friendships, nor upon him who sought her hand, yet determined her to break off her contract. It was a severe trial to her heart, and shook her health and spirits, but a high-minded sense of what she ought to do, made her persist in a resolution as painful to the honourable object of her solicitude as to herself. Yet while adhering to this determination upon principle, she did not perceive that this event gave a colour of truth to the aspersions which had been cast upon her. None but her immediate acquaintances could obtain explanations of her motives and conduct, while her name might be spoken in scorn and affected pity in every coterie of scandal-dealers. Her spirit suffered severely, and her health also failed, while her lonely position became more lonely and unbearable from a sense of the injuries she had received. After her health had been partially restored by the most skilful treatment, and she was able to resume her visits to her friends, yet before the dread of misapprehension of her conduct had passed away, she met Mr George M'Lean at the house of a friend in Hampstead. This was in the autumn of 1836. Mr M Lean was the eldest son of the Rev. James M'Lean of Urquhart, Elgin, and had held, for a considerable time, the sppointment of governor of Cape Coast Castle. He was a person of superior attainments, is reputed to have had a kind disposition, and he had been long a resident upon that coast, which still retained a charm for her who, in her childhood, had loved it for her father's sake. They often met afterwards, and at last their marriage was determined upon, but not till every incident in L. E. L.'s life had been laid open to her future husband, who, from the first moment of their acquaintance to the close of her life, treated every report derogatory to her character with contempt.

On the 7th of June, 1838, Miss Landon was married to Mr M Lean, at St Mary's, Bryanstone Square, her brother performing the ceremony; and, on the 5th July, the ship Maclean,' which was to bear the governor of Cape Coast Castle and his lady to a foreign shore, set sail. Mr M'Lean Esd generously allowed L. E. L. the full disposal of her terary emoluments, and she, with all her former generosity, devoted these proceeds to securing a provision for her mother. She made arrangements to prosecute her labours, even though far removed from the land of her love; and as her voluntary exile was limited to three years, she departed in high spirits and with bright anticipations for the future. She landed at Cape Coast on the 16th August. In the letters which she sent to her friends she talked highly of the impressions she had formed of the country, and expressed herself most favourably of her bealth, her home, and her prospects. She gave detailed accounts of her house, its management, her duties, and er recreations; and though all was in striking contrast to her former life, yet there was a cheerful and hopeful pirit pervading her letters that took from the bosoms of those who loved her all regrets for the loneliness of her position. The ship Maclean' was to sail for England on the 15th October, and L. E. L. busied herself on the 14th in writing letters to her friends, and the tone of these communications was as cheerful and hopeful as any of her previous ones. But they were the last which her fair hand should ever pen or her fancy dictate, for with these transcripts from her glowing spirit came the announcement that that spirit had suddenly been called to Him who gave it. On the morning of the 15th she was discovered by Mrs Bailey, her European servant, lying in her room, with a phial labelled 'Hydrocyanic acid,' grasped in her hand. Medical attendance was immediately procured, but she died in about ten minutes after she had been discovered, without uttering a word. An inquest was held apon her body, and a verdict returned that she had died from the effects of prussic acid, incautiously administered by herself as a remedy for a spasmodic attack.

The intelligence of her death produced a startling effect upon her friends, who, by the same ship which had borne the melancholy news to England, had at the same time received assurances of her health and happiness; and its suddenness, and the superficial investigation of the coroner's jury, sent rumour again to work upon the fate of L. E. L.

Every investigation was entered into by her friends, and every inquiry that could throw any light upon her fate was made; and none was more anxious to elucidate what seemed dark than her sorrowful husband, although suspicion had not scrupled to point its finger at him. All that could be done left the cause of her death still a mystery. She had been sometimes attacked with spasmodic affections, and her husband had seen her use a few drops of the liquid contained in the fatal phial as an antidote; but whether that phial contained prussic acid, or whether the medicine had been taken from her chest and poured into the phial in which the sediments of that powerful and subtle poison were, could not be ascertained. She lies on the lonely Cape Coast, far from all who loved and admired her for her virtues and genius.

It was the fate of L. E. L. to personify sorrow in her youth, and yet to bear a light and happy heart. It was her fortune to win the wreath of fame and honour, and yet to find herself the object of malignant whisperings which had no foundation. And it was hers to find a grave by the wild waves, which she had been taught to love by her seafaring father, and on that shore which she had often peopled with the heroes and heroines of her imagination. The scandals which so embittered her innocent life have died away, and now the only feeling with which the gifted and unfortunate L. E. L. is mentioned is that of grief, while her numerous and attached friends mingle with their sorrow for her premature death feelings of unalloyed love. Her husband caused the highest honours to be paid to her remains, and even generously offered to continue the allowance she had allotted to her mother. Her family refused this offer, but the kindness was fully appreciated. A marble tablet, at her husband's expense, is now erected at her lonely grave, bearing the following inscription in Latin:- Here lies interred all that was mortal of Letitia Elizabeth M'Lean. Adorned with a pure mind, singularly favoured of the Muses, and dearly beloved by all, she was prematurely snatched away by death, in the flower of her age, on the 15th October, 1838, aged 36 years. The marble which you behold, O traveller, a sorrowing husband has erected-vain emblem of his grief.'

JEANIE RONALDSON;

OR, THE BAFFLED FACTOR. IN a particular district in one of the counties of Scotland, which it nowise concerns our story to name, stood, about half a century ago, the Manse of M. The period at which our tale begins was one of unmitigated distress to Robert Anson, who was mourning over the death of his father, late minister of the parish. He was now sole inhabitant of the house, in which he had experienced the nursing care and protection of a father for more than twenty years. A mother's love he never had known; and need it be wondered at that one, who was the picture of a young and lovely wife, whose existence he had unconsciously been the occasion of cutting short, should have afterwards become the apple of his father's eye.

Robert's grief was violent as it was sincere; but, notwithstanding that solitude and uncertainty stared him in the face; notwithstanding that a wide, unexplored, and it might be a cold and heartless world lay before him; notwithstanding that he could with difficulty brook the idea that he would be expelled from the home of his childhood, and leave the green sod that covered his parents' remains to be trod by other feet than his; time did work wonders, and the young man sensibly felt his sorrow subsiding into a soothing melancholy. He shortly afterwards received intelligence that, through the exertions of a friend, he had got a lucrative situation in a mercantile house in India. A golden path stretched into futurity before the sanguine gaze of young Anson's imagination; a rich field of undefined exertion was spread out before his energies, and already had he wetted his palate with the waters of the Ganges, already had he peered into the shrine of the omnipotent Vishnu. But above all the purposes with which his fancy was busy, there was one which rose bright and

attractive. Amid so many incentives to activity this held thechiefest' place. And who has not already surmised that in it the blind god, that giver and breaker of peace and joy, must have been concerned. Jeanie Ronaldson was the daughter of old Adam Ronaldson, an honest straightforward farmer in the parish of M. Like Robert Anson, she was an only child, but, unlike Robert, her mother was alive to administer those many tendernesses a father's hand knows not how to bestow. Jeanic was fair; oh, how fair in Robert's eyes! and he was what the admiring matrons of the parish pronounced a weel-faur'd lad.' Their tempers and dispositions corresponded, that is, they were both generous and good-humoured even to overflowing. Old Adam was an elder of the congregation, and, in this capacity, he had held a close intercourse with Mr Anson, by whom he was loved on account of his sincere and unpretending piety, and valued as a true and leal-hearted friend; and, in consequence, Jeanie and Robert were thrown a great deal into each other's society. In short, everything conspired, and what more natural than that they should unconsciously fall plump over head and ears in love with each other. It was what every one, on an examination of the circumstances in which they stood related to each other, would have expected, and it was what, in consequence, actually took place. Old Adam could not but approve of their mutual affection, though he never said much on the subject; and thegudewife,' Tibbie, smirked and smiled and blessed the 'comely bairns.' The gossips of the parish, contrary to their use and wont, refrained from malicious criticism on the occasion. Jeanie was an especial favourite with every one, even the primmest and most genteel maiden lady in the parish, and Robert being equally so, the utmost said was, that Nae doot it wad prove a windfa' to Jeanie i' the upshot.' But what said Robert's father? Mr Anson possessed one of those calm and unsuspicious temperaments which, seeing no immediate cause for apprehension and no prospect of coming evil, seldom provides against probabilities, and, therefore, he said or thought little or nothing at all about the matter.

But, notwithstanding that everything seemed to go on just as if the two lovers had had the directing of affairs in their own hands, the truth was illustrated in their case, as in many others, that the course of true love never did run smooth.' Robert had, in short, a rival, and a powerful one he was. He was a Mr Liston, agent or factor to Sir Charles Cumming, of whose property old Adam's farm composed a part. Liston's character may be summed up in three words-selfishness, vindictiveness, and duplicity. He was a middle-aged man, had filled the situation of factor to Sir Charles for a number of years, and was cordially hated and feared by the tenantry on account of his harshness and insatiable avarice. Sir Charles was weak and unhealthy, and, from his increasing infirmities, was incapacitated for inquiring into the condition of his tenants, and as Liston invariably represented it as highly favourable and promising, his anxiety on that head, if he had any, was set at rest. Thus was the factor at liberty to act as seemed to him most fitting. Notwithstanding his selfishness, in Jeanie Ronaldson's presence his iron heart vibrated more rapidly than usual in its rusty cell. He had seen her and he had loved her, that is, as much as one of his nature could; he could not appreciate her mental or moral qualities, but her external beauty hit his fancy, and that was enough. He sued for her hand and was unequivocally rejected. He was made shortly thereafter aware that Robert Anson was received with favour by the blooming maid, and he instantly set his vindictive mind to work; he had, he conceived (his self-love whispered it) received a twofold insult; he had, in the first place, been rejected by a maiden of lower degree than his own, and whom he considered as honoured by his addresses; and, secondly, a mere stripling, a boy who had never buffeted with the world, had by her been preferred. All things examined, he concluded he had the whiphand of Jeanie, inasmuch as her father being something in arrears in the payment of an exorbitant rent, and not in a condition to

diminish his debt, Liston could menace him with ejection. But he saw that, although he prosecuted old Adam with the utmost rigour, a union might still take place between Jeanie and Robert Anson, and thus his meditated severity would fail in its effect. He waited for a better opportunity, then, and he did not wait long. Robert's father died, and Robert was compelled to seek his fortune in India. The field was thus clear, and everything in his favour. The situation Robert had obtained was under a firm of which the only brother of Sir Charles Cumming was senior partner, and this circumstance, though at first sight unfavourable, the wily factor determined to turn to account.

Jeanie was almost inconsolable at Robert's departure, and the old people sorrowed with a heartfelt sorrow. But Robert promised to write long letters, at regular intervals, and Jeanie promised to do the same; and when for the last time he embraced her, and vowed to return in a few years and make her his own, a gush of tears relieved her heaving bosom, but they were sweet tears, they were tears of hope. Robert departed for the distant clime of India, and sad, sad was his heart as he bade adieu to his native spot; he felt a suffocating emotion of bitter grief as he turned to take a farewell view of the scenes of his youth; he saw the tall manse, seeming dead and dull amongst the trees, and near it the simple spire of the parish church, beside which he had so lately interred his parent; far in the distance, on the brow of a hill, he spied a white and shining cottage, and at its door he thought he could perceive a weeping figure. The cottage was Adam Ronaldson's, and who was the sorrowing one we need not say. The young man waved his handkerchief, dashed a tear from his eye, and, turning from the spot, he sped down the hill.

But new scenes awaited him in other lands, and by the time he reached India the elasticity of youth had returned, and he entered upon the duties of his situation with ardent zeal and determination; faithful to his promise, he dedicated a long epistle to Jeanie, shortly after his arrival, in which he gave a flattering account of his prospects, and already anticipated the happiness they would both experience on the expiry of a few years. This letter Jeanie received in due time, and answered it without delay, but month after month passed away, and she received no more accounts from Robert. Regularly did she write him for the space of two years, without once receiving a reply, and she drooped in disappointment and sorrow; she thought at first that some accident might have befallen him, she thought he might be dead, but in this belief she was not long allowed to remain.

Shortly after young Anson's departure the factor made his appearance at old Adam Ronaldson's cottage, and kindly inquired into his circumstances and condition; his visits became more and more frequent, and he incessantly preferred his suit to the unhappy Jeanie. Her father groaned and her mother wept, for they were obliged to endure the unwelcome visiter. Frequently did Jeanie determine to give Liston a direct repulse, and as often did her heart check her when she reflected on her father's difficulties; she thought on Robert and wept, and then she listened with disgust to the addresses of the factor; she silently heard her Robert traduced, was told that he occupied a prosperous situation in India, and, instead of having met with any accident, was rapidly winning his way to a splendid fortune, and was engaging in gay and reckless amusements. Jeanie's cheek grew pale at this intelligence; she felt a whispering doubt of her lover's good faith, and she did not dare to check it, but still she hoped; she clung to she knew not what, and though her heart bled within her and she felt herself sinking under an accumulation of sorrows, still she held on; she went through her household duties mechanically, and often faltered, but though there was a hot burning spot on her heart, it was not one that could dry up the gentle dew of hope. For four long tedious years did the sorrowing maiden drag on this miserable life; she was still persecuted by Liston, who had of late pressed her, with great

urgency, to give him a favourable reply. She hesitated and feared. She thought there was death in her cup, and can it be imputed unto her for sin if she cherished a wish that it might be so; her parents were bending under a load of cares, however, and it behoved her to rouse her energies; nobly did she respond to the call of duty, and though a consuming fire was busy with her breast, she for a time made the most extraordinary exertions.

At length Liston's patience was exhausted. He could get no satisfactory reply from Jeanie herself, and, therefore, he bluntly applied himself to extract a reply from Adam, and in short and few terms he threatened the old man with ejection at next term unless his daughter gave a speedy consent. Adam was roused and enraged; he would not sacrifice his daughter to a tyrant, he said, though it were to save his body from the flames. Liston sarcastically smiled and bade him await the result. Jeanie heard her father's reply, and she shuddered as she thought on the misery to which her parents would be reduced; in despair she offered to become Liston's wife, but Adam frowned and peremptorily commanded her to be silent.

It has been beautifully asked, 'What is hope but the solace and stay of those whom it most cheats and deludes; whisperings of health to the sick and of better days to the dejected?" And long did Jeanie bear up under affliction, and it was on hope she leaned; but now she cast her eyes abroad and saw nothing but cold desolation; she quailed before the prospect; she thought she felt her heart withering and growing insensible to feeling; she was no longer the merry maid of the parish; heartstricken and depressed by multiplying distresses, she yielded to more than her nature could bear, and hope died. Hope died, we say, and Jeanie was laid upon a bed of sickness. A burning fever shook her enfeebled frame, but, contrary to every expectation, she survived. The dreaded day approached when her parents and herself were to be driven from their home, and all their effects to be sold to satisfy the demands of the stern and cruel Liston. Jeanie tried to nerve herself to bear up under the trial for the sake of her parents. Her understanding was clear, and her voice composed, but she could not force a smile to her pallid cheeks, and a cold dead weight lay on her heart.

On the evening preceding the sale of Adam's effects, a noisy party of gentlemen were sitting in one of the rooms of a hotel in Edinburgh. All were cheerful and gay with the exception of a handsome youth, with sun-burnt features, who appeared to be under the influence of a deep melancholy. He who presided over the joyous assemblage was Sir Charles Cumming's brother, who had returned to Scotland in consequence of the infirm state of the baronet's health, and had that very day arrived in Edinburgh. We need scarcely say that the melancholy youth was Robert Anson. The other members of the party were friends and acquaintances who welcomed Mr Cumming and Robert to their native land. Suddenly a waiter summoned Anson by name from the apartment, and in the lobby told him that a person wished to see him in an adjoining room. Anson was surprised, and still more so when, on entering a small apartment, one apparently young in years saluted him by name.

I am a stranger to you, Mr Anson,' he said, but I have something to communicate which to you is all important.'

'I am ignorant, sir'

Let me come to the point at once, if you please. I am going to speak of Miss Ronaldson.' The name was enough, and Robert remained rivetted to the spot. I am secretary to Sir Charles Cumming, and I have come to tell you that you have been the victim of a villanous plot in which I have had my share. You cannot conjecture why Miss Ronaldson latterly gave over writing to you. The truth is, she wrote regularly for two years, but having only received one letter from you, she ceased the correspondence. I will explain the mystery. The mover of the plot was Mr Liston.' Robert started. You are aware that he sued for Miss Ronaldson's hand before you left for India. Well, he rejoiced at your departure, and thought every

thing secure. You were directed to transmit your letters for home per the bag which Sir Charles's brother sent home every quarter. Well, sir, you know yourself that you did so for a long time with the utmost regularity. In every bag there was a package for Miss Ronaldson. But, sir, the bags passed through my hands, in my capacity of secretary to Sir Charles. Your first letter was delivered, but after that Mr Liston bribed me, and I allowed him to extract all your letters for Miss Ronaldson, which he destroyed. Several letters came from Mr Cumming to Sir Charles inquiring if your letters had been delivered. Liston had foreseen that this would be the case, and we sifted all Sir Charles's letters in search of such inquiries. To one or two the factor returned evasive answers, but the rest he burned.'

Robert at this intelligence was considerably relieved, but his anxiety and sorrow returned when the young man recounted the danger and distress in which Adam Ronaldson, his wife, and daughter, were placed.

How did you ascertain I was here?' asked Robert, looking the secretary steadily in the face.

On reflection,' replied the other, I began to repent of having been an accomplice of Liston in his detestable conduct, and I formed the determination of revealing his treachery, but knew not how to do so. While Liston was absent, I accidentally opened the letter to Sir Charles, announcing his brother's speedy arrival in Scotland, and, without informing the factor or Sir Charles of the circumstance, guided by the intelligence contained in the letter, I came to this city, and luckily discovered, by making inquiries, where Mr Cumming and yourself were lodged.'

Notwithstanding the young man's entreaties, Robert then summoned Mr Cumming from the party, and communicated to him the strange intelligence he had just received. The latter shook with indignation on hearing of the shameful manner in which he and his brother had been duped. Robert's own heart swelled with anger, but he pointed out to Mr Cumming the foolishness of giving way to ungovernable rage. There was a scheme to be counteracted, and a heartless villain to be seized in the exercise of his ill-gotten power.

The young man then pleaded for forgiveness, and said he had been so much wrought upon by the importunities of the factor that he could not resist him, and that he had now done his best to make reparation for the faults he had committed. Mr Cumming gladly forgave him, and it was agreed that the whole three should post on to the scene of action on the morrow, and confront the cruel factor in the midst of his triumphs. Mr Cumming and Robert then returned to their friends.

Let us now peep into the closet of Mr Liston. There he sat in an easy chair, before a crackling fire, and he was thinking on what he was to perform next day. His countenance was stern, hard, and dark. Though he had practised cold cruelty for many years, he did feel a twinge of conscience as he revolved within his mind the transactions of the last few years; he feared, too, he knew not what; he thought, perhaps, that Robert Anson would soon return and snatch his victims from unmerited distress and misery; he might have returned already for aught he knew. The thought acted like magic; Liston leaped to his feet, but his cold calculating habits overpowered the sudden qualm, and having taken down a long pipe from the chimneypiece, he resumed his seat, and in a few moments was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. I'm an utter fool,' he thought, to entertain for a moment such a reflection. But what if after all I may be discovered? Will I not be disgraced and cast off? I wouldn't care for the disgrace, because I'm certain that what stupid fools call reputation and honour is mere humbug, but I wouldn't like to be cast off though. And yet I may be discovered. Pshaw, I'm a fool again! But that secretary; I shouldn't wonder if he's a traitor. A traitor, did I say! He hasn't got sense enough for one. No, no, I'm all right in that quarter. But then, if it should happen, I wonder if they'd send me to prison. That's what I wouldn't like;' and he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. Perhaps they'd lock me up in

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the darkest dampest dungeon; well, I am a man of the world, that's certain, to be frightened at a shadow. I would like to see now how the Ronaldsons get on. I don't think Jeanie will hold out. I've heard of disinterested and invincible filial affection, but, of course, I hold it all as humbug. I don't believe there's such a thing, but I'll go and see.' So thinking, Liston left the house and directed his steps towards old Adam's dwelling, which stood at no great distance.

Liston's thoughts and feelings were at complete variance, indeed there was a process going on within him which it would be difficult if not impossible to analyse. We have therefore chosen, instead of trying to describe that complication, to throw the curtain partially aside and let the picture speak for itself.

The factor quickly arrived at Adam Ronaldson's cottage. It was clear moonlight, and as the man of the world, in passing through the farm-square, saw everything around him wearing the aspect of gloominess and solitude, a cold chill, for which he could not account, crept through his veins. He approached a window of the cottage and peeped into the interior. There a scene met his eyes, which, of all scenes calculated to produce, in a benevolent mind, a sweet and holy mood of contemplation, is the most powerful. In the centre of the room was placed a large oaken table, on which lay open a large book. The old farmer, with his venerable countenance reposing in tranquillity, read from its pages in a steady and deep voice. His wife listened with folded hands and intense gaze, and ever and anon a tear trickled from between her eyelids and rolled down her sunken cheeks. Jeanie sat close by her father's side, and turned her full black eyes on the inspired volume; her face was pale, very pale, but still exquisitely lovely; her raven tresses were braided neatly over her smooth brow, and underneath her eyes were dark and unhealthy streaks. One or two domestics were also in the room, and listened with devout attention. What a scene! But let us go on.

The factor gazed as if chained to the spot; his features gave two or three sudden twitches, and he turned away. It's all humbug,' he said, and he resumed his position at the window. The old man had shut the large volume, and all in the room, together with himself, were kneeling in the attitude of prayer. Again his calm deep voice struck with a solemn awful sound on the factor's ear. Again the sight of the pale and beautiful Jeanie, and of her afflicted and good old mother, made him shudder and upbraid himself. He again turned away and said, 'It's all humbug; I'll see however.' I'll see however!' What did he mean? But, once more, let us go on.

Liston looked again into the apartment. The domestics had retired, and Adam, his wife, and daughter, sat to gether. The countenances of the two former were serene and tranquil, but Jeanie's was troubled. They sat for some time in silence. At length Jeanic said (the factor could hear it), Father, I will yet save you and mother frae being driven out to poverty and distress.'

'What wad ye do?' asked her father, kindly.

'I'll marry the factor,' she murmured, with a shudder. "The factor!' cried Adam, springing from his chair; then resuming it, he added more calmly, don't mention the fiend's name, Jeanie, if ye wadna hae me commit a sin. We hae been at the throne o' mercy, my daughter, and it is not well to speak o'-o'-that; therefore say nae mair o't.'

Crowds of sympathising neighbours flocked towards the cottage, some with intent to purchase, and others to gaze with mute sorrow and compassion on the scene. We need not refer to the grief which preyed on Adam, his wife, and daughter, as they listened to the kind consolations of their neighbours, consolations which, however well meant, were rather aggravative of their sorrow than otherwise.

The hour, however, did come, and Liston, cold, stern, and sarcastic, came too, with a number of the myrmidons of law at his heels. They did not immediately enter the house, but proceeded through the fields and to the offices attached to the farm, when all the grain, cattle, horses, and implements of husbandry were disposed of. The crowd followed the factor sullenly and silently, and the man of power, although he bustled about with great spirit, met no approving look and no friendly recognition. Only his servile satellites appeared anxious to reflect the look of triumph exhibited in the wrinkled visage of their master. At last the sale of Adam's whole effects was completed, and he was ordered to quit the house. Forth the old man came, stout and bold, and he drew his bonnet, with a free and independent air, over his brows, and calmly belted his plaid around his shoulders. He then offered his support to his wife and daughter, who trembled and shuddered as they walked forth amidst the sympathising crowd. Liston stood by, and a cold smile was visible in the corner of his cunning grey eye; he looked on the victims of his cruelty and injustice, and he felt a fiendish triumph. Adam met his gaze, and made him shrink before the steady penetrating glance with which he returned it.

At this moment the quick and rapid trampling of horses was heard, the ground shook, and three horsemen, fiery red with haste,' galloped up to the crowd. The villagers gazed in surprise as they made way for the impetuous steeds. The riders were, we need scarcely say, Sir Charles's brother, Robert Anson, and the secretary. Robert leaped from his horse, and rushing towards Jeanie, was immediately recognised by her; a scream, then a flood of tears, the first she had shed for many a day, and she sank upon his bosom.

Much as this scene affected the bystanders, there was another enacted between the baronet's brother and Liston which produced universal gratification. Mr Cumming had advanced to the factor, and seized him unceremoniously by the collar. Fire flashed from his eyes as he spoke.

"By whose authority are you acting thus, you scoundrel?' Liston recognised him and he trembled, but he saw no means of escape but by braving the matter out. I'm responsible to none but to Sir Charles Cumming for my doings,' he said.

'Send for my brother,' shouted Mr Cumming, and a dozen villagers instantly rushed off with great alacrity to obey the orders. My friends,' continued Mr Cumming, addressing the crowd of people, you are witnesses of how this fellow has abused my brother's confidence. You must impute, therefore, whatever evil has come upon this district, under warrant of my brother's name, not to him but to his unworthy agent. I pledge myself that, for the future, all your complaints will be listened to with an attentive and kind ear, and that all your present grievances will be speedily redressed. It is only to be regretted that so many landlords throughout the country are so indifferent to the interests of their tenantry as to leave them at the mercy of rapacious, unfeeling, and relentless agents. In the mean time, my friends, those of you who have become purchasers of Adam Ronaldson's effects, will please charge the value of them to my account, and let them remain as they are.'

Cries of No, no, we'll give them back freely,' interrupted him.

The morning of the day on which Adam Ronaldson was to be expelled from his home rose bright and clear.

Shouts of applause for some minutes rent the air, and each one of the now gladsome crowd strove to express himself most gratified by the unexpected turn of affairs.