“Real turtle as well as mock, eh? I hope you don’t mean any insinuation about a calf’s head too I But, now you mention it, I _do_ think seven-and-sixpence was rather high for a basin of soup. Ah! the women, they make sad fools of us youth; but as the old lady piously remarked, when her pet dog died of repletion, ‘Such is life, which is the end of all things:’--heigh-ho!” Having relieved his feelings by venting a deep sigh, Master (he would have annihilated us for so calling him) Wilfred Jacob, who appeared gifted with an interminable flow of conversation, and an insatiable delight in listening to his own voice, again addressed his companions, exclaiming-- “I tell you what it is, gentlemen: the cares of existence, and the heartlessness of that deluding mock-turtle soup gal, ar weighing upon my spirits to such a degree, that nothing short of a mild cigar can bring me round again: that is, always supposing you, none of you, entertain a _rooted_ aversion (you perceive the pun?) to the leaves of the Indian herb.” “I presume you are aware that smoking in a first-class carriage is against the rules of the railway company,” suggested Ernest. “I know that some such prejudice exists in their feeble minds,” was the rejoinder; “but they are not obliged to learn anything about it, are they? ‘Where ignorance is bliss,’ you know.” “The first porter who opens the door is certain to perceive the smell; and of course, if he inquires whence it proceeds, I shall not attempt to disguise the truth,” returned Ernest. “Never fear,” was the reply; “even if such an alarming contingency were to accrue, I know a safe dodge to throw him off the scent.” “If I possessed any authority over you, I should strongly remonstrate against your violating such a wise and useful regulation,” observed Ernest, gravely. “That fearful moral responsibility not resting upon your conscience--for which, as a philanthropist, I feel humbly thankful--I shall, with your leave, waste no more precious time, but go ahead at once.” So saying the young pickle drew from his pocket a small neatly finished leather ease, well filled with cigars; having politely offered it in turn to each of his companions, who were unanimous in their refusal, he selected a cigar, lighted it by means of a piece of German tinder, and, placing it in his mouth, began puffing away with equal zest and science. Having set it going to his satisfaction, he removed it for a moment, and, emitting a graceful wreath of smoke, resumed--“Capital good cigars these--came from Fribourg and Pontet’s--I never smoke any others--better change your mind and take one, Mr.------, ‘pon my word your name has escaped me.” “Are you quite certain you ever knew it?” inquired Ernest, whilst a smile of quiet intelligence curled his handsome mouth.