TWENTY YEARS AGO, AND NOW.

CHAPTER I.





THE rain had poured in torrents all day, and now, for the third time
since morning, I came home, wet, uncomfortable and weary. I half
dreaded to look at the slate, lest some urgent call should stare me
in the face.

"It must indeed be a case of life and death, that takes me out again
to-night," said I, as my good wife met me in the entry, and with
light hands, made active by love, assisted in the removal of my
great coat and comforter.

"Now come into the sitting-room," she said, "your slippers are on
the rug, and your dressing-gown warmed and waiting. Tea is ready,
and will be on the table by the time you feel a little comfortable.
What a dreadful day it has been!"

"Dreadful for those who have been compelled to face the storm," I
remarked, as I drew off my boots, and proceeded to take advantage of