ning clothes. Those for
the morning were very nearly black, whereas for the evening they were
entirely so. He walked about the neighbourhood in a soft hat such as
clergymen now affect, and on Sundays he went to church with the old
well-established respectable chimney-pot. On Sundays, too, he carried
an umbrella, whereas on week-days he always had a large stick; and it
was observed that neither the umbrella nor the stick was adapted to
the state of the weather.

Such was Mr Whittlestaff of Croker's Hall, a small residence
which stood half-way up on the way to the downs, about a mile from
Alresford. He had come into the neighbourhood, having bought a small
freehold property without the knowledge of any of the inhabitants.
"It was just as though he had come out of the sun," said the old
baker, forgetting that most men, or their ancestors, must have come
to their present residences after a similar fashion. And he had
brought Mrs Baggett with him, who had confided to the baker that she
had felt herself that strange on her first arrival that she didn't
know whether she was standing on her head or her heels.

Mrs Baggett had since become very gracious with various of the
neighbours. She had the paying of Mr Whittlestaff's bills, and the
general disposal of his custom. From thence arose her popularity.
But he, during the last fifteen years, had crept silently into the
society of the place. At first no one had known anything about him;
and the neighbourhood had been shy. But by degrees the parsons and
then the squires had taken him by the hand, so that the social
endowments of the place were more than Mr Whittlestaff even desired.

CHAPTER III.

MARY LAWRIE.

There is nothing more difficult in the writing of a story than to
describe adequately the person of a hero or a heroine, so as to place
before the mind of the reader any clear picture of him or her who
is described. A courtship is harder still--so hard that we may say
generally that it is impossible. Southey's Lodore is supposed to have
been effective; but let any one with the words in his memory stand
beside the waterfall and say whether it is such as the words have
painted it. It rushes and it foams, as described by the poet, much
more violently than does the real water; and so does everything
described, unless in the hands of a wonderful master. But I have
clear images on my brain of the characters of the persons introduced.
I know with fair accuracy what