' ... It is true that last year we only paid off some four millions, but the year before we paid, I am thankful to say, more than nine millions. Why, then, this outcry against the allocation of somewhat less than nine millions out of our vast national revenue towards the further extinction of the National Debt? _It is not the duty of the State, as well as of the individual, to pay its debts?_ In order to support the argument with which I began this communication, perhaps you will permit me, sir, to briefly outline the history of the National Debt, our national shame. In 1688 the National Debt was little more than six hundred thousand pounds....' After briefly outlining the history of the National Debt, Mr. Knight began a new paragraph thus: 'In the immortal words of Shakspere, wh----' But at this point he was interrupted. A young and pleasant woman in a white apron pushed open the door. 'Henry,' she called from the doorway. 'Well?' 'You'd better go now.' 'Very well, Annie; I'll go instantly.' He dropped the pen, reduced the gas to a speck of blue, and in half a minute was hurrying along Oxford Street. The hour was ten o'clock, and the month was July; the evening favoured romance. He turned into Bury Street, and knocked like fate at a front-door with a brass tablet on it, No. 8 of the street. 'No, sir. He isn't in at the moment, sir,' said the maid who answered Mr. Knight's imperious summons. 'Not in!' exclaimed Mr. Knight. 'No, sir. He was called away half an hour ago or hardly, and may be out till very late.' 'Called away!' exclaimed Mr. Knight. He was astounded, shocked, pained. 'But I warned him three months ago!' 'Did you, sir? Is it anything very urgent, sir?' 'It's----' Mr. Knight hesitated, blushing. The girl looked so young and innocent. 'Because if it is, master left word that anyone was to go to Dr. Christopher's, 22, Argyll Street.' 'You will be sure to tell your master that I came,' said Mr. Knight frigidly, departing. At 22, Argyll Street he was informed that Dr. Christopher had likewise been called away, and had left a recommendation that urgent cases, if any, should apply to Dr. Quain Short, 15, Bury Street. His anger was naturally increased by the absence of this second doctor, but it was far more increased by the fact that Dr. Quain Short happened to live in Bury Street. At that moment the enigma of the universe was wrapped up for him in the question, Why should he have been compelled to walk all the way from Bury Street to Argyll Street merely in order to walk all the way back again? And he became a trinity consisting of Disgusted, Indignant, and One Who Would Like to Know, the middle term predominating. When he discovered that No. 15, Bury Street, was exactly opposite No. 8, Bury Street, his feelings were such as break bell-wires.