sing appearance took
his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with
which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in
search of some particular habitation. The age of this individual could
not be more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully
proportioned; and his clear gray eye and open countenance bespoke a
frank, generous, and resolute nature. His features were regular, and
finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,--a little shaded,
however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy
contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of
substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed
his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as
luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the
Second's days--a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in
our own days. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high
jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no
particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction.
Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and
manly deportment, that few--especially of the gentler and more
susceptible sex--failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon
the handsome stranger. Unconscious of the interest he excited, and
entirely occupied by his own thoughts--which, if his bosom could have
been examined, would have been found composed of mingled hopes and
fears--the young man walked on till he came to an old house, with great
projecting bay windows on the first floor, and situated as nearly as
possible at the back of St. Clement's church. Here he halted; and,
looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying
a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not
the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE,
WOOLLEN-DRAPER.

Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it
was with difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the
inquiries he desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. As
he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom
he at once recognised as the present proprietor. Mr. Kneebone was
attired in the extremity of the mode. A full-curled wig descended
half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin"