cake and my cheese, as you see, are ready on

the shelf.'

Ellen, sweet Ellen herself, soon entered. She gave us a look of joyful recognition, curtseying as she half tendered her hand, her cheeks becoming red as scarlet, while those of my companion coloured to the very roots of the hair. I had never beheld, I thought, a pair so beautiful. Perkins was habitually pale, but now his eyes flashed liquid light-now his face was the colour of the rose! As for Ellen, no longer little Nelly, scarcely past fifteen, she appeared in the first flower of womanhood. Tall, and exquisitely formed, her person was shewn to full perfection in the costume of the day. Tiny slippers; stockings and petticoat white snow; a crimson boddice closely fitted to her expanding bosom; a loose kerchief, and waves of nut-brown hair, completed her attire.

as

Perkins, perhaps, was not actually in love with this fair girl, nor she with him; but if not, there was a close approximation to this con

dition in both. He admired her, it was clearwho could avoid it that saw her; but somehow there was a look of exquisite pity mixed with admiration, that spoke more than tongue could tell. Her demeanour was entirely artless-so candid, yet so purely feminine, as in her untaught simplicity, to be almost faultless. She had achieved that perfect grace, modesty, and dignity of manner, which even to the high born and bred, and not always realized by them, it costs an effort to attain. Perkins too, was handsome. His riding coat clung to a frame, which if not of the most vigorous build, displayed at least, perfect symmetry. His hair was neither clubbed nor powdered, but like Ellen's, hung in mazy folds down his shoulders. His collar was turned back; and a neck that might almost have beseemed a woman, supported the most graceful and finely-turned head in the world.

They did not talk so much, as that they seemed inspired by each other's presence. Ellen chatted, and laughed; ran, or rather flew, to fetch flowers,

roses, honey-suckle, vervain, myrtle, from the garden, which she gave to Perkins, but only offered to me. Their old sports were alluded to. Perkins playfully taunted her on her dolls, asked after her kittens, her rabbits, and her birds. In return, she shewed him all the books nicely preserved, which he had given her, also a number of elegant trifles, none of which appeared to have been lost. The good woman regarded him as a son; called him sometimes "Edward," sometimes "Mr. Perkins," and, occasionally, laughing as she did so, addressed him with "sir." Without art, disguise, or subtlety, she was a true-hearted Englishwoman, as there are thousands such, sitting in their English homes, models of neatness, thrift, and conjugal fidelity. Oh, that want or distress should ever assail those happy English homes!

She would not hear of our departure; we must spend the day with her; and when we returned from the inn where we had been to give directions to the servants, our dinner was

laid. The barn-door fowl, new peas, brown bread, and jugs of homebrewed ale; these removed for cheese, fruit, curds and cream, constituted our repast. Never was there a happier party; the present full of contentment and joy; we had no cares, no fears, as regarded the future.

At length, the evening wearing to a close; it was expedient we should complete another stage that night, and we proceeded to take our leave of these innocent guileless creatures. We were all grieved. Tears, I think, stood in my own eyes; I am sure I saw them in Perkins and Ellen's. The mother held her cheek for our salute, so did the daughter, as with her little hand she crumpled her apron the while. Ellen, indeed, held her cheek to me; but somehow, when it was Perkins' turn, her mouth came directly opposite to his; there was no time to take it away, and perhaps, she did not wish for any. Be this as it may, their lips met and were pressed together. A slight tremor pervaded Ellen's frame; and I felt in my in

most heart, that her fate as a woman, whether for weal or for woe, was decided from that moment, for evermore.

the proper

We arrived at Cambridge after a long and somewhat fatiguing journey over cross roads hardly practicable. Next day we waited on functionaries; when rooms were allotted to us, and the well-trodden routine of study pointed out. It was, of course, unnecessary to procure tutors; to Perkins, the whole course of college discipline was as beaten ground. Even to myself, I may say it without vanity, it presented little difficulty. The daily compulsory attendance at chapel rather harassed us. It would seem more reasonable to permit men to worship their Creator as the promptings of their hearts dictated, than to be dragged mechanically over a hacknied ritual; but as there was no remedy for the grievance, we submitted in silence. I omit the peculiarities attendant on our mode of life, at once because they are well known, and wholly uninteresting