father, and sometimes a wise father ain't able to know his own son. We sees such things every day, bless you. But you must move on, Sir; or else I must take you in charge for annoying this gent. As it is, you 're a hobstructin' of the pavement."
"Ho, Soosanner!" sang one of the Chorus, as a consolation for the sufferer; "Ho, Soosanner, don't you cry for me! yer a goin' to Hallerbarmer, with yer banjo on yer knee!"
"I have no more time to lose, Sir!" said Mr. Percival Wylde, referring to his watch: "it is already past the time when I ought to have been in Wilton Crescent,"—(the Old Boy flinched at the mention of this locality),—"and I must again repeat, that if you persist in annoying or following me" (for I had better be on the safe side, thought Percie), "I must give you in charge. Having given you this final notice, I must leave you to pursue your own way."
"Very well, Sir!" roared the Old Boy, at the culminating point of his fury; "you shall suffer for this, Sir! I 'll teach you what it is to impose upon me with your sham sicknesses, and your cheques for doctors' bills that you never had! I 'll teach you what it is to disobey me by making love to that girl! If you were fifty sons and heirs, I'd cut you off with a shilling—I would, by George! I 'll give you a lesson, Sir! I 'll go up to Oxford at once and have you expelled the place. I will, Sir, by"
"Don't swear, Sir!" said Mr. Percival Wylde, with the same imperturbable coolness and sangfroid that he had maintained throughout the conversation; "Don't swear, Sir, I beg! for as this is a public thoroughfare, I shall feel it my duty, as a member of society, to com-
