nearer interest in the prosperity of America." On the conclusion of Count Wydenbruch's generous remarks, the company rose and the festival ended. The speeches were in English, excepting those of the Representatives of Russia and Spain, and the report of each has been approved by the speaker. From Temple Bar. PRECIOUS POLL. "OH! COUSIN WATSON, how can you? -and she mother's aunt!" "If she was ten times your mother's aunt, I should say th' same. It's enow to make one right-down wild to see yo spending th' bit o money yo're fayther left you over old Martha Huxley, who niver was no good to no one-not even to herself," exclaimed sharp-voiced, sharp-featured Mrs. Watson, with a lofty contempt of grammatical idiom, "Why can't you let th' parish take charge of her? And good enough for her, too, without yo a-neglecting what yo ought to be doing, to slave yo'self after an old woman who niver did yo a hand's turn; let alone th' money, which she hasn't got none of herself. And I suppose yo'll be for burying of her, too, just like decent folks. Set her up! One would think yo were a born idiot, Winny Watson!” Winny stood before the irate lady with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes, but made no further reply. "It was bad enow for yo're fayther to go and marry beneath hisself, without having all yo're mother's relations upon the family's hands; and yo're an ungrateful huzzy, that's what you are, to go agin' the wishes of yo're best friends- that's me and Ben. But if yo like better to take up with Martha Huxley, of course you can; only yo shan't stay here. I ain't going to hev the keep of Mrs. Huxley's nurse; " and Mrs. Watson tossed her head, having concluded with what she considered a fine touch of sarcasm. It was rather hard to accuse Winny of ingratitude, seeing that, during the year she had been under her cousin's roof, she had been doing the work of about two servants, without wages; but it did not enter into Winny's head to estimate her services very highly. She only said: "It will be time enough to talk about that when I am yo're wife!" exclaimed Winny, her dark eyes flashing. "There may be two words to that bargain!" 66 It's not Ben that'll hev to go fur to seek for a wife," interrupted his mother; "though me and yo're fayther did wish it; but if yo're going on a fool's errand, to spend th' bit o' money, that's scarcely yourn to spend neither, seeing that yo're fayther expected that Ben and yo were to set up yo're horses together, why, there's an end of it. Yo must just choose between us and old Martha Huxley, as I said afore; so now you know. Yo'd better think twice before yo lose a good home and a good husband for an old pedlar-woman. She can't live a week, and then what's to become of yo, I'd like to know." "I can get into service," replied the girl. "I'd leifer do that, nor what's wrong. Anyways, I must go back to aunt now; I promised." 66 Well, take yo're own way, Winny Watson," cried Winny's cousin, from behind a heap of household linen; "only yo mind this if yo go, yo go, and don't come back. There shan't be two mistresses here, and now yo know my mind." Winny sighed, but she made no remonstrance. She left the kitchen, and ascended the narrow flight of stairs leading to the attic bedrooms, and presently came down with a bundle in her hand. She went up to Mrs. Watson. "Good-by, Cousin Watson," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm sorry if I've vexed you; but I could not help myself." Mrs. Watson pushed the girl's offered hand aside, angrily. "I wonder yo aren't ashamed of yo'reself," she said. "Yo'll be I am not ungrateful, Cousin Watson; wanting a roof over yo're head one of these but I must do what I feel to be right. What days, and then yo'll wish yo'd taken the ad'ud mother say if she could know that I had vice of those who know what's sense and left the poor old aunt, who has none belong-what isn't!" PRECIOUS POLL. The young man raised himself from his lounging attitude, and advanced a step to bar Winny's passage to the door. and heaved a sigh that was quite as eloquent as the most approved simile. Nay-what, lass? Yo're niver going sweet-tempered, and good and true; and Then Winny Watson was so cheerful and to leave us like this ?" he cried, with some-again Clem drew a sigh from the depths of thing of warmth in his tone. "Yo're niver going to break yo're promise to me for th' sake o' yon old witch upon the moor? " "I niver gave you a promise, Ben. I said I'd see, because father wished it. But I hev seen that you're that mean-spirited, that I wouldn't be yo're wife - no, not if it was iver so!" 66 Winny curled her rosy lip. "I would take the fifty pounds if I was you, Ben. Good-bye." And, slipping past him, she left the kitchen, and went out through the farmyard. his big honest heart. He could not quite believe, after all, that she would take up called to mind the blush and the smile that with Ben; he would not despair. Then he had caused his heart to give a great throb only the day before, when he had met Winny in the village street; and thinking ier strokes, and the sparks flew far and fast. of this, the hammer came down with heavClem told himself again that he would not despair. Oh nonsense, Winny! It's not meanspirited to hev a bit o' common sense; and I'm that fond of yo I'd leifer hev yo than Susan Price, though folks do a matter of fifty pounds of her own." she's say got As Winny left the farm, and, with the Ben enunciated these words slowly, look-road away from the village, the tears welled little bundle in her hand, turned down the ing down at his shoes. The very mention into her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. of the fifty pounds had cooled his ardour It was not that she had ever been very towards Winny, evidently. regret that she had broken off with her happy at the Heath Farm- still less was it cousin Ben. It had been an understood thing, since her father's death, that she and Ben were to marry; but she had viewed At the other end of the village, Clem tion. Winny was not accustomed to mental this arrangement with increasing dissatisfacArmstrong, the blacksmith, was causing the analysis. She could not very well have sparks to fly from the heated iron, under explained why she could not make up her the heavy blows of his hammer. Clem was a mind to be Ben Watson's wife: she never fine stalwart young fellow, with a pair of clear thought of saying, in so many words, that honest grey eyes, and lips, as far as could a woman requires to respect where she be seen of them under the short bushy brown loves; that she needs to feel herself not beard, that more frequently took the up- only supported, but wrapped round, as it ward curve of merriment and good-humour were, by a soul larger than her own. than the downward curve of melancholy less can never contain the greater; and and discontent. But just now the clear Ben's nature was smaller and narrower than grey eyes were clouded, and the expression Winny's, and she did not respect him, but, of the lips showed that Clem Armstrong, notwithstanding his happy temperament, could be sorrowful sometimes. He had just heard the report in the village that the wedding between Ben Watson, of the Heath Farm, and his cousin Winny was likely to take place soon. believed, hitherto, that Winny would marry Clem had never Ben Watson. Ben was only a half-hearted sort of a chap, and Clem had some reason to think that Winny's love for her cousin was not of that absorbing nature as to make her blind to his faults. Winny was the prettiest girl in all the parish: not one had such peach-bloom cheeks, and such sweet lips, and such bright dark eyes; and then her light, well-rounded, graceful figure! Clem did not tell himself that she was like a Hebe, or that she would have served as a model for a sculptor, because he had never heard of such a person as Hebe, and knew little about sculptors; but he drew his broad hand over his brow, The on the contrary, rather looked down upon him. The thought, too, had occasionally Armstrong her father had wished her to intruded itself, that if it had been Clem marry, how differently she would have felt about it: and the tears flowed faster, for to go out to service, but of having to go there was not only the prospect of having where she should never see Clem, or hear his kindly voice again. between a few fields belonging to the Heath The road Winny was following passed district, from which the farm took its name. Farm, and then crossed a wild moorland The moor was though the gorse and heather shone gold a dreary place enough, and purple in the afternoon sun. Winny soon left the road, and turned into a scarcely perceptible pathway leading northwards. Here the heath was broken into hollows, where lay dark sullen pools of water, or where spots of lush vivid green betokened the still more dangerous quagmire. Here, too, were great boulders, moss and lichen- Close, had neglected her usual gifts, the covered where not washed bare by the cheeses had turned out badly, and a brood rains; and many of these boulders took of chickens had been destroyed by the rats. weird fantastic forms, that, in the twilight, True, the cheeses had not been sufficiently or on moonlight nights, were strongly sug-pressed, and there were holes in the floor gestive of the bogles and other "uncanny of the hen-house; but these causes were creatures that were said to haunt the solita- not nearly so likely to have produced the ry heath. evil as Martha's ill-will, and this was afterwards proved. While Farmer Simpkins was stopping up the holes with lime, his wiser wife took a present to Martha Huxley of new-laid eggs, and half a dozen oat-cakes from the last baking. As not one chicken was lost of the next brood, it was made clear to the commonest understanding that Martha must have had something to do with it. About half a mile along this track was a house that had once been the homestead of a small farm. A few decayed outbuildings, two or three old elder-trees, vestiges of broken-down fences, with here and there patches of oats, wild now and self-sown, gave signs of former cultivation. Many years ago, a fearful crime had been committed here, and since that time the house had fallen into ruins, no one caring to inhabit the accursed spot. Fire had also done its part to render the scene more desolate; the roof had fallen in, and the rafters and window-frames were blackened and scorched. One of the elder-trees had been half-consumed, and stood, with its remaining branches black and bare, a ghastly object. The others, unscathed, were now loaded with dark purple berries; year by year they had been white with blossom and purple with fruit, unheeding the havoc made by man's sin. The kitchen and another room on the ground-floor were still, in a sort of a way, habitable; and here, in defiance of bogles and hobgoblins, old Martha Huxley had taken up her abode. Martha had once been a well-to-do woman, with a husband and three goodly sons; but that was long, long ago. The husband and the sons had all been dead years before Winny was born; and then Martha became a changed woman. She managed to pick up a living by going about from one hamlet to another, selling needles and cotton and tape, and such like smallware, and after a time added to this other means of livelihood less reputable. She was learned in herbs and salves, could tell fortunes in coffee-grounds, knew of a charm for warts, and by degrees became known as a wise woman." With all her arts and her pedlar's wares, however, and although she paid no rent, and the tax-gatherer never thought of calling at her door, she lived miserably. She was always glad to accept of an old cloak or a cast-off gown; and subsisted chiefly on the offerings of meal and potatoes, and such like, brought her by the neighbouring farmers' and cottagers' wives who wanted her assistance. These offerings seldom fell short, however, for the neighbours stood in considerable awe of old Martha's powers. Once, when Mrs. Simpkins, of Hodden Winny's tears were now dried, but she shivered a little as she approached the ruinous dwelling-place of her old aunt. It was gruesome even in daylight, and Winny could not help trembling at the idea of spending a night there. For some weeks past Martha Huxley had been unable to go about, and as her power to do either good or evil declined, so did the offerings fall off; so that she must either have starved, it appeared, or have gone to the workhouse, if it had not been for Winny. Martha was now quite unable to do any thing to help herself, and Winny, as well as providing her with food and medicine, had hired a woman to attend upon her. It had not been easy to find anyone willing to undertake that task; but at last Sally French, a forlorn enough individual herself, had been bribed to accept the office of nurse, and, Winny took comfort in the thought of Sally's presence. Even ghosts become less formidable when they have not to be encountered alone. It was a bare desolate room that Winny entered. A handful of turf-fire was smouldering in the grate; a rickety deal table and a broken chair stood before it. An old settle stood against the wall, and in a closet that had lost its door, were a few odds-andends of tin and crockery ware. The inner room, where the poor old woman lay stretched on her bed, was just as destitute of comfort. In one corner were a few sheives, on which were some sea-shells and other valueless trifles; on the top-shelf was a stuffed parrot, woefully dilapidated; its legs had given way, its tail had nearly disappeared, and one glass eye alone remained to it out of the pair. Sally French was sitting on a stool by the side of the bed, knitting. Winny stood a moment on the threshold; the parrot seemed to look at her inquisitively out of its glass eye. "How is she, Sally ?" Winny said, after a moment's hesitation, advancing into the room. "As bad as bad can be. She took her beef-tea beautiful this morning, but since she's been going off, and a-been wandering in her head; a-most all about that 'ere parrot; her Precious Poll,' she calls it. Do yo know" (here Sally approached Winny, and lowered her voice)"I do believe that 'ere bird's her familiar. I've know'd, afore she was taken bad, how she used to talk to it, and laugh to herself, till it made one's flesh creep to hear her. I wouldn't touch that bird no, not if it was iver so! I don't believe a bit about it's being nothing but a stuffed bird. Fayther onst had a cow driven away; and he heard as there was a wise man as lived over yonder (and Sally pointed in the direction of a large manufacturing town some miles off)," and he thowt he'd go and ast him about th' cow. When he got into th' room, there was a thing that th' man were standing before an' queer brass knobs and things, and a glass jar, where fayther said th' man's familiar lived, though he couldn't see nothing. While he was speaking to th' man, fayther laid his hand, quite permiscous like, upo' one of th' knobs or summat, and it up and give him a blow on's arm that sent him across the room a'most, though he couldn't see nothing; and after that he says, Sally,' says he, 'don't you hev nothing to do with evil spirits,' which he didn't ever after, unless it might be a dhrop o' rum by nows and thens." 66 Th' parrot was brought home from South Amerikay, I've heard mother say; it was Cousin Jem that brought it, aunt's favourite son, who was drownded at sea. She was that fond of it, that when it died she had it stuffed, so I've heard mother say; I dare say it's precious to her." Winny spoke in a dreamy way. She had not paid much attention to what Sally had been saying. She was looking at the sick woman, stretched helplessly on the hard narrow pallet-bed, and thinking what a desolate thing it must be to lie dying, and no one to care. Just then Martha stirred and moaned; Winny poured out a few drops of wine, and, gently raising her aunt's head, put it to her lips. The cordial revived her for a moment; something like consciousness returned to the dull fast-glazing eyes. 66 Good child-Winny!" she gasped out. "Take care of Poll, precious They were the last words she spoke. She sank back again on the pillow in a state of stupor; and before the morning dawned, she had gone to join her husband and her three sons in the everlasting kingdom. Winny had sent Sally French into the village, to make the necessary arrangements for a decent funeral. Mrs. Simpkins had been there, and had sent some bedding and other things, to make Winny and Sally as comfortable as might be in the tumbledown kitchen till after the funeral. All had been done that could be done, and the two who had been companions so long were left alone behind the closed door in the inner room; the parrot sitting on its weak legs on the upper shelf, peering down with its one glass eye, and the inanimate shrouded form on the pallet-bed beneath. Winny felt stifled, and as evening drew on she left the desolate house, and, leaning against one of the purple-fruited elder-trees, she tried to form some plan for the future. She had not stood there long, when she observed a tall figure coming across the heath, between her and the sunset. She soon perceived that the figure was that of Clem Armstrong, and that he was making his way to the ruined farm-house. - Winny's first impulse was to hide herself her heart began to throb so foolishly. But she did not wish to seem unkind to Clem, if he had really come all the way from the village to see her, so she only pretended to be much absorbed in looking at something quite in the opposite direction. 'Oh, Clem, how you startle one!" she cried, when he had come close to her. That was no doubt the reason why her cheeks were so rosy-red, and why her breath came thick and fast. It was very thoughtless in Clem to startle her in that way. How pretty she looked, standing there beneath the elder-tree! How Clem longed to take her there and then to his heart, and to kiss those ripe lips, that were half-apart over the little pearly teeth! But he only said, "Good evening, Winny." Then they stood side by side, silently, till Winny began to wonder whether he had come all that way across the moor merely to say • Good evening.” So th' old un's gene!" said Clem, at last, with a glance towards the cottage. "Yes, she's gone!" Winny replied. And then there was silence again. "You're not going back to Watson's people?" was the next inquiry. 64 Nay; me and Cousin Watson isn't friends, along of my coming to see after aunt. Do yo think I was wrong, Clem? and she stole a glance at the honest handsome face of the smith. 66 'I never thought yo wrong but onst in my life, Winny, and that was when yo took up wi' Ben Watson." "I niver did rightly take up with him," Winny replied, anxious to exculpate herself. Father wished it; but he's that mean-spirited, is Ben, that I wouldn't hev him—no, not if it was iver so!" And Winny began to pout. Had Clem only come to find fault with her about Ben, whom she did not care for a bit? She could have stamped her little foot, she was so vexed. "Nay, lass, I didn't mean to vex yo," and Clem drew a step nearer, looking down at the flushed face, half averted from his gaze. "I heard that it was off between Ben and yo, and now cannot yo guess what I've come along here this evening to say?" How could Winny guess? She appeared to find something the matter with the corner of her apron, at the same time moving a few steps farther off. "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps Mrs. Clarke has bid yo ask me to help her bottle damsons, as I did last year." No; "it was nothing about Mrs. Clarke, | or damsons either. "Then I'm sure I don't know," repeated Winny, pulling down a cluster of elderberries that hung over her head, while her heart beat very fast. Clem Armstrong had come over the moor with manful strides that afternoon, determined not to return without knowing his fate. But Clem, now it came to the point, could sooner have forged a ploughshare, or have overthrown the most adroit antagonist in wrestling, than have spoken the words he had purposed to say. And what did Winny mean by moving away from him, and hanging her head so that he could scarcely see her face? If she did not care for him, he might as well go and hang himself at once, for any worth life would have to him. Thinking thus, he kicked a stone out of his way, and, plunging his hands deep in his pockets, he walked up to a boulder that stood at a little distance from the path, as if he had been suddenly smitten with a desire to examine into its formation. Then, mustering his courage by a great effort, he came back again to where Winny stood. Winny," he began, with a feeling that his heart was in his mouth, and the place it ought to have occupied empty, "I love yo so as niver was, and I want you for my wife. That's what I came to say;" and Clem heaved a great sigh of relief, now he had got the words out, and pushed his wideawake back from his broad forehead. "Lor', Clem! yo take me so unawares," was Winny's answer. "Nay, lass! yo must hev known how I've thought a deal of th' very ground yo tread on. Say Yes, Winny; " and he took hold of both her hands, striving to look into her downcast eyes. "I'm but a rough sort o' chap, but yo shall niver repent, if a strong arm and a true heart can keep aught of ill from yo. My strength shall be spent to make yo comfortable aw your days, and my heart's aw yo're own. Don't go and break it by saying No,' Winny." Winny had no intention of saying "No," but she did not very well know how to say "Yes;" so she just let him keep the hands he held in his, and glanced up in his face. There is a language the most illiterate can read. Clem Armstrong was no great scholar; but if he had been an interpreter of cuneiform characters or runic inscriptions, he could not have been more correct in his reading. When Winny turned to go into the desolate kitchen that was her temporary home, she scarcely knew how it was; but she had let Clem go away with the intention of seeing the clerk about putting up the banns on the following Sunday. so there was no further thought about going into service for Winny Watson. The humble funeral was over. The feet of the wearied wayfarer had found a resting-place beneath the churchyard sod; and Winny, with the help of Sally French, was. gathering together the few things that were to be removed. Mrs. Simpkins had offered Winny a home for the few weeks that must elapse before her marriage, and Clem Armstrong had come across the moor to escort her to the Hodden Close Farm. "There's the old parrot," said Winny, looking round after she had made up the bundle containing her own belongings; "I musn't go without the parrot. Aunt said, take care of it;" and Winny placed a chair to stand upon, so as to reach the top-shelf, where Poll sat brooding on its weak legs. Nay, Winny, I'ud niver touch it, if I was yo," cried Sally French; 'I'ud just get Mr. Hewlett to come down and throw it into th' nighest pool, and say a bit o' prayer over it; if th' parson's so learned, th' clerk must know as much as will do that, surely." Winny only laughed, a bright musical little laugh, as she jumped upon the chair to reach down the parrot. "Why, whativer makes it so heavy? It's |