“Cast thy Bread upon the Waters; thou shalt find it after many days.”

“Why, Willie, what is the matter?” inquired Edward Langley, entering his father’s office one evening after business hours, and finding its sole tenant, a boy of fourteen or fifteen, leaning both arms on one of the high desks, and hiding his face within them, whilst his slight figure shook with uncontrollable sobs. “And how came that drawer open?” he continued, more sternly, perceiving a bureau drawer half open, so as to display its glittering contents, which looked disturbed. “I hope you have not been doing anything wrong, Willie.”

“Oh, sir, indeed—indeed I have not! Count the money, Mr. Edward; pray count it; see that it is all right, or I can never hold up my head again. The temptation was misery enough,” returned the boy, as well as his sobs would permit, and displaying such a countenance of suffering, as to enlist all Edward’s sympathy at once.

“But, my good boy, what could have tempted you? You seem so to feel the enormity of the sin, that I cannot imagine what thought came into your head.”

“I only thought of my poor father, sir. Oh, Mr. Edward, he is in prison, and my mother is too ill to work; and she and my poor little sisters are starving,” he replied, bursting again into tears. “I did not know what to do to help them; I give them all I earn, but that is so very little it only gives them a meal now and then; and then, when I saw that drawer accidently left open, and remembered twelve pounds, only twelve pounds, would get my father out of prison, and he could work for us again, the horrid thought came into my head to take them: they would never be missed out of so many; and I had them in my hand. But then I thought what could I tell them at home? It would break my poor mother’s heart to think her Willie was dishonest; she could better bear hunger and grief than that, sir; and I knew I could not hide it from her; and so I dashed them back! They seemed to scorch me! Oh, Mr. Edward, indeed, indeed I speak the truth!”

Edward did believe him, and he told him so. There was little need to speak harshly; the boy’s own conscience had been his judge. To satisfy him, however, he counted the money, found it correct, and after talking to him a little while, kindly yet impressively, promised to do what he could for his father, and left him, indelibly impressing that evening upon Willie’s mind, by never reverting to it again.

The tale, which his inquiries elicited, was a very common one. Willie’s father had been an artificer in one of the manufacturing towns; but too eager for advancement, he imprudently threw up his situation and tried independent business. Matters grew worse and worse; his family increased and his means diminished. Hearing of an excellent opening at New York, for an artificer like himself, he worked day and night to obtain sufficient means to transport himself and family across the Atlantic, and support them till a business could be established. His wife ably aided him, when unhappily he was tempted to embark all his little savings in one of the bubbles of the day, which he was confidently assured would be so successful as to permit his embarking for America at once, and so seize the opening offered. Few speculators had, perhaps, a better excuse; but fortune did not favour him more than others; it failed, and he was ruined. Three months afterwards he was thrown into prison for the only debt he had ever incurred, and though he had friends to persuade him to his ruin, he had none to liquidate his debt. His wife’s health, already overworked, sunk under privation and sorrow; and though she toiled even from her fevered pallet, her feeble earnings were not sufficient to give her children bread.

Edward Langley was a creature of impulse; but in him impulse was the offspring of high principle, and, therefore, though the following it often caused him unlooked-for annoyance, it never led him wrong; and Willie’s tale called forth sympathies impossible to be withstood.

“Edward,” said one of his numerous sisters one evening, about three weeks afterwards, as they were sitting at tea—a meal which, bringing them all together, was universally enjoyed, “what have you done with grandpapa’s birthday present? You were to do so many things with that money; and I have not heard you speak of it since my return.”

“Because wonderful things have occurred since you left, Fanny,” said another slily. “He is going to accompany Mr. Morison’s family to Italy and Paris; and bring us such splendid presents. His fair Julia cannot go without him, and he has promised to join them.”

“Wrong, Miss Ellen, I am not going,” was the reply, with rather more brusquerie than usual.

“Why, have you quarrelled?”

“Not exactly.”

“But she will be offended, Ned; I am sure I should be.”

“No, you would not, Annie, if you knew my reasons.”

“What are they, Edward, dear? Do tell me, I am so curious.”

“Of course, or you would not be a woman!”

Against this all his sisters expostulated at once; and even his mother expressed curiosity, adding, that he had talked of this continental trip so long, and with so much glee, it must be a disappointment to give it up.

“It is; but I do not regret it.”

“But you must have a reason.”

“The very best of all reasons; I cannot afford it.”

“Come to me for the needful, Edward,” said his father. “I cannot give you luxuries; but this is for your improvement.”

“Thank you most heartily, my dear father, but I am, rather I was, richer than any of you know. I earned so much for my last engraving.”

“And you never told us,” said his mother and sisters, reproachfully.

“I did not, because it was already appropriated. I wanted exactly that sum to add to my grandfather’s gift; and that was what I worked so hard for.”

“To purchase some bridal gift,” said Fanny, archly.

“No, Fan, I never mean to purchase love.”

“But if the lady requires to be so conciliated?”

“Then she is not worth having.”

“Of course not,” rejoined Annie. “But come, Edward, you have never kept anything from us before. What is this mystery?”

“Out with it,” laughingly pursued Ellen. “Julia Morison will not thank you for preferring anything to accompanying her, I can tell you; so, as Annie says, what is this mystery?”

“No mystery at all, girls. You will all be disappointed when I tell you; so you had better let it alone.”

But beset on all sides, even by his father and mother, Edward told the simple truth, which our readers no doubt have already guessed. His money had been applied in releasing Willie’s father from prison; restoring his mother to health, by giving her and her children nourishing food, securing a passage for them all to New York, and investing the trifling surplus for their use on their arrival. He told his tale hurriedly, as if he feared to be accused of folly, and his father did somewhat blame him. He was provoked that the little scheme of pleasure and improvement, which Edward had anticipated so many weeks, should be frustrated; and annoyed that he should be disappointed, though the disappointment was perfectly voluntary. How could he tell that the man’s story was true? How was he sure the money would produce the good effect he hoped? He must say he thought it a pity, a very great pity; a visit to Paris would be so improving; Mr. Morison’s family such a desirable connection—and other regrets, which, without being a very worldly parent, were not perhaps unnatural.

“My dear father,” was Edward’s earnest and affectionate rejoinder, “do not be vexed for my sake. A visit to the Continent would no doubt have been improving; but I will work doubly hard in dear old England, and that, though it may not be as much pleasure, will be just as serviceable. With regard to Miss Morison,” his cheek slightly flushed, “if her affections are only to be secured by being constantly at her side, and always playing the lover, there could be no happiness in a nearer connection for either. A separation for three or four months can surely have no effect on real regard, and I am quite willing to subject both myself and Julia to the ordeal. As to not being sure of doing the good I hope—who can be? I do believe that poor fellow’s story, I confess, and strongly believe he will do well; but I do not mean to give the subject another thought, except to work the harder. The money is as much gone as freely given, and I expect as little reward as if I had thrown it on the waters—”

“Where thou shall find it after many days,” continued his mother, so affectionately and approvingly, that Edward threw his arm round her and kissed her tenderly. “You have done right, my dear boy; and if Julia Morison does not think so, she is not worthy of your love.”

How quick is woman’s, above all, a mother’s penetration. From the first allusion to Miss Morison in the preceding conversation, she knew that something had occurred between them to annoy, if it did not wound her son; and the moment she heard the story she guessed the actual fact. Perhaps her penetration in this instance was aided by previous observation. She had never liked Miss Morison, desirable as from worldly motives the connection might be. Edward, youth-like, had been captivated by her beauty and vivacity, and gratified by her very marked preference for himself. His complete unconsciousness that he really was the handsomest and most engaging young man of the town of L——, by depriving him of all conceit, increased Miss Julia’s fascination. Mr. Morison was member for the county, and had made himself universally popular; and certainly took marked notice of Edward. The good people of L—— were too simple-minded to discover that their member’s attractions were merely graces of manner; and that he noticed Edward only because he was perfectly secure that his daughter would never do such a foolish thing as to promise her hand to the son of a country attorney, however agreeable he might be.

Edward’s wish to accompany them to the Continent met with decided approval. Mr. Morison thought the young man would save him a great deal of trouble, as a kind of gentleman valet, without a salary; and Miss Julia was delighted at this unequivocal proof of his devotion, and at the amusement she promised herself in playing off her country beau on the Continent, his simplicity being the shield to cover her man?uvres; besides, he would be such an excellent pis aller, that she need never be without a worshipper.

That such a person could appreciate Edward’s real character, or enter into his motives for, and his disappointment in, not accompanying her, was impossible. For regret, even for anger, he had prepared himself, nay, might have been disappointed had she evinced no emotion; but for the cold sneer, first of doubt, then of unequivocal contempt, which was her sole rejoinder to his agitated confession, he was not prepared, and it chilled his very heart. Still he tried to deceive himself, and believe that all she said of benevolence, disinterestedness, and a long et-cetera, was the sympathy he yearned for; but the tone and manner with which she informed her father in his presence of his change of purpose, and its praiseworthy cause, could not, even by a lover more infatuated than Edward, have been misunderstood; his spirit rose, and with it his self-respect. He said very little, but that little convinced both Julia and her father that he was not quite the simpleton which they had supposed him.

He left them, wounded to the core; to his warm, generous nature, worldliness was abhorrent even in a man, and in a woman it seemed to him something so unnatural, so revolting, that it dispersed at once the bright creation of his enthusiastic fancy, and displayed Miss Morison almost in her true character.

Still, notwithstanding all this pain and disappointment, Edward never once regretted the impulse he had followed; and when, about six or seven months afterwards, he received the most grateful letters from Willie and his father, informing him that the opening offered, though attended with many difficulties, promised fair, he felt the sacrifice was more than recompensed, and from that hour never thought of it himself again. But his assertion, that he would work the harder to make up for those continental advantages which he had lost, was no idle boast; he did so well, that even his father forgot his vexation; and his industry united with great personal economy, enabled him to give his sisters richer and more useful presents than the bijouterie which he had laughingly promised to bring them from France.

The marriage of Miss Julia Morison with some foreign Count, before six months elapsed, had happily no effect on Edward’s equanimity; it might, nay, it did cause a transient pang, but he recovered it much sooner than his father did the loss of so desirable a connection.

“Never mind it, sir,” was Edward’s laughing entreaty; “I would rather earn my own independence, and make a connection through my own exertions than by the richest marriage I could make.”

“That’s just like your mother, boy,” said his father, somewhat pettishly, “as if all depended on one’s self.”

“Thank you for the likeness, father. When I can bring you a daughter to be to me what my mother is to you, I shall have formed a desirable connection, though my wife be not set in gold.”

And this even his father acknowledged, when, two years afterwards, Edward married the daughter of their vicar, who proved in his own person that influence is not always inseparable from wealth, but may be found with worth as well. Time rolled on; twenty, thirty years. In the multitude of great and trifling events, which make up the sum of human life, during those years Edward Langley had so entirely forgotten the generous deed of his early youth, that he would have found it difficult to recall even the name of Willie’s parents. His perseverance and talent had been crowned with such success, that when only eight-and-twenty he was taken into partnership by one of the first engravers of the metropolis. For twenty more years the business so flourished as to make all the principals very wealthy men; and Edward looked forward in two or three more years to resign in favour of his son and retire himself from active business. He had never been ambitious, and a series of domestic trials in the loss of six children out of nine, all of that most interesting age when childhood is giving place to youth, caused him to turn with clinging love to those who remained, longing more to enjoy an Englishman’s home than to continue amassing wealth.

Greatly against his wishes and advice, engagements and speculations had been entered into by the firm to an immense extent, more especially with establishments abroad. The dishonesty of distant agents, and the careless supineness, if not equal dishonour, of one of the principals at home, occasioned ruin to all, of course including Langley, though he had been most unjustifiably kept in ignorance of the real extent of their speculating schemes. Yet his high integrity enabled him to bear up against this sudden change of circumstances with more fortitude than any of his companions.

His wife’s little property had never been touched, and he was therefore enabled to retire to a very small cottage in Cheshire, which soon displayed the refined taste and artistic skill of its gentle-minded inmates, to an extent that completely concealed their very humble means. Not that they were ashamed of their poverty; but the same self-respect that prompted their horror of all pretension, and resolution to live strictly within their means, threw a comfort and refinement around and within their lowly home, which the wealthiest might have envied.

For himself, Edward Langley would have been as happy as in the height of his prosperity; but he could not help feeling a very pardonable pang at this sad change in the prospects of his children. His son, emulating his firmness, sought and obtained an excellent situation in a thriving engraving establishment in Edinburgh, where his father’s name and character spoke for him more forcibly than the highest premium. It was on Helen Langley the blow had fallen heaviest; the only one of his daughters who had reached the age of nineteen (for Fanny was still a child), frail, delicate in seeming as a beautiful flower. She had been nursed in luxury and affection, and guarded from even the approach of a storm; the deserved darling of all who knew her, rich and poor, her parents’ love for her amounted almost to idolatry. Engaged to the son of one of her father’s partners, then studying as a physician, a bright and happy future shone before them, when the thunderbolt fell before either had seen a cloud. George Ashley was summoned from Paris just as his diploma was obtained, and he was weaving fairy dreams of a speedy union with his Helen; recalled, not as he believed, still to study and gradually attain eminence, but to give up all ambitious dreams, and work as a general practitioner for actual subsistence. To marry before he had even the prospect of a connection and employment was absolute madness; to live any distance from Helen he felt was quite as impossible; so he settled himself in the old town of Chester, about three miles from her home, and for her sake exerted himself more than he had once believed was in his nature. At first, youth and excitement beheld only the brighter side; but after six months’ trial, so endless and little remunerating seemed his toil, that he sunk into the deepest despondency, which neither Mr. and Mrs. Langley’s kind advice, nor Helen’s sweet counsels could remove.

Fearfully would Mr. Langley look on his darling, dreading that this constant pressure of anxiety and suspense would be as fatal to her as disease had been to her sisters; but though more serious than had been her disposition before, it was not the seriousness of gloom, but rather of a firm yet gentle spirit, forming internally some resolution which required thought and time for development. Her smile was as joyous, her voice as gleeful, as in happier years; her pursuits continued with the same zeal, if not with deeper earnestness. To persuade her to annul her engagement never entered either parent’s mind, but the long vista of dreary years which they believed must intervene ere it could be fulfilled, was literally their only thought of anxious and unmitigated gloom.

“Give me up, Helen! I have no right to............