icular--that it
has rendered the assumption of gaiters unhappily out of the question!
But, possibly, my wish to have these legs of mine disguised by your
pigments, strikes you as bizarre, if not positively eccentric? You
will better understand my reasons after you have heard a confession
which, though necessary, is, believe me, painful to make." And the
good old man, after a short internal struggle, began the following
narrative, which we reserve for a succeeding chapter.

CHAPTER II.

"Even as a Curate, a certain harmless vanity was ever my besetting
weakness. I might, indeed, have hoped that, after my accident--but
see, my good lad, how pride may lurk, even in our very infirmities!
These artificial limbs have become a yet subtler snare to me than
even those they replaced. I had them constructed, as you see, of
the best mahogany--to match the furniture in my dining-room. With
ever-increasing pleasure, my eyes have gloried in their grain and
gloss, in the symmetry of their curves, in the more than Chinese
delicacy of their extremities, until gradually they have trampled upon
my better self, they have run away with all my possibilities of moral
usefulness! Yes, but this very moment, as I stood admiring their
contour at yonder window, the pernicious thought crossed my mind that
their appearance would be yet more enhanced if I had them _gilded_!"

"But, your reverent Lordship," objected BRUSTLES, as the Bishop
paused, overcome by humiliation, "it's no use coming to _me_ for that
'ere job!" For, though but a poor boy, he was too honest to accept any
commission under false pretences. Gilding, he knew, might--and, in a
London atmosphere, soon would--become black, but no boot-polish would
ever assume the appearance, even of the blackest gilt, and so he
candidly explained to the Bishop.

"I know, my boy," said the latter, patting BEN's head kindly with the
handle of his umbrella, "I know. Hence my application to your skill.
That presumptuous idea revealed as in a lightning flash the abyss on
the brink of which I stood. This demon of perverse pride must be
laid; humbled for ever. So ply your brushes, and see you spare not the
blacking!"

CHAPTER III.

BRUSTLES obeyed--not without awe, and in a short space of time two
pots of blacking were exhausted, and the roseate glow of the Bishop's
mahogany limbs was for ever hidden under a layer of more than Nubian
ebony!

"'Selp me, your lordly reverence," he cried, dazzled b