labours we by no means undervalue. Had these volumes been published half a century earlier, the "Waverley Novels" would in all probability have been enlarged by a couple of excellent stories.

The compiler bestows very few remarks of any kind on his readers. He gives short explanations of difficult passages, acknowledges his inability to throw light upon others, and lets the letter, or bill, or memorandum, for the most part, tell its own tale. He never suggests where his audience should laugh, or where start back in horror, or raise their hands in indignation. He occasionally indulges in a bit of dry humour, but more often produces his curious and startling pieces of information without a vestige of a comment. If every district in the British Islands

If

were blessed with a collector combining the ability and patient research of Captain Dunbar, our literature would speedily be enriched by a treasure of authentic county chronicles and records of distinguished families, throwing true and interesting lights also upon archæology. with access to such papers a writer of history or of historic romance failed to make his narrative correspond in colour and detail with the era selected, the history of the great families, the character of the people, their modes of life, and the commercial or political condition of the locality, the fault would be without excuse.

The work, we must add, is produced in the unexceptionable style of elegance which distinguishes books published by Messrs. Edmonston and Douglas.

SIR Hugh Darrell stood once again on the stone terrace at Darrell, with his son, looking out over the fields, and away towards the Dower-house. His dream, his hope was well nigh fulfilled now.

And later in the evening, when dinner was over, when my lady sat waiting for him in the drawing-room, old Sir Hugh sat over his wine with Henry. Now but one day had elapsed since Henry Darrell had asked Ethel Haller to be his wife, and yet to him it seemed an age of time. There was a trouble lying heavy on his heart, a secret perplexing him.

I am not one of those people who believe in the new sensational world of secrets, where men and women, quite complacently, cut other men's and women's throats, and bury them in wells or coal-holes, and never feel a bit the worse. I am unromantic, I suppose; but I really cannot credit such things. And yet I do not deny that there are many people who have

secrets in their lives; very romantic, sorrowful secrets sometimes; but then, reader, believe me these are the exceptional cases. There is a man who had married two wives; well, I say very likely we read of such cases in the papers every day. But when do we read of a first wife suffering the second to reign undisturbed? Never, unless indeed in novels; but then I suppose it is necessary to keep up the interest of the story, that one wife should be ever on the tapis, ready to step forward and declare herself, and oust the injured innocent one. And this is the novelist's tale of life; and what do the men and women who read the tale say? They open their eyes and devour the book, and advise their friends to read it, and all because it is something new! When will the world tire of new things, I wonder? never, I believe. But although I do not believe in sensation secrets, yet I do believe in those dark corners which lie in many men's hearts, in the sorrows which are hid

den away there; small secrets-a rash act, a few rash words, which have turned the currents of their lives, and made them miserable.

which made him uneasy. After all, what was the opinion of one man in such a case, and yet that one clever opinion had cost him a whole pocketful of money. He must have other advice. The best in the land; so conclusive that the fear of ever standing convicted before a judge of a terrible crime, could never haunt him. But how was all this to be accomplished without money; such a pile of money that his heart misgave him as he thought over it. But some way must be found, for he would not give up that dream of a new good life all in a minute; he could not fall back again on his old haunting terrors; if only those London wiseheads would hold consultation, and pronounce him free; then adieu to all such terrors, farewell for ever to that fond injured woman who had loved him so passionately, who still loved him so changelessly; there came no pity into his heart, only bitterness; this was some of the ruin and shipwrecked love over which he had to pass. Money he wanted, gold! gold! The key to which all locks open nowa-days; and gold he must have. And before him lay but one way; he must tell his idolizing, indulgent father, he must work upon Sir Hugh's ambition and love, and so be freed from his chains. On this autumn evening he told that secret to his father after dinner, sitting over their wine.

And Henry Darrell had one such passage in his life; but I am not going to tantalize your curiosity, my reader. The men and women who lived around this inan knew nothing of that past story in his life, their curiosity was not piqued, and why should yours be? Mr. Darrell had not poisoned his grandmother, or murdered his wife; there was no stain of blood on his name; he had long ago, very long ago, been foolish, carried away by passion, by a selfish love, he had married a poor peasant girl far away in Italy. But he was not a man strong in love, he tired of his passion very soon, and then came the reaction, the remorse, the shame. The only son of a proud noble house, the heir to broad lands, his father's idol and hope; was it not natural that knowing all this, the man concealed that passage in his life, and felt ashamed of it? He told no one, but he left that far away foreign town, he came and lived a solitary life at Darrell, embittered with life, weary of the pleasures and excitements with no hope for the future. He had long ere this repented of his fully, and being an unscrupulous bad man, he had determined if possible to break the bonds which bound him to that peasant woman in Italy. He had not recourse to a dagger or prussic acid; he had went about it in a more diplomatic sensible way. He wrote to a great London lawyer, and bade him search, and pick a hole in that foreign marriage, find some weak place. A little mistake the big wig did discover, and in a couple of months he wrote, saying that Mr. Darrell might make himself easy, for that the foreign marriage was no marriage at all, only a mock ceremony, and that the Italian woman was no lawful wife. All this had happened more than a year ago, and still Mr. Darrell felt uneasy." In the exultation at finding himself once again free, he had made a hundred bright plans for the future; he had dreamt all those Arcadian dreams in which Ethel was mingled. Holding himself as free to marry anyone he had two days ago asked her to be his wife, but on this third morning he had got a letter

It was not a pleasant discovery for Sir Hugh to find that his only son, the future baronet, the man whom he had hoped was to retrieve all the fallen fortunes of the Darrells, by marrying a young lady who brought back with her all the goodly land which had passed away from their hands; that he was already married to a poor peasant woman; it was a blow to Sir Hugh. He had had such splendid hopes for this son of his, who had begun to settle down so early in life, who was so unlike the reckless generations of Darrells who were gone. The old man was stunned, terrified; it seemed the last blow, the breaking up, the ruin; for should his son be unable to prove his marriage false, then where was his hope? The old place, the house, the title, everything would pass away to a younger branch of the family; Victor's son, and son's son, and so on, for ever. And I am afraid this am

bitious old man thought more in these days of lands and titles than of the death of a soul. He was not a good man; he had lived much of his life badly, and looking back there was much sin, much evil, and wrong, but there was no such thing as this; he was proud, and his pride would never have allowed him to stoop so low. But Henry was as different from his father as two men can well be; selfish and cunning, with none of the openhanded recklessness of his father, he was far-seeing and stern, he turned not aside for slight things when once set on an object; he was a coldhearted, cruel man, wanting the pride and gentlemanlike uprightness which veiled so much of Sir Hugh's weakness and want of purpose. Henry Darrell was a firm, strongwilled man, and had he with this combined an honest heart he might have been a truly good man; but as it is the little flaw, the corrupt place in the fruit, that eats and knaws to the core and spoils the whole, so will one overruling passion corrupt the whole man and fill his heart with evil. Henry Darrell was selfish-so thoroughly selfish that he had no room for other passions; he lived his life entirely for himself, planning and hoping for himself, careless of others. Not so Sir Hugh. It is good for every man to have an object in his life, something to live for, some one dear to them whom they are ever putting before themselves in everything, for whom they deny themselves, giving up the best of everything and this object is good for men, for it kills the selfishness and wakens the generosity in their hearts; it softens their natures, and makes them kindlier. In many things Sir Hugh was a changeable, fickle man, riding hobbies, having new schemes, but for long years he had always been faithful to his love for his son; he had dealt liberally with him, making him a handsome allowance, paying debts, too, when they came before him, forgiving them, and even forgetting them, because in his mind's eye he had before him the hope of a time to come, when great things should be accomplished through this same son. Where were his hopes now? All in a chance. But Henry kept reassuring him.

"It only wants money," he said, "to bring it all right. We only want to be assured of what we know already; money will do it."

Money! money!-the waste of which had well nigh brought ruin on this old house and place. Money!for the which Sir Hugh had married a shopkeeping wife, sacrificing himself. Money!-which the rich waste, and the poor die for the want of. Of course it must be raised somehow. This consultation of lawyers and bigwigs must be had. What mattered the money, if only after it all his hope could be attained-his son married to rich John Haller's niece!

That night Sir Hugh Darrell and his son sat late in the library writing letters. Sir Hugh's face had grown old with care. The old man had taken the burthen off this young man's shoulders.

"And how about Miss Haller?" Sir Hugh asked, looking across the table, and speaking suddenly.

"I am engaged to her, you know, sir; we must wait that is all."

Then Sir Hugh flushed a little. He was a gentleman at heart; weak and vacillating though he was, he was yet an honourable man, and he felt that it was not an honourable way of treating any girl.

"It is a very awkward position," he said, thoughtfully; "and in the end how if it does not come right ?"

"It must come right-I know so much that will bring it right-if these fellows put their heads together; and men will do anything for money."

But how if they give it against

you?"

"They cannot; but even if they did, it would be time enough then to break off with her; I could not do it now."

Sir Hugh leant his head upon his hands; he spoke no more words; he sat thinking it was hard on the girlvery hard; he did not know how he could ever look her in the face, knowing how dishonestly his son had acted towards her. But he saw no way, he clung to that hope of his with such shipwrecking despair; and yet there was the chance money could bring everything right, his son had told him, and the money must be raised somehow.

They sat late into the night those two, planning, scheming. My lady

had a lonely evening in her faded drawingroom; of course she will never be told that secret. She knows nothing of Sir Hugh's hopes, and fears, and cares-perhaps it is as well for her that she doesn't-but she is sensitive, and this exclusion hurts

her, for she is sensible, good at figures, capable of calculating, with a clear head, and a great deal of patience. She might be of much use to Sir Hugh-but she is not likely to be consulted.

AND all this time where is Victor? we have seen very little of this hero for a long time. The leaves are all yellow and brown at Darrell and the Grange-house, the corn is cut, and the autumn is closing in, and Victor, illused Victor, has never seen heard tidings of that violet-eyed girl, from whom he had parted on a summer morning long gone.

or

Is she well, and happy? has she forgotten him? has she got a new lover certain rumours which Mr. Victor has been hearing casually from a chum of his, a certain Captain Stanley, confirm his opinion that Mr. Haller's niece is a terrible little flirt, a very heartless young lady indeed! and poor Victor is half broken-hearted. In his Irish barracks he is sitting, after mess, smoking, complaining to his friend Stanley

"If I was any other fellow in the world, I should be able to get leave to-morrow and run over and see her, but I'm the most unlucky dog that ever lived, everything goes against me.'

Captain Stanley puffs away complacently at a big cigar, it is nothing new to him to have a young Romeo confiding his hopes and fears to him. "Young fellows are always in love,' the captain used to say. "They fall in love periodically, as children get the measles or hooping-cough, but they grow out of it in time."

The captain is jolly and bald, and unmarried, he may have had his little attacks of the malady long ago, in fact he still likes to look upon a pretty face, and is a very gallant gentleman, too, but falling in love is not in his line. "Everything goes wrong with me," poor Victor is complaining at his elbow. He is sitting with his hands in his pockets, his good-looking young face saddened over, his handsome eyes bent on the floor, he is not smoking, he has been trying to give it up

lately; "it's such an expense you know; and when a fellow's thinking of marrying he oughtn't to be selfish.' Thus would Victor argue, and he had brought himself down to an allowance of two cigars per diem.

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The course of true love, you know, never did run smooth.' The captain says he is kindly, and he pities the disconsolate penniless young fellow at his side. He is not conscious of being the cause of a great misunderstanding, he is not a man who weighs his words much, he never remembers what he has said ten minutes before, careless and happy; a man with whom the world has dealt kindly, and consequently he likes the world, they get on well together.

Victor had asked so many questions about the captain's visit to Darrell; had he seen a certain Mr. Haller, a farming gentleman? No, the captain had no recollection of any such person, but he had seen a very pretty Miss Haller who seemed to be intimate at Darrell, a great friend of my lady's, a favourite with Mr. Darrell, too. This Captain Stanley did remember, very distinctly, and he said so in his bluff blundering way, not looking at his young friend. Poor Victor the red flooded his cheeks hotly, as it always did when he was angry, or hurt. But he spoke never a word. Oh, yes! Captain Stanley remembered very well a whole hour spent at Darrell, chatting with my lady over the fire, while Mr. Darrell and Miss Haller were "spooning over some music or something;" but then Victor started up

Are you sure, Stanley, are you quite sure?"

Captain Stanley turned his surprised face on his companion, up to this moment he had been a little at sea as to Victor's love affair.

"Well, I must say I thought, but

I may be mistaken, you know; but, my good fellow, you don't mean to say

Here the captain paused; there was a look in that good-looking young face beside him, which startled him. "The villain! the low sneaking villain!" that was all Victor said then, he had stood up, such a fine, tall, manly fellow, so noble in his just indignation, his blue eyes flashing, his pleasant handsome face clouded over with anger. "He shall answer to me for this, by G-, he shall, the low villain."

Now, Captain Stanley was seriously alarmed; "by gad I've put my foot in it as usual," he murmured; but he said to Victor

you ?"

And then Victor told him all his love-story,from beginning to end, every little clause in it, his hopes of better times-all! all the story; and then he laid it before him.

"And what would you do, Stanley, as an honourable man, how would you deal with such a sneak; would you horsewhip him, or what?"

Victor's ideas of punishment were a little schoolboyish still, but they were honest straightforward ways, no underhand, sly dodging, or sneaking revenge, would do him. But Captain Stanley had other views. Now this passé captain had a certain mistrust of the fair sex in general, there was a frivolity and fickleness in them, which men knew nothing of, and certainly in this case things did not look very fair for Miss Haller. She was a regular little flirt, was his mental conclusion, as he thought over that evening at Darrell, and listened to Victor's story.

"I don't know much about such things" he said, after a pause, taking the

cigar from his mouth, and holding it before him, between two fingers, looking on it fondly. "I don't pretend to understand women, or any such riddles, but I think if I were you, Darrell, I should write her a letter."

Victor was silent, he didn't say then that he had written many letters, and received no answer, he only said after a long, long pause,

"And what kind of letter would you write?"

Captain Stanley took a pull at his

"I would write and say, Polly, or Jinny, or whatever her name is, am I to believe that you are false to me,' or changed towards me?" suggested Victor, who had more highflown ideas of love letters; or changed towards me? Yes, perhaps that would be better, am I to believe that you are changed towards me? people tell me that you are.

66

Yes, something of that kind, by George! I will write to her.'

Victor had sat down once again beside his friend; old Stanley was a brick.

"And then if you get no answer to that," and the captain took another pull at the cigar, and sent another cloud of smoke sailing away.

"And then? What then?" asked Victor.

"Why, then, there being a certain good old song which says, 'If she be not fair for me, what care I for whom she be?' I would think no more about her.'

"Stanley," and the goodlooking young subaltern laid his hand on the captain's arm, "you talk of thinking or not thinking, as if such things were only a matter of will; I can no more help thinking of her, than I can help feeling pain, or even dying, if it comes to that."

The comfortable easy-going gentleman with the cigar, looked a little puzzled, this was a very bad case of the boyish disease of which he had seen so many cases.

"You think so now," he said, "but get a couple of weeks leave, byand-by, and run over to Paris, and see some fun there, and I'm very much mistaken in you, Darrell, if you havn't forgotten her in a fortnight."

Then did the sunny face flush once again, the blue eyes shot angry lightnings, and poor ill-used Victor spoke warmly

"You do not know me, Stanley, if you can think such things of me, time will make no difference, I shall never forget her; if I find I am mistaken in her, then-yes, even then, it will be my misfortune to love her still, I know it, but I cannot help myself."

More surprise on the part of the captain, this was indeed a very exceptional case.

"Well well," he said, "write the