to write or draw himself, and he was compelled to employ both an amanuensis and a draughtsman. Still, though he had only the use of the third and little finger of his left hand, he would frequently take a pen or a pencil, and make sketches with astonishing vigour, so as fully to explain to his draughtsman what he wished to be done.

In 1826 he established the Gardener's Magazine, besides publishing in succession a number of other works and pamphlets; and in 1828 commenced the Magazine of Natural History.

His first introduction to his future wife has something in it characteristic.

About this time, says Mrs Loudon, Mr Loudon formed his first acquaintance with me. My father died in 1824, and finding, on the winding up of his affairs, that it would be necessary for me to do something for my support, I had written a strange wild novel called The Mummy, in which I had laid the scene in the twentysecond century, and attempted to predict the state of improvement to which this country might possibly arrive. Mr Loudon chanced to see the review of this book in the Literary Gazette, and, as among other things I had mentioned a steam plough, it attracted his attention, and he procured the work from a circulating library. He read it, and was so much pleased with it, that he published, in The Gardener's Magazine for 1828, a notice of it under the head of "Hints for Improvements;" and he had from that time a great desire to become acquainted with the author, whom he supposed to be a man. In Feb. ruary 1830, Mr Loudon chanced to mention this wish to a lady, a friend of his, who happened to be acquainted with me, and who immediately invited him to a party, where she promised him he should have the wished-for introduction. It may be easily supposed that he was surprised to find the author of the book a woman; but I believe that from that evening he formed an attachment to me, and, in fact, we were married on the 14th of the following September.

Mr Loudon now continued his literary labours with unabated energy, except when interrupted by some professional tours he made to the north of England and Scotland. Ill health too, and especially severe rheumatism, frequently interfered with, though it did not subdue his indomitable perseverance; and his faithful wife was constantly at hand to second his labours by acting as his amanuensis.

His Arboretum Britannicum, a large and expensive work on forest trees, had again involved him in pecuniary difficulties; and this, added to the fatigue of incessant exertion, with a shattered constitution, brought on consumption, of which he died in the end of the year 1843; thus, at the age of sixty, closing a life of unremitting labour, but leaving to posterity many works of great practical utility.

To his active habits, Mr Loudon joined great method and love of order. He was also most punctual in business, open and upright in his transactions, and a lover of truth. His firmness and almost stoical fortitude under very trying circumstances, is thus related of him by a friend:

"The morning that Drs Thompson and Lauder called upon him for the purpose of amputating his right arm, they met him in the garden, and asked if he had fully made up his mind to undergo the operation. Oh yes, certainly,' he said; it was for that purpose I sent for you;' and added very coolly, but you had better step in, and just have a little lunch first before you begin.' After lunch he walked up stairs quite composedly, talking to the doctors on general subjects. When all the ligatures were tied, and everything complete, he was about to step down stairs, as a matter of course, to go on with his business; and the doctors had great difficulty to prevail upon him to go to bed.

"As a man of industry, he was not surpassed by any one. Deducting for the time he has been poorly, he has, during three-fourths of his literary career, dictated about five and a-half printed octavo pages of matter every day on an average. He has been frequently known to dictate to two amanuenses at the same time. He often used to work until 11 and 12 o'clock at night, and sometimes all night. It may not be amiss to mention here, as illustrative of his love of labour, that, whilst his manservant was dressing him for church on the day of his marriage, he was actually dictating to his amanuensis the whole time.

"Although Mr Loudon was a matter-of-fact man, he had nevertheless a good deal of poetry in his soul. The writer happened to dine wi h him the day that he attended Dr Southwood Smith's Anatomical Lecture on the body of his friend Jeremy Bentham. Just at the moment the lecturer withdrew the covering from the face of the corpse, the lightning flashed, and an awful burst of thunder pealed forth

'Crush'd, horrible, convulsing heaven and carth.'

Mr Loudon, during dinner, gave a most touching, poetical, and graphic description of the lecture and the circumstances attending it; and every one present could see how deeply he felt the loss of his friend Bentham.

"Mr Loudon was a man, like most good men, rather easily imposed upon. He, contrary to the ways of the world, looked upon every man as a good man until he had proved him otherwise; but whenhe had done so, he was firm in his purpose. He was a warm friend, an excellent husband, an amiable brother, and a most affectionate and dutiful son. Altogether

He was a man, take him for all in all,
We shall not look upon his like again.””

Dec. 15, 1764.-I received to-day from Dr Snarl, my rector, L.10 sterling, being the amount of my half-year's salary. The receipt even of this hardly-earned sum was accompanied by many disagreeable circumstances.

After I had waited an hour and a half in the cold ante-chamber of the rector, I was admitted to his presence, He was seated in a large easy chair at his writing-desk; my money was already counted out. My low bow he returned with a majestic side-nod, while he slightly pushed back his beautiful black silk cap, and immediately drew it on again. He is certainly a man of much dignity. I cannot approach him without awe. I do believe I should not enter the king's presence with

more reverence.

He did not ask me to sit down, although he knew that I had this very morning walked eleven miles in bad

weather, and that the hour and a half's waiting in the ante-chamber had not much rested my wearied limbs, He pointed with his hand to the money.

My heart beat violently when I would introduce the subject, long thought of and well conned, of a little increase of my salary. Would I were able to overcome my backwardness in the most innocent, nay, I will say even in the most righteous cause. With a trepidation as if I were about to commit a crime, I endeavoured twice to tell my tale. Memory, words, and voice failed The sweat stood in great drops on my forehead. "What do you wish?" said the rector, benignantly. "I am-everything is so dear-scarcely able to get through these hard times, with my small salary."

me.

"Small salary, Mr Vicar! How can you think so? I can any day procure another Vicar for L.15 sterling a year."

"For L.15! Yes, without a family he might get along with that sum.'

"Your family, Mr Vicar, has not received any addition, I trust. You have only two daughters?"

"Yes, your reverence; but these are growing up. My Jenny, the eldest, is now eighteen, and Polly, the younger, will soon be twelve."

'So much the better. Can't your girls work?"

I was going to reply, when he hindered me by rising and observing, while he went to the window and tapped with his fingers on the glass, that he had no time to talk with me to-day. "Think it over," he concluded, "whether you will retain your place at L.15 a-year, and let me know. If you can't, I hope you will get a better situation for a new year's present."

He bowed very politely, and again touched his cap. I hastily seized the money, and took my leave. I was thunderstruck. He had never received nor dismissed me so coldly before. Without doubt somebody has been speaking ill of me. He did not even invite me to dinner, as had always before been his custom. I had counted upon it, for I came from Crekelad without breaking my fast. I bought a loaf in the outskirts of the town at a baker's shop, observed in passing, and ate it on my way homewards.

How cast down was I as I trudged along! I cried like a child! The bread I was eating was wet with my

tears.

Fy, Thomas! Shame upon thy faint heart! Lives not the gracious God still? What if thou hadst lost the place altogether? And it is only L.5 less! It is indeed a quarter of my whole little yearly stipend, and it leaves barely 10d. a-day to feed and clothe three of us. What

is there left for us? He who clothes the lilies of the field! He who feeds the young ravens! We must deny ourselves some of our superfluities.

Dec. 16.-I do believe Jenny is an angel. Her soul is even more beautiful than her person. I am almost ashamed of being her father. She is so much better and more pious than I.

I had not the courage yesterday to tell my girls the bad news. When I mentioned it to-day Jenny at first looked very serious, but suddenly she brightened up and said, "Thou art distressed, father!"

"Have I not reason for being so?" "No, thou hast not!"

"Dear child, we shall never be free from debt and

Instead of answering, Jenny gently passed one arm round my neck, and pointed upwards with the other, "He, yonder!" said she.

Polly seated herself on my lap, patted my face, and said, "Let me tell thee something. I dreamed last night that it was new year, and that the king had come to Crekelad. There was a splendid show. The king dismounted from his horse before our door, and walked in. We had nothing to cook or bake. He ordered some of his own dainties to be brought in on dishes of gold and silver. The kettle-drums and trumpets sounded outside, and behold, with the sound of the music, in marched some people with a bishop's mitre upon a satin cushion, a new year's present for thee! It looked very funny, like the cocked hats of the bishops in the old picture books. But you looked right well in it. Yet I laughed myself almost out of breath. Then Jenny waked me up, which made me quite angry. This dream has certainly something to do with a new year's present. It is only fourteen days to new years."

I said to Polly, "Dreams are but seems;" but she said, "Dreams come from God."

Noon. This morning I received a note, sent from a stranger who had lodged at the inn all night, begging to see me as soon as I could make it convenient. I walked down immediately, and inquired for the stranger. He

was a fine-looking young man, of about six-and-twenty.' He wore an overcoat, much the worse for wear, and his boots were soiled with travelling. His hat, though originally of better quality than mine, was even more worn; yet, spite of his threadbare apparel, his bearing was that of a gentleman. I noticed also that his shirt was of fine linen, having been given to him probably by some benevolent person. He asked me into a private room, and after begging pardon for thus troubling me, informed me humbly that he found himself at present in the greatest distress, and having no acquaintance in the village, where he had arrived yesterday evening, he had applied to me, knowing that I was a clergyman. He was, he added, by profession an actor, but without employment, and on his way to Manchester; but was just now unexpectedly out of money. He had expended all his money, and had not enough, in fact, to pay for his night's lodging, and his fare to Manchester; he needed but the merest trifle-twelve shillings. That sum would relieve him from his difficulties-and if I would be kind enough to advance it, I might rest assured that as soon as he obtained anything from his engagement in Manchester, it should be thankfully repaid. His name was John Fleetman.

It was not necessary for him to say how much anxiety his embarrassment caused him, as his distressed looks showed that more plainly than words. Alas! he must have read an answering grief in mine! When he turned his eyes to me he seemed struck with alarm, and exclaimed, "Will you not relieve me, sir?”

Without ifs or buts I explained to him the cireumstances in which I was placed,-that the sum he required was no less than the fourth part of my whole property, and that I was by no means certain of retaining the scanty support I had. With evident disappointment and chagrin, he answered,-" You comfort the unfortunate with stories of your own misfortunes. I see I can ask nothing of you. But is there no other person in this village who has, if not wealth, at least sympathy for one in my strait?"

I cast an embarrassed look at Mr Fleetman, and was vexed that I had been tempted to speak of my own unhappy situation, and to make that an excuse for being deaf to the call of distress. I thought over all my acquaintance in Crekelad, but recalled none to whom I could recommend the young man to apply. At last, stepping up to him, and laying my hand on his shoulder, I said," Mr Fleetman, I am truly sorry for you. Have a little patience; you see I am very poor, but I will help you if I can. In an hour you shall have an answer from me."

On reaching home, I told the girls who the strangerwas, and what he wanted. I wished to have Jenny's advice. She said, in a sympathising tone,-“ I know, father, what thou art thinking, so I have no advice to give in the matter."

"And what am I thinking?"

"That thou wilt do to this poor actor what thou wishest God and Dr Snarl should do to thee."

That was not what I was thinking; but I wish such had been my thought. I counted out the twelve shillings, and gave them to Jenny, that she might take them to the traveller. I wished to shun his thanks. It would have humbled me. Ingratitude always makes me more proud, and now I will go on to write my ser

mon.

NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1765. A. M.-A wonderful yet sad affair opens the year. Here follows its history.

Early this morning, about six o'clock, as I lay in bed thinking over my sermon, I heard a knock at the front door. Polly was up and already in the kitchen. She sprang to open the door and see who was there. Such early visits are not usual with us. In the darkness of the morning, she could only recognise a man having a bandbox on his arm, which he handed to Polly with these words: "Mr (Polly lost the name) “sends

this box to the Rev. Vicar, and requests him to be very careful of the contents."

Polly took the box with joyful surprise. The carrier disappeared. Polly tapped lightly at my chamber door to see whether I was awake. She came in on my answering, and wishing me "a happy new year," as well as "good morning," added laughing, "you will see now, dear father, whether Polly's dreams are not prophetic. The promised bishop's mitre is come!" Then she told me how a New Year's present had been given her for me. It vexed me, that she had not asked more particularly for the name of my unknown patron or benefactor.

While she went out to light a lamp and call Jenny out of bed, I dressed myself. I cannot deny that I burned with curiosity. For until now the New Year's presents for the vicar of Crekelad had been as worthless as they were rare. I suspected that my patron the farmer, whose good-will I appeared to have won, meant to surprise me with a box of cake, and admired his modesty in sending me the present before he could be seen.

As I entered the parlour, Polly and Jenny were standing at the table, on which lay the box directed to me, carefully sealed, and of such a size as I had never seen before. I lifted it, and found it pretty heavy. In the top were two smoothly cut round holes.

With Jenny's help, I opened the box very cautiously, as I had been warned to handle the contents carefully. A fine white cloth was removed, and lo!--but no, our astonishment is not to be described! We all exclaimed with one voice," my God!"

There lay a little sleeping child, some six or eight weeks old, dressed in the finest linen, with rose-coloured ribbons. Its little head rested upon a soft blue silk cushion, and it was well wrapt up in a blanket. The covering, as well as the little cap, was trimmed with the costliest Brabant lace.

We stood a few minutes in silent amazement, till at length Polly burst out into a silly laugh, and said: "What shall we do with the little captive? It is no bishop's mitre!" Jenny seemed rather inclined to tears than laughter. She touched its soft cheek with her finger, saying, "Poor little thing, hast thou no mother! How cruel to abandon so helpless, innocent a creature! See, father, see, Polly, how quietly it sleeps-unconscious of its condition, as though it lay in the hand of God! Sleep on, thou poor forsaken one! Thy parents are perhaps too high in rank to care for thee, and too happy to permit thee to disturb their happiness. Sleep on, we will not cast thee out. They have brought thee to the right place. I will be thy mother.

As Jenny spoke thus, two large tears fell from her eyes. I caught the pious gentle-hearted creature to my breast, and said, "Yes, be mother! The step-children of fortune come to her step-children. God tries our faith-no, he does not try it. He knows it already. Therefore is this outcast little creature brought to us. True we do not know how we shall subsist from one day to another. But He knows, who has made us the parents of this orphan."

Thus it was soon decided. The child continued to sleep sweetly. In the meanwhile, we exhausted ourselves in conjectures about its parents, who were undoubtedly known to us, as the box was directed to me in bold letters. Polly, alas! could tell us nothing more of the bringer of it than she had already told. Now, while the little thing softly slumbers and I run over my new year's sermon upon the Power of the Eternal Providence," my daughters are holding a council about the nursing of the new-comer. Polly rejoices like a child. Jenny appears to be much moved. With me, it seems as if I entered upon the new year at a season of wonders, and -it may be superstition, or it may be not-as if this little child were sent to be our guardian angel in our need. I cannot express how much more freely I breathe, and how serene my feelings.

Same day. Evening.-I came home greatly exhausted

and weary with the sacred labours of the day. I was compelled to pass over an exceedingly bad road on foot. But I was enlivened by a happy return home, by the cheerfulness of my daughters, by our pleasant little parlour. The table was ready laid for me, and on it stood a flask of wine. It was a New Year's present from an unknown hand.

The looks of the sweet little fellow in Jenny's arms invigorated me above all things. Polly showed me the beautiful little bed of our nursling, the dozen fine napkins, the dear little caps and night-clothes which were in the box, and then a sealed packet of money directed to me, which they had found at the feet of the child when it awoke, and had taken it out.

Anxious to learn something of the parentage of our little unknown inmate, I opened the packet. It contained a roll of twenty guineas and a letter as follows:

"REVEREND SIR:-To your well known humanity and kindness the unfortunate parents of this infant entrust him. Do not forsake it. We may one day be enabled to show you our gratitude when circumstances permit us to make ourselves known. Although at a distance, whatever you do for him will not fail to be seen by us. The boy's name is Alfred. He has been already christened. The twenty guineas enclosed are for the first quarter; every three months you will be punctually remitted the like sum. Receive our child. We commend him to the kind care of your noble-hearted Jenny."

When I had read the letter, Polly leaped with joy, and cried, "There's the bishop's mitre!" Gracious Heaven! how rich we're suddenly become. Away with you, miserable Vicarship! But I will not so rejoice! The letter might have mentioned the noble Polly too! We read the letter a dozen times. We did not trust our eyes with a glance at the gold upon the table. What a New Year's present! From my heaviest cares for the future, was I thus suddenly released. But in what a strange and unexpected way! In vain did I think over all the people I knew, in order to discover who it might be who had been forced by birth or rank to conceal the existence of their child, or who were able to make such a liberal compensation for a simple service of Christian charity. I thought on. I recollected no one. And yet these parents were well acquainted with me and mine. The ways of Providence are wonderful!

Jan. 2.-Fortune is lavishing her favours upon me. This morning again I received a packet of money, twelve pounds sterling, by the post, with a letter from Mr Fleetman. It is too much. For a shilling he returns me a pound. Things must have gone well with him. He hints as much, even. I cannot, alas, thank him, for he has forgotten to mention his address. God forbid I should be puffed up with my present riches! I hope now in time to pay off honestly my bond for Brooks to Mr Withiel.

When I told my daughters that I had received a letter from Mr Fleetman, there was a new festival. I do not understand what the girls have to do with Mr Fleetman. Jenny grew very red, and Polly jumped up laughing, and held both her hands before Jenny's face. Jenny behaved as if she was right mad at the foolish girl.

I read Fleetman's letter. I could scarcely do it, for the young man is an enthusiast. He writes flatteries which I do not deserve. He exaggerates everything,. even indeed when he speaks of the good Jenny. I pitied the poor and modest girl while I read. I did not dare to look at my daughter. The passage, however, which relates to her, is worthy of note. It runs thus:

I

“When, sir, I went from your door, I felt as if I went from a father's roof out into the bleak world. shall never forget you, never forget how happy I was with you. I see you always before me, in your rich poverty, in your Christian humility, in your patriarchal simplicity. And the admirable, smiling, fascinating Polly; and the-ah! for your Jenny I have no epithet. In what words shall one describe the heavenly loveliness

by which everything earthly is breathed? I shall for ever remember the moment when she gave me the twelve shillings, and the consolatory language in which she accosted me. Wonder not that I have the twelve shillings still. I would not part with them for a thousand guineas. I shall soon perhaps make everything clear to you personally. Never in my life have I been so happy or so miserable as I am now. Commend me to your precious daughters, if they still bear me in remembrance."

So he intends to come to Crekelad again! It would give me pleasure. I could then return him my thanks. In his unbounded gratitude, the young man has perhaps sent me his all, because I once lent him half of my ready money. That grieves me. He seems to be a light-minded youth, yet he has an honest heart. The little Alfred rejoices us. The child laughed to-day at Polly, as Jenny was holding him, like a young mother, in her arms. The girls are more handy with the little cosmopolite than I had anticipated. But it is a beautiful child. We have bought him a handsome cradle, and provided in abundance for all his little wants. The cradle stands at Jenny's bedside. She watches day and night like a guardian spirit, over her tender charge.

Jan. 6th.-Mr Withiel is an excellent man, to judge from his letter. He sympathizes with me in regard to my unfortunate bond, and comforts me with the declaration that I must not disquiet myself if I am not able to pay it for ten years or ever. He appears to be acquainted with my domestic circumstances, for he alludes to them very delicately. He considers me an honest man; that gratifies me most. He shall not be mistaken. I will ride to Trowbridge as soon as I can, and pay Mr Withiel Fleetman's twelve pounds sterling, as an instalment of my enormous debt.

Although Jenny insists that she sleeps soundly with little Alfred, who is very quiet o' nights, and only wakes once, when she gives him a drink out of his little bottle, I feel anxious about the maiden. She is not so lively by far, as formerly, although she seems so much serener and happier than when we were every day troubled about our daily bread. Sometimes she sits with her needle, lost in a reverie, dreaming with open eyes; or her hands, once so diligent, lie sunk upon her lap. When she is spoken to, she starts, and has to bethink herself what was said. Evidently all this comes from the interruption of her proper rest. But she will not hear a word of it. We cannot even persuade her to take a little nap in the day-time. She declares that she feels perfectly well.

I had no idea that she was so vain. Fleetman's praises have not displeased her. She has asked me for his letter to read once more. And she has not yet returned it to me, but keeps it in her work-basket!

For my sake! the vain thing!

I

Jan. 8th.-My farewell sermon drew forth the tears of most of my hearers. I see now for the first time that my parishioners love me. They have expressed their obligations on all hands, and loaded me with gifts. never before had such an abundance of provisions in the house, so many dainties of all kinds, and so much wine. A hundredth part of my present plenty would have made me account myself over-fortunate in past days. We are really swimming in plenty. But a goodly portion has already been disposed of. I know some poor families in Crekelad, and Jenny knows even more than I. The dear people share in our pleasures.

I could not deliver my farewell sermon without deep emotion. It was written with many tears. I was parting from what has hitherto been my world, my business, my pursuit in life. I am thrust out of the vineyard like a superannuated servant; yet have I laboured not as an hireling; I have planted some promising vines, and pruned many. I am driven from the field of my labours, where night and day I have toiled, and watched, and planted, and pruned, and prayed. I have sought the

bed of the sick, and shrunk not from fatigue, so I might administer strength and comfort, and holy hope to the dying. I have warned sinners to turn from their evil ways; I have filled the destitute with joy; I have led back the lost to the way of life. All this I say without pride; these souls are knit to mine with the strongest ties, and now that tie is broken. Why should not my heart bleed? But God's will be done!

Most gladly would I ask the favour of Dr Snarl, to allow me to remain, and perform the vicar's duty without salary, had not my successor already entered upon his office! I am used to poverty and hardship from my childhood; I should not fear them, now that I have enough, and more than enough, with the money sent and promised with Alfred, to keep me and my daughters from want. We could be happy, and lay by enough for days of sickness or adversity. I would never more complain of wind and weather, however often and severely they beat upon my grey head, were I only privileged still to preach the word of God to my dear parishioners!

Be it so; I will not murmur. The tears that fall upon this sheet are not tears of discontent. I have never prayed for riches or prosperity, nor do I pray for them now. But, oh Lord! let not thy servant be dismissed entirely from thy service, while he has yet strength to wait on thee! Grant that I may again enter into thy vineyard, and with thy blessing, win souls.

Jan. 13th.-My journey to Towbridge has altogether surpassed my expectations. I arrived late at night with weary feet at a little old city, and could not rouse myself from sleep until late the next morning. After I had put on my clean clothes (I had not been so finely dressed since my wedding-day-the good Jenny has a daughterly care for her father), I left the inn and went to Mr Withiel's. He lives in a magnificent big house.

He received me at first somewhat coldly, but when I mentioned my name, he led me into his small but beautiful office. Here I thanked him for his great goodness and consideration, told him how I had happened to give the bond, and what hard fortunes had hitherto been mine. I then laid my twelve pounds upon the table.

Mr Withiel, smiling, looked at me for a while in silence, and with some emotion, and extended his hand to shake mine, and said, "I know you already. I have informed myself particularly about you. You are an honest man. Take your twelve pounds back. I cannot find it in my heart to rob you of your New Year's preRather let me add a pound to it, if you will be so good as to take it, to remember me by."

sent.

He arose, brought a paper from another room, opened it and said, "You know this bond and your signature? I give it to you and your children." He tore the paper in two, and placed it in my hand.

I could find no words, I was so moved. My eyes filled. He saw that I would thank him, but could not, and he said, "Whist! whist! not a syllable, I pray you; that is the only thanks I desire of you. I would gladly have forgiven poor Brooks the debt, had he only dealt frankly with me."

I don't know a more noble hearted man than Mr Withiel. He was too good. He wished me to relate to him much of my past history. He introduced me to his wife, and to the young gentleman his son. He had my little bundle, containing my old clothes, brought from the inn, and kept me at his house. The entertainment was princely. The chamber in which I slept, the carpet, the bed, were so splendid and costly, that I hardly dared to make use of them.

The next day my kind friend sent me back to Crekelad in his elegant carriage. I parted full of emotion from my benefactor. My girls wept with me for joy, when I showed them the torn bond, and said, "See; this piece of paper, light as it is, was yet the heaviest burden of my life. Pray for the life and happiness of our deliverer."

January 16th.-Yesterday was the most remarkable day of my life.

We were together before dinner to-day; Alfred was in his cradle, which I rocked, while Polly read from a book, and Jenny was sewing by the window. Suddenly Jenny started up, and became pale as death. We asked what was the matter. "He is coming," she replied; and the next instant the door flew open, and Fleetman entered in an elegant travelling suit. We all greeted him cordially, and were right glad to see him again, unexpected as was his entrance-and especially to see him in better circumstances than before; he embraced me, kissed Mary, and bowed to Jenny, not yet recovered from her agitation. Her paleness attracted his attention. He inquired earnestly about her health. Polly answered his inquiry, and he then kissed Jenny's hand, as if in atonement for having caused her so much fright. But nothing was to be said about it, as the poor girl blushed like an opening rose.

I bade the girls bring out wine and cold meats, to entertain my guest and friend in rather better style than before; but he declined my invitation, having left, he said, his company at the inn. Yet at Jenny's entreaty, he consented to sit down and lunch with us.

As he had spoken of his "company," I supposed of course, he meant a theatrical company, and I asked if they expected to play here in Crekelad, adding that it was a poor place. Fleetman laughed, and said, "We will act a piece or so, but it shall be altogether gratuitous." Polly was delighted to hear this; she had always wished, she said, to see a play. She told the news to Jenny, who just then came in with the wine.

"Have you many actors in your company, Mr Fleetman?" asked Polly. He replied," Only a gentleman and his wife, but they are both excellent performers."

Jenny looked unusually grave. She cast a sorrowful glance towards Fleetman, and asked, " And you, sir— are you going to perform?" This was said in that soft but marked and penetrating voice, which I seldom observed but when she was seriously deciding upon some important step. Poor Fleetman trembled even, at this solemn tone, like that of a doom-angel. He did not answer for a moment; then stepping nearer to her, he said almost in a whisper, "That, by my God and yours, Miss Jenny, depends upon you."

My daughter looked down; he spoke; she replied; and I confess I was rather at a loss to know what they meant. Polly and I listened, but we neither heard a word, or rather heard words without any meaning. And yet Fleetman and Jenny appeared not only to understand one another perfectly, but, what struck me as very strange, Fleetman was deeply moved by Jenny's answers, although they expressed the veriest trifles. At last Fleetman clasped his hands passionately to his breast, raised his eyes, streaming with tears, to heaven, and with an impressive appearance of emotion, exclaimed," Then am I indeed unhappy!"

Polly could hold out no longer. With a comical vivacity, she looked from one to the other, and at last cried out, "I do believe that you two are beginning a comedy already!"

He pressed Polly's hand, and said, "Ah! that it were so. I put an end to the confusion by pouring out the wine. We drank to the welfare of our friend. Fleetman turned to Jenny, and stammered out, "Miss, in earnest, my welfare?" She laid her hand upon her heart, cast down her eyes, and drank.

Our guest went to the cradle, and asked many questions about little Alfred. I related the circumstances of my singular New Year's present, and my vain conjectures as to who had sent it.

"I can give you some information respecting that," said he. "The New Year's present came from me." "From you!" exclaimed I and the girls, with incredulous astonishment.

Then he told us the following story:

"I am no comedian, but a baronet, and my name is Cecil Fayrford. My sister and myself have been long kept wrongfully from the estate we inherited from our late father, by an uncle, who made some difficulty about the will, and involved us in a lawsuit. We have lived, till very recently, on a little property left us by our mother. My sister suffered much from the tyranny of our uncle, who was her guardian. He had promised her in marriage to one of his friends; whereas she was betrothed to the son of Lord Sandom, whose father, meanwhile, was bent on forcing his son to wed a rich heiress he had in view. The lovers, persecuted as they were, resolved on a private union; and shortly after, their marriage was solemnized without the knowledge of either my uncle or Lord Sandom.

"Alfred is their son. My sister went, under my protection, to reside in a country place, where she could have the benefit of sea-bathing, as her health was delicate. When the child was born, our great concern was to find a place for it where it would have the tenderest care. I accidentally heard a touching account of the poverty and humanity of the parish minister of Crekelad, and I came hither to satisfy myself. The manner in which I was treated by you decided me.

"I have forgotten to mention that my sister never returned to her guardian; for about six months ago I won the suit against him, and entered into possession of my patrimony. My uncle instituted a new suit against me for withdrawing my sister from his charge; but the old Lord Sandom died suddenly a few days ago of apoplexy, and my brother-in-law has made his marriage public. So that the suit falls to the ground, and all cause for keeping the child's birth secret is removed. Its parents have now come with me to take the child away, and I have come to take you and your family away, if the proposal I make you shall be accepted.

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During the lawsuit in which I have been engaged, the living, which is in the gift of my family, has remained unoccupied. I have at my disposal this situation, which yields over two hundred pounds per annum. You, sir, have lost your place. I shall not be happy unless you come and reside near me, and accept this living."

God only knows how I was affected at these words. My eyes were blinded with tears of joy. I stretched out my hands to the man who came a messenger from heaven. I fell upon his breast. Polly threw her arms around him with a cry of delight. Jenny thankfully kissed the baronet's hand. But he snatched it from her with visible agitation and left us.

My happy children were still holding me in their embraces, and we were still mingling our tears and congratulations, when the baronet returned, bringing his brotherin-law, Lord Sandom with his wife. The latter was an uncommonly beautiful young lady. Without saluting

us, she ran to the cradle of her child. She knelt down over the little Alfred, kissed his cheeks, and wept freely with mingled pain and delight. Her lord raised her up, and had much trouble in composing her.

When she had recovered her composure, and apologized to us all for her behaviour, she thanked first me and then Polly, in the most touching terms. Polly disowned all obligation, and pointed to Jenny, who had withdrawn to the window, and said, "My sister there has been its mother!"

Lady Sandom approached Jenny, gazed at her long in silence, and with evidently grateful surprise, and then glanced at her brother with a smile, and folded Jenny in her arms. The dear Jenny in her modesty scarcely dared to look up. "I am your debtor," said my lady, "but the service you have rendered to a mother's heart it is impossible for me to repay. Become a sister to me, lovely Jenny; sisters can have no obligations between them." As they embraced each other, the baronet approached. "There stands my poor brother," said my lady; "as you are now my sister, he may come nearer to your heart, dear Jenny, may he not?"