kinsman and successor, Sir John Ringwood, of | With plumes and lights, and upholsterers' paAppleshaw, Baronet, at present Baron Ring- geantry, and mourning by the yard measure, wood. The barony has been in this ancient they were burying my Lord Ringwood, who family since the reign of George I., when Sir might have made Philip Firmin rich but for me. John Ringwood was ennobled, and Sir Francis, his brother, a Baron of the Exchequer, was advanced to the dignity of Baronet by the first of our Hanoverian sovereigns."

All lingering hopes regarding our friend were quickly put to an end. A will was found at Whipham, dated a year back, in which no mention was made of poor Philip Firmin. Small legacies-disgracefully shabby and small, Twysden said-were left to the Twysden family, with the full-length portrait of the late earl in his coronation robes, which, I should think, must have given but small satisfaction to his surviving relatives; for his lordship was but an ill-favored nobleman, and the price of the carriage of the large picture from Whipham was a tax which poor Talbot made very wry faces at paying. Had the picture been accompanied by thirty or forty thousand pounds, or fifty thousand— why should he not have left them fifty thousand?-how different Talbot's grief would have been! Whereas when Talbot counted up the dinners he had given to Lord Ringwood-all of which he could easily calculate by his cunning ledgers and journals, in which was noted down every feast at which his lordship attended, every guest assembled, and every bottle of wine drunk

I sup

wailing the loss of an earl his relative.
pose Twysden took many hundred people into
his confidence on this matter, and bewailed his
uncle's death and his own wrongs while cling-
ing to many scores of button-holes.

This was the article which my wife and I read on the morning of Christmas eve, as our children were decking lamps and looking-glasses with holly and red berries for the approaching festival. I had dispatched a hurried note, containing the news, to Philip on the night previous. We were painfully anxious about his fate now, when a few days would decide it. Again my business or curiosity took me to see Mr. Bradgate the lawyer. He was in possession of the news of course. He was not averse to talk about it. The death of his client unsealed the lawyer's lips partially; and I must say Bradgate spoke in a manner not flattering to his noble deceased client. The brutalities of the late nobleman had been very hard to bear. On occasion of their last meeting his oaths and disrespectful behavior had been specially odious. He had abused almost every one of his relatives. His heir, he said, was a canting, Methodistical Twysden found that he had absolutely spent humbug. He had a relative (whom Bradgate more money upon my lord than the old man had said he would not name) who was a scheming, paid back in his will. But all the family went swaggering, swindling lick-spittle parasite, al- into mourning, and the Twysden coachman and ways cringing at his heels, and longing for his footman turned out in black worsted epaulets in death. And he had another relative, the im- honor of the illustrious deceased. It is not evpudent son of a swindling doctor, who had in-ery day that a man gets a chance of publicly besulted him two hours before in his own rooma fellow who was a pauper, and going to propagate a breed for the work-house; for, after his behavior of that day, he would be condemned to the lowest pit of Acheron before he, Lord Ringwood, would give that scoundrel a penny of his money. "And his lordship desired me to send him back his will," said Mr. Bradgate. "And he destroyed that will before he went away: it was not the first he had burned. And I may tell you, now all is over, that he had left his brother's grandson a handsome legacy in that will, which your poor friend might have had, but that he went to see my lord in his unlucky fit of gout." Ah, mea culpa! mea culpa! And who sent Philip to see his relative in that unlucky fit of gout? Who was so worldly-wiseso Twysden-like, as to counsel Philip to flattery and submission? But for that advice he might be wealthy now; he might be happy; he might be ready to marry his young sweet-heart. Our Christmas turkey choked me as I ate of it. The lights burned dimly, and the kisses and laughter under the mistletoe were but melancholy sport. But for my advice, how happy might my friend Firmin's broad back could carry a heavy burhave been! I looked askance at the honest faces den, and he was glad to take all the work which of my children. What would they say if they fell in his way. Phipps, of the Daily Intelliknew their father had advised a friend to cringe, gencer, wanting an assistant, Philip gladly sold and bow, and humble himself before a rich, four hours of his day to Mr. Phipps: translated wicked old man? I sate as mute at the panto- page after page of newspapers, French and Germime as at a burial; the laughter of the little man; took an occasional turn at the Chamber ones smote me as with a reproof. A burial? of Deputies, and gave an account of a sitting

And how did poor Philip bear the disappointment? He must have felt it, for I fear we ourselves had encouraged him in the hope that his grand-uncle would do something to relieve his necessity. Philip put a bit of crape round his hat, wrapped himself in his shabby old mantle, and declined any outward show of grief at all. If the old man had left him money, it had been well. As he did not—a puff of cigar, perhaps, ends the sentence, and our philosopher gives no further thought to his disappointment. Was not Philip the poor as lordly and independent as Philip the rich? A struggle with poverty is a wholesome wrestling-match at three or five and twenty. The sinews are young, and are braced by the contest. It is upon the aged that the battle falls hardly, who are weakened by failing health, and perhaps enervated by long years of prosperity.

fairs or guests. She was of the opinion of many of Philip's friends. "Ah, Monsieur Philip," she said to him, "when you are married, you will live far from that woman; is it not?"

Hearing that Mrs. Batters was going to the Tuileries, I am sorry to say a violent emulation inspired Mrs. Baynes, and she never was easy until she persuaded her general to take her to the embassador's, and to the entertainments of the citizen king who governed France in those days. It would cost little or nothing. Charlotte must be brought out. Her aunt, MacWhirter, from Tours, had sent Charlotte a present of money for a dress. To do Mrs. Baynes justice, she spent very little money upon her own raiment, and extracted from one of her trunks a costume which had done duty at Barrackpore and Calcutta. "After hearing that Mrs. Bat

of importance, and made himself quite an act- | Baynes a fine courtesy, and goes off to other afive lieutenant. He began positively to save money. He wore dreadfully shabby clothes, to be sure; for Charlotte could not go to his chamber and mend his rags as the Little Sister had done; but when Mrs. Baynes abused him for his shabby appearance-and indeed it must have been mortifying sometimes to see the fellow in his old clothes swaggering about in Madame Smolensk's apartments, talking loud, contradicting and laying down the law-Charlotte defended her maligned Philip. "Do you know why Monsieur Philip has those shabby clothes?" she asked of Madame de Smolensk. "Because he has been sending money to his father in America." And Smolensk said that Monsieur Philip was a brave young man, and that he might come dressed like an Iroquois to her soirée, and he should be welcome. And Mrs. Baynes was rude to Philip when he was pres-ters went, I knew she never would be easy," ent, and scornful in her remarks when he was absent. And Philip trembled before Mrs. Baynes; and he took her boxes on the ear with much meekness; for was not his Charlotte a hostage in her mother's hands, and might not Mrs. General B. make that poor little creature suffer?

One or two Indian ladies of Mrs. Baynes's acquaintance happened to pass this winter in Paris, and these persons, who had furnished lodgings in the Faubourg St. Honoré or the Champs Elysées, and rode in their carriages with, very likely, a footman on the box, rather looked down upon Mrs. Baynes for living in a boarding-house, and keeping no equipage. No woman likes to be looked down upon by any other woman, especially by such a creature as Mrs. Batters, the lawyer's wife, from Calcutta, who was not in society, and did not go to Government House, and here was driving about in the Champs Elysées, and giving herself such airs, indeed! So was Mrs. Doctor Macoon, with her lady's-maid, and her man-cook, and her open carriage, and her close carriage. (Pray read these words with the most withering emphasis which you can lay upon them.) And who was Mrs. Macoon, pray? Madame Béret, the French milliner's daughter, neither more nor less. And this creature must scatter her mud over her betters who went on foot. "I am telling my poor girls, madame,' she would say to Madame Smolensk, "that if I had been a milliner's girl, or their father had been a pettifogging attorney, and not a soldier, who has served his sovereign in every quarter of the world, they would be better dressed than they are now, poor chicks!-we might have a fine apartment in the Faubourg St. Honoré-we need not live at a boarding-house."

"And if I had been a milliner, Madame la Générale," cried Smolensk, with spirit, "perhaps I should not have had need to keep a boarding-house. My father was a general officer, and served his emperor too. But what will you? We have all to do disagreeable things, and to live with disagreeable people, madame!" And with this Smolensk makes Mrs. General

General Baynes said, with a sigh. His wife denied the accusation as an outrage, said that men always imputed the worst motives to woman; whereas her wish, Heaven knows, was only to see her darling child properly presented, and her husband in his proper rank in the world. And Charlotte looked lovely, upon the evening of the ball; and Madame Smolensk dressed Charlotte's hair very prettily, and offered to lend Auguste to accompany the general's carriage; but Ogoost revolted, and said, "Non, merce! he would do any thing for the general and Miss Charlotte-but for the générale, no, no, no!" and he made signs of violent abnegation. And though Charlotte looked as sweet as a rose-bud, she had little pleasure in her ball, Philip not being present. And how could he be present, who had but one old coat, and holes in his boots?

So, you see, after a sunny autumn, a cold winter comes, when the wind is bad for delicate chests, and muddy for little shoes. How could Charlotte come out at eight o'clock through mud or snow of a winter's morning, if she had been out at an evening party late overnight? Mrs. General Baynes began to go out a good deal to the Paris evening parties-I mean to the parties of us Trojans-parties where there are forty English people, three Frenchmen, and a German who plays the piano. Charlotte was very much admired. The fame of her good looks spread abroad. I promise you that there were persons of much more importance than the poor Vicomte de Garçon-boutique, who were charmed by her bright eyes, her bright smiles, her artless, rosy beauty. Why, little Hely of the Embassy actually invited himself to Mrs. Doctor Macoon's, in order to see this young beauty, and danced with her without ceasing. Mr. Hely, who was the pink of fashion, you know; who danced with the royal princesses; and was at all the grand parties of the Faubourg St. Germain. He saw her to her carriage (a very shabby fly, it must be confessed; but Mrs. Baynes told him they had been accustomed to a very different kind of equipage in

"He

Beyond

India). He actually called at the boarding- rudeness! Mrs. Tuffin said she took her line house, and left his card, M. Walsingham Hely, at once after seeing this Mr. Firmin. attaché à l'Embassade de S. M. Britannique, for may be an earl's grand-nephew, for what I care. General Baynes and his lady. To what balls He may have been at college, he has not learnwould Mrs. Baynes like to go? to the Tuileries? ed good manners there. He may be clever, I to the Embassy? to the Faubourg St. Germain? don't profess to be a judge. But he is most to the Faubourg St. Honoré? I could name overbearing, clumsy, and disagreeable. I shall many more persons of distinction who were fas- not ask him to my Tuesdays; and Emma, if he cinated by pretty Miss Charlotte. Her mother asks you to dance, I beg you will do no such felt more and more ashamed of the shabby fly, thing!" A bull, you understand, in a meadin which our young lady was conveyed to and ow, or on a prairie with a herd of buffaloes, from her parties-of the shabby fly, and of that is a noble animal; but a bull in a china-shop shabby cavalier who was in waiting sometimes is out of place; and even so was Philip among to put Miss Charlotte into her carriage. Char- the crockery of those little simple tea-parties, lotte's mother's ears were only too acute when where his mane, and hoofs, and roar caused disparaging remarks were made about that cava- endless disturbance. lier. What? engaged to that queer red-beard- These remarks concerning the accepted soned fellow, with the ragged shirt-collars, who in-law Mrs. Baynes heard, and, at proper motrod upon every body in the polka? A news-ments, repeated. She ruled Baynes; but was paper writer, was he? The son of that doctor very cautious, and secretly afraid of him. . Once who ran away after cheating every body? What or twice she had gone too far in her dealings a very odd thing of General Baynes to think of with the quiet old man, and he had revolted, engaging his daughter to such a person! put her down, and never forgiven her. a certain point she dared not provoke her husband. She would say, "Well, Baynes, marriage is a lottery: and I am afraid our poor Charlotte has not pulled a prize:" on which the general would reply, "No more have others, my dear!" and so drop the subject for the time being. On another occasion it would be, "You heard how rude Philip Firmin was to Mr. Hobday ?” And the general would answer, "I was at cards, my dear." Again she might say, "Mrs. Tuffin says she will not have Philip Firmin to her Tuesdays, my dear:" and the general's rejoinder would be, "Begad, so much the better for him!" "Ah," she groans, "he's always offending some one!" "I don't think he seems to please you much, Eliza!" responds the general: and she answers, "No, he don't, and that I confess; and I don't like to think, Baynes, of my sweet child given up to certain poverty, and such a man!" At which the general with some of his garrison phrases would break out with a "Hang it, Eliza, do you suppose I think it is a very good match ?" and turn to the wall, and, I hope, to sleep.

So Mr. Firmin was not asked to many distinguished houses, where his Charlotte was made welcome; where there was dancing in the saloon, very mild negus and cakes in the salle-à-manger, and cards in the lady's bedroom. And he did not care to be asked; and he made himself very arrogant and disagreeable when he was asked; and he would upset tea-trays, and burst out into roars of laughter at all times, and swagger about the drawingroom as if he was a man of importance-he indeed - giving himself such airs, because his grandfather's brother was an earl! And what had the earl done for him, pray? And what right had he to burst out laughing when Miss Crackley sang a little out of tune? What could General Baynes mean by selecting such a husband for that nice, modest young girl?

The old general sitting in the best bed-room, placidly playing at whist with the other British fogies, does not hear these remarks, perhaps; but little Mrs. Baynes, with her eager eyes and ears, sees and knows every thing. Many people have told her that Philip is a bad match for his daughter. She has heard him contradict calmly quite wealthy people. Mr. Hobday, who has a house in Carlton Terrace, London, and goes to the first houses in Paris, Philip has contradicted him point-blank, until Mr. Hobday turned quite red, and Mrs. Hobday didn't know where to look. Mr. Peplow, a clergyman and a baronet's eldest son, who will be one day the Rev. Sir Charles Peplow of Peplow Manor, was praising Tomlinson's poems, and offered to read out at Mr. Badger's-and he reads very finely, though a little perhaps through his nose -and when he was going to begin, Mr. Firmin said, "My dear Peplow, for Heaven's sake don't give us any of that rot. I would as soon hear one of your own prize poems." Rot, indeed! What an expression! Of course Mr. Peplow was very much annoyed. And this from a mere newspaper writer. Never heard of such

As for poor little Charlotte, her mother is not afraid of little Charlotte: and when the two are alone the poor child knows she is to be made wretched by her mother's assaults upon Philip. Was there ever any thing so bad as his behavior, to burst out laughing when Miss Crackley was singing? Was he called upon to contradict Sir Charles Peplow in that abrupt way, and as good as tell him he was a fool? It was very wrong certainly, and poor Charlotte thinks, with a blush perhaps, how she was just at the point of admiring Sir Charles Peplow's reading very much, and had been prepared to think Tomlinson's poems delightful, until Philip ordered her to adopt a contemptuous opinion of the poet. And did you see how he was dressed? a button wanting on his waistcoat, and a hole in his boot?

"Mamma," cries Charlotte, turning very red. "He might have been better dressed-if-if-" "That is, you would like your own father to

be in prison, your mother to beg her bread, your | Oh, never, never! And so the wet eyes are sisters to go in rags, and your brothers to starve, veiled at last, and close in doubt and fear and care. And in the next room to Charlotte's a little yellow old woman lies stark awake; and in the bed by her side an old gentleman can't close his eyes for thinking-my poor girl is promised to a beggar. All the fine hopes which we had of his getting a legacy from that lord are over. Poor child, poor child, what will become of her?

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