management. How poor Mr. Eglantine used to hate him and envy him,
as from the door of his emporium (the firm was Eglantine and
Mossrose now) he saw the Captain daily arrive in his pony-phaeton,
and heard of the start he had taken in life.

The only regret Mrs. Walker had was that she did not enjoy enough of
her husband's society. His business called him away all day; his
business, too, obliged him to leave her of evenings very frequently
alone; whilst he (always in pursuit of business) was dining with his
great friends at the club, and drinking claret and champagne to the
same end.

She was a perfectly good-natured and simple soul, never made him a
single reproach; but when he could pass an evening at home with her
she was delighted, and when he could drive with her in the Park she
was happy for a week after. On these occasions, and in the fulness
of her heart, she would drive to her mother and tell her story.
"Howard drove with me in the Park yesterday, Mamma;" and "Howard has
promised to take me to the Opera," and so forth. And that evening
the manager, Mr. Gawler, the first tragedian, Mrs. Serle and her
forty pupils, all the box-keepers, bonnet-women--nay, the
ginger-beer girls themselves at "The Wells," knew that Captain and
Mrs. Walker were at Kensington Gardens, or were to have the
Marchioness of Billingsgate's box at the Opera. One night--O joy of
joys!--Mrs. Captain Walker appeared in a private box at "The Wells."
That's she with the black ringlets and Cashmere shawl,
smelling-bottle, and black-velvet gown, and bird of paradise in her
hat. Goodness gracious! how they all acted at her, Gawler and all,
and how happy Mrs. Crump was! She kissed her daughter between all
the acts, she nodded to all her friends on the stage, in the slips,