a very sweet disposition, and a very small share of personal beauty. But, although his brother-who, by the way, persisted in remaining a bachelor-strongly condemned the match, and urged every argument, which his selfish and illiberal spirit could suggest-to prevent the marriage; although he, almost, threatened to quarrel with Cornelius, and to withdraw from him for ever his friendship and fellowship-Cornelius married her; and from the moment that he clasped her to his heart at the altar, to the hour when he wept over her lifeless remains on the bed of death-he never-no! not for one moment had to regret the result of his choice. The fruit of this marriage were three children-two boys and a girl, the eldest being five, the next three, and little Mary about two years old, when Lawrence Mertoun became the inmate of Coed Arthur.

The young protege's disposition soon began to develope itself; and to become apparent to his self-constituted guardians. The germs of a fiery, bold, and impetuous spirit were evinced on the slightest occasions; and, combined with these, were the concomitant indications of unbounded generosity, carelessness of self, and a high sense of the necessity of extending protection to the weak and defenceless. At seven years of age, he rushed one day into the presence of his foster-mother, with the blood streaming from his nose, and his face cut and swollen-" Why, gracious goodness! Lawrence—what have you been about?" exclaimed Mrs. Arthur, as she gazed upon the tumid face, and sparkling eye of the boy-" where have you been, and what have you been doing?"

Lawrence wiped the blood from his face, and said nothing.

'Tell me this minute, Sir! who has made you this figure? Come, Sir, I insist upon it!'

Still Lawrence was dumb; and would have continued so till doomsday, had not little Mary fortunately come into the room, and explained the whole affair. Her eldest brother, Cornelius, or, as he was generally called, Cornie, had been teasing her, and she had appealed to Lawrence, or as she called him, her brother Lawrie, for protection. Lawrie, in consequence, fired up, and Cornie persisting in his ill-nature, he-Lawrie, to wit,-"showed fight," and attempted to thrash Master Cornie, who, in his own defence, knocked Master Lawrie about, till he reduced him to the condition in which he appeared before Mrs. Arthur-" and," said little Mary, sobbing, and clinging round her mother's neck, 'you must promise not to be angry with brother Lawrie, Mamma, because it was Cornie's fault, and Lawrie will not do so any more-will you, Lawrie ?"

"Indeed I won't promise," said Lawrie boldly." If anybody plagues sister Mary, I'll try and thump him."

Mrs. Arthur could not repress a smile at the boy's magnanimity, although she deemed it incumbent upon her to censure his conduct; -not, because her own son had been the object of Lawrie's castigation, for she was too just an arbitress for that; but because she

deemed it necessary to endeavour to suppress such violent indications of his fiery disposition.

It required, however, more skill than either she or Mr. Arthur possessed, to effect this: and as Lawrence grew up, the fiery and impetuous qualities of his disposition gained strength rather than diminished, and the passionate and mischievous boy expanded into the bold, impetuous, and high-spirited youth-full of warm affection for his foster-parents and their family, and keenly alive to the finest attributes and impulses of human nature. Often would Mr. Arthur lament the situation of his protegé, who, shut up in a secluded Welsh town, had no opportunity of giving scope to his noble feelings-which, at Coed Arthur, ran to waste, and watered but

the desert."

When Lawrence was about eighteen, Mr. Arthur received a communication from Mr. Ashburnham, requesting that he would send his protegé to London, as it was settled, that he should commence the study of the law under Mr. Ashburnham's own guidance and tuition. This intelligence was sad news to all; and, although both Mr. and Mrs. Arthur could not reasonably expect that Lawrence would remain with them always,—and although they were well aware, that this change in his situation was—or at all events, would be,—an advantage to him, they could not part from their foster-son without sorrow, and without feeling a presentiment that this was only the introduction to a longer and sadder separation. As for Mary—now a blooming girl of seventeen-she wept on his shoulder, as if he were, indeed, a favourite brother; and he kissed away her tears, with an equal portion of fraternal affection. However, Lawrence Mertoun bade adieu to his uncle and aunt, as he called them, and left Coed Arthur for the first time in his life, to mingle with the busy throng, which constitutes the society of the great City. His situation was far from a desolate one. With Mr. Ashburham, who stood very high in the law, Lawrence's time passed on pleasantly enough : and as for the discovery of his parents, he had no uneasiness on that score, for where

"Ignorance is bliss

'Tis folly to be wise

and as he was always informed that he was an orphan, and that his parents, who had been old friends of Mr. Arthur and Mr. Ashburnham, between whom an intimacy had been long established, were highly respectable, he had no further information to obtain on that subject-especially as he possessed their portraits, set in the same case, and painted, apparently, at a period, either immediately before or soon after their marriage.

Under such agreeable auspices, Lawrence Mertoun was soon introduced into very excellent society. His residence with Mr. Ashburnham's family, which consisted of himself and two daughters. conduced very much to his introduction to "the world;" where

he soon became an object of some notice-not more on account of his personal qualifications, which, notwithstanding Miss Catherine Crosby's opinion, were very considerable, than on account of a certain wild uncultivated freedom of manner-the result of his untamed spirit, and arising from the effect of sudden impulse, which he had not yet learnt to control. He was an object, therefore, of great amusement to the high-born and high-bred ladies and gentlemen, with whom he now associated, and his own good-nature led him to bear patiently with the bantering and quizzing with which he was usually assailed.

SWEET SUSAN.

Sweet Susan was a lovely lass,
And suitors her pursued,
And sued to Sue, till suing crept
Into desuetude.

Tom Tees the turnpike-man was first
Who sought the lass to please :
Tees used to trust her for the toll,
Thus teasing the Trustees.

He told her if she'd love him, she
Might pass at any rate;

But Sue liked not the turnpike-man,
He had an awkward gait.

The cobbler next a suitor was,

But his soul's joy soon past;
She said he dealt too much in ends,
His love could never last.

The tailor he took measures too,

To make her his for life,

And often said, that she would make

A pattern of a wife.

The parish clerk and auctioneer

Said "Going," to a frown;

And wish'd her much to say "Amen!""

But Susan knocked him down.

The undertaker was'nt mute,

He made a morning call,

Coughing rehearsed and told his love,
And said 'twould never pall.

But he, altho' so grave a man,
Pulled about other bells;

And Sue had no desire to see

His cabinet of shells.

Bill Dough, the baker, rolled his eyes,

And eyed his rolls, and said,

"I need you"-" but," says Sue, “you're not
Quite to my fancy bred.”

The grocer also wished to plumb

The current of her thoughts;

She spoke the word that clove his heart, She'd reasons of all sorts.

For he was grosser than she liked,

And she refused him twice,
Because he'd had some business
With Carolina Rice.

A soldier wished her to obey
At his word of command,
Though he presented arms to her,
She would not take his hand.

He thought to put by storm at once,
Her scruples to the rout;

But she was formed too deep for him,
The girl I write about.

Still tho' she was so hard to please,
To all men gave no quarter,
Stood earth and fire, and all that 'ere,
She could'nt stand the water.

Bill Float he was a waterman,
At Wapping he was bred,

And being used to Wapping sculls,
He got into her head.

He took her in his wherry out,
Which she thought wery kind;
And while he rowed the boat before,
She also rode behind.

One day as they went out to sail,
(To cut a long tale shorter,)
A squall upset the boat, and left
Sue squalling in the water.

Bill swam ashore, (as sure as death,)
She could'nt follow him;

For though 'tis true she'd got a duck,
Yet that duck couldn't swim.

They took her out, when she was dead,
And finding, spite their bother,
That they could not wring this bell dry,
They went and tolled the other.

A crowner's 'quest was held on Sue,
And thus they did decide:
That though it was but accident,
'Twas doubtless Suecide!

A fancy circumstance there was,
I've heard the people tell it :
Her gown that had been gingham, was

Discovered to be well-wet!

Now maidens all a lover take,

Whene'er you go to church;

Who, if the boat a lurch should give, Wo'nt leave you in the lurch.

he soon became an object of some notice-not more on account of his personal qualifications, which, notwithstanding Miss Catherine Crosby's opinion, were very considerable, than on account of a certain wild uncultivated freedom of manner-the result of his untamed spirit, and arising from the effect of sudden impulse, which he had not yet learnt to control. He was an object, therefore, of great amusement to the high-born and high-bred ladies and gentlemen, with whom he now associated, and his own good-nature led him to bear patiently with the bantering and quizzing with which he was usually assailed.

SWEET SUSAN.

Sweet Susan was a lovely lass,
And suitors her pursued,

And sued to Sue, till suing crept
Into desuetude.

Tom Tees the turnpike-man was first
Who sought the lass to please :
Tees used to trust her for the toll,
Thus teasing the Trustees.

He told her if she'd love him, she
Might pass at any rate;

But Sue liked not the turnpike-man,
He had an awkward gait.

The cobbler next a suitor was,

But his soul's joy soon past;
She said he dealt too much in ends,
His love could never last.

The tailor he took measures too,
To make her his for life,

And often said, that she would make
A pattern of a wife.

The parish clerk and auctioneer

Said "Going," to a frown;

"Amen!"

And wish'd her much to say
But Susan knocked him down.

The undertaker was'nt mute,
He made a morning call,
Coughing rehearsed and told his love,
And said 'twould never pall.

But he, altho' so grave a man,
Pulled about other bells;
And Sue had no desire to see
His cabinet of shells.

Bill Dough, the baker, roll

And eyed his rolls, and

"I need you"-" but,"
Quite to my fancy