“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” sighed Lady Augusta. “I wonder what tidings the post will bring me! Will my affectionate and afflicted husband comply with my prayer, and be willing to endow the Church, and secure his own freedom; or will he be sordid, and declare that he can't live without me? I know you'd laugh, dear, or I'd tell you that the man is actually violently in love with me. You 've no notion of the difficulty I have to prevent him writing tender letters to me.” “You are too, too bad, I declare,” said the other, smothering a rising laugh. “Of course I 'd not permit such a thing. I stand on my dignity, and say, 'Have a care, sir.' Oh, here it comes! here's the post! What! only two letters, after all? She's a dun! Madame la Ruelle, Place Vendôme,--the cruellest creature that ever made a ball-dress. It is to tell me she can't wait; and I 'm so sick of saying she must, that I 'll not write any more. And who is this? The postmark is 'Portshandon.' Oh! I see; here's the name in the corner. This is from our eldest son, the future head of the house. Mr. Augustus Bramleigh is a bashful creature of about my own age, who was full of going to New Zealand and turning sheep-farmer. True, I assure you; he is an enthusiast about independence; which means he has a grand vocation for the workhouse.” “By what strange turn of events has he become your correspondent?” “I should say, Dora, it looks ill as regards the money. I'm afraid that this bodes a refusal.” “Would not the shorter way be to read it?” said the other, simply. “Yes, the shorter, but perhaps not the sweeter. There are little events in life which are worse than even uncertainties; but here goes:-- “'Castello.” “'My dear Lady Augusta,-- “A very pretty beginning from my son--I mean my husband's son; and yet he could not have commenced 'Dearest Mamma.'” “'I write my first letter to you at a very painful moment. My poor father was seized on Tuesday last with a most serious and sudden illness, to which the physician as yet hesitates to give a name. It is, however, on the brain or the membranes, and deprives him of all inclination, though not entirely of all power, to use his faculties. He is, moreover, enjoined to avoid every source of excitement, and even forbidden to converse. Of course, under these afflicting circumstances, everything which relates to business in any way is imperatively excluded from his knowledge; and must continue to be so till some change occurs. “'It is not at such a moment you would expect to hear of a marriage in the family, and yet yesterday my sister Marion was married to Lord Viscount Culduff.'”