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possess the germs. In his view, no man was ever placed in a more fortunate position. But he would not keep the knowledge of his position to himself. No; he'd go and begin to spread this happiness without delay. His Eleanor should be informed of all that had transpired; and, as she was the first to be made happy, he went to the cottage at once.

"Sylvester," said he, as he entered, "I am going to dine with a friend to day at four: will you go with me?"

"I shall be most happy to do so."

"We shall be by ourselves: everything quite quiet! I offer no apology at present to you," he added, turning to Aunt Eleanor, "for thus depriving you of his society. But, come, let us take a little turn in the garden."

Aunt Eleanor, who inferred from this that he wished to say something to her in private, smiled, and left her work, and went into the garden with him.

"Now," said he; "I told you that I thought—and it did at the time strike me—that I should have, in the course of the morning, something important to communicate."

"And have you?"

"I have, my dear Eleanor: I have."

He then led her into the arbour, and there, to her utter amazement, told her all that had occurred. At first, on hearing him mention the name of Howard, she nearly fainted; but, recovering her self-possession, she subsequently listened with almost breathless anxiety. He remembered nearly every word that had passed, and every word that he remembered he communicated to her, embellished only with a description of the feelings inspired.

"And now," said he, at the conclusion of this intelligence; "ought we not to be most thankful? Out of evil cometh good. The very thing which we held to be a great calamity, may prove to be a blessing indeed. Thus we, in our blindness, complain: events occur, of the tendency of which we have no knowledge, no conception; and, because we are too short-sighted to see their tendency, we presumptuously pronounce them to be evils, and, instead of being grateful, complain. How wonderfully is everything ordered! And what poor, weak, dependent, helpless creatures we are! We are but instruments in the hands of Him who employs us to work out His great design. But, come, dear Eleanor, why so sad?"

"I am not sad," she replied; "believe me. You have said that we ought to be thankful: I am, indeed, thankful: most thankful. But—should Mr. Howard, after all, not be satisfied—"

"That, my dear Eleanor, I hold to be impossible. Why, Sylvester, I have not the slightest doubt, will this very day satisfy him."

"But did I not understand you that Sylvester was to have no knowledge of his object?"

"Exactly! But, when I have introduced the subject, Sylvester will join in the conversation, of course."

"I perceive. Well, I hope to heaven that you may be successful!"

"Be sure that we shall be. I feel certain of it. I never felt more