There were two heavy, middle-aged merchants; they were either Dutch or German, I know not which, but their name was Vanderclump.  Most decided old bachelors they were, with large, leathern, hanging cheeks, sleepy grey eyes, and round shoulders.  They were men not given to much speech, but great feeders; and, when waited upon, would point clumsily to what they wanted, and make a sort of low growl, rather than be at the trouble to speak.  These Messrs. Vanderclump were served by two tall, smooth-faced dawdles; I never could discover which held the superior station in the menage.  Each has been seen trotting home from market with a basket on her arm; each might be observed to shake a duster out of the upper windows; each would, occasionally, carry a huge bunch of keys, or wait at table during dinner; and, in the summer evenings, when it was not post-day, both of them would appear, dressed alike, sitting at work at the lower counting-house window, with the blinds thrown wide open.  Both, I suppose, were housekeepers.

It happened, one cold, foggy spring, that the younger brother, Mr. Peter Vanderclump, left London to transact some business of importance with a correspondent at Hamburgh, leaving his brother Anthony to the loneliness of their gloomy house in St. Mary Axe.  Week after week passed away, and Mr. Peter was still detained at Hamburgh.  Who would have supposed that his society could have been missed? that the parlour could have seemed more dismally dull by the absence of one of those from whom it chiefly derived its character of dulness?  Mr. Anthony took up his largest meerchaum, and enveloped himself in its smoke by the hour; but the volumes of smoke cleared away, and no Peter Vanderclump appeared emerging from the mist.  Mr. Anthony brought some of his heavy folios from below; and, in their pages of interest, (no common, but often compound, interest,) lost, for awhile, the dreary sense of loneliness.  But, a question was to be asked!  Peter’s solemn “yah” or “nien” was waited for in vain.  Forgetful, and almost impatient, Anthony looked up—­the chair was unoccupied which his brother had constantly filled.

Mr. Anthony began to sigh—­he got into a habit of sighing.  Betty and Molly (they were soft-hearted baggages) felt for their master—­pitied their poor master!  Betty was placing the supper on the table one evening, when her master sighed very heavily.  Betty sighed also, and the corners of her mouth fell—­their eyes met—­something like a blush crimsoned Betty’s sleek, shining cheek, when, on raising her eyes again, her master was still staring at her.  Betty simpered, and, in her very soft, very demure voice ventured to say, “Was there any thing she could do?” Mr. Vanderclump rose up from his chair.  Betty, for the first time, felt awed by his approach.  “Batee!” he said, “my poor Batee!  Hah! you are a goot girl!” He chucked her under the chin with his large hand.  Betty looked meek, and blushed, and simpered again.  There was a pause—­Mr. Vanderclump was the first to disturb it.  “Hah! hah!” he exclaimed, gruffly, as if suddenly recollecting himself; and, thrusting both hands into his capacious breeches-pockets, he sat down to supper, and took no further notice of Betty that night.