It was Dodd.

He looked more surprised to he should scheme to obtain any peculiar privifind me than I thought he need have done, sec- leges by means of the chief personage in a coming that I was still so near to my uncle Cud-pany of speculators! berry's house, and that I was accustomed to walk out in solitary independence.

But his next words explained his surprise, and made me turn hot and then cold.

But whatever it was that Dodd surmised, I could ask for no explanation from him. I walked on silently, and suffering in mind and body. I parted from Dodd at the end of the lane, and reached home without further adventure.

My headache furnished a real and sufficient excuse for going at once to my own room; as also for my having returned without visiting Alice Dodd, as I had meant to do.

"Why, it is you, Miss Anne! I wasn't sure when I first saw you talking to that Mr. Smith." "I was coming from Woolling-I have been at my uncle's," I stammered out, scarcely knowing what I was saying. The consciousness that my manner must appear strange and confused increased my confusion almost to agony, although I doubtless appeared more self-possess-gone chiefly to look at a horse which Donald ed than I was in reality.

“I had heerd that this chap went to see the doctor-your grandfather, miss-but I didn't know as you knew him too," pursued Dodd, casting an inquisitive side glance at me as he spoke. I suppose my face startled him, for he cried, "How white you are, Miss Anne! Ain't you well?"

Donald and my grandfather had not come back from their country expedition. They had

thought of buying; "and," said my mother, "it is a great pity you were not able to go to Alice's house, for your grandfather said that their errand would take him and Donald into the neighborhood of Diggleton's End. And you might have come home all together."

I felt very miserable as I lay with closed eyes on my bed, revolving painfully in my mind the "I have a racking headache, and feel very unexpected incident of my meeting with Lacer. weak," I answered.

"Lord bless ye, miss, come along back wi' me to the Royal Oak and rest ye, and let my missis get you something. Do, now!"

"No-no, thank you, Dodd; I would rather go home."

"But you shall drive home, miss, when you've rested a bit. I'm sure you ought never to think of walking wi' your head so bad!"

But I was obdurate. I was resolved to go home at once; and Dodd, finding me so, ceased to importune me. He asked leave to walk with me as far as the end of the lane, as he was going in that direction. "Not but it's safe enough hereabouts, as ever I heerd on," he added. "There wouldn't be any fear of a lady getting annoyed if she happened to be walking by herself. No tramps nor ragamuffins frequents this lane."

Then, after a momentary pause, and another curious glance at me, he said, "Though, to be sure, it isn't always the raggedest chaps as are the biggest rascals."

I made an effort to answer unconcernedly. 66 Oh, I never feel alarmed in this neighborhood, Dodd. I have known every road and lane and meadow in it from a child; and all the cottagers too. I am at home here."

My mother had left me to myself, under the impression that I might get some sleep. But sleep was far from my aching brain.

Would Gervase Lacer leave Horsingham, as I had urged him to do? Was I not bound by my promise "not to betray him" to keep his presence here a secret even from Donald? If Lacer were once away, I could tell Donald every thing. At the bottom of my heart there was a great dread of these two men being brought into contact with each other.

I remained in my room during the remainder of that evening. I was, in truth, suffering very severely from headache. I heard the sound of my grandfather's voice, loud and hearty, when he returned about seven o'clock, while my room was still light, notwithstanding that mother had taken the precaution of drawing the white curtains across the window. Then there was a hush in the house. Donald and grandfather had been told that I was unwell, and would not disturb me. Once I heard my grandfather's chamber door open and shut softly, and his footstep, very light and cautious, on the stair. Finally, after it had long been as near dark as it was to be all the summer night, I fell asleep, and slept soundly.

"Mr. Donald's dear love, miss, and he hopes

66 Ah, but there's a good many more strangers you have rested well and are better." about than there used to be."

I was silent.

These words were the first I heard next morning, and Eliza stood by my bedside with a little note in her hand. The note was from Donald, and contained the following words:

"There's that gent you was talking to, miss; he's a stranger," continued Dodd. He had, approached the subject circuitously, which convinced me that he was puzzled and vaguely without waiting to see you. "DEAREST,-I am obliged to go away early suspicious. It was not out of the range of a has happened, of which I must speak to you A strange thing Horsingham imagination that my grandfather this afternoon when we meet. Be well, darand I should have mercenary reasons for keep-ling, when I come back. I grieved so for your ing our acquaintance with " Mr. Smith" pri-headache! And yet to one who knew my grandfather as well as Dodd knew him it surely must

vate.

Your own,

D. A." What was the "strange thing" that had hapappear in the highest degree improbable that pened I had no chance of learning from any

one at Mortlands until Donald's return, for my | used to be considered rather a feature in her grandfather was away also, whether with Don-own house, Mrs. George, so I don't wonder at ald or on other business of his own he had not your thinking she would be so still; but you're stated.

sadly behind the times, I can assure you. We have altered all that. The feature at Woolling is pa's third daughter, not Miss Cudberry. Oh dear, no!"

I was tormented all the morning by conjectures and apprehensions lest the "strange thing" which Donald had to tell me should prove to have reference to Gervase Lacer. But about To this speech there was no reply to be mid-day a diversion was forcibly given to my made-at least none of a peaceable and concilthoughts by a visit from Tilly Cudberry. Sheiatory nature. But fortunately our silence had had not bestowed much notice on the inmates no depressing effect on Tilly. She was in a of Mortlands since leaving it for the house of state of surprising high spirits. I say "surher new friends, Mr. and Mrs. Nixon. How-prising," because it was but a short time ago ever, on this day she appeared among us in quite an excited state; and before uttering any of the usual greetings she exclaimed, looking round upon my mother, Mrs. Abram, and me, as we sat in the parlor, "The Nixons got theirs this morning! Have you had yours yet?"

Poor Judith edged up a little nearer to me and murmured, faintly, "Got what? Anne, is it any thing catching, love?"

"Third daughter!' I hope it's marked enough! Why publish that to the parish? I should have thought 'daughter' would have been quite sufficient myself. But third daughter! I never knew any thing so marked in all my life!"

At this enigmatical utterance Mrs. Abram's bewilderment was so complete that she looked absolutely scared. I hastened to relieve her mind by saying:

"You are speaking of the cards of invitation to Clementina's wedding, are you not, Tilly? Yes; ours came this morning."

that any reference to her sister's approaching marriage, and to what she was pleased to term "Mrs. Hodgekinson's son's disgraceful treachery" to herself, would have sufficed to make her assume an air of gloomy grandeur, as of one injured past redress. But now, although bitter and scornful, she was certainly not gloomy. Indeed, she chattered on at so unmerciful a rate, was so vivacious and discursive, treated us to so many anecdotes of her friends the Nixons (not entirely exempting them, however, from ridicule and censure; she was too true a Cudberry at heart to spare any one altogether), that Judith fairly closed her eyes and gave a little groan, under the painful effort of trying to follow the vagaries of Tilly's erratic discourse. Mother and I listened quietly, occasionally exchanging a glance of amazement, and once or twice a faint smile flitted across mother's face. Smiles were so rare there now that I felt almost grateful to Tilly for having called them up.

pitying patronage to Mrs. Abram, she approached my mother's sofa, and, after an instant's hesitation, bent down and kissed her.

"Good-by, Mrs. George," she said, in a tone that was almost soft for her. Then she added, rather more debonairly, "I dare say it may be some time before I see you again."

66

At length Tilly rose to go away. And hav"This day fortnight. Ha! Very well-ing said "good-by" graciously to me, and with very well!" (This with a nod of the head full of mysterious meaning.) "Mrs. Nixon means to wear a sky-blue moiré; and if silk velvet was suitable to the time of year there's no reason on earth why she shouldn't have that. Money is no object. I have no doubt that Mrs. Hodgekinson will bedizen herself at a fine rate on the occasion; but Mrs. Nixon can cut Why so, Tilly? Are you going to cut us out Mrs. Hodgekinson, I should hope! A sky-altogether?" I asked, laughingly. blue moiré, and corn-flowers in her bonnet. Tilly answered as though my mother had Such is her present intention. But I beg you spoken. "No, Mrs. George; I ain't going to not to mention it to any of the Woolling peo- cut you. ple, for they would be quite capable of taking a come from me-at least as far as the Mortmean advantage, and telling Mrs. Hodgekin- | lands people are concerned. As to the Woolson. And then nothing would prevent that ling people, circumstances must wholly deterwoman from wearing sky-blue and corn-flow-mine. ers herself!"

“And you, Tilly," said my mother, willing to divert the wrath which the mention of Mrs. Hodgekinson always excited in our fair cousin's breast, "what do you mean to wear on the great occasion? You and Henrietta are to be bridemaids, of course?"

Tilly's face was a study, and, I confess, an utterly inscrutable one to me, as, drawing herself up with a jerk, she made answer:

"Bride-maids? Of course-oh, of course! At the wedding of pa's third daughter! No doubt. And as to wearing—what does it matter what I wear! Miss Cudberry of Woolling

If there is to be any cutting it won't

The Woolling people must take their chance. I have sacrificed myself quite enough already for the Woolling people."

And with this mysterious speech she took her departure.

"I don't understand Tilly to-day at all," said my mother.

"Oh, don't you?" cried Mrs. Abram, huskily, and clasping her hands with fervor. "I am so glad!"

"For goodness sake, why should you be glad of that, my dear Judith?" asked my mother.

"Oh, because-because I began to be afraid, dear, that not understanding her was all the fault of my poor brain. It is not so clear, at

times, as it should be, I am aware.

And do the shadow of a tree, only to rise and walk you know, Lucy-I don't know whether it has about again after a minute or two. At length ever happened to you or to Anne-but really in my restless pacings to and fro I came to the and truly, when Miss Cudberry is talking, I glass door of the dining-room, which stood open very often don't know whether it's inside my to admit the sweet summer air, and as I paused, own head or outside! It's a very curious sensa-looking in, grandfather's eyes unclosed and met tion, and I dare say cleverer persons than I am mine, and he beckoned me with his hand. may not feel it. But with me, I assure you "Grandfather," said I, advancing to him,

that when I have been listening to Miss Cud-"do you know what the strange thing' is berry for a little while there comes a great which Donald tells me has happened?" buzzing in my ears, and my head swims, and I don't understand one syllable she is saying. I suppose," added poor Judith, with a plaintive sigh, "it's his doing."

"Why," he answered, with a faint smile that just flitted across his face and was gone, "I think I do know. But it's a secret!"

"It is nothing painful-nothing that grieves you or Donald, is it ?" I asked, a good deal relieved by his manner.

"Not at all! not at all! I never knew you curious before, little Nancy." He looked at me more searchingly than he had hitherto done, and then added, in a graver tone: "It is a queer business, and may turn out to be all a fond imagination on the part of Dodd; but in any case it is best not to speak of it incautiously. I had special reasons for saying no word on the subject before your dear mother, for it would have touched upon the time of her great sorrow, and we can not be too careful not to set that chord quivering."

It was close upon our dinner-hour, and we were still discussing Tilly's newly developed emancipation from the family traditions, when grandfather came home alone. Donald, he said, had sent word that he should be detained in the country, and might not be home until quite evening. Already, for a long time, Don ald had taken on himself the more laborious part of grandfather's practice-nearly all that lay among the very poor patients, for example, whom he gratuitously attended. It was, therefore, a not infrequent occurrence for Donald to be absent during a great part of the day, and my mother and Mrs. Abram took it as a matter of course. For my own part, I could not It was, indeed, no overstrained precaution on help wondering whether Donald's prolonged ab- our part to avoid the least allusion-or, at all sence might not be connected with the happen- events, the least sudden allusion-to that dreading of the "strange thing" to which he had al-ful period in mother's presence. A careless luded in his note, and whether grandfather knew it, and what it was. I could not help, moreover, watching grandfather's countenance, and I thought I detected on it a certain amount of preoccupation.

word might at any time have brought back the hysterical convulsions which had so prostrated her strength.

"Then," said I, "this 'strange thing' has reference in some way to-"

"To that time-to that time, little Nancy. Don't look so distressed, my child. It is nothing with which our feelings are much concern

However, my own was, in truth, the only anxious face at table. Mother was cheerful in her quiet way, and made me repeat all Tilly Cudberry's odd sayings and doings for grand-ed, after all." father's amusement. He listened and laughed, He bent down to caress the dog that lay at and exclaimed at intervals, "What an incred- his feet, and said, as he played with the animal ible woman! What a stupendous woman!" and stroked it, "Now you know, little Nancy, And when poor Mrs. Abram-with a lugubri- how certain people scolded me, and lectured ous reference to "his" adverse influence-dole-me, and strove to show me the error of my fully related the mysterious experience she underwent during a long spell of Miss Cudberry's eloquence, and especially dwelt on her painful uncertainty as to whether the talking were outside or inside her own head, grandfather immensely gratified and relieved her by saying, "My dear Judith, you are quite right. You have aptly described a sensation which Miss Cudberry's conversation has frequently produced in myself-only I have never been able to express it."

After dinner Mrs. Abram retired to her room; mother had some shawls and cushions carried into the garden, and composed herself on a rustic bench with a book in her hand, and grandfather sat in his great chair, and closed his eyes for his customary after-dinner sleep. Grandfather was very old now, and needed rest. I was painfully restless and ill at ease. I wandered about the shrubbery, or seated myself in

ways, when I professed to have my suspicions
of the precious 'Company' and the precious
'City gentleman' at the head of it! Well, wait
a while! wait a while! Suppose it should turn
out that this Mr. Smith- My child, what is
the matter?"

He had been talking on cheerfully, and in a half-bantering tone, still stroking the dog; but on lifting his eyes to my face his tone changed, and as he took my hand his own hand trembled.

"Will they meet?" I cried. "Will Donald come in contact with this man?" Then in a moment I was breathlessly pouring out the story of my interview with Gervase Lacer. I told him every thing-Lacer's profession of repentance and his promises of amendment; then his jealousy and anger against Donald; and finally my promise not to betray him, if he would leave our neighborhood and seek to molest me no more.

It had seemed so unlikely that Don

"What will you say to me if I can get rid of this fellow at once? Get rid of him so that he "No, no; no, no, my child; don't fear for shall never more trouble Horsingham? I beDonald. The scoundrel's threats make no im-lieve there is a way!" said my grandfather. pression on me. Such rascals don't talk of it beforehand when they mean mischief. It was all said to frighten you. What a despicable villain it is!" He uttered the last exclamation with sudden heat and violence. He had been speaking before in a pondering tone, with his head bent down.

Editor's Easy Chair.

who belonged to the prime of the
He grew up with him, as it were.
pilgrimage to Abbotsford, and was very fond of
talking, in a very interesting vein, of the great
Magician. Some years since a lecture was de-
livered in Boston upon Dickens, who was praised
with much the same warmth of admiration that
Professor Ticknor had always felt for Scott.
The professor was present, and listened with
amazement to the homage offered to what must
have seemed to a Scott Tory a kind of Perkin
Warbeck thrust upon the royal line, and he
went out, saying pleasantly, "Who is this Dick-
ens? I must look him up.'

Scott epoch. | the blood of that old system ran in his veins. His He made a awakening genius was touched and inspired by its romance, and "Wha'll be king but Charlie?" was the last song that vaguely dropped from his lips as that glimmering genius expired. He was a natural Tory, and the bent was confirmed by all that early training in his native history. An ancestral aura invested him from the beginning. The very first note of the first canto of his first poem celebrates the glory of his own name. Branksome Tower was the castle of Branxholm, lying upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. In 1570"the castle was repaired and enlarged by Sir Walter Scott, its brave possessor," and over an arched door is inscribed a moral verse which the poet must often have remembered:

last aye;

"In world is naught Nature has wrought what shall
Therefore serve God; keep well the rod: thy fame
shall not decay.

Sir WALTER SCOTT, of Branxholm, Knight.
MARGARET DOUGLAS, 1571."

The persons of whom we speak read Scott with aggressive exclusiveness. The Easy Chair knew one who used to read the "Antiquary" and some others once a year. It was apparently a religious act, a solemn pleasure; and nothing was more entertaining than the impatient eurtness with which this gentleman used to disclaim any familiarity with the later story-tellers. Dickens was merely a farceur; Thackeray a gentlemanly sort of author; Bulwer-ah, yes, But he was Tory through his imagination and Bulwer had something of the grand style. But his heart. So in his stories, while the old order is the others, and especially the women- No, unquestioned, and all the pomp and pride of birth it was really impossible: one page of Scott was and blood and rank have their full traditional valworth all their chapters. His conversation ue, his broad human sympathy, and the humor teemed with "Waverley" allusions, and it gave a which is the natural corrective of conservatism, fresh impression of the fertility and catholicity of opened to him the most generous range of porScott to observe how his characters and his hu- traiture. Jeanie Deans, the noblest woman in litmor seemed to fit every circumstance of contem-erature since Shakespeare, is a daughter of the porary life. And in this instance, as in all the others of what might be called the High-Church of Scott believers, it was beautiful to see that love of the man was an essential part of the admiration. The simple heartiness, the shaggy sincerity, the ample and sweet humor, the satisfactory simplicity of the man deepened and confirmed the enthusiasm for his genius. And, indeed, to be so loved, and still loved so after a generation to die amidst more genuine sorrow in two worlds than ever waited upon the death of a king in any country, was a final test of the real quality of the man.

people, who will not tell a lie to save a sister's life. He deals with human nature in his tales, but always as a lord of the manor; and when the Tory sympathy and tendency expressed themselves in the affairs of actual life, and the skeleton which he so fondly draped at will in his library stood stripped in the market-place, it was ghastly to see. Sir Walter Scott, lord of Branxholmi on the Teviot, in the dim twilight of a doubtful day, was poetic to every beholder. But Sir Walter Scott presiding at a meeting to protest against the Reform bill, or gravely asking to keep as an heir-loom the glass from which the vulgar libertine, George the Fourth, had drunk his toddy, is not a cheerful spectacle or thought.

When the monument was finished at Edinburgh the orator said that, except Shakespeare, no one had ever given so much innocent pleasure Perhaps his interest in his figures was not as to so many people as Scott. It is, however, proba- men, but as what we call characters. It was the ble that Scott is much more familiarly known and perception of a humorist in the old sense. There has actually given very much more pleasure than was no more question in his mind of the justice Shakespeare. For in English literature it is nec- or propriety of the relations which existed in the essary always to except Shakespeare, as in Ameri- society he observed than there was in the mind can history Washington is always excepted. Yet of Sir Roger de Coverley. And the French there is an immense number of persons in both revolution, instead of suggesting to him by its countries who are like Thackeray's good lady, very terrors doubts of the old system, seemed who declared that she "adored Mrs. Hemans, to him, as to Burke, who had really the same and said she liked Shakespeare, but didn't." No-natural Toryism, only an illustration of the horbody merely pretends to like Scott. Both the familiarity with him and the love of him are genuine.

Yet no man can escape his temperament, his instinctive sympathies, and in Scott's stories, as in his life, the natural bent of the man is evident. As he came of age the French revolution began. While he, an invalid lad, was reading romances in quiet libraries the thunder of that terrible tempest was angrily muttering. Fascinated by the tragical or poetical legends of Scotland, he did not hear the women of Paris marching upon Versailles, nor comprehend that the uproar in France was the fierce death-throe of a social system. Yet

66

rible consequence of subverting it. Indeed, the worst of oppression is that the struggle of its overthrow seems to discredit liberty. Yes," we can fancy Sir Walter or any Tory exclaiming— yes, the old régime was imperfect, perhaps in some points culpable; but was its worst estate so appalling as this?" Injustice binds a man's legs until they almost wither under him, and then when the gyves are cut, and the liberated victim staggers and reels, the tyrant remarks, “Certainly; I told you that he could not walk.”

But if Scott's Toryism is always apparent to reflection, it is surely not obtrusive nor even observable by the fascinated reader. The boy sit