red the object of his platonic flame in the person
of the little grubby-girl--the servant of the house-keeper--for, as the
proverb truly says,

"Love and a cough cannot be hid."

The tender passion first evinced itself in his delicate attentions;--nor
was the quick-eyed maid slow to discover her conquest. Her penetration,
however, was greater than her sympathy. With a tact that would not have
disgraced a politician--in a better cause, she adroitly turned the
swelling current of his love to her own purposes.

As the onward flowing stream is made to turn the wheel, while the miller
sings at the window, so did she avail herself of his strength to do her
work, while she gaily hummed a time, and sadly 'hummed' poor Matthew.

There being nearly thirty offices in the building, there were of course
in winter as many fires, and as many coal-scuttles required. When the
eyes of the devoted Matthew gazed on the object of his heart's desire
toiling up the well-stair, he felt he knew not what; and, with a heart
palpitating with the apprehension that his proffered service might be
rejected (poor deluded mortal!), he begged he might assist her. With a
glance that he thought sufficient to ignite the insensible carbon, she
accepted his offer. Happy Matthew!--he grasped the handles her warm
red-hands had touched!--Cold-blooded, unimaginative beings may deride his
enthusiasm; but after all, the sentiment he experienced was similar to,
and quite as pure, as that of Tom Jones, when he fondled Sophia Western's
little muff.

But, alas!--

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

Two months after this event, 'his Mary' married the baker's man!--

* * * * * * * * * *

Wallis's nephew had several times invited me to pay him a visit at his
uncle's house, at Crouchend; and so once, during the absence of that
gentleman who was ruralizing at Tonbridge, I trudged down to his villa.

Nothing would suit Master John, but that he must 'have out' his uncle's
gun; and we certainly shot at, and frightened, many sparrows.

He was just pointing at a fresh quarry, when the loud crow of a cock
arrested his arm.

"That's Doddington's game 'un, I know," said Master John. "What d'ye
think--if he did'nt 'pitch into' our 'dunghill' the other day, and laid
him dead at a blow. I owe him one!--Come along." I followed in his
footsteps, and soon beheld Chanticleer crowing with all the ostentation
of a victor at the hens he