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    North and South
    North and South
    North and South
    Ebook632 pages13 hours

    North and South

    By Elizabeth Gaskell

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    "North and South" is Elizabeth Gaskell's 1854 novel that contrasts the different ways of life in the two respective regions of England. In the North the emerging industrialized society is sharply contrasted with the aging gentry of the agrarian based South. The plot of "North and South" centers around the main character Margaret Hale, the daughter of a non-conformist minister who moves his family to an industrial town in the North after a split from the Church of England. With important underlying social themes, North and South stands out as one of the greatest novels in the history of English literature.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 1, 2010
    ISBN9781596259188
    Author

    Elizabeth Gaskell

    Elizabeth Gaskell (1810–1865) was a British novelist and short-story writer. Her works were Victorian social histories across many strata of society. Her most famous works include Mary Barton, Cranford, North and South, and Wives and Daughters.

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    Reviews for North and South

    4/5

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    • 5/5
      After having watched and re-watched (and re-watched and re-watched and...) the BBC adaptation of North and South, it was only right that I should read the novel. Mind you, it was something I meant to do since the first time I saw it, oh so many years ago. And after a North and South marathon with a friend (until the wee hours of the morning), the book reading was my next step.So, it was with a solid knowledge of the story and clear favourites among the characters (Oh, Mr. Thornton...) that I started. One of the things that I first noticed was the language and the portrayal of Margaret, the main character of this book. I quite liked Margaret in the series, but on my first acquaintance with her in book form I found her a bit petty and snobbish. I knew she would change, but it did shock me. But petty and snobbish as she was, and much due to the amazing writing of Elizabeth Gaskell, I didn't see her as a thing of the past, she was not simply a character of a book, and outdated at that. In a few pages Margaret was a real person, and wouldn't be at all out of place in our days. And the same could be said about the writing. Not old fashioned at all, and together with the characterization of Margaret, I could forget this was set in the 19th century.Enter Mr. Thornton, who in the series is beautifully portrayed by Richard Armitage and I thought couldn't get any better. Well, I was wrong. For, something that is less common in the books that are written nowadays, in North and South we can see both actions and feelings (and thoughts) of all the characters, not just the central one. John Thornton, who to Margaret is a stiff, unfeeling master of the North (and in trade *shock, gasp*), when shown to us in the company of his family and friends proves to be an intelligent, honest and fair man, even if he is set in his ways. Really, the man has his faults, like everyone else, but all in all, he a fine man.Amidst the struggle of a factoring town, of poor conditions to workers, whom Margaret befriends and helps, and the heavy hand (and sometimes sneaky) of the masters, of talks of strikes and a lot of death (seriously, Mrs. Gaskell, was there need for so many?) there is a love story between these two. Not without its bumps (it couldn't be that simple, now, could it?), but it was fun to follow it, even if at times it broke my heart (poor, poor, Mr. Thornton).But back to the struggles of the poor. Even if in the case of the Higgins, Margaret's working friends, I prefer their TV counterparts (especially Bessie, who isn't so fervours in her religion on screen), I liked that part of the story. It was a look into the past, of the hardships of those who had to work in conditions that would undoubtedly kill them, and how the priorities of life were different from those of Margaret, for instance.There are, of course, a couple things on this book that I wish that would be different. First, towards the end, when Margaret leaves Milton, much of what happens there stops being told, and I kept wishing to know how those left behind fared. And second, the ending. Oh, it is a very good ending, that made me laugh. But could I please have another chapter? Just a tiny little one? Please? Because I want more!Summarizing (or not really): a very good book, a classic no doubt. I loved the writing (so much that I could only follow this book with another one of Mrs. Gaskell), and the story. Read this book, and watch the series. Both totally worth it.Also at Spoilers and Nuts
    • 4/5
      Victorian women's oppression is pretty harsh, and I was reminded of that just by the "conflict" between Margaret and Mr. Thornton. This is a good social novel, though. I mean, Germinal is far better, but if you like Victorian romance (which I think I don't, really) mixed in with your working class issues, it's pretty good. I guess I also didn't love the Christianity stuff either - Austen and Eliot, by comparison, tend not to talk about religion so much. But I really appreciate the depiction of class conflict and class differences in this book.
    • 3/5
      North and South was first published in 1854. As was common in those times, it was serialized in a magazine. The title refers to the contrast between the north of England, which is very industrial, and the wealthier, and more agricultural, south. Cultural differences and classism are seen through the eyes and experiences of the main character, Margaret Hale. As a young woman of 19, Margaret is transplanted to the north when her clergyman father decides to leave the church and pursue other employment. Margaret is accustomed to a life of relative leisure, and is thrust into an industrial town where textile mills drive the local economy.In the north Margaret comes in direct contact with poorer, lower classes -- who are typically laborers in the mills. She gains an understanding of working conditions and resulting health issues. She seems to move seamlessly between classes, simultaneously befriending a local laborer and his family, and a wealthy mill owner named John Thornton. Gaskell portrays the lower classes as hard-working, honest folk and the upper classes as haughty and insensitive. Towards the end of the novel Margaret finds herself again in the south, and it is clear her life in the north has changed her world view. She does not enjoy the parties and leisurely pace; in fact, she feels guilty about having these privileges when there are so many who struggle to meet basic needs.While North and South is an effective portrayal of Victorian England and class differences, the pace was a bit slow and the plot, predictable. While there is a romantic thread to the story, I did not care enough about the characters to be pulling for a happy ending. Sometimes when reading classics, I find it helpful to consult other sources to better understand the themes. But even that didn't help me much; in the end this book left me a bit flat.
    • 4/5
      This started slowly, but gained pace as the story progressed, as the characters gained depth. I loved the contrast between rich and poor that Gaskell describes so well. Margaret was a strong character, and was far from shallow, unlike some of her relations, and I liked the way she changed as a person over the course of the book. It reminded me a little of Pride and Prejudice and I loved the ending, even though I could see it coming!
    • 3/5
      This book is not as much fun as Gaskell's frothy Wives and Daughters. Instead, this is an almost Dickensian look at the problems industrialization in 19th Century Britain (along, of course, with the requisite romance).Nineteen-year-old Margaret Hale happily returns home from London to the idyllic southern village of Helstone after her cousin Edith marries Captain Lennox. She has been living for 10 years in the city with Edith and wealthy Aunt Shaw to learn to be a young lady, and has refused an offer of marriage from the captain's brother, Henry. Her life is turned upside down when her father, the local rector, leaves the Church of England and becomes a dissenter. He moves his wife and daughter to Milton-Northern (where Mr. Bell was born and owns property), an industrial town in Darkshire where workers and mill owners are clashing in the first organised strikes.Margaret finds the Milton dirty, harsh and strange, and is upset by the poverty of the mill workers.. Mr. Hale works as a tutor and one of his pupils is John Thornton, the owner of Marlborough Mills. From the outset, Margaret and Thornton are at odds with each other; she sees him as coarse and unfeeling, and he sees her as haughty. However, of course as the book progresses, they become attracted to each other.In the 18 months she spends in Milton Margaret learns to appreciate both the city and its hard-working people, especially Nicholas Higgins (a union representative) and his daughter Bessy, whom she befriends. Bessy is ill with byssinosis from inhaling cotton dust, which eventually kills her. At the same time, Margaret's mother is becoming sicker, and a workers' strike is brewing and teh mill owners import strike-breaking workers in from Ireland. The descriptions of the plight of the workers, the 'violence of the strike & the military's efforts to put the strike down are worthy of any of Dickens' novels.Unfortunately, then we are submitted to a ridiculous sub-plot of Margaret's older brother who has been living in exile in Spain because he is wanted for participating in a naval mutiny. He sneaks back into England to be at his mother's death bed, is confronted by someone who knows his crime at the railroad station and kills him. It takes the last third of the book to settle all the problems with this errant sibling before we can get to the requisite happy ending.
    • 4/5
      North and South is the story of Northern England during the Industrialization. The book centers around the Hale family--Rev., Margaret, and the Missus. Because Rev. Hale wouldn't agree to support the Book of Common Prayer he was let go from his parish and moves his family north where he takes up teaching. They meet Mr. Thornton, a misunderstood factory owner? Margaret and her family become sympathetic to the factory workers and the union. This is a very bleak book, much like those of Thomas Hardy's . There is the requisite happy ending, but it is not satisfying.There is just something "missing" from this book when compared to Hardy and Trollope who write of the same time period. 521 pages 3 1/2 stars
    • 4/5
      Margaret Hale, daughter of a country curate driven by a struggle of conscience into giving up his living and moving to a Northern manufacturing town where he takes on work as a tutor, features as the unusual heroine of this novel that combines aspects of a typical Victorian romance with a critique of the labor system of nineteenth century England. The story follows Margaret as she returns home from living with her well-to-do relatives only to learn of her father’s decision to relocate, a decision that has far-reaching consequences for all members of the family.Margaret is an atypical heroine in that, while she does take on all of the womanly duties expected of middle-class daughters at that time, she also comments, at least to herself, on how fatiguing they are, and the reader gets a distinct sense of the frequent unfairness of her position. In other such novels, the heroines are more likely to submit to these duties without a murmur, if they’re “good” characters, or complain unceasingly, if they’re “bad” characters. Margaret’s private weariness is much more believable and sympathetic, allowing the reader to understand her actions more clearly than is often the case. She also has her failings, some of which are very real, which is also less common in Victorian romances. All in all, she’s more real, and more alive, than your usual maidenly, pure, and unearthly Victorian protagonist.This is not to say that she doesn’t indulge in some preposterously moralistic speeches, because she most definitely does. Some of her little declarations regarding God and truth made me roll my eyes. Still, considering the era in which this was written, I allow for a certain amount of slack in such matters.For anyone who has read Austen, much will be familiar in this book. In some ways, the romance aspect of the book is very reminiscent of Pride and Prejudice, but with less dancing. Other parts, however, reminded me more of a less romanticized version of Dickens’s Hard Times, which I only recently read. The working class in this book is not kept belowstairs; in fact, at least one working class character is even invited in to tea with the old curate, a plot device that readers of Victorian class novels will notice with surprise. There were numerous discussions of why workers strike, what the living conditions of the working class were really like, and what kind of people the workers were. In that sense, this could also be called a social consciousness novel, as the reader is made to understand that these are subjects that the author has thought about often, and believes the reader should think upon as well.As a random novel, North and South succeeds as a reasonably interesting (if highly predictable) romance, and an interesting look at British class interactions during the nineteenth century. The strength of the novel, however, is that it combines those two usually (at that time) distinct areas, and does so in a way that doesn’t usually feel contrived. All too often the working classes and their problems are used only as a set piece against which the “important” (ie monied) characters act out their parts. Here, however, those working characters play an integral part in the action and are ultimately acknowledged as real people by at least some of the wealthier characters.Just as Austen’s books are interesting for their insights regarding the society that she inhabited, so too is this book worth reading for its insights into class relations during this era. Unfortunately, Gaskell’s skills as a writer, although solid, are not at Austens’ level, making this somewhat less enjoyable from a purely aesthetic standpoint. If it weren’t for the class observations so nicely intertwined with the romance and family analysis, this would be a fine if unremarkable book. The way that the plot is developed, however, makes this an excellent book for anyone interested in getting a less idealized version of what life might have been like for a middle-class woman in early nineteenth century England.
    • 4/5
      Like her contemporary Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell wanted to expose the human consequences of the Industrial Revolution. Where Dickens sought “to take the rooftops off” in Dombey and Son to show the disease and suffering caused by the relentless pursuit of the capitalist enterprise, in North and South, Gaskell focused on the response of one individual when confronted by poverty and suffering. The result is a blend of genres – a combination of Bildungsroman with Victorian industrial novel.Gaskell’s protagonist Margaret Hale is jolted out of her pastoral background when her vicar father leaves the Church in a crisis of conscience and moves the family north to the mill town of Milton (a psuedonym for Manchester). Margaret’s physical journey to this new region brings about an awakening about the poverty and suffering experienced by the mill workers. Her preconceived ideas about industry and trade, born from her experience of Southern ways, are gradually relinquished as she deepens her friendship with some of the worker families.She begins with an acute sense of class divisions and distaste of anyone involved in commerce.I don’t like shoppy people. I think we are far better off knowing only cottagers and labourers and people without pretence….. I like all people whose occupations have to do with land…But through her growing friendship with the vocal workers’ leader Nicholas Higgins and his gentle daughter Bessy, her sense of class is destabilised. Instead of the socially superior attitude with which she arrives at Milton, she begins to align herself with the workers, to challenge mill owner John Thornton about their conditions and to transgress the accepted boundaries of her class by speaking the language of the working class. Rebuked by her mother she retorts:If I live in a factory town, I must speak factory language when I want it..Her transgression is complete when she intervenes in a violent scene where she intervenes in a violent scene between John Thornton and a mass of striking workers. In using her body to shield him she steps out of the conventional private and domestic sphere for women, turning herself into an object for public scrutiny.It’s in the stormy relationship with Thornton, a self made man, that the book shows Gaskell’s concept of how individual feeling fused with social concern can become an agent for change. Margaret refuses to accept his explanations of the relationship between owners and workers which dehumanises the latter by the reductive term “hands”. Under Margaret’s influence and the collapse of his business Thornton learns to treat his workers as individuals and to adopt a more paternalistic attitude towards their welfare.Their exchanges are at times somewhat tedious (Dickens himself was very uneasy with some of the discussions), as are some conversations with Bessy Higgins as she lies dying from consumption and contemplates the afterlife. I found the use of dialect hard to digest also.But those are minor points of criticism and don’t distract from my feeling that this was an engaging book.
    • 4/5
      After watching the recent BBC adaptation, I knew I just had to read the book! There is a strong thread of integrity in the book. Mr Hale must stand by his convictions and leave the church, Mr Thornton is his own kind of Master, self made, but not willing to comprimise family or the livelyhood of his workers, Mrs Thornton is the strong matriach who will stand by her son through good times and bad, and Margaret believes that her integrity is blemished by a misunderstanding with Mr Thornton. There is also a knock against unlearned assumptions. When first arriving in Milton, Margaret has certain views about the North, which are changed as she gets to know some of the people, but these assumptions remain concreted in her Aunt Shaw and cousin Edith who destain the place and the people. Mr Bell's humerous dialogue is a treat!
    • 5/5
      Brilliantly strong characters and strong social commentary. I admit that watching the BBC adaptation of it book has significantly contributed to my increased enjoyment, appreciation and love for the book the 2nd time around. (Having Richard Armitage's Mr. Thornton in mind...mmmm...)I'm continually amazed at Elizabeth Gaskell's realistic and deep portrayal of each main character. Even though I love them, each character has flaws which force me to pause and reflect that, despite those flaws, I still love, respect, or at least empathize with them.Aside from Margaret and Mr. Thornton, I'm particularly struck with Mrs. Thornton, in her fierce love for her son and her strength of character. What a mother! (And what a mother-in-law she would make!!) I must say that Mrs. Gaskell is now one of my favourite authors, on par with Jane Austen!
    • 5/5
      Great book, even better adaptation!
    • 4/5
      The heroine must move from her happy, rural parsonage home to an industrial city when her father, the parson, resigns his post due to doctrinal doubts. The novel then examines the intersections of class and religion and the relationships of labor and ownership. The novel includes an interesting plot and well-drawn characters. The questions of economics and theology that are raised are complex and interesting, I think even for a modern audience.
    • 4/5
      Margaret Hale's formative years have been spent as a companion to her wealthier cousin, Edith, in London's Harley Street. After Edith's wedding, Margaret returns to her parents' home in Helstone, where her father is the vicar. Very soon Rev. Hale has a crisis of conscience that drives him to give up his living and move the family to the industrial city of Milton, where he will work as a tutor. His most devoted student is manufacturer John Thornton, who, despite Margaret's haughty treatment of him and her disdain for the North and its capitalism, falls deeply in love with Margaret. Margaret's initial impressions of the North and its industry are gradually softened as she gets to know individuals like the working-class Bessie Higgins and her father, Nicholas.I had a hard time warming up to Margaret as a character. Her class consciousness and prejudices rubbed me the wrong way. It was infuriating that she was able to persuade so many of the other characters to do things against their better judgment. Why would reasonably intelligent adults allow themselves to be guided by an idealistic but ignorant teenager? Mr. Bell saved the book for me. His sharp wit brought a welcome breath of fresh air to an otherwise stuffy novel.
    • 3/5
      Doesn't deserve its classic status. Plodding for the first three quarters, long and superficial discussions on capital vs labour, Victorian melodrama and morality (without the characterisation or otherworldliness of Jane Eyre, for example). Even by Victorian standards, the wasting sicknesses, tragic deaths and agonising over propriety are overdone. A cpouple of moments from the last pages made me laugh out loud: "glowing with beautiful shame" and "Don't mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness [with your own!]". The denouement did absorb me, but after 450 pages of investment maybe that's not surprising! There are flourishes of insight too; Mr Bell - and the desperately needed wit and humour he injects - could have been introduced earlier and played a larger role.
    • 5/5
      Fantastic. Huge Elizabeth Gaskell fan. As an immigrant to the UK, it gave me a lot of insight into the socio-cultural-political history of England. Also a thread of feminism throughout.
    • 4/5
      When her father has a crisis of faith and leaves his position as a parish priest in the lush community of Helstone in southern England, Margaret Hale finds herself transplanted to the strangely foreign community of Milton in northern England. In this bustling, industrial town, Margaret encounters the rough and striving John Thornton, a local mill owner, with whom she regularly clashes. In Milton, Margaret develops a greater awareness of the social injustices between the owners of industry and their workers and also discovers that there may be more to her relationship with Mr. Thornton than either of them ever expected.Gaskell's novel is a fascinating combination of Victorian romance and a contemporary exploration of the social upheavals that came along with the Industrial Revolution. Margaret and Mr. Thornton are both well-drawn characters each with a realistic combination of virtues and flaws. Watching their clashes and growing realization of their feelings is a delight. Interspersed is a narrative exploring the conflict, so associated with the Industrial Revolution, between the labourers and their employers. While Gaskell's views are unlikely to gibe with modern sensibilities, in Nicholas Higgins she creates a character that moves beyond caricature of the lower class and imbues him with emotion, intelligence, and ultimately makes him a sympathetic figure. A great read whether the politics, the romance, or both are of most interest.
    • 5/5
      Beneath Gaskell's social, moral and industrial blathering, beats the heart of a powerful romance; or at least, beat the hearts of two of the most romantic characters I have encountered in a while. Margaret Hale is at first arrogant and patronising, but matures into a wilful, noble heroine who must bear an almost gothic period of mourning in an incredibly brief time. Arriving from the indolent, gentle South, after her rather pathetic father suffers a crisis of confidence, Margaret immediately forms a prejudice against the hectic and polluted 'North', with its 'dark satanic mills', and professes an active hatred for the scruffy, uncouth plebs who dwell there. The fact that she is merely the daughter of 'gentleman' without means doesn't seem to alter her perspective. As one character says, 'she seems to have a notion of giving herself airs; I can't think why'.But Margaret is young, and sheltered from reality, and the daughter of a delicate lady who married beneath her 'station'; if it is possible to endure the first few chapters in the mellow Hampshire village of 'Helstone', the reward comes when Margaret is toppled from her self-styled pedestal, by circumstance and familial bonds, and grows almost beyond recognition from a shallow, snobbish girl into a humble, generous, if shattered, woman. I went from feeling irritation to admiration, and finally finding Margaret - as is Mrs Gaskell's intention, no doubt - worthy of Mr Thornton's love.Which leads me onto a hero who, in strength, pride, passion and sheer devotion, is more than a match for any Rochester or Darcy. John Thornton. I fell so much in love with the self-made master from 'Milton' (or Manchester) that the chapter where he visits the ailing Mrs Hale with a gift of fresh fruit, soon after Margaret's rejection of his heartfelt proposal, almost had me snivelling on the bus to work! He is absolutely fascinating, almost 'two chaps in one body', as Higgins describes him - the strong, silent millowner facing striking workers with grim determination, but also the loving son, who pulled himself and his family up after the suicide of his father, to make a name and a fortune for himself, yet who isn't too proud to seek a cultured polish to his lacking education and deal with the 'common man' as an equal. The charged dialogue - and silent gestures - between Mr Thornton and Margaret are far more erotic than any love scene (and these two only manage one kiss in the whole book!) John Thornton is now one of my favourite literary heroes, but it's because of his love for Margaret - from their first proper meeting, when he watches with rapt attention how she fidgets with a loose bracelet, to the brave, almost painful moment when he declares how he feels. These two are drawn, and belong, together, which is the true mark of soulmates in fiction.The only failing I found with this novel is the ending - for me, the climax is to be found early on in chapter 24, after which the tension slowly dissipates among grand speeches and prolonged misunderstandings. Although I could appreciate Margaret's love for her brother, and the gloomy landscape Mrs Gaskell paints of 'Darkshire' (or Lancashire), all that really holds this story together is the attraction of opposites between Margaret and John. I enjoyed reading every scene with him, and found Margaret an inspiring Victorian heroine (once she grew up), but the thrill was in the chase. I was gripped through every chapter, abandoning another book to concentrate on this story, and savouring both historical fact and dramatic device - only to disappointed by the standard 'reversal of fortune' in the final pages. Why must a strong hero be brought down before the heroine is permitted to return his love? Wouldn't the union of two equal partners, in status and personality, be more exciting than the powerful woman stooping to raise up her man? I can understand why Gaskell and other female authors might have been tempted to redress certain social inequalities of the Victorian era in their writing, but John Thornton deserves more than the same old treatment. The long-awaited resolution between John and Margaret makes me wish that someone would write a sequel, however lacking, for this novel, but their playful words also seem rushed. Mrs Gaskell was apparently under pressure to complete her story, and I share what must have been her frustration at the result.Engrossing, educational, evocative; witty in places (especially droll Mr Bell), and bitter in parts, 'North and South' is a novel of changing moods and times. Recommended.
    • 5/5
      Think Pride and Prejudice is as good as it gets? Think you can't dream up a better romantic hero than Mr. Darcy? Wrong!Immediately read this, and understand why I would prefer Mr. Thornton over cranky Mr. Darcy any day of the week. He is a gentleman through and through, and his never-ceasing kindnesses toward Margaret should be enough to make anyone fall in love with his character.Also, being able to picture him as Richard Armitage (as in the BBC production of this story) doesn't hurt.Austen is better at the witty social commentary, I'll give her that. But, to replace that, Gaskell adds in a dash of Charles Dickens in her portrayal of the battle between the mill owners and the working class. It adds a real depth and interest to the story.Mr. Thornton is a manager of a mill, and even though Margaret Hale is involved with his family socially, she becomes close to the working family of Nicholas Higgins. She sees both sides of the ongoing struggle and eventual strike, and her views change quite a bit as she matures and the book progresses. For that matter, so do Mr. Thornton's.When you pick up this book, you will quickly become wrapped up in the story. The class struggles will engage you just as quickly as the Margaret/Thornton interactions. Although many people disagree with me that it beats Pride & Prejudice, there is still something for everyone to be found in the plot!
    • 5/5
      Holy mackerel, this is good. I expected it to be Austen-ish (and I do love Pride and Prejudice), but if P&P is cotton candy, this is... some other delicious, yet way more nutrient-dense food. Gaskell takes us out of the drawing room and into the streets. Set in the industrial north of England, she gives us strikes, riots, poverty, wealth (new and old), economic debates, religious debates, and some surprisingly modern-feeling observations about psychology. And still, a fully characterized hero and heroine in Mr. Thornton and Margaret Hale. Mr. Thornton, especially. He may have displaced Mr. Darcy at the top of my List of Dreamy Fictional Men. Highly, highly recommended. 
    • 4/5
      Enjoyed except for the abrupt ending.
    • 4/5
      Liked it--didn't love itThe only things I knew about Elizabeth Gaskell was that she was Charlotte Bronte's close friend (she even laid Charlotte out to be buried) and that she was one of the few women Victorian novelist who had what might be called a "normal" life. It ws a refreshing change to get away from Home Counties drama , but I can't help comparing Gaskell to George Eliot--which is unfair of me, I know. Nobody else is George Eliot, either. Margaret was a great snotty heroine, and I loved John Thorton's mother. (No spoiler here--wow--is Margaret going to have problems later!) but John himself wasn't that interesting. The details about life in the mills were more fascinating than the hero. This is a problem, no? My biggest complaints--way too many deaths even for a novel of this era and the minor characters had an irritating habit of ruminating about Margaret. I can't stand it when an author is so heavy handed in telling the reader what to think. Still a worthy read. I look forward to the mini-series.This was the first book I read on an e-reader--courtesy of "Beam it Down" and my iouch--it did take a while to adjust to the automatic scroll but then I enjoyed reading one-handed.
    • 2/5
      I’m sitting here making an undecided facial expression and smacking my lips somewhat like after I do make when I’ve eaten something that doesn’t taste bad exactly, but it’s certainly nothing I would try again and I feel like my tongue has been coated unpleasantly so that I get to continue to taste it until I brush my teeth. Yeah, that’s how I feel about this book.

      In fairness, I should disclose that I went into this reading adventure with some fairly high expectations because so many Jane Austen fans recommended her so whole heartedly. In fact, they were well nigh as intrigued with Ms. Gaskell’s characterizations as they were with Ms. Austen’s. It has stellar ratings on Goodreads. And I feel beyond let down.

      A word about Ms. Gaskell: I was told she was a contemporary of Austen, perhaps on the later end of Austen’s writings. She is not. Elizabeth Gaskell was actually a contemporary of Dickens and contributed many short stories to a circular that Dickens published. And there’s the rub. I hate Dickens. I do. Just. Simply. Hate. Dickens. She also wrote a biography of Charlotte Bronte. I hate Bronte. Either one. Simply. Hate. Bronte. It’s all so dismal and dreary. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good “humanity sucks and should be wiped out” story as much as the next person, but I’ve always felt that Dickens-esque novels were too heavy-handed and ended up focusing on part of a story that I never found that interesting.

      North and South was long: 400 some-odd small print, larger pages. It was extra hefty on description and meticulously written dialogue with Northern Englanders accent. I actually almost gave up on it out of sheer boredom at around 40 pages. As it was the only book I had with me on the train to and from work, I kept reading another 5 or so pages, and to its credit, it did become more interesting. But for a book that is about social class divisions and the struggles within each group to understand the lot of the other, it was decisively shallow. I felt like many of the “key” scenes were simply too contrived. There is no reason for Mr. Thornton, the male protagonist, to fall head over heals with Miss Hale, the female protagonist. They meet and instantly dislike one another, but, in my opinion, Glaskell is never able to convince me why their feelings change for one another. The author’s contrivance to move Mr. Thornton’s heart is really only a moment where Miss Hale (bravely but mostly stupidly) puts her body between Mr. Thornton and a bunch of rioters to protect him. Really? Hunh? At some point she throws herself at him still to “protect” him and the author has Thornton reflecting much on the feel of her against him. So his hatred for her “superior” ways all vanish in a cloud of smoke over a little lust? Isn’t there a town harlot for that?

      Much later, of course only after making Miss Hale an heiress, and conveniently, an heiress over the very property upon which Mr. Thornton works and lives, Miss Hale realizes that he is all that is good in a man. I’m not certain why this change of heart because the author never tells us. It is true that Mr. Thornton does make great personal strides as a human being learning to understand the plight of others. But that she should decide she loves him on that alone seems, well, wholly unconvincing.

      I actually had to re-read the last couple of chapters to make sure that I didn’t miss anything because one moment they are without any contact for a few years and the next he sees her in London and kisses her. I was convinced that my book must have been missing a few pages, but no, it just ended quickly. And that is one of my greatest pet peeves: rambling on and on and freaking on only to end the story without properly tying up your loose ends or making the tying up believable. I feel betrayed as a reader who invested my time to slog through your unnecessary detail.

      The long and the short of it is that I ought to have stopped 40 pages in when I originally thought to give up. Why do people like this story? Two thumbs down.
    • 4/5
      One of my favorite reads of the new year! I really enjoyed the love story between Margaret and Mr. Thorton but also enjoyed reading about the industrialization of northern England.
    • 5/5
      This is an excellent novel. I try not to read too much about a book before I read it because I want to be surprised by everything. So, if you're like me and reading this I'll tell you this: Just read it. Don't expect action packed and mysterious. If you enjoy a nice leisurely stroll through a story of love developing out of nowhere, a girl growing up and changing, then you'll enjoy this.
    • 5/5
      Why has it taken me so long to read an Elizabeth Gaskell novel? North and South is an excellent book with well-drawn characters, themes of class and religion, and a love story, too. I was initially reminded of Jane Austen (always a favorite), but as the novel progressed these themes were explored on a broader, more worldly scale. Also, although Gaskell was writing only several decades later than Austen, I was surprised to find her language much more accessible.

      This was a combination read/listen for me. Juliet Stevenson's narration was nothing short of perfection.
      Very highly recommended
      4.5/5 stars
    • 3/5
      Being a classic I had high hopes for this one, but was dissapointed that I really couldnt get too excited for the heroine or the storyline. It was intriguing seeing the differences between classes and the dialouge between the labor union and the employers. Overall I am glad I read it but would be hard to pick it up soon for a second read.
    • 5/5
      A very satisfying novel. The heroine's father is an English vicar who gives up his living because of religious doubts and moves his family north to a fictionalized version of Manchester at the time of the industrial revolution. The relationship between the heroine and a prosperous mill owner reminded me of Pride and Prejudice.
    • 4/5
      When Margaret Hale moves with her father from the comfort of the south of England to the industrial north, she is at first repulsed by what she sees; and then when she discovers the conditions under which the workers are forced to live, she is outraged. But this throws her into direct conflict with the powerful young mill-owner, John Thornton. Using personal passions to explore deep social divisions, North and South is a great romance – and one of Elizabeth Gaskell’s finest works. Summary Naxox Audiobooks.I listened to both the abridged (read by Jenny Agutter) and unabridged (read by Clare Wille) versions of the novel over the course of several weeks. The abridged version lacks the complexity of the complete story; I don't recommend it.The BBC mini-series of the novel starring Richard Armitage and Daniela Denby-Ashe was by and large faithful to the content and intent of the original piece and led me to seek out the novel. NORTH AND SOUTH was an important work for northern England, for the new age of the "tradesman" and "merchant" class, and for the importance of the commercial activity it fostered.Hard to believe NORTH AND SOUTH was published in 1855, a mere six years after JANE EYRE. The political and philosophical concepts it describes seem decades more modern than Ms Bronte's gothic, and let's face it, rather self-centred, tale. I contrast the two famous authors, because (if you read my blog you'll know this) a connection between the two already exists in their friendship with each other and in that Mrs. Gaskell was Charlotte Bronte's first official biographer. Even compared to Dickens, NORTH AND SOUTH seems less freighted with sentimentality, caricature and Victorian morality.I believe the romance in Ms Gaskell's story could be read as an Industrial Revolution translation of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. I particularly enjoyed the way Mrs. Gaskell contrasts the mores of Mr. and Mrs. Hale with the younger couple, Margaret Hale and John Thornton, who prove themselves open to the social upheaval of their times.9 out of 10 Highly recommended to readers of fine English literature, political and historical fiction.
    • 4/5
      Probably the only other book where I enjoyed the film version more than I did the actual novel. I liked this novel much more than I liked “Practical Magic” (see above), and I think the reason I liked the mini-series produced of this book so much more than the book itself is because there are so many things that can be read into a look and a glance and you can’t see that in the novel -- especially a novel where the story is told in a kind of first person omniscient, not first person directly, but it only follows one person’s view at a time, in a way, so you don’t really get that intensity in Mr. Thornton’s expression on the page even though it’s described adequately enough. I do like that the mini-series stuck to the book very faithfully (with only a few understandable distinctions), but all the main aspects of the book was there in the mini-series. The one change that they made that I wish had been in the book was with the character of Bessie. She was a much stronger character in the mini-series, I thought.
    • 5/5
      A socialist tract, a paean to capitalism, a Victorian love story, a bildungsroman, or a realist portrayal of life in mid nineteenth century industrial England. This very wonderful novel is all of these things; what it is not is a novel about the divide between the North and the South, but this title was suggested by Charles Dickens whose own novel Hard Times had just been published. Hard Times a novel also concerned with working conditions was not one of Dickens's greatest achievements and lacked the breadth of vision that Mrs Gaskell achieved with North and South.Mrs Gaskell's original title was Margaret Hale and her novel charts Margaret's course from a well born but impoverished parson's daughter to an heiress and part owner of a large textile mill. The novel opens with Margaret staying with her wealthy cousins in London, but after her cousins marriage she rejoins her parent at Helstone a hamlet in the New Forest. She loves the gentle country life, but the family faces a major change when her father must give up his parish over religious scruples and opts to move to Milton (Manchester) the centre of the cotton industry, where he will eek out a living as a tutor. The family find Milton noisy, ugly, dirty and crowded but Margaret is determined to make the best of it for her parents sake. She makes friends with the Higgens family: mill workers and trade unionists while her father becomes a tutor to Mr Thornton a mill owner and captain of industry. Mr Thornton falls in love with Margaret but she is repelled by his hard commercialism and rejects his marriage proposal. The novel charts the bildungsroman of both Margaret and Mr Thornton which must happen before they can reach any kind of accommodation.The reader of course recognises their suitability and similarity and the outcome to their possible relationship is only revealed on the last page of the novel. Here is Mr Thornton's view of Margaret when he first sees her in some rented rooms:"but now that he saw Margaret, with her superb ways of moving and looking, he began to feel ashamed of having imagined that it would do very well for the Hales.....Margaret could not help her looks, but the short curled upper lip the round, massive upturned chin, the manner of carrying her head; her movements full of soft feminine defiance always gave strangers the impression of haughtiness"And this is Margaret's view of Mr Thornton when she sees him at dinner talking to his colleague Mill Owners:"some dispute arose, which was warmly contested, it was referred to Mr Thornton who had hardly spoken before, but who now gave an opinion, the grounds of which were so clearly stated that even the opponents yielded. Margaret's attention was called to her host; his whole manner as master of the house, as entertainer of his friends was so straightforward, simple and modest as to be thoroughly dignified. Margaret thought she had never seen him to so much advantage".Margaret's friendship with the Higgens family which has allowed her to see the suffering of the mill workers at first hand has driven a wedge between her and Thornton:"Margaret's whole soul rose up against him while he reasoned in this way as if commerce were everything and humanity nothing"The battle between commerce and humanity, capital and labour is fought out in the factories and mills of Milton and the rhetoric used then is just as relevant as it was in the 1980's when Britain's industry was reshaped under Thatcher's government. Mrs Gaskell guides the reader to a more humanitarian view; the fight between the masters and the men could be ameliorated if only they would take note of what each was saying. Both their livelihoods depend on the success of the industry and if they could find ways of working together then surely it would be to everyone's benefit. This is skillfully reflected in the battle of wills between Margaret and Mr Thornton whose own love story is brilliantly woven into the fabric of the events on the industrial battle ground.The struggle between the masters and the men is a titanic struggle for power and the hard headed Thornton sets himself against Higgens who becomes a sort of working class hero. Gaskell refuses to take sides as she ensures that both viewpoints are given equal weight. Higgens and Thornton are both proud men but are also honorable men and it is through Margaret's friendship with both of them that at last a dialogue can begin. Mrs Gaskell has Higgens speak in the local dialect which highlights the differences between him and the mill owners but also between him and the Hales family. It is superbly done.Milton is brought to vibrant life through Margaret's eyes and becomes almost another character in the novel. The smoke and the grime, the rough streets the workers pouring out of the factories at certain times of the day catching Margaret unawares and always ready with some witty comment about the way she looks. Mr Thornton's house is situated opposite his mill inside the factory gates, a large courtyard and a flight of steps is all that separates him from his work. Margaret and her family are horrified by the noise and the industry when they first visit. Change is the motif that runs throughout this novel. The vibrant trade capital of Milton is constantly changing and at a rapid pace. To succeed in their ventures then the attitudes of the mill owners must change as must the trade unionists. Margaret must adapt to her new situation and Mr Thonton must change his way of thinking if he wants to win Margaret. The people who cannot change must make way and there are plenty of deaths, most of which have repercussions for Margaret. Both her parents die, Bessy Higgens finally succumbs to her terminal illness contracted whilst working in the mills. Mr Bell the Oxford friend of Mr Hale must also depart as his refuge in academia does not fit him for the new commercial world. Margaret's strength of character enables her to deal with all that life throws at her and although she bends she does not break and her experiences in Milton only serve to make her stronger. Mrs Gaskell's achievement in bringing off this novel should be admired by every reader. The avoidance of sentimentality, her refusal to take sides, her realistic portrayal of industrial conflict and the brilliant characters that people her book all add up to a wonderful reading experience.

    Book preview

    North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell

    NORTH AND SOUTH

    BY ELIZABETH GASKELL

    A Digireads.com Book

    Digireads.com Publishing

    Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-2865-5

    Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-59625-918-8

    This edition copyright © 2011

    Please visit www.digireads.com

    CONTENTS

    CHAPTER I

    CHAPTER II

    CHAPTER III

    CHAPTER IV

    CHAPTER V

    CHAPTER VI

    CHAPTER VII

    CHAPTER VIII

    CHAPTER IX

    CHAPTER X

    CHAPTER XI

    CHAPTER XII

    CHAPTER XIII

    CHAPTER XIV

    CHAPTER XV

    CHAPTER XVI

    CHAPTER XVII

    CHAPTER XVIII

    CHAPTER XIX

    CHAPTER XX

    CHAPTER XXI

    CHAPTER XXII

    CHAPTER XXIII

    CHAPTER XXIV

    CHAPTER XXV

    CHAPTER XXVI

    CHAPTER XXVII

    CHAPTER XXVIII

    CHAPTER XXIX

    CHAPTER XXX

    CHAPTER XXXI

    CHAPTER XXXII

    CHAPTER XXXIII

    CHAPTER XXXIV

    CHAPTER XXXV

    CHAPTER XXXVI

    CHAPTER XXXVII

    CHAPTER XXXVIII

    CHAPTER XXXIX

    CHAPTER XL

    CHAPTER XLI

    CHAPTER XLII

    CHAPTER XLIII

    CHAPTER XLIV

    CHAPTER XLV

    CHAPTER XLVI

    CHAPTER XLVII

    CHAPTER XLVIII

    CHAPTER XLIX

    CHAPTER L

    CHAPTER LI

    CHAPTER LII

    On its appearance in 'Household Words,' this tale was obliged to conform to the conditions imposed by the requirements of a weekly publication, and likewise to confine itself within certain advertised limits, in order that faith might be kept with the public. Although these conditions were made as light as they well could be, the author found it impossible to develope the story in the manner originally intended, and, more especially, was compelled to hurry on events with an improbable rapidity towards the close. In some degree to remedy this obvious defect, various short passages have been inserted, and several new chapters added. With this brief explanation, the tale is commended to the kindness of the reader;

    'Beseking hym lowly, of mercy and pité,

    Of its rude makyng to have compassion.'

    CHAPTER I

    'Haste to the Wedding'

    'Wooed and married and a'.'

    'Edith!' said Margaret, gently, 'Edith!'

    But, as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep. She lay curled up on the sofa in the back drawing-room in Harley Street, looking very lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons. If Titania had ever been dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, and had fallen asleep on a crimson damask sofa in a back drawing-room, Edith might have been taken for her. Margaret was struck afresh by her cousin's beauty. They had grown up together from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked upon by every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness; but Margaret had never thought about it until the last few days, when the prospect of soon losing her companion seemed to give force to every sweet quality and charm which Edith possessed. They had been talking about wedding dresses, and wedding ceremonies; and Captain Lennox, and what he had told Edith about her future life at Corfu, where his regiment was stationed; and the difficulty of keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which Edith seemed to consider as one of the most formidable that could befall her in her married life), and what gowns she should want in the visits to Scotland, which would immediately succeed her marriage; but the whispered tone had latterly become more drowsy; and Margaret, after a pause of a few minutes, found, as she fancied, that in spite of the buzz in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up into a soft ball of muslin and ribbon, and silken curls, and gone off into a peaceful little after-dinner nap.

    Margaret had been on the point of telling her cousin of some of the plans and visions which she entertained as to her future life in the country parsonage, where her father and mother lived; and where her bright holidays had always been passed, though for the last ten years her aunt Shaw's house had been considered as her home. But in default of a listener, she had to brood over the change in her life silently as heretofore. It was a happy brooding, although tinged with regret at being separated for an indefinite time from her gentle aunt and dear cousin. As she thought of the delight of filling the important post of only daughter in Helstone parsonage, pieces of the conversation out of the next room came upon her ears. Her aunt Shaw was talking to the five or six ladies who had been dining there, and whose husbands were still in the dining-room. They were the familiar acquaintances of the house; neighbours whom Mrs. Shaw called friends, because she happened to dine with them more frequently than with any other people, and because if she or Edith wanted anything from them, or they from her, they did not scruple to make a call at each other's houses before luncheon. These ladies and their husbands were invited, in their capacity of friends, to eat a farewell dinner in honour of Edith's approaching marriage. Edith had rather objected to this arrangement, for Captain Lennox was expected to arrive by a late train this very evening; but, although she was a spoiled child, she was too careless and idle to have a very strong will of her own, and gave way when she found that her mother had absolutely ordered those extra delicacies of the season which are always supposed to be efficacious against immoderate grief at farewell dinners. She contented herself by leaning back in her chair, merely playing with the food on her plate, and looking grave and absent; while all around her were enjoying the mots of Mr. Grey, the gentleman who always took the bottom of the table at Mrs. Shaw's dinner parties, and asked Edith to give them some music in the drawing-room. Mr. Grey was particularly agreeable over this farewell dinner, and the gentlemen staid down stairs longer than usual. It was very well they did—to judge from the fragments of conversation which Margaret overheard.

    'I suffered too much myself; not that I was not extremely happy with the poor dear General, but still disparity of age is a drawback; one that I was resolved Edith should not have to encounter. Of course, without any maternal partiality, I foresaw that the dear child was likely to marry early; indeed, I had often said that I was sure she would be married before she was nineteen. I had quite a prophetic feeling when Captain Lennox'—and here the voice dropped into a whisper, but Margaret could easily supply the blank. The course of true love in Edith's case had run remarkably smooth. Mrs. Shaw had given way to the presentiment, as she expressed it; and had rather urged on the marriage, although it was below the expectations which many of Edith's acquaintances had formed for her, a young and pretty heiress. But Mrs. Shaw said that her only child should marry for love,—and sighed emphatically, as if love had not been her motive for marrying the General. Mrs. Shaw enjoyed the romance of the present engagement rather more than her daughter. Not but that Edith was very thoroughly and properly in love; still she would certainly have preferred a good house in Belgravia, to all the picturesqueness of the life which Captain Lennox described at Corfu. The very parts which made Margaret glow as she listened, Edith pretended to shiver and shudder at; partly for the pleasure she had in being coaxed out of her dislike by her fond lover, and partly because anything of a gipsy or make-shift life was really distasteful to her. Yet had any one come with a fine house, and a fine estate, and a fine title to boot, Edith would still have clung to Captain Lennox while the temptation lasted; when it was over, it is possible she might have had little qualms of ill-concealed regret that Captain Lennox could not have united in his person everything that was desirable. In this she was but her mother's child; who, after deliberately marrying General Shaw with no warmer feeling than respect for his character and establishment, was constantly, though quietly, bemoaning her hard lot in being united to one whom she could not love.

    'I have spared no expense in her trousseau,' were the next words Margaret heard. 'She has all the beautiful Indian shawls and scarfs the General gave to me, but which I shall never wear again.'

    'She is a lucky girl,' replied another voice, which Margaret knew to be that of Mrs. Gibson, a lady who was taking a double interest in the conversation, from the fact of one of her daughters having been married within the last few weeks. 'Helen had set her heart upon an Indian shawl, but really when I found what an extravagant price was asked, I was obliged to refuse her. She will be quite envious when she hears of Edith having Indian shawls. What kind are they? Delhi? with the lovely little borders?'

    Margaret heard her aunt's voice again, but this time it was as if she had raised herself up from her half-recumbent position, and were looking into the more dimly lighted back drawing-room. 'Edith! Edith!' cried she; and then she sank as if wearied by the exertion. Margaret stepped forward.

    'Edith is asleep, Aunt Shaw. Is it anything I can do?'

    All the ladies said 'Poor child!' on receiving this distressing intelligence about Edith; and the minute lap-dog in Mrs. Shaw's arms began to bark, as if excited by the burst of pity.

    'Hush, Tiny! you naughty little girl! you will waken your mistress. It was only to ask Edith if she would tell Newton to bring down her shawls: perhaps you would go, Margaret dear?'

    Margaret went up into the old nursery at the very top of the house, where Newton was busy getting up some laces which were required for the wedding. While Newton went (not without a muttered grumbling) to undo the shawls, which had already been exhibited four or five times that day, Margaret looked round upon the nursery; the first room in that house with which she had become familiar nine years ago, when she was brought, all untamed from the forest, to share the home, the play, and the lessons of her cousin Edith. She remembered the dark, dim look of the London nursery, presided over by an austere and ceremonious nurse, who was terribly particular about clean hands and torn frocks. She recollected the first tea up there—separate from her father and aunt, who were dining somewhere down below an infinite depth of stairs; for unless she were up in the sky (the child thought), they must be deep down in the bowels of the earth. At home—before she came to live in Harley Street—her mother's dressing-room had been her nursery; and, as they kept early hours in the country parsonage, Margaret had always had her meals with her father and mother. Oh! well did the tall stately girl of eighteen remember the tears shed with such wild passion of grief by the little girl of nine, as she hid her face under the bed-clothes, in that first night; and how she was bidden not to cry by the nurse, because it would disturb Miss Edith; and how she had cried as bitterly, but more quietly, till her newly-seen, grand, pretty aunt had come softly upstairs with Mr. Hale to show him his little sleeping daughter. Then the little Margaret had hushed her sobs, and tried to lie quiet as if asleep, for fear of making her father unhappy by her grief, which she dared not express before her aunt, and which she rather thought it was wrong to feel at all after the long hoping, and planning, and contriving they had gone through at home, before her wardrobe could be arranged so as to suit her grander circumstances, and before papa could leave his parish to come up to London, even for a few days.

    Now she had got to love the old nursery, though it was but a dismantled place; and she looked all round, with a kind of cat-like regret, at the idea of leaving it for ever in three days.

    'Ah Newton!' said she, 'I think we shall all be sorry to leave this dear old room.'

    'Indeed, miss, I shan't for one. My eyes are not so good as they were, and the light here is so bad that I can't see to mend laces except just at the window, where there's always a shocking draught—enough to give one one's death of cold.'

    Well, I dare say you will have both good light and plenty of warmth at Naples. You must keep as much of your darning as you can till then. Thank you, Newton, I can take them down—you're busy.'

    So Margaret went down laden with shawls, and snuffing up their spicy Eastern smell. Her aunt asked her to stand as a sort of lay figure on which to display them, as Edith was still asleep. No one thought about it; but Margaret's tall, finely made figure, in the black silk dress which she was wearing as mourning for some distant relative of her father's, set off the long beautiful folds of the gorgeous shawls that would have half-smothered Edith. Margaret stood right under the chandelier, quite silent and passive, while her aunt adjusted the draperies. Occasionally, as she was turned round, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the chimney-piece, and smiled at her own appearance there-the familiar features in the usual garb of a princess. She touched the shawls gently as they hung around her, and took a pleasure in their soft feel and their brilliant colours, and rather liked to be dressed in such splendour—enjoying it much as a child would do, with a quiet pleased smile on her lips. Just then the door opened, and Mr. Henry Lennox was suddenly announced. Some of the ladies started back, as if half-ashamed of their feminine interest in dress. Mrs. Shaw held out her hand to the new-comer; Margaret stood perfectly still, thinking she might be yet wanted as a sort of block for the shawls; but looking at Mr. Lennox with a bright, amused face, as if sure of his sympathy in her sense of the ludicrousness at being thus surprised.

    Her aunt was so much absorbed in asking Mr. Henry Lennox—who had not been able to come to dinner—all sorts of questions about his brother the bridegroom, his sister the bridesmaid (coming with the Captain from Scotland for the occasion), and various other members of the Lennox family, that Margaret saw she was no more wanted as shawl-bearer, and devoted herself to the amusement of the other visitors, whom her aunt had for the moment forgotten. Almost immediately, Edith came in from the back drawing-room, winking and blinking her eyes at the stronger light, shaking back her slightly-ruffled curls, and altogether looking like the Sleeping Beauty just startled from her dreams. Even in her slumber she had instinctively felt that a Lennox was worth rousing herself for; and she had a multitude of questions to ask about dear Janet, the future, unseen sister-in-law, for whom she professed so much affection, that if Margaret had not been very proud she might have almost felt jealous of the mushroom rival. As Margaret sank rather more into the background on her aunt's joining the conversation, she saw Henry Lennox directing his look towards a vacant seat near her; and she knew perfectly well that as soon as Edith released him from her questioning, he would take possession of that chair. She had not been quite sure, from her aunt's rather confused account of his engagements, whether he would come that night; it was almost a surprise to see him; and now she was sure of a pleasant evening. He liked and disliked pretty nearly the same things that she did. Margaret's face was lightened up into an honest, open brightness. By-and-by he came. She received him with a smile which had not a tinge of shyness or self-consciousness in it.

    'Well, I suppose you are all in the depths of business—ladies' business, I mean. Very different to my business, which is the real true law business. Playing with shawls is very different work to drawing up settlements.

    'Ah, I knew how you would be amused to find us all so occupied in admiring finery. But really Indian shawls are very perfect things of their kind.'

    'I have no doubt they are. Their prices are very perfect, too. Nothing wanting.

    'The gentlemen came dropping in one by one, and the buzz and noise deepened in tone.

    'This is your last dinner-party, is it not? There are no more before Thursday?'

    'No. I think after this evening we shall feel at rest, which I am sure I have not done for many weeks; at least, that kind of rest when the hands have nothing more to do, and all the arrangements are complete for an event which must occupy one's head and heart. I shall be glad to have time to think, and I am sure Edith will.'

    'I am not so sure about her; but I can fancy that you will. Whenever I have seen you lately, you have been carried away by a whirlwind of some other person's making.'

    'Yes,' said Margaret, rather sadly, remembering the never-ending commotion about trifles that had been going on for more than a month past: 'I wonder if a marriage must always be preceded by what you call a whirlwind, or whether in some cases there might not rather be a calm and peaceful time just before it.'

    'Cinderella's godmother ordering the trousseau, the wedding-breakfast, writing the notes of invitation, for instance,' said Mr. Lennox, laughing.

    'But are all these quite necessary troubles?' asked Margaret, looking up straight at him for an answer. A sense of indescribable weariness of all the arrangements for a pretty effect, in which Edith had been busied as supreme authority for the last six weeks, oppressed her just now; and she really wanted some one to help her to a few pleasant, quiet ideas connected with a marriage.

    'Oh, of course,' he replied with a change to gravity in his tone. 'There are forms and ceremonies to be gone through, not so much to satisfy oneself, as to stop the world's mouth, without which stoppage there would be very little satisfaction in life. But how would you have a wedding arranged?'

    'Oh, I have never thought much about it; only I should like it to be a very fine summer morning; and I should like to walk to church through the shade of trees; and not to have so many bridesmaids, and to have no wedding-breakfast. I dare say I am resolving against the very things that have given me the most trouble just now.'

    'No, I don't think you are. The idea of stately simplicity accords well with your character.'

    Margaret did not quite like this speech; she winced away from it more, from remembering former occasions on which he had tried to lead her into a discussion (in which he took the complimentary part) about her own character and ways of going on. She cut his speech rather short by saying:

    'It is natural for me to think of Helstone church, and the walk to it, rather than of driving up to a London church in the middle of a paved street.'

    'Tell me about Helstone. You have never described it to me. I should like to have some idea of the place you will be living in, when ninety-six Harley Street will be looking dingy and dirty, and dull, and shut up. Is Helstone a village, or a town, in the first place?'

    'Oh, only a hamlet; I don't think I could call it a village at all. There is the church and a few houses near it on the green—cottages, rather—with roses growing all over them.'

    'And flowering all the year round, especially at Christmas—make your picture complete,' said he.

    'No,' replied Margaret, somewhat annoyed, 'I am not making a picture. I am trying to describe Helstone as it really is. You should not have said that.'

    'I am penitent,' he answered. 'Only it really sounded like a village in a tale rather than in real life.'

    'And so it is,' replied Margaret, eagerly. 'All the other places in England that I have seen seem so hard and prosaic-looking, after the New Forest. Helstone is like a village in a poem—in one of Tennyson's poems. But I won't try and describe it any more. You would only laugh at me if I told you what I think of it—what it really is.'

    'Indeed, I would not. But I see you are going to be very resolved. Well, then, tell me that which I should like still better to know what the parsonage is like.'

    'Oh, I can't describe my home. It is home, and I can't put its charm into words.'

    'I submit. You are rather severe to-night, Margaret.

    'How?' said she, turning her large soft eyes round full upon him. 'I did not know I was.'

    'Why, because I made an unlucky remark, you will neither tell me what Helstone is like, nor will you say anything about your home, though I have told you how much I want to hear about both, the latter especially.'

    'But indeed I cannot tell you about my own home. I don't quite think it is a thing to be talked about, unless you knew it.'

    'Well, then'—pausing for a moment—'tell me what you do there. Here you read, or have lessons, or otherwise improve your mind, till the middle of the day; take a walk before lunch, go a drive with your aunt after, and have some kind of engagement in the evening. There, now fill up your day at Helstone. Shall you ride, drive, or walk?'

    'Walk, decidedly. We have no horse, not even for papa. He walks to the very extremity of his parish. The walks are so beautiful, it would be a shame to drive—almost a shame to ride.'

    'Shall you garden much? That, I believe, is a proper employment for young ladies in the country.'

    'I don't know. I am afraid I shan't like such hard work.'

    'Archery parties—pic-nics—race-balls—hunt-balls?'

    'Oh no!' said she, laughing. 'Papa's living is very small; and even if we were near such things, I doubt if I should go to them.'

    'I see, you won't tell me anything. You will only tell me that you are not going to do this and that. Before the vacation ends, I think I shall pay you a call, and see what you really do employ yourself in.'

    'I hope you will. Then you will see for yourself how beautiful Helstone is. Now I must go. Edith is sitting down to play, and I just know enough of music to turn over the leaves for her; and besides, Aunt Shaw won't like us to talk.'

    Edith played brilliantly. In the middle of the piece the door half-opened, and Edith saw Captain Lennox hesitating whether to come in. She threw down her music, and rushed out of the room, leaving Margaret standing confused and blushing to explain to the astonished guests what vision had shown itself to cause Edith's sudden flight. Captain Lennox had come earlier than was expected; or was it really so late? They looked at their watches, were duly shocked, and took their leave.

    Then Edith came back, glowing with pleasure, half-shyly, half-proudly leading in her tall handsome Captain. His brother shook hands with him, and Mrs. Shaw welcomed him in her gentle kindly way, which had always something plaintive in it, arising from the long habit of considering herself a victim to an uncongenial marriage. Now that, the General being gone, she had every good of life, with as few drawbacks as possible, she had been rather perplexed to find an anxiety, if not a sorrow. She had, however, of late settled upon her own health as a source of apprehension; she had a nervous little cough whenever she thought about it; and some complaisant doctor ordered her just what she desired,—a winter in Italy. Mrs. Shaw had as strong wishes as most people, but she never liked to do anything from the open and acknowledged motive of her own good will and pleasure; she preferred being compelled to gratify herself by some other person's command or desire. She really did persuade herself that she was submitting to some hard external necessity; and thus she was able to moan and complain in her soft manner, all the time she was in reality doing just what she liked.

    It was in this way she began to speak of her own journey to Captain Lennox, who assented, as in duty bound, to all his future mother-in-law said, while his eyes sought Edith, who was busying herself in rearranging the tea-table, and ordering up all sorts of good things, in spite of his assurances that he had dined within the last two hours.

    Mr. Henry Lennox stood leaning against the chimney-piece, amused with the family scene. He was close by his handsome brother; he was the plain one in a singularly good-looking family; but his face was intelligent, keen, and mobile; and now and then Margaret wondered what it was that he could be thinking about, while he kept silence, but was evidently observing, with an interest that was slightly sarcastic, all that Edith and she were doing. The sarcastic feeling was called out by Mrs. Shaw's conversation with his brother; it was separate from the interest which was excited by what he saw. He thought it a pretty sight to see the two cousins so busy in their little arrangements about the table. Edith chose to do most herself. She was in a humour to enjoy showing her lover how well she could behave as a soldier's wife. She found out that the water in the urn was cold, and ordered up the great kitchen tea-kettle; the only consequence of which was that when she met it at the door, and tried to carry it in, it was too heavy for her, and she came in pouting, with a black mark on her muslin gown, and a little round white hand indented by the handle, which she took to show to Captain Lennox, just like a hurt child, and, of course, the remedy was the same in both cases. Margaret's quickly-adjusted spirit-lamp was the most efficacious contrivance, though not so like the gypsy-encampment which Edith, in some of her moods, chose to consider the nearest resemblance to a barrack-life. After this evening all was bustle till the wedding was over.

    CHAPTER II

    Roses and Thorns

    'By the soft green light in the woody glade,

    On the banks of moss where thy childhood played;

    By the household tree, thro' which thine eye

    First looked in love to the summer sky.'

    MRS. HEMANS.

    Margaret was once more in her morning dress, travelling quietly home with her father, who had come up to assist at the wedding. Her mother had been detained at home by a multitude of half-reasons, none of which anybody fully understood, except Mr. Hale, who was perfectly aware that all his arguments in favour of a grey satin gown, which was midway between oldness and newness, had proved unavailing; and that, as he had not the money to equip his wife afresh, from top to toe, she would not show herself at her only sister's only child's wedding. If Mrs. Shaw had guessed at the real reason why Mrs. Hale did not accompany her husband, she would have showered down gowns upon her; but it was nearly twenty years since Mrs. Shaw had been the poor, pretty Miss Beresford, and she had really forgotten all grievances except that of the unhappiness arising from disparity of age in married life, on which she could descant by the half-hour. Dearest Maria had married the man of her heart, only eight years older than herself, with the sweetest temper, and that blue-black hair one so seldom sees. Mr. Hale was one of the most delightful preachers she had ever heard, and a perfect model of a parish priest. Perhaps it was not quite a logical deduction from all these premises, but it was still Mrs. Shaw's characteristic conclusion, as she thought over her sister's lot: 'Married for love, what can dearest Maria have to wish for in this world?' Mrs. Hale, if she spoke truth, might have answered with a ready-made list, 'a silver-grey glace silk, a white chip bonnet, oh! dozens of things for the wedding, and hundreds of things for the house.'

    Margaret only knew that her mother had not found it convenient to come, and she was not sorry to think that their meeting and greeting would take place at Helstone parsonage, rather than, during the confusion of the last two or three days, in the house in Harley Street, where she herself had had to play the part of Figaro, and was wanted everywhere at one and the same time. Her mind and body ached now with the recollection of all she had done and said within the last forty-eight hours. The farewells so hurriedly taken, amongst all the other good-byes, of those she had lived with so long, oppressed her now with a sad regret for the times that were no more; it did not signify what those times had been, they were gone never to return. Margaret's heart felt more heavy than she could ever have thought it possible in going to her own dear home, the place and the life she had longed for for years—at that time of all times for yearning and longing, just before the sharp senses lose their outlines in sleep. She took her mind away with a wrench from the recollection of the past to the bright serene contemplation of the hopeful future. Her eyes began to see, not visions of what had been, but the sight actually before her; her dear father leaning back asleep in the railway carriage. His blue-black hair was grey now, and lay thinly over his brows. The bones of his face were plainly to be seen—too plainly for beauty, if his features had been less finely cut; as it was, they had a grace if not a comeliness of their own. The face was in repose; but it was rather rest after weariness, than the serene calm of the countenance of one who led a placid, contented life. Margaret was painfully struck by the worn, anxious expression; and she went back over the open and avowed circumstances of her father's life, to find the cause for the lines that spoke so plainly of habitual distress and depression.

    'Poor Frederick!' thought she, sighing. 'Oh! if Frederick had but been a clergyman, instead of going into the navy, and being lost to us all! I wish I knew all about it. I never understood it from Aunt Shaw; I only knew he could not come back to England because of that terrible affair. Poor dear papa! how sad he looks! I am so glad I am going home, to be at hand to comfort him and mamma.

    She was ready with a bright smile, in which there was not a trace of fatigue, to greet her father when he awakened. He smiled back again, but faintly, as if it were an unusual exertion. His face returned into its lines of habitual anxiety. He had a trick of half-opening his mouth as if to speak, which constantly unsettled the form of the lips, and gave the face an undecided expression. But he had the same large, soft eyes as his daughter,—eyes which moved slowly and almost grandly round in their orbits, and were well veiled by their transparent white eyelids. Margaret was more like him than like her mother. Sometimes people wondered that parents so handsome should have a daughter who was so far from regularly beautiful; not beautiful at all, was occasionally said. Her mouth was wide; no rosebud that could only open just' enough to let out a 'yes' and 'no,' and 'an't please you, sir.' But the wide mouth was one soft curve of rich red lips; and the skin, if not white and fair, was of an ivory smoothness and delicacy. If the look on her face was, in general, too dignified and reserved for one so young, now, talking to her father, it was bright as the morning,—full of dimples, and glances that spoke of childish gladness, and boundless hope in the future.

    It was the latter part of July when Margaret returned home. The forest trees were all one dark, full, dusky green; the fern below them caught all the slanting sunbeams; the weather was sultry and broodingly still. Margaret used to tramp along by her father's side, crushing down the fern with a cruel glee, as she felt it yield under her light foot, and send up the fragrance peculiar to it,—out on the broad commons into the warm scented light, seeing multitudes of wild, free, living creatures, revelling in the sunshine, and the herbs and flowers it called forth. This life—at least these walks—realised all Margaret's anticipations. She took a pride in her forest. Its people were her people. She made hearty friends with them; learned and delighted in using their peculiar words; took up her freedom amongst them; nursed their babies; talked or read with slow distinctness to their old people; carried dainty messes to their sick; resolved before long to teach at the school, where her father went every day as to an appointed task, but she was continually tempted off to go and see some individual friend—man, woman, or child—in some cottage in the green shade of the forest. Her out-of-doors life was perfect. Her in-doors life had its drawbacks. With the healthy shame of a child, she blamed herself for her keenness of sight, in perceiving that all was not as it should be there. Her mother—her mother always so kind and tender towards her—seemed now and then so much discontented with their situation; thought that the bishop strangely neglected his episcopal duties, in not giving Mr. Hale a better living; and almost reproached her husband because he could not bring himself to say that he wished to leave the parish, and undertake the charge of a larger. He would sigh aloud as he answered, that if he could do what he ought in little Helstone, he should be thankful; but every day he was more overpowered; the world became more bewildering. At each repeated urgency of his wife, that he would put himself in the way of seeking some preferment, Margaret saw that her father shrank more and more; and she strove at such times to reconcile her mother to Helstone. Mrs. Hale said that the near neighbourhood of so many trees affected her health; and Margaret would try to tempt her forth on to the beautiful, broad, upland, sun-streaked, cloud-shadowed common; for she was sure that her mother had accustomed herself too much to an in-doors life, seldom extending her walks beyond the church, the school, and the neighbouring cottages. This did good for a time; but when the autumn drew on, and the weather became more changeable, her mother's idea of the unhealthiness of the place increased; and she repined even more frequently that her husband, who was more learned than Mr. Hume, a better parish priest than Mr. Houldsworth, should not have met with the preferment that these two former neighbours of theirs had done.

    This marring of the peace of home, by long hours of discontent, was what Margaret was unprepared for. She knew, and had rather revelled in the idea, that she should have to give up many luxuries, which had only been troubles and trammels to her freedom in Harley Street. Her keen enjoyment of every sensuous pleasure, was balanced finely, if not overbalanced, by her conscious pride in being able to do without them all, if need were. But the cloud never comes in that quarter of the horizon from which we watch for it. There had been slight complaints and passing regrets on her mother's part, over some trifle connected with Helstone, and her father's position there, when Margaret had been spending her holidays at home before; but in the general happiness of the recollection of those times, she had forgotten the small details which were not so pleasant.

    In the latter half of September, the autumnal rains and storms came on, and Margaret was obliged to remain more in the house than she had hitherto done. Helstone was at some distance from any neighbours of their own standard of cultivation.

    'It is undoubtedly one of the most out-of-the-way places in England,' said Mrs. Hale, in one of her plaintive moods. 'I can't help regretting constantly that papa has really no one to associate with here; he is so thrown away; seeing no one but farmers and labourers from week's end to week's end. If we only lived at the other side of the parish, it would be something; there we should be almost within walking distance of the Stansfields; certainly the Gormans would be within a walk.'

    'Gormans,' said Margaret. 'Are those the Gormans who made their fortunes in trade at Southampton? Oh! I'm glad we don't visit them. I don't like shoppy people. I think we are far better off, knowing only cottagers and labourers, and people without pretence.'

    'You must not be so fastidious, Margaret, dear!' said her mother, secretly thinking of a young and handsome Mr. Gorman whom she had once met at Mr. Hume's.

    'No! I call mine a very comprehensive taste; I like all people whose occupations have to do with land; I like soldiers and sailors, and the three learned professions, as they call them. I'm sure you don't want me to admire butchers and bakers, and candlestick-makers, do you, mamma?'

    'But the Gormans were neither butchers nor bakers, but very respectable coach-builders.'

    'Very well. Coach-building is a trade all the same, and I think a much more useless one than that of butchers or bakers. Oh! how tired I used to be of the drives every day in Aunt Shaw's carriage, and how I longed to walk!'

    And walk Margaret did, in spite of the weather. She was so happy out of doors, at her father's side, that she almost danced; and with the soft violence of the west wind behind her, as she crossed some heath, she seemed to be borne onwards, as lightly and easily as the fallen leaf that was wafted along by the autumnal breeze. But the evenings were rather difficult to fill up agreeably. Immediately after tea her father withdrew into his small library, and she and her mother were left alone. Mrs. Hale had never cared much for books, and had discouraged her husband, very early in their married life, in his desire of reading aloud to her, while she worked. At one time they had tried backgammon as a resource; but as Mr. Hale grew to take an increasing interest in his school and his parishioners, he found that the interruptions which arose out of these duties were regarded as hardships by his wife, not to be accepted as the natural conditions of his profession, but to be regretted and struggled against by her as they severally arose. So he withdrew, while the children were yet young, into his library, to spend his evenings (if he were at home), in reading the speculative and metaphysical books which were his delight.

    When Margaret had been here before, she had brought down with her a great box of books, recommended by masters or governess, and had found the summer's day all too short to get through the reading she had to do before her return to town. Now there were only the well-bound little-read English Classics, which were weeded out of her father's library to fill up the small book-shelves in the drawing-room. Thomson's Seasons, Hayley's Cowper, Middleton's Cicero, were by far the lightest, newest, and most amusing. The book-shelves did not afford much resource. Margaret told her mother every particular of her London life, to all of which Mrs. Hale listened with interest, sometimes amused and questioning, at others a little inclined to compare her sister's circumstances of ease and comfort with the narrower means at Helstone vicarage. On such evenings Margaret was apt to stop talking rather abruptly, and listen to the drip-drip of the rain upon the leads of the little bow-window. Once or twice Margaret found herself mechanically counting the repetition of the monotonous sound, while she wondered if she might venture to put a question on a subject very near to her heart, and ask where Frederick was now; what he was doing; how long it was since they had heard from him. But a consciousness that her mother's delicate health, and positive dislike to Helstone, all dated from the time of the mutiny in which Frederick had been engaged,—the full account of which Margaret had never heard, and which now seemed doomed to be buried in sad oblivion,—made her pause and turn away from the subject each time she approached it. When she was with her mother, her father seemed the best person to apply to for information; and when with him, she thought that she could speak more easily to her mother. Probably there was nothing much to be heard that was new. In one of the letters she had received before leaving Harley Street, her father had told her that they had heard from Frederick; he was still at Rio, and very well in health, and sent his best love to her; which was dry bones, but not the living intelligence she longed for. Frederick was always spoken of, in the rare times when his name was mentioned, as 'Poor Frederick.' His room was kept exactly as he had left it; and was regularly dusted, and put into order by Dixon, Mrs. Hale's maid, who touched no other part of the household work, but always remembered the day when she had been engaged by Lady Beresford as ladies' maid to Sir John's wards, the pretty Miss Beresfords, the belles of Rutlandshire. Dixon had always considered Mr. Hale as the blight which had fallen upon her young lady's prospects in life. If Miss Beresford had not been in such a hurry to marry a poor country clergyman, there was no knowing what she might not have become. But Dixon was too loyal to desert her in her affliction and downfall (alias her married life). She remained with her, and was devoted to her interests; always considering herself as the good and protecting fairy, whose duty it was to baffle the malignant giant, Mr. Hale. Master Frederick had been her favorite and pride; and it was with a little softening of her dignified look and manner, that she went in weekly to arrange the chamber as carefully as if he might be coming home that very evening.

    Margaret could not help believing that there had been some late intelligence of Frederick, unknown to her mother, which was making her father anxious and uneasy. Mrs. Hale did not seem to perceive any alteration in her husband's looks or ways. His spirits were always tender and gentle, readily affected by any small piece of intelligence concerning the welfare of others. He would be depressed for many days after witnessing a death-bed, or hearing of any crime. But now Margaret noticed an absence of mind, as if his thoughts were pre-occupied by some subject, the oppression of which could not be relieved by any daily action, such as comforting the survivors, or teaching at the school in hope of lessening the evils in the generation to come. Mr. Hale did not go out among his parishioners as much as usual; he was more shut up in his study; was anxious for the village postman, whose summons to the house-hold was a rap on the back-kitchen window-shutter—a signal which at one time had often to be repeated before any one was sufficiently alive to the hour of the day to understand what it was, and attend to him. Now Mr. Hale loitered about the garden if the morning was fine, and if not, stood dreamily by the study window until the postman had called, or gone down the lane, giving a half-respectful, half-confidential shake of the head to the parson, who watched him away beyond the sweet-briar hedge, and past the great arbutus, before he turned into the room to begin his day's work, with all the signs of a heavy heart and an occupied mind.

    But Margaret was at an age when any apprehension, not absolutely based on a knowledge of facts, is easily banished for a time by a bright sunny day, or some happy outward circumstance. And when the brilliant fourteen fine days of October came on, her cares were all blown away as lightly as thistledown, and she thought of nothing but the glories of the forest. The fern-harvest was over, and now that the rain was gone, many a deep glade was accessible, into which Margaret had only peeped in July and August weather. She had learnt drawing with Edith; and she had sufficiently regretted, during the gloom of the bad weather, her idle revelling in the beauty of the woodlands while it had yet been fine, to make her determined to sketch what she could before winter fairly set in. Accordingly, she was busy preparing her board one morning, when Sarah, the housemaid, threw wide open the drawing-room door and announced, 'Mr. Henry Lennox.'

    CHAPTER III

    'The More Haste the Worse Speed'

    'Learn to win a lady's faith

    Nobly, as the thing is high;

    Bravely, as for life and death—

    With a loyal gravity.

    Lead her from the festive boards,

    Point her to the starry skies,

    Guard her, by your truthful words,

    Pure from courtship's flatteries.'

    MRS. BROWNING.

    'Mr. Henry Lennox.' Margaret had been thinking of him only a moment before, and remembering his inquiry into her probable occupations at home. It was 'parler du soleil et l'on en voit les rayons;' and the brightness of the sun came over Margaret's face as she put down her board, and went forward to shake hands with him. 'Tell mamma, Sarah,' said she. 'Mamma and I want to ask you so many questions about Edith; I am so much obliged to you for coming.'

    'Did not I say that I should?' asked he, in a lower tone than that in which she had spoken.

    'But I heard of you so far away in the Highlands that I never thought Hampshire could come in.

    'Oh!' said he, more lightly, 'our young couple were playing such foolish pranks, running all sorts of risks, climbing this mountain, sailing on that lake, that I really thought they needed a Mentor to take care of them. And indeed they did; they were quite beyond my uncle's management, and kept the old gentleman in a panic for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. Indeed, when I once saw how unfit they were to be trusted alone, I thought it my duty not to leave them till I had seen them safely embarked at Plymouth.'

    'Have you been at Plymouth? Oh! Edith never named that. To be sure, she has written in such a hurry lately. Did they really sail on Tuesday?'

    'Really sailed, and relieved me from many responsibilities. Edith gave me all sorts of messages for you. I believe I have a little diminutive note somewhere; yes, here it is.'

    'Oh! thank you,' exclaimed Margaret; and then, half wishing to read it alone and unwatched, she made the excuse of going to tell her mother again (Sarah surely had made some mistake) that Mr. Lennox was there.

    When she had left the room, he began in his scrutinising way to look about him. The little drawing-room was looking its best in the streaming light of the morning sun. The middle window in the bow was opened, and clustering roses and the scarlet honeysuckle came peeping round the corner; the small lawn was gorgeous with verbenas and geraniums of all bright colours. But the very brightness outside made the colours within seem poor and faded. The carpet was far from new; the chintz had been often washed; the whole apartment was smaller and shabbier than he had expected, as back-ground and frame-work for Margaret, herself so queenly. He took up one of the books lying on the table; it was the Paradiso of Dante, in the proper old Italian binding of white vellum and gold; by it lay a dictionary, and some words copied out in Margaret's hand-writing. They were a dull list of words, but somehow he liked looking at them. He put them down with a sigh.

    'The living is evidently as small as she said. It seems strange, for the Beresfords belong to a good family.'

    Margaret meanwhile had found her mother. It was one of Mrs. Hale's fitful days, when everything was a difficulty and a hardship; and Mr. Lennox's appearance took this shape, although secretly she felt complimented by his thinking it worth while to call.

    'It is most unfortunate! We are dining early to-day, and having nothing but cold meat, in order that the servants may get on with their ironing; and yet, of course, we must ask him to dinner—Edith's brother-in-law and all. And your papa is in such low spirits this morning about something—I don't know what. I went into the study just now, and he had his face on the table, covering it with his hands. I told him I was sure Helstone air did not agree with him any more than with me, and he suddenly lifted up his head, and begged me not to speak a word more against Helstone, he could not bear it; if there was one place he loved on earth it was Helstone. But I am sure, for all that, it is the damp and relaxing air.'

    Margaret felt as if a thin cold cloud had come between her and the sun. She had listened patiently, in hopes that it might be some relief to her mother to unburden herself; but now it was time to draw her back to Mr. Lennox.

    'Papa likes Mr. Lennox; they got on together famously at the wedding breakfast. I dare say his coming will do papa good. And never mind the dinner, dear mamma. Cold meat will do capitally for a lunch, which is the light in which Mr. Lennox will most likely look upon a two o'clock dinner.'

    'But what are we to do with him till then? It is only half-past ten now.'

    'I'll ask him to go out sketching with me. I know he draws, and that will take him out of your way, mamma. Only do come in now; he will think it so strange if you don't.'

    Mrs. Hale took off her black silk apron, and smoothed her face. She looked a very pretty lady-like woman, as she greeted Mr. Lennox with the cordiality due to one who was almost a relation. He evidently expected to be asked to spend the day, and accepted the invitation with a glad readiness that made Mrs. Hale wish she could add something to the cold beef. He was pleased with everything; delighted with Margaret's idea of going out sketching together; would not have Mr. Hale disturbed for the world, with the prospect of so soon meeting him at dinner. Margaret brought out her drawing materials for him to choose from; and after the paper and brushes had been duly selected, the two set out in the merriest spirits in the world.

    'Now, please, just stop here for a minute or two, said Margaret. 'These are the cottages that haunted me so during the rainy fortnight, reproaching me for not having sketched them.'

    'Before they tumbled down and were no more seen. Truly, if they are to be sketched—and they are very picturesque—we had better not put it off till next year. But where shall we sit?'

    'Oh! You might have come straight from chambers in the Temple,' instead of having been two months in the Highlands! Look at this beautiful trunk of a tree, which the wood-cutters have left just in the right place for the light. I will put my plaid over it, and it will be a regular forest throne.'

    'With your feet in that puddle for a regal footstool! Stay, I will move, and then you can come nearer this way. Who lives in these cottages?'

    'They were built by squatters fifty or sixty years ago. One is uninhabited; the foresters are going to take it down, as soon as the old man who lives in the other is dead, poor old fellow! Look—there he is—I must go and speak to him. He is so deaf you will hear all our secrets.'

    The old man stood bareheaded in the sun, leaning on his stick at the front of his cottage. His stiff features relaxed into a slow smile as Margaret went up and spoke to him. Mr. Lennox hastily introduced the two figures into his sketch, and finished up the landscape with a subordinate reference to them—as Margaret perceived, when the time came for getting up, putting away water, and scraps of paper, and exhibiting to each other their sketches. She laughed and blushed Mr. Lennox watched her countenance.

    'Now, I call that treacherous,' said she. 'I little thought you were making old Isaac and me into subjects, when you told me to ask him the history of these cottages.'

    'It was irresistible. You can't know how strong a temptation it was. I hardly dare tell you how much I shall like this sketch.'

    He was not quite sure whether she heard this latter sentence before she went to the brook to wash her palette. She came back rather flushed, but looking perfectly innocent and unconscious. He was glad of it, for the speech had slipped from him unawares—a rare thing in the case of a man who premeditated his actions so much as Henry Lennox.

    The aspect of home was all right and bright when they reached it. The clouds on her mother's brow had cleared off under the propitious influence of a brace of carp, most opportunely presented

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