"'MY DEAR FRIEND,--I dare say you are surprised to hear from me again, after my long silence. The fact is that I had put off writing to you, having some time ago formed a resolution of returning to England, when I hoped to surprise you by suddenly appearing unexpectedly in time for the tenth anniversary of the inauguration of our club. Certain affairs, however, have prevented me from being present myself in the flesh, but I beg to introduce to your notice my young friend, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, an artist who has for some time past been prosecuting his studies here in Rome. He is a young man of talent and genius, possessing a great fund of stories of the marvellous and supernatural order, such as your club particularly prides itself on. He is quite one of our sort, and you would be doing me a great favour to introduce him to the rest of the members. If he could arrive in time for your grand saturnalia, I should be doubly pleased.--Your old friend, "'CHARLES RUSTCOIN.'" "Well, gentlemen," said the president, "what do you say to that? Shall the neophyte be admitted? You see, he is not a commercial traveller, nor a business man, but an artist; one of those restless strivers after the ideal. A traveller, too--a man full of stories, like one of us. What do you say--shall he be admitted?" The guests gave an unanimous consent, and the next moment our host ushered the stranger into the club-room. All eyes were directed towards the stranger. He was a young man, bordering on thirty, about the middle height, who, contrary to the custom of the period, wore his own hair, which at that time was considered extremely vulgar. He wore a slouch hat instead of the usual three-cornered shape, and an Italian cloak thrown over the left shoulder. He doffed his hat with dignity and courtesy as he entered the apartment, and after shaking the snow from his cloak (for it had been snowing hard without that night, being in December), he handed cloak and hat to the landlord and accepted the offer of a chair that Mr. Oldstone had placed for him near the fire. "Here! mine host," shouted Mr. Oldstone, "bring another log, and see that you make this gentleman comfortable to-night, for I see without asking him any questions that he is one of our set." "Ay, ay, sir," said the landlord, who was just leaving the room. "Never fear, sir, I'll see to the gentleman's wants, and my old woman will warm the bed, for it's a nasty night to be out in. My blessed eyes, how it snows! The gentleman must have had pressing business with you, sir, to bring him out here such a night as this." "No, my good host," replied the artist; "nothing more than a desire to be present at the tenth anniversary of the club that I have heard so much about." The host looked astonished, and the guests felt flattered. The landlord's respect for the members of the club was augmented considerably.