the whole destiny of my life seemed to change,
I met Herbert Grubb in the street—we had
not met for twelve or thirteen years, but he
knew me at once. He was what is called
head of a department and member of
parliament, overwhelmed with business, and
anxious for a secretary who would require no
salary, but rely on the political interest of his
chief. He installed me at once. I answered
all his letters, read up historical allusions, and
pored over the index verborum of the classics
for his quotations. He was delighted with
my patience and perseverance, he asked me
to dinner, and introduced me to his wife, a
tall majestic woman, with noble features, which
never relaxed into a smile, but which must
have been wonderfully beautiful if they could
have clothed themselves in that sunshine of
the heart which makes even the plainest
faces loveable. Her eyes were amazingly
brilliant, and her cheeks glowed with hectic
flushes which made her very sad to look on,
in spite of her beauty. She was very kind,
but it did not escape my notice that she was
unhappy; when Grubb was in one of his
bullying moods she used to look with pitying
eyes on his much-enduring secretary. As to
me, I did not mind it. I had always
prophesied he would get on in the world, and I
was rather proud than otherwise to acknowledge
the superiority which I had foreseen.
She was surprised at his harsh airs of
command to an old schoolfellow and a better
scholar than himself, but she said nothing,
only when I was going away she used to
come forward and take my hand and wish
me good-bye with such a sweet voice and
such a compassionate smile, that I dreamt of
them all night.

Friends had gathered round me again, and
were prodigal of advice. "Go in and win,"
said one, " she certainly likes you, and her
fortune is secured upon herself—he treats
her so ill that the world will be all on her
side. She has fifteen hundred a-year, and
can dispose of it as she likes."

Here was advice—here was another hammer
to weld my fortunes with while the iron was
hot— here was a chance not to be thrown
away. Oh! if they had seen the stately form
they degraded with their ribald suggestions,
the noble face, the imperial eyes—and she
was evidently dying, and Grubb evidently
knew it; and there were evidently fights
going on, and, indeed, I knew that he was
leaving her no rest till she disposed of
everything in his favour, as her guardian had
secured her the power of doing, at the time
of her marriage; and I watched the gradual
embitterment on one side and increasing
contempt on the other. It couldn't last long.
One day, when I was in my small apartment,
after a morning's work in Herbert's office, a
tap came to my door, and the lady came in.
"You must come with me," she said, "for
you are my only friend in all the world—
don't refuse me my first and last request, you
shall know the reason soon." So she took
me with her to a lawyer's, and left me in the
outer room while she transacted business in
the office. It didn't last half an hour; she
introduced me to the lawyer when she came
out, and said, " Remember! " Then she went
away, and I shook hands with her as I put
her into her brougham, and, do you know,
she took my hand and held it to her lips, and
when she let it go again her eyes were filled
with tears. She laid her head back in the
carriage, and I never saw her again. In a
fortnight or three weeks she died. The
funeral was very private. My chief did not
go—I went as his representative; his attorney
also was there, and the old gentleman to
whom I had been introduced as I have said—
a kind old man, and deeply affected, and so
was I. " You must come home with me," he
said, "for I have business of the greatest
importance to transact with you." When we
reached his office he shut the door, he went
to a tin-case, took out a parchment, and said,
"Open that carefully, there is something in it
that deeply concerns yourself." I unfolded the
package, and there lay in the middle of the page,
suspended by a black silk ribband, a locket set
in pearls, and I knew it at once—it was little
Harry Knowlsworth's memorial —and there,
still fresh as if but yesterday put in, were the
initials of the little boy and his sister looped
up by mine. " She was Mary Knowlsworth,"
said the old gentleman, " and only lately
discovered a mistake under which she married
Mr. Grubb. She was told by the Bishop of
Tufton that he had been her brother's friend
at school—she became his wife from gratitude,
not from affection. In a drawer, some months
since, she found the locket— in her husband's
secretary she recognised the companion,
friend, and fellow sufferer of young Harry.
You will, therefore, accept the fortune she
leaves you as a legacy from both. Any
advice we can give you in the management— "

"It shall lie quietly in the funds," I said,
"and every half-year I will go and draw the
dividends. I will buy a revolving-pistol
when I leave this room, and will shoot the
first man who offers me advice."

AN OLD SCHOLAR.

LOITERING in Poets' Corner, you have
perhaps observed opposite the monument of
DRYDEN, a tablet on the wall bearing the
name of ISAAC CASAUBON. In the holy ground
thereabouts, were laid the remains of that
great scholar in the year sixteen hundred and
fourteen. He had been four years in this
country, having been invited here by James
the First, endowed with two prebends
(Westminster and Canterbury), and a pension, when
death seized him. He has a place in the
Biographia Britannica, and a place in
Hallam's Literature of Europe. He is still in
high repute among those who read the