asking with wild emotion, “George dear, are you safe?” and further, “George love, what has happened? Where is Ma?” Mr. Sampson, with words of comfort, raised her prostrate form, and handed her to Mrs Wilfer as if the young lady were something in the nature of refreshments. Mrs. Wilfer with dignity partaking of the refreshments, by kissing her once on the brow (as if accepting an oyster), Miss Lavvy, tottering, returned to the protection of Mr Sampson; to whom she said, “George dear, I am afraid I have been foolish; but I am still a little weak and giddy; don’t let go my hand, George!” And whom she afterwards greatly agitated at intervals, by giving utterance, when least expected, to a sound between a sob and a bottle of soda water, that seemed to rend the bosom of her frock.

Among the most remarkable effects of this crisis may be mentioned its having, when peace was restored, an inexplicable moral influence, of an elevating kind, on Miss Lavinia, Mrs. Wilfer, and Mr. George Sampson, from which R. W. was altogether excluded, as an outsider and non-sympathizer. Miss Lavinia assumed a modest air of having distinguished herself; Mrs. Wilfer, a serene air of forgiveness and resignation; Mr. Sampson, an air of having been improved and chastened. The influence pervaded the spirit in which they returned to the previous question.

“George dear,” said Lavvy, with a melancholy smile, “after what has passed, I am sure Ma will tell Pa that he may tell Bella we shall all be glad to see her and her husband.”

Mr Sampson said he was sure of it too; murmuring how eminently he respected Mrs. Wilfer, and ever must, and ever would. Never more eminently, he added, than after what had passed.

“Far be it from me,” said Mrs. Wilfer, making deep proclamation from her corner, “to run counter to the feelings of a child of mine, and of a Youth,” Mr. Sampson hardly seemed to like that word, “who is the object of her maiden preference. I may feel — nay, know — that I have been deluded and deceived. I may feel — nay, know — that I have been set aside and passed over. I may feel — nay, know — that after having so far overcome my repugnance towards Mr. and Mrs. Boffin as to receive them under this roof, and to consent to your daughter Bella’s,” here turning to her husband, “residing under theirs, it were well if your daughter Bella,” again turning to her husband, “had profited in a worldly point of view by a connection so distasteful, so disreputable. I may feel — nay, know — that in uniting herself to Mr. Rokesmith she has united herself to one who is, in spite of shallow sophistry, a Mendicant. And I may feel well assured that your daughter Bella,” again turning to her husband, “does not exalt her family by becoming a Mendicant’s bride. But I suppress what I feel, and say nothing of it.”

Mr. Sampson murmured that this was the sort of thing you might expect from one who had ever in her own family been an example and never an outrage. And ever more so (Mr. Sampson added, with some degree of obscurity,) and never more so, than in and through what had passed. He must take the liberty of adding, that what was true of the mother was true of the youngest daughter, and that he could never forget the touching feelings that the conduct of both had awakened within him. In conclusion, he did hope that there wasn’t a man with a beating heart who was capable of something that remained undescribed, in consequence of Miss Lavinia’s stopping him as he reeled in his speech.

“Therefore, R. W.” said Mrs. Wilfer, resuming her discourse and turning to her lord again, “let your daughter Bella come when she will, and she will be received. So,” after a short pause, and an air of having taken medicine in it, “so will her husband.”

“And I beg, Pa,” said Lavinia, “that you will not tell Bella what I have undergone. It can do no good, and it might cause her to reproach herself.”

“My dearest girl,” urged Mr. Sampson, “she ought to know it.”

“No, George,” said Lavinia, in a tone of resolute self-denial. “No, dearest George, let it be buried in oblivion.”

Mr. Sampson considered that, “too noble.”