no stronger. It flashes through my mind also that I had many a fight at Stonyfield when I was a very little fellow. "What do you mean, Mr. Stanton?" I ask indignantly. "Mean! You are a conceited puppy and a liar, sir!” Watch your opponent's eye occurs to me as one of the golden rules of pugilistic Stonyfield; have a firm guard, as another; and hit out well from the shoulder whenever there is an opening, as a third. I plant my right foot well down, and get ready for a rapid guard, as I say, "And you are another, sir, if it comes to that!" "Leave the room, you scoundrel!" screams Mr. Stanton, pitch you out of window." 66 or I'll He rushes towards me. I put up my right-hand guard, and stand as firm as a rock. "Better take off your spectacles," I say, coolly. "You wretched cur!" he screams, acting on my suggestion at the same time. "Pooh!" I say; "you are a greater ass than I took you for." My temerity seems boundless. I don't care for forty thousand Stantons, or forty thousand Heralds, at that moment. Again he rushes towards me. When he is within striking distance, his face being conveniently accessible, I let out with my right, well from the shoulder. He staggers, but recovers himself, and plunges at me again. I then release my left lightly, and down he goes with his head in the paper-basket. I keep my eyes well upon him: he rises to his feet. I put up my left-hand guard, ready to exercise my right. Instead of coming on again, my opponent seizes a chair, and throws it at me with all his might. Fortunately it only grazes my head, and goes smash into the bookshelves; but this unexpected onslaught flurries me a little, and I find myself on the floor, with the editorial fingers in my neck-tie, and the editorial lips uttering the most murderous threats. I curl my legs round the dastard: we roll over and over, and I feel myself getting the worst of this new phase of the battle. With a sudden exercise of all my strength, I get uppermost once more, and plant my knee upon his chest; his hold upon my throat relaxes; he tries to speak; I seize him firmly by the neck, and then let him say what he has to say. I give in, I give in; I cry you mercy," he gasps. I release him, and we both get up; he with serious marks of the conflict between his eyes, I, feeling a little sore about the throat, but otherwise unhurt. Just as I am leaving the room he rushes at me from behind, seizes the tails of my new blue frock coat, and tears it from one side to the other. When I turn round upon him, he confronts me with a pair of shears and a bleeding mouth; and I hear footsteps entering my room. I shut the editorial door, seat myself at my own desk, and receive Mr. Mitching. "Good morning, Kenrick," says Mr. Mitching. "Is Mr. Stanton in his room?" My reply was more in Mr. Stanton's interest than my own. It came out instantly, justifying the epithet which the editor had applied to me ten minutes before. "No, sir; he has just stepped out." I said this loudly, that Mr. Stanton might hear me, and remain quiet. My reply was unjustifiable. I believe it was my first lie; if not, it was certainly the first impudent, direct one I had ever told. Mr. Mitching was satisfied. If he had gone into Mr. Stanton's room, I should have looked foolish indeed. It is a wonder to me that Mr. Stanton did not convict me on the spot. incident against me on the next day. He used this "Will you come in and dine with us to-morrow, Mr. Kenrick? Mrs. Mitching will be pleased to see you. We shall dine immediately after church, Master Kenrick. As it is communion Sunday, we shall be out half an hour later than usual, as you are aware." The old gentleman looked at me under his gold-rimmed glasses, pursed up his lips, said "I think we are beginning to appreciate you, eh, eh, Master K.?" and bade me good morning; whereupon Mr. Stanton hurried out-not to follow Mr. Mitching, but to seek an artist friend, as I afterwards discovered, and get him to paint out certain blue marks about his eyes, certain marks of my proficiency in the science of defence, for which I was heartily sorry. At the same time I cannot disguise from myself that I experienced something like pleasant sensations of victory. I had been assailed in a cowardly fashion; my opponent was a bigger and an older man ; but I could have thrashed a couple of Stantons easily, if they had been equally ignorant of those few leading rules of the noble art of self-defence. I had fought scores of boys at Stonyfield, fought them upon the honourable rules of the ring; no kicking, no hitting when a fellow's down, and fair play generally. Whilst Mr. Stanton went to his artist, I went home and changed my coat, and in the evening I entertained Tom Folgate and Fitzwalton with a full account of the battle. I had to show them my guard; I had to exhibit how, when Stanton came at me wild, I let drive with my right. It must have taken me hours to satisfy the curiosity of these two friends. Then Fitzwalton would be Stanton, and go through the whole thing like a play, rushing at me wild, as he said, and making me let out with my right. he would pretend to get up and throw the chair at me, and get me down and roll over, letting me kneel on his chest, Tom Folgate all the time laughing and holding his sides, and flourishing his hairplume with intense delight. Fitzwalton would go through the whole fight, would cry, "I give in," "I am vanquished," and pretend to tear my coat; then he imitated the pompous arrival of old Mitching, and made me repeat what I had said to him. And, finally, he would sit down, and laugh, and vow it was the best thing he had ever heard of. I was quite a hero on this Saturday night; but every now and then I felt very sorry for poor Mr. Stanton, who was sitting at home with his wounded face and his wounded pride. I pictured him sitting there moodily, unhappy, and fretful, and wished I had not mentioned his humiliation to Folgate and Fitzwalton. My fancy picture, however, did not do justice to Mr. Noel Stanton, who was busily preparing on this Saturday night a letter to Mr. Mitching, detailing my scoundrelly conduct, and painting me in the character of a would-be assassin. On the next day, when I was sitting with the Mitchings at dessert, this letter arrived. Mr. Noel Stanton knew well enough when we should be comfortable and happy over our wine, and he timed the delivery of his letter accordingly. Mr. Mitching opened it, fixed it through his gold-rimmed glasses, balanced them on his nose at it, scowled at it, coughed at it, and looked exceedingly surprised at it. "What is the matter, George?" said Mrs. Mitching. "I shall be sorry for you to know, my dear; you, above everybody." "Dear me! Something dreadful! " said the lady, with a sarcastic smile. "It is dreadful," said Mitching, looking at me. "Give me the letter," said Mrs. Mitching. "No, my dear, I would rather not; it is a serious charge against Mr. Kenrick." The old gentleman laid down his glasses as he said this, and seemed to be preparing himself for the delivery of an oration; but Mrs. Mitching cut down his aspirations very summarily. "Don't be silly, George, and don't make a speech until I have seen what it is about." The lady took the letter, read it, and deliberately said she did not believe it. "Don't you, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Mitching. "Dear me." "No I do not, dear me," said Mrs. Mitching, in a mocking voice. "And if it were true, the story might have kept until Monday." "But Mr. Stanton heard Mr. Mitching invite me here to-day," I said, for I soon guessed what the letter was about. "Then it is positively mean to send that note at this time," she said. "Never mind it now, Mr. Kenrick; it can rest until to-morrow. One story is good until another is told." "Thank you, Mrs. Mitching: I was not in the wrong, I assure you." "I quite believe you," she said; but Mr. Mitching looked grave, and said it was a very unfortunate occurrence. And so it was to all appearance on the next day; for it compelled me to resign my engagement on the Lindford Herald. Mrs. Mitching was on my side, and begged me to stay; old Mitching himself thought Mr. Stanton might overlook the matter, and I believe he would have done so, but from the moment that Mitching said one of us must certainly resign, I resigned, and held to it. I told Esther it would be all for the best; I needed extended experience; I would work hard, and seek a higher position than that which I held at Lindford. Without a moment's delay I began to study the advertising columns of the Times; and the day came when I made a very unhappy discovery of a vacancy on the press in a seaport town, three hundred miles away from dear old Lindford city. (To be continued.) HOLLY TIME. HE wood is barren as the wold, Offers her bosom to the snow In holly time. The winds rend out the empty nest, In holly time. Yet sweet as days when skies are blue, Yea, sweeter, more desired of all Is holly time. For now, as if the Incarnate Word With promptings of renewing birth, Joy in life's pulses throbs and burns, |