t that at twenty-one I inherited a considerable
fortune. One thing saved me from ruin, viz. a passionate love for
literature, which led me to make it my profession. I had at the time of
my story been following the bent of my inclinations for two years with a
fair amount of success, and was regarded by those who knew me as a lucky
fellow. That is all I think I need say concerning myself prior to the
time when my story opens, except to tell my name; but that will drop out
very soon. I had not made very great inroads into the omelette my
landlady had prepared for me when I heard the postman's knock, and soon
after a servant entered with a letter. One only. I had expected at least
half-a-dozen, but only one lay on the tray before me.

"Are you sure this is all, Jane?" I asked.

"Quite sure, sir," said Jane, smiling, and then with a curtsey she took
her leave.

The envelope was addressed in a bold hand-writing to--

_Justin M. Blake, Esq.,
Gower Street,
London, W._

"Surely I know the writing," I mused, and then began to look at the
postmarks as if a letter were something of very uncommon occurrence. I
could make nothing of the illegible smear in the corner, however, and so
opened it, and read as follows:--

Dear old Justin Martyr,

I suppose you have about forgotten your old schoolfellow, Tom Temple,
and it's natural you should; but he has not forgotten you. You see, you
have risen to fame, and I have remained in obscurity. Ah well, such is
the fate of that community called 'country gentlemen.' But this is not
what I want to write about, and I am going straight to the real object
of this letter.

We--that is, mother, the girls, and myself--are contemplating a real
jolly Christmas. We are inviting a few friends to spend Christmas and
New Year with us, and we wish you to make one of the number. Will you
come and spend a fortnight or so at Temple Hall? Of course it is rather
quiet here, but we are going to do our best to make it more lively than
usual. The weather looks frosty, and that promises skating. We have a
few good horses, so that we can have some rides across the country.
There is also plenty of shooting, hunting, etc., etc. Altogether, if you
will come and help us; we can promise a fairly good bill of fare. What
do you say? You must excuse me for writing in this unconventional
strain, but I can't write otherwise to my old schoolfellow.

We shall all be really disappointed if you say 'no,' so write a