The Equinox (Volume I, Number VII)

THE EQUINOX as he would, without the wholesome fear of ragging which restrained him during term. My uncle was now in a position to develop his scheme fully, and the ring of philanthropic blackmailcrs and black- guards who run religious charities were compelled to admit him to a share of the spoils. He founded a Magazine, with some external and internal resemblance to that excellent paper, OW Own Magazz'ne, which, with consummate impudence, he declared to contain nothing but true stories. These stories are usually about the good little girl who “converts" the horrid, swearing bargee, and the good little boy who brings his ”thoughtless" mother to Jesus. This, being a monthly, brought in another twelve pennies annually from every victim. He also published leaflets which he could sell by the hundred to the kind of idiot that likes to give such things to strangers who have never done it any harm. He had all these things translated into dozens of languages, and the rill of pennies swelled to a mighty river. By this time his sister A—— was worn out, and died. For a month he had to pay a typist; but she little knew my uncle if she thought she had a permanent job. He rushed off to some ghastly Welsh “resort,” to be acclaimed as the Founder of the Faith by the flourishing branch of the “Mission" which he had established there, and, selecting a female with the features and character of an anæmic cow, married her and her money, sacked the typist, and settled down as the principal ornament of London’s most suburban “subbub.” I suppose none even of his accomplices will regret his death; to the lachrymal glands of a crocodile he added the bowels of compassion of a cast-iron rhinoceros; with the 248