ith Amelia and her
boy. Consequently one day her chariot drove up to Amelia's house, and
the Bullock family made an irruption into the garden, where Amelia
was reading.

Jos was in an arbour, placidly dipping strawberries into wine, and the
Major was giving a back to George, who chose to jump over him. He went
over his head, and bounded into the little group of Bullocks, with
immense black bows on their hats, and huge black sashes, accompanying
their mourning mamma.

"He is just the age for Rosa," the fond parent thought, and glanced
towards that dear child, a little miss of seven years. "Rosa, go and kiss
your dear cousin," added Mrs. Bullock. "Don't you know me, George? I am
your aunt."

"I know you well enough," George said; "but I don't like kissing,
please," and he retreated from the obedient caresses of his cousin.

"Take me to your dear mamma, you droll child," Mrs. Bullock said; and
those ladies met, after an absence of more than fifteen years. During
Emmy's poverty Mrs. Bullock had never thought about coming to see her;
but now that she was decently prosperous in the world, her sister-in-law
came to her as a matter of course.

So did many others. In fact, before the period of grief for Mr. Osborne's
death had subsided, Emmy, had she wished, could have become a leader in
fashionable society. But that was not her desire: worn out with the long
period of poverty, care, and separation from George, her one wish was a
change of scene and thought.

Because of this wish, some time later, on a fine morning, when the
Batavier steamboat was about to leave its dock, we see among the
carriages being taken on, a very neat, handsome travelling carriage, from
which a courier, Kirsch by name, got out and informed inquirers that the
carriage belonged to an enormously rich Nabob from Calcutta and Jamaica,
with whom he was engaged to travel. At this moment a young gentleman who
had been warned off the bridge between the paddle-boxes, and who had
dropped thence onto the roof of Lord Methusala's carriage, from which he
made his way over other carriages until he had clambered onto his own,
descended thence and through the window into the body of the carriage to
the applause of the couriers looking on.

"_Nous allons avoir une belle traversee_, Monsieur George," said Kirsch
with a grin, as he lifted his gold laced cap.

"Bother your French!" said the young gentleman.

"Where's the biscuits, ay?" Whereupon Kirsch answered hi