man-an eulogium which they had, separately and collectively, bestowed on every young man of their acquaintance, from the first day of their introduction into the world.

"If the family don't turn out very sociable," continued Miss Eliza Sanderson, "I'm sure it will be no fault of his; but the sister, I'm told, is the most romantic absurd creeter-likes nothing but taking long walks in the country, or sits at home in an arbour, with natural flowers entwined in her hair. But I'm sure she does it for effect, and to be reckoned the more remarkable."

"Well, if she does," replied Miss Ravenshawe,"she is only in search of admiration, like other young ladies."

Miss Eliza felt the reproof, blushed, and was silent.

66

La, now," said Mrs. Mapletoft, the widow of the late rector of Rothbury, " it is as good as a comedy, as my Mr. Mapletoft used to say, when ladies go into com

pany with those headdresses of natural flowers. Mrs. Craig did so at one of our parties; it was a wreath of jonquils she wore; and before the end of the evening, the heat of the room had blown them out so, that her head looked, for all the world, like a chevaux-de-frise, and my Mr. Mapletoft said it was as good as a comedy; but, to be sure, the rooms in the rectory used to be pretty crowded. I did not live, in poor Mr. Mapletoft's time, as I now do, in a hovel. Miss Eliza Sanderson, did I ever tell you how barbarously I was used by Mr. Lascelles, the present rector of Rothbury ?"

66

Oh yes, ma'am, a thousand times," Miss Eliza had a great mind to reply; for she had no inclination to hear any harm of Mr. Lascelles, whom she thought (as she did two or three others) an exceedingly pleasant, agreeable, gentlemanly young man.

Mrs. Mapletoft had never forgiven Mr. Lascelles, for not complimenting her with the

the rectory-house during the term of her natural life, and contenting himself with a dirty lodging in the town of Rothbury. Every polite and humane attention, short of that, he had paid the widow of his predecessor; but there is no reasoning with selfishness and folly when united; and poor Mrs. Mapletoft persisted in bewailing, to every one who would listen to her, the barbarity of Mr. Lascelles, the only thing (except her own weak nerves) which she did not appear inclined to consider "as good as a comedy."

How differently are the same characters judged by different persons! Very unlike the pastor briefly characterized in the first chapter, of all the visitors that paid their compliments at the Lodge, during the first weeks of the arrival of the strangers, Adolphus Lascelles was the only one who left a trace upon Julia's mind. He was, indeed, rather an uncommon being to meet in a remote part of the country. It is when Nature, like a tired painter, F 6

weary

weary of repeating the same insipid, formal, or affected heads, indulges in a study, that she produces such a face and form as that of Lascelles. But his prepossessing appearance was soon forgotten, in the more interesting contemplation of the worth and dignity that emanated from the mind within; and Horatio and Julia each confessed to themselves, that they had not, for a long time, spent an hour so pleasantly as that passed in his company. Every subject was discussed-foreign countries, the surrounding scenery, books, amusements, Horatio's improvements, and the harp of Julia-nothing came amiss to Mr. Lascelles. He had evidently travelled, and was now, at eight-and-twenty, comfortably settled in a valuable living—a proof that the young gentleman must either have merit or interest, perhaps both. Yet, like most other people, this paragon seemed inclined to quarrel with his lot. As he gave Mr. Somerville a cordial invitation to visit him, a shade of discontent

passed

passed over his beautiful brow, and turning the dewy brilliancy of his dark hazeł eyes upon Julia-" I would add another request," he said-" but to what should I ask Miss Somerville? Unlike the neighbourhood that surround me, destitute of every endearing tie, I possess competence, but have forfeited felicity; and, like the poor savage boy of Aveyron, may repeat to the hollow winds to which I listen"Alone! Alone !"

There was something in this parting speech so very unlike the common forms of life, that it would have bordered on the romantic, if not the ridiculous, but for the look of intense and earnest feeling-the voice of thrilling melody, that irresistibly found their passage to the heart. Yet Julia's reason did not assent to the species of curiosity and painful interest with which Mr. Lascelles's mysterious expressions inspired her, and Horatio rallied her most unmercifully on her sympathy." That a young parson of twenty-eight should not

have