and as soon as they gained the park he dropped behind under pretence of lighting a cigar, and then, without making an effort to overtake them, dashed off in a different direction. Poor fellow! we are concerned to say that his absence was not regretted.

"How very obliging of that dear Oswald to relieve us of his company," observed the colonel, laughing.

"I fear I must have slightly hurt his feelings," said her ladyship, displaying her pearls.

"Never mind! he won't break his heart-though mine would be broken if I were so treated."

"I very much doubt if you have a heart to break," cried her ladyship. "Allons! I will take you back through a different part of the park. We will go through the woods."

"Through the woods-charming!" cried the colonel.

Their course led them through some of the most secluded portions of the park, and after passing through the walnut and chesnut groves, previously mentioned, they were involved in a thicket which covered the lower part of the hill. The road, edged on either side by tall pines, was so narrow that they were obliged to proceed singly. However, this did not prevent the colonel, who brought up the rear, from addressing many a gallant speech to his fair companion. These could not have been very disagreeable to her, for ever and anon she turned a smiling face towards him, and at such moments looked irresistibly charming.

They were still in the midst of the thicket, when a tall young man was seen ascending the narrow road clothed in a grey Tweed suit, and having a knapsack at his back. He seemed to require the aid of the stout stick which he grasped.

On seeing her ladyship he halted for a moment, and then came on. Owing to the interposition of the foremost horse, he could not distinguish the colonel, neither did the colonel perceive him. Her ladyship, however, shook her whip at her companion to check the rapturous speech he had just commenced, and he took the hint without exactly knowing why silence was enjoined.

As Lady Richborough drew near, the young man stepped out of the road to allow her passage. Leaning against a lofty pine for support, he raised his felt hat to salute her, revealing pallid but singularly handsome features, that startled her as she gazed on them.

In an instant she recovered from her surprise, and courteously returning the salutation, passed on. Looking back, she perceived, from the colonel's manner, that the stranger was not unknown to him. What surprised her still more was, that the colonel's countenance had assumed a very stern expression. He was evidently put out by the unexpected rencounter.

Reining in her steed, she said,

"You appear to know that young man, colonel. May I ask who he is?"

"I know very little about him," he replied, carelessly. "I met him this morning at Hazlemere. An artist, I believe, by name Hilary St. Ives."

"That Hilary St. Ives?" cried her ladyship. "Now, indeed, I am surprised. Do call him back. I should like so much to speak to him."

"Your ladyship must excuse me if I decline to obey your behest," rejoined the colonel. "I can have nothing to do with that young fellow."

66

Öh, indeed!" exclaimed her ladyship.

She saw something was wrong. But the colonel's manner did not encourage her to ask any further questions, and though still full of curiosity, she desisted.

But how came Hilary in Boxgrove Park? Above all, how came he in that secluded road, known to few, and frequented by none save inmates of the mansion?

The thought perplexed her strangely.

THE LITTLE CHURCHYARD IN THE CITY.

BY NICHOLAS MICHELL.

[The wayfarer, passing through the City of London, especially in the neighbourhood of Cheapside and Upper Thames-street, will see numerous small burial-grounds of an ancient date. A few of these long-unused places of interment contain mouldering tombs, and are decently planted with flowers, while some are carefully secured by walls and iron railings.]

ERE the "Great Fire" spread fear and woe,

Laying half wealthy London low,
Above these graves did tear-drops flow.

The little church is swept away,

But still a wall, railed, moss'd, and gray,
Surrounds the tombs of ancient day.

A few feet off, the passers by
Hurry along, nor turn to sigh
O'er those who now forgotten lie.

Yet when red evening floods the west,
And charms to peace the river's breast,
And jaded Labour seeks his rest:

A strange solemnity appears
To pall these graves of other years,
Making us thoughtful e'en to tears.

'Round crumbling tombs the long grass grows; The citizens that here repose

Once knew ambitions, joys, and woes.

But they are still, like that hushed beam
Which paints the stones with golden gleam,
Their lives to us a myth, a dream.

The rain has long defaced each name,
Obscure perchance, or known to fame;
What matters it? they rest the same.
There may a wealthy merchant sleep,
Or mayor who did high revel keep,
And quaff potations long and deep.
Here a poor city clerk may lie,
His lot to toil, in penury sigh,
Glad to lay down his pen and die.

'Tis kind to guard this place of rest,
That none the mouldering tombs molest;
Sleep, citizens, on earth's calm breast!

Children are playing near the graves,
Where still, tho' small, one yew-tree waves,
And meekly dust, fire, ages, braves.

Oh, may no hand, with ruthless sway,
This little churchyard sweep away,
Poor, pleading wreck of long-gone day!

The ancient sleepers seem to cry—
"Improvement! pass these precincts by,
And let us here in quiet lie!"

BLACKLOCK FOREST.

XII.

Nay, this, in truth, of all your records past,
Hath clos'd with the most mournful termination.
Why doth invention yield us tales of woe,
When each day teems with veritable griefs
Surpassing fiction's deadliest ?

The Artist.

"YOUR friend, the Bachelor Baronet." These words of Mr. Goldrich to his wife may not be forgotten by the reader. By Giacomo they were still remembered uncomfortably; for Mrs. G. next day spoke much of the said bachelor, ill calculated to flatter the aspirations of the Italian, who could not avoid questioning the husband as to the whom and the what of his friend. The merchant's reply, however, was something solacing.

"Sir Richard Blackleigh," said he, "is a good enough acquaintance and neighbour, of about my own age; my daughter's godfather, and an uncommon favourite with my wife;" all which might very well be (thought Giacomo), without anything discouraging to an enamoured man, who, too young to be godfather to a lady of nearly his own years, felt himself decidedly in favour with that lady and her father. Wilton gave a few additional particulars of the baronet; of his luck in coming unexpectedly into his titular possessions; and of his being a very frequent visitor at Belmont. But this was said with not the least indication of reference to more than ordinary friendship; and Isabella herself simply spoke of Sir Richard as might any young girl of a generous godfather. Mamma, however, would then chime in, with rather pointed allusion to him as "a very good-looking man, much admired by many a fair lady, and certainly a bachelor by his own will, probably only waiting for the woman worthy to be his wife, one of adequate position and means, and of years not unsuitable for a husband who, though not a boy (she had no faith in young lads), was by no means advanced in age, and looked at least ten years younger than he was."

"I am happy, my dear," said her smiling husband, "that you had not your present ideas when you became the object of my solicitations, otherwise my then immature years might have gone against me.'

Mrs. G. looked daggers but spoke none.

Isabella's conduct was singular. She seemed not to have heard the comments of her parents, but remained, as by a sudden

impulse, gazing on Giacomo, till she turned to her mother, and exclaimed,

"At last I've discovered it! Do you know, mamma, I've been searching my memory for the cause of an impression that Mr. Ridotti's features are not new to me, and assuredly it is found in their general resemblance to those of Sir Richard Blackleigh."

"A very flattering compliment to Mr. Ridotti," said mamma. "And not a bad compliment to Sir Richard," rejoined the father.

"I had no idea of being complimentary to either," said the daughter; "but it is well that my remark cannot now be offensive to Mr. Ridotti."

Mrs. Goldrich was becoming desperate.

"Isabella," said she, "I am about to close my letter to Sir Richard, and may of course give him your love in-in reciprocation of his own, so kindly expressed towards you?"

"Certainly," replied the daughter; "give him my dutiful love -a god-daughter's love; but I think there is no occasion to speak of reciprocation,' dear mamma, because reciprocity might seem to imply something ultra-sentimental on the part of a confirmed young lady, who trusts she has redeemed the promises made for her by her sponsor when she was a baby. Make her unite with her parents in all kind remembrances, and say how we have all enjoyed Tivoli, and how delighted we are to have met dear Charles Wilton, in company with such a friend and appreciator as Mr. Ridotti, and how"

"And how," interposed her father, laughingly, "Italy and England reciprocated in their feelings for a matronly daughter of Britannia, when, in her pursuit of the picturesque, she was prostrated by a mischievous bramble on the brink of the classic Anio."

"You're a Beast!" said the now desperate mother. "You're a Beauty," added her husband.

This may indicate the terms on which the alliance of "Beauty and the Beast" existed at Belmont. The beast was in fact the greater beauty of the two, speaking not less featurely than morally. A strong but simple-minded man was Mr. Goldrich, who (with his father) had made his money; while the beauty was a weak but subtle-minded woman, whom her husband's money had made proud. The merchant was all openness and trust, his wife all secrecy and scheme. Mr. Goldrich loved his daughter so entirely, that had it been her happiness to remain unwedded, he would have cherished her as his household deity. Mrs. Goldrich wanted only to be the mother of Lady Blackleigh of Blacklock Castle and Blackleigh Hall. The daughter, inheriting the moral worth of her sire, and the abstract energy of her dam, had susceptibilities of