LONDON.

A

CHAPTER VI.

THE REV. MAXWELL BUTLER.

FTER an interval of eighteen years I must again introduce my readers to Mrs. Dormer's home in Galway. Ten of those years she has been a widow, supported by her nephew, Maxwell Butler, now a clergyman, having recently been admitted to the order of priesthood. For the last year he had been residing in Dublin, performing the duties of Deacon in one of the Episcopal churches to the entire satisfaction of his rector and the congregation among whom he ministered. The high hopes Mrs. Dormer had entertained of her nephew during his boyhood were not disappointed. He grew up noble in purpose and strong in spirit, admirably fitted for the profession he

had chosen, not from motives of worldly interest, but because he felt in this walk of life he could best promote the honour of God by ministering to the spiritual wants of his fellow-creatures; for even in boyhood Max had been deeply impressed by the godly example and religious training of Aunt Amy, and as he advanced in years these serious impressions deepened.

"The Dublin mail arrived an hour ago. I wonder what keeps the postman so late today, Josephine ?" These words were addressed by Mrs. Dormer to a beautiful girl who was seated at a piano, practising some operatic music. She is the foundling adopted by her some eighteen years before. She has grown up singularly attractive. figure below the medium height, slender and graceful, her face a perfect oval, the features small and regular, the complexion fair, a soft

Her

roseate hue tinging the rounded cheek, the hair rich, sunny brown, and the eyes dark grey, with a bewitching archness gleaming in their liquid depths. She was simply dressed; yet in her plain attire she looked more stylish than many clad in costly array, for there was a native elegance about her which made Winny often remark to her mistress that "it was asy seen she come of a good stock of rale genthry, no doubt, if one only knew where to find them."

"The postman must be here soon, mamma," and rising from the piano, the young girl approached a window and looked out. Here he comes !" she added joyfully, and she hastened to the hall door to receive the expected letter from Max.

"What news?" she resumed eagerly, on perceiving Mrs. Dormer's face brighten as she perused her nephew's letter.

"Good news, darling! Max has been presented with a small living at Carragh more, through the recommendation of his college friend, Sir Gerard Trevor. He was leaving Dublin when he wrote. He desires us to prepare for an immediate removal to Carraghmore. Our home must be again with him, he says. Dear Max! how glad I shall be to see him, after our long separation. He has not been much at home since he entered college, and now we shall have him always with us."

"What kind of place is Carraghmore, I wonder !" was Josephine's thoughtful observation. The idea of moving from Galway to some out-of-the-way country village did not seem very inviting to the young girl.

"It is a maritime town. Sir Gerard Trevor passes much of his time there, Max says," observed Mrs. Dormer.

Josephine's face brightened. She felt some curiosity to see this college friend of Max, who he said was so very handsome, and generous, and noble-minded-quite a hero he must be, she thought. The next few days was a time of pleasing bustle to the Dormers, but the preparations for a removal

were at length completed, and full of pleasant expectation they set out for Carraghmore.

The parsonage at Carraghmore was sadly in want of repairs, and the new clergyman determined to spend some money in making it a comfortable dwelling before removing his family into it. As it would not be ready for several weeks, a temporary home was selected in a romantic spot, half-way between Carraghmore and Barrington Height. This was a cottage of unpretending appearance, placed near a small creek, land-locked by rugged cliffs which broke the wild force of the Atlantic. From its sandy beach, glistening with the white foam of the swelling waves that broke upon it incessantly, the land rose gradually into a rocky acclivity shadowing the present home of the clergyman's family, which nestled at its base. Half-way up this moss-covered height was a picturesque-looking summer-house, a favourite retreat of Mrs. Dormer and Josephine on account of the extended prospect it commanded. On one side rose Barrington Height, with its mansion of grey-stone, on the other the picturesque ruin of the Friary of St. Bride, and in front the surging waters of the Atlantic, with its misty headlands and white sail gleaming over its green expanse. It is a few evenings after the arrival of the Dormers at Carraghmore; Mrs. Dormer and Josephine are seated in the summer-house enjoying the cool breeze from the ocean-for the day has been unusually sultry, and the Rev. Max Butler

returning from a fatiguing round of parochial visits which he had been making all the afternoon, has just joined them, and throwing himself wearily into a rustic armchair, is evidently enjoying the salt sea breeze as it fans his heated, flushed face. A handsome face it is too, with its grave beauty of expression, its large, lustrous blue eyes, and broad intellectual brow, shaded with rich brown hair. The figure is well proportioned and manly, though not much above the medium height, and the clerical dress--the tight fitting cassock-shows it off to advantage.

"Your long walk has tired you, Max; how do you like your new parishioners ?" Josephine asked.

"There are not many wealthy people among them. They are chiefly of the poorer class, I suppose," put in Mrs. Dormer, without giving him time to answer Josephine's question.

"The congregation of St. Mark's is a small one; the people about here are chiefly Romanists, but the respectable part of the community belong to me, and the Lady of the Manor, the heiress of Barrington Height, I am glad to say, is one of my flock. By the by, I had the honour of an introduction to her to-day," Max continued with animation, as if the event had given him considerable satisfaction. "I met my friend, Sir Gerard Trevor near Barrington Height, and he insisted on my accompanying him to the house to be introduced to his mother, Lady Trevor, and his cousin, Miss Barrington."

"What kind of looking girl is she, Max ?" | asked Josephine eagerly. "Is she a beauty as well as an heiress."

"She certainly is very handsome, and strange to say, wonderfully like you, Josephine."

lady we are speaking of," added Max hastily, as his eye caught sight of two equestrians riding along the public road, which passed near the cottage.

"Speak of an angel, and you see her wings," said Mrs. Dormer, smiling.

"I am afraid there is very little of the angel in Miss Barrington."

"There are no angels among our fashionable young ladies, aunt," was the clergyman's rejoinder.

The equestrians had now approached near enough to be seen distinctly by the little party in the summer-house, and the eyes of all were bent admiringly on them.

"What a graceful horsewoman Miss Barrington is !" exclaimed Mrs. Dormer, “and that riding habit of dark blue cloth displays her fine figure to great advantage! She certainly is a handsome, imperious-looking girl. I cannot see much resemblance to Josephine in that haughty countenance, Max."

"What a handsome, distinguished looking man!" was Josephine's observation, in a low voice, as she looked earnestly at Miss Barrington's companion.

"That gentleman is Sir Gerard Trevor, I

"Yes, like you, although her complexion and hair are much darker, still you both have the same dark grey eyes, oval face, and chiselled features. In figure, however, you differ; you are petite and graceful; she is tall and commanding-a Juno-like figure that suits her haughty style of beauty."

"How did she receive you, Max ?" inquired Mrs. Dormer.

"Oh, graciously enough! Still there was a certain hauteur in her manner which, I suppose, is natural to her. She is an heiress, and proud of her wealth and station. She is very young too, about Josephine's age. Perhaps as she grows older she may learn not to attach undue importance to the worldly advantages she possesses. There is the

expression of his face is very prepossessing; there is something so frank and noble in it."

"And he is just as good as he looks !" broke in Max, warmly; "the best fellow in the world, not a bit proud, though his bearing is so aristocratic."

As the equestrians approached the steep upon which the summer-house stood, their eyes were attracted by the little group within it, and Sir Gerard Trevor's gaze lingered on the beautiful face of Josephine. The young men exchanged nods and smiles, and the Baronet raised his hat with graceful courtesy to the ladies, while Miss Barrington bent her head with haughty grace on recognizing the Rev. Max Butler.

"I think you said Lady Trevor is Miss Barrington's aunt," resumed Mrs. Dormer,