wards! Ah, I see this letter was written last July, in answer to my Australian one. What's the meaning of

this?" And he began reading again.

"I wrote so far; but I had not the heart to send it; it was so full of repinings. And since then, - must I tell the truth? I have made a step; do not call it a desperate one; do no blame me, for your blame I cannot bear; but I have gone on the stage. There was no other means of independ ence open to me; and I had a dream, I have it still, that there, if anywhere, I might do my work. You told me that I might become a great actress; I have set my heart on becoming one; on learning to move the hearts of men, till the time comes when I can tell them, show them, in living flesh and blood, upon the stage, the secrets of a slave's sorrows, and that slave a woman. The time has not come for that yet here; but I have had my success already, more than I could have expected; and not only in Canada but in the States. I have been at New York, acting to crowded houses. Ah, when they applauded me, how I longed to speak! to pour out my whole soul to them, and call upon them, as men, to But that will come in time. I have found a friend, who has promised to write dramas especially for me. Merely republican ones at first; in which I can give full vent to my passion, and hurl forth the eternal laws of liberty, which their consciences may must at last, apply for themselves. But soon, he says, we shall be able to dare to approach the real subject, if not in America, still in Europe; and the colored actress will stand forth as the championess of her race, of all who are oppressed, in every capital in Europe, save, alas! Italy, and the Austria who crushes her. I have taken, I should tell you, an Italian name. It was better, I thought, to hide my African taint, forsooth, for a while. And the wise New Yorkers have been fêting, as Maria Cordifiamma, the white woman (for am I not fairer than many an Italian signora?), whom they would have looked on as an inferior being under the name of Marie Lavington; though there is finer old English blood running in my veins, from your native Berkshire, they say, than in any a Down-Easter's who hangs upon my lips. Address me henceforth, then, as La Signora Maria Cordifiamma; I am learning fast, by the by, to speak Italian. I shall be at Quebec till the end of the month. Then, I believe, I come to London; and we shall meet once more; and I shall thank you, thank you, thank you, once more, for all your marvellous kindness."

'Humph! " said Tom, after a while. "Well, she is old enough to choose for herself. Five-and-twenty she must be by now. As for the stage, I suppose it is the best place for her; better, at least, than turning governess, and going mad, as she would do, over her drudgery and her dreams. But who is this friend? Singing-master, scribbler, or political refugee? or, perhaps, all three together? A dark lot, those fellows. I must keep my eye on him. Though it's no concern of mine. I've done my duty by the poor thing; the devil himself can't deny that. But somehow, if this play-writing worthy plays her false, I feel very much as if I should be fool enough to try whether I have forgotten my pistol-shooting."

CHAPTER VI.

AN OLD FOE WITH A NEW FACE.

"THIS child's head is dreadfully hot; and how yellow he does look!" says Mrs. Vavasour, fussing about in her little nursery. O, Clara, what shall I do? I really dare not give them any more medicine myself; and that horrid old Doctor Heale is worse than no one.'

"Ah, ma'am," says Clara, who is privileged to bemoan herself, and to have sad confidences made to her, "if we were but in town now, to see Mr. Chilvers, or any one that could be trusted; but in this dreadful out-of-the-way place

"Don't talk of it, Clara! O, what will become of the poor children?" And Mrs. Vavasour sits down and cries,

as she does three times at least every week.

"But, indeed, ma'am, if you thought you could trust him, there is that new assistant

"The man who was saved from the wreck? Why, nobody knows who he is."

"O, but, indeed, ma'am, he is a very nice gentleman, I can say that; and so wonderfully clever; and has cured so many people already, they say, and got down a lot of new medicines (for he has great friends among the doctors in town), and such a wonderful magnifying glass, with which he showed me himself, as I dropped into the shop promiscuous, such horrible things, my lady, in a drop of water, that I have n't dared hardly to wash my face since."

"And what good will the magnifying glass do to us?" says the poor little Irish soul, laughing up through its tears. "He won't want it to see how ill poor Frederick is, I'm sure; but you may send for him, Clara."

"I'll go myself, ma'am, and make sure," says Clara; glad enough of a run, and chance of a chat with the young doctor.

And in half an hour Mr. Thurnall is announced.
Though Mrs. Vavasour has a flannel apron on (for she

will wash the children herself, in spite of Elsley's grum blings), Tom sees that she is a lady; and puts on, accordingly, his very best manner, which, as his experience has long since taught him, is no manner at all.

He does his work quietly and kindly, and bows himself

out.

"You will be sure to send the medicine immediately, Mr. Thurnall."

"I will bring it myself, madam; and, if you like, administer it. I think the young gentleman has made friends with me sufficiently already."

Tom keeps his word, and is back, and away again to his shop, in a marvellously short space, having "struck a fresh root," as he calls it; for—

"What a very well-behaved, sensible man that Mr. Thurnall is!" said Lucia to Elsley, an hour after, as she meets him coming in from the garden, where he has been polishing his "Wreck." "I am sure he understands his business; he was so kind and quiet, and yet so ready, and seemed to know all the child's symptoms beforehand, in such a strange way. I do hope he 'll stay here. I feel happier about the poor children than I have for a long time."

"Thurnall?" asks Elsley, who is too absorbed in the "Wreck" to ask after the children; but the name catches his ear.

"Mr. Heale's new assistant the man who was wrecked," answers she, too absorbed, in her turn, in the children to notice her husband's startled face.

"Thurnall? Which Thurnall?"

"Do you know the name? It's not a common one," says she, moving to the door.

No not a common one at all! You said the children were not well?"

"I am glad that you thought of asking after the poor things."

"Why, really, my dear-" But before he can finish his excuse (probably not worth hearing), she has trotted up stairs again to the nest, and is as busy as ever. Possibly Clara might do the greater part of what she does, and do it better; but still, are they not her children? Let those who will call a mother's care a mere animal instinct, and liken it to that of the sparrow or the spider; shall we not rather call it a divine inspiration, and doubt whether the sparrow and the spider must not have souls to be saved, if they, too, show forth that faculty of maternal love which is, of all hu

man feelings, most inexplicable and most self-sacrificing; and therefore, surely, most heavenly? If that does not come down straight from heaven, a "good and perfect gift," then what is heaven, and what the gifts which it sends down?

But poor Elsley may have had solid reasons for thinking more of the name of Thurnall than of his children's health; we will hope so for his sake; for, after sundry melo-dramatic pacings and starts (Elsley was of a melo-dramatic turn, and fond of a scene, even when he had no spectator, not even a looking-glass), besides ejaculations of "It cannot be!" "If it were! "I trust not!" "A fresh ghost to torment me!" "When will come the end of this accursed coil which I have wound round my life?" and so forth, he decided aloud that the suspense was intolerable; and, enclosing himself in his poetical cloak and Mazzina wide-awake, strode down to the town, and into the shop. And as he entered it "his heart sank to his midriff, and his knees below were loosed." For there, making up pills, in a pair of brown-holland sleeves of his own manufacture (for Tom was a good seamster, as all travellers should be), whistled Lilliburlero, as of old, the Tom of other days, which Elsley's muse would fain have buried in a thousand Lethes.

Elsley came forward to the counter carelessly, nevertheless, after a moment. "What with my beard, and the lapse of time," thought he, "he cannot know me." So he spoke,

"I understand you have been visiting my children, sir I hope you did not find them seriously indisposed?" "Mr. Vavasour?" says Tom, with a low bow.

"I am Mr. Vavasour!" But Elsley was a bad actor, and hesitated and colored so much as he spoke, that, if Tom had known nothing, he might have guessed something.

'Nothing serious, I assure you, sir; unless you are come to announce any fresh symptom."

"O, no - not at all. - that is, I was passing on my way to the quay, and thought it as well to have your own assurance; Mrs. Vavasour is so over-anxious."

"You seem to partake of her infirmity, sir," says Tom, with a smile and a bow. "However, it is one which does

you both honor."

An awkward pause.

"I hope I am not taking a liberty, sir; but I think I am bound to "}