pretty well emptied by the purchase of costly inutilities at the Cape.

"By far the most sensible thing that I could do;" soliloquized Julian Jenks-" no letter like a letter of credit to help one on in the world;" and there was something so remarkably invigorating in the thought, that it threw no little increase of energy into the stimuli he was administering to his horse, and had the effect of depositing him very safely at "Spence's," in little more than five minutes afterwards.

As the motive for his going there at all does not happen to be so very obvious, we think it right to state, that Julian Jenks went to "Spence's," because he did not know his way to his agent's, and he thought it just as well to inquire beforehand the way to the office of Cutandrun and Co., a reflection on his part indicative of very great wisdom, for if every body inquired the way to do a thing before attempting it, there would not be so many failures in the world.

With this laudable intention in his mind, Julian Jenks sauntered into the coffee-room, for the purpose of consulting a chance acquaintance, whom he had picked up that morning at the breakfast-table, and from the tenour of whose conversation, our friend decided to be a remarkably knowing fellow, especially in horse-racing, pig-sticking, and all commercial affairs. He was, in fact, an indigo planter, or an assistant to an indigo planter, or something

of that sort, and had just come up from a place where there were no ladies, no church, no roads, little law, and plenty of hospitality.

There was something about the gentleman that Julian liked, and he was glad, therefore, when he saw him sitting at one end of the long table, with his legs thrown up over the corner of it, in a most comfortable attitude, and an auction-catalogue in his hand. He was just the sort of person, in Jenks' estimation, to afford all the necessary information about Messrs. Cutandrun and Co., so forthwith the griffin attacked him.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting you, sir," said Julian

"No trouble at all," said Mr. O'Neill, for such was the gentleman's name "no trouble at all whatever."

"You're very good," said Julian; "but the fact is, you see, that I'm a stranger here, and-"

"I do see that," said the Mofussilite, smiling, "by your being so uncommon polite. Fresh Europe civility, I take it."

"The same," returned Julian Jenks, with a slight laugh; "but that will wear off in time as the school-boy said of his wart."

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Very true," observed Mr. O'Neill..

"And civility costs nothing," continued Julian— "besides I wanted the benefit of your experience, and was naturally anxious to conciliate you-not, however, that I have any thing very important to

ask you, as I merely wish to know in what street Messrs. Cutandrun and Co., the agents, are residing."

"In Queer-street," replied Mr. O'Neill.

"Queer-street," said Julian, "that's an odd name; but ah! I see, you are joking."

"I wish I were," returned Mr. O'Neill.

"You don't mean, do you," stammered Julian, "that Messrs. Cutandrun and Co., have-havehave-have-"

"Failed?" suggested Mr. O'Neill. "Yes; failed," reiterated Julian.

"I do, indeed," returned Mr. O'Neill,-" dividend declared three cowries and a half in the rupee -as clean a smash as ever was, sir. Not at all singular in that respect,-great mercantile distress. just now-great house of Pilgrim and Co., gone some time, sir, for two or three crores at the least. Messrs. Macinquash clean gone too-Lackinhander and Co., insolvent-all alike, sir-all alike—not a house standing in Calcutta."

Very pleasant intelligence that," observed Julian Jenks," to a man with no friend, but his letter of credit, within a compass of ten thousand miles— very pleasant indeed, sir, very."

Considering all things, it may be a matter of doubt whether Julian Jenks did not mean these last words to express his sentiments in an ironica manner; but as his countenance was just as bright and joy-speaking as if he had won a prize in the

lottery, it would have been difficult for a stranger to decide whether the sentiments thus delivered were genuine sentiments of pleasure, or the irony of bitter disappointment. The real truth is, that they were neither one thing nor the other, for although Julian Jenks was not quite so accomplished a philosopher as to take any particular pleasure in the misfortune that had just befallen him, he had still enough of the stoic in his composition to treat it almost as a matter of indifference. Certain it is, that the announcement of Messrs. Cutandrun's failure had no effect in damping his spirits, for after delivering it as his candid opinion, that Calcutta was a confounded hole, and having wished Mr. O'Neill good morning, he jumped into his buggy, with a smile and a whistle, and drove off again to the fort.

His object in going there, was to see an old Addiscombe friend, who had arrived in India a few weeks before him, and was resident in the cadet barracks. This young gentleman's name was Phillimore; he was an idle, thoughtless, but well-principled youth, and had passed out of Addiscombe in the infantry. Julian Jenks had received a letter from him at Kedgeree, containing a pressing invitation to "chum" with him in the barracks, before he proceeded to join his regiment-an invitation which he now began to think seriously of accepting, as it occurred to him, naturally enough, that the failure of Messrs. Cutandrun and Co., his agents,

might possibly mar his facilities of paying a heavy hotel-bill," it will be all the same a hundred years hence," soliloquized Julian Jenks," and what's the odds."

Comforting himself with these sage reflections and others of a similar nature, Julian Jenks made his way, by a circuitous route, which took him at least twice round the fort, and three times past the place he was seeking for, to the row of white-washed and green-windowed inconveniences, which are called in garrison topography the South Barracks, and which furnish an incommodious asylum to cadets, mosquitoes, young assistant-surgeons, houseless subalterns away from their regiments, lizards, garrison apothecaries and dirt.

Alighting from his buggy at one extremity of these buildings, Julian Jenks passed into the publie entrance and up the public staircase, which was very broad, very dusty, and somewhat dilapidated as to the plaster at the edge of each stair; and in less than a minute he found himself at the end of a dim passage, somewhat more than a hundred yards in length, with a stone or plaster floor, a somewhat lofty roof with a few debauched-looking lanterns pendent therefrom, and two long rows of doors, with arched apertures over them, running along either side of the gallery.

Julian Jenks advanced a little way along the passage, and then stood still to contemplate the living scene that presented itself. Outside almost every