e stood in the dock at Cross Key
and heard the words of doom. Almost a whole generation of his
fellow-creatures has passed away from the earth. Old men have died,
young men have become old, and babes have grown to be young men. There
are but some half dozen persons in the world who, if reminded of him by
some circumstance, can recollect him dimly. There are two who still keep
him in their thoughts continually, just as he was--like a picture which
bears no longer any resemblance to its original--and even these never
breathe his name.

Here is a young fellow walking with his mother along Oxford Street who
is not unlike him, who might be himself but for those nineteen years;
and the girl that walks upon the other side of him might also be Harry
Trevethick. Youth and beauty are not dead because Richard Yorke is dead,
or as good as dead. The name of this girl is Agnes Aird, a painter's
daughter, who is also a teacher of his art. The lad is her father's
pupil, and has learned beneath his roof a lesson not included in the
artistic course; you may know that by the way in which his eyes devour
the girl, the intonation of his voice when he addresses her, the silent
pressure of the arm on which her fingers rest. Charles Coe is in love
with Agnes, and in all his studies of perspective beholds her, a radiant
figure beckoning him on to a happy future. His pencil strays from its
object to portray her features--to inscribe her name beside his own. Mr.
Coe, his father, exceedingly disapproves of this projected alliance, and
has forbidden the young people to associate. This ukase, however, can
scarcely be obeyed while the whole party are inmates of Mr. Aird's
residence, who "lets off" the upper part of his house as furnished
apartments, which the Coes have now inhabited as lodgers for some weeks.
Solomon (now a very well-to-do personage, and a great authority on
metalliferous soils) has come to town on business, and left to his wife
the choice of a residence; and she, to please her son, had chosen the
artist's dwelling, upon whose door-plate was inscribed the fact that he
was a professor of drawing. Solomon was not displeased that his son's
tastes lay in that direction; it might be useful to himself hereafter in
the matter of plans and sections; but he is violently opposed to this
ridiculous love affair, which is to be stamped out at once. To that end
he has instructed Mrs. Coe to look for lodgings in a distant quarter,
and it is on that