My little Mary used to make my breakfast before I went to office of mornings; and on Sundays we had a holiday, and saw the dear little children eat their boiled beef and potatoes at the Foundling, and heard the beautiful music: but, beautiful as it is, I think the children were a more beautiful sight still, and the look of their innocent happy faces was better than the best sermon.

On week-days Mrs.Titmarsh would take a walk about five o'clock in the evening on the _left_-hand side of Lamb's Conduit Street (as you go to Holborn)--ay, and sometimes pursue her walk as far as Snow Hill, when two young gents from the I.W.

D.Fire and Life were pretty sure to meet her; and then how happily we all trudged off to dinner! Once we came up as a monster of a man, with high heels and a gold-headed cane, and whiskers all over his face, was grinning under Mary's bonnet, and chattering to her, close to Day and Martin's Blacking Manufactory (not near such a handsome thing then as it is now)--there was the man chattering and ogling his best, when who should come up but Gus and I?
And in the twinkling of a pegpost, as Lord Duberley says, my gentleman was seized by the collar of his coat and found himself sprawling under a stand of hackney-coaches; where all the watermen were grinning at him.

The best of it was, he left his _head of hair and whiskers_ in my hand: but Mary said, "Don't be hard upon him, Samuel; it's only a Frenchman." And so we gave him his wig back, which one of the grinning stable-boys put on and carried to him as he lay in the straw.
He shrieked out something about "arretez," and "Francais," and "champ- d'honneur;" but we walked on, Gus putting his thumb to his nose and stretching out his finger at Master Frenchman.

This made everybody laugh; and so the adventure ended.
About ten days after my aunt's departure came a letter from her, of which I give a copy:-- "My Dear Nephew,--It was my earnest whish e'er this to have returned to London, where I am sure you and my niece Titmarsh miss me very much, and where she, poor thing, quite inexperienced in the ways of 'the great metropulus,' in aconamy, and indeed in every qualaty requasit in a good wife and the mistress of a famaly, can hardly manidge, I am sure, without me.
"Tell her _on no account_ to pay more than 6.5_d_.for the prime pieces, 4.75_d_.for soup meat; and that the very best of London butter is to be had for 8.5_d_.; of course, for pudns and the kitchin you'll employ a commoner sort.