“I hope not, sir; but I thought it might be your wish.”

“It’s my wish that you should stay at home.  A poor man may go to sea, because he stands a chance to come home rich; but a man who has money in hand, and in prospect, if he goes to sea, he is a fool.  Follow your profession as long as you require it, but no longer.”

“Why, then, do you work so hard, my dear sir,” said Isabel, leaning over the old gentleman, and kissing him, in gratitude for his decision.  “Surely you can afford to relax a little now?”

“Why do I work so hard, Isabel?” replied Mr Forster, looking up at her through his spectacles.  “Why, you expect to have a family, do you not?”

Isabel blushed; the expectation was undeniable.

“Well, then, I presume the children will have no objection to find a few thousands more to be divided among them by-and-bye—­will they, daughter?”

The conversation was interrupted by the entry of a servant with a letter; Mr Forster broke the seal, and looked at the signature.

“Humph! from the proud old marquis.  ’Very sorry, for a short period, to have fallen in your good opinion—­should have rejoiced to have called Newton my son-in-law! ’—­Humph!  ’Family pride all assumed—­Newton’s happiness at stake—­trust the deceit will be pardoned, and a renewal of former intimacy.’  Why, Newton, is all this true?”

“Ask Isabel, sir,” replied Newton, smiling.

“Well, then, Isabel, is all this true?”

“Ask Newton, sir,” replied Isabel, kissing him.  “The fact is, my dear sir, I could not afford to part with Newton, even to please you, so we made up a little plot.”

“Humph!—­made up a little plot—­well—­I sha’n’t alter my will, nevertheless;” and Mr Forster recommenced the reading of his brief.

Such is the history of Newton Forster, which, like most novels or plays, has been wound up with marriage.  The last time that I appeared before my readers, they were dissatisfied with the termination of my story; they considered I had deprived them of “a happy marriage,” to which, as an undoubted right, they were entitled, after wading through three tedious volumes.  As I am anxious to keep on good terms with the public, I hasten to repair the injury which it has sustained, by stating that about three years after the marriage of Newton Forster, the following paragraph appeared in the several papers of the metropolis: 

“Yesterday, by special license, the Right Honourable William Lord Aveleyn to Mademoiselle Julie de Fontanges, only daughter of the Marquis de Fontanges, late Governor of the Island of Bourbon.  The marriage was to have been solemnised in December last, but was postponed, in consequence of the death of the late Lord Aveleyn.  After the ceremony, the happy couple,” &c.  Sec. &c.

* * * * *

And now, most arbitrary public, I consider that I have made the amende honorable, and that we are quits; for, if you were minus a happy marriage in the last work, you have a couple to indemnify you in the present.