those times, as seven months are to us ephemerals of the nineteenth century! Jacob could very well afford to wait that time; for he was not over what we call ‘middle-age’ when he married; and was, most likely, in the flower of his youth on his ninetieth birthday!—He did not die you know, until he had reached the ripe age of ‘an hundred and forty and seven years.’—Besides, he had Laban’s promise to keep him up to his work; but, I have no promise, and no hope to lead me on, if I do wait—and what would I be at the end of seven years? Why, I would be thirty—quite old.”

“Nonsense, Frank!”—replied the dear old lady, in her brisk cheery way, jumping round in her chair, and looking me full in the face with her twinkling black eyes.—“When you are as old as I am, you will not think thirty such a very great age, you may be sure! And, I didn’t say, too, that you should have to wait seven years, or anything like it—although, if you really love Miss Min, you would think nothing of twice that time of probation. As for Jacob’s age, the vicar could explain about that better than I, Master Frank, sharp though you are; you had best ask him what he thinks on the subject? What I say, is, my boy, that you must make up your mind to work, and wait for your sweetheart; work, at any rate—and wait, if needs be. ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day;’ and, when did you ever hear of the course of true love running smooth? Be a man, Frank! Say to yourself, ‘I’ll work and win her,’ and you will. Put your heart in it, and it will soon be done—sooner than you now think. There’s no good in your sitting down and whining at your present defeat, like the naughty child that cried for the moon! You must be up and doing. A man’s business is to overcome obstacles; it is only us, women, who are allowed to cry at home!”

“But, Mrs Clyde dislikes me,” I said.

“What of that?” retorted Miss Pimpernell; “her dislike may be overcome.”

“I don’t think it ever will be,” I said, despondingly.

“Pooh, Frank,” replied the old lady;—“‘never is a long day.’ She’s only a woman, and will change her mind fast enough when it suits her purpose to do so! You say, that she only objected on the score of your position, and from your not having a sufficient income?”

“Yes,”—I said,—“that was her ostensible reason; but, I think, she objects to me personally—in addition to having other and grander designs for Min.”

“Ah, well,”—said Miss Pimpernell,—“we haven’t got to consider those other motives now; 

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