short now and then, to give them time to
arrange themselves in their proper places.
But the kindliness of her " Bless you! " no
description could convey. It was a gleam of
the pure gold that streaked the granite
texture of her character.

The effect my aunt Honoria made upon my
juvenile nerves, was rather startling. I was
not an heroic youth; so I sobbed out
something about being cold, and was immediately
swept into the shop by my rapid relative;
who, to warm me, bought me a peg-top and
four-pennyworth of marbles, the contemplation
of which treasures suspended my sobs,
and brought consolation to my wretched little
heart.

A few well-put queries, soon revealed to
her the state of my affairs, and she whisked
off to startle the matron of number Nine
ward (to which I belonged), from her afternoon
nap. I slowly followed— my progress
impeded by a broken chilblain— and found
the restless spirit of my aunt already
domineering over the slow and saturnine
presidentess of the ward. The moment I appeared,
she pounced upon me, drew off my yellow
stocking with astonishing gentleness, and,
regarding it with infinite disgust, requested
a little warm water, winding up with:

"Be quick, will you, please ? and I'll set
him to rights in no time."

Then, out of the black bag, came a little
box of ointment, and a neat roll of linen rag,
and I soon felt a delightful sense of relief and
comfort. Finally, the stocking was drawn on
again.

"Have you pen and ink here, my good
woman ? "

Slowly, as if against her will, the matron
produced writing materials; and, again, the
black bag opened to receive the roll and the
ointment, and to give forth a large card; on
which my aunt Honoria wrote in big
characters, with broad black down-strokes, " Per
Paddington Omnibus— to be left at
shoemaker's shop, corner New Road." To this
she attached a string:

"There," she said, handing it to me.
"Hang that round your neck on Wednesday
next: it will be a red-letter day— a holiday,
you know. Call the omnibus from the gate
here. Make the conductor look at your card,
and then you will be sure to go all right.
You must learn to take care of yourself,
mee poor child, and the sooner the better.
Now, God bless you! I cannot stop another
minute."

Again the finger-ends waved over my head;
a rapid and energetic kiss shut up one of my
eyes, and the other beheld my aunt stepping
away daintily through the damp yard; past
the grim porter, to whom she seemed to
jerk out some defiant words as she went by.
Then she vanished through the gate out into
the whirl and rush ot Newgate Street.

On the following Wednesday, the omnibus
duly deposited me at the shoemaker's. I had
not long to wait before being conducted
to my aunt's lodging. I found it a charming
place to visit, in spite of perpetual
injunctions not to touch what did not belong
to me without leave. There were such
drawers full of what may most correctly be
termed odds and ends! Old watches, and
cases, and by-gone apparatus for every
description of needle-work; and faded, moon-
shiny, old miniatures, shadowing forth
features too aristocratic to seem at home in a
humble third-floor front, in Hanbury Terrace,
New Road. Queer scraps of china, transparent
and cracked; fragments of plate, forks, and
spoons, cleaned down to a thin and weakly
condition; duskily-bound albums from which
the gilding was worn away, filled with scratchy
sketches and incomprehensible conundrums.
Then, there was a collection of books in
school-room binding, scribbled over the
flyleaves with school-room caricatures, and the
oft-repeated name of " Cornelius
M'Murrough, his book," in graceful, illegible
writing.

"Mee poor brother's hand, mee dear," aunt
Honoria would say, " Ah! such a man, mee
dear. None of your prosing, pondering, cold-
blooded calculators; but full of love, and life,
and enjoyment. How could he be expected
to be always thinking of the money ? No
wonder his grasping creditors got the better
of him." O'Donnybrook, of the Daily
Disseminator, told me, in after-life, that the
M'Murrough was the most jovial, disreputable,
and generally intoxicated member of
their staff.

Aunt Honoria would talk by the hour, on
this exalted theme, as she sat at a mysterious
and complicated work-frame which always
stood in the window next the fire-place. It
was fringed all round with little bags of
every possible hue and texture, out of which,
she snatched at intervals, contradictory
morsels of floss-silk, worsted, Berlin wool, braid,
hooks and eyes, twist, tape, twine, rags, ends
of ribbon, beads, buttons, bugles, and every
material that the wildest emergency of
needle-work could demand.

Questions were dangerous at number Five,
Hanbury Terrace. I therefore still remain
ignorant of the precise destination of those
acres of embroidery, tapestry, and tambour,
which I have watched from time to time in
progress in that frame. But mature reason
inclines me to believe— as I never saw any of
the fruits of her labour, either worn by herself,
or displayed on her sofas or chairs— that my
aunt's performances were exchanged for a
consideration which enabled her to exercise
a sort of highway and hedge-hunting
hospitality towards youthful waifs and strays,
cast out by fortune on the ocean of London.
She was an admirable story-teller; and
often have I and a certain little co-
visitor, sat listening entranced to her records
of the M'Murroughs, the remarkably
pugnacious, rackety race of which we were scions.