THE SMUGGLER. 303 



Zara Croyland remembered, with a smile, that Sir Edward 

 Digby had met with no great difficulty in finding it out for 

 himself on a previous occasion. She rose, however, with her 

 colour a little heightened; for his invitation was a very pal- 

 pable one, and she did not know what conclusions her aunt 

 might be pleased to draw, or to insinuate to others; and, lead- 

 ing the way towards the library, she opened the door, expect- 

 ing to find the room nntenanted. There, however, before her 

 eyes, standing opposite to a book-case, with a large folio 

 volume of divinity in his hand, stood the clergyman of the 

 parish ; and he instantly turned round his head, with spectacles 

 on nose, and advanced to pay his respects to Miss Croyland 

 and Sir Edward Digby. Now, the clergyman was a very 

 worthy man; but he had one of those peculiarities, which, if 

 peculiarities were systematically classed, would be referred to 

 the bore genus. He was frequently unaware of when people 

 had had enough of him ; and consequently on the present oc- 

 casion, after he had informed Zara, that finding her father was 

 out, he had taken the liberty of walking into the library to 

 look at a book he wanted, he put back that book, and at- 

 tacked Sir Edward Digby, toils viribus, upon the state of 

 the weather, the state of the country, and the state of the 

 smugglers. The latter topic, as it was the predominant one 

 in every man's mind at that moment, and in that part of the 

 country, occupied him rather longer than a sermon, though his 

 parishioners occasionally thought his sermons quite sufficiently 

 extensive for any sleep-resisting powers of the human frame 

 to withstand ; and then, when Sir Edward and Zara, forgetting, 

 in the interest which they seemed to take in his discourse, that 

 they had come into the library to look at the books, walked 

 out upon the terrace, he walked out with them ; and as they 

 turned up and down, he turned up and down also, for full an 

 hour. 



Zara could almost have cried in the end ; but, as out of the 

 basest refuse of our stable-yards grow the finest flowers of our 

 gardens, so good is ever springing up from evil; and in the 

 end the worthy clergyman gave his two companions the first 

 distinct account which they had received of the dispersion of 

 Mr. Uadford's band of smugglers, and of the eager pursuit of 

 young Radford which was taking place through the country. 

 Thus passed the morning-, with one event or other, of little 



