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like a tropical bird, in a coat of quite another colouring than the sober browns our birds generally affect in the north; but poor Lettice was too sad at heart to enjoy either the sights or sounds. She sat down at last near the little pool - the scene of her childish misdeeds. The water was clear, the pale blue sky was clear; the trunks of the great oaks on the top of a green mossy bank, overrun with a perfect garden of daffodils, which seemed to be overflowing down its edge to see themselves in the water, were all reflected below. She sat and watched them absently; it had been too lovely to pass by, but she had forgotten at what she was looking, as she rested her head upon her hands. In spite of the size and strength of her belief in Everhard-"which it's as big and strong as the minster at Mapleford," she said to herself-she was begining to find it long, and to sigh for some tidings of him. He had taken Amyas's prohibition to come near them till all was clear, far too literally for her comfort.

Something stirred, as it seemed to her, in the water below, and she raised her graceful little head to see down into itwhen she met Everhard's eyes looking up at her, as it were, out of the water itself; he was so continually in her thoughts and so mixed up and connected with everything in her mind, that if he had come up bodily out of the pool itself, she would hardly have been startled or considered it otherwise than quite natural.

"You never heard me, Lettice! what were you thinking about so hard?" said he, smiling, as he sat down beside her, and took her in his arms.


"But are you sure that it's all quite right that you should come?" whispered she, nestling up to him, however; and that they won't mind it at Mapleford, and that uncle Amyas will be content?"

And you mean we can live here along wi' uncle Amyas, in the dear old place all together all our lives?" replied Lettice, with her eyes sparkling. "And that's the good thing you've been doing of all this weary while? You're a very good man,” she added earnestly.

"Why, that moss is just like green velvet where you're sitting, Lettice, with the winter being so mild. It's a very pleasant place this, to be sure. I don't wonder at folk being sorry to part with it."

"But you mean uncle Amyas to stop, you said? How did he take it when you spoke and told him?" said she, anxiously, beginning to see that all was not quite so simple as she had fancied.

"Well, I suppose he's to stop. Why, he ain't so over and above fond o' me, and so he wasn't that overjoyed, you know, at having to be as it were obligated, anyhow."


"But he'll be fond enow of you, Everhard, come he knows you better," cried she the colour rising to her cheeks — in her uncle's defence. Ye can't think what a man he is! There ain't a mossel not so big as a penny-piece in his heart o' what's low, nor selfish, nor mean; and now oughtn't we to go home and see after him a bit?" said

But in spite of this very convincing argu-she, as he would have detained her; and ment, the uneasy look did not pass out of they sauntered slowly back together as the her anxious face till he had told her all that shadows fell. had happened.


"You're like a bit of conscience set on end in a little red hood, I do believe," answered he, laughing; it's very right indeed; how can it be wrong when you and me come together?"

"My mother's been as kind as kind; you must go and see her soon, Lettie; I think that'll thank her best, to see your little face. You see it's her money is set upon the Woodhouse after all: so she's a right, if any has, to say yes or no, and she gives it up to: us, you and me, that's her rights. (I never saw such a place for wild daffodils as this is.)"


"And what have you been doing all the time?" said he presently, looking down into her eyes with a smile.

"It's very dreary waiting," answered she, hiding her face on his shoulder. "I don't think you can tell how long the days seem."

"Why can't I tell ?" laughed he. "Because you're a man, you know, and can move about and be angry, and all sorts o' such things that serves to pass the time." "What! do ye think that's such a pretty pastime ?" answered he.

"Them as tries it seems always to take great delight in it," said she, with a smile and a blush.

Then, after he had proved convincingly to his own and her satisfaction that everything he had ever done had always been the very best possible under the circumstances,

"Sunny, fresh, bright evening, how pleasant the world looks," said Everhard; "and coming out of the town too. Hark how the lambs are bleating, and see that pair o' cutty wrens beginning a nest. It's quite a shame to go in before sundown."

But still she drew him gently on, for, in the midst of her own happiness, she began to realize that there might be sore hearts not very far away. Amyas was standing

moodily in the porch as they came up; but his cloudy brow cleared when he saw the light in Lettice's little face.

Why, you look as if you'd grow'd a pair o' wings, child, sin' morning.' Then, turning to Everhard, "You'll mind and be good to her all yer days?" he went on somewhat seriously.

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"I should like to see the thing that wouldn't be good to Lettie," replied the young man, with some grandeur, a little annoyed that his virtuous acts were not done greater homage to, and not understanding in the least the bitter pang with which Amyas felt himself now a dependant in the house which had so long been his own.


Uncle Amyas, he's your nephew too now, you know. You'll care about him, won't you?" whispered Lettice, anxiously, dropping behind, and taking hold of his hand in both hers, as they followed Everhard into the house. "I never can be right down happy in my heart if you're not a little glad about it too," she went on, stroking the hand she held, and with a whole world of tenderness in her voice and manner.

And with the link between them of that pleading little face, Amyas shook hands, at last, much more cordially with the young man, in a sort of silent welcome, as they entered the hall together.


'I'm sure I don't know where to put him, Amyas," muttered his mother, a little too audibly.


what orders his coat at Beaulieu Fair and puts it on at Downton.' And so you're to have the wedding in church, is ye? and I'm glad 'o that too, we that pays tithe reg'lar, and Easter dues, and all them things, and don't get no benefice on 'um like. I always thought we should take 'um out in prayers."


“I've made up my mind for to go live at the Dairy-house, for all sakes' sake," said Mrs. Wynyate next day suddenly. 'Now, don't you go and say ought agin it, for 'tis much the best every way," she went on, in answer to Lettice's rather timid remonstrances. "Ye see, child, things ain't, nor can't be, as they used to was. The house is to be Everhard's, they tells me, and he don't like 'um done as they ought to; and I ain't used to new ways, and can't change, and I shall be best by myself, as 'twere, and you knows it; and 'tis so much nearer the chapel, too. Besides, I don't think much o' young men nowadays, to be waited on and looked after like that," she ended, with some disgust at seeing Lettice getting something hot for supper ready for him. 'So we'd best part while we're friends," said her inexorable common sense.


"I believe you've strove to do all that was kind by me and mine, Everhard Wallcott; and I thank ye for't, though I haven't many words to give to-day," he said, at last, with a sort of simple dignity.


"Don't you think we ought to give You'll let me stop here to-night, Mrs. them back to uncle Amyas ?" said she, Wynyate?" said Everhard, presently, smil-laying her hand on his arm with a hesitating a little, perhaps, too affably for the situation.

ing blush and smile. "Don't they say the money wasn't near the value; and we might live here for the interest, mightn't we, Everhard? It would be so nice to give him his own again."


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A few days after the wedding Everhard came up to Lettice with a packet of papers which his mother had given him.


Find me a safe place for these. They're the title-deeds of the Woodhouse," said he, smiling.

Lettice threw herself desperately into the breach. 66 Granny," she whispered, drawing the old woman to the stairs, "you'll let me come in to you, or I can go to the garret where uncle had used to sleep, and then there's that room where I bide all ready."

It was not a promising beginning, and Lettice's heart sank within her, but the evening went off better than could be expected. Amyas made a great struggle to be cheerful; but their chief comfort was Job, greatly pleased with himself for his wisdom and perspicacity, he considered the marriage as mainly his own doing, and admired it accordingly.

Look, dear child: I was thinking of going away, and leaving ye to yourselves." Well, you're not for letting the grass She looked horrified. But Wallcott says grow under yer feet," observed he, rubbing he don't know nothing about farming, and his hands, when he heard Everhard's plans: that I'd best stop and look after it. I don't "you'll be beforehand, now, wi' the cuckoo, I believe I'm fit for much else; but I can do

"A good deal more than his own that would be o' the place, I fancy. I don't see that at all," he answered. "What do you think Lettice says?" and he repeated her words to Amyas, who entered the room at the moment. It must be confessed, to the discredit side of his offer, that he did not believe her uncle would accept it.

Lettice was making her escape, not at all approving of this easy mode of generosity, when Amyas took hold of her hand, and drew her fondly to him, with the tears in his eyes.


'that." In spite of his modesty, Amyas was of opinion secretly that he was a very good farmer. "After all, it's no hardship to be beholden to you; and if I could ha' had my wish, 'twould ha' been as I should leave the Woodhouse to thee after I go (which I couldn't). Job and John ain't fit for it, and Ned don't want it; so there 'tis, just all for the best, you see."

Everhard was no hero, and his shallow education had not taught him how little he knew. But his wife never found it out. She went through life worshipping his wonderful powers and great acquirements, which, perhaps, on the whole, was for her happiness. Sometimes a dim doubt came over her, when she differed from him, as to whether his right (which was to her right) was so absolutely the right; but she put it down as a sort of treason.

Old Wallcott lived on for many years, and when he and his wife were provided for They had their ups and downs of joy and properly, there was barely enough to enable grief, they lost their only little girl, and, havthe others to live in comfort at the Wood-ing several boys, desired ardently what they house. had not got. In time, however, there came a little Lettice, very like the first to look at, who took possession of Amyas as of her rightful property and estate before she was two years old. She was the joy of his heart, and might be seen trotting after him, at almost all times and seasons, in and out of the house. She was a very much happier little being than her mother had been, tried by no harsh words or actions, above all, troubled by no misgivings, no self-mistrusts, or self-torturings; all the difference. in fact, between the last generation and this. There was, perhaps, too, a little less of the shy charm of her mother. The dawn is a very evanescent thing in these times, self-possession and self-consciousness come rather too early, perhaps, in the day.

It was a good many years after their marriage-Lettice considered herself quite a middle-aged woman, and Everhard a "comfortable man," when their little girl, having been ill, and not recovering her strength,

They were not at all rich, after all. The old money-lender's gains melted away to very little when the master-hand was gone which knew how to pull the strings necessary to bring in the gold. Amyas and Lettice were exceedingly glad, and Everhard not sorry.

"And a very good thing too," said old Dannel, who generally enacted the part of chorus in a Greek play, considering it his duty to make the proper moral observations and the right exclamations in the right place for the family, reprobating vice (when it did not succeed), admiring good fortune, and the like. "All them pounds is more nor one mortal man didn't ought to have. I mind what my old woman said that time when that there sovereign were bewitched away from us, and we'd had such a sight o' merries* as never was: It's maybe as well,' says she. I was afraid o' that word o' David's, "The wicked do flourish." Who knows else how it mightn't ha' been with us in the t'other world ?'"


Lettice was a great deal cleverer than her husband. There was more of her -thoughts which he never knew of, feelings which he would never share; a wider, larger nature, which, however, neither circumstances nor cultivation ever made much use of.


Ir is only in three-volume novels and fairy tales that, when the proper distribution of deaths, and marriages, and sugarplums has taken place, it can be said of the actors that they lived "happy for ever after." It shows, indeed, a curious state of the public mind that all men should agree in stories to consider the startingpoint as the goal, and the preparation for life as the only interesting part, in fact, the life itself. It saves a world of trouble, however, to the narrator; the remainder is far more difficult and complex a subject, many more keys minors to be harmonized, more involved discords to be resolved. It is the difference between a melody and a symphony.

* Fr. Mérise: little black cherries. LIVING AGE VOL. XIII.


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"Little Lettie ought to go to the sea," said her mother, anxiously, one day when her child had been some time ailing.


"They say there's quite a place grown up at the Chine," replied Everhard. You'd better take the child over there for a while. I shan't be sorry to see the old coast again. Uncle Amyas says he never saw such an aftermath as to-year, and that we shall have a fine time with the beasts, and so we can afford it nicely." (The aftermath is the second crop of grass after the hay-harvest is in.)


And then we shall be sure to hear something of the Edneys," said Lettice to herself.

In the early days of her marriage she

had written repeatedly to "Aunt Mary," but Mary was no scribe, and the painful epistles from Jesse, few and far between, told her little but the fact that they were still alive, so that at last the unsatisfactory correspondence had died out of itself. In those days of dear postage and difficult communication far nearer connections were often not heard of during half a lifetime.

As they drove over the once silent heath, where the Pucks used to turn into colts, they came on a row of staring white lodging-houses a large hotel stood on Jesse's garden, and the little Bethel had been succeeded by an elaborately "high" Church.

As they passed what had once been the "Puckspiece" they saw a great blue placard, intimating that "this commodious and genteel residence, with coach-house and stables," might be hired by any family of distinction desiring that honour.

Lettice felt as if the Pucks were indeed playing tricks with her senses, as, with a puzzled feeling of identity, she helped Everhard to establish themselves in the smallest and quietest lodging they could find.

The next morning Everhard declared, "I'm just going over to Seaford to-day, Lettice, to see Ned and the rest, and the old place. I shall be back by night, and you'll do quite well without me. There's a coach there now."

Lettie took the child down to the shore, where at least the sea and the beach continued unchanged.

There were a number of little people, with spades and smart hats, burrowing in the sand, like the sandhoppers which she remembered of old; with whom, to her astonishment, remembering her own shy days, Lettice the second fraternized without the smallest difficulty.

As they wandered about together, she could find no one who had even ever heard of the Edneys. The smart London builders who had made the place seemed to have destroyed even the name of the former owners: they had vanished like the seaweed of last year's tide.

Late in the afternoon, however, as she was straying rather aimlessly up and down, watching Lettie, who, with a wooden spade, was effecting wonders in the fortification line, in company with a fat boy, one of her new allies, an old sailor came up to her.


I hears you was asking after folk as once lived here long fur time back," he said.

"Yes, six brothers," answered Lettice. "Pilots and fishers they were."

"Well, ye sec, one and another come to grief like, and sold their lots o' ground; not for all that, though there's been such sums and sums made since, it isn't they nowise as has got the money. "Tweren't nothing like; they were none the better of it. And at last Jesse pilot were left all to hisself; and he wouldn't stir, he said, from his father's ground; and so he stopped on till he died."

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"And there was one of the brothers much younger than the rest," observed Lettice, hesitatingly.

"Ah! Caleb you'll mean. He got into trouble with the Revenue folk, and then he run for it and got aboard a whaler or summat; anyhow, the boat were wrecked, and almost every man drownded. They say Jesse never were his man after he heerd on it: there were a blue-jacket aboard one of the ships he were piloting of as telled him, I heerd say. You'll give me summat for to drink yer health, marm?" ended he, as Lettice turned, dazed, away.

She longed to be alone, to get away from the parasols and the smart hats, and the donkeys, and the telescopes with sham sailors at the end of them. She shrank at last behind a shoulder of sand-cliff, out of sight of every one, with nothing but the sea and the sky and the beach before her,


where the voices of the waves and of the dead were the living things to her." The past had come back to her so vividly that she could see and hear once again all that went on in the old days at the pilot's: Mary's voice seemed sounding in her ears with its affectionate greetings, David's pat ronizing airs, and the old pilot's serious " 11 discourse; while her intercourse with poor Caleb, from the day when he carried her across the river to his pleading on the shore, was as present to her as if it had been yesterday.

It was quite evening, and she was still sitting there when the little girl came running up to her.


Oh, mother, come down to the shore

things! See here's a sea-mouse all over little spikes!" And she opened her small, hot, sandy hand, in which was wriggling some hideous sea-monster. And at the child's voice, the past shrivelled up once

out of this place. Iv'e got such beautiful | the youth of the past seemed to be passing. "A sea-mouse?' what's that, I wonder, Lettie? Put it in my pocket and we'll look presently, for I'm as hungry as a hawk, and want to get home."



The child danced round them, running in after the ebbing waves, and flying from them, as they came back again, like a little elf, and returning to hang on to his hand; while the sun set behind them, giving a golden glow to the cliffs and the sea, and throwing their three long shadows on the level wet sands before them.

Why, you don't look like the same child," said her mother with a smile, putting the little dishevelled locks to rights; "and here's father coming to meet us. See what a nice colour Lettie's got into her cheeks already," she went on, going towards him.

"There's two Letties have got nice colour in their cheeks, I think," said Everhard, looking at his wife, over whose face

RIGOLLOT'S MUSTARD LEAVES. Rigollot's mustard leaves, says the Medical Press and Circular, are apparently nothing else than strong mustard powder spread on paper. They are sold in tight tin cases, such as may be carried in the pocket, and their application consists

have made with it indicate that it is much more

AN ANTIDOTE FOR TOBACCO. As to curing men of their addiction to tobacco, it seems to us very much like urging the resumption of specie payments the difficulty is not want of power, but want of will. This is an obstacle very hard to overcome. The Rev. George Trask bucks against it as follows:- -"In our anti-tobacco labours, we see thousands whose wills are paralyzed by tobacco, who struggle to be free, but give up in despair. They need an antidote for an insatiable appetite. Resolution must be armed, and hope inspired. We have such, and gladly publish it to every sufferer and to the world. To such as are utterly stupefied by the drug, and such as revel in saliva and smoke – glorying in their shame- we make no appeal; but to such as groan, being in bondage,' long-simply in dipping them in water and applying ing to be free, we say, Here is our antidote, them to the skin. The experiments which we friend; try it. We ask nothing for it.' 1. Make the most of your will. Drop tobacco, and resolve never to use it again in any form. 2. Go to an apothecary, and buy ten cents' worth of gentian root, coarsely ground. 3. Take as much after each meal, or oftener as amounts to a common quid of fine cut or cavendish.' 4. Chew it well, and swallow all the saliva. 5. Continue this a few weeks and you will come off conqueror; then thank God, and thank us. Reasons:- 1. Gentian is a tonic, bitter in taste, and will do much to neutralize and allay your taste for tobacco. 2. Gentian is a nervine. It will brace up your relaxed and flabby nerves, and save you from the awful goneness' under which victims agonize. 3. Gentian, for a short time, is an innocent substitute for the quid or pipe. It employs the mouth, beguiles attention, and gives a helping hand to a drowning man. Despise not our antidote. Money-making men give us to understand that, should we fill mil- a poisoned cave exists in the mountains of lions of little boxes with gentian, mark them Jilitia. The air within causes death to any Trask's Infallible Tobacco Cure,' price one living creature that ventures into it. An Indian dollar, we should soon fill our empty coffers and died after having entered it a short time since.

THE newspapers of the City of Mexico say that

"See how great and big I am," sang the little girl in a sort of chant, and the traces of the old life seemed to be wiped away for her mother as if they had been a dream.

become a millionaire. We shall do no such thing. We shall continue to spread tracts over the nation, showing that tobacco tends to ruin the body and the soul, and ruin nations; and beg enslaved men to try our antidote -Resolution, Gentian, and the Grace of God. Thousands will try it and be free." New York Tribune.

vigorous and effective than the mustard poultice. In every case the plaster began to give pain in, at most, one minute, causing active determination of blood to the part in from three to eight minutes. In one of the cases, a man whose skin had never been affected in the slightest degree, either by mustard poultices or cantharides, it acted energetically in eight minutes. On economic grounds these sinapisms also recommend themselves, for they will act almost as well a second time as when quite fresh. As far as our experience goes, they give promise of supplanting the old mustard poultice on all the grounds of efficiency, cleanliness, and convenience.

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