one thing was getting pretty clear to Boots:
namely, that Mrs. Harry Walmerses Junior's
temper was on the move. When Master
Harry took her round the waist, she said he
"teased her so; " and when he says, " Norah,
my young May Moon, your Harry tease you?"
she tells him, "Yes; and I want to go home!"

A biled fowl, and baked bread-and-butter
pudding, brought Mrs. Walmers up a little;
but Boots could have wished, he must
privately own to me, to have seen her more
sensible of the woice of love, and less
abandoning of herself to currants. However,
Master Harry he kept up, and his noble
heart was as fond as ever. Mrs. Walmers
turned very sleepy about dusk, and began to
cry. Therefore, Mrs. Walmers went off to
bed as per yesterday; and Master Harry
ditto repeated.

About eleven or twelve at night, comes
back the Governor in a chaise, along with Mr
Walmers and a elderly lady. Mr. Walmers
looks amused and very serious, both at once,
and says to our missis, " We are much
indebted to you, ma'am, for your kind care of
our little children, which we can never
sufficiently acknowledge. Pray ma'am, where is
my boy? " Our missis says, " Cobbs has
the dear child in charge, sir. Cobbs, show
Forty! " Then, he says to Cobbs, "Ah Cobbs!
I am glad to see you. I understood you
was here! " And Cobbs says, " Yes, sir
Your most obedient, sir."

I may be surprised to hear Boots say it
perhaps; but, Boots assures me that his heart
beat like a hammer, going up stairs. " I beg
your pardon, sir," says he, while unlocking
the door; " I hope you are not angry with
Master Harry. For, Master Harry is a fine
boy, sir, and will do you credit and honour."
And Boots signifies to me, that if the fine
boy's father had contradicted him in the
daring state of mind in which he then was,
he thinks he should have "fetched him a
crack," and taken the consequences.

But, Mr. Walmers only says, " No, Cobbs.
No, my good fellow. Thank you! " And,
the door being opened, goes in.

Boots goes in too, holding the light, and
he sees Mr. Walmers go up to the bedside,
bend gently down, and kiss the little sleeping
face. Then, he stands looking at it for
a minute, looking wonderfully like it (they
do say he ran away with Mrs. Walmers);
and then he gently shakes the little
shoulder.

"Harry, my dear boy! Harry!"

Master Harry starts up and looks at him.
Looks at Cobbs too. Such is the honour of
that mite, that he looks at Cobbs, to see
whether he has brought him into trouble.

"I am not angry, my child. I only want
you to dress yourself and come home."

"Yes, Pa."

Master Harry dresses himself quickly.
His breast begins to swell when he has
nearly finished, and it swells more and more
as he stands at last, a-looking at his father;
his father standing a-looking at him, the
quiet image of him.

"Please may I"—the spirit of that litlle
creatur, and the way he kept his rising
tears down! "—Please dear Pa—may I—kiss
Norah, before I go?"

"You may, my child."

So, he takes Master Harry in his hand, and
Boots leads the way with the candle, and
they come to that other bedroom: where the
elderly lady is seated by the bed, and poor
little Mrs. Harry Walmers Junior is fast
asleep. There, the father lifts the child up
to the pillow, and he lays his little face down
for an instant by the little warm face of
poor unconscious little Mrs. Harry Walmers
Junior, and gently draws it to him—a sight
so touching to the chambermaids who are
peeping through the door, that one of them
calls out " It's a shame to part 'em! " But
this chambermaid was always, as Boots
informs me, a soft-hearted one. Not that
there was any harm in that girl. Far from it.

Finally, Boots says, that's all about it.
Mr. Walmers drove away in the chaise,
having hold of Master Harry's hand. The
elderly lady and Mrs. Harry Walmers
Junior that was never to be, (she married
a Captain, long afterwards, and died in
India), went off next day. In conclusion,
Boots puts it to me whether I hold with him
in two opinions; firstly, that there are not
many couples on their way to be married,
who are half as innocent of guile as those
two children; secondly, that it would be a jolly
good thing for a great many couples on their
way to be married, if they could only be
stopped in time and brought back separately.

THE LANDLORD.

URIAH TATTENHALL is my elder brother
by fifteen years. I am Sam Tattenhall.

My brother Uriah rang at his gate at his
snug retreat of Trumpington Cottage, Peckham,
near London, exactly at a quarter to six—
his regular hour—when the omnibus from the
city set him down at the end of the lane.
It was December, but the weather was fine
and frosty, and as it was within a few days
of Christmas, his children—four in number—
two boys, just come home from school, and
two girls who came home from school every
day—were all on the alert to receive him,
with a world of schemes for the delectation
of the coming holiday-time.

My brother Uriah was an especial family-
man. He made himself the companion
and play-fellow of his children on all
occasions that his devotion to his business
in the city would admit of. His
hearty, cheery voice was heard as he entered
the hall, and while he was busy pulling-off
is over-coat, and hanging up his hat:
"Well, my boys, well George, well Miss
Lucy, there. What are you all about?