which I cannot even guess at. Mr. Vanderclump looked upon the bright
and blazing fire; his eye rested, with a calm and musing satisfaction,
on the light volumes of steam rising from the spout of the tea-kettle,
as it stood, rather murmuring drowsily, than hissing, upon the hob. There
was, he might have felt, a sympathy between them. They were both placidly
puffing out the warm and wreathing smoke.

He laid down his pipe, and took half a well-buttered muffin into his
capacious mouth at a bite; he washed the mouthful down, with a large
dish of tea, and he felt in better spirits. That morning he entered the
counting-house rubbing his hands.

Within an hour a crowd of huge, dusky clouds shut out the merry sunshine,
and the Hamburgh mail brought no tidings whatever of Mr. Peter. Mr.
Anthony worked himself up into a thorough ill-humour again, and swore
at his clerks, because they asked him questions. When he entered his
apartment that evening he felt more desolate than ever. Betty placed
a barrel of oysters on the table--he heeded her not;--a large German
sausage--his eyes were fixed on the ground;--a piece of Hamburgh beef
--Mr. Vanderclump looked up for an instant, and, Europa-like, his
thoughts crossed the sea, upon that beef, to Hamburgh. Gradually,
however, a genial warmth spread throughout the room, for Betty stirred
up the fire, and let down the curtains, and snuffed the dim candles;
while Molly loaded the table with bottles of divers shapes and sizes,
a basin of snow-white sugar, and a little basket of limes, of well-known
and exquisite flavour; placing, at the same time, a very small kettle of
boiling water on the fire.--"Why, Mollee! my goot girl!" said Mr.
Vanderclump, in a low and somewhat melancholy tone, (his eyes had
mechanically followed these latter proceedings,) "Mollee! that is ponch!"
--"La, sir! and why not?" replied the damsel, almost playfully. "Why