connected with my family, combined with various other circumstances, has made me feel it necessary to lose no time in trying to establish my birthright, which has acquired double value in my eyes, since without it I can never aspire to your hand. I start for London to-morrow,-I have already thrown up my commission, and after my business in that city is despatched, shall depart instantly for the Continent."

It was with mingled sensations of grief and pleasure that Wentworth remarked the effect of this announcement on Florence, and saw her eyes again filled with tears, while the hand which he held in his own trembled violently.

"You are grieved at the thought of my departure, dearest Florence," he said, looking at her with great tenderness.

"Not if it is for your happiness," she faltered, striving to smile through her tears. "Indeed," she continued after a pause, during which she endeavoured to conquer her feelings that she might not add to his distress, "perhaps it is better for us both, since Lady Seagrove, I feel sure, would do all she could to prevent our meeting. Indeed, I am disobeying her at this moment by conversing with you."

"I foresaw it all," said Wentworth, sorrowfully, "or I would not voluntarily exile myself from the place that contains all I love best upon earth. One moment more," he added, in a trembling and agitated voice. "Remember, I shall have no means of hearing of you-you have forbidden me to write; it may be years before we meet-if, indeed, we ever meet again. Do not leave me without one more kind word, one more assurance that I shall not be forgotten."

"I can never, never forget you," sobbed Florence; and, quite overcome, she sank down upon a bank which was close by, and covered her face with her hands. Wentworth placed himself beside her. For some moments his emotions would not suffer him to speak, but he supported the weeping girl with his arm, and her drooping head rested on his shoulder. After a time he strove by words of passionate love and tenderness to soothe and calm her, for he saw that she was half-fainting with agitation. As he did so, he felt that every moment he stayed made the thought of parting more painful. He felt his resolution waver, but the thought that it was better for Florence-better for them both that he should go, gave him strength.

"Dearest," he said at last, striving, though vainly, to speak with firmness," it now only remains for me to say the dreadful word-farewell." "Oh, do not-do not go away!" sobbed Florence. "When you are gone, who is there to

"Florence, Florence! I cannot bear this!" cried her lover, his agitation returning with redoubled force. "If you bid me not depart

"No, no," said Florence, "I knew not what I said. Do not stay-I am calmer now-farewell-may Heaven bless and watch over you!"

He pressed her to his heart in a fond and lingering embrace, but still remained by her side, endeavouring to cheer and comfort her; and it was not until she had repeatedly urged him to depart, that he at length tore himself away.

CHAPTER XXIX.

But still his lips refused to send "Farewell;"
For in that word-that fatal word-howe'er
We promise-hope-believe-there breathes despair.

LORD BYRON.

On reaching his apartments, Wentworth threw himself on to a seat, and tried to reflect calmly; but for some time the tumult of his feeings rendered this impossible. At length, he roused himself, and set about completing the necessary preparations for his journey on the morrow. He resolved not to delay his departure a single day, for he felt that his resolution would fail if he did; and that to see Florence again would entirely unnerve him.

He then thought of his friend Pemberton; and, after a little reflection, determined to write to him.

"I have not courage to bid him adieu in person," he thought, "nor to listen to the arguments which I am sure he would use to persuade me to remain in England. Besides, I feel certain that if he spoke of Florence, which of course he would do, I should betray more agitation than I should wish even him to witness."

He wrote accordingly, and to make sure that Pemberton did not receive the letter until after his departure, left it on the morning that he quitted B, with orders that it should not be put in the post until the following day.

Pemberton received the letter as he was on the point of setting out to call on his friend. The perusal caused him both surprise and concern. "Going to the Continent for an uncertain period," he repeated. "What can have made him take this sudden step? Feels that it is better he should not remain in England.' What in the world can he mean? Ah! I see it all. He is desperately in love, poor fellow, and despairs of obtaining Florence's hand. Yet why should he despair? Though not nobly born, he is a gentleman, and with talents, accomplishments, and personal attractions, which must fully justify her choice in the eyes of the world. 'Tis true there is Sir Robert Craven; but surely Lady Seagrove will give up the wish which I know she entertains of marrying Florence to him, when she finds that the girl not only dislikes him, but loves another.

"He has not even told me what country he is going to," continued Pemberton, again examining the letter; "and he says nothing about writing. Poor fellow, this was evidently written under great agitation. I should hardly have recognised this writing, it is so unlike his usually clear and flowing hand. I cannot help thinking that it is bad policy to absent himself just at this time. Poor Florence! I am grieved for her, and extremely sorry for my own sake, for there is not another man in the world to whom I am so warmly and sincerely attached, whose friendship I so much value, and whom I so earnestly desire to see happy.

"I wish I could have seen and spoken to him. What does he say? "That his mind was made up, and he feared I should shake his resolution.' I should have tried, certainly. He is right there.

"Half an hour ago I was in remarkably good spirits, but now every thing seems to have lost its interest, and I feel quite melancholy and dismal."

HOW MR. POPPY EXPATIATED ON THE BEAUTIES OF SLIMEYWASTE.

BY CORNELIUS COLVILLE.

I

SLIMEYWASTE is not a large nor yet a populous place. I should not say that it contained more than 4000 souls prior to the last census. have not seen the recent returns; it has probably increased in population since then. The land in the vicinity is remarkably prolific, producing, at certain periods of the year, such abundant crops of weeds, that it is well-nigh impossible for the farmer to reap one crop ere another is ready to undergo the same operation. In the part of the country to which we refer there are no hedges-merely a sort of mud ridge, overgrown with thistles and briars, that divides one field from another-so that any skeleton of an ox or a sheep has little difficulty in finding another pasture, provided the one allotted to him does not accord with his ideas of wholesome provision. The farmer, too, has dispensed with gates, which is a great source of convenience to the wayfarer, who, as he passes, may be tempted to regale himself with a half-developed turnip.

Slimeywaste is situated at the foot of four steep hills, not clad in robes of green velvet, nor irrigated with beautiful purling brooks trickling down their sides. Upon the summits of three of the hills are erected a tannery and a nail and colour manufactory, from the first and last of which two streams of dark-brown and vermilion-red looking water are constantly flowing. These streams-which, by the way, impregnated the atmosphere with no very agreeable odour-made their way through the town of Slimeywaste, and thence deposited themselves in the river Puddle, which ran at a short distance from the town.

Independently of these advantages, the colour manufactory and the nail manufactory were generally steaming away both night and day, so that the air was filled with very heavy, dark clouds of smoke, that rendered it almost impossible for the inhabitants of Slimeywaste to catch a glimpse of the sun. As for a comfortable night of repose, such a thing is not in the remembrance of the oldest inhabitant of Slimeywaste, for, what with the noise of the factories, the barking of dogs, and other disagreeable sounds, refreshing slumber is effectually scared from the eyes.

Slimeywaste consisted of a few straggling irregularly-built houses, that seemed to be so unsocial towards one another, that you would have thought that they had just assembled together and gone through the process of an introduction. Here was a house one story high, its neighbour three, the next to it four, and the next to that again two. Some jutted out almost into the street, and others ran as far back as though they were afraid of being seen. The footpaths were paved with rough stones, not at all adapted to corns or thin shoes; and if you did now and then meet with a few feet of the road properly flagged, you regarded it in the light of a luxury.

The public buildings were a pump and a market, which, in fact, was an old shed, with a few benches underneath, and a score or two of wooden booths in front. There were, also, a church without a steeplea charity-school for the training of pauper-youth-a methodist chapel, and a museum, in which were deposited a small collection of butterflies

and stuffed birds, and some nails manufactured by the Slimeywaste nail manufactory; likewise various colours, produced by one of the other local establishments. The town also possessed a post-office, but, as the inhabitants neither wrote nor received many letters, the berth of the postmaster was almost a sinecure.

From the town we pass to its inhabitants. Mr. Poppy was considered one of the richest men in Slimeywaste. He possessed a good deal of freehold property. There were half a dozen stables and cow-houses in Bubbs'sstreet that were his. There was a bakehouse in the neighbourhood of Little Oxford-street, and we have been informed, upon the best authority, that a small dwelling-house and an old cart-shed near Puggs's-alley were likewise the property of Mr. Poppy.

Mr. Poppy was in the tobacco and snuff line, as was sufficiently manifest, to say nothing of the shop-window, by the following notification above that gentleman's door-"Poppy, licensed dealer in snuff and tobacco. N.B. Don't make less than half an ounce of the latter on no account."

One evening, Mr. Poppy and a gentleman were seated in the parlour of the former in friendly converse. Mr. Poppy was a bachelor. His ap pearance denoted his character. He was a pompous little man, very stiff and prim in his bearing, and dressed in a suit of pepper and salt. His hair was put up at the sides, and his collar concealed the lower extremities of his ears. Mr. Poppy was thrown back in his chair, and his thumbs were inserted in the apertures of his waistcoat. Mr. Poppy's friend was an elderly gentleman, dressed in a seedy suit of black, that was particularly shiny about the knees of the trousers and the buttons of the coat. The gentleman had a somewhat woe-begone countenance. He was an attorney's clerk, and had come down to Slimeywaste to arrange some business with a rather troublesome client of his master. A friend of his, who was upon intimate terms with Poppy, had given him an introduction to that gentleman, and Poppy, with his usual urbanity, had undertaken to provide him with board and lodging in his own house on as reasonable terms as any other gentleman in Slimeywaste, and had, moreover, promised to point out to him the beauties and improvements of the town, so soon as that gentleman could spare sufficient time to undertake the perambulation. "Ah! wonderful place, Slimeywaste," said Poppy. "Seen nothing of it yet. How could you? only been here six hours."

"Lies low," observed Mr. Nobbleberry.

"It does lie low," replied Poppy; "but it ain't that, sir. It's the town itself-its improvements-its institutions-its growing opulence-its increasing population-its-its-damme, its rapid progress in civilisation. When I first settled in Slimeywaste there wasn't more than four hundred people in the whole place-now there's as many thousands-look at that." "Must have improved," observed Nobbleberry.

66

Improved!" echoed Poppy-"I just think it has improved. Why, sir, when I first settled here there wasn't more than four public-houses in the town-how think there are now ?" do many you "I couldn't pretend to say," said Nobbleberry.

"There are thirty, sir-not less than thirty. That shows whether it has improved or not."

"Certainly."

"Then as for the houses and stables that have been built," continued

Poppy," they are incalculable. they are incalculable. House upon house, as fast as they could get 'em up, and let 'em in no time. People actually waiting till they were ready, and only wishing that they were, that they might get into Improved! eh? I should think it had improved."

em.

"It will grow important in time, no doubt," Mr. Nobbleberry said.

"It is important, sir, already. Look at its nail manufactory-look at its colour manufactory-look at its tannery-and look, sir, at its noble river. I haven't seen the Thames to be sure, but blessed if I think it comes up to the Puddle."

"but

"Fine river the Thames, sir-noble stream," observed Nobbleberry. "I'll say no more to-night about Slimeywaste," said Poppy; just wait till you have time to inspect the town. Then, sir, your admiration will be kindled; then, sir, you will see its noble buildings-its towering edifices-its superb market-its rows of shops-its busy populationits swarming streets-its crowded vehicles—and all the hum and stir that's constantly agoing on.'

"But what do you drink?" inquired Mr. Poppy, after a pause.

"I drink uncommon seldom anything but water, but when I do act otherwise, I generally give the preference to gin."

Mr. Poppy stamped upon the floor with his foot, and immediately a dirty and diminutive maid-servant appeared, to whom Mr. Poppy gave his commands with an air of authority and importance. When she returned, she brought with her a couple of tumblers, a small jug of hot water, and a cup containing a few knobs of lump sugar. Mr. Poppy took from a closet a bottle which he placed upon the table.

"Here, sir,” said Poppy, handing the bottle to his guest after he had poured out a certain quantity for himself, "try that, and tell me what you think of it."

Mr. Nobbleberry poured out what he conceived to be a reasonable glass.

"Taste it as it is," said Poppy," and tell me how you like it." Mr. Nobbleberry obeyed the order with considerable alacrity. "Nothing like that in London, eh?" said Poppy, laughingly. touch Slimeywaste in that respect, I know."

"Can't

Nobbleberry said it was very good, and then commenced to dilute it very cautiously with hot water lest he should spoil it. Mr. Poppy and he conversed for a length of time upon a variety of subjects, and when they separated for the night they had cemented a friendship which was destined to last for very many years.

In the course of a few days Mr. Nobbleberry had arranged all his business with the troublesome client of his master, and he determined, at the request of Mr. Poppy, to devote a few hours before he returned to town to the inspection of Slimeywaste. Whether Mr. Nobbleberry had no great love for improvements, or whether he found there was not sufficient in the town of Slimeywaste to engage his attention, it is impossible to say, but certainly he did not enter upon the perambulation with all the spirit that Mr. Poppy had anticipated.

"Now," said Mr. Poppy, after they had had breakfast, "we will commence our route. We will begin at Puggs's-alley, proceed to Great Puddle-street, thence into Hookey's-buildings, visit Paltry-crescent, and the Grand-square. We will then direct our steps to the Slimey wasteroad, and take a few of the principal streets on our way back."