ppendale table I saw yesterday at the
exhibition, and chairs to match. And every bachelor should have a punch
bowl--Josiah has such a beauty!"

But I am running far ahead. Among the notes with which my table was
laden, Banks had found a scrawl. This I made out with difficulty to
convey that Mr. Fox was not attending Parliament that day. If Mr. Carvel
would do him the honour of calling at his lodging, over Mackie's Italian
Warehouse in Piccadilly, at four o'clock, he would take great pleasure
in introducing him at Brooks's Club. In those days 'twas far better for
a young gentleman of any pretensions to remain at home than go to London
and be denied that inner sanctuary,--the younger club at Almack's. Many
the rich brewer's son has embittered his life because it was not given
him to see more than the front of the house from the far side of Pall
Mall. But to be taken there by Charles Fox was an honour falling to few.
I made sure that Dolly was at the bottom of it.

Promptly at four I climbed the stairs and knocked at Mr. Fox's door.
The Swiss who opened it shook his head dubiously when I asked for his
master, and said he had not been at home that day.

"But I had an appointment to meet him," I said, thinking it very
strange.

The man's expression changed.

"An appointment, sir! Ah, sir, then you are to step in here." And to my
vast astonishment he admitted me into a small room at one side of
the entrance. It was bare as poverty, and furnished with benches, and
nothing more. On one of these was seated a person with an unmistakable
nose and an odour of St. Giles's, who sprang to his feet and then sat
down again dejectedly. I also sat down, wondering what it could mean,
and debating whether to go or stay.

"Exguse me, your honour," said the person, "but haf you seen Mister
Fox?"

I said that I, too, was waiting for him, whereat he cast at me a
cunning look beyond my comprehension. Surely, I thought, a man of Fox's
inherited wealth and position could not be living in such a place!
Before the truth and humour of the situation had dawned upon me, I heard
a ringing voice without, swearing in most forcible English, and the door
was thrown open, admitting a tall young gentleman, as striking as I have
ever seen. He paid not the smallest attention to the Jew, who was bowing
and muttering behind me.

"Mr. Richard Carvel?" said he, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

I bowed.

"Gad's life, Mr. Carvel, I'm deuced sorry this s