you will be worn out by the labour. Promise me, then, that you will not commit yourself in any way till I again hear from my uncle. It is asking little, and it is for your own good."

"Mary," he said, "I find that I have not valued you as I should have done. You have counselled me with good sense as well as good feeling. It shall be as you wish. Hereafter you shall be my first adviser. And now send the note to Mrs. Wilmot; and you shall go with me to Ilbury."

His reply was not so satisfactory to Mr. Short as Mary's visit was to Messrs. Poplin, Fagg, and Co., where her husband took a long-unusual interest in all her tastes and wishes, while she was occupied in making her purchases.

The amount received from the securities in America proved much greater than had ever been expected; and as Mr. Keely found that he could safely invest it by taking a transfer of the claims made chargeable upon Sir Jonah Foster's estate, paying the interest to his niece as part of her income, a considerable portion of the liabilities by which Henry had been so long harassed became virtually extinct.

It was not long before Mary's presentiment was verified.

In the course of the winter occurred one of those revulsions in trade which often follow a period of prosperity. Credit became weakened; confidence destroyed; mercantile firms of hereditary reputation were found to have been living upon traditionary wealth, and now fell to pieces under the unexpected pressure. London bankers withdrew the assistance they had before so freely given; and their correspondents in the country trembled for the result.

There was a run upon the Ilbury Bank.

It was dexterously met. The demands of confiding friends were staved off with assurances of perfect solvency; loans even were still obtained; and a message was despatched to Mr. Pigott, requesting that he would call the following morning.

The run was continued. When Henry drove up to the door he found it closed, and surrounded by a noisy crowd. "You are too late, squire!" cried one of his tenants. "It's a regular smash; and pretty ruin it will

occasion !"

He trembled at the danger he had escaped, for long indeed was the train of misery that followed. It is no new catalogue. Helpless women, whose incomes had approached to affluence, were at once reduced to beggary; the hard savings of lives of labour, the destined portion of the bride, the parent's provision for her child, were snatched from them in a moment, and lost for ever; industrious tradesmen saw themselves doomed to bankruptcy; discharged workmen were without the means of buying their weekly food; and so extensively were the notes of what Cobbett called those rag-rooks in circulation, that every one who had possessed five pounds, or who had hoarded them for payment of a debt, had converted silver and gold into these faithless securities, and was left destitute of the humble means which he had painfully struggled to acquire.

On his return home Henry Pigott threw himself into his wife's arms. "Mary!" he cried, "you have saved me indeed from suffering and dis

grace. Had I caused half the wretchedness which I have already witnessed, I should go mad. I have seen mothers speechless with despair, and strong men weeping as they took the tidings of sorrow to their homes; and how nearly had I become combined with the source of all this desolation! Hitherto my whole life has been an error. I selfishly sought for happiness where I found nothing but vexation and disappointment; and I neglected it where it patiently awaited me; but from this moment I am another being. I shall now look to what should always have been my support-the affection and advice of a right-minded and kind-hearted woman."

It is thus the world is purified. Over the guilt and error which pollute our moral atmosphere some bright spirit rises to neutralise their effects within its destined sphere; and it walks a ministering angel to "deliver us from evil." Nor can it ever assume a form more lovely than that of a devoted wife.

Do not suppose, courteous reader, when you see the foolish girl who is waltzing before you, ready to marry to-morrow the penniless cadet, her partner, and silly enough to believe that, with love, they may live upon "next to nothing," do not suppose, when you see the female character under fifty other unfavourable aspects, that the being I have described has no existence. She does exist, and happy is he with whose destinies she is united. It is in the moment of danger and difficulty, when others advise with careless indifference or with selfish falseness, that man's best friend is woman-and the woman who is his wife.

The change produced in Henry Pigott encouraged the development of two of his best qualities: a firm will, and that power of conforming to circumstances which moulds to some future purpose the influences to which it seems merely to yield.

His first thoughts were now given to promote the happiness of his wife, and the education and interests of their children.

With these altered feelings, his intercourse with Blake Whitmore resumed its early character, and he became-for a time, at least a wiser and a better man. He found abundance of occupation, without the restless search for it which had troubled his former years, and he obtained some of the honours and rewards of a better-directed ambition.

Mr. Fairfield, like many who have been feeble in early life, was enjoying a healthy old age, and never happier than when witnessing, and often joining the childish pastimes of the two noble boys whom he loved to call

his little grandchildren." If it be not treasonous to speak ill of so good a man, we must confess, however, that he would not have them restrained, sor leave any of their wishes ungratified. He fancied there was an irresistible excuse in his assurance that, with dispositions like theirs, they would never wish anything that was wrong.

"The only injury I shall ever have to complain of at your hands," said Blake, on one of these occasions, "is your helping to spoil those children."

"Impossible !" replied Mr. Fairfield; "they are Helen's children, and can't be spoilt. It is not in their nature.”

Sir Blake smiled somewhat doubtingly, and, exhausted with the occupations of the day, he left them to their noisy game, which had generally

the effect of securing to Mr. Fairfield the "balmy sleep," old age's “best restorer."

Our history might proceed no further. We have not arrived exactly at its close, but at one of those convenient resting-places where, as travellers who have long journeyed together, we might shake hands and part, each taking his separate direction, and trusting to life's chances for another meeting.

We might say no more of Mr. Camp than that he continued a prosperous man. He had replaced the Ilbury Old Bank by a Joint-Stock Banking Company on a sound and solid basis, himself being the chairman of its directors; and having taken a house at Ilbury, and been chosen mayor of that ancient borough, an occasion of "approaching his sovereign" presented itself, sufficiently important to obtain for him the honour of knighthood. He was rejoiced greatly at his elevation, citing it as a proof that, in this free country, even the highest honours were obtainable by honesty and industry. He no longer took "Burke's Peerage" as his authority in matters of rank, but preferred the more comprehensive information of Dod; and the page of that pink-coloured volume which contained the name of

CAMP, KNT. BACHEL. Creat. 18**. SIR JOHN CAMP, &C.

Residences, Camp Villa, near Stoke Dotterell, and Bank House,
Ilbury,

bore unmistakable marks of very frequent reference.

His youngest daughter, too, a good and very lovely girl, was married to the only son of the pious and aristocratic Mrs. Wilmot, much to the annoyance of the Larkins, who had been angling for the same young gentleman, but with a wrong fly.

Mr. Bam was not so fortunate. Before he could be put into the commission of the peace, the lord-lieutenant had died during an interval of conservative rule, and his successor did not look very favourably upon the pretensions of so decided a radical as Mr. Bam, who was left to the unpleasant companionship of unavailing regrets.

On the first establishment of the banking company, Mr. Short's friends, out of compassion for his family, had made powerful interest to obtain him the situation of manager. To this Mr. Camp was firmly opposed. "It was a painful duty, but Mr. Short's principles of banking were not such as he could conscientiously appear to sanction."

Of Sir Blake Whitmore a Life will be included in the forthcoming series of "Judicial and Political Biographies ;" and for some of its earlier incidents we hope that the learned author of that work will not fail to acknowledge his obligations to the preceding chapters.

Of most of those from whom we now separate we shall hear very little more; but of Henry Pigott the career is not yet finished, and there is still something strange to be told.

PILGRIMAGES TO THE FRENCH PALACES.

BY FLORENTIA.

I.

Folkestone-The Channel-Boulogne-The Railway-Arrival in Paris. WE all have our fancies, and it seems to me that the very moment an Englishman or an Englishwoman set their foot on the Continent they are possessed with a mania of admiration as general as it is indiscriminating. Everything is perfection-the scenery, the air, the people, the houses, the servants, the cuisine, the costumes-principally, I presume, because all is new, and utterly different to our own fatherland. Now, up to a certain point, all this is very comprehensible and very natural, and in those who, especially for the first time, visit foreign countries, some enthusiasm is highly commendable; but the experienced traveller should at least tell the truth-some one should really paint things as they are for the information of innocent people who have not yet begun their travels. We hear the truth about Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, but as for France, or Germany, or Italy, there all and everything must be couleur de rose, no shade more natural can be found in the traveller's paint-box, and with this the whole landscape is bedaubed, from the Seine to the Danube-from Calais to Naples.

Now, as a proof of the truth of what I say, I do declare that, although I have sighed and longed all my life to go abroad, and have uniformly read every book of travels, good, bad, or indifferent, that has ever been published, I knew no more of the real customs and manners of foreigners, of the climate, and the general aspect of the country, than if I had been the first being who had crossed the Straits-those disgusting, sickening Straits, about which every one has his own particular tale of unutterable woe. It is, therefore, to remedy this evil that I purpose faithfully and truly to relate what personally befel me, an "unprotected female,' travelling with the general object of improving my mind and manners, and with the particular purpose of studying the past history and present aspect of French palaces. And this I promise, if any one follow the route I have taken, they will know precisely what to expect, which is saying a good deal, and will prevent my readers from falling victims to that enthusiastic mania which deludes the unwary and the inexperienced

a system that sacrifices veracity to the profits and pleasures of bookmaking. My premises being now stated, I shall start, with your leave, kind reader, to say my few words about the Continent.

Let me, in the first place, warn unwary and unhappy women of what they will encounter in the boats from Folkestone to Boulogne, by which I crossed. These fair creatures comfortably ensconced in luxurious armchairs, or lolling on soft sofas round the cheerful blaze of an English hearth, talking over the anticipated tour which they contemplate with all the unmitigated delights held out by deceiving tourists, must be warned on the threshold. Only two hours!" says one pretty sister. "Oh that is nothing, there will not be time to be sick." "Or," cries another, "if one is a little ill, it cannot be much in only two hours. The time passes

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so soon." Alas! would that it were so-would that Dr. Johnson's notion, "That an hour might be tedious, but could never be long," were true in this instance. But it is not; and as I was as much deceived as other people have been by this notion of the shortness of the time, I will relate how these two hours were in reality passed by me.

On arriving at Folkestone it was already growing dark. I anticipated a delightfully calm passage. I had anxiously watched the motion of the trees as we whirled along in the express train, and was fully convinced that there was not a breath of wind, a happy conviction, for I began secretly to tremble at the idea of the passage on approaching nearer to the sea. The train goes to the water's edge, and, on alighting, I was hurrying to the boat, already puffing away close by, when I was accosted by one of the porters:

"You won't have much of a passage to-night, marm; it blows hard, and the wind's been a rising these two hours."

"You don't say so!" said I (horror-struck at the intelligence, having been already terrified at the murky aspect of the night, which darkened every moment). "Good gracious! Please to put down that box, and let me speak to some one."

I rushed across the platform to an old tar, who sat composedly chewing his quid while he stared at the bustle, and, frantically catching hold of his arm, exclaimed:

"Oh, do tell me-please, tell me-will it be rough going across tonight?'

"Well," said he, in a gruff voice, starting back at my lively mode of interrogation, "you won't much like it, I guess, for it's a blowing pretty stiff."

Hearing this confirmation, I looked around me, being now on the pier, but sheltered from the wind by the platform of the station. It was pitchdark, the waves rolled on the stony beach with a deep, hollow sound; there was, moreover, an ominous sighing of the wind that implied more than was expressed. But there was the steamer, puffing away cheerfully; there were the other passengers tumbling in pell-mell-boxes, cloaks, and all; there stood the captain on the paddle-box, well buttoned up in his huge garments, calling out: "Now, gentlemen-now, ladiesany more for Bullon; we're just off!"

"Shall I go, or not? Oh, what shall I do?" said I, half aloud. The porter, who had followed me close with my box, hearing my exclamation, said, in a persuasive voice:

"Come, marm, take my advice and don't go; take your chance of the morning. Lord, marm, why yesterday there come across a young lady, and she was so bad, seeing as how 'twas very rough; she hurt summut in her backbone, and was terrible ill she was. We was obligated for to carry her to the station this very morning, for the poor thing couldn't put her foot to the ground."

Spine injured-carried to the station-rough night-all dark. Oh Lord! "No, no," said I, aloud; "I won't go. I will take youradvice, and wait until the morning. Which is the way to the hotel ?"

Now, I can only say this man has, or ought to have, a pension from that hotel; for whether the story of the much-injured young lady was true or not I cannot say, but in either case he made such a skilful use of