derided them as little unformed creatures, great
favourites vith " the Whitechapel orders;" cried
"Faugh!" when Hazlitt visited the Coburg and
Surrey Theatres; and sneered when his great
rival praised Miss Valancy, "the bouncing
Columbine at Astley's, and them there places— as
his barber informs him." All this shows the
vanity and shallow temerity, the vulgar and
impertinent superciliousness, of the pseudo-
critic, He got a bludgeon blow on the head
for it, however, from Hazlitt, who then left him
to flutter his hour and to pass away in his folly.

When Hazlitt left the London Magazine,
about l825, Janus Weathercock ceased to delight
the world also, but he still rattled at parties,
still drove in the Park, and flashed along the
Row on his Arab horse " Contributor;" he
still bought well-bound books, pictures, and
hothouse plants, and still expended his affections
on his cat. Honest Charles Lamb, guileless
as a child, lamented " kind, light-hearted
Janus," the tasteful dandy, the gay
sentimentalist of the boudoir. Fine, generous
natures like Othello are prone to trust Iago. One
of those gentlemen who are mean enough to
get their bread by professional literature, and
yet affect to despise their business,
Wainewright must have felt the loss of his liberal
monthly salary, for he had expensive tastes, and
a knack of getting through money.

Say some eight or ten years after the
delightful dinner in Waterloo-place, this fine
nature (true Sèvres of the rarest clay) was
living in his own luxurious cozy way (books,
wine, horses, pictures, statues, hothouse plants,
Damascus sabre, tortoiseshell cat, elegantly
gilt French lamp and all) at Linden House,
Turnham-green, remarkable for its lime-trees,
on the pretty heart-shaped leaves of which the
gay artist probably lavished a thousand fancies.
Only once had those rose-leaves fallen since the
house and pleasant grounds had belonged to
Wainewright's uncle, a Dr. Griffiths, a comfortable,
well-to-do man, who had for many years
edited a monthly publication. His death
occurred after a very short illness, and during a
visit paid him by Wainewright and his wife, who
was there confined of her first, and, as it proved,
her only child. It was not exactly apoplexy,
nor was it heart disease; but then even doctors
are sometimes puzzled by organic complications.
One thing is certain, it was mortal, and Dr.
Griffiths died under proper medical care, and
watched by the most affectionate of relatives.
Wainewright gained some property by his
uncle's death; lamented him tearfully, and spent
the money smilingly. Bills soon began, however,
to be left unpaid, servants' wages were delayed,
credit was occasionally refused, Turnham-green
bakers and butchers dared to talk about Linden
House, and people who "made much of theirselves,
but did not do the right thing, not what
yer may call the right thing."

Things were not going altogether comfortable
with a man who must have his wine, his cigar, his
eau de vie de Dantzig, all the new books and
prints, and must dress " in the style, you know."

The fact must come out; Wainewright was
a monster egotist, and not accustomed to starve
either his tastes or his appetites. He must have
money for champagneand bread; Marc Antonio's
prints and meat. As well be starved as have
his cutlet without truffles. Poverty's iron walls
were closing in upon him closer and closer, but
he shrugged his shoulders, buttoned tighter his
befrogged coat, pawned his rings, and got on
well enough.

Linden House must have been a peculiarly
unhealthy place, for about this time Mrs.
Abercrombie, Wainewright's wife's mother, died
there also, after a very short illness; something
in the brain or heart, probably. Mrs.
Abercrombie had married a second time a meritorious
officer, and left two daughters, Helen Frances
Phoebe and Madeleine, beautiful girls, just reaching
womanhood. The poor orphans, having only
ten pounds a year granted them by the Board of
Ordnance for their father's services (these must
have been small indeed not to deserve more),
were invited to his pleasant, luxurious, but
decidedly unhealthy house, by Mr. Wainewright,
their step-sister's husband, in the most kind and
generous manner, dear creature!

Helen Frances Phoebe Abercrombie, the
eldest of the girls, attained the age of twenty-
one on the 12th of March, 1830, a very short
time after coming to Turnham-green, and within
a few days of this event the oddest caprice
entered into Mr. Wainewright's mind. He
proposed to insure her life to a very large amount
for the short period of two or three years. Such
an arrangement is, however, the commonest
thing in the world with persons either
permanently or temporarily embarrassed. Such
insurances are often used as securities for bills of
exchange or for loans, where the lender is
especially cautious. There was nothing singular
about it. It did not the least matter that Miss
Abercrombie was almost penniless, and without
expectations of any kind, except a trifling
possibility under a settlement.

One pleasant morning in March a trip to
the City was suggested as quite a divertissement,
an agreeable opportunity of observing the habits
and customs of " those strange City people." Mr.
Wainewright was jauntier and more dégagé than
ever, in his tight fashionable befrogged coat, as
he guided his wife and the beautiful girl —
his temporary ward— their ribbons fluttering
brightly in the March wind, through the defiles
and labyrinths of the busy City. His whims
and fancies about insurance offices were
delightful in their careless gaiety. It was quite
an advent ure for the ladies. It was singular,
though, that Mr. Wainewright, embarrassed as
he was, should venture on a speculation that
involved a large annual payment for interest, and
yet seemed to promise no pecuniary return.
It might be a chivalrous risk of some kind
or other, the innocent and playful girl probably
thought, and she would not care to inquire
further into a business she did not profess to
understand. It cost her nothing; she was only
too glad to gratify the whirn of her kind