tji b 11» e* dj> Ait*- (a ii »D4* ikkb■s* i b) 'bv Joror Qffloe ( No, <U7. Chestnut. Street, OAHTIPREts, aim iriWii*, JayiMe to the eirrlra. Milled to So»Mril»ni out of ths Cltt at Bi* DOUAIB m Alien; loom Soluis ioi: lioiT Moim; 11)111 Bourn »P» t Bll\ Hum, ■ InwiiMy.la id- Tinoerot.theiinieoi|dend. " e- V- ’.*M,- : WK*ap.ir>JßKjM7r Milled to gateoribeni oat of-tke Ottj it Turn Dof till ill AllOMj ln adrince. . WKBatLXMKSS. ?** Wmkur P»«M wiU, i» motto B«&»riOen ..•* ra»u (pwannwa, IhedTesm,) .» 00 Three Copies, « , n 600 FWo Copioe, tc s- tt ; goO TeaCopies,.,<t.its >.,• U 00 Twenty Ooples, « ~. « . /loose eddrem)..... SO 00 Treaty Copies, .or orer, (to addrers of feed , I ti_ubecri_her,)erch. 7. 120 '• Vor k Olnb of Twenty-one dr over, ire wIU fend an' to the getter-op of the Olnb.' -• > reaaeeted;toftet m Agentsfor- Tirt WoAKI*T.‘PIUiSB..< . <--[- ~ ~ - CAiitoßNiA cress* , ln" time, for the OeUfornU Steamers.; •' * ■ _ „ FRIDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1868. DICKEp j SJVEWSTORY. A H 6IJ S E T O LE T. [CONCLTOSB.] GOING IN TO ■ SOOIETT< At one period of its reverses, tho House feU Info fho. occupation of ft Showman. He was found registered as Hs oooupler, on. the parish books of . tue tinio when ho .rented the. House, and there vras, therefore. no need of any clue to his name.. But he himself iwaß not easy to be found; for, he had lo;l a wandering life, and fettled people had losttlghtof him,-andpeople who*plumed.thdin . selves on being respectable were shy of admitting that thoy had ever known' anything of him. At last, among tbemarsh-lands near the river’s level, - that lio about Deptford and-the neighboring mar hot.g(u;dens, i a Grlsslod.Persohago in velveteen, with; * feoe so .out up by. varieties-of weather that , he looked as.it he had been .tattoo’d, was .Found tmohiog a pipo.at tho door, of a wooden house on wheels. The wooden house was laid up In ordi nary for the winter near tho Month of a muddy oteek; and eterythlhg ■ near' it, the foggy ‘river, tho misty marshes,- and the' Blooming markot gardens, smoked in company with the grlssled Man ..In the midst ofthls smoking party; the fuonet-ahimney of the woodeni'house on.wheels Was not remiss, but took Us pipe with the rest id a companionable manner.. . • On boing asked if it were he who had onoe rent-, ed the House to Lot, Grizsled Velyeteen looked surprised, and said yes. Thehhis name was Mags man 7 - That; was it, Toby Magsman—whioh law fully. ohristenod Robertbut oalled in'the lino,, from a infant, Toby. There was. -nothing agin' Toby Magsman, he believed. If there was 'sus picion of snoh—mention it! - ’ Thera was no suspioion of, rach, ho might rest • assured. But, some inquiries were making about that'-.’Honse,- and would ho 1 objeot-' to Say why he left it? ■■■' ■ Not at all; why should ho?' Ho left it, alone of a Dwarf. x , Along of a Dwarf? . ; Mr. Magsman. repeated, deliborately and em phatically, Along of a Dwaif. '-High tit be compatible with Mr. Mags man's in* clinatfon and to. enter,asa favor, into a few particulars? Mr. Magsman entered, into the followinepUt* tichlars. r ~ , •' It war s long time ago to begik VHUi; afore roctcrws and a dealmorc, was done away with. Mr. Magrfman was looking ai»&ut for a good pitch, f D r?i?v* 00 ,^ 0U . B e. tihd he .says to himself, * 111 you’re to bo had. If money’ll gotyoa. ' . - • cut -un tough, and made n t s • bat. Mr. Magsman don’t; know wh'c..they would have bed. It was. a lovely ailing,.,'first .of all, there was the canvass representin _tho.piotet .of the Giant, in Spanish trunksand a roff, who was himself half the heigb th ofthe house/and was tun 'nprwith a line and pol icy foa poloontfacroofjßo that his Ed was coeval with the parapet >;Then;; there was tho oanvasrv representin the picter of tho Albina lady, showin her white.air h -.to t the- L Army and Navy7£a correct uniform, ,Theo,‘there was the .canvass, repzfc&ntln. w piotcr-of too .Wild* Indiana eoajpin a member -of some foreign.natlon.vThon; then Twas the* can- • Ysss, representin the teiobef of a child of a British Planter, seised- by ttro JBoa Cohatriotors—notthat we neverh&d Constriotors neither.' \2tmilariy, t&SI-e' was, the canvass, representin’ the Pictet'Mine WildASs ofthe Prairies-rnot'that tea bad no wild asses, nor wouldn’t have had’em uth gifte Laat,.th>re was the canvass, representin the piotcr .of the Dwarf, add like him too (oon- tho Fourth insnoh Asfcate of astonishment at hiin as His Majesty oouldn’t with burnt most politeness and stoutness express;.' The front.of the house was so covered with canvasses, that there wasn’t a spark of 'daylight ever visible' on, that side'.’“MiG Bird's AuusßHßiits,” fifteen foot long by lwb foot higtj ran over the front door nod parlor windows* The passage wasa’Arbour of green . bafce.and gardenituff. A barrel-organ performed there unceasing; And as to respedta* bi!ity~Jr three,pence'ain’treepeUtabtej What is? up as nao- ÜBaDsniASßwidXbß/MNobddy'COudn’t pronouuoe the namcc'Wnd'it: never Was intended anybody ' Thehnbllo always turned ifc;da jv regular Jol*; tutor Cbopskl -* ,the' line he'was' called. . ’Chops ;; parily oh that account, because -hls-realname/if.ho ever badjany.real name, (whioh was very dubious,) was 6takes. - / «- . He wasaun-common.small man, he really was. Certainly, not so small os he was madeout to be, but where ts your. Dwarf as is?%He was a most uncommon small man with & most nncqmmoh Ihrgfc Ed; and' what he hod inside,l3rht Ed, nobody never kbowed but himself: eVCh tttpposin himself to have ever took stock'6f.it, which it would baye been a stiff jeb fdr PVJn him to do. 1 , . The.kindestlittleman as• nevergrowed! .Spir ited, bbt n<A 1 he,travelled with the Spo ttodrßa dj—though he knowed himself to bo a ttat’tul DWarf, and knowed the Baby!* spots to be fcfetupon him artificial, he' nursed' th at B aby like a .motherl- jybuhover heeMhlmglyewill-namo to . a Giant , himself .to .break out into strong language respeotin the Fat Lady from Nor fol fc; but Ihat ; was an afair of the ’art; and when a man’s art has keen' trifled with by, a Indy, and thdpreference gly to a. Indian, he ain’t master of his actioos. Hewaailwhys.i&rpvet Of.dbflirSh'i hiety human nat’ral phenomenon' 1a; And he' war always in love vntli,laMbfkbmanj X never Dwarf «ttottu/bvjpt.to'love a small one. IVatch- htfps to keep,’em the curiosities Uiey fcre. . <x . . JOne slng’ler ideahVhad m that Bd of his, whioh inpst have meant somethlUg, or it wouldn't have keen then. .-It was always his opinion that he Was entitled to property." He never would his name to-anything.! He 1 had been taught to write, by. tbe young man without got hU' living with ais toes (quite a As was, and tiught vepros in the lincg. but Ohops would have starved to death'afoxu he’d have gained a bit.of bread by' puttloght* hand to a paper. This is the more cu*. mods w boar in mind,keoause br bad no property, Wor hope of propertv. except bis house and a sar her. Wheal say his honse, I mean the box, paint* ed- and gotrup outside like a reg’lar six-rosmer, that |ie used to'weak'into; with. .a diamond ring gdodtojook htjonhiS forefinger.' and ring a little bell out pf what the -I , abllo : oblieved to,be Hie prawing-iooin winder.r .And when £ say a sarser, I mean a Chaney Jarserin whleh he mode a collection for himself .at the end of Svery-Enter tainment. • for he took-from’ me: <c t.sdiesand 'g«nUemen, tho little mftn will now wa|k three times round the.'.OAirawan, and retire kinifidithe burlalm’’-? Wh'enhe said,anything im«. portontr ihj priyate'lifey/hey mostly; wound, ft up with tbsß foxm.of words, and they was -generally thelasttbiog.be said to me ht night afore he went to bed. >' c r- . H» had what X gouMar a lino mind—a poetio mind- Htß icteas roapoctln hls property never oemo upon him so itron'gaewhen he set upon a barrel-organ and, had tho handle turned.' Arter the vibration had run through him a little time, he .would eoreeeh ont, « Toby, I feel my property oimlng—grind away 1 I’m oountlng my gains na by thousands,' Toby—grind jpray! - Toby, I shall be a man of fortUn! X feel me Mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I’m’swelling ont Into the Jlant of jßflglanif !” Booh is the. uOnenoo of mnslo. ona pootto mind.'TfotJhathe.srsa'pMttal to any other muelo Jjßt. n.harrel-orgou',. on the eontrairy, hated it. ... , fie had a klndof aevorlmting grudgo jogin the PubUojs.whtOh is a thing you may,notfoe in many phenomenons that-got their living out of it. What riled hlmfmost in the' natcrbfow occupation was that it kop him out of Soolety. He was oontini- Wally soyin, ;■ < Toby, my ambition Is to go into So oie».c. The onrso of .my position towards the I'ub- Uo is that it keeps mo boat of Booisty, This don’t signify to.a low-bsast of a Indian; ho an’t form'd for Society.. .This, don’t .signify, to a Spotted Baby; /is an’tformed for Socioty. lam.” Nobody, never oould make out' what-Chops done with his money,' Be had. a good salary, down on'the dram every Saturday as the day come round, besides having, the run of his tooth.—and he Wits'a Woodpecker to eat—bat all'Dwarfs, are. The saner'was a little ineome, bringing him in so many halfpence that.he’d oerry'em, fora week together, tied' up ina pookot bnndkerohar. And yet ho neyor had money. Aud it oonldn’tbe the Fat-Badyfrom Norfolkpaa was onoe supposed; ...because iPstande. to reason.that.when yon have a animosity towards a Indian whioh makes, yon grind your teeth pt him to hie faoo,'and which oan . hardly hold ydu from Goosing; him audible .when ho’s going thrtragh his War'Danco—it stands to reason'yhq'wottldn’tanderthemoiroumstanoos de . privb yonrsslf.to snppoftthat Indian in the lap ef'tnxdry;-'- t' v " . Most unexpected, the mysterv oome ont one day at Dgham Raoes. ; The Pnbltd.was shy of beln - pullellh, and. Chops wee riDgln hlslittioiboU out . of.hls drawing-room, winder, and' Was snarlin to me over hiavhoulder as he kneeled down with his legs out, atth? back-door—for he couldn’t be shoved intyfiis boom the pre-' raises y/rfuldh’t bocoihnf6date' hii snftrlln, ... “Biro’S.a pfooloua Pdhlib for yotfjwhy (he Devil don't,they. tnmble,up7’ , :when ananlxthoorowd holds upa oarrier-plgeon, and dries out, “If’ thori’s Jany person here as has got - * tiokst, tho Lottory’s-Jait drawed, and'the'number as has oome np for the great - prlzeM.threO, seven,- forty . .twof "ThreojSeveh; forty-two!”lwa'sgtvin the ’ attention—for will ,turn ■ awaj, at' any ' t!ma,; to look! at;.aoything, In priforenoe -tocthel thliteahowedf’nmiiand. lf«yon -donbt.lt,,get ’em V:-together, for anylndiwidoalporposeonthe faoeef \ the eartb. uud send only two . people in late, and '- see if th'WwhOle'iompSny-an’t rar more Interested Intakln parUcnlar notice of them two than of yon ; i-Ls»y,,l wasn’t -besti pleascd ..with tho man for .oaliinout,- and wasn't bleaalp him in mv Own mind, ’ whon lSm Chops’* Uttlb bell fly out of the winder •at .a old lady ,and-he gets up and kiekshis hex overj'exnasin..thS ; whple «eOret, and he catches ’ holrof the oalvei of toy.tegs, and. he says to tne, . “Carry, meinto tho,wao,Toby, and throwapaii. v r o£ w»te»..oyer mo or.l’madbM men, for I’ve oome VOL. 2- NO. 131. Twelve thousand odd hundred pound was Ohops’s \ winnins. He-had bought a’half tioketforthe twenty-five 'thousand prize, and it hod come up. The first use ho made.of his property was, to offer 1 to fight'the Wild Indian for, five hundred pound a side, him with a poisoned darnin-noedle and tho , Indian with a oluo but the Indian boin in.wont i of baokera to .that amount, it wont no furthoa Artcr he had'been mad'for a week—in a State ; of mind, in short, in which, if I had let him sit on the organ for only tyro minutes, I believe ho would havo,bust—but we kop the organ from him —Mr. ' Chops come round, and’ behaved liberal and beau: i tiful to all. He then sent for a young man ho r kuowed, as had a wery genteol appearance, and ' was a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (moat rCspeota > ble brought up, fauer havln been imminont Id the livery Btable line but unfort’nate in a commer cial crisis through painfciu a old grey, ginger-bay, and selHu , him with a Pedigree), and Mr* Chops said to this Bonnet, who said his name was Nor mandy, whidh it,wasn’t? # . mandy, I’m a goin into Sooioty. Will you go witf iWerf _ _ , . , _ r Says Normandy • I ,{ Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that, the’olo of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself ?” “Correct,” says Mr. Chops. “And you shall . have a prinoely allowance too.” ' The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair to shake hands wlth‘bim,*and replied in poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears:. ' “My boat Is on the shore, ' And my bark is on'the sea, * And I do not ask for more, - Bat I’ll Go j—along with thee.” They went into Society, in a ebay and four grays with silk jackets. They took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away. In' consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the autumn of next year by a servant, most, wonderful got up In milk-white cords and tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one,evenin appinted. Tho gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. Chops’ eyes was more fixed in that Ed of his than I thought -good for him. There was three of ’em; (in coni >ahy, I meamj ahi I knowed tho third well. When ast met, he had on a white Roman shirt, and a bishop’s mitre, covered, with leopard-skin, and played the clarionet all wrong, in a band at a 1 Wild Beast Show. >* This gent took'.on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said, “ Gentlemon, this is a old friend of former days;” and'Normandy looked at me ; through a eye-glass, and said, “ Magsman, glad to see yon' whioh I’ll take my oath he wasn’t. 1 Mr.- Chops to git him convenient to tho table, bad his chair, on a throne, (muohof the form of George 1 the Fourth’s in-the-canvass,) but ho hardly, ap- ; peared to me t© be King there in another pint of ; view, for hi* two gentlemen ordered about like • Emperors. 'They was all dressed,like May-Day —gorgeous!—and as,'to'wine, they swam in all ( sorts. *v , . ’ k - . • I made the ronnd of the bottles, first separate, tosaylh&d done it,) - and then mixed ’email ogether, (to say I had done It,) and then tried two of ’em As half-and-half, and then t’other two: Altogether, I passed a pleastn evenin, but with a tendency to feel muddled, until I considered Itgoodmanners toget ap and say, “ Mr. Chons, the best of friends must part: I thank you for ,tbe wariety of foreign drains you have stood so ’aosome, I looks towards you in red Wine, and I takes my leave.”.,Mr. Chops replied, “If you’ll ust* hitch m& .oUt of thih over your right arm, Magsmah, ahd carry-me down stairs, I’ll see yon gdt/’. t said I oouldn’t think of snob a thing, but c would have it, so I lifted him off his throno. He smelt strong of Maideary, and I oouldn’t help thinking as I oarried him down that it'wns like carrying a large bottle' full of w2no, with a rayther, ugly stopper, a good deal out of pro portion. •, - When I set him bn the door-mat in tho ball, he kep me olose to him by holding on to my oo£t collar, and he whispers': “ I an’t’appy, Magsman.” “ What’s on your mind, Mr. Chops!” : “ Thoy don’t use mo well. Thoy an’t grateful to me. Thoy puts me on tbe mnntel-pieco when I won’t have iu. more Champagno-Yrine, and they looks me la the sideboard when I won’tgive Up my property.” ' ’ : “ Get tid of ’em, Mr. Chops.” i I oan’t. We’re in Society together, and what Wofild Society say ?” i “ Come butorsociety,”* says I. J “I can't. Ton don’t.know what you’re talking about.' When ybu.haya onee gonoiinto Sooioty, you musn’t come out of it*” “ Then if yon’ll'eaeose the freedom, Mr. Ohops,” : were my remark, shaking my head, grave, “I think Ire a plty you eyer wont In.” i Mr, Obops shook that' deep Ed of his, to a sar prisin extent, and dapped it half a dozen times with his hana, andwith more Wice than I thought were in Then, he says, “ Vou’re a good fel ler, but you don’t understand. Good night, go along. -Magsman, the little man will now walk three-timer round tho Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain , The last I see of him on that ocoa sion was his tryin, on tho'extxemest werge Of in- BessibUUyVto olimh up' the stalls, one one, With bis hands and knees. They’d have been mueh too steep for him, if ho had been sober; but ha wouldn’t be helped. It warn’t long after that that I read in the news paper of Mr. Chops!* being presented at ooart. It was printed, “ It will be rebolleoted 5 ’—and I’ve Mr. Chops is tho i&dividualuf small stature, whose brilliant success Iff fho last fttate Lottery 1 attracted so much att©nUon ” r Well,'l says to myself, duoh |s'life; He has' been .and done it in earnost at last ! ..Ho hos astonished George the Fonrth! • Sn aOooUnt of whioh t bfttti that oanvass new ted, him with a bag of money iff his hand, b presentin it to George the : Fourtnv a lady in ostrich fc&therh fallih in fbvewHn him in a bag wig, sword, fihu, buckles oorrect) I took the House "as is! the subject of pro* inquTrios—though not (he honor of beiuac-. auainted— and I run Magsman’s Amusements in it lirteen mouths—sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin particular, hut always all-the oanvasses outside*' One night, when Wo bad played the last company out, whioh was a shy company through itß raining heavens hard, I was takln a pipe In the one pair ba|k along With the young mau with lift toes, which I had taken on for a mouth (though he never drawed—except on pa ber), arigL £ heard a Iriokin at the street door. “Halloa!”. I says to,the yohnk man. “whaVs hp?”. Ha rhbs his byehrowswith hl& toos, and he Says, “I ban’t imagine, Mr. Magsman”—which he never bodld ilh&gine nothin, and was monoto fattui company. . y < The noise not leavinoff, £ laid down my pipe, and'l took up a candle, and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street { but nothin could I see, and nothin was I aWare Of, un til £ turned round qulck, because Bomb erector run between my legs into the passage. There was Mr. Chops ? ' “Magsman,” he says, “ take me, on the hold terms, and you’ve got mo; if it’s done, say done!” , I was all of a mate, hut I said, “ Bone, sir ” “Done to your done, and double dono!” says he. “ Have you got a bit of supper in the house?” Bearin in mind them sparklin varieties of foreign drains as we’d gussied away at in Pall Mall, I was ashazddd to offer him cold. sassages and gin and* water; but he took’em both ahd took ~ein free; bavin a chair for his table, and sittin down at it on a stool, Hko hold times. I, all of a maze dll tbe While. - It was after he had mode a clean swoop of the savages, (beef, and to the best of my calculations two pound and a quarter,) that the wisdom as was in that littlo man; bogan to oome out of him like presptr&tion. ' “Magsman,” ho says, “ look upon me! You see afore you, One as has both gone, mto Society and come out. 0 “Oh l you arc out Of H, Mr. Chops ? How did you getout, Sir?” . “ Sold out !” says ho. You never saw tho Hko of Hie wisdom as his Ed expre&ed, when he made use of thorn two words; • “ My friend Magsman, I*ll impart to you % dis oorery I’ve made. It’s wall&blo; it’s oost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do yon good in life. The secret of this matter is, that it ain’t so muoh that a person goes into Society, as that Society goos into a person;” Not exactly keeping up with his meanin, 1 shook my head, pot on a deep look, and said, You’re right there, Mr. Chops.” . u MBgBman,” he says, twitohln mo by the log, “ Sooiety has gone Into me, to the tune of every penny of my property.” ; T felt that I went pale, and though natu rally a bold speaker, I couldn’t hardly say “ Where’s Normandy ?” . ” Bolted, With the plate,” .said Mr. Chops. “ And tother one?”—meaning him as formerly wore tho bishop's mitre; * “ Bolted. With tho jewels,” said Mr. Chops, r sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at mo. - “ Magsman,” he says, and ho Boomed to myself to got wisor as he got hoarser; “Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of Saint James’s, they was all a doin my hold business all a goln throe times round the Cairawan, in the hold Court suits and properties, Elsowheres, thoy was most of ’em. rlngln their little bells out of make-boUaves. Every whores, the sateer was a gom round. Magsman, the sarser is the uniwersai in stitution !” I perceived, yon understand, that he was soured by hts misfortune; and £ felt for Mr. Chopß. “As to Pat Ladles;” says he, giving his Ed a tremendlous one agin the wall, “ there’s lots of them, in Sooiety, and worse than the original. Hars. was a outrage upon Taste—simply a out ixage upon - Taste—awakenin contempt—oarryin its own puuishrnent in the form of a Indian!” Here he. gly'- himself another tremendious one. “But the its, Magsman, theirs is mercenary out* rages. Lay in cashmeer Bhawls, buy bracelets, strew ’em and a lot of ’andsome fans and things about your rooms, let it be known that you giveaway like water to all os come to admire, ana the Pat La dies that don’t exhibit for so much down upon the 'drum, will oomo from all the pints of the compass to .flook about you, whatever you are. They’ll drill holes in your ’art, Magsman, like a Cullen der. And when you’ve no more' loft to give, they,’U laugh at you to your face, and leave you to nave your bones plotted dry by W ulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prairios that you de serve to bo! ” Here he the most tre mendious one of all, and dropped. I thought he wae gone. His Ed was so heavy, and lie knocked it so bard, and ho fell so ateney, and the sassagerial disturbance in him must have been to immense, that .1 thought he was gone. But he soon oame round with care, and he sat up on the floor, and be said to me, with wisdom oomin outoC hiaeyes, if it ever come: “ Magsman! The most material difference be tween .the two states of existence through whioh your unappy friend has passed;” he reaohed out his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on the muataoho whioh it was a oredit to him to have done his best to grow, hut it is not in mortals to command success— (( tne difference is this: When I was out of Society, I was paid light for being seen. When I went into Society, I paid heavy for being seen. .1 prefer the former, even if I wasn’t forced upon it/ Hive me ont through the trumpet, in the'’hold way, to morrow.” Arter that he slid into the line again as easy &3 if he had been iled all over. But the organ was kep from him, and no allusions was ever made, when a oompany was in, to his property: He go i wißer overy day; his views of Sooioty and the Public was luminous, bewilderln, awful; and his Ed got bigger and bigger as his wisdom expand ed it, . He took well, and pulled ’em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed oneevoniu, tho last Company havin been turned out and the door shut, a wißh to hava a little musio. “Mr. Chops,” I said (I never dropped the “Mr.” with him; the world might do it,hut not me;) “Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in & state of mind and body to sit upon the organ V* His answer was this: “Toby, when next met with On the tramp, I forgive her and the Indian. And I am.” It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but he sat like a lamb. It will bo my belief to my dying day that I seo his Ed ex pand as he sat; you may, therefore, judge how great his thoughts was. He sat out all tho changes, and then he come off. “ Toby,” he says, with a quiet smile, “ the little man will ntff walk three times round tho Caira wan, and rotiro behind tho certain.” When wo called him in the morning, we found him gone into a muoh better Sooiety than mine or Pail Mall’s. I give Mr. Chops os comfortable a funeral us lay in my power, followed myself as Chief, and had the Georgji the Fourth oanvass car ried first, in the form of A banner. But the House was so dismal arterwards that I givit up, and took to the Wan again. “.X don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, and looking hard at Trottle. “ I don’t triumph over this worthy creature. I merely ask him if ho is satisfied now V* “ How oan he bo anything else ?” I said, an swering for Trottle, who sat obstinately silent. “ This time, Jarber, you have not only read us a delightfully amusing story, but you have also an swered the question about the House. Of oourse it stands empty now. Who would think of taking it after it had been turned into a oaravan ?” I looked at Trottle as I said thoso last words, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in tho Bame direction. “ Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber. “ You were about to say, my good man—” “I only wished to ask, sir,’’ said Trottle, dog gedly. “ if yon could kindly oblige me with a date or two in connection with that last story ?” “Adate!” repeated Jarber, “What does tho man want with dates'?” , u I should bo glad, to know, with great respeot,” persisted Trottle, “ if the person named Magsmnn was the last tenant who lived in the House. It’s my opinion—if I may be excused for giving it— that he most decidedly was not.” With thoso words Trottle made a low bow, and qpietly left the room. There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked sadly discomposed. He had evidently forgotten to inquire about datesj and in spite of his magnificent talk about htsserios of dis coveries. it was quite as plain that the two stories he had just read had really and truly exhauslod his present' stook. I thought myself bound, in oommon gratitude, to help him out of his ombar toMmont by a timely suggestion. Bo I proposed that he should como to tea again on the next Mon day evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiries in the meantime as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle’s objection. He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment, and took his leave. For the rest of the week I would not encourage Trottle, by allowing him to refer to the House at all. I suspooted he was making his own inquiries about dates; but I put no questions to him. On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear, unfortunate Jarber came, punotuai to the appoint ed time. He looked so terribly harassed that ho was really , quite, a speotaole of feebleness and fa tigue. t saw at a glance that the question of datos had gone against him; that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant of the House; and that thd reason of its emptiness was Still t<J seek. “ What i have gonb through,” said Jarber, “words are hot eloquent enough to tell. Oh! Sophonisba, I havo begun another series of discov eries ! Accept the last two as stories laid on your shrine; and wait to blame me for leaving your curiosity unappeased until you have heard Nam bor Three.” ‘Humber Throe looked like a very short manu script, and I said asmuoh. Jarber explained to mo that we were to have some poettx this time. In tho course of his investigations he had stepped into the Circulating Library to seekfor informa tion on tiie one important snbjeot. All the Library people knew about the House was, that a female relative of the last tenant, aft they belteVed, had, just after that tenant left, sent a little htanusofipt poem to them which she described as.referring to , events that had actually passed In the House, and wfifoh she wanted the proprietor of the Library to publish. She hod written po address on nor lot* ter; and tbb pWprletor had kept the manuscript ready to bb given back to her (the publishing of pofcms not being in his line) when she might oall for it. She had never called for it; and tne poem had been lent to Jarber, at his express request, to read to me. Before he began, X rang the bell for Trottle ; being determined to haYO him prosent at the new reading, as a, Wholesome check on his obsti nacy. To my surprise, Peggy answered the bell, and told me.lhat.Trottic bad stepped out without saytogwhere'T'irasidfitiyfWtitto slble conviction that he was at his old tnoks; and that his stepping out in tho evening, without leave, meant-r Philandering. Controlling myselfoti my visitor’s acoouiit, 1 dismisscd Peggy,-stiCod.my indignation, and pre pared, os politely a* might bo, to liston to Jarber. THBBB JSVJBBINGS IN TUB HOUSE. BUUDBB OXB. Yes, it looked dark and dreary That long and narrow street: Only the sound of the rain, And the tramp of passing feet, The duller glow of the fire. And gathering mists of night To raaik hottr aloft and weary The long day’s cheerless flight! Watching the sullen fire, Hearing the dreary r^lo, Prop alter drop, rno down On the darkening window-pane : Chill was the heart of-Bertha, Chill a* thdt winter day lot the star of her life had risen Only to fade away. The voice that had been so strong To bid tbe snare depart, Tbe true and earnest will, And the calm and steadfast heart, Were now welshed dpwp hr eqt-rofr, Were quivering now with pain; The dear path now seemed clouded, And all her grief In vain. Buty, Bight, Truth, who promised To help and save tbelr own, Seem’d spreading wide their pinions To leave her there alone. So, turning from tho Present To well’haown days of yore, She call’d ou them to strengthen And guard her soul once more. She thought how in her girlhood Her life was given away, The solemn promise spoken She kept so Well to-aay; How to her brother Herbert She had been help and guide, And how his artist-nature On her oalm strength relied ; How through life’s Let and turmoil the pasuon and fire of art In him was soothed and quicken’d By hex true sister heart; How future hopes had always Been for his sake alone: Ahd now, whdt strange new feeling Possess’d her as Us own ? Her home; each flower that breathed there; The wlnd’B sigh, sift and low ; Each trembling spray of ivy; The river's murmuring flow; The shadow of the forest j Sunset, or twilight dim j Bear as they were, were dearer By leaving thorn for him. And eaoh year as it found her to the dull, feverish town, Saw self still mote forgotten, And selfish care kept down By the calm joy of evening That brought him to her side, To warn him with wise counsel, Or pmlse with tender pride. Hir heart, her life, her future, Her genius, only meant Another thing to give him. And be tharevritn content. To-day, what words bM stirr’d her, Her soul oould not forget ? Wbat dream had fill’d her spirit With strange and wild regret ? To leave him for another ; Coaid It indeed be so ? Could it havwcost auoh anguish To bid this vision go T Was this her faith ? Was Herbert The second in her heart? Bid it need all this straggle To hid a dream depart ? And yet, within her spirit A far-off land was seen ; A home, which might have held her; A love, which might have been ; And Life—nottae more being Of daily ebb and flow, But life Itself had claimed her, And she had let it go ! Within her heart there echo’d Again the well-known tone Tbatprorafsad this bright future, And ask’d her for its own ; Then words of sorrow, broken By half-reproacbfol pain; And then a farewell, spoken In words of cold disdain. Where notv was the stern purpose That nerved her sonl so long? Whence c&tne the words she utter'd, So hard, so oold, so Btrong? What right had she to banish A hope that God had given ? Why must she choose earth’s portion, AJnd turn aside from Heaven ? To-day! Was it this morning ? If this long, fearful strife Was but the work of hours. What would be jears of life? Why did a cruel Heaven For such gre«t suffering call ? And why—-0, still more cruel ! Mont her own words do all ? Bid she repent? 0 Sorrow! Why do we Huger still To take thy loving message, And do thy gentle will ? gee, her tears fall more slowly; The passionate murmurs cease, And baok upon her spirit Slow strength, and love, and peace. The Ore burns more brightly, The rain has passed away, Herbert will see no shadow Upon bis home to-day; Only that Bertha greets him With doubly tender cate, Kissing a fonder blessing Powu on his golden hair NUMBER TWO. The studio is deserted, faletta and brash laid by, Tbs sketch rests on the easel, The paint is scarcely dry j PHILADELPHIA. DECEMBER 31. 1858. And Silence—‘Who seems always Within her depths to bear The next sound that will niter— Now holds a dumb despair, So Bertha feels it; listening With breathless, stony fear, Waiting the dreadful summons Each minute brings more near: Whea the young life, now ebbing, Shall fail, and pass away Into that mighty shadow Who shrouds the house to-day. Bat why—when the slek chamber Is ©a the upper floor— Why dares not Bertha enter Within the close-shat door? If he—her all—her Brother, Lies dying in that gloom, What strange, mysterious power, Has sent her frona'ihe room ? It Is not one week’s anguish That can hate dunged her so j Joy has not died hero lately, Struck down by one quick blow ; But cruel months h&To needed Their long relentless cha^n,' To teach that thrinkiog manner Of helpless, hopeless pain. The straggle was scaroe over lifutOhristmfts fire had brought ; The fibres still were quivering Of the one wounded thought, When Herbert—who, unconscious, Had guessed no inward atclfe— Bade her, in pride and pleasure, Welcome his fair young wife; B&do her rejoice, and smiling, Although his eyes were dim, Thank’d God he thus could pay her The care she gave to him. This fresh bright life would bring her A new and joyous fato— -0 Bertha, check the murmur That cries, Too late ! too late! Too late \ Could she have known It A few short weeks before, That his life was completed, And needing hers no more, She might— 0 Bad repining! What “might have been,” forget; “It was not,” should suffice US . To stifle vain regret. He seeded her so lODger, Bach day it grew more plain ; First with a startled wonder, Then with a wondering pain. Love: why, his wife best gave it; Comfort: durst Bertha speak ? Counsel: when qnfok resentment Flush’d on the young wife’s cheek, No more long talks by firelight Of childish times long past, And dreams of future greatness Whfoh he must reach at last; Breams, where her purer instinct With truth unerring told Where was the worthleßß gilding, And where refined gold. flJowly, but surely ever, Bora’s poor jealous pride. Which sie called love for Herbert, Brove Bertha from his side; And, spite of nertous effort To sh«re their alter’d life, She felt a check to Herbert) A burden to his wife. This was the least; for Bertha Beam’d, dreaded, knew at length, How much his nature owed her Of truth, and power, and strength And watch’d the dally falling Of all hU nobler part: Low aims, weak purpose, telling In lower, weaker art. And now, when he is dying, The last words she could hear Must not be hers, but given The bride of one short year. The last darb Is shother’s j The last prayer must not be The one they learned together Beside their mother’s knee. BUnimon’datlast: she kisses The clay-cold, stiffening hand \ And, reading pleading efforts To make her understand, Answers, with solemn ptomise, In clear but trembling tono. To Bora’s life henceforward" She will devote her own. Now all la over. Bertha Bares not remain to weep, ? But soothes the frightened Bora < ( Into a sobbing sleep. ;. The poor weak child will need her: Oh! who can dare complain, . When Got sends A new Buty To comfort each new pain ? .NCMBStt THRBB. The house is AU deserted ( Ih the dim evening gloom, Only one figure passes H Slowly from room to room; And, pausing at each door* way, ; Seems gathering up agaia ' >' Within berjheart relics Of by-gone joy and ptUn. There is au earnest longing In those who onwaid gate, Lookiog with weary patience Toward the coming dnye. There is a deeper longing, More iad,moro strong, more keen; Those know it who look backward, And yearn for what has been. ' At every hearth she pauses, ' Touches each well known chair ; Gases from every window, Lingers on e¥exy Stair. - t . Wb&t nave these months brought Bei lha ’, , , -Nqw one more year Is.past ? 1 his Ohßstmal et«i‘statnali n», - - -** ‘v The third one and the Isst. The wilful, wayward Bora, In those first weeks of grief, Could seek and find in Bertha Strength, soothing, and relief. And Bertha—last s&a comfort True woman-heart can take— Had something still to suffer And do for Herbert’s sake. Spring, with her Western breezes, From Indian islands bore To BOrtha hews that Leonard Wollld seek his home once more. Wbatwosit—joy or sorrow? What were they—hopes or fears ? That flash’d her cheeks with crimson, And filled her eyes with tears? Qe came. And who So kindly Oould Mk and hear her tell nerfcert’slaathottra; for Leonard Had known and loved him well. Baity he came; dad Bertha, Poor weary heart, at length Weigh'd down by others’ weakness, Could rest upon nis strength. Yet not the voice of Leonard Could her true care beguile, That turned.to watch, rejoicing, Bora’s reviving smile. So, from that little household The worst gloom pass’d away, The one bright hour of evening Lit up the livelong day. Bays passed. The golden summer In sadden beat bore down Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness Upon the soorcnlng town. And eights and rounds of country Game in the warm soft tune Sung by the honey'd breezes Borne on the wings of June. One twilight hour, but earlier .Than ostial, Bertha thought 6he knew the fresh sweet fragrance Of flowers that Leonard brought ; Through open’d doors and windows It stole up through the gloom, And with appealing sweetness Brew Bertua from her room. Yes, he was there; and pausing Just near the open’d door, Jo oheck her heart’s <\ulck-beating, She heard —and paused stlU more— His low voice—Dora’s answers— Bis pleading—Yes, she knew The tone—the words—the accents: She once had heard them too. “ Would Bertha blame her?” Leonard’s Low, tender answer came ! “ Bertha was far too noble To think or dream of blame.” » And was he stlre beloved her? ” “ Yes with tho one love given Once in a lifetime only, With one soul and one he&Ten Then came a plaintive murmur ; “ Bora had once been told That he and Bertha”-—“ Be&rest, Bertha is far too cold * To love; aul I, my Bora, If once I fancied eo, It was a brief delusion, And over—long ago.” Between the Past and Present, On that bleak moment’s height, She stood. As some lost traveller By a quick fla a b of light Beeing a guU before him. With dizzy, sick despair, Reels to clutch backward, but to And A deeper ohasm there. The twilight grew still daiker, The fragrant flowers more sweet, Tho stare shone out in heaven, The lamps gleam’d down the street And hours pass’d in dreaming Over their new-found fate, Ere thoy cou.d think of wondering Why Bortba was so late. She oame, and calmly listen’d; In vain they strove to traoo If Herbert’s memory shadow’d In grief upon her face. - No blame, no wonder show’d there, ' No feeling oould he told; Her voice was not less steady, Her manror not more cold. They could not hear the anguish That broke In words of pain Through that calm summer midnight— I’.My'Herberl—mino again! ” Yes. they have ones been parted, But this day shall restore The long lost one—she claims him— ”My Ilerbert—mine once more! ” Now Christmas Evo returning, Saw Bertha stand beside The a'tar, greeting Bora, Again a smiling bride; And now the gloomy evening Be?s Bertha, pale and worn, Leaving the house forever, To wander out forlorn. Forlorn-nay, not so. Anguish Shall do its work at length ; Her soul, pass’d through the ore, Shall gain still purer strength. Somewhere there waits for Bertha An earnest, noble part; And, meanwhile, Ooa is with her— God, and her own Irae heart! I could warmly and sincerely pralso tho little poem, when Jarber had dona reading it; but I oould not say that It tended in any degree towards clearing up the mystery of the empty House. Wbethor it was the absence of the irritating in fluence of Trottle, or whether it was simply fa tigue, I cannot say, but Jarber did not strike me, that ovening, as being in his usual spirits. And Chough he declared that he was sot in the least daunted by his want of success thas far, and that ho was resolutely determined to make more disoo vorieB,hespokeln a languid, absont manner, and shortly afterwards took his leave at rather an early hour. When Trottle oamo back, and whon I indig nantly taxed him ho not only denied tbo imputation, but assoitea that ho had been employed on my service, and, in considera tion of that, boldly aßkod for leave of nbaenoo for two days, and for & morning to himself Afterwards to Complete the business, in'which He solemnly do* cISTea that I was interested. In remombranco of h» long and. faithful eetvloe to mo, I did vio- Jence to myself, and granted his requost. And he, JP Wis smo, engaged to. explain himself to my sa tisfaction, Sn a week’# time, on Monddy ovening, ■the twentieth. > 'A dav ortwobefore, I sent to Jarber'slodgings tfP Him to drop in to tea -. His, landlady sent book an apology for him that mad 6 my hair stand on ond. His feet were on hot water *, his head was in a’flannel petticoat; a green shade wad over his e0 ’ !r e r heumatism was in hia legs; azid a mustard-pouitioe was on his ohest. He was. also olittle feverish, and rather distracted in his mind' about Manchester Marriages, a Dwarf, and Thtfee Ejremogs, or evening Partios—His landlady Was 'nqt sure which—jn an empty houso, with the unpaid. , ‘Dnder these distressing circumstances, I was ■necessarily left Mono with Trottle. Ills promised explanation began,'like Jarber’s discoveries, with »thp reading of a written paper. The only differ ence was that Trottle • introduced hia manuscript tho name of a Report. TROTTLK’S REPORT. , The curious ovents related in these pages would, many of them, most likely never havo happened) ip, a person named Trottle had not presumed; con trnry to his usualoustom, to thinkfor himself. - -The MHysoton whioh the person in question had f° r the first time in his life, to form, an opinion pusely and entirely his own, was one whi^jhad already exolted the interest of-his re speoted mistress in a very extraordinary degree, Or, to put it in plainer terms still, the subject was ntfothor than the mystery of the empty House. Feeling no sort of objection to-set a sucoess of Disown, if possible, side by side with a failure of ,A& J&rberfs, Trottle made up hi* mind; one Mon* day evening, to try what he could do, on his own aoeouht, toward clearing up the mystery of the empty-House. Carefully dismissing from hiS mind All honsensical notions of former tenants and tbflLb£rtoriea.and keeping the one point in view befofft jhiin,-b* stated to reach it in the shortest: Vay,, by. polking straight, up to tho House, And bringing himself face to fooe .with the first jmrson in it-who bpehedthedoor to him. u gettlng towards dark; 1 on’ Monday even* the thirteenth of tho montbjlwhen Trottle set foot on the steps of tho House, When he knocked at the door he knew nothing of the mat- Wr. Which he was about to investigate, except' tbatvthe landlord was an elderly widower of good ortuue. and that his name was Forley.’ A small teaipmug enough for a man to-start from, cor* Oil dropping iirsfc proceeding was to 1 look down cautiously out of tho corner of W*’ right eye, for any results which might show 5 thcQuelvea at the kitchen window. There ap* psared at it .immediately the figuro of a woman, ■Who looked np inquisitiroly at the stranger on the steps, left the window in a - hurry, and came book to it With au open letter in her hand, whioh she ‘bald up to the fading light. After looking over; the. loiter hastily for a moment or so, the woman disappeared onoe more. ’Trottle next heard footsteps shufiling and scrap ing along the bare halt of the house. On a sudden they oeased, and the sound of two voices—a shrill, persuading voice, and a gruff, resisting voice—con fusedly reached hla ears. After a while the voices Jett off speaking—a chain was undone, a holt drawn book—the door opened—atid Trottle stood face to fftoo with two persons—a woman- in advance, and a man behind her, leaning baok fiat against the wall. < Wish you good evening, Sir,” said the woman, In such a sudden way, and in such a cracked voioe, that It was quite startling to hear her. “ Chilly leather, ain't it, Sir? PToaso to walk in. You come from good Mr* Forley, don’t you, Sir?” “Boa’tyou Sir ? n ohimes in the man, hoarse ly, making a sort of gruff coho of bimsolf, and obuckliog after it, as if he thought he had made a joke, If Trottle hod said “ No,” the door would havo been probably closed in his faco. Therefore, he took circumstances as he found them, and boldly ran all the risk, whatovor it might be, of saving’ tt Yea ” * . “Quito right, Sir,” Bays tho woman. “Good Mr. Foxloy’a letter told us his particular friend Would be here to represent him at dusk, on Mon day the thirteenth—or, if not on Monday the thir teenth, then on Monday the twentieth, at the same fitue, Without fail. 'And Hero you are on. the Mon day the thirteenth, ain’t you, Sir? Mr. Forley’s particular frlond, and dressed all in black—quite ?ight,Slr! Please to step into the dining room— ltra always ltop sooured and dloan against Mr. For* loy ooihes here—and I'll fetob a candle in half a minute. It gets so dark in the evenings, now, you hardly know whero-you are, do you. Sir? And bow is good'Mr. Forley in his health? We trust halfl bettor, Benjamin, don’t we ? Wo are so sorry not to see him as usual, Benjamin, ain't wo ? In half a minute; Sir, If you don't mind waiting, 111 be baok with the candle. Come along, Benjamin.” ■ “Coma:along,^benjamin,” ohimes in the echo, and ohuokles agalmas if he thought ho had made another joke. Left alone in the’ empty front-parlor, Trottto wondered what was coming next, a* he heard the shuffling, scraping footsteps go slowly down the kitchen-stalra. The frontdoor had been carefully chained up and bolted behind him on his entrance; and thelrwaS' not the least ohance of Ms being dblh td opfen It tb effect his escape, without betray ing hlpisetf bsiflafcta£ a nditfe., = >\Not'bates sort, iuckily for himself, he Wok his iL-ani turned his time, whijo alone, to account,"nysum-j nring upin bis own mind the fewpartloulars whioh he Had discovered thus far. He had found out, first, that Mr. Forley was in the habit of visiting the house regularly. Second, that Mr. Forley, be ing prevented by illness from seeing the people put In oharge aausual, had appointed a friend to represent him; and had written to say so. Third, that tho frlond had a oholoo of two Mondays, at a particular timo in the evening, for doing his er rand ; and that Trottlo bad accidentally hit on this tiine, and on tho first of the Mondays, for begin ning his own investigations. Fourth, that the sim ilarity between Trottlo’s blnck dress, as eorvant out or Hvory, and the dress of the messenger (who ever ho might be,) had helped the error by whioh Trottle was profiting. So far, so good. But what vtas the messenger’s errand ? and what chance was thore that he might not come up and knock at the door himself, from minute to minuto, on that very ovonlng? Whilo Trottle was turning over this last con sideration in his mind, he heard tho shuffling foot steps come up the Btairs again, with a flash of candlelight going bofore thorn. lie waited for tho woman’s coming in with some little anilely ; for the twilight had been too (Urn, on his getting into the house, tb allow him to seo either her face or the man's face at all clearly. The woman oame in first, with tho man she called Boojamin at hor heels, and set the oandle on the mantel-pieco. Trottle takes leave to de scribe her os an offensively-cheerful old woman, awfully lean and wiry, and sharp all over, at eyos, nose, and phin—dovilishly brisk, smiling and rest less, with a dirty false front and a dirty black oap, and short, fidgotty arias, and long, hooked finger nails—au unnaturally lusty old woman, who walked with a sprifig m her wicked old fast, and sjske with a smirk on her wloked bid face—the sort of old woman (asTrottlo thinks) who ought to have lived in the dark ages, and been ducked in a horse-pond, instead of flourishing in the nine teenth century, and taking oharge of a Christian house. “You’ll ploaso to exouso my son, Benjamin, won’t you, Sir?” says this witch without a broom stlok, pointing to tho man behind hor, propped against tbo b&xe wall of tbo diulng room, exactly as ho had been propped against tue bare wall of the passage. “ lie’s got his inside dreadful bad again, has my son Benjamin, and be won’t go to bed, and he will follow mo about tho house, up stairs and down stairs, and in my lady’s ohambor, as the song says, you know. It’s his indigestion, poor dear, that Boars his tempor, and makes him so aggravating; and indigestion is a wearing thing to the best of us, ain’t it, Sir ?” “Ain’t It, Sir?” ohimes In aggravating Benja min, winking at tho dandle light like an owl at the snnshine. Trottle examined the man curiously while his horrid oidmothor was speaking of him. Ho found “My son- Benjamin” te be little and lean, and buttoned up slovonly In a frowzy old gre&t-coat that fell down to his ragged oarpet slippers. His eyes were very watery, his ohooks very pale, and his lips very red. His broathing was so uncom monly loud thas it sounded almost like a snore. His head rolled helplessly in the monstrous big collar oihisgreat'Cbat, and his limp, lazy bands pottered about the wall on either side of blinds if they were, groping for an imaginary bottle. ‘ In plain English, tho complaint of “My son Benja min ” was drunkenness, of tho stupid, pig-headed, sottish, kind. * Drawing this conclusion easily enough, after a moment’s observation of the man, Trottlo found himself, nevertheless, keoping bis eyes fixed much longer than was necessary on the ugly drunken faco rolling about in the monstrous big coat collar, and looking at it with a Curiosity that ho could hardly account for at first. "Was thero something familiar to him in tho man’s fea tures? He turned away from thorn for an in stant, and thon turned book to him again. After that second look tho notion forcod itself into his mind that he had certainly soon a faco somowhoro of which, that sot’s face appeared Hko a kind of slovenly oopy. “Where?” thiokshoto himself, “ where did I last see tho man whom this aggra vating 'Benjamin here bo very strongly reminds me of?” It waa bo timo just then—with the cheerful old woman’s eyo searching him nil ovor, and tho oheerful ola woman’s tongWh talking at him, nine teen to tho dosou—for Trottle to ho ransacking his memory for small matters that had got into wrong oornors of It. Ho put by in his mind that Tory curious oiroumstnnoo respecting Bonjnmin’s face, to bo taken up again when a fit opportunity of lerodltsolf, and kept his wits about him in primo order for present necessities. ‘ “You wouldn’t like to go down into thokitohon, wonld you? ” says the witoh without the broom st'ok, as familiar as if she had been Trottlo’s mo ther, instead of Bonjamin’B. • “ There’s a bit of fire in the grata, and the sink in the book kitchen don’t smell to matter muoh to-day, and its un common chilly uphoro when a person’s flesh don’t hardly cover a person’s bones. But you don’t look oold, sir, do you? And then, why, Lord bloss my soul, our little bit of business is bo very, very little, it’s hardly worth while to go down stairs about it, after all- Quito a game at busi ness, ain’t it, sir? Givo-and-take—that’s what I oall it—give-and-take! ” With that her wioked old eyes settlod hungrily on the region round aoout Trottlo’s waistcoat pocket, ana she began to obuoklo like her son, holding out one of nor skinny hands, and tapping cheerfully in tho palm with the knuckles of the other. Aggravating Bonjamin, seeing what sho was about, roused up a little, chuckled and tapped in imitation of bar, got an idea of bis own into his muddled head all of a sudden, and bolted it out charitably for tho bonefit of Trottlo. “I say!” says Benjamin, settling himself against the wall and nodding his head vioiously at his oheerful old mother “I say! Look out She’ll skin you!” Assistod by these signs and warnings, Trottlo found no difficulty in understanding that tho busi ness referred to was the giving and taking of money, and that he was expected to bo the giver. - It yros at this stage of tho proceedings that he f first felt'decidedly unoomfortahle, and more than half inolinod to wish he was on the street-side of the house-door again. He was still cudgelling his brains for an exonse •to save his pocket, when the silence was snddenly .interrupted by a sound in the upper part of tho house* , . ’ . It was not at'all loud-J-it was a quiet, still, scraping sound—so faint.that it could hardly have reached the quickest eatß, except in an empty house. ... , r , . • , - “Do you hear that, Benjamin ?” says tho old •woman.: “He’s at it.again,..even in the dark, .ain’t he? P/raps .you’d like to, sen him, sir?” saya turnihg on Trottle, and poking her grin ning face olose to him. “Only name It; only say if you’d like to see him before we do our little bit of business, and I’ll show good Forley’s friend up stairs, just as if he was good Mr.' Forley himself. ■My legs aro all right, whatever Benjamin’s may be. I get younger and younger, and stronger and stronger, and jollier and jollier, everyday—that’s whatT do! Don’t mind the stairs on my account, sir, If you’d like to sea him. ” t “Him?” Trottle-wondered whether “him” meant a man, or a hoy, or a domestic animal of the male species. Whatever it meant, here was a ebanco of putting off- that uncomfortable give and-take business, and, better Btill, aebanoeper l haps of finding out'oue of the seorets of the mys terious House. Trottle’s spirits began ter. rise again, and he said, “ Yes,” directly, with the oon? fidenoe of a man who knew all about it. * Benjamin’s mother took the oandle at onoe, and lighted Trottle briskly to the stairs; and Benja min himself tried to follow ns usual.. But getting up several flights of stairs, even Helped oy tbe banisters, was more, with his particular complaint; than he seemed to feel himself inclined to venture on. He sat down obstinately on the lowest step, with his head against the wall, and the tails of his big great-ooat spreading out magnificently on tbe tajra behind him and above him, like a dirty infl ation of a oourt lady’s train., ; “Don’t sit thoro, dear,” says his affectionate 1 mother, stopping to snuff the oandle on the first' landing.r t’„ oV |j)r „. r .‘‘j BHall sit hefe,” r 'said benjamin, aggravating : fo the last; “ fill tho iflUk aomes fntho morning.”' ; - The cheerful old woman went on nimb)y~up the. ; stairs to .the first floor, afid Trottle followed, with • his oyes.and .ears wide open. ‘ He had seon^nothing ' ont of the common in the front parlor, l or up tho atair-oaae, so far. TheHonse.wos dirty and dreary: and close-smelling—but thero was nothing about it to' excite the least curiosity,' except’ the faint’ eoraping sound' which W&s now beginning to get a little olearer—though still not at ail. loud—&s Trottle. followed his .leader ,up the stairs to the. , second floor.- -- - i - s ' *• - ’ •. ; . Nothing on the second-floor landing, hut cob- 1 webs above, * and bits: of r broken plaster below, oraoked off from tbe ceiling, mother was not a bit ont of breath, and looked all ready to go to the top of the monument if necessary.- Tho faint scraping sound, had got a little,clearer still: but Trottle was no nearer to guessing what it might be than when ho first heafd it in the par lor down stairs. , . On the third and last floor ttere were two doors; one, whioh was shut, leading into the front garret; and one, whioh was tfjar, leading into the back »arret. There waq a loft in the celling above the ending; bat the cobwebs all over it vouched suf ficiently for its not having been opened for somo little time. Tbe soraping ntfse, plainer than ever here, sounded on the other side oi the baok garret door; and, to Trottle’s great relief, that was pre cisely the door whioh the cheerful old woman now pushed open. ... Trottle follewod her in; and, for once inhialife, at any rate, wasstruok dumb with‘ amazement at tbe sight whioh the inside of the room revealed to him. Tiift garret was absolutely empty of everything, la the.shape of’ furniture. It must have been used, at one time or other, ; by somebody .engaged in a profession or a trade twhioh required for'the SracUtie of it agreat deal of light, fortho one win ow in the room, which looked out on a wide open Bpa JO at the baok.of the -, house, three or four times as large, every way, as.a garret-window usually is. Giose.undor this window,.kneeling on the buro hoards, wHhMaface toi the door, thero appeared, pf aU the oreatures.iu the world'to see alone at such a place, a time, a mere mite of a child—a lHtlo, Ibiaely, tfizen, Btrangely-olad' boy, who could not. at the moat, have been more than five years, old. He had agtoasy, old, blue shawl crossed over his breast, and rolled up, to. kdop the ends - from the ground, into a great big lump ,on bis baok. A strip of something which looked liko the remains of-*-woman's, flannel ppfc tlooat showed itself under the. Bb&wl, and, below, that again a pair of rtlaty, block stockings, worlds too large for him, covered hie legs and his •shoe loss feet. Ahm£t of old r jolqmsy muflfetees, which* had worked offttisolves upon hb little, frail, red arms to the Clbows, and - a “ big oottoia night-dap that.had 'dropped down table very..'eye-brows,< finished.off tho strange dress whioh..the poor little man seemed not half big enough to fill out, and not near strong enough to walk about hi. Hut there something to; see even'more ex traordinary. than the ofothes tho ohild was swodr died up in, and that wad the : game whioh' he Wot playing at, alt by him Self; and which, moreover, explained in the most .unexpected manner tho faint scraping noise that had found its way down stairs, through the balf-oponeddoor.lzr tho silence of L tho empty houso. - * Jt has been mentioned that the child was on. his knees in the garret when Trottle first saw him- Go wa3 not wiying hie prayers, and not crouching fTn-n at being alofle In the dark. He was, or housemaid’s business of soouring the floor- Both his little hands bad tight hold of a mangy old btaokiDg-bnuh, with hardly any bristles left in It, whioh he .was rubbing backwards and forwards on the boards, as gravely and steadily as if he had been at soouring-work for years, and had got a large family to keep by It. The coming-in of Trottle and the old womUu did not fltaftle or dis turb him in tho least. Ho just looked up fof a minute atthooandle, with a pair ®f very bright, sharp eyes, and. then went on with his work again as if nothing had happened. On one sido of aim was n battered pint tin saucepan without a han dle, whioh was bis make-boUevo pail; and on the other a morsel of slato-aolor cation rag whioh stood for hia flaunt! to wipe up with. After scrubbing bravoly for a minute or two, he took the bit of rag, and mopped upj- and then squeezed make-believe wator out into his dake-beliove mil, as grave as any. judge that ever sat on a Bench By tho time he thought he had got tho floor pretty dry, ho raised himself upright on his kuoos and hUar out a good long breath, and set his little red arms akimboo, and nodded at Tfottlo. “Tbore!” says tho child, knitting his little downy eyebrows into a frown. '‘Brat the dirt! I’ve cleaned up. Where’s my boor?” Benjamin’s mother ohuokled till Trottlo thought she would have choked horself. ‘‘Lordha’meroy onus!” says she, “justhear the Imp. You would never think he was only five years old, would you, sir? Pleaso to tell good Mr. Forley you saw him going on as nicely as ever, playing at being me scouring the parlor floor, and oalling for my beer afterwards. That’s his regular game, morning, noon, and night—he's never tired of it. Only look how snug we’ve been and dressed him. That’s my shawl a keepin his precious little body warm, and Bonjamin’s night cap a koopin his preoious little head warm, and Bonjamin’s stockings drawed ovor his trowsors, a keepin his preoious iittlo legs warm. He’s snug and happy if ever a imp was yet. ‘ Whore’s my beer “—say it again, little dear, say it again!” If Trottle had seen the boy, with a light and a firo in tho room, olothod like other children, and playing naturally with a top, or a box of soldiers, or a bounoiog big ball, he might have been os oheerful under the circumstances as Benjamin’s mother herself. But seeing the child reduoed (as he oould not help suspecting) for want of proper toys and proper ohild’a company, to take up with the mocking of an old woman at her scouring-work for something to stand la tho place of a game, Trottlo, though not a family man, nevertheless felt tho Bight before him to be, in its way, one of the saddost and tho most piti able that he had over witnessed. “ Why, my man,” says he, “ you’re tho boldest little ohap in all England. You don’t seem a bit afraid of being up here all by yahrself in the dark.” “ The big winder,” says tho child, polntiog up up to it, “ sees in the dark ; and I see with the big winder.” He stops a bit, and gets up on his lees, and looks hard atßcnjamia’s mother. I’m a good ’un,’;’ says he, “ain’t I?. I save candle.” Trottle Wondered what else tho forlorn little erea-, ‘tnrodiad been brought up to do without, besides oandlo-light; and risked putting a question as to whether he ever got a run in the open air to cheer himupabit. Oh, yes, he had a run now and then, out of doors, (to say nothing of his runs about the house,) the lively little orioket—a run aocordbg to good Mr. Forley’s instructions, which were fol lowed out carefully, aa good Mr. Forloy’a friend would be glad to hear, to tho very letter. As Trottle oould only have made one reply to this, namely, that good Mr. Forley’s instructions wore, in his opinion, tho instructions of an infernal soamp; and as he felt that such an answer would naturally prove the death-blow to all further dia -coverics on his part, he gulped down his feelings beforo they got too many for him, and hold his tongue, and looked round towards tho window again to seo what tho forlorn little boy was going to amuse himself with next. The ohild had gathered up his blocking brush and bit of rag, and hod put them into the old tin Bouoepan ; and was now working his way, as well as his olothos would let him, with his make-bo liovo pail hugged up in hia arms, towards a door of communication whioh led from tho back to the front garret. ~ , . “I say,” says he, looking round sharply over his shoulder, “what are you two stopping hero for? I’m going to bod now—and so I tell you!” With that ho opened the door and walked into tho front room. Boeing Trottle take a step or two to follow him, Benjamin’s mother opened her wioked old oyos In a stato of great astonishment. “Meroy on ns!” says she, “haven’t you seen onough of him yet?” “ No,” says Trottle. “ I should liko to see him go to bed.” Benjamin’s mother burst into such a fit of chuck ling that tho looso extinguisher in theoandlestiok clattered again with the shaking of hor hand. To think of good Mr. Fori ay’s friend taking ton times more trouble about thefmp than good Mr. Forley himsolf! Such a joke a 3 that, Bonjamin’s mothor had not often mot with in tho course of her life, and she begged to be exoused if she took the liberty of having a laugh at it. Loaving hor to laugh as muon as she pleased, and coming to a pretty positive oonolnsion. after what he had just heard, that Mr. Forley’s interest in tho child was not of the fondest possible klud, Trottle walked into the front room, and Benjamin's mother, enjoying herself immensely, followed with the oandlo. There woro two pieces of furniture in the front gmet. One, an old stool of tho sort that is used to Btand a cask of beer on; and tho other, a great big, rickety, straddling old truokle bedstead. In tho middle of this bodstoad, surrounded by a dim brown wasto of sacking, was a kind of little island of poor bedding—an old bolster, with nearly all TWO GEJNTS. the feathers oat of it, doubled .id/Htfoe for *pld„ low; a mere shred of patchwork.counterpane, and a blanket ;'and underthst, andpCipitigbat a little on cither side beyond the loose clothes, taro faded chair cushions of horse-hair,,laid along tbgethfp? for a sort of make-shifc ■ mattress When Tib t tie fot into the room the lonely little boy bad scram led up on the bedstead.with the help of the beer stool, and was kneeling on the' outer rim of sack ing. with the shred of counterpane in his, hand, just making ready to iuok It in.for himself under the ohair-oushions. ’ 1 ‘‘l’ll tuck yon up, my mao,” says : T»ttto. "Jump Into bed, and let me try.” **. • " I mean to tuok myself up, , saya the poor, for l lorn child, "and ldon’t mean to jump. I mean to crawl, I do —and bq I tell yon,!” , .. that he sit to work* tacking in the clothes tight all down the Bides of the cushions, but-leav ing them open at the foot. Then,'getting an on his knoesi hard at Trottle, as muoh as to say, ".What do you mean by offering to heln sa oh a'handy little ohap as me?" he began to un tie the big shawl for himself; and did it, too, in less than half a minute. Then, doubling the shawl up loose oyer the foot of the bed, he says "I say, look here 1 . 55 and ducks under the clothes! Head first, worming his way up and up softly, un der the blanket and counterpane, till Trottle saw the top of the large night-cap. slowly peep'out oh the holster. This oyer-sited > head-gear of the child’s had so shoved itself down in the .course of bis journey to the pillow, undor .the olothea, that When he. got his face fairly out'bn the bolster he was all night-cap down to his He soon freed himself,- however, from this slight encum brance by.turning the ends of the cap up gravely i to their old place over his eyebrows—looked at ' Trottle—said: " Snug, ain’t it ? Good-by!” pop ped his face under the clothes again—and left no thing' to be seen of him but the empty peak of the big sight-cap standing up sturdily tin end in the 1 middle of the bolster.- • - , “ What a young limb it is, ain’t it?’ 5 says Ben-I jamin’s mother, giving Trottle a oheerful dig with, her elbow. “ Gome on! you won’t see no more of him'to-night—"• •* '■ •. .. "Arnd EoXteU iyon 'V sings out; a shrill, ilfctle : Md. ofotJiM.' oWming in With a reaolvecHo follow the Vrickea-'aedrefc dent had mixed him up vritlvthtazgliatl Its taro*' logs and windings, right on! to- the end, Ji* would hare probabJy.snatchad theboy upthehand there, and carried him off froth hii garret'priirob/'bed-' clothes and all. Asit'was, heprit’a Btrong obeck ,on himself, kept hikeye' oh fhture possibilltlbs, and allowed Benjamin’s mother to lead him down .stairs again i “Mind thorn top banisters!" says.ahej aaTrot tle laid hid' hand on' them'. “ They are as rotten as medlars, everjr onebf ’em.” 1: • * " When people oome to see the says Trottle, trying tofeelhis way a little'farther into the mystery of the houße," you don't bring many of them up here, do you?” ’, ' ' , ' t ' " Bless your heart aHve 1,, says she,- "nobody ever comes xtofrV -The outride of the house (b quite enough to warn them off:. Morels, thu pity, as I say. - Xfc usod to keep me inspirits, staggering ’em all, one after another, with.the frighttul.high. rent—specially the'Wpmen, drat ’em! .‘‘What’s the rent of this house? 1 ’ ‘Hundred''and : twbnty pound a .JearX ‘‘Hundred and.-twenty) why, thoTe houae in • the street .ad' lets for . more than eighty. 5 ‘ Likely - enough, ma’am : ether | landlords may lower their/rents if they' please : I but this 'here landlord-stloks to' his rights; 'and I means to have as muoh for his house as his '-father had before him" ‘Bat the neighborhood’s gone off since then l 5 * Hundred and twenty pound, ma’am. 5 * The landlord must be mad)’ ‘Hun dred end twenty pound, ma’am.’’ ‘Open the door, 1 you impertinent woman!’ ‘ Lord ! 5 what a happi ness it was to see ’em bounce out, with that awful rent e-ringing in their ears all down the street!” She stopped on the second-floor landing to .treat herself to another ohucklo, while Trottle privately posted up in his memory what he had just heard/ " Two points made out," he thought to himself;' " the house is kept empty on purpose, and the way ft’s done is to ask a rent that nobody. will pay. 55 ' "Ah, deary me) 55 says Benjamin’s mother,; ohanging the subject • on’a- sudden, and twisting I back with a horrid,' greedy quickness to those 1 awkward money-matters which she bod broached down in the parlor. “ What we’ve done, one way and another, for Mr Forley, it isn’t in words to toil 1 That' nice little bit of busineas of ours' ought to be a bigger bit of business, considering trouble wo take, Benjamin- and me, to make the Imp up stairs as happy, as the day is long. If good Mr. Forley would only please to think a lit tle more of "what a deal he owes to Benjamin and ' ' ‘ ' “That’B just It,” saya Trottlocatohing hex' up short in desperation, and. feting his way,by tho help of those last words of hers to slipping cleverly through her Angers. “What should ybu'say, if I told you that Mr. Forley.Was nothing' like so far ‘from thinking about < that little 'matter akyott fancy?. You would be-disappointed,: now, if-1 told you that X had.oome to-day without the money ?”—(her iank ; old jaw felliand.her villain ous old'ejresglared, ina.perfect ttate'of panic, at that!)—“ But what should you say, if I told yon that Mr. Forley.was onlywalting for my report, to send me here next Monday, at dusk, with a big ger bit of business for us two to do .together than ever you think for? What should you say.to that? 6 . The old wretch came bo near to Trottle, before she answered, and jammed him up confidentially so elose into the oorner of the landing, that his throat, in a moaner, rose at her. '‘ f (Jio yott dcont ifc 'off, d® you think, on more than four skhniy' fingers and her long oroohea thump, ; bie, right before his face. “ Wnat do you say to two hands instead of one?” saya ho, pushing past her, and getting down stairs as fast as he oould. What she said Trottle thinks it best not to report, seeing that the old hypoorite,‘getting next door to light-headed at the goldon prospeot before her, took such liberties with unearthly names and persons whidh ought nover to have approached herdips, and rained down such an awful shower of nlessingß on Trottle’s head, that his hair almost stood on end to hear her. . He went on down stairs as fast as his feet would oarry him, till he was brought up all standing, as the sailors say, on the last fight, by aggravating Benjamin, lying right across tho stair, and fallen off, as might hare been' exneoted, into a heavy drunken sleep. The sight of him instantly reminded Trottle of tho onrioua halMikeness whioh he had already doteoted between the face of Benjamin and the face of another man, whom he had seen at a past time in very different circumstances. He deter mined, before leaving the House, to have one more look at the wretched muddled creature; and accordingly shook him up smarily, and propped him against the staircase wall, refore his mother oould interfere. “ Loavo him to me ; I’ll freshen him up,” says Trottlo to the old woman, looking hard in Benja min’s face while he spoko. The fright and surprise of being suddenly Woke up, seemed, for about a quarter of a minute, to sober the creature. When he first opened his oyos, there was a new look in thorn for a moment, which struck home to Trottle’s memory as quiok and as clear as a flash of light. The old maudlin sleepy expression came back again in another in stant, and blurred out all furthor signs and tokens of the past. But Trottle had seen enough In the moment boforo it oame; and he troubled Benja min’s face with no more inquiries. “Next Monday, at dusk,” says he, cutting short some more of the old woman’s palavor about Beniamin’s indigestion. “ I’vo got no more timo to spare, ma’am, to night: please to lot me out.” With a fow last blessings, a few last dutiful mes sages to good Mr. Forley, and a fow last friendly hints not to forget next Monday at dusk, Trottle contrived to struggle through tho Biokening business of leave-taking; to get the door opened ; and to find himsolf, to his own indescribable relief, onoe more on the outor side of the Jlouso To list. LET AT LABT. “There, ma’am!” said Trottle, folding up the mannsoript from whioh he had been reading, and setting it down with a smart tap of triumph on tho table. “ May I venture to ask what yon think of that plain statement, os a guess on my part (and not on Mr. Jorber’s) ot the riddle of the* or two I was unable to say a word. When I recovered a little, my first question re ferred to the poor forlorn little boy. “ To-day la Monday the twentieth,” I said. “ Surely you have not let a whole week go by without trying to find out something mere ? ,r - “ Except at bed-time, and meals, ma'am,” an swered Trottle, “ I have not let an hour go by. Please to understand that I have only come to an end of what I have written, and not to an end of what-I have done. I wrote down those first par ticulars, ma’am, beoauso they are of great impor tance, end also beoauso I was determined to come forward with my written documents, seeing that Mr Jaiber chose to come forward, in the first in stance, with his- I am now ready to go on with the second part of my story as shortly and plainly A 3 possible, by word of mouth. The first thing I must clear up, if you ploase, is tho matter of Mr. Forloy’s family affairs. I have heard you apeak of them, ma’am, at various times; and I have understood that Mr. Forley had two children only by his deceased vrlfo, both daughters. The eldest daughter morriod, to her father’s entire satisfac tion, one Mr. Bavjse, a rioh man, holding a high government situation in Canada. She is now liv ing there with hor husband, and her only child, a little girl of eight or nine years old. Right so far, I think, ma’am?” “Quite right,” I said. ' *< The socond daughter,” Trottlo wont on, “ and Mr. Foriey’s favorite, set her father’s wishes and the opinions of the world at flat defiance, by run ning away with a man of low origin—a mate of a merchant-vessel, named Kirkland. Mr. Forley not only never forgavo that marriage, but vowed that he would visit the scandal of it heavily in the future on husband and wife. Both escaped hia vengeance, whatever he meant it to be. The husband was drownod on his first voyagei aftej his marriage, and tho wife died in child-bed. Right again, I believe, ma'am ? ♦-Again quite right.” “ Having got the family matter all right, we will now go back, ma’am, to me and my delngs. Last Monday, I asked you for leave of absence for two days; I employed the time in olearing up the matter of Benjamin’s face. Last Saturday I was out of the way when you wanted me. I played truant ma’am, on that oooasion, in oomp&ny with a friond of mine, who 1b managing olerk in a law yer’s office; and we both spent the morning at Doctors’ Commons, ovor the last will and testament of Mr. Forley'a father. Leaving the wiU busi ness for a moment, please to follow me first, if you have no objection, into the ugly subject of Benja min's face. About six or seven years ago (thanks to your kindness) I had a week’s holiday with some friends of mine who live in the town ef Fenaie bury. One of those friends (the only one now lew in tho plaoe) kept a chemist’s Bhop, and in txat saop I was made acquainted with one of the twodoctors in tho town, named Barshsm. This Bonham was a flrst-rato surgeon, and might haw got to tho top of his profession, if ho had uotbeena first-rate blaokgnard. As it was, he both drank and gambled; nobody would have any thingto do with aim in Pendlebury; and, at tho tune when I noTtojß to voßtuaronoKiin. pilad rules gTeryoomnnaleatton tnnstbo aoopmpaaled by the name the, writer, Inorderto insure .oorreetasos ha tts typography, .but one Mda ertke sleet should la written upon, • W» shall bs greatly obliged to gentlemea in Peas* ajlTsaUeoa otter jßletee tor oonfeflratiwui girlo* t&« ttefip perttrifler lowlitte,' we zeaoureea of the «erroan4liiseo*ntry, tie lnemia ot population, or any liformaUoa that will be interest* lug to the general reader., \ • . ' ohemM'a.hop.tho wto.wM not to .bs oom- Jwod with him for rargical skill, hut who waa« sne»tlonf*bOTit Bai«iMfl I Si ssjspsaas-c&SS Mw KiAUnd "a! oonfinedwhilo horhnaband was at sea.in lodgiS™ « » HatfieM, and thkt a£nsB and was buried there. ‘ Bnt. what joa nmy not T> no ?i-t’ ' hat K! la . lfl sP' la only • threVmUas from Pondlsbury; that the dootof .who attended jo» Mra. Kirklapdwaa Banbam; that the novae who tookdate ot her wpsßarsham’e mother; and that the person who eaUed them both in was'Mr, ;. orl J W u ho f 6r , hta '*ttgW«' wrote to him, or whether he heard. of it in gome other way, I aontknow; bat he was with her .(though ho had sworn never to eee her again when ehe married) a ”?“"'**»» ¥« wm 55? i? 3 Jendlebary. How he managed matters K l a *i present be 'diaoorer, ea, but it iss feet that he contrived to keep the to everybody.’a amaaement tt *s * fret; that- Bareham went to the noor woman with all his wits abent -bin* ipi_ I!*”* tjiet ho and his mother came b»OV irom whaUht- B 2 r * ~nd. ’* what few think they had, and left tho town mv£ t v°6 T; I)ll ' WM not called to “* iirth tMal of the child, when the mother was linking from ex • Jtfn!((o g{ re thd\vagabond, Bm- Bham, Ha dnejnot produced, In Mr.lJix’aopinion,. by improper inedfcal treatment, but bytho bodilv sfeeknota of thVwot woman hMf.5- ? * ’hltioj^art > d^. t!l °i <i m‘ff.i‘ , i : jfakrraptod, (rent ! >® SPokl oiat word I’W »fran®- way_yo tt 'ire fixing vs? Jp???. -f >?rji »£«s| /Twttle leaned over etoso : ib'jn b.:'und' noin ted through Ad' wihdow'to the/eriipiy.libuse. ! * i death to registered/, at ‘FendtoV to»y,”>habtid, «on Barshamte certificate, “under ,toe hefid.of Mato Infant, SUU-BdrnV TheohildV coaii lies In the mother's grave, to FtotfielA charohyard.v.The child surely atf;l Uye and breathe—to Hying and’breathtog now.A castawayhhdja prisoner to thafrytilatoousnonsc l**-, ■ ; -IsankbackHnmy ohair. ' ; 1 c ’- . * r “ It’s guess-work, so far, hat ifc to on . my mtodj f6r all-that,'as truth.' Bouse yourself, ma'am/and think a little., Th 6 last ! hear of ; Barshahi/hete attending Mr. Porto's disobedient;, daughter. = The next I. ace of Barsham, heikin: Jfivyorleyto house,’ trusted wi tlTa ’ secret.ife.anti ,• his mother * leavb JPehdlebory Buddon]yand":£UB- 1 ptoioixsly fire years back’; and he and his mother hare got a ohild of fir© years old, hidden away to the house; Walt yet The will-left byMr Forfey’s f&iherifcfength- 5 ena the suspicion. ;Tfc© friends I; took wifh toe to Bootora*; Commons/made htoiself, muter ~ contents of that Trill; and when he had ddne'so, * I put these two questions tohim: ‘CanMKBor- , ley leave his money, htr hto.owzt diiporetionTto any body he pleases V' ' lfo',* my friend sai>,' *hto father his left him with' only a life-interest in it.* ‘ Suppose one of Mr. Poriey’s married,daughters 1 has a -girirhnd the ether a'boy/how • money go ? 1 ‘lt would allgo,’ my friendways, * to. the boy, and Itwould charged' with ’the .pay* ment of a. oertain, annual income'to hislemale v cousin Afterher death, i ( wohld go back td fho' male descendant, and to his heirs.', Consider .that, ma’am! The obild'of the daogbtof whoafMr. Forley hates, whom husband' has hrtn snst&ed away firomjbto yengeahpe by •death,'-, takes hto whole property to defiance of him; .and, the: child of the daughter whom be loves, is left apeniioner on her low-born. boy-cousin for'life! T3ieie was good—too good that child of ,Mrs. ‘Kiikiand’s should be legißtoiedstUl-bbrn. And if, as I believe, the register is founded bn a false .cer tificate, there is better, still better reason, why toe existence of the ohild should be hidden, and til' trace of his parentage blotted 1 to the garret of that empty, house.",,'. \ .f" y ' ' Ho stopped, and pointed for the'second time* to the dim, dust-covered garret-window opposite, i Affhe.did So, I was atartled—a very slightmatter . Bufficed to frighten me now—by a',knock l^toe'' door of the room in whioh wa were sitting. ■ JMy maid came to) with, a* letter to her hand. I took it from her. The mounting card, which V was all the envelope enclosed, propped" from my hands. ‘ iGeojga/Borlpy'wM ho mors., bad .de parted this life' three days Since on the evening of ' Friday. ■ /' , . ■ " ' “ Did our last chance of discovering tbs truth,” I asked, “ rest with him? Bas it died with hit . doeth?!’’ , 1 : “ Courage, ma’am! X think not. Our chance rests on onr power to make Barshiua and his mo- ' ther confess; and. Mr. Forleyt* death, by leaving ' them helpless, seems to put that power into onr hands.. With your permission, I will not wait tm dusk to-day, as I ah first intended, but will maka sare of these two people at orico: With a polioe njan in plain.,clothes, to watch the house, in oaso they try to ’leave it; with this hard to vouch for the Diet of Mr., I'orloy’a death; and with a bold acknowledgment in .my part of having got possed-" ‘; score t,and of .being jeady .to. use! it,. sualnst them in oase;efSe*d. CBink'thOreia Ilia*.: dusk. please to tit near the window, ma’am, and watch the house, a little before they light the street-lamps. , If you we the front-door open and oloae again, will'yon* he good enough to put on your bonnet, and come across to me immediately ? Mr. Forley’s death may or may not prevent his messenger from coming as arranged. Sot, if the person does come, it is of importance that you, as a relative of Mr. Forley’s, should be present to see him, and to have that proper influence over him whioh I cannot pretend to exercise.” The only words I could Bay .to Trottlo ashe opened the door and left me, were.words charging mm to take oare that no harm happened to the poor, for lorn little boy. Left alone, I drew my ohair to the window, and looked out with a beating heart at the guilty house. 1 waited and waited through what ap peared to me to be an endless time, nntil I heard the wheels ola cab stop’at the end of the street. I looked In that direction, and saw Trottle get out of the o&b alone, walk op to the House, and xnock at the door He was let in by Barsbam’s mother. A minute or two later, a decently-dressed man sauntered past the house, looked up at it for a mo ment, and sauntered on to the corner of the street close by. Here' be leant against the post and lighted a cigar, and stopped there smoking in an idle way, but keeping his- face 'always turnod in the direction of the house-door. > 1 waited and waited still. I waited and waited, with my eyes riveted to the door of the house. At lastltboughtlsawitopeninthedusk, and then felt sore I heard it shut again softly. Though I tried hard to compose mysolf, I trembled so that X was obliged to oall for Peggy to help me on with my bonnet and oleak, and waa forced to take her arm to lean on, in crossing the street. Trottle opened the door to us before we oould knook. Peggy went baok, and I went in. Ho had a lighted oandlo in his hand. “It has happened, ma’am, as L thought It would,” he whispered; loading me into the bare, comfortless, empty parlor. “ Barsham and hia mother have consulted their own Interests, and have come to terms. My guess-work is guess wdrk no longer. It is now what I felt it was— Triith!” Something strange to mo—something which wo-> men who &e mothers must often know—trembled suddenly in my heart, and brought the warm tears of. my youthfal days thronging back into my eyes. I took my faithful old servant by the hand, and asked him to let me see Mrs. Kirkland’s child, for his mother’s sake. “If you desire it, ma’am,” said Trottle, with a gentleness of manner that £ had never noticed in im beforo. “ But pray don’t think me wanting in duty and right feeling, if I beg you to try and w4it a little. Ton are agitated already, and a first meeting with the child will not help . to make you so calm, as you would wish to be, if Mr. For ley’s messenger comes. The little boy is safe up stairs. -Pray think first of trying to compose yourself for a meeting with a stranger; and be lieve me, you shall not leave the house afterwards without the ohild.” i felt that Trottle was right, and sat down aa patient as I could in a ohair he had thoughtfully placed ready forme. X was bo horrified at thedis covery of my own relation’s wickedness, that when Trottlb proposed to make me acquainted with .the oonfossion wrung from Barsham and his mother, I begged him to spare me all details, and openly to t«U me what was necessary about George Forley. “ All that can be said for Mr. Forley, ma’anif is, that he was just eornpulous enough to child’s existence and blot out its parentage/nore, instead of consenting, at the first, to Its death or afterward*, when tho boy grew up, to turaing him adrift, absolutely helpless in tho world. The fraud has been managed, ma’am, with the cun ning Satan himself. Mr. Forley had the hold over the Barshams, that they had helped him in his villainy, and that they were dependent on him for the bread they oat. Ho brought them up to London to keep them seourely under Ms own eye. He put them into this empty house (taking it out of the gent’s hands previously, on pretence that he meant to manage the letting of it himself); and by keeping the house empty, made it the surest of ail hiding places for the child. Here, Mr. Forley oould come, whenever he pleased, to Bee that the poor lonely ohild waß not absolutely starved; sure that Ms visit* would only appear like looking af ter Ms own property. Here'the child was to nave been trained to believe himself Bonham’s ohild, till he should be old enongh to be provided for in some situation, as low and as poor as Mr. Forley’s unoosy conscience would let Mm pick out. He may have thought of atonement on his death-bed; but not beilfre—l am only too certain of it—not before!” A low, double knook slartied os. “ The messenger !” 4 saldTrottie> under his breath. He went out instantly to answer the knock, and returned leading in a respcotablo-looking elderly man, dressed like Trottle, all in black, with a white cravat, bnt otherwise not at all resembling u !?i ttm afraid X have made »mo mistake,” said the stronger- Trottle, considerately taking the office of expla nation into his own hands, assured the gentleman that thero was no mistake; mentioned to Mm who I was ; and asked him if he had not oome on busi ness conceded with the late Mr, Forley. Look ing greatly astonished, the gentleman answered, “ Yes.” Therewasan awkward moment of silence after that. The stranger seemed to be not only Btartled and amated, out rather and fearfal of committing himself as well. Noticing this, I thought it best to request Trottle to nut an , end to further embarrassment, hy stating all par ticulars truthfully, as he had stated them to me; and I begged the*gentlemaa to tiiten patiently fqj
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