She took him up-stairs at once; she was in haste that Maurice likewise should see his noble little godson, but Gilbert would not let her carry him down at once. 'Let me look a little while,' he said, hanging over him with a sort of hungry fondness and curiosity. My brother! my brother! he repeated. 'It has rung in my ears every morning that I can say my brother once more, till I have feared it was a dream.'

It was the sympathy Albinia cared for, come back again! I hope he will be a good brother to you,' she said.

'He must be good! he can't help it! He has you. said Gilbert. See, he is opening his eyes-oh! how blue! May I touch him?'

'To be sure you may. He is not sugar,' said Albinis. laughing. There-make an arm, you may have him if you like. Your left arm, you awkward man. Yes, that is right. You will do quite as well as I, who never touched a baby till Willie was born. There, Sir, how do you like your brother Gilbert ?'

Gilbert held him reverently, and gave him back wi a sigh when he seemed to have satiated his gaze and touch, and convinced himself that his new possession was substantial. 'I say,' he added wistfully, ‘did you think that name would bring ill luck?'

She knew the name he meant, and answered, 'No, but your father could not have borne it. Besides, Gibbie, we would not think him instead of Edmund. No, he shall learn to look up to his other brother as you do, and look to meeting and knowing him some day.'

Gilbert shivered a little at this, and made no opposition to her carrying him down-stairs at once to be admired by his uncle; and then Gilbert hurried off for the basket of snowdrops that he had gathered early in the morning from a favourite spot of hers at Fairmead, which she had often described to him. That short absence seemed to have

added double force to the boy's affection for her; he could hardly bear to be away from her, and every moment when he could gain her ear, was pouring out histories of the delights of Fairmead, where Mr. Ferrars had devoted himself to his amusement, and had made him happier than perhaps he had ever been in his life—he had had a taste of shooting, of skating, of snowballing-he had been useful and important in the village feasts, had dined twice at Colonel Bury's, and felt himself many degrees nearer a man.

To hear of her own old haunts and friends from such enthusiastic lips, delighted Albinia, and her sunny felicity with her baby, with Mr. Kendal, with her brother and his little son, was one of the brightest things in all the world-the fresh young loving bloom of her matronhood' was even sweeter and more beautiful than her girlish days.

Poor little frail blighted Mrs. Dusautoy! Winifred could not help wondering if the contrast pained her, when in all the glory of her motherly thankfulness, Albinia carried her beautiful newly-christened Maurice Ferrars Kendal to her sofa to show him off, lying so open-chested and dignified, in Geneviève's pretty work, with a sort of manly serenity already dawning on his baby brow.

Winifred need not have pitied the little lady. She would not have changed with Mrs. Kendal-no, not for her perfect health-her usefulness, her value-nor even for such a baby as that. No, indeed! She loved-she rejoiced in all her sweet and precious gifts-but Mrs. Dusautoy had one gift that she prized above all.

Even grandmamma and Aunt Maria did justice to Master Maurice's attractions, at least in public, though it came round that Miss Meadows did not admire fat children, and when he had once been seen in Lucy's arms, a great alarm arose that Mrs. Kendal would allow the girls to carry him about, till his weight made them crooked; but Albinia was a great deal too joyous to take any

of their displeasure to heart, and it only served her for something to laugh at in her merry spirit.

They had a very happy christening party, chiefly juvenile, in honour of little Willie and of Henry and Emily Nugent. Albinia was so radiantly lively and good-natured, and her assistants, Winifred, Maurice, and Mr. Dusautoy, so kind, so droll, so inventive, that even Aunt Maria forgot herself in enjoyment and novelty, and was quite like a different person, as Mr. Kendal looked at her with a pleased sad wonder, and told his wife it reminded him of what she had been when she was nearly the pret tiest girl at Bayford.

Gilbert devoted himself as usual to making Genevieve feel herself a welcome guest; and she had likewise Willie Ferrars and Henry Nugent at her feet. Neither urchin would sit two inches away from her all the evening, and she was generally obliged in all games to obviate jealousies by being partner to both at once. Where there was DO one to oppress her, she came out with all her natural grace and vivacity, and people of a larger growth th her little admirers were charmed with her.

Lucy was obliging, ready, and useful, and looked very pretty, and the only blot was the heavy dulness of poor Sophy, who seemed resolved to take pleasure in nothing. Winifred varied in opinion whether her moodiness arose from jealousy of her little brother, or from being unwell. The former Albinia would not believe, especially as she saw that little Maurice's blue eyes and quaint gestures were magnets that held the silent Sophy fast whenever he was in the room; and when she interrogated her as to illness, the surly denials silenced her, and made her content to acquiesce in Lucy's explanation that Sophy was only cross because the Osbornes and Drurys were not asked.

Albinia did her duty handsomely by them a day or two after, for whatever reports came round of their affronts,

they were always ready to receive any advances from her, and she only took notice of what she saw, instead of what she heard. Her brother helped Mr. Kendal very happily through this party, and Winifred made a discovery that excited her more than Albinia thought the fact warranted, especially as it related to the horde of Irish cousins.

"Only think, Albinia, I have found out that poor Ellen O'More is Mr. Goldsmith's sister!'

"Indeed! But I am afraid I don't remember which Ellen O'More is. You know I never undertake to recollect any but your real cousins out of the thirty-six.'

Forshame, Albinia, I have so often told you about Ellen. I'm sure you can't forget. Her husband is my sister's brother-in-law's cousin.'

'O, Winifred, Winifred!'

But I tell you, her husband is the third son of old Mr. O'More of Ballymakelly, and was in the army.'

Oh! the half-pay officer with the twelve children in the cottage on the estate.'

There now, I did think you would care when I told you of a soldier, a Waterloo man too, and you only call him a half-pay officer'

I do remember,' said Albinia, taking a little pity, 'that you used to be sorry for his good little English wife.'

Of course. I knew she had married him very imprudently, but she has struggled most gallantly with ill health and poverty and Irish recklessness. I quite venerate her whenever I go near her, and it seems these Goldsmiths had so far cast her off that they had no notion of the extent of her troubles.'

'Is that the reason

'Just like them,' said Albinia. you wish me to make the most of the connexion? Let me see, my sister-in-law's sister's wife-no, husband's brother's uncle, eh ?'

'I don't want you to do anything,' said Winifred, a

little hurt, 'only if you had seen Ellen's patient face you would be interested in her.'

'Well, I am interested, you know I am, Winifred. I hope you interested our respected banker, which would be more to the purpose.'

'I think I did,' said Winifred; 'at least he said “poor Ellen" once or twice. I don't want him to do anything for the captain; you might give him a thousand pounds and he would never be the better for it; but that fifth boy, Ulick, is without exception the nicest fellow I ever saw in my life-so devoted to his mother, so much more considerate and self-denying than any of the others, and excessively clever. Maurice examined him and was quite astonished. We did get him sent to St. Columba for the present, but whether they will be able to keep him there no one can guess, and it is the greatest pity he should run to waste. I told Mr. Goldsmith all this, and I really think he seemed to attend. I wonder if it will work.'

Albinia was by this time equally anxious that it shoul! take effect, and they agreed that an old bachelor bank and his sister, both past sixty, were the very people of others to adopt a promising nephew.

What had become of the multitude of things which Albinia had to discuss with her brother? The flood-tide of bliss had floated her over all the stumbling-blocks and shoals that the ebb had disclosed, and she had absolutely forgotten all the perplexities that had seemed so trying. Even when she sought a private interview to talk to hima about Gilbert, it was in full security of hearing the praises of her darling.

'A nice boy, a very nice boy,' returned Maurice; 'most amiable and intelligent, and particularly engaging, from his feeling being so much on the surface.'

'Nothing can be more sincere and genuine,' she cried. as if this fell a little flat.

'Certainly not, at the time.'