my father, who knew me best of all, was as ignorant of what was passing within me as the veriest stranger.

"The lad is of a thoughtful, dreamy temperament," I heard him say to one of his friends. "I have tried to incite him to greater activity, and to a more objective mode of thought. I wish to see him, as he grows up, an active man, dealing with the outside world on an equality with his kind; not a mere bookworm, as his father has been, at the mercy of every shrewd rogue."

How often I thought of these words in the swiftly speeding days, which forced upon me an activity and a struggle with outside forces for which, at the time, I was altogether unfitted.

My father left me, and I experienced the pangs of homesickness—a bitter experience, which, in after-years, had its advantage; for I knew how to pity and minister to the same dread disease in others. I longed for my home, and for my mother's kiss-to feel her soft hand upon my brow, and her kind eyes reading all that mine spoke, in language plainer to her than words. I suffered terribly. Then the crisis came, and passed; and, though my sufferings were less, I did not forget.

But I had other things to think of, now. It was the custom in Elmtown College to persecute the freshmen. I had my share in these persecutions, and they aroused me to a newer and different life. I became less introverted, and, in combating outward assailants, gained the rudiments of that lesson which my father had desired I should learn. The season of molestation was brief, and after a little time we settled down to our studies.

This was a very happy year. I studied hard, but I carefully followed the home directions and admonitions. I had my rooms well ventilated, bathed often, and took long walks amidst the enchanting scenery of Elmtown. I grew tall and manly; and, while the faculty praised my studiousness, and made flattering reports of my progress to my father, it was very evident to all that I was not sacrificing my health and physical soundness to the unremitting toil of the brain.

The year ended, and my father came again to attend the commencement exercises, and to see me take my step. He went away, leaving me a sophomore. Somehow, this was a sadder parting than the first. Why, I could not tell; but perhaps it was, that among other lessons gained in the past twelve months was that of the instability of human life, or the flimsiness of the usual foundations of human hopes. At any rate, I saw him go with a silent but bitter pang. Its cause was occult then; but, later, I knew that it was the shadow of the coming event projected over the still sunny pathway of my youth.

I never saw him again. But, even now, the passing years, and many cares and sorrows and struggles, have not obliterated that face and form from my mind. That placid, refined face, framed in the dark hair just

touched with the frosts of coming age-that tall and finely-molded figure, that would have been stately but for the slight stoop of the shoulders, which told of the studious habits and the thoughtful mood! He is always before me. No sun-picture could reproduce him more plainly to my eye; and I shall know him in heaven!

Six weeks from that day came the swift-riding messenger to tell me my father was dead-that I and my sister were orphans, and my mother a widow !

There were neither railroads nor telegraphs near in those days. The messenger had ridden far and long, and I returned with him in the stagecoach that lagged along the muddy autumn roads. They waited only for my coming for the funeral rites; and I was not permitted to see the changed face of my dead parent.

CHAPTER II.

I

HAD thought my sorrow almost more than I could bear, but I had yet to learn that there was a deeper deep to which my unwilling feet must descend.

man.

My father, almost the last descendant of a rich and proud old colonial family, had always been looked upon and had deemed himself a wealthy He had lived upon his income, and had never added a dollar to it by his own exertions. Of late, he had spoken to my mother, puzzlingly, of some scheme which was to add largely to his fortune. She knew that he had received visits in his study from restless, active, shrewd-looking men, who came "on business;" but, as business was precisely what she never troubled herself about, she had no idea what they came for. It was after one of these visits that she had found my father fallen in the fit which resulted in his death.

After the funeral, the attorney who had transacted his legal business produced a will that had been made some years before, by the provisions of which his property had been equally distributed between our mother, my sister, and myself. Our mother and an old friend were appointed guardians of my sister and myself, and the friend, Mr. James, the executor of the will.

Mr. James was present, and, as he must needs return home very soon, he and the attorney proceeded at once to the examination of papers, and a search for whatever was needful in the arrangement of affairs.

All that day, and until late in the afternoon of the next, they toiled in the library. My mother and ourselves were in her room, indulging in per fect abandonment to our grief. We had never met a trial before, and we had no idea that any exertion was required of us. This was the lesson that the busy men below were preparing for us.

At last came a polite request that my mother and myself would appear

in the library. We went, and my poor little sister crept down behind us, unwilling to be left alone. She was eighteen years old-more than a year my senior; but so fair and tiny and delicate that I had always felt myself to be her protector, and desired to shield her from all knowledge of suffering.

But this was no longer possible. With our hearts lacerated by our terrible bereavement, we were now to endure still another pang-one that awakened vague but dreadful anxieties. My father's fortune had disappeared, melted away. How, it was suspected, but not yet known. The only ascertained fact was, that, beyond the pretty cottage in which we lived, and a small annual sum, the interest of my mother's little fortune, which had remained untouched, we had no provision whatever.

Three more unpractical persons were, perhaps, never assembled in one household. We asked no questions. We accepted the fact, and were stunned by it. My mother simply said, with a puzzled look on her sad face: "I suppose it must be true, since you say so, gentlemen; but I always supposed that Mr. Gurdon was a rich man. I do not understand it at all." Our guardian and our lawyer both saw that this was true, and they forbore to torture her with details at present, and we retired to think over this new and overwhelming phase of our affairs. An hour later, I was again summoned to the library, but alone.

"This is as bad as bad can be, my dear boy," Mr. James said, but rather coldly, as I thought. "The little income remaining will scarcely pay your college expenses, and I suppose you will not like to leave now. Have you an idea, or has your mother, what has become of the property? I find your father has been speculating; but I find nothing to account for the loss so much land sold, and his bank account overdrawn, and Mr. Smithson, here, tells me that, only last week, your father sent for the box of papers that have always remained in his charge; and they are all missing now railroad bonds, scrip, and mortgages, all gone."

I had listened in silence. Mr. James might almost as well have talked Hebrew to me. I only comprehended the fact that we had nothing but our mother's little income, and that would hardly pay my college expenses ; and that, as I could not rob my mother and sister, I must leave college, and seek the means of earning instead of spending money.

"I know nothing," I said, seeing, at last, that he waited for an answer. "I always supposed we were rich. My father never mentioned money to me. Ought I not to leave college, sir, and try to help my mother?"

"That's just what I hoped of you, my dear boy," Mr. James answered, far more warmly than he had before spoken; and Mr. Smithson, who was our friend as well as lawyer, got up and shook hands with me.

"And it is just what I expected," he said. "Julian has got good stuff in him, though it never had a chance to come out before. But, perhaps, it may not be necessary for you to leave college. These shrewd rascals

that have been coming back and forth, and one of whom last saw your father in a conscious state, have evidently robbed him. But they shall not escape. I'm on their track, and we'll punish them; and I hope we shall get back the money. At any rate, Julian, my boy, don't despair; and tell your mother to be as brave as possible. Your bills at Elmtown are all paid in advance for this term, and you may as well just go back and finish the term, and, by that time, Mr. James and I will be able to see our way better."

After a few more words, I returned to my mother, carrying her a little doubtful comfort. I knew that we were in good hands-those of two men who had loved and honored my father, and were his debtors for many a kindness.

After a few more sorrowful and anxious days, I did return to Elmtown. All agreed that this was best; and, though it pained me deeply to leave my mother and sister, I thought of the unfinished term whose advantages I might enjoy without further expense, and that it was perhaps all I should ever enjoy of school education. With my own way to make in the world, I should have little time for study. It was a sad prospect to me, who longed for a life of scholarly ease, not idleness-my temperament was too active for that--but some pursuit that should leave me ample leisure for my favorite studies.

But I need not dwell upon this anxious, sorrowful time--this transition state of us all, when the cup of poverty was about being pressed to our lips, and we knew not how to escape the draught.

Before the term was over, we knew the worst. We were nearly beggars. One of the men, to whom my father had listened to his undoing, had been found, arrested, and tried, but had been proved totally irresponsible, and the tool of the arch-swindler, Morrison, who was still at large, and supposed to have left the country. Comyns was serving out a brief term in the state-prison, but Morrison, the more skillful rogue, had escaped the punishment justly due him. For ourselves, the effect was the same. Our fortune had vanished, and it became needful that each of us should do something for the support of the household.

My mother, rousing herself, as mothers will for their children's sake, had herself announced the course she meant to pursue. She would sell our country home, for there had been discovered debts of my father's that could be discharged in no other way, and remove to Elmtown. She would take a large house, and fill it with boarders from the college. She felt sure she could provide thus for my sister and herself, while I could live with her, and my bills could be paid by her little income.

I revolted at this scheme, and I was resolved it should not be carried out in full. Still, since our home must be sold, and Mr. James and Mr. Smithson both approved, I was glad she should come to Elmtown. And, to tell the truth, I had no voice in the matter not having been consulted,

and knowing nothing of the plan till the house had been sold, and preparations for removing commenced.

I knew the languid, refined inefficiency of my mother far better than Mr. James or Mr. Smithson did, and I had little faith in her success in this unwonted career; and though my sister was young and full of spirit and energy, my training, and the manner in which I had been reared, made me almost shudder at the thought that she should do any thing for hire. I had a chivalric feeling toward her. I was her real as well as nominal protector, and I wished to take care of her, not to be helped by her.

But while all these thoughts were surging through my boy's brain, the preparations for removal were completed, the house in Elmtown taken, and I received the announcement that on a certain day the family would arrive. Accordingly, I went to the tavern, where the coach stopped, to meet them on the appointed day.

Both my mother and sister had changed much. But my mother, in her heavy widow's weeds, looked positively grown younger with the new fire and energy that her resolution and her efforts had imparted. I had new hopes of her success from that hour.

As for my sister, she had always been handsome; but she was now decidedly beautiful. At last her energies saw before them scope and opportunity of exercise. A true woman delights to make sacrifices for one who is beloved; and my sister's elation was all due to the fact that by her efforts I was to be helped to the completion of my education. I think that she almost rejoiced in the poverty that was to give her the opportunity of doing this.

They had got well settled, and had ample time to try their experiment, before my term ended. Shall I say that I was glad that, so far as the boarding was concerned, it proved a failure? My mother, accustomed to the profuseness of a rich man's table, would have felt herself disgraced by even the most liberal of boarding-house economies. The first month's receipts did not nearly pay her bills, and the quarter's instalment of her income then falling due, it, also, was absorbed. My sister was giving lessons in music; but though a proficient in the art, knowing it scientifically, and a brilliant performer, as yet she was, in Elmtown, unknown and unsought. She had few scholars, and those paying the minimum price.

All this tended toward the promotion of my own plans, and they were now fully matured. I had conversed with the poorer students, who were slowly going through college upon their own resources, and I saw what I had to do.

My sophomore year had now nearly ended. I had resolved to pass my examination for the junior class, which I had no doubt of doing, for my standing was good, and then to engage for the winter in teaching, thus leaving to my mother her income. I was already in advance of my class, and I felt confident that in my leisure hours I could at least keep pace