represent duty to his narrow conscientious
mind. The paupers are mere accessories, pawns
on the chess-board, of quite subordinate interest
to the prime function of keeping the house in
order. A better or more industrious
housekeeper, or a less sympathetic spirit, for the
weak and ailing, it would be hard to find. Not
that there was a trace of intentional unkindness
in his speech or manner. "Old man washing
the floor is terrible deaf, and ain't much use,
but he does his best. Young man at the fire
ain't exactly off his head, but has fits dreadful
bad, and hasn't been able to do a good day's
work since he's bin in here. Men in the shed
outside pumping, look better than the rest?
Lord bless you, gentlemen," despondently,
"there ain't one on 'em sound, if you come to
examine 'em—not one on 'em you could count
on for good work." So in the kitchens,
sculleries, and outhouses. So in the other
offices of this gloomy penal place. The women,
with the exception of a few who were nursing
young infants, imbecile, infirm, and given to
fits. The men invalided or past work. The
house has been studiously made to resemble a
prison, and the gloomy vaults, in which cooking
and dish-cleaning are carried on, would show
with disadvantage against the catacombs of
Kensal-green. Unlike our friends in Staffordshire,
no pretence is made of nursing the sick
and dying men, or of keeping the paid nurse
within call. The functionary last named—
who, if we may make bold to say so, might
have been selected for the angularity of figure
and sharp iciness of speech, which gave her
a general shrewish resemblance to Miss Miggs
—appeared to be queen of the situation. The
faults she pointed out in windows and
approaches, and, above all, in the arrangements
of her private apartments, were launched at
the master with an "I-told-you-so" air, as
personal grievances he ought to have
redressed; while with an absurdly exaggerated
estimate of our powers, her preliminary
answer to every question was an attitude
suggesting fatalistic submission, as if to tell
us, with suppressed spitefulness, that she
was ready, there and then, to look on while
the master was being bowstrung or
bastinadoed under our dread decree.
Superfluous in her denunciation and repudiation of
all that was faulty in her department, it
was easy to see that while our energetic
friend the master is overworked, the nurse
has nothing to do. To look after four
women patients, none of whom require close
watching or attendance, and to be carefully
placed in a building away from the workhouse,
so that "calling up" or rendering extra
assistance is impossible, while men are dying
unnursed in a pest-house over the way, seems
such a ridiculous perversion of common sense
as well as common humanity, that we ask,
weakly enough, whether the Poor Law inspector
has not remarked upon it. "Very
satisfactory," is that official's verdict, and "has
been for years," the master proudly adds; so
we can but conclude that poisoning off male
paupers is the parochial set-off against having
sick women nursed.

BOX NUMBER TWENTY.

To begin in the style of the older stories
found in the Ramblers, and Connoisseurs, and
Spectators, and such improving works: "Born
to affluence, Cynthia was courted by the smiles
and flatteries of many admirers." When I say
Cynthia, a sort of figure is used to hide the
name of the charming Isabelle Mantower;
when I say affluence, I mean twenty thousand
pounds in her own right, "with power of
appointment, sir," as the family solicitor remarked;
and when I say numerous admirers, I should
rather narrow the number down to one single
worshipper, who, after a long probation, many
trials, and countless little assiduities, was at last
told he might no longer "languish in despair,"
once more to use the old Rambler and Spectator
language just alluded to. "None but the brave
deserve the fair," was the encouraging remark
of another old writer. I was the brave,
preferred, let me add, before a marching captain
and an Irish clergyman, with the most
transparently mercenary views. Many an interview
I had. Many a card of mine lay on the
hall-table, and the name on those cards was

MR. EDGAR BAKER.

My Isabelle had no charms to speak of.
"Nice" is the handsomest word which I can
conscientiously indulge in. Her features were
a little irregular, her face long; but then it was
all in her own right; she "could do what she
liked," "make ducks and drakes of it," as I
overheard the low-minded captain say to a
confederate. She wanted colour; she was rather
thin and tall (the mercenary clergyman used the
ungentlemanly word "scraggy" in the moment
of his disappointment). But I knew, from
information I could depend on, that it was rising
every day, and was every sixpence of it in snug
bank-stock, which, if realised, would, to use the
captain's phrase, "bring down the dibs, sir."
The worst was, there was a drawback. (The
governor and company were most liberal, and
deducted only the usual thing.) Let me again
quote the captain: "She was so devilish
suspicious;" and the mercenary clergyman: "She
was as touchy as a cat, sir." Both gentlemen
said, separately, on a later occasion, "If I had
not my own time with her!"

It was on Saturday night, and we had fixed,
Mrs. Mantower the mother, Isabelle, and her
Edgar, to go to the theatre, and "make a
party." I had taken the places—"BOX NUMBER
TWENTY," as my voucher told me. It would be
unhandsome to dwell on the larger meaning that
might be given to the expression "taken the
places;" I will simply say, I had taken the
places. I will more simply say still, or I will
still more simply say, that in any plans for popular
amusement I always took the places, as it