then it occurred to him all at once, that there might be some letter-press in the heart of the book, bearing reference to the prints at its conclusion. In what a flutter of zeal, after this idea had struck him, did the boy turn over the huge leaves!-with what delight did his eye at length catch again, at the head of a chapter, the names of Grypherwast and Dalton!

To save my reader the trouble of referring to a book, which, if he be not a Lancashire squire or rector, is most probably not in his possession, I shall tell him, in a very sentences, the amount of what Reginald here found expanded over a goodly number of long pages. He found, then, a prolix deduction of the Dalton pedigree, from which it appeared, that the family had been distinguished enough to furnish a sheriff and knight of the shire, so far back as the days of John of Gaunt; but that their importance had risen very considerably under the Eighth Henry, in consequence of sundry grants, which that monarch had bestowed upon the existing squire, at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries. The Daltons lost these lands again, under Mary; but it seemed that, on the accession of her sister, the donation of the bluff monarch had quietly, and as of its own accord, resumed its efficacy. From that period, Reginald Dalton had followed Richard, and Richard had followed Reginald, in regular succession, from father to son-a long line of respectable knights and esquires, who for the most part contented them with taking care of the family possessions at home, and leaving to cousins and younger brothers, the honour of supporting in arms the ancient reputation of their name. But the last paragraph was that which the young Reginald read with tenfold interest.

"The present representative of this family, and proprietor of Grypherwast-Hall, is Richard Dalton, esquire, formerly M. P. for the burgh of gentleman married Elizabeth, daughter of

This

Fair

fax, Esq. and widow of the late Charles Catline, Esq.

by whom he has issue, one daughter, Barbara. Mr.

Dalton is now a widower; and failing his daughter Barbara, the nearest branch of the family is his cousin, the Reverend John Dalton, vicar of Lannwell parva, Westmoreland."

Reginald had read this last paragraph, I take it, a dozen times over-then ruminated on its contentsand then returned to it again with yet undiminished interest; and the book was, in short, still lying open before him, when he heard the sound of his father's approach. The vicar seemed to be trotting at a pretty brisk pace; and, without taking time to reflect, the boy obeyed his first impulse, which was, to tie up the parcel again, so as to conceal that he had looked into the book.

Had

It was not that Reginald felt any consciousness of having done wrong in opening this packet-that he labou red under any guilty shame-that he was anxious to escape from the detection of meanness. twenty letters, addressed to his father, been lying before him with their seals broken, he was entirely incapable of looking into one of them. He had had, at the moment when he opened the packet, no more notion, intention, or suspicion of violating confidence, or intruding upon secrecy, than he should have had in taking down any given volume from the shelves of his father's library. His feeling simply was, that he hastily indeed, and almost involuntarily, but still by his own act, put himself in possession of a certain piece of knowledge, which, for whatever reason, his parent had deemed it proper to withhold from him. To erase the impression that had been made on his mind, on his memory, was impossible; but to save his father the pain of knowing that any such impression had been made there, appeared to be quite possible; and so, without taking time to balance remoter consequences or contingencies, Reginald followed, as I have said, the first motion of a mind; the powers of which had hitherto acknowledged the almost undivided sway of paternal influence, and from no motive but one, of filial tenderness for his father's feelings, he endeavoured

well as he could, to restore to the packet its original appearance.

Having done so, he awaited his entrance quietly, with a book in his hand. Dinner was served up shortly afterward, and they quitted the library together without Mr. Dalton's having taken any notice of the packet.

Soon after the repast was concluded, he rose from the table, and Reginald heard him re-enter the library by himself. Perhaps half an hour might have elapsed, when he rung his bell, and the boy heard him say to the servant who obeyed the summons, "Go to Master Reginald, and tell him I want to speak with him." There was something in the manner of his saying these words that struck Reginald at the moment as unusual; but the man delivered his message with a smiling face, and he persuaded himself, ere he rose to attend his father, that this must have been merely the work of his own imagination.

When he entered the library, however, he perceived, at one glance, that there was heaviness on his father's brow. "Reginald," he said in a low tone of voice, "I fear you have been guilty of deceit-you have been trying to deceive your father, my boy-Is it not so ?" Reginald could not bear the seriousness of his looks, and threw his eyes upon the table before him; he saw the packet lying open there, and then again meeting Mr. Dalton's eye, felt himself to be blushing intensely.

"You need not speak, Reginald," he proceeded, “I see how it is. Look, sir, there was a letter in this packet when you opened it, and you dropt it on the floor as you were fastening it again. It is not your opening the packet that I complain of, but when you tied these cords again, you were telling a lie to your father. Yes, Reginald, you have told a lie this day. I would fain hope it is the first you ever told-I pray God it may be the last! What was your motive?"

Poor Reginald stood trembling before him-alas!-for the misery of deceit! Conscious though he was that he had meant no wrong-conscious though he was that had he loved his father less tenderly, had he revered

him less awfully, he should have escaped this rebuke at least his tongue was tied, and he could not muster courage enough even to attempt vindicating himself by the truth.

Involuntarily he fell upon his knee, but Mr. Dalton instantly bade him rise again.

Nay, nay, Reginald, kneel not to me. You humble yourself here, not for the sin, but the detection. Retire to your chamber, my boy, and kneel there to HIM who witnessed your offence at the moment it was committed." He waved his hand as he said so, and Reginald Dalton for the first time quitted his father's presence with a bleeding heart.

By this time the evening was somewhat advanced; but there was still enough of daylight remaining to make him feel his bedchamber an unnatural place for being in. He sat down and wept like a child by the open window, gazing inertly now and then through his tears upon the beautiful scenery, which had heretofore ever appeared in unison with a serene and happy spirit. With how different eyes did he now contemplate every well-known feature of the smiling landscape! How dull, dead, oppressive was the calm of sunset-how melancholy the slow and inaudible waving of the big green boughs-how intolerable the wide steady splendour of the lake and western sky!

I hope there is no one, who, from the strength and sturdiness of his manhood, can cast back an unmoved eye upon the softness, the delicacy, the open sensitiveness of a young and virgin heart-who can think, without regret of those happy days, when the moral heaven was so uniformly clear, that the least passing vapour was sufficient to invest it with the terrors of gloomof the pure open bosom that could be shaken to the centre by one grave glance from the eye of affection -of the blessed tears that sprung unbidden, that flowed unscalding, more sweet than bitter-the kindly pang that thrilled and left no scar-the humble gentle sorrow, that was not Penitence-only because it needed not Sin to go before it.

70

Reginald did not creep into his bed until the long weary twilight had given place to a beautiful star-light night. By that time his spirits had been effectually exhausted, so that slumber soon took possession of him.

But he had not slept long ere he was awakened, suddenly, but gently, by a soft trembling kiss on his forehead; he opened his eyes, and saw Mr. Dalton standing near his bedside in his dressing-gown. The star-light, that showed the outline of the figure, came from behind, so that the boy could not see his father's face, and he lay quite quiet on his pillow.

In a little while Mr. Dalton turned away, but ere he did so, the boy heard distinctly, amidst the midnight silence, a whisper of God bless my child!-Reginald felt that his father had not been able to sleep without blessing him he felt the reconciling influence fall upon his spirit like a dew from heaven, and he sunk again lightly and softly into his repose.

CHAPTER III.

WHEN Reginald entered the breakfast parlour next morning, he was received by his father just as if nothing particular had occurred the evening before. The Vicar was not merely as kind, but as cheerful as usual; and the boy, ere the morning was over, had been sitting by his side, not only reading in the Lancastrian folio, but asking him an hundred questions about the old castles and churches engraved for its decoration.

I need scarcely say, however, that Reginald abstained from Grypherwast-hall; although the reader can be at no loss to believe, that had he followed his own inclinations, he would have been more inquisitive concerning that print than any other in the volume. But if the boy did not say any thing as to that tacitly VOL. I.

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