"I am sure you'll believe me, Sir George, when I say I am very, very sorry to go; but I fear I cannot arrange it otherwise."

"Well, if it must be so, it must," said his host, as they reached the house; "and I must announce it to the ladies, but they will think it terrible bad news."

Poor Fanny had been meditating much in the course of the morning on the conversation that had taken place with Captain Morland in the library. His animated tones and manner, and her good mother's as animated comments on it after he had left the room, had given it more importance than it might otherwise have possessed in her eyes. His absence, too, all the morning, had been very much in his favour, as she was constantly missing the additional charm he had added to all her occupations. His gay spirits, his cultivated mind, his clear judgment, and polished manners, made him so different from anything she was in the habit of meeting at home, that a new character of enjoyment seemed to be added to her everyday life, while she wondered that she had ever been able to get on so happily and so contentedly without it. She had settled plans in her mind for the next few days;-celebrated cascades to be visited; passages in books which she wished him to read to her; and questions which she was anxious to discuss with him. In her mother's little room, which was now lighted merely by the flickering fire-light, was poor Fanny seated in a corner, engaged in such thoughts as the above, mille dorate chimere occupying her mind, when Sir George entered in his shooting dress, and communicated his intelligence to the ladies. Lucky it was for poor Fanny that there was only the fire-light, and her position a corner to which that light did not penetrate. Lady Oldstyle was loud in the expression of her regrets: Fanny was quite silent.

"And what does my little Fanny say?" inquired Sir George, from the arm-chair, into which he had thrown himself.

Fanny was still silent.

"I think she must be asleep," said the good mother; we have been sitting here in the dark some time without talking."

"Well, I must go and dress," said Sir George, leaving the room; whether it was from suspecting the real state of the case cannot be ascertained. Hardly had the door closed upon him, when a long deep sob, which seemed to have been suppressed to the latest possible moment, was heard to issue from the dark corner of the room.

"Fanny, my dear Fanny, what is the matter?" exclaimed Lady Oldstyle.

"Only, my dear Mamma, that I am such a mere child, that I cannot see all that has been so delightful, ending so suddenly without weeping; but I am quite ashamed of myself."

"It certainly is very childish, my dear," said the matter-of-fact Lady Oldstyle; "but now go and dress, and mind you wash those red eyes."

Morland, who had quite fallen into the punctual habits of the house, was the first to make his appearance in the drawing-room before dinner. He was standing by the fire, and secretly almost reproaching himself for having been so precipitate in his decision, when the door was opened, and Fanny entered. Not to have spoken to him about what had just

been communicated to her by her father, would have appeared like affectation of indifference; she therefore said, in a tolerably calm tone of voice,

"Is it true, Captain Morland, as Papa has told us, that you are going to leave us so soon as the day after to-morrow?”

"I am afraid it is," he answered; "and am therefore more than ever anxious that nothing should occur to prevent our sketching expedition I hope you and Lady Oldstyle will keep to your engagement; I should be so sorry to be disappointed of that, and on my last day too."

to-morrow.

"Is it really necessary, ," said she, "that it should be your last day? Are you obliged to go on the 30th ?"

Why, yes," he answered, in the tone of composure which the habits of society enable a man to assume when he is in reality most disturbed, "I have some visits to pay, and engagements to fulfil, before I go home."

The tenor of this speech, and the tone in which it was uttered, instantly restored her to temporary composure; and she answered, “If that is the case, we cannot have a word more to say, for there would be no hospitality in trying to persuade you to break your other engagements."

Just then the rest of the party joined them, and dinner was soon announced, so that nothing more passed on the subject.

The evening was, upon the whole, very unsatisfactory. All were more or less under the mixed feelings to which any sudden event which has the effect of changing in a moment one's plans and intentions, is sure to give rise. Morland was much constrained; and poor Fanny, notwithstanding all her resolutions to the contrary, but too often found her eyes wandering towards his countenance, as if to read there the secret of his apparent inconsistency. Lady Oldstyle made the, to her, unusual exertion of venturing a few observations on sketching in general, and on their grand expedition which had been so long fixed for the next day. The former were allowed to drop unnoticed; the latter only produced from Morland the most vehement expression of his hope, "that they should have a fine day for it, notwithstanding the very threatening sunset."

Sir George attempted an attack or two on Morland, for "being quite knocked up with his day's shooting;" but as the latter only smiled languidly, without making the least attempt to defend himself, the poor Baronet was obliged to give it up, from mere want of contradiction. Under these circumstances, it will not be surprising that, as if by common consent, one of the two remaining evenings to be passed together was curtailed by an early move of the whole party to their respective chambers. "L'homme dont le destin se sert pour éveiller l'amour au cœur d'une jeune fille ignore souvent son œuvre, et le laisse inachevée." So says one who is no mean authority in these matters; and such seemed to be the case at this moment at Carperby Hall. If the heart of the gentle Fanny was not as yet entirely given to Morland, she certainly felt towards him very differently, and yet hardly less strongly than she did towards those who had been the objects of her love from her earliest childhood. And yet he was going away with regret, certainly, nay,

almost wishing to recall his resolution, yet still leaving that unaccomplished which might have secured his happiness for the rest of his life.

It was not ignorance of the real state of the case, for he could not mistake the expression of her eyes, as he caught them more than once, in the course of the evening, fixed upon his countenance; still less was it heartlessness or insensibility to her merits. Whatever was the real cause, suffice it to say that, though he might have put off the day of his departure, for it was not yet too late, there was nothing to prevent him, -still the result of his meditations, after a sleepless night, was, that unless the ensuing day's expedition should produce anything to alter him, he would set off on the 30th.

Fortune, however, did not seem inclined to favour him: the day opened with heavy clouds, which soon came down in rain and the weather became so bad, as not only to put an end to all thoughts of their sketching party, but even to prevent Sir George from getting out of doors. The consequence was, that he thought himself on his last day bound to devote himself entirely to his guest, and the greater part of it was (as Morland and Fanny most sincerely thought) wasted in billiards. When not so engaged, Sir George was always in the room, and generally occupied, with the assistance of a modern "Paterson," and an old "Cary," in chalking out the best route for his young friend's journey the next day. As the good Baronet found himself somewhat puzzled by the leaps which those excellent compilers of roadbooks oblige the fireside traveller to make from page to page, he managed, by dint of recommencing his calculation of distances on each of these occasions, to make this friendly labour occupy the greater part of the afternoon. The constant attention of poor Morland was secured by such exclamations as, "Just come here, Morland, what does this mean ?" or, "Just help me here to get from Garstang to Preston: you see I'm doing it all for you.'

This day therefore wore away, like the night before, without any further explanation of their mutual feeling: and if the evening was not passed under the same constraint as the last, the change in that respect could hardly be considered a gain to the cause of true love. Their efforts through the day to control their feelings had so far succeeded, that even Fanny found herself talking with more calmness than she could have expected, of the party that was likely to be assembled at Preston Castle, where Morland's first visit was to be paid.

The next morning, however, at their early breakfast before his departure, the hurried manner, the assumed lightness of tone, exchanged at intervals for one of deep sadness, showed that they were both aware that they were in a few minutes to part for an indefinite time. Morland had indeed promised to renew his visit next year, and both looked forward with confidence to meeting in the London season. But in either, or both of these expectations, they might be disappointed; and what a number of events might happen in the meantime. Even when Morland went round to bid them goodbye, his parting from Fanny was undistinguished from all the rest, except, perhaps, by a warmer pressure of the hand, and a more hearty "God bless you." "" In another minute he was in his carriage; and as it drove from the door where Sir George was standing, the good old [man, who had that delicacy of mind which

is better than delicacy of manners, and who had appeared to notice nothing of what passed between the young people, exclaimed to himself, "Ah! it could not have ended so in the good old times, when I was a young man! The son of my old friend, too!"

When he returned to the breakfast-room, he found the chair which Fanny had been occupying vacant. He made no inquiries about her, but seated himself by Lady Oldstyle, who was already fully occupied in finishing her breakfast.

Before we bid farewell for some time to the party thus broken up, let us give a word on the situation of each member of it at the time we leave them.

Sir George, though he missed the excitement which even the difference in their ways of thinking and acting had afforded him during Morland's stay, was in some degree consoled by the delights of pheasant shooting, which happened to commence the very next day.

Lady Oldstyle persevered for a few days after his departure in her outof-doors sketching, and in-doors painting; but finding that it required a whole day's hard labour to bring up the arrears of dairy accounts, of weekly bills, and of soup tickets, which had, in consequence, accumulated, she, with a sigh, consigned her paints and easel to the store-room from which they had been rescued.

Captain Morland himself might be seen on the evening of his departure discussing the different topics of the day in the midst of a very gay and fashionable party assembled at Preston Castle. Still, the remark of Lady Harriet Barton, after he had been there two or three days, that "Captain Morland was grown rather absent, certainly not altogether himself," may serve to show that, amid the gaudy tulips and delicate hot-house flowers that bloomed at Preston Castle, he could not banish from his remembrance the lily of Wensley-dale.

And what shall we say of Fanny,-poor Fanny, who had no such distractions to divert her thoughts from dwelling on the last fortnight,—a fortnight that formed a new epoch in her life? In vain she tried to return to her old habits. She could think but of the occupations of the last few days; she referred back to the striking passages in books which he had read aloud to them; she played over again the music to which he had directed her attention; she read, and re-read the book, which at her request he had recommended to her; and recalled to her mind their different conversations together. All this she could do, and derive a sort of painful consolation from it; but when she tried to find enjoyment in the simple pleasures which had been her delight but one short, short fortnight previously, she found that her feelings had in that period undergone a change (which with some occurs later, with some earlier,) from those of the child to those of the woman, and that all things wore a new aspect. To the future she might possibly look for happiness, though at this moment she hardly dared to do so; but the joys of old times were past.

E.

THE FERRYMAN'S DAUGHTER;

A RHINE SKETCH.

BY T. C. GRATTAN, ESQ., author of HIGHWAYS AND BYE-WAYS."

Ir is a pleasant arrangement among the peasantry of all countries, that the "daily bread" for which the fathers work so hard is brought to them by one of their children. This may appear a small matter; but time and circumstances often give great importance to small matters. The precision with which the German labourers rest from their toil at ten o'clock in the morning would of itself make one attach an exclusive value to that chosen hour. The thought that so many thousands of rural workmen are at that given moment reposing on the broad lap of nature, picturesquely served by their sons or daughters, and taking their simple refreshment with wholesome appetites and thankful hearts, is a pleasant thought. It puts one in good humour with human nature. It is pleasanter still to look closely on some group in your field or your garden so employed, and the preparatory hand-washing in the nearest fountain or stream might prepare you to expect a ceremony more elaborate than that of sitting down to eat a section of dry brown breadpoetically called black-for the national motto of Germany, Schwarzbrod und Freiheit, is as much an exaggeration of fancy with regard to the food as to the freedom.

This is the morgen-brod of Germany; and the abend-brod is an entremêt for four o'clock-a connecting link between dinner and supper. Now, happy is the man whose wife can afford to send him a jug of coffee at these middle meals; and happy was Johan Reisacher. Not that he had a wife at the time I knew him, but just a maiden sister who made his bed, his soup, and his coffee, with due attention and regularity. He had, however, a daughter-the child of his old age, the consolation of the widower, his every-day companion out of school-hours, the knitter and mender of his stockings, and the Hebe of his abend-brod.

Susannah Reisacher was one of those hardy, straight-forward, strongbuilt, and sober-minded children that we meet with now and then; and at the first glance we assure ourselves that, be their condition what it may, they will inevitably make the best of it, and thrive progressively through life, without any other distinction than that of always doing their duty. Susannah fully bore out the promise of her countenance. She was one of the most diligent and orderly scholars of Sasbach school, the most attentive to the duties of household affairs, and steady beyond comparison in those she owed to her old father and her elderly aunt. She was twelve years old when she first attracted my notice; and her father had been ferryman of Sasbach, in the district or parish of Breisach, for more than double that number of years. And it must be confessed that old Reisacher had the appearance of one who had been blown about by the east winds of life. He looked more worn than his threadbare gray jacket, and yet there was an air of precaution and economy about him that promised an unusual length of days both to himself and to his wardrobe. He was the oracle of his village, and a remarkable man in his way. He could ascertain when a dog or a cow had been