The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

304 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
" The daughter of Sir Henry Lee," said Everard, kneeling to his uncle,
and perforce kissing his hand, "would grace the house of a duke."
"The girl is well enough," said the knight proudly; "for myself, my
poverty shall neither shame nor encroach on my friends. Some few pieces
I have by Doctor Rochecliffe's kindness, and Joceline and I will strike out
something."
"Nay, my dear uncle, you are richer than you think for," said Everard.
"That part of your estate, which my father redeemed for payment of a
moderate composition, is still your own, and held by trustees in your name,
myself being one of them. You are only our debtor for an advance of
monies, for which, if it will content you, we will count with you like usurers.
My father is incapable of profiting by making a bargain on his own account
for the estate of a distressed friend; and all this you would have learned
long since, but that you would not-I mean, time did not serve for explanation-I mean"
" You mean I was too hot to hear reason, Mark, and I believe it is very
true. But I think we understand each other now. To-morrow I go with
my family to Kingston, where is an old house I may still call mine. Come
hither at thy leisure, Mark,-or thy best speed, as thou wilt-but come with
thy father's consent."
" With my father in person," said Everard, "if you will permit."
"Be that," answered the knight, "as he and you will-I think Joceline
will scarce shut the door in thy face, or Bevis growl as he did after poor
Louis Kerneguy.-Nay, no more raptures, but good-night, Mark, good-night;
and if thou art not tired with the fatigue of yesterday-why, if you appear
here at seven in the morning, I think we must bear with your company on
the Kingston road."
Once more Everard pressed the knight's hand, caressed Bevis, who received his kindness graciously, and went home to dreams of happiness,
which were realized, as far as this motley world permits, within a few
months afterwards.
Cluptnt t l 8 iirtq-& igtitl.
------ My life was of a piece,
Spent in your service —dying at your feet.
DON SEBASTIAN.
YEARS rush by us like the wind. We see not whence the eddy comes,
nor whitherward it is tending, and we seem ourselves to witness their flight
without a sense that we are changed; and yet Time is beguiling man of his
strength, as the winds rob the woods of their foliage.
After the marriage of Alice and Markham Everard, the old knight resided near them, in an ancient manor-house, belonging to the redeemed
portion of his estate, where Joceline and Phoebe, now man and wife, with
one or two domestics, regulated the affairs of his household. When he
tired of Shakspeare and solitude, he was ever a welcome guest at his sonin-law's, where he went the more frequently that Markham had given up
all concern in public affairs, disapproving of the forcible dismissal of the
Parliament, and submitting to Cromwell's subsequent domination, rather as
that which was the lesser evil, than as to a government which he regarded
as legal. Cromwell seemed ever willing to show himself his friend; but
Everard, resenting highly the proposal to deliver up the King, which he
considered as an insult to his honour, never answered such advances, and