whom we will call Charles Ardley. From the
first— when he was near the head of a great
public school; then when he was at college;
and finally when he had achieved his degree,
with such honours as the University then had
to bestow, was admitted to a fellowship in
Alma Mater, and was pursuing the woolsack
through the dining-room of Lincoln's Inn—
Chares Ardley never seemed to like me. I
was a shy proud West Indian. He despised
the colonist, and had imbibed some astonishing
notions on the subject of our slaves. But
a tine noble fellow he was, notwithstanding
his moroseness to me. Even that occasionally
wore off; and no wonder, for the presence
of Miss Sidleton's cousin, the beautiful Fanny
Osgood, was enough to repress any such
uncharitable feeling. It was impossible to see
much of her without loving her; and, as
Charles saw a great deal of her, the result
is not to be wondered at. But what was the
use of love without the means of procuring
even the cottage with which, in romantic
minds, love is usually combined? They were
both very poor; Fanny's fortune hung on the
caprice of the overbearing and selfish kinswoman,
who might leave wealth enough to
bring the peerage to her feet; or might perhaps,
and most probably would, cut her off
without a shilling. Meanwhile love went on;
and until fourteen I was the happiest boy in
the world. Studies went on also surprisingly
well, under the influence of hope and affection;
Horace was my familiar companion, and in
this there was a sympathy between Charles
Ardley and me which almost overcame the sin
of my being a West Indian. We read him
together whenever he came down, and even
when he was an inhabitant of " the dusky
purlieus of the law," he was true in his
allegiance to the most gentlemanly of the
Romans.

Now came on the trial to us all. Miss Siclleton
fell into what she called religion, which
with her was another name for bad health;
and, instead of the wonderful accounts of
colonels and majors who were impatiently
waiting the signature of marriage articles, the
part of the future bridegrooms began to be
played by venerable archdeacons, and prebendaries,
and deans. " Now, Miss Osgood," she
would say, " I don't think the Doctor will like
his privacy disturbed by the presence of a poor
relation. You will therefore have to look
out for another situation. The wedding will
take place very soon; and a great difference you
will find between the comforts of this house,
and the struggles of a very wicked and
unregenerate world." Preparations in apparent
accordance with the matrimonial change
would go on as if there were no time to lose.
The library would be aired and dusted; an
old study chair would be new lined and
stuffed; and the ancient damsel—on pretence
of retirement for solemn meditation—would
occupy herself all day long in trying on oldfashioned
gowns, and in practising an interesting
walk to the altar, with a handkerchief
thrown over her head, by way of a bridal veil.

None of the military or aristocratic suitors
for her hand had ever made their appearance
at the Manor; but, what was the surprise of the
parish when, one day, there presented himself
a reverend gentleman from the University of
Oxford, wigged, starched, and knee-buckled;
who was at once received as an inmate of the
house, and who took on himself such airs of
lordship and authority, that people began at
last to believe that the Hour and the Man were
both come, and that Fanny Osgood was disinherited
in earnest. Shortly after the arrival
of the divine, he was followed by a gentleman
of the same name, whom we soon made out
to be a lawyer; and then supposition became
certainty. They were closeted for hours at a
tune with the lady of the mansion. Parchments
of large size and mysterious shape came
out of a little blue bag belonging to the
lawyer; and we were all in momentary expectation
of the announcement of the
approaching marriage.

That announcement never came. Instead
of it, a third individual made his appearance,
in the person of a neighbouring
physician, and we could not help perceiving
Miss Sidleton's matrimonial boastings were
likely to come to nothing. We felt sure that
the conferences between the Oxford divine
and his legal brother, had more reference to
the bestowal of her estate than of her hand.

At last she told us so herself. She said
that as she was about to be married she had
disposed of her fortune in the event of her
having no heirs; conveying all she possessed
to her kinswoman Fanny Osgoodapproachingprovided
she married with the consent of Dr. Dibble—
but, if she married without his consent, then
she conveyed all she possessed to the said Dr.
Dibble in consideration of his having instructed
her in the duties of confession, and
absolved her upon easy penance. This news
was communicated at once to Charles Ardley.
He saw the manoeuvre at once by which the
brothers had achieved their object; and,
although he did not care about the practical
disinheritance of Fanny Osgood, he felt an
insurmountable objection to the bestowal of so
much wealth on Dr. Dibble. Mr. Davies was
astonished; Mary and I cared nothing about
it, only we hated the intruding brothers, and
couldn't bear to see Fanny Osgood in tears.
The old maid sickened more and more, and
boasted of her generosity to her dependant
as if she had left her really heiress of all her
wealth—occasionally dropped a hint that she
was on the point of a long journey to marry
a general of great reputation, who had repented,
and was now a bishop. At last, at
the beginning of November she died. A
sad time it was for me; Mary and I were
to be separated for years; for she was now
to be transferred by her brother to the
care of a relation in Essex, and I, after
two years' study at a great public school,