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At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. He handed Ruth a letter. " "I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. All these circumstances,—slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,—touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them.
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