be such a sadly nervous, sensitive creature as I
am, naturally incapacitated me from writing
with any self-command. But Malachi thinks
that my nerves are now sufficiently strung up
(by means of powerful tonics and generous
living) to attempt the task. In the present
state of sorrow and distress that you are all in,
of course it was to be expected that you should
be a little inclined to put me in the background,
and to exhibit a very excusable selfishness in
the proposition, which you make as coming
from mamma, that we should return to England
immediately. For myself (although I know I
could be of no use to you, and, perhaps, on the
contrary, shall cast on you the burthen of an
invalid, for I do not think my health would
stand a return to Bramley Manor under the
present circumstances),—for myself, I say, I
would hasten homeward without an hour's
delay. But Malachi is, I assure you, very
delicate. His little troublesome cough that
you always persisted in saying was a nervous
trick, but which I, alas! fear is indicative of
constitutional weakness of the chest, requires a
southern winter. You know, Penelope, my first
duty is now to my husband. And how do you
think we should bear to take possession of our
new house close to Eastfield, just at this
moment, when all the country is ringing with this
terrible calamity that has befallen us? And
Eastfield is so close to Hammerham, that we
should be in the very focus of it all. Even
here we are not safe. I took up the Galignani
yesterday for half an hour, thinking to distract
my thoughts a little, for they all tell me that
the complete dulness consequent on our present
necessary seclusion is highly injurious to me,
when my eye lighted on a circumstantial account
of the great failure of Gandry and Charlewood,
with other details still more dreadful. I threw
the horrid paper from me as if it had been a
scorpion, and I had a fit of hysterics that lasted three-
quarters of an hour. But, as I said, I don't
blame you for not thinking of all these things.

"Malachi is the soul of generosity. Some
men, in the natural disappointment of finding
the woman they had married but half as rich as
they had hoped, would visit some of their
chagrin upon her. He, on the contrary, spares no
endeavour to soothe my feelings. He sends his
tenderest condolences to you all, and trusts that
you are endeavouring to profit by these severe
chastenings, and to turn your eyes from earthly
matters to the only true source of comfort and
consolation. If there is a sale of the furniture
(how things can have reached such a pass is, I
confess, a mystery to me; but, of course,
Clement has managed for the best), I should like
to have that little inlaid cabinet that stood in
my dressing-room, and the Gobelin fire-screen.
Malachi would wish them to be bought in, and
will pay Clement whatever price may be agreed
upon. We expect to be in England in the
spring, and then Malachi joins me in hoping
that mamma will come and stay with us for a
time. Or you; or, indeed, both of you if we
find it possible to accommodate you together.
Ah, my dear Penelope, if you could see the
shocking idolatrous mummeries that go on here,
you would shrink from your high-churchism in
alarm to see whither it leads. I do wish that
you would cultivate a more evangelical tone of
mind. Let me know what is decided upon for
Clement and Walter. Poor Watty, it will come
terribly hard upon him; he was getting into
such excellent society. And Clement never had
any taste for that sort of thing, had he? Now,
my dear Penny, I have tired myself and must
cease; although I could go on expatiating on
our great affliction much longer, if physical
weakness permitted the effort. I send my
fondest love to all. I hope you take every care
of mamma: would that I could be with her!
But, alas! the duty of a married woman to her
husband is paramount. May Providence guide
you all, and comfort you!
                          "I am ever,
                               "Your affectionate sister,
                                     "AUGUSTA DAWSON."

Penelope Charlewood read this epistle from
beginning to end, in silence; gave it to her
mother, who also read it in silence; and then,
taking it back, Penelope twisted it neatly and
firmly into a tight roll, to which she set fire and
held it until the flame scorched her fingers.
Then she threw the ashes down and set her heel
on them with a rigid, unmoved face.

                        LETTER II.

              From Miss Fluke, Hammerham, to
                        Mrs. Dawson, Dublin.
                            "Hammerham, Dec. 14th, 18—.

"My dear Mrs. Dawson. In reply to your
letter of the 9th instant, I sit down to give you
all the information in my power. Believe me,
my dear friend, that I sincerely sympathise with
you and with your son, the Reverend Malachi, in
this trial. I am sure that we should cordially
agree in doctrine, and I regretted much that I
had not an opportunity of becoming more
closely knit with you in the bonds of Christian
fellowship. Papa was well pleased witli the
Reverend Malachi's views, and found him
extremely sound. Would that I could say the
same of all our afflicted friends! But, alas! my
friend, error is rampant among us (see
Ephesians, vi. 12). However, I proceed to relate to
you what I have been able to glean by diligent
inquiry, in accordance with your request. You
ask if the failure of G. and C. is so total and
hopeless as the world reports? Yes; I am led
to believe that but a very small matter can be
snatched from the jaws—if I may so express
myself of the creditors. This may well
surprise you, as it does me. But I fear, I greatly
fear, that much wild speculation and extravagance
was going on for some time. To whom
to impute the blame, if blame there be, I know
not. There is much and sore trouble in
Hammerham consequent upon B. and B. having
stopped payment, which, indeed, they say was
the immediate cause of the catastrophe of G.
and C. Papa has himself been a loser to the
extent of fifty-seven pounds ten shillings and
sixpence in consequence of the panic, which
caused a run upon a local savings-bank, of