an understood thing between us, that I will never reveal any secret with which a young lady is kind enough to intrust me. And this, I think, is a catalogue of all the household above the good old warehouse. Ah! no,--there is the excellent Mr Bullion himself. He is now sixty; he has white hair, a noble, even a _distingué_ figure: look into any page of any fashionable novel of any year, for an explanation of what that means. On the present occasion, you would perhaps conclude that the long-backed, wide-tailed blue coat, the low-flapped waistcoat, tight-fitting knee-br--ch--s, white cotton stockings in-doors, long gaiters out, with bright-buckled square-toed shoes, may be a little inconsistent with the epithet _distingué_. But this is a vulgar error, and would argue that nobody could look _distingué_ without lace and brocade. Now, only imagine Mr Bullion in a court-dress, with a silk bag floating over his shoulder, to tie up long tresses which have disappeared from his head for many years; a diamond-hilted rapier that probably has no blade, and all the other portions of that graceful and easy style of habiliment,--dress him in this way, and look at him bowing gracefully by means of his three-cornered hat, and you will surely grant he would be a _distingué_ figure then,--and why not in his blue coat and smalls? But _distingué_-looking men, even in court-dresses, may be great rascals, and even considerable fools. Then was Mr Bullion a rascal?--no. A fool?--no. In short, he was one of the best of men, and could have been recognised during his life, if any one had described him in the words of his epitaph.