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Mr Howitt's proposed remedy is, combination on the part of the authors-combination for funds to succour distressed members of their corps, for the support of every authorly interest, and the defence of every authorly right!' We are sorry that we most thoroughly believe combination for any purpose impracticable amongst literary men. Irritability of temper and mutual jealousy are the causes of this doom. But even though they could associate, we cannot see what association would do for them, supposing that they remain in other respects the same. It seems to us purely visionary to expect that the literary class will acquire the strength or dignity which Mr Howitt desires for it, otherwise than by an increase of integrity and prudence in the individuals of which the literary class is composed.

It may be possible, however, to show improved arrangements respecting literary labours and rewards, which would greatly ameliorate the worldly circumstances of authors, and prove favourable to that morality on which the elevation of the class must, we think, depend. It is not the first time that we have endeavoured to show that literary men, in being the employés of tradesmen, are in a wholly false position. The relation should be exactly the reverse; that is to say, men pursuing an active literary career should be the masters and employers, the tradesmen being subordinate to them, or, at the most, associated in a copartnery. Authors should, in short, use means to take rank as capitalists, and write for the realisation of publishing schemes in which they have a mercantile interest. Talk not of difficulties in acquiring capital, when these are overcome by men of every class and grade every day. So that there be saving, there will soon be capital. Let literary men condescend, if it be a condescension, to this law of political economy, and their rise to the rank of capitalists is certain. In many instances where there happened to be harmony of character and pursuit, literary firms might be established for the carrying out of the larger class of designs. So far, in peculiar circumstances, the present system might occasionally be departed from. Or one literary man of mature years might be the employer of a corps of younger ones. But the leading idea is-let the author be the ruler of his own labours, and the reaper of their proper rewards. By this plan there would be the further advantage, that literary schemes would be more heartily and justly worked out than at present. The bookseller, as is well known, is often baffled in his efforts to get a plan realised, by reason of the difficulty which one mind experiences in entering into the views of another. Where an author works upon his own plan, he of course works with a clearer perception of what he ought to do, and also with a stronger interest in his subject.

the gratification of the reading public; such are the writers and editors of periodical works, and those who devote themselves to compilations of all kinds; ninetenths, it is probable, of the whole literary class. These men are precisely in the situation of thousands of able and well-educated persons who have to give their days to the drudgeries of medicine or the technicalities of the law. They should contemplate themselves as strictly members of the great legion of the unendowed, who have nothing to depend upon but intellect judiciously and industriously exercised. It is, accordingly, no more than right and proper that these men should seek, by all honourable means, to improve their worldly circumstances, exactly as the members of other professions are doing. Nor can it be derogatory to any real dignity which belongs to their functions, that they should submit to all the prudent restrictions which beset other men in the like circumstances. If they were to see their real position in a true light, they would be under no danger of neglecting these maxims; they would resist the vanity which has before now caused an author with his first spare hundred pounds to set up a carriage; and they would put down the promptings of the worse imp which would persuade them that they are privileged by the use of a goose quill to every ridiculous foible, and not a few of the petty vices.

There is a smaller class of literary men who seek to produce works of a higher order, with but a small chance of being remunerated for their trouble. Such are the poets, the writers of laborious historical works, and the authors of speculative treatises. The productions of this class immensely exceed all others in value, yet they are not on that account sure to produce an adequate reward. Such is the unavoidable effect of the mercantile principle to which literature is left in the present stage of society, that the veriest toy of the brain, which it has only taken a clever man a fortnight to produce, may realise for its author a thousand pounds, or even more-such things are !-while an emanation of true genius, never to be allowed to die, or an elimination of truth which is to help on the regeneration of our race, will not pay the expenses of putting it through the press. One cannot but view with deep regret and sympathy the narrow circumstances to which authors of this kind are subject. But while society proceeds upon a commercial mercantile principle, it is not easy to see how such men, who have no patrimony to sustain them, are to be otherwise than poor, if they give themselves to labours which notoriously produce no solid rewards. Authorship of such a kind, in such circumstances, should be looked upon as a voluntary sacrifice of immediate and gross benefits, for the sake of something more spiritual and more highly esteemed. A counsellor who, instead of taking briefs, spent his nights But the plan is visionary-it could never be reduced and days in efforts to reform the laws, would be in a to practice! This is not quite true. Several literary precisely analogous situation, and his poverty would be men are actually realising it to a very considerable no marvel. Now, there is hardly one of the former and extent, and are, we believe, feeling the benefits of it. larger class of literary men who does not aspire to We have ourselves acted upon this plan for many years, labours of a higher kind than those to which he devotes and not only found it easily practicable, but the only himself. He wishes, but the necessity of bread forbids. possible arrangement under which, to all appearance, And thus his whole literary life consists of exertions the same labours could have been conducted. The gist which are not according to the first intention of his mind, of the matter is, that literary men ought to become men but which he must reconcile himself to as unavoidable of the world in a greater degree than they are, if they in his situation. Here, however, we have an evil no would wish to keep abreast of men of the world. Of greater than what falls to the lot of nearly all profescourse, the plan now sketched is only applicable to mensional men. We all have an inner life of the mind in who seek a regular livelihood, and the means of rising which we would spend our whole time, if it were not in society, by the industrious use of their pen. Such that the outer life calls us in some other direction. are the writers of books primarily designed merely for Perhaps few enjoy the good fortune of the literary man,

in having daily labours so near akin to those on which they would spend themselves. These take him into the society of the intellectual-they allow him converse with books-they place him in circumstances from which he may in the easiest possible manner ascend to the exertions in which he would be engaged. And it occurs to us forcibly that the very hope of being able in time to produce some work of an important character, ought to be a powerful inducement to the slave of the press to be diligent in his calling and prudent in his living, that he may the sooner emancipate himself from the toil which only gives a pecuniary reward. How much nobler to husband resources for this purpose, than to launch into the vanities of the world, and sell the whole soul for a wretched competition with the Common Rich!

While much is said of the calamities of authors, we never hear of the calamities of booksellers-of which class it is always assumed that they are not merely well off, but wallowing in wealth. Yet publishers, in the mass, are by no means an extravagantly successful class of men. Some acquire wealth, which is the case in all professions; but many fail miserably in their undertakings, and some of the greatest have died without a sovereign. It is a sad consideration that Archibald Constable, who had a truly generous feeling for authors, paid only half-a-crown in the pound. View the history of the late edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica' -a really creditable undertaking, carried on and finished in a most conscientious manner towards the public, yet leaving its proprietors at the present moment L.19,000 minus! Sometimes we hear of a bookseller making what is called a hit. He gives one hundred pounds for a manuscript, and gains six or seven times his own money. Then there is sure to be a dreadful outcry about the poor author, as if he were a robbed man; the public never reflecting, that for one fortunate venture, the bookseller makes three or four by which he loses, and that he did not buy the article below its ascertained value, but speculated upon a contingency. We also lay out of account the many losses which publishers undergo by their advances to authors. There is a kind of Arabian feeling in the latter gentlemen with respect to the trade,' as if it were only justice to leave them losers. For instance, Goldsmith owes L.111 to his publisher, Mr John Newbery, who had taken a kindly charge of his affairs, even to paying his landlady her weekly rent. Goldsmith is in difficulties for a sum, and his friend Johnson takes the manuscript of his Vicar of Wakefield' to be sold, but not to John Newbery-for' with him,' in Mr Howitt's words, it would have gone to reduce the standing claim'-no, but to Francis Newbery, a nephew, and probably rival of John, who gives sixty pounds. This transaction is an example of the manner in which booksellers are treated at this day, even by men to whom they have behaved with the highest degree of generosity. Can we doubt that such treatment tends to the injury of booksellers, and helps to make them regard authors in the manner in which they were regarded by the person adverted to at the beginning of this paper?

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To conclude. We would again earnestly commend to the attention of literary men the views which have been here unfolded regarding improved arrangements for the publication of their writings. Let them be no longer children, content with the first gewgaw offered them, but steady, earnest, and honourable men of the | world. It is, meanwhile, possible, under the present arrangements, for a man of literary talent to realise a subsistence by his pen, and even, by its means alone, to raise himself in the social scale. For this, however, steady industry and unfailing fidelity are necessary. It were obviously the greatest folly to suppose that booksellers are to encourage men of a different character, or that society is to receive them with cordiality. The first lesson, therefore, to be learned by an aspirant for literary honours is to be a good citizen. Where

this rule is observed, a fair share of literary merit is the undoubted passport to most of those worldly advantages which the generality of men are in search of: where it is disregarded, intellectual merit, of whatever degree, must go very much for nothing.

THE PATRONES S.

A TALE.

ON one of those densely foggy evenings so well known to the inhabitants of our great metropolis, when all who have comfortable parlours or drawing-rooms will shut out the unpleasant scene the windows present by closely drawing the curtains, and ringing for candles earlier than the wonted hour-when the link-boys tender the welcome auxiliary of light to the foot-passenger who can afford a trifling recompense, and none will venture out of doors who have not some very pressing call-on such an evening in the winter of 1835, a young and delicate pedestrian might have been seen threading the maze formed by the narrow streets of Whitechapel, without companion or protector, and almost sinking under the weight of a cumbersome parcel, which bore the appearance of needlework, from one of the warehouses with which that neighbourhood abounds. Her hurried and terrified manner attracted no attention, each individual being intent upon reaching his own fireside; and the darkness was so intense, that it shielded her from the observation of the rude passer-by, who otherwise would have frequently stared beneath her coarse straw-bonnet to gaze upon a face of uncommon beauty. She stopped ever and anon to relieve herself for a few moments from her heavy burden, by resting it on a doorstep; and paused at every turn, passing her ungloved hand over her fair brow, as if recalling to remembrance the spot on which she stood. Her apprehensions lest she had mistaken her way, redoubled when she found herself in a place of which she had no recollection; and in a state. of great excitement and alarm she now ventured to enter a chandler's shop, that she might make inquiries for the street in which her home was situated. Such a question from one on whom poverty has set its unmistakeable seal, is not always answered with civility, especially when it calls the shopkeeper, on a cold evening, from the snug parlour and blazing fire. Ruth Annesley, however, met with a courteous reply from the kind-hearted widow to whom her agitated appeal was addressed. She cheerfully set about a minute and somewhat lengthy explanation; but to the terrified and almost bewildered girl the frequent repetition of third turning to the right, second to the left,' &c. was like the jargon of an unknown tongue.

'You are a stranger in London?' the widow observed, looking compassionately upon her. Ruth replied in the affirmative, adding that she lived with an aged relative, who was anxiously awaiting her return.

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'Well, don't be frightened, my poor girl,' she kindly rejoined; I'll promise you that you shall be at your own door in less than a quarter of an hour, if you don't mind trusting yourself to the care of my son. He is as steady and as good a lad as ever mother was blessed with,' she pursued, perceiving that her auditor started a little at the proposition, so you need not be a bit afraid to put yourself under his protection; and he knows the way so well, that he could go blindfold, having trodden it every day, Sundays excepted, for the last seven years. Then he will carry your load for you, for you seem well-nigh tired,' she feelingly added, and she lifted a stool from the other side of the counter as she spoke.

You are very good ma'am,' was all Ruth could reply, as she sunk exhausted into the offered seat. The benevolent widow now hurried into her little parlour, in which the young man alluded to was sitting, too much absorbed by the perusal of a book to hear what had been passing between his parent and her fair companion. But no sooner was the communication made, than he started upon his feet, and taking his hat from its

accustomed peg, hastened to perform the part of a knight-errant to the distressed maiden. His precipitance was, however, checked by his good mother, who suggested that, on such a damp evening, a greatcoat was necessary, tenderly adding, that as he had suffered severely from a cold last winter, it would be well for him to wear her woollen shawl for a cravat. Andrew Crawford submitted to these precautions with something like impatience, but actually blushed for his appearance on beholding the slightly-clad figure of the frail delicate girl whom he was about to escort, and without uttering a word, he tore the shawl from his throat and wrapped it around her shoulders. Struck by this unlooked-for kindness, as well as by his frank and open countenance, Ruth now unhesitatingly yielded her burden and herself to his protection and guidance. During the period occupied by the walk, the youth drew from his gentle companion an artless recital of the events of her brief life. She and a twin brother, since dead, had, she said, been left orphans in infancy. Her father's relations were persons of property, but as they had refused to render them any pecuniary assistance, they must have been brought up in a workhouse, had not her mother's only surviving kinswoman-her grandaunt - taken the charge upon herself. This dear relative,' she added, worked for us when we were unable to work for ourselves, imparted to us all the knowledge she possessed, and was to us in every respect like a fond mother.' She then proceeded to state that fresh misfortunes had since assailed them; that her brother's long illness had reduced them to a sad condition of poverty; and that her kind friend, now very aged and infirm, had lately been bereft of sight. This circumstance had induced them to come from Sheffield to London, with the hope that the best medical aid, there afforded gratuitously, would effect a cure; but this hope had not been realised. She had, she further said, whilst residing in the country, gained some knowledge of the art of dressmaking, but had not been able to turn it to any account in London, because work in that department of female labour was not generally to be obtained at home, and she would endure any hardships rather than leave her aged and afflicted relative they were, consequently, now residing together in a humble lodging, living on the little she could earn by making shirts for a neighbouring outfitting warehouse.

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'Have you, then, no other friend in this great city?' the young man interrogated, in a tone which betrayed the deep interest he had taken in her simple tale.

'I have no other friend on earth,' she made answer. 'Now my brother is gone, I have no one else to love or to love me.'

'Yours is a sad case,' he added commiseratingly; 'but if you will call again upon my mother, she may be able to recommend you to something better than your present employment, which I fear is but ill paid for.'

'It is indeed,' Ruth replied. 'I labour fifteen hours every day, frequently many more, and after all, can scarcely provide the common necessaries of life. Yet,' she quickly rejoined, I am thankful to get even this, for London is a sad, unsocial, selfish place, and we should otherwise have died for want.'

she bounded up a flight of stone steps into a large but miserable-looking house, which stood at the entrance of the court.

A week elapsed ere the young seamstress completed her task, and proceeded again in the direction of the abode of her new-found friends. Her surprise was only exceeded by her gratitude, on finding that the widow had already interested a benevolent physician in her behalf. This gentleman had engaged to represent her unfortunate situation to some ladies of his acquaintance, who he knew could serve her by finding her better employment.

We will now, with the reader's permission, shift the scene a little, and take a peep into the richly-ornamented drawing-room of Mrs Mapleton, a young lady of fashion, who had recently become a bride. The mistress of the mansion, arrayed in an elegant dishabille, was reclining on one of the sofas. Her companions were her cousins, two ladies who had filled the important office of bridemaids; and a more striking contrast could scarcely be conceived than the trio presented. Miss Bellingdon, the elder of the group, was a beautiful young woman of five-and-twenty, who for the last four years had been sole mistress of an immense fortune. Her bright black eye, and clear brunette complexion, bespoke a character of impassioned energy. Widely removed from these two extremes was the gentle Celia Howard. She possessed neither the insipid beauty of the one, nor the animated charms of the other, but her mild countenance bore the expression of good sense and modesty, which, though exciting less admiration, won for her more really attached friends.

Into this elegant scene a gentleman was introduced. This was Dr Penrose, the benevolent-minded physician who had undertaken to find some remunerative employment for the poor seamstress. Nor was he unsuccessful. His representations greatly affected the ladies; and Miss Bellingdon at once offered to give her some articles of dress to make, which she had in hand. 'Come, doctor, you will escort me in your carriage to the house of the young needlewoman,' gaily added the fair patroness.

Gallantry forbids that I should disregard such a request from a lady,' the doctor returned with a smile; and the fair heiress quitted the room to equip herself for the visit.

'Adelaide is a spoiled child, and must always have her own way,' the bride remarked; and while Miss Bellingdon was employed in searching for the articles she spoke of, Miss Howard took the opportunity of slipping a small donation into the hands of the doctor. 'Will you become my almoner, dear sir?' she quietly said; adding in a still lower key, 'permit me to caution you not to trust wholly to the discretion of my cousin, Miss Bellingdon, with regard to the future movements of your interesting protégée. She is kindly-intentioned, but is apt to imagine that more can be effected by her patronage than experience proves. It is painful to make these remarks,' she hurriedly observed; but I feel it a duty to do so, lest your kind efforts to serve this young woman should be a source of evil instead of benefit.'

The re-entrance of the young heiress prevented the physician's reply, but his countenance expressed all his lips would have uttered.

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Though you have not been so fortunate as to meet with them, London has many charitable people in it, 'Mrs Mapleton is a subscriber to several charitable and is full of benevolent institutions,' the young man institutions, Miss Bellingdon observed, addressing her returned, a little jealous for the credit of his native city. venerable companion as they entered the densely-popuYet,' he musingly added, ‘I know not of any institu-lated neighbourhood in which the home of the young tion for the encouragement of female industry. But you seamstress was situated; and,' she pursued, as she will call on my mother-will you not? I think she can has a great objection to anything like trouble, and be of service to you.' fancies she is too sensitive to come in contact with distress of any kind, she imagines that to be the most efficient way of doing good. For my own part,' she continued, I like to find out worthy objects for private charity, and really feel obliged, Dr Penrose, by your mentioning this poor young creature to me.'

Oh yes, I shall call on her to thank her for her goodness to me this night,' the maiden energetically exclaimed, as with a joyful heart she now recognised the little court which contained her home. A thousand thanks, too, for your kindness, sir,' she hurriedly added, returning the shawl, and taking the parcel from his hands. Good-night;' and as she spoke the last words,

Each in its turn has a claim upon us, my dear Miss Bellingdon,' the doctor made answer.

The interest Dr Penrose had excited in the breast of the fair heiress for Ruth Annesley rather augmented than decreased when that young lady entered her lodging, notwithstanding that she had to climb up three flights of dark and dirty stairs ere her curiosity was gratified. There was to her a charm in novelty which counterbalanced all difficulties, and the very wretchedness of the abode gave it an air of romance which highly delighted her. The little room occupied by the aunt and niece was, however, far from partaking of the character of the other parts of the house; it was meanly furnished and ill-lighted, but there was a certain something which bespoke it the residence of minds of a superior order. The young needlewoman was amazed and almost terrified at the sight of the elegant tissue which was unrolled before her. She was diffident in exercising her skill on such costly materials; and though grateful for the offered aid, would fain have declined it, but her visitor would not hear of a refusal. She was sure, she said, from the excellent fit of her own dress, simple as it was, that she could accomplish it to her satisfaction; and she proceeded to make an appointment for the next morning for her to take her pattern.

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We must transplant that sweet flower to a more genial soil, my good sir,' Miss Bellingdon energetically exclaimed when they re-entered the carriage; she must not be allowed to wither away in this polluted atmosphere. I have already formed a plan for her future support. She must have a well-furnished floor in the western suburbs, and I'll venture to promise her plenty of employment from my friends alone.'

'Your plan is good, my dear Miss Bellingdon,' the doctor returned; but we must not be too sanguine of success. If

'Oh, I will have no buts or ifs,' the lady interposed, 'nor will I allow you to thwart my schemes of benevolence by your prudent precaution. I assure you that I can fully calculate upon success, and I'll take the entire responsibility upon myself.'

If you will do that, my fair friend, I can make no further opposition,' her companion quietly rejoined. The result of the above-related conversation was, that Ruth and her aunt were removed from the obscure garret they had for the last six months inhabited, to a comfortable lodging in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park. Miss Bellingdon found no difficulty in persuading her young protégée to make the exchange; for, trustful and guileless as she was, she never for a moment doubted whether her patroness would fulfil all her engagements. To her it appeared an almost miraculous deliverance from the bitter want she and her beloved relative had so long endured, and her grateful heart beat high with thankfulness to a merciful Providence who had directed her steps in the darkness to the abode of the widow, who had been the primary human instrument in bringing about her present happiness. To her more sage and experienced protectress, however, the scheme did not appear quite so desirable. She was less sanguine than Ruth of the success of her new undertaking, and doubtful of the continuance of Miss Bellingdon's patronage. She had seen too much of life to place implicit reliance in fluency of profession; yet as her niece was full of hope and delight at the proposal, and was, in their present circumstances, wasting her youth by incessant and ill-requited toil, she could not long withhold her consent to the change. Miss Bellingdon was so enraptured with the manner in which Ruth had accomplished the task she had assigned her, that she was more than usually energetic whilst appealing to her fair friends in her behalf. Her affecting relation of the trials the young seamstress had so recently endured drew tears from many a bright eye, and our heroine had not been many days in her new abode, ere she was supplied with more work than she knew how to perform. She thus found herself in such an awkward dilemma, that she was obliged to apply to her patroness for counsel. Oh, you must do it all, my dear; you must not think of such a thing as disobliging any of

your employers,' was that lady's unhesitating reply; and vain were the poor girl's representations that her health was sinking under the effort, which was even greater than that she had made at her former occupation. You have yet to learn,' Miss Bellingdon proceeded, 'that there is nothing about which a lady is so impatient as the fabrication of a new dress. She will bear the loss of a lover with a better grace than a disappointment of that sort; so I tell you, my good girl, that you must get them all done by the time specified by the owners, or you will ruin yourself in the onset.'

And can these ladies be really desirous of serving me in giving me this employment?' Ruth could not help saying to herself; but she dared not ask so rude a question of her noble patroness. With great exertion, accompanied by no small amount of bodily pain, the young needlewoman at length effected the task; but her trials were not over when this was accomplished. One of the ladies who had been so keenly touched by Miss Bellingdon's affecting recital of her sufferings, and who was, to use her own words, 'quite anxious to patronise the poor young thing,' did not scruple to make a bargain by which she was a considerable gainer, excusing her avarice by saying that she could not of course pay a person whom she employed under such circumstances the same as she did one of the fashionable milliners; another thought it an excellent opportunity of getting credit, which had been refused by her late modiste; a third, supposing the obligation she conferred on Ruth by employing her entitled her to dictate even in her domestic affairs, withdrew her patronage on the plea of her base ingratitude, because the poor girl did not think proper to follow her advice in everything; and a fourth-a dashing widow, whom Miss Bellingdon had represented as a very paragon of benevolence-having a favourite notion that the working-classes are incapable of husbanding their earnings, doled out her payments in such small sums, and took up so much time in calls at her mansion in order to receive these sums, that the money was literally twice earned ere it reached the hands of the person who was so unfortunate as to be employed by her. To these were added several ladies who were really desirous of serving her, but who engrossed so much of her attention and time-the young needlewoman's only property-by trivial remarks and minute directions, that little profit could be derived from the work they put into her hands. This latter evil arose from inconsiderateness, not wilful injustice, but it was not the less felt on that account. Thus, though our heroine had no lack of occupation, she was not so amply remunerated as she had been led to expect, and she was still frequently distressed for the means for providing the necessaries of life. The lodgings Miss Bellingdon had engaged for their use were expensive; and notwithstanding the promise that lady had made to Dr Penrose, and that she had more than once intimated to Ruth herself, that she would take the entire responsibility, she never afterwards alluded to the subject.

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The interest which had been excited for Ruth did not flag through the winter months. Many a beautiful lip spoke with seeming sympathy of the fair young seamstress who had fabricated the dress or mantle in which the lovely wearer was arrayed, and they doubtless flattered themselves into the belief that they had been really actuated by benevolence when finding her employment. The London season followed the busy season, as it is emphatically denominated by the west end' milliner and dressmaker-the season when the jaded apprentice and journey woman can get neither necessary bodily exercise by day nor rest by night; and during these months there was still no complaint of want of occupation, whatever there might be of pecuniary embarrassment. But when this season was over, and the metropolis emptied itself of its fashionable inhabitants, that they might seek the sea-side breezes, or ruralise in sylvan vales, the poor young needlewoman's interesting story was regarded as a bygone tale, and

her very name was in most instances forgotten. Miss Bellingdon was not yet among the number who had left town. For some reason she was a lingerer in its almost deserted fashionable places of resort. This reason was certainly not that she might further the interests of her protégée, for a new favourite had taken poor Ruth's place in that fickle young lady's regard. This was a youthful painter, whom she declared to be a second Rubens, and whom she was now using her utmost endeavours to bring into notice.

The sudden desertion of her patronesses, many of whom were in her debt, was not the only trial our heroine had at this time to endure, for she was, in consequence, unable to pay the arrears of rent for their furnished apartments. It was true this did not exceed five pounds, yet it was a larger sum than she would have been able to raise, even by disposing of all her wardrobe. She naturally looked to Miss Bellingdon to assist her at such a juncture, at least by advice; but that lady was now inaccessible to her. She called again and again at her mansion, but always received an answer that she was particularly engaged, or from home. Her situation was rendered more pitiable by the rapidly declining health of Mrs Jones, who stood in greater need than ever of those comforts Ruth had once fondly anticipated being able to provide from the fruits of her exertions. Constant toil and anxiety had blanched her own cheek, and further enfeebled a frame always delicate; but of herself she thought not; all her solicitude was called into exercise for that beloved relative who had been to her as a mother. A circumstance hitherto unmentioned also served to augment our heroine's distress; this was the absence of her humble friends, the Crawfords. An unlooked-for event in their family had caused them, a few weeks previously, to leave London for a residence in a distant part of the country; and as their departure had been somewhat sudden, Ruth was consequently deprived in this exigency of their sympathy and counsel. Her upright mind, however, suggested the most honourable course to be pursued; which was, she thought, for them to leave their little property as a security for their debt, engage a low-rented apartment in the neighbourhood in which they had before resided, and for her to endeavour to procure work from her former employer. This plan met with Mrs Jones's approbation, though it was with a sickening heart that she contemplated the entire blight of her niece's prospects. Ruth's application for the employment which had before yielded her such a miserable pittance was successful, and she recommenced her labours, though with a less hopeful spirit. Had the Crawfords been still in the vicinity, she would have felt her situation to be less lonely; for, to let the reader into a secret unacknowledged even by the parties most concerned, a mutual affection, based on the purest esteem, had sprung up between the young artisan and the orphan girl. Though neither had allowed a word to escape the lips which could express his or her feelings on the subject, there was a firm conviction in the breast of each that the regard was reciprocal, and this thought would sometimes impart a ray of joy to the breast of the maiden in the midst of her deepest distress. So entwined, however, were her tenderest affections around the aged friend with whom she had for so many years shared her griefs and pleasures, that life seemed to offer a blank in the event of her death.

The summer passed, but the young shirt-maker saw nothing of the green fields, of the flowers, and little even of the sun; for her dark attic, with its sloping roof, and narrow window overlooking the back of some smoky dwellings, admitted but few of his beams. She beheld not the golden grain ripe for the sickle, nor the clustering fruits of the autumnal season; and the month with which we commenced our narrative again returned returned with sad forebodings to the sorrow-stricken girl; for the gentle and meek spirit of her aged companion seemed now about to quit its frail tenement for a more congenial and blessed abode. In this exigency

Ruth would have sought the aid of the kind physician who had before taken such a lively interest in their welfare, but she was unacquainted with his place of residence; and all her attempts to see Miss Bellingdon, and to obtain the information from her, had been fruitless. So fearful was Ruth that it might be supposed that she was vaguely soliciting pecuniary aid from the widow Crawford, that she would not, when writing to her, inform her of the extent of her distress.

The dense fog which had shrouded the streets during the day, making it necessary for the tradesman and artisan to use artificial lights even at noon, had given place to a steady continuous rain, when the unhappy girl, thinly clad, and without anything to shield her from the inclemency of the weather, set out with the intention of once more seeking Miss Bellingdon's mansion. The fair heiress was actually her debtor for the last dresses she had made for her; and though it was an unseasonable hour for calling on a lady of fashion on such business, Ruth, urged by despair, had formed the resolution to see her if possible, and even to force herself into her presence should her request be denied. None heeded the young pedestrian as she pursued her hurried course through the crowded streets of business, and she was equally unregarded and uncared for when she entered the aristocratic locality of the west. Her earnest intreaties that the footman would take up her name, received an answer that Miss Bellingdon was dressing for an evening party, and could not be spoken to, but that she would pass through the hall in her way to the carriage, if she chose to wait.

'I will thankfully accept the offer,' Ruth replied; and as she spoke, she seated herself upon one of the chairs. The man had scarcely left the hall, when the light step of the fair heiress was heard descending from her dressing-room. She was giving directions to her lady'smaid as she proceeded, and was too much occupied to notice that any one was below, till she came into contact with the pale, emaciated figure of the young shirtmaker, who sat there shivering in her wet garments. A start of recognition followed.

'Ruth Annesley!' she exclaimed in astonishment.

'Ah, madam, I am indeed that wretched girl,' was the reply; and the tone of anguish in which it was uttered struck like a knell upon the ear of her auditor. 'You look ill, child; what could bring you out on such a night?'

'Despair has driven me from my home to seek you, madam; for I know not but that, on my return, I may find my only earthly friend a corpse.'

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Miss Bellingdon shuddered. Is your aunt so much worse then?' she interrogated. Why did you not let me know this before?'

'I have sought you many times, madam, and sent you my little account, but all my appeals have been disregarded,' Ruth made answer.

"The fault then rests with my servants,' Miss Bellingdon interposed, whilst the flush upon her already rouged cheek revealed that she was giving utterance to falsehood. 'Don't be cast down, however,' she soothingly added. I will attend to the matter to-morrow; meanwhile, take this trifle, and get your poor aunt something to do her good. Call in a surgeon likewise, and I will pay his bill whatever it may be.'

Ruth looked in the face of her late patroness. 'Madam,' she said, 'you engaged to pay for our lodgings at Kensington; but I was obliged to deprive my dear aunt of necessaries in order to raise it myself, and finally to leave our little all as a security for the debt. I accept of this,' she added, taking the offered coin, for it is justly my due; but I ask for nothing more than justice at your hands. This dress,' she pursued, taking up the skirt of a beautiful silvered muslin tunic in which the fair heiress was arrayed-' this very dress cost me a night and a day of unrequited labour. Could you wear it in the gay ball-room, and not think of one of your own sex whom your inconsiderateness, not to say injustice, has brought to the borders of the grave?'

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