her, on account of what they termed her imprudent match. As may easily be imagined, they looked colder still on her distress and bereavement. One lady, indeed, whose temper was none of the best, offered to engage her as companion at "a liberal stipend," so her letter phrased it, " of fifteen pounds a-year," and was considerably surprised when her generous offer met with a civil refusal, as the widow had now discovered another friend, whose proffered assistance she was more disposed to accept.

Lieutenant Casley had bequeathed to his wife a note, folded up in the last letter he ever sent her, addressed to his old commander General Rodomont. The missive had been duly forwarded, but for some weeks no reply was received. At length the widow received a visit from the General in person,

who begged her to undertake the charge of his only daughter. When this young lady

died, Mrs. Casley remained at the Grange, where she discharged the functions of a housekeeper, but was always treated by the General and his servants with the respect and consideration due to her former rank. Like a true lady, she took no advantage of this, but mixed freely with the families of the leading tradesmen, who regarded her with the greatest affection and es

teem.

The other person I alluded to was Mr. Mayflower, the usher of the grammarschool, who had been an old playmate of my mother's in her younger days. He was a tall, weather-beaten man, who had left his native place at the age of eighteen and returned to it at forty poorer than when he set out. He had, however, wondrous tales to tell of his struggles and adventures, and of the scenes which he had witnessed in foreign lands, for at one time

he had made several voyages in the capacity

of a captain's clerk.

Having picked up various accomplishments and odd scraps of learning during his travels, he was considered a fit and proper person to fill the post of under-master at the grammar-school, an office which, by his own confession, he accepted because he thought himself incapable of succeeding in anything else. However, he discharged his duties better than might have been expected, and won the hearts both of parents and schoolboys by his narratives, some of which I thought in after days were very marvellous indeed.

As Mr. Mayflower was a constant visitor at our house after my father's death, there were not wanting ill-natured people who affirmed that my mother would soon take a second husband; but I feel confident that she encouraged his visits more for my sake

than for her own, as I liked nothing so much as to sit with him over our winter fire and to listen to his long tales about foreign parts.

It was now time for me to think of settling to something; but this I found my mind was in no hurry to do. I was conscious of entertaining a dislike to business, but not so clear as to my vocation to any

thing else. Sometimes, when I watched the stately form of the rector as he advanced up the aisle in his surplice, I thought I should like to be a clergyman; but then came before my eyes the idea of Mr. Templeton, with his saintly character and warmhearted self-denial, and I felt as though I were not yet good enough for that. At other times I wished to be an artist or an architect, as I turned over my portfolio of sketches, and heard my mother praise my execution of them, while there were seasons

when I stretched myself on the newly-mown hay with a book in my hand, luxuriating in the sunshine, the song of birds, and the sparkling brook, and wishing that life could be, like that hour of leisure, one continued and unbroken summer day's dream.

My mother was ill satisfied with this vacillation, which she clearly discerned, although, in pursuance with Mr. Templeton's advice, I used all my endeavours to conceal it from her. She had, as I have already hinted, little taste for books, and the active engrossment in business, which had been at first a refuge and a solace from mournful thoughts, was now becoming to her a second nature. My awkwardness in the shop gave her a pain that she could not always conceal, and one day finding me copying out an account with a book by my side, she flung it angrily away, saying that "books were only fit for idle gentlefolks, who had nothing