He is dressed with faultless nicety and elegance, though in a fashion now out of date. Perhaps, in graceful recognition of the advance of age, he has adhered to the style in vogue when age first began to weigh upon his shoulders. He gazes mildly out from the embrasure of an upright collar and tall stock ; below spreads a wide expanse of spotless shirtfront. His trousers are always grey, except in the height of summer, when they become snowy white. They are uniformly too long, yet he never dispenses with straps, nor with the gaiters that crown his gentlemanly shoes.

Although not a stimulating companion, one loves to be where Amos MacGentle is,—to watch his quiet movements and listen to his meditative talk. What he What he says often bears the stamp of thought and intellectual capacity, and at first, strikes the listener as rare good sense. Yet, if reconsidered afterwards, or applied to the practical tests of life, his wisdom

is apt to fall mysteriously short! Is Mr MacGentle aware of this curious fact? There is sometimes a sadly humorous curving of the lips and glimmering in the eyes, after he has uttered something especially profound, which almost warrants the supposition. The lack of accord between the old gentleman and the world has become to him, at last, a grave sort of jest!

But we might continue forever touching the elusive chords of Mr MacGentle's being; one cannot help loving him, or if he be not real enough to love, bestowing upon him such affection as is inspired by some gentle symphony. Unfortunately, he figures but little in the coming pages, and in no active part; such, indeed, were unsuited to him. But it is pleasant to have passed through his retired little office on our way to scenes less quiet and subdued; and we would gladly look forward to seeing him once more, when the heat of the day is over and the sun has gone down.

V.

A NEW MAN WITH AN OLD FACE.

ABOUT an hour before noon on this same 27th of May, Mr Dyke heard a voice in the outer room. He had held his position as confidential clerk in the house for nearly, or quite twentyfive years, was blessed with a sound memory, and was fond of saying that he never forgot a face or a voice. So, as this voice from the outer room reached his ears, he turned up one eye towards the door, and muttered,

"Heard that before, somewhere!"

The ground-glass panel darkened, and the door thrown wide open. was Upon the threshold stood a young man, about six feet in height, of figure more graceful and harmonious than massive. A black velveteen jacket fitted closely to his shape; he wore a Tyrolese hat;

his boots, of fine pliant leather, reached above the knee. He carried a stout cane with a handle of chamois horn: to a couple of straps crossing each shoulder, were attached a travelling-bag and a telescope case.

But neither his attire, nor the unusual size and dark brilliancy of his eyes, was so noticeable as his hair and beard, which outgrew the bounds of ordinary experience. Beards, to be sure, were far more rare twenty years ago than they have since become. The hair was yellow, with the true hyacinthine curl pervading it. Rejoicing in luxuriant might, it clothed and reclothed the head, and descending lower, tumbled itself in bold masses on the young man's shoulders. As for the beard, it was well in keeping; of a purer yellow than the hair, it twisted down in crisp vigorous waves below the point marked by mankind's third shirt-stud. It was more than half as broad as it was long, and lay to the right and left from

the centre-line of the face. The owner of this oriflamme resembled a young Scandinavian god.

There seems to be a deeper significance in hair than meets the eye! Sons of Esau, whose beards grow high up on their cheek bones-who are hairy down to their ankles, and to the second joints of their fingers,—are generally men of a kindly and charitable nature, strong in what we call the human element. You remember their stout hand-grip; they look frankly in your face; and the heart is apt to go out to them, more spontaneously than to the smooth-faced Jacobs. Such a man was Samson, whose hair was his strength-the strength of inborn truth and goodness, whereby he was enabled to smite the lying Philistines. And though once by their sophistries they managed to get the better of him for a while, they forgot that good inborn is too vigorous a matter for any mere razor finally to subdue. See, again, what a

great beard Saint Paul had, and what an