he who had come from Scotland,--had been the
first-cousin of Sir Walter Mackenzie, baronet, of Incharrow, and
he had married the sister of Sir John Ball, baronet, of the Cedars,
Twickenham. The young Mackenzies, therefore, had reason to be proud
of their blood. It is true that Sir John Ball was the first baronet,
and that he had simply been a political Lord Mayor in strong
political days,--a political Lord Mayor in the leather business; but,
then, his business had been undoubtedly wholesale; and a man who gets
himself to be made a baronet cleanses himself from the stains of
trade, even though he have traded in leather. And then, the present
Mackenzie baronet was the ninth of the name; so that on the higher
and nobler side of the family, our Mackenzies may be said to have
been very strong indeed. This strength the two clerks in Somerset
House felt and enjoyed very keenly; and it may therefore be
understood that the oilcloth manufactory was much out of favour with
them.

When Tom Mackenzie was twenty-five--"Rubb and Mackenzie" as he
afterwards became--and Walter, at the age of twenty-one, had been
for a year or two placed at a desk in Somerset House, there died one
Jonathan Ball, a brother of the baronet Ball, leaving all he had in
the world to the two brother Mackenzies. This all was by no means a
trifle, for each brother received about twelve thousand pounds when
the opposing lawsuits instituted by the Ball family were finished.
These opposing lawsuits were carried on with great vigour, but with
no success on the Ball side, for three years. By that time, Sir John
Ball, of the Cedars, was half ruined, and the Mackenzies got their
money. It is needless to say much to the reader of the manner in
which Tom Mackenzie found his way into trade--how, in the first
place, he endeavoured to resume his Uncle Jonathan's share in the
leather business, instigated thereto by a desire to oppose his Uncle
John,--Sir John, who was opposing him in the matter of the will,--how
he lost money in this attempt, and ultimately embarked, after
some other fruitless speculations, the residue of his fortune in
partnership with Mr Rubb. All that happened long ago. He was now a
man of nearly fifty, living with his wife and family,--a family of
six or seven children,--in a house in Gower Street, and things had
not gone with him very well.

Nor is it necessary to say very much of Walter Mackenzie, who had
been four years younger than his brother. He