hanging it up again when he had done so, not
to overstep the modesty of nature.

An innocent, open-speaking, unused-looking
man, Mr. Walter Wilding, with a remarkably
pink and white complexion, and a figure much
too bulky for so young a man, though of a good
stature. With crispy curling brown hair, and
amiable bright blue eyes. An extremely
communicative man: a man with whom loquacity
was the irrestrainable outpouring of contentment
and gratitude. Mr. Bintrey, on the other
hand, a cautious man with twinkling beads of
eyes in a large overhanging bald head, who
inwardly but intensely enjoyed the comicality of
openness of speech, or hand, or heart.

"Yes," said Mr. Bintrey. "Yes. Ha, ha!"

A decanter, two wine-glasses, and a plate of
biscuits, stood on the desk.

"You like this forty-five year old port wine?"
said Mr. Wilding.

"Like it?" repeated Mr. Bintrey. "Rather,
sir!"

"It's from the best corner of our best forty-
five year old bin," said Mr. Wilding.

"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Bintrey. "It's
most excellent."

He laughed again, as he held up his glass and
ogled it, at the highly ludicrous idea of giving
away such wine.

"And now," said Wilding, with a childish
enjoyment in the discussion of affairs, "I think
we have got everything straight, Mr. Bintrey."

"Everything straight," said Bintrey.

"A partner secured—-"

"Partner secured," said Bintrey.

"A housekeeper advertised for—-"

"Housekeeper advertised for," said Bintrey,
"'apply personally at Cripple Corner, Great
Tower-street, from ten to twelve'—to-morrow,
by-the-by."

"My late dear mother's affairs wound
up—-"

"Wound up," said Bintrey.

"And all charges paid."

"And all charges paid," said Bintrey, with a
chuckle: probably occasioned by the droll
circumstance that they had been paid without a
haggle.

"The mention of my late dear mother," Mr.
Wilding continued, his eyes filling with tears
and his pocket-handkerchief drying them,
"unmans me still, Mr. Bintrey. You know how I
loved her; you (her lawyer) know how she
loved me. The utmost love of mother and
child was cherished between us, and we never
experienced one moment's division or unhappiness
from the time when she took me under her
care. Thirteen years in all! Thirteen years
under my late dear mother's care, Mr. Bintrey,
and eight of them her confidentially acknowledged
son! You know the story, Mr. Bintrey,
who but you, sir!" Mr. Wilding sobbed and
dried his eyes, without attempt at concealment,
during these remarks.

Mr. Bintrey enjoyed his comical port, and
said, after rolling it in his mouth: "I know the
story."

"My late dear mother, Mr. Bintrey," pursued
the wine-merchant, "had been deeply
deceived, and had cruelly suffered. But on that
subject my late dear mother's lips were for ever
sealed. By whom deceived, or under what
circumstances, Heaven only knows. My late dear
mother never betrayed her betrayer."

"She had made up her mind," said Mr.
Bintrey, again turning his wine on his palate,
"and she could hold her peace." An amused,
twinkle in his eyes pretty plainly added "A
devilish deal better than you ever will!"

"'Honour,' " said Mr. Wilding, sobbing as he
quoted from the Commandments, " 'thy father
and thy mother, that thy days may be long in
the land.' When I was in the Foundling, Mr.
Bintrey, I was at such a loss how to do it, that
I apprehended my days would be short in the
land. But I afterwards came to honour my
mother deeply, profoundly. And I honour and
revere her memory. For seven happy years, Mr.
Bintrey," pursued Wilding, still with the same
innocent catching in his breath, and the same
unabashed tears, "did my excellent mother article
me to my predecessors in this business, Pebbleson
Nephew. Her affectionate forethought
likewise apprenticed me to the Vintners' Company,
and made me in time a Free Vintner, and—and—
everything else that the best of mothers could
desire. When I came of age, she bestowed her
inherited share in this business upon me; it
was her money that afterwards bought out
Pebbleson Nephew, and painted in Wilding and
Co.; it was she who left me everything she
possessed, but the mourning ring you wear. And
yet, Mr. Bintrey," with a fresh burst of honest
affection, "she is no more. It is little over half
a year since she came into the Corner to read
on that door-post with her own eyes, WILDING
AND Co. WINE MERCHANTS. And yet she is
no more!"

"Sad. But the common lot, Mr. Wilding,"
observed Bintrey. "At some time or other we
must all be no more." He placed the forty-five
year old port wine in the universal condition,
with a relishing sigh.

"So now, Mr. Bintrey," pursued Wilding,
putting away his pocket-handkerchief, and
smoothing his eyelids with his fingers, "now
that I can no longer show my love and honour
for the dear parent to whom my heart was
mysteriously turned by Nature when she first
spoke to me, a strange lady, I sitting at our
Sunday dinner-table in the Foundling, I can at
least show that I am not ashamed of having
been a Foundling, and that I, who never knew
a father of my own, wish to be a father to all
in my employment. Therefore," continued
Wilding, becoming enthusiastic in his
loquacity, "therefore, I want a thoroughly good
housekeeper to undertake this dwelling-house
of Wilding and Co. Wine Merchants, Cripple
Corner, so that I may restore in it some
of the old relations betwixt employer and
employed! So that I may live in it on the
spot where my money is made! So that I may
daily sit at the head of the table at which the
people in my employment eat together, and may