MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.*

BY CHALES DICKENS, ESQ.

PARTS XXIII. XXIV. XXV.

СИАРТЕР XXXI.

WITH steps more faltering and unsteady than those with which she had approached the room, the child withdrew from the door, and groped her way back to her own chamber. The terror she had lately felt was nothing compared with that which now oppressed her. No strange robber, no treacherous host conniving at the plunder of his guests, or stealing to their beds to kill them in their sleep, no nightly prowler, however terrible and eruel, could have awakened in her bosom half the dread which the recognition of her silent visiter inspired. The gray-headed old man gliding like a ghost into a room and acting the thief while he supposed her fast asleep, then bearing off his prize and hanging over it with the ghastly exultation she had witnessed, was worse-immeasurably worse, and far more dreadful, for the moment, to reflect upon than any thing her wildest fancy ceuld have suggested. If he should return-there was no lock or bolt upon the door, and if, distrustful of having left some money yet behind, he should come back to seek for more-a vague awe and horror surrounded the idea of his slinking in again with stealthy tread, and turning his face toward the empty bed, while she shrank down close at his feet to avoid his touch, which was almost insupportable. She sat and listened. Hark! A footstep on the stairs, and now the door was slowly opening. It was but imagination, yet imagination had all the terrors of reality; nay, it was worse, for the reality would have come and gone, and there an end, but in imagination it was always coming, and

never went away.

The feeling which beset the child was one of dim, uncertain horror. She had no fear of the dear old grandfather, in whose love for her this disease of the brain had been engendered; but the man she had seen that night, wrapt in the game of chance, lurking in her room, and counting the money by the glimmering light, seemed like another creature in his shape, a monstrous distortion of his image, a something to recoil from, and be the more afraid of, because it bore a likeness to him, and kept close about her, as he did. She could scarcely connect her own affectionate companion, save by his loss, with this old man, so like yet so unlike him. She had wept to see him dull and quiet. How much greater cause she had for weeping now!

The child sat watching and thinking of these things, until the phantom in her mind so increased in gloom and terror, that she felt it would be a relief to hear the old man's voice, or, if he were asleep, even to see him, and banish some of the fears that clustered round his image. She stole down the stairs and passage again. The door was still ajar as she had left it, and the candle burning as before.

She had her candle in her hand, prepared to say, if he were waking, that she was uneasy and could not rest, and had come to see if his were still alight. Looking into the room, she saw him lying calmly on his bed, and she took courage to en

ter.

in tears.

"God bless him!" said the child, stooping softly to kiss his placid cheek. "I see too well now, that they would indeed part us if they found us out, and shut him up from the light of the sun and sky. He has only me to help him. God bless us both!"

Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently as she had come, and, gaining her own room once more, sat up during the remainder of that long, long, miserable night.

At last the day turned her waning candle pale, and she fell asleep. She was quickly roused by the girl who had shown her up to bed; and, as soon as she was dressed, prepared to go down to her grandfather. But first she searched her pocket

* Continued from page 615.

and found that her money was all gone-not a sixpence remained.

The old man was ready, and in a few seconds they were on their road. The child thought he rather avoided her eye, and appeared to expect that she would tell him of her loss. She felt she must do that, or he might suspect the truth.

"Grandfather," she said, in a tremulous voice, after they had walked about a mile in silence, “do you think they are honest people at the house yonder?"

"Why?" returned the old man trembling. "Do I think them honest?-yes, they played honestly."

it

"I'll tell you why I ask," rejoined Nell. "I lost some money last night-out of my bedroom I am sure. Unless it was taken by somebody in jest-only in jest, dear grandfather, which would make me laugh heartily if I could but know "Who would take money in jest?" returned the old man in a hurried manner. "Those who take money, take it to keep. Don't talk of jest." "Then it was stolen out of my room, dear," said the child, whose last hope was destroyed by the manner of this reply. "But is there no more, Nell?" said the old man; "no more any where? Was it all taken-every farthing of it was there nothing left?"

"Nothing," replied the child.

"We must get more," said the old man, "we must earn it, Nell, hoard it up, scrape it together, come by it somehow. Never mind this loss. Tell nobody of it, and perhaps we may regain it. Don't ask how; we may regain it, and a great deal more; but tell nobody, or trouble may come of it. And so they took it out of thy room, when thou wert asleep," he added, in a compassionate tone, very different from the secret, cunning way, in which he had spoken until now. "Poor Nell, poor little Nell!"

.

The child hung down her head and wept. The sympathising tone in which he spoke, was quite sincere; she was sure of that. It was not the lightest part of her sorrow to know that this was done for her.

"Not a word about it to any one but me," said the old man, "no not even to me," he added hastily, "for it can do no good. All the losses that ever were, are not worth tears from thy eyes, darling. Why should they be, when we will win them back?"

"Let them go," said the child looking up. "Let them go, once and for ever, and I would never shed another tear if every penny had been a thousand pounds.'

"Well, well," returned the old man, checking himself as some impetuous answer rose to his lips, "she knows no bet ter. I should be thankful for it."

"But listen to me," said the child earnestly, "will you listen to me?"

Ay, ay, I'll listen," returned the old man, still without looking at her; "a pretty voice. It has always a sweet sound to me. It always had when it was her mother's, poor child."

"Let me persuade you, then-oh, do let me persuade you," said the child, "to think no more of gains or losses, and to try no fortune but the fortune we pursue together."

"We pursue this aim together," retorted her grandfather, still looking away and seeming to confer with himself."Whose image sanctifies the game?"

"Have we been worse off," resumed the child, "since you forgot these cares, and we have been traveling on together? Have we not been much better and happier without a home to shelter us, than ever we were in that unhappy house, when they were on your mind?"

"She speaks the truth," murmured the old man in the same tone as before. "It must not turn me, but it is the truth-no doubt it is."

"Only remember what we have been since that bright morning when we turned our backs upon it for the last time," said Nell, "only remember what we have been since we have been free of all those miseries-what peaceful days and quiet nights we have had-what pleasant times we have known what happiness we have enjoyed. If we have been tired or hungry, we have been soon refreshed, and slept the sounder for it. Think what beautiful things we have seen, and how contented we have felt. And why was this blessed change!"

He stopped her with a motion of his hand, and bade her talk to him no more just then, for he was busy. After a time he kissed her cheek, still motioning her to silence, and walked on, looking far before him, and sometimes stopping and gazing with a puckered brow upon the ground, as if he were painfully trying to collect his disordered thoughts. Once she

saw tears in his eyes. When he had gone on thus for some time, he took her hand in his as he was accustomed to do, with nothing of the violence or animation of his late manner; and so, by degrees so fine that the child could not trace them, settled down into his usual quiet way, and suffered her to lead him where she would.

no right to smile, and that her so doing was an act of presumption and impertinence.

"Don't you feel how naughty it is of you," resumed Miss Monflathers, "to be a wax-work child, when you might have the proud consciousness of assisting, to the extent of your infant powers, the manufactures of your country; of improving your mind by the constant contemplation of the steam engine; and of earning a comfortable and independent subsistence of from two-and ninepence to three shillings per week? Don't you know that the harder you are at work, the happier you are ?"

When they presented themselves in the midst of the stupendous collection, they found, as Nell had anticipated, that Mrs. Jarley was not yet out of bed, and that, although she had suffered some uneasiness on their account overnight, and had indeed sat up for them until past eleven o'clock, she had retired in the persuason, that, being overtaken by storm at some distance from home, they had sought the nearest shel-in ter, and would not return before morning. Nell immediately applied herself with great assiduity to the decoration and preparation of the room, and had the satisfaction of completing her task, and dressing herself neatly, before the beloved of the Royal Family came down to breakfast.

"We have n't had," said Mrs. Jarley when the meal was over, "more than eight of Miss Monflathers's young ladies all the time we've been here, and there's twenty-six of 'm, as I was told by the cook when I asked her a question or two

and put her on the free-list. We must try 'em with a parcel of new bills, and you shall take it, my dear, and see what effect that has upon 'em."

The proposed exhibition being one of paramount importance, Mrs. Jarley adjusted Nel's bonnet with her own hands, declaring that she certainly did look very pretty, and reflected credit on the establishment, dismissed her with many commendations, and certain needful directions as to the turnings on the right which she was to take, and the turnings on the left which she was to avoid. Thus instructed, Nell had no difficulty in finding out Miss Monflathers's Boarding and Day Establishment, which was a large house, with a high wall, and a large garden-gate with a large brass plate, and a small grating through which Miss Monflathers's parlor-maid inspected all visiters before admitting them; for nothing in the shape of a man-no, not even a milkman-was suffered, without special license, to pass that gate. Even the tax-gatherer, who was stout, and wore spectacles and a broad-brimmed hat, had the taxes handed through the grating. More obdurate than gate of adamant or brass, this gate of Miss Monflathers's frowned on all mankind. The very butcher respected it as a gate of mystery, and left off whistling when he rang the bell. As Nell approached the awful door, it turned slowly upon its hinges with a creaking noise, and forth from the solemn grove beyond, came a long file of young ladies, two and two, all with open books in their hands, and some with parasols likewise. And last of the goodly procession came Miss Monflathers, bearing herself a parasol of lilac silk, and supported by two smiling teachers, each mortally envious of the other, and devoted unto Miss Monflathers.

Confused by the looks and whispers of the girls, Nell stood with downcast eyes and suffered the procession to pass on, until Miss Monflathers, bringing up the rear, approached her, when she curtseyed and presented her little packet; on receipt thereof Miss Monfla:hers commanded that the line should halt.

"You're the wax-work child, are you not?" said Miss Monflathers.

66

Yes, ma'am," replied Nell, coloring deeply, for the young ladies had collected about her, and she was the centre on which all eyes were fixed.

"And don't you think you must be a very wicked little child," said Miss Monflathers, who was of rather uncertain temper, and lost no opportunity of impressing moral truths upon the tender minds of the young ladies, "to be a wax-work child at all!"

Poor Nell had never viewed her position in this light, and not knowing what to say, remained silent, blushing more deeply than before.

"Don't you know," said Miss Monflathers, "that it's very naughty and unfeminine, and a perversion of the properties wisely and benignantly transmitted to us, with expansive powers to be roused from their dormant state through the medium of cultivation?"

The two teachers murmured their respectful approval of this home-thrust, and looked at Nell as though they would have said that there indeed Miss Monflathers had hit her very hard. Then they smiled and glanced at Miss Monflathers, and then, their eyes meeting, they exchanged looks which plainly said that each considered herself smiler in ordinary to Miss Monflathers, and regarded the other as having

"How doth the little-"" murmured one of the teachers, quotation from Doctor Watts.

"Eh?" said Miss Monflathers, turning smartly round.— "Who said that?"

Of course the teacher who had not said it, indicated the rival who had, whom Miss Monflathers frowningly requested to hold her peace; by that means throwing the informing teacher into raptures of joy.

"The little busy bee," said Miss Monflathers, drawing herself up, "is applicable only to genteel children. 'In books, or work, or healthful play'

is quite right as far as they are concerned; and the work
means painting on velvet, fancy needle-work, or embroidery.
In such cases as these," pointing to Nell, with her parasol,
"and in the case of all poor people's children, we should
read it thus:

'In work, work, work. In work alway
Let my first years be past,
That I may give for ev'ry day
Some good account at last.""

A deep hum of applause rose not only from the two teachers, but from all the pupils, who were equally astonished to hear Miss Monflathers improvising after this brilliant style; for although she had been long known as a politician, she had never appeared before as an original poet. Just then somebody happened to discover that Nell was crying, and all eyes were again turned toward her.

There were indeed tears in her eyes, and drawing out her handkerchief to brush them away, she happened to let it fall. Before she could stoop to pick it up, one young lady of about fifteen or sixteen, who had been standing a little apart from the others, as though she had no recognised place among them, sprang forward and put it in her hand. She was gliding timidly away again, when she was arrested by the governess. "It was Miss Edwards who did that, I know," said Miss Monflathers predictively. "Now I am sure that was Miss Edwards."

It was Miss Edwards, and every body said it was Miss Edwards, and Miss Edwards herself admitted that it was. "Is it not," said Miss Monflathers, putting down her parasol to take a severer view of the offender, "a most remarkable thing, Miss Edwards, that you have an attachment to the lower classes which always draws you to their sides; or, rather, is it not a most extraordinary thing that all I say and do will not wean you from propensities which your original station in life have unhappily rendered habitual to you, you extremely vulgar-minded girl?"

"I really intended no harm, ma'am," said a sweet voice. "It was a momentary impulse, indeed."

"An impulse!" repeated Miss Monflathers scornfully. "I wonder that you presume to speak of impulses to me both the teachers assented-"I am astonished "--both the teachers were astonished-"I suppose it is an impulse which induces you to take the part of every groveling and debased person that comes in your way "--both the teachers supposed

so too.

"But I would have you know, Miss Edwards," resumed the governess in a tone of increased severity, "that you cannot be permitted-if it be only for the sake of preserving a proper example and decorum in this establishment-that you cannot be permitted, and that you shall not be permitted, to fly in the face of your superiors in this exceedingly gross manner. If you have no reason to feel a becoming pride before wax-work children, there are young ladies here who have, and you must either defer to those young ladies or leave the establishment, Miss Edwards."

This young lady, being motherless and poor, was apprenticed at the school-taught for nothing-teaching others what she learnt, for nothing-boarded for nothing-lodged for nothing-and set down and rated as something immeasurably less than nothing, by all the dwellers in the house. The servant-maids felt her inferiority, for they were better treated;

Master Humphrey's Clock:

free to come and go, and regarded in their stations with much
more respect. The teachers were infinitely superior, for they
had paid to go to school in their time, and were paid now.
The pupils cared little for a companion who had no grand
stories to tell about home; no friends to come with post-
horses, and be received in all humility, with cake and wine,
by the governess; no deferential servant to attend and bear
her home for the holidays; nothing genteel to talk about, and
nothing to display. But why was Miss Monflathers always
vexed and irritated with the poor apprentice-how did that
come to pass?

Why, the gayest feather in Miss Monflathers's cap, and the brightest glory of Miss Monflathers's school, was a baronet's daughter-the real live daughter of a real live baronet-who, by some extraordinary reversal of the laws of nature, was not only plain in features but dull in intellect, while the poor apprentice had both a ready wit, and a handsome face and figure. It seems incredible. Here was Miss Edwards, who only paid a small premium which had been spent long ago, every day outshining and excelling the baronet's daughter, who learned all the extras (or was taught them all) and whose half-yearly bill came to double that of any other young lady's in the school, making no account of the honor and reputation of her pupilage. Therefore, and because she was a dependant, Miss Monflathers had a great dislike to Miss Edwards, and was spiteful to her, and aggravated by her, and, when she had compassion on little Nell, verbally fell upon and maltreated her as we have already seen.

"You will not take the air to-day, Miss Edwards," said Miss Monflathers. "Have the goodness to retire to your own room, and not leave it without permission."

The poor girl was moving hastily away, when she was suddenly, in nautical phrase, brought to' by a subdued shriek from Miss Monflathers.

"She has passed me without any salute!" cried the governess, raising her eyes to the sky. passed me without the slightest acknowledgement of my pre"She has actually sence!"

The young lady turned and curtseyed. Nell could see that she raised her dark eyes to the face of her superior, and that their expression, and that of her whole attitude for the instant, was one of mute but most touching appeal against this ungenerous usage. Miss Monflathers only tossed her head in reply, and the great gate closed upon a bursting heart.

"As for you, you wicked child," said Miss Monflathers, turning to Nell, "tell your mistress that if she presumes to take the liberty of sending to me any more, I will write to the legislative authorities and have her put in the stocks, or compelled to do penance in a white sheet: and you may depend upon it that you shall certainly experience the treadmill if you dare to come here again. Now, ladies, on."

The procession filed off, two and two, with the books and parasols, and Miss Monflathers, calling the Baronet's daughter to walk with her and smoothe her ruffled feelings, discarded the two teachers-who by this time had exchanged their smiles for looks of sympathy-and left them to bring up the rear, and hate each other a little more for being obliged to walk together.

CHAPTER PXXII.

Mrs. Jarley's wrath on first learning that she had been threatened with the indignity of stocks and penance, passed all description. The genuine and only Jarley exposed to public scorn, jeered by children, and flouted by beadles! The delight of the nobility and gentry shorn of a bonnet which a lady Mayoress might have sighed to wear, and arrayed in a white sheet as a spectacle of mortification and humility! And Miss Monflathers, the audacious creature who presumed, even in the dimmest and remotest distance of her imagination, to conjure up the degrading picture. "I am a' most inclined," said Mrs. Jarley, bursting with the fullness of her anger and the weakness of her means of revenge, "to turn atheist when I think of it."

But instead of adopting this course of retaliation, Mrs. Jarley, on second thoughts, brought out the suspicious bottle, and ordering glasses to be set forth upon her favorite drum, and sinking into a chair behind it, called her satellites about her, and to them several times recounted word for word the affronts she had received. This done, she begged them in a kind of deep despair to drink; then laughed, then cried, then took a little sip herself, then laughed and cried again, and took a little more; and so by degrees the worthy lady went on, increasing in smiles and decreasing in tears, until at last she could not laugh enough at Miss Monflathers, who, from

being an object of dire vexation, became one of sheer ridicule and absurdity.

"For which of us is best off, I wonder," quoth Mrs. Jarley, if she talks of me in the stocks, why I can talk of her in the "she or me? It's only talking when all is said and done,and stocks, which is a good deal funnier if we come to that. Lord, what does it matter, after all!"

she had been greatly assisted by certain short interjectional Having arrived at this comfortable frame of mind (to which remarks of the philosophic George,) Mrs. Jarley consoled that whenever she thought of Miss Monflathers she would do Nell with many kind words, and requested as a personal favor nothing else but laugh at her, all the days of her life.

the going down of the sun. Nell's anxieties, however, were So ended Mrs. Jarley's wrath, which subsided long before of a deeper kind, and the checks they imposed upon her cheerfulness were not so easily removed.

away, and did not come back until the night was far spent. That evening, as she had dreaded, her grandfather stole Worn out as she was, and fatigued in mind and body, she sat up alone, counting the minutes, until he returned-pennyless, broken-spirited, and wretched, but still hotly bent upon his infatuation.

night. "I must have money, Nell. It shall be paid thee "Get me money," he said wildly, as they parted for the back with gallant interest one day, but all the money that comes into thy hands, must be mine-not for myself, but to use for thee. Remember, Nell, to use for thee!"

give him every penny that came into her hands, lest he should What could the child do, with the knowledge she had, but truth (so thought the child) he would be treated as a madbe tempted on to rob their benefactress? If she told the man; if she did not supply him with money, he would supply and put him perhaps beyond recovery. Distracted by these himself; supplying him, she fed the fire that burnt him up, dared not tell, tortured by a crowd of apprehensions when thoughts, borne down by the weight of the sorrow which she his return, the color forsook her cheek, her eye grew dim, and ever the old man was absent, and dreading alike his stay and her heart was oppressed and heavy. All her old sorrows had come back upon her, augmented by new fears and doubts; by day they were ever present to her mind; by night they hovered round her pillow, and haunted her in dreams.

often revert to that sweet young lady of whom she had only
It was natural that, in the midst of her affliction, she should
caught a hasty glance, but whose sympathy, expressed in one
slight brief action, dwelt in her memory like the kindnesses of
to whom to tell her griefs, how much lighter her heart would
be-that if she were but free to hear that voice, she would be
years. She would often think, if she had such a friend as that
ter, that she were not quite so poor and humble, that she dared
address her without fearing a repulse; and then feel that there
happier. Then she would wish that she were something bet
hope that the young lady thought of her any more.
was an immeasurable distance between them, and have no

had gone home, and Miss Monflathers was reported to be
It was now holiday-time at the schools, and the young ladies
flourishing in London and damaging the hearts of middle-aged
whether she had gone home, or whether she had any home to
gentlemen, but nobody said anything about Miss Edwards,
go to, whether she was still at the school, or anything about
her
walk, she happened to pass the inn where the stage-coaches
But one evening, as Nell was returning from a lonely
stopped, just as one drove up, and there was the beautiful
girl she so well remembered, pressing forward to embrace a
young child whom they were helping down from the roof.

Well, this was her sister, her little sister, much younger wards) for five years, and to bring whem to that place on a than Nell, whom she had not seen (so the story went aftershort visit, she had been saving her poor means all that time. Nell felt as if her heart would break when she saw them meet. congregated about the coach, and fell upon each other's neck, They went a little apart from the knot of people who had and sobbed, and wept with joy. Their plain and simple dress, the distance which the child had come alone, their agitation and delight, and the tears they shed, would have told their history by themselves.

went away, not so much hand in hand as clinging to each ohter.
They became a little more composed in a short time, and
passed where Nell was standing. "Quite happy now," she
"Are you sure you 're happy, sister?" said the child as they
answered.
why do you turn away your face?"
"But always?" said the child. Ah, sister,

66

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श

Nell could not help following at a little distance. They went to the house of an old nurse, where the elder sister had "I shall come to you early engaged a bed-room for the child. every morning," she said, "and we can be together all the day."-" Why not at night-time too? Dear sister, would they be angry with you for that?"

Why were the eyes of little Nell wet, that night, with tears like those of the two sisters? Why did she bear a grateful heart because they had met, and feel it pain to think that they would shortly part? Let us not believe that any selfish reference-unconscious though it might have been-to her own trials awoke this sympathy, but thank God that the innocent joys of others can strongly move us, and that we, even in our fallen nature, have one source of pure emotion which must be prized in Heaven!

By morning's cheerful glow, but oftener still by evening's gentle light, the child, with a respect for the short and happy intercourse of these two sisters which forbade her to approach and say a thankful word, although she yearned to do so, followed them at a distance in their walks and rambles, stopping when they stopped, sitting on the grass when they sat down, rising when they went on, and feeling it a companionship and delight to be so near them. Their evening walk was by a river's side. Here, every night, the child was toe, unseen by them, unthought of, unregarded; but feeling as if they were her friends, as if they had confidences and trusts together, as if her load were lightened and less hard to bear; as if they mingled their sorrows, and found mutual consolation. It was a weak fancy perhaps, the childish fancy of a young and lonely creature; but, night after night, and still the sisters loitered n the same place, and still the child followed with a mild and softened heart.

She was much startled, on returning home one night, to find that Mrs. Jarley had commanded an announcement to be prepared, to the effect that the stupendous collection would only remain in its present quarters one day longer; in fulfilment of which threat (for all announcements connected with public amusements are well known to be irrevocable and most exact), the stupendous collection shut up next day. "Are we going from this place directly, ma'am?" said Nell. "That'll in"Look here, child," returned Mrs. Jarley. form you." And so saying, Mrs. Jarley produced another announcement, wherein it was stated, that, in consequence of numerous inquiries at the wax-door, and in consequence of crowds having been disappointed in obtaining admission, the Exhibition would be continued for one week longer, and would re-open next day.

gene

the sight was better worth the money than anything they had beheld in all their lives, and urging the bystanders, with tears in their eyes, not to neglect such a brilliant gratification. Mrs. Jarley sat in the pay-place, chinking silver moneys from noon till night, and solemnly calling upon the crowd to take notice that the price of admission was only sixpence, and that the departureof the whole collection, on a short tour among the crowned heads of Europe, was positively fixed for that day week.

"So be in time, be in time, be in time," said Mrs. Jarley, "Remember that this is at the close of every such address. Jarley's stupendous collection of upwards of one hundred figures, and that it is the only collection in the world; all others being imposters and deceptions. Be in time, be in time, be in time!"

CHAPTER XXXIII.

As the course of this tale requires that we should become acquainted, somewhere hereabouts, with a few particulars connected with the domestic economy of Mr. Sampson Brass, and as a more convenient place than the present is not likely to occur for that purpose, the historian takes the friendly reader by the hand, and springing with him into the air, and cleaving the same at a greater rate than ever Don Cleophas Leandro Perez Zambullo and his familiar traveled through that pleasant region in company, alights with him upon the pavement of Bevis Marks.

The intrepid aeronauts alight before a small dark house, once the residence of Mr. Sampson Brass.

In the parlor window of this little habitation, which is so close upon the footway that the passenger who takes the wall brushes the dim glass with his coat sleeves-much to its improvement, for it is very dirty-in this parlor window in the days of its occupation by Sampson Brass, there hung, all awry and slack, and discolored by the sun, a curtain of faded green, so threadbare from long service as by no means to intercept the view of the little dark room, but rather to afford a favorable medium through which to observe it accurately. There was not much to look at. A rickety table with spare bundles of papers, yellow and ragged from carriage in the pocket ostentatiously displayed upon its top; a couple of stools set face to face on opposite sides of this crazy piece of furniture; a treacherous old chair by the fireplace, whose withered arms had hugged full many a client, and helped to squeeze him dry; a second-hand wig-box, used as a depository for blank writs and declarations and other small forms of law, once the sole contents of the head which belonged to the wig which belonged to the box, as they were now of the box itself; two or three common books of practice; a jar of ink, a pounce box, a stunted hearth broom, a carpet trodden to shreds but still clinging with the tightness of desperation to its tacks-these, with the yellow wainscott of the walls, the smoke-discolored ceiling, the dust and cobwebs, were among the most prominent decorations of the office of Mr. Sampson Brass.

For now that the schools are gone, and the regular sight66 we come to the seers exhausted," said Mrs. Jarley, ral public, and they want stimulating." Upon the following day at noon, Mrs. Jarley established herself behind the highly-ornamented table, attended by the distinguished effigies before mentioned, and ordered the doors to be thrown open for the readmission of a discerning and enlightened public. But the first day's operations were by no means of a successful character, inasmuch as the general public, though they manifested a lively interest in Mrs. Jarley personally, and such of her waxen satellites as were to be seen for nothing, were not affected by any impulses moving Thus, notwiththem to the payment of sixpence a head. standing that a great many people continued to stare at the entry and the figures therein displayed; and remained there with great perseverance, by the hour at a time, to hear the barrel-organ played and to read the bills; and notwithstanding that they were kind enough to recommend their friends to patronise the exhibition in the like manner, until the door-way Miss Sally Brass, then, was a lady of thirty-five or thereawas regularly blockaded by half the population of the town, who, when they went off duty, were relieved by the other bouts, of a gaunt and bony figure, and a resolute bearing, half; it was not found that the treasury was any the richer, which if it repressed the softer emotions of love, and kept ador that the prospects of the establishment were at all encour-mirers at a distance, certainly inspired a feeling akin to awe aging.

In this depressed state of the classical market, Mrs. Jarley made extraordinrry efforts to stimulate the popular taste, and whet the popular curiosity. Certain machinery in the body of the nun on the leads over the door was cleaned up and put in motion, so that the figure shook its head paralytically all day long, to the great admiration of a drunken, but very Protestant, barber over the way, who looked upon the said paralytic motion as typical of the degrading effect wrought upon the human mind by the ceremonies of the Romish Church, and discoursed upon that theme with great eloquence and morality. The two carters constantly passed in and out of the exhibition-roem, under various disguises, protesting aloud that

But this was mere still-life, of no greater importance than the plate, "Brass, Solicitor," upon the door, and the bill, "First floor to let to a single gentleman," which was tied to the knocker. The office commonly held two examples of animated nature, more to the purpose of this history, and in whom it has a stronger interest and more particular concern. Of these, one was Mr. Brass himself, who has already appeared in these pages. The other was his clerk, assistant, housekeeper, secretary, confidential plotter, adviser, intriguer, bill-of-cost-increaser, Miss Brass-a kind of amazon, at common law, of whom it may be desirable to offer a brief description.

in the breasts of those male strangers who had the happiness to approach her. In face she bore a striking resemblance to her brother, Sampson-so exact, indeed, was the likeness between them, that had it consorted with Miss Brass's maiden modesty and gentle womanhood to have assumed her brother's clothes in a frolic and sat down beside him, it would have been difficult for the oldest friend of the family to determine which was Sampson and which Sally, especially as the lady carried upon her upper lip certain reddish demonstrations, which if the imagination had been assisted by her attire, might have been mistaken for a beard. These were, however, in all probability, nothing more than eyelashes in a wrong place, as the eyes of Miss Brass were quite free from all such