autiful new books! Ah, well! As one
grows older, such simple pleasures do not give the same great joy.

It was some time before I earned another. It was just as welcome to me,
and there came to me a great wonder as to whether I should spend the
whole of my life in this hard work with so small a recompense.

"Surely," I said to myself, "I shall rise in time; if I am diligent and
attentive at the office, I must make my way."

But, alas! the steps were very small, and the clerks' salaries were only
increased by five pounds a year at a time. It would be so long before I
earned two hundred a year, and at the same rate I should be an old man
before I reached three hundred.

One morning--it was the 1st of May--bright, warm, sunny day, the London
streets were more gay than usual, and as I walked along I wondered if
ever again I should breathe the perfume of the lime and the lilac in the
springtime. I saw a girl selling violets and daffodils, with crocuses
and spring flowers. I am not ashamed to say that tears came into my
eyes--flowers and sunshine and all things sweet seemed so far from me
now.

I reached the office, and there, to my intense surprise, found a letter
waiting for me.

"Here is a letter for you, Mr. Trevelyan," said the head clerk,
carelessly.

He gave me a large blue official envelope. If he had but known what it
contained!

Some minutes passed before I had time to open it; then I read as
follows:

"To Sir Edgar Trevelyan:

"Sir: We beg to inform you that by the death of Sir Barnard
Trevelyan, and his son, Mr. Miles Trevelyan, who both died of the
epidemic in Florence, you, as next of kin, will succeed. We are not
aware that the late Sir Barnard had any other relatives. Crown
Anstey, the residence of the late baronet, is ready at any time for
your reception. If you can favor us with a call today, we will
explain to you the different ways in which the late baronet's large
fortune is invested. We have managed the Crown Anstey property for
some years, and hope to have the honor of continuing our business
relations with you. We are, sir, your obedient servants,

"Moreland & Paine."

The letter fell from my hands and I looked at it in blank astonishment
too great for words.

Sir Barnard Trevelyan! Crown Anstey! Why, the last time I ever heard
those names my mother sat talking to me about this proud, stately cousin
of my father--cousin who h