nearer to the skirts of the town than to its centre, and at the corner of a lane which a quarter of a century since was still almost a green one, through which, in a wonderfully short time, you found your way into the region of fields and gardens, if you preferred the smell of the new-mown hay to the municipal perfumes, and the song of thrushes and blackbirds to the music of hurdy-gurdies.

It was a good old house, in the construction of which timber and red brick seemed to have been employed in proportions about equal. An antique in good preservation, it looked as if it was mouldering, and yet as if it would take a long time to moulder quite away at the rate decay was travelling. It looked, too, as if in its old age it was cherished and well looked after: nothing was out of repair, not a tile was deficient or broken on its steep roof; the windows were scrupulously bright; and the painting of all the woodwork, though excessively grave, as became the exterior of a house of its years, was at the same time perfectly fresh and clean. Upon the whole, it had an air of not only decency and respectability, but it might almost be said of goodness; for it cannot but have been often observed that houses have their physiognomies as well as their inhabitants; though, no doubt, in most cases it is the character of the man that impresses itself upon the dwelling, which looks cheerful or dismal, hospitable or the reverse, according as it is tenanted by people like Matthew Cox or men like Mr. Pigwidgeon.

The shop itself was utterly devoid of decoration-plateglass had not come into general use, and the tradespeople of that day never dreamed of the twentieth part of the embellishments with which, now-a-days, they lure customers to their counters. However, even in his own day, our tobacconist's shop was the plainest and homeliest shop in the town; not a bit of brass was to be seen nor an inch of gilding; and the doors and windows were painted some sort of snuff-colour, which, if not gay, was unquestionably appropriate. Nor was there any sign or symbol of the business vsible outside; no wooden Highlander stood sneezing everlastingly over the door; nor were even the leaves of the Virginian weed depicted upon the posts. The words "Cox, Tobacconist," in dull pale yellow on a dusky board, were almost the only outward indication of the traffic carried on within, if we except a few old canisters which stood in the windows, for the proprietor confined himself strictly to the sale of snuff, and had no notion of the exhibition of boxes, with

varnished portraits of kings and queens, groups of shepherds and shepherdesses, or those grotesque faces with mutually convertible chins and noses; nothing, in short, that makes the shop of a snuffman of the present day scarcely distinguishable from the studio of a Cheapside miniature-painter.

The house had two doors; one was the entrance to the shop, and at the angle formed by the street and the lane; the other was private, situated in the lane, about forty or fifty feet from the corner, facing an old garden-wall, over which some laburnums were hanging, now almost past their bloom, forming a canopy over that wooden bench upon which the Vicar found Mr. Broad, the worthy little cutler, seated, in the beginning of this narrative.

The bench was now occupied by three personages. About two of them there can be no mistake. One was Mr. Broad himself, in the white hat and nankeen shorts which he always wore in the summer season; the second was unmistakably our shabby acquaintance the apothecary; and the third was the good-humoured Alderman Codd, who was always so ready to place his subscriptions and sympathies at Mr. Broad's disposal. They were eagerly confabulating together upon many matters, but chiefly on the prospects of an approaching general election, and formed a striking little group of provincial politicians, sitting there that fine evening, with the fading flowers of the laburnums dangling to the crowns of their hats, and now and then a pearly drop of the late shower falling on their knees, or coat-sleeves, after having gently trickled from leaf to leaf, down from the uppermost bough. Among other things, they chatted, as was natural, about the proprietor of the shop opposite to them. Mr. Broad expatiated on his public and private virtues, and pronounced him the best man in Chichester, doubting whether there was a better man in all England.

"He is one of the richest, at all events," said Mr. Pigwidgeon.

"He is an honest man, let him be ever so rich," said the Alderman.

"If he was as rich as he is good," said the cutler, "he would be as rich as King Croesus."

"You know more about him than I do," said the apothecary. "Nobody knows anything about him but what's to his honour and credit," replied Mr. Broad.

"He knew how to make the money, at all events," said Mr. Pigwidgeon.

"He made it honestly, and he spends it generously," said Mr. Broad; can any body say to the contrary?"

"His snuff was always snuff," said the Alderman.

Just at this moment the opposite door opened, and a fine old man made his appearance, whose countenance was sufficient to identify him with the subject of Mr. Broad's enthusiastic praises.

He was an old man, whose knees had not yet begun to totter, nor his shoulders to stoop; and his dress and entire exterior denoted the thriving tradesman and influential and worshipful burgess. His hat, which now he carried in his hand, was broad-brimmed and black, with something of the form and cock of the hats worn by ecclesiastics. The rest of his attire was of corresponding gravity; it consisted of a plain brown suit, with abundance of good broad-cloth in it; the collar of his coat was single, and the quaint pig-tail nodded over it; the waistcoat reached half way down his thigh; his roomy smallclothes were furnished with silver buckles at the knees; and hose of light grey, with a stout pair of shoes, well blacked, but not shining, and also provided with massive buckles of silver, completed his respectable attire. Such was old Matthew Cox, the opulent tobacconist of Chichester, the friend of the Medlicotts, the creditor of Bishop Wyndham, and the kind benefactor, as well as relative, by marriage, of the Hopkinses, which led him, of course, to take a deeper interest in Reuben than he had ever felt before, though always his admirer and benefactor. Matthew had been in his youth a very handsome man; and he was handsome still in his green and flourishing old age. His hair had been black as the raven's wing, but now that glory was departed, and his head being uncovered, you perceived that time had strewn his temples with silver, while it filled his coffers with gold; yet even the silver was not as abundant as it once had been.

No sooner did he appear, than Mr. Broad and the Alderman rose, and saluted him with equal respect, but each after his fashion; while the apothecary kept his seat, making a gruff and ungracious return to the civil nod of recognition with which the ancient burgess honoured him.

"Good evening to you, Mr. Broad," said the old man, who was first to speak, "and to you too, worthy Alderman, and you, Mr. Pigwidgeon; a very good evening to you all three."

The Alderman made another civil obeisance, and the apothecary repeated his ungracious little nod. Mr. Broad, always ready

to be the spokesman on such occasions, returned Mr. Cox the compliments of the evening, adding

And a beauteous evening it is, sir, after that refreshing shower."

"It fell opportunely for us," said Mr. Cox; "my wife and I are going to sup, and probably sleep, at the garden which I took lately, between this and Underwood. We expect our good friends, the Vicar and his wife, to meet us there; and if you three will walk with us and join the party, I promise you all a warm welcome and a hot supper."

The apothecary, contrary to his usage, returned an ambiguous and surly answer to this hospitable invitation, saying that he had still business to transact in town, and did not know to how late an hour he might be detained by it; but Mr. Broad and the Alderman embraced the old man's proposal with alacrity.

"And we accept it the more gladly," said the former, "as the Alderman and I were waiting here expressly to see and consult with you, sir, on a subject of the greatest importance to a common friend of ours, and indeed, I may add, to the public at large at this eventful crisis."

"That you may well call it," said the Alderman.

"Perhaps I guess what you both allude to," said Mr. Cox. "It's an eventful crisis, sir," said Mr. Broad; "that's all I'll say on the subject at this present moment."

66

"It is an eventful crisis," said the old man : I quite agree with you."

I see

"Eventful crisis!" muttered Mr. Pigwidgeon, rising and moving towards the town; "there has been an eventful crisis once a-year, at least, as long as my memory serves me. nothing in this crisis more eventful than in any other, except that there will probably be more bribing, and treating, and corruption of every sort, at the impending election, than ever there was before in this city and county; but, but for my part, I wash my hands of it."

"The first time I ever knew Pigwidgeon object to treating," said the Alderman.

"To be treated, you mean," said Mr. Cox: "but here comes my wife, after keeping her old man standing for half-an-hour at the door."

As soon as Mrs. Cox appeared, she dropped a civil curtsey to Mr. Broad and the Alderman, the former of whom saluted her

in his most antic manner, with one hand making his hat perform a curvet in the air, with the other twitching up one of his long coat-tails, while with his feet he kicked up a little cloud of dust, in the enthusiasm of his politeness.

There was something decidedly Quakerish about Mrs. Cox's exterior; her brown silk dress and her gray silk bonnet might have passed in the Meeting; indeed it was only from the minor details, and the use of the plural pronoun when she spoke, that you discovered she did not actually belong to the Society of Friends. She had, however, been a Quakeress in her time, and was come of worthy and excellent people, the Hopkinses and Penroses of Devonshire, a race not more distinguished by their mercantile enterprise and success than by their indefatigable exertions in the cause of humanity and civilization all over the globe. The Romillies and the Clarkson's knew them well; but though their history is worth writing, it cannot be given here. The evening advances rapidly, and the old man is impatient to proceed. His wife took his arm conjugally, as if she had a right to it, and a right she was proud to exercise. Then the order to march was given, and the married couple led the way to the garden, followed by the Alderman and the cutler, the latter talking indefatigably on the subject of the election, and thanking Providence at every third step that Mr. Medlicott had not set out on his projected lecturing tour in the United States.

CHAPTER II.

A SUMMER EVENING'S WALK.

THE way to the garden consisted almost entirely of a crooked series of green lanes, winding through orchards and meadows; sometimes passing a nest or a row of cottages, sometimes conducting to a substantial farm or a villa of some pretension. At a short distance from town stood three extremely neat little houses covered with roses, two of them joining one another, the third separated by a paddock, but at a neighbourly distance. From the lane they were divided by small enclosures, full of flowers, particularly the detached one, which was so very full that you could scarce see the smallest patch of the earth which yielded