know not why it should be so," she said; "but you must just come back
the oftener."

"Ay," said he; "but even to be absent from you a little while, is
torture."

"I fear," she said, "you are but a poor philosopher."

"Ah," he replied, "philosophy can do many things, but it cannot cure the
heartache. O Marion! I love to call you by that name! It is in your
power to end all my anxieties: a word--a word will do it! How say you?
May I hope? Nay, I do hope; but, may I call you by that name?"

"What name?" interrupted Miss Manners, tremulously.

"That name, dear heart, which is the tenderest man can bestow on woman?"

Her reply was inaudible. Jones, however, kissed her lips, and she
forbade him not. On parting, he again kissed her, and returned to his
lodgings with feelings of unmixed ecstacy.

A few weeks passed--they were weeks of delicious expectancy, of
unrestrained intercourse, of active preparation; and the event which was
to crown their happiness was duly solemnized. It was a day of great
rejoicing in the village; and, as they dashed off on their marriage
jaunt, they were honoured with the blessings and cheers of a large crowd
of people who had assembled to wish them joy. On returning, a few days
afterwards, similar demonstrations of respect awaited them; and they
continued to live in the neighbourhood, greatly esteemed and beloved by
all who knew them--esteemed for their many virtues, and beloved for
their simple and unostentatious manners.

One little incident, which happened many years afterwards, is perhaps
worth relating. An old man, who had been long unable to work, and to
whom Jones had shown much kindness, grasped him one day by the hand, and
said--

"Sir, I once struck you on the head with a stone; do you forgive me?"

"I do," was the reply; "but you must not do so again."

THE SERGEANT'S TALES.

THE PALANTINES.[G]

Of all the countless numbers that take their pleasure walks upon the
Calton Hill of Edinburgh, none that do not remember it an isolated spot,
of awkward access, can have any recollection of Sergeant Square's tall
and gaunt figure, his cue, cocked hat, gaiters, and military appearance,
as he took his daily promenade around the airy and delightful walks, or
sat upon its highest point, where Nelson's Monument now stands, in
stately solitude, as if he had been the genius of the hill, resting his
square and bony chin on the top of his gold-headed cane, with his
immense hands ser