would buy a' the boards and bowls that's in the house. I hae made but little this day-I was up at the Cowcaddens, whar they hae little to themselves, and less disposition to spare; an' wearied out, I laid down at the roadside to rest me-a' the laddies were saying as they passed, "Hawkie's drunk," an' vex't was I that it was na true.""

If any one has a fancy for such anecdotes, he will find some 500 pages of them in The Laird of Logan. He will see there for himself, too, some distinctions between lowland wit and highland wit (the latter in its Celtic character often nearly approaching to Irish bulls), which I have neither time nor space to indicate. They will find, also, some very time-honoured and venerable acquaintances in the joke line, such as the one about the grey mare being the better horse,-which belong as much to England as Scotland. Finally, I have only to add that I reiterate my protest against books all jokes, which are the dullest and most tiresome reading in the world.

THE SEA ANEMONE.

All along this line of limestone rock, in almost every tide-pool and hollow that retains the sea-water, from the size of one's hand upwards, we may at any time find colonies of the lovely daisy anemone, Actinia bellis. In the sunshine of a fair day they expand beautifully, and you may see them studding the face of the rock just beneath the surface, from the size of a shilling to that of a crownpiece. Nothing seems easier than to secure them, but no sooner do the fingers touch them, than its beautifully circular disk begins to curl and pucker its margin, and to incurve it in the form of a cup; if further annoyed, the rim of this cup contracts more and more, until it closes, and the animal becomes globose and much diminished, receding all the time from the assault, and retiring into the rock. Presently you discover that you can no longer touch it at all it is shrunk to the bottom of its hole; the sharp irregular edges of which project and furnish a stony defence to the inhabitant. Nothing will do but the chisel; by no means easy of appliance. It is rare that the position of the hole is such as to allow of both arms working with any ease; the rock is under water, and often, if your chisel is short, it is wholly immersed during the work, when every blow which the hammer strikes upon its head has to fall upon a stratum of water, which splashes forcibly into your eyes and over your clothes; the rock is very hard, and the chisel makes little impression; and what is frequently the greatest disappointment of all, the powdery débris produced by the bruising of the stone mingles with the water, and presently makes it perfectly opaque, as if a quantity of powdered chalk had been mixed with it, so that you cannot see how to direct the blows, you cannot discern whether you have uncovered the Actinia or not, and are frequently obliged to give up the attempt when nearly accomplished, simply because you can neither see hole nor Actinia, and as to feeling in the pap-like mud that your implement has been making, it is out of the question. Supposing, however, that you have got on pretty well, that by making a current in the pool with your hand you have washed away the clouded water sufficiently to see the whereabouts, and that you perceive that another well-directed blow or two will split off the side of the cavity, you have now to take care so to proportion the force that at last you may neither crush the animal with the chisel on the one hand, nor on the other drive it off so suddenly that it shall fall with the fragment to the bottom of the pool out of reach. However, we will suppose you have happily detached and secured your Actinia without injury. But how unlike its former self, when you were desirous of making its closer acquaintance, is it now!

A little hard globose knob of flesh, not so big as a schoolboy's marble, is the creature that just now ex

panded to the sun's rays a lovely disk of variegated hues, with a diameter greater than that of a Spanish dollar. It is, moreover, covered with a tenacious white slime, which exudes from it faster than you can clear it away; and altogether its appearance is anything but inviting. You throw it into a jar of water, which, of course you have with you when collecting living zoophytes, and thus bring it home, when you transfer it to a tumbler or other suitable vessel of clear sea-water freshly drawn. And here let us watch its changes, which, however, will not be effected immediately; for it will not expand itself in all its original beauty until it has taken a fresh attachment for its base, which will not in all probability be for a day or two at least. The body or stem of Actinia belli is more or less cylindrical generally; though subject to some change in this respect, for it is occasionally a little enlarged, as it approaches the disk; the sucking base is slightly larger than the diameter of the body, which in specimens of an inch and a half expanse, may be about half an inch. The length of the body varies much, according to the depth of the cavity in which the animal lives, for it must expand its disk at the surface. In the open water in a vase, when it appears at home, it may commonly be about an inch from the base to the expansion of the disk, but I have a beautiful specimen before my eye at this moment, which has stretched itself to a height of three inches, expanding at the extremity as usual: the thickness of the stem is in this case somewhat diminished. A Naturalist's Rambles on the Devonshire Coast. By P. H. Gosse.

SATURDAY.

IN glowing terms I would this day indite-
Its morn, its noon, its afternoon and night;

The busiest day throughout the week-the latter day:
A day whereon odd matters are made even!
The dirtiest-cleanest too-of all the seven ;
The scouring pail, pan, plate and platter day!
A day of general note and notability;
A plague to gentlefolks
And prime gentility,
E'en to the highest ranks-nobility!
And yet a day (barring all jokes)
Of great utility,

Both to the rich as well as the mobility!
A day of din-of clack-a clatter day;
For all, howe'er they mince the matter, say
This day they dread;

A day with hippish, feverish frenzy fed,
Is that grand day of fuss and bustle-Saturday.

COCKTAILS.

The most absurd request for this beverage we ever heard of, occurred at New Orleans, at that fearful period when the visitation of the cholera was decimating its population daily, ay, hourly. A waiter ran up to the bar of the St. Charles Hotel, and gave this order, in the usual rapid, curtailed mode of delivery these personages indulge in:"Two brandy cocktails for No. 24, a gin-flip for No. 26, and a coffin for No. 29; the two first are in a hurryt'other can wait!"-Bunn's Old England and New England.

ERROR.-In "A Talk about Strikes and Wages," in our last number, an error inverts the writer's meaning. The sentence commencing on line 42, page 98, will read correctly thus:"The inability of the manufacturer to pay more is caused by the very same circumstances which force the artizan to buy less.'

Printed by Cox (Brothers) & WYMAN, 74-75, Great Queen Street, London; and published by CHARLES Cook, at the Office of the Journal, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street.

CHRISTMAS COME AGAIN!

Now Christmas time has come again, with its family gatherings and rejoicings, its gaieties and household festivities, its glowing fires and loaded tables, its good cheer, its generous charities, and its hearty hospitalities.

Now the green holly bedecks many windows, the mistletoe is hung up for merry youths to sport under, and the old for a time forget the seriousness and the toils of life.

Now little children are in the highest glee, and look forward to their Christmas dinner, with its plum-pudding and snapdragon, followed by romps and games, as the grandest festival of the year. Now "toddling wee things" use unwonted liberties with grandpapa, pull off his spectacles, and ask questions which he cannot answer, and in return have their little mouths stopped with kisses.

Now the young look forward, and the aged look back: the youth contemplating with joy the Christmas to come, the old looking back, perhaps, with saddened pleasure at the Christmases that have passed.

Now the mother thinks of the future of her children; and, perhaps, she thinks, too, of the butcher's or the grocer's Christmas bill; while the father's Christmas thoughts are sometimes mixed with book-debts, ledgeraccounts, and the year's profits.

Now the aged recall old faces and hear old voices, and reach far back into the region of past Christmases, since which how many changes have come upon them! For their hair is growing grey and thin, and they sink back into the ample elbow-chair as they think of the many loved ones who have long since disappeared from the Christmas table.

Now housekeepers are anxious about "sweets," and butchers' boys are running hither and thither with joints and rounds, and cooks are in an agony of heat and perplexity before melting fires. Now the pudding sings in the copper, and the roast hisses and sputters, and the bright tins and pans reflect the cheerful glow which fills the kitchen.

Now greengrocers cut a great figure amidst their piles of fruit, and in the evenings they look quite spry in the bright gaslight. Now grocers' shops are in their glory, and their windows exhibit an array of saccharine splendour which brings water to the mouths of the wondering juveniles.

[PRICE 13d.

Now bell-ringers have a hard time of it, jowling the Christmas bells, and beadles don new robes and cockedhats, and are more than ever the terror of little charity boys, and spruce curates preach crack sermons, exhorting the rich to remember the poor, and the poor to be meek and contented.

Now postmen expect their Christmas-boxes, and "the waits blow plethoric sackbuts under your windows in the night-time, for which they expect you to pay them; and frozen-out gardeners, bearing bunches of greens on the tops of long poles, parade the streets, calling out that they've got no work to do-oo-oo," and coppers are thrown out to them from the windows, with a "Poor fellow-God bless you!"

Now orphan children feel themselves more motherless than ever, and paupers in workhouses bethink them of their former homes, and criminals in dark cells shudder as the ghosts of past Christmases rise before them, and troop by like so many accusing angels, and prison chaplains do not know what to say to them about the comforts, the joy, and the good-will, of this happy Christmas time.

Now poverty is felt to be a very hard and bitter thing, especially if there be no coals in the grate and no food in the cupboard, and when the faces of the little children are turned to their parents in sadness and in sorrow rather than in joy and hope.

Now many bethink them of what Christmas is, and how it came about,-how that 1853 years ago a poor babe was born in a stable in Bethlehem, and a few lonely shepherds heard heavenly voices, soft warbling over the moonlit hills, proclaiming peace on earth and goodwill to men; and how that, from east to west, from north to south, the strain was taken up and wafted over the world, men chanting hymns of praise to the despised Nazarene, and kneeling in worship before his cross; and how that now is His natal day!

Now many ask themselves, if, with all their profession of peace on earth and goodwill to men, the reign of practical Christianity has really come,-or, if it is not yet a long way off,-if we can boast of peace while war is on the march, and tens of thousands are eager for the fray,if goodwill to men prevails amidst so much sectarian uncharitableness, keen selfishness, and miserable unhelped poverty? And now many fear that the faith is often but a mere profession, exercising little practical influence upon the lives of men.

KATE GORDON: A CHRISTMAS STORY. IT may be trite to say that the rejoicing festivals, popu larly so called, of the world, whilst they brighten the sunshine of a glad heart, serve only to deepen the gloom of one that is sorrow-laden. Christmas itself, traditionally "merrie" as it may be,-the season celebrative of the advent of the great Teacher and Consoler can be, as my own life-experience teaches, no exception to this rule, even as regards the religious mind, which may indeed at such a time feel a more fervent faith in the sweet and holy uses for the future of present calamity, but will not be the less keenly sensible to the jarring contrast, the torturing mockery which the exultant carillon and general joyaunce of the festive holiday offer to the sad desolation of a spirit deeply anguish-smitten, especially if the wound be recent, and as yet unmedicined by the balm for hurt minds, which the swift hours shed as they pass from their noiseless, healing wings. In looking back upon my early Christmases, they seem a procession of brilliant points of light, reaching from the far twilight of childhood till my fourteenth year, where the day is calendered by thick darkness, for there was a coflin in my lonely home; and well I remember the fierce tide of rebellious emotion which swelled my heart, as, crouching by the pale corse of her who had been all the world to me, I vainly strove to shut out from my reeling brain the echoes of the rude revelry which jested so cruelly with my bitter grief. From that period Christmas slowly but continuously reassumed its gaiety and brightness, till six had fled into the past: the seventh was again a blank : the next decided iny fate in life; whether happily or otherwise, it is the purpose of this slight story to relate.

I have but a faint, indistinct recollection of my fathera thin, pale, gentle-speaking young man, who died when I was only five years old. He was confidential clerk to a large Norwich firm, and perished prematurely in consequence of a hurt he received whilst aiding to extinguish a fire in his employers' premises. My mother did not often speak of him to me in words, but the far more expressive tears which instantly suffused her sweet, meek eyes, if his name chanced to be mentioned in her presence, or some trifling relic, once belonging to him met her hastily-averted glance, testified even more emphatically than the mourning garments, which, though frequently wooed to do so, she never exchanged for gayer ones,-how good he was,-how tenderly remembered. The firm in whose service my father may be said to have lost his life, placed his widow in business, as a stationer and bookseller, in a small but sufficient way-sufficient, that is for her few needs, of which the costliest item was the expense of my education; and life for me was without a cloud till my mother's death by malignant cholera on Christmaseve, 1830, the year, I believe, in which the Asiatic pestilence first visited this country. It was quickly known that, although my mother's business-affairs were in a solvent state, and that as long as her active life should have been spared, there would have been no danger of the breaking up of our quiet, cheerful home; still little or nothing would remain for me after everything had been disposed of, and all claims satisfied. This was of course perfectly well known to my mother, and uppermost in her dying thoughts, dominating the natural dread of approaching dissolution, and the sharp agony by which it was preceded. In the brief intervals of respite from distracting pain, she dictated a letter to her brother, Mr. Gordon,a just, but sternly inflexible man, I had always understood, whom she had grievously offended by her marriage (he himself having wedded very advantageously, in a worldly sense, just before); John Worsley, however

amiable and estimable in character, not, in his opinion, occupying a sufficiently high position in the social scale to mate himself with his, Mr. Gordon's, sister. The letter, so dictated, was a prayer for shelter and protection for the orphan, from whom the grave was about to sunder her for ever. The solemn, thrilling eloquence inspired by a love strong as the death in whose cold grasp the utterer was vainly struggling, immortal as the life of which the grim tyrant is the harbinger and herald, reached the brother's heart through all its wrappings of pride and anger, and Mr. Gordon arrived at Norwich on the early morning of the burial-day. The terrific anguish, sharpened by remorse, which seemed to rend his frame as with corporeal agony when his wild, burning gaze fell upon his only sister's coffin, and the touching history briefly inscribed thereon: Ellen Worsley. Born Jan. 8th, 1798. Died Dec. 24th, 1830," -was a terrible rebuke of the arrogant selfishness of human resentments, and by few so greatly needed as by him who for the time acutely felt its retributive power, but with whom, unfortunately, the impression was well nigh as transitory as for the moment profound and agonising: but this is in some degree to anticipate my story. The inexpressible tenderness with which my uncle greeted and embraced me eagerly perused the features and drank in the tones of a voice which he seemned delighted to recognise as those familiar to him in the pleasant days of youth, completely dissipated the idea I had mentally formed of my mother's haughty, relentless brother. Over and over again he made me repeat the broken expressions that had fallen from my mother, expressive of her confidence that he would shelter and provide for me. He did not, that I remember, once reply, in speech, that he would do so, but, young as I was, I could read as plainly in his flashing eyes-his white, strongly-compressed, but twitching lips-as I can now in the divine page of Lear,-

"He who parts us must bring a brand from heaven." So felt he then ;--in after years indeed; but of this, anon, in its due sequence.

On the following day we left Norwich for the coast of North Wales, opposite the island of Anglesea, where my uncle's residence was situated, between Carnarvon and Bangor. Before, however, introducing the reader to Plaisance, as Mr. Gordon had named his house and grounds, it will be as well to state that the lady whom Mr. Gordon married, and who had now been dead several years, possessed large mining property in Anglesea. This was their motive for locating themselves at Plaisance, which had been built and planted according to my uncle and his wife's taste-fancy rather. Two children remained to him of a somewhat numerous family,-Robert, a little older than I, and Kate, about a twelvemonth younger. They were both at home for the Christmas holidays, my uncle told me, the festivities whereof had been so unhappily broken in upon by the tidings of my mother's decease. "You will be welcomed, Ellen, by them both," he added, as a newly-found beloved sister; and when Time has lightened the burden of this heavy grief, life will again, I doubt not, glide away as happily with the three children that now belong to me, as it has hitherto done with Kate and Robert." With such-like kindliest and soothing words, my uncle beguiled the tedium of the journey which, however, as we travelled post, was, for that period, rapidly accomplished. This is all, I think, that need be premised of my uncle's foregone history, but a few further prefatory words in respect of some peculiarities connected with his place of residence will be neces

sary.

Plaisance was, I found, built upon the southern slope of a bluff headland overlooking the western outlet of the Menai Strait and the Irish Channel. My uncle's frequent communication with Anglesea was effected boat

wise, from a broad inlet of the sea reaching so near his house that in rough weather, especially when the wind blew from the north east, the hissing spray of the huge tumbling, white-crested waves which furiously chased each other up the rock-studded creek or inlet, was flung half way up the lawn upon which the French windows of the dining-room opened. My uncle had built a commodious landing-place, chiefly for his own use, but freely conceded to any person of the neighbourhood, by whom, of course, the passage to Anglesea by Plaisance Creek was much preferred to the considerably longer one by way of Bangor. A conspicuous red light, though not high from the ground, was, moreover, kindled every evening at sundown, as a guide to the boats whilst threading the tortuous and rocky channel of the creek, but for which precaution, especially in the dark, gusty nights of winter, the approach to shore would have been highly dangerous, if not impracticable au reste, Mr. Gordon's residence and establishment were those of a gentleman of moderate fortune, and in all things strict order and a judicious economy were rigidly enforced. It was said in the neighbourhood that he did not expend half his income, his prime ambition being to so amply dower his children, that their alliance in marriage with the class of landed gentry might be effected without difficulty,-a surmise which subsequent events entirely confirmed.

:

All this, I hardly need say, came gradually to my knowledge; but that which I knew to be true, the instant I entered my uncle's house, was that I had found a kind home, and that both my cousins were as amiable and affectionate as Kate was surpassingly beautiful. Of Robert, it may not perhaps be seemly in me to say more than that he was a tall, frank, well-looking boy, exuberantly cordial in his welcome to me; but Kate's fairy-like loveliness at that age-her bright, lustrous complexion, rich auburn hair tinted with golden light, and deep-blue charming eyes, which sympathising tears as she embraced me, softened to seraphic beauty-seemed literally to make a sunshine of her presence. She was, it could be easily perceived, the apple of her father's eye-the thrice precious casket wherein his dearest hopes were garnered upand well knowing this, as she did, it is not surprising that the dear girl exhibited sometimes, not often, at least not very often, the pretty wilfulness, the charming caprice of a slightly spoiled, but naturally good and generous child. Robert Gordon went, soon after my arrival at Plaisance, to Harrow; my uncle was almost unremittingly occupied with his mining operations, so that with the exception of our governess an excellent-intentioned rule-and-line person, who scrupulously confined herself to her stated and bargained-for lesson-duties,-Kate and I had little society but our own--a sweet and all-sufficing companionship in those halcyon days of youth and girlish romance. Six years thus passed-six years, bright with happiness, save for the cloud-memory, mercifully time-lightened, of my mother. By that period, Kate's sylph-like loveliness had developed into the consummate beauty of early womanhood, and, I grieved to observe, her once flexile caprice and waywardness, had hardened to determined wilfulness in any matter upon which she chanced to set her mind. Robert Gordon and I had, also, by then wandered, in a manner unconsciously-I am sure it was so as regards myself-into the enchanted dream-land, where falsepromising hope delighted smiles, and waves his golden hair as in no other phase of mortal life. We understood each other perfectly, though not a syllable directly annunciative of the sentiment which had seemed to grow naturally out of our long boy and girl intimacy and friendship, had passed between us; and I was one day suddenly startled into a conviction that my uncle was as wise upon the subject as ourselves. The discovery did notas I had dreaded that it would, knowing as we did his ambitious views for his children-excite more than a

passing displeasure, and that but doubtfully expressed. My mother's memory was a potent talisman on my side, and when on the next morning he embraced and kissed me, I felt, though not a word was spoken, that his consent and benediction were no longer wanting to the trothplight I and Robert had long since tacitly exchanged with each other. It was from another quarter the bolt fell, which smote and shattered the roof-tree beneath which I had so long happily nestled. That catastrophe was brought about as follows:-A large number of mining shares in Anglesea were held, by way of mortgage originally, I believe, by a reputedly-wealthy London billbroker of the name of Meredith, and a native of the principality. His son, Arthur Meredith, a young man possessed of a handsome person, and fascinating manners, and who had been a fellow-pupil of Robert Gordon's, at Harrow-once or twice accompanied his father in his business visits to Anglesea, and had been introduced by my uncle to Kate and myself. In the spring of that unhappy 1837, the newspapers announced the bankruptcy of the London money-broker, and a few weeks subsequently, we learnt from the same sources of information, that Arthur Meredith had been appointed Manager and Receiver, under the Bankruptcy Commission, to his father's property in Anglesea, with a view to as profitable a realisation thereof as possible, in the interest as well of the bankrupt as of the creditors. Kate did not appear to be at all interested by this intelligence, nor by the subsequent report of her father that Arthur Meredith had arrived at the mines, and entered upon his unaccustomed duties. I entirely participated Kate's apparent indifference, but it was not long before my insouciance with regard to Arthur Meredith, was succeeded by the most painful solicitude. On fine days, my uncle would frequently invite us to accompany him in the boat to the opposite island-excursions little cared for by my charming cousin till this summer, when she, all at once, evinced a decided predilection for them, the key to which seeming caprice I was not long in discovering to consist in the opportunities they afforded of meeting with Arthur Meredith, generally at the Rev. Mr. Price's house, where, or near which, we were after a while sure to meet him. My uncle, who seldom joined us till it was time to re-embark, never met young Meredith on these occasions; the politic lover being doubtless apprehensive that the sharp, stern eyes of the father, whilst penetrating his secret as easily as had the starglances of the daughter, would regard it in a very different light. I felt so, too, strongly, unswervingly, but utterly fruitless were the efforts I made to awaken the infatuated girl to a perception of the frightful position to which the primrose-path she was bent upon pursuing must inevitably lead. Arthur Meredith, I could not deny, was a highly-educated person, of excellent disposition and character it was said, and of exceedingly agreeable manners, and I did not doubt either that he loved my beautiful cousin for her own sake,-as who indeed could help doing?-but that Mr. Gordon would ever consent to bestow his idolised child upon the penniless son of an insolvent bill-trafficker was, I felt confident, out of the question. It was useless arguing, remonstrating, beseeching she relied, it was evident, upon her father's doting love, which she nothing doubted would ultimately overcome the impulses of his ambitious pride; and because I could not agree in this reasoning, nor feign to do so, a feeling of coldness, distrust, almost of estrangement grew up between us. At the close of the summer months, and as a necessary consequence of our boat-excursions, she persuaded my uncle to purchase a light pony-chaise and pair which she could drive herself. This expedient enabled her to frequently visit Bangor, whence she seldom returned till shortly before her father was expected home. For my part, I was half distracted by indefinite, but I was sure well founded, apprehensions of approaching calamity.

:

Robert, her brother, was at Oxford, and although I did not correspond with him, I was a hundred times upon the point of acquainting him with my anxieties and fears, and as often abandoned my purpose upon some cowardly mental pretext or other. It was the same with my uncle: the information, conjectural as it might be, which I longed to impart to him, always died upon my faithless tongue at the decisive moment for want of a sustaining resolution. In some degree, no doubt, this nervous indecision arose from a fear which incessantly haunted me that already the dreaded evil was beyond prevention or remedy. Kate was become pale, nervous as myself, starting at shadows, and but for her passionate opposition Mr. Gordon would have summoned medical advice. Me she no longer advised with upon the slightest matter, though at times her gentle, loving nature would burst through the artificial barrier she had herself raised between us, and find vent in a paroxysm of gushing tenderness and selfupbraiding, truthful as passionate in its half-revealings, but indistinct and only partially intelligible. The crisis was not long delayed. The dull year was drawing to a close-it wanted but about a week to Christmas, and my uncle having just before brought home a cabinet picture he had purchased at a sale, Kate and I were trying it at about three o'clock in the afternoon in various lights in the drawing-room. My cousin, disapproving the place where, after several trials, I decided it ought to be hung, hastily mounted the dwarf steps I had used, and extended her arms upwards to grasp and unhook the painting, thereby giving to view the sharply defined outline of her figure. The consternation which instantly flashed through me was intense and terrible, and glancing bewilderedly around, I saw that my uncle had unawares entered the room and was gazing with eyes of fire upon his daughter. My unhappy cousin turned round, comprehended in a moment the revelation that had been made, and with a pitcous cry tottered down the steps towards me, would have fallen, but that I caught her in my arms, and we fell upon each other's neck, sobbing aloud in an agony of overwhelming grief. When I could again look round my uncle was gone, and presently a servant announced that Mr. Gordon requested his daughter's presence in the library. She tremblingly obeyed the summons, and scarcely ten minutes clapsed before my straining ear caught the sounds of renewed and violent sobbing, mingled with tones of passionate entreaty which gradually grew fainter as the suppliant slowly ascended the stairs towards her chamber. The library bell was again rung for me, and I quickly hastened thither.

"My cousin!" I breathlessly exclaimed, "what-what has happened? Where have you sent her?"

"Your cousin," replied my uncle in a voice as cold and stern as his face, "leaves the home she has disgraced, the father she has deceived and betrayed, to join her husband, the son of a swindling bankrupt, to whom, it appears, she has been some three months married. She says,' he added, "but her word is nothing in my esteem, that you are guiltless of any participation in this plot against my peace and honour."

"That is the truth: dear Kate is indeed incapable of falsehood."

"What epithet then would you apply to the acted deception of the last six months ?" rejoined my uncle, still with that grim, iron sternness of voice and muscle: "but let that pass: I believe you: did I not you also were from this moment for ever a stranger to this house." With these words he left the room.

My unhappy cousin left that evening for Bangor, and on the following day passed over to Anglesea, where she joined her husband. With her had fled the mirth, the joy, the happiness, the very life it seemed of Plaisance,but not, alas! to accompany her to her new home. no one tell me of the felicity attendant upon romantic

Let

marriages, of the bliss waiting upon love and poverty in a cottage. I do not believe a word of it; and I saw the experiment tried during the next twelve months under peculiarly favourable circumstances: the rash pair remaining devotedly attached to each other, and the husband -passion-tempted as he had been beyond his strengthproving to be a very superior person to the herd of selfish wooers who from time to time drag down the idols of an hour to the low level of their own inferior fortunes. But theirs was not a happy household: how could it be whilst Regret, Remorse, and Fear, ever prying with his shrinking eyes into the future,-were its familiar visitants?

In the meantime, though utter desolation had settled down upon Plaisance, nothing was permitted to be changed in the outward life of the place. The Christmas festivities that had been-when the terrible discovery was made-in active preparative progress, were unshrinkingly gone through with by my poor uncle; heart-stricken as I knew he was, bravely though he carried it. He had always been a great advocate for the "merrie" celebration of the birth of Christ, albeit his practical religion, as we have seen, was, hitherto at least, more in accordance with the law delivered amidst lightnings and thunder from Sinai, than the precepts of love, forgiveness, and compassion enjoined by Him who had not where to lay his head. Robert Gordon, moreover, did not make his appearance as usual for the Christmas vacation; and it ultimately oozed out that he had been suddenly ordered by his father to proceed to Paris upon some business pretext, and that concluded, to travel on the continent for six or eight months at least. He had written, I knew, letters both to his sister and myself, requiring, I rightly conjectured, some explanation of all this, but they were intercepted by my uncle, and communication with him was thus rendered impossible. As the year passed on, Mr. Gordon gradually withdrew his capital invested in the Anglesea mines, which island he had not once visited since his daughter took up her abode there; and this operation having been finally concluded towards the close of the year, the boats in use at Plaisance Creek were sold, and orders were given to remove the red light previously spoken of, and destroy the landing-place, my uncle being, as I had frequently noticed, in continual dread of suddenly encountering his banished child there; in which case he perhaps feared his good angel might prove too powerful for the demons of revenge and pride to which he clung with fierce tenacity, though fully conscious they were eating his life away.

All this while, Kate and I,-my visits to Anglesea being tacitly acquiesced in by my uncle, beneath whose marble exterior there was, I well knew, a fountain of loving kindness perennially flowing, which, were the concealing rock struck skilfully, would instantly gush forth in plenteous blessings for us all,-I and Kate were all this while, I say, continually plotting to bring about the much-longed-for reconciliation, until at least after the middle of July, when a fine boy-baby having come into the world, the simple, credulous mother at once concluded that success was no longer doubtful, the only remaining difficulty being, according to her, as to the best mode of bringing the wondrous fascinations of the dear child under the observation of Mr. Gordon, which done, all was done, for what human heart, certainly not her father's, could resist the magic of its tiny endearments! I, poor Kate finally settled, should be the honoured medium of unexpectedly surprising "grandpapa" with a sight of the precious treasure, at a moment, if it could be managed, of genial hilarity, when of course the curtain would immediately ring down upon a charming tableau of everybody embracing everybody to triumphant music, amidst enthusiastic applause. To my cousin's infinite astonishment, I resolutely set my face against any such venerable, worn-out trick being played off upon my uncle,