upon the turf. Graham alluded to the next Doncaster meeting.

"Poor Sir Harry's favourite,' Clover,' was bought by a friend of mine, and is to run at Doncaster," replied Lord Alvanley. "How sad it will be when poor Lady Lisle sees a eulogium of him in the papers!"

Graham's patience was at length completely exhausted, and, in his despair, he called upon George Alvanley to assist him in diverting his father's thoughts from the unwelcome topic.

"I hope you are rewarded for your perseverance, Alvanley," said Graham, pitching his voice in a loud, high key, as if determined by main force to put a stop to the old lord's troublesome remarks and inquiries. "Has your conversation been carried on by monosyllables, or have you gained a clear and distinct idea of the pleasure all ladies seem to derive from torturing little bits of muslin, and tying pieces of silk together? I suppose, in general they can converse with greater fluency while their fingers are employed."

The tone of irony in which this animadver

version upon his wife's usual taciturnity was delivered was not lost upon George Alvanley. But there was more truth in his assurances that he had spent a very pleasant half-hour than Graham gave him credit for.

The tone of coldness and indifference, too, which he had before remarked Graham assumed when speaking of or to his wife, was not to be overlooked now, when Alvanley was drawing certain unsatisfactory conclusions; and he rose to depart, upon his father's soon after calling on him to accompany him homewards, with a very distinct feeling of dislike to Graham, and of pity for his pretty, illused little wife.

CHAPTER VIII.

แ Search, then, the ruling passion; there, alone,
The wild are constant, and the cunning known,
The fool consistent, and the false sincere ;
Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.

Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this-it sticks to our last sand;
Consistent in our follies and our sins,

Here honest nature ends as she begins."

POPE'S MORAL ESSAYS.

We must return to Annie Mowbray, who, after being domesticated with her friend Lady Lisle for some weeks subsequent to the wreck of the "Fenella," felt that her duty recalled her to her own home.

It certainly had been no great trial to her to remain as she was-a welcome and useful guest in a congenial atmosphere, though

solitude and sadness now reigned in the once bright and happy Ashton Hall. Had she been naturally less light-hearted than she was, fewer and slighter annoyances than those to which she was daily exposed à la maison would have subdued her spirit. To be proof against them she needed all the mental elasticity with which she was gifted. The expression à la maison conveys the true meaning of the feeling with which Annie regarded Fenwick House, the residence of her grandfather and grandmother and two unmarried middle-aged aunts.

How she longed for a sister to whom she could have opened her griefs, when, with temper sadly ruffled, and good resolutions broken, she would dart away to her own room, thus escaping from the wearisome scenes which were for ever recurring. Home! was it a home to her? That word which holds, in its four magic letters, the concentrated essence of all our natural early affections. No! she looked upon the ivied walls of Fenwick House, with its dark, time-stained gables, and its unbending gravel walks, as

the snail, if it were blessed with thought as well as sight, might be supposed to look upon the shell which protects its body from untoward elementary accidents.

But further the comparison would not hold good. Naturalists assure us that the snail is its own architect, and builds the house that best suits its tastes. Annie Mowbray would not have chosen Fenwick House as her habitation. It was situated at the end of a small country town, and looked out upon a sandy plain, dignified with the name of race-course, whereon a few rugged posts and rails served for fishermen to dry their nets, and over which rival butcher boys, on their wicker basket seats, would at times urge their unwilling steeds. Then, Annie loved not the intrusion of old maids, half-pay officers, and thriving attorneys, who, in this particular small town, seemed to congregate in provoking numbers. She longed for the freedom of a complete country life, to avoid the system of daily spying to which she was subject.

Her grandfather and grandmother were