pretty widow of the millionnaire of Margaret-lane.

"No, Mr. Tompkins," said Susan, "I value you
for your probity and your industry, and still more
for your fidelity and attachment to my dear
husband. Nor am I indifferent to this last stronger
proof of your regard to myself personally; But
I shall never marry again. I shall devote the
rest of my life to directing the education of my
dear boy. Hereafter I shall perhaps find an
opportunity of showing how much I value your
services. For the present, good-by. Forget
what you have just said to me, and let it be as
if it had never been said."

Mr. Tompkins rose, and was struggling with
the back of his chair in oratorical agony, when
the door burst open, and in rushed Master
Harry Dobbs, who had been helping the servant
to pack his trunk for Eton.

"Ma," he said, " how many collars am I to
take? There are only three dozen here."

"My dear Harry, Mr. Tompkins is talking
business. I'll be with you directly."

One bright afternoon, in the June of the
same year, that eminent law lord, Lord Cantelupe,
whose eldest son was married the other
day to the second daughter of the Marquis de
Champignon, reined up the two bays that drew
his barouche, at the door of Mrs. Dobbs, 16,
St. Margaret-lane.

The bell was rung. Mrs. Dobbs was at home.
Now, Lord Cantelupe had been an old friend of
Mr. Dobbs, and was surprised to find the hall—
or rather dim passage, for it was no more—
lumbered with boxes, and rolls of carpet, and cases
of pictures. These he stopped to survey in an
alarmed manner through a gold-framed double
eye-glass.

"Egad!" he said to himself, " I was only
just in time to snap the widow. My usual luck.
Now for it."

In twenty minutes more, the accomplished and
gifted orator had, with all an old wary man of
the world's sagacity and blandness, laid down
an impromptu carpet of verbal rose-leaves, upon
which he had figuratively thrown himself, and
prostrated himself, his oratory, his ermine, and
his house in Park-row, at the feet of the pretty
widow.

An interval of silence ensued, as when one
goes down in a diving-bell. Then, came a violent
pricking in the legal ears of the accomplished
orator. These remarkable and astounding words
struck his noble tympanum:

"My lord, you were such a kind friend to my
dear husband, and have been so kind to me since
his death, that it gives me pain to refuse the
honour so generously proffered me, but I shall
never marry again. I shall devote the rest of
my life to the education of my boy Harry. I
should not wish the world to impute mercenary
motives to any man who took me for his wife.
I leave this house to-morrow. I have given
half the business to my excellent foreman, and
have taken a house at Slough, to be near my
boy's school."

"Egad," said Lord Cantelupe, as he got into
his carriage, and squeezed together (in a half
petulant, half melancholy way) the two portions
of his eye-glass: "no verdict in the world ever
knocked me over half as much. Yet, by George,
I don't know now that I won't have another
try. What could she mean about mercenary?"

The noble and learned lord has not yet won
Mrs. Dobbs, Harry is a capital fellow, and
the business at No. 16, Margaret-lane, flourishes
bravely under the auspices of Tompkins.

My story has, I know, been absurdly simple.
No intrusive husband toppled down a well, no
bigamy nor trigamy, no poisoned sandwich. It
has only been a plain unadorned narrative of
self-denial, and of a heart that bloomed

  In the winter of its age, like Glastonbury thorn.

It has breathed only quiet fidelity, and unobtrusive
affection, and sober romance.

NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.
Now publishing, PART XV., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

Just published, in one vol, small post 8vo.
In fancy boards, 2s. 6d; also Library Edition, crown 8vo,
cloth extra, 5s.,
THE BUBBLES OF FINANCE.
Being a Reprint of Articles which have appeared in this
Journal.
By A CITY MAN.
London: SAMPSON LOW, Son, and MARSTON,
14, Ludgate-hill.

THE THIRTEENTH VOLUME
Will be published on the 1st of August, price 5s. 6d,
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