rare, after all, to find any two human
beings cast in moulds that are at all
similar. . . . But, at length, my Magda, I
found thee; and in thee, to my great joy,
a living image of our lost Louise. . . .
Shall I tell thee the truth? I had little
thought of love or marriage, at first. Thy
father was poor; I was willing to sacrifice
two-thirds of my fortune to the
accomplishment of my scheme; with that intention
I sought thee. . . . But when I came
to know thee, my treasure—ah! then it
was different. When I came to see thee
in thy quiet home, to note thy tender
modest graces, Love found me out and
conquered me. I thought, if thou wouldst
consent to be my wife, here was the true
solution of the difficulty. . . . and whether
that scheme succeeded or failed, in thee I
should, at all events, find a joy and peace
that had long been absent from my soul.
It has been so—it is so, my darling! The
good God has seen fit to take my mother—
has not seen fit to bless my original scheme.
But he will bless what has grown out of it,
that I know.

"I thought it best to conceal the truth
from thee. When I brought thee and left
thee here alone, it could but have added to
thy alarms at first to know of an insane
woman's presence in this dreary place, and
of the part thou wert called upon to play.
Thou wouldst learn it all, naturally, in
the course of a day or two; but by that
time some change might have been
wrought in her condition. Of course I
felt dreadfully anxious, yet I knew there
was no danger to be apprehended. . . .
Hanne has told me everything. From
her window, my poor mother saw thee
alight, and her eye kindled as she watched
thee. All the evening she was strangely
agitated, as they had not known her
to be for years. By-and-by, on the
bridge, she again watched thee stealthily;
but could not repress a scream when the
mantle fell over the parapet—- it looked
(Hanne says) from the window like a body
falling into the water! Her excitement
increased as night advanced; yet it seemed
as though she doubted, and would test thy
identity before approaching thee openly.
Instead of going to Louise's room, as usual,
every evening, she waited till night was
fully come, when she stole up (followed by
Hanne), and stood behind the arras, watching
thee until thou wert asleep. Then she
came forth, and touched thy clothes—the
clothes that had been Louise's—and
approached the bed softly, and stood looking
tenderly upon thee. It was strange, Hanne
says, to see the working of her face, and
hear her muttered words, until, bending
lower and lower, she touched thee with her
lips, and whispered ' Louise!'

"This was the crisis. . . . How it might
have ended, God knows! but for thy
natural terror, my poor child, which made thee
spring from the bed and rush screaming
towards the window.

"No doubt, in the horror of the moment,
it seemed to her, poor soul! that the old
tragedy was being re-enacted—the scene
whereon her mind had dwelt for twenty
years rose up before her, and the
mainspring of life, long worn, suddenly snapped.
With a great cry, she fell back upon the
bed, and died, almost instantaneously, I
believe. . . .

"Peace be with her! God's decrees are
wise, and in denying our prayers, He
sometimes grants to us a yet better thing
for our consolation," said the young graf in
conclusion, as he pressed his wife to his
heart.

        AS THE CROW FLIES.

DUE WEST. TAUNTON TO EXETER.

THE crow looking towards Exeter, turns a
quick eye for a moment ere he rises from his last
perch on St. Mary's tower, towards Norton
Fitz-Warren on the Wolverton-road. On the
hill side above the church there is an old earthwork
with a ditch and two ramparts enclosing
an area of thirteen acres. The local legend is
that an enormous serpent, "the loathly worm"
of the old ballads, once dwelt here and devastated
the surrounding country. Its ravages
are supposed to be portrayed in the carving
of the wood screen in the adjoining church.
Some say this place was once an old British
town; there is a local distich:

       When Taunton was a furzy down,
       Norton was a market town.

It is in fact to Taunton what Old Sarum is to
Salisbury—that is, grandfather. Perhaps some
outlawed British chieftain of early days
fortressed himself here, and tormented the
neighbourhood by taking, unasked for, tithe and
toll.

The crow glances also at North Curry,
not far off, because North Curry is remarkable
for being the only place that venerates the
memory of that bad son, and infamous
monarch, King John. Yet so strong is custom,
and so indelible is the respect for the usurper
at North Curry, that every Christmas John's
"immortal memory" is drunk with all the
honours. Let us hope that it was originally Saint
John they toasted, and that the dinner only
originated in a "church ale." The feast takes
place at the Reeve's house, and the chief dish
among the pastry is a huge mince pie,