freaks of fancy as bonneting the porters, and accidentally causing articles of furniture to fall against their fellows, all of which tended to make the confusion worse than before, I left the auctioneer hurrying through the last of that day’s lots, and made the best of my way out; when, to my surprise, I found Retort in the hall.

“Ah, well met!” I exclaimed, hurriedly following his example; and thrusting my pencilled catalogue into my pocket, feeling very desirous not to talk of the day’s purchases until a little softened down by dinner and a glass or two of sherry. However, Retort did not seem at all disposed to speak upon the subject; and, after a little pressing, the touchy bachelor consented to dine with me and take pot luck.

But pot luck that day was nothing to be grumbled at, for Mrs Scribe had exerted herself to have everything snug, as she afterwards told me, in consequence of my having been “a good boy,” and undertaken to get the few things she wanted before mamma came down. So pot luck that day consisted of some well-made ox-tail soup—not at all burnt—caught, as our queen of the kitchen terms it—a nice flakey bit of crimped cod with oysters; boiled fowls and tongue; two species of kickshaws; Stilton and celery. The bottled ale was good, the sherry pleasant, and Mrs S amiability itself; so that by degrees the creature comforts acted like anodyne or unguent to my raw temper; and when my smiling partner left us over our wine, I leaped out of my chair, opened the door, and earned the smile tendered for my acceptance.

“Hem!” said Retort, as soon as we were alone.

“Come, fill your glass, Tom,” I said; “that’s a capital glass of wine, even if it isn’t one of your wonderful vintages. I call that Pantheon Port—fit drink for all the gods—ruby Ambrosia.”

“Hum,” said Retort very superciliously—“Gilbey’s, eh?”

“Now, I do call that shabby,” I said, “to sneer at a fellow because he frankly offers you a cheap glass, and isn’t above owning to it. Now, if you had dined with old Blunkarn, he’d have given you a worse glass, and vowed it was ’20 port.”

“But how did you get on at the sale?” said Retort hastily, so as to change the subject.

“Rascally!” I exclaimed, firing up. “Those confounded Jews!”

“Wasn’t it scandalous,” said Retort.

“The most iniquitous affair I ever saw!” I exclaimed.

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