pressure, confirming the favorable advantage of the moment, I questioned whether her unbiased perception had ever discovered in me a willful deficiency, or one of indifference, that I could correct for enhancing her present happiness, or advancing her preparation for a future state. If I had been so unfortunate or neglectful in my intention, with her affectionate reciprocation, I would make it my constant text for amendment. In vain she tried to give expression in words to the welling revival of loving emotions, but, although in voiceful effort she failed, her lips with truthful impression absolved me. Blinded with repentant tears she indicated her desire to be left alone; obedient to the unexpressed wish I left her. Lovieta and Lavoca, who had witnessed the scene of happy reconciliation, sat with arms entwined about each other’s necks, mingling their tears in grateful sympathy, otherwise holding themselves aloof with wonderful discretion, as if with the understanding that their participation would divert the full measure of love’s revived reciprocation. But as the door closed upon their mother, I felt their hands caressingly raise mine to their lips, while in relieved vent of consolation and childish dislike, they exclaimed in sobbing accents, first Lovieta, “The—the—ugly—o—old zopilote!” [carrion vulture] to which Lavoca appended, “Who—who—comes—to—to—our—house,—when—he—he—knows—we—we—ain’t dead.” Upon you, my dear Don Guillermo, rests this irreverent title, and knowledge of vocation in application, and as you see the retentive rendering my children have made of it, I hope that you will not sin away the day of grace offered for repentance! If you, a stranger, found yourself unable to resist the pleadings of their affectionate natures, you can judge of a fond father’s partiality, and will excuse his frequent introduction of their quaint comparisons, especially as they are largely indebted to you for their capital ideas? They have proved the choicest of our blessings, and in love’s arbitrations have ever been the pure mediums of affectionate reunion. After a sufficient season had been allowed from my anxious desire, the children were sent to add their weight to the favoring balance of their mother’s affection. Quickly returning, with guarded steps prompted for affectionate surprise, they approached silently,—as I sat with bowed head, hopefully musing, with the desire that Consolata might be changed into unwavering semblance of your Heraclean matrons,—and the velvety wreath of their arms again encircled my neck, while Lovieta and Lavoca’s Manatitlan voices whispered, in joyous emulation, “Go to mamma!” Dear Don Guillermo, you will rejoice to know that she met me at the door with a fond embrace, and the sobbing supplication, “Pedro, can you forgive me? If you can, and will let me love you again, your desires shall ever be mine!” The coveted appeal required no repetition, for there was in her words an