that, the departed did something " to bring it
on." Judging by Titbull's, I should say the
human race need never die, if they took care.
But they don't take care, and they do die, and
when they die in Titbull's they are buried at the
cost of the Foundation. Some provision has
been made for the purpose, in virtue of which
(I record this on the strength of having seen
the funeral of Mrs. Quinch), a lively neighbour
ing undertaker dresses up four of the old men,
and four of the old women, hustles them into a
procession of four couples, and leads off with a
large black bow at the back of his hat, looking
over his shoulder at them airily from time to
time, to see that no member of the party has
got lost, or has tumbled down; as if they were
a company of dim old dolls.

Resignation of a dwelling is of very rare
occurrence in Titbull's. A story does obtain there,
how an old lady's son once drew a prize of Thirty
Thousand Pounds in the Lottery, and presently
drove to the gate in his own carriage, with
French Horns playing up behind, and whisked
his mother away, and left ten guineas for a
Feast. But I have been unable to substantiate
it by any evidence, and regard it as an Alms-
House Fairy Tale. It is curious that the only
proved case of resignation, happened within my
knowledge.

It happened on this wise. There is a sharp
competition among the ladies respecting the
gentility of their visitors, and I have so often
observed visitors to be dressed as for a holiday
occasion, that I suppose the ladies to have
besought them to make all possible display when
they come. In these circumstances much
excitement was one day occasioned by Mrs. Mitts
receiving a visit from a Greenwich Pensioner.
He was a Pensioner of a bluff and warlike ap
pearance, with an empty coat-sleeve, and he was
got up with unusual care; his coat-buttons were
extremely bright, he wore his empty coat-sleeve
in a graceful festoon, and he had a walking-stick
in his hand that must have cost money. When,
with the head of his walking-stick, he knocked
at Mrs. Mitts's door—there are no knockers
in Titbull's—Mrs. Mitts was overheard by a
next-door neighbour to utter a cry of surprise
expressing much agitation; and the same neigh
bour did afterwards solemnly affirm that when
he was admitted into Mrs. Mitts's room, she
heard a smack. Heard a smack which was not
a blow.

There was an air about this Greenwich
Pensioner when he took his departure, which
imbued all Titbuli's with the conviction that he
was coming again. He was eagerly looked for,
and Mrs. Mitts was closely watched. In the
mean time, if anything could have placed the
unfortunate six old gentlemen at a greater
disadvantage than that at which they chronically
stood, it would have been the apparition of this
Greenwich Pensioner. They were well shrunken
already, but they shrunk to nothing in
comparison with the Pensioner. Even the poor old
gentlemen themselves seemed conscious of their
inferiority, and to know submissively that they
could never hope to hold their own against the
Pensioner with his warlike and maritime
experience in the past, and his tobacco-money in
the present: his chequered career of blue water,
black gunpowder, and red bloodshed for
England home and beauty.

Before three weeks were out, the Pensioner
reappeared. Again he knocked at Mrs. Mitts's
door with the handle of his stick, and again was
he admitted. But not again did he depart
alone; for, Mrs. Mitts, in a bonnet identified as
having been re-embellished, went out walking
with him, and stayed out till the ten o'clock
beer, Greenwich time.

There was now a truce, even as to the
troubled waters of Mrs. Saggers's pail; nothing
was spoken of among the ladies but the conduct
of Mrs. Mitts and its blighting influence on the
reputation of Titbull's. It was agreed that Mr.
Battens " ought to take it up," and Mr. Battens
was communicated with on the subject. That
unsatisfactory individual replied " that he didn't
see his way yet," and it was unanimously voted
by the ladies that aggravation was in his
nature.

How it came to pass, with some appearance
of inconsistency, that Mrs. Mitts was cut by all
the ladies and the Pensioner admired by all the
ladies, matters not. Before another week was out,
Titbull's was startled by another phenomenon.
At ten o'clock in the forenoon appeared a cab,
containing not only the Greenwich Pensioner
with one arm, but, to boot, a Chelsea Pensioner
with one leg. Both dismounting to assist Mrs.
Mitts into the cab, the Greenwich Pensioner
bore her company inside, and the Chelsea
Pensioner mounted the box by the driver: his
wooden leg sticking out after the manner of a
bowsprit, as if in jocular homage to his friend's
sea-going career. Thus the equipage drove
away. No Mrs. Mitts returned that night.

What Mr. Battens might have done in the
matter of taking it up, goaded by the infuriated
state of public feeling next morning, was anticipated
by another phenomenon. A Truck,
propelled by the Greenwich Pensioner and the
Chelsea Pensioner, each placidly smoking a pipe,
and pushing his warrior-breast against the
handle.

The display on the part of the Greenwich
Pensioner of his " marriage-lines," and his
announcement that himself arid friend had looked
in for the furniture of Mrs. G. Pensioner, late
Mitts, by no means reconciled the ladies to the
conduct of their sister; on the contrary, it is
said that they appeared more than ever
exasperated. Nevertheless, my stray visits to
Titbull's since the date of this occurrence, have
confirmed me in an impression that it was a
wholesome fillip. The nine ladies are smarter,
both in mind and dress, than they used to be,
though it must be admitted that they despise
the six gentlemen to the last extent. They
have a much greater interest in the external
thoroughfare too, than they had when I first
knew Titbull's. And whenever I chance to be
leaning my back against the pump or the iron