was a good opportunity of introducing Bessy to her and Lady O'Connor. My mother was also to join the party on the occasion. The only circumstance worth mentioning was the surprise of my mother on being introduced to Lady O'Connor, and finding that in this great lady she met with her old acquaintance, Mrs. St. Felix. Whatever she may have felt, she certainly had tact enough to conceal it, and was as warm in her congratulations as the best well-wisher. I must say, that I never knew my mother appear to such advantage as she did during this visit to Leamington; she dressed remarkably well, and would have persuaded those who did not know her history, that she had always been in good society: but she had been a lady's maid and had learnt her mistress's airs; and as she could dress others so well, it would have been odd if she did not know how to dress herself. A good copy will often pass for an original. It was not till about six years after our marriage that my mother decided upon retiring from business. She had made a very comfortable provision for herself, as Mr. Wilson informed me, and took up her abode at Cheltenham, where she lived in a very genteel way, was considered quite a catch at card-parties, and when she did ask people to tea, she always did the thing in better style than anybody else; the consequence was that she was not visited by most people, but in time became rather a person of consideration. As she never mentioned her husband, it was supposed that she was a widow, and, in consequence of her well-regulated establishment, she received much attention from several Irish end foreign bachelors. In short, my mother obtained

almost the pinnacle of her ambition, when she was once fairly settled at Cheltenham. I ought to observe

that when she arrived there, she had taken the precaution of prefixing a name to her own, to which by baptismal rite she certainly was not entitled, and called herself Mrs. Montague Saunders.

Shortly after Mrs. St. Felix had given notice to the doctor that she should not return, and that her shop, and the goodwill thereof, were for sale, I received a letter from my friend, Tom Cobb, the doctor's assistant, telling me that as he perceived he had now no chance of Mrs. St. Felix, he had some idea of taking her shop, and setting up as a tobacconist; his reasons were, that physic was a bore, and going out of nights when called up, a still greater. I wrote to Lady O'Connor inclosing Mr. Tom's letter, and pointed out to her that I thought it would be a public benefit to prevent Tom from killing so many people, as he certainly would do, if he continued in his present profession, and eventually set up for himself. She replied that she agreed with me, but at the same time that she was anxious to benefit fat Jane, who really was a very good girl; and that therefore she empowered me to enter into a treaty with Mr. Thomas, by which, provided he could obtain the lady's consent, he was to wed her, and receive the stock in trade, its contents and fixtures, and good-will, &c., as her portion.

As this was an offer which required some consideration before it was refused, I wrote to Tom, pointing out to him the advantages of settling down with a good business, with a wife to assist him, and a cat and dog already installed, upon such advantageous con

ditions. Tom agreed with me, won the love of fat Jane, which was easily done, as he had no rival, and in a short time was fairly set down as the successor of Mrs. St. Felix. As for the doctor, he appeared to envy Tom his having possession of the shop which his fair friend once occupied; he was inconsolable, and there is no doubt but that he, from the period of her quitting Greenwich, wasted away, until he eventually was buried in the churchyard. A most excellent man was Doctor Tadpole, and his death was lamented by hundreds who esteemed his character, and many hundreds more who had benefited not only by his advice but by his charitable disposition. About ten years after my marriage Ben the Whaler was summoned away. His complaint was in the liver, which is not to be surprised at, considering how many gallons of liquor he had drank during his life.

He

Peter Anderson-my father, my friend, my preceptor -was for many years inspecting boatswain' of the Hospital. At last he became to a certain degree vacant in mind, and his situation was filled up by another. was removed to what they call the helpless ward, where he was well nursed and attended. It is no uncommon, indeed I may say it is a very common thing, for the old pensioners, as they gradually decay, to have their health quite perfect when the faculties are partly gone; and there is a helpless ward established for that very reason, where those who are infirm and feeble, without disease, or have lost their faculties, while their bodily energies remain, are sent to; and there they pass a quiet easy life, well attended, until they sink into the grave. Such was the case with Peter Anderson: he

was ninety-seven when he died, but long before that time his mind was quite gone. Still he was treated with respect, and many were there who attended his funeral. I erected a handsome tombstone to his memory, the last tribute I could pay to a worthy, honest, sensible, and highly religious, good man.

Mr. Wilson has been dead some time: he left me a legacy of 5001. I believe I have mentioned all my old acquaintances now, except Bill Harness and Opposition Bill. In living long, certainly Opposition Bill has beat his opponent, for Harness is in the churchyard, while Opposition Bill still struts about with his hair as white as snow, and his face shrivelled up like an old monkey's. The last time I was at Greenwich, I heard the pensioners say to one another, "Why, you go ahead about as fast as Opposition Bill." I requested this enigma to me to be solved, and it appeared that one Greenwich fair, Opposition Bill had set off home rather the worse for what he had drank, and it so happened that, crossing the road next to the Hospital, his wooden leg had stuck in one of the iron plug-holes of the water conduit. Bill did not, in his situation, perceive that anything particular had occurred, and continued playing his fiddle and singing, and, as he supposed, walking on the whole time, instead of which he was continually walking round and round the one leg in the plug-hole with the other that was free. After about half an hour's trotting round and round this way, he began to think that he did not get home quite so fast as he ought, but the continual circular motion had made him more confused than before.

"By Gum!" said Bill, "this Hospital is a confounded

long way off. I'm sure I walk a mile, and I get no nearer-howsoebber, nebber mind-here

goes." Here Billy struck up a tune, and commenced a song along with it, still walking round and round his wooden leg, which was firmly fixed in the plug-hole, and so he continued till he fell down from giddiness, and was picked up by some of the people, who carried him home to the Hospital.

I have but one more circumstance to relate. I was one day sitting with Bessy and my children, at the old cottage on the beach, Bramble and my father were smoking their pipes on a bench which they had set up outside, when one of the Deal boats landed with passengers. As they passed by us, one old gentleman started, and then stopped short, as he beheld Bessy. "Mine frau!" he cried, "mine frau dat was in Heaven!"

We stared very much, as we did not comprehend him; but he then came up to me, and said—

"I beg your pardon, mynheer, but what is dat young woman ?"

"She is my wife," replied I.

"I was going to say dat she was my wife, but dat is impossible. Look you here, sar."

The old man pulled a miniature out of his breast, And certainly the resemblance to Bessy was most remarkable.

'Now, sar, dat was my wife. Where did you get dis young woman ?"

I requested him to walk into the cottage, and then told him the history of Bessy.

"Sar, my wife was coming home with her child in a