nsuspicious of deception. The cast in the eyes, as well as
a general resemblance of features, also of course greatly aided the
imposture.

Of Mrs. Rosamond Allerton, I have only to say, for it is all I know, that
she is rich, unwedded, and still splendidly beautiful, though of course
somewhat _passe_ compared with herself twenty years since. Happy, too, I
have no doubt she is, judging from the placid brightness of her aspect
the last time I saw her beneath the transept of the Crystal Palace, on
the occasion of its opening by the Queen. I remember wondering at the
time, if she often recalled to mind the passage in her life which I have
here recorded.

THE ONE BLACK SPOT.

On the evening of a bleak, cold March day, in an early year of this
century, a woman, scantily clad, led a boy about eight years old, along
the high-road towards the old city of Exeter. They crept close to the
hedge-side to shelter themselves from the clouds of dust, which the
sudden gusts of east wind blew in their faces.

They had walked many miles, and the boy limped painfully. He often looked
up anxiously into his mother's face, and asked if they had much farther
to go? She scarcely appeared to notice his inquiries; her fixed eyes and
sunken cheek gave evidence that sorrow absorbed all her thoughts. When he
spoke, she drew him closer to her side, but made no reply; until, at
length, the child, wondering at her silence, began to sob. She stopped
and looked at her child for a moment, her eyes filled with tears. They
had gained the top of a hill, from which was visible in the distance, the
dark massive towers of the cathedral and the church-spires of the city;
she pointed them out, and said, "We shall soon be there, Ned." Then,
sitting down on a tree that was felled by the road-side, she took "Ned"
on her lap, and, bending over him, wept aloud.

"Are you very tired, mother?" said the boy, trying to comfort her. "'Tis
a long way--but don't cry--we shall see father when we come there."

"Yes--you will see your father once more."

She checked herself; and, striving to dry her tears, sat looking
wistfully towards the place of her destination.

The tramp of horses, coming up the hill they had just ascended, drew the
boy's attention to that direction. In a moment he had sprung from his
mother, and was shouting, with child-like delight, at the appearance of a
gay cavalcade which approached. About thirty men on horseback, in crimson
liveries,