ourse, with the general principle that liberality with small
means was beautiful to behold as well as desirable to possess--the
liberality, not the small means--and that, on the other hand, riches
with a narrow niggardly spirit was abominable, but then--and the black
sheep came, usually, to the strongest part of his argument when he said
"but then"--it was an uncommonly difficult thing, when everything was up
to famine prices, and gold was depreciated in value owing to the
gold-fields, and silver was nowhere, and coppers were changed into
bronze,--exceedingly difficult to practise liberality and at the same
time to make the two ends meet.

As no one clearly saw the exact bearing of the black sheep's argument,
they all replied with that half idiotic simper with which Ignorance
seeks to conceal herself, and which Politeness substitutes for the more
emphatic "pooh," or the inelegant "bosh." Then, applying themselves
with renewed zest to the muffins, they put about ship, nautically
speaking, and went off on a new tack.

"Mr Twitter is rather late to-night, I think?" said Mr Crackaby,
consulting his watch, which was antique and turnipy in character.

"He is, indeed," replied the hostess, "business must have detained him,
for he is the very soul of punctuality. That is one of his many good
qualities, and it is _such_ a comfort, for I can always depend on him to
the minute,--breakfast, dinner, tea; he never keeps us waiting, as too
many men do, except, of course, when he is unavoidably detained by
business."

"Ah, yes, business has much to answer for," remarked Mrs Loper, in a
tone which suggested that she held business to be an incorrigibly bad
fellow; "whatever mischief happens with one's husband it's sure to be
business that did it."

"Pardon me, madam," objected the black sheep, whose name, by the way,
was Stickler, "business does bring about much of the disaster that often
appertains to wedded life, but mischief is sometimes done by other
means, such, for instance, as accidents, robberies, murders--"

"Oh! Mr Stickler," suddenly interrupted a stout, smiling lady, named
Larrabel, who usually did the audience part of Mrs Twitter's little tea
parties, "how _can_ you suggest such ideas, especially when Mr Twitter
is unusually late?"

Mr Stickler protested that he had no intention of alarming the company
by disagreeable suggestions, that he had spoken of accident, robbery,
and murder in the abstract.

"There, you'