The sisters read. On the following Lady-day, James Cheshire had turned over his farm advantageously to another, and he, his wife, Nancy, and the old servant, Mary Spendlove, all embarked at Liverpool, and transferred themselves to the United States, and then to the State of Illinois. Five-and-twenty years have rolled over since that day. We could tell a long and curious story of the fortunes of James Cheshire and his family: from the days when, half repenting of his emigration and his purchase, he found himself in a rough country, amid rough and spiteful squatters, and lay for months with a brace of pistols under his pillow, and a great sword by his bedside for fear of robbery and murder. But enough, that at this moment, James Cheshire, in a fine cultivated country, sees his ample estate cultivated by his sons, while as Colonel and Magistrate he dispenses the law and receives the respectful homage of the neighbourhood. Nancy Dunster, now styled Mrs. Dunster, the Mother in Israel—the promoter of schools and the councillor of old and young—still lives. Years have improved rather than deteriorated her short and stout exterior. The long exercise of wise thoughts and the play of benevolent feelings, have given even a sacred beauty to her homely features. The dwarf has disappeared, and there remains instead, a grave but venerable matron,—honoured like a queen. LETTER FROM A HIGHLY RESPECTABLE OLD LADY. Gracious, Mr. Conductor (which is like an omnibus) what a nice new journal you have got! And ‘Household Words’ too; _that’s_ what I like! I’ve often thought that if the world could hear _my_ household words, some people would be wiser for them. Sir, if you are not above receiving advice and information from an old woman, I will give you some. I will just chatter to you as I do to the boys and girls down in my part of the country here, without any ceremony. I have bought two pens and a quire of paper, and I’ll write down a few things; but my spectacles are bad, and my pen is not over steady.