head, unable for a moment to look either mother or son in the face. Mrs. Elliott perceived my wife's emotion, and her chill fingers gently grasped her hand.

"Does he say his prayers ?-you've not forgotten that, Henry ?"

The child, whose little breast was beginning to heave, shook his head, and lisped a faint “No, mamma."

"God bless thee, my darling!" exclaimed his mother, in a low tone, closing her eyes. "He will not desert thee, nor thy parents! He feeds the young ravcns when they cry!" She paused, and the tears trembled through her almost transparent eyelids. My wife, who had with the utmost difficulty restrained her feelings, leaned over the poor sufferer, pressed her lips to her forehead, and gently taking the child with her, stepped hastily from the room. As soon as they had got into the matron's parlour, where my wife sat down for a few moments, her little companion burst into tears, and cried as if his heart would break. The matron tried to pacify him, but in vain. "I hope, ma'am," said she, to my wife," he did not cry in this way before his mother? Dr. and Mr. both say that she must not be agitated in any way, or they will not answer for the consequences." At this moment I made my appearance, having called, in passing, to pay a visit to Mrs. Elliott: but hearing how much her late interview had overcome her, I left, taking my wife and little Elliott--still sobbing--with me, and promising to look in, if possible, in the evening. I did do so, accordingly; and found her happily none the worse for the emotion occasioned by her first interview with her child since her illness. She expressed herself very grateful to me for the care which she said we had evidently taken of him--" and how like he grows to his poor father!" she added. "Oh! doctor, when may I sec him? Do, dear doctor, let us meet, if it be but for a moment! Oh, how I long to see him! I will not be agitated. It will do me more good than all the medicine in this building!"

"In a few day's time, my dear madam, I assure you--"

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Why not to-morrow? Oh, if you knew the good that one look of his would do me--he does not look ill?” she inquired, suddenly.

"He-he looks certainly rather harassed on your account; but in other respects, he is—"

"Promise me-let me see for myself; oh bring him with you! I-I—I own I could not bear to see him alone-but in your presence-do; dear doctor! promise! I shall sleep so sweetly to-night if you will.”

Her looks-her tender murmuring voice, overcame me; and I promised to bring Mr. Elliott with me some time on the morrow. I bade her good-night.

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Remember, doctor!" she whispered as I rose to go. "I will!" said I, and quitted the room, already almost repenting of the rash promise I had made. But who could have resisted her?

Sweet soul! what was to become of thee? Bred up in the lap of luxury, and accustomed to have every wish gratified, every want anticipated-what kind of scene waited thee on returning to thy humble lodging,

"Where hopeless Anguish pour's her groan,
And lonely Want retired to die?"

For was it not so? What miracle was to save them
from starvation? Full of such melancholy reflections,
I walked home, resolving to leave no stone unturned on
their behalf, and pledging myself and wife that the
forty pounds we had already collected for the Elliotts,
from among our benevolent friends, should be raised to
a hundred, however great might be the deficiency we
made up
ourselves.

Saturday. I was preparing to pay some early visits to distant patients, and arranging so as to take Mr. Elliott with me on my return, which I calculated would be about two o'clock, to pay the promised visit to Mrs. Elliott, when my servant brought me a handful of let

ters which had that moment been left by the twopenny postman. I was going to cram them all into my pocket, and read them in the carriage, when my eye was attracted by one of them much larger than the rest, sealed with a black seal, and the address in Elliott's handwriting. I instantly resumed my seat; and placing the other letters in my pocket, proceeded to break the seal with some trepidation, which increased to a sickening degree when four letters fell out--all of them sealed with black, and in Elliott's handwriting, and addressed respectively to " Jacob Hillary, Esq.," " Mrs. Elliott," "Henry Elliott," and "Dr.," (myself.) I sat for a minute or two, with this terrible array before me, scarce daring to breathe, or to trust myself with my thoughts, when my wife entered, leading in her constant companion, little Elliott, to take their leave, as usual, before I set out for the day. The sight of "Henry Elliott," to whom one of these portentous letters was addressed, overpowered me. My wife, seeing me much discomposed, was beginning to inquire the reason, when I rose, and with gentle force put her out of the room and bolted the door, hurriedly telling her that I had just received unpleasant accounts concerning one or two of my patients. With trembling hands I opened the letter which was addressed to me, and read with infinite consternation as follows::

"When you are reading these few lines, kind doctor! I shall be sweetly sleeping the sleep of death. All will be over; there will be one wretch the less upon the earth. "God, before whom I shall be standing face to face, while read this letter, will, I hope, have mercy upon me, and forgive me for appearing before him uncalled for. Amen!

you

"But I could not live. I felt blindness-the last curse-descending upon me--blindness and beggary. I saw my wife broken hearted. Nothing but misery, and starvation before her and her child.

yet it is thus I leave her! But she knows how through life I have returned her love, and she will hereafter find that love alone led me to take this dreadful step.

"Grievous has been the misery she has borne for my sake. I thought, in marrying her, that I might have overcome the difficulties which threatened usthat I might have struggled successfully at least for our bread; but He ordered otherwise, and it has been in vain for me to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows.

Why did. I leave life? Because I know, as if a voice from Heaven had told me, that my death will reconcile Mary and her father. It is me alone whom he hates, and her only on my account. When I shall be gone, he will receive her to his arms, and she and my son will be happy.

"Oh, my God! that I shall never see the face of Mary again, or- But presently she will look at our son, and she will revive.

"I entreat you as in the name of the dead-it is a voice from the grave-to be yourself the bearer of this news to Mary, when, and as you may think fit. Give her this letter, and also give, yourself, to Mr. Hillary, the letter which bears his dreadful name upon it. I know-I feel that it will open his heart, and he will receive them to his arms.

"I have written also a few lines to my son. Ah, my boy, your father will be mouldered into dust before you will understand what I have written. Grieve for your unfortunate father, but do not-disown him!

"As for you, best of men, my only friend, farewell! Forgive all the trouble I have given. God reward you! You will be in my latest thoughts. I have written to you last.

"Now I have done. I am calm; the bitterness of death is past. Farewell! The grave--the darkness of death is upon my soul--but I have no fear. Tonight, before this candle shall have burned out, at midnight Oh, Mary! Henry! shall we ever meet again? "H. E."

I read this letter over half a dozen times, for every paragraph pushed the preceding one out of my memory. Then I took up mechanically and opened the letter addressed to his son. It contained a large lock of his father's hair, and the following verses,* written ' in a great straggling hand ::-

"I have wished for death; wherefore do I not call for my son?

"My son, when I am dead, bury me; and despise not thy mother, but honour her all the days of thy life, and do that which shall please her, and grieve her not.

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Remember, my son, that she saw many dangers for thee when thou wast in her womb; and when she is dead bury her by me in one grave.

"Thus on the point of death, writes thy father to his beloved son. REMEMBER !

"HENRY ELLIOTT."

As soon as I had somewhat recovered the shock occasioned by the perusal of these letters, I folded them all up, stepped hastily into my carriage, and postponing all my other visits, drove off direct to the lodging of Mr. Elliott. The woman of the house was standing at the door, talking earnestly with one or two persons. "Where is Mr. Elliott?" I inquired, leaping out of the carriage.

"That's what we want to know, sir," replied the woman, very pale. "He must have gone out very late last night, sir--and hasn't been back since; for when I looked into his room this morning to ask about breakfast it was empty."

"Did you observe anything particular in his appearance last night?" I inquired, preparing to ascend the little staircase.

"Yes, sir, very strange like! And about eight or nine o'clock, he comes to the top of the stairs, and calls out,' Mrs. did hear that noise? Didn't you 9

* From the Apocrypha. Tobit, ch. iv., v. 2, 3, 4.