tenance at such a name even now? No; I did not try him, and (for you are a stranger and must be indulged), I will tell you wherefore. I would not have given it him for his head; nor for as many of them as would have built a tower to yonder moon; and so now see if you can contrive to be jealous of him;-nay, you shall not touch it. Do you remember how often, when it pleased you to be moody, you threatened to take it from me?"

"No more of that, sweet Sibyl."

"And will you never counterfeit a headache, to hide your displeasure, when I dance with Sir Dunce, or gallop with Sir Gosling?' "No, never, Sibyl."

"And you will never take leave of me for ever, and return five minutes afterwards to see how I bear it?"

"Never, whilst I live."

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Why, then, I give you leave to ask my father's leave to stay a whole week at the hall, for I have a great deal to say to you-when I can think of it.”

"I will ask him for yourself, Sybil.”

"No, no, Sir Childe, you will not do any

such thing. When you went from hence, it was with a college character, which was by no means likely to ingratiate you with reasonable people, whatever it may have done with other folks; and you must not talk to my father of the treasured Sibyl till you are better acquainted with him. Talk of ploughs and politics as much as you please;-make it appear that, now the wars are over, there is some chance of your turning your sword into a pruning hook, and yourself into an accomplished 'squire ;and then-and then, alas! for the high-minded Sibyl!"

*

*

*

It was not long afterwards that Childe Wilful, to the great surprise of Sibyl, arrived at the hall in hot haste from foreign parts! He had always been a favourite for his liveliness, and was, indeed, almost as much liked as abused. The old lord took him by the hand, with a comical expression of countenance which seemed to inquire how much mischief he had done; and the old ladies thought him vastly improved by travel, and awfully like a great warrior.

The only persons to whom his presence was not likely to be strikingly agreeable, were a few round-shouldered suitors of Sibyl, who, in common with country squires in general, were largely gifted with the blessings of fleet horses and tardy wits. Amongst these stood pre-eminent, Sir Lubin of the Golden Dell. He was a tall man, with not a bad figure, and really a handsome face; though the dangerous tendency of the first was somewhat marred by peculiar ideas of the Graces, and the latter was perfectly innocuous, from an undue economy of expression. Altogether, Sir Lubin was a very fine camel: he was a man of much dignity, always preserving a haughty silence when he did not exactly know what to say, and very properly despising those whom he could not hope to outshine. Thus it was that the meeting between Sir Lubin and Childe Wilful was very similar to that between Ulysses and the ghost of Ajax.

Had this been all the mortification which the Childe was doomed to undergo, he might perhaps have contrived to bear it with fortitude; but Sibyl had subjected him to the task of ob

taining a good character, and his trials were insupportable.

In the first place, he had to tell stories of sacked cities and distressed virgins, at the teatable, till he became popular enough with the maiden aunts to be three parts out of his mind; for Sibyl was all the time compelled to endure the homage of her other lovers. It is true that her keen wit could no more enter their doubleblocked skulls, than the point of her needle could have penetrated the Macedonian phalanx ; but then each villain fixed his eye upon her with all the abstracted expression of the bull's eye in a target, and seemed so abominably happy, that the sight was excruciating. Sometimes, too, Sir Lubin would muster brains to perceive that he was giving pain, and would do his best to increase it, by whispering in her ear, with a confidential smile, some terrible nothing, for which he deserved to be exterminated; whilst, to mend the matter, the old ladies would remark upon the elegance of his manner, and hint that Sibyl was evidently coming to, because she seemed too happy to be scornful, and had lost all her taste for solitude. They

would undoubtedly make a very handsome couple; and the Childe was appealed to whether he did not think that they would have a very fine family.

In the second place, his opinions of ploughs and politics, on which love had taught him to discourse but too successfully, made him a fixture at the punch-bowl; while Sir Lubin and his tribe profaned Sibyl's hand in countrydances as long as they had breath for a plunge. It, moreover, left them ample opportunity to negotiate with the aunts upon the arrangement of her plans for the next day, when he was still condemned to admire some new farm, or ride ten miles to rejoice with his host over a wonderful prize-bullock. Sometimes, too, the old lord would apologize for taking him away, by observing, that it was better to leave Sibyl to her lovers, for it was time that she should take up with some one of them, and the presence of third parties might abash her.

In the third place, when he retired to bed to sum up all the pleasures of the day, it was never quite clear to him that Sibyl did not expose him to more disquietude than was abso