Nobody present having any suggestion to offer in the remarkable emergency, Mrs. Gradgrind departed this life for the time being, after delivering the fol"My dear," assented her eminently practical lowing codicil to her remarks already executed: parent, "quite true, quite true."

"Why, father," she pursued, "what a strange question to ask me! The baby-preference that even I have heard of as common among children, has never had its innocent resting-place in my breast. You She passed it away with a slight motion of her have been so careful of me, that I never had a child's

derby, Sissy had suddenly turned her head, and looked, in wonder, in pity, in sorrow, in doubt, in a multitude of emotions, towards Louisa. Louisa had known it, and seen it, without looking at her. From that moment she was impassive, proud, and coldheld Sissy at a distance-changed to her altogether.

CHAPTER XVI.

nerally wore mittens, and she now laid down her yielding up my trust here, I shall not be freed from
work, and smoothed those mittens.
the necessity of eating the bread of dependence :"
"I am going, ma'am," said Bounderby, "to marry she might have said the sweetbread, for that delicate
Tom Gradgrind's daughter."
article in a savoury brown sauce was her favorite
supper: "and I would rather receive it from your
hand, than from any other. Therefore, sir, I accept
your offer gratefully, and with many sincere acknow-
ledgments for past favors. And I hope, sir," said
Mrs. Sparsit, concluding in an impressively compas-
sionate manner, "I fondly hope that Miss Grad-
grind may be all you desire, and deserve!"

"Yes, sir?" returned Mrs. Sparsit. "I hope you may be happy, Mr. Bounderby. Oh, indeed I hope you may be happy, sir!" And she said it with such great condescension, as well as with such great compassion for him, that Bounderby,-far more disconMR. BOUNDERBY'S first disquietude, on hear-certed than if she had thrown her work-box at the ing of his happiness, was occasioned by the mirror, or swooned on the hearth-rug,-corked up necessity of imparting it to Mrs. Sparsit. He could the smelling-salts tight in his pocket, and thought, not make up his mind how to do that, or what the "Now con-found this woman, who could have ever consequences of the step might be. Whether she guessed that she would take it in this way!" would instantly depart bag and baggage, to Lady Scadgers, or would positively refuse to budge from the premises; whether she would be plaintive er abusive, tearful or tearing; whether she would break her heart or break the looking-glass; Mr. Bounderby could not at all foresee. However, as it must be done, he had no choice but to do it; so, after attempting several letters, and failing in them all, he resolved to do it by word of mouth.

"I wish with all my heart, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit, in a highly superior manner; somehow she seemed, in a moment, to have established a right to pity him ever afterwards; "that you may be in all respects very happy."

"Well, ma'am," returned Bounderby, with some resentment in his tone: which was clearly lowered, though in spite of himself, "I am obliged to you. I hope I shall be."

On his way home, on the evening he set aside for "Do you, sir!" said Mrs. Sparsit, with great affathis momentous purpose, he took the precaution of bility. "But naturally you do; of course you do." stepping into a chemist's shop and buying a bottle of A very awkward pause on Mr. Bounderby's part the very strongest smelling-salts. "By George!" succeeded. Mrs. Sparsit sedately resumed her work, said Mr. Bounderby, "if she takes it in the fainting and occasionally gave a small cough, which sounded way, I'll have the skin off her nose, at all events!" like the cough of conscious strength and forbearBut, in spite of being thus forearmed, he entered his own house with anything but a courageous air; and appeared, before the object of his misgiving, like a dog who was conscious of coming direct from the

pantry.

"Good evening, Mr. Bounderby!" "Good evening, ma'am, good evening." He drew up his chair, and Mrs. Sparsit drew back hers, as who should say, "Your fireside, sir. I freely admit it. It is for you to occupy it all, if you think proper."

ance.

“Well, ma'am,” resumed Bounderby, "under these circumstances, I imagine it would not be agreeable to a character like yours to remain here, though you

would be very welcome here ?"

"Oh dear no, sir, I could on no account think of that!" Mrs. Sparsit shook her head, still in her highly superior manner, and a little changed the small cough coughing now, as if the spirit of prophecy rose within her, but had better be coughed

down.

"Don't go to the North Pole, ma'am !" said Mr. "However, ma'am," said Bounderby, "there are Bounderby. “Thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Sparsit, and returned, apartments at the Bank, where a born and bred lady, though short of her former position.

Mr. Bounderby sat looking at her, as with the points of a stiff, sharp pair of scissors, she picked out holes for some inscrutable ornamental purpose, in a piece of cambric. An operation which, taken in connection with the bushy eyebrows and the Roman nose, suggested with some liveliness the idea of a hawk engaged upon the eyes of a tough little bird. She was so steadfastly occupied, that many minutes elapsed before she looked up from her work; when she did so, Mr. Bounderby bespoke her attention with

a hitch of his head.

"Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am," said Mr. Bounderby, putting his hands in his pockets, and assuring himself with his right hand that the cork of the little bottle was ready for use, "I have no occasion to say to you, that you are not only a lady born and bred, but a develish sensible woman."

"Sir," returned the lady, "this is indeed not the first time that you have honored me with similar expressions of your good opinion."

as keeper of the palace, would be rather a catch than
otherwise; and if the same terms-"

"I beg your pardon, sir. You were so good as to
promise that you would always substitute the phrase,
annual compliment."

"Well, ma'am annual compliment. If the same annual compliment would be acceptable there, why, I see nothing to part us unless you do."

"Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit. "The proposal is like yourself, and if the position I should assume at the Bank is one that I could occupy without descending lower in the social scale

66

Why, of course it is," said Bounderby. "If it was not, ma'am, you don't suppose that I should offer it to a lady who has moved in the society you have moved in. Not that I care for such society, you know! But do."

you

"Mr. Bounderby, you are very considerate."

'You'll have your own private apartments, and you'll have your coals and your candles and all the rest of it, and you'll have your maid to attend upon

Nothing moved Mrs. Sparsit from that position any more. It was in vain for Bounderby to bluster, or to assert himself in any of his explosive ways; Mrs. Sparsit was resolved to have compassion on him, as a Victim. She was polite, obliging, cheerful, hopeful; but, the more polite, the more obliging, the more cheerful, the more hopeful, the more exemplary altogether, she; the forlorner Sacrifice and Victim, he. She had that tenderness for his melan

choly fate, that his great red countenance used to break out into cold perspirations when she looked at him.

Meanwhile the marriage was appointed to be solemnised in eight weeks' time, and Mr. Bounderby went every evening to Stone Lodge as an accepted wooer. Love was made on these occasions in the form of bracelets; and, on all occasions during the period of betrothal, took a manufacturing aspect. Dresses were made, jewellery was made, cakes and gloves were made, and an extensive assortment of Facts did appropriate honor to the contract. The business was all Fact, from first to last. The Hours did not go through any of those rosy performances, which foolish poets have ascribed to them at such times; neither did the clocks go any faster or any slower, than at other seasons. The deadly-statistical recorder in the Gradgrind observatory knocked every second on the head as it was born, and buried it with his accustomed regularity.

So the day came, as all other days come to people who will only stick to reason; and when it came, there were married in the church of the florid wooden legs-that popular order of architecture— Josiah Bounderby Esquire of Coketown, to Louisa eldest daughter of Thomas Gradgrind Esquire of Stone Lodge, M.P. for that borough. And when they were united in holy matrimony, they went home to breakfast at Stone Lodge aforesaid.

There was an improving party assembled on the auspicious occasion, who knew what everything they had to eat and drink was made of, and how it was imported or exported, and in what quantities, and in what bottoms, whether native or foreign, and all

about it. The bridesmaids, down to little Jane Gradgrind, were, in an intellectual point of view, fit helpmates for the calculating boy; and there was no nonsense about any of the company.

After breakfast, the bridegroom addressed them in the following terms.

"Ladies and gentlemen I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown. Since you have done my wife and myself the honor of drinking our healths and happiness, I suppose I must acknowledge the same; though, as you all know me, and know what I am, and what my extraction was, you won't expect a speech from a man who, when he sees a Post, says In 'that's a Post,' and when he sees a Pump, says

"Mrs. Sparsit ma'am," said Mr. Bounderby, "I you, and you'll have your light porter to protect you, am going to astonish you."

"Yes, sir?" returned Mrs. Sparsit, interrogatively, and in the most tranquil manner possible. She ge

and you'll be what I take the liberty of considering
precious comfortable," said Bounderby.

"Sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, "say no more.

incapable or sordid hands are interposed between it and the things it looks upon to bless.

Mrs. Sparsit sat in her afternoon apartment at the Bank, on the shadier side of the frying street. Office-hours were over; and at that period of the day, in warm weather, she usually embellished with her genteel presence, a managerial board-room over the public office. Her own private sitting-room was a story higher, at the window of which post of obMr. Bounderby's gold spoon which was generally servation she was ready, every morning, to greet received in Coketown, another prevalent fiction was Mr. Bounderby as he came across the road, with very popular there. It took the form of a threat. the sympathising recognition appropriate to a VicWhenever a Coketowner felt he was ill-used--that tim. He had been married now, a year, and Mrs. is to say, whenever he was not left entirely alone, Sparsit had never released him from her determined and it was proposed to hold him accountable for the pity a moment. consequences of any of his acts-he was sure to come out with the awful menace, that he would sooner pitch his property into the Atlantic." This had terrified the Home Secretary within an inch of his life, on several occasions.

'that's a Pump,' and is not to be got to call a Post lightly, and they fell to pieces with such ease that
a Pump, or a Pump a Post, or either of them a you might suspect them of having been flawed
Toothpick. If you want a speech this morning, my before. They were ruined, when they were re-
friend and father-in-law, Tom Gradgrind, is a quired to send labouring children to school; they
Member of Parliament, and you know where to get were ruined, when inspectors considered it doubtful
it. I am not your man. However, if I feel a little whether they were quite justified in chopping peo-
independent when I look around this table to-day, ple up with their machinery; they were utterly
and reflect how little I thought of marrying Tom | undone, when it was hinted that perhaps they need
Gradgrind's daughter when I was a ragged street- not always make quite so much smoke. Besides
boy, who never washed his face unless it was at a
pump, and not oftener than once a fortnight, I hope
I may be excused. So, I hope you like my feeling
independent; if you don't, I can't help it. I do feel
independent. Now, I have mentioned, and you
have mentioned, that I am this day married to Tom
Gradgrind's daughter. I am very glad to be so.
It has long been my wish to be so. I have watched
her bringing-up, and I believe she is worthy of me.
At the same time-not to deceive you—I believe I
am worthy of her. So, I thank you, on both our
parts for the goodwill you have shown towards us;
and the best wish I can give the unmarried part of
the present company, is this: I hope every bachelor
may find as good a wife as I have found. And I
hope every spinster may find as good a husband as
my wife has found."

Shortly after which oration, as they were going on a nuptial trip to Lyons, in order that Mr. Bounderby might take the opportunity of seeing how the Hands got on in those parts, and whether they, too, required to be fed with gold spoons; the happy pair departed for the railroad. The bride, in passing down stairs, dressed for her journey, found Tom waiting for her-flushed, either with his feelings or the vinous part of the breakfast.

"What a game girl you are, to be such a first-rate sister, Loo!" whispered Tom.

She clung to him, as she should have clung to some far better nature that day, and was a little shaken in her reserved composure for the first time. "Old Bounderby's quite ready," said Tom. "Time's up. Good bye! I shall be on the look-out for you, when you come back. I say, my dear Loo! AN'T it uncommonly jolly now!"

A

CHAPTER XVII.

a

SUNNY midsummer day. There was such thing sometimes, even in Coketown. Seen from a distance in such weather, Coketown lay shrouded in a haze of its own, which appeared impervious to the sun's rays. You only knew the town was there, because you knew there could have been no such sulky blotch upon the prospect without a town. A blur of soot and smoke, now confusedly tending this way, now that way, now aspiring to the vault of heaven, now murkily creeping along the earth, as the wind rose and fell, or changed its quarter: a dense formless jumble, with sheets of cross light in it, that showed nothing but masses of darkness:-Coketown in the distance was suggestive of itself, though not a brick of it could be seen.

The wonder was, it was there at all. It had been ruined so often, that it was amazing how it had borne so many shocks. Surely there never was such fragile china-ware as that of which the millers of Coketown were made. Handle them never so

However, the Coketowners were so patriotic after all, that they never had pitched their property into the Atlantic yet, but on the contrary, had been kind enough to take mighty good care of it. So there it was, in the haze yonder; and it increased and multiplied.

The Bank offered no violence to the wholesome monotony of the town. It was another red brick house, with black outside shutters, green inside blinds, a black street door up two white steps, a brazen door-plate, and a brazen door handle full

stop. It was a size larger than Mr. Bounderby's house, as other houses were from a size to half-adozen sizes smaller; in all other particulars, it was strictly according to pattern.

Mrs. Sparsit was conscious that by coming in the evening-tide among the desks and writing implements, she shed a feminine, not to say also aristocratic, grace upon the office. Seated, with her needlework or netting apparatus, at the window, she had a self-laudatory sense of correcting, by her lady-like deportment, the rude business aspect of the place. With this impression of her interesting character upon her, Mrs. Sparsit considered herself, in some sort, the Bank Fairy. The townspeople who, in their passing and re-passing, saw her there, regarded her as the Bank Dragon, keeping watch over the treasures of the mine.

The streets were hot and dusty on the summer day, and the sun was so bright that it even shone through the heavy vapour drooping over Coketown, and could not be looked at steadily. Stokers emerged from low underground doorways into factory yards, and sat on steps, and posts, and palings, wiping their swarthy visages, and contemplating coals. The whole town seemed to be frying in oil. There was a stifling smell of hot oil everywhere. The steam-engines shone with it, the dresses of the Hands were soiled with it, the mills throughout What those treasures were, Mrs. Sparsit knew their many stories oozed and trickled it. The atas little as they did. Gold and silver coin, precious mosphere of those Fairy palaces was like the breath paper, secrets that if divulged would bring vague of the simoom; and their inhabitants, wasting with destruction upon vague persons (generally, howheat, toiled languidly in the desert. But no tempe-ever, people whom she disliked,) were the chief rature made the melancholy mad elephants more items in her ideal catalogue thereof. For the rest, mad or more sane. Their wearisome heads went she knew that after office-hours, she reigned suup and down at the same rate, in hot weather and cold, wet weather and dry, fair weather and foul. The measured motion of their shadows on the walls, was the substitute Coketown had to show for the shadows of rustling woods; while, for the summer hum of insects, it could offer, all the year round, from the dawn of Monday to the night of Saturday, the whirr of shafts and wheels.

Drowsily they whirred all through this sunny day, making the passenger more sleepy and more hot as he passed the humming walls of the mills. Sun-blinds, and sprinklings of water, a little cooled the main streets and the shops; but the mills and the courts and alleys, baked at a fierce heat. Down upon the river that was black and thick with dye, some Coketown boys who were at large-a rare sight there-rowed a crazy boat, which made a a spumous track upon the water as it jogged along, while every dip of an oar stirred up vile smells. But the sun itself, however beneficent generally, was less kind to Coketown than hard frost, and rarely looked intently into any of its closer regions without engendering more death than life. So does the eye of Heaven itself become an evil eye, when

locked-up iron room with three locks, against the preme over all the office furniture, and over a door of which strong chamber the light porter laid his head every night, on a truckle bed that disapmount over certain vaults in the basement, sharply peared at cockcrow. Further, she was lady paraspiked off from communication with the predatory world; and over the relics of the current day's work, consisting of blots of ink, worn-out pens, fragments of wafers, and scraps of paper torn so small, that nothing interesting could ever be deciphered on them when Mrs. Sparsit tried. Lastly, she was guardian over a little armoury of cutlasses and carbines, arrayed in vengeful order above one of the official chimney-pieces; and over that respectable tradition never to be separated from a place of business claiming to be wealthy-a row of firebuckets-vessels calculated to be of no physical utility on any occasion, but observed to exercise a fine moral influence, almost equal to bullion, on most beholders.

A deaf serving-woman and the light porter completed Mrs. Sparsit's empire. The deaf servingwoman was rumored to be wealthy; and a say

ing had for years gone about among the lower orders of Coketown, that she would be murdered some night when the Bank was shut, for the sake of her money. It was generally considered, indeed, that she had been due some time, and ought to have fallen long ago; but she had kept her life, and her situation, with an ill-conditioned tenacity that occasioned much offence and disappointment.

Mrs. Sparsit's tea was just set for her on a pert little table, with its tripod of legs in an attitude, which she insinuated after office-hours, into the company of the stern, leathern-topped, long boardtable that bestrode the middle of the room. The light porter placed the tea-tray on it, knuckling his forehead as a form of homage.

"Thank you, Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit. "Thank you, ma'am," returned the light porter. He was a very light porter indeed; as light as in the days when he blinkingly defined a horse, for girl number twenty.

"All is shut up, Bitzer ?" said Mrs. Sparsit. "All is shut up, ma'am."

"The clerks," said Mrs. Sparsit, carefully brushing an imperceptible crumb of bread and butter from her left-hand mitten, 'are trustworthy, punctual, and industrious, of course?"

66

"With the usual exception, ma'am," said Bitzer, trying back, "of an individual.”

"Ah-h!" Mrs. Sparsit repeated the ejaculation, the shake of the head over her tea-cup, and the long

"Yes, ma'am, pretty fair, ma'am. With the usual gulp, as taking up the conversation again at the exception." point where it had been interrupted.

He held the respectable office of general spy and informer in the establishment, for which volunteer service he received a present at Christmas, over and above his weekly wage. He had grown into an extremely clear-headed, cautious, prudent young man, who was safe to rise in the world. His mind was so exactly regulated, that he had no affections or passions. All his proceedings were the result of the nicest and coldest calculation; and it was not without cause that Mrs. Sparsit habitually observed of him, that he was a young man of the steadiest principle she had ever known. Having satisfied himself, on his father's death, that his mother had a right of settlement in Coketown, this excellent young economist had asserted that right for her with such a steadfast adherence to the principle of the

“And what,” said Mrs. Sparsit, pouring out her case, that she had been shut up in the workhouse tea, "is the news of the day? Anything?" ever since. It must be admitted that he allowed her half a pound a tea a year, which was weak in him: first, because all gifts have an inevitable tendency to pauperise the recipient, and, secondly,

"Well, ma'am, I can't say that I have heard anything particular. Our people are a bad lot, ma'am; but that is no news, unfortunately."

Merely going on in the old way, ma'am. Uniting, and leaguing, and engaging to stand by one another."

"It is much to be regretted," said Mrs. Sparsit, making her nose more Roman and her eyebrows more Coriolanian in the strength of her severity, "that the united masters allow of any such class combinations."

“An individual, ma'am," said Bitzer, "has never been what he ought to have been, since he first came into the place. He is a dissipated, extravagant idler. He is not worth his salt, ma'am. He wouldn't get it either, if he hadn't a friend and relation at at court, ma'am !”

"Ah-h!" said Mrs. Sparsit, with another melancholy shake of her head.

'I only hope, ma'am," pursued Bitzer, "that his friend and relation may not supply him with the means of carrying on. Otherwise, ma'am, we know out of whose pocket that money comes."

"Ah-h!" sighed Mrs. Sparsit again, with another melancholy shake of her head.

"He is to be pitied, ma'am. The last party I have alluded to, is to be pitied, ma'am," said Bitzer.

"Yes, Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit. "I have always pitied the delusion, always."

"As to an individual, ma'am," said Bitzer, dropping his voice and drawing nearer, "he is as impro

They would do well," returned Mrs. Sparsit, "to take example by you, Bitzer."

"What are the restless wretches doing now?" because his only reasonable transaction in that com-vident as any of the people in this town. And you asked Mrs. Sparsit. modity would have been to buy it for as little as he know what their improvidence is, ma'am. No one could possibly give, and sell it for as much as he could wish to know it better than a lady of your could possibly get; it having been clearly ascer-eminence does." tained by philosophers that in this is comprised the whole duty of man-not a part of man's duty, but the whole. “Thank you, ma'am. But, since you do refer to "Pretty fair, ma'am. With the usual exception, me, now look at me, ma'am. I have put by a little, ma'am," repeated Bitzer. ma'am, already. That gratuity which I receive at “Ah-h!” said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head Christmas, ma'am: I never touch it. I don't even over her tea-cup, and taking a long gulp. go the length of my wages, though they're "Mr. Thomas, ma'am, I doubt Mr. Thomas very not high, ma'am. Why can't they do as I have much, ma'am, I don't like his ways at all." done, ma'am? What one person can do, another "Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very impressive can do." manner, "do you recollect my having said anything to you respecting names?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Bitzer.

"Being united themselves, they ought one and all to set their faces against employing any man who is united with any other man," said Mrs. Sparsit.

They have done that, ma'am," returned Bitzer; "but-it rather fell through, ma'am."

"I do not pretend to understand these things," said Mrs. Sparsit, with dignity, "my lot having been originally cast in a widely different sphere; and Mr. Sparsit, as a Powler, being also quite out of the pale of any such dissensions. I only know that these people must be conquered, and that it's high time it was done, once for all."

"Yes, ma'am," returned Bitzer, with a demonstration of great respect for Mrs. Sparsit's oracular authority. "You couldn't put it clearer, I am sure,

ma'am."

As this was his usual hour for having a little confidential chat with Mrs. Sparsit, and as he had already caught her eye and seen that she was going to ask him something, he made a pretence of arranging the rulers, inkstands, and so forth, while that lady went on with her tea, glancing through the open window down into the street.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. It's quite true that you did object to names being used, and they're always best avoided."

I don't want

This, again, was among the fictions of Coketown. Any capitalist there, who had made sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, always professed to wonder why the sixty thousand nearest Hands didn't each make sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, and "Please to remember that I have a charge here," more or less reproached them every one for not said Mrs. Sparsit, with her air of state. "I hold a accomplishing the little feat. What I did, you can trust here," Bitzer, under Mr. Bounderby. How- do. Why don't you go and do it. ever improbable both deemed it years ago, that he "As to their wanting recreations, ma'am,” said would ever become my patron, making me an annual Bitzer, "it's stuff and nonsense. compliment, I cannot but regard him in that light. recreations. I never did, and I never shall; I don't From Mr. Bounderby I have received every acknow-like 'em. As to their combining together; there ledgment of social station, and every recognition of are many of them, I have no doubt, that by watchmy family descent, that I could possibly expect. ing and informing upon one another could earn a More, far more. Therefore, to my patron I will be trifle now and then, whether in money or in good scrupulously true. And I do not consider, I will will, and improve their livelihood. Then, why don't not consider, I cannot consider," said Mrs. Sparsit, they improve it, ma'am? It's the first considerawith a most extensive stock on hand of honor and tion of a rational creature, and it's what they pretend morality, "that I should be scrupulously true, if I to want." allowed names to be mentioned under this roof, that

"Has it been a busy day, Bitzer ?" asked Mrs. are unfortunately-most unfortunately-no doubt of Sparsit.

"Not a very busy day, my lady. About an average day." He now and then slided into my lady, instead of ma'am, as an involuntary acknowledgment of Mrs. Sparsit's personal dignity and

claims to reverence.

that-connected with his."

"Pretend indeed!" said Mrs. Sparsit.

"I am sure we are constantly hearing, ma'am, till it becomes quite nauseous, concerning their Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, and again wives and families," said Bitzer. 'Why look at begged pardon. me, ma'am! I don't want a wife and family. Why should they?"

"No, Bitzer," continued Mrs. Sparsit, "say an individual, and I will hear you; say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me."

sit.

"Because they are improvident," said Mrs. Spar- 1

"Yes, ma'am," returned Bitzer "that's where it is. If they were more provident, and less perverse, ma'am, what would they do? They would say, 'While my hat covers my family,' or, while my bonnet covers my family'-as the case might be, ma'am 'I have only one to feed, and that's the person I most like to feed.'"

"To be sure," assented Mrs. Sparsit, eating muffin.

"Humph!" thought Mrs. Sparsit, as she made a stately bend. "Five-and-thirty, good-looking, good figure, good teeth, good voice, good breeding, well dressed, dark hair, bold eyes." All which Mrs. Sparsit observed in her womanly way—like the Sultan who had put his head in the pail of watermerely down and coming up again.

Bounderby the Banker, does live. Which I accordingly venture, with all suitable apologies, to do."

The inattention and indolence of his manner were

sufficiently relieved, to Mrs. Sparsit's thinking, by a certain gallantry at ease, which offered her homage too. Here he was, for instance, at this moment, all but sitting on the table, and yet lazily "Please to be seated, sir," said Sparsit. bending over her, as if he acknowledged an attrac"Thank you. Allow me." He placed a chair tion in her that made her charming-in her way. "Thank you, ma'am," said Bitzer, knuckling his for her, but remained himself carelessly lounging "Banks, I know, are always suspicious, and offiforehead again, in return for the favor of Mrs. Spar-against the table. "I left my servant at the rail- cially must be," said the stranger, whose lightness sit's improving conversation. Would you wish a way looking after the luggage-very heavy train and smoothness of speech were pleasant likewise; little more hot water, ma'am, or is there anything and vast quantity of it in the van-and strolled on, suggesting matter far more sensible and humorous else that I could fetch you? ?" looking about me. Exceedingly odd place. Will than it ever contained--which was perhaps a shrewd you allow me to ask you if it's always as black as device of the founder of this numerous sect, whosothis?" ever may have been that great man; therefore I "In general much blacker," returned Mrs. Spar- may observe that my letter-here it is from the sit, in her uncompromising way. member for this place-Gradgrind—whom I have "Is it possible! Excuse me you are not a had the pleasure of knowing in London." native, I think?"

"Thank you, ma'am. I shouldn't wish to disturb you at your meals, ma'am, particularly tea, knowing your partiality for it," said Bitzer, craning a little to look over into the street from where he stood: "but there's a gentleman been looking up here for a minute or so, ma'am, and he has come across as if he was going to knock. That is his knock, ma'am, no doubt."

He stepped to the window; and looking out, and drawing in his head again, confirmed himself with, 'Yes, ma'am. Would you wish the gentleman to be shown in, ma'am?"

46

"I don't know who it can be," said Mrs. Sparsit, wiping her mouth and arranging her mittens.

"A stranger, ma'am, evidently."

"What a stranger can want at the Bank at this time of the evening, unless he comes upon some business for which he is too late, I don't know," said Mrs. Sparsit; "but I hold a charge in this establishment from Mr. Bounderby, and I will never shrink from it. If to see him is any part of the duty I have accepted, I will see him. Use your own discretion, Bitzer."

Here the visitor, all unconscious of Mrs. Sparsit's magnanimous words, repeated his knock so loudly that the light porter hastened down to open the door; while Mrs. Sparsit took the precaution of concealing her little table, with all its appliances upon it, in a cupboard, and decamped up stairs, that sho might appear, if needful, with the greater dignity.

"If you please, ma'am, the gentleman would wish to see you," said Bitzer, with his light eye at Mrs. Sparsit's keyhole. So Mrs. Sparsit, who had improved the interval by touching up her cap, took her classical features down stairs again, and entered the board room in the manner of a Roman matron going outside the city walls to treat with an invading general.

"No, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit. "It was once my good or ill fortune, as it may be-before I became a widow-to move in a very different sphere. My husband was a Powler."

Mrs. Sparsit recognised the hand, intimated that such confirmation was quite unnecessary, and gave Mr. Bounderby's address, with all needful clues and directions in aid.

"Of

"In my

"Thousand thanks," said the stranger. 'Beg your pardon, really!" said the stranger. course you know the Banker well?" Was-?" "Yes, sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit. dependent relation towards.him, I have known him ten years."

Mrs. Sparsit repeated, "A Powler." "Powler Family," said the stranger, after reflecting a few moments. Mrs. Sparsit signified assent. The stranger seemed a little more fatigued than before. "You must be very much bored here?" was the inference he drew from the communication.

"I am the servant of circumstances, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit," and I have long adapted myself to the governing power of my life."

"Very philosophical," returned the stranger, "and very exemplary and laudable, and-" It seemed to be scarcely worth his while to finish the sentence, so he played with his watch-chain wearily.

"May I be permitted to ask, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit, "to what I am indebted for the favor of

46

Assuredly,"
," said the stranger. "Much obliged
to you for reminding me. I am the bearer of a let-
ter of introduction to Mr. Bounderby the banker.
Walking through this extraordinarily black town,
while they were getting dinner ready at the hotel, I
asked a fellow whom I met; one of the working
people; who appeared to have been taking a shower-
bath of something fluffy, which
material;-"

assume to be the

Mrs. Sparsit inclined her head. The visitor having strolled to the window, and -"Raw material-where Mr. Bounderby the being then engaged in looking carelessly out, was banker, might reside. Upon which, misled no as unmoved by this impressive entry as man could doubt by the word Banker, he directed me to the possibly be. He stood whistling to himself with all Bank. Fact being, I presume, that Mr. Bounderby imaginable coolness, with his hat still on, and a the Banker, does not reside in the edifice in which certain air of exhaustion upon him, in part arising | I have the honor of offering this explanation ?" from excessive summer, and in part from excessive gentility. For it was to be seen with half an eye that he was a thorough gentleman, made to the model of the time; weary of everything, and putting no more faith in anything than Lucifer.

“I believe, sir,” quoth Mrs. Sparsit, "you wished

"No, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit," he does not." "Thank you. I had no intention of delivering my letter at the present moment, nor have I. But,

strolling on to the Bank to kill time, and having the good fortune to observe at the window," towards which he languidly waved his hand, then slightly bowed, "a lady of a very superior and agreeable "I beg your pardon," he said, turning and remov- appearance, I considered that I could not do better ing his hat, " pray excuse me." than take the liberty of asking that lady where Mr.

to see me."

"Quite an eternity! I think he married Gradgrind's daughter?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Sparsit, suddenly compressing her mouth. "He had that-honor."

"The lady is quite a philosopher, I am told?"

'Indeed, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit. "Is she?" "Excuse my impertinent curiosity," pursued the stranger, fluttering over Mrs. Sparsit's eyebrows, with a propitiatory air, "but you know the family, and know the world. I am about to know the family, and may have much to do with them. Is the lady so very alarming? Her father gives her such a portentously hard-headed reputation, that I have a burning desire to know. Is she absolutely unapproachable? Repellently and stunningly clever? I see, by your meaning smile, you think

not.

You have poured balm into my anxious soul.
As to age, now. Forty? Five and thirty?"
Mrs. Sparsit laughed outright, "A chit," said
she. "Not twenty when she was married."

"I give you my honor, Mrs. Powler," returned the stranger, detaching himself from the table, "that I never was so astonished in my life!"

It really did seem to impress him, to the utmost extent of his capacity of being impressed. He looked at his informant for a full quarter of a minute, and appeared to have the surprise in his mind all the time. "I assure you, Mrs. Powler," he then said, much exhausted, "that the father's manner prepared me for a grim and stony maturity. I am obliged to you, of all things, for correcting so absurd a mistake. Pray excuse my intrusion. Many thanks. Good day!"

He bowed himself out; and Mrs. Sparsit, hiding in the window-curtain, saw him languishing down the street on the shady side of the way, observed of all the town.

"What do you think of the gentleman, Bitzer ?" she asked the light porter, when he came to take away.