his supper to-night. It was very unlucky, I hadn't half a handful left! So she was obliged to go to the druggist at the other end of the street. Poor thing, she looked so vexed; for she has quite a confidence, like, in what she gets here!"

"True, very likely! You said, by-the-way, you thought he taught music-what kind of music?"

66

Why, sir, he's rather a good hand at the flute, his landlady says. So he comes in to me about a month since, and he says to me, Bennet,' says he, may I direct letters for me to be left at your shop?--I'm going to put an advertisement in the newspaper.' 'That,' says I, depends on what it's about-what are you advertising for?' (not meaning to be impudent;) and he says, says he, Why, I've taken it into my head, Bennet, to teach the flute, and I'm a going to try to get some one to learn it to.' So he put the advertisement in-but he didn't get more than one letter, and that brought him a young lad-but he didn't stay long. "Twas a beautiful black flute sir, with silver on it; for Mrs. Hooper, his landlady-she's an old friend of my mistress, sir-showed it to us one Sunday, when we took a cup of tea with her, and the Elliotts was gone out for a walk. I don't think he can teach it now sir," he continued, dropping his voice; "for, between you and I, old Browning the pawnbroker, a little way up on the left-hand side, has a flute in his window that's the very image of what Mrs. Hooper showed us that night I was speaking of. You understand me, sir? Pawned- -or sold-I'll answer for it-ahem!"

"Ah, very probable-yes, very likely!" I replied, sighing-hoping my gossiping host would go on.

"And between you and I, sir," he resumed, "it wasn't a bad thing for him to get rid of it, either; for Mrs. Hooper told us that Mr. Elliott wasn't strong like to play on it; and she used to hear Mrs. Elliott-(she is an uncommon agreeable young woman, sir, to look at, and looks like one that has been better off:) I was a saying, however, that Mrs. Hooper used now and

then to hear Mrs. Elliott cry a good deal about his playing on the flute, and 'spostulate to him on the account of it, and say 'You know it isn't a good thing for you, dear.' Nor was it, sir-the doctors would say!

יין

"Poor fellow!" I exclaimed, with a sigh, not meaning to interrupt my companion-" of all things on earth -the flute !"

"Ah!" replied the worthy grocer, "things are in a bad way when they come to that pass-arn't they! But Lord, sir!" dropping his voice, and giving a hurried glance towards a door, opening, I suppose, into his sitting room -"there's nothing partic'lar in that, after all. My mistress and I, even, have done such things before now, at a push, when we've been hard driven! You know, sir, poverty's no sin-is it?"

"God forbid, indeed, my worthy friend!" I replied, as a customer entered, to purchase a modicum of cheese or bacon; and thanking Mr. Bennet for his civility in affording me a shelter so long, I quitted his shop. The rain continued, and, as is usually the case, no hackney coach made its appearance till I was nearly wet through. My interest in poor Mrs. Elliott and her husband was greatly increased by what I had heard from the gossiping grocer. How distinctly, though perhaps unconsciously, had he sketched the downward progress of respectable poverty! I should await the next visit of Mrs. Elliott with some eagerness and anxiety. Nearly a week, however, elapsed before I again heard of Mrs. Elliott, who called at my house one morning when I had been summoned to pay an early visit to a patient in the country. After having waited nearly an hour for me, she was obliged to leave, after writing the following lines on the back of an old letter:

"Mrs. Elliott begs to present her respects to Doctor and to inform him, that if quite convenient to him, she would feel favoured by his calling on Mr. Elliott any time to-day or to-morrow. She begs to

remind him of his promise not to let Mr. Elliott suppose that Mrs. Elliott has told him anything about Mr. Elliott, except generally that he is poorly. The address is No. 5,

street, near

square." At three o'clock that afternoon, I was at their lodging in street. No. 5 was a small decent draper's shop; and a young woman sitting at work behind the counter referred me, on inquiring for Mr. Elliott, to the private door, which she said I could easily push open; that the Elliott's lived on the second floor, but she thought that Mrs. Elliott had just gone out. Following her directions, I soon found myself ascending the narrow staircase. On approaching the second floor, the door of the apartment I took to be Mr. Elliott's was standing nearly wide open; and the scene which presented itself I paused for a few moments to contemplate. Almost fronting the door, at a table on which were several huge legers and account books, sat a young man apparently about thirty, who seemed to have just dropped asleep over a wearisome task. His left hand supported his head, and in his right was a pen which he seemed to have fallen asleep almost in the act of using. Propped up, on the table, between two huge books, a little towards his left-hand side, sat a child, seemingly a little boy, and a very pretty one, so engrossed with some plaything or another as not to perceive my approach. I felt that this was Mr. Elliott, and stopped for a few seconds to observe him. His countenance was manly, and had plainly been once very handsome. It was now considerably emaciated, overspread with a sallow hue, and wore an expression of mingled pain and exhaustion. The thin white hand holding the pen, also bespoke the invalid. His hair was rather darker than his wife's, and being combed aside, left exposed to view an ample well-formed forehead. In short, he seemed a very interesting person. He was dressed in black, his coat being buttoned evidently for warmth's sake; for though it was March, and the weather very bleak and bitter, there was scarce

then to hear Mrs. Elliott cry a good deal about his playing on the flute, and 'spostulate to him on the account of it, and say 'You know it isn't a good thing for you, dear.' Nor was it, sir-the doctors would say!"

"Poor fellow!" I exclaimed, with a sigh, not meaning to interrupt my companion-" of all things on earth -the flute!"

"Ah!" replied the worthy grocer, "things are in a bad way when they come to that pass-arn't they! But Lord, sir!" dropping his voice, and giving a hurried glance towards a door, opening, I suppose, into his sitting room "there's nothing partic'lar in that, after all. My mistress and I, even, have done such things before now, at a push, when we've been hard driven! You know, sir, poverty's no sin-is it?"

"God forbid, indeed, my worthy friend!" I replied, as a customer entered, to purchase a modicum of cheese or bacon; and thanking Mr. Bennet for his civility in affording me a shelter so long, I quitted his shop. The rain continued, and, as is usually the case, no hackney coach made its appearance till I was nearly wet through. My interest in poor Mrs. Elliott and her husband was greatly increased by what I had heard from the gossiping grocer. How distinctly, though perhaps unconsciously, had he sketched the downward progress of respectable poverty! I should await the next visit of Mrs. Elliott with some eagerness and anxiety. Nearly a week, however, elapsed before I again heard of Mrs. Elliott, who called at my house one morning when I had been summoned to pay an early visit to a patient in the country. After having waited nearly an hour for me, she was obliged to leave, after writing the following lines on the back of an old letter:

"Mrs. Elliott begs to present her respects to Doctor and to inform him, that if quite convenient to him, she would feel favoured by his calling on Mr.

street, near

remind him of his promise not to let Mr. Elliott suppose that Mrs. Elliott has told him anything about Mr. Elliott, except generally that he is poorly. The address is No. 5, square." At three o'clock that afternoon, I was at their lodging in street. No. 5 was a small decent draper's shop; and a young woman sitting at work behind the counter referred me, on inquiring for Mr. Elliott, to the private door, which she said I could easily push open; that the Elliott's lived on the second floor, but she thought that Mrs. Elliott had just gone out. Following her directions, I soon found myself ascending the narrow staircase. On approaching the second floor, the door of the apartment I took to be Mr. Elliott's was standing nearly wide open; and the scene which presented itself I paused for a few moments to contemplate. Almost fronting the door, at a table on which were several huge legers and account books, sat a young man apparently about thirty, who seemed to have just dropped asleep over a wearisome task. His left hand supported his head, and in his right was a pen which he seemed to have fallen asleep almost in the act of using. Propped up, on the table, between two huge books, a little towards his left-hand side, sat a child, seemingly a little boy, and a very pretty one, so engrossed with some plaything or another as not to perceive my approach. I felt that this was Mr. Elliott, and stopped for a few seconds to observe him. His countenance was manly, and had plainly been once very handsome. It was now considerably emaciated, overspread with a sallow hue, and wore an expression of mingled pain and exhaustion. The thin white hand holding the pen, also bespoke the invalid. His hair was rather darker than his wife's, and being combed aside, left exposed to view an ample well-formed forehead. In short, he seemed a very interesting person. He was dressed in black, his coat being buttoned evidently for warmth's sake; for though it was March, and the weather very bleak and bitter, there was scarce