Græme of Aberfoy, though poor himself, had what is technically termed "great expectations.' His uncle, Sir Douglas Græme, was one of the proudest of Scotland's proud baronets: his castle stood on an eminence, and every inmate held his or her head proportionately high; his shooting tracts were large, he could afford the diversion of deer-stalking to any friends he pleased, and it was rumoured that he actually preferred that they should succeed in bringing down a deer; an enthusiasm which all proprietors of deer-forests are said not to share. He was a kind landlord, a keen sportsman, a great breeder of cattle, and was suspected of winking at the distilling of whiskey on his wild mountainous estate; and he was withal one of the most obstinate men who ever wore tartan. Such as he was, virtues and faults, Græme of Aberfoy loved him with the strong love of habit, and thought him the only great man in his Majesty's dominions; and from the time he was an infant, and rode round the hall on the large Newfoundland dog, to the days when he carried his rifle in company with Sir Douglas, nothing but kindly words had passed between them; and still, as years rolled by, the increased respect and interest evinced by the Highland tenantry, and the increased puffiness of the sighs breathed by the fair and fat wife of the sturdy Baronet, (sighs of regret and disappointment,) pointed him out more clearly as the heir to the honours and estate of the haughty Græme. This was a pleasing prospect, and one which could not fail to have weight with the West Indian widow; who, after duly considering that so kind a brother must make an easy husband, that the air of Scotland would brace her nerves and spirits, and that he certainly was devotedly attached to her, languidly imposed silence on some envious spinster of Bath who was remarking on the broad Scotch in which that attachment was expressed, and declared her resolution to become Mrs. Græme of Aberfoy.

What a pity it is that some transmuting power, such as the witches and fairies of old possessed, cannot be exercised over those individuals who wish mutually to bind themselves in an indissoluble bond! What a pity that a change (not, indeed, of the same gay nature, but equally great and complete with that of the chrysalis) cannot take place in the mind and temper of each of the " happy couple" about to be united. Then, perhaps, those "days of disappointment," to which Rosamond's blue jar bears so close a resemblance, might be spared the pained hearts of many worthy and amiable individuals, fond of choosing exactly what will not suit them, and of grumbling afterwards at what cannot be undone; then many a bitter mortification might be warded off from those who find most of what were charms in the lover's eyes, resolve themselves into faults in the opinion of the husband. The merry-hearted girl would not then be snubbed for her giddiness, nor the graceful, lounging, fine-lady-bride scolded for her indolence. The magician's wand should reverse every quality in the self-same hour that the wedding ceremony was performed.

O Love! false mirage of our deceiving life, why dost thou hide from our dazzled eyes the sands of the desert over which we have to travel? Why dost thou create in the distance that vision of a cool and quiet resting-place-a living fountain of joy? Lo! as we tread, it vanisheth before us, and the burning plague settles in heart and brain: there is no freshness in our youth-no spirit in our hope!-Be still, complaining voice!-Were the fulness of love to be found on earth, what soul

would spread its wings towards Heaven? weary with wandering over the earth in search of a home, which all seek, and none may ever find! The magician's wand had not been exercised over Mr. and Mrs. Græme of Aberfoy, and the consequence was, that they shortly became less pleasing to each other. The indolence which had been so captivating in the Creole widow was exceedingly inconvenient in the Highland laird's wife; and the patience which Mrs. Græme had seen so unfailing in the case of the feeble and deformed Nanny seemed entirely lost when it was taxed by her own graceful, well-proportioned self;-as years rolled by, too, Mrs. Græme grew less graceful-less well-proportioned. Three successive confinements, and six years of utter inactivity, combined to change

y's"

"The form that was fashioned as light as a fay's

to a corpulence anything but becoming in the eyes of Aberfoy; and a neglect of her once carefully-studied toilette,-that first symptom of dissatisfaction in an indolent and silly woman,-deteriorated from a beauty naturally evanescent. But these would have been " trifles light as air" in the sight of her husband, had she happened to please Sir Douglas and Lady Græme. To his mortification, surprise, disappointment, despair, not only she did not please, but she was positively an offence to their eyes—a thorn in their sides—an object of dislike and contempt. Græme of Aberfoy knew his uncle's prejudices well enough to be aware that the bare fact of his wife not being a Scotchwoman, and being chosen without reference to any one's taste but his own, would make the introduction of the divine West Indian, as he expressed it, "a kittle task;" and he frankly explained his hopes that she would take pains, and his fears that she might fail in making herself as adored as he desired by his dear uncle. And his lady, as her head rested on his shoulder, raised her sleepy southern eyes, and smiled one of those slow, fond, languid smiles, by which she was in the habit of expressing her assent without the trouble of saying "Yes." Evidently, she would attempt to please; and, attempting it, how could she fail?

Poor Aberfoy! he had not reflected, that doting parents rearing their last child, a train of black slaves, a host of yellow lovers, an indulgent husband, and, finally, a wealthy widowhood, were not exactly efficient schools of preparation for teaching his lovely wife's will to bend to that of strangers; nor did he sufficiently consider that she was the less likely to make allowance for the peculiar pride of birth common to all his countrymen, and especially observable in Sir Douglas, as she really did not know who was her great-grandfather, or whether she ever had one. A faint attempt at conciliation on Mrs. Græme's part was followed by mutual disgust and mutual coldness between the relations. Aberfoy found that gentleness of manner can be, and very frequently is, accompanied by determined obstinacy; and when his eldest son was born, it was a matter of hesitation and discussion whether the laird of the little place should ride over to the baronet's castle (where they had ceased to visit) to communicate the tidings, or whether they should await in sullen silence the notice which might be taken of the event by the family. It was not interest, it was not ambition, which prompted the decision to which the laird came, as he bent above his new-born infant's cradle,-it was the father which woke in his heart, and made him yearn to show the proud old man his beautiful boy; and he went.

A temporary reconciliation was the result; and, for some time, things went pretty smoothly, with the exception of the loss of Mrs. Græme's West Indian property, which hurricanes, mismanagement, and rascally agents had reduced to an empty vision. At the time, this loss was little heeded. Mrs. Græme herself, feeling no diminution of her daily comforts, wrapped in the same shawls, lying on the same sofa, bore the news with great equanimity; and Aberfoy, intent on regaining his uncle's good-will, thought nothing of importance but as it related to this grand object, and took the occasional sneers at the do-nothingness of his once worshipped wife with a calm philosophy, in which sympathy in his uncle's irritation, and consciousness of the truth of his uncle's severe remarks, seemed to be far more prominent than any wish to defend or excuse the defects commented upon.

But the time came when the deceitful calm, broken only at intervals by slight breezes, was to give place to the storm and shipwreck. Sir Douglas, in vouchsafing once more to smile on his offending nephew for the sake of the little pledge before-mentioned, had arrogated to himself all the privileges of father, mother, grandfather and grandmother, uncle and guardian, in one. His natural obstinacy seemed to have found a constant subject of exercise. Whether the point to be decided were great or small,-the choice of the young Græme's future profession, or of the day's dinner of broth or pap,-equally authoritative, equally determined, was the sturdy Sir Douglas. An unhappy difference-a mad disinclination on the part of Mrs. Græme to the clan tartan, and an expressed wish to substitute the royal Stuart as a proper dress for her boy, caused an open breach. Sir Douglas was bitter and haughty beyond even his usual manner;- - Mrs. Græme was sick, peevish, and looking forward to the birth of another little Græme, High words were exchanged; and Aberfoy had the satisfaction, as he flung open the door on his return from shooting, to hear his languid, passive beauty's thanks to God" that she could afford to dress her child without depending on Sir Douglas," followed up by a bitter execration, pronounced by the baronet on his own immortal soul, for having ever been fool enough to countenance and protect the daughter of a black,— and a command that she would forthwith remove herself, her child, and all that belonged to her, from the castle which her presence had polluted, and her tartan predilection disgraced. The quarrel may appear ridiculous-the cause inadequate-the conduct of both parties impro→ bable; but those only who have witnessed it can vouch for the intense fury produced by slight causes, where mutual disinclination and strong prejudice give every word a double force to wound, and make every

action an offence.

Many years had passed away between the date of this dispute and the disturbing squalls of the three children, with which we opened our narrative. Many changes had taken place. Mrs. Græme had grown fatter, more indolent, and more complaining, with occasional fits of sullenness to vary her existence. Aberfoy's luxuriant black hair was beginning to be much sprinkled with grey, and his figure was losing the air of strength and activity it had formerly possessed; he had taken greatly to drinking, and gave way to sudden fits of passion, the vehemence of which was sometimes fearful. His frank, happy manner was gone, and he had that eramped cold feeling about his heart, peculiar to men whose wives do not suit them, and who cannot pay their quarterly bills. The general

opinion in the country was, that " Aberfoy would be ruined if Sir Douglas did not leave him his property.' It was then already a matter of doubt with some, whether eventually some other destination might not be found for the gold in his uncle's coffers, and the woods on his uncle's hills. Lady Græme had long since breathed her last apoplectic sigh, and the widower had betaken himself (to the astonishment of his nephew, friends, and tenantry) to a lengthened residence in England, and subsequently to a tour on the continent. Graham Castle was now a blank in the lists of trespassers on Scotch hospitality, and Aberfoy sighed. as he caught a glimpse of its grey turrets from one hill to another; and sighed too, when he looked at his two beautiful boys, as they clambered up the rock and mountain, wild, sturdy, and radiant with health, to think that their grand uncle had not an opportunity of seeing how well he was provided with heirs in a direct line. Sir Douglas at length returned for a little while. No notice was taken of the inmates of Aberfoy; but accident throwing the two children in his way, he was struck by their beauty and intelligence; took them with him to the castle; showed them hunting horns and powder pouches, stuffed deer and ptarmigan; and finally taking it into his head that one of his favourite dogs recognised in the person of little Douglas the infant so unceremoniously expelled some years before, he was unaccountably touched by the display of affection in the brute, for the child whom his domestics would have deemed it impolitic and insolent to caress while under the ban of their chief; he gave the dog to little Douglas, and told him to bring his brother to the castle whenever they liked to come. Sunshine, in all its splendour, never brightened the face of nature in the eye of man, as did the intelligence brought by the children to Aberfoy. His boys-his beloved boys-would at least be masters of the castle; his own struggles and embarrassments, petty privations and vexations,-what were they? If he died involved-if he died in prison-his boys would still be provided for. For the first time for several years, Aberfoy felt sanguine, hopeful, inspired; for the first time for many months of increasing pressure and discomfort, he smiled, jested, and tapped gaily at Mrs. Græme's window, to announce the tidings, instead of dawdling sullenly into the little oldfashioned parlour, and flinging himself into his father's high chair, with his eyes vacantly fixed on his father's old gun, as it hung above the mantel-piece. But, alas! for the obstinacy of women in general-of Mrs. Græme in particular; the indolent spirit was roused, and she declared that no child of hers should crave the capricious favour of one too proud to own himself in fault, and who refused to notice their parents; she had rather die; she had rather starve; and starve they accordingly did. The children succeeded for some time in evading their grand-uncle in his rambles across the hills; and the mother's heart might have been softened could she have seen the lone old man, as he stood gazing wistfully from the proud eminence on which Græme Castle was built, to the glen, thick with fir plantations, where the thin blue smoke might be seen curling upwards from the house of Aberfoy. Sir Douglas had never felt what it was to be alone till that autumn. He had had a wife and two brothers; they were dead; he had seen his brother's only son grow up, and almost looked upon him as his son. Now they were partedalienated-even as strangers to each other. He had been fond of the three bright-haired, romping sisters of the disgraced Aberfoy; they had homes, and happy ones, of their own, and came rarely, and as visiters,

to the castle; and lastly, those little cheerful voices, whose shrill ejacu, lations of admiration and joy had sounded so pleasantly in his ears,— they, too, had deserted him! Sir Douglas Græme whistled to his dogs, and sauntered down to the game-keeper's house. Old Allan was the only one of his servants or dependents with whom he sometimes conversed familiarly.

"Allan," said he, "have ye seen the Aberfoy boys lately?" "Na, Sir Douglas."

They've maybe taken to playing the other side of the hill ?" "I'm na sure, Sir Douglas.'

"Hoot, man, who expected ye could tell whar they were!"

There was a pause. Allan continued his employment, which was the formation of sundry flies for fishing.

"That's a perfect fly for the stream down by Cruach-side," observed the Baronet, as he watched, or seemed to watch, the handywork of his keeper; and he sighed as he said it. There was another pause. The Baronet looked across the hills-across Ben Cruach-across the silver, thread-like stream, for the fishy inhabitants of which the grey flies were destined to the fir plantations in the glen. A vague desire to be reconciled to his nephew, and adopt his whole family, including even the obnoxious Creole, now rose in his heart.

"It's long since the boys have been up at the castle," said he. " "Deed is it, Sir Douglas."

"I wonder I havn't seen them; they used to seem glad to come, poor laddies."

"I'm thinking they're let, Sir Douglas," replied Allan, without raising his eyes from the grey fly which was forming under his creative fingers.

"What, Sir?" exclaimed Sir Douglas, his shaggy grey eyebrows fiercely knitting over his fiery dark eyes.

"I'm just thinking they're no permitted," murmured the imperturbable Allan, with as little change in his tone as the baronet's anger might have caused in the gurgle of the trout stream over the black stones in its current.

Sir Douglas spoke no more to his gamekeeper; he strode over park and heather, till he found himself in the glen, and within a few paces of Græme of Aberfoy's children, who stood hesitating,-afraid to advance, unwilling to retreat,-sorrowful and startled. Blunt and harsh were Sir Douglas's questions-frank and simple the children's replies ;-the old man spoke with increasing irritation, and, at length, setting his teeth, he said, "Ye may tell your lady mother that she's the worst enemy ye ever had, let the other be who he may; and that she'll live to rue the day she ever set eyes on Aberfoy's house or Douglas Græme's castle."

Sir Douglas again departed, and again returned; but this time he did not come alone. A lady, so beautiful, that the very piper (whose age bordered on eighty) was moved to an exclamation when he saw her, accompanied him. She spoke broken English, in a sweet clear voice, the tone of which, as Allan said, would have "wiled the flounders out of the Firth;" and clung to old Sir Douglas's arm, as though she would have crept into his heart for shelter. Even so did the lady cling to Christabel, in that exquisite poem of Coleridge's, till she had made good her entrance over the guarded threshold; and even such a mysterious influence did she exercise when once admitted:-Sir Douglas's will bent to the stranger's