lyre in her arms. Such is the story of the Ladye's Tower."

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Many thanks, Alfred," said the Vicar, "and very fluently told. I shrewdly suspect you have embellished the original tale: but you have not said a word on the saving clause, by which Miss Armadale is to escape."

"For that," said Alfred, "she is indebted to the abbot of the neighbouring monastery: who by virtue of his authority, in consideration of the many services received from the house of Armadale, declared the curse null, whenever a descendant of that house should willingly marry a minstrel. Strange to say, there is no instance on record of any one of these fastidious ladies doing so."

"And what is become of the curse?" asked Margaret smiling, "for as far as I know, the Armadales have been a thriving race."

"Pray do not say so," interrupted Nelson, "you spoil the romance at once. I hoped to have heard a frightful tissue of misfortunes, especially as they parted with the estate at last: broken hearts, lost loves, brothers killing each other à la mode Germanorum, and so on. Come, we shall begin to disbelieve the legend."

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"I am sure I shall," said the Vicar, out of sheer ill humour, if you keep me any longer in this windtrap: and Mary too will catch cold. So hoping these ladies will lay to heart the strong moral contained in

the story, we will, if you please, go down. Nelson, go first, and take care of my dear girl."

The descent began: Mary and her lover first; then the Vicar; and the other two ought to have followed, but Alfred called Margaret just to look at a fragment of stone carving round one of the old windows; and kept her expatiating on its beauties till the rest had nearly reached the bottom. The Vicar's hallooing at last roused him to action, and to Margaret's secret relief, they began to descend.

"I wish Alfred would make haste," said Nelson, looking up the staircase: "I do not feel at all sure that Esther is in safe keeping, especially now he has begun upon poetry and legends: he is likely enough to keep her standing for half an hour on one of the steps, while he recites a canto of the Lady of the Lake, or a book of the Iliad, in the original Greek."

"There they are," interrupted Mary, looking up, "they have stopped to look at something. Oh Nelson! Alfred is leaning over the balustrade-it will give way with him!... Oh! look, look! it is cracking now!... O God! O God! save him!"

It was a terrible moment: Mary's words were but too true. Alfred, carried away with his enthusiasm to the utter oblivion of danger, was telling the half terrified Miss Armadale of the fate of a love-lorn maid who flung herself from the top of the flight, when leaning on the crumbling rails in illustration of his narrative, it gave way with his weight.

In another second he would have been dashed to pieces, but Margaret seized him by his cloak, and held him with a desperate energy, such as excitement alone could have given her. For a few moments-brief but frightful moments, it seemed an even chance whether she would hold him up, or he drag her down: his struggles to regain his balance made her position still more precarious: Mary hid her face, the Vicar clasped his hands in silent prayer, and poor Antoine, who had heard a cry of distress, and thought the Revenant had carried off his mistress, came rushing to the spot in an agony of remorse and cold perspiration. In another instant the danger was past: Alfred had recovered himself and the breathless spectators felt as if mountains were taken off their breasts, when they saw the pair safely at the bottom. Margaret, pale, trembling in every limb, had not yet spoken a word: and when the Vicar seized one hand, and Mary the other, and Alfred, in broken accents, poured forth his gratitude, and Nelson thanked her with beaming eyes, for saving his brother's life, her lips quivered in the vain attempt to be composed, and she burst into tears.

Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. Why, for taking one's part that is out of favour." SHAKESPEARE.

R. CRAWFORD had a study: every gentleman has, or ought to have; whither he was wont to withdraw, when "sated with home, of wife and children It was a

tired," and amuse himself his own way. standing law that whenever he was there, he was engaged in business, and not to be disturbed: and so long had this been established, that there was not one of the family that was not ready to take an affidavit, that papa was transacting business, though one and all would have been grievously puzzled to describe of what particular kind. The difficulty was increased by the fact that no one could ever trace anything as having been done there: nevertheless, his inkstand was regularly replenished, and his pens and paper laid out in order; and doubtless he made as good use of them as many who make more show. He had his books

besides long rows of "Annual Registers," and the "Gentleman's Magazine," and some respectable looking classics, and "Blair's Sermons," and "Smith's Wealth of Nations:" all very instructive, and very edifying, and sure not to come to any harm behind their glass doors, for they were carefully locked up, and nobody ever knew exactly where the key was. Furthermore, he rejoiced in a sumptuous arm-chair, which every one knows is a great friend to study: and a fire-place with a glowing fire in it, which is the very thing to keep a person awake: and in this chair, and by this fire was Mr. Crawford seated, when he was startled from his profound meditations by a tap at the door.

"Who on earth comes disturbing me just now when I am so busy?" exclaimed he, rubbing his eyes, and opening a sheet of blotting paper with marvellous agility-"what you, Mrs. Crawford? my dear, you know-❞

"Yes, my love," said that bland lady, gliding in, and shutting the door after her: I know how precious your time is, no one better, but I must interrupt you for a few minutes: I will not keep you long: let me make up your fire: you really shall not sit here if you do not keep the room at a proper temperature."

"My dear," said Mr. Crawford, gravely, "I have other things to think of, besides my own comfort: and it is as well I do think for you all, or between you, I do not know where we should all go to."