and confident as they had been, all thrown away on a winding-sheet, a bag of nuts, a deal box, and the body of an ancient crone !

They determined, unanimously, that the matter could never rest here; and their old trade of sheep-stealing instinctively recurred to them, as affording the best and readiest means of remedying the misfortune. The night seemed to favour the suggestion. To restore the body to its coffin, and the coffin to the mould, and hastily to replace "the turf that wrapped the clay," was a work of small duration; for the worst feature in those who steal is, generally, that they can work.

One of the blackguards, Low, then took his seat upon the ridge of the dishonoured grave, wrapped in the winding-sheet, as a species of protection from the dashing rain; and, "with the lanthorn dimly burning" at his side, coolly occupied himself in cracking the nuts contained in the unlucky bag: meanwhile, Mc Cutcheon, the other fellow, in order to obviate raising alarm, proceeded alone into the adjoining glebe, in order to commit the meditated depredation on one of the minister's sheep.

It was whilst Isaac Low, who was afterwards hanged on the top of a well-known hill, called Balmashannar, sat on Maggy Third's grave, wrapped in her windingsheet, and cracking her nuts, that John Tamson, the minister's man, in his progress through the churchyard, lifted up his eyes, and by the light dimly shed from the miserable lanthorn belonging to the villains, beheld, in horrible dismay, the longed-for object of his hopes and fear, the verisimilitude of a ghost!

No ray of doubt possessed his petrified brain regarding the reality of this vision. If any doubt respecting the proper identity of the hobgoblin, could have crossed his mind, even that would have been at once dispelled. The very act in which it sat engaged-the act of nut-cracking -to say nothing of the expert performance that characterized the process, at once proclaimed it to be the ghost of Mistress Third!

It required some time for John Tamson to recover reasonable possession of his faculties, and for the minister to muster a fair show of resolution, ere the astonished Mause beheld her beloved master, mounted on the back of his mau, quit the snugly wainscoted parlour of his comfortable manse, and in that awful night of raging wind and driving rain, take the way towards the churchyard. But it was too plain, however astounding, that such was exactly what had taken place. The nerves of honest Mause by no means admitted of her joining in the adventure.

With hesitating, as well as tottering steps, John Tamson advanced with his burden. The presence and words of the minister, the prospect of the good possibly to be accomplished by "the fleg," served to cheer him on, even though the apparition on the grave was again visible (or might have been seen) in its robes of white, glaring ghastly in the dull and flickering light of the lanthorn. But sooth to say, it was the minister alone who saw anything of this. John had seen enough; and the head of John Tamson was never once raised in his uncertain approach to the dreaded spot towards which some fascination yet impelled his steps.

The approaching noise this time caught the ear of Low, who, expecting the return of Mc Cutcheon with the sheep, exclaimed, in tones, hoarse with habitual dissipation, and sepulchral with his exposure to the cold and wet,

"Is he fat?" (meaning the mutton.

"Fat or lean," roared John Tamson, "there he is for you," and, suiting the action to the word, he jerked the unhappy minister at the apparition, and fled incontinent.

The effect was more than miraculous. The ghost itself rolled off the grave in greater perturbation than any of all the three dramatis persona, scattering an astounding shower of nut-shells over the prostrate person of the minister, and extinguishing the crazy lanthorn as it disappeared, or perhaps we should say, evanished amongst the tombs.

After gazing one moment in the thrilling agony of fear, spell-bound, for limbs and tongue alike refused their office, John Tamson mustered sufficient desperation to turn and flee. Broken shins, innumerable summersets, and other catastrophes amongst the tomb-stones, extorted not a cry from John, who had lost the pathway in the terror and confusion of his flight. But if the racket, kicked up by his flight, produced unwonted disturbance amidst the silent graves, it was either swallowed up and lost in the blustering of the elements, or passed unheeded by the reckless varlet who was perched upon Maggy's grave. Intent on his strange and revolting feast of nuts, the future robber and outlaw Isaac Low, never once changed his position, but sat there cracking and munch-existence of apparitions on this earth thereafter. ing away in hardened indifference.

The minister, strange to say, gained his legs with an agility which would have done honour to his younger years; and without experiencing a single twinge of gout (although we cannot say as much for twinges of fear) reached the manse upon his own feet, almost as soon as the man who had borne him thence.

Not so poor John Tamson, the minister's man. Breathless, bruised, and fainting, he gained the door of the manse, with scarcely sufficient heart or breath remaining to account for the terrible deluge of blows he rained down irreverentially on that respected portal. Admittance being obtained, John unceremoniously rushed past the affrighted Manse (we know not her surname) the minister's venerable house-keeper (for the good man was in the estate of bachelorship, and overruled by a housekeeper, as touched upon at the beginning of this relation). A summons so unwonted at the manse door, had roused the indignation of Mause, who had, therefore, gone in person to answer it; and John escaped a torrent of words to the full equivalent to his shower of blows by reeling straightway into the minister's presence.

"Noo-Minister!-noo," was all he could articulate. "On my back! on my back!"

Mause, who had followed with what speed she might, overhearing so ridiculous an adjuration, at once set down John as demented. The solemn gravity of the minister, who felt his hour was come, nevertheless perplexed her sorely.

His joints thus beneficially relaxed, though by a violent effort, resumed their functions, which they had but imperfectly discharged for years; and joining "the fleg from Maggy Third's Ghost to a life of greater abstemiousness, the minister of Abercathro' never found reason to complain of gout, or thought proper to dispute the

John Tamson, the minister's man, had thus achieved too great a victory not to be easily forgiven for his rude deposit of his clerical burden. And as he stoutly maintained, on all occasions, the healing efficacy of this salutary "fleg" in extirpating the minister's gout, an ungrateful man the minister would have been had he not succumbed to John in this, as in every other branch of the argument. John Tamson long after reigned supreme in Abercathro'. W. W. FYFE.

WHAT IS A LETTER?

A SILENT language, uttered to the eye,
Which envious distance would in vain deny;
A tie to bind where circumstances part,

A nerve of feeling stretched from heart to heart;
Formed to convey, like an electric chain,
The mystic flash-the lightning of the brain,
And bear at once, along each precious link,
Affection's life-pulse in a drop of ink.

THE HIDDEN RING.

BY SILVERPEN.

(Concluded from our last.)

In the meanwhile, the woes and hopes of other hearts were acting needed portions in this small human drama; a small one, yet, as all human dramas are, the fractions of a greater. So, for years, it having been poor Anne Fieldworth's sweetest consolation whenever, through the pretext of distant charitable visits, she could well escape the rigid surveillance kept over her by her step sisters, to wander to those old fields and woods, once possessed by the family, whose youngest son, William Horner, had been the object of her faithful attachment. Though separated from him through malignity and envy, and corrupt falsehood had served the purpose needed; though fifteen years were passed away and gone; yet, still true to the moral excellence of her sweet and truthful nature, she had refused a dozen offers of wealth and rank, pertinaciously encouraged by her father, and now and then stole away to these old fields and woods, to strengthen, as it were, through retrospect, the faith she held, and meant to hold, to the end. Thus, on the very day of Dora's marriage, using the opportunity of her father's and sisters' absence at a neighbouring hall to dine, she had visited those old scenes with a freshness and interest which surprised even herself. For there is in psychology profounder interests and sympathies than men yet dream of, or science has yet revealed, as though she knew it not, a heart as faithful as her own, visiting these fields, no longer his, after his long absence of fifteen years, and drawn hither by the same memories as those which yet remained so pure in Anne Fieldworth's heart, had seen her seated under the selfsame tree beneath which they had parted fifteen years before, and now would have made himself known, have again sat beside her, have again repeated what had been said so long ago, but for the bitter memory of a cruel and insulting letter, sent as from her hand. But he had seen her, and that was enough; the visit to these old scenes, originally intended to be merely one of a few hours, had now been the lingering of a week, at a little hostelry in a neighbouring village. But of this, or of his presence, Anne was still ignorant.

"But I do, and so do thee; for a woman's never at fault when a wedding-ring be in the case, and so I say my son Tom's curate shall be respectable; and this matter, say what ye will, of a girl disappearing, the Lord knows where, in'na so, and I'll see to the bottom on it, or my name is not Jonathan Fieldworth, Justice of the Peace for the county of Salop."

"Well, the truth is, papa," spoke Jane, by nature more garrulous than her sister Sophy, "we do know something of this matter, and might, perhaps, have mentioned it, did not Sophy and myself conceive these sort of topics unfit for gentlewomen like ourselves. But Cadwallader told us two days ago, that she saw a letter in which this man, Riddle, implored Absalom Podd's silence, as to that girl's absence for a week. What do you think of this?"

"Whew," whistled the squire, "this is more than Cadwallader told me, as she knows I dunna side with her peeping into letters and things o' that sort. But this is how I think the matter stands,-That there's been marriage taised on, and, perhaps, thought on, for every one in th' village say as how the girl was courted, though in a rough, queer sort on way, but there's many a slip 'atwixt the cup and the lip, and so, the Professor o'- -dying in some sort of a fit, on course this man's looking sharp after the place, and so forgetting all about marriage, has sent the girl back on old Podd's hands. But I'll dive to the bottom on't, you shall see." Here the squire paused a bit, and looked round the room with a mysterious air, enquiring as he did so, where Anne was. Being assured she was in her own room, or else on the terrace, he continued, half angrily, half mysteriously, for it really was tremendous news both to the wrongdoers and to the unhappy wronged, who, as the first little dreamt, listened, as a way-worn, long-thirsty traveller drinks of a refreshing spring. "Ay, and this in'na all, for Horner be in the next village, trying to buy some on the old estate off Morris again, for he's been making money, they say, in the University. But he shan'na have Anne, I know, nor she him, so he may go and come again fifteen year hence, if he like, ch! eh!"

"He here!" and both sisters spoke as if an avenging angel stood at hand. Presently, however, Sophy added, in a voice of consolatory triumph, "well it won't be for long; for every body knows that this Riddle and Horner are the bitterest rivals, and have been opposed on several occasions like the present, and will be so again, I suppose, if this girl's disgraceful return be any sign."

"Well, I dunna care," replied the squire, "so that fellow be off; and as for the curate's mighty pretty daughter, I'll know the whole truth, and that 'afore long, so pour out another cup of tea, and ring the bell for Anne."

The evening following Dora's return from Broadlands, the squire, after his bottle, his pippins, and his nap, sauntered down to the village; and, returning after a due interval, entered the parlour, where his two eldest daughters were engaged at their eternal worsted frames, for the one was working a hearth-rug, and the other a monstrous cushion for the pew at church, which, when finished, was to astound, by its magnificence in heraldry, "the low vulgar curate, and his plebeian flock." "Come, girls," cried the squire, as he snapped his fingers and spoke with much glee," ha' in th' toast an th' urn; for whilst thee make tea I've a bit o' news for thee," so saying he sat down in his broad old chair, and commenced imparting sundry choice bits of news just fresh from the sweet lips of Miss Cadwallader. It happened whilst he thus sat talking, that Anne, seated reading in one of the old broad window-seats of the adjoining room, with the intervening door partly open, was at last attracted by the often-repeated names of the curate and Dora, and in no great while startled by a dis-over all which had been so unwittingly imparted to her. closure still more significant, and evidently imparted in the full belief that she herself was not in the immediate vicinity.

"Ha! ha!" laughed the squire, after imparting some of the news with which he was primed, and helping himself to a monstrous slice of hot tea-cake, "thee thought that was a wedding-ring in that letter, did thee, girls?" "Indeed, Papa," replied Sophy, with a show of virtuous contempt, "we care little about the matter." But this was a mere shallow pretext, seen through even by such obtuse penetration as the old squire's.

But to meet her father, or her persecutors, at this moment was impossible, agitated, overwhelmed, full of contending emotion as Anne was; so passing out on to the broad old terrace, from thence into the wainscoted hall, and by the old polished oaken staircase, she gained her chamber, and here was found when summoned by Jane and Sophy's maid. By using the protest of slight indisposition, she was suffered to remain here unmolested during the evening, and thus had time and opportunity to think

Her first surprise over concerning Horner's visit to the neighbourhood, her first intense joy sobered, of merely imagining that the same memories led him back to these old scenes after fifteen years' absence, as led her steps so often to them; her first passionate outburst of tears, though those of joy more than grief, dried by the secret and divine consciousness of faith and truth, her thoughts, with noble generosity and disregard of self, concentrated themselves upon Dora. Was she, so young, so beautiful, so pure-for Anne knew enough of Dora to answer for her with a fervent soul-was she about to

enter on any ordeal more terrible than her own, for the mere sake of a rich and haughty man's ambition? was the child to be thus sacrificed and the father's heart broken? was it because two men were rivals for a bauble of formula, that one of the most guileless and truthful of beings should be maligned and scorned?

"No, not if I can help it," said Anno, fervently, "for I, a woman, have learnt, through suffering, the need my sex have of human sympathy." So reasoned, and so argued, noble Anne!

the conversation, plucked a few flowers, and telling Dora she would see her soon again, hurried on her homeward path.

The squire returned home in a mighty ill humour to dinner, for his curiosity had been strangely rebuffed at the forest mill, not only by old John Gray in person, but by his beautiful warm-hearted little daughter, Lucy, who suspecting the real truth, from what the pedlar had told her, after his rencounter with Dora, so placed the matter before her honest father, as to screen Dora, and yet baulk the impertinent curiosity of such as might ask questions. But, he had learnt sufficient from other inquiries he had made, to convince him, that Dora had not only crossed the forest on foot, but had been to and fro to Broadlands. And having ascertained this much, he determined to call at the parsonage the very next day, "and talk to the girl.” That same evening, Miss Cadwallader being unable to speak her mind,' as she called it, in any other way

It was observable on the morrow, that the squire mounted his hackney at an early hour, for a ride across the forest, for the purpose, if the truth be spoken, to find out if Dora Longnor had stayed at the mill with her well-known friend, Lucy Gray, during her week's absence; so using this opportunity, Anne walked to the village, and sought out Podd. But he, usually so communicative and friendly with her, was as impenetrable and mysterious as a Jesuit, and so full of humour and witti-"to the girl," for Podd's dear old forethought had saved cisms on the purport of the squire's ride that day, that Anne retreated and sought out dame Northwood, fully assured that from her she should obtain enough of information to satisfy her anxious heart concerning Dora. But here she was more disappointed than even by Podd, for the good and honest dame would only say, that though Miss Longnor had been away a week, as she supposed at the mill, she knew no particulars except that Miss Cadwallader and some of the village folks had been very inquisitive about the matter. But for her part, she loved Dora like her own child, and never troubled her head about what folks said, whilst her husband's heart was as light as it was; for it would be sad enough, indeed, if the least thing harmed Miss Dora!

Beginning to think that her own conjectures were with the gossip which had engendered them, idle things, Anne returned homewards by the fields which skirted the parsonage garden, willing to see Dora, if she could, without trespassing on her privacy. And this she did, for Dora was beside the porch, and Anne speaking, Dora hastened to unlatch the wicket, and lead her friend into the still and shadowy garden.

"I am sorry I cannot see more of you, Dora," spoke Anne gently, as she viewed with intense admiration (for she had a fine artistic eye) the splendid beauty of the little human creature at her side, and felt in her soul, with womanly intuition, that if the angels ever tread within the hallowed footsteps of natures like their own, they trod here, on this very spot of earth, now with sedulous and watchful ministry; "but you know too well the cause; though if our family visit the coast of Wales this autumn and leave me housekeeper, I hope you will come and pass a day with me, as you did two years ago. But how well you are looking, and how beautiful you grow." And as she spoke this, she smoothed back Dora's beautiful tresses with her hand, and pressed down her lips upon her forehead.

"I am glad you think so, Miss Anne," replied Dora naïvely, "for papa is coming home, and that will be his first thought."

his darling child from the sorrow and need of a visit to the region of Cadwallader, put on her bonnet, after her shop was closed for the night, and went down to the parsonage, under the pretext of calling for her bill. She found Podd quietly smoking his pipe in the parson's chair, and Dora sitting on the old hassock at his feet, talking about her father's return.

"As I hav'n't seen you a good while, Dora Longnor," spoke Miss Martha, in a loud voice, as soon as her first rude salutation had been made, and she had sat down uninvited in the most conspicuous chair in the old roomy kitchen; "though, of course, taking into consideration the nice pleasant visit you've had lately, groceries was quite out of the question ——”

'Especially sugar, in the Cadwallader line," parenthesized Podd.

Miss Martha, pretending not to hear, continued—" so I must have my bill, as it's very likely the visit as has supplied you with groceries

'My respectability isn't easily insulted, Sir;" spoke Miss Martha, with much indignant wrath, "but I was saying, probably, as that pleasant visit has supplied you with funds enough, and as I have a sum -

"Yes, to make up another pretty little thousand in the county bank," again parenthesized the incorrigible Podd, though with a gravity that would have sat well upon a judge.

"A heavy sum to pay for goods people have had and never paid for; I shall be glad if you'll settle my bill without further ado; or else let me have something as a security; for ——”

"Miss Cadwallader," began the sweet young wife;

"Hush-hush," interrupted Podd, "you are too bad a cretur, Dora, to speak to a young, lovely, sweet-tempered, merciful woman like Martha Cadwallader, engaged to, and just on the eve of being married to the squire's 'A very natural one. But you must be very glad of coachman. No; you're too bad, my dear. And now, his return, though you have had so kind a visitor as I Miss Cadwallader, as you have insulted this dear child as hear you have had." She looked down, and saw that much as you dare, please depart to your choicest supper, Dora was not only agitated but coloured violently. provided from the squire's kitchen, and just be patient "Yes-Mr. Riddle was And Dora raising her till to-morrow night but one, and you shall hear o' some eyes, and seeing her friend's gaze fixed upon her, was too o' your advantages, I can tell you, as the blessed curate choked by some deep feeling to say more. But so far 'll be at home, and I can settle matters. So now be off from interpreting this as a sign of guilt, Anne's own-the squire's pretty little side-dish 'll be awaiting." So heart knew too well that deep affection has the tenderest of consciences; and now, doubly steadfast in her beautiful belief respecting Dora, and as assured of her affection for Riddle as if priestly confession had been made of it, she determined to follow the impulse of her own most genuine heart, and realize those dreams for this sweet child which might have been her own. She then changed

saying, he arose with much valour and dignity, and conducting Miss Cadwallader to the door, there not only wished her a further polite enjoyment of Mr. Bump's pantry gifts, but indulged in an immense fit of laughter before she was out of hearing.

Not quite so fortunate in his championship the next day, for he was detained by some important guests who

"Of the cause of this feeling of rivalry, on the part of Mr. Riddle," said Horner, gravely, "I know not, nor can conceive, for I have always, by every action and by "We shall see, we shall see," roared the squire still every word of my life, placed him as he is, both in position louder, for Podd's coolness only made him still more and transcendent ability, pre-eminently above myself; irascible. "I'll take care to come and expose these unless it be, as I have had much reason to think lately, doings-ay, and write to the Bishop the very next morn- the work of designing and pretended friends, to serve ing. My son Tom shanna 'an a curate o' this sort-I'll purposes of their own. Of the youth and beauty of her come, you shall see, my fellow." He departed-you plead for, I can speak, for I have seen both with happily, too, for Podd's wrath was on the verge of