sy laying the cloth as he entered, but his friend
was seated, half-dressed, unshorn, pale, and drooping, in an old
arm-chair near the window.

"It's a shame for you, George Robinson," said the lady, as he
entered, "so it is. Look at that, for a father of a family,--coming
home at three o'clock in the morning, and not able to make his way
upstairs till I went down and fetched him!"

"I told her that we were obliged to sit out the debate," said
Poppins, winking eagerly at his friend.

"Debate, indeed! A parcel of geese as you call yourself! Only geese
go to bed betimes, and never get beastly drunk as you was, Poppins."

"I took a bit of stewed cheese, which always disagrees with me."

"Stewed cheese never disagrees with you when I'm with you. I'll tell
you what it is, Poppins; if you ain't at home and in bed by eleven
o'clock next Saturday, I'll go down to the 'Goose and Gridiron,' and
I'll have that old Grandy out of his chair. That's what I will. I
suppose you're so bad you can't eat a bit of nothing?" In answer to
which, Robinson said that he did not feel himself to be very hungry.

"It's a blessing to Maryanne to have lost you; that's what it is."

"Stop, woman," said Robinson.

"Don't you woman me any womans. I know what stuff you're made off.
It's a blessing for her not to have to do with a man who comes home
roaring drunk, like a dead log, at three o'clock in the morning."

"Now, Polly,--" began poor Poppins.

"Oh, ah, Polly! Yes. Polly's very well. But it was a bad day for
Polly when she first sat eyes on you. There was Sergeant MacNash
never took a drop too much in his life. And you're worse than
Robinson ten times. He's got no children at home, and no wife. If he
kills hisself with tobacco and gin, nobody will be much the worse.
I know one who's got well out of it, anyway. And now, if either of
you are able to eat, you can come." Robinson did not much enjoy his
afternoon, but the scenes, as they passed, served to reconcile him
to that lonely life which must, henceforward, be his fate. What was
there to enjoy in the fate of Poppins, and what in the proposed
happiness of Brisket? Could not a man be sufficient for himself
alone? Was there aught of pleasantness in that grinding tongue of
his friend's wife? Should not one's own flesh,--the bone of one's
bone,--bind up one's bruises, pouring in balm with a gentle hand?
Poppins was wounded sorely about the head and stomach, and of what
nature was the balm w