The Mystery of a Hansom Cab is a mystery fiction novel by English writer Fergus Hume. The book was first published in Australia in 1886. Set in Melbourne, the story focuses on the investigation of a homicide involving a body discovered in a hansom cab, as well as an exploration into the social class divide in the city. The book was successful in Australia selling 100,000 copies in the first two print runs. It was then published in Britain and the United States and went on to sell over 500,000 copies worldwide, outselling the first of Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes novels, A Study in Scarlet (1887).
Excerpt from The Mystery Queen Sir Charles Moon looked up with a start, and drew his bushy gray eye-brows together. Some people would give more than that to know them, my dear. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.
Simon Beecot was a country gentleman with a small income, a small estate and a mind considerably smaller than either. He dwelt at Wargrove in Essex and spent his idle hours-of which he possessed a daily and nightly twenty-four-in snarling at his faded wife and in snapping between whiles at his son. Mrs. Beecot, having been bullied into old age long before her time, accepted sour looks and hard words as necessary to God's providence, but Paul, a fiery youth, resented useless nagging. He owned more brain-power than his progenitor, and to this favoring of Nature paterfamilias naturally objected. Paul also desired fame, which was likewise a crime in the fire-side tyrant's eyes. As there were no other children Paul was heir to the Beecot acres, therefore their present proprietor suggested that his son should wait with idle hands for the falling in of the heritage. In plain words, Mr. Beecot, coming of a long line of middle-class loafers, wished his son to be a loafer also. Again, when Mrs. Beecot retired to a tearful rest, her bully found Paul a useful person on whom to expend his spleen. Should this whipping-boy leave, Mr. Beecot would have to forego this enjoyment, as servants object to being sworn at without cause. For years Mr. Beecot indulged in bouts of bad temper, till Paul, finding twenty-five too dignified an age to tolerate abuse, announced his intention of storming London as a scribbler.
Thank you for checking out this book by Theophania Publishing. We appreciate your business and look forward to serving you soon. We have thousands of titles available, and we invite you to search for us by name, contact us via our website, or download our most recent catalogues. Certain portions of England yet remain undiscovered by Americans and uncivilised by railways. Colester village above King's-meadows, in a county which need not be named, is one of these unknown spots. No doubt before long the bicycle and the motor-car will enliven its somnolent neighbourhood, but at present it is free from the summer jaunts of tourists. With this neglect the Colester folk profess themselves satisfied. They have no wish to come into contact with the busy world. This prejudice against intrusion dates from medi val times, when strangers rarely came to the village with peaceful intentions. Even now a chance comer is looked upon with suspicion. Mr Richard Pratt said something of this sort to the vicar during a morning ramble, some six weeks after he had taken up his residence in The Nun's House. With the parson and the gentry of the parish Mr Pratt agreed very well, his respectability having been vouched for by Mrs Gabriel, the lady of the manor. But the villagers still held aloof, although the newcomer did his best to overcome their churlish doubts. They did not credit his story that he had settled in Colester to pass his remaining years in peace, and even the money he scattered so freely could not buy their loyalty. Pratt had never met with such people before. In most countries an open purse invites an open heart; but the Colester villagers were above Mammon worship. Such an experience was refreshing to Pratt, and introduced him to a new type of humanity.
Fergusson Wright Hume (8 July 1859 - 12 July 1932), known as Fergus Hume, was a prolific English novelist. Finding that the novels of mile Gaboriau were then very popular in Melbourne, Hume obtained and read a set of them and determined to write a novel of the same kind. The result was The Mystery of a Hansom Cab, set in Melbourne, with descriptions of poor urban life based on his knowledge of Little Bourke Street. It was self-published in 1886 and became a great success. Because he sold the British and American rights for 50 pounds, however, he reaped little of the potential financial benefit. It became the best-selling mystery novel of the Victorian era; in 1990 John Sutherland called it the most sensationally popular crime and detective novel of the century. This novel inspired Arthur Conan Doyle to write A Study in Scarlet, which introduced the fictional consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. Doyle remarked, Hansom Cab was a slight tale, mostly sold by puffing.
Hume was born in England, the second son of James Hume. When he was three the family emigrated to Dunedin, New Zealand, where he was educated at Otago Boys' High School and studied law at the University of Otago. He was admitted to the New Zealand bar in 1885. Shortly after graduation Hume relocated to Melbourne, Australia, where he obtained a job as a barristers' clerk. He began writing plays, but found it impossible to persuade the managers of Melbourne theatres to accept or even to read them.
Hume was born in England, the second son of James Hume. When he was three the family emigrated to Dunedin, New Zealand, where he was educated at Otago Boys' High School and studied law at the University of Otago. He was admitted to the New Zealand bar in 1885. Shortly after graduation Hume relocated to Melbourne, Australia, where he obtained a job as a barristers' clerk. He began writing plays, but found it impossible to persuade the managers of Melbourne theatres to accept or even to read them.
Thank you for checking out this book by Theophania Publishing. We appreciate your business and look forward to serving you soon. We have thousands of titles available, and we invite you to search for us by name, contact us via our website, or download our most recent catalogues. "'The lef' han', dearie, an' gowld for th' charm. Aye a bewtiful han' for a bewtiful maid. I 'udn't rade false for--eh, dear life, what is't? Th' lines goo criss an' crass. Duvel I be mortal feared to tell 'ee. Take tha han'. Gran hes nought to spake for sich a mayden." As she said the last word, a startled look came into the glazed eyes of the old gipsy; and with a quick gesture she flung back the hand she had been holding. The pretty, fair-haired girl who was having her fortune told laughed nervously, and shot an anxious glance at the young man who stood near her. He was tall and dark and masterful; also he was in love with the girl, as could be seen from the tenderness in his eyes and the smile on his lips. But as the sibyl spoke, as the girl started, he changed the smile to a frown, and caught the woman roughly by the arm. She was on the point of hobbling away; but, on feeling the man's grip, she turned doggedly to face him. With her rags and wrinkles, red cloak, and Oriental countenance, she looked like the Witch of Endor--at bay.
The dingy little cart containing the clean linen of the Rectory, was on its way by an unusually roundabout route. Neddy Mellin, the washer woman's son, who disliked work as much as he liked play, which was natural in a lad of thirteen, grumbled openly at the uncongenial task of driving the large white donkey. The animal herself, who answered to the name of Nelly, grumbled also in her own way, as she objected to innovations. Hitherto she had been allowed to take the short road to the parson's residence; now she was compelled to go by the long one, which was particularly annoying on this damp, misty November afternoon. With the obstinacy of her race she refused to trot, and although Neddy whipped her, coaxed her, and threatened her, Nelly tstill behaved as though she were attending a funeral. Mrs. Mellin did not mind. Throned amidst the bundles of linen, she peered through the fog for something she particularly wished to see. Only when the cart arrived midway down a melancholy, deserted thoroughfare, bordered by dripping elm-trees, did she speak. Then the cart stopped as she fancied she heard an order. "There," said Mrs. Mellin, pointing with a fat, red finger at a dreary mansion which stood in a disorderly garden. "Maranatha I never did 'ear of sich a queer name in all my born days." "It's a scripter name, and has to do with cursing," explained her son, who, being a choir-boy, knew something about the Bible. "Then don't let me 'ear you use sich a wicked word, or I'll take the skin off your back," said his mother, wiping her large crimson face with a corner of her tartan shawl. "Maranatha it gives me the shivers, it do." "You're using it yourself," murmured Neddy, in an injured tone. "Me, being your elder and your ma, has a right to use words as ain't fit for you," said Mrs. Mellin, tartly, "and as we've got the washing of the new gent as has come to live there, I'll say the name often enough. I'll be bound. But not you, Neddy. Say the 'Ouse, and I'll know what you mean. And for 'Eaven's sake, child don't 'it the donkey. I want to look at the place." Mrs. Mellin craned forward so as to get a better view, and stared at the square, ugly building, the damp red bricks of which were almost hidden by dark curtains of untrimmed ivy. Smoke came from one chimney, which showed that the house was inhabited, but as the shutters were up and the door closed, there was a sinister look about the whole place which made the washerwoman shiver. In its wilderness of shrubs and long grass, girdled by gigantic elms, all sopping and dripping, the mansion loomed portentously through the mists. It looked like a house with an evil history, and the queer name on the gate suited it extraordinarily well. Mrs. Mellin was not imaginative, yet she shivered again as she signed that Nelly could proceed. Tired of standing and anxious to get her day's work over, Nelly changed her funeral pace for a more active one. "Maranatha " murmured Mrs. Mellin, as the cart turned into the Parade. "Well, baronet or no baronet, he won't get much good out of Maranatha. Arter suicides you may paint a 'ouse, you may furnish a 'ouse, and you may advertise 'ouses till you're sick, but them as comes to live in sich allays leaves afore the term's out. An' no wonder 'ow long he'll stay?" "Who'll stay?" asked Neddy curiously. "I wasn't speaking to you, child. 'Old your tongue and drive on. I do 'ope as Mrs. Craver ain't 'eard. This will be news for 'er. And that Emily Pyne is sich a gossip, as never was." All the way to the Rectory, Mrs. Mellin continued to talk in this way to herself, while Neddy kept his ears open to drink in every word. He was a slender boy with a wonderfully delicate complexion, curly golden hair, and innocent blue eyes, looking, on the whole, like a stray angel. And when in the choir he not only looked like an angel but sang like one, as his voice was remarkably beautiful.
Thank you for checking out this book by Theophania Publishing. We appreciate your business and look forward to serving you soon. We have thousands of titles available, and we invite you to search for us by name, contact us via our website, or download our most recent catalogues. "Hullo, Gore " The young soldier stopped, started, colored with annoyance, and with a surprised expression turned to look on the other soldier who had addressed him. After a moment's scrutiny of the stranger's genial smile he extended his hand with pleased recognition. "Conniston," said he, "I thought you were in America." "So I am; so don't call me Conniston at the pitch of your voice, old boy. His lordship of that name is camping on Californian slopes for a big game shoot. The warrior who stands before you is Dick West of the -- Lancers, the old Come-to-the-Fronts. And what are you doing as an Imperial Yeoman, Gore?" "Not that name," said the other, with an anxious glance around. "Like yourself, I don't want to be known." "Oh So you are sailing under false colors also?" "Against my will, Conniston-I mean West. I am Corporal Bernard." "Hum " said Lord Conniston, with an approving nod. "You have kept your Christian name, I see." "It is all that remains of my old life," replied Gore, bitterly. "But your title, Conniston?" "Has disappeared," said the lancer, good-humoredly, "until I can make enough money to gild it." "Do you hope to do that on a private's pay?"
Manchester Guardian.--"A female highwayman is a somewhat daring variety in fiction of which crime and audacity is the chief merit of Mr. Fergus Hume's latest work. Mr. Hume is a clever writer in a very fertile vein." Literary World.--"In 'Claude Duval of Ninety-Five' we have a recendesence of highway robbery very skilfully contrived." Weekly Sun.--"The plot is very cleverly worked out. The book is to be heartily commended as one of its author's masterpieces." Literature.--"The story is novel, and is worked out into a present day environment with real dexterity." Yorkshire Post.--"An entertaining romance which should agree with the prevailing mood of the libraries." Observer.--"Mr. Hume's story will rank among the best of its type." A Green Bird Publication of a high quality paperback
Lord Prelice felt desperately bored. Like Xeres, he longed for some new pleasure, yet knew not where to look for one. This was the result of being surfeited with the sweets of extraordinary good fortune. Born to a title, endowed with passable good looks, gifted with abilities above the average, and possessed of admirable health, he should have been the happiest of men; the more especially as his income ran well into five figures, and he had the whole wide world to play with. Certainly he had played with it and with life, up to his present age of thirty-five years. Perhaps this was the reason of his acute boredom. If all work and no play makes Jack dull; all play and no work must necessarily make him blase. Therefore, in spite of the excellent breakfast spread before him on this bright summer morning, when London was looking at its best, the young man was ungratefully wondering what he could do to render life endurable. He ate from habit and not because he enjoyed his food; he read the morning papers, since it was necessary to be abreast of the times, for conversational purposes, although very little was new therein and still less was true. By the time he arrived at the marmalade stage of the meal he was again considering the possibilities of the next four and twenty hours. In this discontented frame of mind he was discovered by his aunt. Lady Sophia Haken bustled into the pleasant room exasperatingly cheerful, and very pleased with life in general and with herself in particular. She was an elderly woman of a somewhat masculine type who lived a simple out-of-door existence, and who proclaimed loudly that it was necessary for humanity to return to the Stone Age for true enjoyment. Having been riding in the Row for the last two hours, she entered in her habit, filled with the egotism of the early riser. As a near relative, she could not do less than scold Prelice for lingering over a late breakfast, and told him, -also as a near relative-that she scolded him for his good. She had done so very often before without result, and, but that she loved to lay down the law, would have long since given over the attempt to improve her nephew. Nevertheless, anxious to achieve the impossible, she attacked him with pristine vigor, as though aware for the first time of his bad habits. "Nine o'clock and still at breakfast," said Lady Sophia significantly, and slapped her skirts with a whip which she would have dearly liked to lay across her lazy nephew's broad shoulders. Prelice looked indolently at the clock, then at the table, and finally at his fuming aunt. "I cannot deny it," he said, with a yawn. "Is that all you have to say?" she asked, much disgusted. Prelice heaved a sigh. It was necessary to say something, if only to stem the coming tide of verbose speech. "How well you are looking." "Because I have been up since six o'clock." "How unwise; you will probably sleep all the afternoon." Lady Sophia snapped, tartly: "I shall do nothing of the sort." "Oh, very well," he assented, "you will do nothing of the sort. Anything for a quiet life, even agreement with the improbable." His aunt grasped her whip dangerously. "How exasperating you are " "I was just thinking the same about you," confessed Prelice, good-humouredly; "it is so disagreeable for a late riser to be reminded of the time." And having folded his napkin, he lighted a cigarette. "How long is this going on?" demanded Lady Sophia fiercely. His imperturbability made her long to shake him thoroughly. "How long is what going on?" asked Prelice provokingly. "This idle, idiotic, insane, sensual, foolish, wicked, dilatory existence " "Seven adjectives," murmured the young man, opening his eyes. "Waste, waste-oh, what waste " "How long is this going on?" inquired his relative again, and whipped her skirts-instead of Prelice's back-with renewed vigour. He was forced to answer. "As long as I do, no doubt. What else is to be done, I should like to know?" "You shall know. Serve your country.
"What IS your name?" "Susan Grant, Miss Loach." "Call me ma'am. I am Miss Loach only to my equals. Your age?" "Twenty-five, ma'am." "Do you know your work as parlor-maid thoroughly?" "Yes, ma'am. I was two years in one place and six months in another, ma'am. Here are my characters from both places, ma'am." As the girl spoke she laid two papers before the sharp old lady who questioned her. But Miss Loach did not look at them immediately. She examined the applicant with such close attention that a faint color tinted the girl's cheeks and she dropped her eyes. But, in her turn, by stealthy glances, Susan Grant tactfully managed to acquaint herself with the looks of her possible mistress. The thoughts of each woman ran as follows, - Miss Loach to herself. "Humph Plain-looking, sallow skin, rather fine eyes and a slack mouth. Not badly dressed for a servant, and displays some taste. She might turn my old dresses at a pinch. Sad expression, as though she had something on her mind. Honest-looking, but I think a trifle inquisitive, seeing how she examined the room and is stealing glances at me. Talks sufficiently, but in a low voice. Fairly intelligent, but not too much so. Might be secretive. Humph " The thoughts of Susan Grant. "Handsome old lady, probably nearly sixty. Funny dress for ten o'clock in the morning. She must be rich, to wear purple silk and old lace and lovely rings at this hour. A hard mouth, thin nose, very white hair and very black eyebrows. Got a temper I should say, and is likely to prove an exacting mistress. But I want a quiet home, and the salary is good. I'll try it, if she'll take me." Had either mistress or maid known of each other's thoughts, a conclusion to do business might not have been arrived at. As it was, Miss Loach, after a few more questions, appeared satisfied. All the time she kept a pair of very black eyes piercingly fixed on the girl's face, as though she would read her very soul. But Susan had nothing to conceal, so far as Miss Loach could gather, so in the end she resolved to engage her. "I think you'll do," she said nodding, and poking up the fire, with a shiver, although the month was June. "The situation is a quiet one. I hope you have no followers." "No, ma'am," said Susan and flushed crimson. "Ha " thought Miss Loach, "she has been in love-jilted probably. All the better, as she won't bring any young men about my quiet house." "Will you not read my characters, ma'am?" Miss Loach pushed the two papers towards the applicant. "I judge for myself," said she calmly. "Most characters I read are full of lies. Your looks are enough for me. Where were you last?" "With a Spanish lady, ma'am " "A Spanish lady " Miss Loach dropped the poker she was holding, with a clatter, and frowned so deeply that her black eyebrows met over her high nose. "And her name?" "Senora Gredos, ma'am " The eyes of the old maid glittered, and she made a clutch at her breast as though the reply had taken away her breath. "Why did you leave?" she asked, regaining her composure. Susan looked uncomfortable. "I thought the house was too gay, ma'am." "What do you mean by that? Can any house be too gay for a girl of your years?" "I have been well brought up, ma'am," said Susan quietly; "and my religious principles are dear to me. Although she is an invalid, ma'am, Senora Gredos was very gay. Many people came to her house and played cards, even on Sunday," added Susan under her breath. But low as she spoke, Miss Loach heard. "I have whist parties here frequently," she said drily; "nearly every evening four friends of mine call to play. Have you any objection to enter my service on that account?" "Oh, no, ma'am. I don't mind a game of cards. I play 'Patience' myself when alone. I mean gambling-there was a lot of money lost and won at Senora Gredos' house
A mystery about a "locked door" murder committed in a house that has a reputation for being haunted. In the first half of the book, the murderer appears to be easy to figure out. The second half of the book, however, is filled with plot twists and mistaken identities and thus complicates the mystery much more.
Fergusson Wright Hume (8 July 1859 - 12 July 1932), known as Fergus Hume, was a prolific English novelist. Hume was born in England, the second son of James Hume. When he was three the family emigrated to Dunedin, New Zealand, where he was educated at Otago Boys' High School and studied law at the University of Otago. He was admitted to the New Zealand bar in 1885. Shortly after graduation Hume relocated to Melbourne, Australia, where he obtained a job as a barristers' clerk.
Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.
The exterior of The Athenian Club, Pall Mall, represents an ordinary twentieth century mansion, which it is; but within, the name is justified by a Gr co-Roman architecture of vast spaces, marble floors, painted ceilings, and pillared walls, adapted, more or less successfully, to the chilly British climate. The various rooms are called by Latin names, and the use of these is rigidly enforced. Standing outside the mansion, you know that you are in London; enter, and you behold Athens-say, the abode of Alcibiades; listen, and scraps of speech suggest Imperial Rome. Thus, the tastes of all the members, whether old and pedantic, or young and frivolous, are consulted and gratified. Modern slang, as well as the stately tongue of Virgil, is heard in The Athenian, for the club, like St. Paul, is all things to all men. For that reason it is a commercial success. Strangers-they come eagerly with members to behold rumoured glories-enter the club-house, through imitation bronze gates, into the vestibulum, and pass through an inner door into the atrium. This means that they leave the entrance room for the general conversation apartment. To the right of this, looking from the doorway, is the tablinum, which answers-perhaps not very correctly as regards the name-the purposes of a library; to the left a lordly portal gives admittance into the triclinium, that is, to the dining-room. At the end of the atrium, which is the neutral ground of the club, where members and strangers meet, swing-doors shut in the pinacotheca. Properly this should be a picture-gallery, but, in deference to modern requirements, it is used as a smoking-room. These three rooms, spacious, ornate, and lofty, open under a colonnade, or peristyle, on to a glass-roofed winter garden, which runs like a narrow passage round the three sides of the building. The viridarium, as the members call this cultivated strip of land, extends only twenty feet from the marble pavement of the peristyle, and is bounded by the side-walls and rear-walls of adjacent houses. It is filled with palms and tropical plants, with foreign and native flowers, and, owing to a skilful concealment of its limitations by the use of enormous mirrors, festooned with creepers and ivy, it really resembles vast pleasure-gardens extending to great distances. The outlook from tablinum, pinacotheca, and triclinium is a triumph of perspective. Below the state apartments on the ground floor are the kitchens, the domestic offices, and the servants' rooms; above them, the cubicles are to be found, where members, both resident or non-resident, sleep when disposed on beds more comfortable than classical. Finally, on the top floor, and reached by a lift, are billiard-rooms, card-rooms, and a small gymnasium for those who require exercise. The whole scheme is modelled on a larger scale from the House of Glaucus, as described by Bulwer Lytton in "The Last Days of Pompeii." A perusal of this famous story suggested the novelty to an enterprising builder, and the Athenian Club is the successful result. The members of such a club should have been classical scholars, but these were in the minority. The greater portion of those who patronised this latest London freak were extremely up-to-date, and defended their insistent modernity amidst ancient artificial environment by Acts xvii. 21: "For the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing " And certainly they acted well up to the text, for all the scandal and novelty of the metropolis seemed to flow from this pseudo-classical source. Plays were discussed in manuscript, novels on the eve of publication; inventors came here to suggest plans for airships, or to explain how the earth could signal to Mars. Some members had brand new ideas for the improvement of motor mechanism, others desired to evolve colour from sound, detailing with many words how music could be made visible.
Thank you for checking out this book by Theophania Publishing. We appreciate your business and look forward to serving you soon. We have thousands of titles available, and we invite you to search for us by name, contact us via our website, or download our most recent catalogues. When Spenser Tait took his seat at the breakfast table, he cast a look around, according to custom, to see that all was as orderly as he could wish. The neatest and most methodical of men, he was positively old maidish in his love of regularity and tidiness. His valet, Dormer, -with him for over fifteen years, -had been trained by such long service into the particular ways of his master, and was almost as exacting as Tait himself in the matter of domestic details. No woman was permitted to penetrate into those chambers in Earls Street, St. James'; but had one been able to do so, she could have found no fault with them, either on the score of taste or of cleanliness. The shell of this hermit crab was eloquent of the idiosyncrasies of its tenant. The main characteristic of the breakfast room was one of severe simplicity. The carpet of green drappled brown, the curtains to match, and the furniture of oak, polished and dark. On the white cloth of the table an appetizing breakfast was set out in silver and china, and a vase of flowers showed that the little gentleman was not unmindful of the requirements of an artistic temperament. Even the Times, carefully cut and warmed, was neatly folded by the silver ringed napkin, and Dormer, standing stiff and lean by his master's chair, was calmly satisfied that no fault could be found with his work. For the past fifteen years, save on occasions of foreign travel, the same etiquette had been observed, the same actions performed, for, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, the habits of Tait were fixed and determine
It stood where four roads met--a square building of two storeys, with white-washed walls and a high slate roof. The fence, and the once trim garden, had vanished with the turnpike gate; and a jungle of gooseberry bushes, interspersed with brambles, shut off the house from the roads. And only by courtesy could these be so-called, for time and neglect had almost obliterated them. On all sides stretched a flat expanse of reaped fields, bleak-looking and barren in the waning November twilight. Mists gathered thickly over ditch and hedge and stubbled furrow a constant dripping could be heard in the clumps of trees looming here and there in the fog. Through the kitchen-garden jungle a narrow, crooked path led up to the door where two rough stones ascended to a broken threshold. Indeed, the whole house appeared ragged in its poverty. Many of the windows were stuffed up with rags; walls, cracked and askew, exuded green slime; moss interspersed with lichen, filled in the crevices of the slates upon the roof. A dog would scarcely have sought such a kennel, yet a dim light in the left-hand window of the lower storey shewed that this kennel was inhabited. There sat within--a woman and a child. The outer decay but typified the poverty of the interior. Plaster had fallen from walls and ceiling, and both were cracked in all directions. No carpet covered the warped floor, and the pinched fire in the rusty grate gave but scanty warmth to the small apartment. A deal table, without a cloth, two deal chairs, and a three-legged stool--these formed the sole furniture. On the blistered black mantelshelf a few cups and saucers of thick delf ranged themselves, and their gay pinks and blues were the only cheerful note in the prevailing misery. The elder of these two outcasts sat by the bare table; a tallow candle of the cheapest description stuck in a bottle shed a feeble tight, by which she sewed furiously at a flannel shirt. Stab, click, click, stab, she toiled in mad haste as though working for a wager. Intent on her labour, she had no looks to spare for the ten-year-old boy who crouched by the fire; not that he heeded her neglect, for a brown toy horse took up all his attention, and he was perfectly happy in managing what was, to him, an unruly steed. From the likeness between these two, the most casual observer would have pronounced them mother and son. She had once been beautiful, this slender woman, with her fair hair and blue eyes, but trouble and destitution had robbed her of a delicate loveliness which could have thriven only under congenial circumstances. In those faded eyes, now feverishly glittering, there lurked and expression of dread telling of a mind ill at ease. Dainty garments would have well become her fairness, but she was clothed, rather than dressed, in a black stuff gown without even a linen collar to relieve its lustreless aspect. Poverty had made her careless of her appearance, heedless of the respect due to herself, and her sole aim, apparently, was the speedy completion of the shirt at which she incessantly wrought. The boy was a small copy of his mother, with the same fair hair and blue eyes but his face had more colour, his figure was more rounded, and he was clothed with a care which shewed the forethought and the love of a mother even in the direst poverty. After some twenty minutes of silence, broken only by the clicking of the needle and the low chatter of the child, signs of exhaustion began to show themselves in the worker. Before long, big, hot tears fell on the grey flannel, and she opened her mouth with an hysterical gasp. Slowly and more slowly did the seamstress ply her needle, until at last, with a strangled sob, she flung back her head. "Oh, Heavens " was her moan, and it seemed to be wrung from the very depths of her suffering heart. The child, with a nervous cry, looked up, trembling violently.
