CHAPTER X.

"Junonem interea compellat Jupiter ultro."-ÆN. X.

INDISCRETION is a failing not limited to youth. or sex; nor is it by any means identified with careless indifference about every-day matters of pounds, shillings, and pence. Mr. Bumby was an early client of mine, for whom I felt considerable regard. Accident led me one day to his shop to purchase some trifling article of jewelery. I have a natural disposition to indulge in good-humored gossip with strangers, where circumstances pave the way; and occasional purchases, accompanied with friendly chit-chat across the counter, laid the foundation for a professional connexion between us, of no very important extent, yet profitable to me and satisfactory to him. Shortly after I became ac quainted with him, Mr. Bumby retired from

business, having scraped together a sum of twelve thousand pounds, which he considered amply sufficient provision for the evening of life, having no family but his wife and a married daughter comparatively independent of him. This daughter however, had two children; and her husband was somewhat speculative and scheming in business. Bumby was a blunt, honest fellow, turned of seventy, and on the whole, acute as well as sensible. His wife was full twenty years his junior, goodlooking for forty-eight, and, I believe, sincerely attached to him; yet her attachment was by no means of that high caste that contemplated self-immolation on his tomb: she obviously reckoned on a long survivorship. One of the first duties that Bumby proposed to discharge on relinquishing trade, was to make his will; and he called on me with his wife to give the usual instructions.

SO

"You see, Sharpe, I've nothing else to do; may as well set my house in order.”

I

Well, Mr. Bumby, that's a good 'un! as if I hadn't always kept it tidy as need be, though I say it that shouldn't say it! House in order, truly! it's never been out of order

these three-and-twenty years-shop, counter, master, and all!"

"Mind your own business, Betty, and don't speak till you are asked. I can talk to Mr. Sharpe without your help. I want to make my will, Sharpe."

"There now, Bumby, that's coming to the point! we want to make the will, Mr. Sharpe."

"I shall be happy to attend to your instructions, Sir: I believe I know generally what your property is?"

"Let's see; there's the consols, £7850, and the reduced, £2300, and the India bonds, and the-"

"Don't forget the policy, Bumby! you remember the policy?"

"Deuce take the policy and you too! you are always harping about the policy. I believe you'd see me hanged to-morrow to get hold of that eternal policy."

"You needn't snub me that way, Bumby," whimpered his loving wife.

"Well, Sir;" interposing, as I always do to escape a scene, "there are the India bonds and the policy."

"And the shop and dwelling-house in

Crooked lane," added Mrs. Bumby, but in a tone somewhat subdued, though still sharp and prompt.

"What's that to you, Betty? I shall do as I please with the shop and dwelling-house in Crooked lane."

"To be sure, Bumby, no doubt: but you always said that Crooked lane would do for me, you know."

“I presume no part of the property is in settlement?'

"The more the pity!" softly ejaculated Betty.

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Say another word," rejoined Bumby angrily, "I'll make no will at all!"

"And how would the policy go then, Mr. Sharpe?" retorted his wife.

"Before I had time to answer, Bumby took out his pocket-book, and slowly fixing his spectacles, read from it his instructions, to the effect that his widow was to enjoy the interest of the whole for her life, and then it was to go to their daughter.

"But here's where it is, Sharpe; Betty and I, you see, can't agree about the way to give it to our girl; that wild chap her husband,

may die or be hanged, and then the fool would marry again, and her children starve in the workhouse; so I should like to tie it all up for them, out of harm's way: but Betty is for giving it her outright!"

"And so I would, Bumby; if the girl don't marry again, she'll do worse."

"Ay, ay: she takes sorely after her mother."

Mrs. Bumby knit her brows, pursed up her mouth, fanned herself with her pocket-handkerchief, and pendulated her body to and fro in her chair with that awful dignity, which in ladies of a certain age and considerable diameter, argues preparation for an explosion of no ordinary force. I hurried to the rescue of her unlucky spouse.

"I'll take a note of your instructions, Mr. Bumby, and—”

"You'll please to hear me too, I hope, Mr. Sharpe?"

"You'll please not to forget the policy, Mr. Sharpe?"

"He's not likely while you are by, Betty." speaking to Mr. Sharpe, Mr.

"I was