that his accustomed half-pence would not be forthcoming on that day; and the footman, when he descended to the kitchen, reported that the old chap had snapped his nose off in the passage, and muttered something about warning, and a place he knew of in Gower Street. "No going to Brighton this winter, Mrs. Grayson," cried Gregory, as he entered the drawing-room.

"My love!" exclaimed Mrs. Grayson.

"My dear papa!" duetted the girls; but there was something in the husband and father's face, that told the three ladies it would be worse than useless to raise that question at present.

It was not until the evening, in the drawing-room, that Gregory opened the case of "Grayson v. Beccles," which he did in a speech more remarkable for its feeling than its brevity. The discussion upon it was scarcely concluded when Mr. Lightly was announced. The usual salutations having been gone through Mr. Lightly seated himself.

"I did not see you in the city to-day," said Grayson. "Have you heard about Beccles?"

"I have."

"What do you think of him?"

"A man of the world."

Grayson thought this a deuced heartless speech, and gave a dissenting grunt.

"When is Mrs. Lightly going to invite us to see the literary lion she spoke of?" inquired one of the girls.

"Did Mrs. Lightly tell you she had secured a literary lion?" said Lightly; "ah! I remember, but he's no lion, I assure you; no more like a lion, than a little trimmed French dog. Can I word to you in private?" he added, turning to Grayson.

say a

"Surely ;" and the old gentleman led the way to the dining-room.

66

Settling day to-morrow," said Lightly, with assumed calmness. "What a collector of rare news you are!" cried Grayson, ironically. "I have stranger news to communicate; I shall be a defaulter." "Good God! Lightly, you don't say so?"

"True as two farthings to a half-penny," replied Lightly, shaking his head. "Hang it, Grayson, it's devilish hard too."

Grayson was mute for some minutes. "Why do you come and tell me your misfortunes?" he said, at length; "I'm not interested in the matter: nothing between us, I think?" "Nothing; but you've been friendly to me, I felt I must unburden my mind to somebody. me, but, upon my soul, I hardly dare go home.

my dear fellow, and

You won't believe Poor Emily!"

"There it is," cried Gregory, "you're so sanguine and headstrong, Lightly. I've always told you so. You wouldn't take my advice. You've got the money in your pocket before it comes out of the Mint. You're as bad as poor Berners, who blew out his brains in '25."

"He!" cried Lightly; "no, not quite such a fool as Berners. Why, he'd plant an apple tree, and then, order the dough to be made for the dumplings."

"And you," retorted Grayson, "would peel the apples when they were sowing the corn: that's all the difference. What's your deficiency?"

"Five thousand-rather more," said Lightly.

I

"Um-awkward-very awkward. What do you mean to do?" "Oh! I shall be able to make it up shortly, I dare say," returned Lightly; "but, in the mean time, there's the devil. must sell the place at Clapham, cashier the servants-tiger included— and live low and fight low, until things come round."

"Mrs. Lightly won't much like that," remarked Grayson.

"Mrs. Lightly won't much like it," answered the other; "but I'll tell you, Grayson, what Mrs. Lightly will like, and does like—a man of honour, better than a rascal."

Grayson's face underwent a slight convulsion. He motioned as though about to rise.

"By the bye, I'm detaining you," cried Lightly; "I'll bid you good night."

"If you'll call upon me," said Grayson, "to-morrow morning at ten, you shall have a cheque for six thousand, and our settling day shall be this day twelvemonths."

"Do you say so?" exclaimed Lightly, springing to his feet, and accomplishing a snap of the fingers, that made the wine-glasses ring upon the side-board. "Hang me, if I don't have a painting of you, Grayson; you shall be drawn as the good Samaritan: Howard was a humbug to you:" and he turned upon his heel, and passed his hand across his eyes.

"I'm a great fool," thought Gregory Grayson, as he walked up stairs, "but that, as Perkins used to say, comes by nature. Lost fifteen hundred odd by Beccles, and may lose six thousand by Lightly. No matter. The girls shall go to Brighton, this winter, notwithstanding."

We saw Lightly, the other day, in his cab. He was in high spirits, and the tiger looked as formidable as ever.

He repaid Grayson six weeks since. (This was told us in confidence.)

THE LAWYER'S CLERK.

BY LEMAN REDE.

HAVE you ever, reader, been present, either as principal, witness, or spectator, upon a Monday morning, when what are called the disorderly cases, at Bow Street, are heard? If you have, you must have noted the ambiguous manner in which most persons reply to the oft-mooted question-"Who are you?" Cobblers call themselves translators, ballad-bawlers dub themselves professionals, tailors are decorative artists, and the very porter of an

agency office is "a member of the legal profession." Sickened at such affectations, I, Kit Mark, announce, boldly and unequivocally, that I am a Lawyer's Clerk-aye, a Lawyer's Clerk; not one whose description requires the aggrandizing adjective "articled," but a Lawyer's Clerk, in the seedy-coated, napless-hatted, sadly-shod sense of that word. My father having a stronger affection for Barclay and Perkins than for his family, was seldom at home; so seldom, indeed, that though I was seven years old when he died, I scarcely missed him, and almost wondered when his widow wept. My mother kept a house, two stories high, in one of the desolate streets in Somers Town. The first floor was let off to a family, and in the second-floor back, lived, or vegetated, Jeremiah Hobbs, a gentleman, one &c., as he delighted to describe himself. He was a steady man, and a good lodger; "breakfasting" at home every morning at eight, departing at half-past, and letting himself in with a key at eleven at night. To him my mother revealed her wishes as regarded her firstborn, and he undertook, on my behalf, to smooth the path that led to Law and Latin. His success in the latter was bounded by the fact, that he knew nothing of that language, save such phrases as he had gleaned from "Impey's Practice," and the Sheriff's Returns. After due probation, he announced to me that I might, on a certain day, meet and accompany him to the offices. I skip over the anxious preparations, the elaboration of the business of the toilet. The hour was twelve, and the rendezvous the corner of Chancery Lane, Fleet Street end. Of course, my anxious parent sent me forth as the clock struck ten, and as I ran from that imperium in imperio, Somers

D