"I never could think her a beauty," said Patty," though the squire looks oftener at her than the pulpit of a Sunday; but she certainly sets off her house-to be sure it takes up a deal of time. But I'm thinking, Master Flare, she'll have a let this summer, for I saw a tall, thin, handsomish man go in there, not an hour ago; and as I repassed to get my numperalla___",

"Umbrealla!" interrupted Master Flare, looking up at the spotless sky; "why, what put it into your head to want an umbrealla to-day?" "Umph!" replied the magpie, "wise people always take it in fine weather. He was sitting in the drawing-room with one of the children on his knee-mighty free, I thought, for a stranger."

Master Flare did feel a little uncomfortable, but he did not pretend to, knowing well the habit of his companion.

"Have you heard of the cricket-match between the Sutton Hill lads and those of Harleyfordown? Lucy Grant-the old doctor's Lucyah, Master Flare! Master Flare! depend upon it it's a bad world we live in-I never knew an old doctor without a pretty maid-servant— there's proof positive"

"Of what?" again interrupted the grocer.

"Oh, modesty!" exclaimed the antiquated lady, holding up her hands; and as she spoke, on the snowy step we before mentioned stood the very gentleman she had seen in Mrs. Luscombe's drawing

room.

"Have you lodgings to let here?" he inquired in a ripe rich voice, whose very tone commanded respect.

"No, Sir," replied the man of figs.

"I'm sure," chimed Patty," Master Flare, you might let your first floor."

No, Sir, no," he replied to the stranger's look; "no, Sir, I like to keep my house to myself; but there is very good accommodation at the Chequers, the green public-house with lead-coloured doors and the red horse-trough, higher up the hill than Mrs. Luscombe's, the widow lady's."

"No, I want a private lodging."

"The old doctor," again chimed in the old maid; "the old doctor, I heard say, he would let, only for company's sake."

"The doctor-a mere village doctor-no, that would be worse and worse; besides, there are reasons against that. No, I should not like the doctor's. The village appears large; are there no houses that let lodgings ?"

"Mrs. Luscombe," reiterated Patty.

The gentleman shook his head.

"Well, there is the sawyer's, in the glen; they let the back room-a pleasant look-out right over the saw-pit, and the river in the distance, if you don't mind the noise of the sawing, at a little after four."

"Thank you,' "said the stranger quietly; "that will not do."

"Then, Sir," continued the grocer, "I know of nothing else, except

the old doctor's."

"I think," replied the stranger smiling," the old doctor and myself have served too long under the same standard to agree; we have unhappily dealt in the same commodity," he added, smiling.

Patty and Master Flare exchanged looks as the stranger bade them good morning and sauntered up the hill. "Served under the same master," repeated Patty, casting up her hands and eyes; "that must be either the devil or death." "Dealt in the same commodity!" ejaculated Master Flare; "I wonder was it in the wholesale or retail line? and I wonder altogether who he is ?"

"I'll find out from Mrs. Luscombe or the children, of that I'm positive," persisted Patty, pulling out the strings of her bonnet. "I hardly think-though it is a very strange world indeed to live in-yet I hardly think Mrs. Luscombe would suffer her children to be nursed and kissed by a mere stranger." But Patty was out in her calculation; Mrs. Luscombe said that she certainly knew who the gentleman was, but till he told his own name, she did not feel at liberty to mention it. Oh! the infinity of gossip and anxiety this declaration cost the inhabitants of Sutton Hill; and how it was repeated, and adjusted, and debated, and canvassed, and everything but improved; the village was in an uproar, but nobody conjectured what the result would really be, until the strange gentleman" astonished them all by taking a very beautiful cottage ornée, which overlooked the dale and a considerable extent of country. Master Flare was not the only person who wondered that a gentleman who could afford to take Daleview ever thought of looking for lodgings;" and curiosity was at its height when the London coach deposited a quantity of respectable luggage and a stiff, stately, uprightlooking servant out of livery at the Chequers, all being the property of Mr. Harrang, of Daleview Cottage.

"There's the name at all events, Mrs. Luscombe," exclaimed Patty in an exulting tone, as she upraised herself from decyphering the direction on an overgrown packing-case. "There's the name, Madam, without no thanks to nobody. H-a-r-r-a-n-g.'

Harrang!" repeated Mrs. Luscombe, as she led her little girl on her morning's walk; "Harrang! what a harsh-sounding name; I never heard it before."

"Never heard it before !? screamed the persevering Patty; "well, that is something extraordinary. Never heard it before, when you, with your own lips, told me, Ma'am, that you did not consider yourself at liberty to mention it until he did sò first."

"Who?" inquired Mrs. Luscombe, with a bewildered look; “of whom do you speak?

"Why of Mr. Harrang, of Daleview-People-view it might be called -not a thing passes in the town but he can see from his bed-room window."

"Oh, Miss Patty, what a shame to encroach on your prerogative,” replied pretty Mrs. Luscombe, as she walked on.

"Well, if ever! to be sure! what airs! my prerogative! what did she mean by that? Oh, if that worthy Master Flare could only see with my eyes! fine madam, indeed!" muttered the provoked Patty, in every change of tone and every variety of gesture consistent with an old maid's perpendicular.

"When you're done a-spelling over that luggage, I'll trouble you to move, Ma'am," said a gruff voice behind her.

"Oh certainly, Sir, certainly," she replied, smiling and curtseying; for however snappish elderly maidens may be to their own sex, they are generally civil to the other." Mr. Harrang's gentleman, I presume;" and forthwith set Miss Patty to discover the "gentleman's" master.

This was not so easy a task as most people would imagine. Antony was one of a species of taciturn servants, the race of which is nearly extinct; he regarded his master's secrets as his own, and had moreover a lingering affection for mystery, which is sometimes the weakness of old bachelorhood; he had also, in common with all elderly unmarried men, a dislike to plain old maids; consequently Patty could make nothing of him, although the very next evening she asked him to tea!

It is astonishing-as Mrs. Malaprop would say it is astonishing the "himprudences which staid, respectable women" constantly commit. Nothing could be made of either the master of Daleview or the master of Daleview's man. If Mrs. Luscombe had known anything of him formerly, certainly the acquaintance was not renewed; sometimes, if Mr. Harrang met one of the children, he would pat it on the head, or kiss its rosy cheek; but then every man, woman, and child in Sutton Hill loved the little Luscombes, so fresh and lightsome were their movements so joyous and musical their voices-so bright and beaming their deep-set eyes. The boy-the eldest one-upon whom sorrow had grafted sagacity at so early a period that, amongst his other plays, the little fellow often played the man with success, was an especial favourite with each mother in the village, who, the more deep her love of her own children, the more earnestly did she pray, with a full heart, and eyes overflowing with maternal anxiety, that her boys might resemble Alfred Luscombe. The girls were what-God bless them!—all girls are, before the modern system of education destroys their feelings and cramps their affections. Marion will be, I am sure, the least bit in the world of a coquette-the very least bit; her black eye-lashes fringe so beautifully all round the eye, giving it, when downcast, a soft and sleepy expression; but when the little rogue laughs and looks up-Oh, bow of Cupid what a blaze! the whole face beams-burns with joy; then, when as suddenly she drops those snowy lids over their sparkling treasures, the gipsy seems as placid as before. Oh, those fringed lidsthose fringed lids! I am sure Marion was born a coquette.

Dora-dear little fat Dora-was a darling of another sort-a thing to roll, and squeeze, and kiss, who loves everybody with the earnestness of three years, and cold must be the heart that would not love her in her

return.

No wonder, then, was it that Mr. Harrang patted the heads and kissed the cheeks of the little Luscombes ?

The curiosity of Sutton Hill having reached its pinnacle, stood openmouthed at the gate of Daleview, seeking much, yet discovering nothing. The clergyman called, and the old doctor called, and their visits were returned, and so the visitings nearly ended; the doctor called again and again-the poor old man wheezed his way from the bottom to the top of Sutton Hill, but Mr. Harrang was not chez lui.

At last some one surmised, or dreamt, or imagined, or originated" that Mr. Harrang" was in the medical line." How the idea got into motion it was impossible to discover, but so it was, and, once in motion,

it flew like wildfire; that was the reason, then, that he would not partake of Dr. Doddsley's domicile-that was the reason (could anything be plainer?) why he declared that himself and the old doctor" had fought too long under the same standard to agree," and why he confessed that they "had unhappily dealt in the same commodity"-that was the reason why he had a large cabinet full of cross-bones and skulls of men and animals-why he was so often seated at twilight on the top of the stile leading into the new church-yard-why he looked at people as if he longed to dissect them-and, above all, why he never laid his hand upon a child's head without feeling for those bumps which are supposed to be more numerous upon Ashantee and Irish skulls than upon any other specimen brain-boxes that have as yet been brought under the consideration of those marvellously wise men termed phrenologists. Besides, the case was clearly made out; did not Mabel Ellice-romping Mabel, who always kicked open the church-door and ran after the hunt did not Mabel, in one of her uncontrollable fits of high spirits— did she not almost cut off Sandy Sawney's right arm with a reapinghook, out of sheer fun? and did not Mr. Harrang (at whose harvesthome it occurred) most positively take the job out of Dr. Doddsley's hands, and with his own hands stitch up the arm? It was so provoking, as the old doctor observed, doing jobs for nothing, giving people such bad habits. "The Almighty," said the old doctor, "sends people into the world without charge or fee; it is the least thing, then, that they pay body-rent and taxes to the doctor who keeps them in repair. Besides, Miss Patty," persisted the old doctor to that worthy and industrious spinster, who never failed to bring him word how well Sandy's arm was doing, or how "THE NEW DOCTOR," as the inhabitant of Daleview was now designated, had vaccinated such a child, or cured another of the croop, or, such was his humanity, volunteered to "doctor" widow Lane's cow and the tinker's pony; "Besides, Miss Patty, no one need tell me--I know the value of medicine-I remember the cost of a medical education in the good old times, when a doctor's wig and cane cost more than a course of lectures now, at one of their new-fangled hospitals-when the profession was respected-when the doctor's opinion, even on secular matters, was so valued, that it was requested before the squire's or the rector's-when children dared not play if he appeared at the other end of the street-and the taking out of his snuff-box commanded the most profound silence in an assembly-room; but, my good Miss Patty, this man wears a blue coat, a black stock, and prescribes, I understand, for cows and ponies; and yet, after that, in defiance of the evidence of their own senses, people are weak enough to think well of his opinion."

Ay, indeed, Doctor Doddsley, and more people than you think, think well either of his opinion or his man's:-just ask your own maid, at whose gate she stood last night when you were in bed with the lumbago.'

Poor old Doctor! he was little aware of the turns and twistings of popularity—he little thought that human nature could be so oblivious of past services-that the people whom he had bled, blistered, and medicined, secundum artem, for five-and-twenty years, could have forgotten those services. He trusted that they would remember the resolution he

evinced in withstanding every modern improvement-thinking, as he declared, that human life was too precious to be tampered with by any medicine whose utility had not been established by a twenty years' trial -after that he might be brought to use it, but not before.

He little thought, good man, while dozing in his wicker arm-chairhis feet resting in all the ease of black-listen slippers, upon his own particular cushion-that the very children whom he had been the means of bringing safely into the world were meditating tricks upon "Doctor Sangrado," and that others who had grown up to men and women's estate laughed at his pretensions and opinions: the truth was he had been a long time out of favour--the inhabitants of Sutton Hill had grown impatient of his despotism, and the "New Doctor" had arrived at the very time when poor Doddsley's star was on the decline: even the old people decided in favor of the new candidate (if candidate he could be called), who never declared his profession-and only smiled when any of his poor neighbours (the only ones he was at all familiar with) complimented him on his skill. His servant never heard his master's degree alluded to without shrugging up one shoulder, and growling out, "Doctor?-augh!" Notwithstanding his reserve, Mr. Harrang grew in favour with rich and poor; the village belles-(they were limited to four)-declared him "the most interesting gentleman who had ever resided at Sutton Hill." Master Flare himself proclaimed that he never served a gentleman he should be so happy to oblige, in either the wholesale or retail way; and the widow whose cow he had cured hit upon a sentence describing him so accurately, that it deserves to be recorded"His voice," said she, " is the music, and his face the sunshine of the mourner's sick-room."

Poor Patty had become an object of such aversion to the "new doctor's gentleman," that she was more shut out from news-from the news she loved so well-than any one else in the village. She had never been able to penetrate into the shrubberies of Daleview, being always stopped at the gate by the Cerberus, who, shrugging up his shoulder until it nearly touched his ear, exclaimed- "Want the doctor? -augh!" and immediately ran the bolt at the bottom of the gate, to prevent the possibility of entrance. Once, indeed, she thought she had hit upon a plan to insure an interview. She tied a kerchief round her head, as if a tooth-ache had taken possession of her withered face. Her aversion, as usual, was sentinel at the gate before she laid her hand upon the latch, and had slipped the bolt ere she could prevent it. To her enactment of acute suffering he only replied,

"Bad tooth ?-augh! Did'nt know you had a tooth-augh. 'New Doctor,'-why you don't suppose my master's a woodman, to hew up stumps? Doctor?-augh!"

This was a rare piece of eloquence for him, and having given utterance thereto he turned away, leaving Miss Patty to tear the kerchief from her face, and vent her spleen in bitter exclamations and still more bitter tears. What is so bitter as a disappointed woman?-But enough of village gossipings-they are the thorns upon the roses of retirement; and there are few who, while inhaling the perfume of the one, have not felt the sharpness of the other! My business is now with the little Luscombes.