"You know that she is dead: she was our
nurse," said Magdalen, in a low voice.

"I see it all a plot, gentlemen! a plot!"
he shrieked. "But as I live, it shall not go
unpunished! I see it all now, and you and
the whole world shall see it too. That writing
is not like my father's—my sister's lover
one of the witnesses, and her nurse,
conveniently dead since, the other. I am no child,
to be taken in by anything so clumsy and
self-evident as this!" He flung the paper on
the floor, and trampled it once or twice
beneath his heel. "I shall not stay for the
mockery of this funeral," he said; "I have
no business here. My curse upon you all!
my deadly, blighting curse, and my revenge
to come! That is my share in the funeral
to-morrow."

"Andrew! Andrew! do not go: do not
dishonour poor papa so shamefully!"
exclaimed Magdalen, clinging to him. "Think
of what you owe him. Andrew, reflect."

"Owe him?" cried Andrew. "What I owe
you; and what I will pay you." He dashed
her from him with an oath; then, repeating
his curse, he flung himself from the room,
and so from the house; leaving the pale
corpse stiffening in the chamber above,
without a thought, a prayer, or a sigh for
what had loved him so well.

COATS AND TROUSERS.

ARMED with a sufficient Open, Sesame (the
gift of an enchanter in an alpaca coat);
conveyed to Paul's Wharf by the fiery Dragon
of the modern Thames, an iron steamer;
threading one of those narrow ducts retained
by municipal wisdom to consume time and
teach patience; crossing, not without danger,
the living roaring stream of Cheapside; diving
into another seething gutter of commerce,
we passed into a silent dingy court,
obsructed by a Pickford's cart and its
Mamelon of bales. In other respects the solemn
close was deserted by every living thing save
by a pair of solemn city cats, which gravely
sat where helmeted sentinels and powdered
sedan-chair-bearers had watched or lounged
in bygone times. We pushed in at a door,
guiltless of the finery of paint, that closed
behind us with an unmechanical bang; and,
passing through a gloomy ground-floor
unquestioned by the tenants, we ascended a
broad staircase, black with time and
hand-friction.

In the suite of chambers that we entered—
once the town residence of Mr. Peel of
Lancashire, father of Sir Robert Peel of
Tarnworth—canvas-covered bales formed stacks
rising to the ceiling; piece goods lay in vast
square heaps upon long counters; wide deal
shelves were stuffed with layers of woollen stuffs
and of woollen mixed with baser material of
every degree, quality, and variety that goes to
the clothing of man civilised and uncivilised.
We were on the premises of a firm of merchants
in the wholesale sense, to whom orders for
a hundred thousand yards came as often and
as naturally as a command for a single suit to
a popular tailor; to whom in these warlike
times almost every goods-train from the works
brought unnumbered yards of uniform cloths,
and every trading vessel from Scotland and
Ireland mountains of the flax goods in which
those countries so much excel. From the
dark dingy staircase we had ascended,
continually went forth the stuff for clothing the
armies and navies of England, the parti-
coloured troops of Indian princes, the Zouaves,
the Gardes Imperiales, Chasseurs d'Afrique,
and riflemen of Vincennes. From the
same source is provided the scarlet robes of
Ashantee headsmen, the camlet cloaks of
Chinese mandarins, the white blankets of
Kaffir chiefs, the canary-coloured pantaloons
of South American infantry; the serge shirts
and pea-coats of Jack, A.B.; the grey great
coat of his ally, the jolly marine. The
bishop's sober black of costliest quality; the
miner's flannel jacket and moleskin suit; the
Derby alpaca of the sporting dandy; the
blue broadcloth of the school-boy's many-
buttoned jacket, and the coffin-maker's dismal
baize, also continually flow into the
warehouse from every manufacturing district,
and out again to consumers of every class and
clime.

Broadcloth—once the distinguishing mark
of the gentleman and well-to-do citizen—
is the oldest of our manufactures. It
dates from William the Conqueror, and
its very existence was thought to depend
upon a close monopoly of British wool.
To export British wool was highly penal;
but a dispute which long raged between the
woollen manufacturers and farmers, at
length resulted in freeing the public from
the monopoly of both; and this dispute
was a notable example of the sort of
slavery our neighbours the French endure.
English manufacturers stoutly contended
against the exportation of British wool, lest
foreign manufacturers should rival them in
cloth-making, but claimed to import the fine
wools of Spain and Germany. The farmers, on
the other side, desired leave to sell their wool to
the foreign customer; but demanded protection
against the competition of the foreign
wool-grower. The contest was waged hotly,
and the battle swayed to and fro, according
as the sheep-feeding or the wool-consuming
faction obtained the upper hand. At length,
Huskisson, the legislative precursor of free
commerce, took advantage of the pastoral and
wool-weaving dissensions, and gave both what
they did not want. He permitted the
exportation of British, and the importation of
foreign wools at a low duty, and sent both
sets of suitors despairing away. Up to that
period, very little woollen cloth was sold
under from eight to ten shillings a-yard.
At present, broadcloth can be bought at
every price between two shillings and twenty-five