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are severed but for a time; "I shall go to them, though they will not return to me."

Mr. Lumley's successor arrived. He was a quiet, sober young man, who avowedly was come amongst us only for a year, in order to obtain a title to ordination. He performed the duties of his office in a very respectable manner; but he was disliked by his parishioners, because, having no intention of abiding permanently amongst them, he did not seek to acquire that personal knowledge of every individual, which had contributed so much to endear Mr. Lumley to them. His name was Berneil, and he was the brother of the lord of the manor, who was patron of the living. He preferred residing at the parsonage to occupying apartments at the Priory, which had been so long uninhabited by any of his family. He was very courteous to me, always preferring my society to that of any other person. This was not a

circumstance, on the ground of which I had any occasion to form an undue esti mate of my power of pleasing. The neighbourhood was so secluded, that it presented to him no choice of companions within a circumference of twenty miles. I had the advantage of being always at hand, which was a great consideration to a young man who hated trouble as much as he disliked solitude. Our acquaintance produced a result favourable to myself. He soon discovered what I had no desire of concealing, that my wishes were limited to the hope of filling the station once occupied by Mr. Lumley. He volunteered his interest with his brother, to get me appointed curate by the rector as soon as I was capable of taking orders, which would happen precisely at the time when Mr. Evan Berneil would have fulfilled his probationary year. He told me I might calculate with certainty on this arrangement's being made; because, in the event of the rector's death, he

himself would get the living, and would hold himself pledged to continue me in the curacy. -His promise was succeeded by very honourable fulfilment.

I now come to record an event which inclination would have led me to suppress, but for the certainty that this must occasion a vacuum in my narrative, and place certain circumstances, hereafter to be related, in the light of effects subsisting without a cause. Besides, John Chaloner is well acquainted with the affair, and he might remonstrate with me on the omission, or perhaps supply it, as he is well able to do. It will be told better by myself, that is, better in the charitable sense of the word, not in the literary; I cannot be blinded by vanity so egregious. But John is very severe always against poor Amy Blair. He has applied many harsh epithets to her in my hearing, and I have in vain remonstrated with him. He does not often disregard my wishes, and to this day his unfortunate

antipathy to Amy has been the source of many dissensions between us. I hope when John reads this paragraph of my manuscript, he will abstain in future from recurring to so unpleasant a subject in my presence. It is a great grief to me to have the harmony that ought to exist between us, broken by his calling up the shadows of events, the influence of which has long ceased to be painfully felt. I shall give a faithful relation of the whole matter; and, when this is done, I hope my old friend, John Chaloner, will suffer it to rest for ever.

I still continued my visits to the Priory, and since the death of Mr. Lumley I had been there more frequently than ever. I did not fix myself in the library as I used to do. I wandered about the large, deserted, melancholy looking rooms, covered as they were with gloom, and filled with twilight at noon-day. They suited the frame of my mind at this period, when, though I did not suffer

violent grief, my spirit was oppressed by sadness, and shrunk from the loud voice of cheerful ease. I loved to think, and my thoughts were fixed on the most serious and important objects. Sometimes I sat in the library until the night stole on me unawares, and it seemed as if the familiar form of Mr. Lumley occupied his usual seat, until the delusion has been so strong on my mind, that I have felt his voice in my spirit, and been roused to consciousness by the unreal sound. But I would not have it supposed that I suffered existence to glide from me in this dreamy manner; my love of solitude did not, even to my own view, sanctify my neglect of the duties which were demanded by my situation. Considering myself as the future minister of this secluded neighbourhood, I already began to take an interest in the welfare of its inhabitants, and they were willing to extend to me the same feelings of kindness as they had entertained for Mr. Lumley.