generally imagine, and even now, in this
enlightened nineteenth century, we have only to
study that brief epitome of the times—the
newspaper—to see how widely-extended among our
lower classes is the belief in witchcraft and its
terrible influences.

Now it so happened that this worthy general
dealer, who had felt the loss of the wise woman of
the Edgeware-road almost as much as any of her
clientèle, had been informed by some of her
friends of the extraordinary powers of a
supernatural kind possessed by our old friend Cornelius
Vampi, to which powers rumour had, as usual,
done something more than justice, gifting him
not only with marvellous capabilities of vaticination
and fortune-telling, but also with such gifts,
in the way of casting spells and bestowing
charms, as rendered him at once the most
desirable of allies and the most dangerous of
enemies—a man, in fact, who could wither up
one of your legs, or cover you with sores from
head to foot, by simply scribbling a few words
on a piece of parchment, or burning a handful of
herbs in an old chafing-dish.

"In short, dear," said the good lady in the
"general" line, at the conclusion of a long
discourse on the subject of Mr. Vampi's qualifications,
"I should say for—I only know of him by
hearsay, and have never consulted him myself—
that he's the kind of man whom, if you want
anything to turn up trumps, you should get upon
your side, while, if there's anything equally
that you'd like to see going to the dogs, you
couldn't possibly do better than set him agin it,
And this I'm sure of, that Walter's little girl,
which, as you know, is withered up like any
mummy, was bewitched by this very Mr. Vampi
from the first—as sure, ay, as sure as its parents
was both first cousins, and eaten hup with
scrofiler on both sides."

It was not likely that Jane Cantanker would
be able to resist the opportunity of securing the
services of such a person as this, and so it
happened that on that very evening of the day
on which the inquest had been held at the
Duke of Cumberland, she set out with the
distinct intention of finding out Mr. Cornelius
Vampi and securing his services, as Balak
sought to get those of Balaam, for the confusion
of his enemy.

There was not much difficulty in finding, by
the description which she had obtained from her
friend, the abode of Mr. Vampi. If there had
been nothing but the owl in spectacles which
stood in the window to know it by, that would
still have been enough; so Cantanker turned
into the shop without much hesitation—indeed,
she was not one of the hesitating sort—and
looked about her for some one answering to the
description which she had received of the
astrologer.

He was evidently not there. So Cantanker
went up to the counter to see if there was any
one to whom she could apply for information as
to when and where he could be found. The
shop was, as usual, pretty full, and an old man
and a lad behind the counter were both engaged
already two or three deep. An old woman—no
other, indeed, than our friend Mrs. Smaggsdale
—came forward to meet her.

''Want Mr. Vampi, do you?" she inquired.
"What is it? Corns?"

"No, certainly not."

"Bunions, then, or warts?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort at all. I want
to see him, Mr. Vampi himself."

"Oh, you want to see him himself, do you?
Ah, then, its 'oroscopes, or fortune-telling, or
something of that sort. Here, Smagg,"
continued the Sceptic, "it's somebody wanting the
governor, and nobody else will do."

"Very well," replied the other, "I'll step up
and tell him. No particular message, is there?"
he added, addressing Cantanker.

"No, only that I want to see him, if it's only
for a minute or two."

"There's pretty nigh everything about the
business," said Mrs. Smaggsdale, addressing the
mysterious customer with something of
contempt, "as I can attend to myself. Herbs and
seeds, and corn plaisters, and purifying pills,
and cures for the toothache, and marking-ink,
and what not. But when it comes to
'oroscopes, I ain't no use at all, and what's more, I
don't care if I never am."

Meanwhile, Mr. Smaggsdale ascended the
stairs which led to the observatory, and in due
time found himself in the presence of the great
astrologer himself.

"Please, sir, you're wanted below, if you can
make it convenient," gasped the messenger, for
he was considerably out of breath with the
ascent. "Lady wants you," he continued, with
another gasp.

"Lady?" echoed the sage, quickly. "What
lady? not——"

"Not the lady. No, sir, she haven't been."

"Strange," muttered the philosopher to
himself; "I never knew her fail to come when she
had said she would."

"Ah, she was a punctual one,"remarked
Smagg, corroboratively, "was the strange lady."

"And this other lady," inquired Cornelius,
"won't she tell you her business?"

"No," replied the little man. "She ain't
exactly a lady, you know. But be that as it
may, it's you she wants to see, and nobody
else."

"Well, then, you must ask her if she'll take
the trouble to come up. I can't leave what I'm
about just now, as you see."

The philosopher did indeed seem to be most
especially busy. He was in the act of making
some excessively intricate preparation over the
fire. It was something which appeared to
require incessant stirring, and equally incessant
additions of some boiling liquid, which was
turned on by means of a tap from an immense
copper caldron stewing over the fire. The
philosopher wore a costume which was reserved
for his chemical experiments—a sort of
enormous pinafore with sleeves. The necessity for
the adoption of some such dress while practical
chemistry was being carried on, was shown by