The office of the Messrs. Buchanan is unchanged. It is true, one clerk has gone to Australia, and another to the West Indies--that one is in business for himself, and two are dead; but still Mr. Gilchrist’s massive silver snuff-box glitters upon his desk, and still he contemplates its long inscription, and taps it lovingly, as he takes another pinch. Again, there is one clerk in the office who is a wit, and sings a good song, and is “led away,” and still Dick and Alick, and John Buchanan, are cool and business-like in the counting-house, and enjoy themselves boisterously out of it; though there are rumours that Dick is to be married, and “settle down.” The young Buchanans stare at Cuthbert’s mourning--the crape on his hat, and his grave face--and wonder what far-away cousin must be dead, whom they have never heard of, and feel an involuntary guiltiness when they look upon their own coloured dress. Very far off and very poor must this cousin have been; they are all immediately prepared to defend themselves and to exclaim that they got no intimation. “What is this for, Cuthbert?” said Mr. Buchanan hastily, pointing to the hat in Cuthbert’s hand. “Do you remember Harry Muir, uncle?” said Cuthbert. “Poor Harry! those bits of crape are all that remain to him, of this world’s friendship, and honour.” Mr. Buchanan started, and was greatly shocked. “Poor fellow! I thought he was prospering now, and doing well--poor fellow! poor fellow! When did it happen, Cuthbert?” “I heard the other day he had turned out very wild,” said Alick Buchanan. “He always was; there was no making anything of him in the office,” added Dick hastily. Poor Harry! his old tempter and opponent felt a little twinge when he saw Cuthbert’s mourning, and remembered him, without any particular satisfaction, of his own “joke,” as he called it, about his cousin and his sister Clemie. “Poor Harry! some of the best men in the county followed him to his grave,” said Cuthbert, who understood very well the material he had to work upon, “and a universal regret went with him. Uncle, I have a little business to talk over with you, if you will permit me. Are you at leisure now?” “What’s going to happen, Cuthbert?” said Mr. Buchanan, smiling: “a bride coming home, eh? and what will your mother say to that? But come along, I’ll go down with you--you shall have the benefit of my experience.” Mr. Buchanan’s plain unpretending one-horse carriage waited for him in the street below. The young men, very independent and uncontrolled, came home in such manner as pleased them; but Cuthbert had to wait till the streets, shining with lights, and loud with many voices, had faded into darkness behind them, and they were steadily proceeding over a quiet country road, before he could bring his business before his attentive uncle.