"Do, my dearest child-it will be inexpressibly interesting. What have you got there? Ho, Addison. He that would acquire a pure style must give his days and nights to Addison.' Very well; he is always worth attention, though I never formed my style on his."

Mary always read well; and just now her balmy voice and distinct utterance were quite keenly appreciated by him. "You give every word its beauty and value," said he, when she ceased. "What does all that he says amount to apart from his well-chosen language, and the added charın imparted by you? That devotion opens the mind to great conceptions, and fills it with more sublime ideas than it would otherwise entertain. If it be very true, it is not very new."

"Is not one of the tests of a good writer his being able to give novelty to what is not absolutely new?

"In that case, my dear child, Addison has certainly not carried his point here; for there is absolutely nothing novel in his treatment of the subject. Rather a heavy one, too, is it not? I prefer his character pieces."

"O yes, of course; so do I."

Why then not give me what we both prefer?"

This well-intended attempt of Mary's was rather a failure. At any rate, however, it drew her out of herself, and she would not be baffled by a single defeat. Sir William Temple, Cowley, Shenstone, were all tried by her in turn; Lord Harry's remarks were often caustic and curions, sometimes pertinent, sometimes cap

tious. He loved her readings well enough as texts for playful controversy, and enjoyed drawing out for his own and sole benefit conversational powers that might have delighted a saloon. Gradually Mary was becoming less heartbroken, but she was increasingly pensive; and though she never bored him with preaching, for which, indeed, she had no vocation, Lord Harry grew a little impatient at the substitution of grave talk for amusement. He saw that Mary's heart was far away, and that her visits to him were from duty rather than inclination. Laura was the most entertaining now; and yet he peevishly told himself that he preferred Mary at her worst to Laura at her best.

All this time she was sickening for letters; but in those days a voyage to the West Indies was a vastly different thing from what it is now, and communications were about as long on the road as they are now from Australia.

As the season advanced the happy possessors of country seats went out of town; others visited fashionable watering-places. Lord Harry hated London when it was out of season; and though his power of bearing removal to his suburban retreat was a matter of question, he was determined on the experiment, and effected it without any very disastrous result. It hastened his downward progress, however.

The Beauforts took a house to be near him; rather an inexpedient step, Mrs. Forsyth would have said; but she was beyond reach of remark. Of course Lady Bab and Lady Kitty said they were following Lord Harry like harpies; but who cared for what they said? Mary was getting apathetic with regard to the gossip of society.

Merrily rang the Chiswick bells when Harry Levitt received the hand of sweet Lucy Tolhurst from her fond father. This had been many months ago: the happy pair started immediately afterwards for the continent. Wedding tours of this description were not then usual; but it had long been a dream of Lucy's to see some of the European capitals; and as Levitt's inclinations were the same, and

his purse was full of her money, there was no reason why he should not gratify her and himself.

Mr. Oldworth had of course been invited to the wedding; and, with a torn heart, he consented to go. He was spared the trial to his feelings, however. Just as he was on the point of starting his course was diverted, by a note from his aunt, from the wedding party to the bedside of his grandmother. She partially recovered, though only to be increasingly the object of care to her affectionate daughter.

As the slow winter dragged on its course, Mr. Oldworth went from time to time to see Mr. Tolhurst. His visits, first merely designed for the customary felicitations, were made more frequent when he found how much they were needed. Mr. Tolhurst was becoming painfully aware that instead of gaining a son he had lost a daughter.

"They were to have returned three months ago, Joe! and what can they want over there; what diversion can they find in places where they can't understand the spoken language? O yes, Lucy learnt French at her boarding-school, but she tells me 'tis very little use to her -they speak it with such a different accent. Mighty expensive, too, living is, over there; they run through a sight of money. A word in your ear, Joe. I know you'll speak candidly to your father's old friend; is Levitt addicted to play?"

"Sir," said Mr. Oldworth, with painful embarrassment, "you ought to know your son-in-law better than I do."

"Not so, not so-you've known him from the egg-you know all his whereabouts and belongings-you were schoolfellows, you are cousins-you've seen him behind the scenes; whereas here he's been on company manners; 'twas you introduced him to Lucy; and I teli you roundly, that if you knew him to be addicted to play

"Indeed, sir, I did n't

"If you knew it, I say, and yet put the artless girl in the way of his fascinations-I don't thank you for the introduction-can't forgive you for it."

As Mr. Oldworth returned home that evening, he saw a church-door open, and went in. It was empty, though there were voices in the vestry. Finding his way to the railing of the communion-table, he laid his throbbing head against it, then prostrated himself entirely before the unseen Presence whose forgiveness and support he supplicated with sighs that could not be uttered.

He was startled from his posture of self-abasement by persons leaving the vestry, and heard a well-known voice. Bellermine was kindly dismissing a poor woman; and looking round, he exclaimed-" Why, Joe! are you here? I did not notice you among our small congregation. You have been waiting for me, I suppose. Come with me to my lodgings, and let us have a good talk over our bread and cheese. Raining, is it, my good woman? It will not kill a fly ; and besides, I have an umbrella."

"You have none," said Mr. Oldworth, to the poor, thinly-clad widow, who stood at the threshold. "Here is mineyou can leave it at Mr. Bellermine's for me, in the morning."

"Joe, that was an act of mercy," said Bellermine, taking his arm, and holding his umbrella over both. "I have been administering oil and wine to her soul, but it did not occur to me to save her poor old body from a wetting."

"I am glad to have been permitted the humble office. You undertook what was more important to her."

"Well, the poor creature was in a piteous case. A youth, her only son, fell into bad courses, and has at length made away with himself. Living in a remote part of Yorkshire, and he having for some time neglected to answer her letters, she was ignorant for a long time of his miserable end. At length a presentiment, a foreboding of mischief-a dream, she tells me-made her lock up her cottage, start for London on foot, get a lift now and then in a wagon, and make her way tediously and painfully, to the house of his master, Lord Harry Bellair. There she heard the truth."

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Oldworth with strong pity.

"It almost killed her. She fainted dead away. When she came to she found herself in the housekeeper's room, who made her drink a glass of wine; took thought for her body, but had no medicine for her soul."

"Poor creature!"—

"She gathered the lad's few things together, and gave them to the mother, to whom they were precious relics, gave or lent her a few shillings, I think, for her return journey in the wagon, directed her to its starting-place, and got quit of her. But the poor woman was taken ill at the inn. I happened to hear of it and had her removed to a decent lodging. Miss Pomeroy heard of her from me, and visited her like an angel as she is, till she got well. And now, the money is returned, with thanks, to Lord Harry's housekeeper, and the widow is to start on her journey to-morrow, well provided, of course. She could not go, she said, without thanking me: nothing could exceed her gratitude, except her sorrow for her son. Finding where I was to preach, this evening, she came to speak to me in the vestry; but meanwhile-here we are," said Bellermine, knocking at the door of his lodging, and running up stairs directly it was opened, to make a rousing fire. "Welcome, old Joe!-sit you here and make yourself comfortable "—which was managed very speedily.

"Go on with what you were telling me," said Mr. Oldworth. "Meanwhile-' "Meanwhile there was the service, you know; and the sermon. You know what I said "

"No, I don't; I regret to say; for I did not even know you were preaching." "Aye? Then how came you to be in church?"

"Seeing the door ajar, I turned in." "To look about you? How curious! You could not see much, so poorly as it was lighted: 'tis almost the smallest, dirtiest, and I think, the very ugliest church in London. What do you think?" "To say the truth, I did not much observe it."

"No?-and yet you dropped in out of curiosity? Singular!"

"I have heard that, on the continent, the church-doors are continually ajar, so that any one may drop in when so minded.”

"Aye, and a very good plan too, for the poor benighted creatures who have yet to learn that God dwelleth not in temples made with hands--not exclusively, that is. He is in church as well as everywhere else, but no more."

"Still, within precincts specially set apart for prayer and praise, where there is an atmosphere of piety, as it were, accumulated during successive generations, the soul, always so difficult to raise above the vile things of earth, may find helps to meet its God."

As for the atmosphere of an old city church," said Bellermine, after a pause, "I must say I always find it particularly musty; owing in a great measure, I think, to the intra-mural interments. And I believe the tainted air has good deal to do with the heavy heads and hearts of those who breathe it. But as for the gist of what you say-to an imaginative mind, you know—there's a good deal in it; as there is sure to be in whatever you do say. And so you-[ understand. You needn't tell me you turned in to commune with your own heart and be still."

"Only the worst is, it will not be still."

"Where is the sore place?" "Ah, that's the very thing I can't tell you!"

"All right. The heart knows its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with it-only I'm no stranger. I'm not an advocate for auricular confession myself. I who speak out everything I do! The Romish church has so dreadfully abused it; and I rather think the best way is to carry every burthen to the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Still, we sometimes feel dreadfully in need of a human hand to give the burthen a hoist, if but that we may carry it to that Friend and cast it at his feet, only; if we just looked up and asked him-or

Pomeroy chose to throw herself away, as her friends called it, in this romantic manner, there was no one to hinder it, now that she was of age. The marriage soon took place, quite quietly; Mr. Oldworth was one of the wedding guests, and the most sympathizing and cordial of them all. When we are unselfish, we really find happiness in the happiness of our friends. Did he find happiness, then, in that of Mr. and Mrs. Levitt? Ah, that was a sore point. In the first place, it was a matter of rivalry; in the next, he had come too late to the conclusion that Levitt was unworthy of his prize, and undervalued it. It was an anxious question whether Lucy would be happy. Her father was unhappy and querulous already; and he became absolutely indignant with Levitt when a tailor's bill was sent in to him, which he should have paid before marriage. He passionately declared he would send him no more remittances. "And then, sir, he'll be compelled to bring her home."

But Levitt wrote to say his wife's health would not permit her to travel just now; and then "the father softened, though the governor was fixed." He sent Lucy £200 for her own private purse; but of course, her husband had the best part of it.

"Yes, Joe, she's so infatuated with him, that she's happy-at least, she has made believe to be, till this time, but her spirits seem flagging now. She speaks of being tired of sight-seeing; and says, 'if we should ever meet again!' Meet again? Why, to be sure we shall! If I thought otherwise, I should never have another happy moment."

Mr. Oldworth grieved to see that his health was really being undermined by constant fretting. One day, he was summoned to him very suddenly. Mr. Tolhurst had had an apoplectic fit. He had been bled heavily, and was recovering, but took a very low-spirited view of himself. "I'm going, Joe. I know I shan't get over this. You must write to her, my good fellow-"

"Had I not better write to Levitt, sir?" "No, no! I tell you no. He'd blurt it

out in his light way and kill her on the spot. It will go nigh to kill my Lucy as it is, so you must write in my name, you know, and then she'll know I am alive. She'll see, though, 'tisn't my writing. Take pen, ink, and paper, will you? Begin 'My Dearest Child!'"

My dearest child-You'll see, by the writing, that I'm not quite well to-day; so Oldworth has kindly offered to write for me.' (That's a fib, though.) "

"I'm most happy to offer, my dear sir. You only forestalled me."

"Yes, yes; it may stand. 'I hope you got the £200, dearest Lucy, which was for your sole and separate use; so mind, you've no right to do otherwise with it. You may do with it as you like, only not give it away to one particular person'

Do you think it well, sir, to say that? Probably Mrs. Levitt would have more pleasure in giving it that way than any other. At any rate, her pleasure would be greater if unfettered."

Never you mind that. The gift is mine, and I may say what I like. 'Hereafter all that I have will be yours, my Lucy: and it may not be so very long first; but it is safely tied up, to be a heritage for your boy, my dear, if you have one, when he comes of age; and meanwhile you are to have the interest.' That was well thought of, Joe," said Mr. Tolhurst, "my lawyer put it into my head: otherwise, you see, Levitt might have run through it all. O, he's a sad fellowand so specious! How came you to be so taken up with him, and taken in with him? Because he's so specious, of course. Poor Joe! you'd have been the better mate for Lucy."

Mr. Oldworth could not bear such observations as this; nor could he bear writing such letters; and yet, after remonstrating strongly against some of the things that were dictated to him, he had to write the letter, and to post it toowhich Levitt would have cleverly evaded in his place.

Levitt wrote a very wrathy answer directed to Mr. Oldworth. He bad fortunately opened his wife's letter. (O the meanness! ejaculated Mr. Oldworth)