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ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 551
when that arch-jobber—don't tell me;—I never knew a woman
worth a pin who wasn't—when that arch-jobber, I say, has achieved
a job by which some friend is made happy, her eyes and cheeks
brighten with triumph. Whether she has put a sick man into a
hospital, or got a poor woman a family's washing, or made a sinner
repent and return to wife, husband, or what not, that woman goes
off and pays her thanks, where thanks are due, with such fervour,
with such lightsomeness, with such happiness, that I assure you she
is a sight to behold. Hush! When one sinner is saved, who
are glad ? Some of us know a woman or two pure as angels—
know, and are thankful.
When the person about whom I have been prattling has one of
her benevolent jobs in hand, or has completed it, there is a sort of
triumph and mischief in her manner, which I don't know otherwise
how to describe. She does not understand my best jokes at this
period, or answers them at random, or laughs very absurdly and
vacantly. She embraces her children wildly, and at the most
absurd moments, is utterly unmindful when they are saying their
lessons, prattling their little questions, and so forth. I recall all
these symptoms (and put this and that together, as the saying is)
as happening on one especial day, at the commencement of Easter
Term, eighteen hundred and never mind what—as happening on one
especial morning when this lady had been astoundingly distraite and
curiously excited. I now remember, how during her children's
dinner-time, she sat looking into the square out of her window, and
scarcely attending to the little innocent cries for mutton which the
children were offering up.
At last there was a rapid clank over the pavement, a tall figure
passed the parlour windows, which our kind friends know look into
Queen Square, and then came a loud ring at the bell, and I thought
the mistress of the house gave an ah—a sigh—as though her heart
was relieved.
The street door was presently opened, and then the dining-room
door, and Philip walks in with his hat on, his blue eyes staring
before him, his hair flaming about, and " La, Uncle Philip !" cry
the children. "What have you done to yourself? You have
shaved off your moustache." And so he had, I declare !
" I say, Pen, look here ! This has been left at chambers ; and
Cassidy has sent it on by his clerk," our friend said. I forget
whether it has been stated that Philip's name still remained on the
door of those chambers in Parchment Buildings, where we once
heard his song of " Doctor Luther," and were present at his callsupper.
The document which Philip produced was actually a brief.