all the morning in his counting-room with his elder partner, Norton. Their accounts stood fairly, and showed a prosperous business and great increase of profits. The old man did not seem at all animated by this happy state of things. He was absent and thoughtful, and nothing roused him. till Mr. Barclay said, "I do not believe you will ever regret taking my advice and putting Harry into the printing-office."

"Never, never," repeated Norton emphatically. "I should not be surprised," continued Mr. Barclay, "if he were in the end richer than his brother, and I am sure he will not be less happy, nor less respectable."

A half-suppressed groan escaped Norton. "You are not well, sir?"

No, I am not well, -I have not been well

for a long time,

- I never expect to be again." "O, sir, you are needlessly alarmed." 'No, no; I am not alarmed,

about my health."

not alarmed

"You have worked too hard this morning. You will feel better for the fresh air; I will walk home with you."

The fresh air did not minister to the mind diseased. Norton's depression continued during the walk. He said little, and that little in broken sentences, in praise of his son Harry. "He is an honest boy, Barclay,-good principles, - good habits, Cowes them all to you, - he'll be able to shift for himself, if he's a good boy, Barcay. When they reached Norton's fine residence in Hudson Square, his daughter Emily, a child of

eleven or twelve, met them at the door, exclaiming, "O, papa, the men have hung the lamps, and brought the flowers, and the rooms look beautifully!"

In her eagerness she did not at first give any heed to Mr. Barclay's presence; but when she did, she nodded to him, stammered through the last half of her sentence, turned on her heel, and briskly ran through the entry and up stairs. Norton was roused, his energy was excited by what he deemed a necessary exertion, and he begged Mr. Barclay to enter, saying he had a word to say to him in private. Mr. Barclay followed him into one of his two fine drawing-rooms; the foldingdoors were open, and both were furnished in a style that becomes the houses of our wealthiest merchants. The apartments were obviously in preparation for a party, The servants were going to and fro with the most bustling and important air. Norton looked round with a melancholy gaze, and then asked Mr. Barclay to follow him to a small breakfasting-room. He shut the door, and, after a little moving of the chairs and hemming, he said, "We are to have a great party this evening, Barclay."

"So I perceive, sir.

"It is a party that John's wife gives for Emily." "Indeed!

"It an't my fault, Barclay, nor Harry's,Heaven knows; nor can it be called Em's, poor child! these foolish notions are put in her head; but it is John's wife's fault, and John's too, I must own, that your folks are not asked."

"My dear sir, do not give yourself a moment's uneasiness about it. It would be no kindness to my family to invite them; they know none of Mrs. John Norton's friends, and these fine parties are not at all in our way."

"It is the better for you, ly, I see it too late."

- it is all cursed fol

Mr. Barclay responded mentally and most heartily, "Amen," and was going away, when Norton laid his hand on his arm, saying, "Don't blame Harry; he is good and true, - he is your own boy, you've made him all he is; don't blame him."

-

"I assure you I blame no one, my good friend," said Mr. Barclay, and hurried home, thinking a great deal of Norton's dejection, but not again of the party, till, in the evening, Harry Norton joined his family circle as usual, and stayed till bed-time; but was not, as usual, cheerful and sociable.

The elder Norton was an uneducated man. He spent all his early life in toiling in a lean business, and accumulating in consequence of his very frugal house-keeping, his small gains. When Mr. Barclay threw his talent into the concern, it at once became thriving; and when John Norton, whose education his ignorant father had been quite incapable of directing, was of a marriageable age, he was reputed the son of a rich man. Being ambitious of a fashionable currency, he succeeded in marrying a poor stylish girl, who immediately introduced her notions of high life. into her father-in-law's house, and easily induced

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the weak old man to fall into her plan of setting up a genteel establishment, and living fashionably; weakly imitating" (as has been pithily said) "what is weakest abroad.". Old Norton had but three children; two by a second marriage. Harry was in firm hands, and easily managed, but poor little Emily was removed from all her old associates, sent to a French school, and fairly inducted into a genteel circle.

The party was over, and a beautiful Christmas morning followed. Mrs. Barclay was in her nursery and Mr. Barclay still in his room, where he had already received the greetings of his children as they passed down stairs; "A merry Christmas, father!" and "The next at Greenbrook, and O how merry it will be!"

46

Another and hurried tap at the door, and May I come in, sir?"

Yes, Harry, come in. Mercy on us! what is the matter, my boy?

Harry Norton was pale and breathless; he burst into tears, and almost choking, exclaimed, "John has killed himself!

وو

"Your brother! - John! -God forbid!"

"Indeed he has, sir, and that is not the worst of it."

"What can there be worse?"

'O, Mr. Barclay!" replied the poor lad, covering his burning cheeks with both hands, "I cannot bear to tell."

What Harry in a broken voice, and tears poured out like rain for the shame of another, told, was briefly as follows. John, without education for

business and without any capital of his own, had engaged largely in mercantile concerns, and had plunged deeply into that species of gaming called speculation. His affairs took a disastrous turn, and after his credit was exhausted, his paper was accepted by virtue of the endorsement of Norton and Co., which he obtained from his weak father without the concurrence or knowledge of Mr. Barclay. A crisis came. The old man refused any farther assistance. John committed a fraud, and, when soon after he perceived that detection and ruin were inevitable, he resolved on self-murder. He spent a hour or two at his wife's Christmas-eve party, talked and laughed louder than any body else, drank immeasurably of champagne, and retired to the City Hotel to finish the tragedy by the last horrid act. Thus, poor wretch, did he shrink from the eye of man, to rush into His presence, with whom the great account of an outraged nature and a mispent life was to be settled.

His family were roused from their beds to hear the horrible news. The old man's health had long been undermined in consequence of his anxiety about his son's affairs, and the reproaches of his conscience for the secret wrong he had done his partner. The shock was too much for him. It brought on nervous convulsions. At the first interval of reason he sent for Mr. Barclay. Mr. Barclay hastened to him with poor Harry, who looked more like the guilty, than like the innocent victim of the guilt of another.