time in the four-and-twenty hours. As we got more and more into debt, breakfast became a hollower and hollower form, and, being on one occasion at breakfast-time threatened (by letter) with legal proceedings, “not unwholly unconnected,” as my local paper might put it, “with jewelery,” I went so far as to seize the Avenger by his blue collar and shake him off his feet, — so that he was actually in the air, like a booted Cupid, — for presuming to suppose that we wanted a roll.

At certain times — meaning at uncertain times, for they depended on our humor — I would say to Herbert, as if it were a remarkable discovery, —

“My dear Herbert, we are getting on badly.”

“My dear Handel,” Herbert would say to me, in all sincerity,