the rest of their days. Its situation is very
secluded— about two miles out of
Stockbridge, in the Meadowlands direction. I
proposed to take into it some of the furniture out
of my " sulky here," but Herbert said " No;"
and I am obedient. He, however, gives me
a dispensation in favour of my own books,
and of all the pretty trifles we brought from
my room at Burnbank; and Grannie will
take back thither the plenishing of the
garden apartment that we have in daily use,
and which she furnished herself, as all the
Burnbank things were sold when we left.
She says it will feel like going home again;
she has never considered herself more than a
visitor at Ferndell. There was only one
thing grieving me, and that was her pony
carriage; but Uncle Henry says, of course she
shall keep it; and the present suggestion is,
that Clara Favell, his eldest girl, should go and
live with her as I used to do. Clara is a nice,
merry body, and Grannie likes cheerfulness.

There is some speculation afloat as to how,
when, and where I am to be married to
Herbert. We have arranged it ourselves.
Burnbank will be ready to receive us in a
month from this time. Grannie and I go
thither by ourselves. The papers are to be
prepared for transferring Ferndell to the
Scrope and Favell children. Herbert is to
get a lease as a tenant of the mill; and in
September we are to be married. A brief
space it seems since his mother's death ; but
her wicked will has so unsettled him, that it
cannot be wrong or disrespectful to make it
as speedily as possible lose its evil influence;
and as he, as it were, begins life afresh, the
sooner he begins it the better. He resigns
his seat in parliament. He is much
commiserated by some, much blamed by others;
but never, I pray God, shall either of us live
to regret the step we are about to take.

June the twenty-ninth.—Cousin Henry has
been over to see how we have settled at
Burnbank. " Perfectly," I tell him; " we
are quite at home again."  Grannie looks
remarkably cheerful and contented; and,
when Henry talks about my wildness in
giving up Ferndell to please Herbert Clay,
she cuts him short with: " Well, Henry, it
will only come to those who ought to have
had it from the beginning." And when he
persists that I lose my share, being one of the
three heirs, she just bids him hold his tongue.

When we left Ferndell, Burton thought he
could not come down to the "small doings"
at Burnbank again so he went up to town
to get a better situation; and we have hired
that beautiful Anty Craggs as our "odd man."
His face is fatter and more freckled, and his
hair is redder than ever; but he is a civil
servant, and very careful in driving Grannie
up and down the hills, which is the chief thing
he has to do. Herbert Comes down on Saturday
evening, and stays with us over Sunday.

August the fifteenth.—Dr. Rayson has laid
claim to his paramount right to marry—
having baptised me; but as both Mr. Scrope
and Hugh Cameron think they have, at least,
an equal right, they are each to assist the
other, and all be satisfied. They tell us it is
only once in a life-time they can expect to
perform the service for so romantic a pair,
and they will not lose the opportunity,
Herbert is very passive in the matter, for
his hands are full of business. I want to get
the papers signed that make over Ferndell to
my cousins' children; but both Mr. Scrope
and Cousin Henry insist that I shall not put
pen to paper until the very morning of my
marriage, just before we go to church, when
it will be still time to change my mind, if I
feel so disposed. Grannie and I have been
to Stockbridge, to see my future home, now
it is finished. I think it a gem of elegant
simplicity. O, I shall be happy there!
The day fixed for our marriage is the sixth
of September. It is to be very quiet: only
the Camerons, Scropes, Cousin Henry and
his wife, and Clare, old Mrs. Lake, and Dr.
Rayson are to be invited. This is Herbert's
wish, and mine too. The school children at
Ashby, Ferndell, Burnshead, and this place,
are to have a tea-drinking on the occasion;
that is all the lively rejoicing we intend,
Lady Deering and Lady Singleton express
the profoundest wonderment at Herbert Clay
and myself; and Lady Mary Vernon vows
she shall take us for the hero and heroine of
her next book, for she is sure ours is a
sweetly pretty story, and a very good plot.

My wedding-day. Come and almost gone!
Ferndell belongs to the Scropes and Favells,
and I belong to my own love, that is, true
Herbert. I have nothing to write but that
I am happy, happy, too happy for many
words! I see before me the years of a life
that will suffice my heart better, a thousandfold
better, than all the rank and money in
the world. Herbert, who is watching me
impatiently while I write, says it shall lack
nothing he can give to make it blest; and I
believe it.  With him it can lack nothing;
without him it lacks all.  Now, let me sign
myself by his name, and leave the rest of the
page blank.                        ELEANOR CLAY.

THE FIRST SACK OF DELHI.

IN a wretched little tent, which was pitched
near the fortress of Kelat, in the Persian
province of Khorassan, a poor woman gave
birth to a son who was named Nadir Kooli,
or the slave of the Almighty, in the year
sixteen hundred and eighty-eight. The
child's father earned his livelihood by making
sheep-skin coats for the peasants, and Nadir
was brought up as a shepherd until the age
of thirteen, when his father died.

An ass and a camel were his only patrimony,
and he kept his mother by gathering
sticks in the woods and carrying them to
market.

In seventeen hundred and four, a marauding