The castle, too, how different from the cold, dreary, cheerless Castle Ruff! and as I noticed the happy, well-dressed, well-fed Welsh servants, assembling to the sound of the horn, which summoned them to their plentiful and excellent meals, I could not help thinking of the porridge, the hard oat cake, and the horrid haggiss with which we were all daily fed in Scotland.

I really think if, after all my late sorrows and troubles, I had been compelled to live now with Lady McJames, instead of the refined and gentle-hearted Mrs. D'Arcy, I should have died.

About this time I received a kind letter from Lady Eustace, who, with her lord, was paying their annual visit to Scotland. She informed me that Miss M James had eloped with the son of her dancing-master, and that her eldest brother had married an artful, redheaded, vulgar dairy-maid, some years older than himself.

These two events had thrown Lady McJames into paroxysms of rage, though, after the

manner in which she had brought up her children, she could hardly have been much surprised.

I was glad to turn from the recollection of this unpleasant family to the delightful one in which I was now for a time domesticated.

Lady Gwynne had two very nice little girls, and an excellent governess for them.

The latter, finding that I had once filled a similar situation, showed me every attention in her power. She was herself a native of the principality, and took great pleasure in pointing out to me all the objects of interest in the neighbourhood, and kindly allowed me to accompany her and her young charges in their rambles.

We remained three months under the hospitable roof of Sir Howell and Lady Gwynne, whose sole study seemed to be to make all around them happy.

When the day for parting from her sister arrived, poor Mrs. D'Arcy was completely overcome, for she imagined that, in her state

VOL. II.

F

of health, it was more than probable they might never meet again.

The journey, therefore, back to London was very different from the one into Wales, and it was as much as Colonel D'Arcy and I could do to keep up her sinking spirits.

She had looked so well while in Wales, that we were in great hopes she was really getting stronger. But nothing is so deceitful as consumption.

The pleasure of again meeting a dear sister, the sight of her native mountains, the sound of her native accents, and the very smell of the wild thyme and heath of her own sweet land, caused such an excitement and exhilaration in her feelings, as gave her the appearance of returning health. Alas! it was only the appearance. On our return to town, all her worse symptoms returned, and she was unable to leave her room for many weeks.

Spring again returned, and with it a glimmering of hope. It was but a glimmering. She ardently wished to see her sister once

more, and Lady Gwynne instantly hastened

to town.

Poor Mrs. D'Arcy lingered some weeks, when she expired in the arms of those she loved best on earth, those of her fond and affectionate husband and sister.

Mrs. D'Arcy had conjured me, on her deathbed, to remain at least twelve months longer in the establishment, as, taking advantage of the illness of her mistress, the housekeeper had grossly robbed her and left the house, when Colonel and Mrs. D'Arcy had begged me to take charge of the keys.

My poor mistress, therefore, particularly wished me to remain during the first year of her husband's bereavement, as she said she felt sure, young as I was, that I should do my best to protect his interests.

She left me fifty pounds and her whole wardrobe, expressing herself to the last, before Colonel D'Arcy and Lady Gwynne, extremely grateful for my unremitting and affectionate attention to her.

I can truly say I was deeply grieved at the

loss of this kind and excellent lady, who had always treated me more as a companion than

as a servant.

Her body was, according to her earnest desire, conveyed by her afflicted husband to the land she loved so well, that beautiful and romantic Wales, where she was born, and where she had the preceding year spent so many happy weeks. She begged also that her grave might, according to the endearing custom, apparently of great antiquity among the Welsh, be planted with wild and garden flowers.

"The graves, in most of the village churchyards in Wales, are attended, weeded, and decorated with an affectionate constancy, expressive of their national character, in which an amiable enthusiasm blends with and gives a tone of sublimity even to the sorrows of a peasant. The higher classes (sometimes) in Wales, whom interest and increasing antipatriotism has attached to English manners and habits, have (in great measure) discontinued this custom; but by the ardent and