'Yes, yes, my friend, you have that mark of grace within you, that you are ready to acknowledge the justice of a rebuke. Sit down; you have something to say-some packet there."

They sat down at the corner of a small table, and Felix drew the note-book from his pocket to lay it down with the pocket-book, saying,

"I've had the ill-luck to be the finder of these things in the Debarrys' Park. Most likely they belong to one of the family at the manor, or to some grandee who is staying there. I hate having any thing to do with such people. They'll think me a poor rascal, and offer me money. You are a known man, and I thought you would be kind enough to relieve me by taking charge of these things and writing to Debarry, not mentioning me, and asking him to send some one for them. I found them on the grass in the park this evening about half past seven, in the corner we cross going to Sproxton."

"Stay," said Mr. Lyon, "this little book is open; we may venture to look in it for some sign of ownership. There be others who possess property, and might be crossing that end of the park beside the Debarrys."

As he lifted the note-book close to his eyes, the chain again slipped out. He arrested it and held it in his hand, while he examined some writing, which appeared to be a name on the inner leather. He looked long, as if he were trying to decipher something that was partly rubbed out; and his hands began to tremble noticeably. He made a movement in an agitated manner, as if he were going to examine the chain and seals, which he held in his hand. But he checked himself, closed his hand again, and rested it on the table, while with the other hand he pressed the sides of the note-book together.

Felix observed his agitation, and was much surprised; but with a delicacy of which he was capable under all his abruptness, he said, "You are overcome with fatigue, sir. I was thoughtless to tease you with these matters at the

end of Sunday, when you have been preaching three sermons."

Mr. Lyon did not speak for a few moments, but at last he said,

It was a name I saw-a

"It is true. I am overcome. name that called up a past sorrow. what is needful with these things. to me."

Fear not; I will do You may trust them

With trembling fingers he replaced the chain, and tied both the large pocket-book and the note-book in his handkerchief. He was evidently making a great effort over himself. But when he had gathered the knot of the handkerchief in his hand, he said,

"Give me your arm to the door, my friend. I feel ill. Doubtless I am over-wearied."

The door was already open, and Lyddy was watching for her master's return. Felix therefore said good-night and passed on, sure that this was what Mr. Lyon would prefer. The minister's supper of warm porridge was ready by the kitchen fire, where he always took it on a Sunday evening, and afterward smoked his weekly pipe up the broad chimney-the one great relaxation he allowed himself. Smoking, he considered, was a recreation of the travailed spirit, which, if indulged in, might endear this world to us by the ignoble bonds of mere sensuous ease. Daily smoking might be lawful, but it was not expedient. And in this Esther concurred with a doctrinal eagerness that was unusual in her. It was her habit to go to her own room, professedly to bed, very early on Sundays—immediately on her return from chapel-that she might avoid her father's pipe. But this evening she had remained at home, under a true plea of not feeling well; and when she heard him enter, she ran out of the parlor to meet him.

"Father, you are ill," she said, as he tottered to the wicker-bottomed arm-chair, while Lyddy stood by, shaking her head.

"No, my dear," he answered, feebly, as she took off his hat and looked in his face inquiringly, "I am weary.”

"Let me lay these things down for you," said Esther, touching the bundle in the handkerchief.

66

No; they are matters which I have to examine,” he said, laying them on the table, and putting his arm across them. "Go you to bed, Lyddy."

“Not me, sir. If ever a man looked as if he was struck with death, it's you, this very night as here is."

"Nonsense, Lyddy," said Esther, angrily. "Go to bed when my father desires it. I will stay with him.”

Lyddy was electrified by surprise at this new behavior of Miss Esther's. She took her candle silently and went. "Go you too, my dear," said Mr. Lyon, tenderly, giving his hand to Esther, when Lyddy was gone. 66 "It is your wont to go early. Why are you up?"

"Let me lift your porridge from before the fire, and stay with you, father. You think I'm so naughty that I don't like doing any thing for you," said Esther, smiling rather sadly at him.

66

Child, what has happened? you have become the image of your mother to-night," said the minister, in a loud whisper. The tears came and relieved him, while Esther, who had stooped to lift the porridge from the fender, paused on one knee and looked up at him.

She

"She was very good to you?" asked Esther, softly. "Yes, dear. She did not reject my affection. thought not scorn of my love. She would have forgiven me, if I had erred against her, from very tenderness. Could you forgive me, child?"

"Father, I have not been good to you; but I will be, I will be," said Esther, laying her head on his knee. He kissed her head. "Go to bed, my dear; I would be alone."

When Esther was lying down that night, she felt as if the little incidents between herself and her father on this Sunday had made it an epoch. Very slight words and deeds may have a sacramental efficacy, if we can cast our self-love behind us, in order to say or do them. And it

has been well believed through many ages that the beginning of compunction is the beginning of a new life; that the mind which sees itself blameless may be called dead in trespasses-in trespasses on the love of others, in trespasses on their weakness, in trespasses on all those great claims which are the image of our own need.

But Esther persisted in assuring herself that she was not bending to any criticism from Felix. She was full of resentment against his rudeness, and yet more against his too harsh conception of her character. She was determined to keep as much at a distance from him as possible.

I can not lay my palm, upon that jointed brass.

Trembling with life,

I shudder at the cold unanswering touch;

But if it press me in response, I'm bruised.

THE next morning, when the Debarrys, including the Rector, who had ridden over to the manor early, were still seated at breakfast, Christian came in with a letter, saying that it had been brought by a man employed at the chapel in Malthouse Yard, who had been ordered by the minister to use all speed and care in the delivery.

The letter was addressed to Sir Maximus.

"Stay, Christian, it may possibly refer to the lost pocket-book," said Philip Debarry, who was beginning to feel rather sorry for his factotum, as a reaction from previous suspicions and indignation.

Sir Maximus opened the letter and felt for his glasses, but then said, "Here, you read it, Phil: the man writes a hand like small print."

Philip cast his eyes over it, and then read aloud in a tone of satisfaction

Sir,-I send this letter to apprise you that I have now in my possession certain articles, which last evening, at about half past seven o'clock, were found lying on the grass at the western extremity of your park. The articles are—1o, a well-filled pocket-book, of brown leather, fastened with a black ribbon and with a seal of red wax; 2°, a small notebook, covered with gilded vellum, whereof the clasp was burst, and from out whereof had partly escaped a small gold chain, with seals and a locket attached, the locket bearing on the back a device, and round the face a female

name.

Wherefore I request that you will further my effort to place these articles in the right hands, by ascertaining whether any person within your walls claims them as his property, and by sending that person to me (if such be found); for I will on no account let them pass from my care save into that of one who, declaring himself to be the owner, can state to me what is the impression on the seal, and what the device and name upon the locket. I am, sir, yours to command in all right dealing,

Malthouse Yard, Oct. 3, 1832.

RUFUS LYON.

"Well done, old Lyon," said the Rector; "I didn't think that any composition of his would ever give me so much pleasure."

"What an old fox it is!" said Sir Maximus. 66 Why couldn't he send the things to me at once along with the letter?"

"No, no, Max; he uses a justifiable caution," said the Rector, a refined and rather severe likeness of his brother, with a ring of fearlessness and decision in his voice which startled all flaccid men and unruly boys. "What are you

going to do, Phil ?" he added, seeing his nephew rise. "To write, of course. Those other matters are yours, I

suppose ?" said Mr. Debarry, looking at Christian.

"Yes, sir."