the Linendraper's establishment, Sir; a-going down for Christmas, Sir!"

'Humph!" says Mark; "you see-was sure I knew herknow everybody here. As I said, if she wasn't Mrs. Grove, she was somebody else. Ever in these parts before?"

"Never but I have heard a good deal of them; and very much charmed with them I am. I have seldom seen a more distinctive specimen of English scenery."

"And how you are improving round here!" said Claude, who knew Mark's weak points, and wanted to draw him out. "Your homesteads seem all new; three fields have been thrown into one, I fancy, over half the farms."

Mark broke out at once on his favourite topic,-“I believe you! I'm making the mare go here in Whitford, without the money too, sometimes. I'm steward now, bailiff-ha! ha! these four years past-to Mrs. Lavington's Irish husband; I wanted him to have a regular agent, a canny Scot, or Yorkshireman. Faith, the poor man couldn't afford it, and so fell back on old Mark. Paddy loves a job, you know. So I've the votes and the fishing, and send him his rents, and manage all the rest pretty much my own way."

When the name of Lavington was mentioned, Mark observed Stangrave start; and an expression passed over his face difficult to be defined-it seemed to Mark mingled pride and shame. He turned to Claude, and said, in a low voice, but loud enough for Mark to hear,—

Lavington? Is this their country also? As I am going to visit the graves of my ancestors, I suppose I ought to visit those of hers."

Mark caught the words which he was not intended to. "Eh? Sir, do you belong to these parts?"

"My family, I believe, lived in the neighbourhood of Whit bury, at a place called Stangrave-end."

66 To be sure! Old farm-house now; fine old oak carving in it, though; fine old family it must have been; church full of their monuments. Hum,-ha! Well! that's pleasant, now! I've often heard there were good old families away there in New England; never thought that there were Whitbury people among them. Hum-well! the world's not so big as people think, after all. And you spoke of the Lavingtons? They are great folks here or were "-He was going to rattle on: but he saw a pained expression on both the travellers' faces, and Stangrave stopped him, somewhat drily

"I know nothing of them, I assure you, or they of me. Your country here is certainly charming, and shows little of those signs of decay which some people in America impute to it."

Decay!" Mark went off at score. "Decay be hanged! There's life in the old dog yet, Sir! and dead pigs are looking up since free trade and emigration. Cheap bread and high wages now; and instead of lands going out of cultivation, as they threatened-bosh! there's a greater breadth down in wheat in the vale now than there ever was; and look at the roots. Farmers must farm now, or sink; and, by George! they are farming, like sensible fellows; and a fig for that old turnip ghost of Protection ! There was a fellow came down from the Carlton-you know what that is?" Stangrave bowed, and smiled assent. "From the Carlton, Sir, two years since, and tried it on, till he fell in with old Mark. I told him a thing or two; among the rest, told him to his face that he was a liar; for he wanted to make farmers believe they were ruined, when he knew they were not; and that he'd get 'em back Protection, when he knew that he couldn't—and, what's more, he didn't mean to. So he cut up rough, and wanted to call me out."

"Did you go?" asked Stangrave, who was fast becoming amused with his man.

"I told him that that wasn't my line, unless he'd try Eley's greens at forty yards; and then I was his man: but if he laid a finger on me, I'd give him as sound a horsewhipping, old as I am, as ever man had in his life. And so I would." And Mark looked complacently at his own broad shoulders. "And since then, my lord and I have had it all our own way; and Minchampstead & Co. is the only firm in the vale."

"What's become of a Lord Vieuxbois, who used to live somewhere hereabouts? I used to meet him at Rome."

"Rome?" said Mark solemnly. (6 Yes; he was too fond of Rome, awhile back': can't see what people want running into foreign parts to look at those poor idolators, and their Punch and Judy plays. Pray for 'em, and keep clear of them, is the best rule-but he has married my lord's youngest daughter; and three pretty children he has,-ducks of children. Always comes to see me in my shop, when he drives into town. Oh!he's doing pretty well.-One of these new between-the-stools, Peelites they call them-hope they'll be as good as the name. However, he's a free-trader, because he can't help it. So we have his votes; and as to his Conservatism, let him conserve hips and haws if he chooses, like a 'pothecary. After all, why pull down anything, before it's tumbling on your head? By the bye, Sir, as you're a man of money, there's that Stangraveend farm in the market now. Pretty little investment,-I'd see that you got it cheap; and my lord wouldn't bid against you, of course, as you're a liberal-all Americans are, I suppose

And so you'd oblige us, as well as yourself, for it would give us another vote for the county."

66

Upon my word, you tempt me; but I do not think that this is just the moment for an American to desert his own country, and settle in England. I should not be here now, had I not this autumn done all I could for America in America, and so crossed the sca, to serve her, if possible, in England." "Well, perhaps not; especially if you're a Frémonter." "I am, I assure you.'

Thought as much, by your looks. Don't see what else an honest man can be just now."

Stangrave laughed. "I hope every one thinks so in England." "Trust us for that, Sir! We know a man when we see him here; I hope they'll do the same across the water."

There was silence for a minute or two; and then Mark began again.

"Look !—there's the farm; that's my lord's. I should like to show you the short-horns there, Sir!—all my Lord Ducie's and Sir Edward Knightley's stock; bought a bull-calf of him the other day myself for a cool hundred, old fool that I am. Never mind, spreads the breed. And here are mills-four pair of new stones. Old Whit don't know herself again. But I dare say they look small enough to you, Sir, after your American water-power."

"What of that? It is just as honourable in you to make the most of a small river, as in us to make the most of a large

one.

"You speak like a book, Sir. By the bye, if you think of taking home a calf or two, to improve your New England breed -there are a good many gone across the sea in the last few years-I think we could find you three or four beauties, not so very dear, considering the blood."

"Thanks; but I really am no farmer."

"Well-no offence, I hope: but I am like your Yankees in one thing, you see;-always have an eye to a bit of business. If I didn't, I shouldn't be here now."

"How very tasteful!-our own American shrubs! what a pity that they are not in flower! What is this," asked Stangrave,- one of your noblemen's parks ?"

And they began to run through the cutting in Minchampstead Park, where the owner has concealed the banks of the rail for nearly half a mile, in a thicket of azaleas, rhododendrons, and clambering roses.

"Ah!-isn't it pretty? His lordship let us have the land for a song; only bargained that we should keep low, not to spoil his view; and so we did; and he's planted our cutting for us.

I call that a present to the county, and a very pretty one too! Ah, give me these new brooms that sweep clean ?"

"Your old brooms, like Lord Vieuxbois, were new brooms once, and swept well enough five hundred years ago," said Stangrave, who had that filial reverence for English antiquity which sits so gracefully upon many highly educated and far-sighted Americans.

"Worn to the stumps, now, too many of them, Sir; and want new-hething, as our broom-squires would say; and I doubt whether most of them are worth the cost of a fresh bind. Not that I can say that of the young lord. He's foremost in all that's good, if he had but money; and when he hasn't, he gives brains. Gave a lecture, in our institute at Whitford, last winter, on the four great Poets. Shot over my head a little, and other people's too but my Mary-my daughter, Sir, thought it beautiful; and there's nothing that she don't know."

"It is very hopeful, to see your aristocracy joining in the general movement, and bringing their taste and knowledge to bear on the lower classes."

'Yes, Sir! We're going all right now, in the old country. Only have to steer straight, and not put on too much steam. But give me the new-comers, after all. They may be close men of business;-how else could one live? But when it comes to giving, I'll back them against the old ones for generosity, or taste either. They've their proper pride, when they get hold of the land; and they like to show it, and quite right they. You must see my little place too. It's not in such bad order, though I say it, and am but a country banker: but I'll back my flowers against half the squires round—my Mary's, that is—and my fruit, too. See, there! There's my lord's new schools, and his model cottages, with more comforts in them, saving the size, than my father's house had; and there's his barrack, as he calls it, for the unmarried men-reading-room, and dining-room, in common; and a library of books, and a sleeping-room for each."

"It seems strange to complain of prosperity," said Stangrave; "but I sometimes regret that in America there is so little room for the very highest virtues; all are so well off, that one never needs to give; and what a man does here for others, they do for themselves."

"So much the better for them. There are other ways of being generous besides putting your hand in your pocket, Sir! By Jove! there'll be room enough (if you'll excuse me) for an American to do fine things, as long as those poor negro slaves

,,

"I know it; I know it," said Stangrave, in the tone of a man who had already made up his mind on a painful subject, and wished to hear no more of it. "You will excuse me; but I am

come here to learn what I can of England. Of my own country I know enough, I trust, to do my duty in it when I return."

Mark was silent, seeing that he had touched a tender place; and pointed out one object of interest after another, as they ran through the flat park, past the great house with its Doric façade, which the eighteenth century had raised above the quiet cell of the Minchampstead recluses.

"It is very ugly," said Stangrave; and truly.

"Comfortable enough, though, and, as somebody said, people live inside their houses, and not outside 'em. You should see the pictures there, though, while you're in the country. I can show you one or two, too, I hope. Never grudge money for good pictures. The pleasantest furniture in the world, as long as you keep them; and if you're tired of them, always fetch double their price."

After Minchampstead, the rail leaves the sands and clays, and turns up between the chalk hills, along the barge river, which it has rendered useless, save as a supernumerary trout-stream; and then along Whit, now flowing clearer and clearer, as we approach its springs amid the lofty downs. On through more water-meadows, and rows of pollard willow, and peat-pits crested with tall golden reeds, and still dykes, each in summer a floating flower-bed; while Stangrave looks out of the window, his face lighting up with curiosity.

"How perfectly English! At least, how perfectly un-American! It is just Tennyson's beautiful dream

'On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

Which clothe the wold and meet the sky,

And through the field the stream runs by,
To many-towered Camelot.'

"Why, what is this?" as they stop again at a station, where the board bears, in large letters, "Shalott."

"Shalott?

Where are the

Four grey walls, and four grey towers,'

which overlook a space of flowers ?"

There, upon the little island, are the castle-ruins, now converted into a useful bone-mill. "And the lady ?-is that she ?" It was only the miller's daughter, fresh from a boarding-school, gardening in a broad straw-hat.

"At least," said Claude, "she is tending far prettier flowers than ever the lady saw; while the lady herself, instead of weaving and dreaming, is reading Miss Yonge's novels, and becoming all the wiser thereby, and teaching poor children in Hemmelford National School."