intimacies which you call such-(was not this very harshly said, Matilda?)-Now I wish to give you an opportunity at least to make one deserving friend, and therefore I have resolved that this young lady shall be a member of my family for some months, and I expect you will pay to her that attention which is due to misfortune and virtue.'

'Certainly, sir,-is my future friend red-haired?' He gave me one of his stern glances; you will say, perhaps, I deserved it, but I think the deuce prompts me with teasing questions on some occa

sions.

'She is as superior to you, my love, in personal appearance, as in prudence and affection for her friends.'

'Lord, papa, do you think that superiority a recommendation?-Well, sir, but I see you are going to take all this too seriously. Whatever the young lady may be, I am sure, being recommended by you, she shall have no reason to complain of my want of attention. (After a pause)-Has she any attendant? because you know I must provide for her proper accommodation, if she is without one.'

No-no- -no-not properly an attendant-the chaplain, who lived with her father, is a very good sort of man, and I believe I shall make room for him in the house.'

Chaplain, papa? Lord bless us!'

'Yes, miss, chaplain; is there any thing very new in that word? had we not a chaplain at the Residence, when we were in India?'

'Yes, papa, but you were a commandant then.' 'So I will be now, Miss Mannering-in my own family, at least.'

'Certainly, sir-but will he read the church of England service?'

'The apparent simplicity with which I asked this question got the better of his gravity. 'Come, Julia,' he said, 'you are a sad girl, but I gain nothing by scolding you-of these two strangers, the young lady is one whom you cannot fail, I think, to love-the person whom, for want of a better term, I called chaplain, is a very worthy and somewhat ridiculous personage, who will never find out you laugh at him, if you don't laugh very loud indeed.' 'Dear papa, I am delighted with that part of his character-but pray, is the house we are going to as pleasantly situated as this?'

'Not perhaps as much to your taste-there is no lake under the windows, and you will be under the necessity of having all your music within doors.'

This last coup de main ended the keen encounter of our wits, for you may believe, Matilda, it quelled all my courage to reply.

'Yet my spirits, as perhaps will appear too manifest from this dialogue, have risen insensibly, and, as it were, in spite of myself. Brown alive, and free, and in England!-embarrassment and anxiety I can and must endure. We leave this in two days for our new residence. I shall not fail to let you know what I think of these Scotch inmates, whom I have too much reason to believe my father means to quarter in his house as a brace of honourable spies-a sort of Rosencrantz and Guilderstern, one in a cassock, the other in tartan petticoats. What a contrast to the society I would willingly have secured to myself! I shall write instantly on my arriving at our new place of abode, and acquaint my

dearest Matilda with the farther fate of-her Julia

Mannering.'

CHAPTER XIX.

Which sloping hills around enclose,
Where many a beech and brown oak grows,
Beneath Tvhose dark and branching bowers,
Its tides a far-famed river pours.

By nature's beauties taguht to please,
Sweet Tusculine of rural ease!-

Wharton.

WOODBOURNE, the habitation which Mannering, by Mr. Mac Morland's mediation, had hired for a season, was a large comfortable mansion, snugly situated beneath a hill covered with wood, which shrouded the house upon the north and east; the front looked upon a little lawn bordered by a grove of old trees-beyond were some arable fields, extending down to the river, which was seen from the windows of the house. A tolerable, though old fashioned-garden; a well stocked dove-cot, and the possession of any quantity of ground which the convenience of the family might require, rendered the place in every respect suitable, as the advertisements have it, for the accommodation of a genteel family.

Here, then, Mannering resolved, for some time at least, to set up the staff of his rest. Though an East-Indian, he was not partial to an ostentatious display of wealth. In fact he was too proud a man to be a vain one. He resolved therefore, to place himself upon the footing of a country gentleman of easy fortune, without assuming, or permitting his

household to assume any of the faste which then was considered as characteristic of a nabob. He had still his eye upon the purchase of Ellangowan, which Mac- Morlan conceived Mr. Glossin would be compelled to part with, as some of the creditors disputed his title to retain so large a part of the purchase-money in his own hands, and his power to pay it was much questioned. In that case, MacMorlan was assured he would readily give up his bargain, if tempted with something above the price which he had stipulated to pay. It may seem strange, that Mannering was so much attached to a spot which he had seen only once, and that for a short time, in early life. But the circumstances which passed there had laid strong hold on his imagination. There seemed to be a fate which conjoined the remarkable passages of his own family history with those of the inhabitants of Ellangowan, and he felt a mysterious desire to call the terrace his own, from which he had read in the book of heaven a fortune strangely accomplished in the person of the infant heir of that family, and corresponding so closely with one which had been so strikingly fulfilled in his own. Besides, when once this thought had got possession of his imagination, he could not, without great reluctance, brook the idea of his plan being defeated, and by a fellow like Glossin. So pride came to the aid of fancy, and both combined to fortify his resolution to buy the estate if possible.

Let us do Mannering justice. A desire to serve the distressed had also its share in determining him. He had considered the advantages which Julia might receive from the company of Lucy Bertram,

whose genuine prudence and good sense could so surely be relied upon. This idea had become much stronger since Mac Morlan had confided to him, under the solemn seal of secrecy, the whole of her conduct towards young Hazlewood. To propose to her to become an inmate in his family, if distant from the scenes of youth and the few whom she called friends, would have been less delicate; but at Woodbourne she might without difficulty be induced to become the visitor of a season, without being depressed into the situation of an humble companion. Lucy Bertram, with some hesitation, accepted the invitation to reside a few weeks with Miss Mannering. She felt too well, that, however the colonel's delicacy might disguise the truth, his principal motive was a generous desire to afford her his countenance and protection. About the same time she received a letter from Mrs. Bertram, the relation to whom she had written, as cold and comfortless as could well be imagined. It inclosed, indeed, a small sum of money, but strongly recommended economy, and that Miss Bertram should board herself in some quiet family, either at Kippletringan or in the neighbourhood, assuring her, that though her own income was very scanty, she would not see her kinswoman want. Miss Bertram shed some natural tears over this cold-hearted epistle, for in her mother's time, this good lady had been a guest at Ellangowan for nearly three years, and it was only upon succeeding to a property of about 400/. a year that she had taken farewell of that hospitable mansion, which, otherwise, might have had the honour of sheltering her until the death of its owner. Lucy was strongly