To the spectator there was much to amuse, and if he were grave and friendly there was much more to interest most powerfully in the gait and countenance of the Sons of Temperance as they filed off in half-dozens into the High-street. Many looked, as they felt, exceedingly bashful at the publicity of their position; some tried to look as if they were braving the derision of the by-standers, but as there was no derision just at that point they only looked as if they suspected and even as if they thought they somehow deserved the jeers of spectators and others; and then not a few mingled their gay airs of defiance with the sober tints of remembrance nearly altogether sad but thankful and joyous as it neared the present hour in which they were openly triumphing over the foe that had long covered them with rags, and filth, and infamy.

One could tell from the kingly step of some, that the war had been fierce and long, had been chequered with defeats and disaster, but had at length issued in victory,-safe and glorious in proportion to the severity of the struggle. And the young were there in sprightliness of humour, pelting with their childish ridicule the demon vice whose power they had not yet known, but whose frightful cunning had been all explained to them—the strings shown to them by which the demon made men dance their way to misery and death, and the wise urchins laughed; yes, laughed and hooted at the tyrant at whose car-wheels their fathers had been dragged and bruised and slain. The progress made was fitful from the irregular step of the men, but it was tolerably brisk, owing, perhaps, to the eagerness of the juveniles in the procession for their promised day of fun. It was an universal holiday ; not so proclaimed, indeed, but acceded to by all, even by the surly and spiteful (as to an inevitable evil), and all Arlton was in the streets for the day, or else longingly leaning out of window and following the procession with the benediction of envy.

CHAPTER V.

PUBLIC OPINION.

Ir would be a difficult matter to give even a sketch of the varied opinions and observations which, in the several circles where they were spoken, made the day memorable for displays of wisdom and wit. But, perhaps, a sample may suffice to show that some who were merely lookers on and not very favourably disposed to the society, did feel strongly either for evil or for good, as this great temperance ostentation (so it was called by more than one), was passing by. At the corners of the High-street there lived a butcher and a publican, worthy customers in each other's line and good friends enough, to say they were neighbours. This day with its procession was disastrous to their long-standing friendship, and thus it came about. They, standing at their respective doorways, awaited the crowd. Talking of the weather was hardly gay enough occupation for a holiday, so they bandied bad jokes across the street, neither of them catching the drift of the other but good-naturedly laughing for their mutual encouragement. This intercourse was monotonous, but relief came in the form of occasional interruption; the butcher would frequently retire to whet his knife (merely to keep his hand in), and Boniface to wet his whistle (we suspect), merely to fortify his mind.

When the head of the marching column reached the point where these worthies stood, of necessity their intercourse was candidly laid aside, and exchanged for the more convenient, and not less useful system of signs. But if words, however plainly spoken, are liable to misinterpretation, how much greater risk of misconstruction attaches to mute symbols, such as putting out the tongue, thumbing the nose, or even winking (how common is it, for example, for a man to wink very earnestly and knowingly, when he means nothing in particular or nothing at all-only wishing to make believe that he does mean something-perhaps something wicked). If these men had been content to postpone all attempts at reciprocation of sentiment-and had fixed their respective

eyes on the crowd till it had passed, it might have been well-but at one and the same moment, it happened that their attention and succeeding thoughts were fixed on the same subject. The one (mentally reproducing the galling picture which had just flaunted before his eyes, the vision of Little Fish Bill, the cockle-man, all in a Sunday suit, and chewing the cud of bitter fancy in regard to the money which had paid for such clothes-what it might have done, where it might have been, in whose pocket at that moment, for no end of whose beer, but for temperance,) was soured and chagrined almost enough to show it in his face, for his soul loathed Fish Bill's radiant attire. The other was chewing the same morsel, but to him it was sweet, and he rolled it under his tongue, and it made him chuckle internally, and purple up through the broad fat cheeks of his jolly face, until his little eyes twinkled merrily. He, too, was lingering on the image of drunken Bill in his new toggery, and his memory was busy grouping a host of others round the central figure of the cockle-man, all of whom had, for months past, resorted to his side of the way, and to his shop, strange to tell, on Saturday nights, exciting (as he now knew) most unwarrantable suspicion in his upright mind by imperious orders for "prime cuts and let it be fat," never asking the price, as if they were nabobs or candidates for the borough at the least, but straightway paying his demand.

So decided had been the increase of custom on Saturday nights, that the reflective Flesher, although from the bottom of his soul abjuring all teetotal gammon in his own proper person and daily habit, could not fail to be rejoiced at the signs of the age in which his lot was cast, nor yet to feel though he strove to hide, a very cordial interest in the procession as it moved before his very door. From a subsequent analysis of his actual state of mind at the moment, it appears that he was conscience smitten, because of his disposition to chuckle over the identical fact that was so well known to have embittered the recent years of his opposite neighbour's life. It seemed hardly a neighbourly thing to be so thoroughly pleased with what was meat to him, but poison to his friend. Feeling thus, he seriously determined that he

would retrieve his error by lifting up his eyes on the crowd as if to show his scorn for them and for their whim, and further generously resolved that he would wink to that effect to his neighbour across the street, by way of cheering him up and making amends for his own ungenerous satisfaction. fatal wink and ill calculated! The butcher thought his friend was boozy as usual, and made allowance for the circumstance as well as for the width of the street and mistiness of the weather, so that the wink actually thrown across the intervening distance was a world too beaming and too significant of inward delight for any purely unselfish meaning. The publican might have said on that occasion (as he often said untruly on other occasions), that he was not so drunk as was thought; and his intellects, as well as his vision, were so clear and sharp that he actually guessed the preceding thoughts in the butcher's mind from the very wink which had been cunningly devised to hide those thoughts from him; and quickly recoiling, like a hurt snail to its shell, within and behind his own swing-door, he uprooted the friendship of years from his heart, sat down to smoke away his fever of rage, and hours after, when the little blue-aproned boy from over the way came in for the beer, he cursed him from his door.

Many other quarrels burst out in consequence of the morbid state of feeling in general society that day, but time would fail to tell and did much better in healing them all, this unquenchable feud excepted. Had the sons of temperance known that their serried line had sundered two hearts for ever on that day, some passing qualm might have seized upon their spirits. Had they come to the knowledge of those doom-like words of the landlord to his boy "not to draw no more beer for Simpkins's people," they might have trodden the streets with a prouder mien and a heavier tramp, but they did not know it, and all unconscious they hurried, trampling above the grave of ruptured friendship. The truth is, their thoughts were already elate and intent, hawk-like, on worthier game. The cherished secret of the band had oozed out before the first tune was blown out, or fifty yards of the journey had been passed. Like fire on autumnal heath, the enthusiasm of the round-about little drummer whose Christian

name (or surname or nickname, we are not sure which), was Bommager (short for Bob Major), had spread from mouth to ear till almost every heart was nourishing a little lively ember of the general purpose of revenge.

CHAPTER VI.

THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.

TURNING sharp to the left at the corner of the butcher's premises was the second best street in the town (but a very narrow and very dirty street withal), and here was the scene already laid in imagination of an event which was to justify the exceedingly martial character of the music into which, after scarcely breathing time enough, the band had recklessly plunged. In this street, Low-street by name, and Low-street by nature, moral and physical, there stood the Giant's Cave in whose dark depths unhappy Simon had been, and, perhaps, still was a prisoner.

EPISODE NUMBER THREE.

THE stronghold was no other than the dull, fusty, little old tavern which had been known, off and on, for a century past, as a public-house under various names, but on which the present tenant had, in a spirit of excusable partiality, bestowed the fanciful name of "Bull Pup." From this very name, and from the portrait swinging in front of the door, which was evidently the production of a hand more friendly than faithful, it might readily be guessed that the owner was, or at one time had been, great upon dogs. True for a guess. But we venture to say, that no one who did not know Dummy Bowler in his palmy days could form a conception of the extent to which a man of proper taste and feeling may devote his life and substance to puppies and older dogs. The mind reverts to the astonishing spectacle of former years with an uneasy feeling of doubt and dreams. From head to foot, from morning till night, from night till morning especially, he was beset and covered, and in a manner smothered with puppies at every stage of their brief and troubled being.

C