our own time. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and
squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his
dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to
scorn--on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence
of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart
was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour.
Suffolk House, as Brandon's palace was denominated, was subsequently
converted into a mint by his royal brother-in-law, Henry the Eighth;
and, after its demolition, and the removal of the place of coinage to
the Tower, the name was still continued to the district in which it had
been situated.

Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of
desolation and misery. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. The roof
was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls
bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the
opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its
place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the
windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs
of heaven. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak
more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular
appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty
hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former
occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have
before alluded.

It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs. Sheppard
was enabled to take possession of the premises. In a fit of despondency,
superinduced by drunkenness, he made away with himself; and when the
body was discovered, after a lapse of some months, such was the