meaning, however, that I thought I would
mention it to Biddy in preference.

So, when we had walked home and had had
tea, I took Biddy into our little garden by the
side of the lane, and, after throwing out in a
general way for the elevation of her spirits,
that I should never forget her, said I had a
favour to ask of her.

"And it is, Biddy," said I, "that you will
not omit any opportunity of helping Joe on, a
little."

"How helping him on?" asked Biddy, with a
steady sort of glance.

"Well! Joe is a dear good fellow— in fact, I
think he is the dearest fellow that ever lived—
but he is rather backward in some things.
For instance, Biddy, in his learning and his
manners."

Although I was looking at Biddy as I spoke,
and although she opened her eyes very wide
when I had spoken, she did not look at me.

"Oh, his manners! Won't his manners do
then?" asked Biddy, plucking a black currant
leaf.

"My dear Biddy, they do very well
here ——"

"Oh! they do very well here?" interposed
Biddy, looking closely at the leaf in her hand.

"Here me out — but if I were to remove Joe
into a higher sphere, as I shall hope to remove
him when I fully come into my property, they
would hardly do him justice,"

"And don't you think he knows that?" asked
Biddy.

It was such a very provoking question (for it
had never in the most distant manner occurred
to me), that I said, snappishly, "Biddy, what do
you mean?"

Biddy having rubbed the leaf to pieces
between her hands— and the smell of a black
currant bush has ever since recalled to me that
evening in the little garden by the side of the
lane— said, "Have you never considered that
he may be proud?"

"Proud!" I repeated, with disdainful emphasis.

"Oh! there are many kinds of pride," said
Biddy, looking full at me and shaking her head;
"pride is not all of one kind——"

"Well? What are you stopping for?"
said I.

"Not all of one kind," resumed Biddy.
"He may be too proud to let any one take him
out of a place that he is competent to fill and
fills well and with respect. To tell you the
truth, I think he is: though it sounds bold in
me to say so, for you must know him far better
than I do."

"Now, Biddy," said I, "I am very sorry to
see this in you. I did not expect to see this in
you. You are envious, Biddy, and grudging.
You are dissatisfied on account of my rise in
fortune, and you can't help showing it."

"If you have the heart to think so,"
returned Biddy, "say so. Say so over and over
again, if you have the heart to think so."

"If you have the heart to be so, you mean,
Biddy," said I, in a virtuous and superior tone;
"don't put it off upon me. I am very sorry to
see it, and it's a— it's a bad side of human
nature. I did intend to ask you to use any
little opportunities you might have after I was
gone, of improving dear Joe. But after this, I
ask you nothing. I am extremely sorry to see
this in you, Biddy," I repeated. "It's a— it's
a bad side of human nature."

"Whether you scold me or approve of me,"
returned poor Biddy, "you may equally depend
upon my trying to do all that lies in my power,
here, at all times. And whatever opinion you
take away of me, shall make no difference in my
remembrance of you. Yet a gentleman should
not be unjust neither," said Biddy, turning away
her head.

I again warmly repeated that it was a bad
side of human nature (in which sentiment, waiving
its application, I have since seen reason to
think I was right), and I walked down the little
path away from Biddy, and Biddy went into
the house, and I went out at the garden gate
and took a dejected stroll until supper-time;
again feeling it very sorrowful and strange that
this, the second night of my bright fortunes,
should be as lonely and unsatisfactory as the
first.

But morning once more brightened my view,
and I extended my clemency to Biddy, and we
dropped the subject. Putting on the best
clothes I had, I went into town as early as I
could hope to find the shops open, and presented
myself before Mr. Trabb, the tailor: who was
having his breakfast in the parlour behind his
shop, and who did not think it worth his while
to come out to me, but called me in to him.

"Well!" said Mr. Trabb, in a hail-fellow-well-met
kind of way. "How are you, and
what can I do for you?"

Mr. Trabb had sliced his hot roll into three
feather beds, and was slipping butter in between
the blankets, and covering it up. He was a
prosperous old bachelor, and his open window
looked into a prosperous little garden and
orchard, and there was a prosperous iron safe
let into the wall at the side of his fireplace, and
I did not doubt that heaps of his prosperity
were put away in it in bags.

"Mr. Trabb," said I, "it's an unpleasant
thing to have to mention, because it looks like
boasting; but I have come into a handsome
property."

A change passed over Mr. Trabb. He forgot
the butter in bed, got up from the bedside, and
wiped his fingers on the tablecloth, exclaiming,
"Lord bless my soul!"

"I am going up to my guardian in London,"
said I, casually drawing some guineas out of my
pocket and looking at them; "and I want a
fashionable suit of clothes to go in. I wish to
pay for them," I added— otherwise I thought
he might only pretend to make them, "with
ready money."

"My dear sir," said Mr. Trabb, as he respectfully
bent his body, opened his arms, and took
the liberty of touching me on the outside of