was troubling me with his small chatterings,
while the bony man, who was a believer, I found,
in presentiments, was narrating something in
defence of his belief which I wanted very much
to hear. As far as I can remember, the effect of
what these two personages—the little Snob and
the Presentimentalist—were saying was
something to this purpose a desperate jumble, as
the reader will see:

SNOB.—I can't say I know him personally,
but he's one of those people whom one has met,
you know, in society. He married a niece of
that man——

PRESENTIMENTALIST.—It occurred in my
own experience while travelling in the East,
and——

SNOB.—The family have large estates in
Somersetshire; and, indeed, my brother, whose
property extends some miles in the same direction,
and who is intimate with all the county
families——

MYSELF.—Yes, so it must——

PRESENTMENTALIST.—I had had a bad time
of it with the Arabs that day, who, as usual,
wanted to rob me——

SNOB.—So when these people came down to
settle there, the question became important
whether or not they would be received into
society——

MYSELF.—(Silent.)

PRESENTIMENTALIST.—Till at last I was
obliged, very reluctantly, to pull out my six-
barrelled revolver, and pointing it at the man who
appeared to be the ringleader, I informed him,
in my best Arabic, that there were, besides the
barrel he saw, five others ready——

SNOB (who must have been going on all this
time).—So much so, indeed, that very few of
the county families had called upon the new
comers at all. Of course, it placed my brother
in a very unpleasant position, and——

PRESENTIMENTALIST.—Luckily enough—for
more reasons than the great one that bloodshed
was avoided—luckily enough the threat was quite
sufficient, and I was able to get away——

SNOB.—It became a question of great
importance what course my brother should adopt,
whether, in short, he should call upon them or
not. Now, what should you have done under
the circumstances?

MYSELF (dreamily to Snob).—I should have
let fly the revolver amongst them.

SNOB (touchily).—I am afraid, sir, I have
not been fortunate enough to secure your
attention.

MYSELF.—I beg your pardon—I meant to
say that you did quite right. I agree with your
view perfectly—yes—oh, decidedly.

It wouldn't do. Snob was offended. He
entrenched himself behind the Morning Post,
and I was left in peace to listen to the
Presentimentalist, who had seduced me into a breach of
manners of which I was heartily ashamed. The
believer in presentiments had, by this time, got
into the thick of his story, and it was curious
to observe my neighbour with the Morning Post
trying not to listen to it. His eye wandered
perpetually from the sheet before him, and at
last he was obliged to give it up, and give his
whole attention, as the rest of us did, to what
was going on.

Having lost the good opinion of this little
gentleman, do not let me lose the
Presentimentalist's story as well. Where has he got to
now?

"I got over my difficulty with the Arabs,"
said the believer in presentiments, "returned
to my temporary abode at Jerusalem, and went
into the little garden at the back of the house
to fire off the revolver, as I have an excessive
dislike of keeping fire-arms by me loaded. It
was well I had not been driven in my affray
with the Arabs to the necessity of using my
revolver as well as showing it, for I found, on
pulling the trigger, that it was a fixture, and
that, owing to some derangement in the lock, I
could not stir it with all my force. As I never
went out without being armed, it became necessary
to have the pistol looked to at once. So I
went to a friend of mine, a resident at Jerusalem
—an Englishman and a surgeon—to ask
him if he could tell me of any mechanic in
the place who was likely to understand the
piece of machinery which required repair.
There was only one man, he said, who could
be trusted in such a case. He was a German
locksmith, who had been living a year or
two at Jerusalem, and who was the most intelligent
workman in the town. He could do what
wanted if it could be done at all, and my
friend the surgeon would go with me to his
house at once. It was a dark and miserable
place, this locksmith's shop, dirty and
inconvenient for the purpose to which it had been
applied. It was surrounded by the implements
of its owner's trade, an unpleasant one enough
in a climate where the necessity of using a
fire is so distressing a thing as it is in the East.
But the locksmith! Who could observe
anything else in the place when that man was
there to fix the attention, to attract the eyes
which shuddered while they looked? If ever I
saw a man with a great sorrow, a heavy anxiety,
a deadly expectancy, gnawing at his heart, he
was before me when I first caught sight of that
German locksmith. He was a tall and powerfully
built man, but attenuated to a shadow.
His hollow eyes, sunk deep in his head, were full
of an indescribable horror. His hair was long
and grey, but his beard was black as jet.

"But what a doomed look—what a fatal
aspect!

"And yet, to a physiognomist, the mark that
had been set upon this man's brow had not been
left there by a deed of crime. It was the ghost
of some sight of horror that haunted his past—
it was the apprehension of some impending
misery that hung over his future. Briefly
explaining to him what was wanted, I left the
revolver in his hands, cautioning him that it was
loaded in every chamber. The locksmith
shuddered as he took the weapon from my hands.

"' What, in Heaven's name, is the matter
with that man?' were my first words as I left