took his departure.

I had hardly dismissed this gentleman, and was laughing to myself at the
ridiculous occurrence, when Mr Cophagus returned, first putting his cane
up to his nose with an arch look, and then laying it down on the table
and rubbing his hands. "Good--warm old lady. No--dead and cold? but left
some thousands--only one legacy--old Tom cat--physic him to-morrow--soon
die, and so on."

On a more full explanation, I found that the old lady had left about nine
thousand pounds in the funds and bank securities, all of which, with the
exception of twenty pounds per annum to a favourite cat, was left to Mr
Cophagus. I congratulated him upon this accession of fortune. He stated
that the lease of the house and the furniture were still to be disposed
of, and that afterwards he should have nothing more to do; but he wished
me very much to assist him in rummaging over the various cabinets
belonging to the old lady, and which were full of secret drawers; that
in one cabinet alone he had found upwards of fifty pounds in various gold
coins, and that if not well examined, they would probably be sold with
many articles of consequence remaining in them.

As my only object in Ireland was to find out Sir Henry de Clare, and
identify him (but, really, why I could not have said, as it would have
proved nothing after all), I willingly consented to devote a day to
assist Mr Cophagus in his examination. The next morning after breakfast,
we went together to the house of the old lady, whose name had been
Maitland, as Mr Cophagus informed me. Her furniture was of the most
ancient description, and in every room in the house there was an ormolu,
or Japan cabinet; some of them were very handsome, decorated with
pillars, and silver ornaments. I can hardly recount the variety of
articles, which in all probability had been amassed during the whole of
the old lady's life, commencing with her years of childhood, and ending
with the day of her death. There were antique ornaments, some of
considerable value, miniatures, fans, etuis, notes, of which the ink,
from time, had turned to a light red, packages of letters of her various
correspondents in her days of hope and anticipation, down to those of
solitude and age. We looked over some of them, but they appeared to both
of us to be sacred, and they were, after a slight examination, committed
to the flames.

After we had examined all the apparent receptacles in these cabinets, we
took them