an odd-looking little coin.     

       “THAT'S IT! that's it!” cried Mrs. S. “A Queene Anne's sixpence, isn't it, dear—dated seventeen hundred and three?”      

       It was so sure enough: a Queen Ans sixpence of that very date.     

       “Now, my love,” says she, “I have found him! Come with me to-morrow, and you shall KNOW ALL!”      

       And now comes the end of my story.     

      . . . . . . 

       The ladies nex morning set out for the City, and I walked behind, doing the genteel thing, with a nosegy and a goold stick. We walked down the New Road—we walked down the City Road—we walked to the Bank. We were crossing from that heddyfiz to the other side of Cornhill, when all of a sudden missis shreeked, and fainted spontaceously away.     

       I rushed forrard, and raised her to my arms: spiling thereby a new weskit and a pair of crimson smalcloes. I rushed forrard. I say, very nearly knocking down the old sweeper who was hobbling away as fast as posibil. We took her to Birch's; we provided her with a hackney-coach and every lucksury, and carried her home to Islington.     

      . . . . . . 

       That night master never came home. Nor the nex night, nor the nex. On the fourth day an octioneer arrived; he took an infantry of the furnitur, and placed a bill in the window.     

       At the end of the wick Altamont made his appearance. He was haggard and pale; not so haggard, however, not so pale as his miserable wife.     

       He looked at her very tendrilly. I may say, it's from him that I coppied MY look to Miss ——. He looked at her very tendrilly and held out his arms. She gev a suffycating shreek, and rusht into his umbraces.     

       “Mary,” says he, “you know all now. I have sold my place; I have got three thousand pounds for it, and saved two more. I've sold my house and furnitur, and that brings me another. We'll go abroad and love each other, has formly.”      

       And now you ask me, Who he was? I 

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