he confided to me his plan for marrying his daughter to Denby, who was, he told me, old Lord Debtford's nephew, and would succeed to the title on the death of the present lord. "And a peer's name as chairman of a company gives such a genuine look to the concern," chuckled Brown, patting me on the back. "Denby has not got a penny, but I am rich enough to buy a coronet for my daughter." I could not trust myself to answer him; I was never more agitated in my life than when I entered the drawing-room. I found that Fanny was looking at some photographs which Harry was turning over for her, Mrs. Denby was also looking at the same photographs with | great attention. I felt that that clever lady had discovered the real state of affairs. Denby was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Brown. I joined myself to the photograph party, and stood racking my head to find something that would entertain Mrs. Denby, and so allow the lovers a few words, but my lips were glued together and my head was a great blank. At last to my relief Brown came up and requested his daughter to sing; she readily obeyed, and went to the pianoforte accompanied by Harry. I made a strong effort, and feigned intense enthusiasm for a photograph which was before Mrs. Denby. "Magnificent effect, that doorway!” said I; "light and shade wonderful! the details perfect!" I was watching the lovers all the time I spoke; they were making the selection of the music an excuse for a few words. to write to Brown immediately. When we got to my cottage I persuaded the boy to come in and stop the night. I lighted the candles in my little sanctum. Harry sat down at the table pen in hand. I took up a book which I pretended to read in my arm-chair, but I was watching him all the time. He wrote and tore up, and wrote again, till the pen trembled in his hand. It came back to me with wonderful clearness, that night of my life when I had been engaged in writing a letter of the same kind. I sympathised in the agitating feverish anxiety which beset him, for I had experienced it years before. "I can't tell what to write to Brown!" he exclaimed; "do try and assist me." I put down my book and came close to him. I dictated a sentence which he wrote. "That's just what I wanted to say!" he exclaimed. The words seemed strangely familiar to me; I looked over his shoulder at what he had written. I remembered it in a moment, they were the words of my own letter years ago. "Do go on!" said he, anxiously. It was not the want of words that kept me silent-the old words were ready enough on my tongue; I was puzzling out new thoughts and words; I could find no new thoughts, every sentence insensibly shaped itself to the old form; he kept urging me to dictate, and in the end there was my old letter rewritten, as it seemed to me, word for word. It was with sad feelings that I conned over that letter to make corrections, Harry looking at it with the young feelings and young eyes with which I had looked at my former letter years ago. I suppose it was a tolerably good letter in its way, because Harry declared it expressed exactly what he had wished to say. "Very cleverly executed," said Mrs. Denby, in reply to my observations. "I recollect the scene perfectly, Venice." I glanced down at her, she was not looking at the photograph. her eyes were also devoted to the lovers. "Frederick," she exclaimed, addressing her son. "Mrs. Brown, would you be kind enough to allow him? I want him to ask your daughter to sing that favourite song of mine, by Edward Lear, Tennyson's words, 'Farewell,' I think it's called," and giving her son a significant glance, she took his place beside Mrs. Brown.į Denby went immediately to the pianoforte. I declare I was in such a rage, I could almost have quarrelled with the man, when Brown came up and would make me listen to some stupid story. At last Harry left the pianoforte and whispered to me that we had better go, that our remaining was merely a useless distress to Fanny. We took leave with as good grace as possible. I could see triumph in Mrs. Denby's grey eyes as I bowed to her, and I saw "Quite true," I replied. "Why there's how intently she watched Fanny as the girl not a man living who would not readily confess hurriedly snatched her hand from Harry's that life was very short, that death makes lingering grasp. quick ending of social distinctions; but you We agreed that the only thing was for Harry must not think that Brown's readiness to ac "It's all so true, so convincing!" he exclaimed. "That part where you hint at the uncertainty of wealth, the little value of high | worldly position when life is so short-considerations like those must influence even a man like Brown! Well, I could recollect in my day that I had scanned over and over again that bit of moralizing, and its incontestable truth had seemed, to my anxious eyes, certain to turn her father's heart, but the longer I now looked at the words through my glasses, the more trite and unsatisfactory did they become. I told him he must not be too sanguine. "But that part of the letter is so true," he urged, with confidence. knowledge that proposition will make one jot of difference to his thirst for worldly position and wealth.” He looked at me with mixed surprise and sadness. "No, no, my boy," I continued; "logic is very pretty, but it don't rule men's lives. However, we may just as well chance the letter, only I don't want you to build too hopefully upon its effect." So the letter was sent to Brown; Harry gave me Brown's answer to read a day or two after in my office. I read the result I had feared in his countenance, he was striving to be so very calm and self-possessed. Well, Brown's reply was very like the answer I had received years ago; I suppose in these love matters there is a set of stereotyped forms supplied to men's minds which they use and modify at their need. I thought to myself whether it would be any use for me to see Brown, and before I could determine whether it would be any use or not, I was off. It happened I was the very man Brown wanted to see, he had been on the point of sending for me, he had wished to have a talk about the Company; he had made an appointment with Denby, who would be with us in a few minutes. That man's name started me on my subject at once. I scarcely recollect the details of our conversation, I was so greatly excited; I believe in my desire to move him I recounted my own history, my early love and disappointment; how it had cankered my existence, the sorrow which had attended her marriage with the man she disliked. Brown stared at me with surprise in his stolid face. "You," said he, "you, such a plain, practical, business-man, I could not have believed it ! " Brown was not to be changed. I promised to give Harry money, declared I would treat him as my son, but all in vain; and then I found I was talking in the strain of my letter about the vanity of wealth. I told him that we were both of us old, and I asked him if we were not sure to die in a few years?" beyond my mending, Brown had at least heard a few words of wholesome truth. I must say that Harry behaved admirably under the circumstances; I made him come and stay at my house. He was very silent and thoughtful, we were neither of us inclined for much talking, and when he did speak it was not about his love affair. I had not been quite myself for the last month or so, and I declared that my doctor had recommended me a change to the German baths, for I was anxious to get him away from London. He readily consented to be my companion, and we began to make arrangements for our tour. But Harry, after all, was not destined to be my companion on the continent this year. Three days after my interview with Brown, Harry burst into my room with a letter; he could not utter a word; he thrust the letter into iny hand, it ran thus :- Harry declared it was Fanny's writing: for the moment I almost thought it must be some wretched hoax. Harry did go to the Browns in the evening; Mr. and Mrs. Brown were very polite, though cold, but the marriage was agreed to. I can safely affirm I was never more puzzled in my life than to discover the reason why the Browns had given their consent. I apologised to Brown for the warmth of my language; he was very polite, but cold, so was Mrs. Brown; their manner was just the same to Harry, and they evidently wished us both at the bottom of the sea. Harry, generous-like, would have it that my conversation with Brown, or perhaps a second reading of the letter, had touched their hearts; but this solution was not satisfactory to me. We went the day before the wedding to dine at Brown's with the lawyer. I am a trustee and so forth in the matter, and I had "Certainly," he replied, with solemnity; to sign a mass of parchment, which took the "whenever God wills." And then I asked him what was the worth, for the last few years of our lives, of feasting great folks who did not care twopence for us, and figuring at the tail of the list in the "Morning Post?" Of course he took care to evade the answer, and this greatly provoked my anger, which was very absurd, considering what I had said on the subject to Harry; but a man can't be perfectly consistent at all times. I abruptly took leave of Brown, ruffled in temper, yet comforted in the conviction that if Harry's case was 1 lawyer a good half hour to mumble over, the purport of which appeared to be that everybody had assigned their property to somebody else, and that somebody, I could not discover who, was regularly to pay the dividends half-yearly to nobody. I protest I should have had some doubts about putting my signature to such a confused heap of words had not Brown's lawyer who happens to be my lawyer too, clearly explained to me in five minutes at his office what it afterwards took him half an hour to mystify. Harry was to sleep at my cottage that night, and we left Brown's house together. He was she snatched the letter from her father's hand in excellent spirits, so was I too; but happiness at my time of life always makes me rather sedate and meditative. I observed every now and then that Harry broke into a hearty laugh, which rather jarred upon my feelings. "What's the joke, my boy?" I inquired at last. "I've found out why the Browns gave in," he replied. "Out with it, Harry," said I impatiently. "You will never be able to look Brown in the face without laughing." and took it to the light of the window." "Whose is this letter, papa?" she exclaimed. "It's not Harry's handwriting!" "Don't tell me!" said Mr. Brown, angrily. "Why, papa! it can't be; yes, yes it is though, here's the date; why, it must be a letter of yours to mamma!" "The fact is," continued Harry, who was almost choked with laughing, "Mr. Brown had been all the while criticising his own loveletters, which Mrs. Brown had in the confusion of the moment and darkness of the room taken "I don't mind, if that's to be the only from her desk instead of mine." penalty." “Well,” said he, "when my letter arrived at the Browns' there was a tremendous disturbance; they tried every method to make Fanny give me up-coaxing, persuading, threatening. Mrs. Denby, too, was brought up to the attack, and very skilfully did she allude to the effect Fanny's youth and beauty would make in the great world, and all the court and honour that would be paid her. One morning Mrs. Brown discovered that I had written several letters to Fanny; these she confiscated, and carefully placed under lock and key in her own particular and sacred desk." I felt indignant at this; but Harry, to my great surprise, only laughed. "The evening of that day," he continued, "Fanny was by herself in the back drawingroom, when her father suddenly entered with the packet of letters in his hand, which he requested her to return to me herself, and also to write a note saying that our affair had come to an end. Fanny of course expostulated, and then Mr. Brown said that he had just glanced at one or two of the letters as he came down from Mrs. Brown's room, and that he had never read such precious stuff.” I declared that Brown had no right to read the letters. "I think perhaps he had," said Harry, bursting into a positive fit of laughter. "He declared they were precious stuff, recollect that -love in a cottage, and that sort of folly. Presently he took up another letter, and after fumbling at it with his glasses, he exclaimed in a state of great indignation, "Why, Fanny, this is too bad! scandalous! the fellow positively asks you to run away!" "Harry," said I, seriously, "you never told me about this running-off scheme-you must know that I don't approve of such things." "Fanny would never have agreed," he replied. "Then I am surprised that you should have written such a letter." "Fanny was surprised too, I can assure you; "Fanny says, she was at first somewhat puzzled by the writing, her father's hand having so greatly changed since he wrote those letters, when he was quite a young man." Mrs. Harry went on to say that Brown was overwhelmed with astonishment, and could not be brought for a long time to believe that he had ever written the letters, declaring, notwithstanding the evidence of the writing, that he never could have been such a fool. Brown was equally astonished; she managed with some difficulty to call to mind that many years previously she had sorted out some old letters, burning some and keeping others. was evident she had preserved Mr. Brown's early letters, though she had quite forgotten having done so. It It gradually transpired that Mr. and Mrs. Brown's early attachment had been most imprudent in a worldly point of view-that they had absolutely married without a penny, and had to be supported by relations for some years. This sudden resurrection of long-buried feelings and sentiments had its effect on Mrs. Brown; in addition to that, the old arguments which had been used against Fanny were no longer available; and at last, after many entreaties, Mr. and Mrs. Brown reluctantly gave up their cherished plan of forming a grand alliance for their daughter. Harry and Fanny were married the next day. Mrs. Brown wept immensely; everybody said it was so natural, a mother losing her daughter. Mr. Brown declared "it was the happiest day of his life," but he looked most grievously solemn: there would be no coronet for Fanny, and no reflected honour for himself. I prayed very earnestly for the happiness of both, and I was very thankful that her son had married the woman of his love. They have gone to Switzerland. I must say they are very good; they have written to me several times, but I shall be glad when they return, for I miss Harry sadly. G. U. S. The months they went and the months they came, But when the harvest moon came round, All home from the north country. The folk they call'd and the folk they ran, From the thick of the town to the lighthouse tower, 'Twas throng as throng could be. I saw them atop of the old church stairs, And the waves danced under their beamed bows, I saw them at foot of the old church stairs, Oh there's the Dove and the Good Intent, And the red red sails of the Polly o' Sleights- Now every each hath pass'd the bar, Right up against the quay. But where, oh where, is the Mary Jane, "Oh tell me where is the Mary Jane, For the wind blows in from sea?" Now take me home to my mammy so dear, And take me home, for I care not now My Willy he lies in the deeps of the dead, ARTHUR J. MUNBY. AN ICE CAVERN IN THE JUSTIS- FIVE o'clock. The morning magnificent. I had heard the rain pattering down during the night, and had fallen asleep under the uneasy impression that our excursion for the ensuing day would be forcibly postponed by one of those caprices of nature which we feeble creatures of circumstance cannot control. Five o'clock, however, came, and a gentle tap at my bed-room door: "Fine morning, mein herr; the mists are creeping up the sides of the Stockhorn and Niesen, the Blumlis-Alps are clear as glass, whilst a rosy light behind the Shreckhorn and Jungfrau throw them out into glorious relief; there'll not be a spot of rain to-day." "Gut," I replied, "and in the twinkle of an eye I'll be amongst you." The day was propitious for our excursion, and we were determined that it should take place. What tourist, nay, what stay-at-home, has not heard of Thun and its beautiful lake, set like a burnished mirror in the midst of the lofty mountains of the Bernese Oberland ? What visitor of Swiss scenery has not floated upon its clear green bosom, lost in transports at the chain of splendid landscapes which stretch along its shores ? But not every one who has once visited this charming water has heard of, much less seen, the wonders that lie far up in the recesses of those hills which he admires while passing beneath their shadows in the routine steamer. It was one of these wonders that we were determined to explore on the day of which I speak, and to which it is my pleasant duty to introduce the reader. I was as good as my word. In the twinkling of an eye I was busy amongst a company of busy-bodies occupied at the boat station on the banks of the river, taking their places, handing in provisions, calling for cloaks, looking after a stray friend, settling the oars, erecting the sail, preparing the rudder, unloosing the rope, laughing, talking, jesting, singing, yawning, running, standing, waiting. At length the signal was given, and a strong pull and a long pull sent the boat off from land. It requires, however, many a long pull and many a strong pull to make head against the Aar that here, more like a torrent than a river, comes rushing out of the lake. But nil desperandum. We plied ourselves like Trojans, and were soon clear of the Schadau, and out upon the smooth, softly-flowing burnished water. And here what a magnificent picture burst upon us! What pen, what pencil, not dipped in light, can describe it? The broad breast of the lake lay before us, tinted with rose colour. On the left the lofty wooded heights, which, indented with valleys and defiles, overhang the town and sweep away eastward, swelling larger and mightier till they break in abrupt and rocky grandeur upon the Justis-Thal, were overspread with a deep purple flush, as the darkness, contending with the light, infused its sombre colours into the morning hues. On the opposite shore the sun had full |