derable sensation was produced by its first announcement. Mr Dalton had the church new white-washed; orders were issued for repairing and beautifying (to use the churchwarden's phrase) the Thorwold Gallery, which had for seventeen years been abandoned to the use of farm-servants; and even about the parsonage-house itself there were sundry symptoms of preparation. As for Reginald, the village tailor lavished all his barbarity on a new suit, and the young man looked forward with a strange mixture of curiosity and reluctance to the prospect of mingling at length in that sort of society, to which, notwithstanding his fine pedigree, he had hitherto been a stranger.

It was on a bright Saturday's evening that the little belfry of Lannwell church sent forth its most lively peal in honour of the arrival of the Chisneys. Reginald and his father were sitting together, and the vicar, being in a very communicative humour, told a variety of stories about the young squire's father, and other members of the Thorwold family, whom he had formerly known. Among other things, Reginald found out that the Chisneys and the Daltons had intermarried about a

hundred years before. Such and so profound was that respect for the notions of cousinship, into which he had nursed himself for some time back, that he felt quite astonished how his father could have so long concealed a matter of so much importance. In fact, he lost no time in mounting his hobby-horse, and long before he went to bed that night, he had furnished the great romance of Grypherwast with a very pretty episode from Thorwold-hall.

CHAPTER IV.

BOLDLY and gaily, however, as Reginald could dream, he hung his head very sheepishly next day, when he found that the long deserted gallery, over against the vicar's pew, was really filled with a blaze of fine ladies and gentlemen. In the course of the sermon he stole a few glances, and I believe had sense enough to satisfy himself that none of the bright eyes of that high sphere were in any danger of being fixed upon him. But, in truth, Reginald was an odd mixture, and there is no saying what sillinesses might have passed over his fancy.

The young squire and his bride, ere they got into their carriage, received very graciously the congratulations of Mr Dalton; and Reginald heard after they came home, not a little to his

discomposure it may be supposed, that his father had accepted for them both an invitation to dine in the course of the week at Thorwold. Indeed, I take it our young gentleman wasted about as many meditations on that dinner, ere he went to it, as a young lady generally does on the coming ball at which she is to come out.

It must be quite unnecessary to say, that he bestowed on the toilet of that great day a double, ay, a treble portion both of time and attention, and almost as needless to add, that when he had done, his appearance was infinitely more awkward than usual. Had Reginald presented himself at that time in any company, drest just as he was accustomed to be when he was wandering at his ease among the woods, he could scarcely have failed to be regarded with some admiration. He was naturally very handsome, and this, too, in a somewhat uncommon style of handsomeness, considering his race and his country; for though his eyes were of that clear, grave blue, which is seldom seen but in the north, the general cast of his countenance, both as to features and complexion, was rather what a painter would have called Ita

lian. A profusion of dark chesnut curls lay on his forehead, the dancing blood of seventeen was in his cheek, and his lip, just beginning to be shaded with down, had that firm juvenile richness, which so rarely survives a single season of debauchery, or even of dissipation. His figure was light and nervous, and there was even a certain elegance about its motions, although Reginald had never had one single lesson in fencing, and I believe only about a dozen in dancing, from an itinerant professor of the name of O'Leary. But as I have hinted, the young man was at great pains on this occasion in spoiling his own appearance. Nothing could be more absurd than the manner in which he had combed his fine hair back from the forehead it was meant to shade and to grace; and as for the new suit of clothes, it has been already insinuated that old Nathaniel Foy was an artist who had never sewed at the knee of any of the Stultzes.

According to the old-fashioned manners of the northern counties, the families who had in former times been intimate with the Chisneys, began, immediately on the arrival of the young couple, to pour in visits of congratulation; so that Mr Dalton