such as faced him imperceptibly lifted their eyelids. “Good evening, sir,” said one who sat as chairman, with a decisive nod. “Good night, ain’t it?” a jolly-looking old fellow queried of the speaker, in an under-voice. “’Gad, you don’t expect me to be wishing the gentleman good-bye, do you?” retorted the former. “Ha! ha! No, to be sure,” answered the old boy; and the remark was variously uttered, that “Good night,” by a caprice of our language, did sound like it. “Good evening’s ‘How d’ ye do?’—‘How are ye?’ Good night’s ‘Be off, and be blowed to you,’” observed an interpreter with a positive mind; and another, whose intelligence was not so clear, but whose perceptions had seized the point, exclaimed: “I never says it when I hails a chap; but, dash my buttons, if I mightn’t ’a done, one day or another! Queer!” The chairman, warmed by his joke, added, with a sharp wink: “Ay; it would be queer, if you hailed ‘Good night’ in the middle of the day!” and this among a company soaked in ripe ale, could not fail to run the electric circle, and persuaded several to change their positions; in the rumble of which, Evan’s reply, if he had made any, was lost. Few, however, were there who could think of him, and ponder on that glimpse of fun, at the same time; and he would have been passed over, had not the chairman said: “Take a seat, sir; make yourself comfortable.” “Before I have that pleasure,” replied Evan, “I—” “I see where ’tis,” burst out the old boy who had previously superinduced a diversion: “he’s going to ax if he can’t have a bed!” A roar of laughter, and “Don’t you remember this day last year?” followed the cunning guess. For awhile explication was impossible; and Evan coloured, and smiled, and waited for them. “I was going to ask—” “Said so!” shouted the old boy, gleefully. “—one of the gentlemen who has engaged a bed-room to do me the extreme favour to step aside with me, and allow me a moment’s speech with him.” Long faces were drawn, and odd stares were directed toward him, in reply. “I see where ’tis”; the old boy thumped his knee. “Ain’t it now? Speak up, sir! There’s a lady in the case?” “I may tell you thus much,” answered Evan, “that it is an unfortunate young woman, very ill, who needs rest and quiet.” “Didn’t I say so?” shouted the old boy. But this time, though his jolly red jowl turned all round to demand a confirmation, it was not generally considered that he had divined so correctly. Between a lady and an unfortunate young woman, there seemed to be a strong distinction, in the minds of the company. The chairman was the most affected by the communication. His bushy eyebrows frowned at Evan, and he began tugging at the brass buttons of his coat, like one preparing to arm for a conflict. “Speak out, sir, if you please,” he said. “Above board—no asides—no taking advantages. You want me to give up my bed-room for the use of your young woman, sir?”