certain if you can how long she will stay there, and where she will go next. I have my reasons for wishing to know this. I rather think, from circumstances, which it is unnecessary to mention now, that she will go from thence to the King

stons.

"There is a report that the Ellises have laid down two of their carriage horses, and, for the future, will drive only a pair. I suppose they find it necessary to retrench. I had a great idea some time ago that they were living a little too fast; perhaps, however, it may not be altogether true, and they are only changing their set, for Jackson tells me that their leaders were not very good ones; but, at the same time, he has heard nothing of their buying fresh ones in their stead. Perhaps you may hear something about it where you are.

"The Dashwoods' carriage passed by yesterday. I strongly suspect that they are going on a visit to the Rodboroughs, at Westcourt, for they were travelling in that direction, and they generally visit them once a year, about this time.

"You will be glad to hear that your sister's little boy has cut another tooth; he is doing very well, though rather feverish, as may be expected. She is also going to part with her laundry-maid, which I am rather sorry for, for I always thought her a tidy person. She wrote to Charles two or three days ago, and, of course, mentioned all this in her letter; but Charles is so giddy, that I dare say he never told you any thing about it-Pray remember me kindly to him, and with our united best love, believe me, my dear son, yours, very affectionately, "CATHERINE LACY."

"P. S. The business I alluded to will not admit of any delay; therefore, pray come home immediately. The Applebys cannot be offended at your leaving them abruptly, for you have already staid

with them longer than vou meant at first. Pray say every thing that is civil to them from us. Burn this as soon as you have read it."

The first thing that Lacy did, after a short rumination, was to comply with the injunction of the concluding sentence, by committing his letter to the flames. He next sought out Lord and Lady Appleby, and communicated the necessity he was under of going home on the morrow. They were told that business called him thither-heard that he had received a letter from thence-hoped that all were well at Lacy Park, and were just as sorry as the occasion required.

The communication to Lady Appleby was made in the hearing of Agnes; and Lacy, who watched her manner of receiving it, saw her look up quickly as he spoke, and then, he thought, with an air of confusion, glance timidly round, and taking up a book, bend low over the leaves, as if to conceal the expression of her countenance. He judged from her manner, that the intelligence was more important to her feelings than she chose to show; and he was consoled by so thinking. He soon came round to her side, and announced his intended departure.

"Yes, so I heard you tell Lady Appleby," was the whole of her reply, and she went on examining the prints in one of the numbers of the Lodge's Portraits. There was nothing soothing in the words themselves; but Lacy rather liked the hurried manner in which they were spoken. This ineffectual effort at composure was just what a parting lover would desire.

Lacy was much mortified at being obliged to quit Huntley so soon: but he saw the necessity, and his decision was quickly formed. He had too high a sense of the duty of filial obedience, to entertain, for an instant, the idea of disregarding the request contained in his mother's letter; and he could soon add

many good reasons of his own for a speedy return. He had been doubting, whether the effect of his written statement would be as satisfactory as he at first supposed; and whether it was not highly expedient that his cause should be pleaded in person. Even then, he began to think that it might be rash to endanger his success by a sudden appeal, before his parents were even brought to regard the Mortons with common charity. The more he considered the case, the more he felt that the result which he desired must be the work of time, and that he must lead them insensibly to entertain a good opinion of their neighbours, before he startled them with the proposal of introducing a daughter of that proscribed house into the family of the Lacys. He also apprehended that some objections might exist on the part of the Mortons, which only time and opportunity would enable him to remove.

In short, he perceived that many difficulties lay in his path, and was thankful for having been timely saved from the consequences of a precipitate engagement; he must therefore return, and that soon; a longer stay at Huntley would rather retard than further his prospects, the success of which now seemed to depend chiefly upon his conciliatory operations in another quarter. He said little in the course of the evening to Agnes upon the subject of his departure; till at length, when it grew late, finding her rather apart from the rest, he came up, sat down by her, and said he was going to take leave.

"I set off early in the morning," he said; "I shall not see you after to-night-I do not know when we may meet next."

"You will not be staying at Lacy, then?"

"Yes I shall and you I hope at Dodswell?" Agnes smiled assent.

"We shall be near," he said; "it is but six miles. You ride, don't you, when you are at home?

Pray don't discontinue it-there are beautiful rides. near us. Perhaps I may sometimes catch a glimpse of you. Would you acknowledge me, if we were actually to meet in our unsociable quarter of the world?"

"You can answer that question yourself," replied Agnes, with a blush.

Yes," said he, "I am sure you would-must you be going? Good night-I am glad I can say that it has a pleasanter sound than good bye!' But you must not defraud me of the privileges of leave-taking." Then taking her passive hand, he pressed it, and exchanging one more "good night." they parted.

The next morning before Agnes had appeared at the breakfast-table, Lacy was on his road home. ward.

CHAPTER XI.

Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do,
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not.

Measure for Measure.

Ir Lacy's homeward journey was under a dull, unvarying sky, and through an uninteresting country, his meditations were far from being of the same monotonous character. The alternations of mental cloud and sunshine rapidly succeeded each other, as his mind recurred to the flattering retrospect, or dwelt on the uncertainties of future events. In the recollections interesting but fruitless, and in the more useful arrangement of his plans, did he beguile the time, till after several hours spent in travelling, he found himself entering the lodge gate at Lacy Park.

It was a fine place, ill kept, and conveying, as neglected beauty always does, a feeling of mournfulness. Nothing betokened the existence of hospitality, or care, or much regard for appearances. The tasteful lodge was allowed to be disfigured by a display of household utensils. The road was weedy and ill verged; the grass long, and partially grazed; and nettles and thistles, the tokens rather of bad husbandry, than of an attention to picturesque wildness, were numerously dotted over the ground, on either side of the approach.

These things, though familiar to Lacy's eye, were keenly observed in the present instance-the