"Do you not think Virginia looking very pale and ill?”

Evered answered in the affirmative, for it would have been impossible

how changed the young girl had But he could say very little about

for any one to pretend not to see become, during the last few weeks. it to his aunt, for fear of betraying what was in a great measure the cause of her alteration, and he felt too deeply for the tender little heart to talk openly of its sorrow, even had he not been bound to secrecy. So he merely suggested that she should see Dr. B—————, when he came the next day, more for something to say, than with the belief that he could do her any good. He knew there was only one Physician who could heal her sorrow, and even then she could never be quite the same as before.

"She shall certainly see Dr. B, I have been thinking she ought myself. But I almost fear that she will refuse to do so. Use your influence with her, Evered, for really I am becoming quite anxious. Have you observed how little she eats, and how depressed and silent she is at times?"

“I don't think there is anything to be alarmed at," said Evered. "Change of air would be the best thing for her."

“Well! we shall see what Dr. B—— says to-morrow. I think, after all, the best plan will be to say nothing to her about our wishing her to see him; but merely send for her when he is here. Good night."

The next day, when Dr. B― was announced, Virginia, as usual, quitted the boudoir where she was sitting with Evered, and went to her own room, till he should have gone. But ere long, Nina came with a message to say she was wanted downstairs, and obeying the summons at once, she returned to the boudoir, where Miss Brereton, Dr. Band Evered were talking earnestly.

"Madness!" she heard the old doctor say excitedly. "You, who have just recovered from one of the most severe attacks on the lungs I ever attended, to talk of taking another curacy, and working like a horse. 'Tis utter madness, and what is more, I shall not allow it," and the old man looked up at Miss Brereton triumphantly, as if his last words were irrefragable. Evered almost laughed at the vehemence with which Dr. B—— spoke, but it was Miss Brereton who said,— "Evered knows how gladly we would always keep him with us, if it were possible."

"My dear Miss Brereton," said Dr. B-, more composedly, "I

had better show you at once how the matter stands. Mr. Randall is in no fit state to resume his work, nor will he be, during the whole winter. No doubt it will be a trial to him, a great trial, when he might be doing good, but it is far better for him to lie by for a few months, than to be a confirmed invalid, which he would inevitably be, if he had another attack like the last, even supposing he recovered at all. For myself I look upon it as little short of a miracle that he has pulled through now. Therefore, what I have to say is this. If Mr. Randall wishes ever to resume his duties, it is absolutely necessary that he should spend this autumn, winter, and spring in some warmer climate. If he will not consent to this, I can tender him little or no hope of permanent recovery."

Virginia looked anxiously at her brother to see the effect of Dr. B's words, knowing how wholly his heart was set upon beginning work once more. His face was calm and unruffled, though perhaps there was an additional shade of gravity over his features. When Dr. Bceased speaking, he rose, and said,

You surely will not order me abroad ?”

"I had been thinking of doing so," said Dr. B-- maliciously. Then he added, “but I don't think it is positively necessary. I have an immense opinion of the climate of Torquay. I have continually sent patients there, and in most cases with great success, so that I shall be inclined to order that place for your head quarters. Of course if you prefer to go to Madeira or to take a voyage to India, I will not withhold my consent."

"I have not recovered sufficiently from the astonishment caused by your announcement to be able to determine my plans as yet," said Evered in the same joking tone. "Perhaps you would not object to my taking a cruise in the Gulf of Mexico, or off the coast of Zanzibar ?" "You can meet me on my own ground, I see," said the good-natured doctor, smiling. "But, all joking apart, you must make up your mind to be careful till summer comes again, if you wish ever to be fit for anything. Remember how much good you may do in the Church, provided you recover," he added in a lower tone.

"True! I have no business to throw away my life," said Evered; "but I suppose there will be no necessity for me to move yet!" "Let me see," said Dr. BSeptember. Ah yes! by the even before."

meditatively, "this is the middle of middle of October you must be off, or

"Are you not surprised to hear all this ?" said Evered, turning to his aunt.

"Well no, I can't say I am," answered Miss Brereton, "I always thought you would not be able to take another curacy for at least six months, and of course 'tis better to winter in a warmer country than Middlesex. But stay a moment," she added, addressing Dr. B—— who was preparing to take his departure; "I have another patient for you in the shape of your clever little nurse. Virginia dear, your brother and I both wish Dr. Bto see you. We are not quite satisfied with your looks, which don't do us credit. Come into the next room, Doctor."

Virginia was too much taken by surprise to offer any resistance, as she might otherwise have done; so she was subjected to a minute and particular scrutiny, as to the state of her health, and was very much amused when Dr. B-- insisted on sounding her lungs, though she maintained she had not the slightest "vestige of a cough."

"That may be, but I have always found that young ladies never know whether they have coughs or not," said Dr. B- ; and after considerable feeling and tapping, he declared she was right in a certain sense, as there was nothing materially the matter with her chest, but he could not say she boasted of much strength in that part, and must certainly be careful. "In fact," he said to Miss Brereton, when Virginia had left the room, "I shall be strongly inclined to order this young lady to Torquay with her brother. She will be able to take care of him, and in the meantime may get up her own strength, before the Eh! we must not let that beauty spoil." He then told Aunt Isabelle he considered her very delicate, and finally ended by asking confidentially if she thought her niece had any trouble or sorrow which might be undermining her health or spirits?

next season.

To this supposition Miss Brereton could only give an unsatisfactory reply, which by no means convinced the doctor that such was not the case; but when the old man was gone, she said aloud, in indignation, "Silly man! how he does aggravate me at times. As if little Virgie would be likely to have any trouble to keep from her old aunt. Pshaw!” with a contemptuous laugh. "When a girl is low and out of spirits from ill health, and doctors can't quite see the cause, they attribute it all to some mental distress. I have no patience with such geese! a young man would never think of hinting at such a thing;" and with that asseveration Miss Brereton walked down stairs.

OVER THE BORDER.

It is a common failing in the present generation to look upon the reading Walter Scott's novels as a duty rather than a pleasure. The mass of fiction with which we are overwhelmed has, like a surfeit of cakes and sweetmeats, given us a distaste for solid food, and we fail to take a due amount of interest in the somewhat externally delineated characters - of Scott's heroes and heroines; his long graphic descriptions of scenery; and his vivid pictures of past ages. We prefer the modern novel, with its alternate pages of exciting dialogue and shallow reflection, which perhaps is more suited to our needs for light reading, and -affords more relief from intellectual study or social cares. And so it often happens that Walter Scott's novels, without which no library is complete, remain for years untouched on the library shelves.

I happened lately, however, to be staying in a country house in the north of England, where in the temporary dearth of other literature the readers of the family were compelled to fall back on Walter Scott. It was lamentable, they all admitted; it was atrocious of their London library to keep them waiting so long for their monthly supply; it was a positive anachronism to read Scott at all, and it could only be done by skipping pages at a time, &c., &c. But it was a case of Scott or nothing; and actually, after a few days' skimming of Waverley, the Monastery, Kenilworth, and the Bride of Lammermoor, the readers found, rather against their will, that they were growing interested. Scenes of history long forgotten rose before them; allusions which they had idly passed over in other books returned to their minds; they began to appreciate Scott's vigour and perspicuity of language. From the novels they went to the poems. The Lay of the Last Minstrel and Marmion were looked at, then admired, then read and quoted, till it seemed as if the very spirit of Scott were at work to convert the household. After all their protestations they could not have been more full of him, if they had lived in his day. It was in fact, as one humorously said, a complete "revival."

At last, not satisfied with studying her new favourite in his works, a lady of the family proposed one morning that we should make a still closer acquaintance with him by visiting the scenes of his labours, Edinburgh and Melrose. We were already in Borderland; the "Wa

verley route," easily attainable from our county, was clearly the one to be pursued. Why should we not start at once?

The proposal was met with acclamation. Although it was very cold wintry weather we were too enthusiastic to make that a difficulty. We fixed the following day for our journey, packed joyfully, and finally set off, leaving behind us a few members of the household who had chosen to deride our enthusiasm, and whom we stigmatised as “AntiWaverleys." Great was our satisfaction when we found ourselves seated in the train, and covered up with rugs and shawls, though I think it would have added to our enjoyment if we could have accomplished the journey by coach, as Scott himself would have travelled. Still we contented ourselves with looking out of the windows of the unromantic railway carriage at the Borderland scenery, now a waste of untrodden snow. Pure white was the country, "like a huge wedding-cake," as one of our party suggested; and she insisted on carrying out her simile when baggage waggons passed, whose black packages thickly sprinkled with snow bearing a grotesque resemblance to large slices of the cake, on the road to privileged relations.

The scenery grew wilder and more mountainous as we approached the Border. Now and then when we stopped at stations our ears caught snatches of broad Scotch, which caused us to look at each other with delight. Occasionally we saw shepherds with the traditional plaid thrown across their shoulders, and accompanied by the traditional dog, reminding us of the "Ettrick Shepherd." There was also the "Scotsman" newspaper, which we seized with great avidity, and read at intervals as long as the failing daylight would permit. A fiery sunset shed a rosy glow over the white world as we advanced on our journey. A grey twilight and complete darkness succeeded, and we strained our eyes in vain as we approached Melrose, to catch a glimpse of the Abbey, or the famous Eildon Hills "cleft in three" by the magic wand of Sir Walter's namesake, Michael Scott the wizard.

In a darkness which seemed that of midnight, though it was only five o'clock, we reached Edinburgh itself. We were actually in fair “Dun-Edin,” and it felt like a dream, so swift had been the realization of our quickly-matured plan. There was no snow here, nor was there the least appearance of its having fallen; only a glare of lights, a bustle and confusion of voices speaking in the Edinburgh nasal twang, and an amount of jostling and pushing which made us glad to pack into a cab and drive away to our hotel.