CHAPTER THE LAST.

"The book is completed,

And closed, like the day;

And the hand that has written it

Lays it away.

Dim grow its fancies,

Forgotten they lie ;

Like coals in the ashes,

They darken and die." -LONGFellow.

So far from being dead, or having any thoughts of it, old Mr. Harrington was much more alive than I ever remembered to have seen him.

It amounts at times to a feeling of pain, the absurd thoughts that will thrust themselves into notice, whether or no.-There came suddenly upon me, the remembrance of the poor dear

"Lady's" description of her father without hi wig-why, I could not tell for it only gave rise to the thought, how well he was looking, how appropriate to his fine(though heretofore inanane) features, was the tonsure of silver curls that now encircled his head. He looked much younger, he bore himself much better. He never need fear now, that any sudden disarrangement would uncrown him. Moreover, he thought and felt. He was not now Mr. Harrington with a daughter, but Mr. Harrington, responsible and self-reliant. Meantime, as we passed into the other room, I prepared to think on the matter before us. I could comprehend why Glynne wished to give that which was of little value to him, into hands whose very faults might be corrected from the possession of wealth. I thought it would be curious, perhaps edifying, to see how worldly prosperity might gradually sweeten the asperities of a nature cold and stern of itself, without the acrid cares of poverty added.

If the thought crossed me for a moment, that the possession of so much wealth, might afford him greater scope for the furtherance of his peculiar views, still did I think, (as I was sure

Glynne felt) riches and their duties would be

Mr. Grant's best safeguard.

sourly on the world, when its

proffered for one's use.

One cannot look

fairest flowers are

No sooner were we shut up for our conference; than Mr. Harrington took hold of my hands, and kissed me on the cheek.

'My dear, you are my daughter now. My poor Eliza always said that you would be so to me."

"I shall like to be so very much," I answered, though a little confused.

"I have been wishing to greet you as such for a long time, ever since her death. I will tell you of it. When my son returned to us, after his last visit to England, I perceived that some event had occurred which led him to accede, willingly, to a request we had been urging upon him, hitherto without success. She wished to have a permanent home abroad, and return no more to England. My son had not thought this advisable, on account of his duties as a landed proprietor. No sooner had he, as I said before, consented, and she had bought a new home, than the cholera broke out. My Eliza was fear

fully alarmed by it, and would have returned instantly to England, had we not heard it raged there as everywhere. Therefore, at her earnest request, we located ourselves on a small island in the Mediterranean Sea, that contained but three houses, all of which my son rented. Here he had to work for us, even to obtain food, for none of the English servants would accompany us. You know my son, do you not, my dear ?"

Sir, you did not miss your servants," I answered.

Truly, it was just so; I need say no more. But for the fears of my Eliza I would say to you, my dear, that I never remember to have been so happy. I was of use to my fine grandson, remembering well all I had learnt at school and college. I think what one learns in early youth is seldom forgotten, or it makes an impression. upon soil yet malleable. So I felt, perhaps for the first time, I was living for some purpose. My health improved with this idea. I was wanted. Yet did my poor child suffer a little for the need of some accustomed luxuries. Wine she required, and having, by the carelessness of one of the peasants, whom we had brought with us to till

the ground, lost one out of the two casks we had laid in as store, my son became anxious to supply the deficiency, more for hers and my sake than his own, for Neville and he lived on the simplest fare. Thus, on seeing a ship in the offing, with the characteristic marks about her of a Bourdeaux vessel, laden with wine, he besought Eliza to let him go and buy some, promising to perform quarantine for any length of time she chose, at the house situated furthest away from the one in which we lived. She would by no means consent, and he left her to go on with his farming. But ere long she sent to beg he would go. She had heard from one of the peasant women, that these vessels often contained silks as well as wine, and she required some of the former. In vain did we remonstrate, representing the contagion that would hang upon silks,—she would take no denial. My poor child was always somewhat self-willed; her present life unnerved her; she had but little to amuse or employ her; her mind became set upon obtaining these silks. You know my son denied her nothing when his persuasions failed to turn her. He set out, with only one other in the boat, and boarded the