iences with which you will be annoyed here I will be very glad to accommodate you."

"Accommodate you!" thought Uncle Joe. Poor Harry looked pained in the extreme, but like a wise man began to ask questions of his uncle's travels and adventures, which occupied the time pleasantly enough till tea was handed around.

A little spread bread and butter, cut very thin, with some weak tea and dry sponge cake, were handed round by Betty, a slovenly-looking girl, who, partaking of her mistress's spirit, looked sullen and thought company a great plague.

After tea Mrs. Weatherall retired, having performed an unusual act of self-denial in remaining so long, and hastened to her room to finish one of Eugene Sue's last novels.

Cigars were smoked by Harry and Uncle Joe, and in their fumes both forgot for the time every thing but the pleasures of early days, long past. Over and over again they related this and that pleasant occurrence, and wandered over the old grounds together, not a vestige of which could now be seen. "I've travelled East and North and South, Harry," said Uncle Joe," and never have I met a spot like the old home."

They talked till late, and when Harry rang the bell not a servant was up. He took the light and asked Uncle Joe to follow him. The room usually

given to strangers was all in confusion, and he asked pardon for a moment till he could ask Hatty which room was intended for his uncle. "Hatty, love," said Harry, “where will Uncle Joe sleep? He is very much fatigued, I hope he will not be obliged to go up another story."

She replied, "To be sure he will; how could I know that he was coming? I do not keep a room prepared for visitors-the very thing I wished to avoid. The room above is good enough for any one, and from your Uncle's appearance I should judge better than he was accustomed to indulge in. I did not ask Betty, but no doubt the room is in order."

Harry showed his Uncle to his room. Knowing there was no remedy for any thing that might be wanting, he concluded to be as blind as possible and barely open the door and wish his Uncle" good night."

The old man seated himself upon the side of the bed, clasped his hands and gave a searching look into every corner of the room. The furniture was good, but it looked dingy, soiled and neglected. In one corner of the room upon the ceiling a heavy cobweb stretched a quarter of a yard and hung in festoons over the cornice. The coal in the grate showed that at some time previous a fire had been made and gone out half lighted. The bed had not

been occupied, but the covering was dusty and uncomfortable.

"Hang me," said Uncle Joe, "if I leave one sous to Harry: such a wife would ruin any man— I might as well put my money into a dirty sieve; he'll have to come to want; there's no remedy; what could the fellow have been thinking of to marry such a nonentity?"

With these reflections Uncle Joe closed his eyes in sleep, and dreamed of witches around his bed on broomsticks till morning.

Morning came and Uncle Joe departed. He made his will soon after, leaving a large fortune to an orphan asylum. He took good care that the reason for the change in his mind should reach Harriet's ears, hoping that it might produce some good result.

Letters came frequently from the school in which Willie and Bob were placed. Willie stood well in his class, but was kept depressed by the constant and daily punishments which Bob had to endure for his bad conduct.

Mrs. Weatherall knew it was the teacher's fault, and wished her husband would take him to a new school. But Mr. Weatherhall firmly opposed this plan, assuring his wife that the boy would be ruined if indulged in this wish.

One morning news came that Bob had run

away, and Willie had got leave to go home a few days; his health seemed to require it. When he reached home his parents were alarmed at his changed appearance, and after a close investigation it was ascertained that Willie had slept by the open window when he first went to school to guard it, as Bob threatened to jump out of it if he could not do as he liked. Poor Willie had taken a severe cold, and a rapid decline was threatening his life.

Mrs. Weatherall cried a great deal when the family physician announced the sad fears, not for one moment, however, accusing herself for any omissions of duty towards either of her children, nor will she till the last day when the Great Judge of all will require those precious gifts with which he had intrusted her. Oh! the fearful responsibility of mothers. How many realize its magnitude?

Willie's sickness was not of long duration. His soul was called home after a short struggle, and his parents stood by the side of the lifeless form of the once noble boy. It would be in vain to attempt to describe Mr. Weatherall's grief. He was calm and resigned to the will of God; but his heart swelled almost to breaking in the effort. He was alone in his grief, for though Mrs. Weatherall wept continually, and he consoled her, yet she could not sympathize with him in his deep heartfelt sorrow, for she had never loved the child as he had done.

Bob was found and sent to sea after much opposition from Mrs. Weatherall, and many bitter words and reproaches towards her husband, all of which Mr. Weatherall bore with almost superhuman patience. Little Fanny had been sent home once or twice, but she was so unhappy and mourned so much for "dear Grandmamma," that it was decided best to allow her to remain with Harry's mother.

It need not be told that the life of Harry Weatherall was one of disappointment and trial. His heart, too often taxed, in time lost its fervor and elasticity, and he sought that happiness which his own fireside denied him in other scenes and places. He was a man of sterling principle and well tried integrity. The inferior and degrading amusements and pastimes which the city affords to men of low tastes had no charms for him, and consequently offered no temptation. Political friends drew him into their clubs and engaged his mind in the interesting topics of the day. The fate of the country, they said, depended upon the exertions of men of mind and character such as his, and now that he had retired from business it was his duty to become a statesman. Harry's judgment told him that to become a politician home and its sweet blessings must be bartered; but what had he to lose? His children had been neglected and driven from home, and his house made a dull dreary prison-house from