into the house, it is natural to wish to be on one's guard against him."

"Impostor, madam!" said he, reddening in his turn, and rising with an air of dignity. It is true," he added in an humbler tone, "I am not exactly what I seem to be; but I am a younger brother of a good family, and-"

"A younger brother!" exclaimed Pomona, turning away with a look of despair.

"Oh, those harsh words!" thought Vertumnus; "they have undone me. I must go; and yet it is hard."

"I go, madam," said he, in a hurry:-" believe me in only this, that I shall give you no unbecoming disturbance; and I must vindicate myself so far as to say, that I did not come into this house for what you suppose." Then giving her a look of inexpressible tenderness and respect, and retiring as he said it, with a low bow, he added, "May neither imposture nor unhappiness ever come near you."

Pomona could not help thinking of the strange footman she had had. "He did not come into the house for what I supposed." She did not know whether to be pleased or not at this phrase. What did he mean by it? What did he think she supposed? Upon the whole, she found her mind occupied with the man a little too much, and proceeded to busy herself with her orchard.

There was now more caution observed in admitting new servants into the house; yet a new gardener's assistant came, who behaved like a reasonable man for two months.

He then passionately exclaimed one morning, as Pomona was rewarding him for some roses, "I cannot bear it!"-and turned out to be our hero, who was obliged to decamp. My lady became more cautious than ever, and would speak to all the new servants herself. One day a very remarkable thing occurred. A whole side of the green-house was smashed to pieces. The glazier was sent for, not without suspicion of being the perpetrator; and the man's way of behaving strengthened it, for he stood looking about him, and handling the glass to no purpose. His assistant did all the work, and yet somehow did not seem to get on with it. The truth was, the fellow was innocent and yet not so, for he had

brought our hero with him as his journeyman. Pomona, watching narrowly, discovered the secret, but for reasons best known to herself, pretended otherwise, and the men were to come again next day.

That same evening my lady's maid's cousin's husband's aunt came to see her,-a free, jolly, maternal old dame, who took the liberty of kissing the mistress of the house, and thanking her for all favors. Pomona had never received such a long kiss. "Excuse," cried the housewife, "an old body who has had daughters and grand-daughters, ay, and three husbands to boot, rest their souls! but dinner always makes me bold-old and bold as we say in Gloucestershire-old and bold; and her ladyship's sweet face is like an angel's in heaven.' All this was said in a voice at once loud and trembling, as if the natural jollity of the old lady was counteracted by her years.

Pomona felt a little confused at this liberty of speech; but her good-nature was always uppermost, and she respected the privileges of age. So, with a blushing face, not well knowing what to say, she mentioned something about the old lady's three husbands, and said she hardly knew whether to pity her most for losing so many friends, or to congratulate the gentlemen on so cheerful a companion. The old lady's breath seemed to be taken away by the elegance of this compliment, for she stood looking and saying not a word. At last she made signs of being a little deaf, and Betty repeated as well as she could what her mistress had said. "She is an angel, for certain," cried the gossip, and kissed her again. Then perceiving that Pomona was prepared to avoid a repetition of this freedom, she said, But, why doesn't her sweet ladyship marry herself, and make somebody's life a heaven upon earth? They tell me she's frightened at the cavaliers and the money-hunters, and all that; must there be no honest man that's poor; and mayn't the dear sweet soul be the jewel of some one's eye, because she has money in her pocket?"

Pomona, who had entertained some such reflections as these herself, hardly knew what to answer; but she laughed and made some pretty speech.

66

"Ay, ay," resumed the old woman. 'Well, there's no know.

"And so my lady is

ing." (Here she heaved a great sigh.) mighty curious in plants and apples, they tell me, and quite a gardener, love her! and rears me cartloads of peaches. Why, her face is a peach, or I should like to know what is. But it didn't come of itself neither. No, no; for that matter there were peaches before it; and Eve didn't live alone, I warrant me, or we should have no peaches now, for all her gardening. Well, well, my sweet young lady, don't blush and be angry, for I am but a poor foolish, old body, you know, old enough to be your grandmother; but I can't help thinking it a pity, that's the truth on't. Oh dear! Well, gentle folks will have their fegaries, but it was very different in my time, you know; and now to speak the plain scripter truth; what would the world come to, and where would her sweet ladyship be herself, I should like to know, if her own mother, that's now an angel in Heaven, had refused to keep company with her ladyship's father, because she brought him a good estate, and made him the happiest man on the earth!"

The real love that existed between Pomona's father and mother being thus brought to her recollection, touched our heroine's feelings; and looking at the old dame, with tears in her eyes, she begged her to stay and take some tea, and she would see her again before she went away. "Ay, and that I will, and a thousand thanks into the bargain from one who has been a mother herself, and I can't help crying to see my lady in tears. I could kiss 'em off, if I warn't afraid of being troublesome; and so, bless her, I'll make bold to make her my curtsey again before I go."

The old body seemed really affected, and left the room with more quietness than Pomona had looked for. Betty meanwhile showed an eagerness to get her away, which was a little remarkable. In less than half an hour, there was a knock at the parlor door, and Pomona saying, "Come in," the door was held again by somebody for a few seconds, during which there was a loud and apparently angry whisper of voices. Our heroine, not without agitation, heard the words, "No, no!" and "Yes," repeated with vehemence, and then, "I tell you I must and will; she will forgive you, be assured, and me too, for she'll never see

me again." And at these words the door was opened by a gal. lant-looking young man, who closed it behind him, and advancing with a low bow, spoke as follows:

"If you are alarmed, madam, which I confess you reasonably may be at this intrusion, I beseech you to be perfectly certain that you will never be so alarmed again, nor indeed ever again set your eyes on me, if it so please you. You see before you, madam, that unfortunate younger brother (for I will not omit even that title to your suspicion), who, seized with an invincible passion as he one day be held you from your garden wall, has since run the chance of your displeasure, by coming into the house under a variety of pretences, and inasmuch as he has violated the truth has deserved it. But one truth he has not violated, which is, that never man entertained a passion sincerer and God is my witness, madam, how foreign to my heart is that accursed love of money (I beg your pardon, but I confess it agitates me in my turn to speak of it), which other people's advances and your own modesty have naturally induced you to suspect in every person situated as I am. Forgive me, madam, for every alarm I have caused you, this last one above all. I could not deny to my love and my repentance the mingled bliss and torture of this moment; but as I am really and passionately a lover of truth as well as of yourself, this is the last trouble I shall give you, unless you are pleased to admit what I confess I have very little hope of, which is a respectful pressure of my suit in future. Pardon me even these words, if they displease you. You have nothing to do but to bid me-leave you; and when he quits this apartment, Harry Vernon troubles you no more."

The gen

A silence ensued for the space of a few seconds. tleman was very pale; so was the lady. At length she said, in a very undertone, "This surprise, sir-I was not insensible-I mean, I perceived-sure, sir, it is not Mr. Vernon, the brother of my cousin's friend, to whom I am speaking?”

"The same, madam."

"And why not at once, sir-I mean-that is to say-Forgive me, sir, if circumstances conspire to agitate me a little, and to throw me in doubt what I ought to say. I wish to say what is

becoming, and to retain your respect;" and the lady trembled as she said it.

“My respect, madam, was never profounder than it is at this moment, even though I dare begin to hope that you will not think it disrespectful on my part to adore you. If I might but hope, that months or years of service-"

"Be seated, sir, I beg; I am very forgetful. I am an orphan, Mr. Vernon, and you must make allowances as a gentleman (here her voice became a little louder) "for anything in which I may seem to forget, either what is due to you or to myself."

The gentleman had not taken a chair, but at the end of this speech he approached the lady, and led her to her own seat with an air full of reverence.

"Ah, madam,” said he, "if you could but fancy you had known me these five years, you would at least give me credit for enough truth, and I hope enough tenderness and respectfulness of heart (for they all go together) to be certain of the feelings I entertain towards your sex in general; much more towards one whose nature strikes me with such a gravity of admiration at this moment, that praise even falters on my tongue. Could I dare hope that you meant to say anything more kind to me than a common expression of good wishes, I would dare to say, that the sweet truth of your nature not only warrants your doing so, but makes it a part of its humanity."

"Will you tell me, Mr. Vernon, what induced you to say so decidedly to my servant (for I heard it at the door) that you were sure I should never see you again."

Yes, madam, I will; and nevertheless I feel all the force of your inquiry. It was the last little instinctive stratagem that love induced me to play, even when I was going to put on the whole force of my character and my love of truth! for I did indeed believe that you would discard me, though I was not so sure of it as I pretended."

"There, sir," said Pomona, coloring in all the beauty of joy and love, “there is my hand. I give it to the lover of truth; but truth no less forces me to acknowledge, that my heart had not been unshaken by some former occurrences."

"Charming and adorable creature!" cried our hero, after