A sudden smile from among the clouds lit up Shaw's ruddy, remonstrative countenance, as he put this question, and Oona smiled too. it; no praise to me, so I am free to speak. There was the late lord—the only one I knew. There was very little in him, and yet the way he managed was wonderful; they have just added land to land, and "I don't make any theories," she said; farm to farm. I do not understand it."I don't understand it. I feel as Lord And now I suppose we've arrived at the prodigal that always appears some time in a family to make the hoards go." "No, no," said the minister, "you must not call the man a prodigal whose wish is to give to the poor." "That is all very well," said Shaw; "the poor, where there are half a dozen of them, are easily enough managed. Give them their land if you like (if it were not criminal to cut a slice out of an estate), it does not matter much; but if there were a hundred? It is the principle I am thinking of. They cannot buy it themselves, and the State will not buy it for them, seeing they are only decent Scots lads, not blazing Irishmen. I can not see where the principle will lead to; I am not against the kindness, Miss Oona, far from that: and these half-adozen Frasers, what would it matter? but if there were a hundred! The land is just my profession, as the Church is Mr. Cameron's, and I must think of it, all the ways of it; and this is a thing that would not work so far as I can see. 99 "But Lord Erradeen acknowledges that," said Oona. “What he wants to do is only for his time. To set them free of the rent they cannot pay, and to let them feel that nobody can touch them, so long as he lives "And the Lord grant him wealth of days," said the minister; "a long life and a happy one!" "You will not look at it," cried the factor, "from a common-sense point of view. All that is very pretty, and pleasing to the young man's what shall I call it?-his kindness and his vanity, for both are involved, no doubt. But it will just debauch the minds of the people. They will learn to think they have a right to it; and when the next heir comes into possession, there will be a burning question raised up, and a bitter sense of wrong if he asks for his own again. Oh yes, Miss Oona, so long as the present condition of affairs lasts it will be his own. A man with a rent of two or three pounds is just as liable as if it were two or three hundred. The principle is the same; and as I am saying, if there were a number of them, you just could not do it: for I suppose you're not a communist, Miss Oona, that would do away with property altogether?" Erradeen does, that whatever the law may be, I would rather be without a roof to shelter myself than turn one poor creature out of her home. Oh, I don't wonder, when I remember the horror in his face! Think! could you sleep, could you rest you, young and strong, and well off, when you had turned out the poor folk to the hill?. all for a little miserable money?" cried Oona, starting to her feet, or for the principle, as you call it? I, for one," cried the girl, with flashing eyes, "would never have let him speak to me again." 66 "There you have it, Oona; there's a principle, if you like; there is something that will work," cried the old minister, with a tremulous burst of laughter. "Just you keep by that, my bonnie dear, and all your kind; and we'll hear of few evictions within the Highland line.” "That would be all very well,” said the factor, "if every landlord was a young lad, like Lord Erradeen; but even then it might be a hard case, and Miss Oona would not find it as easy as she thinks; for supposing there were hundreds, as I'm always saying: and supposing there were some among them that could just pay well enough, but took advantage; and supposing a landlord that was poor too, and was losing everything? No, no, Miss Oona, in this world things are not so simple. My counsel is to let them be- just to let them be. I would bid them pay when they can, and that my lord would not be hard upon them. That is what I would do. I would tell them he was willing to wait, and maybe to forgive them what was past, or something like that. After what happened the other day, they will be very sure he will not be hard upon them. And that is what I would advise him to do." "You are not going to wash your hands of it, after all?" the minister said. Shaw laughed. "Not just this time, Mr. Cameron. I always thought he was a fine lad. And now that he has good advisers, and amenable ." he added, with a glance at Oona, which fortunately she did not see. She had made up her mind to go up to the glen, and convey the good news to the cottars, and though it was not such entire good news as she wished, and Oona was somewhat disappointed, she paid them the visit notwithstanding, and gave the women to understand that there was nothing to fear from, Lord Erradeen. It was a long walk, and the afternoon was almost over when Oona came once more in sight of the loch. To get there the sooner, she took a path which cut off a corner, and which communicated, by a little, narrow byway leading through the marshy ground at the head of the loch, with the old castle. She was a little startled as she hurried along, to see some one advance, as if to meet her from this way. Her heart jumped with a momentary idea that the slim, dark figure against the light in the west, was Lord Erradeen himself come back. But another glance satisfied her that this was not so. She was surprised, but not at all alarmed; for there was no one within reach of Loch Houran of whom it was possible to imagine that Oona could be afraid. She was singularly moved, however, she could not tell why, when she perceived, as they approached each other, that it was the same person who had come two nights before with the boat from Auchnasheen, and who had sought Walter on the isle. It had been too dark then to distinguish his features clearly, and yet she was very sure that it was he. In spite of herself, her heart beat at this encounter. She did not know what or who he was; but he was Walter's enemy and task-master, or so at least it was evident Lord Erradeen thought. She felt a nervous feeling steal over her as he came towards her, wondering would he speak to her, and what he would say. She did not, indeed, know him, having seen him only under such circumstances, but she could not keep the consciousness that she did know him, out of her face. It was with a still stronger throb of her heart that she saw he meant to claim the acquaintance. "Good-evening," he said, taking off his hat, "I have not had the advantage of being presented to you, Miss Forrester: but we have met 66 Yes," she said, with a momentary hesitation and faltering. She had so strong an impulse in her mind to turn and flee, that her amazement with herself was unbounded, and was indeed stronger than the fear. "I hope," he said, "that nothing I have done or said has made you afraid to meet me on this lonely road?" This stirred up all Oona's pride and resolution. "I know no reason,' ," she said, "why I should be afraid to meet any one, here or elsewhere." Ah, that is well," said the stranger; "but," he added, "let me tell you there are many reasons why a young lady so well endowed by nature as yourself might be timid of meeting a person of whom she knows nothing. Lord Erradeen, for instance, over whom you were throwing a shield of protection when I saw you last." Oona felt her thrill of nervous disquietude give way to irritation as he spoke. She restrained with difficulty the impulse to answer hastily, and said after a moment, "I am at home here: there is no one who would venture, or who wishes to do me harm." "Harm!" he said; "do you think it no harm to claim your interest, and sympa. thy, and help, and then without a thought to hurry away?" "I do not know who you are," said Oona, looking into his face, "that ventures to speak to me so." "No; you don't know who I am. I am -one of his family," said the stran ger. "I have his interest at heart-and yours to a certain extent. I mean to make him rich and great, if he does as I say—but you are inciting him to rebellion. I know women, Miss Forrester. I know what it means when they foster benevolence in a young man, and accept commissions of charity." Oona colored high with indignation and anger, but she was too proud to make any reply. The involuntary excitement, too, which had taken possession of her, she could not tell why, took away her breath. She was not afraid of the stranger, but it was irksome beyond description to her to see him stalk along by her side, and she quickened her pace in spite of herself. He laughed softly when he saw this. "You begin to think," he said, "that it is not so certain you will meet with no one who can do you harm." "Do you mean to harm me?" she said, looking more closely in his face. "You have a fine spirit," he replied. "What a pity then that you are harmed already, and such a vacancy left in your life." The girl started and her heart began to beat wildly. She began "How do you and then stopped short, fluttered and out of breath, not knowing what she said. "How do I know? You have meddled in a life that does not concern you, and you will have to pay the penalty. After you have executed his commission, how blank everything will be! The past will not come back-it never comes back. T ふ You will stay on your isle, and look for | came of an ancient Leicestershire stock. "I have no wish to hurt you," he said in a lofty tone. "What is done is done: but take care how you do more. That for seven lustres I did never come yew, "I will take no care," cried Oona with a flash of sudden power. "I will do what | is right, what I think right, and if I suffer it will be at my own pleasure. What I do can be nothing to you." As she spoke the panic which she had been struggling against overcame her powers of resistance wholly. She gathered up her dress in her hand and flew with the speed in which, for a short distance, a girl cannot be surpassed. But as she got out of the immediate oppression of this stranger's presence, her spirit returned to her with a sense of defiance and opposition which was almost gay. She looked back, and called out to him with a voice that rang like a silver trumpet, "Good-bye-goodnight!" waving her hand as she flew along. The dark figure advanced not a step further, but stood still and watched, almost invisible himself against the quick-who retired in good time from business, ly darkening background of the brush- to enjoy a life in the country, and to whom wood and the distance, the dim hills and is dedicated the noble Horatian epistle, gathering night. From Temple Bar. IN the works of Herrick we may find, Robert Herrick was born in 1591. He which commences Thomas, Thrice and above blest, my soul's half, art thou, In thy both last and better vow; Couldst leave the city, for exchange, to see The country's sweet simplicity; Nicholas, a Levant merchant; and one, younger than himself, a posthumous child, to whom is addressed his pathetic poem, "To his Dying Brother," worthy of Catullus's, its model. Herrick was born in Cheapside. He speaks of The golden Cheapside, where the earth This is the only allusion Herrick makes to his mother; which is the more curious, as he is usually liberal enough of verses to his friends. That he was educated at Or, Westminster is generally agreed. At the the essence of my writing, before you age of sixteen, in 1607, he was apprenticed reade it." He proceeds to inform our to his uncle William, afterwards Sir Wil-" right worll" that he delights not to draw liam, who was a wealthy goldsmith. He "your imagination to inextricable perplexseemed to have served out his time. But ities," but will expose "the literall sence, poets will be poets, and we are not sur- which is to entreat you to paye prised to hear that this apprenticeship again, we hear that, “volens nolens, it was wasted, if indeed any experience of a must be done, and as heretofore so now I poet can be said to be wasted. Herrick desire your worship to paye ." So must have become familiar, during these Herrick, good humoredly, parleys with eight years, with city life and men. Al- his worthy relative, with whom he is evimost the whole of Shakespeare's dramatic dently on the best of terms, of whom, in career is covered by the period of Her- spite of his title, he is not a whit afraid: rick's apprenticeship. Herrick was always a man. One time it is books, another bedding; or he is "-somewhat deep into" his tailour's debt," or he wishes to "keepe before hand with my tutor," or it is "unexpected occasion of chamber roome instigats me;" and he is "bold to saye that generous minds still have the best contentment." In 1614 the future cavalier singer was entered at St. John's College, Cambridge. There is no proof at all that he led an idle university life, but presumption to the contrary. He certainly spent much money in books, as we gather from his letters. He presently migrated to Trinity Hall, partly more effectually to study the law, partly from motives of economy; and in due course, in 1620, he took his master's degree. He appears to have remained at Cambridge till 1629, in which year he accepted the living of Dean Priors, in Devon. What he did during the interval, we do not know; doubtless he often visited London; and it may well have been on such occasions that he formed the acquaintance of Ben Jonson and his circle. What a look he cast back at.these old times! Ah, Ben, Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, How much of this time he was in holy orders it is also impossible to determine. To the period of Herrick's academical life belong the fourteen letters to his uncle which have been preserved. They are curious productions. Though chiefly requests for money money which was probably his own, in his guardian's keeping there is humor and character in these quaint epistles. We are interested to hear "how disfurnished I came to Cambridge, without bedding, (which I yet want,) and other necessaries." And what guardian would have the heart to refuse a nephew, who writes: " My studie craves but your assistance to furnish her with bookes, wherein she is most desirous to laboure"? And here, too, is exquisite fooling; Herrick's humor kept under his melancholy in these days: "Before you unceald my letter (right worll) it cannot be doubted but you had perfect knowledg of| 66 At Herrick was a staunch royalist, and was ejected from Dean Priors in 1648. He professes to have been glad to leave the churlish place, and be again a Roman citizen." How he contrived to live in London, to which he went, we do not know. He may have bad means by this time; he may have lived as did other literary Bohemians of his day. At least, it is reasonable to suppose that his wealthy relatives would not let him want. once, on arrival in the city, perhaps with a view to profit, he published his poems in a collected form; and we cannot charge him with haste, for he was now fifty-seven. Indeed he was an old man now. Ben had been dead these ten years. Yet where are the poems Herrick must have written between 1648 and 1674? In 1660 he was reinstated in his vicarage, and after this his life is a blank to us; yet he lived till his eighty-fourth year, dying in 1674. In 1857, William Perry-Herrick, of Beaumanor Park, near Loughborough, erected a costly monument to his memory in Dean Priors church. A village so pleasantly situated as Dean Priors, between Ashburton and Brent. among the spurs of Dartmoor, ought tc have satisfied a more fastidious person than Robert Herrick. No doubt he often sighed for the rollicking companionship and jovial cheer of his city friends. Ben Jonson was even as a god to this votary of Bacchus and the Muse. HIS PRAYER TO BEN JONSON. Make the way smooth to me, Candles I'll give to thee, And thou, Saint Ben, shall be We can understand why he sings, and we are not astonished to be told, And yet we suspect his grumblings, of which there are so many in his book, are little more, in fact, than occasional fits of ill-humor. Thy rocky bottom, that doth tear thy streams, is but a half-hearted reproach to Dean bourn, which he probably loved devotedly; and when he says, Rocky thou art, and rocky we discover Thy men, and rocky are thy ways all over, we cannot help surmising he is laughing in his sleeve, and would have the grim Puritan think he goes forth with little regret. Herrick was a lover of nature. Flowers and country customs had much of his heart. In these regions he confesses he invented such Ennobled numbers for the press as he did nowhere else, which directly contradicts an opposite statement, made in a melancholy mood. The reader can compare his "Lacrymae; or, Mirth turned to Mourning," with "Discontents in Devon." We even catch him on one occasion, in a little poem, "To Larr," lamenting to leave his old Devon home. And as soon as he could he returned, being now near seventy, to finish his protracted term of life, even without his Prue, in this same Dean Priors, in which he had formerly expressed a wish to wrote, and which their descendants forgivingly remembered, and quoted with delight to Mr. Barron Field, in 1810: A people currish, churlish as the seas, not Very likely many of them were rather coarse, but Herrick himself was squeamish. Nothing in Dean Priors could well have exceeded the coarseness of its vicar's epigrams, which, indeed, the villagers very likely often suggested, and doubtless laughed over. How amusing it must have been to them to hear "Muchmore" gravely told to pay his tithes, then try How both his meal and oil will multiply! How they would chuckle over Gubbs! Gubbs' calls his children kittlings, and would bound (Some say) for joy, to see these kittlings drown'd. . With what a grotesque side-way look they would eye Guesse, as they passed him in the tavern doorway! Guesse cuts his shoes, and limping goes about, To have men think he's troubled with the gout; But 'tis no gout, believe it, but hard beer, "I look down towards his feet, but And was Comely, by that's a fable." hazard, in the Dean Priors quire? Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part, He doth it with the sweetest tones of art: But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be More curst for singing out of tune than he. The simple folk who attended the church with the "small bell" and "little spire," must have been unlike most rustics, if they were not a little stupid on occasion, and we quite believe the tradition of the vicar's sermon being hurled at the heads of his flock. Yet, after all, it is probable he liked them. He was just the man to like them. And they liked him. He tells |