the Evelyn's, kept by you and a surly husband; for the poor and disappointed are always surly, or, if you prefer it, confirmed and povertystruck celibacy at Moss Grove Rectory. When we are gone to our long home, you can live at the grocer's, and take in needlework. I am sure I shan't be here long, for it will break my heart to see it, with such prospects as you have had too.

"I should not care so much about it, if I had not centred all my hopes and pride in you. I have done my best for you all; but, somehow, that best has been any thing but satisfactory to my heart. Your sister in India seems ill and unhappy; yet, what a match that was! Poor Lydia-look there-gleams her marble monument through the yew-trees-Cold, lonely abode of that warm-hearted social being! Let me, then, see one of my children satisfactorily married. Let there be one good match made in the family. I cannot think why all turns out so ill." Strange that it never occurred to the mother how much better it would be, if people were matched by their

own hearts, and not by the manœuvres of a regular matchmaker; but, as with a gamester, the more she lost, the more eager was she to win.

"Mamma," said Augusta, seizing her mother's arm," do not leave me now! There is great truth in what you say-and, to-morrow ... to-morrow... I will dismiss Julian, I will accept Sir Peter-but do not leave me alone one moment, to-night, with either of them; in mercy, do not."

"You promise, to-morrow, to accept Sir Peter ?"

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"I do-to-night I am so ill and agitated, I shall retire. Come with me, my mother! and do you excuse me to all."

The matchmaker fondly embraced the consenting daughter, led her to the house, and then, carelessly taking Sir Peter's arm, led him away, and, during a stroll, contrived to let him know that she had ascertained that, were he to renew his proposals, her Augusta would not decline them; that Julian Lindsay was arrived to propose for her; and that, at

the last moment, she had found out that she did not like him, and hinted that her affections were evidently Sir Peter's.

She mentioned the failure of some large mercantile houses with which Mr. Lindsay was connected, but took care not to avow that his immense fortune was seriously impaired, much less totally ruined, by them. And Sir Peter felt elated beyond measure, and took his leave, trying to look down on Julian; which, however, he could not achieve, till he had mounted his phaeton.

CHAPTER LVI.

"And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, goddess bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that sylvan loves,
Of pine or monumental oak,

Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt."

MILTON.

The morning came, bright as it so often is when the heart is saddest; the sun glared in upon eyes that had not slept, heavy and red with weeping. There was something in Augusta's behaviour which shook Julian's confidence the spoiled child of the world suspected, for the first time, how much he owed to the paltry advantages of wealth and station.

"I will not judge her harshly," he said to himself, as he roamed into the garden to seek her. "I will not condemn her unheard." But his walk was a vain one; he only met Ellen, who came with her voice of comfort and looks of affection; and what were they to him?

The breakfast party assembled, and yet Augusta came not: a headache was pleaded for her by Mrs. Lindsay; and Julian tried to hope that her indisposition arose rather from anxiety for him than from care for herself.

Ellen, too, she was not well. Ellen had not slept; her cheeks were wan, her eyelids swollen, and her lips white; but yet, though her feverish hand trembled, she was there to smile, to soothe, to comfort, more fondly attentive, more delicately devoted than ever. Mrs. Lindsay had, perhaps unconsciously to herself, assumed a somewhat condescending air. None but the truly thorough-bred can find themselves conferring, where they have