tight. I did not know what to say.
Presently (it was too dark to see her face) I felt
her fingers work convulsively in my grasp;
and I knew she was going to speak again. I
heard the sobs in her voice as she said, "I
hope it's not wrong—not wicked—but oh!
I am so glad poor Deborah is spared this.
She could not have borne to come down
in the world, she had such a noble, lofty
spirit."

This was all she said about the sister who
had insisted upon investing their little
property in that unlucky bank. We were later
in lighting the candle than usual that night,
and until that light shamed us into speaking,
we sat together very silently and sadly.

However, we took to our work after tea
with a kind of forced cheerfulness (which
soon became real as far as it went), talking of
that never-ending wonder, Lady Glenmire's
engagement. Miss Matey was almost coming
round to think it a good thing.

"I don't mean to deny that men are
troublesome in a house. I don't judge from
my own experience, for my father was neatness
itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in
as carefully as any woman; but still a man
has a sort of knowledge of what should be
done in difficulties, that it is very pleasant to
have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now,
Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about,
and wondering where she is to settle, will be
certain of a home among pleasant and kind
people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs.
Forrester. And Mr. Hoggins is really a very
personable man, and as for his manners, why,
if they are not very polished—I have
known people with very good hearts and very
clever minds too, who were not what some
people reckoned refined, but who were both
true and tender."

She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr.
Holbrook, and I did not interrupt her, I was
so busy maturing a plan I had had in my
mind for some days, but which this threatened
failure of the bank had brought to a
crisis. That night, after Miss Matey went
to bed, I treacherously lighted the candle
again, and sat down in the drawing-room to
compose a letter to the Aga Jenkyns; a
letter which should affect him, if he were
Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry
facts if he were a stranger. The church clock
pealed out two before I had done.

The next morning news came, both official
and otherwise, that the Town and County Bank
had stopped payment. Miss Matey was
ruined.

She tried to speak quietly to me; but when
she came to the actual fact that she would
have but about five shillings a week to live
upon, she could not restrain a few tears.

"I am not crying for myself, dear," said
she, wiping them away, "I believe I am
crying for the very silly thought of how my
mother would grieve if she could know—she
always cared for us so much more than for
herself. But many a poor person has less;
and I am not very extravagant, and, thank
God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha's
wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a
farthing owing. Poor Martha, I think she'll
be sorry to leave me." Miss Matey smiled
at me through her tears, and she would fain
have had me see only the smile, not the
tears.

COLZA OIL.

WHO can take up a newspaper just now,
without being tempted to become an
extensive purchaser of real and pure French
Colza oil, and at the same time to be lord
and master over an innumerable variety of
lamps of the newest patterns and most
approved construction, wherewith to consume
that illuminating fluid? But "Colza" is not
an English word—making, however, only a
narow escape from being one—and there are
many people, perhaps, who burn the genuine
article, without being exactly aware what it
really is. For knowing advertisers seem to
fancy that the more mysteriously their wares
are enveloped in hard words, the more highly
will the simple public esteem them. Hence
we have Eureka shirts, Revalenta Arabica
diet, and Rypophagon shaving-soap. It would
hardly be safe or prudent to decide whether
the aforesaid advertisers are right or not.
But to prevent Colza from being added to
their list, I will take the liberty of offering a
few explanations.

Oils may be divided into two grand classes,
accordingly as they are derived from the
distinct sources of the animal, or the vegetable
kingdom. It is not impossible, therefore,
that Colza oil may be casually believed to be
the produce of some South American whale,
or Indian porpoise, of unknown and peculiar
organisation. Unfortunately for the
imaginative who love to set a novel monster
before their mind's eye, it is not so obtained—
nor from the sea-serpent either. Colza is a
harmless plant, springing from a kindly
German root, which root is neither more nor
less than cole, kale, kohl, or cabbage.
Whenever the French resolve to kidnap a
foreign word, they generally contrive to
lay hold of it by the wrong end. And
so, the English coleseed, or the German
kohlsaat—it is not altogether indisputable
which—has been pressed into the service
of representing the entire vegetable Colza,
or brassica, campestris as the scientific call
it, with the additional surname of oleifera,
or oil-bearing. Coleworts, moreover, are not
entirely unknown to horticulturists in the
British Isles.

Olive oil is the peculiar produce of the
South of France, whilst oil-giving seeds are
the objects of culture in other portions of that
vast empire; for an Englishman has no notion
what a large country France is, till he begins
to travel from one corner of it to another. The