Year: 1872

a. seems to be in a hurry, and there i


no time to dream even after one ha
fg6ne to- beds WheflFsI was a fboy


people used to beIievetin dreams, ant
TO buy the Royal Dream Book, |,
II There was life and pleasant company
II enough of q quiet sort when I wa
z younger. Well,to-do tradesfolk, AL
within sound of the great bell Of ST


80n'&6ypt thair hearts warA with
hSOP Pitkb@S SiRS6nss, Ind dNmanyW WAs the


cosy little party where l was an in.
a yited guest; for Icouid sing q gdod


Que- -5p1ostly sentimental fsough--
and my position in the City was thai


tOf a sober fellow grave Beyond hif


years even after he had silver streaks


in his hair. and had looked into the
i old family Bible TO see whether BE
i M MNas to e f0ftytfveI o. fesFFsK next


suppose 1 shall be told that man


Of that age had no business to fall in


love; and 1 think SO too. But per


haps nobody could see Alice r
= Rffhout thinking aof love- T sfie was


the daughter of a pastrycook. Men


who lead such quiet lives as mi Inc,


and journey down the road, of time


in such a jog-trot way, often cease to


count the milestones. | have often


blessed her that she did not make


sport of the sudden declaration intp


which the strange intOxication of my


passion led me. She was surprised,


and sorry-very sorry-that was all,


and that was enough. It was fail


hre, no more. Well,I a. folly if you


will call it SO; but it remained ten


der secret, such as man locks in his


heart and seldom speaks of till he has
grown old or thinks that he is like to


die. l was lonely enough SO far as
kith and kin We're concerned. NY


sister-there were but two of us-and


her husband were both dead, years


before, and though they left son, a


bright likely boy, he was handed


over to the charge of another uncle,


his fathers brother. Ali thatI could


do for the lad, when he was a little
fellow, / tried hard t0saccemplish
and though the life-.that ~ofa lower


form boy in Christ's Hospital was


hard enough, he was often allowed


to come to, Twidlers' Hall. There
was something to my mind wonder


fully. in keeping between the lads


quaint dress and the dim shadowy
ante-room where he would sit with


his yellow legs curled up on one Of


the big leather chairs, and read some
i-of my Old fashion ed boeks.v-7=-


Tales Of adventure, sea stories, were


most to his taste, and 1 have looked
| at him with misgiving many a time,


as saw his luminous grey eyes raised
| from the book, and staring out over
fh, fov <Nft
he heard the sound of the river and
sWeltthe. salt :bHeze rushing.rp the
J channel of the Thames. He WAS to


be apprentieed to his uncle, and the
indentures were made out. The day
before they were to be signed he had
disappeared with such clothes as he
could call his own, and in his pockets
only fifteen. shillings and an old sill.
Yer watch that I had given him. Yes,


was lonely indeed when the beauty
of Alice R. flashed like a dazzling
light into the dim chamber of my
life, and my. heart went out to sea |
after the boy who might have been a
son to me if only could have been |
more bold to claim him, as / had a |
right to do. Did say that Alice
married? The wedding-day had been
fixed between her and Richard
before 1 spoke to her words that |
showed my hopeless love. A tall
good looking fellow from Cumber-
lan4S Wftha devilmay~caref sir, and I
aareputation a as a bold rider sand a
"ladies' man." as the cant phrase
went. l had met him once or twice,
and noted the looks he passed upon
-herAlOoks that should have resent
ed but that knew how my own sus-'
piciOns were urged by the silent rival
ry bore him. They were married,
and went out of my narrow compass


made more narrow now that I had
to overcome the sense of disappOint-
ment. Time mellowed down that
grief into a pathetic memory. The
.woifnd had healed, and why should 1
be for ever showing the scar? went
about again amongst my friends
their numbers diminished now as
years went calmly on in the hum
drum duties of my place. How little
did l imagine,s amidst all my sober
day-areams, that Alice R would
yet hold chief place in my future
life. 1 was sitting one warm wet and
long autumn evening, when our mes
SSASCl hulllCu W hly tlOOhl OOOl W
say that a woman was waiting in the
lobby to see me. / Invent down di-
rectly, and there stood a poor Irish
wench,. crying bitterly, and asking
me to come with her directly to see
her mistress, who was dying At the
name of that mistress / was almost
paralysed beyond the power to think,
and then went out with such eager
haste that the messenger came rum
ming after me with my hat and stick.
Through the muddy streets, with the
Irish girl lclinging to my armin order
to keep pace with me, went.
Through the muddy streets, and up a
creaking stair, to a poor lodging in
the neighborhood of Barbican.
stopped for a moment to still the
heavy labor of my breath, and then
creeping softly into miserably fur
nished room, saw the beautiful woman
whom L had, loved, whom I still
loved with the strength of an honest
man. She was sitting up in great
old chair. In little bed under the
window was q child looking with
wide plaintive eyes-a child 30 like
her mother that it needed no word to
tell me the relationship ''4i


Only year after Alice's marriage,
the old city tradesman, her father,
had died, and left his savings to her
and her husband, for he had wrought
his own way, and little knew or cared
for such relations as he had known
when he was Q penniless boy work
ing for bread and lodging in a aLondon
bakehouse. That money had been
the ruin of Richard, who, with few
pounds, had sailed for. Australia
then in the height of the gold fever
whence he was to send q letter, or, 4
better still, to come home within two
years with second fortune. No
word had reached. her since, though
that was three years ago. She died.
1 tried in vain to discover her rela-
tions. When called on the fourth
day, the hired nurse was weeping,
and the poor faithful Irish servant
was grooming a wall over the little
girl as she hid her face in the! honest
creatures lap. What was l to do?
Those who might have taken the
precious gift, had not claimed it. i
thought of how my own life might
be made more radiant by this child,
the child of her who should have been
my wife, and therefore mine by the
love I bore to her mother, / held
out my hand as she sprang up to
greet me, and with few whisper
ed words to the nurse led her away,
her soft chubby fist clasping my fin