the product--not of Nature, but of Art. It was not always thus with
me--but in my younger days I was an ardent climber--indeed, I am still
an Honorary Member of the Hampstead Heath Alpine Club. Many years
since, whilst scaling Primrose Hill, I was compelled, by a sudden
storm, to take refuge in a half-way hut, where I passed the night,
exposed to all the rigours of an English Midsummer! When I awoke
I found, to my surprise, that both my legs had been bitten by the
relentless frost short off immediately below the knee, and I had to
continue the ascent next day in a basket. On descending, I caused
these substitutes to be fashioned, and on them I stumped my way to
the exalted position I now fill, nor have I ever evinced any physical
inconveniences from my misfortune, save in one particular--that it
has rendered the assumption of gaiters unhappily out of the question!
But, possibly, my wish to have these legs of mine disguised by your
pigments, strikes you as bizarre, if not positively eccentric? You
will better understand my reasons after you have heard a confession
which, though necessary, is, believe me, painful to make." And the
good old man, after a short internal struggle, began the following
narrative, which we reserve for a succeeding chapter.


CHAPTER II.

"Even as a Curate, a certain harmless vanity was ever my besetting
weakness. I might, indeed, have hoped that, after my accident--but
see, my good lad, how pride may lurk, even in our very infirmities!
These artificial limbs have become a yet subtler snare to me than
even those they replaced. I had them constructed, as you see, of
the best mahogany--to match the furniture in my dining-room. With
ever-increasing pleasure, my eyes have gloried in their grain and