ing. Then he died (and she drew a lace handkerchief from
her reticule, and pressing it to her eyes sighed deeply). Alas! Yes,
Emil passed from me and is now, I trust, in heaven. He left me a
mountain of debts and one son, Bertrand, a good child, as good as
gold, very thoughtful and obedient. May I call him in? He awaits your
permission without."

I replied, "Certainly," and stepping to the door she called,
"Bertrand! Bertrand! my child, come here, and speak to the
gentleman."

I expected to see a boy of five or six years, wearing curls, in short
trousers, a beaded jacket and fancy cap, whom I would take on my
knee, toy with his curls, ask his name and age and give him a
"bit" with which to stuff his youthful stomach with indigestible
sweetmeats. Judge my surprise when, preceded by the noise of a heavy
tread, a huge youth of about seventeen, bigger and taller than
myself, and smoking a cigar, appeared at the opening, and in a deep,
gruff voice that a sea captain or a militia commander would have
envied, asked:

"Did you call, mamma?"

"Yes, my dear child," she sweetly responded; "I wish to introduce you
to this gentleman."

The "child" removed his hat, and I noticed that his hair was cut
close to the scalp. Having been duly introduced at my request he sat
down in my chair while I took a seat on the edge of the editorial
table, which was very rickety and would scarcely bear my weight at
the present day.

The parent gazed at her son fondly for a moment and then proceeded:

"Bertrand's fortune was swallowed up in the quartz wreck; but he is
very sweet and very patient, and never complains. Poor lad! It was
hard upon him, but he forgives all--do you not, dear?"

"Yes," rumbled the "child" from the pit of his stomach; but the
expression that flitted across his visage made me think that he would
rather have said "No," had he dared.

"That being the case I will now explain the object of my visit. As I
have said, we have lost everything--that is to say, our income is so
greatly reduced that it is now a matter of not more than $1,000 a
month. Upon that meagre sum my dear boy and I contrive to get along
by practising the strictest economy consistent with our position in
life. Naturally we wish to do better, and then go back to Russia
and live with the nobility. Do we not, Bertrand?"

"Yes," rumbled the "child" from his stomach again, as he lighted a
fresh cigar.

"Well, now, Mr. H.," the lady went on, "I want an ad