art ever melts at the tale of woman's distress."

"Pooh, pooh, stuff and nonsense, sir," said the tailor; but, upon my
word, Mr. Canterfield's words were perfectly correct. I wish as much
could be said in favour of Woolsey's old rival, Mr. Eglantine, who
attended the sale too, but it was with a horrid kind of satisfaction
at the thought that Walker was ruined. He bought the yellow satin
sofa before mentioned, and transferred it to what he calls his
"sitting-room," where it is to this day, bearing many marks of the best
bear's grease. Woolsey bid against Baroski for the piano, very nearly
up to the actual value of the instrument, when the artist withdrew from
competition; and when he was sneering at the ruin of Mr. Walker, the
tailor sternly interrupted him by saying, "What the deuce are YOU
sneering at? You did it, sir; and you're paid every shilling of your
claim, ain't you?" On which Baroski turned round to Miss Larkins,
and said, Mr. Woolsey was a "snop;" the very word, though pronounced
somewhat differently, which the gallant Cornet Fipkin had applied to
him.

Well; so he WAS a snob. But, vulgar as he was, I declare, for my part,
that I have a greater respect for Mr. Woolsey than for any single
nobleman or gentleman mentioned in this true history.

It will be seen from the names of Messrs. Canterfield and Podmore
that Morgiana was again in the midst of the widow Crump's favourite
theatrical society; and this, indeed, was the case. The widow's little
room was hung round with the pictures which were mentioned at the
commencement of the story as decorating the bar of the "Bootjack;" and
several times in a week she received her friends from "The Wells," and
entertained them with such humble refreshments of tea and crumpets as
her modest means permitted her to purchase. Among these persons Morgiana
lived and sang quite as contentedly as she had ever done among the
demireps of her husband's society; and, only she did not dare to own it
to herself, was a great deal happier than she had been for many a day.
Mrs. Captain Walker was still a great lady amongst them. Even in his
ruin, Walker, the director of three companies, and the owner of the
splendid pony-chaise, was to these simple persons an awful character;
and when mentioned they talked with a great deal of gravity of his being
in the country, and hoped Mrs. Captain W. had good news of him. They all
knew he was in the Fleet; but had he not in prison fought a duel with