ed unjustifiable homicides of the despot of
Dahomey, in sacrifice to his gods, beneath the sheltering shade of the
tum-tum tree.

Well, what of that--you may pertinently remark--a most praiseworthy
proceeding, surely, on his part to go to church whenever he possibly
could? Granted; but then, Horner was prone to indulge in another
practice which might not be held quite so praiseworthy in some people's
view.

Quite contrary to his abnormal mode of progression, he would hasten out
of the sacred edifice immediately after the doxology; and, planting
himself easily and gracefully in a studied attitude some short distance
from the doors, would from that commanding position proceed to stare at
and minutely observe the congregation, collectively and severally, as
they came tripping forth from the porch after him. This was, really,
very indefensible; and yet, I do not think that Horner meant to commit
any deliberate wrong in so doing.

Be the motive what it may, such was his general habit.

He would always courteously acknowledge the passing salutations of men-
folk with an almost imperceptible nod, so as not to disarrange the
careful adjustment of his eye-glass, or disturb the poise of his beaver:
to ladies, on the contrary, he was all "effusion," as the French say,
dashing off his hat as if he metaphorically flung it at their feet for a
gage d'amour, not of battle--just like an Ethiopian minstrel striking
the gay tambourine on his knee in a sudden flight of enthusiasm. All in
all, Horner was essentially a ladies' man, his points lying in that way;
and, although what is popularly known as "harmless," he was not by any
means a bad sort of fellow on the whole, when judged by the more
exacting masculine standard, being very good-natured and obliging, like
most of us, when you did not put him out of his way or expect too much
from him.

To me at this crisis of my fate, he appeared for the nonce an angel in
human form. He would be just the person who could tell me in what
direction my unknown enchantress went. I would ask him.

Fiat.

"Hullo, Horner!" I said, tapping him at once on the shoulder, and
arresting him from the abstracted contemplation of two stylish girls in
pink, who were just turning the corner of the churchyard out of sight.

"Yaas, 'do?" he replied, moving his head round slowly, as if it worked
on a pivot which, wanted greasing, so as to confront me. He was as mild
and imperturbable as usual. An eart