first glimpse of a customer.

Often after gazing long and intently into the distance he would turn back with a sigh, knock the ashes from his pipe, refill it, take a deep draught of his own home-brewed ale, then, if none of his customers required anything, and the affairs of his household permitted it, he would sally out again. This time, perhaps, his eyes would be greeted by the sight of a solitary wayfarer, or, better still, the stage-coach. Then it was that the honest landlord's face would brighten up, as it was certain to bring him some of the "big-wigs" from town. He would rub his hands and chuckle, while Dame Hearty would begin to bustle about to welcome the fresh arrivals. It was not often, however, that the "Headless Lady" was entirely deserted.

A small clique or brotherhood, known as "The Wonder Club," had been nightly in the habit of assembling here for years, and this served to bring grist to the mill. Some of the eminent men from the neighbouring village, among whom were the doctor, the lawyer, an antiquary, an analytical chemist, and others, had formed among themselves a club, which was to consist only of very choice spirits, like themselves, and if any guest were introduced among them, it was only to be with a letter of introduction and the full consent of all parties. By these strict rules they hoped to keep the club select. A room at the inn was set apart for them, into which no one not belonging to the club ever presumed to enter, unless it was the landlord, who would be called every now and then to replenish the bowl, and whom sometimes the guests of the club would "draw out," as it was whispered in the village that the landlord of the "Headless Lady" knew a rare lot of stories, he did; also how to tell 'em, too, my word! but these he generally reserved for his more intimate customers. One strict law of the club that we have not yet mentioned was that no guest invited was to be a "business man." Should a commercial traveller ever have the hardihood to enter the sacred precincts of the club, he was assailed with a battery of glances from the members that must have completely cowed him, unless he were a man of more than usual strength of nerve; but as this rarely happened, all such outward manifestations of contempt were kept within due bounds. Business was, of course, tabooed; even politics were only admitted on sufferance and by a special permission of the chairman. There was one evening in the year, however, when the chairman never granted any such permission, and that was on the anniversary of the founding of the club. On this evening such subjects as business and politics would have been cried down, and the daring introducer of the obnoxious themes would have been condemned to drink a cup of cold water on his bended knees by way of expiating his offence. No subjects of public or private interest were tolerated on this evening, or, indeed, on any other. The chief delight of this club was to tell or to listen to stories which were all more or less of the marvellous class, and which each took it by turn to relate to the rest, the strictest silence and order being preserved during the recital. The evening that we are about to describe to the reader was the tenth anniversary of the founding of the club. This was a very grand event. For any one of its members or guests, whether married or single, to have been absent, on this occasion would have been little less than an insult to the rest. Let us try to give our readers a glimpse of the club room and its guests on this memorable evening.

Imagine, then, a large room with low ceiling and walls of dark oak panel, a large old-fashioned fireplace with dogs, and a Yule log blazing on the hearth. The curtains are old and embroidered, and closely drawn. The room is well lighted, and in the middle is a long table, at which, through a cloud of tobacco smoke, a party of nine—all lords of the creation—may be discovered. A bowl of punch is in the centre of the table, at which every now and then each guest replenishes his glass. Mr. Oldstone, the antiquary, has been elected chairman. Watch with what dignity he fills his post of honour. Look! he rises and thumps the table. He is going to make a speech. The strictest silence reigns; you might hear a pin drop.

"Gentlemen," began the worthy chairman, after one or two preliminary "hems," "it is with feelings of mixed pride and pleasure that I feel myself called upon to-night to preside at this most honourable meeting." (Hear, hear!) The chairman resumed, "This is the tenth anniversary of our club of choice spirits (cheers), and so shamefully nicknamed by our enemies 'The Morbid Club.' (Groans.) Irritated at our exclusiveness, and envious at the reports of the superior talent that circulates nightly at our table, and which bursts into a halo of genius on our great saturnalias, what wonder, gentlemen, if the worthy members of our select club should make enemies out of their own circle? Only 'birds of a feather flock together,' and perhaps the contempt of our enemies is the best compliment they can pay us." (Hear, hear! and various shouts and yells of delight, amid clapping of hands, stamping, and rattling of glasses.) Here the chairman paused to take breath, and then, after a preliminary sip at his glass of punch, proceeded.

"Gentlemen, I feel duly sensible of the honour conferred upon me this evening in being selected to preside at our meeting on this very important occasion, an honour which I feel unable to support, and for which I feel my abilities so inadequate. (No, no!) Gentlemen, we are a company of nine this evening, the number of the muses—the omen is auspicious. I see around me faces that were present at the inauguration of our club, ten years ago, though others, alas! have gone to their long rest." Here the speaker was visibly moved, and passed his hand over his eyes to wipe away an incipient tear. Then, recovering himself, "Need I proceed, gentlemen? Need I trespass longer upon the time and patience of guests so illustrious? (Yes, yes!) Then, gentlemen," continued the speaker, "I would but detain you one moment longer, to propose the following toast, to be drunk with three times three. (Hear, hear!) 'Long live the "Wonder Club," and all its choice members.'" Here the president, at the conclusion of his speech, held a bumper above his head, and repeated the toast with the rest of the company, with a "Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!" "May their brains be as fertile as the plains of Elysium, and may the fame of the 'Wonder Club' spread to the ends of the earth." This sentiment was followed by a burst of applause.

In the midst of the stamping, cheering, and rattling of glasses that ensued a knock was heard at the door. Who could it be? The landlord? It was not his wont to disturb the club for a trifle. He only made his appearance when called for. What was it? Was the inn on fire? Who could venture to disturb the solemn meeting of the "Wonder Club" on their tenth anniversary? One of the members rose from his seat and opened the door ajar, still holding the handle in his hand.

"Who is it? What do you want at this hour?" he asked.

"I beg pardon, gentlemen," said the voice of the honest landlord without, "for disturbing the company; but a gentleman has just brought a letter for the chairman, and I thought it might be important. Leastways, I thought it wouldn't be much harm to deliver it at once. The gentleman has sent in his card. Excuse the interruption, sirs; I hope no offence."

The letter was delivered to Mr. Oldstone. He glanced at the card.

"What, a visitor!" he said; "and at this time of night. Let me tell you, landlord—ahem—that this is a most unwarrantable infringement of—er—er—of the rules laid down by—er—eh?