nice pony-carriage, cows, a donkey, French bonnes, and a governess, and charge two hundred a year. I shall easily collect a dozen children—twelve will be ample to begin with—and there, you see, is upwards of two thousand a year at once! The Blairs, and Joneses, and Smithsons, dear old [26]friends, will be only too thankful for the chance.”

[26]

And, full of enthusiasm, she despatched many eager letters to the parents among her acquaintance; but, strange to relate, not one of these correspondents availed herself of her kind proposals, though they wrote long, affectionate epistles, suggesting the offspring of other people! Perhaps they were afraid that pretty little Mrs. Hayes, ever impulsive, extravagant, and gay, was too lively and erratic to take charge of their delicate darlings—besides, she was poor.

Oh, that was a dreary winter, when we existed on hope deferred! Emma was delicate—she had a troublesome cough; she required dainties, flowers, books, amusements, variety. Her gay spirits were fitful; she was not often on the top of the wave now, but liable to terrible fits [27]of weeping and depression. She wept for many things I could not obtain for her. For instance, for India—for the sun (the sun in London in January!), for her old servants her old friends—where were they? Those abroad sent long, affectionate letters, occasional newspapers, and little presents; those at home—well, at the moment there were none at home, none whose attachment would stand the strain of coming at least three miles to visit a shabby little widow, in very humble lodgings. I grew up that winter. I became ten years older. I learnt to market, to haggle, to housekeep, to concoct beef-tea and puddings, to make a little money go a long way. I learnt the cheap shops, the cheap little joints. I used to go out with our thrifty landlady to the Marlborough Road on Saturday nights, and bring home such bargains! I was thankful when the winter came to an end, [28]the days grew longer and lighter, and Emma recovered her health and her spirits. We partook of the season’s delights in a very mild and inexpensive form; we went per ’bus to some picture-galleries, to the shilling places at concerts, and occupied chairs in the Row. Emma liked to sit there the whole afternoon, returning home by what we called “our own green carriage” in time for our frugal tea.

[27]

[28]

“Oh, what a different life from what I have been accustomed to!” she complained to me one day. “Watching from my penny chair the crowds and 

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