what you'd have paid for having it thoroughly well done at first.”

I ask how long the building would take? Chilvern is of opinion that it would be six months at the least.

Then I say I'll give it up. I wanted it for Christmas.

Then the notion of the party must be abandoned.

Happy Thought.—An abandoned party! Dreadful character.

Boodels says he's sorry for that, as he can't go into his own house just now, it being under repair.

Cazell suddenly exclaims, “I tell you what we ought to do!” We listen. He goes on. “We ought to take a house for the Winter Season, the lot of us together, and then ask our own friends.”

Boodels observes, that, if we agree to this, he will supply some servants, as his are doing nothing. Chilvern can tell us where there's a place to be let. Just what we want, about an hour's train from town. Queer old mansion, a bit out of trim, he tells us, in fact he was going to have had the job of restoring it, only the people suddenly left; but he'd put that to rights. Would we go and look at it?

Carried nem. con.

CHAPTER II.

e go down. Hertfordshire. I find on inquiry that there is no Guide to this county. Black ignores it, Murray knows nothing about it, and Bradshaw is silent on the subject.

Happy Thought.—While at Our Mansion write a Guide to Hertfordshire.

Arrived at the station we inquire for Blackmeer Hall. Six or seven miles to drive. I ask if this distance isn't against it? I am met by the unanimous answer, “Not at all.”

Chilvern points out the beauties of the road as we go along. We become silent, not liking to have things perpetually pushed under our notice, as if we couldn't see them for ourselves.

“There's a fine bit,” he says, pointing to a gate. We nod. “Aren't the colours of the trees lovely?” he asks. We agree with him. For the sake of argument, I observe that I've seen finer. “Where?” he inquires. I don't know at this moment where, but, being on my mettle, I am certain that I have seen finer.

Happy Thought.—In Derbyshire.

He pooh-poohs the notion of Derbyshire. Then he continues giving us bits of useful information, like a disjointed lecture.

“There's a tree for you!” he exclaims. Then, “There's a queer old roof, eh?” No notice being taken of this, he continues, “Fine beech that!” “Beautiful view, isn't it?” Presently, “Just look at the sky now!” and so on.

Cazell begins to resent it, so does Boodels.

Chilvern says, pointing left and right, “Ah, these fields are the place for mushrooms.”

Boodels says that his own fields in Essex are better.

“Not better than this,” says Chilvern.

Boodels returns that they are, and that he, Boodels, ought to know.

Chilvern pauses to allow the subject to stand and cool, as it were; then he begins again.

“That's a fine cow there. This is a great place for cows. It's where all the celebrated cheeses are made.”

“Ah, my dear fellow,” cries Boodels, “you should see the cows in Gloucestershire. They are cows.”

Cazell agrees with him, but caps it with, “Yes, but I'll tell you what you