yet, though I ken that I am better without a husband, as far as profit gangs, yet I own an' do declare, if I got the offer of a third ane the morn, I wad snap at him."

The conversation of the two carlings now naturally fell into details which, though of great moment, and would be deeply interesting to some, yet for fear of the caprice of human nature, which is disposed to find most faults with what it likes best, I must pass it over, and proceed with the regular history of the Turners.

CHAP. IV.

There was one day, about the end of August, that there was a man came in to Aunty Margaret, a kind of mulatto, or rather half-cast, and he asks, in a very civil manner, if she could take him as a boarder, as he wished retirement, and had been long in a foreign climate, and felt himself in precarious health. He did not much care about the conditions, he said, as he had plenty of money-all that he wanted was quiet and retirement and plain diet. Aunty Margaret said, that perhaps the taking in of a half blackamoor as an only lodger, a man about the same age with herself, would rather look curious in the eyes of the world; she would recommend him rather to take up his lodgings with her daughter Margaret, who was married on the parish-schoolmaster, and had plenty of rooms for boarders, several of which were unoccupied. He lost no time in posting off to the dominie's, which was about two miles distant, in the heart of the village, and asked the mistress of the house if she could accommodate him with a dining-room, parlour, and bed-room, for a season? No, she could not. Mrs. Bell was then a handsome young lady, about twenty-two, with two little chubby boys, the one in her arms, the other at her knee. He took them both on his knee, and kissed and caressed them; and the little imps, instead of being afraid of the blackamoor, clung to him; and Mrs. Bell, to her astonishment, saw the tears trickling from his eyes as he embraced them.

The stranger went back to Silverburn Brae that same night, and told Aunty Margaret that her daughter could not take him in and that he must ins

and liked her, and had some hopes that they should be long in parting.

Aunty Margaret said that she never had taken in any boarders, and never intended doing so; but that he was most welcome to remain with her for a few days, or weeks, until he could find a proper lodging-house, and it should cost him nothing. The blackamoor wiped his eyes, and thankfully accepted the invitation. But that very night, at tea, Aunty Margaret says to him, "I wonder very much how you, being a foreigner, should speak the English, or rather the Scottish language, so well, so that I understand every word you say. Pray, where did you serve?"

"In Hyderabad, in the East Indies." "In Hyderabad, in the East Indies? What regiment, if you please?" "In the 8th, or St. George's light cavalry."

Aunty Margaret set down her eup and looked intensely at the stranger; but her breath seemed to cut, and it was long before she could speak again. At length she put on her spectacles, on pretence of looking for something, and then she raised her face and looked at him through the spectacles; but still she had not power to ask any questions, until near the time of going to bed, when she did venture to ask him if he knew one William Turner, a lieutenant in that regiment. The stranger said he knew him well, and was much interested in him; but he was taken prisoner at the great battle of Berar, and carried with others into the Nizam's country, where they had been closely confined in a dungeon, till very lately that a remnant of them had been redeemed by treaty, of which number William Turner was one; and he, after receiving arrears of payment for thirteen years, was allowed to return home on full pay, on account of his great sufferings. He now bore the rank of captain, had lately returned to Scotland, and was this night kneeling at his beloved mother's knee. "Have imprisonment and a burning clime so changed me, that my mother does not know her only son?"

Mrs. Turner was one who had the complete mastery over her feelings; and perceiving at once the necessity for keeping this great discovery a secret for some time, to prevent the machinations of a wretch who neither feared

ance of tears in silence over her beloved William. No meeting could be more tender; but, in the midst of their congratulations, who should arrive but Mrs. Bell. She felt interested in the sunburnt stranger; and no sooner had he left the house than she fell into deep thought, so deep that it distressed her; and for several hours, when spoke to, she could not return an answer. She was certain she had seen the stranger before, aud thought it was in the West Indies, when she was young. At length her eyes began to beam with joy, and her heart to palpitate; and she said to her husband, "William, I could wager the kingdom to a crown piece that yon sunburnt stranger is my brother."

"Dearest Margaret, that is impossible, and so much Asiatic blood in him.'

"Not a drop! The darkness of his hue proceeds from his having roasted so long in a torrid clime, and, moreover, he was dark of complexion from his childhood. I know every turn of his features, on proper recollection; and yet it is strange how old he looks. Take notice of the children, for I must follow him." Which she did, and found him kneeling at his mother's knee; where she kneeled beside him, embraced him, and wept for joy.

This discovery was a great release; for old Evans had every thing prepared and in readiness to turn out Mrs. Turner, and Mr. Bell, her son-in-law, and wreaking mischief on many others on the estate beside these. His malice seemed to increase with his power of doing mischief; but he was preparing himself for an unregretted fall. Captain Turner's identity was complete: the register of his and his sister's birth in the West Indies, and letters from his colonel and commander-inchief, stating the period of his services. And it was a lucky thing for him that he had visited his uncle, for several of the old servants made oath to his identity; and Gabriel, with exultation in his looks, caused the captain to cast off his coat, and shewed the wounds in his arm when stabbed by his cousin with the hayfork. Every thing being thus self-evident, the old miserable attorney, although for some time led to suspect that some mischief was abrewing against him, never could divine what it was, till it was called at the

church-door that the true proprietor of Hollinshaw had arrived to take possession of his patrimonial estate; and all who held not their leases or feus of him behoved to appear and produce their rights; and such as did not would be driven from the estate. Jacob Evans, and his clerk Mungo, rode night and day, consulting with lawyers; but the tables were turned, and not a hole left whereby he could manage to get in a finger. Daft Andrew's bills and bonds were of no avail, for he never had been laird, but merely an interloper while the true heir was living; and it so happened that, the very day on which Evans had set to turn out Mrs. Turner from her habitation, she and her son turned him out of the mansion-house of Hollinshaw. He tried every method to warp the law in his own favour, all without effect; and at length the captain compromised the matter himself, by proffering to pay the other all that he could prove to have been his own, or earned in an honest way of business; but not a farthing of what had been made from the estate during the time he had been factor and agent for an intruder and an idiot. Jacob was glad to grasp at the offer, as the captain told him that, in case of refusal, he would make him forthcoming for all the bygone rents.

Jacob Evans soon after died, it was thought of a broken heart for the loss of the grand property, and his bills and bonds for 30,000l.; but had he even retained it, he had neither child, nephew, nor niece, to leave it to. What strange, inconsistent beings we are! for always the less need of money we have to leave behind us, the more anxious we are to attain it; which seems to be a part punishment of the avaricious man's sins. Captain Turner seems to have had a little of the spirit of retaliation in him; for he instituted a suit against the Rev. Mr. Duntbook, for behaviour of the most immoral and revolting kind, and got him turned out of his parish church, retaining the third of the stipend for life; and in the church he established his brother-inlaw, Mr. Bell, who is reported to have been a good and amiable divine, though not very brilliant. His son, William Bell Turner, is the proprietor of Hollinshaw at this day; and this is all I have to relate of the family of the Turners.

As this is, on all hands, admitted to be, if not actually "a crisis," something very like it, it may not be inopportune to examine, for a moment, the way in which the "best possible public instructors are marshalled - what, in this respect, is the relative strength of parties; in other words, the influence exercised by the daily press on the public mind. In attempting a hasty estimate of this, we shall make no allusion to the known or suspected proprietors, editors, or writers, in the papers treated of,-an announcement which may possibly displease those who delight" to season their fire-side with personal talk." This we can't help. But, inasmuch as the parties just alluded to are not "before the court," we extend to them the consideration which we claim for ourselves, namely, an abstinence from assertions which it is impossible to substantiate. As to allusions, we never condescend to that sneaking style of composition; being, on the contrary, distinguished by an amiable candour, which has been immortally characterised by the Duke of Wellington in these two words, " mistake."

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We have one preliminary remark to make, of a very gratifying nature to the readers of FRASER'S MAGAZINE. It is, that the balance of newspaper power is incontestably in favour of the Conservative party. The views and principles of the papers in this interest are very naturally matter of dispute in many quarters; but no one, having any claims to discrimination, can, we should imagine, deny that in information, energy, eloquence, wit, humourall the qualities, in fine, which impart an interest and a charm to public writing the Conservative papers leave their opponents immeasurably behind. We merely state this as a fact, of which every man, who pleases to give himself the trouble of comparison, may satisfy himself any day in the week. As we said before, this fact does not affect the merits of the questions discussed; it relates only to the mode of discussing them. And we cannot but congratulate our readers, that this intellectual superiority distinguishes the "right

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urgent than at this juncture, when no man can tell what new orders the prime minister may receive from his premier what new sacrifice may be claimed to appease for a moment, and but for a moment, the ravenous maw of an insatiable demagogue.

First on the list of daily papers stands, of course,

THE TIMES.

A friend of ours has remarked of the late Lord Castlereagh, that, in all the caricatures of his day, the noble lord, however quizzically represented, always looked like a gentleman. This characteristic was necessary to the preservation of any resemblance, however slight. So, of the Times, we may say that how, and for whatsoever, abused and vilified, the eminent talents engaged in it are always acknowledged. Even the very nicknames given to it are all indicative of the power of that journal. Such designations as the "Thunderer" suggest, to him who hears or reads them, other ideas than those of ridicule. It is felt to be, as it unquestionably is, the leading journal of Europe. Many years ago the Edinburgh Review, at a time when Brougham, Jefferey, Macaulay, and others, wrote essays for it, put forth a criticism on the press of the day, in which a sort of attack was made on the Times, to the effect that it was ever "strong upon the stronger side," and all the rest of it. What has since occurred? Jeffery and Brougham have been made lords, and Macaulay has become a great man; the "strong side"-the Whig side-has had all sorts of fine things to dispose of; but the Times has been "strong" against this side. And, to say the truth, it has not only had the giant's strength, but it has used it like a giant. It is, beyond question, the most formidable foe the Whigs and Radicals have to contend with. Other journals, whatever their merits, have none of them, for an equal length of time, had so strong and commanding a hold on the public mind as the Times. In "the court, the camp, the city, and the grove," wherever you may find yourself, a sight of the Times newspaper is, among men, an indis

The necessary of life. In the city,

is conned as a matter of duty by merchants, stockbrokers, and speculators of every shade. You will hardly get a decided answer from any one of them till he has seen the Times. Is it not the same in politics? Be a man's opinions what they may on a question, he must see what the Times has to say upon it. The "leader" is law with one class; and with the other it is a production which must be read, in order that the best possible answer may be given to it. This, in general, amounts to nothing more than contradiction for the "Thunderer" never fulminates till he has argued. Having once done this -- having made out his case-be revels in the consciousness of power, and pours peal after peal on his terrified antagonists, till they cower prostrate on the field. On recovering their self-possession, they fire a few shots, and strut off in a very amusing style of self-satisfied valour; which, of course, no one thinks it necessary to disturb.

The position at present occupied by the leading journal is conclusive as to its extraordinary power. Nothing else could have maintained it against that furious storm raised by the Whigs and Radicals, when the Times declined to countenance, first the pranks of Lord Brougham, and subsequently the profligacy of the present patch-work administration. The discussions on the Reform-bill had given abundant evidence of the value to be attached to the talents and influence of the Times. And a blank day it was for the Whigs, when they saw that this journal was too thoroughly English in spirit and character to aid or abet, or, indeed, to tolerate, the transference of the great powers of the state into the hands of the Irish agitator. The Whigs well knew that a large and most important class of the community, who had supported the "Reform-bill" as a "final measure," and not as the "first of a series of organic changes," were ready to follow any able leader who might oppose the movement. They also knew that the Times would be, of all leaders, the most influential for this class. And so, in fact, it proved. Look at the situation of parties now, as contrasted with what it was when the Times withdrew its support from the Whigs. The Conservative ranks are swelled by all those who, but for the decision, energy, and patriotism of the leading ioune

would, in all probability, have remained passive, refusing to surrender to the Radicals, and unwilling, from old prejudices and associations, to join the Tories. At that critical juncture in the popular feeling, the Times, in fervid and powerful appeals, called on every Englishman, who was true to the king and the constitution in church and state, to forget all past animosities, all minor points of difference, and to support the crown in its efforts to save our common country. The appeal was responded to with enthusiasm. Conservative associations have since multiplied in the metropolis and throughout the country; and we now see Lord Stanley and Sir James Graham cordially co-operating with Sir Robert Peel. We are aware that this is not all attributable to this one journal; nor are we ignorant or regardless of the great services performed by other portions of the Conservative press. All we wish to urge is, that the decided line adopted by the Times, fixed the wavering at a most important moment, and gave adequate and encouraging expression to a widely spreading feeling of Conservatism among those who had supported the Reform-bill as an absolute and final settlement of a great public question.

That this public-spirited act of the Times, misrepresented as it was by the enraged faction thus abandoned, may have had a momentary effect on its circulation, is possible. If any such effect was produced, it has by this time, we are confident, ceased to exist. Apart from the merits of the journal, and the patriotic motives of the act, there was a boldness about it which the British people never fail to estimate. Courage, in all its forms of resolute effort, is a favourite quality amongst us. We all feel that

"A high guerdon waits on minds that dare"

and there can be no danger of any permanent injury to the Times from the spluttering vilification of the palsied pens that have been raised against it, for advocating the English party. For this is the true name of the Conservative party. All the nicknames that the flagging intellects of the ministerialists can invent cannot alter the fact, that the very life and soul of the Conservative party is the determina

land against the demagogue of Ireland. This, then, is the English party- -a party to which the leading journal, we are happy to say, belongs, and which is fully sensible of the importance of such vigorous co-operation.

THE MORNING CHRONICLE.

This is the chief organ of the government. In zeal it is second to no paper in London; but in method, talents, aptitude, power, and elegance of composition, it is not to be named in the same day with its chief antagonist. It is thoroughly devoted to its party; but no longer possessed of those claims on public attention which distinguished its palmy days in the time of Perry and the youth of Moore. Indeed, it seems to have grown more feeble and inefficient in proportion to the exigencies of its situation. It is understood to be in wealthy hands; but that, as we said at the outset, is beyond our present inquiry. We merely allude to the circumstance as indicative of the low rate of power in the party generally, when the principal ministerial organ, able to hold out the ordinary inducements, is unable to obtain the services of ordinary talents. A practised eye cannot but observe in this paper almost daily evidence of that want of the" hand to execute," without which a strong cause is injured, and a weak cause must of necessity fail. You perceive the points the writers intend to make, you know what they would be at,-and you almost feel disposed to prop their hobbling decrepitude. Referring, we presume, to their former files from time to time, they are disposed to try the facetious style, once so effective in the Chronicle; but nothing can be less amusing than these attempts. Look, for instance, at the "squibs" in this paper-a kind of composition which, from the latitude of personal remark permitted in it, and the very nature of the subjects treated of, it were, one would imagine, impossible to render utterly dull and devoid of any interest or point whatever. Yet this the poet of the Chronicle contrives to do, and more. In half-a-dozen stanzas you are sure of having four which cannot be read aloud, from the halting nature of the versification. Now this is really inexcusable, and we should

why don't they adhere to the safe and level flats of prose, and abstain from hanging the tatters of their imbecility along the lofty heights of rhyme? But we presume the ruling powers of the Chronicle know their own affairs best. Certain it is, that nothing but a strong sense of the importance of such " things in prose and verse" as we see in this paper, could induce any one to give them insertion. Perhaps the Chronicle finds it necessary to write down to its readers. If so, we can only lament the necessity.

It is a sad instance of that indolent temperament which neutralises the most shining talents, to find the very experienced squib-writer Lord Palmerston, and his brother lords in politics and literature, J. Russell and Morpeth, refusing to give a tuneful note or so to the leading organ" of their govern

ment.

How appropriately would a squib entitled "Don Carlos" come from Lord John, already so famously associated with that Spanish title by a tragedy, which, unread to this hour, preserves a virgin freshness in its venerable oblivion for any amorous antiquary who may be "i' the vein!" And who could say more softly sweet and tenderly sentimental things on the general question than the noble foreign secretary, who, by the way, should he wish to particularise, might perpetrate most pathetically on the loss recently su-tained by Queen Christine in the death of Mr. Muñoz. As to Lord Morpeth, though he has intimated to one of the most fascinating women in England that he can't well write for Annuals so long as Lord Mulgrave bores him about business, still, it could not cost him much additional trouble were he to "Chronicle" his "small beer," and lend his "countenance" (!) for the public entertainment. But we fear there is no hope. Palmerston pouts at the probable downfal of Mendizabal; Lord John Russell is inconsolable for the loss of his cousin-german, the chimpanzee; and Lord Morpeth is engaged in the superfluous labour of "making mouths" at the want of temper evinced in the "blowing up" just given to King William's statue by the whole-hog-Liberals of Dublin. So the Chronicle must e'en shift for itself.