Those of our fair readers who have experienced that great change induced by the first consciousness of being deeply in love-fondly, passionately in love-need no description of the sensations of Anna Lee. Those who have not felt these first tender humanizing influences we must leave to imagine them. Anna Lee, who tried to analyze her new feelings could only liken them to those of Undine when the fairy felt that she had obtained an immortal soul. She confessed herself to herself, and trembled, with a strange sensation of hope and fear and doubt, when she really knew that the love, which all Harry Thornhill's solicitude and attention had failed to excite, had been called forth by a stranger. It subdued and made her thoughtful: it induced a more regular and careful attention to home duties: it toned down and beautified her love for uncle Mountford: it tinged her conduct towards Harry Thornhill with a sisterly affection: it made her both happy and miserable: it sent her to her room hundreds of times to contemplate her secret, to revel over it, to nurse it, and to wonder at it.

Paul Massey, too, had felt a singular change come over his dreaming. Handsome, dashing, chivalrous, he had been long accustomed to woman's admiration; but, until now, he had never felt a real respect for any woman ; until now he had never felt desirous to win a woman's true esteem; until now he had felt himself worthy of the admiration he had universally obtained; until now he had never wished to be respected for high qualities of mind, for noble thoughts, for intellectual attainments. The change thus wrought by the great enchanter speedily won not only upon Anna Lee, but upon her uncle; whilst it afforded Barnes considerable amusement and satisfaction.

Paul had suddenly found a new attraction in the stories of his early youth, and would find his way into Mr. Mountford's library, at all hours, to discuss all sorts of delightful questions in literature and art. He unearthed Plutarch, and had friendly battles with the Squire in comparisons of Alcibiades and Coriolanus, Aristides and Cato, Cimon and Lucullus. He astonished and delighted the old scholar with snatches from the classic poets, with reminiscences of school-life, with incidents of travel, and found access to the old man's heart in a thousand other ways.

One morning, however, when talking of Fenelon, he awakened suspicions which sent Mr. Mountford on a long thinking troubled gallop with Harkaway, and gave him a sleepless night.

"I think," said Paul, "that one of the most beautiful passages in Fenelon is his description of Antiope; where he speaks, you know, of the glowing modesty of her countenance; of her contempt of great finery in dress; of her total forgetfulness of her own charms. When Idomeneus, you know, leads the dance with the beauties of Crete, she might have been taken for Venus; when she goes out with him to hunt, he discovers such dignity of manner that might distinguish Diana: she alone being ignorant of all this superiority. I have often

thought of Antiope since I have been in your hospitable mansion, Mr. Mountford, and traced a likeness to her in your charming niece."

This was enough. Mr. Mountford's eyes were opened; and half an hour afterwards he was galloping with his thoughts over Helswick heath. Never since that favourite mare had run away with her jockey and the Leger, had she been tempted into such a pace; but fast as she went she could not overtake the set of new thoughts which troubled her master, thoughts which were of the sweet and the bitter. It was hardly wise for a man, the action of whose heart was, according to Dr. Fell's opinion, weaker than was desirable, to gallop at such a rate. But Mr. Mountford, when roused, was a man of strong feelings, and he seemed to be trying to gallop out of himself, to leave himself behind, to out-strip the hundred fancies that crowded upon him. When Harry Thornhill left Denby Rise, the week before, Mr. Mountford had reason to believe that Harry's proposition to Anna had not been received according to his hopes. Within the past few days he had noticed a marked change in Anna. He could not mistake the manner of Paul Massey's reference to Antiope. He liked Paul Massey, he loved Harry Thornhill, and the happiness of Anna Lee was the hope of his declining years.

It was a perplexing, unhappy situation for the old man, and it required a struggle to contemplate it calmly and philosophically. But Mark Mountford was a wise man, a scholar, and a gentleman. Some guardians, some uncles, on making such a discovery as that which dawned, with the spring, upon Mr. Mountford, would have upbraided their niece, ordered Paul Massey to quit their roof, and sent for a priest to marry Harry Thornhill on the spot. Mr. Mountford had noticed the change in his niece; he had had, more than once, very pointed hints of the failure of Harry Thornhill's wooing; and, above all, he had had, upon the very day when we drew up our curtain for the second time, intimation that Harry Thornhill was going abroad for two or three years.

So he sent for Paul Massey into the well-known library, and talked very seriously to that gentleman for a very long time. He told him ail about his hopes and wishes; he told him about the interviews which that room had seen between himself and Harry Thornhill. Paul Massey confessed his love for Anna Lee, but denied that he had ever so far forgotten what was due to his hospitable host as to tell Miss Lee of his passion. No, nor had he gone so far as to make a planned attack upon her affections. He hoped Mr. Mountford would not think him capable of dishonourable conduct. Miss Lee had been exceedingly kind to him, and he had been proud enough to believe that she was not averse to his society. He could not help his feelings, he could not control his likes and dislikes ; he only knew this, that he had never loved a woman in this world before. But his gratitude to his friend Harry, and he might say his love for him, would of course, after Mr. Mountford's explanation,

make him quit the field in his friend's favour. He was aware that his health was now quite restored, and that he might have left Denby Rise some weeks ago: had he known that Harry Thornhill was engaged to Miss Lee he should have done so; but he had seen nothing in the conduct of Harry to make him think that he had hopes of such a character as those described by Mr. Mountford. Did he mean to say hat Harry did not love his niece? Certainly not; he could not magine any man not loving her. But was sorry that Mr. Mountford should be angry; and was ready to quit Denby Rise that very day, and to go about the world with the memory of its happy days ever in

his mind.

At

And now it was Anna's turn. But her interview with her uncle was only a brief one; she was always wont to be frank with her uncle, and she did not on this occasion evade any of his questions. At the close of their interview she placed in Mr. Mountford's hands a letter received that morning from Harry. Even in a story we refrain from printing all the tender things which Harry said in this letter, all the noble words of self-sacrifice which he had penned with a feverish trembling hand on those closely written pages, which Anna had almost bathed in her tears. the close the writer said he had long feared that Anna could never love him sufficiently to warrant the fulfilment of Mr. Mountford's wish, and his dear hopes; that indeed she had told him as much, and that he had not been blind to the interest which she had shown in his friend Paul Massey. Perhaps love was naturally jealous; his must be, for he fancied that Anna loved Paul Massey, and he was sure that Paul loved her. If this was not so, patient thought convinced him-convinced him against his will—that Anna had at any rate only to go into the world, to meet with one whom she could love better than himself, and one more worthy of her. The business of the house needed some attention in America and the Canadas, and also in Rotterdam; and the firm having determined to open new agencies in these and other foreign stations, he had solicited and obtained the post of foreign inspector and agent for three years. He hoped that change of scene would soften what he must confess was a severe blow to his hopes-hopes which he knew he had had no right to indulge-and his absence would leave Miss Lee free to choose one who would make her such a husband as she deserved.

Altogether Denby Rise had experienced few such unhappy days as this on which Harry intimated his intention of quitting England. Mr. Mountford had felt, for the first time, how truly Dr. Fell had spoken when he assured Mr. Mountford that any great anxiety or excitement would be seriously dangerous to his health. He went to bed that night almost prostrated, and though he acknowledged to himself the wrong he had done in attempting to force the affections of two young people, he could not help thinking that the turn which affairs had taken would not prove to be happy or beneficial to Anna.

Paul Massey was in no frame of mind to listen to the chaff of Winford Barnes who had that day returned from a week's visit to Maryport; and Anna Lee spent a sleepless night, though she felt that it was a comfort to have made her uncle acquainted with her secret. Mrs. Grey had somewhat diverted her thoughts from the channel in which they had been running, by an account of the troubles and blessings of having two sons. Indeed it was midnight before Mrs. Grey had finished a true and particular history of the rescue of her son Richard from Mat Duncan, the devotion to him of little Bessie Martin, and the progress which Frank was making under that dear kind generous gentleman, Mr. Thornhill, who two months ago, as no doubt Miss Lee was aware, had taken her youngest son into his office.

It was seldom that Mrs. Grey was communicative about herself, but this night she was particularly so, chiefly through Miss Lee's encouragement, but also on account of her desire to make an ally of Miss Lee in a scheme of her own.

The boys she said lodged together, and she feared they did not agree so well as they might. Richard was naturally of an excitable nature and proud, and perhaps he did not like to be so much below his brother though of course he should remember how hard Frank had worked, and how Mr. Thornhill always thought so highly of Frank. Then Richard having been led away and taught strange habits, by the person who lived at the caverns, had no doubt influenced his character and made him a little wilful; and of course Frank should remember that, and give way to him. Besides he was younger than Francis and had not had the opportunities of improvement which he had had; Frank had been in Maryport so long, and had had time to resist its temptations and all that, which ought to be considered. She was quite sure that some day Richard would do well, for he was always clever. Miss Lee should hear poor Bessie Martin talk about him. He had written two letters to Bessie, and had promised to marry her. It was quite amusing to heay the boy talk; and as for Bessie, dear little thing, she would certainly grow up into a very fine woman, she had no doubt, though what was to become of her when her grandmother, the schoolmistress, died she did not know, and the old woman could not live long. Miss Lee must think it strange of her talking about these matters, which she was kind enough to say interested her, but of course poor people had their own feelings, and she could not help thinking that she ought to go and live in Maryport for the purpose of taking care of her sons. No, that was not exactly what she had wanted to tell Miss Lee; but she thought that some day she might really be obliged to do so, and if Miss Lee could bring it round, when she was talking to Mr. Mountford, so that if she should have to leave Denby Rise it would not come upon him sudden-like, she should certainly take it kindly. She had saved a little money, and Richard ought to have a mother's eye upon him; but she would rather lay down her life than Mr. Mountford should think her ungrateful. Ah! it was

a painful subject that Miss Lee was kind enough to mention about her husband leaving her; but God knew that she had given him no cause for his desertion; and she believed that her prayers would be answered, for she never went to sleep without asking that, alive or dead, George Grey should be undeceived if he thought she had. She should have died with shame and sorrow had it not been for knowing that there was One above who knew all things and to whom all hearts were open.

Thus the flood-tide of change set in upon Denby Rise. Like many another household which had slumbered on in a happy monotony of peace, Denby Rise was about to experience a series of rapid events which would make it Denby Rise no longer; which would wipe out the Denby Rise of joyous springs and happy summers and peaceful autumns and contented winters. Some one has said there is no deeper law of nature than that of change. For a time the law may seem to be in abeyance, as it had for some years at Denby Rise. Years, happy, peaceful years had passed over that gabled house in the valley, leaving little trace of the flight of time. Some extra mosses, it is true, had grown about the trees, and the ivy had climbed nearer the window sills. A few additional gray hairs had appeared in Mr. Mountford's whiskers, and Anna had approached nearer unto womanhood. But no change had come upon the peace and happiness of Anna's life, though Mr. Mountford's anxiety concerning her future had increased with every year. Youth traces nought of change. Anna Lee had seen the swallows come and go until Paul Massey's appearance, without wondering whether she should some day journey from the dear nest with which Providence had provided her near the sea. And now the time had come for the moral law of change to be put into full action. ... Let Anna gather the rose-leaves and cover them up their undying perfume shall be grateful to her in the days that are coming.

Who hath not his rose-leaves? Have you not gathered them, dear readers, from the garden of memory? And do you not hang over them and feel the fragrance of summer which still lingers in the faded, curled up blossoms? The perfume which came from them, before the great scene-shifter appeared in your home circle and changed it wholly-do you not inhale it from those gathered leaves? May we venture a hope now that Anna Lee will carry the fragrant leaves with her into the future, and that they will be pleasant to her soul, mingling with their odours, music of happy days, whispers of the sweets which may come again after the bitters.