prosperous portions of a country, only add and multiply them often enough, would go far to make up one happy and prosperous whole. That's how I spell it out." "And you spell uncommonly well, Jack, for a beginner:" rejoined Sir Carrol, his eye sparkling with pleasure. "If your lot had not been cast in the army, I believe you would have become an accomplished scholar in my line. The fact is, that by far the greater part of what is called political economy is a pack of heartless humbug and mystification, calculated only to make wise men laugh, and good men weep. It is founded, like state policy, far too much on what is, or rather what is blunderingly thought to be, expedient, and far too little on what is right or just. The just and the expedient, contrary to the maxims of our modern philosophers and politicians, ought always to be considered as convertible terms. Truth in all her relations and bearings, public as well as private, is a much more simple thing than such sophists as these are disposed to admit: and what is only temporarily expedient, without being permanently right and just, is never true." "Ah Carrol! I know that you have studied all these things well, which, of course, I don't pretend to and what is more, you are carrying them out upon your own estate, to a practical result, which seems to have promoted the comfort and happiness of scores of poor families. I was surprised and delighted, at the change I saw, when I went round amongst them, the last time I visited you. But how is it, can you tell me, Carrol, that the Castle Cormack estate belongs to the Misses Moyle, and not to my friend O'Sullivan ?" "Oh! it was in this way: did you never hear the story?" "I have heard some strange romance about it," said the captain, "but I never could rightly understand it." "The "Well, it was in this way:" continued the baronet. castle belonged many years ago, before our time, to an old maiden lady, Miss Cormack, an aunt of the half-blood to Major O'Sullivan, the captain's father. She took offence, as rich old maiden ladies are apt to do, at something the major said, or did, once, when he was on a visit to her. By the bye, I think he happened to tread upon a pet lap-dog, or a tom-cat, I forget which; and on being rather sharply reproved by the old lady, for his carelessness, he failed to express sufficient contrition. The consequence was, that she sent for her lawyer that very day, and altered her will." "Then it seems that in kicking the tom-cat, the major kicked down his own fortune in a moment, without being aware of it." "He did indeed for she left the estate to the major's sister, who married Mr. Moyle, Sir Monk's only son; and a legacy of five July, 1847. VOL. XLIX.-NO. CXCV. A A thousand pounds, which she had originally intended for Mrs. Moyle, was all she bequeathed to the major.” "That was a hard blow for him, any how." "So hard, that it was said he never thoroughly recovered his spirits afterwards. But the strangest part of the story remains to be told. After Miss Cormack died, no will at all could be found, and it was thought the estate would escheat to the crown, for want of heirs, as the half-blood could not inherit. The lawyer declared that he had drawn a new will up, at the time the old one was destroyed; and at last it was found in a rather remarkable way. An elderly woman, Katty Shea, who lived close to the castle, and had been a good deal employed there during the old lady's last illness, said that she had dreamed a dream, and she thought she could throw some light upon the mystery of its disappearance. No attention was paid to her at first, till she declared that she had dreamt the same dream a second and a third time. This coming to the major's ears, he questioned her upon the subject. She told him as much as she thought fit; and then stipulated that if her dream should prove correct, so as to be the means of discovering the will, she should have a certain sum of money, I think it was a hundred pounds." "Well, and what was the result? Did she find the will?" "You shall hear. Katty went to the castle on the following morning, and all its inmates were on the tiptoe of expectation. Accompanied by the major, and one of the men-servants, she went up a winding staircase, along two or three remote galleries, and at last stopped at the door of a room which had been shut up for years. That, she said, was the place she had dreamed of: and as no key could be found, and there was no locksmith at hand, the major put his shoulder to the door, and burst it in. The chamber, on entering it, appeared to be quite empty; but in a sort of dressing room which communicated with it, in a deep recess under the window, they found an antique oak chest; on lifting up the lid of which, a few old useless parchments were discovered, and under these the missing will. The wonder was, how it had come there, as this was a room of which the key had been lost for many years, that part of the building having been long uninhabited, and neither Miss Cormack, nor any one else, was ever known to enter the chamber." "It's an odd kind of story, Carrol: I don't know what to make of it. The old woman's dream must have been, of course, all nonsense; and yet, how could she point out the room where the will was? and how the devil did it get there?" "Ah! that's the question. Some of the ignorant peasantry said she was a witch, and had conveyed it there herself through the key-hole. But others, more learned in diablerie, alleged that if a witch could pass through a key-hole, (which they did not at all dispute,) a will could not. These, therefore, like all hair splitters, and drawers of fine distinctions, instead of arriving at any solution, natural or super-natural, only ended by rendering the mystery more profound." "And pray, what was the upshot of it all?" inquired Captain Digby. "Why, briefly, this. Mrs. Moyle got the estate, and Major O'Sullivan the five thousand pounds: and as for Katty Shea, she got her hundred pounds, and was ducked by her neighbours the same night, in a horse-pond." "Which was a gratuitous, though not a very agreeable addition," said the captain, "to what she had bargained for." "It was so;" rejoined Sir Carrol: "but she took the bad with the good, and made the best she could of the two. She is now a very old woman, upwards of eighty, and lives entirely alone. The country people in general regard her as a witch, and avoid meeting her, if they can, particularly about nightfall." "Poor soul!" the hundred pounds has been a hard bargain for her then, in the long run." "Very hard indeed, Jack! she would have been a thousand times better without it. But that is the way in which Castle Cormack passed from old Major O'Sullivan." "Well, good night, Carrol!" said Captain Digby, rising, and putting on his helmet. "I shall be sure to call for you to-morrow at five." "Do, Jack! and so good bye for the present, and God bless you!" and here the two brothers shook each other cordially by the hand, and parted. That night, Captain Digby, on retiring to rest, and putting away the cheque, which relieved him, at once, from a load of difficulties and anxieties, said the first prayer that had passed his lips for several weeks, and solemnly vowed to act worthy of such a brother's love. Whether he repeated the prayer, and kept the vow, remains to be seen in the sequel. (To be continued.) THE WEDDING-RING. (Written to illustrate a Picture by J. Holmes, in the Exhibition of the Society of British Artists.) BY MRS. ABDY. I marvel not, sweet lady, that so deep a feeling lies Thou may'st not, when this slender ring is on thy finger placed, Discard it at the light behest of fashion or of taste; But daily must thou wear it, as a token and a sign Of the vows which thou hast plighted at a consecrated shrine. I marvel not thou tremblest at a prospect yet untried, Oh, lady! should thy loved one prove neglectful or unkind, Of harsh and rugged bearing, or of cold and common mind, How wilt thou gaze upon this ring in sorrow and in pain, As a symbol and memento of thy close and ceaseless chain. Yet hold-on themes so mournful it befits me not to dwell: Thy musing look, the earnest eyes, methinks, assure me well That thy heart has not been yielded in a spirit vain and light, That no gay and trivial worldling has found favour in thy sight. If well I judge, if watchful friends thy cautious choice approve, If he pour on thee the treasures of affection's countless store. No longer living for thyself, how soon shalt thou confess Dream not of thraldom-thou shalt feel, from selfish ties when freed, Such, gentle lady, be thy lot-thy brief misgivings past, A DAY AT STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. BY THE EDITOR. EVERY one knows-for a fine holiday is a thing welcomed as a special boon by our hard-working fellow-countrymen in how bright and cheering a manner the sun looked down on the plains and hills of England on Good Friday, in the year 1846. It chanced that we were on that day, like Alfred Tennyson, at Coventry, though, unlike him, we were not waiting for the train; when the thought struck us that we would do a very poetical, though nowa-days a very common-place thing, we would visit the spot rendered sacred by Shakspeare's name and fame. We were the more impelled to this determination by the thought, that as man and boy, we had let some five-and-twenty summers go by without performing so meritorious a deed-an act the more culpable, as, like the ladies in the Vicar of Wakefield, we often dissert at some length on Shakspeare ;-we have, of course, given no little time to |