saine as ever.

She is the same bright vision to me, at p esent, that she was before I made Walters's acquaintance. When Mrs. Toots and myself first began to talk of—in short, of the ten der passion, you know, Captain Gills."

"Ay, ay, my lad,' says the captain, "as makes us all slae round-for which you'll overhaul the book-"

"I shall certainly do so, Captain Gills," said Mr. Toots, with great earnestness; "wi.en we first began to mention such sub. jects, I explained that I was what you may call a blighted flower, you know."

The captain approves of this figure greatly; and murmurs that no flower as blows, is like the rose.

"But Lord bless me," pursues Mr. Toots, "she was as entirely conscious of the state of my feelings as I was myself. There is nothing I could tell her. She was the only person who could have stood between me and the silent tomb, and she did it, in a manner to command my everlasting admiration. She knows that there's nobody in the world I look up to, as I do to Miss Dombey. She knows that there's nothing on earth I wouldn't do for Miss Dombey. She knows that I consider her the most beautiful, the most amiable, the most angelic of her sex. What is her observation upon that? The perfection of sense. 'My dear you're right. I think so too.'"

"And so do I!" says the captain. "So do I," says Sol Gills.

"Then," resumes Mr. Toots, after some contemplative pull ing at his pipe, during which his visage has expressed the most contented reflection, "what an observant woman my wife is! What sagacity she possesses! What remarks she makes! It was only last night, when we were sitting in the enjoyment of connubial bliss-which, upon my word and honour, is a feeble term to express my feelings in the society of my wife-that she said how remarkable it was to consider the present position of our friend Walters. Here,' observed my wife, he is, released from sea-going, after that first long voyage with his young bride' -as you know he was, Mr. Sols."

6

"Quite true," says the old Instrument-maker, rubbing his hands. "Here he is,' says my wife, 'released from that, immediately; appointed by the same establishment to a post of great trust and confidence at home; showing himself again worthy; mounting up the ladder with the greatest expedition; beloved by everybody; assisted by his uncle at the very best possible time of his fortunes'--which I think is the case, Mr. Sols? My wife is always correct."

"Whyes, yes-some of our lost ships, freighted with, gold, have come home, truly," returns old Sol, laughing. "Small craft, Mr. Toots, but serviceable to my boy!"

"Exactly so!" says Mr. Toots. "You'll never ind my wife wrong. 'Here he is,' says that most remarkable woman, ‘so situated, and what follows? What follows?' observed Mrs. Toots. Now pray remark, Captain Gills, and Mr. Sols, the depth of my wife's penetration. Why that, under the very eye of Mr. Dombey, there is a foundation going on, upon which a -an Edifice;' that was Mrs. Toots's word," says Mr. Toots, exultingly, "is gradually rising perhaps to equal, perhaps excel, that of which he was once the head, and the small beginnings of which (a common fault, but a bad one, Mrs. Toots said) escaped his memory. Thus,' said my wife, 'from his daughter, after all, another Dombey and Son will ascend'--no 'rise ;' that was Mrs. Toots's word-' triumphant !'"

Mr. Toots, with the assistance of his pipe-which he is extremely glad to devote to oratorical purposes, as its proper use affects him with a very uncomfortable sensation-does such grand justice to this prophetic sentence of his wife's, that the captain, throwing away his glazed hat in a state of the greatest excitement, cries:

"Sol Gills, you man of science, and my ould pardner, what did I tell Wal'r to overhaul on that there night when he first took to business? Was it this here quotation, Turn again Whittington Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old you will never depart from it.' Was it them words, Sol Gills?"

"It certainly was, Ned," replied the old Instrument-maker. "I remember well."

"Then I tell you what," says the captain, leaning back in his chair, and composing his chest for a prodigious roar. "I'll give you Lovely Peg right through; and stand by, both on you,

for the chorus !"

Buried wine grows older, as the old Madeira did, in its time; and dust and cobwebs thicken on the bottles.

Autumn days are shining, and on the sea-beach there are often a young lady, and a white-haired gentleman. With them or near them, are two children; boy and girl. And an old dog is generally in their company.

The white-haired gentleman walks with the little boy, talks with him, helps him in his play, attends upon him, watches him, as if he were the object of his life. If he is thoughtful, the white-haired gentleman is thoughtful too; and sometimes when

the child is sitting by his side, and looks up in his face, asking him questions, he takes the tiny hand in his, and holding it forgets to answer. Then the child says:

"What, grandpapa, am I so like my poor little uncle again ?” "Yes, Paul. But he was weak, and you are very strong." "Oh yes, I am very strong."

"And he lay on a little bed beside the sea, and you can run about."

And so they range away again, busily, for the white-haired gentleman likes best to see the child free and stirring and as they go about together, the story of the bond between them goes about, and follows them.

But no one, except Florence, knows the measure of the white-haired gentleman's affection for the girl. That story never goes about. The child herself almost wonders at a certain secrecy he keeps in it. He hoards her in his heart. He cannot bear to see a cloud upon her face. He cannot bear to see her sit apart. He fancies that she feels a slight, when there is none. He steals away to look at her, in her sleep. It pleases him to have her come, and wake him in the morning. He is fondes of her and most loving to her, when there is no creature by The child says then, sometimes :

"Dear grandpapa, why do you cry when you kiss me?"

He only answers "Little Florence! Little Florence!" and mooths away the curls that shade her carnest eyes.

THE END.