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"Edith does not ask you about the men and women of the place, you perceive," cried Frank Kinnaird, mockingly, yet with an evident wish to call my attention to the simplicity of his sister's tastes. "She is a very romantic young lady; all her sympathies are for hills, meadows, and waterfalls. But I-who am a matterof-fact person, who live by eating, drinking, and talking, and am resolved to obtain as many pleasant helps to those three grand occupations as I can for the next month or two-I may perhaps be permitted to inquire what kind of society is attainable at Alford?"

"Your sister is infinitely indebted to you, Kinnaird," said Captain Everard. "She was just coming to that question. She, however, would have been compelled to ask it in a circumlocutory manner, and with an air of nonchalance, as if it dropped out by accident, so as not to incur the reproach of feeling any interest in her fellow-creatures; while you are able to obtain the information she wants openly, without the trouble of manoeuvring, or the danger of disguise. You are an invaluable friend."

"That is a part of your system of having no faith in anybody," said Miss Kinnaird, quickly.

"My system of having no faith in anybody!" repeated he, with an air of astonishment; "I did not know I had such a system. Pray how did you find it out?"

Listening is often a great deal more expressive than talking," said Miss Kinnaird, with playful determination; "besides, you were not wholly silent."

"I spoke,' did I?" cried he. I feel infinitely gratified to think that my words should have made so deep an impression."

I came to Edith's assistance here, for this last stroke evidently disconcerted her a little. "What is the story of Captain Kinnaird's two friends," asked I, "which has given rise to this war of words? I cannot decide which of you is wrong till I know the whole history."

"Oh! I'll enlighten you," cried Frank: "Everard, you know, is not in our regiment now; he exchanged more than two years since, and has been to the West Indies, and had the yellow fever, &c. &c., and that is why he is down here with me, on sick leave, recruiting a little. So he was asking me after some of our old friends to-day; and, among other histories, I told him of a fellow of the name of Harrison, whom we both knew very well, and who has just sold out, and bought land in Australia. A strange fancy it is, to be sure, and he has persuaded another fellow of ours-Milford (Everard, you didn't know Milford, he was after your time)-to join him, and they sunk the price of their commissions, and such private property as they had besides, in the purchase of I don't know how many acres, somewhere beyond Sydney, and they sailed last month, and are gone to set up farming together: the only wise part of the plan seems to me to be their going together, for they were always uncommonly great cronies; and it will certainly be better for them to have each other to talk to, instead of settlers and natives, and those sort of people."

"And I believe the head and front of my offending," said Captain Everard to Miss Kinnaird, "was, that I ventured to think it the only, or the most, unwise part of the plan! Did I do anything worse than that except listen?"

her.

The young lady blushed, but did not seem at all disposed to retreat from what she had said. Oh," she replied, "people who have the sort of views that you have, cannot conceal them if they would. One sces it all immediately. The manner in which you listened to Frank's account of his two friends, at dinner to-day, showed me at once what you thought."

"Indeed!" said he, apparently much amused. "Miss Forde, I am afraid you will find your companion very dangerous. You will stand committed to unknown and elaborate systems, not by the words you speak, but by the manner in which you listen; and at dinner too, when one is apt to fancy that observation is at rest, and the stricter restraints of society may be a little

She laughed, and replied,-" Oh yes, you did much worse. When Frank told you that there was a real friendship between them, you said you hoped it might

Upon my word, Edith," cried her brother, joining Captain Everard and myself in the laugh which these words elicited, "it was a very charitable hope of Everard's, for I am sure if it does not last, the poor fellows will be in pretty nearly the most uncomfortable situation that I can imagine. Would you have had him hope that it might not last?”

Yes, I think I may retort upon my assailant," added Everard. "I won't be so very general in my assertion; but it is pretty evidently Miss Kinnaird's system to have no faith in me."

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"Oh, the tone in which you said it!" persisted she; it implied such a disbelief in the possibility of its lasting. You may laugh, if you please, but I am sure it did. Now, can you say-truly and honestly—that you do not expect them to quarrel almost immediately?"

"I believe, on my honour and conscience," replied Captain Everard, with solemnity, "that by this day six months-I say six months, because I like to be on the safe side-they will not be upon speaking terms." "There!" cried Edith, in triumph. 66 Was I not right? But how I pity you!"

"You pity me," rejoined he, "because I have a little more experience in human nature than it is possible or natural that you should have. Well, if such experience be profitable, I will allow that it is not very exhilarating. But I have this great advantage, that I am not undergoing perpetual disappointments. Knowing the truth of that wise old saying, that every man has his price,'

to Frank--and his conversation is interesting-one could not go to sleep over it as one so often feels inclined to do with commonplace people-but I cannot say that I like him."

"I should not like him for a friend," I observed cautiously.

"I dislike him excessively," cried she, with energy. And so we parted for the night.

What a number of little worlds revolve, unsuspected, under the uniform surface of that complex and mysterious thing, Society! The only words spoken that evening which had penetrated into my heart, and which remained there, were the careless expressions of Frank Kinnaird, "that he looked upon me as an old friend because he had heard so much of me in his childhood." Amid the interminable musings which arose out of this little sentence, I fell asleep.

A CHRISTMAS PARTY IN THE COUNTRY.1 CHAP. VIII.

A RAMBLE TO THE SYKE.

"PRAY, my dear mother, where did you and Justine, ramble to this morning?" asked Charles Loraine, as the party at Kirkfield Hall drew near the blazing fire, and arranged the table and working-frames for the evening; "I came in, tired to death with hard study, to propose a walk, but found the girls all busy letter-writing, and you and my cousin vanished no one knew whither. Where did you go?"

"We went as far as the Syke," replied his mother, "because I wished to show Justine a specimen of our north-country farmhouses, and had not before been to partake of good Mrs. Fielding's yule-cake and cheese. You will all be in disgrace there if you do not go soon, for she says she has looked for you every day, and has made Justine promise to visit her again with you" "Which I did promise most readily," said Justine l'Estrange, "for I was quite taken with the old lady's hospitality and homely good humour. Not that I am sure I understood all she said, for she certainly did speak more broadly than any one I have yet met with, when she wondered as hoo t' young ladies hed nivver been ower ta taste t' yule-cake, an' not even Mr. Charles hed been in wi' his gun ta hev a bit o' cheese an' a sup o' Christmas yall. She really thowt it war ower bad. They might as weel hev a barghest at Syke, ye all seemed sa flayed ta cum till it.""

Well done, Justine !" cried Charles, " you will speak the real Doric in time."

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Is it not a shocking corruption of language ?” "I am not quite so sure of that, Mademoiselle. Modern English you know is said to be a corruption of the Saxon, and in our dales I doubt not you will find more words of pure Saxon origin than in any other district. We must introduce you to Dr. F., who will discourse most learnedly upon this topic, and doubtless tell you an anecdote of his younger days, when, meeting in a coffee-room at Rome with another dalesman, they were both so rejoiced at the encounter that they sat down together, and talked long and loudly in their broadest mother-tongue, till interrupted by a very modest yet dignified-looking personage, who introduced himself as the celebrated Signor A., and said he had believed himself master of all European dialects, and many other languages, but was emboldened to intrude upon them to ask in what language they were conversing, as all his learning had not enabled him to guess at it. Dr. F. told him it was pure and uncorrupted English, which

(1) Continued from page 237.

was still preserved in some of the secluded districts of the north. The good doctor is half inclined to uphold his assertion even yet, nor am I sure if he be in jest or in earnest when he does so. But I am glad you like our friend Mrs. Fielding; she is a great favourite with my mother."

"She is one of an old-school class, now almost extinet," said Mrs. Loraine, "and I confess a favourite of mine. I like going to the Syke. There is always a hearty welcome, and no pretension, no aiming at refinement which would be out of place. We were indeed ushered into the best parlour, which Justine might think quite Frenchified, for there stands the best bed, exhibited with as much pride as a Parisian couch with its elegant drapery, though composed of rather more solid and substantial materials. There too is the cornercupboard of black oak, standing open to display several pieces of fine old china, and a huge chest of highly polished and inlaid walnut wood drawers, large enough to contain her fine stock of household linen, all spun by her own hands or those of her mother and grandmother. Mrs. Fielding herself, with her dark silk-handkerchief tied in this cold weather over her close widow's cap, her grave cotton gown, and checked apron, is quite in keeping with the homely but substantial look of all about her. From her I am sure to hear the best account of all the poorer neighbours, the truest and the kindest, nor do I think there is any one more ready to relieve their wants, in which she is always aided by her son, whose farm and dairy she helps to manage; and ing has long been the most useful man in the parish." as constable, overseer, or churchwarden, William Field

"She chiefly won my heart," said Justine," by her remembrance of my mother, and by telling me I was like her, and that for her sake as well as for my own she was delighted to show me the treasures of her dairy, her poultry-yard, and her garden."

"It is a bad season for the garden," said Sophia; "but in the summer it is unrivalled not only in its profusion of roses, honeysuckles, and peonies, its tall willow herb and wide-spreading mignonette beds for her bees, but for its infinite variety of pot-herbs, on which she prides herself, and which you would doubtless remark hanging in bundles innumerable from the top of the room. is a bad season for viewing the garden."

It

"Not so bad, Sophia," replied Justine, "but I met with a prize growing in a warm and sheltered corner near the wall, and brought away this sprig of rosemary in full bloom as a commencement for the herbal Agnes has been persuading me to attempt under her auspices. You will help me to-morrow, Agues, will you not! and perhaps this flower will be a theme for what Charles calls our lecture to-night."

"Did Mrs. Fielding not tell you any of its virtues?" asked Lucy.

"Indeed she expatiated greatly on its valuable properties as a comforter to the heart, a strengthener of the memory, a cure for the headache, and a wash for the hair; and told me it is the chief ingredient in the farfamed Hungary water. Nay, she would hardly believe I did not pluck this sprig to make rosemary tea, and, blaming my excessive modesty, would fain have laden me with a huge bundle ready dried for the purpose."

"I thought she would not fail to recommend its good qualities."

"And pray, ladies," asked Frederic, "did not your memories want strengthening when you omitted to add rosemary to your rose-named flowers!"

"Our memories were not at fault, I can assure you, Frederic," answered Sophia, "for this plant does not derive its name from the rose It is properly ros, and comes from the same root as drosera, which you may remember signities dew. Rosemary is Ros Marinus, or the dew of the sea; and in its native country, the South of Europe, this plant grows so close to the sea-shore that it literally seems to receive its nourishment from its exhalations."

"It is altogether a poor dull-looking plant, and would hardly have claimed our notice at any other season of the year than this, when I suppose it is valued for the scarcity of other flowers."

"It has greater claims to our notice than this, Justine," said Mrs. Martha Loraine; "and I think there are few plants which are invested with more pensive and poetic interest. You doubtless remember Ophelia's speech, "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance-and the quality so generally ascribed to it of serving to strengthen the memory makes it not only a favourite flower of rustic gallantry-a sort of forget-me-not-but seems to have hallowed it in a still more tender manner. It is peculiarly the flower of the dead in the estimation of many widely-differing parts of England. Amongst the fishermen of Yarmouth and other places on the coast of Norfolk, and also in Yorkshire, I have seen it strewn over the humble coffin, and laid in profusion around the church during a funeral; and in the churchyards of Wales, so celebrated for the beautiful custom which decorates them with flowers, the rosemary is a principal favourite, and sprigs of this plant are usually worn by mourners, and thrown into the grave as a last offering of affection."

"But, my dear aunt," said Charles, "pray remember that rosemary is, or was, also a country decoration for weddings, and as such is frequently named by our old English writers. Spenser, I think, calls it 'refreshing rosemary;' so do not let Justine look upon her first attempt to form an herbal as an ill-omened beginning. Agnes, when you were a little girl,--which I dare not call you now that you reach up to the shoulder of such a grenadier as I am,-you used to repeat a great part of Shenstone's Schoolmistress.' Can you remember the verse in which he celebrates the rosemary?"

"Oh dear!" said Agnes, "it is a very, very long time since I repeated that task, but I will try;" and with a little recollection she repeated

And here trim rosemarine, that whilom crown'd
The daintiest garden of the proudest peer,

Ere driven from its envied site, it found

A sacred shelter for its branches here;

Where edged with gold its glittering skirts appear.
Oh wassel days! oh customs meet and well!
Ere this was banished from its lofty sphere;
Simplicity then sought this humble cell,

Nor ever would she more with thane and lordling dwell." "Shenstone's 'Schoolmistress' must have been an ancestress of Mrs. Fielding's," said Lucy; "since in her garden were to be found herbs for use and physic not a few; but look at your flower, Justine, and see if it has not a bright edging to its dull petals, which the poet so prettily calls its glittering skirts."

"You see, Justine," said Charles, "your flower is not so despicable as you were inclined to suppose; and I dare say other quotations may be brought forward in its

favour."

"I think," said Cyril, "I have read that in the Great Desert many stalks of rosemary and lavender are found, though it is not known whence they spring; and to this Moore is supposed to allude when he calls this plant The humble rosemary,

Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert and the dead.'

-I was going to tell you the rosemary is a most useful plant in some parts of India, where it is commonly burnt as fuel; but I remember, in time to save that blunder, that it is a species of artemisia or southernwood which is there used, and that the strong scent and smoke were among the minor distresses suffered by the heroic Lady Sale and other prisoners during their most disastrous captivity in the Affghan war."

"Mr. Cyril," said Charles, "I will quote a still more sentimental poet than yours. Though his name is Gay, his subject is most dismal, and he quite coincides with Aunt Martha's account of the plant in his most affecting description of the funeral of Blouzelinda :-

To shew their love, the neighbours far and near Followed, with wistful look, the damsel's bier. Sprigged rosemary the lads and lasses bore, While dismally the parson walk'd before: Upon her grave the rosemary they threw, The daisy, butter-flower, and endive blue.""

"Do you not think," asked Mr. Barlow, "that this custom of strewing rosemary at funerals may have arisen from the aromatic properties of the plant, which might be supposed beneficial in preventing any infection or unpleasant effluvia from the corpse? The essential oil expressed from it is peculiarly fragrant."

"Such an idea has been before suggested, and is supported by the French name encensier, or incense-plant," replied Mrs. Martha; "but I am always inclined to adhere to a poetical explanation, and the more so in this instance, as there seems to be some superstitious interest attached to the plant in other countries. I was struck the other day, on reading the narrative of a modern traveller in Spain, to find him mention the rosemary being worn round the hat of a Spanish contrabandista as a charm against witches or mischances on the road."

"Might not that idea of protection be suggested by its name, Mary," rejoined Mr. Barlow, "which, as applied to many flowers, shows them to have been dedicated to the Blessed Virgin?"

Rosemary is not one of those; for, though it is supposed to have been introduced into this country by the monks of the early ages, yet, as Sophia has told us, its name has a different origin; nor has its Spanish name any connexion with the Virgin Mary. Mr. Barrow mentions it as Romero, and I believe we must trace the feeling with which it is regarded to a more remote era, for the same author expresses his belief that it is of Scandinavian descent, and may have been introduced into Spain by the Vandals."

"My dear aunt, you are carrying us far away indeed," cried Cyril. "Let me bring back the discourse at least to the middle ages, and inquire something of the many flowers which Mr. Barlow speaks of as dedicated to the Virgin?"

"I think I must refer you to Rose and Lucy," said Mr. Barlow," for I remember they were much amused by the account they received from an old Romanist, whilst they were visiting at Clifton Park."

"Indeed the good old gentleman entered most kindly into our floral pursuits," said Lucy; "and, though no botanist, brought what he could to our common stock of amusement, by tracing the origin of many of our popular names for plants to the old monkish times, and teaching us to look back to the inhabitants of our beautiful and ruined monasteries, as in those times the preservers of science as well as of religion, and as blending the one with the other in fantastic and poetic formulæ, making the flowers of the field a rural calendar of the church, by dedicating to each saint such flowers as appeared in bloom the nearest to their festivals. Even to our favourite snow-drop, he gave us a new title, and said that, in ancient days, it was known as

the fair maid of February,' because it blows about the second of that month, which is the feast of the Purification of the Virgin, or Candlemas-day, and may well be a type of virgin purity."

"On this subject," said Rosaline, "Mr. Selby was quite an enthusiast; and, during our morning's walk to the ruins of St. Werberg's priory, was delighted to discover the Geum Nivale, or herb St. Bennet, and afterwards to point out the elegant form of its leaves, in the beautiful tracery of the capitals and other parts of the building."

"I think he was still more delighted," said Lucy, "to find a poor straggling plant of monk's-hood, or wolf's-bane, amongst the ruins, and to expatiate upon the valuable knowledge of the Benedictines, who could draw healing virtue from the most dangerous herbs, and

had applied even the monk's-hood as a remedy for some diseases."

Oh! I remember hearing you tell us of that," interrupted Agnes; "and you know James Hamilton wrote a charade upon it. I have it just here in my scrap-book: pray let me read it to Mrs. Barlow, and Justine, and Frederic."

"I shall proclaim silence in the court whilst Agnes reads," exclaimed Frederic; "since it is avowedly for my edification." And Agnes began:

"It is night, dusky night, and the moon shines bright
On the walls of the abbey gray;

Whence my first steals forth 'neath her tender light
And wends his silent way.

"His footsteps sound on the echoing ground,
As he paces the cloisters dim;

The wind whistles shrill, and he feels its chill
Creep over each aged limb.

"Yet he lingers there in the midnight air,
And draws my second down

O'er the scanty locks of snow-white hair
Which fringe his shaven crown.

"Then forth he treads, where the moonbeam sheds
Its silvery light, and
pours

With the falling dew o'er the garden beds

Fresh beauty for their flowers.

"There rue and balm, in the moonlight calm,
Their fragrancy distil,

And that brother's eye can well descry
Each herb of good and ill.

"With a mournful air my whole grows there,
Dread plant of baleful power!

Yet to gather its leaves is that brother's care
In the mystic midnight hour.

"And he crosses his brow, and murmurs low
A prayer that the holy rood

May bless the use of that dark herb's juice,
And extract from all evil good."

"Thank you, Agnes," said her cousin; " your riddle might have been more difficult to be guessed, had you not told us beforehand what gave rise to it; but let me ask Sophia what is the botanical name for this plant, and why it has acquired those of wolf's-bane and monk'shood?"

"I need only show you my drawing, and point out the peculiarly hood-like shape of the flower, to account for one name," replied Sophia. Wolf's-bane, I suppose, alludes to the very fearfully poisonous qualities which reside in every plant of the whole species, and are so powerful as to destroy the strongest animals; indeed old Gerade says, the plant was anciently placed in pieces of raw meat, and laid where wolves were known to resort, in order that they might be destroyed by eating it. Gerade also calls it the helmet-flower, and in Germany it is called Hurmhut, both which names plainly allude to the shape of the flower. Its botanical names are Aconitum Napellus, the former derived from the town of Acona in Bithynia where it abounds, the latter the trivial name which distinguishes it from others of the same species-from napus, a turnip, because the roots resemble small turnips."

"I think, Sophia," said her father, "since you do quote old Gerade so often, you ought to enlighten us as to the antidote he sets forth against the poison of the monk's-hood. He says cattle and other beasts will eat the grass around the roots, but never touch the herb itself, which is shunned by all living creatures, except certain flies, who feed upon it with impunity; and he recommends a dose of twenty of those flies as a remedy to those who may incautiously taste of it."

"First catch your flies, I suppose," said Charles, laughing. "For my part, I would as soon trust to the garland of rosemary as a charm against witches."

"Our friend Gerade, whilst he warns us against the credulity of others, is certainly given to the same folly

The beautiful foxglove," exclaimed Rose. "I am quite glad, Justine, to have another name for it; another recollection to attach to the noble flower which always seems to me to blossom in the waste and deserted places, and erect there its stately head, as if to show that worth and beauty may be found far from the busy haunts of men; and when I have seen it bow beneath the passing gale, and then rise again with its beauty unimpaired, it has seemed a type of some noble spirit which wisely bows to the light humour of the moment, but soon reclaims its inherent superiority."

My associations with the foxglove," said Lucy, are not half so full of moral, but I am sure they are quite as poetical as Rosaline's, for I always think of the pretty name by which the village children call it-fairy thimbles'-and fancy I can see the tiny elves peeping out of the bells-one hiding itself far in the interior, from the pursuit of its companions, who are fitting around in merry search; another greedy imp devouring the honey stored away in some secret cell; and a third, with the gravity of a philosopher, counting the stars, noting down on a lily leaf the number and situation of the spots which decorate its petals."

THE VOYAGE TO ENGLAND.

OUR Voyage across the Atlantic had been eminently prosperous. From our departure from New York, August 1, 1840, we encountered no obstruction, during the seventeen days that brought us to the Irish coast. Our good ship, the Europe, Captain Edward G. Marshall, surmounted the waves buoyantly, and often seemed to skim their surface, like a joyous bird. We almost imagined her to be conscious of the happiness she imparted, as seated on the deck, in the glorious summer moonlight, we saw her sweeping through the crested billows, with a pleasant rushing sound, right onward in the way she ought to go.

Thus were we cheated along our watery way; and, by making the most of the scenery without and the resources within, experienced as little ennui as could be expected, and indulged in no anticipation of evil. But that terror of mariners awaited us in St. George's Channel-a dense fog upon an iron-bound coast. We had joyfully seen the light in the head of old Kinsale; afterwards, the harbour of Cork and the mountains of Dungannon revealed themselves, and were lost. Then wrapped in a thick curtain, we went on fearfully with continual soundings. A chill rain occasionally fell; and the winds moaned and cried among the shrouds, like living creatures. The faithful and attentive Captain, oppressed with a sense of his responsibility, scarcely took refreshment or repose. At midnight, on the 19th, we heard his voice cheerfully announcing, that a bright light from Tuscar Rock was visible, that our course was right, and that all might retire to rest, free from anxiety.