sole objects; to have a good table, a cheerful glass, and a cosy fire, summed up his anxieties; and had it been difficult to procure wine, he would have compounded for porter, or even small beer. To this neutral specimen of manhood did our mature Mary attach herself. The wooing must have been her work, for John Prichardson would have found the fatigue intolerable. His more worldly-wise brother soon discovered Mrs. Bland's partiality, and under his tutelage drowsy John made himself as amiable as possible; and within three years of old Bland's death, his widow became Mrs. J. Prichardson. The ill-assorted couple set up a handsome establishment; all thoughts of a profession for the new husband were abandoned; and if good dinners, fine clothes, and a full purse could make a married paradise, they had them all. The elder brother's object was very different: he was a bold, dashing speculator, not very unlike poor Rice; and he found no difficulty in dealing with Mrs. P.'s Bank stock. He had been frequently a large lottery contractor; and without ever growing rich in reality, the airs of importance he assumed obtained him credit with the world for untold wealth. Before John Prichardson had been married five years, his wife's fortune was diminished by at least £10,000. True, bonds were given for the amount, but they were little better than waste paper; nor did the lady complain, who appeared contented with her home and its master. He might do what he liked with the money, while in return he indulged all her caprices, and was eager to endorse her slightest wish on all occasions. The drain on their wealth continued and increased daily, but no remonstrances were made, though the carriage had to be dispensed with, and the mansion in Grosvenor-square exchanged for a much smaller one in the Edgware-road. John Prichardson had never been strong or healthy;-over-indulgence in the pleasures of the table produced disease, and in the tenth

year of their wedded life he was suffering from a confirmed liver complaint, and declared to be in danger by his physicians. He lingered on, however, for four years, and then died, being literally worn-out under the terrible burden of idleness. He died almost insolvent, and Mrs. P. had no claims on the brother, for the bonds had been cancelled during her husband's illness. Yet the keen stock-broker had some sense of honour; and to atone in some degree for the appropriation of her fortune, he contrived to secure to her, though not without difficulty, a life annuity of £100.

Such was the sole remaining income of our widow, and, considering that she had been so long dandled in the lap of luxury, she bore the change with great fortitude. Nobody ever heard her complain, for she had good sense enough to know that pity and contempt are close akin. She managed her wardrobe so well, metamorphosing the splendid remainders from the Rice and Bland widowhoods, that no duchess could have mourned with greater elegance than she did for John Prichardson. When her last widowhood commenced, she was nearly threescore, yet still looked youthful, walked very jauntily, retained nearly all her teeth, and had not a single grey hair; wrinkles were out of the question, and the romance of Ninon seemed likely to be repeated. She had formed a large circle of acquaintances, and as she wanted nothing of them, they were very glad of her company. Her conversation was highly amusing, for she could vividly describe every fashionable fantasy for forty seasons, and not as a spectator only, but as a distinguished actor in the vanity fair of the world. Nor was she an ill-tempered critic of its doings, but still spoke of them as one whose own relish for them continued lively. She discarded her weeds in about two years; but though her enemies said she was anxious for a fourth husband, we entirely acquit her of such a folly.

She was an adept in the art of growing old gracefully. She took to caps (dress-caps though) at sixty-five, and was first seen walking with a gold-headed cane at seventy. At the latter period I first became acquainted with her, and managed to become a great favourite. She called me her little man, made me free of the japanned box in which she kept her sweets, and when I reached the mature age of ten years, began to give me glimpses of her biographical curiosities; for nothing appeared so delightful to her as to live over again her past existence. No veteran ever "shouldered his crutch" more joyously than she went through her memorabilia-riveting attention to each narrative by displaying some glittering trinket or souvenir. I loved to sit at the old lady's feet devouring her lifelike stories, especially as they were often diversified with sweet cake and currant wine. I hear her still; her clear, musical voice lingers even now in my ear; and, if she could have told me nothing interesting, it was a high privilege to look up into that wondrously comely face

"For beauty's standard yet

Was crimson in her cheeks and in her lips."

The shadow of "death's pale flag" was still far away.

I own that, as a child, it seemed odd to me that her eyes should be of different colours, but before long I fancied it made her more charming. She showed me several miniatures taken when she was young. Mary Rice was the loveliest, though Mary Bland was in a grander style of beauty; and contrasting these with one executed when she was a child, and the last of Widow Prichardson, it was absolutely a doubt with me which was the most fascinating.

She died at Brighton, after a few hours' illness, when almost fourscore-retaining her good looks, her activity,

and her cheerfulness to the last; and dim indeed will my intellectual vision become when I forget the stock-broker's widow.

[I trust this dimly-shadowed outline of facts will not be thought too romantic to be credible. We all know that truth is stranger than fiction, and with a slight variation of the names every portion of this narrative is correct.]

236

THE HUNCHBACK.

Two years of my early youth were passed with a wholesale silk merchant, whose place of business and private dwelling was in Ivy-lane, Newgate-street. One could hardly select a more uncomfortable locality for a residence. From the back windows you looked upon all the uproar and revolting nuisances of the market, where, on killing days, the gutters literally ran with blood; and it was difficult to pass without coming into unpleasant contact with reeking carcases. Yet at that period the College of Physicians were still domiciled in Warwick-lane, which it was really dangerous to enter while the market was held. The front windows of the house in Ivy-lane had hardly any positive light; it was lofty, and the lane was extremely narrow, so that if a "sunbeam which had lost its way" ever penetrated to the pavement, it was sadly smoke-stained before reaching it. Citizens were then in the habit of living with their families where they pursued their calling. The sound of Bow-bell was still familiar to the wives of aldermen and members of Common Council. Clapham and Camberwell were still foreign parts. Persons acquainted with the City know that it abounds with first-rate mansions, which, though now abandoned for warehouses and offices, were then thought good enough for the most fashionable ladies; and no necessity had arisen to remove the old-world