folded his arms resolutely, and looked his
niece full in the face.

"You will go ? " he said. " Cost what it
may, you will go? Say, for the last time,
Sarah—is it yes, or no ?"

"Yes! For the last time, I say, Yes."

"Good. And you will go soon?"

"I must go to-morrow. I dare not waste a
single day; hours even may be precious for
anything I can tell."

"You promise me, my child, that the hiding
of this secret does good, and that the
finding of it will do harm?"

"If it was the last word I had to speak
in this world, I would say, Yes!"

"You promise me also that you want
nothing but to take the letter out of the Myrtle
Room, and put it away somewhere else?"

"Nothing but that."

"And it is yours to take and yours to
put? No person has a better right to touch
it than you?"

"Now that my master is dead, no person."

"Good. You have given me my resolution.
I have done. Sit you there, Sarah;
and wonder, if you like, but say nothing."
With these words, Uncle Joseph stepped
lightly to the door leading into the shop,
opened it, and called to the man behind the
counter.

"Samuel, my friend," he said. " To-morrow
I go a little ways into the country with my
niece, who is this lady, here. You keep shop
and take orders, and be just as careful as you
always are, till I get back. If anybody comes
and asks for Mr. Buschmann, say he is gone
a little ways into the country, and will be
back in a few days. That is all. Shut up
the shop, Samuel, my friend, for the night;
and go to your supper. I wish you good
appetite, nice victuals, and sound sleep."

Before Samuel could thank his master the
door was shut again. Before Sarah could
say a word, Uncle Joseph's hand was on her
lips, and Uncle Joseph's handkerchief was
wiping away the tears that were now falling
fast from her eyes.

"I will have no more talking, and no more
crying," said the old man. "I am German,
and I glory in the obstinacy of six Englishmen,
all rolled into one. To-night you sleep
here, to-morrow we talk again of all this.
You want me to help you with a word of
advice. I will help you with myself, which is
better than advice, and I say no more till
I fetch my pipe down from the wall there,
and ask him to make me think. I smoke
and think to-night— I talk and do to-morrow.
And you, you go up to bed; you take Uncle
Max's music-box in your hand, and you let
Mozart sing the cradle-song before you go to
sleep. Yes, yes, my child, there is always
comfort in Mozart—better comfort than in
crying. Why cry so much? What is there
to cry about, or to thank about? Is it so
great a wonder that I will not let my
sister's child go alone to make a venture
in the dark? I said Sarah's sorrow was my
sorrow, and Sarah's joy my joy; and now,
if there is no way of escape— if it must
indeed be done—I also say: Sarah's risk
to-morrow is Uncle Joseph's risk to-morrow,
too!"

MANY NEEDLES IN ONE HOUSEWIFE.

IN the house in Great Ormond Street
tenanted about fourscore years ago by the
rugged Thurlow, Lord High Chancellor of
Great Britain, a pleasant little community of
girls engaged in day-labour for London
dressmakers and milliners is now at home.
The house—number forty-four—has for its
present uses the advantage of being situated
in the heart of London, midway between the
West End and the City. Eighty years ago,
it was a fashionable suburb, bordering
immediately upon the fields. The north side of
Queen Square was in fact left open, in order
that the beautiful landscape terminated by
the hills of Hampstead and Highgate might
not be shut out. It was from the fields
lying on the other side of Lord Thurlow's
garden-wall, that, in the year seventeen
hundred and eighty-four some thieves—
commissioned, as the more profound sort
of politicians declared, by the Whigs—
approached the premises of the Lord
Chancellor, entered his house by the kitchen, went
up-stairs, and stole some cash, two silver-
hilted swords, and the Great Seal of England.
When daylight came, great was the
consternation of the chancellor. He hurried off to
Mr. Pitt, and then with Mr. Pitt hurried off
to the King; and on that day, at the Court
of St. James's, the twenty-fourth of March,
present the King's most Excellent Majesty
in Council, a new seal was ordered to be
made forthwith. It was indeed finished by
noon on the day following. Lord Thurlow
having received it, took it to Great Ormond
Street, but it had been made with a haste
outrageous to the legal mind. A few days
afterwards, deliberate steps began to be
taken for the making of a seal. A sketch
was ordered on the second of April, seen and
approved six weeks afterwards, and engraved
in the course of the next ten or eleven
months. The work produced thus deliberately,
was delivered in exchange for the
makeshift to the man with black brows and
a large wig; and so it happened that he took
to number forty-four, Great Ormond Street,
three several editions of the mighty seal
which it is high treason to counterfeit.

Not long ago, Lord Thurlow's house was in
the occupation of a club; now, as before said,
it is the home of girls who, by uniting their
resources, hope to make the little intervals
of rest from the long drudgery of needlework
healthier and happier than they are easily to
be made by people of their means in London.
Since needs must, there shall go many needles
to one housewife. They do not choose to