"Oh, Georgy, daddy's come!" said the eldest, sitting up and throwing his little arms around his father's head, mingling the white of his elbow and shoulder among the dark hair; "Oh, daddy's come! and mammy won't cry to-morrow; and we shall have some bread! Get up, and kiss him, Georgy."

Georgy raised his little flaxen head from the flock-bolster, which was his only pillow; and the father shifting his arm, drew the little fellow closely to him, and kissed him affectionately.

"Poor

"It's been raining on poor daddy's face," said the eldest, taking up the corner of the ragged coverlet to wipe off the tears. daddy's been all in the rain to fetch us some bread! Poor daddy !” and the dear child uttered the last sentence in such a tone of true and affectionate pity, as he kissed his father, that the wretched man groaned again in his deep agony, and felt how unworthy he was of such pure and unselfish love.

The poor wife could no longer sit a silent witness of the scene, but rose half-dressed from the broken chair, and wiping the tears from her thin care-worn cheeks, while she bent over her husband, said, "Dear John! take it not so to heart; they are not hungry to-night; they had But the remembrance of the many nights they had gone to-bed cold, crying, and hungry, and there lain until they sobbed themselves to sleep upon her aching heart, came across her memory, and, no longer able to control her feelings, she again sank sobbing on

the chair.

"Mary! dear Mary!" said the wretched husband, now rising and throwing his arm around her, "I have been a villain to you! to my poor dear children! to myself! God knows, I am a villain! But, Mary!-poverty, wretchedness, disappointment; and yet," added he, checking himself, “ you have borne all these, and are still the same. No! no! I have made myself what I am; a wretch unworthy of

you!"

Say not so, dear John," exclaimed the wife; "you will be better now-I know you will. It is not poverty, nor misery, that makes me unhappy; but when I never see you for days-when I have to bear it all, and have no one to speak a word of comfort to me! no one to share it with me!—it is that—that which is breaking my heart! Oh, John! if you could but feel what I feel, when hour after hour, day after day, and night after night, I sit listening for your footsteps, and you never come!-if you could but feel what I feel, while expecting you, you would not leave me so lonely, and so long alone! I know

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ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

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you would not, if you knew how much I still love you! Poverty can never change me-never!"

As the varied and fitful light falls and changes upon the remaining ruins of some once noble castle-now glancing upon it grey and gloomy, and giving it a still sadder look-then coming down duskily, and seeming to make the whole pile one mass of shadow-anon stealing upon it soft and silvery, adding a new beauty to every rent and chasm, which storm or strife have made; so changed the almost indescribable countenance of the wretched husband. And when he looked fondly on his affectionate wife, and promised that he would never again give her cause to complain, and threw down the money upon the table, telling her that the children should no more want for bread-then did the unclouded sunlight seem to fall full upon the fortress, and give to the ruin a softer and more imposing light, than it had ever worn in its brightest or proudest days. But no imagery can describe the change which that torn and battered countenance underwent ; for still it looked like a ruin-or a dusty time-worn statue, with the sun-light upon it.

The poor woman looked at the money, then at her husband, and without touching it, pointed to where it lay, and said, “John, how came you by this money?"

"I found it," answered he, without hesitation; "ask no more questions. I neither won it by gaming, nor yet stole it. It is yours now;" and he glanced down upon the floor as he spoke, for there was something so fixed and doubtful in the gaze of his wife, that he could no longer look at her face.

"If you have found it," said she, "it is your duty to endeavour to find out the right owner, and return it. There is sure to be some inquiry made, and perhaps some reward offered. Unless you do this, it will never do us any good; nor will I touch a single farthing of it." "Then I will," said the husband, sweeping it up, and again placing it in his pocket. He then took up a broken tea-cup, and filling it with gin, emptied it at a draught; then sat down, with his forehead buried in the palm of his hand, and remained for several moments in deep and thoughtful silence. "Mary," said he, at length speaking, "I have told you the truth, I found it; or, at least, the order for it. No questions were asked me; any other person might have received it in the same way. But this is not all last night I saw Ingledew's daughter-he, who is now called squire who revels and rules over Sutton-cum-Bottesford. While I, that was honest, until

he made me otherwise-I who, fool-like, held the ladder, up which he climbed, am here. He secured an estate, I this miserable abode-he rolls in plenty, and is weighed down with riches, while I am doomed to poverty and rags, I who could reduce him to disgrace and beggary to-morrow. But I will hunt him out; face to face will I meet him. I have been honest too long-I have been rightly rewarded."

He again had recourse to the gin-bottle; then paced the floor with a hurried and excited step, seeming deaf to all his wife said to him. He looked like a man who had resolved to do some daring deed; but was still undecided upon the manner of executing it. So he drank on, until he sank into his chair and fell asleep; and in his dreams he confronted the squire.

But Godfrey Malvern and his beautiful young wife have been too long neglected, and we must once more change the scene, to glance at new troubles. The struggles of the virtuous and of the vicious seem nearly alike, although the latter carries its hidden sting-the painful feelings of remorse. Want and privation, disguise themselves however they may, are never welcome guests! We may preach up philosophy, and extol patience-argue that all human sufferings are but for a time, and that all troubles are sent for the best: this is the compulsion of content, and may suit saints, but sinners like ourselves can never bear these things long without grumbling. Silver and gold have, we scarcely know how, become very essential to earthly happiness. Philosophy and resignation furnish but poor food, wretched clothing, and indifferent lodgings; for in this age poverty and misfortune have been legally branded with the names of vagabond and rogue. The pauper and the pickpocket are but packed off to different prisons, in which the latter too often meets with the best fare.

And Godfrey's little stock of money had by this time dwindled very low, and Emma's brown silk purse sunk day by day, until the very rings seemed inclined to slip off, and wander in search of employment, for now they had scarcely any thing to hold. Still the young couple had managed to pay their way, without having as yet run a farthing into debt, although their gin-drinking landlady had long since discovered that they were growing very poor. But there was a natural delicacy about Emma's management of matters, which Godfrey was some time in discovering. She began to retrench almost imperceptibly; she sank into a kind of silent economy without her husband at first perceiving it, and for a long time kept him ignorant of the real state o the funds.