ing you would, that I declare I couldn't. Why, when I was young, if any one had held on me like that I'd have boxed his ears before them all, and served him right too. See how nicely we used to cross hands and down the middle and up again, with poussette at the four corners, quite seemly like, not polking and galloping like so many colts in a field! I should like to have seen the man who'd have dared to put his arm round my waist!" And the old lady struck her arms akimbo, resting her fingers on each side of a ceinture capacious enough to have required not only temerity, but more than common length of limb to encircle it.

"Angy is a very merry, nice girl, mother-not one of those prudes who are afraid to spend sixpence on themselves, and haven't the spirit to go to a ball for fear of making father angry.' She's had a good education, too, and can talk about things one does not hear of every day. I promised I'd go this morning and hear her play on the piano that Farmer Sprinks had home for her at Christmas."

"Play on the pianny!" said Mrs. Maxwell; "she'd a deal better use her arms and fingers at the dairy-churn. I tell you what it is, Phil; I hope you're not going to have a fit of the tenders for Miss Angy. I've no mind to have a pianny-playing, polkadancing, would-be lady for my daughter, dizzened out with flounces and flowers, and her head full of nonsense that she gets out of those yellow and green books she reads instead of her Bible and honest John Bunyan. Why, when I went to speak to Mrs. Sprinks the other day about that Herefordshire cow I thought of taking in exchange for my Alderney calf, what should I see on Angy's table but a lot of cambric flowers and lace, and a book lying open, with a long story called 'Can Wrong be Right?' in it, as if one wanted a book printed to answer that! No, no, Phil, don't you take up with Angy; she won't suit us old-fashioned people, nor you neither, when you come to your right senses."

Evidently, Philip had not yet reached this happy state; for, without waiting to reply to his mother's unfavourable opinion of the damsel, who was just now the object of his admiration, he betook himself to Farmer Sprinks's, where, as Mrs. Maxwell would have predicted, he found Angy deeply interested in the trials of Some imaginary heroine, and caring little for the domestic troubles of her mother, a clean, bustling, peevish woman, with a numerous family and a large household, whose short-comings were to her a constant source of fretful worry, and who would have fairly worn herself out with vexation had she not been blessed with the most easy and good-tempered of husbands. The calm, patient way which John Sprinks listened to his wife's long list of annoyances soothed the poor woman like oil upon the troubled waters, and often restored peace between her and her dependents when the violence of the outbreak rendered the hope of this least probable.

This morning civil war seemed inevitable. Mrs. Sprinks had found the dairy door unlocked, and a couple of strange cats feasting on her best pans of cream; her garden, carefully separated by a thick yew-hedge and a gate from the farm-yard, had been entered by the pigs during the night in consequence of the gates having been left open; and the beds, which had been thickly planted with snowdrop and crocus-bulbs, promising a rich show of gold, white, and purple flowers in the spring, lay covered with the remnants of the roots which these marauders had scratched up and partially devoured. The men and maidens in Mrs. Sprinks's service, taking advantage of the squire's ball, which had withdrawn from them the wonted surveillance of their active mistress, had united in giving so jovial a welcome to the New Year that gates and locks were all forgotten in the enjoyment of the creaming spiced ale and hot cakes, the jokes and laughter with which they kept its vigil.

"A happy new year, indeed! Not much chance of my having a happy new, nor a happy old year neither; and it's not many of one or the other I shall live to see if I'm worried out of my life in this way! To think of that lazy Phoebe letting those two nasty cats into the dairy, and my losing all the cream from my best Alderney! It's all very well for you, John Sprinks, to smile, and say she'll yield as much to-morrow, and that Phoebe may be let to start fair this morning, and have all her last year's faults forgiven; I should like to know what is to become of us if we shut our mouths, like you, when things go wrong, and leave the boys and girls unscolded whatever mishaps they bring upon us by their carelessness!"

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Quite true, Susan-quite true," said the pacificator; "no one knows better than I do how lucky we all are in having you to keep things right and straight. I was only just thinking, old woman, that as this is New Year's-day, and as God has blessed us with so much health and plenty that the loss of a little cream matters not to us, why, I thought we would not be too hard on the lads and lasses, because, when we were enjoying ourselves at the squire's, they were merry, and perhaps careless, at home. I dare say Tom and Phoebe have been quite punished enough by the fright they have had at seeing the mischief they have caused by their forgetfulness."

"Well, Phoebe did cry and say she was very sorry, and I see Tom has been raking up the beds and doing what he could with the snowdrops, so I suppose I must forgive them," said Mrs. Sprinks. "I always feel better when I have had my say out with you, John, though you do almost always turn me round quite to the other side of the point from which I started. It's a pity they can't send you out to America, John," she added, laughing; "I do believe you'd bring those Federals and what-d'ye-call-ums

those fighting states-to a better understanding, if they would but listen to you."

Mr. Sprinks's reply to his wife's exalted idea of his powers of persuasion was prevented by the entrance of Philip Maxwell, who received a hearty welcome from the worthy pair, while Miss Angelina endeavoured to show the advantages of her superior education by an amusing assumption of dignity and indifference, which failed, however, in concealing the pleasure she felt at this early visit of the handsome young farmer. Philip's roving fancy was quite caught by the airs and graces of the pretty smartly-dressed maiden and by the accomplishments, which, however imperfectly possessed by Angy, appeared to him, in their novelty, worthy of equal surprise and admiration. With no little disquiet did old Mrs. Maxwell, as the year went on, perceive how many mornings Philip spent at Farmer Sprinks's.

“As sure as I'm alive, George," she said to her husband, "that young parrot Angy, with her gay feathers and her smart witless sayings, will catch our silly son if you don't take care. Why, ever since New Year's-eve, Philip has been dilly-dallying at Farmer Sprinks's, listening to Angy's pianny-thumping, and gaping at her outlandish French words and songs like a great gudgeon, and she'll hook him before long. A pretty sort of a wife she will be for a farmer! I don't believe she knows the difference between a crow and a pigeon, and as to making butter, or looking after poultry, I'd sooner trust our little Lizzie to do either, though she is but six years old. Bless her little heart, she does run after me so when I go into the dairy, and there's not an old hen in the yard that does not cluck with pleasure when it sees Lizzie's little feet toddling about amongst the chickens." And Mrs. Maxwell fairly forgot the vexatious subject of her son's fancy for Angelina in the fond pride with which she caressed her youngest darling Lizzie.

It did, indeed, seem as if the blandishments of Angelina had succeeded in fixing the affections of Philip. Day after day he idled away at her side; Bessie was, for the time at least, forgotten; and if occasionally, on his way to Farmer Sprinks's, he met the little maiden, her sweet face glowing with health and good humour, with her well-filled basket of eggs and poultry, on her way to market-or if, on a Sunday, he saw her carefully leading her old grandmother to church, and, with a sidelong glance, observed her earnest and devout attention in the house of God, contrasting, as it did, with Angelina's anxiety, even there, to have her gay clothing remarked and admired-still Philip tried not to confess even to himself how much more fit Bessie was than Angy for a farmer's wife, and how far prettier and more modest she looked than her rival. There seemed, therefore, every prospect that Mrs. Maxwell's fears would be realised, when an invitation from an aunt in London, that Angelina would spend a month with

her, was so eagerly accepted that Philip's eyes began to open to the fact that, however serious were his intentions, those of the young lady had been but to amuse herself by permitting him to occupy the time which often hung heavily on her hands.

"And will you really stay away a whole month, Angy?” said Philip, a few evenings before the day fixed for her departure. "What shall I do when you are gone? I did not think you would have been so pleased to leave me. I am afraid you will quite forget me among all the gay people and doings in London."

“Oh, no, I don't suppose I shall forget you, Mr. Maxwell," said Angy-she had often called him "Philip" before. "I shall be glad to see you when I come back-if I do come back," she added; "but it is a mercy to get away from this dull place. I shall coax my aunt to take me to all sorts of things, and to keep me as long as she can in London. Is there anything I can do for you while I am there, Mr. Maxwell?"

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Nothing, thank you," said poor Philip, taking the hand she held out to him as she rose to leave the room, and hoping that she might return the slight pressure he ventured to give it "nothing, thank you," he repeated, as the maiden quickly withdrew it. "I hope you will enjoy your visit, Miss Angelina, as much as you expect. A mercy to get away from this dull place!" said Philip to himself, as he walked home. "What, a fool I have been, dangling after this girl, and fancying that she cared for me, when all she thinks of is herself and her silly vanities. After all, Bessie Leigh was quite right when she said balls and such things were no good to girls like her. What an uncommon fool I have been! To think that a young lady, with her French and her piano, her silks and her flowers, would ever settle down into a farmer's wife like mother, or look after poultry, and take an interest in such things as well, I must say it-as Bessie does!" And Philip switched off the heads of sundry primroses that were peeping up beneath the hedge-row, as if the destruction of these pretty harbingers of spring acted as a safety-valve for the hot, angry feelings that were boiling

within him.

March and April passed, and May was swiftly gliding into June, but still Angy remained in London. For a week or two after her departure she occasionally mentioned Philip's name in her letters to her mother, who duly reported this fact to one whom she would willingly have accepted as her son-in-law; but soon the charms of London drove all recollection of Philip's admiration, and any wish she might have had to retain it, from Angy's mind, while he, too, freed from the fascinations of her presence, became more and more aware of how much he had erred in forsaking Bessie, and in trying to attach to himself so vain and thoughtless a maiden as Ange lina. Very gladly now would Philip have brought matters again to the position in which they were at Christmas between Bessie

and himself; but the little damsel seemed determined to give him no chance of restoring this happy state of things. Ever busy, ever gay and bright, she had a cheerful word for all, and was the very light of her father's home, the joy and darling of her old grandmother, whose strong good sense and kindly sympathy had done much towards restoring peace in Bessie's heart, and in bringing back the smiles that Philip's desertion had, for a time, driven from her rosy lips.

"So that was what made you blush, and almost cry, when Jim joked about the mistletoe, was it, Bessie?" the old lady had said, as she caressingly stroked the fair head of her grandchild, who, after telling all her sorrows, had buried her face on the knee of her patient listener. "Well, child, I cannot blame you for grieving; it would have been a grand match for my little girl, and from all I have seen and heard of Mr. Maxwell, he is a steady, good son, and is likely to make a steady, good husband; the more's the pity he should throw himself away upon Miss Angelina. But you did right, Bessie, and, whatever comes of it, there is nothing like the comfort of knowing this-so cheer up, lass, keep in the straight path, and chance if you don't meet some one there every bit as good as Mr. Maxwell; or, if you don't, you will find something better, for you will have that peace which passeth understanding, which God gives to all His poor creatures who strive to keep a clear conscience and an honest heart before Him."

So Bessie "cheered up," and soon again her sweet voice sang as merrily as the birds above her, and her blithe smile and rosy cheeks showed that she encouraged no love-sick fancies in her heart to worry others, or to fret away her own happiness. Bessie had grown prosperous, too; many a callow brood had her ducks and hens reared for her this spring, and of so good a quality was her merchandise that her basket of eggs was generally emptied before it reached the market, and her coops were greatly lightened of their cackling inmates by those who, on her way there, were glad to become the purchasers of her well-fed poultry. Within the last few weeks she had started a donkey-cart, much to the delight of her younger brothers and sisters, and more especially to the gratification of Harry, the greatest plague, and yet, perhaps, the greatest favourite of the family. Full of fun and frolic, as active as a squirrel and as mischievous as a monkey, he was continually getting into scrapes, and as often escaping the punishment due to them by his irresistible drollery and the good humour with which he received the reprimands that were justly bestowed upon him. When little Mary's doll was brought from the fair, and Harryto see whether the bran with which it was stuffed was fit food for his rabbits, and to ascertain, also, how the pulling of a wire in the middle of its back could make the doll open and shut its great blue eyes-made an incision in the cotton skin of her new darling,