fess one thing to you, and that is, that of all the chan ges I have ever heard of, Sir Charles Catline's must be the strangest, if he be at heart what they now say he appears to be.-Alas, my poor Lucy!"-These last words were uttered in a broken whisper, and the Vicar paused. "And yet, Reginald," he proceeded after a moment, "God forbid that we should judge uncharitably. There is nothing impossible to the Almighty.

-But in the meantime, 1.repeat to you once more, that you are to dismiss from your mind these vain silly dreams. Dismiss them instantly, my boy, and be thankful to God, that if you make a proper use of the faculties he has given you, no part of your worldly happiness need be dependent on the caprice of stran gers-Hear me, Reginald! if you are too wise in your own conceit to follow my advice, if you persist in this folly, this absurdity, this madness, (for I can give it no other name,) you will undo yourself-and me too, my dear boy, for what have I in the world but you?"

Reginald was exceedingly affected with the passionate manner in which his father delivered himself. A tear had gathered in his eye ere he answered, (and he did it in a tone at once trembling and energetic,) "My dearest father, what have I but you-whom else have I to listen to, to obey, to love? I confess to you, that I have been silly enough to regard all these matters in a different light; but henceforth I shall have no thoughts of my own. In this, and in all things, be sure that I shall endeavour to do according to your desire. Would to God I could be such as you would have me!"

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"My dearest boy, my only hope," said the Vicar, you are, you are already all that I would have you. I have told you my own weaknesses, because I would rather you should know them, and be strong yourself, than be weak in ignorance of them. Go into the world, my Reginald, and happy will my gray hairs be, if you prove in manhood such a creature as I love in you now."

CHAPTER X.

In spite of all the excitements of curiosity, all the bustle of undefined expectation, the fortnight during which Reginald looked forward to, and prepared for, his departure from Lannwell, was a period, on the whole, of painful, far-far more than of pleasureable emotion. His father's whole air and aspect seemed to be suffused, as the day approached nearer and nearer, with the tones of an ever-softening interest, and a more melancholy seriousness of affection. The stillness of the autumnal air, meanwhile, began to be broken by sudden blasts of wind, that whistled and moaned among the branches; and every morning showed some favourite tree stript of half the foliage that had mantled it over night in all the fragile gracefulness of October. The turfen walks of the garden lay encumbered with dead and rustling leaves. Nature, indeed, was still beauti ful, but it was the beauty of decay, and its influences accorded well with the gloom of pensive tenderness which hung and deepened over the spirits both of the man and of the boy.

At length the day came, and Reginald, although his father was going along with him, did not leave the vicarage without some sorrowful enough farewells. Frederick Chisney, however, joined them with a cheerful face at the gates of Thorwold; and the presence of a third person, even less merry than he was, would have been enough to divert, in some measure, the current of their thoughts. Besides, after they had advanced a few miles on the way, every thing was new to Reginald, and even the dreary novelty of the Leven Sands was able to occupy and interest his mind. The good Vicar and Frederick, both of them, smiled, though not at all in the same sort, at some juvenile raptures

he could not help feeling now and then, and dreamt not of suppressing;-for every paltry collier sloop was a ship, and Morecamb Bay was ocean itself to one, that had never before seen any thing greater than a little inland mere.

They halted to bait their horses at a little village on the main coast of the Palatinate, and then pursued their course leisurely through a rich and level country, until the groves of Grypherwast received them amidst all the breathless splendour of a noble sunset. It would be difficult to express the emotions with which young Reginald regarded, for the first time, the ancient demesne of his race. The scene was one which a stranger, of years and experience very superior to his, might have been pardoned for contemplating with some enthusiasm; but to him the first glimpse of the venerable front, embosomed amidst its

"Old contemporary trees,"

was the more than realization of cherished dreams. Involuntarily he drew in his rein;-and, the whole party as involuntarily following the motion, they approached the gateway together at the slowest pace.

The gateway is almost in the heart of the village, for the Hall of Grypherwast had been reared long be-fore English gentlemen conceived it to be a point of dignity to have no humble roofs near their own. A beautiful stream runs hard by, and the hamlet is almost within the arms of the princely forest, whose ancient oaks, and beeches, and gigantic pine-trees, darken and ennoble the aspect of the whole surrounding region. The peasantry, who watch the flocks and herds in those deep and grassy glades, the fishermen, who draw their subsistence from the clear waters of the river, and the woodmen, whose axes resound all day long among the inexhaustible thickets, are the sole inhabitants of the simple place. Over their cottages the Hall of Grypherwast has predominated for many long centuries, a true old Northern manor-house, not devoid of a cer VOL. I.

6

tain magnificence in its general aspect, though making slender pretensions to any thing like elegance in its details. The central tower, square, massy, rude, and almost destitute of windows, recalls the knightly and troubled period of the old Border wars; while the overshadowing roofs, carved balconies, and multifarious chimneys, scattered over the rest of the building, attest the successive influence of many more or less tasteful generations. Excepting in the original baronial tower, the upper parts of the house are all formed of oak, but this with such an air of strength and solidity, as might well shame many modern structures raised of better materials. Nothing could be more perfectly in harmony with the whole character of the place, than the autumnal brownness of the stately trees around. The same descending rays were tinging with rich lustre the outlines of their bare trunks, and the projecting edges of the old-fashioned bay-windows which they sheltered; and some rooks of very old family were cawing over head almost in the midst of the hospitable smoke-wreaths.

Within a couple of yards from the door of the house, an eminently respectable-looking old man, in a powdered wig, and very rich livery of blue and scarlet, was sitting on a garden-chair, with a pipe in his mouth, and a cool tankard within his reach upon the ground.

This personage rose, and, laying down his tube, uncovered himself, and performed as elaborate a bow to the name of Dalton, as Dr. Samuel Johnson himself ever did to the dignity of an archbishop. He told them, with an air of concern, that his master was confined to his room by a touch of gout; but my young mistress," quoth he, " and Mrs. Elizabeth are sitting with him, and if you'll just wait for a moment, I'll let them know who are come."

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So saying, the old man tottered on as fast as he could before them, and, after ushering them into a large dark-pannelled parlour, repeated his best obeisance, and left them for a little to themselves. But he might have staid a long while ere Reginald at least had wea

ried, for the walls of the room were quite covered with old portraits, and the youth was in a moment too busy with these to think of any thing besides. He had not, however, had time to examine more than two or three of the embrowned and whiskered visages, ere the man returned with a face full of smiles, to say that his master was delighted to hear of their arrival, and requested them to come into his dressing-room. "The family have dined an hour ago," added their guide," but we'll soon get something for you, and you'll dine beside the Squire, if you have no objections."

"Any where you please," quoth Frederick Chisney; "but do make haste, old boy, for we're as sharp as hawks."

"God bless you, sir," said Thomas Bishop; "I wish you had come a little earlier, for we had one of the grandest haunches to-day that ever mortal eye beheld; but never fear, gentlemen, we'll toss up a hash in five minutes time, and a beef-steak, maybe-perhaps your honours would like to have a beef-steak along with the hash ?""

"Thou hast said it," quoth Chisney; "and now lead the way, my hearty.'

As

The Vicar and his son followed, smiling in spite of themselves, and after passing through three or fou spacious chambers, in one of which was a bed, and in another a billiard-table, they reached the snug little kabitaculum where the Squire was established in the "otium cum dignitate" of his customary disorder. the door was being opened, they could hear him saying, in rather a surly whisper,-" Away with all your confounded trumpery-shuffle your tracts and hymnbooks out of sight, I say:" And, to be sure, there was almost as formidable an array of pamphlets on the table, as there was of phials on the chimney-piece.

The Squire made an effort, and rose from the abyss of his enormous elbow-chair, to welcome them. Mrs. Elizabeth laid down her knitting with a most cordial smile; and even Barbara, now that she was under her