remaining to speak very long. Give me your hand, Mary. Tom, where is yours?"

Each placed their hands in those of the Squire.

"It was my wish," he resumed, "and the only one remaining of my life ungratified, to have seen these united. As this, however, is denied me, take that blessing which then would have been given, and may your lives be happy and exemplary. Nay, nay," continued he, "do not weep. Remember, all that meet are doomed to part."

"Oh, Harry!" ejaculated John, unable to control his feelings longer. "Don't say so. Think of the long, long years we've been together. Never let us part."

"It is but for a season, John,” replied the Squire.

"True," rejoined the Rector; "and that should be our greatest consolation to know, the earthly separations of the good are but temporary ones."

"Ah!" returned the Squire," and at such a time as this, how priceless is such an assurance!"

"Let me moisten your lips," said Mrs. Gordon, handing a cup of wine and water to him. "They look dry and parched."

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Many thanks," replied the Squire, accepting the offer.

It was obvious to all that the invalid was now gradually sinking; and although his mind seemed to possess all the vigour of health, yet there was a general feebleness creeping on, which showed the lamp was burning gradually

out.

"Let the servants come in," said the Squire. "I'm sure they wish to see me.

In a few moments the room was thronged with the old domestics, who crowded round the bed, and bent their eyes upon their dying master with that solicitude which the beloved and loving can only feel.

Extending his hand, each clasped it and

bathed it with warm tears, fresh from the green depths of human hearts. All had much to say, and yet none could speak a word.

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May God bless you all!" said the Squire. "Leave me now. I feel I feel-"

"Let me hold your hand, Harry," said John Hardy, as the Squire clutched at something.

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Yes, yes," added he, smiling. 'Yes, I

come."

And so died this good old man; the last of his race.

CHAPTER XIII.

"The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turned my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this."

"MAKE haste, Job," said Mrs. Sykes, withdrawing a handkerchief from her bloodshot eyes. "I fear you'll be a little late."

"Ah!" sighed the huntsman, making slow progress towards the completion of his toilet. "One can't help being tardy in movement when the heart beats as slow and heavy as mine does."

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Heavy, indeed!" ejaculated Mrs. Sykes, with tears again streaming down her cheeks.

"I shouldn't envy the feelings of anybody in these parts whose heart wasn't heavy on this day."

"There isn't," rejoined Job, with a groan. "There isn't one, Betsy, I know."

"I believe that," returned she.

"At least

I couldn't put my finger on a creature living, unless it be Madam Stiggs."

"It isn't right to think that even she feels differently than her neighbours," added the huntsman.

"Her sentiments," said Mrs. Sykes, are opposite to her neighbours on most subjects, and it's well for them that they are so, or the very heathens we read of would be superior Christians, notwithstanding they worship stocks and stones."

"Don't speak of Mrs. Stiggs to-day," replied Job. "We shouldn't have uncharitable thoughts at such a time as this."

"True, true," rejoined his wife." I stand corrected, Job, and I'm glad you've reminded