trial of William Lord Russell, at the Old Bailey. There was also a
group of engraved portraits, the Royal Family of England early in
the reign of Queen Victoria; and finally, 'The Destruction of
Nineveh,' by John Martin. Along the window-sill were disposed
flower-pots containing artificial plants; one or other was always
being knocked down by the curtains or blinds.

Each guest having taken a quaff of ale or spirits or what was called
wine, with perhaps a mouthful of more solid sustenance, was then led
down into the back-kitchen to view the coffin and the corpse. I
mention the coffin first, because in everyone's view this was the
main point of interest. Could Mrs. Peckover have buried the old
woman in an orange-crate, she would gladly have done so for the
saving of expense; but with relatives and neighbours to consider,
she drew a great deal of virtue out of necessity, and dealt so very
handsomely with the undertaker, that this burial would be the talk
of the Close for some weeks. The coffin was inspected inside and
out, was admired and appraised, Mrs. Peckover being at hand to check
the estimates. At the same time every most revolting detail of the
dead woman's last illness was related and discussed and mused over
and exclaimed upon. 'A lovely corpse, considerin' her years,' was
the general opinion. Then all went upstairs again, and once more
refreshed themselves. The house smelt like a bar-room.

'Everythink most respectable, I'm sure!' remarked the female
mourners to each other, as they crowded together in the parlour.

'An' so it had ought to be!' exclaimed one, in an indignant tone,
such as is reserved for the expression of offence among educated
people, but among the poor--the London poor, least original and