The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

stream, from its beginning the thread of pearl, which, like along necklace, now bid, .now seen, upon a maiden’s bosom, decked the swelling fell, down to the far distance, where, a river broad and shining, it yet was lost in the misty plain. Many a mile it ran before her, and all its course was fair; whether with the moorcock and ptarmigan upon the heathery hill, or in the rocky dells of the park, where the gentle does strayed down to know their beauty, or in the broad rich level beyond, white with terms, and yellow 'th grain. It was the plain which please her best, because it was the richest; for it was greed that kindled in Grace Clyfl’ard’s eyes as she gazed upon that lordly scene. All was here, as far as those eyes could range, to live in and be mistress of; but if the proud demesnes of Clyffe had stretched twice as far she would have hungered still for more. All was here, but for her life onlyâ€"to enjoy, but not to possess. True, she concerned herself with this life alone,credited it alone, never hoped or thought (although she sometimes dreamed, in spite of herself) of anything beyond it; moreover, she only loved herself, and therefore it could matter nothing into whose hands this wealth should pour when here must needs unloose it. Nevertheless, it was that thought that darkened her fair face and marred her brow as she gazed forth u on this scene, whose peaceful beauty ehou d have found its own reflection thereâ€"to enjoy, but not to possess. "Nay," answered those tight shut lips, “ but thatcannotbe. I must pos- sess before I can enjoy it." She beat her little foot against the floor, once, twice, and yet again, but not in passion; whatever stirred the depths of her subtle heart rarely indeed was evidenced upon the sur- face. There was one answering rap from beneath, and after an interval, a side-door opened behind her, and a young girl entered the room. Mrs. Clyflard did not even turn her head, but sat with her rapt gaze still fixed upon the view without. "'I am strong enouglnmunbâ€"for a child," replied Mildred Leigh coldly. “ What would you have me do ‘2” Swift as a snake, the lady of Clyfl'e turned round and placed her face quite close to that of her niece. as she sat at the table, so near that not a uiver of the lip. not a trembling of an eyglld, could escape her gaze. “ Listen. Mildred; you are no fool. although you would fain that I should take you for one. You are not a baby either. Girls have been wooed and won. ay, and been widowed, too, before they have reached your age. You know for what those lustrous eyes have been given youâ€" and howto use them. You do not plait that raven hair so ounningly toplease your- self alone. Boys like that color always “â€"- she glanced aside in a mirror, glistening in the oaken panel like floating ice on a dark sea. at her own auburn tressesâ€"“ but ’tis the blonde that lasts. You Willbe ay, child. before me. Your time is s ort. young as you think yourselfâ€"beware lest you misuse it. Look you. because Ralph Clyffard wears his hair llke you. and hav- ing cellars filled with goodly wine, persists in drinking water from the spring, and lives in a half-dream. through poring on his ancestors. and looking for their curse to fall on him and his. you think perhaps that he himself is mad." “ I. aunt? Nay. not I!" “ Who, then. child? Who has dared to think my husband mad? Your face does not pay com liluents. Was he mad to marry me I" twitching at the corner of the girl‘s mouthâ€"the hint of the beginning of a smile-had brought this question swift as the uivering wire upon a tower draws the lig itning. " Well. and what then? Are not all ~ men mad to marry? By Heaven, if I were male. I‘d call my house my own. my purse my own ; nor would I '“Ay. child; the ground behind us then at least is safe. Madmen are said to become sane men sometimes, and stretch their fettered hands again for what was once their own; but the dead lay claim to nothing. Ralph Clyfl'ard is lord of Clyfle at last. I place my feetfirm on the second step; but it is still far toclimb. Do you feel strong, child ?" She did not speak these words as a mother would have done. It was her con- temptuous habit to address her mace as “child." and she used it now mechani- cally: when no contempt was meant. _ “Yés. aunt,’ replied the girl. “ Mr. Cyri} Clyfl'ggd is__dead.” " Breakfast waits, Mildred," said she thoughtfully. “You are late this morning. an_e_ you heard the 139ng fgom the; Deng?" ' AUNT AND macs. The morning that witnessed the arrival of the messengers from the Dene was many hours older when Mrs. Clyfl'ard sat down to breakfast in her own boudoir, attired in deepest black, and wearing an air if not of respectful sorrow, at least of serious thought. Through the deep bay-window, she could mark from where she sat the golden raiment of the autumn woods of Clyffe. and thewindings of its well-stoqked By th author of “ that He Cost Her," weudoliuo's Harvest,” and other popular novels. AVENGBD AT LAST. “ 'I‘iu Mess lud iliat ever siept ;" V 7 But her son she did not know. And she neither smiled nor wept. Rose, a. nurse 0! ninet‘rs you, Set a phieou pie In She new]: In eat-J 'Tis he! 'tls he I" She knew himâ€"by his appetite! Home they brought. her sailor son. Grown a. mun across the sea, Tall and broad and black of board. And hoarse of voice as man may be. Hand to shake and mouth to flu. Both ho attend or. he spoke ' But she said. “ What man is th s Comes to play a. sorry joke ‘1" Thou they pnised himâ€"called him “ smart," “ Tightens lud that ever slept ;" m I, “ wuuMyouhdh How many applol have you had ?" She tun-worm]. “ Only sevenlfl " And us you sure you met no unto. My Mme mud ?" ( not): I. “ Oh, please, 81!. mo or no me (out. But they wore in a pie " ‘ If that's the case." I smmmered out. “0! course you've had eleven." The maiden answered. with a. pout. “ I ain't had more nor seven 1" A Story at Love and I’m-Inn. "noun Tl!!! nouon'r." 8T0. “ W: m IBVBN.” CHAPTER IV. Good Parallel. "‘va my faith.’ as the Clyffards say, although I doubt whether one of them ever had enough to swear by. but you play the maiden prettily. Only, look you, Mildred," added her aunt, changing her tone of rail- lery to one of sharpest earnest. “ do not over act it ; or rather. keep your more frigid moods for me. but to your lover thaw a little. You may let him kiss your hand next timeâ€"not snatch your fingers away, as though his lips were springs. I thought to have had a vet: difl'erent role to support, girl. when I rought you to Clyfl‘e Hall last year ; I deemed you would want a duenna of Mistress Prudence to say. ‘ Hang back. hang back.’ Why there is not a handsomer lad than Rupert Clyfiard betwixt this and Care], and fitted with all the graces that are clear to fools of your age; while, as for those matters to which a woman. if a wise one, sets her mind. there is scarcely a better match in all the north. ' What luck was mine.‘ say all folks here. yet yours is twice as good. Ralph Clyflard was neither young nor fair to look upon ; and he had sonsâ€"another woman‘s sonsâ€" aud Cyril was alive; while you. you mop. iug mi k-faced fool, beware how you anger me with tears! I have not got thus far upon my way to be balked by a girl's mad fancy. Mad ? There never was a Clyfl‘ard half as mad as you would be if you said ‘ No' to Rupert; for it you lose him. Mildredâ€"who are poor as any beggar. dependent on my bounty for your very gar- mentsâ€"you lose all you see from yonder 'rl. g1“ Even if such were the ease," answered Mrs. Clyfl'ard. coldly. "there are means to make bun. without using love-potions. But he does love you and you know it, Mildred; for I know it. and you must needs have learned it before me. When he took your hand in the Oak Gallery but yesterday and strove _to kiss i_tâ€"pslgaw, never b_lush for that; it was only I. who witnessed itâ€"you were right not to suffer him. You did very well; but do not say that Rupert is indif- ferent to you. That was not the first love- psssage between you two. as I presume. Ay, so I thought. Why. what a trembling dove is this. that the very mention of her future mate should flutter her thus!" Mildred Leigh did tremble. yet not with the timidity 0 love, but rather as the dove cowers and quails over whom the hawk is poisiug, and thrgqtgning go st‘gop; " Never, Mildred l" interrupted Mrs. Clyffardâ€"“ never, never! You are mis- taken. You never heard me say so I and if you dreamed you heard me, see you for- get that dream. Ralph Clyifard is sane enough, but he will not live long.”â€"Mildred pushed aside her plate, its contents almost untouched, and sank back in her chair with her hand pressed to her browâ€"“ Nay, I wish I could think otherwise, child,” con- tinued her aunt coldly. “ There is no life -â€"â€"not yours or Gideon’sâ€"which I can afiord so ill to lose just new as his. But he has not many years, perhaps months,to pass at his beloved Clyffe. When I am widowed hereâ€"well dowered though I be, and free to live my life out at the Hallâ€"things will be altered; I shall no longer be mistress. Rupert will be bringing home some smooth-faced, smooth~tongued wife, who swears she loves the books that are his idols. Or Raymond will have free quarters at the Hall for some still more hateful mateâ€"a gypsy from the forest like as not, some large-limbed fury, whom I shall have to poison." Her hands closed tightly as she spoke, so that the pink nails of her fin- gers stabbed her delicate flesh. and she threw open the easement, as if for air. But for that, she must needs have seen Mildred‘s tell tale bosom palpitate, and the color rush impetuously over cheek and brow. But the Lady of Clyffe had pas- sions of her own to hide, and kept her face averted, though she spoke on. " Where I have ruled, I will rule still to the end; and it is you who must help me to do so, as the mouse helped the lion in the fable." She paused as if waiting for a reply, but no answer coming, save in the quick throbbings of the girl‘s heart. inaudi- ble to her aunt, although to her own terri- fied ears they seemed to fill the room with sound, Mrs. Clyfl‘ard added, “ do you know how you must help me, Mildred ?” “ No, aunt.” "By being a dutiful and faithful daugh- ter-in-law. You must marry Rupert Clyfi~ ard, and that soon." “ But I do not love him, aunt.” “ So much the better. niece. Your judg- ment, when you come to rule him, will be the lesslikely to be blinded.” Can you not sing as any siren can ? What would a man have more? But, mark! if you had not known none of these fine things, but scarcely could read a line out o! a book; or if you could. would have none to listen to you, since all were rude and cultureless about you; your father a boot. dead in a drunken brawl; your mother an evil memory; your brothers hated by all who knew them, and most hated by those who knew them bestâ€"driv- ing a base trade basely; if this had been your fortuneâ€"as it was mine, childâ€"you might have said indeed: ‘Should any man of rank and wealthâ€"let alone a Clyfiard, the proudest and the richest in all the oountry-side-propose to marry me, and take me from this sordid roof, and m me mistress of his ancestral home, he rely must bemad.’ So, niece, when I saw you smile, or thinking of a smile just now, when Isaid, ‘Was he mad to marry me 3’ I was neither angered or sur- prised.” “Nay, aunt," answered the girl in a. depreoating tone, “I meant nothing like that indeed. But having heard you say yourself that Uncle Ralph was likely some day_tioâ€"" “ You lieâ€" on lie!" returned Mrs. Clyflsrd. slow y. “ Not a. thought about it, and a. girl! Why. girls think of nothing else. Why not confess it, Mildred? You have some right to value yourself highly. Are you not my nieceâ€"the nearest to the mistress of Clyfle Hall ? Are you not a. lady born? Can {011 not paint? Can you not ple. ? Ah. w at a lure is thereâ€"the rouude arm grown round the %olden harp, the fingers tw_ kling on thejet. lsgk 5919.! ‘° I hov'e 11W“. thought about it. aunt.” replied Mildred Leigh, colorless as virgin marble before some sculptor .who would lain bowl!) to his purpose. Note muscle moved, and the long lube. other eyes drooped down almost“ it in slumber. have children praying for my death. or heirs of any kind. I would not buy the best of wives at such a. price. And yet, I suppose; you thinbtbm is no-nuuo rial“ but that he might ive both land and gold; to again you human yet be no npendthrittfif; “ But he dées not love me," faltered the Upon the morning of the interview between Mildred Leigh and her aunt this apartment was occupied, as it usually was at that period of the day. by Rupert and Raymond Clyfl'ard. They were sitting within the same oriel-window, and close to the casement. in order to get as much light as possible for the occupations in which they were engaged. The elder was poring over an ill-printed volume of romances. the younger was engaged in making a fish-hook attractive for trout. ‘Not by any means to be oompned with those persons now termed “ Netunliste." who. n has been said. would peep end botanize upon their mother I grew. All allowance made for their pardonable solicitnde to make our dwelling houses defensible, when every man’s hand (with a cross-bow in it) was against his brother, our architects of old, whether British, Danish, or Norman, were, it must be admltted, Goths. If they did build a house upon a bill. it was not for the pros t, but in order to better to annoy people w 0 mi ht want to approach it; and when you fin a peep-hole in a Norman tower, designed, as you think, to afford a bird's eye view of Para- (1189, you may be disabused of that idea by remarking a little furrow down the centre of the outlet, for the convenience of pour- ing melted pitch upon visitors. Clyfie Hall was no exception to otherold houses in pre- parations for this sort of welcome, as like- wise in its independence of all outward attractions. The ground floor was shrouded in gloom. Either the windows were recesses. broad within, but narrowing in the thickness of the wall to the merest slits, or they were hidden by the terrace parapet. Moreover. where the panes were moderately large, many of them were of stained glass, and blushed with the blood of knights and the dames of the House of Clyffard. The library in particular, which should have been the bestJighted room of all, was the worst. It was beneath the level of the terrace, and entered from within by a descent: the sun even at noon- day only made a sort of splendid gloom there. Its beams had to stru is through the painted shields of Sir Jo n and Sir Gwinnet, of Sir Bevis and Sir Mark, before they passed the window. This apartment had once been the armory, and still bore traces of the use to which it had been put. before the mighty tomes. standing shoulder to shoulder. as though resolved not to be taken down alone and read, garrisoned the room. Above the shelves glanced many a fair device, deserving to be better seen, of mace and spear,of axe and harquebuse ; and upon the cakes panels between the shelves shone whole sheaves of ancient weapons, the gleamings of many a harvest-field of war. THE EEIB AND THE HEIR-PBESWPTIVE. There is nothing more strange than that the aspect of external nature. as beautiful many thousand years ago as on this enchanted morning (which, so fresh and fair it is, might well be the first that ever broke on human vision}, was cared for nothing at all till withm the last three hundred years; that the common glories of the sea and land, offered alike to lord and vassel, should have been by both rejected and ignored. To our far back ancestors, a yellow primrose was a yellow primrose and nothing more; and if any other flower ever awoke in them the reflec- tions too deep for tears, they have care. fully concealed the circumstance. Doubt- less there must have been persons born with some spiritual discernment of natural beauties; the scarred sea-rocks were not merely horrid to all; a forest must have been suggestive to some of other things besides the chase; a mountain stream of more than a creel of fish. Nay, some mute,inglorious Wordsworth, it is probable, existed in all those generations, which have left us scarcely one wood-note wild con- cerning the scenes which lay about them. as now about ourselves. Did they then love no birds but such as were good for table? Were the parks only fair because their venison grew therein? Some we know thanked God for the early sunrise, that enabled them to start betimes upon a suc- cessful forayâ€"thanked Him, that is, for luck in larceny (by no means “petty")â€" but did men ever thank Him for the sun- rise itself, “the awful rose of dawn ‘2" Was it the premature birth of what is called “ the love of the picturesque,” which caused them to lay out hideous gardens, trim and true as measuring-line could make them, and surround the same with box-trees. elaborately cut in travesty of the human form? Were all the priests who mumbled Latin and counted beadsâ€"thus worshipping. as one might say, through the medium of the classics and mathematicsâ€" spiritually deaf and blind, that they knew nothing of the truths which nature speaks direct from God himself? Or if they did know, how was it that they never told their people? Perhaps they had ther rea- sons for silence upon this matter; perhaps there was an unthorized sect, calling them- selves Lovers of Nature,‘ whom it was expedient to put down, and a censorship of the press, which exorcised everything written about her, as William Cobbett would have eliminated from poetry all adjec~ tives. But even the monks (who have been made answerable for so much. poor men, although they are useful too in there time) cannot be held responsible for 'this fact, that when our forefathersâ€"a good many times removedâ€"set their hands to build. their notion of what we call “aspect" was peculiar; and if in spite of them, their ground-floor sitting-rooms did happen to command a view, they generally saw their error, and hastened to repair it, by raising a gre_at_wall immediately in_ front. thisâ€"a lifelong enemy in one who never yet has failed to work her will I" “ I know it well.” answered Mildred. hopelessly. “ I will endeavor not to shrink; I will strive to love your step-son. Rupert.” " I care not for that. strive you to marry him. Now, get you gone. for I have webs to weave that demand my most deliberate thought. This Carr here. he is your uncle, child, but not your equal. Give him our fin- ger tips, but not to kiss. Be cold an stately to him, and, especially in the presence of Ralph Clyffard. Do not fear least this should anger him; it will be easily enough to be afl‘able when you have become rest; for a smooth word from one who is in one: heals all." casementâ€"wealth; and station, thtt makes the proudest smile upon an; and pow‘gr, that bendq yhe stiff neck 0 the " I wish you wouldn’t whistle 30, Ray." CHAPTER V. "I am sure you meant me no harm." replied the other. laying his hand kind] on Rupert‘s shoulder. "Come now wit me a fishing in nibble Beck." “I’erfiapii.” answered Rupert. with an effort at aolf-controlâ€"“ paths 3 it does. I misunderagood you. Raymon ; I diMot " What! not my father‘s?“ returned Raymond. “ I was merely about to repeat that. his melancholy ariaea mainly from encouraging such mimic}: “What mean you by that. sir?" cried Rupert. starting to his feet. his blue eyes gleaming with rage. “ How dare you say such things? You call others cruel. but none have ventured to wound me thus for." “My dear Rue," returned the other with astonishment and a pity that he strove in vain to conceal. " what have I said to anger you? I declare. upon my honor, that I meant nothing more than such morbid thoughts were bad for anybody. Have we not ex en now the sedest proof yo! it in our meanâ€" ~‘ “ They wag not to me, brother; never, at least. since I pitched Gawain Harrison into Nettle Hole for pratingto me about Guy Clyfiard. It is understood now, when I go a-fishing. that I want a man to carry my basket. not to tell foolish stories against my ancestors. Why, halt a century hence. that righteous chastisement of Gawain at my hands will have swollen into an attempt tomurder avassal. Does heaven set its face against us. think you, more than against other folks. or is it not rather that we have rejected its alliance? You might just as well complain that we do not sit here in the pure sunlight, when we have shut it out ourselves with you painted pride. I swear that I would rather be that peasant boy, keeping sheep upon Bibble Fell side than be cursed with ancestors whose memory so dispirited me. If Guy Clyfl'ard did leap into Boden Pot. what then? Are you and Land all his descendants, obliged tojump after him? Come. sweep these cobwebs from your mind. Rue, or one day they will do you a mischief,” "Be silent; do not mention him." inter- rupted Rupert menacingly. " I tell you, I will not hear his name." “Nay .brother, say rather she has been herselfy to me; to my father, and to you she has never revealed her true character. How strange it is, Rue, with all your brains and book learning, that you cannot read a. wicked woman. You see our father’s melancholy deepens dailyâ€"how his mind withdraws itself more and more from all wholesome matters. to brood over the sad fortunes of our house; and yet you cannot see who casts the shadow, and ever thrusts herself between him and the fostering s‘un.’_’ “ It needs no woman to make a Clyffard sad,” returned Rupert gloomily; " to blacken the annals of our race would indeed be a superfluous task. There is scarcely a chamber in this house which is not eloquent of our crimes or shame ; and if we go outset-doors, there is no tongue but wage to the same tune.” " She is our father‘s'wife, Ray, and-Tend â€"" Rupert stopped and stammered. “ ‘ And we should respect her for his sake.’ you were about to add,” observed Raymond cooly. ” Upon the contrary, I protest it is mainly upon his account that I hold her so vile. He is a changed man since he married her; he loves not us, his boys, as he used to do; as for poor me, it is well if he does not end by hating me. Do you remember telling me that ancient story of the Greek creature, half woman, half serpent, fair without, but foul within. with whom men fell enamored, and so perished ‘2 There must be some glamour about this woman, or our father could never be so enmeshed.” " And scarcely can I , brother, yet a. wise man has written it. who had himself been young. It is certain that Mrs. Clytferd is gentle and comely; and there lies magic enough in that withogb sorcery." _ _ “Comely !” echoed Raymond with abhor- rence. “ I could as easily admire the come- liness of a. viper. Gentle! ay. the stealthy gentlessnesa of s. tigress. asshe creeps upon her unconscious victim. You smile incredulously. Rue; you have only seen her velvet. foot; but I have seen its claws." “ She has, I do think, been cruel to you, Raxzponq." _ “ I can scare/9137 believe that, Rupert," exclgimpd the ypungerfgrgvely after a, pangs. “Really, Rue, you make me blush,” replied the other laughing. “I am not accustomed to such pretty s eohes from the ladies. I assure you. rs. Clvffard was so good as to tell me in oonfiaenoe. only yesterday. that Iwas ablaok devil. I wonder whether there is such a thing as a white she-fiend." “Hush, Ray, hush; the walls of Olyffe have ears.” “ I have read. Raymond, that men when old are more liable to the enchantments of love_than even in_ yquty." “That is an odd wish," returned the other laughing. “ Do you, who know so much, then, desire to be ignorant? 0r, being the heir of Clyfie, would you exchange it fora younger brother’s por. tion ‘.- “ There are worse things than being poor,” returned the young man gravely; “ but it was not of mere station I was thinking. I envy your happy disposition. your never flagging spirits, and those plea- sures which the simplest sports never fail to afford. I envy you your very strength of limb, Raymond, and the manly beauty of your face." " Their talent for hearing, Rue. is, how- ever. a very modern accomplishment; just two years old, as I reckon, this day. You may shake your head. brother. but until our good father brought that woman hither, what things we spoke reached only the garsfior which they wergintended." The other did not reply. but set with downcest eyes fixed on the floor, on which the rich heraldic bluzons were thrown. tracing idly with his foot the fantastic course of the bend and ribbon. lozenge and fret. After a little he broke silence with, “ I wish_l was you, Raymond l" “ Is it ?" replied the other carelessly. “ I never do either, and therefore om no judge. What are the important matters which demand your attention no urgently this morning. that my whistling ‘ Charlieie my Darling' would interrupt them? I was doing it sole! out of compliment to your Jacobite ten enoies.’A’ “ I didn't know you were ranging. Rue ; you mind.» my 139 omm': observad the totmer tostily , “ how is one to real ‘2" thatjfiqqoh 1191::er 39:]: “16.1! refiingflj named to me to be 0 0_uly thjukiug." sighed apart , _“ but ' "Their inward thonght is th“ their house! shill continue totevor. and their dwellln place- to .II genenuom; they all the“ lam um um: own mines." This is surely something worse than unreasonable. A good and wise father is aninestimable blessing. and if his father had been good and wise before him. and his father before him, it is a subject of satisfaction indeed to a rest-grandson. and the more so, inasmue as such con- tinuity of excellence is rather rare; but the mere fact of being able to trace the existence of one‘s forefathersâ€"unless by their good deedsâ€"even to infinite series. is surely no genuine ground for self-con- gratulation . the sole credit is due to the Herald's college. or to the man whom you have ventured to censure. perhaps. for having somewhat prolonged his task in the muniment room (at a guinea a day, and free quarters in your ancestral mansion) of making out the family tree. That red- nosed scribe himself is indubitably de- scended from the same ancestorâ€"one Adamâ€"as you are; and the sole difl'erence between you two in this respect is, that you have the money and the inclination to spend it upon making clear those last few ste which intervene between yourself an William the Norman at furthest. The rest of the ladder is hidden. like Jacob's, in im netrable cloud. Nor am I to be told that t is is all vulgar talk; that a certain divinity doth hedge about this wonder of long descent made plain. more than can be explained away by mortal scribbler; for if. at any round of the said ladder. some ancestor of any man of lineage has chanced to leave his purse behind him. we call his descendant yeoman. or Worse. look you. and attach no sort of divinity to him at all. Thus there are farms in Devon, as doubtless all over this historic land of ours. which have been held by the same race in an unbroken line for twenty generations; whose blood is as pure as the Howards'. These are much " respected" as long as they ay their rent; but it is reserved for their andlordâ€"the lord ol the manor, who dates perha at earliest from some ro ue whom Blu Harry loved (for his wi e’s sake). and to whom he gave lands filched from their common mother, the Churchâ€"- to boast himself in sonicheons and chev~ rons. in ” jackasses fighting for gilt ginger- THE “ASTER 0F CLYPFE. Ral hClyfiard was no book-worm like his el er son, and yet no sportsman like his younger. Now, for a man of fortune to live in the country and be ha py, it is almost essential that he should one of these two things. Even nowadays, when he has the fortnightly, or even weekly, dis- pensation of justice at the next town to attend, and the board of Guardians ofl'ers its uneasy chair at the like interval, time hangs heavy with that country gentleman whose library mainly consists of works of the era of the "Turkish Spy,” and who cannot take sweet counsel with his keeper concerning “ the birds." Still the Times comes every morning, save on thatunhappy Monday, and there are mitigations in short swallow flights to town by help of the {steam horse, whose hot white breath can be seen, let us hope, from our Castle of lndolence, rising serpentine along the distant valley, like incense from the Altar of Travel. But it is only lately that such has been the case. If a grandfather of ours, being a country squire, did not hunt, it awoke commiseration or contempt, ac- cording as he was popular or the reverse among his neighbors. If he took to reading, it was a portent, a course of proceeding so altogether abnormal and uncanny. that it was not much spoken about; but if he was neither sportsman hor scholar, people set him down as mad. Ralph Clyfiard was not mad, but he was possessed with a devil â€"the fiend of family pride; not a reason- able sort of disease with any folks, but in his case unaccountable in the highest degree; for there never had been a Clyfi- ard, from Bryan the founderâ€"a freebooter -tc Cyril, the shell of whose rayles's mind had not been yet put underground, of whom their descendants had any cause to be proud; on the contrary, that generation was an exceptional one, the record of which was unstained by gross vices. What a gracious power is that of time, which can make dullness shine from afar with star- light mellowness, aye, and hallow crime itself! How strange it is that the tyrant ofafew years age should look to us the hero, and the wild rake win our readiest charity, if not extort our admiration, while the bully and the set of today are held at their just value. If the future is seen darkly, or rather dimly, it is not least distorted like this past; there is no weird charm about it, that can make evil seem good and baseness beauty. I have known even godly men to be greatly befcoled in this matter, taking their Jack o' Lanterns, arising from the phos horescent bodies of their dead ancestors, or quite a celestial lustre; the few centuries over which their forefathers have straddled more or less ignobly, divining their thoughts with that eternity which they hope to pass with the saints of the earth.‘ The dark face lightened as he s he, and the eyes, somewhat too stern for fiyhood, softened like the black waters of a menu» tain tarn touched by the moon, as he strode gayly from the sunken chamber, and through the vaulted passages to t hall. whistling his merry tune. Bo b he he shone amid the general gloom, it seemed as though the haunting shadows of the place fled at his sprightly ste . and gathered to- gether after him more arkly than before, like clouds behind the sun. Raymond’s e es ' followed him with genuine sympat y until the door had closed behind him. “Poor Rue! poor Rue l" he murmured. “ God grant that thou may’st not bring the curse down on thine own head! It is no wonder that such prophesies work on their own fulfilment. when they have minds like thine to deal with. I wish with thee that thou and I could change; places. Rub- bish of that sort might shot here, I fancy," striking his broad ohest a. sound- ing blow. “ without much damage. I am not one of your dreamy ones, thank God! It is 11 o'clock. There are, one, two. three good hours of fishing before me; and then, shl _the_n, for my_sweet Mildred l" “I will join you thereJIey. presently; but I have something else bode first. I has" indeed. I would rather be alone for I. little." Ru “said this. “kings towards “madam". an thong: n'rni 15:93.11! mus." nupen and um. wolki hastily towards the door, as though Uni lost his brother's importunity should overcome his own resolution. (Continued on sixth mo.) CHAPTER VI.