astonishing clothes to poor little Dolly, who, I believe, if her box, or solitary drawer, had been searched would not have been found to possess even a single pink or blue ribbon, were at once motives enough for Miss M'Clure, so thus she and her mother were at once two to one against old Simon's love of his Sunday pudding, and Sunday nap. The good old verger returned to Lichfield that night, and with some of the materials for the casting. These soon after reaching home he carried and delivered to Oliver and his brother, who in their great delight talked of beginning a portion of the casting that very night, though the cheerfulness of their humble supper was marred, by learning from Samuel that Dolly was very poorly, and had not been up all day. The next Sunday soon came round, bringing with it into the town of Lichfield the Birmingham brassfounder, and his gaily-dressed wife and daughter. As Dolly Newport was still confined to her room, and Samuel performing duty in the cathedral, Mrs. Newport had the coast to herself. So leaving old Simon to make his way to the blacksmith's, she carried off with much triumph-a triumph in which a certain bottle had large share Mrs. M'Clure and her gaily-dressed daughter to Mr. Coggs's, but what were the results of that teadrinking, my fifth and last chapter must tell to my beloved readers. GODFATHER DEATH. FROM THE GERMAN. A POOR man, who had twelve children, for whose bread he had to work day and night, was in despair when the thirteenth came into the world. He rushed out of his house, determined to ask the first person he met to be godfather to the newly-born. A bright and beautiful form appeared to him. him, and he became rich. At last, the king fell ill, and the skilful doctor was called to his aid. When he reached the royal bed, Death stood at the foot, and stared in the sick man's face. But the physician would not despair; for the sake of such a patient, he resolved to outwit his godfather, trusting to be forgiven for the first offence. He therefore turned the king's head, so that Death stood no longer at the foot but at the head. He then administered the healing herb, and the king was cured and arose. Death scowled on his godchild, and raised his long finger with threatening gesture. "This time I pardon thee," he muttered, "but betray me not again, or woe to thee." But sickness again entered the palace, and the king wept day and night over his only daughter: in his despair, he promised that she should be the wife of whomsoever saved her. The physician came, and found Death waiting at her feet; but the maiden's beauty and innocence tempted him to defy once more his godfather. In vain Death frowned and shook his clenched fist; the bed of pain was turned, the herb was administered, and health and strength returned to the sufferer. Then the stern. godfather, thus twice cheated of his prey, seized his godchild with his ice-cold hand, and dragged him to his home beneath the earth. There burned millions of flamessome large, some less, some very small, in immeasurable. rows. At every moment some were extinguished, and others kindled; so that, constantly appearing and disappearing, they seemed ever in motion. "These," said Death, "are the life-lights of men; the highest and brightest belong to children; the next in size to married people, in their first, best years; the least to the aged; though some children and young people have also small flames." The physician asked to see his own, and Death pointed to a faint glimmering light, which seemed on the point of expiring; "that," said he, "is thine!" "Oh! dear godfather!" said the trembling man, "let Poor man," it said, "I pity thee; I will hold thyme enjoy more life! I must be the husband of the maiden child at the font; I will care for him, and he shall be I have saved!" happy all his life." But the man answered: 66 I know thee, and will not have thee for a godfather, for thou givest to the rich and leavest the poor to hunger." Thus he spoke, who knew not that Providence is allwise in its gifts; who only felt that poverty is bitter. So he turned from his friend and sought further. And soon a dark shape appeared. "Wilt thou have me to be the godfather of thy child," it said, "I will heap gold on him, and he shall enjoy all the pleasures that earth affords." "No," cried the man, "I know thee too well; thou dost deceive, and lead men to sorrow and to sin." He went on, and presently meagre-legged Death stalked before him. "Take me for thy godfather," said he, "I make all men equal." "I accept thee" answered the man, "for thou sparest neither rich nor poor." "I promise thee," said Death, "that thy child shall be rich and honoured, for nothing lacks to him who takes me for his friend." When the boy had grown to be a man, his godfather came to him, and led him forth into a wood; then showing him an herb, he said : "Now will I fulfil my promise. Thou shalt be a great physician. When thou art with the sick, if thou seest me at the head, thou mayest be sure this weed will cure; but if I stand at the feet, no art will save; for I shall have chosen. But, beware; use not this herb with the desire to defraud me, or thou wilt weep the day!" The young physician's name became famous throughout the world; from far and near men sought him, for his word of life or death never failed; fortune smiled on "In vain dost thou ask," replied Death; "the old flame must die, before a new one can be lighted." "Oh, put it on another taper that may kindle as this expires! cried the physician. Death feigned to grant the petition; but when he touched the little flickering flame, it fell and was extinguished; and Death's cold hand clutched his god child. THE IRRITABILITY OF SICKNESS. Those who are blessed with health can never know, till they in their turn are called upon to suffer, what heroic strength of spirit lies hidden under the mask of silent, uncomplaining suffering; how strong the temptations are to be unreasonable, pettish, or repining-how difficult it is to be grateful, and still more to be amiable, when the irritation of every nerve renders the most skilful attendance irksome, and the dearest presence importunate-when the diseased frame loathes the sunshine of a smile, and dreads the tear and the cloud, where all is pain and weariness, and bitterness. Oh, let the healthy lay these things ever to heart, and, while they scrupulously perform their duty, while they reverence, and almost adore, the fortitude and patience of the gentle and resigned, let them have pity upon many a poor and querulous sufferer; upon their side let the sick not forget that the reverence, adoration, and love thus excited are as the elixir of life to their often-wearied and over-taxed nurses; quickening them to exertion by the sweetest of influences, instead of exhausting them with the struggle to perform an ungrateful duty.—Mrs. Marsh, in "Angela." SONG. A YOUNG rose in the Summer time Is beautiful to me, And glorious are the many stars The sun may warm the grass to life- It is not much the world can give, And gold and gems are not the things To satisfy the heart; But oh! if those who cluster round Our own domestic hearth Have gentle words and loving smiles, How beautiful is earth! ELIZA E. GOOD WE MIGHT DO. We all might do good Where we often do ill, There is always the way, If we have but the will; Kindly breath'd or supprest We all might do good In a thousand small ways— Yet yielding due praise- Reproving wrong done, We all might do good, Whether lowly or great, Of cold water that's given, Like "the widow's two mites," It is something for Heaven. G. LINNAUS BANKS. PLEASURES OF RETROSPECTION. DIAMOND DUST. ADULATION is either intemperate zeal, or base hypocrisy. THERE are truths which some men despise, because they have not examined, and which they will not examine, because they despise. THE same objects appear pleasing or displeasing, as the circumstances in which we see them are comfortable or uncomfortable. HURRY and cunning are the two apprentices of dispatch and skill, but neither of them ever learn their master's trade. NOTHING is more diverting than to see men, for whom we have a well-grounded contempt, affect to contemn us. LIFE'S smallest miseries are, perhaps, its worst; great sufferings have great strength to bear them. PRAISE makes a wise man modest, a fool arrogant. To a generous spirit it is as hard to beg, as it is harsh to be denied. INNOCENCE Consists in doing no harm and occasioning no trouble to society. He who comes from the kitchen smells of its smoke. ADVERSITY is the trial of principle. Without it a man hardly knows whether he is an honest man. Ir none were to reprove the vicious, excepting those who sincerely hate vice, there would be much less censoriousness in the world. ACTUAL life makes so much noise about us that we fancy there has never been the like. Ar a certain age, if our home contains no children, it will probably be full of follies or vices. ABSENCE of social sympathy is absence of society, and has the same pernicious effects on character as excess of solitude. GLORY often relaxes and debilitates the mind; censure stimulates and contracts; simple fame is, perhaps, the proper medicine. DEPRECIATE no one-an atom has a shadow. It is easier to appear worthy of the enjoyments we are not possessed of than of those we are. RATS and conquerors must expect no mercy in misfortune. He who can smile at the misfortune of being robbed wins something from the thief. HE that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends. TEMPTATIONS are a file which rubs off much of the rust of self-confidence. A MAN of business must put up with many affronts if he loves his own quiet. IT is always safe to learn, even from our enemiesseldom safe to venture to instruct even our friends. LET your inclination be to those who advise, rather than to those who praise your conduct. THINGS which men call the causes of their melancholy are often the effects of it. WHEN marriage is founded on prudence and honour, life has a definite object, and existence becomes a substantial blessing. WE often see characters in the world which we should call ridiculously extravagant in a book. Ir we would travel by a side road to happiness, we must be content to pay the turnpikes. VICE is the whetstone which sharpens Time's scythe. It is a fine emotion when we bethink ourselves of old times, and old harmless errors; especially if this is at a period when we have happily gained some elevation, from which we can look around us, and survey the path we have left behind. It is so pleasant to think, with composure and satisfaction, of many obstacles which often with painful feelings we may have regarded as invincible; Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by JOHN OWEN CLARKE, (of No. 8. pleasant to compare what we now are, with what we then were struggling to become.-Goethe. Canonbury Villas, in the Parish of St. Mary, Islington, in the County of THE BRONZE INKSTAND. IN FIVE PARTS.-PART V. [PRICE 1d. in the pathway of a giant. No! they had been talking of his work; and the spiritual truth, and divineness of work, had shed, for the time being, too divine, and broad a light within the worker's soul, to be dissipated by the BY ELIZA METEYARD (SILVERPEN). trivial shadow of a silly butterfly. No! in two minutes WHILST the Messrs. Coggs made an astounding impres- after her entry he was absorbedly gazing into the cheerful sion on Mrs. and Miss M'Clure, not simply by chains fire, as if the visions there had had no interruption; and and rings and shirt studs, but by the genuine unadulte- this the girl's vain self-love construing into purposed inratedness of their souchong, and the whiteness of the difference, her chagrin was the more intensified and loaf-sugar, honest old Simon held an hour or two's embittered by the very liking she otherwise would have quiet talk with old John Newport, and his beloved son. had for his comely, nay, handsome person. He was a The more he saw of Oliver, the more he liked him; the man destined to move in a higher life she saw; and this, more he listened to his unobtrusive, yet earnest words, fancying he was conscious of, wounded her self-love the the more grew his respect, the fewer his own; for to be more. She therefore, with a rude peremptoriness, which thus effective, is one of the distinctive powers of genius; astounded old John, compelled her father to take his and nothing, at last, could be kinder than the old brass-leave at once, which he did with kindly regret, and founder's suggestions, or his generous enthusiasm with respect to the Inkstand. He even proposed the use of costlier metal in the process of amalgamation, had something to say about the electrotyping; promised-proudly promised to do all in his power in such a way as might be needed. And, for the time being, meant with the utmost sincerity all he promised; but the unfortunate part was that old Simon's moral courage was not very strong in degree, particularly when assailed, as it often was, by the quadruple force of his pipe, his pudding, his "missis," and Rose; but of his performance and this quadruple force we shall see more presently. earnest promises-whilst her own adieus were not the smallest in keeping with the butterfly flutter of her entrance. Once more in the town, she persuaded her father to call and see if Samuel were yet come home, before their return to Coggs's to supper, and the old man willingly complying, for to see the old verger had been the ostensible object of their day's journey, they entered the old court, and knocked at the door. No one answering, they opened it and went in, just as old Samuel, descending the staircase, came across the kitchen towards them. Doll was ill, he said, and had been in bed for several days, but, being better that evening, He had been sitting by her and reading to her, since his return from the cathedral, till now she had fallen asleep. He then, meekly apologizing for the disordered kitchen and dirty hearth, asked the old brassfounder and Rose to sit down beside the little glimmering scrap of fire. This they did, but no sooner was the old verger and her father fairly afloat on some point concerning their late meeting, than the girl rose, and went softly towards the staircase which thus opened into the kitchen. She had ascended a stair or two, when Samuel perceiving her, hurried to tell her in a nervous whisper that Doll was asleep. In the meanwhile, though smitten to a matrimonial degree with the elder tea-dealer, and airy visions of a merchant's villa, and a lady-mayoress-ship, even of veritable London, had been suggested by the vast talk of Mr. Coggs, in relation to the extent and future prospects of his business, Miss M'Clure had an extraordinary desire to see Oliver Thornway, she therefore, under pretext of fetching old Simon to take gin-and-water, and a cigar, with the two amiable hosts and Joe Martin, and whilst Mrs. Newport was yet confiding in vast detail her domestic troubles to Miss M'Clure, and the monstrous sins of the "old fellow," and "the girl," set off towards the blacksmith's cottage gallantly escorted a portion of the "Oh! I won't waken her, Mr. Newport," was the way by the tea-dealer, who, though in so brief a time, reply, "but I shouldn't like to return home, as father managed to unsuspectingly elicit from her the fact of the and mother know, without just seeing the dear child." brass-founder's five hundred pounds in the bank, conjointly So speaking, and not waiting for assent or negative, she with divers expectancies from a well-to-do grandmother. went onward up the staircase into Doll's little bedOnce near the cottage, he retraced his steps homeward, chamber, and closing the door with a gentle hand, stole as, according to his own showing, his "persition as a softly towards the bed. A survey, as she passed onward, tradesman kept him like a trivit, high above low people," and sat down upon the bed itself, convinced her that the (meaning thereby, Oliver and the old blacksmith;) and old man had not as much to bestow upon his child, Miss M'Clure, with much ceremony and affected bashful- as her own father had upon her,-that if Dolly Newport ness, and display of her shot-silk dress, and lace visite, was beautiful in the sight of Oliver, it was nature made introduced herself to the quiet little party gathered round her so. To be more assured of this, she nervously the blacksmith's hearth; but with about as much effect upon Oliver, after the first few civil words of greeting, as the dropping of a rose-leaf on a granite rock, or a straw stooped down, yet with her glances cast back every minute in fear upon the sleeper, whose sweet face, as the old verger left it, he had covered with his pocket-hand Pooh, Bob," laughed the other, coarsely; "you forget the path which led to the highway. What should we have done but for the old woman's money, destitute as we were when we first got to know young Joe in London. Why, if the woman was willing to be led away by talk of partnerships, and those sort of things that might turn the brass of her prodigal into gold, why let her. As for this rascal Joe, why we can wipe our hands of him any hour. But we shan't want to stir a step in the matter, Joe is setting his own trap." The other brother looked up surprised, and leant forward to listen. kerchief, and opened the only box the room contained, will be the hotter upon us for our intimacy with this one glance into which assured her that her conjectures Joe and his mother; it is more than a set-off against were correct. She then, with even more malice and im- the respectability of the two old men whose friendship we patience than she might otherwise have felt, lifted up the bragged of." pocket-handkerchief, and the peaceful, sweet, pure, childlike face thus revealed, made her feel sure, that this it was he loved, and looked upon, who not an hour before, had been as unobservant of herself, as if she had been a stock or stone. In this moment of dark envy, and intense hate, she would have struck it down upon the pillow, and turned every feature into a bruise and wound, if she had dared-though such was her woman's heart-though such was the good mingled with evil, that but for the man she had seen that afternoon, but for her intense fear that this was the face he daily looked upon and loved, she could have knelt down beside it, kissed it, admired it, as now she could have struck it like a stone, or trampled it under foot. At length she could not resist one thingshe stooped down in the waning light, and shook the sleeper rudely, so rudely, that the girl was in an instant roused, and this in such a state of blind terror, as would have made her leap from the bed, but for Miss M'Clure's restraining arms. Why, don't you know," went on the tea-dealer, with a laugh, "how Joe hates Thornway? Of course you do. Well; the truth is, though I haven't told you before-that Joe's dived down to the mystery of the Bronze Inkstand for Lord Clare, and vows his vengeance on it, as do some of his chums in Birmingham, who have a spice of hate against Oliver, for his "gentleman cleverness," as they call it; and his selling his designs, and getting work many a time when they couldn't-for two of the worst of these fellows once worked in the same manufactory with him. Why, it was Joe, and no one about which Doll and the old blacksmith made such a hue and cry, and which Joe got two pounds for directly, whilst by this time it is worked up into a tea-pot, and fifty other things. As for the Inkstand itself, Joe vowed no longer ago than this very morning, (between ourselves Bob, this fellow has the malice of Satan,) that he'll wait for its last finish, and then make his final decamp from Lichfield with it. If he can't do this, he says he'll put it on old "Newport's anvil, and strike it into a million atoms-and he'll be true to his word, for he hates Thornway with the devil's hate. * * * * As I do," went on the teadealer presently, and with his raciness of tone and manner increased by the pause; "as I should hate any one, likely to be near kin to Dolly Newport. Ay, I do hate him for this; (the man spoke here with a malignity that was start "Don't be frightened," she said, restraining Doll in her terror; "it's only me, Miss M'Clure, from Birmingham, and as I couldn't see you in the afternoon, I thought I must just come again and wish you better-else, that walked off with that bit of casting the other day, that is all." She said this, looking fixedly at Doll; every word becoming colder and more emphatic as she spoke. "I thought it was my father, or uncle, or Ol-," Dolly was going to say Oliver, but she checked herself. "I'm sorry I've been so frightened-it is so kind of you-you'll sit down?" "No thank you, I must go; I hope you'll get better; I'm sure you will though--for everybody loves-everybody speaks of you-even Oliver, Mr. Thornway I mean.' Speaking these last words in a way offensively marked, Miss M'Clure brought her face close to that of Doll; with the result of proving all that she desired to know, as the instant suffusement of the beautiful face before her plainly told. Then gazing on the girl still more fixedly, she went backwards by slow degrees towards the chamber door, as she said, "Ay! well; it's what I thought-good-ling ;) but, though I'll stand free of master Joe, I see by." Then leaving the room with the envy of her soul intensely imbittered by the last sight of that sweet face, too pure for even childish shame to sit upon it long, Miss M'Clure descended the staircase, said briefly that Doll was awake, and then hurried her father off to the adjacent tea-dealer's, as abruptly as she had from the fireside of the old blacksmith. They found supper ready-after this came the promised gin-and-water-and somewhere about twelve or one o'clock the party separated; Mrs. Newport, and her amiable son, returning to desecrate with such riot as they pleased the house of the poor verger and his sick child; whilst the M'Clures sought beds at a neighbouring tavern, it being found too late to return that night to Birmingham. "And now," said the elder Coggs, as returning from his escort of Miss M'Clure, he dismissed for the night the old woman who acted as servant, and closed the parlour upon himself and his brother, "Bob, you and I have a lucky star, old boy, don't doubt it. For we never think of bolting, but up turns luck. As you see to-day-for who in the morning would have thought of a Miss M'Clure dropping in with a nest-egg, as she tells me, of £500? and who is smitten with your humble servant." Mr. Coggs here laughed with an amount of self-sufficiency that was marvellous. "Ah!" said the other, more thoughtfully; "five hundred pounds is more easily talked of than got; and before you can marry the girl the people will be too hot upon us here for what we owe. There is house-rent, and shop fixtures, and furniture, and living-and people my way clear to a tit for tat. The butterfly M'Clure once turned into Mrs. Coggs, old Simon and Grindsharp shall have a word to say to the verger-ay! with the Inkstand gone-who is to pay the debt; eh? eh?" 'Please yourself," replied the brother; "but I think there is quite enough for us to do to steer our own way without seeing the inside of a jail. The people around us are both clamorous and suspicious." "Let them be. This morning we had no other pros pect than a moonlight flit. Now there's Miss M'Clure, and old Simon's money-box. Leave all to me." So saying, and with supreme good faith in his fortune, this worthy tea-dealer and his brother retired for the night. But, as if nothing but beauty, and peace, and good, were on this earth-as if evil were no part of daily lifeas if sin were unknown, some weeks passed on, and the sweet russet tints on leaf and bough enriched in the rising, in the meridian, and the setting of the sun, the blacksmith's grassy lane; and looking down like spirits changing their glory as the day went by, saw honest labour, and joyous faces, and after tribulation, the crowning fruit of genius. Yes, after some few useless remarks from wife and daughter—for Miss M'Clure rather abetted, than opposed, after Mr. Coggs's future proceedings had been revealed to her during a secret interview, old Simon cheerfully forwarded, as was needed the materials for the casting. Oliver himself went to and fro to Birmingham several times, and nothing now prevented this magnificent piece of workmanship being finished even before the date needed. And, if cheerfulness and affection do sanctify, as I believe they do, all true labour, 1 this work was richly sanctified; for nothing could exceed the old blacksmith's cheerful voice and manner, or the contented hope and faith of Thornway-though poverty lay so chill around their hearth, and Doll came rarer, though more abundant seemed to grow her silent and affectionate ministry to their humble wants. by the bright fire of her study. Looking incidentally up for some paper she needed, she saw Mr. Matlock, the good old doctor, riding towards the hall on his shaggy pony, and in a few minutes he was announced, and came in to take his seat as usual, and to be caressed by the four or five dogs that occupied the hearth-rug. He looked anxious, and seemingly had ridden far, by his splashed, and miry boots, but for some time the cause did not transpire; as the object of his visit, the progress of some poor tenant of Lord Clare, who had been severely injured whilst felling timber, occupied their attention. At length, as the day suddenly darkened, and the rain, swept by the wind, was dashed against the lofty windows, he shrugged his shoulders, and pointing to his miry boot as he raised it on the fender, said how glad he was his longest ride for that day was over. "For," he continued, "I have been as far as Ryeton tower." "Then," said Bertha, with a rapid earnestness of voice which surprised the old man, and caused him to look up, "the friend we have talked so much about of late is ill again." "for he Upon his return from the south of England with Aurore, Bertha had imparted to Lord Clare so much relating to her visit to Ryeton Tower, as did not trespass on the revelation made by Mr. Maskell, as also all incident to the Inkstand, and her interview with old John Newport. With her, Lord Clare perfectly agreed on the two important points, as respected no proffer of service to Thornway, till the Inkstand were finished, and that though the opening of the new library should be fixed as taking place on Aurore's birth-day, nothing should be said to her concerning the expected work of art, or of its presumptive excellence. In the hoped-for result of this intention, Lord Clare's faith grew unceasingly, when, now quietly settled down at Arden, he perceived how sterling and solid were the effects of Bertha's guiding mind in all that related to his only and darling child. In art Aurore had already made a man's advance, for lan- "Yes," replied the old man, with marked gravity, guages she had an admirable capacity, and had been led" Mr. Graydon is extremely ill. Indeed more nervous to see, in modern ones especially, larger uses, and more and desponding than I have yet seen him." important results than what lay on the mere surface of "Go on," spoke his anxious listener. colloquial accomplishment; and by degrees the proud and "He may yet rally," continued the old man, loving father found-how, with a sort of graceful flattery has been harassed by visitors and by important astronoto himself, and with the most dignified appreciation of mical duties through the past week or two; yet, to speak duty and position, Bertha had led on his child step by truly, I have never known him so ill." Ile paused here, step, and this without permitting her intention to be seen, but Bertha not replying, he presently went on, as he bent to an acquaintance with many questions, both present down in an attitude of thoughtful sorrow towards the and to come, nearest the heart of an ambitious public fire; "I fear this utter and growing despondency will at man. As this discovery grew day by day, so did its last prove fatal, and a man will perish from us, as too enriching flattery; and if some frailties hung round his many do, who in generosity, pure life, and noble, exalted child, he saw that they were those of youth, and the result usefulness, has no superior. But I cannot fathom this of certain necessitated intercourse with the proud and cause for despondency-that there is one I have been narrow-minded relatives of her mother, and that these long sure." His listener making no reply, he continued would be yet displaced by those large and nobler genero-in a while, though with an energy that proved the earnest sities, it is the high province of knowledge to unfold to truth of what he said. "Yes-yes, I would do much to the hearts of all. save this noble soul, and would to God, having known and honoured Richard Graydon long, that I knew a way to save his priceless heart and intellect, or knew the man or woman that might do it." The doctor's voice was choked, and sitting still, moodily bent towards the hearth, he did not perceive that Bertha had the room, and now come back again; intensely pale and almost rigid face. roused by her laying her hand on his, quietly, risen, had crossed nor did he see her At length he was and by her saying "I think, doctor, I can." He looked, wondering at her words, as at her manner; but she waited for no reply, only in a brief word or two imploring his confidence, knelt down as a loving child might by a father, and gently, almost as a child might pray, imparted to his listening wonder what the chaplain had revealed. And Bertha. In his whole soul this proud man respected and loved her, with that grave intensity which is characteristic of middle life. He had first learnt to respect her; and on this noble foundation his love had grown, month by month, year by year, just as it seemed in degree, his child grew by his side in imparted knowledge and beauty. But, beyond this existence of it in his heart-beyond its exhibition in never failing confidence, supreme respect, and thoughtful care, Lord Clare had never said one word to Bertha; and though multitudes of times the words had burnt upon his lips-the thought of what will your order say-what will convention say, should an English minister marry his daughter's governess, had as many times sternly negatived the avowal. Still time and noble service had made her the most honoured person in his household, she was his child's mother; more his secretary, than his official one, and yet on friendship "And I am undoubtedly that child he looked upon so intimate, no shadow of suspicion had been cast, for the and loved," she said with increased earnestness, as she proudest of Aurore's suspicious relatives honoured her, and bowed and partly hid her face upon the old man's hand; always spoke of her with the respect which was her due." and this is the miniature of the seaman whose breast I But whilst the pride of station thus triumphed for a time, Lord Clare felt sure such words must be spoken at last; with but one result as he supposed-but he knew not that Bertha too had pride, and noble pride-nor had he gauged the depth of her affection for his only child. But the flower longest on the stem falls often to the gentlest and most loving hand. It was one of the earliest days in November, and though the wind swept roughly through the park trees, scattering their sere and tinted leaves in whirling clouds upon the ground, and a mist-like rain chilled the air, Lord Clare and Aurore had gone for their afternoon ride, leaving Bertha, as she had been out that morning, seated slept on." She put forth her hand and showed the portrait of a fine middle-aged man, which she had fetched from a drawer in her cabinet. "It is the portrait of my father, and every circumstance of time and place, tallies with that of my own history. My poor mother was then lately dead, and he had come purposely on shore, his ship then lying at Plymouth, to take me to a school in Worcestershire. You well know how often I have told you and your good wife these things, that being his last journey, as he perished at sea not six months after. Besides, too, I have always had some strange and unaccountable sympathy-with what I scarcely know-but with what I have had firm faith, time will disclose. And |