weatherbeaten faces, and came to look upon them as my most intimate friends. Some of them were public-houses, and I ventured timidly, and at intervals, into these, calling modestly for a glass of ale, and peering into the odd nooks and corners, ducking, under the heavy beams, and trying often vainly, to look through the old green glass which obscured the long low windows.

6

Well do I remember my first visit to the Old Sun,' The Poets' Corner,' as it was then, and is sometimes yet called-the reverence with which I entered its time-honoured walls-and the disappointment I felt at not finding within it any one in the least like what I thought a poet ought to be. I went afterwards at various times with the like ill-success; and at last I contented myself with the outside and most picturesque view of it, and left the poets to keep up their revels by themselves.

Thus it was that I grew up, working hard during working hours, and enjoying the books and the pipe which formed the occupation of my leisure, taking long rambles on foot upon the Sundays, and an occasional walk through the oldest, narrowest, and most tortuous streets I could' find during the evenings of the week.

Long before my apprenticeship had concluded, I found myself permanently installed in the office, or counting-house as it was more grandiloquently called, and that, no doubt, was the fittest place for me; as years passed on, I became, by translation from stool to stool, packing clerk, invoice clerk, and book-keeper, obtaining an advance of wages with each change of position, until, as book-keeper, I was munificently paid at the rate of one hundred and fifty pounds a year, and had reached the summit of my ambition.

As I got more money to spend, I purchased more books and made longer excursions; and at length, from my retiring habits and scrupulous punctuality, I was complimented in the office by the title of The Old Bachelor,' which sat very lightly

upon me. I made and attempted to make no friendships. During my brief visits to the library at the old college, indeed, I picked up a sort of acquaintance with one of its constant frequenters, the mustiest old bookworm in the lot, whom I found there when I went in and left there when I came out, and should have believed to live there but that I knew no candles were admitted, and that at night the books would be useless to him without them. He was a strange figure, dressed in a suit of rusty black, with a neckerchief twisted round his throat in a sort of wisp, a pair of great goggle spectacles upon his nose, and with two, three, or four folios usually ranged round him, one for reading, the others for comparison and reference. I had the good fortune once to hand him a ponderous tome which had slipped from his knees whilst he was intent upon another placed upon the stand before him; and after that time, if by chance he glanced up, which might happen once in a month perhaps, whilst I was in the readingroom, I was sure of a kindly nod at least before he glanced down again.

Once, in a difficulty, I ventured to refer to him, and I was no little astonished by the flood of erudition poured in consequence upon me. He knew everything that had been written upon the subject, and gave me the key to my puzzle immediately, together with half a hundred references wherewith still further to elucidate it. Afterwards our relationship became almost that of master and pupil; and I may say that we became in some sort friends, though our only place of meeting was the library.

The rule in our office was, that every one employed should be there and at work at nine o'clock in the morning; and accordingly at twenty minutes before nine, precisely, I passed the clock in the old church tower on my way to it. I believe that every clock in the back street in Strangeways in which I lived was timed by my movements, much in the same way in which my watch was timed by the church clock as I passed. From long habit this com

parison had become a necessity, and the only temptation I ever had to omit it was occasioned by the passing the same spot, at my precise moment, of a young lady dressed in a green mantle, whom I met morning after morning, and whose fresh, pleasant face I got to look for until I fancied that missing it would almost cast a gloom upon the day. It was long before I did miss it: month after month, through the long winter, wet or dry, hail, rain, or snow, at twenty minutes to nine I met Greenmantle, as I called her in my own thought, opposite the old church tower. Very soon I knew her as well as any old house in the city, or out of it, and could have described every fold in her dress and every feature in her sweet face, but I had no one to describe them. to at that time, and I am not going to begin now.

I was a young man of five-andtwenty then, but as shamefaced as a girl: if I fancied that Greenmantle looked in my direction, I coloured to the top of my head, I believe, and hastened onward; if she passed without appearing to notice me, I was miserable for the day.

Gradually, I put together a little history for her, but as it was incorrect except in two of its more insignificant particulars, it need not be detailed here. She had usually a roll of music with her, so I knew she was a governess somewhere, and that was all I could make out with certainty. I wanted to know all about her, who she was, where she lived, what relatives she had, and, above all, I wanted to know her. I had got to love her before I had exchanged a word, or even a nod, with her. Her face was the index to all goodness, and I felt that I must win her, or die. If I was as shy as a girl, I was every bit as romantic; and I actually upset all the neighbours' equanimity by starting from my lodgings ten minutes before my accustomed time, and so persuading them that every clock in the street was ten minutes behind time.

But

I missed seeing Greenmantle. I ran back, indeed, just in time to see her skirt disappear in the distant crowd; but that did not content me,

and for weeks I became a true timekeeper again. Then I tried being late: I left my lodgings at the accustomed hour, indeed; but I loitered upon the road, and Greenmantle passed me almost at my own street end. I lingered and watched, but she went on and on until I could distinguish her no longer. Then I turned and ran,-ran at the top of my speed to the office, which I reached five minutes after nine, in time to find every one, from the master downward, speculating upon my being seriously unwell, or possibly 'defunct. Thus things went till midsummer; I met Greenmantle, without appearing to recognize her, every morning, and I spent hours every evening in visiting places in which I thought it possible to meet with her; but, except at that precise spot, at twenty minutes before nine, I never had the luck to find her.

I had even begun to speculate upon the possibility of obtaining a day's holiday, in order to discover where she went to, and, possibly even, where she lived. I dwelt upon the idea, delighted, but the obstacles appeared insuperable. Could I say that I had urgent private business? Of course. But of what nature? I could not summon courage to tell a lie, and perhaps still less could I have told the truth.

One morning, Greenmantle did not appear. It was at midsummer, and we were busy with our annual balance-sheet: it was all but complete and I had to sign it: instead of Richard Naylor, I signed, 'Greenmantle.' I tore off the corner surreptitiously, spilled some ink upon the mutilated remnant, and toiled far into the night to produce a clean copy, which I had very nearly signed Greenmantle' again.

For the next week or two I was miserable: that Greenmantle must be enjoying her holiday, I knew well enough; but it was no slight deprivation to find myself alone, morning after morning, at the accustomed hour.

I determined I know not what: I would speak to her: I composed numberless pretty speeches; one or

two fresh ones for every day: I committed them resolutely to memory: I conned them over as I walked, in the office even; and I made mistakes in the books: my ledger, which no penknife had ever touched, was disgraced for ever: and still Greenmantle came not.

It was the middle of August, and I ought to have started upon my annual journey home. I stirred not, and made no sign.

At length I was ordered off. I was getting thin and ill, and my master saw it, and told me to go into the country for ten days. I obeyed in part; but instead of going into the country, I commenced a systematic search for Greenmantle. I questioned everybody cabmen, policemen, porters: many had seen her, but none lately, and none knew where she lived. I was pursuing my search still, and a week of my leave had nearly expired, when, coming suddenly into the marketplace, I saw Greenmantle; I was sure it was she, but some carts intervened, and before I could reach the spot, she was gone.

I saw

Here was new life, new hope for me! I spent long hours in the market next day, with Bowen's spectacles always looking at me and seeming to ask what I did there; but I was rewarded at last. Greenmantle coming, and pushed towards her through the crowd. I reached her, and should have spoken: it was her mantle, but the bonnet was different, so was the face!

Here was disappointment doubly deep! I was reckless; my timidity had flown, and I spoke to the girl who wore the mantle I had been seeking so long. She was Greenmantle's sister. Greenmantle was ill; had been very ill; but she was better. Oh! yes, she was getting strong again; they did not live far from there. I was mad I believe, and I fancy the girl thought So. I bought grapes, oranges, apples, flowers, and I wanted to buy wine for her. I poured my purchases into the skirt of the green mantle, and insisted upon seeing it home. I sent messages of love, sorrow, happiness: I was grieved for this and happy at that, miserable

for the other; I was eloquent and beside myself. I talked more in the ten minutes which it took us to go through the market and to the top of Smithy-door than I had done for months before; and when I was dismissed at the door, I stood gazing absently at the old picturesque building which held nearly all I cared for, until I turned sick and faint from excess of joy.

I went there in the evening, and knocked timidly (after many efforts) at the door. The woman of the house told me Greenmantle's name. 'Yes, Miss Walton and her sister lived there: Miss Walton had been ill; but she was mending nicely; she would give my card, would say that I had called; would I wait then?' I felt very nervous, but I would wait, and in a few moments the sister came to me: Greenmantle had recognized me; Greenmantle would see me: would I walk upstairs?

It was an old-fashioned house, and I had never before seen one so charming; the stairs were of old oak, wide and spacious; I sprang up them with alacrity; three flights were passed, and then, in a large wainscoted, poorly-furnished room, I found Greenmantle, pale and propped with pillows, but with a pleasant smile of welcome on her worn, dear face. I could do no more than I had done, she said: they were well off, they were rich: at least they had sufficient to last them for some time: but she was glad to see me; it was like seeing an old friend. Then Greenmantle spoke of books, pictures, flowers; led me to my own subjects, and appeared to listen with interest. I was eloquent; I was inspired; I astonished myself in particular; but I had no time to think of it then. Her sister told me to go; Greenmantle was tired; but I might come again: the next day if I chose. I did choose, and I chose to go for many a day after. I haunted the neighbourhood of their lodgings; and I have a particular affection yet for the large old window near the top of the most picturesque old house in Manchester, that at the higher end of old Smithy door. From that window Green