before they thought of asking any favour for her husband.
The gardeners touched their hats, the clerks at the bank brought him
the books, but they took their orders from her, not from him. I think he
grew weary of the prayer-meetings, he yawned over the sufferings of the
negroes, and wished the converted Jews at Jericho. About the time the
French Emperor was meeting with his Russian reverses Mr. Newcome died:
his mausoleum is in Clapham Churchyard, near the modest grave where his
first wife reposes.

When his father married, Mr. Thomas Newcome, jun., and Sarah his nurse
were transported from the cottage where they had lived in great comfort
to the palace hard by, surrounded by lawns and gardens, pineries,
graperies, aviaries, luxuries of all kinds. This paradise, five miles
from the Standard at Cornhill, was separated from the outer world by
a thick hedge of tall trees, and an ivy-covered porter's-gate, through
which they who travelled to London on the top of the Clapham coach could
only get a glimpse of the bliss within. It was a serious paradise. As
you entered at the gate, gravity fell on you; and decorum wrapped you
in a garment of starch. The butcher-boy who galloped his horse and
cart madly about the adjoining lanes and common, whistled wild melodies
(caught up in abominable playhouse galleries), and joked with a hundred
cook-maids, on passing that lodge fell into an undertaker's pace, and
delivered his joints and sweetbreads silently at the servants' entrance.
The rooks in the elms cawed sermons at morning and evening; the
peacocks walked demurely on the terraces; the guinea-fowls looked more
Quaker-like than those savoury birds usually do. The lodge-keeper was
serious, and a clerk at a neighbouring chapel. The pastors who entered
at the gate, and greeted his comely wife and children, fed the little
lambkins with tracts. The head-gardener was a Scotch Calvinist, after
the strictest order, only occupying himself with the melons and pines
provisionally, and until the end of the world, which event, he could
prove by infallible calculations, was to come off in two or three years
at farthest. Wherefore, he asked, should the butler brew strong ale to
be drunken three years hence; or the housekeeper (a follower of Joanna
Southcote) make provisions of fine linen and lay up stores of jams? On
a Sunday (which good old Saxon word was scarcely known at the Hermitage)
the household marched away in separate couples or groups t