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THE" NEW INMATE OF HILFONT. A THRILLINC. STOHY ol' OLD KNCLAND. CHAi'TKR XX111. That was one of the tnol uncomfortable Bight* 1 ever j>'Ot. 1 torepled Lucy's proposal, and was ooDlri.t to wail till to- rrow :but Derwent, though he agreed 10 this, did oot by any imsnn >lu it gracefully. So be left u for moei part of the rvening, which he ipent alone in il.e library, >n pre- tense of being buiy. Lucy and 1 cat near oach other, both wnrkine. nod keeping up \ery restrained and un. omlV rlal'le con- versation not Lucf ' fault ; but I could ot assume ev*n me common kindness of oar uiil intercoiirae, in lull consciousness of the secret which lay between us. More than that, my mind wa full ; I could not help discussing with myself the i-venls of thi* day, and t h* contingencies which hung upon them. It wa impossible, titling qnietiy '.here, in pretence of that uuiet, pretty figure leated opposite, n.unt upo,, that trifling work winch made 10 distinct and vivnl the impression of house dwelling and settled life, to avoid ipecuUting upon all the change* which within a few day* might be made upon varioui live* through the agency of the same little person. 1 am obliged to confess that I was not no much grieved for Bertie'* (hare of the trouble ail might have been. I wai diitreued for him, but theitiog of my diitreai was the fear that Bertie, ir spite of tint, would cling to Lucy, and receiving her ready explanation of ike whole affair, would still give hi* arm heart Isvuhly ,and throw h loveaway upon a woman who did not Rare for him, and could maintain a clandestine correspond- ence with another penon while affianced to hinuelf. Then, did Lucy prefer thii other person? He wa* well-looking enough, but vacant and boyish, and not at all to be com pared to my Bertie. On ihif lut, the whole question hinged ; for if Lucy threw off her unknown lover, and "explained'' her con- duct, and preferred Bertie, Kerne, I km w, would Dot bo moved from her ude by the argument* of all the world. If their did Butter in my mind the poinibility thai l.ucy would cbooee the other way that Bertie would U> /i o, .u.l that (till my icheme might come to paea I imolhered the hope in a corner, and would not venture to look in it* face. All depended upon to-morrow and to-morrow I \V> > cau look forward with coutidenue to the solving of an uncer- tainty upon another day ? At lut she roae, gathered her work to- gether, and held out her hand to bid me good-night. Look ing in herfac*,Iiawthat, inatead ot being humbled and d**ncast, it wa* fluihed with an excitement which had DO appearance of pain, and that her eye* ahone with half-aaucy triumph. I bad meant to aay a parting word of teriou* ooun**l, which ihould *end her to real full of thought, and bring fully before her the while with yom ; 1 had Itegun to fear I never > f,o jni be ; but 1 trul lhat m change I now. The gentlvman whom you met with me ytat*niay w:u Kruinaul Broom, "ia only son of Mr. Brocro, of 1'lantagencl Hall. We have been engaged to each other since befor* papa died ; ami when I came to your house it was with the hope, a* they were Ihen in this quarter of t.'ie country, that p -niai 1 might meet them, and do what I could to win over the old gentleman lo our nide. 1 daresay you will Ihink me quite inexcusable for suffering Bertie to suppose mat I liked him. I can not enter just now into my reasons for doing so, though u wa* entirely hi* fault, and not mine, became 1 believe 'hat you, Annt Clara, when you find I am entirely out of your way and married, will forgive me for this. Reginald bo* been down at Hilfont only three time*. The cole reason why we were not married before is that Mr. Broom i* opposed to it because 1 have no fortnne; and a* Uncle Derwent could not, however liberal, have given me such fortune as would please Mr. Broom, we have al last made up our minds lo run the risk, and will be on our way to Scotland when you find thii. (iood-by, dear Aunt, I am very much obliged to you for all your kindness, and hope you may toon get another companion who many suit you better than I did; and 1 trust Uncle Der- went will stand our friend with Mr. Broom when we come home. " Lrcr CRorros.'" " So there ii an end of Lucy Crofton," cried I. " She has e'oped; she hat left Bertie !" And 1 confess, in spite of my indignation, my resentment, my conscious ness of the cruel blow which it would be to htm, a spark of exhilaration unknown to it for month* sprang up in my heart. Derwent said nothing for a moment. He took the letter ia his band, looked over it, and act his teeth. " The little witch be exclaimed; then loosed the letter into the fire, and than picked it out again, burn ing his finger*. Thi* touch of pain recallt- . him to himself. "Keep it, Clare," he cried ; "we may want it before we are done. The lit lie jilt . To think she ha* taken u* in *o long ! How- ever, she is a Crofton, and my cousin's daughter. I'll start at once and se* this Mr. Broom." 'I think really you will give yourself a great deal of unnecessary trouble," said I, somewhat stiffly ; for I had no idea of hav- ing Ltty brought luck lo me, an 1 restored to Bertie whether she would or cc. Derwent looked at me closely. "She has never pleased you. Clan, and you have been right," he said. "Vou women under- stand each other ; she knows, too, that you never wanted her lo be Bertie's wife. Take comfort ; I am nol going afler Lucy. She has chosen her own lot, and I will not inler- fere ; bul I shall go lo ihe father, and if I can, make terms for her ; and I must go to Bertie. Clare," "My poor boy !" I said with involuntary sympathy, as if 1 had only felt for the first time what au awakening that would be for j the young heart which believed in every iKidy, and knew neither falsehood nor dis- honor in all the world. "Leave him lo me,' said Derwent. "I am off, Clare ; lake care of your strength, and remember your promise. Von shall here from me to-morrow. Send considered her intentions, the housekeeper came overbrimming with a fresh piece of news. A young groom, on discovering what had happened, owned to having taken a note yesur.iay afternoon to a little road ide inn al some distance, to th hero of the <-ab. The lad had to wan a t roiligioui time for an answer, bul brouithi il luck at last, and delivered it to Lucy's confidential maid, who had disappeared along with her, mst befo-e Mis* Croflon came down 10 dinner. This, doubtless, ac- counted lor the change in her demeanor from the serious tone in which she first bade me wait nil to-morrow, to the trturaph with ii.:n she said her good-night. 1' urlher disclosures followed ; a* usual, the servants kiew, or profesied to know, a great deal more than we did, and my maid and the housekeeper were quit* aware, to take their own word* for it, that Miss (,'rof tou had a clandestine visitor whom nobody knew anything about. Mr. Reginald Broom wai too notable an individual to have been three timee in the village without attracting everybody's attention. Nobcdy, however, had thoughi it any pirt of their duly to disclose his presence to us; everybody having as much sympathy with everything that savors of romance, as to look with unfavorable eye* upon teller* of such talcs. 80 the i'ory wont on uninspected save by myself, and might have gone unsuspected even by me, but for the unlucky chance which led ma on Kaster Monday, when Lucy suppoied I should have been fully occupied at home, into the village street. A long, persistent, unwavering, care- fully-concealed plot. I walked about her room after I had dismissed the honoekeepsr, thinking over il wilh amazement. She had il all in her heart when I brought her into thii very room on that snowy December night, and warned her to put no unnatural constraint upon her feelings. Her feelings! As I said io, half aloud, with an involuntary exclamation I stooped to pick up a crump- led piece of paper. It wai covered with writing, ihe lorn half of a letter, and by and by 1 sat down to examine it more carefully. So far a* I could make it out, it wai the very note which hal been brought U> her laat night from Reginald Broom. It wa* badly written and badly spelled, and wa* to the effect thai if the '>uld not tay any lunger in Hilfont with- -it being compelled to marry a fellow she > .tod, why he, the writer, could . . itand that. Nobody el*e should marry her, by George! while he was alive ; so ihe had heller pack up her trap*, and neat him at six to-morrow morning at the old place. "We'll have a jolty race to Scotland," wrote the lively Reginald, "and the old fallow will have ,o give in when he can't help himself." And here the epistle broke oft abruptly with something about "that muff Niigeut," which I could no", make oul. My first impulse wa* to tear H in pieces, my second to preserve it for Der- weni's inspection. Poor Lucy ! poor fool ' I lefl her room with, il is true, a flush of indignation, yet at the same tune a resent- ful, scornful pity. She was not even car- ried away l>y the velie ne nee of her lover ; her very elopement was part of a icheme for the conquest of Plantagent Hall. to her, and driven her to the length of running away. He thought, or else tried to persnad* himself lo think, that I was mis- representing her flight, in the hope oi iir- uniting them. It.isfrom Bertie! but 1 wa* not angry 1 made allowance for hi* young vehemence and undoubting faith in her I knew il wa* but Ihe first angry (ins*; of a tottering trust. Poor boy! I could not affoid lo be angry wilh him. I should have gone and cried over him rather, if I might. The next letter I had overlooked. When I saw the writing, I tore it open with still greater eagerneu. It was from Lucy. It was written with a levity and lightness of tone, assumed, doubtless, to show how litllo senseof wrong she ha<!; perhaps, loo, Ihe natural expression of relief from her long dissimulation. She was married, and they were going to spend a few weets in a cottage on one of the lakes. Neither Reginald nor I am at all romantic," wrote thi* calm bride. "If I had by chance married Bertie instead, this would have beeti much more congenial to him than it i* lo us; but we cannot go to old Mr. Broom directly, and so have made up our minds to wait her*. I have cot written to Berne, and dare aay he would not care lo hear from me now. I should bo much obliged i' you would convey my good wishes to him, and lay that I am really grieved to have given him any pain. I never should have done it, I assure you. Aunt Clare, but that he was very urgent, and I was ery much embarrassed about Reginald, whom you had seen by chance io the village, and did not know how in the world lo divert your attention from him. 1 knew we should havs been mined if you had found us oul then, and 1 thought it was *ur* to please Bertie for the lime, if I accepted him, and he would perhaps bear my marrying somebody else better at another lime lhau jus: then. So, all things considered, I thought 1 wa* justified in what I did. though it was a groat vexation to me lo be obliged to do it. If you will explain this to Bertie, a* much a* yon think proper. I shail be so pleased." This letter wa* signed with Lucy's new name. It was a htrd bat a salutary stroke; such a itroke a* seemed needful to bring Bertie to his sets**. I inclosed it to him without a word, though my own heart a-'hed wilh the thought of the ache 1 wa* conveying to my poo' boy. But belter he should get it over and know it at oner. He had never sought, he had never known, the Lucy who wrote that letter; but I groaned within myself to think that il was my hand wh: .-h should bring ibis sad disen- chantment to Bertie' s eye*. Derwent came home: rapid step miking after me, and looking mui.d suddenly met Btrtie face to face. The poor boy w agitated almost beyond power of speech. He threw himself sud- denly upon his knees before rr.e, grasped my hands, and cried out in a choking voice for par ion. Pardon ' as it 1 judged him severely at such a lime. 1 raised him up, aud le.i him has.ny into the house, into the library, where no one wa at present, and which was the only room in Hilfoot uncon- nected with Lucy in Bertie s mind, and h<-n he poured out his sorrows in my ear. Yet not sorrows either ; rather his disgust with everything, bis duiatte for everything, his il'tire to go away lo the ends of the world tin natural thought of every young mind in r-s first trouble. Nothing about Lucy. He had been convinced bitteily and beyond further question by her own letter. Vet he proudly forebore to allude to her would not blame her had not a word to say of lhal other man's wife who never had been the Lncy of Bertie's imagination. But with all his sore troubled heart, be wanted to go away. When Derwent understood the whole matter, he thoroughly concurred in Berlie'i own desire, which was to go to India, where he had many friends. Even I acquieaed, and agreed lh\t ihis would be belter than to go away for a year'* hilless wandering on ihe Continent, which waj, very likely to injure so simple, an i, if I must say so, un- intellectnal a mind as Bertit's for his after- life. For Bertie wa* not likely to be in- spired with a real and elevating love for ihe great in art, and the beautiful in nature. He had too much lite and animation to fall into peddling actiquaruiciim or sham en- thnsiasm ; and the chances were that the vulgar dangers of foreign society might en- trap Bertie in his preeent mood. So we agreed to huj own wish. He itayed at Hil- font till I saw that the place became intol- erable to him, then I persuaded him lo go to benosiers, to visit bis aunt. Lady Green- field. When he was gone, with !>trwent's full approval I had ihe needful steps taken to carry out our intentions about EstoonrU Items wai to sell lr commission, and to enter immediately into his rights as my heir. I wished him to go among his Indian relatives an independent man. All this was done, though Bertie took no great interest in it : and a week after, taking leave of us all, and this time riding over, all alone, a solitary day's journey, lo bid his old playfellows Unwell at the cottage. Bertie set out for India. He told, with a little surprise, that Mrs. Sedgewick cried when she said good-by to him. and that he alraott thought Alice cried too. "They I That evening Derwenl came home; he bave known me all iheir lives, said Bertie, was 10 great vigor and considerable excite- I philosophically, and with a very senoui ment, and for the nnt time seemed unable , fce, and the explanation, I bave no donbl. CHAITER XXIV. to subside into tbeoaiy-chair condition of existence. He had seen old Mr. Broom, whom he found in a great ferment, having just received an intimation of the sudden extinction of hi* ambttioui hopes 'or his graceless son. Bui Mr. Broom knew Lucy only as the daughter of a selfish, poor gentleman, who had nothing to leave her, and who was supposed to have thrown her upon the charily of her friends. When Derwenl. whoee name ihe rich man knew well enough as that of a considerable land- ed proprietor and man of influence, appear- ed on Lu ,-y's behalf, to deplore the elope to make, if possible, friendly arrangement*, the affair assumed a different aspect. Mr. Broom confessed he had William importance of the cnsis,bui the words were after me to town with some things. 1 shall checked on my lips by Lucy's look; she bad* start at once ; and in the meantime inquire me (food-night almost gay ly. " i<ood-night, Tiie nexl two days were inconceivably | m( , n . long and weary they dragged like so many ! arr4n '. weeks, save only that hour or two of hard ... . llr . Dreom ,,, 1MBJ and painful business which I had alone in , lnt< . ntjon . f or his heir, yet, when hi* my In tie room, fulfilling my promise to Der- j fim ,,, WM OTer> M med nol unwill- ent. 1 did it, though it broke my heart j in , mmke lhe belt of a bad busmosa. I kiosed the dear lillle robe, that i A<ter long d,acus:on, and Derw.nt s stal- ttle bed wliere melll o f the for tuna which be meant to giv* to do it. had cblhed him, and the Aunt Clare ; you shall know all about it to- morrow," ihe aaid ; and so went off ss light- ly u though we had been each other's dearest friends, and she hail never caused either uneasiness or displeasure lo any one in lhe world. I could not forgot her look all night. It wa* the first thing that oc- curred to me when I wok* in the morning. as you can, and ascertain what has bsen known among the servants. Vou can do it quietly by your iraid, and send me the particulars; il will salisfy Bertie, If noth- ing more." "But why so hasty, Derwent ? There is time enough, "(aid 1. " There is never lime enough," cried my nusband who already called for his horse. It certainly did not neeni the filling herald and whom one of his rare fits of action had of a confession of a deceit and simulation suized upcn. " Humor is always first on inch as Lucy must have to irske ; ami I the road. If 1 gt>l then in time, 1 may could not help feeling certain that some- effect a compromise with old Broom. Th* thing quite different from our expectation . ungrateful little witch ! This house turned awaited us in the morning. When I told upside down on account ot ?>er, and an ache Derwaot so, he replied with an exclamation preparing for poor Beriii's unsuspicious of impatience. , heart, nol to spesk of the ineviiabie com- " What she has to say had better be cat- motion in I'lantagenel Hall ! I tell you iifactory," ho said ; " bul why do you pro- ' what she deserves, Clara; she deserves thai pose so, Clare ?" " From her look," said I. "Her look ! ah, there's no trusting to look*," said Derwent, who I dare lay thought himself wiser lhac I in lhat point ; and so wi went down-stair* to breakfait, 1 think tha 1 , was thi only morning since he came to Hilfont thai Lucy had nol been first in the break fail room ; and this start- led me to begin with ; but It was perfectly I rather firmly, and so went away galloping natural, and might quite well he understood. | to the nearest railway to get the tram for She might bea||itatiil,andiiotstrong enough j town. 1 knew, though he had not toM me, to most us hath from the earliest, and go exactly what Derwent would do. I knew through all the usual punctilious of lhe meal, he would make his proposals to the elder Bat wi commented breakfast, and still , Mr. Broom as carefully as though this had Lucy dul net appear ; finished, snd there been a mere extravagance of youthful fervor wa* no word of her. Then I went upstairs the true love which would not run to inquire whither she had breakfasted in her own room, or maant to do so. But Lui \ wss not in her room. My own maid came down in consternation to tell me so. Then we became alarmed and sought through the house in a little dismay. When , this young fellow should cast ner off on the wsy." " It is civil to suppose the has dune it all for his sake," saiil I; " hut if he did cast her off on the way, what should you do'" Derwent gave a short, angry Isugh. " Shoot him, I suppose. I am nol al all disinclined even now," said my huiuand, and of joy, the crown of my life, and then packed them 'l tenderly, no one knowing anything ol .,.. 1 did. lo send them away. When the room wa* all bare and desolate, and I had carried away with my own hind* those precious packages, I fell dowu upon the floor where the cradle had been, and hid my face ; and perhaps then 1 saw for the first tune fiat Ddrweot was right ; for when 1 sent these relics away 1 feu as if 1 had been bereaved again. Il was lhe shrine of an idol, Ihough tied wa* iher*. Nothing happened on those two days- no letters came some three words from Derwe^t, telling me. he had arrived no visitors came, for our nearest neighbors, though doubtless full of curiosity, did nol yet disturb me; not even one, whoseiit over a long sympathizing lelter, deeply under lined, begging to know if she could do anything for her dear Mrs. Ciofton in this distressing calamity. I was slow lo write to any one on my own part, to tall what had happened, until I heard something more for evsn to myself tha whole matter was so hurried and unreitl thai it seemed to want confirmation, and 1 could scarcely believe that all the arrangements of the last six months ware nullified and overthrown that Bertie was free from his engagement, and lhal Lucy Crofton coulti never now be mistress of Kstcourt. It seemed too good news to be true, and I could scarcely help having a little private dread, that, after all something would come in the way lo prevent so satisfactory a conclusion, and that Derwent would bring Lucy home with him, unlikely ai that was. The vory fact of being atone, which I had not been since my husband want to bring this very Lucy from Uermany, puzzled and embarrassed my thoughts, and it saemed impossible to realize what had passed, and th* chauge of circunuiaooet, so far as she wa* concerned, since lhal lime. On the third mornirg I had letters, the first from Bertie, which I opened with breathless anxiety, aud which ran thus: " Mr. Croflon has V rought me wor I of what ha* happened, t want confirmation from herself. 1 am oota man to tore* my suit upon any woman, but I want to hear from herself before 1 have anything to say. You will think me unreasonable, and myself became very anxious. There leu, her eyes had been fixed, for the elder j CousmCNre.; can you think il strange that ai ne noto, no explanation, to ha found Mr. Broom had lost his wi/a and his daugh- | I should believe In her still having loved ' _! I*I?JI V Wl VIIVIt'1 LUUV UltlVM IIIVSBUJ b *V - Wf he had once klept, in that one hour of glory ; to hi, young relative, which Mr. Broom that was unavailing, Derwent liegan to ex amins tne survants. Mils Croflon hail left her room very narly this morning, one of them said, just after daylight, and had gone out to walk, as hs supptoed. Then my maid returned to wkuper to me with solemnity that one of the female sol- smooth. I knew how he wculd represent Lucy's good qualities and good connections, to soften the exasperation of the father, without revealing, by the most distant inference, how little respect she had shown tons; and being confident in the power of my husband,** a good wife should, I had no fear that he would nol ultimately sue i -red. If he did, here was a reward for domestic deceit, for open falsehood, and secret scheming ! Lucy, who hat) deceived us, who hs* injured Benie so heartlessly Lucy, whole whole lift had been a cheat ant who specially attended to Lucy was for thi* put year, would by and by, as if also missing We ssnt oul messengers nothing had happened, drop quietly into immediately through the grounds and the queenship ol Planlaganel Hall iho gardens, but Lucy was gono. Boil> Derwent golden prize on which all this lime, doubt gout leu, anywhere. .At last Derwent picked up a letter from the hall-table, a* peopb much etoileil do pick up and nn'.lne the moil infling things. "This letter hail better liavi t stamp," he said to mn ; and I rem- ember Wondering that ho ihould observe it at such time. In another moment hi* face flushed. He oried, "Ah, Clam, here it is," held it up to me, and ran into the breakfast room, where) hegave me the lelter. It wai from l.ucy, and doubtleis, as a last lull* lers were still young. So much we found il easy to learn. After l>erwent had gore I went through iheexoitod house, which thrilled throughout every corner of it with the strange event of this iiioriipi.'. and which somehow looked unnaturally empty and silt-n'. , with no one in it but the servants and myself, and pro oeeded to Lucy's room to sea what she nsd .eft behind her. I found all her trunks locked and placed in a row, ready for re- irok* of her wit upon me, was placed on moval, all her dress** removed from the that table in th* hall. ' wardrobr ; her dressing-case and everything And this II how Lucy explained her : else belonging to her gone. All lhat re- to the guardians of her orphanage: mained on her table was a card which Inro "1>MH Ai NT '>i.im, Before you receive the name of Mr Reginald Broom, snd for thii 1 shall lie goue tro.n Hilfont, but gone, address the Albany. While 1 looked about 1 trust, for my own happiness, and at my the deserted room, no well arranged and own will, and not because I have offended orderly that it was easy to perceive Lucy her? If she had done m this wrong, then it is clear I have never known her, aud there is an end of everything; but I believe in her still. She has withdrawn from your house tor reasons which she thought suffi- cient, but sh has not fled from me. Thank you for your sympathy, your regard tod tenderness lo myself, mil I wail lo hear from on* who is more lo 'me than myself. She is mine, and will be mine; nolhing in Ihe world but herself cau part Lucy and me, und I believe in herstill." This wasiigned with a great ilurred "H. Nugent," which I suppooe was Bertie's solemn signature. He had always called himself bv his familiar name hitherto to me. Ami thii wai from the boy ko whom I had given so much of my heart, to ca*t me olT for the sake of ihis girl who had de- ly. I have never been very happy had nov made a sudden flight, but had fully ' eeived him. He thought, I had been cruel loftily milled at, the old gentleman con Milted under cortsin condition! to forgive his ion, and receive the young couple into a certain degree of favor. These condi- tions were lhat they should come to him first at his house in town, and make their submission withthe humility v/hich became naughty children: that they should spend the next three year* abroad; and that they shoal.) neither enter nor entertain any preienuons to the heirthip of Planlagenel Hall. "He shall have plenty, sir, " said Mr. Broom: "bat ne shsll not have my family estate. My money is my owe; I'm not bound by any entail, thank Heaven; and I'll five it go his sisttr. They snii never set fool within Plan tagt net Hall." "And what did you tnswer?" I asked. "1 answered," said Derwent, laughing, "that 1 had a great curiosity to see so famous a place; that I understood i' wa* quite unique in ihis country. On which Mr. Broom iniisted on driving me down and Knowing me over the whole place this morning. N m should see it, Clare! I can tell you that fellow ha* really made a sacrifice. I hope Lu-y will mak< it up lo him.'' "Do you suppose Lucy will lose tuch a pri/r if she can help U?" said I, with some innocent scorn of Derwenl'* simplicity; "if she is not doing the honors there with- in six months, never trust me again ' "And shall you call that justice!" laid Derwpnt laughing. "It i* the way of the world,'' laid I: "but Bertie, what of him?" "Bertie very'nearly succeeded in quarrell- ing with me," said Derwent, with a serious fact; "yet 1 can't blame him either. 1 dare ay I ihould have done just the same. He would not believe me. He gave ma lo understand lhal we had not bten kind to her, and lhat she had run anywhere in the world but to i.retna iireen." "Poor Bertie'" laid 1: and then I told l>i went of his letter and of Lucy's Istter, and of the means 1 had taken to undeceive dim. Derwent wai not quite like himself 11 that day; he was more like the old Dei went of those forgotten youthful year* before any bar had been placed Iwlween him and me; before h* had gone abroad and fallen into lhe dilettante life, out of hi* vigorous Knglish youth. That very night he wrote to Lucy a short, forcible letter, which, if anything could penetrate her self-regarding calmness, must have done so, telling her the step* he had taken, and, what her huiband must do to regain his father's favor. Then he name to mo to know it 1 had fulfilled my promise to him ; and then, to my great surprise, while my heart was still aching with these questions, began to tell m* of project* and intentions uch a* a week ago would have sounded impossible for Derwent. Was hs at laat about to vindicate his powers and my hopes? I he next aftornoon I ws* by myself in my flower garden, superintending some al- teration". 1 h vl juit tm ned from th* gar- dener, who wa* at work, into a lillle green alley of holly and laurel, which led lo soother part oi the garden, whon I heard a was entirely satisfaclory. I said nothing about it, aud built nothing upon it, 1 bad learned beiu-r by this time ; and Bertie wai as silent as I was, and so he went away. The heir of Kscourl, beyond doubt, or controversy, or power of altering. " But il is just possible thai you hve been rash, Clare, ' said Derwenl with a smile. He said it withoul the slightest meaning, for He had gone with me in all my arrange- ments with the most perfect and cordial satisfaction : but that he should say it wa* always a slight vexation to me. (TO II i PEARLS OF TRUTH. A mau'i conduct is an unspoken se>mon. All true courtesy springs from the heart. A stingy soul i* to be pitied for its hale- em. There i* no true association except among equals. Popularity that is purchased is never a bargain. A happy firende u better than a big bank account. To be personally great is to forget all personal greatness. The honest man never slop* lo inquire if honesty pays. We follow example much more readily than we ol-ey command. Uverwarm friendship*, like hoi potato**, are quickly dropped. No entertainment is so che*p a* reading, nor any pleasure so lasting. VVhat is the greatest luxury a man can enjoy in this life? An honest man's sleep. The slander ot some pe-ipie is as great a recommend anon as the praise of others. A man who puts off hi* enjoyment too long will find it mislaid by the time he goes to get it. Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. There is no authority can justify perfidy towards a Irieud ; fickleness in friendship is inexcusable. The real happiner* of life cannot be bought with money, and the poor may have it a* well s* Ihe rich. I'ut off repentance until to-morrow, and you have a day more to repent of, and a day leas to repent in. When you put your shoulder to ihe wheel il is well to notice whether you are helping it along or working against it. Scandal is detcrilwd as something which one half the world take* pleasure in invent- ing and the other half in believing. Man and wife are like a pair of scissors, so long as they are together, but they be- come dagger* as soon as they are disunited. A gentleman is a kind of human being who is conscious of being a gentleman without advertising the fact on all occa- sions. Bacon says, "He who is silent where he is known to be informed, will be believed to be informed where from ignoraroo h* i* silent." Hakes a Big Difference. Mr. Timmidd "How would a girl feel if she received a propos ,i by iettor '.' ' Friend "If she m In't care for you, | she'd feel insulted." "I'm well er su|,>.se. she did care for me ? ' "She'd lay 'yes 1 by telegraph." Slightly Different " Vou ought to be like I am," remarked the musket to the bull-terrier during the dog days. " How's that ?" inquired the bull ter- riei, " I woar my muzzle without the slightest inconvenience."