himself who put, with a certain gentle force,
the pen into her hands, and pointed exactly
to the spot where she was to sign.
"I have
you, Mary," he said in her ear, as he leant
over her to keep the parchment steady; and
Mary Clifford signed away all her power and
secured her children's rights, with "
a smile
on her lip and a tear in her eye," feeling to
her heart the delicious flattery. What she
possessed was nothing to him-he had her,
and a kingdom could not make him happier..
So said the tone of his whisper, the glance of
his eye, and the echo of her heart. This liv-
ing Love which stood by her side, securing so
carefully that Harry Clifford's wealth should
go to Harry Clifford's heirs, and seeking only
herself for its own, completely swallowed up
poor Clifford's ghost, if that forlorn spirit
might by chance be cognizant of what was
passing. Mary remembered no
more her
qualms and misgivings; and the prospect be-
fore her-now that the very children had got
used to it, had ceased either to oppose or to
stand by her, and had fallen into natural ex-
citement about the approaching festivities,
the guests who were to be at Fontanel, the
new dresses, the great event about to happen
looked as bright as the glowing day.

those gates of heaven, at which Harry might be standing to claim her, looked a very far way off to the bride of Tom Summerhayesthere was no such immediate certainty of Harry's existence anyhow, or of the kind of interest he might take in her proceedings; and the philosophy of the question did not recur to her mind with those puzzling and hopeless speculations. She was a great deal more content to accept the present and to postpone the future-to let hereafter take care of itself—than she had been at night. She put away the desk with Harry's letters in a dark vacant upper shelf of a bookcase in her own dressing-room; there, where she could not even see it, it would no longer witness against her. It was a sunny morning, and the children came in all fresh and rosy to say their prayers, and there was a note from Mr. Summerhayes on the breakfast-table, naming the hour at which the law people were to arrive. Mrs. Clifford had recovered her color and her spirits, before they came; she was a little agitated, and loooked very pretty in the commotion of her heart. Hers was a position very peculiar and interesting, as Mr. Gateshead himself, the old family solicitor, suggested, as he read over the deed she was to sign. He was perfectly pleased with the arrangements altogether, and said that Mr. Summerhayes had behaved most honorably and in the most gentlemanly way. It was very clear that his motives were not mer-guests for the marriage. Miss Laura and cinary. The deed Mrs. Clifford had to sign Miss Lydia, who were to be at the head of was one by which Fontanel and all its de-affairs while the new Mrs. Summerhayes was pendencies was settled upon her eldest son, she retaining the life-interest in it which her husband had meant her to have. Mr. Summerhayes, who had been brought up for the bar, had himself advised Mr. Gateshead in the drawing up of this important document. The new bridegroom was anxiously solicitous that the children should be portioned and the property distributed exactly as the family agent, who knew poor Clifford's mind, would have advised him to settle it; and the deed was irrevocable and framed in the most careful manner, so that no ingenuity of the law could make it assailable hereafter. It was so rigid in all its provisions that poor Mary wavered a little over it. She thought it scarcely fair that he should be shut out entirely from every interest in all this wealth, which, at the present moment, belonged absolutely to herself. It was Mr. Summerhayes

CHAPTER V.

THE MARRIAGE.

FONTANEL received a considerable party of

absent on her wedding tour, arrived two days before, that they might get into the ways of the place, and know what was required of them, which was not very much, for Mary was but a languid housekeeper. Then there were two aunts, an uncle, and some cousins of Mrs. Clifford, none of whom in the least approved of the match, though decorum and curiosity and kindness prompted them to countenance poor Mary in her foolishness, notwithstanding their general surprise, like Miss Harwood, that she had not the sense to know when she was well off. Then there was Charley from Eton, who had grown so much lately, that his mother blushed more than ever when he kissed her and said something kind about her marriage. These were not pleasant days for poor Mrs. Clifford. She knew in her heart that nobody particularly approved of her, not even Tom's sisters

which nobody in the company was conscious, except, perhaps, one child; but one thing it proved at any rate, that his heart at this special moment was not engrossed, to the exclusion of everything else, by his bride.

terrible act she was completing as she vowed her love and obedience over again, and separated her future from her past. But Mary, with her downcast eyes, was insensible to everybody's opinion at that moment. Had she been standing in a wilderness she could not have felt more isolated. She was conscious only of her new husband by her side

-that people were saying it was just what | sible to say; his closest friend could not have. was to be expected, and that a woman left at elucidated this strange secret by-play, of her age with so much property in her hands was sure to make a fool of herself. She knew that the ladies when they got together had little conversations over her-that one wondered why she could not make herself happy with these dear children and another Mary was much less mistress of herself. with this fine place-and that a third mused She cried quietly under her veil as she stood what poor Mr. Clifford would have said could and listened to the familiar words. She rehe have known. Poor Mary was very thank-peated those that fell to her with a little shiver. ful when the day dawned on her wedding- In her heart she could not but feel what a morning-she was glad, as brides seldom are, of the arrival of the fated moment which was to place things beyond the reach of censure or criticism, and relieve her from her purgatory. The rector of Summerhayes had not been called on to do that piece of duty. The bridegroom luckily had a friend whose privilege it was; and still more luckily there was a little old disused church within the grounds of Fontanel in which the ceremony was to be performed, without the necessity of encountering the gaze and remarks of the village. It was not intended to be a pretty wedding or to put on those colors of joy which become the espousals of youth. Mingled and complicated, as are the thoughts of middle age, were the feelings of the two who stood side by side before the bare rural altar. The bridegroom was slight and tall in figure, with a careless, languid air, through which occasionally a little gleam of excitement sparkled. If you watched him closely you could see that his mind was no way absorbed with the ceremonial of his marriage. The quick, sudden glance here and there under his eyelids, of those cold but clear gray eyes, turned in-perhaps, it might happen to be a certain quiringly to everything within his range. He read in the looks of the clergyman, even while he pronounced the nuptial blessing, what his opinion was of the entire transaction. He penetrated the mask of propriety in which the bride's relations concealed their feelings-he investigated with oft-repeated momentary glances the face of Charley, who stood in his Etonian certainty of manhood, premature but not precocious, near his mother's side. Mr. Summerhayes even scanned, "Well, I am sure, I wish them every comwhen all was over, the downcast countenance fort in life," said Miss Harwood, as she of Loo, who stood behind, watching with stood leaning on her brother's arm at the stout endurance, and resolute not to cry dur-hall door of Fontanel, watching the carriage ing the entire ceremony. What was the drive off which contained the happy pair. meaning which lay in those quick, furtive" She can't feel much like a bride, poor darts of the bridegroom's eve it was impos- thing, leaving all these children behind her.

of an indistinct figure before her—of God above and around, a kind of awful shadow looking on. Mr. Summerhayes was aware of her tears, and they moved him so that his color heightened involuntarily, and he pressed her hand with a warning pressure when it came to that part of the ceremony. But Mary herself was not aware that she was crying till she felt this touch of remonstrance, which startled her back into consciousness. Such was this marriage, at which, as at other marriages, people looked on with various shades of sympathy and criticism, and which, with all its concealed terrors and outward rejoicing, was the free act of hearts uncoerced and acting only at their own pleasure--a free act, suggested by no third party, unless,

grim, inflexible Fate who, if the reins are but yielded to her for a moment, pursues her victim through a throng of inevitable consequences. But perhaps, when a woman is being married bike Mary Clifford, it is a kind of comfort to her to feel as if she could not help herself, rather than to know that she is entering all these new dangers voluntarily, and in obedience to nobody's will but her own.

I am sure I wish her every happiness. I hope she'll never live to repent it," said Miss Harwood, with a sigh.

"Don't be spiteful," said the rector. "This is not a time for such ill-omened wishes. It's a very suitable match, and I wish them joy."

"O Mr. Harwood," said Miss Laura, taking up her position at the rector's other side, thus effecting a natural separation from Mary's relations, who were comparing sentiments a little apart from the Summerhayes party—“ a suitable match! when dear Tom is well known to represent the oldest family in the county, and might have married anybody-not to say a word against dear Mary, who is our sister now, and such a sweet creature. But 0, Mr. Harwood," cried Miss Lydia, who had interposed, as usual, "to talk of a suitable match!"

But there might be, major," said Miss Lydia, so softly that her sister could not take up the meek remark.

The major only answered "By Jove!" under his breath. He was startled by the close vicinity-the gentle look-the mild suggestion. He moved a little away in a momentary panic. There was never any telling, as he said to himself, what these women might mean.

66

66

apologize for my niece to me, Miss Summerhayes," said the offended aunt. Mary has consulted her own inclinations, and so long as she is happy, that is all we can possibly want of her. I think she is quite right to make friends, if she can, in her new family. She knows she can always calculate upon us if she ever wants any service," added the bride's relation, with a slight heightening of color and the ghost of a courtesy. The Miss Summerhayes were not unequal to the emergency.

"We all know how much poor dear Mary is liked among her own friends," cried Miss Lydia. "Your dear girls were so fond of her last year when they spent such a long time at Fontanel; and dear Mary has such a taste in presents," said Miss Laura, coming in so cagerly that she began out of breath. "We have gone shopping with her often when she was buying her little souvenirs. I hope you don't think it will make any difference now she is married again. She is so affectionate; but as for wanting services from anybody, that is very unlikely," resumed the elder sister, 66 now she has dear Tom. Dear Tom is so very devoted," said Miss Laura, breaking in headlong. "You would think she was only eighteen to see all the attention he pays her. It is quite sweet to see them, like two turtle-doves."

Such being the conversation that succeeded immediately upon the departure of the bridal pair, it is not to be supposed that the dinnertable was spread with a very joyful feast, or that the evening was spent in much happiness. It is so strange to be left in charge of the Mary's relations, who had up to this time felt house," said Miss Laura, "it gives one such themselves much at ease at Fontanel, kept a funny feeling. I don't know how in the greatly by themselves during the remainder world we shall do with all the responsibility; of the wedding-day. Their occasional minbut dear Mary insisted upon it, you know-glings with the Summerhayes party called though I am sure Mrs. Tansey would have been much more suitable for the head of the table than one of us, who are so inexperienced," cried Miss Lydia; "but dear Mary thought it best for the children's sake. I hope, dear Mrs. Tansey, you don't mind being our guest," proceeded the sisterly duet; "dear Mary thought it of such importance that the children should get used to us-ished by Aunt Tansey on the other, who though they know us perfectly well, still things are all so different; though otherwise, of course, she would so much have preferred you."

"Oh, pray, don't think it necessary to

forth bursts of smart dialogue, more exciting than amiable, and the opposing sides contended much for the notice of Loo and the other children, when they came down-stairs in their new dresses after dinner. It made little Loo's heart-sick to feel herself enfolded in the embraces of Miss Lydia and Laura on one side, and then to be talked to and admon

hoped she would be a good girl, and a great comfort to her poor mother. The children could not tell what to make of the aspect of affairs. Mamma gone, who was the sun and centre of the domestic world, and already a

new rule and vague possibilities of change in | humbug. Now that's not my meaning," the startled house. Down-stairs, among the said the heir of Fontanel. "I'm not going servants, though the means of merry-making to make believe that I think she's done right, were plentiful, this threatening cloud was when I don't. I am going to swallow Cousin even more apparent. A new master, known Tom right out," cried the boy, not without to like "his own way," was an alarming a little flush on his face. "It's a little awkshadow impending over the little community ward, to be sure, to know what to call him— hitherto mildly and liberally governed by the mistress, whom her servants could scarcely forgive for the step she had taken. ́s With five lovely children and every blessin' as this world could afford," as the housekeeper said, shaking her troubled head. The new husband by no means ranked among the blessings of Providence to the mistress of Fontanel in anybody's judgment, and nowhere was Mary's rash act resented more warmly than in the servants' hall.

"But, Loo," said Etonian Charley, next morning, when Aunt Tansey and all her belongings had left Fontanel, and everything had fallen under the restless sway of the Miss Summerhayes, "I'm not going to put up with all this. You said we were to stand up for mamma; you mean we are only to pretend to stand up for mamma, you little

but look here, Loo-I mean to stand by my mother without any humbug. I mean to think she's done the very best for us all, and for herself too; and if she don't think the same when she comes back, I'll try to make her; and if you look black, as you're looking, you're not the little brick I took you for, and I wont have anything more to do with you, Loo."

"O Charley, I am not half as good as you are," cried the admiring little sister, looking up to him with tearful eyes. Charley's resolution acted like a charm upon the house in general; and so, with a gradually improving temper, though much pressed and fretted by Miss Laura and Miss Lydia, the nursery and the servants' hall, and all the dependencies of Fontanel, waited for the advent of the new master and the return of Mrs. Summerhayes.

On my

what we assimilate and make our own. It is that, to use an illustration borrowed from my profession, that constitutes the chyle of the mind.

PICTORIAL HISTORY: JUNIUS.-The London DIGESTION OF MENTAL FOOD.-In an amusing Magazine for Feb. 1770, contains what is called article upon the "Physicians and Surgeons of a on the title-page a "Portrait of the celebrated By-gone Generation," a foreign journal describes Junius." Junius, as there represented, is dressed Abernethy conversing thus with a certain patient: in a clergyman's gown, seated, and reading a "I opine," said he, "that more than half your MS. of the "Letter to the King; " with Lord illness arises from too much reading." George Sackville on his left, and Edmund Burke answering that my reading was chiefly history, on his right, apparently suggesting some altera- which amused while it instructed, he replied: tion. About Lord George and Burke there can "That is no answer to my objection. At your be no doubt; both are leaning on the table-the time of life, a young fellow should endeavor to forefinger of the one touching a letter addressed, strengthen his constitution, and lay in a stock of "For Ld. G. S-k-lle," and the arm of the health, Besides, too much reading never yet other resting on a volume lettered "Sublime and made an able man. It is not so much the extent Beautiful.' But who was meant for Junius?or amount of what we read that serves us, as Of course, who was the writer of the Letters is not here the question; but simply, Who was assumed to have been the writer? There have been some wild conjectures on the subject, with which I need have always found that really indolent men, not trouble you. But by way of help to a con- men of what I would call flabby intellects, are jecture, I would ask, was this clergyman meant great readers. It is far easier to read than to for Dr. John Butler, afterwards Bishop of Oxford, think, to reflect, or to observe; and these fellows, translated to Hereford? In an anonymous letter not having learned to think, cram themselves to George Grenville, in 1764 (Gren. Corr., ii. with the ideas or the words of others. This they 330), the writer warns the minister against Dr. call study, but it is not so. In my own profesButler; and describes him as "a particular sion, I have observed that the greatest men were friend of the infamous Wilkes, with whom he not the mere readers-but the men who observed, lived in the closest connection two summers at who reflected, who fairly thought out an idea. Winchester, whilst he was engaged on the North To learn to reflect and observe is a grand desiderBriton." It is known that, from the first ap-atum for a young man. John Hunter owed to pointment, Butler was called "Lord George Ger- his power of observation that fine discrimination, maine's Bishop ;" and we learn, from Mr. C. that keen judgment, that intuitiveness which he Butler (Reminis., i. 86), that to the last Wilkes's possessed in a greater degree than any of the sursuspicions fell on Dr. Butler, Bishop of Here-geons of his time." ford."-Notes and Queries. P. H. S.