Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. They reluctantly went back to school the Thursday after New Year’s Day. Langley is getting up, and coming this way. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. She was for ever scanning luggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniature pictures. She told you —the truth. It was open. “Please let me drive you home. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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