words, or of some excursion at home which they had
planned together; would recur to him and overcome him. "I doubt, madam,"
whispered the chaplain, demurely, to Madame Bernstein, after one of
these bursts of sorrow, "whether some folks in England would suffer
quite so much at the death of their elder brother."

But, of course, this sorrow was not to be perpetual; and we can fancy
Mr. Warrington setting out on his London journey eagerly enough, and
very gay and happy, if it must be owned, to be rid of his elderly
attachment. Yes. There was no help for it. At Castlewood, on one unlucky
evening, he had made an offer of his heart and himself to his mature
cousin, and she had accepted the foolish lad's offer. But the marriage
now was out of the question. He must consult his mother. She was the
mistress for life of the Virginian property. Of course she would refuse
her consent to such a union. The thought of it was deferred to a late
period. Meanwhile, it hung like a weight round the young man's neck, and
caused him no small remorse and disquiet.

No wonder that his spirits rose more gaily as he came near London, and
that he looked with delight from his postchaise windows upon the city
as he advanced towards it. No highwayman stopped our traveller on
Blackheath. Yonder are the gleaming domes of Greenwich, canopied with
woods. There is the famous Thames, with its countless shipping; there
actually is the Tower of London. "Look, Gumbo! There is the Tower!"
"Yes, master," says Gumbo, who has never heard of the Tower; but Harry
has, and remembers how he has read about it in Howell's Medulla, and how
he and his brother used to play at the Tower, and he thinks with delight
now, how he is actually going to see the armour and the jewels and the
lions. They pass through Southwark and over that famous London Bridge,
which was all covered with houses like a street two years ago. Now there
is only a single gate left, and that is coming down. Then the chaise
rolls through the city; and, "Look, Gumbo, that is Saint Paul's!" "Yes,
master; Saint Paul's," says Gumbo, obsequiously, but little struck by
the beauties of the architecture. And so by the well-known course we
reach the Temple, and Gumbo and his master look up with awe at the rebel
heads on Temple Bar.

The chaise drives to Mr. Draper's chambers in Middle Temple Lane, where
Harry handed the precious box over to Mr. Draper, and a letter from
his aunt, which the gentleman read with