tained that he never arrived. The mysterious marchant formed the chief talk of the place for some time. At the end of a month, however, he made his appearance again, and smiled and bowed, and sold his wares as cheap as before. From this period he became a frequent visiter at Woolverton, but he always took his departure in the evening, and always walked off in the direction of the Culver's Nass, a high cliff overhanging the sea, far from any human habitation—exactly where he went to nobody knew.

Such was the superstitious fear he inspired, that nobody liked to follow him alone, If he was joined by more than one person he would stop and talk with them, or accompany them part of the road they were going; but if alone, or only in the company of one person, he would trudge off straight in the direction of the Culver.

He had been watched part of the way several times. Some of the observers said that he suddenly disappeared under the shadow of the hill. Others said that they took their eyes off him for a moment, and when they

C

looked again where his tall, lank figure was a moment before, there was seen instead the stem of a tree or a thorn-bush. But many suspected that his followers kept at too great a distance to enable them to speak with ac

curacy.

However, notwithstanding all this, his goods were so pretty and his manners so civil, that he became at length quite a favourite at Woolverton. His little peculiarities (as they now began to be called) were thought nothing of.

Sometimes he would tell people's fortunes, or give hints as to what was going to happen, and he was always right. He could tell by the look of a man's face whether he was in debt, and what was perhaps still more remarkable, he often followed up his observation by putting his long bony fingers into his pocket, and pulling out a purse full of gold nobles, and offering to lend.

It generally happens, that as a man grows old his love of mischief diminishes and his love of gold increases; but with the Hermit of the Culver, as he began to be called, it

appeared to be just the reverse: for often when the time of repayment came, he would say, "My good friend, I don't want the money, but I have got a spite against farmer so-and-so, he has been speaking. ill of me if you will only set fire to his wheat-rick we will say no more about the debt." If they spoke of the risk, he would say, "No one ever got found out, following my directions." And, to be sure, that was nothing more than the truth.

As his wicked propensities became more known, he began to be looked upon with fear and hatred. Still, many had been so accustomed to look to his assistance when they got into a scrape, that they hardly knew how to get on without him.

It generally, somehow or other, happened, that just at the very moment when a person wanted his help they saw him striding along with his pack upon his back.

"Ah, Edgar," said he to a young fisherman, "so Matilda despises you ?" The lover started from his reverie. "She likes the spruce knight of Yaverland, with his gold

chain and his feather in his cap, better than the honest fisherman, with his brawny hands and it's not only that-noble blood and gilt spurs marry not out of their degree." Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, "Blighted fame and a broken heart bring beauty to an early grave. I wish you a pleasant morning," added he, taking off his little. round fur cap; and bowing low, he strided on with more than usual haste.

Edgar ran after him, and caught him by the arm, and said, " Can you help me?"

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Very likely-very likely," replied the old man, taking off his pack and opening it. "There—there's a piece of blue cloth for you that King Edward might be proud to wear. There's a forester's knife all made of Spanish steel-only try its edge. Or perhaps it's fishing-tackle-fishing-tackle-here they are-large size-number nine-number"

"I don't want any goods to-day," said Edgar, much annoyed at the old man's stupidity or perverseness. "Can you tell me

how I can recover Matilda ?"

"Oh, the love affair!" said the Hermit of

the Culver, shutting up his pack; "I am rather old to give advice in a love affairrather old."

"Then you won't assist me?" said Edgar, turning away.

"Stop, stop," said the old man, "there is a way to do it, but the knight is a good friend of mine. He bought a gold clasp of me last week, and paid me a good round sum. If I help you now, will you do me a good turn another time?"

"I will promise that. But what shall I do now ?"

"Ah! you will be afraid to do it; and now I think I had rather that it was not done." "Then you won't help me?" said Edgar, turning away.

"Stop, stop, stop," said the old man. "No, I'll stand by my word to you. The manor-house is built of oak, is it not?"

"Yes."

"And dry?”

"Yes."

"And there is a thatched stable built against it. Put a lighted rushlight to the