e the
air, accompanied by the housemaid, who has not yet tried her mourning
bonnet. They are very tender to each other at dusky street-corners, and
Towlinson has visions of leading an altered and blameless existence as a
serious greengrocer in Oxford Market.

There is sounder sleep and deeper rest in Mr Dombey's house tonight,
than there has been for many nights. The morning sun awakens the old
household, settled down once more in their old ways. The rosy children
opposite run past with hoops. There is a splendid wedding in the church.
The juggler's wife is active with the money-box in another quarter of
the town. The mason sings and whistles as he chips out P-A-U-L in the
marble slab before him.

And can it be that in a world so full and busy, the loss of one weak
creature makes a void in any heart, so wide and deep that nothing but
the width and depth of vast eternity can fill it up! Florence, in her
innocent affliction, might have answered, 'Oh my brother, oh my dearly
loved and loving brother! Only friend and companion of my slighted
childhood! Could any less idea shed the light already dawning on your
early grave, or give birth to the softened sorrow that is springing into
life beneath this rain of tears!'

'My dear child,' said Mrs Chick, who held it as a duty incumbent on her,
to improve the occasion, 'when you are as old as I am--'

'Which will be the prime of life,' observed Miss Tox.

'You will then,' pursued Mrs Chick, gently squeezing Miss Tox's hand
in acknowledgment of her friendly remark, 'you will then know that all
grief is unavailing, and that it is our duty to submit.'

'I will try, dear aunt I do try,' answered Florence, sobbing.

'I am glad to hear it,' said Mrs Chick, 'because; my love, as our dear
Miss Tox--of whose sound sense and excellent judgment, there cannot
possibly be two opinions--'

'My dear Louisa, I shall really be proud, soon,' said Miss Tox--'will
tell you, and confirm by her experience,' pursued Mrs Chick, 'we are
called upon on all occasions to make an effort It is required of us. If
any--my dear,' turning to Miss Tox, 'I want a word. Mis--Mis-'

'Demeanour?' suggested Miss Tox.

'No, no, no,' said Mrs Chic 'How can you! Goodness me, it's on, the end
of my tongue. Mis-'

Placed affection?' suggested Miss Tox, timidly.

'Good gracious, Lucretia!' returned Mrs Chick 'How very monstrous!
Misanthrope, is the word I want. The idea! Misplaced affection! I say,
if any misan