seen on the tall black door,
cheerfully ornamented in the style of the end of the last century, with
a funereal urn in the centre of the entry, and garlands, and the skulls
of rams at each corner. Madame Latour, who at one time actually kept a
large yellow coach, and drove her parlour young ladies in the
Regent's Park, was an exile from her native country (Islington was her
birthplace, and Grigson her paternal name), and an outlaw at the suit
of Samuel Sherrick: that Mr. Sherrick whose wine-vaults undermine Lady
Whittlesea's Chapel where the eloquent Honeyman preaches.

The house is Mr. Sherrick's house. Some say his name is Shadrach,
and pretend to have known him as an orange-boy, afterwards as a
chorus-singer in the theatres, afterwards as secretary to a great
tragedian. I know nothing of these stories. He may or he may not be
a partner of Mr. Campion, of Shepherd's Inn: he has a handsome villa,
Abbey Road, St. John's Wood, entertains good company, rather loud, of
the sporting sort, rides and drives very showy horses, has boxes at the
Opera whenever he likes, and free access behind the scenes: is handsome,
dark, bright-eyed, with a quantity of jewellery, and a tuft to his chin;
sings sweetly sentimental songs after dinner. Who cares a fig what was
the religion of Mr. Sherrick's ancestry, or what the occupation of his
youth? Mr. Honeyman, a most respectable man surely, introduced Sherrick
to the Colonel and Binnie.

Mr. Sherrick stocked their cellar with some of the wine over which
Honeyman preached such lovely sermons. It was not dear; it was not bad
when you dealt with Mr. Sherrick for wine alone. Going into his market
with ready money in your hand, as our simple friends did, you were
pretty fairly treated by Mr. Sherrick.

The house being taken, we may be certain there was fine amusement for
Clive, Mr. Binnie, and the Colonel, in frequenting the sales, in the
inspection of upholsterers' shops, and the purchase of furniture for the
new mansion. It was like nobody else's house. There were three masters
with four or five servants over them. Kean for the Colonel and his son;
a smart boy with boots for Mr. Binnie; Mrs. Kean to cook and keep house,
with a couple of maids under her. The Colonel, himself, was great at
making hash mutton, hot-pot, curry, and pillau. What cosy pipes did we
not smoke in the dining-room, in the drawing-room, or where we would!
What pleasant evenings did we not have with Mr Binnie's books and