I care not for the eagle's nest,
But building with the dove,
I cannot, cannot, love the man
My mother bids me love.

"There is a secret voice that breathes
A fair and gentle mind;
There is a certain eye that tells

A heart that's warm and kind;
There is a vow so firm and fast,
And seal'd in heav'n above,
That, oh! I cannot love the man
My mother bids me love!

"My father frets, my mother pines,
Their heads are silver-grey;
They cannot long possess a will
For me to disobey.

I would that I were in my grave,
This anguish to remove,

For, oh! I cannot love the man
My mother bids me love."

"Egad, Grace," exclaimed the Baronet, "you have chosen a sorrowful ditty; Kate, there, is ready to cry. My own heart was a feather-weight awhile ago, but now it seems carrying six pounds extra. I hope the words are none of your own making?"

"Raby was so kind as to copy them for me," answered Grace, "from some book of poems in your library."

"Ay, there it is," said Sir Mark, looking at the Justice with a slight gloom on his brow. "Catch Ringwood at copying out anything-barring a 'recipe for making boots waterproof,' or a 'cure for the distemper.' I'll warrant, Grace, he never wrote out anything for you in his life?"

"Nothing adapted to the voice," answered Grace, with an arch smile; "but he once obliged me with autograph directions how to make German paste for my singing-birds.

"And St. Kitts ?" asked the Baronet.

"Your nephew used formerly to copy poems for me," replied Grace; "but our tastes did not coincide; and he grew tired of extracting from Rochester and Sedley, whom I could not relish,—and he had as little liking on his own part for my old favourite Herrick."

Come, Grace, come," said the magistrate, rising abruptly from his chair; "it is time to return to Hawksley,—or must I read the Riot Act and dissolve this meeting according to law? I have to look over the Hazel-Bridge evidence before I go to bed. Sir Mark, you will remember our bet for the Maiden Stakes?"

"Three hundred, even, the colt against the filly-and may neither of us win!" said the Baronet, with a knowing wink and a warm shake of the hand. "As for you, Grace, I see that you and Kate have cottoned, and I need not bid you come again soon to the Hall!

"Miss Rivers has been so kind as to promise to come often," said Mrs. Hamilton. "I am to have the happiness

of her society at least once a week."

"God bless you then, Grace," said Sir Mark, "and send you ability to keep your word. The boys will be home soon, and then I shall kiss and court you by proxy-but that's only a joke."

Thus they parted, and Mrs. Hamilton retired to her room, and the Baronet to his bed, to dream of weddings and rings and white favours, as if bridecake had been placed under his pillow.

"Well, Tibbie," said the lady as the Scotchwoman helped her to undress, "how has all fared with you the night?"

"Od, mem," replied Tibbie, "it's just extraordinar, my head's rinnin round round like a peery! I'm thinking the justice-wark will be cannily dune the morn's morn, when the

Provost and Sir Mark Tirl hae been at their high jinks. As fac's death, mem, for I keekit in at the door, I saw the Provost casting the wine-glasses owre his shouther to play smash upon the flure!"

"An old English custom, Tibbie," said Mrs. Hamilton, "by way of doing honour to a health. Formerly it was common for gentlemen to cast their cravats of Mechlin lace, or their perukes, on the fire-grate, according to the example of the proposer of the toast."

"Macklin crawvats, and perukes! Gude safe's!" exclaimed Tibbie, with an appropriate elevation of her eyes and hands. "My certie, it's no wonder thae English hae siccan a Nawtional Debt, as they ca't! Douce Dawvid Nicol-and he's the cashier o' the Dundee Bank,-did never the like o' that!" "But the kitchen, Tibbie," inquired the mistress—“ how came ye on with the strange servants?"

"By my troth, mem," said Tibbie, "they were camsteary eneuch. Yon prejink flunkies, wha cam wi' the Provost, were owre up-settin to drink yill, but chappit on the butler, to bring ben the port wine and the sherry wine, as affhand as in a change-house, where they were gaun to pay the lawin'. But I'm thinking I gied them a screed o' flyting, instead o' yon fule body Deborah. 'Drink awa,' sirs,' says I, 'drink awa,' ye're a' comin to pigs and whistles!' But I might have spared my breath to cool my parritch! Here's t'ye, Tibbie, cries ane, and here's t'ye, Tibbie, cries anither, and here's t'ye, Tibbie, cries yon Jerry, and send ye gude yill and gude custom at the Pig and Whistle!"

"Never fash yoursel, Tibbie," said the Mistress, "wi' the the likes you're no at Glencosie."

66

'Ou, mem," said the Scotchwoman, "it 'maist gars me greet to see the dinging down o' the glass and the cheeny, and the siller-spunes, wi' their pliskies.-Div ye no think,

mem, it would be a saving o' siller to write north for a hantle o wooden quaichs and bickers and horn spunes, for nae doot they'll be for emitatin their betters, and casting their drinkincups owre the shouther?"

"It's a serious question, Tibbie, and I must sleep upon it," replied Mrs. Hamilton; and with this quietus she dismissed the handmaid to her own pillow, to dream, if one may guess at her night-visions, of a mad bull in a china-shop.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"And if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit it."

He shall be endured

Dogberry.

What, goodman boy! I say he shall. Go to ;

Am I the master here, or you? Go to."-Old Capulet.

"Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting,

Makes my flesh tremble with their different greeting,

I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall."-Tybalt.

"Between us two let there be peace; both joining,
As join'd in injuries, one enmity

Against a foe by doom express assign'd us,

That cruel serpent."-Paradise Lost.

HILARY term ended at last, to the great delight of Squire Ned, who looked upon Ringwood as his adopted son; a relationship originating in sporting, like that of Cotton, the angler, with "his Father Walton."

He acceded, therefore, with great glee, to a proposition from Sir Mark, that they should ride together on horseback as far as the first stage, to meet and welcome the young Collegians; while Dick the huntsman, and the whipper-in, should follow with led horses, for the use of the students.

"A clever little nag that," said the Squire, after a long

one-eyed look at a brown gelding, that Dick was leading; "knows how to go-capital action."

"A picture, isn't he?" said the Baronet. "I bought him last week, by way of a surprise to Ringwood. He was bred by old Toby Sparks at Hollington; by Jiggumbob, out of Tolderol, by Diddledumkins, Cockalorum, and so forth."

"An odd fish old Toby," said the Squire; "always gives 'em queer names-can jump a bit, no doubt?"

"He jumps like a flea," said Dick; "and as for galloping, he can go from anywhere to everywhere in forty minutes,— and back again."

"Glad of it," said Ned; "just the thing for Ringwoodall ready, eh!" here he looked at his watch-“ Go!”

And away they trotted, the Squire keeping his horse a little in the rear of the Baronet's-a position which enabled him to divide his conversation between Sir Mark and the huntsman, who now and then exchanged a sentence with the whipper-in, as he followed with two led hacks; and in this order they took to the road. Occasionally, at a signal from the Squire, they slackened or increased their speed; and so well did he time the pace, that they arrived at the Green Dragon at **** just as the Oxford coach stopped to change horses.

"Well, my boys, welcome home again," said the Baronet, shaking them successively by the hand; while the Squire, after a nod a-piece, gave Ringwood an affectionate slap on the back that would have corrected a smaller child.

"Been tooling the tits, eh?" he said; "very pretty team, -near wheeler lame behind "-he continued, as he critically watched each horse as it went smoking and shaking its tail into the stable-yard. "Glad to see you, Ringwood," here another slap. "Old Hilary hasn't rubbed off any of your bloom."