scenery of his birthplace that he should admire it? There was neither the sublimity of mountains to awe him into remembrance--the majesty of wooded hills (which there might be), nor lakes where echoes died in music; but there was the Tweed, the stream of his nativity, which rushes into the arms of the ocean, like a beautiful bride that has been cast off by her parent, and falls upon the neck of her lover without adornments; and there was the rich lands of the Merse and Islandshire, for ever spread out before him, with the everlasting ocean, its calms and its storms, its placid stillness and its terrible waves--forming together a scene such as he that has once looked upon can never forget. Through such scenes George Mordington recollected Marion Weatherly. It has been mentioned that he was a clerk in Gateshead, and at the annual festival held in Tweedmouth, he went to visit his mother, his sister, and the fair Marion. I might--for I have often been a witness of such a scene--describe the joy of the doating mother as she beheld her son, in the youthful bloom of manhood, seated at her table. With delight sparkling in her eyes, she sat gazing on his face, until the tear of affection rose and bedimmed their radiance. On her left hand sat her son, and on her right her daughter, and her intended daughter, Marion Weatherly. Their dinner passed over in happiness--the mother smiled to look upon her children's joy; and when "a gentle tap came to the door," which the daughter best understood, and blushing, responded to it, George and Marion also arose, and they went into the fields together. They wandered to and fro in a narrow pathway, the length of which was rather less than a mile, while on each side of them the ripening grain formed _a waving wall_, giving promise of an abundant harvest. They wandered backward and forward, hand locked in hand, until the sun was lost behind Hallidon, and the stars began to steal out through the grey twilight. When they shook hands at parting--"Now, George," said Marion, "you have your acquaintances to see, but do not remain late with them; for my sake and your mother's, do not." "Dear Marion," said he, "wherefore remind me of this? I know that I must meet my acquaintances to-night, all of whom are my old friends, many of them my schoolfellows; I have promised to meet them--I have to leave for Newcastle to-morrow--and wherefore remind me that I should not remain late with them?" "Oh!" she replied, "only that you will remember your character, George." "Do not be interested about my character," said he; "I have hitherto supported it with credit to myself, and, I think, dear Marion, I may do also for the future."