"Its very kind of her, I'm sure. And would you be pleased for me to go to she her ?" said Pepin, trying to get a look at her as she bent over her knitting.

"Of course I should," she answered, giving a momentary glance at him, and then rising to give the fire a most unnecessary stir, which was perhaps a fortunate movement on her part after all; for Pepin's arm had got very unsteady on the back of her chair, and was at that moment in great danger of losing its balance. When she had resumed her seat there was another short silence, which was again broken by Pepin.

"You must be very good to be always doing kind actions for people. I should think everybody must be very fond of you?" "Well, I don't know," she answered, smiling and shaking her head; "not everybody, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I'm sure it must be everybody," said Pepin fervently ; "how is it possible for anyone to see you constantly, and to note your unwearied care and kindness for others, even for those who have no claim upon you; your patience and forbearance with those who are by nature disagreeable and unattractive; your daily sacrifice for the welfare of your fellows; your "

Just at this moment Mr. Tibbins gave indications of waking up, so Pepin stopped short; but it was only a false alarm, and he

went on,

"Who, I say, could do all this and not love you?"

"Ah! it's all very well to talk, but-hadn't I better light the lamp ?"

"Oh, no, not yet," pleaded Pepin-"I like the light of the fire; and I want to-to-tell you something, Pollie, if you will let me! Do you mind me calling you Pollie?"

"Oh, no, if you like it," she answered, feeling rather surprised and a little bit hurt at the question; for he had always called her Pollie, and had never asked her permission before.

Pepin paused a moment, and then began to say, in a solemu tone of voice, "Dear Pollie, amid the multiform phases of social existence-" Precisely at this moment Pollie, who had been bending studiously over her knitting, glanced up and looked him full in the face, and whether it was the quivering look on her lips, or the deepening glow on her cheeks, or the twinkle of a tear in her bonnie black eyes, or whether it was all these things combined, must ever remain the subject of speculation to posterity. All we, as chroniclers of facts, alone can testify to, is that Pepin's refractory arm completely lost its equilibrium on the back of her chair, and, falling therefrom, adjusted itself in a most remarkable manner round her waist; that Pepin immediately drew her very close to his side, and without more ado, or even so much as saying "by your

leave," imprinted several ardent kisses on her lips, and then proceeded to state, in a very rapid and disjointed manner, "that he deeply and sincerely regretted the past; that he had always felt that she alone could render his life worth having, and banish from bis mind the desire for an early grave; that if he had temporarily forgotten this, it was in a moment of madness and insane folly, when his good genius had deserted him, and his evil star had been in the ascendant; that since that time, having had greater opportunities for closely studying her character, he had found that every day revealed in her new beauties and graces; that he knew he was entirely and utterly unworthy of her; but the certain knowledge that unless she gave him some hope that in the future he might do something to atone for the past, and to win at least a small share. of her affection, insanity and despair must supervene, until the thread of his miserable existence was cut,-emboldened him to take a course which would probably make her despise him more than she had ever done before-in furtherance of which latter object he kissed her more fervently than ever.

Pollie, who was very much affected by what he had said, turned her blushing face to him, and, smiling through her tears, said, She did not despise him," though in such a very low tone of voice that had not Pepin's head been very near hers, he could not possibly have heard her.

"Do you not? Dear Polly, are you sure you do not? And do you think you can ever forgive me, and like me, and perhaps. some day even love me? Do you forgive me, dear?"

He heard her distinctly say, "Yes!" this time. 'And will you try and like me again?"

"Yes!" again, though not quite so distinctly.

66

'And, perhaps, even in time-love me?" He had to bend down very low to hear, but the answer came unmistakably, "Yes!"

Dearest Pollie," said Pepin, tenderly drawing her to his breast, "while I have life and strength you shall never repent saying that."

"I hope not, I'm sure," said a voice behind them, whereupon Poilie gave a little shriek, while Pepin hastily released her and locked round in great confusion at Mr. Tibbins, who was unmistakeably wide awake, and regarding them, as he slowly shook his head to and fro, with rather a dubious air.

"I hope neither of you will repent it," he repeated, trying to look severe. "These are fine goings-on for an invalid, don't you. think? making love to his nurse when her poor old father's asleep! Come, what have you to say for yourself, hey?"

"Dear father, don't be cross," " said Pollie, taking him cares singly by the arm, and hiding her crimson face on his shoulder.

“Mr. Tibbins,” said Pepin, "I am alone to blame. I hope you will forgive me doing what may appear a dishonourable action, for I assure you I am deeply sensible of my personal unworthiness with regard to the affections of your daughter; but it is as impospossible for me as for others to be with her often and not to love her; and, loving her as I do, I could not help telling her, and asking for her love in return."

"So I heard," said Mr. Tibbins, rubbing his nose with one hand, and lovingly stroking the silken curls of his daughter with the other. "And what does she say to it all?”

"She says she does not positively dislike me," said Pepin, looking at her as he spoke; "and if I may look forward to a time in the future, when, having secured a position in life worthy of her acceptance, I shall have the supreme happiness of making her my dear wife, I shall esteem my lot the happiest and most to be desired in the world," and the colour rose to his cheeks as he said this, and he looked positively handsome with the glow of honest love and enthusiasm upon him; at least, Pollie thought so as she ventured to lift her head from her father's shoulder to glance at him, and then 'to look in her father's face, upon which she saw a look which reassured her considerably.

"Well, well," said that gentleman, kissing his daughter's up turned face, "when that time comes I don't suppose I shall object. But here comes her mother, and you must hear what she has to say about it. She won't be inclined to part with her, I'll be bound."

"Part with who?" said Mrs. Tibbins, who entered just at that moment, and caught the concluding sentence. "Who won't I be inclined to part with?"

"Why, Pollie, of course," replied her husband, laughing. "Here's a gentleman been trying to persuade her to leave her father and mother in their old age; and very nearly succeeded, too!"

Pollie just put her arm round her mother's neck and kissed her, whispering in her ear, "No! he hasn't, mother dear," and then vanished out of the door, and into her brother's arms, whom she very much astonished by giving him a hearty kiss, and then darting up stairs to her own room.

"What's the matter with Pollie?" said John, entering the room, with a rather bewildered air; "she's took sudden with somethin'."

"Ah! what, indeed?" said her father. "You'd better ask your friend; he's the author of all the mischief."

Poor Pepin, who had been turning all sorts of colours, here began to stammer out "that he was entirely and only in fault, and

that he hoped they would forgive him, and that he loved her so much"-and much more to the same effect, when Mrs. Tibbins, into whose mind a ray of truth had suddenly penetrated, stopped him, by taking his hand, and giving him a motherly kiss, at the same time saying, "Never mind him, my dear; I understand i all. I have always regarded you as a son, and there isn't nobody who I'd rather trust with the happiness of my daughter than you only you must wait till you're a-bit older." Whereupon Pepin turned redder with happiness than ever, and could only murmur, "Dear Mrs. Tibbins, how shall I ever thank you enough?" in a voice choked with emotion.

Here John, who had been looking on all this time with an air of the most complete and dumbfounded astonishment, turned to his father, and said

"Where's he goin'? What's happened?"

"He's goin' nowhere, stoopid," was the answer; "he only wants Pollie !"

"W-wants Pollie! what for?"

"What for! why, to marry, of course; did you think he wanted

to eat her?"

"Wants to marry-Pollie ?" said John slowly, as if he scarcely comprehended the meaning of the phrase; then suddenly a light broke upon him, and he repeated, "Wants to marry Pollie, does he? Oh, ho!" and he burst into a hearty laugh, and gave Pepin two or three vehement slaps on the back, supplementing them with two or three digs in the ribs, and sundry other evidences of delight, finally relapsing into another hearty laugh, and an arm-chair at the same time.

And what a much-to-be-remembered time the rest of that evening was! How pretty Polly looked with the fresh blush of love on her cheeks, and the new light of love in her eyes! How proud Pepin felt at being able to take his place by right close to her side, to bend over her chair, and occasionally to whisper in her ear. And what a delightful state of confusion he got into, and how rosy Pollie turned, when John at different times came out with such remarks as “Well, I always thought Pollie 'ud be an old maid; or, "Fancy you being a regular brother of mine-what a lark!" And when they at last separated it was with a new feeling in all their hearts, especially in those of the two young people, who had begun a new chapter in their history, and had mutually determined upon a step which, next to their births and deaths, would certainly prove, for weal or woe, the greatest event of their lives.

and so on.

Little more remains to be told. Pepin laboured on for another year or two at his old trade, employing all his spare time in the

beloved pursuit of literature, until at last a vacancy occurring on staff of the Muddleford Chronicle, he was fortunate enough to obtain it, and thus gained a position which he had ever regarded as the most to be desired upon earth. He thereupon married his faithful and beloved Pollie, and when last we heard of him, was the proud and happy author of two inestimable treasures, namely, a book of poems and a baby.

John, in time, succeeded to his father's business, and having married a neighbouring tradesman's daughter, settled down into being one of the most esteemed citizens of Muddleford, ultimately getting into the Town-Council, and doing much good in his day and generation. He always preserved his warm affection for Pepin, and his greatest pleasure was to have him and his wife at his own fireside, to talk over old times, and Pepin's famous walk to Wixley.