A very general and uninteresting conversation took place at table; both seemed equally desirous of avoiding particular subjects, and when breakfast was over Ferdinand ordered his horse, and set off to see his little boy. The meeting was truly affecting; poor Charles hung about his dear father, and repeatedly cried, "My poor mamma is dead, Yes, indeed, my poor mamma is dead!"—Stung to the heart by the infantile tone of sorrow which accompanied these words, and the reflection that his child was deprived of all those maternal cares so necessary at his early age. Ferdinand could not repress his emotions, but pressed his boy to his bosom, whilst the big drops fell on his face.
Mr. Dunloff, the nephew of Ernest, now entered the room, and relieved both. To him the anxious father recommended his little Charles in the most moving terms, beseeching him to be a father to his child, and to watch over the first dawning of reason, that, as his mind expanded, his ideas might be properly
