of doing business, as he termed it--that is, of putting off the
goods of his employers, and improving his own account of commission.
He had fidgeted through the suite of apartments, without finding
the least opportunity to touch upon that which he considered
as the principal end of his existence. Even the story of Rizzio's
assassination presented no ideas to this emissary of commerce,
until the housekeeper appealed, in support of her narrative, to
the dusky stains of blood upon the floor.

"These are the stains," she said; "nothing will remove them from
the place: there they have been for two hundred and fifty years,
and there they will remain while the floor is left standing--
neither water nor anything else will ever remove them from that
spot."

Now our cockney, amongst other articles, sold Scouring Drops,
as they are called, and a stain of two hundred and fifty years'
standing was interesting to him, not because it had been caused
by the blood of a queen's favourite, slain in her apartment, but
because it offered so admirable an opportunity to prove the efficacy
of his unequalled Detergent Elixir. Down on his knees went our
friend, but neither in horror nor devotion.

"Two hundred and fifty years, ma'am, and nothing take it away? Why,
if it had been five hundred, I have something in my pocket will
fetch it out in five minutes. D'ye see this elixir, ma'am? I will
show you the stain vanish in a moment."

Accordingly, wetting one end of his handkerchief with the all
deterging specific, he began to rub away on the planks, without