having unsolicitedly, and just at the time when Mrs. Grafton was in deep perplexity as to what should be done next, offered to place Lotté in the establishment of a west-end dressmaker, by paying her apprenticeship fees. The offer was too opportune to be rejected; but it laid upon Mrs. Grafton the necessity of removal to another part of London, less distant from the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, for the young apprentice was to lodge at her mother's home. In one of the western suburbs of London, then, which we need not more particularly indicate, and in one of its meaner streets, to which we may safely give the name of Wellington without fear of betraying its exact locality, a light van, lightly laden, was one day observed to stop at a previously empty house. A slight, pale youth of respectable exterior accompanied the driver, and assisted in removing the household furniture and trunks, of which the van-load consisted, into the dwelling; and then the van departed, leaving the boy in sole possession. have been noticed by the neighbours on either hand, or over the way; but when it was seen that the small dwelling, almost from the first day they entered, began to put on an unusually fresh appear. ance; that the windows were cleansed from the accumulated dirt and dust of the whole season; that the garden was dug and raked, and tastily decorated with plants and flowers; that the woodwork of the cottage was fresh painted; and that every window of the three in front was shaded by neat muslin dwarf blinds and falling curtains; then, curiosity was excited to find out what strange beings these were who had so unaccountably stumbled upon a home in Wellington-street. On further investigation, it was discovered or surmised that the widow-for she was a widow, this new resident, whoever she might be was as poor as the generality of her neighbours, and that she avoided, as far as possible, all communication with them. It was further made known, by a woman who had assisted in cleaning the dirty Later on that day, a hackney carriage drove to house on their first entrance, and who periodically the door, and from it stepped a lady and two girls," did the washing" for Mrs. Grafton, that she was all in mourning dresses. They were welcomed by " uncommon genteel and particular, and uncommon the youth, who was evidently looking out for them; close;" that she and her children "had the best of and, after payment of the driver's fare, the door linen and such like;" but that, as far as she could closed upon the strangers, and was opened no more see, they had to suffer in their diet for what their that evening. pride put upon their backs: at any rate, they knew how to make a little go a long way. The street, we have said, was a mean one. It principally consisted of dwellings containing five or six small rooms each, with a small bit of gardenground in front, separated from the pavement by low wooden rails. The road-way was either very dusty or very dirty, according to the state of the weather; for water-carts and scavengers rarely visited it. It was not much of a thoroughfare, and on that account was safer than it might other wise have been for the neglected children of all ages who made it their playground, they having no other, and one of whose choice amusements, after a seasonable shower, was to sit or sprawl by the gutter side, "As good as gold, making little dirt-pies." There was a gin-palace at one corner of the street, a baker's shop about half way down it, a potato and coal-shed opposite, and a chandlery shop at another corner. There were milliners, and dressmakers', and bonnet-cleaners' cards in a few of the windows on each side of the way; but, with the exception of the aforesaid palace, every house had a grim, neglected, and comfortless look about it; many windows were broken, and more cracked, and all were dim and dirty; there was scarcely a clean window-curtain or blind to be seen from one end of the street to the other; the garden palings were mutilated; there was a sad deficiency of paint on the doors and window-frames; and the little gardens were very convenient for any purpose apart from that for which they were originally and primarily intended. It was a populous street; for the houses were low-rented, as they had need and deserved to be; while in close proximity were gay residences, the inhabitants of which never dreamt that so much dirt and discomfort as might have been found in Wellington-street reigned supreme almost at their very doors. If the new tenants of No. 15 had not been very singular in their habits, their advent would scarcely Other discoveries were made. The elder daughter was never seen near home during the day-time, except on Sundays, when the whole family were in the habit, after locking up the house, of going out together, "all drest up," as was supposed, to some church or chapel; but as the inhabitants of Wellington-street were unhappily not much addicted to church or chapel-going, this was, for some time, a matter of conjecture. What became of the girl on the other days of the week was not known, except that very regularly every morning, at an early hour, she passed down the street, accom panied by her brother; and at a late hour in the evening returned homeward under the same protection. The boy himself seemed to have little to do besides this morning and evening squireship, only that he was the general messenger and pur veyor for the household. Frequently, however, be was absent during the day, and on his return had a jaded and anxious look, like that of one who has been seeking what could not be or was not found. It was discovered, also, that other menial work beside that of fetching loaves from the baker's and groceries from the chandler's shop fell to his share. He was seen early one morning, almost before light, cleaning the windows, and at another time washing the doorstep, while the charwoman was pretty sure that Bertie cleaned all the knives and forks and spoons, and " 'twasn't a few they used, considering, for they were mighty particular in their eating, though they did stint themselves, she reckoned." A great many more particulars came to light in process of time, and many deductions were drawn, which by no means caused the Graftons to be looked upon with favourable regard. It was evident that they had notions of respectability not at all compatible with the general habits of Wellington-street, the inhabitants whereof hau "no notion of people setting themselves up above their neighbours in that sort of way." Even the cheerfulness and decency of the outer aspect of their dwelling was a tacit reproof of the general neglect, and was resented accordingly, and mischievous boys often tore up and demolished at night the flowers which little Harriet-the Harry of our previous chapters and her brother had planted and watered in the day. Patience and forbearance, however, do wonders; and when the inhabitants of Wellington-street found that the new-comers were quiet and peaceable, uncomplaining and unobtrusive, they soon left off troubling themselves about them; and an event in which Bertie became the heroic deliverer of a neighbour's child, in rescuing him from the wheels of a furiously-driven cart, and Mrs. Grafton, the good Samaritan, in binding up a slight wound or two the child had received, and taking it home to its mother in her own arms, turned the tide in their favour. The example they set, also, was so far infectious that some of the more decent inhabitants of the street began to think that clean windows, and white window-blinds, and tidy gardens, looked somewhat more respectable than dirt and neglect, and acted accordingly. It became known too, that, however poor the Graftons were-and poor they must be to live in Wellington-street-they did not get into debt, either at the chandler's, or the baker's, or the coal and potato merchant's; and after a few weeks, it was understood, by certain signs and tokens, that the widow was not above working for her living. At any rate, she was seen daily, at certain hours, to leave her dwelling, to which she as regularly returned after the lapse of some hours, and of course that wasn't for nothing. There was no great mystery in this. Mrs. Grafton had again sought out and found employment as a daily governess. A few weeks later, and her son was no more seen in Wellington-street, while his sister's morning and evening walks were thenceforward, for some time at least, solitary. The reason and manner of Bertie's disappearance were as follow. Returning homewards one rough, blustering, windy January morning, after accompanying Lotté to her employer's work-rooms, he observed a stout gentleman in a state of ludicrous perplexity, at which he might have smiled, but for the look of evident distress which accompanied it, and aroused his sympathy. Perhaps Bertie would not have smiled, though; for care sat heavily on his heart. He alone of all the small and depressed family of which he formed a part seemed to be useless. His mother, struggling against poverty, strove, as stout-hearted women can and do strive-as hundreds around us are daily striving-to overcome it. Lotté had work to do, and cheerfully did it. Even little Harry was not idle. Wasn't she deputy housekeeper, and a nice little merry one too? He alone-poor Bertie-seemed useless in the world an incumbrance, eating the bread of idleness; and none is so bitter as that. Not that he had not sought work: Bertie had done that. His mother, too, had sought it for him; and she had writtena forlorn hope-but she had written to Mr. Nelson, asking his help, and had received a kind and encouraging reply; but nothing had come of all her efforts, nor of Bertie's: and there he was, willing to work, and able; idle on compulsion, or if not idle, inactive and profitless; so he deemed himself. And when he thought of his resolutions, formed by his mother's sick-bed, to put himself forward manfully in the battle of life, and felt those resolutions strong within him still, but believed himself thrust aside as a worthless thing, he hadn't the heart to smile. Poor Bertie did not know how needful and salutary this discipline was to him-how good it is that a man should "bear the yoke in his youth;" nor how common a case it is that those who seem to have cleared for themselves a broad pathway through life, and to leave tracks behind them of strong determined energy and effort, have had, at some period in their history, to wait and hope, and hope and wait. And so, heart-sickened as he was, Bertie was not disposed to smile when he saw a stout gentleman, overloaded with luggage, which he could not be persuaded to part with, though one ragged, hungrylooking, eager boy after another offered his services as porter, hurrying along with extreme haste, as though life or death depended on his exertions; while, cold as the day was, and biting as was the wind, perspiration ran down his full-blown, red cheeks in large and unctuous drops, nay streams: we say, Bertie did not smile when he saw the stout pedestrian suddenly brought to an abrupt standstill by the sudden loss of his hat, which a gust of wind from a cross street unceremoniously lifted from his head, and whirled into the air, and then dashed into the middle of Piccadilly, and trundled merrily along the road, like a thing instinct with life and motion, as if gamboling for its own sweet will and pleasure. For a second only, the hat's owner contemplated with consternation the erratic course of his faithless friend, and then, encumbered as he was, darted onward in pursuit, amidst the loud laughter of spectators, and accompanied in the exciting chase by the urchins whom he had just repulsed. But the unfortunate pursuer had not yet reached the extent of his perplexity. As he hurried along, puffing and panting, with a huge carpet-bag in one hand, a slight deal box in the other, an umbrella and sundry paper packages under each arm, a string gave way, the box fell to the ground with a crash, the lid flew open, and a lady's bonnet, with many ribbons, which fluttered like streamers in the wild breeze, escaped from its confinement, and was on the point of following the hat in its continued flight, when Bertie, who had hitherto been a quiet spectator of the scene, stopped its progress, and restored it to the bewildered owner. Clap it on your head, old gentleman!" shouted a cabman, to whom, among others who begun to encircle the stout stranger, his confusion and distress were yielding high gratification; " 'twill keep you from catching cold!" "What did you stop it for, you muff!" said another bystander; "it would have brought back the old gent's tile in no time, if you had let it go." "Nothing like having two strings to a bow," said another; "go and fetch a looking-glass for the gentleman, can't you ?" Take The object of these remarks darted indignant glances at his persecutors, and then turned to Bertie, who still held the unhappy bonnet. care of these things till I come back," he said, and, relinquishing to the boy's guardianship carpet-bag, umbrella, paper parcels, and bonnet, he started afresh in his pursuit. Fortunately for Bertie, upon "Straight on, straight on," said the gentleman, impatiently; "go before me, and then-yes, yes, 'tis all right, I dare say; but safe bind, safe find.' The White Horse Cellar, that's where I am going. Now for it." Bertie thought the tone savoured more of command and suspicion than obligation; he "stepped ont," nevertheless, silently, and before long reached the destination, not however before his arm ached, for the bag was weighty. "I thought as much," exclaimed the stout gentleman, in a tone of vexation, as he entered the coach-office, and looked at the dial: "Is the Champion gone ?" "A quarter of an hour ago," replied the official thus addressed. The disappointed traveller opened a good round volley of oddly-expressed grumble:-The friends who had kept him at the breakfast-table; the wind that had blown away his hat; the hatter who had sold him the hat; the milliner who had packed up the bonnet; the wife at home who had commissioned him to buy it; the coach, for being so punctual on that particular morning, when at other times it was notoriously a slow coach; and lastly, the railroads, for having driven all the coaches, but this solitary Champion, off the road-the particular road that he wished to travel; the wife at home, who had exacted from him a promisewillingly made, however; he admitted that, for he hated" the whole boiling of it, like poison"-never to travel in the new-fangled way. Having discharged this battery, the stout gentleman's countenance cleared up, and, sitting down on a hamper, he turned his attention to Bertie, who stood, carpet-bag in hand, and looked him full in the face. "Well ?" said he. "Can I be of any further use to you, sir ?" the youth asked. "Use! why, yes; since you have carried my bag all this way, you may take it a step or two further; come with me into the coffee-room." Bertie obeyed; and his pro-tempore employer tendered him sixpence. "No, thank you, sir," said Bertie; "I didn't-" "Why, you young rogue, you don't mean to say that sixpence won't pay you for your trouble, do you? Sixpences don't grow on every bush in my part of the country, young man." "You did not hear what I was going to say, sir; I did not offer to carry your bag for payment." "Oh, you didn't, eh? Well, now I look at you, you don't seem like a vagabond-" Sir!" exclaimed poor Bertie, with surprise. Sir," replied the gentleman, apparently amused and good-temperedly; I said you didn't look like a vagabond; and that's a compliment, isn't it? You call yourself a gentleman, perhaps; but," and the speaker cast a quick eye at poor Bertie's well-worn habiliments, beginning with the cap on his head, and travelling downwards to the patched and thin boots on his feet;"but a gentleman with three outs, I should say.' "I don't understand you, sir," said Bertie, coldly; "and I had better go now." "Stop, stop, young fellow; this won't do, either. I am going to have some coffee; you shall have a cup with me, for company." 66 "I have had my breakfast, sir," said the youth. Why, so have I; but that doesn't say I am not to have another, I suppose. When did you have your breakfast ?" 66 About two hours ago." "Very well-waiter, coffee for two, and rolls." "Yessir-coming, sir-directly." "But, sir" Bertie began. "But, sir, sit down," said the stout gentleman. "I have not told you yet that I am much obliged to you for your help this morning." He was quite welcome, Bertie said. "Then sit down, and ; here come the coffee and rolls." Bertie sat down; for the coffee shed around a pleasant perfume, and the rolls were inviting; and, thought he, I have fairly earned it, and if I don't want so much dinner, why then "What are you waiting for ?" asked the enter tainer, seeing Bertie pause over his full cup. "Ah! understand; very good, very right; well, say grace inwardly; that'll do now. I So Bertie said grace inwardly, and drank his coffee and ate his roll in silence, till interrupted by his temporary host. "I say wasn't I right ?" "What about, sir ?" "That you are a gentleman-a young one, to be sure-with three outs." "I don't know what you mean, indeed,” replied the youth, "by three outs."" 66 'Why, first, without money." Bertie did not answer. 'Second, without friends." "You are wrong, sir; I have friends, very friends." 66 dear "I am glad of it; when I was your age, I hadn't any-none worth speaking of. I need not go on with my thirdly, then." 66 What is that, sir ?" Bertie asked, for he was the bantering tone of the stout gentleman was gone. "I beg your pardon, my boy, for having teased you. I oughtn't to have done it. No father! What was he? and what are you?" Bertie told his name, and what his father once had been. To these orphanhood and dependent poverty, and then, by "Stop-Grafton, Grafton-that's odd; where did you go to school ?" Bertie told him: "And run away ?" said the gentleman, interrupting him. Bertie again looked up" If you know I ran away, sir, you know why I did it perhaps, or you ought to, before;" he stopped short, for every muscle in the stranger's face was strongly agitated; his lips were trembling; and if tears did not start, it was because the fountains were well-up to manhood. nigh dried up. "You knew Tom Freeman ?" asked the gentleman, in a smothered, choking voice. "Yes, sir." "I know you did-I know he told me all about it; and you were very kind to him: he told me that too; and-and-poor dear Tom-poor dear Tom-he was my boy-mine-my name is Freeman. Poor Tom-he died-he came home from school to die :" and Mr. Freeman rose, and paced the coffee-room to and fro, until his agitation ceased, and then he sat down again. "I am glad to meet you; glad the coach was gone; glad I have a day more in London. Where do you live?" There are periods in the history of families in which there is but little diversity of incident; and in a few words we pass over, as one of these, the next three or four years of our family story, and thus hasten to its close. A peaceful and hopeful time it was with each of the Graftons. There was something to be endured, and something to be overcome; but they knew that "it is not best to have things work too smooth in this world," and so they were thankful that all the way was not rough. Their daily life was very humdrum, no doubt; but then, as somebody has said, "humdrum affairs need not be humdrum in the doing of them;" and theirs were not. Mrs. Grafton found friends who, more than Mrs. Blanque had done, appreciated her talents, and did not think it impossible or unsuitable for even little girls to be taught that "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." Lotté found friends also, two at any rate, in her employers; and we have no tale to tell, here at least, of dressmakers' wrongs. Lotté had no wrongs to need our knight-errantry; and we wish, in simple and earnest truth, to bear witness to the kind consideration of two gentle sisters, who, having themselves tasted the bitter cup of * And, Bertie "-it is another of Lotte's letters we are quoting-"we have had such a curious adventure. One day last week a gentleman called to see mamma. His name is Haycraft; and he brought a letter with him from Mr. Nelson, to introduce him. He said he had been a good while searching for her, and could only find out where she lived by going down to Mr. Nelson; and he heard of him through our poor old Mrs. Davis, though she isn't Mrs. Davis now. Mr. Haycraft says he is an old friend of papa, but mamma cannot recollect him at all, though he tried to put her in mind of one evening that he was at the old house at Islington-twenty years ago and more. Well, that didn't matter, he said, for whether she remembered him or not, he had reason to remember papa, for he was under great obligations to him; but he did not say in what way, only that it was something about money, and something else of more value still. He asked a good many questions about you, too, I can tell you; for he had not left when Harry and I got home; and we heard him. And then he went away, without saying where he lived, and mamma did not think to ask him. But, oh, Bertie! the next day but one came a letter by post, and in it was a bank note for a hundred pounds wrapped in a sheet of paper; and all the writing on it was, Proverbs xi. 25. Mamma does not know what to do; so she has written to Mr. Nelson about it, and he will advise her." “**** I have seen your Mr. Haycraft too"-it is Bertie who writes this-" and if you and mother don't know it by this time, I can tell you that he is one of the largest manufacturers in I cannot imagine what our father could ever have done for him; and Mr. Haycraft is very silent about it. But, what is of more consequence than knowing that, he has made it all smooth with Mr. Freeman about-you know who; and when I am three-and-twenty we are to be married, Lotté dear; and I am to have a share in the concern: Freeman and Grafton,' think of that; and Mr. Haycraft will help us to extend it. And Mr. Freeman says he never had any objection to the match, only that he could not bear the idea of dear Mary being poor all her life, as she might have been with me. And I don't blame him, Lotté, when I think of what our mother had to pass through years ago. But that wasn't because father was poor when he married, though; and |