stones imbedded in the sand, and then sank half-way up the wheels in water-"I do not wonder that my kinsman did not choose to reside here; nothing short of a wild-duck would voluntarily inhabit these regions."

"I don't know that, my Lord. I am not of your opinion: first, because there is a pleasure in property exceeding most pleasures; secondly, because, even in indolent characters, there is a pride in doing good, when that good can be done easily; and where beneficial power may be most extensively exerted, and its effects most sensibly and immediately acknowledged, this is a pleasure equalled by few others, and is one that is tacitly felt by all. Believe me, it would have been better if the late Lord Mowbray had resided more here.”

"Better ?" said his companion, in replying to him by a species of interrogation; and then added, after a pause-" Perhaps, it would have been better."

No sooner did the carriage begin to ascend the hill on which the Castle stood, than a number of persons, whom they had not per

ceived before, came forward, seemingly to meet and offer their rude congratulations to the new Lord.

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Who are these?" asked Lord Mowbray.

"Oh! doubtless, some of the tenantry on your estates, who are assembled to do honour to your arrival, and to show respect to your cousin's remains."

"Ah!" thought Lord Mowbray, "these people, then, are of a different opinion from those of Abbotsbury."

Whatever were their real feelings, the crowd which now advanced evinced much more outward attachment to the family than Lord Mowbray could have anticipated from the first welcome in the neighbouring hamlet; and he was falling into a train of reflection on the subject, when a man, apparently of command by his manner, pushed through the group, and came forward to the carriage-door.

"Welcome, your Lordship! welcome to the Castle!" he said, in a tone of assumed congratulation; but in which was evidently mingled an expression of doubt, lest his arrival might

prove unwelcome to the speaker.

"I fear, my

Lord, your Lordship will find the accommodation in this ruined dwelling but little what it ought to be; but I have done my best in the short interval since I heard your Lordship's intentions were to come."

“The steward, I presume ?" said Lord Mowbray, as he turned to Colonel Pennington for information. He was going to reply, when he perceived that the motley group, in advance of the carriage, had already detached the horses, and were about to drag him in triumph up the ascent. "No, no!" cried Lord Mowbray, putting his head out of the carriage-" no, no; I will walk up, thank you." And opening the coach-door, sprang out followed by his companion.

The steward now made way through the throng, which however closed as soon as Lord Mowbray and the Colonel had passed, and pressed eagerly after them, uttering loud and repeated shouts of welcome. One among the rest, a tall, lean, large-boned figure, proved the most noisy and troublesome of these attendants,

and both in voice and appearance excited Lord Mowbray's disgust. His eyes, twisted in every possible direction, looked across a nose of extraordinary length, which, dyed of the deepest red, showed the pale and sallow complexion of his face, by contrast made more hideous; while a perpetual grin seemed to distort his countenance, as he endeavoured to make himself heard in the general confusion of tongues.

"I wish the fellow would not torment me so," said Lord Mowbray; "Who is he?"

This question, asked at random, was quickly answered by a little square-set man, with a black hanging brow and a deep scar on one cheek, who pushed his head over Lord Mowbray's shoulder! "Oh that, your Lordship, is the Gentle Shepherd, well known in these

parts, and in many

knows Smiling Bill.

you, my Lord, who

distant ones. Every body

He's the man,

He's the man, and please

has the care of all your

honour's cattle; there's not a sheep-path over

the country that he does not know as well as the sheep themselves."

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And, pray," asked Lord Mowbray, per

ceiving that Smiling Bill had given place to his informant, and willing to protect himself from the former by continuing his inquiries,—“ and pray, what is your post in these parts-who are you ?"

"Oh! they calls me, my Lord, the Wandering Sailor; but my real name is Ben Hardy. I have been here and hereabouts, man and boy, these forty years. I am a lone man, your Lord. ship; have no soul of kith or kin to speak a word for me, or to give me a kind look. I have eaten my bread in the sweat of my brow; I have made my bed where I might; I have done a job here and a job there, first for one, then for t'other: nobody ever thanked poor Ben. Now, if your Honour would only take my hard case into your thoughts, I might be made watchman or errand-man, and get an honest livelihood."

"Have you not always done so, then ?" questioned Lord Mowbray, looking hard at him, as if he doubted the fact.

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Always, your Honour? Have I not always done so? Why there's a puzzling question,