the left, walked on a little way, and then to his joy and satisfaction beheld a light like a bright eye look out over the hedge-rows. Advancing further in search of a path leading to it, he observed several more lights on both sides; but he was constant to his first love, and making his way onward, in about five minutes more he was knocking with his knuckles at Ben Halliday's door.

The loud "Come in," was pronounced in the broad Cumberland accent, and entering the cottage the traveller saw the labourer and his family seated round an abundant bowl of very good potato soup, with certain pieces of meat in it, to the whole of which an onion had lent a flavour by no means disagreeable to the nose of the hungry. Every thing was cheerful, contented, and happy. The handsome and intelligent faces of the labourer and his wife, the clean and respectable look and orderly demeanour of the children, all afforded assurance to their visitor that he had fallen into better hands than when he trusted himself to the guidance of an idiot, and he paused for a moment ere he spoke, gazing over the scene, where the assembled family stared at him in return.

"I beg your pardon," said the stranger, at length, addressing himself to Ben Halliday, who by this time had risen, "but I have lost my way upon this moor, and have got exceeding wet for my pains."

"Good Lord, then," exclaimed Ben, interrupting him, "it was you I heard shouting! Well, sir, I am very sorry I did not come down, but you see my cousin Jacob vowed that it was the silly fellow Tommy Hicks, and I never like to bring Jacob and Tommy together, for Jacob is always dire with the lad, and vows he will break his bones."

"I dare say it was the fool whom you heard," answered the visitor, "for the truth is, I was detained just at the foot of the moor by an accident that happened, and meeting with a fellow in a grey coat, I asked him if he could show me my way across, which he undertook to do and led me into a marsh."

Ben Halliday laughed; "Well, he's a mischievous devil!" he said, "and as full of spite as a cat. I beg your pardon for laughing, sir; but no one in these parts would have trusted Tommy Hicks to guide them. But pray come into the fire and dry yourself. Here's some broth quite hot. Poor stuff enough, but it will warm you."

The stranger accepted frankly and willingly the hospitality offered, sat down by the fire-side, threw off his knapsack, took a porringer of soup and a lump of bread, and soon was quite at home in the cottage. He talked and laughed with Ben and his wife, he played with Charley, he even stroked the cat when she came purring round his legs. His frank and unceremonious bearing was strong recommendation to the worthy people within; and his appearance was also very prepossessing.

He was a man of perhaps six-and-twenty, and, as has been before said, was uncommonly powerfully, though lightly, made; one of those thin, flanked, broad-chested men, who have more of the Apollo than the Hercules in their form. His features were straight and fine, with dark blue eyes and long black lashes and brows, dark brown hair and whiskers. His complexion, too, was fresh and ruddy, not with a rosy spot on either cheek like a head upon a sign-post; but all in one general glow from health and exposure. His hands, however, looked fine and delicate; and his dress somewhat puzzled the cottagers at first; for it was of that sort which might have belonged to several classes. It was all of one material, except

the shoes and the covering for his head, being of a black and white woollen check, then not so commonly worn by gentlemen as now; and when he entered, he wore a plain Lowland bonnet, which might have suited a grazier or good Cheviot farmer, perhaps, better than himself, for a certain sort of harmony was wanting between the person and the dress, and it was this discrepancy which, as I have said, puzzled the family of Ben Halliday.

As the moments passed by, however, their doubts ceased. There was no mistaking the station of their guest after a quarter of an hour was gone. The southern tongue, the clear, distinct, and rapid articulation, the grace and ease of every movement, the unconscious dignity of carriage, even when playing with the boy, had as convincing an effect as if he had given a long catalogue of honourable ancestors. During that quarter of an hour the visitor had said not one word of himself, whither he was going, whence he came, or what he sought; and with a delicacy not unfrequent in the cottages of mountaineers, the good peasant would not have asked a question for the world, as long as he saw his guest contented with his homely fare, and a seat at his fire-side. And he did seem contented; so much so, indeed, as to win greatly upon his hosts; for there is an implied compliment of a very kindly character in the cheerful and unaffected acceptance of what a poor man can do to entertain us, which is worth all the condescension in the world.

At length, however, the young gentleman rose with a sigh, as if he really felt regret at going, and said, "I must wend on my way, my good friends, with many thanks for your hospitality. I dare say it has done raining by this time; but as I cannot well go on to the place where I intended to sleep, so late at night, I will thank you much if you can direct me to some inn or public-house where I can get a good clean bed."

The principle upon which a peasant scratches his head in a case of puzzle has often been a question of deep interest to me, but I have never been able to solve the problem. Whether it is that he seeks by a natural instinct to stimulate the organ of cogitation, or whether it is that the unusual exercise of something within the skull, makes its external teguments itch, or whether there is an irresistible inclination in man's nature to do something with the hands when the mind is busy, and that the first thing that presents itself to work upon is the head, I do not know, but certain it is that Ben Halliday was in a puzzle, and did scratch a spot a little above the left ear with a great deal of vigour and determination.

"Well now, sir," he said at length, "if you had asked for any thing else in the world I could have better told you were to find it than a publichouse. There is not a place where you would like to sleep, I think, nearer than Brownswick."

Why, my good friend, that is just where I have come from," replied his visitor; "and I should not like to go back again over the moor

to-night."

Ben Halliday was exceedingly disposed to be hospitable, and so was his wife, and they looked at each other for a moment or two, as if inquiring what could be done. But there are things in this world which are impossible, though I at one time thought there were not. Now such a thing as a spare room is not to be expected in a labourer's cottage, and no such convenience was to be found in that of Ben Halliday. All the beds he possessed had their tenants, and therefore to lodge the stranger seemed

quite out of the question. While he was pondering upon the subject, however, the conversation and cogitation were suddenly interrupted by the door being flung open and his cousin Jacob presenting himself. The man gave a hasty glance round the cottage, and then inquired, "Have you seen any thing of my boy, Bill? He has not come home yet, Ben, and he was out upon the moor.

Jacob Halliday's eyes had only rested casually on the stranger for a moment, but when Ben and his son had both replied that they had seen nothing of the boy, the young gentleman joined in the conversation, demanding in a grave tone, "What is he like, my good friend?"

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Why, sir, he is a boy of about twelve years old," replied Jacob Halliday. "He has got on a short jacket and leggins."

"Has he black curly hair?" asked the stranger.

"Yes, sir; have you seen him?" demanded Jacob, eagerly.

"Yes, I think I have," answered the young gentleman," he was down at the bottom of the moor when I was coming up from Brownswick.Now do not alarm yourself, my good man, for he will do very well and there is no danger, but he has met with a little accident if it be the lad I mean."

Jacob Halliday, a man of a warm and excitable disposition and quick imagination, sank down into a wooden chair by the table, and with his hands resting on his knees sat gazing in the stranger's face.

"I assure you he will do very well," said the stranger, who felt for his anxiety, "I had him attended to by a surgeon immediately, who assured me there was not the least danger-it was that which detained me so late," he continued, turning towards Ben Halliday, "and the people to whose cottage I carried him promised to send somebody up to let his father know."

"Will you

have the goodness to let me hear all about it, sir?" said Jacob, with as much calmness as he could assume.

Certainly," replied the young gentleman. "I have been taking a tour on foot through this part of Cumberland, and I set out about three o'clock from Brownswick, to walk up to the house of a gentleman on the other side of the moor, but just as I had come out of a village—I don't know it's name-"

gone

"Ay, it is Allenchurch," said Ben Halliday. "And had about a half-a-mile upon the moor, just where the path crosses a little stream, I saw a nice-looking boy lying on his back on the bank.”

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Ah, my poor lad!” cried Jacob.

"As he seemed in some pain," continued the gentleman, "I stopped to ask what was the matter, and he told me that as he was crossing the little wooden bridge a part of it broke down under his feet and he fell forward, catching his leg against the broken part. He had contrived to scramble to the bank, he said, but he could not stand, and after examining his leg I thought it better to take him up in my arms and carry him to a cottage which I had seen not far off. I found an old man and woman there of the name of Grimly, who kindly took him in and put him to bed. I sent the old man off to Brownswick for a surgeon, and waited till he had come and set the leg. He assured me that there was no danger, and that he would soon be well; and making the people promise to

let you know, I came on myself, for by that time the sun was going down.'

up.

"And so the poor boy's leg is broke," cried Jacob Halliday, starting "I will bet a crown that that devil, Tommy Hicks, is at the bottom of it, breaking down the bridge or something. I will break his bones for him, that I will."

"Nonsense, nonsense, Jacob," cried Ben, as the other moved towards the door; "don't you go to do the poor lad a mischief, for you don't know what. Go and see your boy, and how he is going on; but if you find Tommy there, have nothing to say to him till you find you have got

reason."

"And I will go up and tell Margaret," said Mistress Halliday, "and stay with her till you come back."

"Thank you, thank you, Bella," said Jacob; "but you had better tell her I shall rest down there, most likely; for I won't leave Bill alone in that devil's den, and I'll bring him up to-morrow, if I can find an easy cart."

"I dare say Mr. Graham will lend you his spring-van," replied Ben Halliday. "I'll go up early to-morrow and ask him."

"Do, do, Ben," answered his cousin, "and send down young Ben to let me know."

Thus saying, he quitted the cottage, and was closing the door without uttering a word of thanks to the stranger, but suddenly his heart smote him for ingratitude, and putting in his head again, he said,

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"I forgot to thank you, sir, for all your kindness to my poor boy; but it is not for want of feeling it, I can promise you, and I hope I shall be able to speak it out some other time."

"Oh, never mind, never mind," answered the young gentleman, "I require no thanks, my good friend. God speed you, and give your son a quick recovery."

As soon as the door had closed on Jacob Halliday, and while Ben's wife was putting on her worst straw-bonnet and thickest cloak to go out upon her charitable errand, the young gentleman turned to Ben, saying,

"You mentioned Mr. Graham's name just now. Pray is that Mr. Anthony Graham, the banker, of Brownswick ?"

"Yes, sir," answered Ben; "Jacob and I are two of his men; and a better master or kinder man doesn't live."

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Pray is his house far from here?" demanded the visitor. "I found a letter from him at Brownswick, inviting me to stay with him for a few days; and it was there I was going when the idiot let me into all the swamps he could find.”

"It isn't much above a half-a-mile," answered Ben; "why, we are upon his ground now, sir, and I am sure he will be very glad to see you. Lord, if you had told me that before, it would have saved us all that thinking about public-houses. Mr. Graham would never have forgive me if I had let you go to an inn, even if there had been one to go to, when you were invited to his house up there. He has a great sight of company with him, come to shoot, and all that; and if they expect you, sir, I should not wonder if they were waiting for you before they take their dinner; for they dine when we sup."

"I cannot well present myself in such a wet and muddy condition," said Ben's visitor, in a musing tone.

Ben looked at his knapsack which lay on the floor near the fire, as if he thought that it must contain wherewithal to improve his guest's outward appearance; but the other divining instantly what he meant, replied to the glance.

"No, that will not do. There is nothing in it but some geological specimens, and the linen I have used since I came from Keswick. I sent up my portmanteau from Brownswick. If you will allow me, I will stay half an hour longer here till I am sure they are gone to dinner, and then ask your boy to show me the way.”

"I will go myself, sir," answered Ben Halliday; and while his wife went up to console Jacob's helpmate under the misfortune which had happened to her son, the good man remained to entertain his guest.

The sons and the daughter amused themselves quietly apart, and the conversation between the cottager and the gentleman took a more serious turn than it had previously assumed, running upon the state of the peasantry in that part of the country, their wants and wishes, their notions and their feelings. The stranger questioned, with apparent interest, and Ben Halliday answered with frank straightforwardness. His replies were not brilliant enough to admit of transcription, though there was a good deal of plain sense in them; but the stranger found, not a little to his surprise, that without any vehement discontent or political fanaticism, even Ben Halliday himself was a good deal prepossessed in favour of "The People's Charter." The good man assured him that the same feelings were very general throughout all that part of the country; and he seemed so calm and reasonable, that his guest applied himself to prove to him that what was sought could not be granted with safety to the institutions of the country, and, if granted, would only prove detrimental to the very classes who demanded it. He pressed him close with various arguments, and Ben answered briefly, from time to time, but at length the labourer paused for a moment or two thoughtfully, and then replied: "I dare say it is very true, sir, what you say; and I never pretend that the charter is the best thing that could be invented; but of one thing I am very certain, that gentlemen must either allow us a hand in making the laws which govern us, or make laws to protect us against oppression. It is all very well saying, as I have heard some say, that labour must find its own market like any thing else, and that it is but a commodity that is bought and sold, and such like; but there's a difference between it and other commodities; for it must eat and drink, and will eat and drink ; and the market is not a fair one, for every thing is done by law for the buyer, and nothing for the seller; and all the while, in the nature of things, the commodity wont keep, so that the buyer gets it at what price he likes. I don't understand much of these things, sir, although I have heard some of the lecturer people hold forth about them; but one thing I do know, which is, that hunger is a hard task-master, and that rich men can use him, if they like, to drive poor men to any thing. It is a sort of power they have beyond the law, and if those who govern the country-parliaments, or ministers, or whatever they may be-do not take care that masters, and farmers, and landlords, and such like, do not abuse that power, they may some time or another find out that patience and suffering will not last for ever. I should be very sorry to see that day, for I know well that the poor would, in the end, do no good to