Page 140 (1/2)

Holborn was in full song,--a ru sy cobble-stones, the thudding beat of horse-hoofs, the

tread of countless feet, the shrill note of voices; it was all there,

the bass and the treble blending together, harsh, discordant, yet

the real symphony of life

And, aetful

of his companion, lost to all but the stir and bustle, the rush and

roar of the wonderful city about him The which Mr Smivvle duly

remarked from under the curly-brih his hat was at its usual rakish angle, though he

swung his cane and strode with all his ordinary devil-h his whiskers were as self-assertive as ever, yet

Mr Smivvle himself was unusually pensive, and in his bold black

eyes was a look very like anxiety But in a while, as they turned

out of the rush of Holborn Hill, he sighed, threw back his shoulders,

and spoke

"Nearly there now, my dear fellow, this is the Garden"

"Garden?" said Barnabas, glancing about "Where?"

"Here, sir; we're in it,--Hatton Garden Charhtfully rural retreat! Famous for strawberries

once, I believe,--flowers too, of course Talking of flowers, sir, a

few of 'em still left to--ah--blush unseen? I'm one, Barrymaine's

another--a violet? No A lily? No A blush-rose? Well, let us say a

blush-rose, but da of Barryht, perhaps, to warn you that

we may find him a trifle--queer--a leetle touched perhaps" And

Mr Sinary