certain knowledge, when George went out to go
to the Yorkshire Grey he had a bright half
sovereign in his pocket; so that on that one
lodge night he had spent six shillings and eight-
pence-halfpenny, which is very nigh five shillings
over and above his subscription. So I don't
wonder that he bolted away to bed and wouldn't
listen. That's where it is. They can't abear
to be told the truth about their societies, for
they know in their hearts that drink and drums
is at the bottom of them. It's my belief that
if there were no public-houses there would be
no Odd Fellows, and Foresters, and Ancient
Druids, and other fools of the kind. I've heard
my brother John say, and now I believe it, that
it's the badges, and the flags, and the bands of
music that attracts members, just like recruiting
for soldiers and slipping the shilling into poor
young lads' hands, when they're dazzled with
the ribbons and the fine uniform, and too much
beer.

George was very fast in telling you all about
his savings in the Post-office bank; but he
didn't tell you that he once insured in the Bird-
in-the-Hand Provident Association, and paid for
two years, when the board was had up before
the magistrate for swindling, and they broke
into the office, and found it nothing but a back
room at a corn-chandler's, with no furniture
except three dirty tobacco-pipes and a beer can,
which had been a missing from the public-house
at the corner for months, and the chairman of
the board, on being accused of it, took a bitter
oath that he'd never seen the can, when he had
been a using it all the time to boil his coffee.
The Bird-in-the-Hand gave out that it had five
thousand pounds in the Bloomsbury Bank, but
when they went and searched the books, they
were told that it had only sixteen shillings there,
and never had more than twenty pounds at any
time. Whenever anybody died, the Bird-in-the-
Hand disputed its liability, and the people were
all too poor to make a stir about it and have
justice.

It's true George has got a bit of money laid
by now, but what I'm afraid of is that he will
be doing something foolish with it. I'm sure
he's been bragging about his account out of
doors, for there's scarcely a day passes that he
doesn't get letters wanting him to take shares in
all kinds of companies and associations for the
benefit of the working classes, and circulars
besides from people that make regalia and
badges, and banners, and satin aprons, and all
such rubbish.

I read in my paper, which is the Penny Newsman,
that Mr. Gladstone is going to set up
insurance offices for the working classes at the
Post-office Savings-banks. I hear that there's
great opposition to it—by the publicans, I
shouldn't wonder—but I'm sure if parliament
was only composed of working men's wives the
bill would be carried unanimously. It's just
what the working man wants, for as things are
now he doesn't know where to go for safety,
and the way that lords and baronets and the
aristocracy put their names to offices and
societies, that never do anything but go into
Chancery and wind up, is really shameful, and a
snare to them as haven't got the education and
knowledge to judge for themselves. I'm no
politician myself, but, as a working man's wife
as knows how the money goes, I'm sure what
Mr. Gladstone proposes to do is good, and if
he would only go a little further, and make
the Post-offices sick funds as well, he will
be the best friend the working classes ever
had.

And bless him! I say, for the duty he has
taken off the tea, and the bottle of brandy that
you can now get at the grocer's, without
sending the girl to the public-house, where the
fellows get larking with her, leading to crinolines
and red petticoats and ruin. Why, at Plumberry's,
where I often buy my tea, we can now
get brandy, gin, rum, and any kind of wine; and
I'm sure, if George would only buy his bottle
of rum there, and bring it home and have his
glass by the fireside with me (or a mate from
the shop, too, if he likes), it would cost him
less money; he would have no headache, and
he'd be a deal more pleasant to all parties, next
morning.

A RENT IN A CLOUD.

IN TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER VII. DISSENSION.

The knowledge Calvert now possessed of
the humble relations which had subsisted
between Miss Grainger and his uncle's family,
had rendered him more confident in his manner,
and given him even a sort of air of protection
towards them. Certain it is, each day made
him less and less a favourite at the villa, while
Loyd, on the other hand, grew in esteem and
liking with every one of them. A preference
which, with whatever tact shrouded, showed
itself in various shapes.

"I perceive," said Calvert one morning, as
they sat at breakfast together, "my application
for an extension of leave is rejected. I am
ordered to hold myself in readiness to sail with
drafts for some regiments in Upper India!" he
paused for a few seconds, and then continued:
"I'd like any one to tell me what great difference
there is in real condition between an Indian
officer and a transported felon. In point of daily
drudgery there is little, and as for climate the
felon has the best of it."

"I think you take too dreary a view of your
fortune. It is not the sort of career I would
choose, nor would it suit me, but if my lot had
fallen that way, I suspect I'd not have found it
so unendurable."

"No. It would not suit you. There's no
scope in a soldier's life for those little sly
practices, those small artifices of tact and ingenuity,
by which subtlety does its work in this world.
In such a career, all this adroitness would be
clean thrown away."

"I hope," said Loyd, with a faint smile,