broke's address of every one likely to know a man of Sir Robert Somerset's consequence; and then to venture a letter.

In the midst of these meditations the door opened, and Mrs. Robson appeared, drowned in tears.

my

My dear, dear sir!” cried she, " William is going; I have just taken a last look of its sweet face. Will you go down, and say farewell, to the poor child you loved so dearly?"

"No, my good madam;" returned Thaddeus, his straying thoughts at once gathering round this mournful centre, “ I will rather retain you here until the melancholy task be entirely accomplished."

With a gentle violence he forced her upon a seat, and, in silence, supported her head on his breast, against which she, unconsciously leaned and wept. He listened with a depressed heart to the removal of the coffin; and at the closing of the street-door, which for ever shut the little William from that house, in which

he had been the source of pleasure, a tear trickled down the cheek of Thaddeus; and the sobbings of the poor grandinother were audible.

The count, incapable of speaking, pressed her hand in his.

"O, Mr. Constantine!" cried she, "see how my supports, one after the other, are taken from me! first my son, and now his infant! To what shall I be reduced?" "You have still, my good Mrs. Robson, a friend in heaven, who will supply the place of all you have lost on earth.”

True, dear sir; I am a wicked creature to speak as I have done: but it is hard to suffer; it is hard to lose all we loved in the world!"

"It is," returned the count, greatly affected by her grief. "But God, who is perfect wisdom, as well as perfect love, chuseth rather to profit us than to please

us,

in his dispensations. Our sweet William has gained by our loss; he is blest in heaven, while we weakly lament him

on

on earth. Besides, you are not yet deprived of all; you have a grand-daughter."

"Ah! poor little thing! what will become of her when I die? I used to think, what a precious brother my darling boy would prove to his sister, when I should be no more!"

This additional image, which her faney had conjured up, augmented the affliction. of the good old woman. And Thaddeus, looking on her with affectionate compassion, exclaimed,

fa

"Mrs. Robson, the same almighty Being that protected me, the last of my mily, will protect the orphan offspring of so excellent a woman as you are.”

Mrs. Robson lifted up her head for a moment. She had never before heard him utter a sentence of his own history; and what he now said, added to the tender solemnity of his manner, for an instant arrested her attention.-He went on.

"In me you see a man, who, within the short space of three months, has lost a grand

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grandfather that loved him as fondly as you did your William; a mother, whom he saw expire before him, and whose sacred remains he was forced to leave in the hands of her murderers! Yes, Mrs. Robson, I have neither parents nor a home. I was a stranger and you took me in; and Heaven will reward your family in kind. At least I promise, that, whilst I live, whatever be my fate, should you be called hence, I will protect your granddaughter with a brother's care."

May heaven in its mercy bless you!” cried Mrs. Robson, dropping on her knees. Thaddeus raised her with gushing eyes; and, having replaced her in a seat, left the room for a few minutes to recover himself.

In the evening Mrs. Watts, according to the count's desire, called with an estimate of the expences attending the child's interment. Fees, and every charge collected, the demand on his benevolence was six pounds. The sum proved rather

more

more than he expected, but he paid it without a demur, leaving himself only a few shillings.

He considered what he had done as the fulfilment of a duty so indispensable, that it must have been accomplished even by the sacrifice of his uttermost farthing. Gratitude and distress held claims upon him, which he never allowed his necessities in the smallest instance to transgress. All gifts of mere generosity were beyond his power, and consequently, in a short time, beyond his wish; but to the cry of want and wretchedness his hand and heart were ever open. Often has he, in the street, given away to a starving child that pittance, which was to purchase his own hard meal, and never felt such neglect of himself a privation. To have turned his eyes and cars from the little mendicant, would have been the hardest struggle; and the remembrance of such inhumanity would have haunted him on his pillow. This being the disposition of the count Sobieski,

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