she meets with takes her by surprise, and worldly fortune leaves her the same kind, affectionate, and right-minded creature. Her marriage—the quiet manse, and years of happiness, unnoted save by the daily thanksgiving—come upon the reader with the same sense of enjoyment and relief, that a shady and fragrant nook does the traveller, overwearied with the heat and tumult of the highway. We have no fear that the fanaticism of her father, or the earnest warning of her husband, will ever come into over rough collision, with such a tie between them—with such a sweet and womanly peacemaker.
No. 12.— EFFIE DEANS.
It is singular what an impression of perfect loveliness Scott gives us of the "Lily of St. Leonards;" he never describes her, and yet we never doubt that
We can fancy, to continue the application of Wordsworth's exquisite lines, that nature in her case said—
