SIR,--I most respectfully thank you for your condescending kindness to me and my grandchild; and your friend, for his timely and generous aid. You will pardon me that the necessity which knows no law obliges me to leave this place some hours before the time of your proposed visit. My grandchild says you intended to ask her sometimes to write to you. Excuse me, sir--on reflection, you will perceive how different your ways of life are from those which she must tread with me. You see before you a man who--but I forget; you see him no more, and probably never will. Your most humble and most obliged, obedient servant, W. W. VANCE.--"Who never more may trouble you--trouble you! Where have they gone?" COBBLER.--"Don't know; would you like to take a peep in the crystal-- perhaps you've the gift, unbeknown?" VANCE.--"Not I--bah! Come away, Lionel." "Did not Sophy even leave any message for me?" asked the boy, sorrowfully. "To be sure she did; I forgot-no, not exactly a message, but this--I was to be sure to give it to you." And out of his miscellaneous receptacle the Cobbler extracted a little book. Vance looked and laughed,--"The Butterflies' Ball and the Grasshoppers' Feast." Lionel did not share the laugh. He plucked the book to himself, and read on the fly-leaf, in a child's irregular scrawl, blistered, too, with the unmistakable trace of fallen tears, these words:-- Do not Scorn it. I have nothing else I can think of which is All Mine. Miss Jane Burton gave it me for being Goode. Grandfather says you are too high for us, and that I shall not see you More; but I shall never forget how kind you were, never--never. Sophy. Said the Cobbler, his awl upright in the hand which rested on his knee, "What a plague did the 'Stronomers discover Herschel for? You see, sir," addressing Vance, "things odd and strange all come along o' Herschel." "What!--Sir John?" "No, the star he poked out. He's a awful star for females! hates 'em like poison! I suspect he's been worriting hisself into her nativity, for I got out from her the year, month, and day she was born, hour unbeknown, but, calkeiating by noon, Herschel was dead agin her in the Third and Ninth House,--Voyages, Travels, Letters, News, Church Matters, and such like. But it will all come right after he's transited. Her Jupiter must be good. But I only hope," added the Cobbler, solemnly, "that they won't go a-discovering any more stars. The world did a deal better without the new one, and they do talk of a Neptune--as bad as Saturn!" "And this is the last of her!" said Lionel, sadly, putting the book into his breast-pocket. "Heaven shield her wherever she goes!" VANCE.--"Don't you think Waife and the poor little girl will come back again?"