Two years may or may not make a great change both in the character and appearance of a man. Sebastian Mallory was somewhat altered in the latter respect since he had parted from Myles Heywood one evening, which, when he thought of it, seemed a long time ago. His face had taken an older, more decided expression; his lips were more firmly closed; his eyes had lost much of their listlessness. He had found plenty of work ready to his hand, and he was not one of those persons whose work decreases. Business accumulated about him. People had discovered that he was useful, capable, and impartial. He did not know himself how great his influence was, or rather he had not known it until a few days before, when, to his great surprise, he had been asked to contest the borough in the Radical interest, so soon as a vacancy should occur. He had promised to take the matter into consideration. In a few days his answer was to be given. He was not wont to waver or vacillate; generally he could sum up the reasons for and against a course, and decide in the most prudent and reasonable way. On this occasion he had not found the matter so easily disposed of. ‘He would, and he would not.’ Many considerations urged him to accept; he could scarcely assign any for declining. The only one which would have been valid--that he felt no desire for a public life, and no wish to increase his present occupations--was absent. He had often felt a strong inclination for such a life; and he knew that he could manage to give time enough to it. The core of the matter was that his heart was not in it. As he read his letters this morning, he thought of the coming interview with his supporters, and had an odd sensation that he absolutely did not know what to say to them, and that it was a case which might appropriately be settled by tossing up. He laid two of his letters on one side, until the business communications were disposed of, and then he took one of them up. They both bore the Prussian stamp of two and a half groschen, and both were addressed in a German handwriting. He took up the first of them, with a slight smile hovering about his lips, or ever he began to read. ‘DEAR SEBASTIAN,’ it began,