commences, "who is the subject of our present
narrative was the son of Somebody, and was
born Somewhere, and chose a profession Somehow.
It is not with those parts of his career
that we have to deal; but with his early attachment
to a young and beautiful lady."

I thought I should have dropped. I durstn't
look at the Major; but I knew what his state
was, without looking at him.

"The father of our ill-starred hero" says
Jemmy, copying as it seemed to me the style of
some of his story-books, "was a worldly man
who entertained ambitious views for his only
son and who firmly set his face against the
contemplated alliance with a virtuous but
penniless orphan. Indeed he went so far as roundly
to assure our hero that unless he weaned his
thoughts from the object of his devoted affection,
he would disinherit him. At the same time, he
proposed as a suitable match, the daughter of a
neighbouring gentleman of a good estate, who
was neither ill favoured nor unamiable, and
whose eligibility in a pecuniary point of view
could not be disputed. But young Mr. Edson,
true to the first and only love that had inflamed
his breast, rejected all considerations of self-
advancement, and, deprecating his father's anger
in a respectful letter, ran away with her."

My dear I had begun to take a turn for the
better, but when it come to running away I
began to take another turn for the worse.

"The lovers" says Jemmy "fled to London
and were united at the altar of Saint Clement's
Danes. And it is at this period of their simple
but touching story, that we find them inmates of
the dwelling of a highly respected and beloved
lady of the name of Gran, residing within a
hundred miles of Norfolk-street."

I felt that we were almost safe now, I felt that
the dear boy had no suspicion of the bitter truth,
and I looked at the Major for the first time and
drew a long breath. The Major gave me a nod.

"Our hero's father" Jemmy goes on "proving
implacable and carrying his threat into
unrelenting execution, the struggles of the young
couple in London were severe, and would have
been far more so, but for their good angel's having
conducted them to the abode of Mrs. Gran:
who, divining their poverty (in spite of their
endeavours to conceal it from her), by a thousand
delicate arts smoothed their rough way, and
alleviated the sharpness of their first distress."

Here Jemmy took one of my hands in one of
his, and began a marking the turns of his story
by making me give a beat from time to time
upon his other hand.

"After a while, they left the house of Mrs.
Gran, and pursued their fortunes through a
variety of successes and failures elsewhere.
But in all reverses, whether for good or evil, the
words of Mr. Edson to the fair young partner
of his life, were: 'Unchanging Love and Truth
will carry us through all!'"

My hand trembled in the dear boy's, those
words were so wofully unlike the fact.

"Unchanging Love and Truth" says Jemmy
over again, as if he had a proud kind of a noble
pleasure in it, "will carry us through all!
Those were his words. And so they fought
their way, poor but gallant and happy, until
Mrs. Edson gave birth to a child."

"A daughter," I says.

"No" says Jemmy, "a son. And the father
was so proud of it that he could hardly bear it out
of his sight. But a dark cloud overspread the
scene. Mrs. Edson sickened, drooped, and
died."

"Ah! Sickened, drooped, and died!" I says.

"And so Mr. Edson's only comfort, only
hope on earth, and only stimulus to action, was
his darling boy. As the child grew older, he
grew so like his mother that he was her living
picture. It used to make him wonder why his
father cried when he kissed him. But
unhappily he was like his mother in constitution
as well as in face, and he died too before he had
grown out of childhood. Then Mr. Edson, who
had good abilities, in his forlornness and despair
threw them all to the winds. He became
apathetic, reckless, lost. Little by little he sank
down, down, down, down, until at last he almost
lived (I think) by gaming. And so sickness
overtook him in the town of Sens in France, and he
lay down to die. But now that he laid him down
when all was done, and looked back upon the
green Past beyond the time when he had covered
it with ashes, he thought gratefully of the good
Mrs. Gran long lost sight of, who had been
so kind to him and his young wife in the early
days of their marriage, and he left the little that
he had as a last Legacy to her. And she, being
brought to see him, at first no more knew him
than she would know from seeing the ruin of a
Greek or Roman Temple, what it used to be
before it fell; but at length she remembered
him. And then he told her with tears, of his
regret for the misspent part of his life, and
besought her to think as mildly of it as she
could, because it was the poor fallen Angel
of his unchanging Love and Constancy after all.
And because she had her grandson with her,
and he fancied that his own boy, if he had lived,
might have grown to be something like him, he
asked her to let him touch his forehead with
his cheek and say certain parting words."

Jemmy's voice sank low when it got to that,
and tears filled my eyes, and filled the Major's.

"You little Conjuror" I says, "how did you
ever make it all out? Go in and write it every
word down, for it's a wonder."

Which Jemmy did, and I have repeated it to
you my dear from his writing.

Then the Major took my hand and kissed it,
and said "Dearest madam all has prospered
with us."

"Ah Major" I says drying my eyes, "we
needn't have been afraid. We might have
known it. Treachery don't come natural to
beaming youth; but trust and pity, love and
constancy they do, thank God!"

THE END OF THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER FOR 1864.