been obliterated, and large docks, thistles, and coltsfoot, grew up to the polished steps of the portico. The entertaining rooms in front had long been dismantled, but a peep through the partially hoarded window disclosed the marble chimney-pieces and crimson-and-gold paper of the dining-room, now bagging and mouldering about the damp walls. It had been a good and hospitable mansion once-too good and hospitable, perhaps but the names of the feasters were almost forgotten.

The Hermitages only occupied the kitchen and back part, Mrs. Hermitage making what used to be the breakfast-room into a parlour. She was always "going" to furnish the once gold-papered drawing-room, but she never made any progress that way, having now no castle to draw upon for the needful. They attributed the deficiency to the repeal of the corn-laws, though we question that an eighty-shilling fixed duty would have enabled our friend to furnish out of the profits of his farm. However, it served as an excuse, it never doing for a man to blame himself for his misfortunes. The Hermitages were good actors.

No one, to see Mrs. Hermitage, would imagine for a moment that she had ever been anything but a would-be fine lady, so thoroughly unoccupied and disengaged was she. It was capital to see a woman who had been up before daybreak, putting out this, putting away that, opening out this, shutting up that, and who, at the last moment, was making bread and butter, and scolding her solitary farm-servant, all at once whip off her apron and throw herself into a chaise longue (stuffed, we are sorry to say, with Gormanstone Castle hair), and subside, Post in hand, into the elegant unconcerned lady of fashion. Indeed, she pretended to blink, and be taken by surprise, as her white-breeched husband came ushering our great master of hounds, followed by his hoped-for son-inlaw, into the little parlour, whose cackling wood-and-coal fire threw a cheerful radiance over the pictures, fans, and stolen finery around.

"Oh! Major Guineafowle! is it you?" exclaimed she, recovering her vision, and tendering him a turpentiney gloved hand. "I declare I quite forgot it was a hunting morning, though," simpered she, " I might have known by the breakfast-table," casting a glance over the snowwhite cloth and napkins (rags) that she had recently so carefully arranged. "But really," continued she, sighing, as she placed the Post behind a China monster on the mantelpiece, "I've been so dreadfully shocked at this 'orrid business of poor Lady Florence Mayfield's, that I haven't been myself since I read it. Poor thing! to think of her making such a match; knew her so well-nice, mild, modest, unassuming thing. However, I 'ope this will be a lesson to all mammas, how they let these nasty intriguing foreignering chaps come about their daughters-just as if there weren't English music-masters, and plenty too, without them. But won't you introduce me to your friend?" continued she, sighing heavily again, as she looked at our Tom, who all this while had been standing, mouth open, lost in astonishment at the great society he was getting into.

"I was going to do so," bowed old flexible-back, who had held Tom by the button for this purpose, and forthwith he pronounced the mystic words, "Mr. Thomas Hall, Mrs. Hermitage," which gave our hostess the privilege of turning the cock of her conversation upon Tom.

66

Any relation of Sir Binjimin All's ?" asked she, half of Tom, and half of the major.

"No, I believe not," replied the major; "Mr. Hall, great banker at Fleecyborough;" the major, in turn, now making the best of our

Tom.

"Come, let's have breakfast!" growled Hermitage, giving the little hand-bell a hearty flourish, as if to drown his wife's loquacity, who, he feared, might mar a little project he had conceived for getting our Tom to assist a bit of his infirm paper through the bank. "Breakfast!" repeated he, as the perspiring damsel answered the summons; and Mrs. Hermitage, motioning our friends to be seated, observed with a sigh, as she stroked down her dyed-green satin, that they would have had breakfast in the large room if she had known they'd been coming. But Hermitage, knowing it was no use trying the gammoning tack on before Guinea, who was in the same line of business himself, handed a piece of biscuit out of his green coat-pocket to his wife, as a polite intimation to hold her tongue. Meanwhile, Tom, not feeling quite at home in such exalted society-a lady whose nerves were unstrung by the elopement of an earl's daughter-began to fidget about the room, pretending to stare at the nick-knacks, ornaments, and pictures, that were profusely scattered around; Mrs. Hermitage being now under no fear of any of the castle people coming at this early hour and catching them.

"Ah! that's a portrait of dear Lady Gertrude," observed she, as Tom halted before a coloured lithograph of a pretty girl feeding chickens out of a basket, with a lamb in a blue ribbon by her side. That's a por

trait of dear Lady Gertrude," repeated Mrs. Hermitage, with a sigh, for she was a great sigher. "Poor thing, I really think I must have it removed," observed she to her husband, "for the sight of her recals such painful recollections. Poor thing; did you know her, sir?" to our Tom, who was thinking she was not nearly so pretty as Laura.

"Nor," replied Tom, who did not aspire to such distinction.

"Made an unhappy match, poor thing," sighed Mrs. Hermitage"married Captain Rainbow, the great lady-killer-dessay you've 'erd of him. I strongly advised her off, but girls will be girls, Mr. All," sighed the lady, as she adjusted a profusion of mosaic manacles up her fine fly-away sleeves.

"And how's the duchess ?" asked the major, as if they were all as thick as thieves.

"The duchess is pretty well-at least, as well as ever she is at this time of year," replied the lady, "subject to a little cold and irritation of the mucous membrane; and that reminds me, my dear," added she, turning to her ponderous, badly-booted husband, "I shall want the fe-a-ton to-morrow or next day, to drive over to the castle;" adding to the major, "she takes it unkind when one doesn't go over, though the days are so short that it's not very convenient, though I always say when one's in one's cage (carriage), it doesn't make much matter whether one goes five miles or ten ;" and as she was proceeding in this strain-rather raising than lowering the steam of her flash-our friend again dived into his pocket, and handed her a larger piece of biscuit than before. She took the hint this time, knowing she would "catch it" if she didn't, and gathering a fine machinery-lace scarf about her fat shoulders, and mopping the now rising perspiration from her brow with a fine cyphered but rather holey kerchief, she again addressed herself to our Tom, who had

brought himself to bear upon the portrait of another young lady in crayons, with the name Matilda, below.

"That's a sweet pretty face, Mr. All, isn't it?" asked the lady, advancing towards it; "that's a very charmin' person-Lady Matilda Overton, wife of the sixth Lord Overton, of Overton Castle-only a baron, but a very good sort of man-wish I could say as much for the 'usband of this one"-(pointing to a companion picture)-"this is Lady Overton's sister-Lady Jane Baconface; married Sir John Baconface never had a 'appy day since; poor thing-uses her shamefully. I'm sure I often and often shed tears for her, poor thing," said Mrs. Hermitage, emitting a deep sigh as she spoke.

The further discussion of the aristocracy was here interrupted, by the bouncing in of a great buxom-looking dairy-maid, in a wide-sleeved silk gown (one of Mrs. Hermitage's cast-offs, given in part wages), with a trayful of the good things that Mrs. Hermitage and she had been preparing; and after kicking the door to behind her, she proceeded to clatter them about on the table, just as she would clatter the plates of cabbage and bacon at the chaws' dinner-a noise that enabled Mrs. Hermitage to apologise to Tom, in an under tone, for the "absence of their man, who was busy in the stable-the depressed state of the agricultural interest not allowing of their keeping a reg'lar flunkey."

And Guineafowle, seeing how nobly they had responded to his notice, began cackling and complimenting his host and hostess on the display, observing, "that they must be expecting the Duke and Duchess of Gormanstone, or some great guns of that sort; they surely would never think of making such a spread for a mere master of hounds, like himself;" and receiving the assurance that it was all in honour of him, he sat his flexible back a-going so briskly, that it looked as if it would never settle again; but when it did subside, and he got himself into a chair on the right of his elegant hostess, he set to upon the provender in a way that looked very like having saved his own breakfast at home. Tom, too, did pretty well, considering he had taken as much as he meant for that meal at Carol Hill Green, and that he was desperately in love also. Those little episodes of life, however, never interfered with our Tom's appetite, who could always eat at any hour of the day, and, fortunate youth! make as good a dinner at last as if he had not had anything before.

The munching, and sipping, and slopping, and supping of our friends was now interrupted by the clatter of a horse, and the passing of a man in a macintosh and ante-gropolos boots, on a badly shaped, badly clipped, mouse-coloured hack.

"Oh, here's old Bolus!" exclaimed Hermitage, beckoning him in through the window; "good man-very respectable man," added he, propitiating his guests in his favour.

"Quite agree with you-quite agree with you," bowed old flexibleback nearly into his cup-"very respectable man-very useful man in a country; people can get on much better without lawyers than they can without doctors."

"And here's another man we can do badly without Ribs, the butcher," exclaimed Hermitage, as that fat, round-faced, rosy-gilled functionary came shuffling past on a flea-bitten grey.

Having hanked their horses on at the door, in the independent way

these worthies dispose of their quadrupeds, they now came rolling into the house, as if it was an inn or their own.

"What'll you drink?" asked Ribs, as they stamped along the

passage.

"Thank you, I'm not dry," replied the doctor, mildly.

"Hoot, ye brute beast! d'ye nabbut drink when yeer dry ?" growled the butcher.

They then entered the presence together.

The doctor, like most country doctors, was humble and meek, for he had a terrible rival in Mr. Digitalis, the union one, who charged less than himself; but Ribs, who was well to do in the world, and, moreover, had Hermitage deep in his books, was quite the hail-fellow-well-met, nodded to Guineafowle, and joked Hermitage about his farming, observing that he must grow his turnips for pickling, instead of for feeding cattle upon-they were so small. Guineafowle, on his part, not owing Ribs anything, and caring very little whether he came out with his hounds or not, took him very coolly, expending any little condescension he had to spare from Mrs. Hermitage upon the doctor. To the lady he was most complimentary and attentive; so much so, indeed, that it was well Mrs. Guineafowle was not coming her quondam maid Emma Springfield over him through the keyhole.

He praised Mrs. Hermitage's looks, and praised her dress, and praised her figure, and admired her multitudinous armlets, and spoke well of everything on the table, from the muddy coffee to the folding of the coroneted napkins, which, he said, were got up in a style infinitely superior to the work of the generality of servants of the present day. Mrs. Hermitage, not liking this near approach to the "shop," especially before Ribs, who served the castle, and might tell of the coronets, turned the conversation, by asking our Tom if he had been at any of her Majesty's balls the last season, which very much flattered our friend that he should be even thought of for anything of the sort. Finding he had not, of course she expatiated on their surpassing splendour, strongly recommending him not to miss an opportunity, and even hinting that she could get him to the palace.

Hermitage, too, availed himself of the change of partners for drawing Guinea into a discussion on the corn-laws, and the impossibility of farmers going on without a very great reduction of rent-a proposition that did not altogether suit our distinguished friend; for though he was quite ready to admit that he had been robbed and plundered by the million, and that things had gone quite contrary to what he anticipated when he ratted from the Tories, yet, as a now liberal landlord, he was not for taking more on himself than he could help.

Hermitage, however, was urgent and importunate, hoping, perhaps, to enlist Ribs, who was now at the blue-bottled spirit-stand on the sidetable, in his favour; but Guinea, not relishing the discussion, took advantage of the movement in the room for looking out of the end window on his hounds, and observing that punctuality was the politeness of princes, he made a series of most condescending salaams to Mrs. Hermitage as he shook her by the hand, and sallied forth on the hunt, that we hope to have the pleasure of recording in our opening chapter next month.

QUEEN VICTORIA'S CHANNEL.*

THE name of the gallant Penny will be enrolled among those of the distinguished navigators of Great Britain. In a country where navigation and discovery are so inseparably interwoven in the banner of national success and national power, this is no trivial honour. At least, his children's children will view it in that light, and as far more creditable than a disputed "captainship" or a barren knighthood. The chivalry of modern times, which impelled the hardy Scot to buffet waves and storms, to force his way over icy wildernesses, and navigate an unknown Polar sea in an open boat in the cause of suffering humanity, is surely quite as meritorious as the knight-errantry that could break a lance on a point of honour, or roam the land to succour dissatisfied maidens.

in

Engaged in navigating the Arctic seas ever since he was a boy of twelve years of age, the refinements of education and the nice conventionalisms of society are surplanted in Penny by a rare experience, sound and extensive practical knowledge, an enlarged spirit of enterprise, great perseverance, and a more than ordinary portion of that tact and judgment which belong to most of his hard-faring countrymen. Penny's ship-and he has been in command of a whaling ship for sixteen yearswas invariably the leading ship in the whaling squadron; his ship entered into the most minute detail of ice-navigation; his ship was ever the last to leave Davis' Straits, or whaling ground, when any hope whatever remained that such a course would advance the objects of the voyage; no other man's opinion had his brother-commanders so much confidence; and "What does Penny think of it?" was a by-word in the whaling fleet. No ship under his command ever made a claim upon an insurance company; no commander thought it in the least degree derogatory to come in after the "St. Andrew" of Aberdeen. Nor did the gallant navigator neglect objects of more general and more enlightened purport than whale-catching. He took the first step to establish the interests of Great Britain on the west coast of Davis' Straits, when, by extreme kindness, he induced an Esquimaux to visit this country-the first that trod on British soil.

No wonder that, with such qualities, when only in his forty-first year, still full of vigour and energy, and most zealous in the cause of his missing countrymen, Penny should have been the successful competitor for the command of an Arctic Expedition; no wonder that he should have left all his rivals, American and British, of the service and without the service, far in the rear in the amount of discovery effected, and in the important bearing of his researches. But a man cannot be an Arctic navigator, a thing of icebergs and stormy seas, of long nights and incessant toil, and, at the same time, a prim scholar or a drawing-room

*Journal of a Voyage in Baffin's Bay and Barrow Straits, in the Years 18501851, performed by H. M. Ships Lady Franklin and Sophia, under the Command of Mr. William Penny, in search of the Missing Crews of Her Majesty's Ships Erebus and Terror: with a Narrative of Sledge Excursions on the Ice of Wellington Channel; and Observations on the Natural History and Physical Features of the Countries and Frozen Seas visited. By Peter C. Sutherland, M.D., M.R.C.S.E., Surgeon to the Expedition. 2 vols. Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans.