and cry cuckoo all day long. Now, that's what I call being a bird of quality. How should you like to be a cuckoo, my buttercup?" she should be made an angel of-and when a angel 's wanted, I hope she'll not be forgotten-shan't I have a lot of money! Not that I care for money; "There, now, I don't want to hear your non-no, give me the girl of my heart, and all the gold sense. What's a cuckoo to do with a Christian ?" in the world, as I once heard a parson say, is -asked the damsel. nothing but yellow dirt. And now I won't be a minute, my precious periwinkle.' And with this, Mr. Ralph Gum quitted the room, leaving the fair stranger, as he thought, in profoundest admiration of the disinterestedness of "Nothing, my passion-flower-to be sure not; just wait a minute," said Ralph-" I only want to speak to my aunt that lives a little way off; and I'll be back in a minute. I've got a message for the old woman and she's such a dear creetur-footmen. so fond of me. And atween ourselves, whenever IBRAHIM PACHA'S OPINION OF PEEL. country might spare a better man. I thought Mr. Cobden a wiser man, said the pacha's interlocutor, A FAST express was despatched by the Philo- than to lament over the fall of the vizier. For it Egyptians of London to Ibrahim Pacha at Belfast, is the nature, and the fortune of that statesman to bidding his highness leave the Irish to themselves gather far more strength out of office, than in. In for the moment, and hasten back to London, to office he is domineering, churlish, envious, incomenjoy the rare sport of being in at a ministerial municative, yet capricious and changeable withal, death. Ibrahim is the most docile of lions, and made, in fact, to lose friends, and let influence took return steam forthwith, with all his drago- escape through his fingers. Out of office, he is mans and his secretaries, with whom he transacts the star that attracts all hopes, and rallies all disbusiness to the doors of St. Stephen's. Sir Charles appointments and eclipses all rivals that is, the Napier was in attendance, and took his seat in the man who has done so much, and in so many conpeer's gallery, by the pacha's side, whilst a suc- trary senses, for so many diverse parties, that cession of political cicerones occupied the bench there is no man who may not hope in him, even immediately before him, and responded most cour- the Irishman, who believes in an independent teously and fully to all the questions of the Egyp-millennium. Better is it far, for the vizier to go tian. Sir Robert Peel, Lord Monteagle, Mr. out to touch mother-earth, in order to rise reCobden, et tu Brute, Lord Palmerston, all came to freshed and strengthened like the Titan, and to contribute their mite of intelligence and explana- return to power with the confidence of half a dozen tion; and never did a poor Mussulman appear combined, yet jarring and gulled parties, in order more perplexed with abundance of knowledge than to achieve some other great act of reform, destrucIbrahim. tive to his own friends, suicidal to himself. The vizier, he was told, was going to fall, because half of his corps of janizaries had rebelled and turned against him. From time out of mind these household troops had levied a handful of piastres on each barrel of corn, which money they put into their own pockets. The vizier would abolish this privilege of the janizaries putting their hands into every man's corn-sack, and abstracting a piece of the poor man's loaf, when the janizaries, as usual, hoisted their camp-kettles on their lances to show that their cookery, the most servile part about them, was too sorely menaced, and that they would resist. Hereupon the people, whose stomachs were equally concerned, hoisted their soup-cauldrons, which so eclipsed the camp-kettles of the janizaries that they gave in. Lord Monteagle, who learned the science of apologue from poor Sydney Smith, expounded this one into the ear of the Pacha, who was greatly struck by it. Still he asked, how is it, that, although the party of the camp-kettles are beaten, still they can slay the vizier. This is owing, expounded his lordship, to an unfortunate habit that the vizier has of continually changing his armor and his uniform, and running between contending parties, so as to have the honor of reconciling and managing compromises between both. He has thus been unavoidably struck by the missiles of both. Nor, indeed, would there be any possibility of letting him escape unharmed, except by a general cessation of hostility and activity, both parties consenting to abandon the field, and leave it to the vizier all alone. Much of this was "caviare" to the pacha, who merely said that he considered the English vizier as a good Turkish politician, anxious to fill the people's bellies, and at the same time belabor their backs, which were the two great means of preserving popular tranquillity. I have caught a glimpse of your Irish, and do think that more feeding and more beating would greatly improve them. And this I learn is the policy of the vizier. Yes, your highness, but the Irish kick against the beating, and we are obliged to send soldiers to support the cudgellers, so that the country costs more in money, than it affords, and adds more to the weakness than the strength of the empire. That I can conceive, said the pacha; when you conversation may not be deemed impertinent. Examiner. THREE years ago the tribunals of the Austrian empire were desired by the government to give their opinion as to whether it would be advisable to substitute, in cases of capital punishment, the French plan of the guillotine for hanging. The reply was against decapitation, as habituating the people to the sight of blood. A year ago a surgeon of Padua submitted to the government a new mode of strangulation by means of a gibbet, so contrived as to occasion the luxation of the spine Yet one of your chiefs of the people, said the and immediate death. This mode of execution, pacha, the man of the great popular soup-caul-after several experiments, has been adopted for the dron, Cobden, Effendi, he has been to me, lament-whole of Venetian Lombardy, and the inventor is ing over the untimely fate of Peel, saying the charged with the direction of the executions. From Fraser's Magazine. THE TWO GRAVES. * THE church itself was almost entirely overgrown with ivy, and its low square tower was even overtopped by the vigorous parasite by which it was embraced. As I had been ciceronised over every foreign country that I had visited, and was now resolved to follow a totally different course, I asked no questions, and trusted to my own talent for exploration to discover all the lions into whose dens I might penetrate. I did not, consequently, seek for the key of the church and a catalogue of the monuments, a demand which, in this instance, I should, moreover, have considered as somewhat more than supererogatory; but with Snap at my heels, I turned towards the spot where the modest temple stood in a shady niche between two of the hills which framed in the hamlet. As I approached I was struck by the extreme beauty and antiquity of half-a-dozen stately yews, which kept their funereal watch over the narrow space where "The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep ;" they were, in truth, magnificent and as soon as I had passed the little wicket, I was no less attracted by the extreme order and neatness of the whole enclosure. Somewhat to my surprise, for I had discovered no habitation in the village which could lead me to expect it, I saw upon my right hand, in the full blaze of the southern sun, a raised tomb of stone, surrounded by an iron railing, and evidently covering a vault. I was about to turn my steps that way, when, chancing to glance in the opposite direction, my eye fell upon a grave, made immediately under the north wall, and crushed into the extreme angle of the corner, as though he who dug it had grudgingly yielded the space which it must necessarily occupy while near it, as if to contradict this soul-chilling suspicion, two white rose-trees had been planted, one at the head and the other at the foot of this nameless mound; and they were both in bloom, but not kindly the aspect was unpropitious, and the soil evidently ungenial, and thus the stems were too fragile even to support the dwarfed and languid blossoms which they had borne, and which hung their heads, and suffered their sickly petals to be scattered by the light breeze that should only have extracted their perfume. I advanced slowly and reverently towards that isolated grave, and I stood long beside it. It was, as I felt at once, that of an outcast; but, assuredly, not of one who had been totally unloved. There had, perchance, been error, even sin, hidden beneath that grassy tumulus, but human affection had as clearly outlived the fault; and those white blossoms were, like the wings of the dove of Noah, the harbingers of a brighter hope. I had a strange desire to learn the history of the silent heart now mouldering into dust beneath my feet, but there was not a letter, not a clue to guide me to such knowledge; and at last I turned away and walked across the church-yard to the tall square tomb. There I read that beneath that stone lay the bodies of I know not how many esquires and dames of the name of Darcourt, and they were all of old date save one; that of Richard Darcourt, Esq., who died in August, 1812, and in whose person the family became extinct. monument was out of keeping with everything about it? There were scarcely half-a-dozen headstones throughout the whole extent of the churchyard; one of these identified the remains of a former curate, who died at the patriarchal age of eighty-nine; another recorded the death of a fair girl, just advancing into womanhood: the last, as the inscription said, and how mournful was the reflection!-the last surviving child of that same widowed old man. She had gone before him, and he had borne up for five long months after his bereavement before he " fell asleep" in his turn. He I was still meditating upon this melancholy record when I heard, at no great distance, a dull, measured, monotonous sound, which I could not mistake. I was not alone in the death-garden. It was the opening of a grave, and the work was going forward behind the church, where I had not yet penetrated. I turned in that direction and found that I had not deceived myself; a half-dug grave was before me, and in the pit stood an old man, so old that it was clear some one must soon render the same christian service to himself. had thrown off his coat, which lay upon the grass, his head was bare, and his long hair, which glittered in the light like silver, fell over his shoulders. I watched him as he worked. His sun-burnt and muscular hands grasped the spade with a strength which seemed incompatible with his years, and he pursued his task steadily, and with a precision evidently the result of long habit. After a time he raised his head, and seeing me observing him, lifted his hand as if to withdraw his cap, which being already thrown aside, he was compelled to substitute a grasp of some of the white hair which had elicited my admiration. "You have a hard task there, my friend," I said, as I advanced to the edge of the grave. "Not so hard as you think, belike, sir,' the quiet reply; "the soil 's kindly, and I've been at it all my life." " was "And that life has been a long one," I rejoined; 'you must have stretched many to rest in their last home since you dug your first grave." 66 You are right, sir," said the old man, ceasing from his labor, and leaning lightly upon his spade, more as it seemed from habit than from necessity; old and young, rich and poor, happy and heartbroken; some who were loth to die, and some who were thankful to be beyond further trial. There's no stranger book, sir, than a church-yard. Take. every one of these graves, and if you could read what's written on the hearts that are rotting in them, you'd know more of life, mayhap, than you'll ever learn from the living.' "I am sure of it," I answered, astonished both at the words and manner of the old sexton; “and as you must know all this, perhaps you will be kind enough to answer me a question?" "You need n't ask it, sir,-you need n't ask it," was the somewhat impatient reply. "You want to know the history of Squire Darcourt, who lies yonder in the big tomb. He is on the south, you see-matter of course, sir, matter of course-the gentlefolks have had the sunshine all their lives, and they claim it after they're dead. They could n't lie quiet yonder in the shade, where the soil 's damp and the sky dark-no, no, they could n't lie quiet there." And he resumed his task with a vigor which had in it more of bitterness Who was Richard Darcourt, Esq.? And how than zeal. came he and his ancestors to be buried here, in "You mistake me, my good friend," I said this secluded spot of earth, where their proud | soothingly; "I care nothing for either that for 66 mal tomb or its tenant; my interest leans to the | very spot of gloom which you have just denounced. I want to learn the history of a solitary grave planted with rose-trees. I would pledge five years of my life that it contains the most fertile page in that book of which you just now spoke. The old man raised his head, and looked at me steadily. 66 You are a stranger, sir," he said, in a subdued and altered tone, utterly unlike his late irritation, “and the tale is a long one, and a sad one; and I might n't tell it altogether after a fashion to please your ears, for you are a gentleman-I have seen enough of 'em to know one at first sight; and, perhaps, you may be, too, like the squire yonder was for a time, a parliament man. But I hope not, sir-I hope not; for if they 're all alike they 'll have a deal to answer for in the next world, though their tombs may be of stone and iron in this, while the poor must be content with grass and osiers." I cannot tell why, but I would not have admitted the fact at that moment for all the condensed wisdom of St. Stephen's. Do me more justice," I said, "and tell the tale in your own way; I should not like it so well in any other. And, first, who lies yonder in that narrow grave?" My only sister," answered the sexton, without raising his eyes. I began to regret my curiosity. I had evidently given the old man a pang, and I could devise no better method of at once terminating the conversation than by saying "Pray forgive ine: I was misled by the freshness of the grave, and thought that it had been that of a young person." And so it is, sir,-young, and beautiful, and Loving, with a smile or a tear for every one, friends and foes alike. And the grave is fresh, sir-the grave is fresh, as you say-and it would be hard if it were n't as if old John Saunders, who has spent his life in throwing up the soil for every one that would pay him for his labor, could n't keep one little mound clean and tidy, out of love for the poor thing that lies under it!" I bent my head affirmatively, but did not utter a word; the old man's mood was evidently softening. But it was n't always as it is now, shame be with me who am obliged to own it! If you had come here three-and-thirty years ago, sir, you'd have seen that damp corner smothered in nettles, that grew tall and strong, as if they tried to hide the grave that had been dug there. And it did my heart good to see 'em, and I would have watered and weeded 'em, had they needed it, to nake 'em taller and stronger still. But I learnt to feel better and softer afterwards," pursued the sexton, in a lower voice, as he raised his eyes reverently to heaven;" and I began to understand that I had grudged her enough, and that, surely, I might let her lie like a Christian in the cold corner where I had thrust her away, without making her grave a marvel to the village. Ah, sir! I might have laid her down here, under one of these yew trees, and cut her name, and her age, and the day she died, upon the trunk, for our parson was too good a man to have hindered me. He thought that I had suffered enough, but I had n't, sir, I had n't—I had n't got my pride under, and my grief was choked with it. I had more to learn yet; so I refused to dig her a grave, as I should have done, where she might have laid among the friends of her youth, and the old people that she had seen seated about her father's hearth; and I put her there, as if, even after death, she was to be a mark and a stare.' "What was her name?" I asked, almost in a whisper, for I began to suspect that I could read her history. 66 Amy, sir-Amy Saunders and that 's a name that has n't passed my lips for many a long year. And Amy Saunders-it seems to do my heart good any how to name it now-Amy Saudders was only another way of talking of the prettiest and the merriest-ay, sir, and for all that 's come and gone-the modestest girl in Thornhollow, till the trial came, and then it was who could say first, that they had seen how 't would be months before; and that people was always pulled down that set themselves up for properer and better than their neighbors; and that if John Saunders had n't been a fool, he'd have seen that he might just as well have sent his sister to London to live, as up to the great house." "The great house?" I repeated, interrogatively. "What! you have n't seen it yet, sir?" said the old man. "It lies beyont, at the back of the hill yonder, and they do say that it's a wonderful bit of building, for it's stood I don't know how many centuries; and I can remember it a grand place in my time, with gardens, and groves, and terraces, and a park of deer, and an avenue of beeches up to the fore-court, that looked in the autumn like two long lines of gold, and livery servants lounging about the hall, and music and laughing ringing out through the open windows, and making the yeoman's heart lighter as it came sweeping along the wind to the lone field where he was at work. The curse of a broken heart, wrung out of its shame, had n't lightened on it then." "And now, my friend?" I asked, with all my sympathies awakened by the stern eloquence of the old man. "Now, sir," he answered, bitterly, as he leant back and supported himself against the walì of earth behind him, "the plough has passed over the trim park where ladies used to walk about in satin shoes without hurting their tender feet, and the beeches have been cut down to raise money to spend in foreign parts, and the gardens have run to waste and are choked up with weeds, and the fishponds, that used to look like bits of clear glass, and were full of gold and silver fish, are mudholes, where the frogs and tadpoles breed at their ease. The shutters are close shut, and the house empty. I wandered through it once, unbeknown to any one, for I knew a way in, and I wanted to see the end of the wicked. All was dark-dark: ay, as dark as that lone grave yonder, or the big tomb that looks down upon it; and the grand chambers echoed"-and here the old man almost gave way to a burst of cruel merriment-" as if they knew that the same feet that used to tread 'em would never tread 'em again. They would have ploughed up to the very doors, sir, for land like ours about here is too good to waste, but they could n't; for the fore-court is shut in with tall iron rails and wide gates, with a bit of gilding on the spikes, and the place is what they call in Chancery, and must n't be touched; for the law is that it should be left to fall into ruin quietly, and no mischief done. So there the big house stands, in the middle of corn and potato-fields, as if it had dropped down ready made from the skies, and had no business there. I suppose at the end of two more lives as long as mine, if it holds out, they'll say it's haunted, and it's sure that many a one has been so for less." 66 "But was there no lawful heir," I inquired, to save so fine a property as you describe from such a fate?" "There were two of them, sír-there were two of them, and that they say was the evil. When the squire yonder," and he jerked his head in the direction of the vault of the Darcourts, "went mad and died, his sister was left, and she had married some great lord from foreign parts who took her away to where he came from; I don't rightly remember now where it was, to France, or to the Ameriky's, or somewhere about there, and as she was n't here to take care of herself, up starts a cousin that she had never seen or heard of, from t'other side of England, a long way off, and says as he is heir-at-law; so poor Miss Emily is advised to throw it into Chancery,' I think they call it, which means that nobody is to have it, for the good of them both, and there it is." It was a melancholy death for the last of an old family to die," I observed. "You would have said so, sir, if you had seen and heard it as I did. I did n't envy him his down bed and his satin curtains that night, for I had seen my father and mother die in our little cottage, in a room with a brick floor and whitewashed walls, the same room that I and she were born in, and where I hope to die myself; there were tears and sighs there, sir, I own, and many of them, but neither howls, nor screams, nor terror. I never knew before how little money or luxury could help at such a time, but I learnt it then." "Was there insanity in the family?" "No, sir, never before. The old squire and madam lived to a good old age in peace and charity with all men, and for the last ten years they never stirred from the hall, which folks said was all the worse for their son, for London seems to be but a queer place for young men, when they 've no one to look after 'em. They thought he spent a mint o' money-they owned that; but when he paid some thousands of pounds to get to be a parliament man, that seemed to set all right at the hall; and madam used to look so very eager-like at the parson on a Sunday when he prayed for the 'high court,' a-thinking, as she was, of the young squire; and all the village was so glad to do her pleasure, that the amen' to that prayer was always the loudest; but it would n't all do, for it was n't likely that a gay young blade that couldn't rule himself could be a better hand at ruling the nation." "Did he succeed in making any figure?" I asked, with a smile. "I should think he did, sir," replied the sexton, with all the gravity of a profound conviction, which he was too modest to put into words, "for before! long he got turned adrift again, and he never could get in after that. He said when he came down home that they was all alike, for that there was a 'dissolution; but you know, sir, ignorant as we are about here, we could n't quite believe that; for it was n't likely or natural that they should all die off at once, so we just took it for what it was good for, and saw clear enough that the king and the parliament had had enough of him." proud, and passionate, he had a warm heart and a ready hand, and, above all, a way with him that won strangely upon the women. He ought never to have come to such a place as this: he was too clever for us, sir, in all the London ways. But all was joy up at the hall. Master Richard was so handsome, and the friends that he brought down with him to fish and shoot were so fashionable and elegant, that poor Miss Emily was delighted; and that's the way that she came to marry her outlandish husband, poor dear young lady! Do you know, sir, I've often wondered," pursued the sexton, leaning his chin upon the clasped hands that rested on the handle of his spade, "I've very often wondered if that was n't a sin that marrying of foreigners; for as they are all the natural-born enemies of old England, it seems to me that it never could be intended that they should come together with husbands from beyond seas.' 66 Why, you forget, my good friend, that our fair and gracious sovereign gave her royal hand to a German prince." "That's the very thing that makes me doubt, sir, for I felt quite sure of it before, but when I heard of that I was staggered; and now I'm glad to know that I was wrong, for I loved Miss Emily like a child of my own. Though still I shall think, as long as I live, that our young ladies could find better, and fonder, and handsomer husbands at home than ever they'll do across the water." "You and I, at least, are bound to believe so, Master Saunders." "You are, sir-you are," retorted the old man; "as for me, I never thought of a wife but once, and I felt it my duty not to marry her; I had another duty to perform, sir, that I could n't ask her to share, though she'd have done it, as I well know, for my sake; and so from that time I made up my mind to stay as I was, and to live and die alone." "You were, then, an orphan?" "There were two of us, sir. My father went first, when he was still a fine hale man of fifty, from a fall he had; and my mother broke her heart six months afterwards, when Amy was only two years old. I dug both their graves with my own hands, and there they lie, side by side, as they lived. No, not that way, sir," he continued, following the direction of my glance, "but out away yonder. I put her as far from 'em as I could, for I thought she was n't worthy to be near 'em; and so, from my own wicked pride, I've brought the same misfortune on myself, for I shall lie by her, and she won't be alone much longer, that's one comfort." "I understand her melancholy story," I said, with all the pity that I felt; " your poor young sister was tempted, and she fell." The old man nodded his head, and wiped his hand across his eyes. "And yet I ought n't quite to say so," he pursued, after a pause; "for you see, sir, here's the whole truth. Amy was not only the prettiest girl in the hamlet, but she was the best. On her death-bed my mother put her into my arms, and bade me remember that she would soon have no one to take care of her and watch over her but me, and as I was almost old enough then to be her father, she told me that I must act as such, and keep her from all evil ways, and make her happy; and I promised it all on my knees. And while she was "Not a bit, sir; for though he was wild, and a child she was seldom out of my sight, but played "And was he unpopular at that time?" in the fields while I was at work, with the hedgeflowers and the butterflies, searching for blackberries and wild roses, and making my heart glad and my arm strong. And when I was called here to dig a grave, she sat beside me on the grass, making necklaces of the daisies, and reminding me of the duties that were, before me, and making me feel less lonely when I happened to look towards the place where I had laid our parents. But she could n't always be a child, and so she grew up to be a tall girl, wanting more learning than I could give her and though the cottage was lonely enough when she was out of it, I sent her to the village school till she had learned all they could teach her; and I thought that was enough for one of her station, and was happy again to have her with me, singing about the house, and doing all that her poor mother had done before her, and, as I fancied, doing it even better. This was n't to last, however; for she was so pretty and so modest that Madam Darcourt noticed her for a time at church, and spoke to the parson about her, and then had her up to the hall and talked to her. I can't tell you how proud I was, sir, for I knew that she deserved it all; and I began to hope that belike they would do something more for her than I could. And so they did, sir--and so they did; and it was all well meant and kindly, though they had better left her in the old cottage to live with her brother and to work at her wheel. When Miss Emily saw her she took a great fancy to her, for they were nearly of an age; and so it was settled that I should be sent for, and my heart was in my mouth while I was putting on my Sunday suit to go up in my turn; and when I got there what should I see in the grand old oak room but Madam Darcourt, sitting in her big crimson chair by the fireside, watching the two girls, who were on their knees before a sofa, turning over a book of pictures, and the squire on the window-seat reading one of the London papers. I guessed how it would be directly, for Amy had taken off her bonnet and shawl, and Miss Emily's arm was round her neck, that was as red as a peony; and while Amy's eyes were cast down upon the pictures, Miss Emily was whispering in her ear and almost laughing in her joy. Well, sir, when I took my hat off at the door, the squire nodded his head, and madam smiled and told me to come in; but I knew myself better, and stood fast. It was just as I thought. First I was asked what relations I had about the place, and I said none at all but Amy; for my father came from a far shire when he was a boy to seek for work; and poor people, when they're once parted from their uncles and cousins, don't know much about 'em a few years after; and my mother was an orphan brought up by her grandmother, who died many years before of grief that her only son had been lost at sea: so that we were all alone. The lady said that she was glad of it, and then inquired what friends Amy had made in the village. I told her what was the truth, that every soul in the village was her friend, from the parson downwards, but that she had no playfellow but me, and had never asked for one. Madam looked more pleased than ever; and saying that she knew she could trust to my word, she began to tell me that Miss Emily was in want of a companion, both in her play and her learning, and that if I would consent to part with Amy, she should live at the hall so long as she continued to be a good girl, and learn of Miss Emily's governess and be treated like one of the family. "I thought, sir, that the floor was sliding away from under my feet; and before I could get my voice again, up sprang Amy, threw off Miss Einily's arm, let the beautiful book fall upon the floor, and, without even waiting to pick it up, rushed to my neck and began to cry bitterly, saying that she could n't and would n't leave me forever. "Ah, sir! why did n't I listen to that voice of nature that rung a warning in my ears? But I was young and hopeful then, and was full of wild and ambitious dreams for the baby-sister that I had reared. At least, I never thought of myself; I could n't afford to do that. The solitary cottage frightened me, and the long, long days and nights that I must pass without seeing Amy, or feeling her kisses on my lips, or hearing her clear voice carolling through the narrow rooms. And so it was me that persuaded her, and soothed her, and bid her go and kiss madam's hand, and thank her for all her kindness. And she obeyed me," pursued the poor old man, dashing away the tears which were now pouring down his furrowed cheeks -"she obeyed me, sir; for Amy had never till that day had any will but mine, and she could n't hold out long against it. And madam, who had kindly shed a tear herself, told me to take my little sister home, and to bring her back on the morrow: but I could n't venture that, and so I made bold to tell her. Amy was at the hall now; and, thankful as I was for all her goodness, I might n't, belike, have courage to take her back if once I had her at the cottage again. Miss Emily, too, was crying and clinging to her new friend; and the squire looked up from his paper and said that I was quite right, and that, as the worst was now over, it had better not be begun again; so the lady agreed with him, telling me that I need n't trouble about Amy's things, for that they would give her all she wanted at the hall, and that I might come and see her the next Sunday, and have my dinner there. I got away at last I hardly know how, and found myself in the great avenue. "It was a Monday, sir-a Monday, in the afternoon-and I wasn't to see Amy till the next Sunday. When I remembered that, I felt as if some one had clutched me by the throat-I could n't breathe; and if I had been a boy instead of a man I should have thought that I was sobbing. So I sat down under one of the trees and took off my hat, that the wind might blow in my face, and that did me good; and, after a time, I began to think, and, somehow, from one thing to another, I got on till I verily believed that I had made a fortune for Amy. I saw her riding in her own coach; and then I felt so merry that I tried to sing, but I could n't do that-I might as well have tried to pull up one of the old beeches by the roots. So, when I found it would n't do, I jumped up again and walked on to the village. "I passed the wicket of my little garden, lifted the door-latch, and went into the cottage. I kept telling myself that I ought to be very glad; but somehow, when I found myself there alone, I felt just as I did the day that I came from my mother's funeral. I had ate nothing since Breakfast, for Amy had been sent for just as she put our bit of bacon in the pot; and when I went I was in too great a hurry to follow her to think about my meal. When I got home the fire had gone out under the saucepan, and there was no cloth laid, though it was nearly supper time; but I did n't heed these things then, I only remembered them afterwards. I threw myself into an old high-backed wooden |