he exclaimed, "Yes, my mother must be relieved from her arduous occupation, unbefitting a lady of her rank, and especially of her age. Why could I not think of that before? Why should I never have seen the necessity until Catherine held it up before me? Yes, my mother must have a manager on her farm, and Carl Kavanagh shall be the man. I will pay his salary myself." And he rang

the bell, ordered his horse, and in less than fifteen minutes was on his way to Hardbargain.

As he rode up to the house, he met a girl, with a pail on her head, going to the spring, and inquired of her where her mistress was to be found. He was told, "down in the wheat-field." So, turning his horse's head a little to the left of the house, he rode down the slope of the hill to a wide harvest-field, where he found Mrs. Clifton, seated on her mule, superintending the operations of some fifteen or twenty labourers, who were employed in stacking wheat. He rode up to his mother's side, alighted, and held out his hand, saying, "How do you do to-day, madam? Busily engaged as ever, I see, mother."

"How do you do, Archer? Yes, very busy."

While Captain Clifton was revolving in his mind the best way of introducing the object of his visit, which he had reason to believe would be distasteful to the energetic, independent lady, she quite unconsciously anticipated his intention, and relieved him from his embarrassment, by saying, "This heat is extremely oppressive, and I begin to find this business too much for me, Archer. This continuing out in the fields day after day, and all day long, throughout this burning weather, begins to tell even upon my constitution."

Archer Clifton looked at his mother and noticed for the first time a slight but certain change in her countenance, invisible, perhaps, to an indifferent glance, but seeming to the eye of affection fearfully like the very earliest premonitory symptoms of decay. That look pierced him to the heart. The fainter sound of her voice, too, had vaguely suggested failing strength-it fell upon his ear like a prophecy, a warning, a knell. He realised then, for the first time, that his mother was mortal- -was growing old-that some day he should lose her. He felt then, for the first time, how much he, a man, had rested on this good mother-and

his heart was troubled within him. And yet it was all caused only by a transient weariness in the look of her face, and a faintness in the tone of her voice. But more than all things else on earth more deeply, though less ardently, than his own fair expectant bride--did Archer Clifton love his mother! It had even been said, some years before, by one who knew him best, that Clifton could never love any woman with the full force of his nature unless in qualities of mind and heart she resembled his mother; but, of course, Captain Clifton had disproved that prophecy by adoring his cousin, the haughty and beautiful Miss Clifton. This is a

disgression to return.

As the new pang of fear for his mother's health sped through his heart, Archer Clifton took her hand-he had a singularly sweet and persuasive voice and manner when moved by his affections-and said, "There is no necessity for it, dear mother. Surely, the motive that prompted you when I was a lad, and when this farm was our only prospect, has long ceased to operate.'

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"I know it, Archer. For some years past this personal superintendence of the fields has been more a matter of habit than a matter of necessity. If I could find a good

manager, I might try one."

What do you think of Carl Kavanagh in that capacity, mother ?"

"Carl? I never thought of him at all.

managed a plantation."

He has never

"But yet he has been a farm-labourer many years, has a practical knowledge of agriculture, and is, besides, a man of more intelligence than is usually to be found in his class." "Yes, he is," said the lady thoughtfully.

"He is also a man of excellent moral character and faultless habits-qualities not too frequently met with among those of his grade."

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True, most true; but yet he is young, and has had no experience in overseeing."

"And never will have, dear madam, unless some one gives him the opportunity of making the trial. And as for his youth, mother, why his youth is positively an advantage; for, with his practical knowledge, intelligence, and honesty, he will be free from the conceit and crotchets of an old manager, and will the more readily fall into your system."

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"There is something in that," said the lady. And now, Archer, you will remain and dine with me to-day; and remember that, when this week is out, the next week belongs to me. You must bring your friend with you when you come. Where did you leave him?"

"Playing battledore with Zuleime. But, dear mother, about this Carl Kavanagh-I hope you will consider the plan favourably, and try him."

"I will think of it, Archer, because you propose it, if for no other reason. And now the horn is blowing for the hands to go to dinner, and my task for the day is relieved. Let us return to the house."

They turned their animals' heads, and rode up the ascent, and entered the shady yard. Then the lady alighted from her mule, gathered up her riding-skirt, and, leaning on the arm of her son, entered the house. A plain but substantial dinner was soon served. Archer Clifton enjoyed his mother's plain meals more than the most luxurious dinners-not but that he had a taste for luxury-what man has not?—but that there was a home comfort about his mother's table that gave him appetite and spirit. And then, after dinner, he could go and stretch himself upon the best lounge in that large, shady, breezy parlour, with a book, and read or doze until she had attended to the putting away of her things, and had locked up her pantries. Then she would come and sit in the rocking-chair by his side, while he could stretch himself at ease, in any ungainly attitude he pleased, and feel what a refreshing thing it was to throw off his dignity in the presence of the only one with whom he could do so-his own familiar mother; not but that he honoured-nay, revered— her; but that he enjoyed only in her house that deep, full sense of home freedom which not only her son, but to a certain degree all others felt, who possessed the privilege of the lady's friendship.

This afternoon, then, he was lying at his ease on the cool lounge between the two front windows, which were drawing strong draughts of air, and flapping the festooned curtains lazily. He had thrown himself out at full length upon the lounge, in the most delightfully dégagé attitude, albeit it was somewhat angular and awkward-his head being thrown back over the end of the lounge, his hands clasped above his forehead, and his elbows very prominent; one foot, minus a slipper, hoisted

upon the window-sill, and the other slippered foot dangling on the carpet. But the picturesque beauty of his dark, handsome face atoned for all the rest. His mother sat in an easy-chair near him, with her feet upon a footstool and a workstand by her side. She was engaged in stitching wristbands for that vigorous woman never required a lounge in the daytime; but though she never took one, yet she never blamed the indulgence of that habit in others for which she herself felt no inclination. She was the most liberal and benevolent of all human beings, in every act of her daily life. She was happy in seeing others comfortable around her. She was ever pleased to see them enjoying those relaxations which her own strong nature did not need. Indeed, courage without asperity, fortitude without endurancy, strength without hardness, self-denial without sternness, power without arrogance, formed the peculiar excellence of her character. No wonder that her son revered her; no wonder it had been said of him that he never could love a woman with all the power of his nature unless in mental and moral endowments she resembled his mother. As they talked together this afternoon, the hours slipped away till late in the evening, before the image of the beautiful Carolyn had power to draw him from the tête-à-tête. During the afternoon, he had prevailed with his mother to receive Carl Kavanagh as her overseer, and to have the comfortable log-cabin which had been occupied by the first proprietor of the soil prepared for the reception of the family.

When Archer Clifton at length arose to take his leave, he pressed his mother to his heart with so much fondness and power, that the quiet, calm lady laughed, a little, low, jolly laugh, and jested about Carolyn's jealousy-even of his mother.

Captain Clifton returned to White Cliffs, and gave himself up for the rest of the evening to the charms of Carolyn's conversation.

The next day was one of festivity. Mrs. Clifton of Hardbargain came over to dine at White Cliffs, and to meet a large party of the neighbouring gentry. The day after that, the whole party dined and spent the evening at Hardbargain; and this was the commencement of a series of neighbour

hood entertainments in honour of the approaching marriage, which were kept up for several weeks. The wedding was to come off in the course of a month-the present delay being owing to this circumstance: Old Mr. Clifton had sent to England, by the good ship Rockbridge, Captain Cater, an extensive order, including a splendid outfit for the bride; and they were now awaiting to hear of the arrival of the Rockbridge at Norfolk. In all the excitement of social enjoyment, Captain Clifton had found time to ride to the mountain hut, and arrange with Carl Kavanagh to come and take the situation of overseer at Hardbargain. He agreed to pay the latter a liberal salary, and to provide a comfortable house for his family. One thing surprised and annoyed him. Kate, who had written so freely, frankly, almost presumptuously to him, received him with the old cold shyness and reservenot even expressing the least gratitude for the kindness he had shown in getting the situation for her brother, or the trouble he had condescended to take in coming personally to inform them of it. He agreed with Carl that the latter, with his grandfather and sister, should remove to Hardbargain in the course of the week; and on his own part he promised to have the log-house prepared for their reception. He shook hands with the old man and Carl on parting; but when he offered the same civility to Kate, she turned pale and trembled; and when he took her hand, he found it cold. "I do not think you are well, my dear girl. Your mountain air does not engender chills, does it?" he asked, pressing the cold fingers.

She raised her eyes one brief instant to his, and dropped them quickly again, while her pale cheek and brow became suffused with crimson, and the hand that he held in his own throbbed like a heart.

"When we get you to the plantation, you will be better, my dear girl," said Clifton kindly, shaking her hand and letting it go.

Captain Clifton rode away full of thought-speculating more upon Catherine's reserve than became a gentleman of his station and importance. What was it to him that a rustic girl was too shy to express in person her thanks for a favour received, even though she had "screwed her courage to the sticking-place" to write to him and solicit it? Many people, more conversant with the world than Catherine, can write