trouble for me? I don't deserve it, and am
only a selfish fellow, like the rest of us."

On this day she, too, saw the brightness and
happiness in his face, and her old instinct told
her the reason. That is but a poor selfish sort
of love, as she knew, that can only love when
we ourselves have a share in the transaction.
She was content—or perhaps had trained herself
to be content—at looking on at the little
play from round the edge of the scenes—helping,
contriving, prompting, but taking no direct part.
A kind of sublime, unnatural virtue, it will be
said, quite unknown to this earth, and wholly
fanciful. She came in just as Miss West had
gone out.

"Margaret has been scolding me, coz," he
said. " She says I am turning a sort of middle-
aged fool. You and she will put your heads
together presently and agree in that."

"No, indeed," she said, earnestly; " you
have always behaved wisely and well, and have
such great sense."

"Well," he went on, in a sort of dreamy
satisfaction, " I think I do know something
about character; at least, when I was at the bar
my ' brethren' used to tell me so. I feel an
interest in that little girl, she is so fresh and
natural; but Margaret has been conjuring up a
terrible picture of coming horrors, madness,
misery, and what not. Now sit down there, Coz
Constance, for I know you have an interest in my
foolish self, and tell me what you think."

"I think," said she, with an enforced earnestness
which gave her a little pain, but only for a
moment, " that whatever makes you happy, and
changes the tone and colour of your life, is the
best, and for the best, and should be done."

"Well, but about her? Is she this sort
of witch, this dangerous mermaid, that will
by-and-by drag us all on to rocks? Now,
you know her. Tell me, do you like her?
Just read that letter, which has had the effect
of sending away poor Margaret in great excitement.
Would you say that was acting——"

This was another trial, but she bore it
bravely.

"Indeed it is genuine," she said, with the
same eagerness. " And I think she is a charming,
natural character, that would make any one
happy."

"So I say. I am sure you are right."

"The only thing is," she went on, hesitatingly,
"she is so young and inexperienced, and so
new to the world, that—you won't think me
absurd giving you advice, Cousin Gilbert?"

"Dear no," he said, warmly. " Well?"

"That young girls who have seen nothing are
naturally changeable, and the fact of their feeling
themselves at all bound would almost make
them think it a restraint. So——"

"So! now what on earth are you coming to,
wise woman?" he said, in great amazement.
"What Rosicrucian refinement are you going
to start on me?"

"I mean," she said, " that I would not think
of any promise, or any engagement, or anything
of that kind. I would even not seem too
anxious to her. Because she has seen so few,
and if any one else——"

"That was handsome and fine-looking, I see,"
he said, smiling. "But you are quite right;
and though the advice is wonderfully
Machiavellian to come from my simple, innocent Coz
Constance, still I think it most sensible and
judicious, and I will follow it."

"It is for your sake," she said, earnestly.
"For Margaret may be right; and we are both
interested in you, and if you play everything on
a single chance like this——"

He looked grave. "A thousand thanks!"

A HOLIDAY ON HORSEBACK.

When, two hundred years ago, Mr. Samuel
Pepys desired to go from London to Huntingdon,
the first necessity of his case was to purchase a
pair of jack-boots at St. Martin's-le-Grand: a
quarter of the town famous for those articles of
riding gear; and his next care was to hire a
post-horse. He was not an equestrian either
by nature or habit. When mounted, he was
apt to grow frightened, and to wish himself
well out of any crowd or difficulty. Moreover,
the horses used in those days were mostly
stallions, always ready on every opportunity
to fight with each other, to kick, and to bite,
and to rear, and otherwise to deport
themselves uncomfortably. It was, no doubt,
therefore, with some trepidation and uneasiness
that the good naval secretary prepared
himself for the saddle; but there was no help for
it, unless he bought a coach especially for the
journey, in which case it would have taken about
four days in fine weather to accomplish the
sixty-odd miles, and have cost twenty pounds
beyond the price of the coach. To go even
to St. Martin's-le-Grand from the court or
official quarter of the town was an enterprise
of some difficulty and of some peril. If
the passenger went on foot, he was liable to
be hustled by bullies, to be beaten or to have his
nose slit by the servants of any nobleman who
took offence at his demeanour. If too peaceable
to allow a quarrel to be fixed upon him, he might
easily tumble down an open cellar; if he had an
unscrupulous enemy or a pretty wife, he might be
suddenly arrested as a Catholic. If a rich man, he
was likely to be kidnapped for ransom, or till he
gave his consent to his daughter's marriage with
a sharper. If he took a hackney-coach, the driver
probably drove him to his own lodgings, a fearful
nest; of fever, depravity, and bad smells,
where he was made to wait for some hours while
the jarvey changed horses; and he was lucky
indeed if he got clear out of the transaction
without being robbed. The hackney-coach,
too, made of rotten wood and mouldy leather,
lined with musty straw, and held together
by a single bolt, frequently broke down upon
the road, or the bottom came out, and left
a passenger suddenly seated in the quagmire of
an undrained street. Mr. Pepys, however,
escaped all these mishaps, and, when fairly