“Your ladyship’s word is an all-sufficient bond,” answered Mr. Madgin, with sweet humility.  He paused, with the handle of the door in his hand.  “Supposing I were to see my way to carrying out your ladyship’s wishes in this respect,” he said deferentially, “or even to carrying out a portion of them only, still it could not be done without expense—­not without considerable expense, maybe.”

“I give you carte-blanche as regards expenses,” said her ladyship with decision.

Then Mr. Madgin gave a farewell duck of the head and went.  He took his way homeward through the park like a man walking in his sleep.  With wide-open eyes and hat well set on the back of his head, with his blue bag in one hand and his umbrella under his arm, he trudged onward, even after he had reached the busy streets of the little town, without seeing anything or anyone.  What he saw, he saw introspectively.  On the one hand glittered the tempting bait held out by Lady Chillington; on the other loomed the dark problem that had to be solved before he could call the golden apple his.

“The most arrant wild-goose chase that ever I heard of in all my life,” he muttered to himself, as he halted at his own door.  “Not a single ray of light anywhere—­not one.”

“Popsey,” he called out to his daughter, when he was inside, “bring me the decanter of whisky, some cold water, my tobacco-jar and a new churchwarden into the office; and don’t let me be disturbed by anyone for four hours.”

(To be continued.)

ON LETTER-WRITING.

It is a matter of common remark that the epistolary art has been killed by the penny post, not to speak of post-cards.

This is a result which was hardly anticipated by Sir Rowland Hill, when, in the face of many obstacles, he carried his great scheme; and certainly it did not dwell very vividly before the mind of Mr. Elihu Burritt, the learned blacksmith, when he travelled over England, speaking there, as he had already done in America, in favour of an ocean penny postage.

It is urged that in the old days when postage was dear, and “franks” were difficult to procure, and when the poor did not correspond at all, writers were very careful to write well and to say the very best they could in the best possible way—­to make their letters, in a word, worthy of the expense incurred.  But those who argue on this ground leave out of consideration one little fact.

The classes to whom English literature is indebted for the epistolary samples on which reliance is placed for proof of this proposition, very seldom indeed paid for the conveyance of the letters in question.  The system of “franking”—­by which the privileged classes got not only their letters carried, but a great deal too often their dressing-cases and bandboxes as well—­grew into a most serious grievance; so serious indeed that the opposition for a long period carried on against cheap postage arose solely from over nice regard to the vested interests of those who could command a little favour from a Peer, a Member of Parliament, or an official of high rank, not to speak of those patriotic worthies themselves.