street in Birmingham.

"Gone!" he was saying. "Miss Smithers gone to New Zealand! What is
her address?"

"She didn't leave no address, sir," replies the dirty maid-of-all-work
with a grin. "She went from here two days ago, and was going on to the
ship in London."

"What was the name of the ship?" he asked, in despair.
"Kan--Kon--Conger-eel," replies the girl in triumph, and shuts the door
in his face.

Poor Eustace! He had gone to London to try and get some employment, and
having, after some difficulty, succeeded in obtaining a billet as reader
in Latin, French and English to a publishing house of good repute, at a
salary of £180 a year, he had hurried back to Birmingham for the sole
purpose of seeing Miss Augusta Smithers, with whom, if the whole truth
must be told, he had, to his credit be it said, fallen deeply, truly, and
violently in love. Indeed, so far was he in this way gone, that he had
determined to make all the progress that he could, and if he thought that
there was any prospect of success, to declare his passion. This was,
perhaps, a little premature; but then in these matters people are apt to
be more premature than is generally supposed. Human nature is very swift
in coming to conclusions in matters in which that strange mixture we
call the affections are involved; perhaps because, although the
conclusion is not altogether a pleasing one, the affections, at any rate
in the beginning, are largely dependent on the senses.

Pity a poor young man! To come from London to Birmingham to woo one's