His wife was manager in Threadneedle Street and at home--when the clerical gentlemen prayed they importuned Heaven for that sainted woman a long time 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.