Robert had ceased to speak, and a few minutes' silence had ensued, she seemed to fear that he might be going away, and so made an effort to rouse herself in order to say what was upon her mind. She made an effort to rouse herself; but, oh, what a picture of despair Robert saw, when he looked again, attracted by the faint sound of her voice! It seemed impossible that so short a time should have wrought so terrible a change. The beautiful hair all disordered now, though still beautiful, for no disorder could make it otherwise; the soft eyes were red with weeping; the lips swollen and inarticulate. Still there was an effort to speak, and Robert drew nearer, quite near, for he had lost all sense of distance and reserve in the excess of his sorrow and his compassion. was Grace held up her hand; he took it fondly within his, and pressed it, almost with the feelings of a father towards a child; for she was so helpless, so gentle, as to be almost like a child to him. Something in that mute expression of feeling seemed to fill her cup of agony with one drop too much, and fairly giving herself up, to lean with her head against his heart, she burst into a fresh flood of tears, and wept and moaned aloud. For some time Robert stood still, supporting in this way the weak and trembling figure. He did not speak, for he had no words of consolation to utter. At last he sunk down on the couch, and softly laying the beautiful head upon his shoulder, he actually stroked the silken hair with all the tenderness of a woman, not knowing what he did. Perhaps it was easier for Grace Linden to speak thus, for a low murmuring sound broke at last from her lips. "Penniless and destitute," she said, as if speaking to herself. “I should not have said that," Robert answered; "you may feel quite sure I shall not allow him to suffer destitution. No, no, it is not so bad as that. He shall be provided for respectably, in some way or other. Do not, I beseech you, allow that thought to add to your sufferings." "I, you know, have plenty," said Grace in a faint low voice, "abundance, more than I want. If you would allow me to add something?" 66 'Impossible!" said Robert; "that must never be." "Do, dear Mr. Clifton," said Grace again,-" do let me add something to what you give. No one has so great a righ, you know." It was very difficult to refuse this meek request, uttered as it was in that sad beseching voice. Robert evaded it as well as he could, and Grace went on still in the same tone of inexpressible sadness and sweetness. "You will not say anything to my father?" she said. 66 "No, certainly, if you wish me to be silent." "Nor to any one but me?" "To my own family, I am afraid I must give some explanation." "But you will not tell them all, not the very worst? The worst you know is for me. Let me have it, and keep it all to myself." 66 I will do the best I can for you, sparing your feelings as if you were my own sister." A gentle pressure of the hand again assured him that this promise was appreciated. But Grace soon spoke again. "I must see him again." "See Philip?" "Yes, I must see him, and soon. Only once, you know; I have a right to demand this." "Unquestionably. Fix your own time, and means, and I will obey you in everything." "I should not like to act clandestinely; as Philip has been accustomed to come to my father's house unquestioned, and as no one here will know that any change has taken place, why not let him come as before? Let me see; my father will be from home some day next week; I do not know exactly which. Suppose I write to you, that will be better, and I will then fix the exact time." It was so agreed; and Robert took leave of Grace with what composure he was able to command. He was obliged to do so with some abruptness, in order to hide from observation the sudden gush of feeling which threatened to overmaster him. Once away from the light-once removed from the appealing look of those soft eyes-once with the breath of night blowing full upon his cheek, and he should feel himself a man again. In this mood he walked rapidly to his father's house, demanded an interview with his mother and his sisters, explained to them as well as he could in few words what had been the purport of his visit, and, without suffering himself to be detained by their tears or their caresses, set out again to travel back to London through the dark midnight hours. "Well," said Robert Clifton to himself, as he pursued his journey back to London, "if this is the beginning of life with me, what will be the end? The way is tolerably rough at the commencement, at all events; and when fortune hits so hard upon a poor fellow, for such a length of time, instead of thinking the future will be brighter and pleasanter than the past, he rather acquires a habit of thinking there is worse in store for him, even yet. Whatever may befall me, however, in the days that are to come, I do not believe I shall ever have a more difficult or painful duty to perform than that which it has just now been my unhappy lot to discharge. Poor Grace! I wish she had a sister, or that Mary could be near her." It did not seem to Robert that he could wish a better wish to any one than that Mary could be near them; and at the very mention of that name a feeling of peace and satisfaction diffused itself through his whole frame, accompanied with a conviction that he ought not to allow himself to be either hopeless for the future, or depressed for the present, so long as Mary's kind interest, and her affection as he had every reason to believe, was left to him. The acquaintance already alluded to, which had begun in so simple and business-like a manner, had now ripened into intimacy. Indeed, it was scarcely possible it should have been otherwise, for no two characters could have been found better calculated to render to each other all the kind offices of friendship than Robert, and Mary Maitland. Nor was it only that nature had gifted them with habits of feeling, modes of thought, and tendencies of character alike; but circumstances had thrown them both in early life upon their own resources, teaching them a de gree of self-dependence which none can fully understand, still less appreciate at its true worth, who have not themselves acquired this valuable possession. Thus it might have seemed to an indifferent observer, to any one indeed whose position was one of ease, luxury, and self-indulgence, that they were both too independent of others, too isolated in themselves, and too self-supported. To them, however, this peculiarity was perfectly intelligible. They knew-none could know betterhow it had originated, and how it had grown into a part of their characters. They knew, also, that it was but as the armour which the soldier puts on, in order to enable him to bear the assaults of the enemy-they knew the battle which they had individually had to fight, and were fighting every day, and they knew all the warm and genial glow of the heart which beat beneath this panoply of steel. Each had penetrated this secret in the other, because each knew it so well in them selves. Thus a kind of sympathy, beyond what mere external circumstances could have excited, arose betwixt them. On one side there was urgent need of help, on the other of consolation, and each had it in their power to yield exactly what the other wanted. They would almost have understood and been able to assist each other without words; but no sooner did their pent-up feelings find utterance than the intimacy, as already stated, ripened into friendship, and was fast ripening into love. It was one of those friendships upon which love may build with confidence; and where is it safe without this firm foundation? There was no caprice, no affectation, no pretence in their intercourse, but a calm reliance upon each other, which gave rise to a constant development of mind and principle, as interesting in its details as it was fruitful in satisfaction. In such an attachment there is scarcely more repose, where peace is needed, than strength and support where difficulties have to be overcome, or where suffering has to be endured. Almost unconsciously to themselves, this attachment had grown into a closer union of mind and feeling. Words had not been necessary to explain the change. It was mutually felt, understood, and ac had not brightened since. Rather the contrary; for within the last month or two some heavy losses had made him think whether, if longer pursued, it might not involve himself and his family in irre knowledged in a thousand ways quite easy But there were other weighty matters to decide upon, besides those which lay nearest to his heart; and surely never did lover seek his lady's bower with such a weary load of carking care upon his breastcare, too, about things so utterly degrad- | ing to the name of love, because so unrefined and unpoetical in themselves. To speak of love, too, under such circumstances, would have sounded like madness to the ear of worldly wisdom, for Robert was about to cast himself almost penniless upon the world-to begin life entirely again to try a great experiment, which rendered it uncertain whether he should be able to secure so much as his daily bread. From what has already been said, it may be taken for granted, as an incontrovertible fact, that Robert Clifton never had been at home, or in his element, in his father's business. He had entered into it from a sense of duty, and had pursued it as a matter of necessity, almost on compulsion. But it had not improved upon him by acquaintance, nor had he ever felt, in connection with it, that energy and hope which was necessary to stimulate enterprise, as well as to afford support under disappointment. He had done his best, and, having sound sense and strong powers of application, having the most powerful motive, too, in the circumstances of his family, it is probable that his best was as much as most men would have been able to do, and better indeed than many, whose hearts might have been more in their occupation. Had the business prospered, Robert would no doubt have gone steadily on in the same line, still faithfully doing his best. But, as already stated, it was far indeed from being in a prosperous condition when he took the whole weight upon his shoulders, and his business prospects Under these circumstances, Robert knew that his father, in the full possession of his business faculties, would have plunged further and further in, on the principle of "nothing venture. nothing win." He knew that he would have cried shame upon him for his want of courage in shrinking back from the venture; but he knew, also, that in his case there was too much at stake for him to be justified in risking all upon a perilous uncertainty. Where there were so many to be considered he dared not do it, nor had he any hope of success if he should. A very humble certainty, he thought, for the sake of his parents would be infinitely preferable to such a risk; and this certainty he was now most solicitous to ensure for them. Already some important steps had been taken towards this end, and then he thought, that for the first time since he entered into business, he should experience something like peace of mind. For himself Robert allowed very little consideration. He could fight his way along one course or another; but for his parents he had suffered deeply, and for his sisters too. Knowing as he did but little of the real circumstances of the case, he was sorry to hear, on this short visit to his home, that Helen's prospects for the future were so seriously changed. He wondered what caprice had brought about this change, but he had neither time nor inclination to press upon his sisters inquiries which did not seem to meet with any very willing or intelligible response. All that he had learned distinctly was, that Helen, not Catherine, was to be the governess, and he was already commissioned with the charge of making such inquiries as were considered most likely to lead to the fulfilment of this her fixed determination. With this fresh care upon his mind, then, Robert pursued his way. While there was so much to think about-so much to do for others, he found little time to murmur at his own lot-only to hail the light of the one solitar; star which still shone upon his path. The tonic and reviving qualities of cold water are of the most remarkable character. How wonderfully refreshing it is to bathe merely the face and hands in cold water! On first plunging into cold water, there comes a shock which drives the blood to the central parts of the system. But immediately a re-action takes place, which is assisted by the exercise of swimming, producing, even in water of a low temperature, an agreeable warmth. The stay in the water should never be voluntarily prolonged beyond the period of this excitement. If the water be left while this warmth continues, and the body immediately dried, the healthy glow over the whole surface will be delightful. To remain in the water, after the first re-action is over, produces a prolonged | chilliness, a shrinking of the flesh, and a contraction of the skin, by no means favourable to health or enjoyment, for it is only in water thoroughly warmed by the summer heats, where we may bathe for many hours with impunity. Certain precautions are necessary. Moderate exercise, by summoning into action the powers of the system, and quickening the circulation, is better than inactivity. We should never go into water immediately after a meal, nor while the process of digestion is going forward. Nor should we plunge into the water when violently heated, or in a state of profuse perspiration. Such imprudencies are often fatal, especially if the water be unusually cold. If too warm, the temperature of the body may be reduced by bathing the wrists, and wetting the head. Times and Places for Swimming.-Before meals rather than after, and especially before breakfast, and before supper, are proper seasons for bathing. The heats of the day are to be avoided, but, in very hot weather, a bath is useful to cool the blood, and secure refreshing sleep. If in the middle of the day, a shaded place should be chosen, or the head protected from the sun by being kept wet, or by wearing a straw hat, as is practised by the fashionable French ladies at their watering-places. The sea is the best place for swimming. Owing to the greater specific gravity of salt water than fresh, the body is more buoyant in it, as are other substances. A ship coming out of salt water into fresh, sinks perceptibly in the water. The difference is nearly equal to the weight of the salt held in solution. The bottom should be of hard sand, gravel, or smooth stones. Sharp stones and shells cut the feet - weeds may entangle them. The swimmer must avoid floating grass and quicksand. The new beginner must be careful that the water does not run beyond his depth, and that the current cannot carry him into a deeper place, also that there be no holes in the bottom. As persons are ever liable to accidents, cramps, &c., it is always best that boys or girls should be accompanied by those who are older than themselves, and who will be able to save them in any emergency. Aids in Learning to Swim.-Probably one of the best ways of learning to swim is to go, with a competent teacher, in a boat in deep water, this supporting the body more buoyantly than that which is shallower, and preventing the constant tendency of beginners to touch bottom, which here is of course impossible. The teacher should fasten a rope carefully around the waist, or, better still, to a belt, which can neither tighten nor slip down. The rope may be fastened to a short pole. Supported in this manner, the pupil may take his proper position in the water, and practise the necessary motions, and the support of the rope may be gradually lessened, until the pupil finds himself entirely supported by the water. Several Corks and bladders are often used as supports for learners; but it is much better to begin without them. As, however, they may be a protection in some cases against accidents, and enable the learner to practise the proper motions for rapid swimming more carefully, they are not to be entirely condemned. large pieces of cork, uncut into stopples, must be strung upon each end of a piece of rope, long enough to pass under the chest, and reach just above the shoulders; or well blown and properly secured bladders may be fastened in the same way. Care must be taken to confine these supports near the shoulders, as by their slipping down, they would plunge the head under water, and produce the very catastrophe they were designed to prevent. A great variety of life-preservers have been invented, made of India-rubber, |