told me Augusta was heartless, but Ellen...... has Ellen any fortune? Ellen is of a devoted nature, I am sure. Now, is not Ellen attached to you?"

66

No, and if she were, I would not take advantage of her affection to reduce her to beggary. She is a noble, generous creature, but I have done with love.-' Man delights not me, nor woman either.'

"Ah, that will not last. Has she the needful? Forgive the officious interest of friendship."

"No; she has little or nothing. All her expectations dissolve with my father's fortunes. Now, come with me to call on them."

The conversation we have just recorded took place before Julian and De Villeneuve repaired to the hotel in Covent Garden, where the family had taken refuge. The day they spent there was one of mournful pleasure, although occasionally disturbed and diversified

by the plans and arrangements necessary, on the eve of a prolonged departure from one's native land.

In these, De Villeneuve was all readiness to assist, officious to please, and eager to oblige. The French lion, the exalted sentimentalist, and the romantic poet, was enchanted at being allowed to go to the neighbouring shops to purchase any trifles which Miss Tibby, Ellen, or Annie fancied they might need. Patiently and zealously did he assist in making up parcels, writing notes and directions, and arranging a future correspondence with the family. Screech and the spaniels-for they were of the emigrating party-they too came in for a share of his forethought; and Miss Tibby was so delighted with some preventions against sea-sickness with which he provided her, that she declared he "jist remembered her o' Donald o' the brae, when she was packing up to gang fra' the Grange to Edinbro'."

Mr. Grunter had not been very well received at the Fitzcribbs, so he was obliged to return to his old quarters. When the inconsiderate egotist requested to be accommodated with a bed (a bed in the small lodgings of that numerous family!), he heard that Mrs. Fitzcribb had just presented Mr. Fitzcribb with a pledge which was to eclipse the whole family, and be named "Shakespeare." To provide for this young grandee, poor Fitzcribb had to toil night and day; he had no time for Grunter.

Mrs. Fitzcribb, of course, did not appear. Poor Corinna had left her wretched home, to live as companion and amanuensis with a blue stocking of rank; Milton was become sub-usher in a school; and all the rest were too much engrossed with the new baby, and the jealous, fretful Benoni, to pay much attention to Mr. Grunter, particularly when he revealed that he came to ask favours, not to confer them.

In fact, Mr. Fitzcribb was not at heart very much pleased with the conduct of the "Man" whom he, to use his own expression, had "made." He thought he had behaved rather shabbily about the profits of "The Philosophy of History and the History of Philosophy;" and he was not a little jealous of the idol he himself had raised: for, alas! no work, professedly his own, had had a tithe of the success which Grunter's had realised. After a brief conversation, he excused himself for continuing an article he was obliged to complete by a certain time, would not enter into any conversation on the merits of Grunter's work, or the probability of a second edition; and ere long saw, to his great delight, the Lion, after a few low growls, take his leave.

Grunter shuddered, and accelerated his pace, as he saw Mr. Jobb driving up to his own door. At the recollection of his lancet, the blood forsook Grunter's cheeks, and his knees knocked together; and certainly, had

he been within arm's reach of his ci-devant patient, the practitioner would have considered himself justified in laying violent hands upon him, in carrying him into his surgery, and commencing operations.

On his return, Grunter found the Reverend Gregory still spell-bound at the bookstall; he had already purchased a pile of old classics, on whose worm-eaten covers were pasted broad white papers, with the proud name of the book and its author, and the humble price 18. Grunter, not at all inclined to assist in bearing the burden of so much knowledge, and having already perceived that Gregory was no adept at crossings-indeed he had narrowly escaped being run over-proposed the calling a cab. a cab. Gregory, still lost in an old classic, nodded to Grunter, Grunter to a cabman, the cabman to a waterman, and in two minutes Grunter, Gregory, and the old books were deposited in a cab, which departed, followed by the curses of the water