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“the cord of existence—my affairs would be found, I hope, in a state of preparation.”

“My dear Sir Joseph!” said the lady, who was greatly younger than the gentleman. “How shocking!”

“My lady Bowley,” returned Sir Joseph, floundering now and then, as in the great depth of his observations, “at this season of the year we should think of—of—ourselves. We should look into our—our accounts. We should feel that every return of so eventful a period in human transactions, involves a matter of deep moment between a man and his—and his banker.

Sir Joseph delivered these words as if be felt the foil morality of what he was saying; and desired that even Trotty should have an opportunity of being improved by such discourse. Possibly he had this end before him in still forbearing to break the seal of the letter, and in telling Trotty to wait where he was, a minute.

“You were desiring Mr. Fish to say, my lady—” observed Sir Joseph.

“Mr. Fish has said that, I believe,” returned his lady, glancing at the letter. “But, upon my word. Sir Joseph, I don’t think I can let it go after all. It is so very dear.”

“What is dear?” inquired Sir Joseph.

“That Charity, my love. They only allow two votes for a subscription of five pounds. Really monstrous!”