he had not seen me before at Bartram, and stood up and greeted me in his
usual abrupt and somewhat familiar way. It was vulgar and not cordial, and
yet it was honest and indefinably kind. Up rose my uncle, that strangely
venerable, pale portrait, in his loose Rembrandt black velvet. How gentle,
how benignant, how unearthly, and inscrutable!

'I need not say how she is. Those lilies and roses, Doctor Bryerly, speak
their own beautiful praises of the air of Bartram. I almost regret that her
carriage will be home so soon. I only hope it may not abridge her rambles.
It positively does me good to look at her. It is the glow of flowers in
winter, and the fragrance of a field which the Lord hath blessed.'

'Country air, Miss Ruthyn, is a right good kitchen to country fare. I like
to see young women eat heartily. You have had some pounds of beef and
mutton since I saw you last,' said Dr. Bryerly.

And this sly speech made, he scrutinised my countenance in silence rather
embarrassingly.

'My system, Doctor Bryerly, as a disciple of Aesculapius you will
approve--health first, accomplishment afterwards. The Continent is the
best field for elegant instruction, and we must see the world a little,
by-and-by, Maud; and to me, if my health be spared, there would be an
unspeakable though a melancholy charm in the scenes where so many happy,
though so many wayward and foolish, young days were passed; and I think I
should return to these picturesque solitudes with, perhaps, an increased
relish. You remember old Chaulieu's sweet lines--

Désert, aimable solitude,
Séjour du calme et de la paix,