MINNA RAYMOND.

CHAPTER I.

AN ALTERNATIVE.

Where there's a will there's a way.

MINNA RAYMOND was the daughter of a gentleman of good family, who, however, was so poor as to be almost unable to maintain the position to which his birth entitled him. The younger son of a younger son, it was only by success in a profession that Mr. Raymond could hope to attain to affluent, or even easy circumstances; but his career had not been a successful one. Having entered the church early in life, in compliance with his father's earnest wishes, he resigned the ministerial office at the age of thirty, in consequence of scruples of conscience, which, while they allowed him still to consider himself a member of the Church of England, made him prefer a private position in the ranks of that Church. He had been married a year before coming to this decision, by which all his earthly prospects were blighted, and had since tried various employments which his friends had with much difficulty obtained for him, but several of which he had been obliged to resign from ill health; and the appointment which he now held was scarcely of suffiか

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cient value to enable him to clothe and educate his family properly. He had six children, of whom Minna was the youngest but one; Margaret, the eldest, was fifteen, Harry four years younger, and Minna was three years old when, by the events I am going to relate, she became entitled to a history of her own, separate from that of her sisters and brothers.

Mr. Raymond's eldest brother, who was full twenty years his senior, had married early a lady of large fortune, on whose estates in the north of England he had resided almost entirely, seldom going to London, and only on those rare occasions seeing his younger brother, whom, however, he always met most affectionately, and for whom he had, on more than one occasion, used the influence of his wife's rank and wealth both kindly and successfully. But even of this assistance Mr. Raymond was soon deprived, for his brother died in the prime of life, leaving an only daughter, Honoria, who was only thirteen when her mother married the Earl of St. Melion. Honoria from this time led a very lonely life, her mother frequently leaving her for months with only an elderly governess, who, though very conscientious, was not otherwise suited to be the companion of a solitary child; and often did the remembrance of the little house at King's Holm, where she had sometimes shared the warm welcome always ready for her father, arouse a longing desire for some intercourse with relations who would love her for his sake as well as for her own. Once, indeed, during her first season in London, Honoria contrived to spend a day with her uncle's family, and it was the happiest day she had known for some time, though she was struck almost painfully with the evident

poverty in which they lived, and wished she could help to relieve her aunt from the pressure of cares and anxieties which seemed to weigh down an already delicate constitution.

Honoria was obliged to leave London so soon that she was unable to repeat her visit, but it had served to revive the long hidden attachment to her father's family; and having at the age of twenty become the wife of Lord Fortrose, she made a point of going to see her uncle's family again as soon as she had an opportunity, which, however, was not till a year or more after her marriage. Her husband accompanied her, and a pleasant drive of ten miles out of town brought them to the plain cottage-like dwelling of Mr. Raymond. It was nearly three years since Honoria had seen her uncle and aunt, and Lord Fortrose was quite a stranger to them; but where real kind feeling exists, the restraint of first acquaintance soon wears off, and Mr. Raymond was much pleased with his new nephew; while Honoria, having recalled herself to the recollection of her elder cousins, and been introduced to the baby, whom she had not before seen, was soon listening with great interest to her aunt's account of the family, and of the many plans and contrivances necessary with so many children and so small a house; admiring the careful economy and yet lady-like arrangement apparent there; and winning great favour with the little golden-haired Minna whom she held on her knee.

Then after luncheon Honoria walked with Margaret in the garden, and heard how she and Rhoda taught themselves all they could to save their mamma, who had so much to do; how Minna was forward and

anxious to learn also, and Margaret taught her her letters; but there was no time to do all that should be done for her, mamma was so busy with the baby, and the boys had to be looked after and played with when lessons were done, and Margaret must go out walking with them and Rhoda, lest mischief should happen, and little Minna could not walk so far as they did, and was so often left alone and neglected, Margaret thought. "But if I am at home, she is always with me; she sleeps in my room, and she is in my charge altogether, for mamma said she could not take care of her and Bessie, too. And is not Minna lovely ?" added Margaret, warming in the praise of her little favourite ; "and will it not be nice to educate her, and see her grow up so clever and so beautiful? She is quite different to Rhoda and the others; I am sure she thinks much more than they did at her age."

Honoria entered with warm interest into Margaret's feelings for the little sister she loved so much, and certainly if Minna differed as much from her sisters in character as she did in appearance, she was singularly unlike them.

Margaret was slight, and rather tall; very pale, with tolerably regular features and dark hair, but she was not pretty. Rhoda, also, who was now eight years old, was dark, and though she had fine hair and good eyes, had no other pretensions to beauty. But Minna, round, rosy, beautifully fair, with large fearless, though well-shaded blue eyes and a profusion of golden hair, of whose wild natural curl Margaret was particularly proud; no wonder Minna was an object of general admiration; she really was a remarkable contrast to the others; the one-year-old baby, Bessie, was fair, it