him, for the mere pleasure of hearing them refuted by Rose, who pleaded his cause with a continued enthusiasm of which the effects were manifest in her glowing cheeks, her sparkling eyes, and the animation of her countenance. The result of this controversy, which was prolonged till the evening, was a tardy confession, on the part of Helen, that she should be disposed to think favourably of Hunter's suit, provided he could clear up certain imputations upon his character, which had not hitherto been satisfactorily disproved to her own mind, however they might be discredited by Rose. For this purpose she resolved to grant him an interview, and to demand full explanations upon every point that still remained subject to the smallest doubt.

Scarcely had the friends arrived at this conclusion, when the door was suddenly opened, and Mrs. Skinner hurried into the room, her eyes gleaming with a malignant exultation, as

VOL. II.

K

she exclaimed, "Well, Miss Owen, well, Miss Mayhew; I am so glad I found you at home. You would not believe me when I told you of Mr. Hunter's profligate goings-on. You said they were gross and scandalous inventions. Not that the stories originated with me, for if there is one thing upon earth that I abominate more than another, it is tattling and detraction. Thou shalt not go up and down as a tale-bearer,' saith the holy Scripture, and Heaven knows I am the last person to disobey the divine precept. I never listen to the gossip of my backbiting neighbours, whom I acknowledge to be a very bad set; but one cannot shut one's eyes, and seeing, you know, Miss Owen, is believing, Miss Owen. I told you what I had heard from others- that Mr. Hunter was a confirmed tippler. Well, I met him just now in Tooley Street; and, perceiving by his look, his manner, and his walk, that he had been indulging too freely in the bottle, I turned

round and followed him to the counting-house, when he got into an instant quarrel with his benefactor, good Mr. Bryant, loaded him with abuse, and is at this moment tossing the books about the place in a state of filthy intoxication."

"Impossible!" was the simultaneous exclamation of both her auditors.

"Ay, I thought you would say so, that is always the way. Hark! methinks I hear him brawling on the Wharf, and you will, perhaps, trust the evidence of your own eyes. Ha! there he is. What say you now?"

At these words, Helen and Rose looked out of the open window. The setting sun, as if to make atonement for the rarity of its visits, shone with an unusual brilliancy over the Wharf, towards the centre of which they beheld Hunter, seated upon a tall hogshead, and brandishing a long counting-house ruler, with all the ridiculous gesticulations of ebriety.

His hat was off, his profuse locks were disordered, and the bright rays of the sun imparted an additional redness to his flushed features. An air of happy triumph animated his countenance, and his voice, though elevated, was neither harsh nor menacing as he exclaimed

"Once more, Jacob Bryant, I warn thee at thy peril not to approach me, for no longer will I be thy bondsman, thy galley-slave. Logs will I no longer carry for thee, but I will espouse the fair Miranda, and become the monarch of an enchanted island. Behold I am

a king already; I am seated on my throne; this is my royal sceptre; and as for my golden crown, I will wreathe my brows with a sunbeam, until my locks become glorious as those of Apollo. Avaunt, Jacob! I defy thee. Most worthy art thou to be primate of the Fishmongers' Company, for thine eyes and thy very looks are fishy. Approach not, therefore,

my magic wand, lest I metamorphose thee into a Nereid, like Glaucus, or whisk thee down the river, riding, like Arion, on a dolphin's back.”

The only answer to this effusion was a horselaugh from his fellow clerk, who stood holding his sides at the counting-house door, and could not restrain his risible propensities at the thought of the grave and corpulent Mr. Bryant bestriding a fish, instead of his sturdy brown cob, Factotum.

"I smell pitch," resumed Hunter with a look of ineffable disdain. "Hemp and flax, tar, turpentine, and tallow, are an abomination. to my nostrils. Into the river let them forthwith be tossed, together with their containing casks and carboys. Faugh! an ounce of civet, good Mr. Apothecary, to sweeten my imagination."

An exclamation from Mrs. Skinner occasioned him for the first time to look up at the