ey meet the blue orbs so fondly fastened upon
him, for his thoughts are upon the gentle and confiding embrace that was
once his. Woe unto you, Mrs. Kinalden! If there were a single
impregnable spot in the good man's bosom, that tear would never have
found its birth.

Puss, awakened by the heavy foot-falls, leaps about her master's legs,
and gives a spring into his narrow lap, as he takes his chair,
maintaining her precarious position by fastening her claws tightly in
his broadcloth, to the no small danger of the limbs beneath, and purrs
her perfect satisfaction. Oh! it's a good thing to get home! There's not
so comfortable a place on the face of the earth, as the spot we call our
own, with the objects that meet our daily touch strewn all about in
their accustomed places. It's a pleasant thing to go out into the wide
world too, and gather up a noble stock of incidents and experience, and
thoughts, to expand the ideas that get pent-up and contracted by a
narrow and confined position; but it is far better to turn about with
one's face toward the dearer haunts and the best loved friends, and the
familiar pleasures!

So thought the weary old man, as he sat in his big arm-chair, while his
vision roved from one thing to another in his cosey room, and the warm
breath of his favorite puss touched his hand.

It was all like a dream to him--the path he had trodden upon the deep,
and the wanderings amid tropical scenes, and the transition from place
to place within the last few months! He arose and looked into the garden
below. When he had left, a white covering was spread over every thing
and the sun's rays fell coldly upon snow and ice. Now there was fresh
foliage upon trees and shrubs, and the perfume from newly-blown roses
came up to greet his willing senses, and the little girls were playing
under the thick shade. They looked up with a merry shout, as a shower of
bon-bons fell upon their heads, and clapped their hands for very
rapture, as the happy face peered out upon them through the half-closed
blinds.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Captain Flin and his wife are coming down the street in full gala
attire. The pipe has vanished, but the card-case is still conspicuous
amid the folds of a stiffly-starched embroidered handkerchief. They have
been to see the Airlys, and have posted themselves up in all their
affairs, and they are now _en route_ to return the numerous visits that
have been paid to their new house and furniture. If