schools and choirs : inasmuch as there would yet remain an unmarshalled remnant, not of the most orderly, it was made known by Tom Ashlant, the bruiser of the place, through his attorneys and agents, that "if he seed any darned feller" (so Mr Ashlant was pleased to express himself) "deuin' uv anythin' unproper like, he would knack hes teu eyes into one after 'twes all auver." So all the world was thus brought under control except a one-eyed boy, who was timid and orderly, and not likely to take advantage of his being ultra vires.

We may think what we will of Wetton's mode of giving effect to its desires; but this, at any rate, I can say, that Wetton's desire was to show the highest respect for its lost townsman, and to inter his remains with as much solemn éclat as was possible. Wetton knew that Saunders's place would not be adequately filled by his successor; and even on the way back from the churchyard, serious groups discussed the probable new state of things.

"Dest tho' think they'll put young Ben into the Corporation?" asked an artisan.

"No that I knaw by," answered his friend. "What shud they dew wi' he to Guildhall? Giv' en zome bear's fat to grease his wig wi', and a weskert spotted wi' scarlet, an' yeller, an' blew, like the door o' Jan Mattheys the penter's shop, and he would n' care to be a Alderman ner a Mayor nither."

"Likely nat. Should n' wonder if Splitfig the grocer get 'lected. I seed en a struttin' along jes' this minnit wi' his mason's apern, as if he was a Lord Mayor or a Jestiss a'ready. Ben 'll be like to carry on the buildin' trade now, won't a?"

"If he hev a got the wit. But Ben can't look arter work like th'

He never larned the

tricks o' the trade, an' every feul a'most could desaiv en. Reckon Measter Ben 'll kip hesself up vor a soart of a show chap, sittin' in a dandy coat, an' makin' of his bow, an' grizzlin'* behind a desk with a big book upon en."

"An' whew's to overlook?"

"Darned ef I knaw. Very like there'll be a voreman, but 'tis onpossable vor me to say. Us mus' wait an' zee."

"The Mistus now may hev something to zay to the busin'ss: us never thort o' that.'

"No more us didn't; well, her may hev to dew wi' et for sartain, an' ef her dew, things won't go on noan the wuss, I reckon.”

Now this last thought about "the Mistus" was not far wide of the mark; for the business was so left that it was to be carried on for the present in Mrs Saunders's name, which meant that she would have an extensive controlling power-for she hadn't lived thirty years with "her poor master," as she called him, without learning the value of vigilance and management. Saunders knew, too, that Benjamin would not do for an overseer, and so she lost no time in procuring an able foreman. Perhaps this arrangement was all the more readily made by reason of a hope that her son was destined to distinguish himself in some line higher than a builder's.

Mrs

Now it happened that, not long after the family's bereavement, Mrs and Miss Fulford had occasion to call at the little office which hung on to Mrs Saunders's house, and separated it from the great double gates leading into the building yard. The widow sate alone in the room with her spectacles on, doing, or trying to do, some plain sewing work, but pausing continually, and laying the work in her lap as one

distressing thought after another crossed her mind. When Mrs Fulford spoke very sympathisingly to her, and asked after her health, the poor woman tried to answer bravely, but broke down, and wept before many words were uttered. "I feel but poorly, thank you kindly, ma'am. 'Tis very wisht any one findin' theirself alone in the world, and that so suddent; but there! 'twas the Lord's will that afflicted I should be, and what use complaining? Many and many happy years I knowed-me and one that's gone; and now things is turned. Forgive me, ma'am; I shouldn't take on this way. I trust you are well yourself, ma'am; and Miss Fulford. Well, the time do pass, dear, dear! It seems like yesterday that you was a little thing like, a-running by the side of the governess."

"Time does pass, Mrs Saunders. I can hardly believe that my daughter is a woman. There she is, however, as tall as myself, and putting that matter quite beyond a doubt." "Sure, sure; and it's likely now you've called about some work that's wantin' to Colkatton."

"Well, yes, indeed; we have come to see what can be done to make the dining-room a little warmer. There's a large grate, but somehow those who sit opposite it hardly feel the heat. It must be of a bad pattern or badly fixed."

"The very thing that my poor dear master was so fortinate with; excoose me, ma'am, again; I have no doubt we can find out what's amiss. Somebody shall go out and look to it."

And the two ladies left.

At supper that evening Mrs Saunders did not fail to mention the visit to her son, and in doing so she expressed herself very gratefully for the feeling manner in which Mrs Fulford had condoled with her. The young man who, as may be suppos

VOL. CXV.-NO. DCC.

ed, was dull and sorrowful enough, roused himself at the mention of the name, and asked what the ladies came for, which of course he was told.

"And they was kind and comforting in their words to you, was they, mother? I really believe that is a good girl, and deserving of a little attention, which is more than can be said for many of 'em."

"Good girl!" echoed Mrs Saunders; "she's a pleasant young lady, and they're kind people, and good customers. That is not the way your poor father would have spoken, Benjamin. You've got to think about the business now, my son, and must be partickler how you talk about the gentry."

But Benjamin was not thinking of the business just at that moment. An imagination which his father's awful death had banished from his mind was now moving back to establish itself in its old quarters. The coroneted peer, with his friendly grasp, passed again before his mind's eye, and the great destiny which he thought he was equal to carving out for himself, got possession of his thoughts.

"Yes," said Benjamin, addressing his own fancy rather than replying to his mother's remark; "she's about the best girl of the lot, and I've no doubt will make a fine, stylish, showy woman, if she gets a husband that's worthy of her."

Mrs Saunders didn't know whether this meant undutifulness, or want of brains, or absence of mind; but whatever was the matter was more than she could bear in her present shattered state, and she burst into tears. Benjamin behaved properly on the occasion. He endeavoured to soothe his parent, and expressed a hope that he had not said or done anything to distress. her, protesting that he had been intent on some subject which had come into his head, and had not

P

taken in the meaning of what she said. Whereupon Mrs Saunders was pacified, and renewed her admonition concerning the relation of those in business to the gentry.

"All right, mother," said the youth-"it's a trick I've fallen into; but I'll be careful, never fear. Now about this fireplace; I'll ride out and have a look at it to-morrow."

"You, Benjamin?"

66

'Me, mother. You said they'd been kind, and showed feelin' for us, and it'll look complimentary if I go out and take the orders myself. John Bray can be there waiting in case there should be anything about the flues or the grate that I don't understand. But they'll think it civil of me if I go myself; and besides, I must begin and move about a little now, and not leave everything to the men."

This last sentiment was entirely agreeable to Mrs Saunders, who began to think that a sense of his responsibilities was dawning in the young man's mind. Of course she sanctioned his going to Colkatton.

And Benjamin went, attired in his best suit of mourning, which garb, as it did not admit of chains and bright contrasts, happily restrained his efflorescence. He, of course, thought this a disadvantage; and he endeavoured to do himself compensatory justice by an extra larding of pomatum. The unguent, however, compared with the ornaments and colours, was but as the genie of the ring to the genie of the lamp; and so imperfectly by its means did the youth express his mind, that the footman who opened the door mistook him for a gentleman, politely informed him that Mrs Fulford was at home, and in respectful accents asked whose name he should take in. He was, however, a little affrighted from his propriety when he heard it.

"Saunders! What! on business,

sir?"

"Yes-a-that is-I called to look at a part of the building. Mrs Fulford understands."

"Mr Saunders the mason, isn't it?" said the flunkey, who felt that he could never, never forgive himself, and that the two of them (that is, he and self), though unable to separate, must maintain a constrained intimacy through time and eternity. "Well, just take a seat here. I know Madam can't be spoke to for a few minutes. I'll let her know after a bit;" with which remark, uttered with his back towards Benjamin, the attendant hastily disappeared, determined that when the visitor should ring again, as he would be obliged to do, the manner of his reception should not only blot out all memory of former deference, but should evince such an amount of retributive sang froid as would effectually restore equilibrium.

Thus rudely left to himself, Mr Saunders did not, of course, seat himself on a hall-chair as he had been bidden to do; he stood about in some of his best attitudes, paced the hall two or three times, examined statues and curiosities, looked through the window at a peacock on the grass (a bird which had some title to his notice, as they had many dispositions in common), and at length bethought him of charg ing his friend the footman with a reminder; but before taking that step he confronted a mirror which hung in the apartment, to ascertain whether he could in any way add dignity to his presence, and by that look he averted the interview with the functionary, and altogether baffled the fiendish vengeance which the latter had imagined. For, as he was adjusting a lock of hair, a door opened behind him, and he beheld the reflection of Miss Fulford, who had entered the hall. This was awkward. Benjamin's first resolution was, or rather his

instinct prompted him, to make some passing remark about the wind having blown his hat off and made him unfit to appear, a subtlety which his greasy sleek locks would have shown to be of the very weakest if it had been offered. But the young lady, who was as little moved as if she had but seen him scraping his boots, stifled in its birth the smart explanation which was meditated, by speaking quietly. She ought, he considered, to have smirked or giggled, and so given opportunity for his remarks, instead of saying

"Oh, you are Mr Saunders, are you not? and come, I suppose, to see about the dining-room grate. My mother unfortunately has just walked out. If you had arrived five minutes sooner, you could have seen her."

The only possible reply to this was, that he had been in the house four times five minutes; and when he said this, Benjamin felt thankful that he had not uttered the little fable about the blowing off of his hat; for, if he had, he would have stood convicted of having been all that time before the glass, whereas now it might be supposed that he had only taken a passing glance at himself-a very excusable indulgence, it seemed to him, when the reflection was so well worth looking at. Miss Fulford, however, evidently did not trouble herself about his manner of employing himself since his arrival, but thought it very strange that no mention had been made of him, little guessing how grievously the self-esteem of her footman had been bruised, and that this delay had been necessary to the healing thereof. "However," said she, "I think I can show you what is the matter: will you just come this way? Now, this is the room, you see, and any one would think the grate would hold a fire large enough to warm it; but really,

when the weather is at all cold, hardly any heat can be perceived a yard or two off."

Saunders guessed immediately what was the matter, and, talking of a subject which he understood, he was soon comparatively at his ease again. "I can't be quite certain till I've had the grate taken out that things are as I say," observed the youth, after a long explanation; "but I think I can promise that the room will be more comfortable after we've-he, hedoctored it according to my prescription" (the young fellow was fast recovering his easy, sparkling style): but if we can't effect a perfect cure of the old concern, then I shall recommend to have it took out, and put a radiator in its place."

"I'm sure I hope you'll do something effectual," answered the young lady. "I'm almost frozen when I sit on the further side of the table."

"Nothing," said the gallant Benjamin, "is so trying to beauty as to be pinched with the cold. It shan't be my fault, Miss Fulford, if you have to complain of the coldness of the room again. I shall make it my particular duty to attend to your wishes." While he was thus neatly working up towards a proper footing, and letting her see that his mind was worthy of the choice casket which contained it, the young lady left the room, to return again immediately, he did not doubt. He hoped that she had retired for an instant, just to compose her countenance after that aptly turned compliment-or, at the least, that she had gone to order him refreshment. Therefore it gave him some disappointment to see his friend the footman enter, and to hear that functionary say, in a tone which did not indicate extreme deference-

"I say, when be you a-goin' to make a mess in this here room-today or to-morrow?"