"My last thoughts," continued the reader, "are with my revered relative; for who forgave the boyish trick, and fed me on a candy-stick, and nursed me when it made me sick?--My aunt. Who taught me to back a colt or make a book? Who entered me for the purse with Cousin Fanny Alison, but the filly bolted with Bob Ascot?--My aunt." "Patience alive!" cried the dowager: "what does the man mean, with his doggerel poetry and slang of the stables at such a time?" "Oh, madame! it is noble," said the poor maid with streaming eyes, and then continued: "She besought me with the salt rheum in her optical organs to suppress my fury; but who can restrain the wrath of a Brown? She denied me the spondulics--a Latin word for cash--to carry out my nefarious purpose, though it grieved her generous heart." "That's well thought of," said the dowager. "People talk so. We must get it to those newspaper-men. Poor Lind!" "To those who assert a mercenary motive I triumphantly respond, 'She paid up my little bills, and has doubtless destroyed the evidences of them.'" "They are in the steel casket," said the dowager. "Burn them. But he never would have paid." "When she honors my sight draft," read ma'amselle, "for two-fifty to settle up my present expenses in this business, she will pay the last debt of him who has paid the last debt of Nature. For if the knave do cut but deep enough, I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. (_Shakespeare_.) L. BROWN MASON." "Give me the cheque-book, and let the man come up," said the dowager. The man was questioned, and had but little to tell. He was told Captain Mason had been shot, and to bring the letter. After he was dismissed the dowager said, "Let Fanny bring the chocolate. I hope the cream is better: it curdled yesterday. Poor Lind! He had a good heart." * * * * * About the time his aunt was cashing his last draft, and reckoning that that little enterprise of marrying Sue Brown to Captain Mason had cost her a thousand dollars for failure, Captain Mason, with a party in the carriage, stood on Mrs. Walter Brown's front steps explaining to her that at a little expense in cutting down her ornamental trees and grubbing up her rare exotic shrubbery the front lawn could be converted into a beautiful quarter-track, and offering his services to effect the desirable change. Then advancing, he graciously held out his hand to poor, pale, red-eyed little Sudie, still hysterical over that dreadful paragraph. "No," said Sue tartly. "Mamma may shelter you from the police, but you ought to be hung. There! And I won't shake a _murderer's_ hand. There! I won't! I won't! I won't! There!"