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THE STOCK-BROKER'S WIDOW.

RICHARD RICE, Esq., of the Stock Exchange, Portmansquare, and Consols Villa, Richmond, had, in 1778, been for several years the undisputed monarch of Capel-court. All his speculations, wild and rash though they often seemed, had proved fortunate, and whatever he touched appeared to prosper. Men were content to follow his lead, and every plan sanctioned by his name was sure to be received with favour. This wonderful success was the work of a comparatively short time. Up to his twenty-fourth year he was a desk-clerk at a broker's office at 30s. per week; and now that he had attained all that exuberant wealth could bestow, he was scarcely five-and-thirty. Most of our readers recollect Hudson, the ex-railway king, and how people raised a large subscription, in the way of testimonial, to one who was already too rich. So it was with Rice. Testimonials were not then in vogue, but everybody was eager to compliment and substantially assist the idol of the hour, who had sprung up with the celerity of Jonah's gourd, and was destined to perish as quickly. Rice possessed good natural abilities; he had a strong will, and a courage in the midst of the most perilous enterprises which very frequently ensured their success. If his gains were enormous, he never grudged sharing them with his subalterns, and thus he had the good word of all engaged

with him. Perhaps his notions of commercial honour were not the most exalted, but as prosperity made him generous, no occasion arose to impugn his integrity. He was tall and commanding in appearance, with dark eyes and hair. His address was winning, but when circumstances roused him to energy, his tone showed that he would not tolerate the slightest liberty. His ordinary demeanour would have been more gentlemanly had it been less pretentious. His dress was exact and elaborate, but too fine. A single ring, with a costly stone, would have seemed suitable on his hand; but it was bad taste to bedizen every finger. His general habits were simple. He gave grand dinners, but commonly dined from one dish, and but seldom took more than three glasses of wine, though then it was thought manly to be able to swallow as many bottles.

He delighted in display, and valued money only as it gratified his vanity. His town and country houses were filled with rare valuables-bronzes, curious china, pictures from the old masters. His grounds at Richmond were so exquisitely kept as to attract the admiration of the fashionable world, who were not slow to recognize his merits by frequently visiting him. The most precious of all his possessions, however, was his wife, Mary Rice. He had married her when they were both very young, and his weekly salary hardly sufficed to purchase the mere necessaries of life; but their wedded days had proved singularly happy, and it might well be doubted whether wealth had added to their enjoyments. She was the only daughter of parents whose position may be described as that of genteel poverty; yet she was better educated than most English women of the period, and could actually read, write, and spell, understood a little music, could dance gracefully, and converse in French with a moderately good accent. Her mental powers were superior to those of her husband; and her manners aiding and increasing her great beauty, made her

the absolute fascination of every circle in which she moved. While they were in humble life, their unpretending connections idolized her; and when she was received in ducal saloons, the aristocratic company were no less charmed by her unaffected graces. Few things are more difficult to describe than female loveliness; in truth, it often depends on evanescent excellences which no artist can portray. Like her husband, Mrs. Rice was rather tall; but her whole frame was exquisitely moulded: the hands and feet small, the forehead high and expansive, nose aquiline, mouth and lips as delicately formed as those of the Medicean Venus; the skin and complexion rich, in a healthful fairness; the cheeks tinted with a bloom rivalling that of the peach, heightening and receding at the touch of emotion, and making every intellectual impulse doubly eloquent. Her hair, in colour a very light brown, was in amazing profusion, nor would she mar its beauty by using powder, which was then universally worn. She had a personal peculiarity not to be overlooked; her eyes were differently tinted-the right was dark, nearly to blackness-the left a pale blue; but both were singularly brilliant and expressive. Mr. Rice, who loved her fondly, used to say, "There is moonlight on one side of her face, and sunlight on the other.”* They had no family. The one object of his existence appeared to be a sort of wife-worship;-all her wishes. were, when possible, anticipated. It was said her

jewellery was only exceeded in value by Queen Charlotte's. He delighted to see her in the most gorgeous

* In a serial now progressing" No Name," by Wilkie Collins--one of the characters, Captain Wragg, is described as having eyes of different colours, and the contrast is supposed to increase the sinister expression of his countenance. Possibly this may be true with regard to a male face of very low type; but in the three women with this peculiarity with whom the author was intimate, it was highly graceful—however eccentric-and gave to each side of the face a charm of its own,

dresses; placed several carriages at her command; and surrounded her with a train of servants which many a countess might have envied. Their wedding-day was on the 12th of June, and this year he had resolved to keep it with unusual splendour at the Richmond villa. He would invite all his fashionable friends; he would give a ball in the grounds, which should be brilliantly illuminated. Gondolas, with silken sails, should ply on the beautiful river, and the crews should be composed of choice vocal and instrumental performers, whose voices and music should make all the echoes harmonious, and excel the fabled melodies of the stately swans, his neighbours. Then there should be a supper, spread under a long vista of tents, for a thousand persons; the cooks should have no limit as to price; and the wines should be the best the City cellars could supply. All this and more was done as he wished-a month being occupied in the preparations and the eve of the important day at length arrived. Mr. Rice was late home that evening; the weather was sultry; heavy embankments of thunderclouds hung over the beautiful garden and river, while occasionally the elemental blackness was seamed with flashes of intensely vivid lightning. There was a growl of thunder at a distance, and now and then a few drops of rain. His charming partner looked weary, and his own brow was more wrinkled by anxiety than the apparent circumstances would justify. He drank more

wine than usual, and was less interested with the details of the coming entertainment than she expected. They could neither of them sleep, except that he dosed off for a few minutes, and, in a troublesome dream, muttered to himself, "I tell you I did not write the name." In the morning, though he had promised not to go to town that day, he pleaded urgent business, and left earlier than usual. Then the storm which had been threatening all

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night broke over the villa with terrible fury. Continuous flashes of forked lightning, and an unintermitted roar of thunder, with a deluge of hail and rain, lasted for several hours. All hope of the long-anticipated fête was abandoned. Did not such a commencement of the day look ominous? A moral cloud was lowering over the house, and it was far less easy to dissipate than the tempest. By noon the atmosphere cleared; not a cloud remained; a deep calm brooded on the shining water; the sun, joicing like a bridegroom to run his race," gladdened the "blue serene 99 around him; each shrub, and tree, and flower sparkled with living diamonds; the swans swam proudly on the gently rippling Thames, all nature was in holiday trim, and the poor lady felt that her wedding-day might yet be celebrated. The guests were expected at six o'clock; it had struck five, and Mr. Rice had not arrived. Presently a groom presented the following note:

be soon. "RICHARD."

"MARY DEAR,—I cannot return yet, but it may Oh! it is not my fault.

She was vexed--what could it mean? No time for thought now. Singers, musicians, vans of waiters, and all the human adjuncts of the ball and banquet were fast assembling. There have been few similar fêtes since that given at Boyle Farm by Lord Fitzgerald, celebrated by Moore. The steamboats and the contiguity of the railroad must be blamed-the Thames is no longer to be trusted for its tranquil mirror-like water: its transparency and purity have been succeeded by muddiness and fœtor. Wholesome fish might once be caught within sight of the metropolitan bridges; now, thanks to gas refuse, and a thousand contributory sewers, nothing more than whitebait-and how that can exist is marvellous-can be found in our once lovely river. Let us hope those who come after us will benefit by the labours of the Board of Works.