Dear Jamie,

Edinburgh, 1st March, 1760.

and everything about her and this affair shall
ever remain a secret for me; and tho' I may, 1
think, send freely to the post office, yet as Mr.
Millar is to send some things to you to-night,
will give him this to enclose. I forgot to tell
you that two days before she went to the
country, this week, she called, with an inten-
tion to make a long visit and have some con-
versation, as I was told afterward; but the
Miss Prestons, and some others were with me,
and she sat near half an hour, and went off, so
have not seen her since. She left orders with
Mrs. B. to make me acquainted with the man,
but I excused myself.
I am,

Dr Jamie,

Your affect. Sister,

MARY VEITCH.

I wrot you by last post that I had received yours of the 23 Though I had known your sentiments sooner it would not have prevented my writing as I did this day fortnight, for from all their proceedings, which was minutly as I informed you, and a great deal more, the dread of their apylying to you by some other hand was not till now out of my head; had there been any more attacks I think I could now have been bold, but I think I may now with some reason assure you that neither you nor I will have any further trouble. I have reason to think her jurney to the countrey on the 16, in the evening, was to consult with her friends what was to be done, for on the morning of that day she came to me, to our own house, and told me it was her Brother's oppinion I should write you two letters with that post, the whole correspondence strikes us as A strange episode, verily! Nothing in both exactly the same, in case of miscarryage of one, the other might go safe, and that I more remarkable than what our neighbors should insist on an positive answer with the would term the "brutal frankness" manireturn of the post. Then she went to the gen-fested by the lady's friends. There is but tleman, and sent me the note which I enclosed the flimsiest pretence of recommending on the 19. On the Monday I got the letter I Lady Harriott on her own account; hardly enclosed at same time, and as I grasped at that an attempt to veil the real nature of the for a giving up of the project, and wrote my attempt - an effort to induce a distin answer to her letter as she might understand guished lawyer, who was just about to it so, at the same time told her I would be glad take his seat upon the bench, to receive as to see her before she left the country, and would take every oppertunity to own the obli- his wife a lady whose manners and cusgations she had confered on me, yet notwith-toms were clearly not of the most domesstanding she termed this letter of mine cold; she sent her friend on the Tuesday night, as she had done on the Saturday, to importune me to write, as of myself, without her knowing of it; this method I suspected her elder friends had suggested to her, but which I positively refused. My letters before that time of the night were taken care of, and despatched to Mr. M. Be it as it will, the man complained to her friend, Mrs. B., that he could not understand their meaning, that when they had seen Lord Aberdeen a few days before, had now put him off for a fortnight, till letters should be wrot and answers received from him. I write all this to clear up what I have said formerly, as I fear it would be very confused, for hope for the future there will be no need ever to mention this affair, as I am informed to-morrow is the day fixed for the marriage. The Lady went to Wallyford on Thursday, is to be in town on Friday, to dine with Ld W., and is to set out for London Wednesday following. This marriage is the subject of conversation to the whole town; some people who knew the man abroad speak well of him, and he is by no means so ill looking as he was represented to me, he was pointed out to me on the street.

You see I have nothing to do now but sit still and be civil when she calls to see me, which I suppose she will do, for she is allways rambling; she has been little off the streets this fortnight by past. I suppose she will follow this practice elsewhere, and that she will be met with in all the odd corners in and about London, but that's none of my business now,

tic order, solely to prevent a marriage they
deemed undesirable, and which she was
resolved to carry out unless Lord Eliock
could be induced to offer himself as sub
stitute; and the deus ex machinâ, whose
aid is invoked, is Lord Eliock's own sis-
ter! That he escaped the toils is proved
by the fact that he died unmarried in the
year 1793. But there is much more one
would fain know. What did he reply to
his sister? and what is the meaning of
her evident anxiety about sending to the
post-office? Did the luckless Gordon of
Halhead ever know the true meaning of
that inexplicable delay, in order to receive
communications from Lord Aberdeen?
We may ask such questions, but we ask
in vain. No answer comes across the
hundred and twenty-five years which have
nearly passed since these letters were
written. If the story has a sequel, it must
be sought among other records than those
which the stately old judge and his shrewd,
sensible sister have left behind him.

the life of the upper classes in Scotland in
Fragmentary as are these glimpses of
the eighteenth century, they are very
graphic; and when we contrast therewith
the conditions of social life in Scotland in
the present day
and indeed for many a
year back from the present day and
reflect on what is a fact, that until late in

the autumn of last year there was at least | boast of such a farm at its back as hers one person living who had a distinct, in Spital Boughton, looked to, since the though childish, remembrance of Lord master's death (Heaven rest him!) by Eliock, we must surely admit that the con- Nell, with a discreetness far beyond her trast represents a rate of progress in polit- years? "My farrantly Nell! my right ical and social conditions, in education good wench!" the mother breathed half and in refinement of manners, which has aloud, with a sigh, and a smile that lit up never been surpassed in any country. her square, harsh features wonderfully; "all the city knows thee for a virtuous maiden, and many a yeoman of substance woos thee for his bride, but thy first love keepeth ever new, and, to my thinking, good Nell, for all the nips and bobs thy shall wax old never, nor be forgot. My cross-grained mother spared not from thy cradle upwards, thou dost render back true love and service!"

[MOST travellers in England, who make any stay in the quaint old town of Chester, are taken to see the "Blue Posts" Inn. It is still standing as it stood in the time of Queen Elizabeth, though it has long since ceased to be a "hostelrie."

The main incidents in the following tale are
historical. The visit of the royal emissary to
the inn, the interview with the mayor, the
change effected in the despatches, the occur-
rences at Dublin, the pension granted by the
queen, all these are matters of history. In a
word, the tale is true, its setting alone is of the
fancy]

From The Monthly Packet.
THE BLUE POSTS OF CHESTER.

BY F. M. WILBRAHAM.

PART I.

"I could not love thee, dear, so much

Loved I not honor more."

The Abbey clock struck seven; Mis. tress Mottershed, knitting in hand, like the true Welsh woman she was, walked to a door which opened on the inner court. yard of the hostel. She was attracted partly by the merry voices of her four younger children, who were taking advantage of a lull in the stormy rain so prevalent that year, to play at their favorite game of "barley-mow;" partly by a lurking anxiety at the non-appearance of Nell, who was ever wont to return home before dusk in those wild and dangerous days.

Two sides of the courtyard were occu pied by gabled buildings of what was called "post and pan," in other words, oak THERE was not, in the year 1558, a bet- timber and plaster; the third side and part ter hostel to be found throughout the city of the fourth was devoted to stabling; the of Chester than the Blue Posts, on the rest was inclosed by a wall and a postern east side of Bridge Street. So thought door, now standing ajar. The owner's the discerning public of Queen Mary's watchful eye marked this circumstance at day, and so thought Elizabeth Mottershed once, and presently noted the bent figure herself, the stirring, striving, and highly of a man standing outside, in the rude respectable widow, who ever since her garb of a Dee fisher, and bearing on his husband's death, three years before, had shoulders a large sack of cockles. ruled that house. Could the Bear and "And what dost here, gaffer?" she Billet boast of such shining rows of pew-inquired, in a high, shrewish key that ter, and even silver, cups and flagons as brought the four children about her in bung on her walls, flickering brightly in open-eyed curiosity. the blaze of the sea-coal fire? Had she not in her oaken chests broidered cover lets that a crowned queen might sleep under, and that her of the Falcon and Fetterlock would give her right hand to possess to say nothing of the napery which she and her first-born, Nelly, had spun between them? And whereas her hall of entertainment was clean swept out once every year, who had ever beheld the stone floor of the Harp and Crown, save when, for the light-minded purpose of dancing, forsooth, they cleared a space of the bones and mouldering rushes and clotted mire that choked it? Could any other inn within the liberties of the city | be upon us."

The only reply the stranger made was a low and tremulous Bes-see." But it was enough; a trembling came over her also, for though impulsive and faulty in temper, too much alive to her own merits, and too ready to scan the demerits of others, our hostess possessed the warmest and tenderest of hearts.

'Edmund! brother!" she faltered. Then it flashed across her that her children must not know of this perilous visit. "Owen, my son," she said demurely, "go fetch me the scales and cockle-bowl; then put the two little ones to bed-thou and sister Gillian. Haste, haste, or curfew will

Owen obeyed with the readiness that | I had forgot to say the rows are arrived at was a matter of course in those days. by rough, steep flights of steps. Down Mistress Mottershed signed to her brother the nearest of these Nell ran to join her to follow her quickly through the court- mother, and they entered the inn toyard, then up a rude, ladder-like stair, gether. where an absolute forest of time-blackened beams and rafters frowned overhead. Here she pointed to a corn bin in which he might hide, should he hear steps approach, then left him alone with the dying daylight, to attend to a party of horsemen now drawing rein at the front door. They did not alight, being bound for the north in hot haste, but drank their stirrup-cups in the saddle, tossing down their reckon ings and some small coins for the vintner and drawer on the coble stones that paved the doorway. They cheerily gave the hostess good-even, then clattered away into the darkness. Just then Nell's clear voice was heard overhead.

The intelligence that her proscribed uncle was in the house drove the carmine from Nell's cheeks, the while it kindled a glad light in her speaking eyes. She would have flown to the loft but for her mother's "Whither so fast? Wench, go see the little ones in bed, as thou ever dost; bid Gill help old Peggy foster the lambs; bid Owen fare back to the farm with Hodge; he is too long-eared a little pitcher to stay here while Edmund is in hiding; then do as thy heart listeth, and bring him to fire and food in the back kitchen. I will come anon.'

It remained for the hostess to see to the family supper, necessarily a frugal one, as all things were then at famine price. Three years of ceaseless rains and bad harvests had brought poverty and want in their train. Wheat was 165. the bushel, and, in Nell's phrase, “so marred and sprit with the wet that it made a sad and sour loaf." Nor was dairy produce any better, the Cheshire kine suffering from something analogous to foot and mouth disease; meat was indifferent, and so dear that our open-hearted hostess had to dole it out by weight and measure. Only in her weekly dole of "browis " to the "clemmin". - that is, starving poor still said to her trusted Peggy,

she

"We may not stint the broth nor the bread-crumbs for God's starvelings, Peg. Kettle-broth will na keep life and soul together."

Let me explain, as clearly as I may, what these rows, these unique and mysteriously ancient rows, are. Imagine a somewhat narrow street, its ground-floor rooms from nine to twelve feet high, surmounted by a gallery running the whole length of the street, and completely open to the gaze of passers below. Strong oaken pillars support the flat roofs of these galleries, which are in fact the floors of inhabited rooms above, one or two stories, as the case may be; overhanging ga bles above these, and graceful twisted chimneys crowning all. The rows were then but feebly lighted by cressets over private doors, and in the absence of the shop-fronts and glazed windows which relieve them now, looked hollow and cavernous. Their most graceful feature was a low, often richly carved oak railing, running from pillar to pillar. Behind this rail stood Nell, tall and stately in her Welsh hat, her duffle cloak a little thrown back, that her mother might see the lamb pillowed on those strong, loving arms. Old Hodge held a link, which threw a bright flashing light on the girl, her thick brown hair, large pitying hazel eyes, and red lips parted in a grave, sweet smile. Just a glimpse of a white bodice might be Edmund's slight figure and chiselled seen, and of the dark kirtle and the petti- features were in curious contrast with his coat of grey linsey striped with carnation. | sister's solid proportions; so was his low,

At ten o'clock the heavy shutters hooked up to the ceiling of the row were let down, and with a somewhat echoing clang fell, shutting off for the night the interior of the Blue Posts. Nell heard the sound with relief as she led her uncle to the settle in the warm back kitchen, and set before him bread, meat, and a cup of spiced wine. He thanked her gratefully, but did not fall to his supper as eagerly as she had hoped. When Mistress Mottershed joined them, her greeting to her brother did not sound altogether sisterly.

"And now, Edmund Edmunds," quoth she, standing erect before him, "give ac count for thyself; say what moonstruck madness brings thee here, with a rope, as it were, round thy neck?"

me. 'Twas but a rumor; but alack, I see it confirmed, and would fain hear all; another woeful rumor also was rife, set afloat, doubtless, by our foes, that George, with many others, had recanted at the stake. Prithee unravel me these doubts!" The widow mused a while, looking straight into the red embers on the hearth. "It could not surprise you, brother, to hear of my Godfrey's death, for he was ever weakly and nesh, and often tied to the chimney nook_by_catarrhs. Thou knowest how in the flood, seven Januaries back, when at night there arose a mighty great wind, when the waters came to such a height that many timber trees were left by the ebb atop of Dee Bridge, my husband caught a heavy rheum in swimming out to the rescue of his faithful servingman, Foulk Duckworke. Alas, his care was bootless, for Foulk and his six children were drowned in their homestead! Thou knowest, moreover, how nine years back Godfrey was foremost in the skir mish with those five hundred Irish kernes that unmannerly beset our town. They were driven back with many hurts and bruises. Our citizens came out of the fray scot free, all but Godfrey, who received such a blow on his breast that he never was his own man again. So it was little wonder that when the sweating sick. ness, of which his father had died, returned three years ago, he sank in twelve hours. Ah, my poor Godfrey! Oft had he told me of that same sore sickness that orphaned him how grass grew a foot high in the streets, and how ninety-one householders were cut down between one moon and the next. To the best of my knowledge, since that woeful time, the parson of St. Peter's hath never had the heart to eat goose as aforetime with his wardens on Peter's day, atop of the church

Forgotten him!" Edmund replied sadly; "him, my boyhood's friend, my brother 'prentice in those happy Lancashire years when we wrought together in the tan-yard, read and studied and pondered together, prayed together for God's light and truth, and found them together in the halls of Cambridge, and on the lips of holy Nicholas Ridley of Pembroke College? Was I not by, rejoicing, when my Lord Bishop of London ordained him deacon, and when afterwards my lord of Lincoln set the seal of priesthood on him? When he took to him a fair and virtuous wife, fit helpmate for the curate of good Laurence Sanders, I was glad with a brother's gladness; when, three years later, the Lord took her away from the evil to come, I left my books to help George carry his babes to their grandame in Lancashire. There the dogs of persecution were let slip upon us; his mother bade him depart and flee. On Deane Moor, about sun-going-downward, we kneeled on our knees, he saying, as was his daily wont, the Litany of our dear Mother Church; then we parted, he first saying to me, till I was at a point with myself not to flee, I was sad, for life, babes, moth-spire. Many a fair dwelling stood empty er, and other delights are as sweet to me as to another man, but now my troubled mind waxeth merry and in good estate.' Then fared he forth weeping, albeit full How well Nelly remembered, the silent of peace, to look the Earl of Derby in the teårs that ran down her cheeks told but face. How he was sent to Chester, and too plainly. Her mother continued, — how he died, you, sister, best know. In "The doctor came, but brought cold Holland and in Almain, where I have comfort. 'Let him alone,' quoth he. been a stranger and pilgrim these threeWhere he lieth, there let him lie; med. years, earning my poor crust by teaching, dle not with him for your life; if he crave none but flying reports reached me. To not food bring it not, if he crave withhold have written to you would have jeopard- it not, 'tis an ill no potion can stay.' Aḥ, ized your safety. Once and again, as cold beavy night! we could but wipe the death waters to a thirsty soul, came some hint damps from his brow, and wish for day, of Cheshire tidings to mine ear; but one and ere day broke he was not! It would day I, by chance, heard of my brother have fared ill with us, but for John Coop Mottershed's death, which sorely grieved | er, a Cooper of Overleigh, thou knowest,

then, and long after. Ah me! Ah nie! Nelly, child, thou dost remember running for Doctor Leech in Nun's Gardens?" "