I said them over. Then Mr. - said them. He made one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time and the next he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace descended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing; and I did sing for half an hour, straight along, as we went jogging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech again, and the pent talk of many a weary hour began to gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my friend’s hand at parting, I said,—

“Have n’t we had a royal good time! But now I remember, you have n’t said a word for two hours. Come, come, out with something!”

The Rev. Mr.—turned a lacklustre eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without apparent consciousness,—

“Punch, brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!”

A pang shot through me as I said to myself, “Poor fellow, poor fellow! he has got it, now.”

I did not see Mr.—for two or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, worn; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face and said,—