Sixpence a week paid by each serious pew In Mr. Cartwright's church, makes--one pound two; From Wrexhill workhouse, by a farthing rate Collected by myself, just one pound eight; Crumbs for the Lord, gather'd from door to door Through Hampshire, makes exactly two pound four; From twelve old ladies, offerings from the hive In various sums, amount to three pound five; From our new Sunday school, as the Lord's fee, By pennies from each child, we've shillings three; And last of all, and more deserving praise Than all the sums raised by all other ways, "The desperate Sinner's certain Road to Heaven," Sold at the gallows foot,--thirteen pound seven. "This is a new accomplishment," said Helen, laughing; "and I declare to you, Rosalind, I think it very unnecessary, Roman Catholic-like, and unkind, to perform any more works of supererogation in that fascinating style upon the heart of poor Charles. I am afraid he has had more than is good for him already." "I do not think the beauty of my verses will at all tend to injure Mr. Mowbray's peace of mind," replied Rosalind rather coldly. "However, we can watch their effects, you know, and if we see any alarming symptoms coming on we can withdraw them." Just before they reached the lodge-gates, they perceived Charles on foot before them; and stopping the carriage, Helen made him get in, just to tell them, as she said, how her dear godmother was, what kind messages she had sent her, and though last, not least, whether any tidings had been heard of the commission. Charles appeared to be in excellent spirits; repeated many pleasant observations uttered by Sir Gilbert on the effervescent nature of his mother's malady; told them that a commission in the Horse Guards was declared to be at his service as soon as the money for it was forthcoming, for which, if needs must, even Sir Gilbert had permitted him to draw on Mr. Corbold; and finally, that he believed they had all alarmed themselves about Mr. Cartwright and his pernicious influences in a very wrong and unreasonable manner. On reaching the house, they entered the library, which was the usual winter sitting-room; but it was quite deserted. They drew round the fire for a few minutes' further discussion of the news and the gossip which Charles had brought; and, apropos of some of the Oakley anecdotes of the proceedings at Wrexhill, Helen requested Rosalind to produce her version of Mrs. Simpson's deeds of grace. "Willingly," replied Miss Torrington, drawing the paper from her pocket. "You dedicated a poem to me, Mr. Mowbray, some weeks ago; and I now beg to testify my gratitude by presenting you with this." Charles took the paper, and while fixing his eyes with a good deal of meaning upon the beautiful giver, kissed it, and said, "Do you make it a principle, Miss Torrington, to return in kind every offering that is made you?"