ing on the thing as concluded; but, with one hole in my
head and some half-dozen in my heart, my memory was none of the best.

Snatching up the letter, therefore, I resolved to lose no more time, and
proceeded at once to Mr. Blake's room, expecting that I should, as the
event proved, find him engaged in the very laborious duty of making his
toilet.

[Illustration: MR. BLAKE'S DRESSING ROOM.]

"Come in, Charley," said he, as I tapped gently at the door. "It's only
Charley, my darling. Mrs. B. won't mind you."

"Not the least in life," responded Mrs. B., disposing at the same time a
pair of her husband's corduroys tippet fashion across her ample shoulders,
which before were displayed in the plenitude and breadth of coloring we
find in a Rubens. "Sit down, Charley, and tell us what's the matter."

As until this moment I was in perfect ignorance of the Adam-and-Eve-like
simplicity in which the private economy of Mr. Blake's household was
conducted, I would have gladly retired from what I found to be a mutual
territory of dressing-room had not Mr. Blake's injunctions been issued
somewhat like an order to remain.

"It's only a letter, sir," said I, stuttering, "from my uncle about the
election. He says that as his majority is now certain, he should feel
better pleased in going to the poll with all the family, you know, sir,
along with him. He wishes me just to sound your intentions,--to make out
how you feel disposed towards him; and--and, faith, as I am but a poor
diplomatist, I thought the best way was to come straight to the point and
tell you so."

"I perceive," said Mr. Blake, giving his chin at the moment an awful gash
with the razor,--"I perceive; go on."

"Well, sir, I have little more to say. My uncle knows what influence you
have in Scariff, and expects you'll do what you can there."

"Anything more?" said Blake, with a very dry and quizzical expression I
didn't half like,--"anything more?"

"Oh, yes; you are to write a line to old Mallock."

"I understand; about Coolnamuck, isn't it?"

"Exactly; I believe that's all."

"Well, now, Charley, you may go down-stairs, and we'll talk it over after
dinner."

"Yes, Charley dear, go down, for I'm going to draw on my stockings," said
the fair Mrs. Blake, with a look of very modest consciousness.

When I had left the room I couldn't help muttering a "Thank God!" for the
success of a mission I more than once feared for, and hastened to despatch
a note to my u