The only return for the slippers was a polite note. Then Janet worked a pair of braces so beautifully, that it seemed a pity to put coat and waistcoat over them. The braces had no more effect than the slippers. Single curates have plenty of presents from ladies, and think very little of them. As the curate failed, we tried the doctor. The girls persuaded themselves that they were not well. The doctor called often enough, and sent in plenty of physic-for he had a large family-besides a carriage and pair-to keep; but his calls did not lead to any introductions. We were thoroughly baffled and mortified. I believe at that time I would have joined a Red Republican revolution for making everybody equal.

TABLE TALK.

MOST remarkable book, which cannot fail to have much interest for others besides professed astronomers, has lately been published. It is entitled "Observations on Comets, from B.C. 611 to A.D. 1640," and is by Mr. John Williams, assistant secretary of the Royal Astronomical Society. The portion of the book most interesting to general readers will be the introductory remarks on subjects which have occurred relating to Chinese astronomy. If we may trust the antiquity of the books from which the information is gained-and Mr. Williams sees no reason to consider them less trustworthy than the early histories of any countries the Chinese possessed considerable astronomical knowledge in very ancient times. It must, however, be borne in mind that the correctness of the account given entirely depends upon the degree of credence to be placed in the "Shoo King"-one of their five classical works-which is considered by the Chinese as their most ancient book, and we know it was revised by Confucius about the sixth century B.C. Its antiquity is not only believed in by the Chinese themselves, but by some of the best European scholars, and is borne out by its archaic style and construction. Mr. Williams mentions several tests by which the accuracy of these accounts may be verified. One of the most interesting is the following:-"In the Chinese annals it is recorded that in the reign of Chuen Kuh, the grandson of Hwang Te, in the spring of the year, on the first day of the first moon, a conjunction of the five planets occurred in the heavens in Ying

Shih. Ying Shih, or as it is more usually denominated Shih, is one of the twentyeight stellar divisions determined by a, b, and other stars in Pegasus, extending north and south from Cygnus to Piscis Australis, and east and west seventeen degrees, and comprising parts of our signs Capricornus and Aquarius. The Emperor Chuen Kuh is said to have reigned seventy-eight years, from B.C. 2513 to 2436, and to have died in his ninety-fifth year; and from modern computations-I believe by M. Bailly, the French astronomer-it has been ascertained that a conjunction of the five planets actually did take place about the time and within the limits indicated-that is, on the 29th of September, 2449 B.C., being the sixty-fifth year of Chuen Kuh. Should this, on further investigation, prove correct, it will afford a strong presumption of the authenticity of the early Chinese annals, as there is no appearance of their astronomers having been at any time able to compute the places of the planets so far back, and the account is found in works published long before any intercourse with Europeans had taken place."

IS HAS BEEN ASSERTED by Professor Edwards, that guano-which for years has been so extensively imported for certain qualities of land-is not composed of the excreta of birds. The recent researches of Dr. Habel tend to support this view; for when the portions of guano which are insoluble in acids are submitted to chemical and microscopic examination, they are found to consist of skeleton remains of animals of marine origin, and frequently of animals to be found alive in the neighbouring seas. It is stated that ships riding at anchor round the guano-producing islands frequently pull up the guano with their anchors. This is strong evidence against the old-fashioned excreta theory. The new conjectural proposition endeavours to account for the existence of the masses of guano in the Chincha Islands by the action of heat, or chemical action, or both together working the necessary changes for the conversion of the animal remains into the well-known fertilizing substance of

commerce.

The authors of the articles in ONCE A WEEK reserve to themselves the right of translation. Terms of Subscription for ONCE A WEEK, free by post:-Weekly Numbers for Six Months, 5s. 5d.; Monthly Parts, 5s. 8d.

READY-MONEY MORTIBOY.

A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY.

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.

YA WAS about this time Mr. Mortiboy took to sending for his lawyer three or four times aweek. After each interview he would be more nervous, more shaken than before. He kept the reason of these visits a secret -even from Ghrimes. But to Lucy Heathcote-with whom he spoke more frankly of himself than to any other human being-the old man told some of his perplexities.

"I am getting old, my dear, and I am getting shaky. I've a deal to trouble and worry

me."

"But there is Cousin Dick, uncle." "Yes, there's Dick. But it is all my property that's on my mind. I always intended. to do something for you two, my dear-always."

"Never mind that now, uncle."

"And perhaps I ought for the young Melliships as well; though why for them I don't know. And I'm ill, Lucy. Sometimes I think I am going to die. And-and-I try to read-the-Bible at night, my dear; but it's no use-it's no use. All the property is on my mind, and I can think of nothing else."

"Shall I read to you, uncle?" "No, child!-nonsense!-certainly not," he replied, angrily. "I'm not a Pauper." Being "read to," whether you liked it or

VOL. IX.

Price 2d.

not, suggested the condition of such helpless impecuniosity, that he turned quite red in the face, and gasped. His breath was getting rather short.

Presently he went on complaining again. "At night I see coffins, and dream of funerals and suicides. It's a dreadful thing to have a funeral going on all night long. I think, my dear, if I had the property off my mind, I should be better. If it was safe, and in good hands, I should be very much easier: if it was still growing, lighter in my mind. Dick is very good. He sits with me every evening. But he can't be with me when I am asleep, you know, Lucy; and these dreams haunt me."

The old man passed his hand across his brow, and sighed heavily. He could not bear even to think of death; and here was death staring him in the face every night.

"I know I ought to make a will," he went on to his patient listener, Lucy, who did not repeat things-as he very well knew. "I ought to; but I can't, my dear. There's such a lot of money, and so many people; and after one is gone, one will be abused for not doing what was right; and-and-I haven't the heart to divide it, my dear. It's such a shame to cut Property up, and split it into pieces."

"Can't you take advice, uncle?"

"I don't trust to anybody, Lucy. They're all thinking of themselves-all of them." This, as if he had been himself the most disinterested of mankind.

"There's Mr. Ghrimes. You trust him, uncle?"

"Well-yes-I trust him. But then he's well paid for it, you see."

Ghrimes got £200 a-year for work which a London employer would have considered cheap at five times that sum.

"And you trust Cousin Dick?"

"Yes," said the old man, brightening up a little. "I do trust Dick. I trust my boy. He is a great comfort to me-a great com

NO. 218.

fort. But it is not only the division of the Property, Lucy-think of the Awful Probate duty! There's a waste of money-there's a sacrifice: a most iniquitous tax, a tax upon prudence! I'm not so well off as I ought to be, my dear-not so well as my poor father thought I should be; but I've done pretty well. And the probate duty is a terrible thing to think of-it's really appalling. Two per cent. on money left to your son! Thousands will be lost! Dear me! dear me! Thousands!"

These confidences were for Lucy Heathcote alone, with whom the old man felt himself safe. No talk of property to Dick; no confessions to his son; no asking of advice; no offers of money. So far from giving or lending, Mr. Mortiboy received from his son, every Saturday morning, a sovereign in payment for a week's board, and two shillings and threepence for a bottle of gin. While pocketing the money, the parent never failed to remind Dick of the cheapness of his board, and the fact that he was charged nothing at all for bed and lodging. He always added, solemnly, that it gave him great pleasure to entertain his son, even at a loss.

As for their evenings together, they were always alike. A single candle lighted the kitchen where they sat: the father in a Windsor arm-chair, with his bottle of gin at his elbow, and a long pipe in his mouth; the son opposite him, with a short pipe and another bottle. Between them a deal table. As Dick grew tired of telling stories, he used sometimes to beguile the hours by showing his father tricks with the cards. Mr. Mortiboy, senior, did not approve of games of chance. They gave no opening for the prudent employment of capital, and risked Property. Nor did he approve of socalled games of skill, such as whist; because the element of chance entered so largely into them, that, as he argued, not the richest man was safe. But his admiration was excessive when Dirk-feigning, for the sake of effect, that his father was a credulous and simple person-showed how thousands might be won by the turning up of a certain card; telling which card had been touched; making cards hide themselves in pockets, and drawers, and so forth. These feats of skill, with the stories which he loved to hear over and over again, like a child, rekindled and inflamed Mr. Mortiboy's imagination, previously as good as dead, so that his fancy

ran riot in dreams of unbounded wealth to be made in distant countries-dreams which Dick could have turned to good use had it not been for the want of nerve which had fallen upon his father after Mr. Melliship's death.

Between eight and nine, the old man, who shows signs of having taken as much gin and water as he can well carry, rises to go to bed. Dick lights his candle, and watches the tall, thin figure of his father— stooping now and bent-climbing the stairs.

He heaves a great sigh of relief, and closes the double doors which connect the kitchen, built out at the back, with the rest of the house.

"What has the old woman got for me?" says Dick, unlocking a cupboard. "Steak again. Well, where's the gridiron?"

The economical principles on which Mr. Mortiboy's household was conducted generally left his son an excessively hungry man at nine o'clock; and, by private arrangement with old Hester, materials for ssupper were always secretly made for him. •

Dick deftly cooks the steak, drinks a pint of stout, and producing a bottle of brandy from the recesses of the cupboard, mixes a glass of grog, and smokes a pipe before going to bed.

"It's infernal hard work," he sighed to himself; "and something ought to come of it-or what the devil shall I do with Lafleur?"

Then came a letter from that gentleman. Bad news, of course: had been to Paris; done capitally with his System for a bit. Turn of luck; not enough capital; was cleaned out. Would his partner send him more money, or would he run up to town, and bring him some?

He afterwards explained that the System was working itself out like a mathematical problem, but that he had been beguiled by the beaux yeux of the Countess de Parabère

in whose house was the play-and weakly allowed her to stand behind his chair. Dick quite understood the significance of this folly, and forbore to make any remark. Bad luck, indeed, affected his spirits but slightly, and he was too well acquainted with his partner to blame him for those indiscretions which the wisest and strongest of men may fall into.

Out of the thousand pounds they brought to England, only one hundred remained. Lafleur, in three months, had had eight hun

dred; Polly nearly a hundred; and a hundred remained in the bank. Dick, in this crisis, drew out fifty, and went up to town with it.

Lafleur was in his lodgings in Jermynstreet, sitting at work on his System—an infallible method of breaking the banks. He had a pack of cards, and a paper covered with calculations. Occasionally he tested. his figures, and always, as it appeared, with satisfactory results. At present he was without a shilling-having lost the last in an attempt to win a little money at pool, at which he had met with provokingly bad luck.

"I have brought you something to carry on with for the present," said Dick, "and we must talk about the future."

Lafleur counted the money, and locked it up.

"Permit me to remind my Dick," he said, in his softest accents, "that the three months are nearly up."

"I know," replied Dick, gloomily.

"Let us go and dine. You can sleep here to-night, if you like. There is a spare room. And we can have a little game of cards."

They dined: they came back: they had a little game of cards. At midnight, Lafleur turned his chair to the fire, and lighting a cigarette, looked at his friend with an expression of inquiry.

"Après, my Richard."

Dick stood before the fire in silence for a little.

"Look here, Lafleur. Did I ever break a promise?"

"Never, Dick. Truthful James was a fool to you."

"Very well, then. Now, listen to me." He told how his father was falling into dotage; how he held tighter than ever to his money; how the old man grew every day more fond of him; and how he must, at all hazards, contrive to hold on.

"The property is worth half a million at least, Lafleur. Think of that, man. Think of five hundred thousand pounds-two and a-half million dollars-twelve and a-half million francs! The old man keeps such a grip upon it that I can touch nothing. Makes me pay him a pound a-week for my grub. But I must hold on. It would be madness to cross or anger him now. You must wait, Lafleur."

"I will wait, certainly. Make your three months six, if you like-or nine, or twelve. Only, how are we to live meantime? Get me

"Is there nothing in the house, Dick ?" Dick started. The man had touched on a secret thought. Something in the house? Yes there was something. There was the press in his father's bed-room, the keys of which were always in old Ready-money's possession. There were gold cups and silver cups in it; plate of all kinds; jewellery and diamonds; and there was, he knew, at least one bag of gold. Something in the house? He looked fixedly at Lafleur without answering.

Lafleur lighted another cigarette; and, crossing his legs with an easy smile, asked casually

"Is it money, Dick ?"

Dick's face flushed, and his eyebrows contracted. Somehow, he had got out of sympathy with the old kind of life.

"I don't know, for certain. I think there is money. Gold and silver things, diamonds and pearls. No one knows the existence of the bureau but myself. But I will not do it, Lafleur. I cannot do it. The risk is too great."

"Then you shall not do it, my partner. I will do it."

He went to his desk, and took out a little bottle, which he placed in Dick's hands.

"I suppose," he said, "that you do not know the admirable and useful properties of morphia. This delightful fluid-which contains no alcohol, like laudanum-will send your aged parent into so profound a slumber, that his son may safely abstract his keys for an hour or so, and give them to me. I should only borrow the gold, for the rest would be dangerous. The risk of the affair, if properly conducted, would be simply nothing. Or, another method, as the cookery books say. Let us get an impression of the keys in wax. That you can do easily. I know a locksmith-a gentle and amiable German, in Soho-whose only desires are to live blamelessly, and to drink the blood of kings. He will make me a key. You will