sorry to say they can't accept theinvitation. Why should they not be asked?"

"Because nobody visits them."

"And why should nobody visit them?"

The Treasurer put his arm confidentially through mine, and walkedme on a few steps.

"In the first place," he said, "Doctor Dulcifer's name is notdown in the Medical List."

"Some mistake," I suggested, in my off-hand way. "Or some foreigndoctor's degree not recognized by the prejudiced people inEngland."

"In the second place," continued the Treasurer, "we have foundout that he is not visited at Barkingham. Consequently, it wouldbe the height of imprudence to visit him here."

"Pooh! pooh! All the nonsense of narrow-minded people, because helives a retired life, and is engaged in finding out chemicalsecrets which the ignorant public don't know how to appreciate."

"The shutters are always up in the front top windows of his houseat Barkingham," said the Treasurer, lowering his voicemysteriously. "I know it from a friend resident near him. Thewindows themselves are barred. It is currently reported that thetop of the house, inside, is shut off by iron doors from thebottom. Workmen are employed there who don't belong to theneighborhood, who don't drink at the public houses, who onlyassociate with each other. Unfamiliar smells and noises findtheir way outside sometimes. Nobody in the house can be got totalk. The doctor, as he calls himself, does not even make anattempt to get into society, does not even try to see company forthe sake of his poor unfortunate daughter. What do you think ofall that?"

"Think!" I repeated contemptuously; "I think the inhabitants ofBarkingham are the best finders of mares' nests in all England.The doctor is making important chemical discoveries (the possiblevalue of which I can appreciate, being chemical myself), and heis not quite fool enough to expose valuable secrets to the viewof all the world. His laboratory is at the top of the house, andhe wisely shuts it off from the bottom to prevent accidents. Heis one of the best fellows I ever met with, and his daughter isthe loveliest girl in the world. What do you all mean by makingmysteries about nothing? He has given me an invitation to go andsee him. I suppose the next thing you will find out is, thatthere is something underhand even in that?"

"You won't accept the invitation?"

"I shall, at the very first opportunity; and if you had seen MissAlicia, so would you."

"Don't go. Take my advice and don't go," said the Treasurer,gravely. "You are a young man. Reputable friends are ofimportance to you at the outset of life. I say nothing againstDoctor Dulcifer--he came here as a stranger, and he goes awayagain as a stranger--but you can't be sure that his purpose inasking you so readily to his house is a harmless one. Making anew acquaintance is always a doubtful speculation; but when a manis not visited by his respectable neighbors--"

"Because he doesn't open his shutters," I interposedsarcastically.

"Because there are doubts about him and his house which he willnot clear up," retorted the Treasurer. "You can take your ownway. You may turn out right, and we may all be wrong; I can onlysay again, it is rash to make doubtful acquaintances. Sooner orlater you are always sure to repent it. In your place I shouldcertainly not accept the invitation."

"In my place, my dear sir," I answered, "you would do exactlywhat I mean to do."

The Treasurer took his arm out of mine, and without sayinganother word, wished me good-morning.