JOHN Y. AKERMAN, Esq., Secretary of the Society of Antiquaries; and Mr. LUKE LONSLEY, of Hampsted Norris, Berks. And now, without further preface, we commend our “stir-about” to Englishmen in general, and west-countrymen in particular. [1] Doyle. THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE. CHAPTER I. “Richard,” said our governor, as I entered his room at five o’clock on the afternoon of the 31st of August, 1857, running his pen down the columns of the salary-book, “your quarter-day to-day, I think? Let me see; you were raised to £-- a-year in February last,--so much for quarter’s salary, and so much for extra work. I am glad to see that you have been working so steadily; you’ll deserve your holiday, and enjoy it all the more. You’ll find that all right, I think;” and he pushed a small paper across the table towards me, on which my account was stated in our cashier’s hand, and looked at me over his spectacles. My heart jumped at the mention of my holiday; I just ran my eye down the figures, and was glad to find the total a pound or two higher than I had expected. For I had lately learnt shorthand, and had been taking notes for our firm, for which I found they allowed me extra pay. “Quite right, Sir,” I said; “and I’m sure I’m much obliged to you, Sir, for letting me do the extra work, because--” “Well, never mind that,” said he, with a little laugh; “I shouldn’t give you the extra work, Richard, if it didn’t suit me, or if I could get it better done anywhere else; so the account’s all square on that point. There’s your money.” And he pushed over to me a very nice sum of money. I dare say you would like to know what it was, reader. Now, I’m not going to tell you. Why should you know just what my income is? I don’t owe you or any one else five shillings, and have a very tidy account at the savings’ bank, besides having paid for all the furniture and books in my room, not very far from Lambsconduit Street, which I reckon to be worth fifty pounds of any man’s money; so you see my income is enough to keep me before the world, and I wish more of you could say as much. “I’m very much obliged, Sir,” said I again, as I wrote a receipt over a stamp which I took out of my pocket-book, and stuck on to the bottom of the account. “No, you’re not,” said our governor, quite short; “it’s your own money, fairly earned. You’re not obliged to any man for giving you what’s your own.” He is such an odd fellow about these things. But mind you, I think he’s quite right, too; for, after all, no doubt each of us earns a good penny for him over and above what he pays us, else why should he keep us on? but, somehow, one can’t help thanking any one who pays one money; at least, I can’t. “Now, as to your holiday,” went on our governor. “There’s Jobson went for his fortnight on the 30th; he’ll be back on the 14th of September, at latest. You can take any time you like, after that.” “Then, Sir,” said I directly, “I should like it as soon as possible.”