hat was three-cocked, and the broad brim suspended by silk-cords, exactly as Sylvanus’s hat. He had a thin, somewhat meagre, but knowing-looking countenance, and greyish hair. His hat now was laid aside. “Look at that Bunyan’s Christian sort of man waiting so solemnly,” said some one to his neighbour. “That is the coachman of George Barthe, yonder, the dentist; odd master, odd man.” Sir Emanuel Clavering and Mr. Heritage seemed to be spreading a great deal of life and interest around them by the conversation they were carrying on. Mrs. Heritage, Mrs. Woodburn, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Clavering appeared equally at home in some pleasant conversation. Dr. Leroy had again contrived to be seated betwixt Miss Millicent Heritage and a young lady—ay, who is she? Thorsby, betwixt Letty and a gentleman unknown to me, but opposite to Ann Woodburn and this young lady, was just asking the same question. Well, she is not a Friend; and she is a stranger; and a very interesting one. She is tall, handsome both in figure and face. Appears five-and-twenty, and has an expression, so clear, clever, well-bred, and yet with a sentiment in her eyes, both of love, of mirth, and of something deeper, that is very fascinating. It appears so to George Woodburn, who sits also not far from opposite to her, and has scarcely taken his eyes off her since he first caught sight of her. Well, this fair stranger is Miss Elizabeth Drury. You would like to know more? Then, I can tell you—that the Heritages lately met with her at Scarborough—where, by-the-bye, the Degges are yet—that is the reason you don’t see them here. Miss Elizabeth Drury is of Yorkshire. Her father is as eminent an agriculturist as Mr. William Fairfax is a grocer. Mr. Trant Drury is a great authority in all agricultural matters, an advanced man in Georgic science, in knowledge of stock, implements, and manures. He is a gentleman by education and capital, but not by land: and Miss Drury is his only child. I say, and I am sure George Woodburn thinks her, a very interesting person. He is delighted to see how, after a few desultory and fragmentary interchanges of speech with longish pauses between them, his sister Ann and she warm-up and “cotton” to each other. What? Yes; they are got upon love of the country, and of the—Church. Oh, that is enough—the Church and the country, and George Herbert’s poetry, and Jeremy Taylor—an odd mixture, but very taking to both Ann Woodburn and Elizabeth Drury. There is a great league struck up at once—a friendship for life. Ann Woodburn does not perceive that Dr. Leroy, at her right hand, is spending all his conversation on Millicent Heritage; and Miss Drury, though her eyes do wander a little over the strange company, is deeply interested in Ann. “But pray,” she asks of Ann, “who is that very agreeable young man to the left across the table, who seems to look one through and through.” “Ah! that is my dear brother George!” says Ann. “You will like him so when you know him.”