respecting her affairs at the Grange and its neighbourhood. He soon learnt from the bailiff (the only person who had ever acted as steward; for, excepting his cook, Sir George had never indulged in expensive servants) that no rents were in arrears, and that on the small quantity of land immediately round the house, which had been kept in hand, as little stock of any kind remained to be disposed of, as it was well possible to believe. On the other hand, however, the good man had the satisfaction of reporting that there were but few and trifling claims from any of the country tradespeople, and that a sum greatly less than might reasonably be expected from the sale of the furniture would suffice to pay them all, provided a few sums borrowed upon large interest were not added to the account.

This was most welcome news to Clara. Of all the difficulties which surrounded her, the one which pressed the most painfully on her feelings was, that she anticipated in paying the tradespeople, who had hazarded the fruits of their time and industry by trusting to the honour of her family, and furnished, them with the means of daily existence from trusting in their honesty. These claims, which by some strange distortion of the moral sense, are generally considered as the last to be attended to, were in her estimation so greatly the first, that knowing such at least could be honourably answered, relieved her mind from an intolerable weight, and enabled her to look forward with firmness to the destiny she was resolved to meet and to abide.

Believing herself without the slightest shadow of a doubt to be lawfully entitled to the notes found in her father's pocket-book, she of course believed also that she had a right to dispose of them according to her own will and pleasure; and no sooner did she discover that the butchers and brewers who had served the Grange were in a fair way to be satisfied, than she very complacently turned her thoughts to the execution of a project which had seized upon her very heart and soul the moment she had been made to understand that the money received from Charles Chesterfield had not been disposed of.

She had loved, passionately, devotedly loved, Arthur Dalrymple, but for several months she had been schooling herself into the persuasion that this love was not, nor ever had been, requited. To this, as she had repeatedly assured herself since the death of her father, she had as effectually sought to resign herself without a murmur either against fate or fortune, as to the sudden change of her position from being a young lady of fashion to an humble dependent upon her own exertions for support. The success of this struggle, which, such as it was, seemed to satisfy herself, was doubtless as much owing to the high-toned pride that made so essential a part of her character as to the christian philosophy which it was her constant effort to acquire; but whatever might be the predominant feeling that had led her to the state of almost apathetic tranquillity in which she rejoiced, it was not of a nature that could enable her to endure the torture of believing that Dalrymple had been robbed by her father. Putting together all the circumstances which had reached her, the statement of her father respecting the account that was to be settled between them, his transaction with young Chesterfield, and his demand upon herself, she felt little doubt that money to a considerable amount was due to him; and that this terrible debt should be paid if every shilling she could com

mand in the world would suffice to do it, she was resolved with an intensity of purpose that almost took away her breath as she meditated on the means of accomplishing it, from the eagerness with which she longed to put them in practice.

That she had still a thousand pounds in the funds, and that four times that amount reposed quietly in her writing-desk, were facts that greatly sustained her courage while meditating on the difficulties of her project. The first of these difficulties did not appear very formidable, as it consisted only in her ignorance of the debt; but there was another, which made her tremble from head to foot as she thought of it. How was she to address him on the subject? in her own person? -and so seem seeking for a renewal of the intercourse which it had been his will so decisively to end? No-not for a reward considerably dearer to her than life. How then was she to set about it? Should she write to the London lawyer heretofore employed by her father, and now engaged in settling as he could between the claims of creditors and the proceeds of the property in Bruton-street? No; she rejected this, from feeling that it would not do to mix up her own transactions with those belonging wholly to the affairs of her father. She well knew that this payment to Dalrymple, furnished by her own means, could not be classed as one of these. She well knew that this reduction of her own independent means of existence was as completely a matter of selfindulgence, as if she had taken a fancy in her poverty to indulge herself still with a carriage and horses, coûte qui coûte. In short, the execution of this business was not without its difficulty; and after several hours of very deep thinking devoted to it, she at length came to the conclusion, that if she could but obtain his consent, the best agent she could employ would be Farmer Chesterfield.

For this purpose she again sought a private interview with the kind old man. Like every other member of the family, he would have joyfully undertaken anything and everything within his power to perform, that could either do her service or give her pleasure. Her gentle manner of submitting to the strangely new circumstances which surrounded her; her noble freedom from every species of affectation; her beauty; her perfect temper; and above all, perhaps, the gratitude which the confidential disclosures of the old man had caused them to feel for her generous care of Charles, had bound them to her, one and all, by ties of the strongest affection and esteem. Poor Clara felt this, and next to the sustaining influence produced by her resolution to clear all pecuniary arrears with Dalrymple, it afforded her the best consolation under the oppressive circumstances which beset her, which she was capable of receiving.

"And what is there, my very dear young lady, that I can do for you?" demanded Farmer Chesterfield, affectionately pressing her delicate hand between his palms of horn; "I think I may venture to promise that there is nothing which you can ask that I can refuse, only just provided that it is in my power to do it."

"I am very glad to hear you say so," replied Clara, with a smile, "for what I am now going to ask is no trifling thing-but when I tell you, as I can most truly do, that whatever tranquillity of mind I may still hope for, depends absolutely and altogether on your complying with the request I am about to make, I do not believe that you will

shrink from it. And yet, Mr. Chesterfield," she added, after sitting for a moment silent, as if meditating how she should begin," I do very strongly suspect that you will think me wilful, and perhaps unwise in this most resolute purpose. Do me, however, the justice to believe that I must have very powerful and important reasons for being thus resolute. There is a gentleman, Mr. Chesterfield, who placed unbounded confidence in my unhappy father." Her voice faltered, and again for a moment she was silent. Had she looked in the face of her venerable friend, she would have seen more of tenderness than he was able to express, for his eyes were full of tears, though he spoke not a word, nor felt in any way capable of uttering one.

to remove.

"To this gentleman," she resumed," a sum of money is owing, which it is my steadfast intention to pay. But there are some obstacles to my doing this, which I flatter myself it will be both in your power and will In the first place, I know not the exact amount of the debt; and in the next, I do not wish myself to have any visible agency in negotiating the payment of it. Under these circumstances, Mr. Chesterfield, I turn to you, feeling confident that if you can give up enough of your time to take a journey to London, in order to see this gentleman yourself, you will manage to settle the business for me, without letting my name appear in it at all."

66

My dear Miss Clara," replied the old man, "I would be willing to do that, and a great deal more to serve you, if you will but teach me how it may be done. But I see not how this payment can be made from you to him without your name appearing in the transaction. Do you not perceive that this can hardly be, Miss Clara?"

"No, Mr. Chesterfield, no. It may be, and very easily; provided you will have the goodness to adopt the plan I would suggest. You have already, you know, undertaken most kindly to make all payments for me here. Let this transaction be placed on the same footing, and there will be no need whatever that any mention should be made of my name."

"Quite right, quite right, Miss Clara; now I understand you," returned the good man, apparently much pleased. "I fancied—I was afraid that your proposal meant a-But I now understand it all perfectly; the debt to this gentleman, as soon as I have ascertained its amount, is to be paid from the proceeds of the sale which we hope to effect next month. That is your intention, is it not, my dear young lady?" "Not so, Mr. Chesterfield," returned Clara, colouring violently. "This debt, let its amount be what it may, is to be paid solely from my own funds. I know it to be considerable, to the amount of this matters not. If you undertake the commission at all, it must be with the understanding that whatever be the amount, provided it exceed not five thousand pounds, you make the gentleman of whom I speak understand that it will be immediately paid by you from property belonging to the Meddows family, placed in your hands for the payment of Sir George's debts."

but

"The worthy farmer looked very steadfastly in the face of the young lady as she spoke, which occasioned her to fix her eyes on the floor; thereby enabling him to persevere in the scrutiny he was making without reserve or scruple. The consequence of this was, that before the

interview ended, old Mr. Chesterfield became very perfectly persuaded that his beautiful guest had some inexplicable feelings respecting the gentleman in question, which in no way resembled any that were excited by other creditors. But the old man was a wise old man, and uttered no syllable that could make her suspect she had betrayed herself; on the contrary, she listened with very particular satisfaction to the tone of voice in which he replied,

"Very good, I quite understand you now. And what is the gentleman's name, Miss Clara? And whereabouts in London does he live?"

This was exactly the part of the conversation which she had the most dreaded; but, reassured by the tone in which the question was asked, she replied, with tolerable composure,

"Dalrymple is the name. I will give you, of course, his full address as soon as you tell me that you are ready to set off-and I hope, I hope, my dear kind friend, that this will be very soon. hardly imagine how greatly happier I shall be when this is done."

You can

"To-morrow, if you like it, my dear Miss Clara," was the prompt reply. "Christopher can do without me for the next week or so perfectly well. Let it be settled at once, if you please, that I shall go to-morrow. The jockey-cart will take me over to Gloucester in time for the evening coach, and there are plenty of hours left to-day for you to write any letters you may wish me to take for you."

"There will be no letters, my good Mr. Chesterfield," she replied eagerly, while a bright blush again mounted to her eyes. "Most carefully must you remember that my name must on no account be mentioned. And therefore of course you know I cannot wish to write."

"Never fear, never fear! I shall not forget that. But you might have had other letters to write, you know, Miss Clara."

"I have not a single correspondent in London," replied the isolated Clara, with a smile and a sigh. "So there is no danger that my letters should delay you. But is it not likely that your good wife may think this journey somewhat over sudden ?"

"Not a bit, Miss Clara. I have my own principles, my dear Miss Meddows, about the proper place of women, saving your presence, and no female in my family ever thinks of interfering with my going and coming. I take particular good care to be master at home both in word and deed."

Luckily for the farmer's boasted independence, and for the gratification of Clara's impatience also, Mrs. Chesterfield made no objection whatever to his taking this trip to London; but on the contrary, exerted herself so effectually to assist the project, that an admirably packed little portmanteau was ready for him at least three hours before the jockey-cart came to the door.

"Will you go with me, Charles ?" said the old man jestingly, as he saw the vehicle appear. Perhaps you would like to see some of your

London friends?"

"No thank ye, father!" was the reply, uttered with a degree of fervour which resulted from the united ideas of Mrs. Sherbourne and little Bessy; "No-I think I'd rather stay at Maplebury just at present."

A SKETCH OFF THE ROAD.

BY THOMAS HOOD, ESQ.

"Whatever is, is right."-POPE.
"Laissez aller!"-IVANHoe.

"ADIEU, mes amis-I am gone down below. Mais, tout doucement, Monsieur Jacques-you will break your head."

The language was doubtful: but the accent and tone were so decidedly French, that the pictorial faculty immediately presented a meagre, sallow-faced figure-a sort of Monsieur Mallet, or Morbleuas the next addition to the company in the crowded cabin of the Lord Melville. Thanks to National Prejudice-fostered by state Policy and confirmed by our Anti-Gallican Dramatists and Caricaturists, it has always been the popular notion that le Bœuf Gras was the only fat animal in France. Indeed some thirty or forty years ago-" when George III. was King"-the celebrated Living Skeleton would have been considered as a fair average specimen of his countrymen. A Frenchman any stouter than Romeo's starved Apothecary was a physical impossibility; at the utmost, like his own Mât de Cocagne, he might become greasy, but not fat. Such was, in reality, my own impression in early life; and hence the Eidolon my fancy had conjured up of a foreigner

"As long, and lank, and brown,

As is the ribb'd sea-sand."

It was, however, a very different Personage who came stooping and labouring through the narrow aperture, which he quite filled up-like a pig squeezing into a hen-house. As the Man-Mountain entered backwards, and almost bent double, the mind unavoidably recurred to the Stout Gentleman of Washington Irving: whom the new comer quite equalled in bulk, and rather exceeded in boisterousness; for he had taken his wine on board before embarking; and a little Achates who came with him, had no small trouble in checking, or rather trying to check, the Big Man's exuberant gaiety. It would have been as easy to persuade Falstaff into Quakerism.

In the meantime the old Prejudice set to work, and could not help thinking, in common perhaps with two-thirds of the passengers then present, that so hearty and well-fed a fellow-big enough for a Small Farmer-ruddy enough for a Butcher-and jolly enough for a Jack Tar-ought to have been an Englishman. And as if to countenance this theory, the Stranger not only had some knowledge of our language, but exhibited very decided symptoms of Anglomania. He had travelled somewhere-perhaps between Paris and Calais-by an English Stage-Coach; and struck no doubt with the superiority of whip, drag, and team-the beautiful turn-out, and the admirable performance of horse and man, compared with the foreign Diligence and its cattle, had imbibed the fancy for the "road" so prevalent amongst ourselves. In particular, one of the phrases of the craft had burnt itself into his heart like a love-posy. It haunted him like a tune. In season