in his heart, the heaviness in his head; the dream of quiet life, of love and Ethel Haller, was quite over; that vain hope of living anew, of beginning anew an illused life was dead. He was back again in the old aimless time, and such a world of anger, and wounded pride, of wicked, cruel hate, lived in his heart, such hate against Victor, that while he looked away over those pleasant green fields he determined to frustrate his cousin's hopes somehow or another.

"He shall never marry her," he said to himself over and over again. And then he determined to see herto see Ethel, and once more, if only once, plead his love. And he thrust the letter into his pocket, and walked away in the direction of the Dower House.

That morning Miss Haller had been paying one of her charity visits to the cottage in the glen. With the sweet spring time new life was coming to the budding trees and flowers, the sun shone " on a thousand fields," and along the lanes the hedges were all in blossom; the birds sang daily in the little garden among the basil and mint, their frail little lives rejoicing in the earth's gladness, but the strong heart of the child was sinking, and fainting into death.

Ethel went often to see her little friend in these days; and every new visit which she made to the pleasant cottage made her sadder. She was of a very loving nature this heroine of mine, and there were not many things in her life worthy of the intense love with which her heart abounded. Little Freddy, with his pretty gentle ways and teachable nature, had been a very worthy object for love, my heroine thought; his still sad little life, so hopeless and weak, had touched the generous, strong part of her nature, and made it yearn to him. She read to him pleasant stories, she spoke to him of pleasant things, she told him of the fields and rivers, the world's bright places and scenes, as she would have told another child a fairy tale, it was all new to him; his world lay in the cottage room, in the cottage garden-his future in that golden city of the sunset.

And while Sir Henry walked to the Dower House, Ethel was passing away out of the glen garden, by the basil and mint, and twining jessamine, out on to the sun-lit road, which lost it

self in that land of golden sun and purple sky.

At the wooden gate she paused with her hand on the latch, and looked back. The little pale face smiled out upon her from among the monthly roses.

The boy's bright, beautiful hair shone in the golden light; it was so that she saw him for the last time. It was so that in the after years, when other faces were well nigh forgotten, fresh, and clear, and angel-like, that one young face came ever before her in its transparent beauty, with the glory of heaven upon it.

Oh, could we but know when we look our last upon some beloved face, could we but know sometimes when we part for the last time from some beloved object with a careless word or look, that it is so we take our farewell of them for all time?

She stood and smiled back at him, her little golden-haired, blue-eyed friend, and then she walked away down the sunny road.

And little Freddy watched, and watched the pretty figure the sweet familiar figure, as it hurried on, his angel! down the bright hill road, which lost itself in the golden city, and the lonely little boy only said, "I shall see her soon again."

Ethel went home through the fields, through Darrell, by Sir Hugh's lake and swans ; under the trees, and out into the meadow below the Dower House lawn. And there she met Sir Henry Darrell. He had been to the Grange, so he told her. He stood before her, impeding her progress while he spoke. He looked down upon her sternly, gravely, and Ethel's heart fluttered up, and the colour rippled up to her face, and then her heart sank again, and the warm colour went with it; and my poor little heroine stood there looking very foolish and frightened. And he took a crushed letter out of his pocket, and held it before her, and asked

"Did you send me this?"
She glanced at it.

"Yes, I did," she answered in a firm, clear voice, so clear that it surprised herself.

And Ethel had no answer, her heart smote her.

"Will you take back your letter, Ethel; will you think a little before you give it to me; I have waited very patiently for you, I have never worried you or plagued you; will you think it over-you must think it over -you are wrong, Ethel; and—and I will wait still, as I have waited, any time."

He stopped, for his voice died. "No, no," she cried, passionately, it is over now, quite over; I have been wicked and cruel, but I am sorry; you mustn't think of me any more, you mustn't indeed, I am unworthy of your thoughts; you will forget me, Henry, and in time learn to forgive me, too, for I am sorry."

Then he laughed that bitter laugh which sounded so cruel; which made his whole handsome face look ugly.

"You talk of forgetting and forgiving, very coolly," he said; "I shall never forgive you; you have used me dishonestly, wickedly, and I shall never forget or forgive; I will be revenged.'

'Oh, Henry !"

"Yes, you may talk and wonder, but I do not forgive wrongs, I don't pretend to be a saint, and I will never forgive you, Ethel-never."

"You would if you knew all," she said quietly, but he answered

"I do know all, and my revenge shall reach even to him; are you satisfied?"

Poor frightened little Ethel, she had romantic dreams of duels, and bloodshed, and dying words; her face paled, she went up to him, she laid her soft hands on his arm, and looked up to his face, with such frightened eyes, "don't speak that way, oh! don't; it is very wicked."

It was the same voice which had spoken scores of other times in his heart, in his mind, telling him that half the actions of his life were wicked; the voice which had led his thoughts away to a new time, to hopes and interests, and good, wise deeds which would be worthy of a good man's life. But all that was over now, the voice spoke across a great gulf, it only angered him, and made him desperate "wicked!" he echoed, "what matter if I am wicked, you have made me so; if I do wicked things, you are the cause; remember this.'

"Oh, hush!" she said, frightened, horror-struck; in her eagerness she had come close to him, quite close. The Cenci face agonized, pleading looked up to his, "Oh, Henry, you mustn't speak so; oh, God! what have I done?" Her voice rose almost to a wail while she spoke; before her came the terrible thought that she was shipwrecking a soul, the most agonizing thought that could live in any earnest mind.

She didn't break out crying, as many women would have done under like circumstances, the tears seemed dried up; it was a pale terrified face that turned to his then-colourless as marble, with wild eyes-unconciously she had come so near to him that her hands, lying on his_arm, seemed almost to clasp it. For a moment he did not move, he looked down upon her with that strange light still in his eyes, and then suddenly, as if moved by some sudden impulse, he caught her in his arms and strained her to his heart, and held her there while he spoke—

If you cast me off," he said, "you will ruin me; you don't know what you could have done with me, you could mould me how you would, for good or evil; I have great capabilities for either; oh, Ethel ! oh, darling! don't ruin me."

She couldn't move, she couldn't speak; although while he held her in his arms, in that meadow field where she and Victor had stood in the old summer days, a world of passionate regret rose in her heart, and she almost cried out. His voice was such a terrible despairing voice, his words were so wild, she didn't speak or move; she just lay there passive, motionless, and he went on pleading, praying in such wild incoherent words.

"Stay with me; oh, darling, don't leave me! I never knew what it was to be good until I knew you; I never knew what it was to be happy, and good, and honest until you promised to be my wife; oh, Ethel! Ethel! don't destroy all that; give me a hope, give me a chance."

He stopped there for the lithe slender form had slipped from his arms, a dead heavy weight, down among the long grass and wild sorrel leaves; poor frightened little Ethel had fainted!

VICTOR DARRELL received a long letter from his aunt, and she said, "come to Nante, for you must see Ethel." And she also told him that the engagement between Miss Haller and Sir Henry was at an end. Ethel free! Why did his heart bound up to his throat? Why did the colour all die out of his face; as it only did in some great suspense? Poor Victor! was the old vain dream beginning over again. I am afraid, almost unconsciously, he was growing once more to feel that he was living for her, and her only!

He stood in his barrack window, with the letter in his hand thinking; it was early morning, a gray misty morning; sombre and dingy looked the great stone barrack buildings, across the square; far away over the wall he could see the blue mountains, the woody gaps, and the sun's first streaks of colour in a dull leaden sky, and Victor was away in a dream, near other hills, and trees, and valleys, away among the pleasant places of his life; near Ethel!

But he was proud, and he had been injured much; and although there came moments when the old tenderness came over him like a dream, subduing his anger and almost humbling his pride, when his heart swelling up with a hope to which it had been long a stranger, would soften, and grow tender towards that lonely little girl living at the Dower House at Darrell. Still again there also came times when bravely he resolved to forget her altogether, to live his old pleasant life again, among men, and men's sports and amusements; and at such times Victor in his impulsive way would seize a gun or a fishingrod, as the case might be, and wander off into the far country, half persuading himself that he was busying himself like other men.

And so it was to-day, but half understanding his aunt's letter; with his mind in a tumult; in the early, early morning he took down his rod and basket, and set out on a fishing excursion, but every man who carries a rod is not an Isaac Walton; and Victor had lost his keen appetite for

the sport. He roamed away into a quiet wood, by a clear singing brook, where hundreds upon hundreds of little golden brown trout lived, and swam about; hushed was the wind, still all the leaves, and grass, and tree tops, such a calm was upon all, and he let his line float away where it listed, and his thoughts floated off too, and so he caught no trout that morning, although he remained by the stream until the morning was well on, until the sun shone through the boughs and branches, and it was mid-day; and he went back again to his room, and wrote to his aunt, and told her that Ethel bound, or Ethel free, was nothing to him, he did not want ever to see her again. Although while he so wrote, his soul yearned towards his love.

Ethel free! even while he wrote, saying that he did not want ever to see her again; he determined that he would see her before he went abroad.

Mr. Darrell had applied for leave, and it had been granted, and he crossed the channel, and went all the long journey into Devonshire, and arrived at Nante in the night, when all the little village slept; when the lights in the hotel were out, and a hush was over the town. And it wasn't until he was alone in his room that Victor began to think, "why am I here?" He was such an impulsive fellow, he did things on the spur of the moment always, and now he scarcely knew why he had come all those long miles.

To see Ethel Haller! to look upon her, to hear her voice, and be near her, but never, never again to talk with her! These were the strange contradictory thoughts in Victor Darrell's mind. He sauntered down to the coffee-room late in the morning, and breakfasted near the bow window which looked into the High-street; the little world of busy souls went by on their daily courses; the carts and waggons rumbled by, an occasional fly, or donkey shay drove clattering over the pavement, and a score of faces, old and young, some strange, some familiar, passed the window

where Victor sat, but she never came! and the day crept on, and still he sat there waiting; the sun sank further and further into the west, and then Victor stood up and shook himself, like a big dog that had been dozing in the sun, and took his hat, and sauntered out.

He was well known in this Devonshire village, that big, handsome young officer, well known and well liked, for he had such winning, manly ways, such store of pleasant words for all; half a dozen times he paused to exchange greetings with old friends, faces smiled on him, young and old, he was very popular here, and the evening was fast creeping on, as he walked at last down the pretty glen road, which lost itself in Freddy's golden city. He didn't know why he had chosen this way above all the others, but some instinct very strong within him led him by the cottage, overgrown with jessamine and roses; for often, oh how often had he and Ethel sauntered here together in the sweet summer time, when trees, and flowers, and singing birds were all about them, when the basil and mint in the cottage garden, filled all the air with scent. He paused at the top of the hill, and looked down upon the valley, away in a long line of white streached the road winding on through the glen, and away over another hill, into the bright west-silent and picturesque, with its tower summit and broken belfry touched and

painted by the sun's deep dying rays, stood the ruin of the old mill, and peaceful as the humble home, which sheltered the "Tom pouce of our childish imagination, stood the lonely cottage where Freddy's little life began and ended; the blue smoke curled up in a slender cloud, the rooks cawed in the surrounding trees, and the delicious scented calm of a sweet June evening lay over all the scene; and Victor sighed!

And he wandered on, like a man in a dream, by the sweet fields and hedges, by the banks of moss and ferns, and bright wild flowers, until he stood among the deep dark trees close to the house.

And then it was that, like a dream, he saw Ethel. She walked out in the pleasant light through the flowers; at the gate she paused, she turned and smiled the old sweet tender smile, which haunted him still, and then she walked away along the road, and once again at the summit of the hill, she stopped and waved her hand, and smiled again to the little watcher in the window, and Victor, standing hid among the trees, could see her face and bright hair; his love! his dream! and then she disappeared over the hill. "And when she had passed it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music," for the sunlight had grown dark and dim, the trees and flowers, the singing birds, and still sweet air had lost their charm.

THE old-book trade in our old city is not what it was from twenty to thirty years since. The great purchasers of those old days are dead, and their places have not been filled. Dr. Renehan of Maynooth, Mr. Conway of the Evening Post, Mr. Doyle of Rutland-square, and though last, the greatest buyer of all,-Dr. Murphy R. Catholic Bishop of Cork, kept the old-book shops from overflowing, and their owners from the Gazette. These gentlemen, with one exception, also frequented Mr. Sharpe's auction-room in Anglesea-street, or Mr. Jones's, Trinity-street; but the Bishop always made his extensive purchases in the

shops or at the stalls. The fastidious reader is requested not to turn up his literary nose at the vulgar looking word "stall." A brother and sister kept a stall at the Four Courts, and retired to the country to enjoy a competence, before old age had made his approach to either, and this in our own recollection.

In those good old times, the purchasers came to the shops to select the books; but when the visits became like those of the angels, the shopkeepers were obliged to send the books (ie. their representatives, the catalogues) to the expected purchasers. Indeed the catalogue system is more

pleasant and convenient than the visitation one in some respects. The shopkeeper while writing out his catalogue, and correcting the proofs, fancies himself a man of letters, and thus acquires an addition to his ordinary stock of self-complacency. He is full of hopeful fancies while despatching his missives to all parts of the empire, and there is something very agreeable in receiving letters charged with stamps or post-office orders, taking down, and dusting his heavy-moving stock, and getting rid of them through post or railway train. Under the old regime, he should probably neglect all other matters to dance attendance on his great customer, and listen to his disparaging remarks; and perhaps effect an inconsiderable sale after all.

This would not be the case however when Dr. Murphy visited our cityhe, the owner of myriads of volumes, and who did not grudge to give shelter to a dozen copies of the same work. When his library could hold no more, he shelved his parlours: when these were full, he furnished his bed-rooms. The attics were next fitted up; and when these were filled, and the lobbies could afford no standing room, what could be done but shelve the staircase! beginning at the top, and descending as need required. When you opened the door, you fancied you had mistaken the library for the hall; and deeper into the bowels of the earth, the carpenter would have pierced, but for an illiterate cook who had no taste for doings such as these. Armed with spit and pot-lid, she took her station at the top of the kitchen stairs, and vowed to do bodily injury to the man of the saw and plane, if he attempted to fix another shelf. He was a man of weak nerves, and preferred the safety of his insignificant person to the glory of perfecting a great work: may this failing not be reckoned in his account!

Great excitement and much pleasure did every visit of the good Bishop cause among our old-book sellers, whether they rented shops, or enjoyed free standings along the quays. There was arranging and dusting of volumes, and goings backwards and forwards, and frequent questionings as to the hour of his arrival. At last, the anxious guardian of past literature is gladdened by the apparition of the

gold-headed cane, the silk stockings fitting in the buckled shoes, the waistcoat not innocent of snuff, the loose coat, the broad-brimmed hat, and the kind good-natured face under it. If the bookseller had wife and children-and what second-hand dealer in books is unprovided with these allies, they presented themselves to receive his blessing, and cordially did he give it. Then went on for an hour or two, according to circumstances, a succession of enhancing, and cheapening, and joking, for our good Bishop could afford to joke. If a price was asked which he affected to think too high, he would stop short, gaze ludicro-sternly over his spectacles, at the culprit, and cry out, "Ah! you think to impose on the poor Connaughtman." He made up his bill as he went along; and when he left the shop, he left behind him cheerful hearts and something to meet the rent or the auctioneer's bill. The words of the old song might be appropriately applied to the kind hearted Doctor. "He brought the summer along with him."

Besides the two classes of book buyers mentioned, we had a thirdthose who invariably attended Mr. Sharpe's auction-room in Angleseastreet, and never, except in most rare cases, made a purchase at shop or stall. As many of these gentlemen rarely read any portion of their purchases, they were scarcely better members of society than the collectors of old coins, china monsters, or autographs. If the purchase was not a rare copy, or did not belong to a rare edition, or if it was in bad condition, and did not enjoy large margins, and if it was not got at a low price, they derived little pleasure from its acquisition.

As

We will watch the movements of a model man of this class during one or two occurrences of his agitated though uneventful life. He was well known to us, but is no more. every occurrence in this short sketch is genuine fact, we would have given his name in full but for the fear of not pleasing surviving relatives. There is nothing disparaging however in what we have to say of his memory. We speak first in the present tense of what really took place to our knowledge. He lives in the outskirts of the city, and is un