brother's arrival. Mrs. Lindsay was finishing off a soft cushion for Fatima, and superintending the cleaning a perch for Screech. Augusta's heart was in a wild flutter; and her cheek rivalled the roses, through whose petals the sun shone, as they looked in at the window to bid the breakfast party good morrow; jasmine and honeysuckles were peeping in also, and Ellen was gathering a sweet bouquet for her uncle's room.

"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Lindsay, "put down your books, and do attend to me.'

"I am attending," answered old Lindsay, looking up for a moment, while running his finger down the index of the work he was reading.

"Really, my love, on so very important a day I think you might lay aside those fusty old books."

Old Lindsay laid down his book.

"What have you to say, my dear?"

66

Why, I want to converse a little with

you."

"About what ?”

"About........la! why, about many things ; about your brother's arrival and-" "I am prepared for that."

"Prepared! in what way?"

Old Lindsay had taken up his book again. "How tiresome you are, my dearest love! I want to tell you that I have found out a relationship between old Grunter and myself. His mother was a Gubbs. I think it likely to strengthen my influence with him, and, through him, with your brother. I mean to receive him and treat him as a relation. Now, as he is a scholar, and here only for a short time, you must give him up your study; he requires the morning sun."

"Why cannot he share it with me, Nelly? It will put me out sadly to be driven from my accustomed haunt. There is room, and for two."

66

No, no, two of a trade can never agree; besides, entre nous, I am sure you would dispute with him on classical and literary subjects."

"The clash of opinions, Nelly, elicits the sparks of truth."

"Of anger and ill-will, rather. No, no, quite in confidence, my love," and Mrs. Lindsay drew near her husband, and whispered as if she dreaded that the flowers might report her words. "I don't believe he's any more of a scholar than I am; he's a smatterer, a pretender, a literary coxcomb, my love; and, therefore, he'll require the study and all the books to give himself a learned look!"

66

Well, well," groaned Dr. Lindsay, “do as you like; only, wherever I am, let me be quiet."

At this moment a servant brought in a letter. Mrs. Lindsay recognised the hand of her brother-in-law. Augusta and Ellen drew near.

"I hope it's no excuse, now every thing is so comfortably ready," said Mrs. Lindsay.

"And I," said old Lindsay, "should not be sorry if it were, for it's little comfort to receive those to whom our very best must seem worse than the worst they get at home; besides, that Grunter, if he were a scholar,

I'd welcome him with open arms, but, a pretender, a quack, how can I help exposing him ?"

As he spoke, Mrs. Lindsay, who never paid any real attention to what he said, opened the letter. As she ran her eye over the first lines, the colour forsook her cheeks, her eyes distended, her lips parted; she uttered a faint cry, and dropped the paper.

"What is it?" exclaimed all at once. "What has happened?"

"Is Julian ill ?" faltered Ellen.

"Ill! worse than ill, worse than dead!" screamed Mrs. Lindsay. "Your brother, Gregory, is a ruined man! He has speculated away his immense fortune!"

"Thank Heaven, that is all!" said old Lindsay.

"All!-how can you be such a fool? All! -what could be worse? He is ruined, he is a pauper, we must maintain him, they are all coming here, and now what is to be done?" And Mrs. Lindsay began to cry. "Done!" exclaimed Dr. Lindsay, his eyes

flashing, and roused from his habitual and meek abstraction-" done, woman! I am ashamed to hear my wife ask such a question at such an hour. Done! why all shall be done to surpass, in the hour of his adversity, the affection and devotion which would have been lavished on him in that of his success. Providence, in clouding his prospects, gives us the rare and unexpected privilege of comforting him, of repaying some of the great debts we owe him of proving what all you women most vehemently have professed! Where is this letter? read it, my Ellen. Those tears, I know they fall not for the loss of the uncle's wealth, but for anxiety lest that loss affect his peace. Dry them, my child; and you, Augusta, control this violent emotion, and listen."

"Dear Sister,

"How can I reveal the distressing intelligence of my total ruin-how can I own that the maddest of speculations has ended in the entire ruin of a princely fortune! However, it was of my own earning, and there