And she was right in her supposition.  Brother and sister marrying daughter and father would not be well received in a narrow society like North Aston, where the restrictions of law and elemental morality were supplemented by an adventitious code of denial which put Nature into a strait waistcoat and shackled freedom of action and opinion with chains and bands of iron.  Perhaps it was some such thought as this on his own part that made Edgar profess himself disgusted with this marriage, and declare loudly that Sebastian Dundas was not worthy of such a girl as Josephine.  His hearers smiled in their sleeves when he said so, and thought that Josephine Harrowby, thirty-five years of age, fat and freckled, was not so far out in her running to have got at last—­they always put in “at last”—­the owner of Ford House.  It was more than she might have expected, looking at things all round; and Edgar was as unreasonable as proud men always are.  With the redundancy of women as we have it in England, happy the head of the house who can get rid of his superfluous petticoats anyhow in honor and sufficiency.  This was the verdict of society on the affair—­the two extremities of the line wherefrom the same fact was viewed.

As for Josephine herself, dear soul! she was supremely happy.  It was almost worth while to have waited so long, she thought, to have such an exquisite reward at last.  She went back ten years in her life, and grew quite girlish and fresh-looking, and what was wanting in romance on Sebastian’s part was made up in devotion and adoration on hers.

Sebastian himself took pleasure in her happiness, her adoration, the supreme content of her rewarded love.  It made him glad to think that he had given so good a creature so much happiness; and he warmed his soul at his rekindled ashes as a philosophic widower generally knows how.

Only Leam began to look pitifully mournful and desolate, and to shrink back into a solitude which Edgar never invaded, and whence even Alick was banished; and Edgar was irritable, unpleasant, moody, would take no interest in the approaching marriage, and, save that his settlements on Josephine were liberal, seemed to hold himself personally aggrieved by her choice, and conducted himself altogether as if he had been injured somehow thereby, and his wishes disregarded.

He was very disagreeable, and caused Joseph many bitter hours, till at last he took a sudden resolution, and to the relief of every one at the Hill went off to London, promising to be back in time for “that little fool’s wedding with her sentimental muff,” as he disrespectfully called his sister and Sebastian Dundas, but giving no reason why he went, and taking leave of no one—­not even of Adelaide, nor yet of Leam.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE SING-SONG OF MALY COE.[1]

  In he city of Whampo’
  Live Joss-pidgin-man[2] name Coe: 
  Mister Coe he missionaly,[3]
  Catchee one cow-chilo,[4] Maly.