, but strong beer. An' that
sometimes gets a little sourish with keeping."

Anthony took the hint. "Ah, I remember. Your husband was very fond of
ale--particularly in harvest-time You must give him this, to drink my
health." And he slipped a guinea into her hand. "And to-morrow, when I
come over the hill, I shall expect him to halloo largess."

"The Lord love you, for a dear handsome young gentleman. An' my Dick
will do that with the greatest of pleasure." And, with an awkward
attempt at a curtsey, the good woman withdrew.

After chatting some little time with Frederic and Clary, Anthony retired
to the room appropriated to his use.

The quiet, unobtrusive kindness of his young relatives had done much to
soothe and tranquillize his mind; and he almost wished, as he paced to
and fro the narrow limits of his airy little chamber, that he could
forget that he had ever known and loved the beautiful and fascinating
Juliet Whitmore.

"Why should mere beauty possess such an influence over the capricious
wandering heart of man?" he thought; "yet it is not beauty alone that
makes me prefer Juliet to the rest of her sex. Her talents, her deep
enthusiasm, captivate me more than her handsome face and graceful form.
Oh, Juliet! Juliet! why did we ever meet? or is Godfrey destined to
enact the same tragedy that ruined my uncle's peace, and consigned my
mother to an early grave?"

As these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, his eyes rested upon
his mother's picture. It was the first time that he had ever beheld her
but in dreams. Radiant in all its girlish beauty, the angelic face
smiled down upon him with life-like fidelity. The rose that decked her
dark floating locks, less vividly bright than the glowing cheeks and
lips of happy youth; the large black eyes, "half languor and half fire,"
that had wept tears of unmitigated anguish over his forlorn
infancy--rested upon his own, as if they were conscious of his presence.
Anthony continued to gaze upon the portrait till the blinding tears hid
it from his sight.

"Oh, my mother!" he exclaimed, "better had it been for thee to have died
in the bloom of youth and innocence, than to have fallen the victim of
an insidious--villain," he would have added, but that villain was his
father; and he paused without giving utterance to the word, shocked at
himself that his heart had dared to frame the impious word his
conscience forbade him to speak.

What a host of melancholy thoughts