together, I ought to have remembered how your uncle and I used to go on when we were left together; but it's no use talking about that now; you fell in love with one another, and then you would go to that Arracan. I told you not to go very often, but you were so wilful and headstrong, that you caught the fever at last and had to come back again, you know. I never saw any body look worse than you did, though, to tell the truth, I cannot compliment you very much on your present appearance -you are as yellow as a guinea-you are now-but you were worse when you came from Arracan. It was not my fault that you went, you will do me the justice to acknowledge that, at all events."

"Yes, yes," said Peregrine, "I do; but I know all this, aunt, very well; I came from Arracan, was very sick, and found my poor uncle sicker."

"So you did-poor dear man; and only think too, how fractious he was;" and Mrs. Poggleton applied her handkerchief to her eyes. "I often thought it was very cross of him, poor dear angel— but how could he help it, with so much to bear. I have often thought that I did not make allowances enough for him-dear me! dear me!"

Here Mrs. Poggleton fell a-sobbing, and with so much vehemence, that it was some time before she could proceed with her very succinct narrative. Peregrine drew some more water from the filter and begged his aunt to swallow a little of it. "No, no, it is no use," she said, "unless you put a little sal

volatile in it; there is a bottle on the swing tray, with a glass stopper in it.-Thank you, it always does me good; my nerves are so dreadfully shattered. Only think what I have had to go through -youhave made it a little too strong, though," and Mrs. Poggleton began to show evident symptoms of the mixture having "taken away her breath."

"It will do you good," observed Peregrine. "Yes, yes, I know it will," gasped his aunt; "it quite burnt me though, that it did; what a deal you must have put into it-you had better take some yourself you won't! Oh! I suppose you don't think it man-like. Only think what strange creatures you men are-dear me !"

"But you have forgotten what you were telling me," urged Peregrine, " my uncle was sick and you went home." He saw no chance of eliciting from her what he wished to know, by any summary process, so he encouraged her by telling the story after her own way.

"Yes, yes, poor dear man! a complication of disorders," continued Mrs. Poggleton-" liver and spleen both, I believe-though I wouldn't let them open him as they wished, the savages." And she fell a-sobbing anew. "He did look, too, so sweet after he died-quite loving and kindly again; I had never seen him look so for fifteen years-poor dear! He went off, he did, quite quietly, and said something about being forgiven, though I could

not quite make out by whom. And, only think, the savage captain insisted on throwing the dear corpse into the sea-I shall never forget that dear me, dear me !"

"But," resumed Mrs. Poggleton, after another pause, "they did it. I declare they did; and Julia and I did not dine again at the cuddy-table all the voyage. We stopped at the Cape, you know, and managed to get some decent mourning there, though crape was very dear indeed, and the shopmen, I know, cheated me. However, we did not stay there say I was very sorry. But you seem in a great hurry, my dear boy-Oh, pray don't pull that work to pieces; it's a slipper I'm working for Henry. Sit down again, pray do. What a boy it is—dear me !"

long, and I can't

Peregrine obeyed his aunt, sat down again, and gave up the slipper.

"Well," continued the little lady, making a grand effort at conciseness, "we reached home without any accident, and then we took a furnished house and began talking about you. Poor Julia begged very hard, and so I gave my consent, and it was all settled in a way. I didn't like London much after all, and soon wished myself back again-yes I did. And as for poor Julia, she used to pine, and mope, and sigh; and even when her year's mourning was out, I could not get her ever to go to the theatre or any of those gay places. I thought at first it was all about her papa; but after that I found my mistake,

I did, and so I let her have her way. Poor dear girl-poor Julia! she was very fond of you, Peregrine, that she was-but now, only think-dear me!"

"Married to another," said Peregrine, bitterly.

"Yes, so she is," returned Mrs. Poggleton, "only thnik, married to another; but it seems to have been a terrible mistake. We got letters from India, which said, that you were to be married to Miss Sweetenham-we didn't believe them at first, not a word of them-Julia said, poor dear girl, several times, that she thought your letters were altered, (she never showed them to me, you know-she said she had promised not,) but still she never thought you could possibly behave ill to her-she did not much like, I think, your writing so much about Augusta Sweetenham- and I, Peregrine-for I know as much about these things as most people, that I do―did not much like your calling each other, as you said you did, brother and sister-it's a very delusive thing, that it is, my dear boy—but still we knew that people in Calcutta are very scandalous indeed, and talk about the least thing or nothing at all, and tell a great number of stories-so I always said never mind-depend upon it there's not a word of truth in it'-though I must say I scarcely thought it-for, only think, we saw Mr. and Mrs. Gup and Colonel Justesing in London, who told us that you were actually going to be married, and that they knew who were to be bride's maids-only think

-knew all about it-bride's-maids and all, Peregrine-well, still I couldn't believe it, and Julia laughed at the idea-we were then getting our outfit, you know-at least a few things to complete it-and Julia was-dear girl!-or pretended to be in high spirits-for she had got your letters pretty regularly, and, of course, believed you before any body else, as it was very natural that she should do, my dear-and though shortly after we had taken our passage, Mrs. Lowry, who is Mrs. Parkinson's sister, wrote to tell me, that she had heard from Calcutta positively about your marriage from one of her nieces-Mrs. Drawlincourt, I think-we still went on board quite happy- for we set them down all as story-tellers. The only thing there was to annoy us was that an overland was expected or, I believe, was in, the very day we left London-only think, how provoking it was-and to Julia-poor girl!-in particular-but we left word about sending the letters after us-and thought there was a little chance- well, Peregrine-dear me-you have got the work again—you will quite spoil it, if you crumple it in that way-well, Peregrine, we went on board without getting any letter-but, Julia, was so anxious that she begged Mrs. Guy (of the George Hotel, Portsmouth, you know) to send any letter after us if she could, in a pilot-boat or something up the Channel-or if she could not do that, to send them on to Plymouth-as Julia, though poor girl, it was quite catching at a straw, as I told her