century. As late as the middle of the eighteenth century, Spain called her Ferdinand IV. the Wise. Sancho III. of Castile is known as the Beloved, an epithet granted for a time to the wretched Louis XIII. but afterwards recalled; it was borne earlier and more justly by a predecessor, Charles VI.

The moral epithets bestowed upon monarchs demand, in many cases, as I have already said, a critical reinvestigation. A great number of kings have been distinguished by their mere physical qualities. Thus, we find a Spanish Sancho the Fat (the first) in the tenth century; he was preceded by a Frankish Charles the Fat in the ninth century. Portugal knows her Alfonso II. as the Fat. France had amongst her Capetian kings a Charles the Handsome (her fourth Charles), and a Philip the Handsome, also her fourth Philip. The latter is sometimes called the Fair, the epithet bestowed also upon Philip I. and upon the Austrian Frederick III. Some kings have taken their epithets from their physical defects, as two monarchs of the ninth century-Michael the Stammerer, on the throne of the eastern Cæsars; and Louis the Stammerer, who was crowned Western Emperor by the pope at Troyes. The Emperor Albert I. was known as Albert the One-eyed; our Richard III. as Crookback; the Spanish Henry III. as the Sickly; and Boleslaus III. of Poland as the Wry-mouth. The sainted Emperor Henry is sometimes marked down as Henry the Lame. I might increase the list with kings known as the Black, the White, the Red, the Curly, the Gouty, the Short; but I could attach no lively interest to each unless I could enter into such an amount of detail as would make this paper unreasonably long. All such titles are chiefly important to us as rough, but characteristic expressions of contemporary criticism.

HIS OWN EXECUTOR.

CHAPTER XXII.-A RECOGNITION.

It might be, too, that the notoriety attending the exposure of Mr Porkington's fraud would do him some good professionally; or, on the other hand, his noble relatives might contrive to suppress the scandal, and there might be an advantageous introduction to a higher class of practice: these were comforting reflections.

And then he thought of Sally once more-her pretty artless ways; her nice little rounded figure and trim waist that owed nothing to artificial bones, those sweet pouting lips, those dark liquid eyes. And now there was no alternative but Mrs Baxter, who was lean and sallow, and wore false teeth. William had given up so much in his own anticipations to his love for Sally, that now it proved fruitless, it seemed to him as if he had already made unavailing sacrifices, and as if she had been guilty of ingratitude as well as deceit.

William Costicle had started by an earlier 'bus, and reached his offices an hour sooner than usual; he had to arrange for Mr Porkington's visit, and he was anxious to be alone for a while, and fairly get into his mind the thing he had to do.

But his office was not untenanted; standing by the window, a duster in her hand, looking out into the graveyard, was Sally Budgeon. This was not the first time that William had found Sally so engaged, but at other times she had made off quickly, with apparent confusion, and without allowing William to delay her progress, but now it seemed as if she were waiting for him. William hardened his heart.

'O Mr William,' said Sally, coming forward meekly, and dropping him a little courtesy-'O Mr William, I want to see you, to make a confession.' William sat down, blankly and sourly. 'Well,' he said, looking up, what is it?'

'I have to confess to you that I've deceived you.'

'I knew it, Sally,' he said gloomily.

'You knew it, then, all the time?'

'No; not all the time; I only found it out last night.'

Fancy!' cried Sally.

'Look here, Sally,' said William: 'if you'd behaved openly about it, I couldn't have found any fault. I knew you didn't care for me much, Sally, for I'm not good-looking, and I'm not the kind of fellow girls fall in love with; but, Sally, I did love you.'

'And don't you now?' said Sally, pouting. 'How can I, when I see you care for another?' 'You mean Sam? But I've given him up. I've heard of his goings-on in Australia, and there! I've given him up.'

"You're only paltering with me, Sally. There! I've nothing more to say to you!'

'Do you mean to say, you give me up?' said Sally ruefully.

Doesn't your conscience tell you I ought to do said William.

"You're very cruel indeed, and very unjust!' said Sally, bursting into tears; and then she made her way down the winding stairs.

William was glad he had made her cry; it seemed a sort of atonement to him.

He opened his letters one after the other, and smoothed them out, and piled them up into a little heap. He put Porkington's letter at the top, and read it over cynically; then he rang the bell. A clerk appeared.

William drew the astonished Porkington into the church. There, against the altar rails, dusting the cushions, and polishing the rails with a duster, stood Mrs Budgeon.

'At the very spot where you first exchanged your vows, I have the happiness once more to join your hands!'

But neither of the persons concerned seemed at all desirous of joining hands. Porkington shrank back, and leant against the column that carried the chancel; and, quite dumfoundered, Mrs Budgeon dropped her duster, and supported herself upon the altar rails.

Porkington mentally took a rapid glance at the

situation.

It was just possible that this woman was willing to aid him in his deceit. It was difficult to see whether this wretched fellow, Costicle, knew everything, or only knew of the identity of Emma Butt and of the woman before him. If this woman stood by him even now, perhaps all might be well. It would be useless to deny her identity; he recognised at once that it was she. He had been struck with some strange recognition of the woman he had seen at Costicle Grove and at Harry's chambers: he saw the reason now, and how indiscreet he had been in not previously ascertaining her existence, and securing her silence. Perhaps, even yet, he might get the money, if he could persuade her to agree with him in the tale he had told.

.

'I should like to speak with this person in private,' he said, coming forward. If she is indeed my lost Emma, there are many circumstances, only known to ourselves, which will convince me of the truth of her claim.'

'You would perhaps like to adjourn into the vestry. By help of the trying memories connected with it, not so trying now, perhaps, in view of this joyful reunion-eh? you will, perhaps, eh ?-What do you say, Mrs-ahem!—Mrs Budgeon?'

'I won't have nothing to say to him!' said Mrs Budgeon firmly. "What! when you left me with nothing but the things on my back, and two-andsixpence in my pocket-left me to starve or to thieve, or perhaps worse! Oh, you bad villain! what can you have to say to me that an honest married woman may hear?'

You hear her, Costicle-she admits she was married, you see.'

'Yes; but to a better man than you,' said Mrs Budgeon proudly.

Then she's married again,' said Porkington, grasping at any straw that might save him. "That absolves me, of course.'

'O Mr Porkington,' said William, with an air of ineffable meekness, of course you have the first claim!'

'Mother, mother!' cried Sally, who had just hurried into the church-'mother, come! it's nearly time for the funeral.-Why, mother, you're crying; what have they been saying to you?'

Sally took her mother's arm, and led her out of the church, looking proudly and contemptuously at the two men.

'Now, then, Mr Porkington,' said William, 'do you still feel inclined to attend your son's funeral?' Certainly I do; what should prevent me?'

6

'Oh, I didn't know; I have heard of such feelings as shame and repentance, but certainly it was a long while ago. Come this way?'

CHAPTER XXIII.-HIS OWN EXECUTOR. 'What's all this about, mother?'

539

It was a weak feeble voice that spoke in a darkened chamber. A man was lying in bed, his head bound up in linen bandages, his face looking white and ghastly.

A woman sat by his bedside, a plain, homely looking woman, whose features yet shewed traces of a former beauty. At the foot of the couch was a young girl, a charming likeness of her mother.

'You mustn't talk, my dear,' said the woman, smoothing his pillow-you mustn't talk.' 'Yes, but I will talk !' said the patient, raising his head. What's all this about? Where's William? Where's Oh, I recollect all about it now,' he said, once more sinking back on his pillow; and yet, where am I? Is this a prison or a workhouse,

or what?'

'It's neither, my dear. Don't you remember Mrs Budgeon and the people you were so kind to?? 'Oh, you're Mother Budgeon, are you? Yes; I recollect. But how did I come here?' 'You were knocked down by a van, my dear, and you were brought here.'

"Ah! I remember that too, now. Well, it's very good of you to take care of me so.-And is that Sally? Hollo, Sally, how are you?'

"Quite well, thank you, Mr Butt. Glad to see you looking better again.'

'Oh, I do look better, then.-Give me a lookingglass, old woman, and let me judge for myself.'

Mrs Budgeon handed him a small looking-glass. "Well, what a barefaced chap I am! Why, my own mother wouldn't know me-that is, if I had a mother! I say, I feel very peckish,' he cried, sitting upon his elbow.

'Bring the beef-tea, Sally,' cried Mrs Budgeon. Harry made a face over the beef-tea, but drank it, and then said he felt better.

And now I want to talk,' he cried. 'But you mustn't; the doctor says you must be kept quiet.'

Never mind that. I must have my talk out. Look here, I suppose you think I'm a swell, a regular Croesus?"

I know who you are very well,' said Mrs Budgeon quietly.

The deuce you do! It's more than I do. Who am I, then?'

'Sally, you leave the room,' said Mrs Budgeon. 'Ay, who am I, then?' repeated Harry, after Sally had gone.

Mrs Budgeon put her mouth to his ear, and whispered: You're my son.'

Harry looked vacantly at her. "Ay, how do you make that out?' he said wearily.

I found it out, dear. When you were brought home and undressed, there was a mark upon you that you had when you were born-between the shoulders.'

Harry knitted his brows. That doesn't prove anything,' he said.

'Don't you remember,' she said, 'as a very little boy, being taken away from your mother, and going to a school where there was a master with a crutch who was a cripple?'

'Yes; I remember that old wretch,' said Harry. 'And do you remember, when you went to sea, a woman coming to see you on board ship, and

crying over you, and giving you a bright shilling with a hole in it to hang round your neck?' 'Well, yes; I certainly do remember that now,' said Harry.

'And have you got the shilling now, dear?' 'No; I spent it the first time I went ashore.' 'And, my dear, I can shew you the letter he wrote when he told me he could do nothing for me, but would take my boy off my hands.' And you let him; you handed me over to that

scoundrel!'

'What could I do, dear? I was starving almost; and there was a good man who was willing to marry me if the boy were away. I've cried over it many and many a time, dear; but poverty is hard, and drives one into doing things; ah, my boy. And then, when I went to ask about you, they told me you were dead; and I thought it was better so.'

So it would have been,' said Harry gloomily. 'I've wished myself dead many a time, and never more than now.'

With that Mrs Budgeon got up and left the room, crying silently.

'Ah!' said Harry, after she had gone, how different things turn out to what we expect! Now, when I first came home, with my pockets full of money, I'd have been glad enough to have found the old mother, and made a lady of her, and brought that proud fellow on his knees before her. But now, what am I? A beggar-among beggars-bound hand and foot. What can I do?' And then he sank into a heavy feverish slumber.

He woke an hour or two afterwards, hot and unrefreshed, full of strange fantasies and undefinable troubles, and stretched himself, and groaned wearily; and then he felt a soft cool hand on his burning forehead, and looked up, and saw it was Sally.

Why, you're my sister, then!' said Harry. 'Well, after all, it's not a bad thing to make one of a family. I thought, the first time I saw you, I should like to have a sister like you, and now it's come true. You're a jolly, nice-looking girl; give

me a kiss.'

quite

'It seems so strange,' said Sally, looking uncomfortable, and you almost a stranger.' 'I don't mean to be a stranger any longer. I'm a poor chap now, and I mean to work hard for my living, and take care of you and mother. A curious thing it was that the only good I ever did with my money was to help my own mother! Give me that kiss, Sister Sally!'

Then Sally gave him a kiss.

'And now, dear Sally, you really belong to me.' In fact, the very conversation here went on that poor William overheard in the church. Then Harry went to sleep for a long while, and didn't wake all night, nor till morning was quite advanced, and when he woke, he felt quite cool and comfortable, although very weak, and he sat up and began to look about him.

Then some one came and shook a finger at him, meaningly You must be still, sir; you are dead.' It was Mrs Asphodel.

:

'I'm dead' said Harry: 'then I must be in heaven, or you wouldn't be here.'

That is charming, my friend. You have changed wonderfully since your decease. But we mustn't be too gay, for this is your funeral.' 'Oh, come; that won't do,' said Harry, half

frightened, scarcely knowing, indeed, what was reality and what was the deception of his senses. 'No; I won't be buried alive!"

'Courage, my friend; you shall dance at your own funeral.'

'I don't know who's to pay the piper,' said Harry, as the recollection came over him of his destitute vagabond condition.

But I do: the Papa Porkington he shall pay. Oh, we have served him so beautifully, Sally and I! We made William Costicle whistle him over; and he came, the rogue, from Paris to St Cuthbert's Lane, to attend your funeral and hand over your bonds. Ha, ha, ha!'

Mrs Asphodel laughed a jolly laugh, and sat down at Harry's bedside to enjoy the joke more fully.

How on earth did you manage it?' 'Never mind now. Your fortune is safe, and shall be yours once more-only on two conditions.' "Name them,' said Harry.

First, that you renew your oath that you have broken, and that you swear never to touch a card or a die as long as you live.'

'Right; so I will,' said Harry.

'Next, that you make happy a young lady who has suffered very much during this cruel time when you were supposed to be dead. It was necessary that she should also be deceived; but I assure you, my friend, it cost me much sorrow to see so charming a young lady so overwhelmed with grief.'

'Did she grieve for me, then?' said Harry, touched to the heart. I didn't think there was a soul in the wide world would do that. Dear Ellen! But no -she hasn't done for me what you have. No; Mrs Asphodel-Sophia-I'm yours, if you'll have me.'

No; it will not do!' said Mrs Asphodel. 'I thought of it once, but it will not do. I have been married once. I could not endure it again. You are at heart a Teuton; you sigh still for home among all your pleasures. You have lived so long in your bleak wilds, that you are put out if there is no hut prepared for your return. You think, in some dim, eager way, that life is an apprenticeship, a lesson, and other women are so many leaves that you turn over, till you come to the house-mistress, and then you are content. Well, here is your housewife ready for you, your Ellen. For me-no! I am good camarade; but good wife-no! Come; you are content, are you not? Ah, here are the mourners. Come, the old Harry is to be buried and put away. The new Harry is here to receive the congratulations of his friends.-Enter, Mr Costicle. Enter, Mr Porkington: here is a gentleman who intends to be his own executor.'

Which he was decidedly. Porkington yelled when he saw him, and went off, first, into a mad rage, swearing he had been swindled and robbed; then, when he found that his forgery had been detected, and that he had been seen by William Costicle to alter the register, and that he firmly intended to hand him over to the police on a charge of falsifying the parish records, he collapsed altogether, and asked for mercy; cried that it would kill him to go to prison, and that, after all, he had done no wrong. And Harry persuaded Costicle to let him go; for William Costicle was so delighted to find that Sally had been true to him after all, and that, in the little osculating performance, her brother had been the only actor, that he was disposed to forgive everything and everybody.