Some weeks elapsed, and I heard no more from my banker. A slight indisposition confined me to the house. One evening, Mr Montague, coming to my apartment to enquire after my health, brought with him a newspaper (as was his frequent custom), and, finding me unwell, and dispirited, began to read some parts from it aloud, in the hope of amusing me. Among the articles of home intelligence, a paragraph stated--'The failure of a considerable mercantile house, which had created an alarm upon the Exchange, as, it was apprehended, some important consequences would follow in the commercial world. A great banking-house, it was hinted, not many miles from ----, was likely to be affected, by some rumours, in connection with this business, which had occasioned a considerable run upon it for the last two or three days.' My attention was roused--I eagerly held out my hand for the paper, and perused this alarming paragraph again and again, without observing the surprize expressed in the countenance of Montague, who was at a loss to conceive why this intelligence should be affecting to me.--I sat, for some minutes, involved in thought, till a question from my companion, several times repeated, occasioned me to start. I immediately recollected myself, and tried to reason away my fears, as vague and groundless. I was about to explain the nature of them to my friend--secretly accusing myself for not having done so sooner, and availed myself of his advice, when a servant, entering, put a letter into his hand. Looking upon the seal and superscription, he changed colour, and opened it hastily. Strong emotion was painted in his features while he perused it. I regarded him with anxiety. He rose from his seat, walked up and down the room with a disordered pace--opened the door, as if with an intention of going out--shut it--returned back again--threw himself into a chair--covered his face with his handkerchief--appeared in great agitation--and burst into tears. I arose, went to him, and took his hand--'_My friend!_' said I--I would have added something more--but, unable to proceed, I sunk into a seat beside him, and wept in sympathy. He pressed my hand to his lips--folded me wildly in his arms, and attempted to speak--but his voice was lost in convulsive sobs. I gently withdrew myself, and waited, in silence, till the violence of his emotions should subside. He held out to me the letter he had received. I perused it. It contained an account of the sudden death of his father, and a summons for his immediate return to the country, to settle the affairs, and to take upon him his father's professional employment. 'You leave me, then!' said I--'I lose my only remaining friend!' '_Never!_'--he replied, emphatically.