wine, ma'am, that the board ordered for the infirmary; real, fresh, genuine port wine; only out of the cask this forenoon; clear as a bell; and no sediment!”

Having held the first bottle up to the light, and shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble placed them both on the top of a chest of drawers; folded the handkerchief in which they had been wrapped; put it carefully in his pocket; and took up his hat, as if to go.

“You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble,” said the matron.

“It blows, ma'am,” replied Mr. Bumble, turning up his coat-collar, “enough to cut one's ears off.”

The matron looked, from the little kettle, to the beadle, who was moving towards the door; and as the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her good night, bashfully inquired whether – whether he wouldn't take a cup of tea?

Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar again; laid his hat and stick upon a chair; and drew another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated himself, he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes upon the little tea-pot. Mr. Bumble coughed again, and slightly smiled.

Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer from the closet. As she sat down, her eyes once again encountered those of the gallant beadle; she coloured, and applied herself to the task of making his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed, – louder this time than he had coughed yet.

“Sweet? Mr. Bumble?” inquired the matron, taking up the sugar-basin.

“Very sweet, indeed, ma'am,” replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment.

The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink; varying these amusements, occasionally, by fetching a deep sigh; which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department.

“You have a cat, ma'am, I see,” said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one who, in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire; “and kittens too, I declare!”

“I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can't think,” replied the matron. “They're so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are quite companions for me.”

“Very nice animals, ma'am,” replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly; “so very domestic.”

“Oh, yes!” rejoined the matron with enthusiasm; “so fond of their home too, that it's quite a pleasure, I'm sure.”

“Mrs. Corney, ma'am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon, “I mean to say this, ma'am; that any cat, or kitten, that could live with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must be an ass, ma'am.”

“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” remonstrated Mrs. Corney.

“It's of no use disguising facts, ma'am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity which made him doubly impressive; “I would drown it myself, with pleasure.”

“Then you're a cruel man,” said the matron vivaciously, as she held out her hand for the beadle's cup; “and a very hard-hearted man besides.”