he moves slowly through the crowds who have assembled to behold his execution, receives no clear sensation either from the noise which fills his ears, or the tumult on which he casts his wandering look.

Flora seemed a little-a very littleaffected and discomposed at his approach. "I bring you an adopted son of Ivor," said Fergus.

"And I receive him as a second brother," replied Flora.

There was a slight emphasis on the word which would have escaped every ear but one that was feverish with apprehension. It was however distinctly marked, and, combined with her whole tone and manner, plainly intimated, "I will never think of Mr Waverley as a more intimate connection." Edward stopped, bowed, and looked at Fergus, who bit his lip, a movement of anger which proved that he also put a sinister interpretation on the reception which his sister had extended his friend. “This then is an end of my day-dream!"

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Such was Waverley's first thought, and it was so exquisitely painful as to banish from his cheek every drop of blood.

"Good God!" said Rose Bradwardine, "he is not yet recovered!"

These words, which she uttered with great emotion, were overheard by the Chevalier himself, who stepped hastily forward, and, taking Waverley by the hand, enquired kindly after his health, and added, that he wished to speak with him. By a strong and sudden effort, which the cir cumstances rendered indispensable, Waverley recovered himself so far as to follow the Chevalier in silence to a sort of recess in the apartment.

Here the Prince detained him for some

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time, asking various questions about the great tory and catholic families of England, their connections, their influence, and the state of their affections towards the house of Brunswick. To these queries Edward could not at any time have given. more than general answers, and it may be

supposed that, in the present state of his feelings, his responses were indistinct even to confusion. The Chevalier smiled once or twice at the incongruity of his replies, but continued the same style of conversa tion, although he found himself obliged to occupy the principal share of it, until he perceived that Waverley had recovered his. presence of mind. It is probable that this long audience was partly meant to further the idea which the Prince desired should be entertained among his follow ers, that Waverley was a character of po litical influence. But it appeared from his concluding expressions that he had a different and good-natured motive, personal to our hero, for prolonging the conference. "I cannot resist the temptation," he said, "of boasting of my own discretion as a lady's confidant. You see, Mr Waverley, that I know all, and I assure you I am deeply interested in the affair. But, my good young friend, you must put a more severe restraint upon your feelings. There

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are many here whose eyes can see as clear ly as mine, but the prudence of whose tongues may not be equally trusted."

So saying, he turned easily away, and joined a circle of officers at a few paces. distance, leaving Waverley to meditate upon his parting expression, which, though. not intelligible to him in its whole purport, was sufficiently so in the caution which the last words recommended. Making therefore an effort to shew himself worthy of the interest which his new master had expressed, by instant obedience to his recommendation, he walked up to the spot where Flora and Miss Bradwardine were still seated, and having made his. compliments to the latter, he succeeded, even beyond his own expectation, in entering into conversation upon general topics.

If, my dear reader, thou hast ever happened to take post-horses at —, or at (one at least of which blanks, or more probably both, you will be able to

fill up from an inn near your own residence,) you must have observed, and doubt less with sympathetic pain, the reluctant agony with which the poor jades at first apply their galled necks to the collars of the harness. But when the irresistible argu ments of the post-boy have prevailed upon them to proceed a mile or two, they will become callous to the first sensation; and being warm in the harness, as the said postboy may term it, proceed as if their withers were altogether unwrung. This simile sol much corresponds with the state of Waverley's feelings in the course of this memorable evening, that I prefer it (especially as being, I trust, wholly original) to any more splendid illustration, with which Byshe's Art of Poetry might supply mee

Exertion, like virtue, is its own reward; and our hero had, moreover, other stimu lating motives for persevering in a display of affected composure and indifference to Flora's obvious unkindness. Pride, which applies its caustic as an useful, though se