t Innisdale's great-grandfather? Well, well, whoever
he is, here's long life to his great-grandson! 'Incalculable fortune!'
Ay, ay, I hope at all events it will never be calculated. But now for
my letters. Bah! this wine is a thought too acid for the cellars of
Viscount Innisdale! What, another from Mother H----! Dark eyes, small
mouth, sings like an angel, eighteen! Pish! I am too old for such
follies now: 't is not pretty for Viscount Innisdale. Humph! Lisbon,
seven hundred pounds five shillings and seven-pence--half-penny, is it,
or farthing? I must note that down. Loan for King of Prussia. Well, must
negotiate that to-morrow. Ah, Hockit, the wine-merchant, pipe of claret
in the docks, vintage of 17--. Bravo! all goes smooth for Viscount
Innisdale! Pish! from my damnable wife! What a pill for my lordship!
What says she?"

DAWLISH, DEVONSHIRE.
You have not, my dearest Richard, answered my letters for months. I do
not, however, presume to complain of your silence; I know well that you
have a great deal to occupy your time, both in business and pleasure.
But one little line, dear Richard,--one little line, surely that is not
too much now and then. I am most truly sorry to trouble you again about
money; and you must know that I strive to be as saving as possible;
("Pish--curse the woman; sent her twenty pounds three months ago!") but
I really am so distressed, and the people here are so pressing; and,
at all events, I cannot bear the thought of your wife being disgraced.
Pray, forgive me, Richard, and believe how painful it is in me to say so
much. I know you will answer this! and, oh, do, do tell me how you are.

Ever your affectionate wife, CAROLINE CRAUFORD.

"Was there ever poor man so plagued? Where's my note book? Mem.--Send
Car. to-morrow 20 pounds to last her the rest of the year. Mem.--Send
Mother H----, 100 pounds. Mem.--Pay Hockit's bill, 830 pounds. Bless me,
what shall I do with Viscountess Innisdale? Now, if I were not married,
I would be son-in-law to a duke. Mem.--Go down to Dawlish, and see if
she won't die soon. Healthy situation, I fear,--devilish unlucky,--must
be changed. Mem.--Swamps in Essex. Who's that?"

A knock at the door disturbed Mr. Crauford in his meditations. He
started up, hurried the bottle and glass under the sofa, where the
descending drapery completely hid them; and, taking up a newspaper, said
in a gentle tone, "Come in." A small thin man, bowing at every s