back the years and leave me in the brutal, virile, Good Old Times, when men wooed and won their loves by might and strength of arm, and not by gold, as is so often the case in these days of ours. To be mounted upon my fiery steed, lance in hand and sword on thigh, riding down the leafy alleys of the woods yonder, led by the throbbing, sighing melody. To burst upon the astonished dancers like a thunder-clap; to swing her up to my saddle-bow, and clasped in each other's arms, to plunge into the green mystery of forest. 

 My fancies had carried me thus far when I became aware of a small, furtive figure, dodging from one patch of shadow to another.  Leaning from the window, I made out the form of a somewhat disreputable urchin, who, dropping upon hands and knees, proceeded to crawl towards me over the grass with a show of the most elaborate caution. 

 "Hallo!" I exclaimed, "halt and give the counter-sign!"  The urchin sat up on his heels and stared at me with a pair of very round, bright eyes. 

 "Please, are you Mr. Uncle Dick?" he inquired. 

 "Oh," I said, "you come from the Imp, I presume."  The boy nodded a round head, at the same time fumbling with something in his pocket. 

 "And whom may you be?" I inquired, conversationally. 

 "I'm Ben, I am." 

 "The gardener's boy?" Again the round head nodded acquiescence, as with much writhing and twisting he succeeded in drawing a heterogeneous collection of articles from his pocket, whence he selected a very dirty and crumpled piece of paper. 

 "He wants a ladder so's he can git out, but it's too big fer me to lift, so he told me to give you this here so's you would come an' rescue him—please, Mr. Uncle Dick."  With which lucid explanation Ben handed me the crumpled note. 

 Spreading it out upon the windowsill, I managed to make out as follows: 

 DEAR UNKEL DICK: I'm riting this with my hart's blood bekors I'm a prisner in a gloomie dungun. It isn't really my hart's blood it's only red ink, so don't worry. Aunty lisbath cent me to bed just after tea bekors she said I'm norty, and when she'd gone Nurse locked me in so i can't get out and I'm tired of being a prisner, so please i want you to get the ladda and let me eskape, please unkel dick, will you. yours till deth, REGINALD AUGUSTUS. Auntie was reading Ivanhoe to us and I've been the Black Knight and you can be Gurth the swine-herd if you like. 

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