illage. Full of the busy workers in literature and art, of
philanthropists and philosophers, of churches and chapels, looking down
from the elevation of her rocky fastnesses over the yellow Avon creeping
below, 'its sullen billows rolling a muddy tide.'

The poet who sang its praises, and with his wonderful eagle glance over
the page of Bristol history seized the salient points to introduce into
his ode, is at once one of the most famous and the saddest memories
lingering round this City of the West, from which her younger sister of
to-day has sprung, and to which she owes her origin and her wealth.

Jack and Bryda parted at the entrance of Dowry Square, and with a long
and wistful gaze at the face he loved so well he turned sadly away.

'I am a rough suitor,' he said to himself, 'I shall never win her. She
is too far above me, too good, too clever, but'--and poor Jack tore the
primroses from his coat and threw them away--'oh, Heaven! how I love
her!'

CHAPTER XIV

ON THE HILLSIDE.

The next week was spent by Chatterton in bidding his friends good-bye,
presenting some young ladies of his acquaintance with gingerbread, the
boyish side of his nature coming to the front, and with it a loving
tenderness to his mother and sister.

Full of hope since the money had been collected for him, and glad to be
turning his back on Bristol, Chatterton was in one of his most winning
moods.

The soft spring weather had changed, cold winds blew, and instead of
soft April showers hail fell, blown in little heaps along Dowry Square
by the breath of the keen north-west wind.

Bryda was standing by the parlour window, looking out into the square,
just before dinner was served on Sunday.

It was somewhat of a relief to her to think Jack would not come to-day,
or, if he came, she could make the excuse of cold and a headache and
decline to take a Sunday stroll.

The remembrance of poor Jack's sad face as they parted haunted her, and
she said to herself she wished she had been kinder to him, and she
wished, oh! how she wished he had loved Betty instead of her. Bryda had
written to Betty as she had determined, and sent the letter by the
carrier, folded in thick paper and fastened by a string. The post in the
rural districts was very irregular in those days, and the carrier's
charge for delivering a parcel was even less than the postage of a
letter. Bryda wondered she had received no answer yet from Betty. She
had told her to