the City were constant, and at times I
made a pretty good thing of speculating on
my information. But at length the "Long
Session" grew to an end. Out of the slaughtered
innocents four of the Direct Lines were
saved. Conceive my horror when they all
fell to par the moment the Royal Assent was
obtained, and we were in a position to put a
pickaxe in the ground.

But I was determined to hold; I was sure
that better times would come when the
rascally papers would cease to write against us,
and we should spring up to our old premiums.
Nay, I bought more shares to cover my losses.

But down, down, down they went with
partial gleams of hope—like the fluttering
leaves of an old almanack.

This was not the worst; my table was
daily covered with notices and threatening
letters from the solicitors of companies in
which I had taken allotments, or accepted
provisional direction.

The creditors of the dissolved companies
where I was director and committee-man
began to sue me. I was in a hundred actions
of law at once. I was torn to pieces with
consultations with my lawyers and my brokers.
My ready money was consumed in paying
calls, paying law costs, and continuations on
unsuccessful speculations on the Stock
Exchange. I ceased to keep exact accounts, I
could not bear to see my darling scrip
reduced to the value of waste paper, but hoping
for better times I pledged my good shares at
my broker's. Good shares—there was nothing
good!

Yes, I who could have had my bills, when
I began, done at two per cent per annum
was obliged to pay equal to twelve pounds,
then fifteen, then twenty-five per cent, for
discount, and the respectable bankers who
sneered at Slum's friends, the Jews, took it.

I think I might then have retired with ten
thousand pounds.

My old friend, Lucy's father, met me by accident,
and recommended me strongly to clear
off all, and return to Mudborough. I was
half-inclined when I came across Sir John
Bullion, he held ine by the button-hole,
opposite Capel Court, condoled with me for a
quarter of an hour, and then in the kindest manner,
gave me some important secret information,
advising me to buy all the shares I could.
I followed his advice, others believing that I
was his agent, followed me, for he then had a
reputation for finance. I operated largely,
the shares rose rapidly that day, the next day
they fell with a dead flop. We had been done. Sir
John had put on me all his share of bad stock,
as dead as ditch water. All my money went, and
more, an acceptance to my brokers was my
only resource. I still had the shadow of
credit with many, although my bank account
was finally closed. I struggled on for a year,
made one or two good small hits, and then a
final smash and default. I was posted in the
Stock Exchange, arrested on the bill, and in                                            the Queen's Bench found my forgotten friend
Slum, in a flowered damask silk dressing-
gown and a high state of delirium tremens.
He lived long enough to be put on the poor
side, and died with a bundle of letters in his
hand from his noble friends, to whom he had
written for twenty pounds to enable him to
pass the Insolvent Court.

In my despair I wrote to Sleekleigh and
got in answer a letter from a solicitor,
informing me that the firm of Sleekleigh and
Co., Stock and Share Brokers was bankrupt,
that the accounts could not be balanced within
a million, and that Sleekleigh himself had
emigrated to California—he afterwards
became a judge and bar-keeper in Grizzly Bear
Valley.

When at length I was discharged by the
Court, with a compliment on the smallness of
my personal expenditure, and a remand for
actions vexatiously defended, I found that
my wife had departed to live somewhere on
the Continent, on the interest of her five
thousand pounds; leaving me a letter declining
all further acquaintance with me on the
ground of my improvident habits.

I have since tried to do a little business in
my native town; but I could not get on very
well, it is so slow to work for shillings when
you have been in the habit of making
hundreds a day.

However, I shall be all right again soon. I've
got here a capital thing—a Copper and Gold
Mine in Wales. I have a half share in it, and
am now travelling down to get my old friends
to take shares. We only want five thousand
pounds to begin with; we have tested the
rock, and it gives three ounces of gold to
the ton in Nobbler's Gold Crushing Machine.
Ten thousand tons a year, at three pounds
ten shillings an ounce, beside the copper,
which will pay the working expenses.
There's a profit for only five thousand
pounds!

He paused here, took snuff vehemently,
and looked round to see if any one would
take a forty shilling share,—one shilling
deposit. When a bluff commercial traveller-
looking man in a dark corner of the end
compartment burst in with, "Is that the
Penny Gwyg Mine you're talking of?"

"Oh, yes, yes, do you know anything
about it?"

"Know it well: it's been worked by seven
sets of people in ten years, and all lost money
by it. There's about as much gold as copper,
and that wouldn't make up a five shilling
packet. The last time it was sold by old
Owen Gwynne, who got a cask of beer for
it, from a man travelling for a new brewery.
Ah! ah! hah!" and he laughed a horse-bar
sort of laugh.

The thin man blushed, gathered up his
papers from the seat, and when the train
stopped at the Deadbury station, went
out hastily. Two days after, the newspapers
contained an account of a man with