| MY LADY LUDLOW |
| AN ACCURSED RACE |
| THE DOOM OF THE GRIFFITHS |
| HALF A LIFE-TIME AGO |
| THE POOR CLARE |
| THE HALF-BROTHERS |
Long ago I was placed by my parents under the medical treatment of a certainMr. Dawson, a surgeon in Edinburgh, who had obtained a reputation for the cureof a particular class of diseases. I was sent with my governess into lodgingsnear his house, in the Old Town. I was to combine lessons from the excellentEdinburgh masters, with the medicines and exercises needed for myindisposition. It was at first rather dreary to leave my brothers and sisters,and to give up our merry out-of-doors life with our country home, for dulllodgings, with only poor grave Miss Duncan for a companion; and to exchange ourromps in the garden and rambles through the fields for stiff walks in thestreets, the decorum of which obliged me to tie my bonnet-strings neatly, andput on my shawl with some regard to straightness.
The evenings were the worst. It was autumn, and of course they daily grewlonger: they were long enough, I am sure, when we first settled down in thosegray and drab lodgings. For, you must know, my father and mother were not rich,and there were a great many of us, and the medical expenses to be incurred bymy being placed under Mr. Dawson’s care were expected to be considerable;therefore, one great point in our search after lodgings was economy. My father,who was too true a gentleman to feel false shame, had named this necessity forcheapness to Mr. Dawson; and in return, Mr. Dawson had told him of those at No.6 Cromer Street, in which we were finally settled. The house belonged to an oldman, at one time a tutor to young men preparing for the University, in whichcapacity he had become known to Mr. Dawson. But his pupils had dropped off; andwhen we went to lodge with him, I imagine that his principal support wasderived from a few occasional lessons which he gave, and from letting the roomsthat we took, a drawing-room opening into a bed-room, out of which a smallerchamber led. His daughter was his housekeeper: a son, whom we never saw,supposed to be leading the same life that his father had done before him, onlywe never saw or heard of any pupils; and there was one hard-working, honestlittle Scottish maiden, square, stumpy, neat, and plain, who might have beenany age from eighteen to forty.
Looking back on the household now, there was perhaps much to admire in theirquiet endurance of decent poverty; but at this time, their poverty gratedagainst many of my tastes, for I could not recognize the fact, that in a townthe simple graces of fresh flowers, clean white muslin curtains, pretty brightchintzes, all cost money, which is saved by the adoption of dust-colouredmoreen, and mud-coloured carpets. There was not a penny spent on mere elegancein that room; yet there was everything considered necessary to comfort: butafter all, such mere pretences of comfort! a hard, slippery, black horse-hairsofa, which was no place of rest; an old piano, serving as a sideboard; agrate, narrowed by an inner supplement, till it hardly held a handful of thesmall coal which could scarcely ever be stirred up into a genial blaze. Butthere were two evils worse than even this coldness and bareness of the rooms:one was that we were provided with a latch-key, w