childish yet, Mr. Hardy," she said, "but it is not to be wondered at-so good a"-she turned away a moment to hide her tears gushing out afresh, yet not painfully, from her re-animated, re-warmed heart. "Let me take your hat and stick-pray sit down -it was very kind of you to come."

"If I could serve you, Miss," he said abruptly, "you have no relations, they say?" Harriet had never thought about whether she required services or assistance of any kind or not. Her father had sometimes said to her that he would initiate her into his business matters, that she might be able to manage them when he should be too old to do so. He had not done what he had thus' held out as a sort of playful threat, because, alas! he could not do it, without speaking, not of age, but of death-and he shrank from the pain which he must inflict on her by touching on that subject. He had nothing on which to give her instruction, except how to obtain five hundred pounds,

for which sum he had insured his life, and which was her whole fortune. His income was from a purchased annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds, which was lost to her when she lost him.

"Thank you, Mr. Hardy, thank you," said Harriet, "I dare say you can help meI have never had the courage to look into my father's papers yet-but I feel now, that I ought to understand in what state his affairs I know little of business matters, Mr. Hardy-I am sure you can help me," and she took from her pocket the key of her father's writing desk.

are;

"I am not a scholar," said John Hardy, and I know little of business except in the way of my own trade; but that is no matter, Miss-if-if you would-if there is nothing for you among the papers-I have a deal more than I shall ever want-and it is ready for you the same as if it was your ownindeed, it is your own now."

Harriet did not take in the full import of

this speech, one of the longest he had ever made, for her soul was so full of the past that she scarcely heard it. On opening her father's desk, her eye fell on a memorandum, and her tears blinded her when she had only read the date of it. It was written on the day of his death. Alas, for this hard world, in which, whilst we live, we must think so much how to live!—And if that thought about the means of living presses on us for ourselves; with tenfold weight, it comes for those we love. The voice of the father from the tomb spoke simply but urgently of plain worldly matters. Yet, was there not more pathos in the unsaid at that anxious moment of anguish-when he wrote the few words of instruction for his daughter, than in all the affliction and regret which his pen could have traced? Yes!she thought so, as she clasped her hands over the desk, and bending down her head over them, wept more in pity for him than in sorrow for herself.

Poor John Hardy's heart was breaking for her, but he had no words; at length, she relieved him herself. Recovering from this burst of tenderness, she put the paper into his hands, saying, "You see, Mr. Hardy, what my whole fortune is, five hundred pounds; which I shall obtain on making application as I am here instructed to do. Then, I must write to those persons who paid the annuity, informing them of my father's death; then to my uncle in India— I have now no relation but him. Then, I must think of what I shall do, for I am not so ignorant as to suppose I can live on five hundred pounds very long." Her voice had grown more cheerful as she proceeded― the necessity for shewing courage, gave her

courage.

The spirit of her kind friend revived as her's did. With a great deal of confusion, in some disjointed phrases, like one begging a favour, which he felt he had no right to expect to be granted, he got his wishes made

known. His wishes were, that, if she liked her former way of living, she would just continue it, without saying anything to any one about her means, but would permit him to pay all. He tried to persuade her that he felt under great obligations to Mr. Aveley for what he had done to improve the education of "the two lads," as he called Edward and Benjamin, his nephews; that in anything he could do for her, he should only be paying a just debt due to him.

The earnestness with which he spoke, the pain with which he received any reply tending to a refusal of his generous offer, made it difficult for Harriet to find words in which to answer him, and to please him she consented to put off her absolute decision against the proposal. He then rose to go, with an abrupt expression of his hope that she would keep a good heart. He was gone-and when she took up the memorandum which he had placed beside her, on the table, she found with it a fifty pound note.