together; a family in appearance, in reality a financial association.

Julia and Uncle Joseph were, of course, slaves; John, a gentle man with

a taste for the banjo, the music-hall, the Gaiety bar, and the sporting

papers, must have been anywhere a secondary figure; and the cares

and delights of empire devolved entirely upon Morris. That these are

inextricably intermixed is one of the commonplaces with which the bland

essayist consoles the incompetent and the obscure, but in the case of

Morris the bitter must have largely outweighed the sweet. He grudged no

trouble to himself, he spared none to others; he called the servants

in the morning, he served out the stores with his own hand, he took

soundings of the sherry, he numbered the remainder biscuits; painful

scenes took place over the weekly bills, and the cook was frequently

impeached, and the tradespeople came and hectored with him in the back

parlour upon a question of three farthings. The superficial might have

deemed him a miser; in his own eyes he was simply a man who had been

defrauded; the world owed him seven thousand eight hundred pounds, and

he intended that the world should pay.

But it was in his dealings with Joseph that Morris's character

particularly shone. His uncle was a rather gambling stock in which he

had invested heavily; and he spared no pains in nursing the security.

The old man was seen monthly by a physician, whether he was well or ill.

His diet, his raiment, his occasional outings, now to Brighton, now to

Bournemouth, were doled out to him like pap to infants. In bad weather

he must keep the house. In good weather, by half-past nine, he must

be ready in the hall; Morris would see that he had gloves and that his

The Wrong Box