on the Sabbath without fear of rebuke from the
strictest--though it is not quite easy to see why.

Open any one of the monthly numbers, and the chances are that you may
possibly find at one part a neat little doctrinal essay by a literary
bishop; the rest of the contents will consist of nothing more serious
than a paper upon "cockroaches and their habits" by an eminent savant; a
description of foreign travel, done in a brilliant and wholly secular
vein; and, further on again, an article on aesthetic furniture--while the
balance of the number will be devoted to instalments of two thrilling
novels by popular authors, whose theology is seldom their strongest
point.

Oddly enough, too, when these very novels come out later in three-volume
form, with the "mark of the beast" in the shape of a circulating library
ticket upon them, they will be fortunate if they are not interdicted
altogether by some of the serious families who take in the magazines as
being "so suitable for Sundays."

Mr. Bultitude, at all events, had reason to be grateful for this
toleration, for in one of the bound volumes supplied to him he found a
most interesting and delightfully unsectarian novel, which appealed to
his tastes as a business man, for it was all about commerce and making
fortunes by blockade-running; and though he was no novel reader as a
rule, his mind was so relieved and set at rest by the prospect of seeing
the end of his trouble at last, that he was able to occupy his mind with
the fortunes of the hero.

He naturally detected technical errors here and there. But that pleased
him, and he was becoming so deeply absorbed in the tale that he felt
seriously annoyed when Chawner came softly up to the desk at which he
was sitting, and sat down close to him, crossing his arms before him,
and leaning forward upon them with his sallow face towards Paul.

"Dickie," he began, in a cautious, oily tone, "did I hear the Doctor say
before dinner that he would hear anything you have to tell him after
supper? Did I?"

"I really can't say, sir," said Paul; "if you were near the keyhole at
the time, very likely you did."

"The door was open," said Chawner, "and I was in the cloak-room, so I
heard, and I want to know. What is it you're going to tell the Doctor?"

"Mind your own business, sir," said Paul sharply.

"It is my own business," said Chawner; "but I don't want to be told what
you're going to tell him. I know."

"Good heavens!" said Mr.