"So it appears we are to be fellowtravellers," observed a tall, well-built gentleman to a little dapper personage in a snuff-coloured coat, drab small-clothes, and ditto gaiters; as they stood side by side under the eaves of the Fox and Crown Inn, to shelter themselves as well as might be from a heavy shower of rain, whilst soine luggage was being packed on the roof of the Whitehaven coach, which had stopped to take up passengers on its way through Leicester to London.

"All appearance, sir; never trust to appearances," returned the little dapper man, smartly; "I'm about to travel, it is true, but not in this ceach."

"Indeed!" remarked the first speaker, taking a cigar from between his lips. I thought this was the only coach that would pass to-night." "It is, and it is not," said the person addressed, with a smile. No more will pass from, but two or three will to Whitehaven; therefore I argue that as you are journeying to Leicester-"

46

Washington Irving. which will carry her to the same place you intend stopping at."

"Your daughter! Is she old enough to travel alone?" asked the stranger, with some surprise, as he glanced at his new acquaintance, who did not seem more than thirty years of age.

"Alone!” cried the dapper man, closing his mouth, shaking his shoulders, and laughing inwardly till his cheeks swelled: "she's eighteen years old, man."

"Oh! a daughter-in-law, then, I should surmise?"

"Yes," resumed the little man, whose tongue, as if by its own volition, ran on for some minutes without cessation in a brief and rapid history of its owner. "I married her mother, sir, five years back, (though she's dead, poor soul! now,) who was widow to Dick Wentworth, a gentleman farmer of these parts, (mayhap you have heard of him: he was related to the Wentworths, of Parlut, in Lincolnshire.) I was his attorney, and managed to ogle the widow while reading his will: she, however, appeared to take no notice, but I, Jeremy Lunnun, never trust to appearances; so I persevered, and prospered at last. I buried her two years ago, and am now in full cry after Miss Wilkins, of Whitehaven. Determined to try to the last. Obliged, though, to leave to-night in order to send Elizabeth, my daughter-in-law, to meet her cousin, Genevieve Byfield, who unexpectedly returns with her mother from the Continent to-morrow morn

2 D

ing. Great expectations there! Must show them every respect. Be there, myself, to-morrow."

"Indeed!" said the tall stranger, slightly yawning; "but I perceive the coach is ready for starting-I deem myself fortunate in having secured an inside place this wet night," (he added, as he emerged from his place of shelter.) "The rain pattering on the roof will lull me into a comfortable nap."

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth, my love!" cried Lunnun to a young lady, who speedily made her appearance from the inn, closely muffled up in a travelling cloak.

The stranger, who had already placed his foot upon the steps to the coach, drew back, and made way with a natural grace and courtesy for the young lady to precede him.

"I thank you, sir," said Miss Wentworth, timidly, and shrinking as the rain fell in torrents upon her slender form, "but I am to travel on the roof."

"Good God, madam, it is impossible! you would be drowned were you to go outside!" exclaimed the

stranger.

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Needs must, for she has no choice, sir," said Lunnun. "You are aware that places can't be booked here there being no dependence on the number of passengers which the coach may contain. Tis a pity, to be sure; yet she must go to meet her cousin."

"Then I must beg the lady to change places with me," said the stranger, in a firm but gentle tone.

"But you will, in that case, expose yourself to the very inconvenience from which you would so kindly shield me," returned Miss Wentworth, venturing a bright glance from beneath her hood at the light frock coat which the stranger wore, and which seemed but an inefficient screen from the wet.

"I am an old traveller, madam, and shall not heed it," replied the stranger, respectfully taking her hand, and gently forcing her into the vehicle.

All this passed in a much shorter time than has been occupied in narrating it, amid the "Now, sir, if you

please," of the guard, and the reiterations of "Whoa! gently! steady there!" of the coachman.

"Sir, I am your most obedient and obliged servant for this," cried Lunnuu.

"Pshaw! it is not worth a thank,” said the stranger, mounting the coach. A delay of another minute took place, owing to the guard having left a parcel in the house, during which Lunnun stepped upon the wheel, and asked the gentleman, in an under tone, if he knew any thing of the Trelawney family, formerly of Melton Mowbray.

"I am a Trelawney myself," was the reply.

"I thought so, from your features." said Lunnun, in a musing tone; and, after a moment's pause, added, "it's a celebrated name in English history, and flourished before the conquest; though it was then pronounced Treleon, and—”

Here he was cut short by the motion of the wheel beneath his foot as the coach started forwards, which caused him to skip from his perch, and, after cutting a very magnificent caper in the air, he alighted amidst an adjacent puddle, to the discomfit of his own person, and the terror of half a score ducks therein dabbling, who, no doubt, looked upon this miraculous addition to the shower as an inauspicious omen.

The fellow-travellers of Miss Wentworth were two gentlemen and an elderly lady. The former maintained a truly English taciturnity, an example which the latter did not seem inclined to imitate; but finding that Elizabeth replied not to the observation which she made concerning her being on a visit to a relation afflicted with a palaratic stroke, she muttered something about the caperice of some folks, and resigned herself to the caresoothing arms of Morpheus! At about two o'clock the coach stopped before a large gateway by the roadside, where Miss Wentworth alighted, and rung a bell which was suspended above it. At the same time Trelawney left the coach, as it appeared he, too, had reached his destination. Thus were our travellers placed in a

similar situation to the lady and Yorick at the Remise door-accident having thrown them together. There was a moment's pause, when Miss Wentworth, thinking it a duty incumbent on her to return thanks for the courtesy which Trelawney had shown her, ventured to hope that he would experience no serious consequences from his exposure to the inclement weather.

"None whatever, rely upon it," replied the gentleman; but I fear, madam," he added, as she was again about to ring, "that your servants will be unable to hear the sound of the bell, as it is carried in an opposite direction by the howling wind."

Had Trelawney been able, through the surrounding darkness, to observe Elizabeth's cheek, he would have seen it suffused with blushes, as she informed him that she could admit herself through a small wicket by the side of the gate-a convenience which she certainly might have availed her self of in the first instance. He immediately proffered his assistance in supporting her across the lawn which fronted the house, and to hold her umbrella, as a screen alike from wind and rain. Elizabeth possessed a heart that knew no guile itself nor suspected it in others, and at once passed her arm through Trelawney's. "Will Miss Wentworth acquit me of rudeness," observed the latter, as they picked their way along the saturated path, "if I remark that it is singular her father should entrust so young a lady to journey alone, in a stage coach, on such a night as

this?"

"It was a case of necessity, sir," replied the gentle tones of Elizabeth; "I have been on a visit for some days past at a friend's near Whitehaven, as my father in-law is unwilling to leave me at home when he is abroad, lest lest-"-here the young lady coughed, and added-"but being informed by an express that some relations would be at Lawn House early this morning, it became necessary to send me by the first conveyance, to be in readiness to meet them which he could not do himself from pressure of business at Whitehaven."

They had now reached the house, the door of which was speedily opened by a maid servant, and Elizabeth found herself placed in a new dilemma, for, as she turned to reiterate her thanks to Trelawney, she perceived the wet streaming from his apparel, yet maiden delicacy would not permit her to ask him in. He, however, instantly relieved her by uttering, emphatically, "Farewell!" and, departing with hasty step, soon became lost in the darkness.

It was about twelve o'clock at noon when the expected visitors arrived in a postchaise at Lawn House. Elizabeth flew to welcome them, and the greetings on each side were affectionate and sincere, particularly between the young ladies, who, having been brought up together, entertained a sisterly regard for each other, although a wide dissimilarity existed between their dispositions and appearance. Elizabeth was fair as the lily, slender in form, mild in deportment, with long flaxen hair, which luxuriated in natural curls about her brow and neck; and all her features were so perfectly formed, so faultlessly beautiful, that the face might have wanted expression, had it not been for the vivacious blue eyes which sparkled bewitchingly there, and imparted to the whole an animation and cheerfulness which evidently sprung direct from the heart, where mirth, innocent and joyous, dwelt without alloy. Miss Byfield was taller than her cousin, (though a year younger,) and, although equally sylph-like in form, possessed a certain degree of elegance and dignity that added to its beauty, while it would have deteriorated from the easy and graceful charm which Elizabeth's boasted. Her complexion was dark, and her features prominent and speaking; her hair like the raven's wing in colour, and like the turtle's down in silkiness: this she wore in large fashionable French curls, that tastefully shaded her pure and polished brow. She had received the last finish to her education at a convent in France, and the doctrines there taught had been productive of a serious and reflective disposition of mind, which was tempered

by calm and contented feelings, and a something of natural gaiety inherent in her composition. Her reasoning powers were strong, and, as her opinions were never given without mature deliberation-not often exercised by girls of her age-they consequently carried with them a depth of understanding, and a correctness of judgment, which commanded the admiration of all who knew her.

Genevieve Byfield had lost her father some years before the time we are treating of, who directed, by will, that should his widow again marry, she should immediately place her daughter under the guardianship of Mr. Jeremy Lunnun, a person who contrived, in spite of his eccentricities, to ingratiate himself with most who had dealings with him. Mrs. Byfield had now left the Continent to obey this injunction, being about to bestow her hand upon a French marquis, who had won her heart-and her purse. The girls, therefore, looked forward with an almost infantine delight to the hours they were to pass together, and before half the day had worn to a close, had formed plans which would have taken weeks to execute, and talked over, almost in a minute, those little delightful adventures of childhood which had occupied years of their early spring.

The remainder of the day, as also the one following, continued gloomy and showery; the fair cousins were, consequently, constrained to remain beneath their own roof; but the morning of the day after burst upon them like an illuminated scene at the termination of a dark walk. All was bright and exhilarating. The sun shone with Italian brilliancy, and awoke into beauty and life the still wet face of Nature, which seemed to smile upon the god who thus chased away her tears. Such a scene formed a powerful inducement to tempt the young ladies abroad, and with youthful eagerness they prepared to prosecute their walk across the country. Lawn House was situated on the roadside, about midway between Melton Mowbray and Leicester town," and it was towards the former place that they bent their footsteps.

"Really," exclaimed Elizabeth, as she proceeded arm-in-arm with Genevieve," were I inclined to indulge in similies, I might compare the present scene to many fashionable ladies, who will one day be dull and unlovely in their appearance, and the next come blazing forth in all those charms of beauty and ornament which enable them to please and to captivate.”

"Or rather, my dear Eliza," said Miss Byfield," liken it to the influence of education upon the vulgar mind; making that, which was before dark and unseemly, not only refined but charming. However, in either case the metaphor is far-fetched."

"Be that as it may," cried Miss Wentworth, laughing, "your's is by no means tenable; for the human mind, in either exalted or humble life, is equally delightful to the contemplative eye, and possesses the same essence in each sphere—the one boasting the charm of refinement, and the other the still more delightful one of simplicity."

"So say your romance writers, coz; but remember that the very simplicity which you so much admire is nothing more than a veil thrown over ignorance. It is education which teaches us to know ourselves and others; and, believe me, nothing recommends itself more than a cultivated understanding, which, however powerful it may originally be in its rude state, acquires a greater, and a far more engaging force, when enriched with the arguments of learning and reflection. Does not the breeze which wafts hither the perfume of yon briar affect the senses more pleasingly than that which flew across the stagnant pool we passed a minute since? Yet both possess the same essence, as you term it, and were called into existence by the same convulsion in the air from which they commonly sprung."

"You are a casuist, Genevieve," observed Elizabeth, gaily; "I must borrow a leaf from Locke and Bayley ere I venture to argue with you."

"A fine morning, young women," interrupted a rough voice directly behind the ladies, who, drawing down their veils, quickened their pace in some alarm, not daring to look round.