16 A TALE OF SORROW. 



The sprinkling of romance which was once scattered over 

 the surface of our character, has longago (like the painted 

 dust from off the wings of a chased butterfly) been brushed 

 away by the world's rude collision. Nor indeed seems there a 

 shadow of romance in the meeting above described between 

 two elderly gentlemen yet as we walked homewards, enjoy- 

 ing the sweetness of the freshened evening air, we almost felt as 

 if we had met with an adventure of which the denouement was 

 yet to come. Even as we turned restlessly upon our pillow, 

 floating visions of gigantic Lady-birds in gold frames, and 

 diminutive ladies in glass cases swam before our drowsy optics. 

 Our first morning thoughts turned also upon our friend of 

 yesterday. He was no entomologist, he was not in his second 

 childhood (with the obsolete satirists of the last century, two 

 states of being almost synonymous) and yet he kept a cage 

 of Lady -birds. Were we destined ever to fathom this pro- 

 found mystery ? We were. 



Our first visit to Providence Cottage led to many more, in 

 the course of which the old gentleman opened to us much of 

 his heart and history. He related to us, by snatches, a com- 

 mon tale. He told us of losses in trade loss of health 

 loss of an affectionate devoted wife, one who for love of him 

 had left a higher station, and never by look, word, or deed 

 reminded him of the sacrifice. But chiefly did he speak of one 

 beloved child who, when wealth and health and wife were gone, 

 stoo him for a while instead of all. Of this child only, 



