CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

RICHARD HIMSELF.-CHESS.

"As at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa; So, at the hoof-beats of Fate, with sad forebodings of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it."

LONGFELLOW.

SUMMER has come again-Midsummer-Quarterday-and the genteel residences and snug villas, which this day twelvemonth existed only in the brain of the architect, are tenanted by fashionable mammas and well-to-do papas, and their hopefuls; and dashing beauties triumphantly date from a place of whose obscure existence they were profoundly ignorant twenty months ago.

No lack of work now. All hurry and strivingcompetition and money-turning. From the Chevalier d'Industrie (our dear cousins over the Channel put us to the blush with their refinement-how much less blunt and coarse than our literal 'pickpocket!') imported from Regent Street, to Piert's Promenade-to the artist commissioned by illustrated contemporaries to depict its sands and cliffs and "uglied" beauties; or "our special," located to immortalize its geographical and historical peculiarities-all were full of business and intent in sweet little Stillhaven.

The small world bathed, walked, and rode, ate, drank, talked, sang, laughed, wept, flirted, courted, coquetted, betrothed, encouraged, slighted, gave cuts direct, and glances alluring-all according to the mode of such-and-such a year. With which-the small world and its mode-you and I have nothing to do, just now; inasmuch as the scene in which we are more nearly concerned is of the world, as old, and of all its modes, and years; in time past and present of civilization.

For in no times of civilization have there been wanting men who were fools, and men to befool them; and the tale of the worshipped golden calf is old as that of the perversion of God's good gifts to His creatures' ruin.

Be sure "The Crichton" was not idle in these thriving seasons. Be sure that its master, maids, and men, strove and bustled, and panted, puffed, and perspired with the best (Truth will out, and the fact may be less objectionable in allusion to the fair syrens of the liquor-bar, than the sand-bar, though it doubtless applied to both equally); for it was a hot summer -terrifically hot!-Dog-days convey but a feeble idea of the degree of warmth. Jackal- or wolf-days they must have been, when the one idea that presented itself to an intelligent mind was that of sporting in the cool green waves, attended by a bevy of ice-bearing mermaids. As to disrobing one's flesh, and "sitting in one's bones"- the very idea, at such a time, is productive of unpleasant reminiscences of careless cooking, singed joints, and black looks thereon consequent.

Black looks, miserable dejected looks, enough, meet

us, as we look in upon "The Crichton," this holiday quarter-day.

Altered and worn as he is, we recognize handsome George Steyne. And opposite him the cool (yes positively, at that moment, cool) countenance of Richard Crichton.

Did you, reader, ever see that grand embodiment of a grander conception-" Satan Playing at Chess with Man for his Soul?" If you have, you may imagine something of the relative air and aspect of our personæ. Only do not for a moment imagine anything appertaining to our Manchester-derived liquor-seller, in the sublime incarnation of Retzch's fiend beauty. But the desponding reflective sadness of the downcast man—the keen, watchful, waiting calmness of the liquor-seller, are wonderfully there typified; only that, in lieu of the chess-board, between them stand a bottle and glasses.

Not the bottle of particular-by no means-times are changed; and, perhaps, were we inquisitive enough, we might find that little item added to a certain

score.

"It seems very hard in you," said Steyne, sadly, lifting his head. "You have known me so long."

"So have you known me, Mr. Steyne; and therefore I only wonder you should expect any other than plain, straightforward, business-like dealing, as between man and man."

"You know how regularly I have always paid you."

"Of course; and you will again, no doubt; and your things will be safe enough."

No. 10.

L

“At such interest you might be content, without the bill of sale, surely.”

“Not at all; the interest is no hold upon you.”

"Hold upon me! Am I likely, with an ailing wife and young family, to start off at a moment's warning ?"

"No: therefore, since you are so secure in your intention of payment, your things will be all right— don't you see that, Steyne? It is but doing things business-like and straightforward.”

"Such a dread to have hanging over one," murmured George. "If she were to know

"You do not let her know everything; but you are not obliged to take it, you know. I have told you my terms; I would not do it for my own father, if he were alive, at less; and you may take it or leave it, as you please."

Having said which, he was up, and into the bar, at the call of a customer.

Leaving Man alone with his thoughts; not the most pleasant company, at all times; least of all when, tamper or cozen them as you may, they persist in offering evidence only of your folly and error.

"It won't do to go empty-handed, that's certain— a pretty warning of what I might expect in poor Dickey Glossop the other day; cleaned out stock and stone-and this our second quarter; and she doesn't know but the other is paid. There's nothing else to be done, that I can see. The interest is awful! but then I shall manage to keep that paid, somehow; and at any rate it will save the things, and prevent her knowing and they would be sure to take all now,

which he could but do if things came to the worst."

Men invariably shut their eyes at this stage of prospective possibilities: and so did Steyne. He had just finished his reflections, and the liquor, when the other returned; and the bargain was concluded, apparently more to the satisfaction of the obligee than the obliged; and Steyne hurried away to pay his last quarter's rent, with the money he had just borrowed, at high interest, and on a bill of sale upon his household goods, of Richard Crichton.

George could have found no difficulty now in procuring work, and plenty of it; but he rejected one offer after another, as beneath his deserts; and, meanwhile, was making for himself a fame and a name in the singing-room at "The Crichton:" of which, in the space of a few weeks, he became quite the attraction; and Richard Crichton, estimating to the full the advantages of his talent in drawing custom, offered to "make it worth his while, when he had an evening to spare."

But it harmonized so well with his disposition to be made the lion anywhere, that long ere winter and its" spare" evenings were passed, George had learned to prefer it to any second-rate work; and he had displeased too deeply those who knew his capabilities, to hope for any other.

Added to which, a low lingering complaint had taken hold upon him, induced chiefly by the constant exposure during his contract for the tavern; and increased by his evil habit of tippling. He felt unable to work, unequal to exertion of any kind, even of reasoning, or listening to reason, even of contemplating