of DIFFICULTIES--and of friendship. Let not the sun of May-day go
down on Harold Skimpole in Coavins's!--Yours ever,

H. S.

P.S.--A youthful myrmidon of Coavins's will wait for a reply.
Shall we say, while we are about it, Twenty-five?


From the Rev. Charles Honeyman to Harold Skimpole, Esq.
Cursitor Street, May 1.


My Dear Skimpole,--How would I have joyed, had Providence placed it
within my power to relieve your distress! But it cannot be. Like
the Carthaginian Queen of whom we read in happier days at dear old
Borhambury, I may say that I am haud ignarus mali. But, alas! the
very evils in which I am not unlearned, make it impossible for me
to add miseris succurrere disco! Rather am I myself in need of
succour. You, my dear Harold, have fallen among thieves; I may too
truly add that in this I am your neighbour. The dens in which we
are lodged are contiguous; we are separated only by the bars. Your
note was sent on hither from my rooms in Walpole Street. Since we
met I have known the utmost that woman's perfidy and the rich man's
contumely can inflict. But I can bear my punishment. I loved, I
trusted. She to whose hand I aspired, she on whose affections I
had based hopes at once of happiness in life and of extended
usefulness in the clerical profession, SHE was less confiding. She
summoned to her council a minion of the Law, one Briggs. HIS
estimate of my position and prospects could not possibly tally with