like the something "Eliza's ;" and he put my miniature in the gold frame on the street door, between a fancy picture of Little Red Riding Hood-the pound of fresh butter painted beautifully-and a charming young officer of the Horse Guards in full uniform. The three matched so well, he said.

WHEN I was a young girl we used to console the Lizzies, and Tildas, and Sophies, who bid good-by to their teens without getting married, Now about Mr. Right. I'm a good-tempered by telling them that they were only waiting for body; but I should very much like to see Mr. Mr. Right to come, and that he would be sure Right walk into my circulating library, newsto come some day. Now I have been married, agent's, and general stationery warehouse, in but, as a widow, might hope for another hus. Broad-arrow court, Leary-lane, and make me an band, for I am not forty. I was born in the offer of marriage. He'd soon find himself in the year eighteen hundred and; but never mind wrong box with Sarah Jane D, I warrant. that; and, as the late King George III. said to There's plenty of "young" persons in the court Lord Byron, when they quarrelled about the that would be glad enough of a visit from Mr. "Lass of Richmond Hill,"-a bold hussy, I Right, I daresay; but I wouldn't have him if daresay,-give me "fair, fat, and thirty odd," he had a guinea a minute; no, not if he was as I am thirty odd. I was always plump; and the rich as old Mr. Lumberham, who's made forty late Mr. D, Heaven rest him-used to call me thousand pounds out of flat-irons in the pawn"Piggy" for sweetness. He was a tender man. shop at the corner of Leary-lane. Let him go As to fairness, I wear fronts now, and a cap. to Miss Brushemup, that keeps the day-school There's nothing but a pack of servant girls and at No. 4, and dreams of gold rings and the bold impudent rubbish that come out in their marriage service in the Prayer-book whenever braids, and scragups, and ringlets, and à la she has supped on pickled pork. Let him go Eugénie, and things. I'd Eugénie them! But to Miss Gimp, the dress-maker, that triedwhen I was a girl, Mr. Jones, of the Strand, that took the likenesses, said my hair was of the real golden auburn. It was of the rich dark gold colour; and I well recollect the late Mr. D-kicking a boy dreadfully who followed us in the street once, and called me "wegetables," and wanted to know how long I had boiled my hair. We saw him trying a gentleman's pocket not five minutes afterwards. Mr. Jones ought to have known; and he said my hair was exactly

yes, basely tried-to inveigle the poor, dear, unprotected foreign gentleman at No. 8, who played so beautifully on the long brass thingumbob with the French name, and belonged to the band that performed before the Queen, and went off, owing five weeks, when there was three blankets and a doyley missed, let alone the carpet burnt into holes with tobacco cin

Probably the Mona Lisa's.-ED.

ders. If ever there was an angel with whiskers to do in the world, and, perhaps, when I have

it was that man. Let him go to that artful seen a grandchild or two old enough to climb on thing at the pastrycook's, with her sugar-and- my knee and kiss me, I'll lay my bones, please water side curls, and her fine talk about marry- Heaven, by the side of my good husband. I'm ing a captain in the Horse Dragoons, when he's blessed in my children. Patty is the best girl only a low common soldier in a muff cap, and that ever lived; and when the old gentleman drinks half-pints of porter with somebody else's poked his head under her bonnet in Regentmoney; and I've seen her standing at the corner street one evening, as she was coming home talking to him at disgraceful hours, and giving rather later than usual-they said he was Lord him sausage rolls and raspberry tarts, which Naughtimore, the great statesman you read he's put into that nasty ugly muff cap of his; about in the Times-she slapped his face so, and I'm sure Mr. Pastingpin ought to know of that Patty declares she saw the marks of her it. We don't want any Mr. Rights here, I can fingers on his cheek under the gas-lamp. He tell you. If a gentleman behaves as a gentle- cried out "Police!" the cowardly old good-forman, and takes my first floor and back kitchen nothing. I only wish I'd been there-but Rosa unfurnished, or my second-floor front furnished, Colombina, my youngest, was bad with thrush and pays his way without a latch-key and sing- at the time I'd have policed him. Joey is ing songs on the staircase at night, with heavy one of the sharpest lads between Hungerford boots that wake you, I shall be aglad of his com- Market and St. Clement's Pillars; and though pany, and to give him a cup of tea; and I he is a little wild, and is too fond of pigeons, and wouldn't demean myself to ask him to pay for will do the acrobats at home-I mean lying on the books out of the library he reads at night- the carpet with his legs up, and one of his little no, not if he was to keep "Jack Sheppard" and sisters balanced on the soles of his feet-the "Zanoni" a fortnight. Nine years have I been dear boy is as obedient and affectionate as any in the same house, under the same landlord; mother in the parish could wish. He pulls the and his rent's always been ready for him-laid funniest faces too, does Joey; and sings a song out on the stage of the half-crown toy theatre, called Hot Codlins," and cries out " Here we with Mr. Marks's scenes and characters, hours are" so, that it would make you die of laughing. before he 's called-with cake and sherry wine I can't imagine wherever he picks his comical for him in the parlour, while we talk over the ways up. As to my two youngest, if I could news and I smell at the beautiful, beautiful bow-only break them of the habit of painting the pot he brings me, winter and summer, from his country house at Haverstock-hill. A pleasant spoken gentleman, if ever one broke bread, is Mr. Micklemass, my landlord, and wears the handsomest waistcoats to be seen out of a tailor's window; and so delightfully washed, too, for a single gentleman. I don't want to be married at all. I've brought up a family of young children, and they're the pride and delight of my life. My husband was the best, the kindest, and most loving of men. He never gave me a cross look, much less a cross word, bless his dear heart! and I mean to be faithful to his memory. They don't make husbands every day like the late Mr. D.

Here I am, then, in Broad-arrow court, Leary-lane, with four children. Patty, my eldest, going for sixteen, is apprenticed to the dress-making at Madame La Skirty's, in Regentstreet; but no late hours for me. I fetch her home every evening to tea; and when she is eighteen I'll set her up in business for herself. Madame La Skirty says, she will make a capital "first hand." She sha'nt make anything of the sort. I'll never have my Patty singing the "Song of the Shirt" over bread-and-scrape in a hot work-room, to toil at Duchesses dresses till three o'clock in the morning. Joey, my eldest boy — (Mr. D—'s name was Joseph)-just turned eleven, is my right hand in the newsvending business. He knows every one of the railway stations, and is quite respected at Messrs. Smith and Sons. Then I've two little girls, five and six, who go to school every morning at Miss Brushemup's. I kept the shop a long time before the late Mr. D- died; and it was in the sickly winter of 1854 that he was taken from He lies in Norwood Cemetery, in eleven feet of clay; and when my children are all well

me.

characters in the illustrations to Mr. Dickens's books with the brightest colours-the subscribers often send Mr. Pickwick home with a pair of moustaches, and Mrs. Gamp with horns and a tail-I should have nothing to complain of. As to myself, you must know pretty well what I am like by this time. I didn't have too much schooling when I was young; but I think I have read every three-volume novel in my library five times over. How Sir Edward Bulwer's tales do make you shiver all over! What beautiful long words he uses! And his poetry too! Then there's Mr. Lever, though he writes a little too much about horses, and not quite enough about love, for my taste. And that blessed young woman, Jane Eyre! And John Halifax, gentleman! And all Mrs. Gore's novels (I wish those twopenny-halfpenny shilling editions were all sunk at the bottom of the sea; they're ruining the circulating trade). As to Mr. Dickens, there isn't one of his novels but what the covers are half torn off, and half the last chapters wanting with reading. Some of the leaves are quite transparent with grease, and the customers send the books home all covered with brown spots, which Joey says come from beer-I say from tears. My two youngest play at Trotty Veck and the Artful Dodger, in the back parlour; and Patty took the Christmas Carol" to Madame La Skirty's to read to the shop-girls nine months ago, and hasn't brought it back yet. I'm sure if it wasn't for reading so much, I shouldn't be emboldened to write this; but Mr. Sala, who drops in upon us in a friendly way, when he hasn't any paper to write an article in a hurry, and borrows a book sometimes, and won't hear of payment, says I shall be able to manage very well. Please put what I have written in the

was Proudfoot, and he had the beautifullest eye and the manliest nose you ever saw.

a Christian name, or a proper name, and at last
the dear old creature gave in to my wishes, and
the child was called after its dear good father.
It was Dr. Platchett, of Bartlett's-buildings,
that saw me through all my troubles, and a
kind, good gentleman he was, calling as often as
he would have done on the very first quality,
and only charging me half-price. It used to
make me rather nervous, too, to see the way
that Joey handled a baby. As a mother, I used
to shiver in my backbone, for fear he was going
to throw the dear innocent out of window.
"Shall I put it in ze post zen?" he said, one day,
in a tone would make your heart bleed, to our
little Patty, when he was nursing her; and I
shall never, never forget his starting up one
night, as if he meant it, saying :—
"After all, where's the harm of setting on a
baby ?"

I never could find out what my husband was. I could never find out what made him so miserable. I used to persuade him sometimes to go to the play to amuse himself, but he always shuddered even when I mentioned the name of a theatre; and said he would rather not, thank you. This was the more disappointment to me, as in my young days I was very fond of going half-price to the minors and seeing that dear Mr. Denvil. I declare that for anything I knew about it, the late Mr. D— might have been a pirate, or a highwayman, or a resurrection man, or spring-heeled Jack, or the little unknown that used to marry widows and suck their blood. No; that was the vampire. Wasn't it the little unknown that tickled seven wives to death for doing needlework on a Sunday? I was so drove to desperation sometimes by this mystery, that I had thoughts of parting from Mr. D―, unless he up and told all; but for the sake of the dear children I kept to him. And he was so kind too, when he wasn't groaning, the darling.

What need is there for me to give you the history of a decent married woman's life for three years and a-half? I wouldn't trouble you even with mentioning such a thing if it wasn't for the awful-awful mystery that hung about my Joey. He was so dreadfully miserable. He ate and drank heartily, and liked hot suppers; but he groaned so horribly over his victuals, that it made me shudder to see him eat tripe, and his way of putting away beefsteak pudding, was most distressing to my feelings. He used to start up sometimes in his sleep, and say that he'd "lost a farthing," but I'm sure I always turned his pockets out before he went to bed, and he'd never lost anything that I knew of. He was frightfully nervous, too, and when we were out walking, he would often start, and cry out, "Here's a policeman coming," "There's a woman," and drag me down the next street, till he nearly pulled my arm off. Why should my Joey have been afraid of policemen and women? He never did anybody any harm; and his conduct, but for the sighing and groaning, and crying late at nights, secretly into his gin and water, was always most affectionate. He used to bring home as much as five or six pounds a-week on a Saturday, and in winter time; but in the summer, it was never more than two ten. He used to be a little cheerfuller, too, in the summer, though he sighed a great deal; but as sure as November came round, he began to be miserably wretched, and used to complain of his back aching, and his joints creaking, and his head swimming, in the most heart-rending manner. Once he brought no money home for a month. It was August, and Joey said that he was "out of collar." He never dined at home on Christmas-day, and, to tell the truth, all Christmas week was purgatory in Broad-arrow court. In winter time he never came home till two in the It was much later in my married life, and morning, and then his supper with his weeping when Mr. D- was quite changed-but this is and groaning, which he did quite regular, made the place to tell it notwithstanding, that I it half-past three or so before he got off to sleep. made, one day, an Awful Discovery. There was I would never allow a razor, or even so much as one big trunk my husband always kept locked, a penknife in the place, for fear of accidents, and and never opened while I was in the room; but used to keep all my scissors locked up; and when after he changed I've often seen him going out Joey went to get shaved, which he did every with bundles, which I supposed he'd taken from morning, at Mr. Partlet's-who was quite a the box; but I didn't dare to ask any questions. gentleman, Mr. P., and knew all the tip top One day he left this trunk unlocked; and I, people, and had the play bills, quite genteel-like, woman like-who that's married, or single for round his shop, in Leary-lane-many 's the time the matter of that, wouldn't have done the I've followed Joey unbeknown, and looked over same?-opened it. My children were playing the blind in the shop door, and watched my poor round me: I shall never forget it. I found in dear man to see that he didn't jog his throat the trunk only a quantity of rags, a lot of white against the razor, or choke himself with the powder in a paper-was it arsenic, I wondered? lather. It used to puzzle me why all the gen- a couple of candle ends that looked as though tlemen customers in the shop, whenever they saw they'd been rubbed down to the wick against Joey come in, should burst out laughing. I something hard, and THIS. This was a pair of needn't tell you the dates of my dear little-well-not drawers, nor pantaloons, decidedly children's birth. I've got them all down in a fly leaf of "Fatherless Fanny," and locks of their hair pinned up in the last chapter of "Ada the Betrayed." If there was ever a fond father, it was the late Mr. D; but he had some curious ways with his children, too. I think the only quarrel I ever had with him was when our little Joey was born, and Mr. D- -. wanted the infant to be christened "Delpini." I said it wasn't

not trousers, and you couldn't call 'em small clothes. They were very large clothes. In fact, I'm a married woman, and well, it was a pair of Breeches; loose baggy things, with frills round the bottom, and made of white calico, sprinkled all over with great red spots like wafers.

"O, ma!" cried my youngest child, "It's wat de naughty men wear round Dzack in de Green." I gave that youngest child a sound hiding on

the spot.

What was the meaning of those tinued, "that man's equal has not been seen on
the boards. But don't cry, mum, I've brought
you twelve pound ten."

awful Breeches ?
I told you that the late Mr. D changed.
It was all on a sudden, and one Saturday night
on the end of February, when he burst into our
back parlour in Broad Arrow Court: I must
tell you that he threw his hat in before him,
and then throwing a handful of gold and silver
on the table, cried out-

"I've cut it, Piggy, I've cut it. That's the last. The ghost won't walk any more for Joey D. Hooray!"

And then he kissed me, and the children all round, and then he went through a sort of dance. I never knew a man who could do so many things with his legs as he could-and sang a little song with a chorus something like this:

"Rum tum, tiddy iddy, tiddy iddy,

Rum tum tiddy umtee, row tow tow."

He was the merriest man after that: yes; and for two whole years he didn't earn quite so much money a week; and he never told me what his business was; but how could I ask him? He never sighed; he never groaned; he did nothing but laugh and chirrup, kiss the children, and bring home nice things for supper. He had quite changed his dress, too, as well as his ways, and wore nothing now but beautiful glossy black clothes. A tail coat, always. The only thing was that he drank a good deal more cold rum and water-he had given up gin-than was good for him; and that his nose, which had been a beautiful cream colour when we first kept company, grew to be a rich crimson one, of the shape they call bottle. He wore a good many pimples, too, and his eye was watery. But what were nose, pimples, watery eye, to me, who loved him so? He sang the funniest comic songs till within a week of his death. Yes; his death. My dear, dear, dear Joey died, and left me a sorrowing widow. He caught a cold one rainy day when he had gone out in a new suit of black, and perhaps it was the rum and water had settled on his lungs. But he took to his bed, and never left it but for the cemetery. He wandered sometimes when he was at the worst; and said something about "sausages" and "red-hot pokers," and then he murmured some words about "late parties," and "something" being performed. But he died without disclosing his secret.

It was just three days after his funeral, I was sitting one afternoon in the back parlour, I had sent the children to play in a spare room upstairs, when a gentleman popped his head in at the door. I thought, perhaps, it might be my landlord; but it wasn't. It was a gentleman quite as clean shaven as the late Mr. D- used to be, who wore a white hat with a black band, a blue body coat with gilt buttons, a military stripe down his trousers, and who carried a cane with a glass top.

"Poor old chap," said this gentleman, quite kindly. “Poor old Joey, he was a first-rater, he was."

I knew the gentleman alluded to my late husband, and began to cry.

"Since the days of Grim, since the time of the original Joey, ma'am," the gentleman con

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, sir," I answered, taking the money, "and thank you kindly for it; but may I ask to whom I am indebted for this kindness ?"

"It was subscribed, ma'am," the gentleman replied, "not half an hour ago, by some professional friends of your late husband, in the bar parlour of the Crown tavern, Vinegar-yard. Your humble servant-Whautkini is my name, Whautkini of the T. R. D. L., was unanimously appointed hon. sec., and delegated to present you with this slight testimonial of condolence and esteem. If we had known it sooner, the money would have been here sooner; but Joey had left the profession for some time, and it was only by accident this morning that I heard of his death. I suppose you know what your husband's late profession was, mum."

I shook my head in bewildered amazement. "I thought so," the gentleman in the blue body coat, nodding his head as if he quite agreed with himself. "Just like Joey. Secretive, shut up Joey. Tight as an oyster mum. But perhaps you'd like to know.

I faltered out "yes." I felt as if I was going to faint.

was,

"Your husband, mum," he returned, till he left the Theatre Royal Leary-lane two years since, the very best CLOWN that's been seen on the boards since the days of Joey Grimaldi.”

I fainted away at once. My Joey a CLOWN. It was this profession then that made him so miserable.

When I recovered, the gentleman in the blue body coat was gone, but the money was still on the table.

The next day-wonders never come alonetwo gentlemen dressed exactly as my husband used to be, in full black, and with noses even redder than his, came into the shop and asked for me.

"Toby," said one of the gentlemen, a stout, dubby looking gentleman, to the other, who was thin and lank, "Toby, its for you to speak." "Wishin' it wasn't," said the other gentleman, Mogford, as it's you as that's a better hand at it. Mrs. D- -," he went on, "we've come from the club."

66

"What club, gentlemen ?" I asked.

"The club your late party belonged to, "The Jolly Tressels.' It's a berryin club, though those as belongs to it is given to berryin. Ha! ha! But this aint business. I've brought you ten pound mum from the club, most of which its members is shopmates, or was rather, of Joey D."

"What shop ?" I asked, quite scared.

"What shop!" echoed the gentleman called Toby, "What shop? Do you hear that Mogford! Why don't you know what your late husband's lay-his perfession was?"

"Not the least in the world, as I'm a lone widow," I answered.

"Well that beats everything," Mr. Toby exclaimed. "A close man, a feller as could keep a thing dark was Joey D. I'll tell you wot