ed the good
matron's reasons for not evincing that solicitude for his return which
our hero had reasonably anticipated. The fact was, that she, having no
confidence whatsoever in his own resources independent of her, had not
been sorry of an opportunity effectually, as she hoped, to humble
that pride which had so revolted her; and she pleased her vanity by
anticipating the time when Paul, starved into submission, would gladly
and penitently re-seek the shelter of her roof, and, tamed as it were by
experience, would never again kick against the yoke which her matronly
prudence thought it fitting to impose upon him. She contented herself,
then, with obtaining from Dummie the intelligence that our hero was
under MacGrawler's roof, and therefore out of all positive danger to
life and limb; and as she could not foresee the ingenious exertions of
intellect by which Paul had converted himself into the "Nobilitas" of
"The Asinaeum," and thereby saved himself from utter penury, she
was perfectly convinced, from her knowledge of character, that the
illustrious MacGrawler would not long continue that protection to the
rebellious protege which in her opinion was his only preservative from
picking pockets or famishing. To the former decent alternative she knew
Paul's great and jejune aversion; and she consequently had little fear
for his morals or his safety, in thus abandoning him for a while
to chance. Any anxiety, too, that she might otherwise have keenly
experienced was deadened by the habitual intoxication now increasing
upon the good lady with age, and which, though at times she could be
excited to all her characteristic vehemence, kept her senses for the
most part plunged into a Lethean stupor, or, to speak more courteously,
into a poetical abstraction from the things of the external world.

"But," said Dummie, as by degrees he imparted the solution of the dame's
conduct to the listening ear of his companion,--"but I hopes as how ven
you be out of this 'ere scrape, leetle Paul, you vill take varning, and
drop Meester Pepper's acquaintance (vich, I must say, I vas alvays a
sorry to see you hencourage), and go home to the Mug, and fam grasp the
old mort, for she has not been like the same cretur ever since you vent.
She's a delicate-'arted 'oman, that Piggy Lob!"

So appropriate a panegyric on Mrs. Margaret Lobkins might at another
time have excited Paul's risible muscles; but at that moment he really
felt compunction for the