parliament, and objected to committees and late hours; or who registered their franchises, and thought it a hardship to record their votes. It was the glory of Mr. Barker that he had neither wife nor child, neither a house, an office, nor a vote; he was dependent on nobody, and nobody was dependent on him; it was impossible to be more unattached than he was-impossible to have fewer ties, without entirely forsaking the haunts of men.

Barker retired moodily to exchange his robe-de-chambre for the blue frock, which was his invariable morning costume. He buttoned it sharply to his chin, gave his hat a somewhat belligerent cock, drew on a pair of white doe-skin gloves, and proceeded to walk with Spread in the direction of the Reform Club. The wind was from the northeast. Spread was withered and unhappy; Barker said he never felt so comfortable. He took the part of the northeast, spoke of the south with contempt, and expressed himself disrespectfully of zephyrs. At the corner of Pall Mall they separated, Spread having first consented to take a chop with the bachelor in his chamber at seven. He had intended to communicate to his friend that morning his plans for the future, particularly his intentions to settle in the country, but it was too hazardous to venture on such a ticklish subject while Barker was in a humor to fancy a northeaster.

They had been noticed walking down St. James's-street by two members of the House of Commons, who were well acquainted with them both.

"Observe Barker and Spread," said one; "two characters more dissimilar do not exist."

"Barker is the most angular man I ever encountered," said the other.

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Angular!" exclaimed the first: "he is so full of angles that to understand him is as difficult as taking a trigonometrical survey. Spread, on the contrary, has not a single corner in his mind; it is one of the roomiest minds I ever knew, yet there is not a nook in it for a single crotchet, not stabling for one hobby. He was a great loss to the House.

CHAPTER V.

Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. Thou hast quarreled with a man for coughing in the street, because he has wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Romeo and Juliet.

Round Tables and Square Ones-Claret and Sherry-Mr. Barker is excited and pugnacious-Holds up a Mirror to Mr. Spread-Dancing in FettersBarker agrees to spend the Christmas at Liverpool-Energetic Aphorism of Mr. Spread-The Northeast Wind-Mr. Spread discloses to the Bachelor his rural Plans-The Bachelor's Wrath-Observations on Contentment and a Homily on Social Obligations.

THE chop was over-the dry sherry remained upon the small square table. Barker liked a square table. Spread preferred a round one.

"You don't drink sherry?" said the bachelor.

"Not after dinner," said Spread.

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Reynolds, claret!—a magnum of thirty-four.”

"I love a bounteous glass," said Spread, as Reynolds set a glass before him which might hold about half a pint.

"A magnum bottle requires a maximum glass," said Barker. Particularly," added Spread, "when the wine is the opti

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mum."

As he spoke he filled the goblet to the brim with the rosy liquor. Barker filled a smaller glass with the Amontillado.

"That's a great wine," said Spread, having made his first libation. He loved good wine, as good men have ever done, and as good men will ever do, without disparagement to Father Mathew.

“I stick pretty much to sherry,” said Barker.

"You are wrong-sherry is an unsocial wine. Drink claret, Barker-claret is the wine to pour into the wounds of life-it is your dry sherry that isolates you in the world—that keeps you a bachelor."

"Its best recommendation," said Barker.

"It won't do, Barker," said Spread, warming; "I tell you it won't do."

"You see it does," replied the bachelor, dryly; "sooner than have your cares and responsibilites upon my back, I would be vicar to Atlas, and carry the globe on my shoulders."

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My cares, as you call them, have neither broken my constitution nor impaired my spirits. I am a gayer fellow than you, Barker-I am at least as healthy-as-'

"I'll tell you what you are, Spread;" and Barker threw back his head, put his arms a-kimbo, and standing up, planted himself with his back to the fire, controversial as a game-cock. It was his usual attitude when he was going to defend a paradox of his own, or attack the opinions of another, and was in his declamatory vein. "I'll tell you what you are, Spread-you are a merchant, liable to all the hazards of commerce, the vicissitudes of public credit, the caprice of the elements, the frauds or the misfortunes of all the houses connected with you over all the world. You were a member of parliament but the other day, the victim of Mr. Plumptre, at the mercy of Peter Borthwick; at this hour you are a voter for Heaven knows how many boroughs and counties; at the next election, the protectionist squires will worry you like a fox; I only hope Lord George may not be in at your death. I won't count your guardianships and trusteeships; I believe you are legally responsible for half the widows and orphans in Lancashire. Pray is there an association of any description of which you are not, at least, honorary secretary, or a joint-stock company in which you have not shares? Not one, I believe in my conscience; but this is not all, nor the worst of it: you are a married men; you have-how many children have you ?— no matter—and as to god-children, I presume, with your passion for responsibilities, you are sponsor for some round dozens of Lancashire witches and Liverpool scamps."

Spread enjoyed his friend's humor, and never interrupted its career. But when Barker came to a halt, he replied, that if he had his yoke to bear, like other men, as yet he had not found it an oppressive one.

"But why bear any yoke," demanded Barker, returning to his seat, "heavy or light, when a man can avoid all yokes, as I do, safe out of Fortune's shot?' If you can dance in fetters, let me tell you, Spread, it's a rare talent; it's no accomplishment of mine, and therefore I don't go to the ball."

"You'll go to the ball sooner or later, Barker," replied Spread,

replenishing his glass-"every body does—no ball, no supper-no enjoyment of life, without taking one's fair share of the business and cares of it; we'll meet at the ball yet, depend upon it-and whọ knows, Barker, but I may live to see you, some merry morning, tripping it in vinculo matrimonii." in the for maski afters

"When I become a man of business, a slave of the lamp," said Barker, about to help himself to more Amontillado, "I shall probably become a slave of the ring too-not till then."

"One glass of this," said the jovial Spread, pushing the jug of claret toward his saturnine friend.

Barker was complaisant enough to comply. Spread filled at the same time, and thought it a propitious moment to remind Barker of his standing engagement to keep the Christmas with him at Liverpool. Whether it was the influence of the generous liquor, or his attachment to Spread, the bachelor made but little opposi

tion.

“We shall be a small party,” said the hospitable merchant; "but we shall be a gay one."

"We differ in many things," said Barker, taking a second glass of the old Bordeaux, "but we agree in some things. We both love an old wine, an old book, and an old friend."

"We do," said Spread," repeating the words, "old wine, old books, and old friends; all good, all excellent; the old friend the best of the three; but to fight the battle of life a man must have something more, Barker."

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An old wife, I suppose," said Barker, gruffly.

"I meant a young one," said Spread.

"I am content with the old friend," said the bachelor.

·

“Just one word upon that point, my dear Barker,” said the honest merchant, earnestly, and rising from the table as he said it. "I have friends, and I prize them; no man prizes friendship more. I know-as Montaigne says, that the arms of friendship are long enough to reach and join hands from one end of the world to the other;' but you will live to acknowledge the truth of what I am about to say, and it is the fruit of twenty years' experience—One love is worth a thousand friendships."

Barker smiled cynically, and Spread, having thus vigorously summed up the argument, retired; not before he had made considerable impression on the magnum of claret; without, however, passing the frontier of temperance, an indiscretion he had never in his life been guilty of. The northeaster was still blowing, parching the earth, and chilling the very souls of men. Spread could not help

thinking, as he buttoned himself up to his throat, of Barker's perverse fancy for the rascalliest wind that blows. Boreas is a ruffian and a bully, but the northeast is a rascal. Eolus has not such a

vicious, ill-conditioned blast in his puffy bags. It withers like an evil eye; it blights like a parent's curse; unkinder than ingratitude; more biting than forgotten benefits. It comes with sickness on its wings, and rejoices only the doctor and the sexton. When Charon

hoists a sail, it is the northeast that swells it; it purveys for Famine and caters for Pestilence. From the savage realms of the Czar it comes with desolating sweep, laden with moans from Siberian mines, and sounding like echoes of the knout; but not a fragrant breath brings it from all the rosaries of Persia, so destitute is it of grace and charity. While it reigns, no fire heats, no raiment comforts, no walls protect-cold without bracing, scorching without warmth. It deflowers the earth, and it wans the sky. The ghastliest of hues overspreads the face of things, and collapsing Nature seems expiring of cholera.

Still Spread had not imparted to his friend what he was so anxious to reveal to him-his projected withdrawal from the Rialto and sequestration in rural life. In truth Spread was a little afraid of Barker, and his courage required some screwing up, before he could venture to broach a subject which he foresaw would lead to an unusual exhibition of moroseness. The first part of the communication, however, was calculated rather to gratify than irritate the ascetic bachelor. But there was no staving off the inevitable questions.

“What will you do?—how will you dispose of the time you will have on your hands?-go into parliament again?-continue in Liverpool?"

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Into parliament! no, no-no intention of it; but it is not probable I shall continue in Liverpool. We are thinking

"Of settling in London, of course." As if there was no alternative, over the whole terraqueous globe-no spot habitable but London.

"Not exactly," in a dastardly tone.

Why, where else, Spread-where else?"

“We are thinking of settling—in the country."

"You can't be serious!" with surprise and vexation.

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Yes, I am," delivered doggedly.

You don't mean to tell me you are deliberately thinking of a country life?" repeated Barker, rising from his chair and rising in tone simultaneously.