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same time, perpetually galls them. Violated duties, childish reminiscences, however great the provocation to disregard them, haunt those who have sprung from one parent stock. To the tender conscience of Lewis Pemberton, the foreboding weight of bitter self-reproach which he knew must be his portion, however longsuffering he had hitherto been, if he allowed the evil spirit to predominate in the counsels of his heart, was almost constantly present. Whatever might be Roger's faults, his own, he felt, would be greater, if, knowing what was right, he fell short of it in practice, and permitted unchristian animosity to subsist between them, as long as, by the utmost exertion of forbearance, he could remain at peace with his brother.

It was very late before he went to bed. Rebecca Pemberton's flock mattress and coarse home-spun sheets, were indifferent to one who had a spirit resolute to endure all hardships which a manly heart could brook, joined to a

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self-denying, earnest piety which repressed the pride of his nature. The little garret-chamber assigned to him, wretchedly furnished as it was, still looked out pleasantly upon the sloping fields of Languard. He could see, from the hill-top where the house stood, the valley whereon he had gazed so long in the twilight ; but there were no bright specks burning now, to point out the exact position of the mansion, All was dark and quiet.

His sleep was profoundly tranquil; such as childhood rejoices in, and those only experience, in after life, who undergo, during the day, severe mental or bodily toil. He woke early, ånd, after a long, silent gaze at the blue hills and the broad, sweeping shadows on the downs and in the valley, he went back to his work again. The household, though they rose betimes, were not stirring, and the flowers seemed hardly awakened from their dewy slumbers. Large drops bowed down their soft petals, and the shadows fell over the ground which still

remained moist at their roots, where he had watered it, the night before. Lewis did not linger. He had a task to be completed in a given time; and the wish to fulfil an engagement with the Editor of the periodical in which his papers appeared, combined with the prospect of a nearer and more highly-prized gratification than literary fame or profit could afford, to make him pursue his labour diligently.

It cost him a severe struggle to lay aside his

pen, and join his brother and his brother's wife at breakfast. The table was laid in a sort of hall, or common room, where most of the business of the family and of the farm was transacted. There were some curious carvings of old oak, blackened by age, over the mantelpiece, and in the pannelled wainscot. The floors were of the same material, but worm-eaten, and sorely decayed. The doors of a large antique cabinet, which an antiquary would have considered priceless, (and which, undoubtedly, if one had penetrated within the inhospitable domain of Languard,

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and affixed any fancy value to it, Roger Pem-
berton would not have hesitated about selling
to him, though, it had been, time out of mind,
in the family,) were open, revealing a number
of hard skim-milk cheeses. Flitches of bacon
hung in the wide chimney, as if in mockery
of the half-effaced coat-of-arms, which occupied
the centre of the carving in their vicinity.

Despite these household stores, the table was
spread with a niggardly hand. There was no
rich, sweet cream, no bright, yellow butter, such
as the dairy-farm might have been expected to
furnish; no homely but substantial loaf of
wholesome bread, inviting, by its dimensions,
the attacks of the guests at the board. Tea,
such as only the meanest-minded women know
how to distil from the precious produce of the
village shop, flavoured with thin blue milk and
brown sugar; a stale loaf, salt butter, and sour
looks, were all that welcomed Lewis Pember-
ton at his brother's table.

For a time, after his morning greeting was, uttered, no one spoke. Roger appeared sulky.

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Rebecca pushed her brother-in-law's cup towards him. He ate of what was before him, and rose up as soon as the unsatisfactory repast was over, to go back to his writing; but he was not to escape so easily.

As Rebecca turned the key of the tea-chest, with a sharp jerk, and replaced it in her pocket, her husband said

“ You must be made of money, Lewis, to waste it, as you do. What business is it of yours to be meddling with my cottages ? Am I the elder brother, and master of this house, or you? I shall begin to doubt it, if you go on in this fashion. Who ordered those filthy plasterers to whiten over the walls of the. tenements at Wood End ? Let's have no more of this kind of interference; or you and I may chance to quarrel.”

Lewis answered him very quietly.

“I am sorry that what I have done has displeased you, Roger; but, if we are not to quarrel--which no one desires more than I do -you must adopt a different manner. I did

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