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room, made it nearly triangular, and very much diminished it in size. Such chimneys were common at that time. Like most of the sort, Torney noticed, that this one, at a height just out of the reach of ordinary mortals, was lessened in size somewhat, so as to form a sort of mantel, or shelf. A little above, and on either side of the deep, wolf's-den-looking fire-place were nooks, or niches, which genorally served the purpose of cup-boards; or were used as the receptacles of whatever the farmers' wives of those old days wished to preserve with especial care. This room had but one window; a little high window in the side opposite the chimney: but on the present occasion it was lighted up by the blazing fire. Under the little narrow window, stood the locked side-board, from which Burnot had taken the decanter and drinking utensils; a folding table sat beyond this; and in one corner a tall, smallwaisted, eight-day clock; while a few high, straight-backed, old-fashioned, splitbottomed chairs were ranged around.

Torrey had no more time than sufficed to notice these architectural and domestic arrangements before Burnot returned.

He had previously ordered a servant boy to kindle a fire in the larger, adjoining room, through which they had passed in coming to this one, and he now invited his guest to remove thither. This was a commodious, and for the period very well furnished apartment, with a deal of carved work about the wainscoat, and walls, and mantel. Upon this last were a couple of gilt vases, filled with artificial flowers; while above it hung several well finished miniature portraits, in heavy gilded frames. On either side of the fire-place were ranged settees, or lounges, and two or three large mahogany chairs with cushioned seats; while a number of lighter Windsor chairs were sitting around, with scooped, and carved backs. Rich, heavy-looking curtains of white dimity, with deep fringes, hung from the windows. A highly polished side table sat under one of these, garnished with a few books; while under another, was a spinet, or manichord.

Among other ornaments of the room,

there hung on one side of the mantel, a huge, but richly mounted trooper's sword: and to match this, on the other side, were the enormous antlers of a deer. During the evening, Burnot told the history of a perilous adventure of his own, in his younger years, with the animal to which these last had once pertained; and spoke of the sword, on which Torrey's eye rested with some curiosity on account of the rich causing of its hilt, as having belonged to the late Major Enderby.

The rattling of platter in the adjoining room had for some time indicated preparations for the evening meal; and the servant boy, Ephraim, at length opening the door that led thither, announced that it was ready to be served. With a rough hospitality, Burnot pressed food upon his guest. It is enough to say that Torrey did ample justice to the viands placed before him: which were such as no hungry traveller would have turned away from; cold ham, broiled ham and eggs; a smoking dish of savory beefsteak, and another of broiled fowl.

Soon after the conclusion of this meal, Burnot remarked that he always kept early hours; and called Ephraim to show Mr. Torrey to his bed room. This proved to be a shed-room, small in dimensions, but comfortable and well furnished.

"Better this than a night in the wood," said Torrey, as he sought the comfortable bed prepared for him; the sheets of which were perfumed with the leaves of the damask rose, after the fashion of the time. He soon sank into a pleasant and refreshing slumber.

CHAPTER V.

the east, down the valley of the streamlet, the course of which was clearly defined, in all its meanders and windings, by a light fog which arose from and hovered over its waters. By looking to the right Torrey saw the eminence on which he had last evening paused. There was the heap of stones upon which he had mounted, clearly defined against the sky. He might have gazed long upon this morning scene with pleasure, but for the dazzling rays of the sun.

His little bed room though neat and comfortable, was adorned with but little furniture. Besides the bed, there were but a pair of chairs, a wash stand, and a dressing table upon which lay a Bible, and a volume of the "Lounger." On the fly leaf of this last was written the name "Lilias Enderby." Torrey was examining this volume, such an one as he had scarcely thought to find in Burnot's house; when a half scream greeted his ear, followed instantly by a clear, silvery, ringing laugh, which seemed to proceed from almost just beneath his window.

Slightly pushing aside the curtain, which he had before drawn back to its place to exclude the sunbeams, he saw a negro woman, who had evidently fallen, raising herself with a tub which she held in her hands; while nearer to him, and in full view, with her long brown hair swinging down to her waist, her snowy neck and fair arms bare, and a merry smile still beaming on her face, as she tripped lightly along from one of the offices, was a lovely young girl. It was but for a moment that he saw her, ere she turned the corner and passed from his sight; but she had burst upon him, a vision of loveliness, such as he never beheld before. The sight of her surprised him inexpressibly. It was little that he had dreamed of seeing such a creature here. And though thus seen with disheveled hair and dress, out in the morning air, she had nevertheless seemed to him no buxom lass of the dairy maid order; but was evidently delicately formed; was as graceful as a sylph; and had tripped by as lightly as a fairy.

Torrey had not yet recovered from the surprise which the sight of so unexpected VOL. XXIII-9

an apparition had occasioned, when Ephraim entered, bearing a waiter with a glass of toddy, garnished with a sprig of rosemary.

"Here's you bitters, sir," as he placed the waiter upon the table, "and breakfast will be ready in few minutes."

As he was leaving, Torrey asked: "Who is the young lady I saw in the yard just now?”

Young lady?-Miss Lilias, sir." "Miss Lilias-Lilias Enderby?" looking to the fly leaf of the Lounger, which he held in his hand.

"Sir? No, sir. Miss Lilias Burnot." Burnot! The name was a shock to the romantic fancies with which he had already begun to invest this morning fairy, by calling to mind his gruff host. Was it possible such a creature could be Burnot's daughter!

"Pshaw!" he muttered as in vexation he turned to the toddy, stirred it with the bitter sprig, and commenced sipping it, though ordinarily no tippler of morning drams. "Pshaw! I have been surprised into fancying some gawky, ordinary girl a very angel."

He was soon invited into breakfast. His host was standing at the side-board when he entered. He said at once:

"Good morning, Mr. Torrey! Glass of grog, sir, before breakfast?" Torry declined. He observed that as at supper, the night before, places were set for only two. Burnot with earnest hospitality pressed him to eat; setting him at the same time a good example. He appeared more friendly and communicative this morning; and when Torrey having asked for his horse, was about to take leave, gave him very succinct directions as to the way to Mr. Estin's residence; which was still, he said, between fifteen and twenty miles distant.

Upon taking leave, Torrey thought it not improper to offer some remuneration for his hospitality. The offer was gruffly declined and Torrey was giving him, as he stood at the door, thanks for his kindness, as he refused any other requital; when he caught sight once again of the fair Lilias; as she for a moment looked from the window of the breakfast room.

When he saw her she instantly withdrew.

He found in charge of his horse at the gate, Ephraim, whom he rewarded for his services: and in whose hands, too, he left a gratuity for the hostler, Isham; who had welcomed him so eagerly on the preceding evening; and who, as he perceived at a glance, had not neglected his duties to his steed.

Ephraim's polite attentions were increased; and he ran forward some fifty yards to open a gate through which Torrey's road lay.

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Is your mistress living ?" asked Torrey, as Ephraim laid aside several bars, by which the latchless gate was fastened. "Who, sir?"

"Mr. Burnot's wife."

"Marce David aint got no wife, sir. He aint never had none."

"What? Is not Miss Lilias his daughter ?"

"No, sir. She his niece; Marce Henry's daughter."

"Does he live here ?"

"Who, sir? Marce Henry? No, sir. He's dead."

"Ah! and her mother; is she alive?" "No, sir. She dead too."

Torrey was by this time through the gate; and bidding Ephraim farewell, he gave his horse the rein. He found his way to his friend's, without much further difficulty; but met with a disappoinment upon his arrival, however, as none of the Estins were at home. He learned from the servants, that they expected to be absent for a week longer. He had previously purposed, after a visit here, to go on to see his cousin Edward Landon, who lived at no very great distance; and he now determined to do so at once, and to return to Mr. Estin's afterwards.

It is not necessary to follow him in this visit. When he came again to Mr. Estin's, after rather more than a week, having exerted his best efforts in vain to persuade his cousin to accompany him: he met with a renewed disappointment. The Estins were still absent.

As he now turned him homeward, some remembrance arose before him of the fair Lilias Burnot. She had, indeed

occupied his thoughts very frequently since he had seen her: but if the truth be told, his pretty cousin, Helen Landon, had for the last few days pretty effectually monopolized his fanciful moments, and driven Lilias from his memory.

The day was disagreeable, cloudy and threatening; with a strong, damp, chilly wind from the north east. Moreover, it was considerably advanced. As Torrey rode along he begun to weigh the question, whether or not the weather might furnish him with an excuse for going once more to Burnot's. Seriously, there was no possibility of his reaching home. Could he with propriety test again Mr. Burnot's hospitality? Suddenly, at a turn of the road he saw a horseman enter it from the wood, a little in advance of him. In a moment he was certain that this was no other than Burnot, himself.

Torrey made haste to overtake him. Somewhat to his surprise, Burnot appeared to be quite pleased to see him again; and invited him instantly, and in a friendly manner, to spend the night with him; saying that it would be out of reason for him to hope to reach home; that it was like to be an ugly night; would be dark as pitch. Torrey, as may be supposed, very readily accepted his invitation, for it was growing late, and the damp was thickening into a mist when the two entered upon the broad, open land in sight of Burnot's dwelling. Isham, who met them at the gate, ready to take charge of their horses, could not restrain a smile as he recognized Torrey.

Burnot was rough in his manners: this was natural to him: but he appeared disposed to be quite friendly and attentive. A repast was hastily prepared at his order, at which both did justice to themselves; after which they adjourned as formerly, to the larger room, where they spent some time in conversation. Burnot made some renewed inquiries relative to Torrey's grandfather. He asked, too, about the Estins, and the Landons, and other families with whom Torrey was acquainted. Except in such inquiries, and in some general remarks as to the weather, crops, etc., there was