some

The

"Well, three-and-sixpence for the two," she answered; "but I couldn't let this 'ere large room under two-and-nine; most of 'em fetch three shillings, and three-and-sixpence, along the passage; but I want a respectable lodger, who'll pay reg'lar come Monday morning, and no botherin', bein' as I'm a lone widder woman, as earns every mouthful myself."

The woman hesitated a few moments. "I'll take 'em," she said presently. "When can I come in?"

"To-morrow, and welcome, the sooner the better for me," replied the widow, with evident satisfaction.

"Very well, I'll come to-morrow," replied the stranger, and then, taking her children by the hand, she bade the widow "Good night," and was gone.

No sooner had she disappeared than Mrs. Wallace was seized with fears. The woman's manner had been so quiet, and one might say dignified, that she had somehow never dreamt of questioning her about her belongings; and now she had gone away without so much as leaving her name. Would she really come back as she had promised? was strange that such a one as she should seek a home in "Whalebone Passage."

It

But somehow the widow was inclined on the whole to trust her, for honest respectability seldom fails to have its effect on those who most ignore it in themselves.

She took down the bill, and sat down presently to her supper, her mind full of the woman of whom she knew absolutely nothing, but that she had a quiet manner, and looked as if she had come down in the world. For a wonder she shut her door fast, and neither went in search of a neighbour nor laid herself out for a visit from one, for she was not going to boast about having "let" until she was sure she had done so. She wouldn't give them any opportunity of raising a laugh against her, so, instead of finishing up her day's work with some friendly gossips, in the neighbouring public-house (in "Whalebone Passage" women were not above doing this), she took her "halfpint" quietly with her bread and cheese, and kept herself to herself.

The mangle was creaking and groaning away at its work the next morning, when a man thrust his head in at the widow's door.

"No. 53?" inquired the man. "Expecting a lodger, aint yer? two rooms up-stairs?"

"All right," replied Mrs. Wallace, greatly relieved in her mind. "Aint she come with yer?"

"She's just behind; if you'll show the way, I'll 'eave a few o' the things up."

The widow jerked open the door, which shut off the staircase from the room she occupied, and with sundry directions to mind how he went, returned to her work.

The new lodger's few possessions were waiting in a small cart at the end

of the passage. Presently, she made

her appearance and began to assist in carrying them to the house.

The widow was keenly watchful of the

proceedings, and noted the scanty supply and poverty-stricken look which most of the articles bore. She noticed too that the woman herself seemed weak and ill, and lent her aid with apparent pain and difficulty. When the business of moving in was completed, she made a pretext to go up into the lodger's room, for she was determined to know something of her affairs, and she was also curious to see exactly what belongings the new comer possessed, in the case of her being a defaulter in the matter of rent.

The new lodger was sitting down, resting after her exertions, preparatory to clearing up after the man's dirty footsteps; and Mrs. Wallace noted that the furniture of the room consisted only of table, bedstead, and chairs, with a few articles of crockery-ware standing about here and there. "You seem done up," Mrs. Wallace began in a friendly way. "May be your husband aint able to bear a hand in the moving."

"I should be sorry for him to lose a day's work," replied the woman.

"She's got a husband, and he's in work," noted Mrs. Wallace with satisfaction. "Well, that's right enough; but you don't seem much up to heavy work. But the men don't mind how their wives slave."

"Could I have a little hot water?" the lodger asked. "I shall be glad to be tidied up a bit."

"She's artful," thought Mrs. Wallace: "won't say whether he's a good or a bad husband. Not over good, I'll warrant."

"You can help yourself this afternoon; but you aint going to begin without a bit of dinner."

sign. Some bread and butter, cut before starting, had formed that day's dinner, and no great preparation was needed for that.

"My name's Wallace, may be you'd better tell me your'n," said the widow, giving up the attempt to gain information. "Mine is Black," the lodger replied, catching hold of her pail and preparing to set to work.

In the intervals, when the mangle was quiet, Mrs. Wallace heard continual scrubbing and cleaning going on upstairs, and when four o'clock came, bringing with it the hour of tea and respite, she could not refrain from running in next door to tell her neighbour about her new lodger. The children had come in from school, and were freely helping themselves to bread and dripping, when she returned. she returned. Having adjusted sundry quarrels as to who had the best right to cut the loaf, with some sharp blows on the ears, she ventured to take another peep at Mrs. Black.

The room was now clean and orderly, the bare boards being scrubbed as white as one turn at them would admit, the fire lighted, and the children and their mother making their tea off some dry bread and the weakest decoction in the way of tea that could have any claim to be so called.

"I just stepped up to say that, as maybe you're a stranger just here, my Sally 'll show you anywheres you want to go to buy a bit of anything. I s'pose your husband is one of the early workers?" she added, as her eye fell on a pair of very old slippers before the little fire.

The inquisitive landlady was baffled. When had they had their meal, and of what had it consisted? There was no

nights together."

"Works at one of the factories, I

s'pose?"

"Yes: Drew's, in Lime Street."

"Maybe you'd like to step down and 'ave a little chat, till he gets back." "Not to-night, thank you; I'm tired out."

Mrs. Wallace took the hint and withdrew, not without some anger at this second rebuff.

The evening wore on, and still the watched-for Mr. Black did not appear. Mrs. Wallace's curiosity was getting beyond all bounds, and for a second evening she kept herself to herself. The children were all in bed long ago, and the new lodger sitting in her room sewing, as Mrs. Wallace discovered, by creeping up the stairs and listening outside the door.

Somewhere about half-past nine, a heavy blustering thumping came at Mrs. Wallace's door. She started up angrily. "Don't make that row," she called out. "If you'll knock properly, I'll open the door." She rose slowly and drew back the latch. With a push that sent her nearly backwards, the door was thrust open, and a sullen looking working man stood on the threshold.

"Get out," she screamed, in a fury at such treatment.

"Ain't this 'ere No. 53, where the new

lodgers are come in ?" the man asked, in a rough, unsteady voice.

"Then you're the man Black!" Mrs. Wallace exclaimed, forgetting her fury in her surprise.

"Is that you, Stephen ?" asked a gentle voice from the stairs. "It's all right, come on, up-stairs," and Mrs Black came forward, with a small dip candle, and took the great hulking fellow by the hand, leading him as quickly as might be out of the way of Mrs. Wallace's sharp looks and tongue. He had the good

sense to make no resistance on this occasion, and the two were presently sheltered from her observation in their

own room.

"So the secret's out now, madam," muttered the ruffled landlady; "and with all your high and mighty airs you're no better than your neighbours. You didn't keep your secret long for all you were so mum, and it's plain to see what's brought you to Whalebone Passage,' to take Widder Wallace's lodgings. Such airs indeed: faugh!" And late as it was, the widow could no longer resist the temptation to go out, and tell her tale into the sympathising ears of some half-dozen neighbours.

A

S we drop our letters in the safe receptacle of the post, and a few hours later impatiently break the seal of a speedy reply, it, perhaps, never occurs to us to reflect on the difficulties once lying in the way of the sure and prompt sending and receiving of letters. this, as in many other matters, we are too apt to accept the blessings of modern civilization, without giving even a passing

In

thought of gratitude to a great company of unseen friends who have gradually brought about the advantages we are now enjoying.

"William Pitt, writing to his mother, says, 'I am afraid it will not be easy for me, by the post, to be anything else than a fashionable correspondent, if I believe the fashion which prevails of opening almost every letter that is sent, making

"On August 4th, 1784, a great change was inaugurated in the matter of the speedy and safe conveyance of letters; it was on that day that the new plan of mail-coaches was adopted, the first coach leaving London for Bristol.

"Admirable as the mail-coach arrangement was found to be, better things still were at hand. As the 18th century was fast rolling into the past, the sound of the post-horn died away, giving place to the scream of the railway-engine; and now our letters are scattered here and there throughout the land, arriving constantly and punctually at destinations far and

near.

"In 1837, the late Sir Rowland Hill proposed the plan of the Penny Post, which, like all that is new, met at first with opposition and ridicule. Of all the wild and visionary schemes of which I ever heard,' said Lord Lichfield, the Postmaster-General, it is the most extravagant. If the anticipated increase of letters,' he added, 'should be realized, the mails will have to carry twelve times as much in weight; and therefore the charge for transmission, instead of 10,0007., as now, must be twelve times that amount: the walls of the Post Office would burst; the whole area on which the building stands would not be large enough to receive the clerks and the letters.' The Duke of Wellington, wise and far-seeing, advocated the plan. 'With reference,' he said, 'to the adoption of any particular plan, I am disposed to admit that that which we call Mr. Hill's plan, if it can be adopted exactly as was proposed, of all the plans is that which is most likely to succeed.' There was a storm of opposition, chiefly from the Post Office authorities; but, being bravely weathered, the Penny

"The Penny Post had been attempted nearly two centuries before by Robert Murray and his partner, Mr. Dockwra. Dockwra was eventually made PostmasterGeneral. It appears that he lost all his money in trying to effect the Penny Post before there was a sufficient number of letter-writers to insure its success; for at the age of ninty-eight or so, being in great poverty, he petitioned Queen Anne for an annuity.

...

"Pliny Miles, the well-known writer on postal subjects, says :-'On one occasion (Nov. 1854) I was in the London Post Office, and saw the evening mails made up. There were, that evening, 216,457 letters, and nearly all of them went through every process of facing, facing, stamping, sorting, defacing stamps, and distributing, and making up in the bags, during a period of two hours and a half. Just exactly on the stroke of the hour, at eight, the last bag was sealed and ready to go. . . . There were about 600 clerks. . . . the newspaper mail being nearly ten times the amount in weight of the letter mail.'”

"The Annual Report sent out from the General Post Office may teach us how large a sum of gratitude we owe to those who daily toil within the walls of that extensive building. When we read the statistics concerning telegrams, Post Office savings' banks, money orders, valentines, post cards, insufficiently paid newspapers, unpaid newspapers, unpaid letters, etc., we cannot fail to be struck with the patience of those who write thus forbearingly of mistakes, easily avoided, which have caused them many hours of extra work: 'Great mistakes occur... these mistakes might easily be avoided by a reference to the British Postal Guide.'—" Parish Magazine."