happy time of life when occupation of any kind was pleasant, and I preferred any thing to the weariness of being confined to Lady Wendover's dressing room day after day, engaged in the drudgery of a dressmaker's assistant, under the superintendance of the lady's maid, for whose blunders or negligence I alone was considered responsible, and was hourly exposed to revilings on my awkwardness, uselessness, and ingratitude. I longed for something in the shape of independence, but without a connexion or friend in the world, how was it possible for me to escape from my Egyptian bondage? It was only in the gardens that I enjoyed freedom and repose from insult. I was passionately fond of flowers, and I had acquired a trifling knowledge of botany from my cousin's books and assisting her in acquiring her lessons. But Leonora was not fond of study, and deputed the arrangement and classification of the plants to the gardener and me. William Durrant was a well educated young man, with a very fine person, engaging manners, and habits of a more refined and intellectual character than those of the steward, or any others of the retainers of the family. He was a farmer's son, and never associated with the other servants. He treated me with a degree of respectful deference which I had never before received from any living creature. There was a sort of silent anticipation of all my wishes in every thing he did; and as my wretchedness within my gilded prisonhouse increased, the dearer to me became the hour which was spent by me in collecting the flowers and evergreens for my daily task of dressing the vases with which the drawing-rooms and boudoirs were decorated.

"I was never permitted to mix with the high-born guests with whom these splendid apartments were occasionally thronged, and if I by any chance encountered any of the gentlemen in my walks, I was regarded with looks of insolent curiosity, and at length I was insulted with a proposal of a dishonourable nature from one of the visitors at the hall; who, after persecuting me with his intrusive attentions for several days, asked me, if I would not prefer a life of luxury and pleasure with him, to the questionable and degrading station which I occupied in that house.'

"I indignantly replied, that nothing was degrading but villainy, and that I should apply to Lord and Lady Wendover for protection.'

6

"I did so, and her ladyship observed, that, the boldness of my deportment must have invited such overtures,' and added, that I was the offspring of a mis-alliance, and appeared disposed to disgrace the noble family in a greater degree than my mother had done.'

"With a heart ready to burst at the injustice and cruelty of this treatment, I resolved to eat no longer of the bread which was so often steeped in my tears. I went to the housekeeper to announce to her my intentions of seeking a service, and asked her assistance and advice, but Mrs. Shadwell was drawing up the programme of a large dinner that was to be given that day, and besought me not to tease her with such nonsense. I went to my cousin Leonora, she was practising a difficult piece of

music for the evening display, and sharply reproved me for interrupting her. There was not one creature within that house who cared for my misery.

"Within an hour I had turned my back upon it; and, passing through the park gates, I took the road to the nearest town. When I had proceeded about a mile on my way, I was overtaken by William Durrant. He was much agitated, and asked me whither I was going. I replied, To seek a service.'

Where, and with whom?' he demanded.

"I told him, 'I should enquire for a place in the town to which I was bending my steps.'

"Pardon me,' he replied, if I tell you that it is impossible for any one in your situation to obtain what you seek.'

"Why not,' I exclaimed, 'I am young and strong, can work well with my needle, and am possessed of some useful knowledge.'

"William shook his head, and proceeded candidly, but respectfully, to point out to me those obstacles to my project which my profound ignorance of the world had prevented me from anticipating. No respectable family would receive me without a recommendation from Lady Wendover; and the manner in which I was quitting her protection would cause injurious reports and surmises to be cast upon my reputation. I burst into an hysterical passion of weeping and wringing my hands, exclaimed, What am I to do ?'

"Return to the hall before your absence can have been observed,' said William.

"That were only to expose myself to fresh taunts and insults, more cruel than I have yet received,' sobbed I.

"If' said William, I might dare to ask you to partake of the humble home and true heart which I could offer, I would maintain you cheerfuly with the labour of these hands, and shield you from all unkindness; no tender flower should be more fondly cherished, and more carefully guarded from the withering cold or scorching heat than you should be, if you would condescend to be the queen of my cottage, the partner of my life.'

"Till that moment I knew not how dear to me the man was who thus wooed me in the manly sincerity of true affection. I had no parents to outrage, no sisters to injure, no brothers to offend by a lowly marriage, and without hesitation I signified my consent to his proposal. We then returned to the hall by different paths. He to announce his intention of quitting Lord Wendover's service in a month, and I to endure with patience my trials till my affianced husband had made his arrangements for our union, by taking a small farm in his native county, Suffolk, and employing his savings in stocking it, and furnishing a house for my reception. When this was done, he returned to claim me, and, to the

unspeakable indignation of my noble relations, I became his wife, and never for one moment repented of my choice.

"In the active and endearing duties of conjugal and maternal ties, I enjoyed for many years as much happiness as can ever fall to the share of frail mortality. Those were my better days, and I bless God that I have seen them; for the memory thereof is sweet to me, though the desire of mine eyes has since been taken from me with a stroke. My son, who had married an amiable young woman, died of a fever; and his wife did not survive the birth of my grandson, George. This was a sore trial to me, but a sorer came when my manly true hearted husband was called hence, and I saw him laid in the green church-yard, beside the grave of our only son. The lease of the farm fell that year; and for the sake of that young child who had been so solemnly intrusted to my care by his dying mother, I roused myself from the indulgence of useless sorrow to struggle for his maintenance.

"It was in active occupation that I found my surest cup of forgetfulness in resignation to the will of my Heavenly Father my only consolation; and in the midst of my sorrow, I did not feel half so forlorn as when I sojourned in the stately mansion of my proud kindred, as a despised pensioner on their stinted bounties, without a defined duty or a reasonable object in life.

"It is now twenty years since I hired this pretty cottage, and undertook the cultivation of the market garden for the support of my orphan grandson. He early manifested abilities of a superior order, and inclinations that made me desirous of obtaining for him the advantages of a liberal education; and having done all that Heaven permitted me to place him in a sphere where his talents might have fair scope; I cannot help regretting that I cannot do more. Sometimes my thoughts have wandered to my kindred, but nearly five and forty years have elapsed since any intercourse has taken place between us. Lord and Lady Wendover have long been dead. Leonora married a gentleman of equal fortunes to her own. Like me, she has been a widow for upwards of twenty years, and might assist my youthful descendant, if she would, but my experi ence of her haughty and capricious disposition in early life, has hitherto withheld me from applying to her."

I represented to the venerable widow the possibility of advancing the interests of her grandson with a powerful relative, who was at present unconscious of his existence. That consideration prevailed with her; the letter was written to the Honourable Mrs. St. Manry, and posted, but no answer was vouchsafed.

Aggy Durrant expressed neither surprize nor disappointment, she knew the nature of her she had addressed too well to expect any favourable result; and after a fortnight of anxious hope and fear on the part of the young student had worn away, she took him by the hand, and repeated the words of the poet Gay.

Were I to curse the man I hate,

Attendance and dependence be his fate.

George blushed deeply, and his grandmother continued, "You will never find your way to college by watching the post man, my boy." "Then I must seek some other path to reach that goal," replied George.

A few days after this conversation, George Durrant obtained an engagement as tutor to a baronet's son, whom he was to accompany to Eton. Old Aggy considered this engagement as a stepping stone to learned fame and honourable independence. She preserved her usual quiet course of active useful occupation; she reared her cabbages, her peas, and cauliflowers as usual; retailed her strawberries, her cherries, her pippins, and pears in their season; she mentioned the name of her haughty kinswoman no more; and if she thought of her, it was only with a feeling of satisfaction that George Durrant was in a fair way of obtaining a scholarship at Oxford by his own honourable exertions. Several terms at Eton passed over before George was able to spend a vacation with his aged relative; and then he came full of joy. The wish of both their hearts was accomplished, he was to accompany his pupil to Oxford. Old Aggy now began to busy herself in preparing linen and other necessaries for his use at college; some of her purchases at the neighbouring town were wrapped up in an old Morning Post, and as she unfolded it, her eye was attracted by a familiar name, and she read, "Died, on the 28th of May, at Wendover Hall, Yorkshire, after a short illness, Wendover St. Manry, Esq., the grandson and latest descendent of the Hon. Leonora St. Manry, the only daughter of the late Lord Wendover. It is said that the numerous estates of this ancient family will be inherited by a distant relation in humble life."

Aggy Durrant glanced at the graceful figure and ingenuous countenance of the last scion of the haughty line of her maternal ancestry with a trembling feeling of delight, as the stately old hall, in all its solemn grandeur, and the widely extended domains of Wendover returned to her memory; but she spoke not to him of the change in his prospects, for she knew the vanity of youth, and the deceitfulness of the human heart, and dreaded lest the anticipation of his future greatness should have an injurious effect on his character. He went to Oxford, and returned no more to Woodfield till he had taken his degree. Old Aggy was a proud and happy woman on the following Sunday when she entered our little church, leaning on the arm of the youthful bachelor of arts. The mother of Cardinal Wolsey never felt greater satisfaction in the academic honours of her learned boy, than old Aggy did on this occasion.

That week a letter sealed with black arrived at the Woodfield post office, directed to Mrs. Agnes Durrant.

Aggy trembled and turned pale as she extended her hand to receive it. "It is to announce her death-the death of the lady of Wendover hall !”

she said as she broke the seal. She was mistaken, it was from the lady herself, requiring her immediate presence at Wendover hall with her grandson, and inclosing a £50 note for the expences of their journey, which the Hon. Mrs. St. Manry requested might be respectably performed. The gossips of the village had almost given over wondering at the unaccountable proceedings of old Aggy Durrant; though they continued to cabal together when they met at the town well, and other places of public controversy, at her unreasonable conduct in persisting in bringing up her grandson for a gentleman, "and the worst of it was," some of them said, "that he had actually been taken for a gentleman by the whole village before they traced him to old Aggy's cottage, and then people guessed who he was." But even those praiseworthy members of the community who attended to their own business rather than to the doings of their neighbours, were filled with surprize one day on seeing a postchaise drive up to old Aggy Durrant's door. At first it was supposed to contain some gentleman or lady who came to purchase choice plants or roots of Aggy. But, no-it was "the Scrapeton Angel postshay," and had certainly been ordered for the said Aggy's use, as the observing public plainly saw the girl who assisted her in her household and horticultural labours bring forth a portmanteau from the cottage, which all the village well knew belonged to George Durrant, since they had seen it travelling to and from the coach office every time he went to Eton or returned to Woodfield. Then there was a small trunk of very ancient appearance, which, doubtless, belonged to old Aggy, and a round paper box, which they were quite sure contained her bed cap. Last of all, Aggy herself appeared, clad in the unwonted grandeur of a new black silk cloak and bonnet, trimmed with crape. The latter was of the usual fashion worn by her, a widow's bonnet. She was attended by her grandson, the young Oxonian, who with an animated countenance, assisted her to enter the vehicle, then springing in after her, he took his seat by her side. The little maid shut the door with an important look-the Scrapeton Angel post boy cracked his whip, and the real po-shay with its freight rattled up the turnpike like mad, with all the Woodfield imps scampering after it in hopes of catching a stolen ride behind. "It was very evident that old Aggy Durrant was somebody after all, and had gone back into the shires again," the neighbours said as they gazed at the cloud of dust by which the progress of the Scrapeton Angel postchaise might be traced for a quarter of a mile on the turnpike road.

In due time the travellers arrived in Yorkshire; and at the last stage they found the Hon. Mrs. St. Manry's carriage and four, with two outriders, waiting to convey them to Wendover hall. I will not describe the ningled feelings with which the eyes of the widow of William Durrant >verflowed as she raised them to the once familiar home of her childhood, and memory brought back the rainbow lights and shades of years long ast away. Her reverie was, however, interrupted by an immediate sum