expression of her countenance was generally gay and cheerful, but varying often, as a heart quickly susceptible of strong feelings, and a mind full of imagination were affected by the events in which she took part, and the circumstances around her. Youth and health, and bountiful nature, had indued her form with manifold graces, and though her limbs were full and rounded in contour, yet they displayed in every movement lines of exquisite symmetry, and like the child of Joab, she was swift of foot as the wild roe. As is often the case with persons of quick fancy, her mind, though naturally of a cheerful and hopeful bent, was, nevertheless, not unfrequently overshadowed by a cloud of passing melancholy; and a look of sadness would come into her fair face, as if the consciousness which is in most hearts that this world of glittering delusions has its darker scenes, even for those of the brightest fate, made itself painfully felt at times when no apparent cause for grief or apprehension was near. But such shadows passed quickly away, and the general tone of her heart and her expression was, as we have said, bright and sunshiny,

Her father had been a man who took his ideas greatly from those amongst whom he lived. In short, he attributed too much importance to the opinions of his fellow-men. We may attribute too little to them, it is true, and even great men are bound to pay some deference to the deliberate judgment of many; but it is usually, nay invariably,

sign of weak understanding, to depend for the tone of our own thoughts upon those around. However, as he was thrown into the society of men who set great value upon accomplishments such as they were in those days, he had made a point of having his daughter instructed in all the lighter arts of the times. To sing, to dance, to play on various instruments, to speak the two languages most in fashion at the court, French and Italian, with the ease and accent of a native, had seemed to him matters of vast importance; and as she showed every facility in acquiring whatever he desired, he had no cause to be discontented with her progress. She might, perhaps, have been taught to consider such things of much importance too; but she had a mother, the safeguard of God to

our early years. That mother was a woman of a high and noble mind, somewhat stern perhaps and rigid, yet not unkind or unfeeling; and between a parent weak, though possessed of talent, and one keen and powerful in intellect, though not quick or brilliant, it may easily be guessed which gave the strongest impress to the mind of the child. Thus Annie Walton learned perhaps somewhat to undervalue the accomplishments which to please her father she acquired, and though she possessed less of the stern, calm, determined character of her mother than her brother Charles, and more of the pliant and easy disposition of her father, yet she inherited a share of high resoÏution and firm decision, which was requisite, even in a woman, to enable her to encounter the dangers and difficulties of the times in which she lived.

She sat, then, in the oriel window of the hall at Bishop's Merton, reading a page, printed roughly on coarse paper, while now a smile, somewhat saddened, and now a look of anger, somewhat brightened by the half-faded smile, passed over her sweet face, as in one of the broad sheets of the day, which had been left with her a few minutes before by Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, she saw the doings of a parliament, which began by asserting the rights of the people, and ended by attacking the just prerogatives of the crown-which commenced by opposing tyranny and deceit in the rulers of the land, and ended by far exceeding all the tyranny and deceit it had opposed, and adding the most beastly hypocrisy and violence, fraud, rapine, and cruelty, to the crimes and follies which it had found existing. She read and smiled-she read and sighed for though her family had taken no part in the deeds of the last twelve months, and though her mother had been through life rather attached to the doctrine of the Presbyterians, than their opponents, yet there was something in the cause of the cavaliers, with all their faults, in their very rashness and want of all pretence-something in the cold-blooded hypocrisy and false pretexts of the parliamentarians which had engaged her sympathies on the losing side, and roused her indignation against the successful.

While she was thus occupied, a horseman passed rapidly before the window towards the principal door of

the house, crossing like a quick bird in its flight, and casting down the paper, she ran out murmuring," It is Charles !"

There was a large old-fashioned vestibule hung with pikes and arms, corslets and head-pieces, and stags' antlers and hunting horns, and all the implements of real battle, and the mimic warfare of the chase. The door leading to the terrace stood wide open, with an old servant on either side, and as she bounded forward in the expectation of meeting her brother, with her countenance beaming with pleasure, to greet him on his return, a stranger entered and advanced at once towards her.

Annie Walton's face suddenly became graver, and a blush rose into her cheek; but the cavalier advanced with a frank and unembarrassed air, walked straight up to her, and took her hand, as if he had been an old friend.

"You thought it was your brother," he said, with easy grace, saving her all trouble of explanation, "and you are disappointed, Miss Walton. Would that I had a sister to look so joyful, on my return to my old halls-but your disappointment will have no long life. Charles Walton will be here ere the world be an hour older; and in the meantime you must show me and my poor beast fair hospitality till the master of the mansion comes himself to tell you more about his friend Sir Francis Clare."

He bowed as he thus introduced himself, and Annie Walton, with all courtesy, but a grave air, invited him to the hall where she had been sitting, trying to call to mind the name amongst those of all her brother's acquaintances. She could recollect no such person, however, and although there was in the frankness of the stranger's manner something that pleased her, yet she almost thought it too free, in one whom she could not believe to be very intimate with him. Yet there was a grace as well as an ease in his demeanour, a tone not easily described, but which can only be acquired by long intimate habits of familiarity with persons of high mind and education; a self-possession, distinct from impudence, which showed her at once that the visitor was not one of the wild and reckless roysterers of the court and army of King Charles, who pre

sumed without merit, and endeavoured to cover vulgarity of spirit with selfconfidence. She begged the stranger to be seated-he bowed, and let her take her place, while he remained standing before her, calculating rapidly what was passing through her thoughts, and to say truth, somewhat struck with the beauty of this cynosure of neighbouring eyes, who, whatever he might have expected to find, went far in loveliness beyond his imagination.

There was a momentary pause while she thought of what was next to come, but the stranger spoke first. "I must seem very bold, I fear, and somewhat too free, Miss Walton," he said at length, "in thus treating you as an old acquaintance; but the circumstances of these days engender strange habits of rapidity in all our doings. Rough times abridge ceremonies, and besides, when our thoughts are familiar even with those whom we have never met, a sort of one-sided friendship grows up in our breast towards them which makes us forget that it is not reciprocal. I have so often heard your brother talk of you, so often conversed with him of you, that I may think myself lucky that at our first meeting I did not offend you by calling you Annie."

"It would have surprised more than offended," replied his fair companion, with a smile; "but Charles will, I trust, soon make us better acquainted. Have you seen him lately?”

"Not for five years," answered Sir Francis Clare; "and yet, sweet lady, know more of his proceedings than you do who parted with him but a week ago-not that he is deep-dyed in plots and conspiracies kept from his sister's ear; but simply, because he wrote to me yesterday one of his brief but comprehensive notes, telling me what he purposed, and giving me a rendezvous here to-day, which I, with my usual impatience, have run before by near an hour. I heard of him too, as I came along, and though I found that I should be before him, yet I hurried on-not to surprise his sister all alone, and make her wonder what strange rash man had come to visit her, believe me."

"Such an object were little worth the spur, sir," replied the lady, laughing; "but if I understand you right,

your friendship with my brother must have begun when he was in France."

66

Long before that," replied the cavalier; "but when last I parted with him he was in Italy, where he left me to return to his own house. We bade each other farewell under the Logga de Lanzi, in the fair town of Florence."

"Oh, how I long to see that place," cried Annie Walton-"it is one of the dreams of my imagination which, perhaps, may never be realized."

"Few dreams of the imagination ever are," answered her companion. "He who gives himself up to fancy is like a man led by a child, who tells him of all the wonderful things that he will show him in the garden of the world, and when he comes to see the marvels, finds them but May blossoms and briar roses, that fade as soon as gathered, and leave a bunch of thorns in his hand."

Annie Walton raised her eyes to the stranger's brow, and gazed at the rich floating hair that covered it, to see if she could trace any of the marks of that age which has proved the world and discovered its delusions. But all was youthful and open; there was nothing gray or grave, and she replied—

"You speak sadly of this earth and its enjoyments, sir; and yet I would not part with fancy and all her pleasant deceits if I could."

"Never! never!" cried Sir Francis Clare, eagerly. "If I may use a paradox, sweet lady, the deceits of reality are ten times more dangerous than those of imagination. If all things are delusions except the hopes of a higher and a holier world, let us keep the pleasant ones at least, and they are those of fancy-but what have we here?-the last news from London."

"The reply of the parliament to the king's message," answered the lady ; "and thirty-one good reasons for rejecting his majesty's offers, with the godly and soul-saving declaration of several pious men concerning popery and prelacy."

The stranger laughed.

"How easy is it," he cried, "to cover gross treason, not alone to king but country, with fair pretexts of freedom, or to hide what they themselves call the most carnal self-seeking, with the garb of religious zeal, and to give the fairest names to the blackest pas

sions of our nature! 'Tis a trite re mark, but one that forces itself upon us every day; and yet this is the trade that succeeds in the world, so that gross deceit raises itself to high places, and sits in purple and fine linen, while honesty is left to beg her bread, and plain truth stands shivering in a ragged blanket."

"But I should think such barefaced hypocrisy as this," answered the lady, "would deceive no one. People may pretend to believe it, but it must be mere affectation, as bad as the hypocrisy itself."

"Your pardon, madam," replied the cavalier, there never yet was falsehood so open and impudent, which often repeated and told with a smooth face, would not find many to give it ready credence. Not a day passes, but we see some monstrous lie decked out with strong assurances of sincerity and zeal, pass current with the multitude. Oh, lady, there is an appetite for falsehood in this world that makes the manyheaded monster gorge the food however dirty, and, like a hungry dog, pluck morsels from the very kennel. Yet there is some truth, too, in what these people say. I am not one to cover them with bad names; for alas, however wrong they may be now, the king put himself in fault at first. The man who suffers himself to be compelled to do justice to others, will some time or another have to compel others to do justice to him; and he who has abandoned his friends in time of need, will surely have to lament their loss when he has to struggle with enemies."

"And has the king done this?" asked Annie Walton.

"Strafford, Strafford!" said the cavalier, with a melancholy shake of the head" bold, firm-hearted, gallant Strafford. That fatal error was the downfall of King Charles. Where is the hand that now shall raise him up? Lady, when a general finds himself in a town about to be besieged by an enemy, he strengthens his fortifications and throws down all the scattered houses and indefensible suburbs that might give the foes advantage in their approach; but the king pursued a different course: he threw down his de fences and maintained all the suburbs and weak points. But this is sorry conversation for a lady's ear," he con tinued; "what a fair scene does this

window show. In riding through the low ground I did not mark all the beauty round me."

66

It is indeed as fine a view as any in the country round," replied Annie Walton; "and often when I feel sad at heart, I come and gaze out here, and seem to find comfort and confidence from the sight."

"And are you ever sad at heart?" asked Sir Francis Clare with a smile.

"Not very often, it is true," she replied; "but still in the present disturbed state of the country, which is like one of those dark storms through which one can see no glimpse of coming sunshine, I cannot but sometimes feel fears and apprehensions-not for myself, indeed, for no one would hurt a woman, I suppose; but for my brother and then I need the sight of things which speak with a voice not to be misunderstood, of God's power and his goodness too, to show me that though the tempest may rage for a time, it will give place to brighter hours at last, and perhaps, in itself, work good even while it seems destined to destroy."

:

"Oh, may you feel ever thus," cried the cavalier, eagerly; "for it was such faith brought back the dove to the ark at length. Yet often when we see a world of roaring waters round us, and destruction on every side, the heart will sink, and trust and confidence give way for a time. And yet," he added, laughing, "I am not one to entertain many sombre thoughts; and if the gay companions of thoughtless hours could know with what sad con

versation I have entertained a fair lady, they would recommend me a Geneva skull-cap, and a straight black cloak. I can assure you, lady, our talk in the court is much less solemn. Except for an hour in the morning, when we speak soberly of war and policy as men take a walk after breakfast for a good digestion, our days pass much in the consideration of lace collars, the fashion of sword knots, and of how to get them. The world, I believe, and most of the things in it are not worth the waste of five minutes' heavy thought; and weighed in a just balance, perhaps a madrigal and a charge of horse, a sonnet of tiffany poetry, and the plan of a campaign, are matters of much more nearly the same importance than we think. there comes your brother, or I am mistaken."

But

"Yes, yes!" cried the lady, gladly gazing out of the open window into the valley, along which a small party of horsemen were riding: "he will be here directly;" and she and her companion, whose conversation had greatly won upon her, continued watching the progress of the young Lord Walton, as he rode rapidly along the valley, till he was hid behind the high-wooded banks, near which, as we have already related, he paused to hold a short conversation with poor Arrah Neil. They wondered what detained him so long under the trees; but after a brief pause, he appeared again, and in a few minutes he sprang from his horse at the hall-door.

"HA, FRANCIS," exclaimed Lord Walton, grasping the cavalier's hand with warm eagerness, as soon as he had received the embrace of his sister, "are you here before me? You must have used the spur from Worcester if your letter left the good town before you."

"I have used the spur, Charles," replied his friend, "on purpose to outrun you, and introduce myself to this fair lady without your assistance. You know I always was the most impatient of mortals, and strange I fear she thought me; for I could plainly see that she had never heard the name of VOL. XXII.-No. 128.

Francis Clare before," he added, with with a gay laugh, and some emphasis on the words.

"Perhaps not," answered Lord Walton, with a grave smile; "but she must know you now, Francis, as one of her brother's dearest and oldest friends. However, I must send her away from us for a minute, for I have a task for her, sad but pleasing, to perform. I just now found poor Arrah Neil, dear Annie," he continued ; "she was sitting by the Bishop's Well, dark and sorrowful, as well she may be. The poor old man, Neil, is dead. They dragged him as far as Devizes,

where the lamp that has burned so faintly for the last two years went out, and the poor girl has found her way back hither. Something must be done for her, Annie, and till we can settle what, she must stay here. I left Langan with her to bring her up; so see to her comfort, sister, for by her dress I think they must have robbed her by the way."

"Poor child!" cried Annie Walton. "I was sure the old man would die. Can these be really Christians, Charles, for a few rash words, spoken in haste to take a man of seventy from his sick bed

:

"His words meant more than they seemed, Annie," answered her brother; "at least so I gather from their answer to my application for his release but see to her comfort, dear girl, and then come back to us, for the poor thing spoke of some evil hanging over me here; and, though at times so strange, I have often remarked she speaks not lightly."

"No, indeed, Charles," replied his sister, with an anxious look. "Evil hanging over you? What can she

mean ?"

"I know not, Annie," rejoined Lord Walton. "Nothing has happened to cause you alarm, has there ?"

"Nothing!" she answered. "Dry of Longsoaken was here this morning, but he was all smoothness and civility."

"That looks ill," said Sir Francis Clare. "He must be a roundhead by his name; and whenever they speak smoothly, beware of the serpent in the grass."

"And he is a serpent, if ever the earth produced one," answered Lord Walton, thoughtfully. "Did he speak smoothly and civilly?—so, so. was the object of his visit, Annie-or had he any apparent object?"

What

"Purely, it seemed," replied Miss Walton, to ask after my health, during what he called your long absence. I told him your absence had not been long-only a week; and that you had already concluded your business with the committee, and would return to-day. So then he left that paper with me, which he said must be marrow and fatness to all well-disposed noblemen like yourself. But, indeed, he seemed well affected towards you, and said, 'I now recollect something

about the people of Bishop's Merton having encroached upon your land at Sarham, which he should be happy to set right for you, which he could do if you pleased, without your name appearing in the matter, so as not to affect your popularity with the Godfearing people of the place.''

"Where did he learn I ever feared to have my name appear in any act I did?" asked Charles Walton, proudly. ""Tis but such low and creeping things as he is, who do things they dare not own. He had some other objectthis is all a pretence! But go, dear Annie, there is Langan with the poor girl; perhaps she will tell you more than she would say to me-but do not press her, Annie, if she be unwilling.And now, Francis," he continued, as his sister left the room-"first, welcome, after so long an absence; next, what is this serious business that you would speak with me upon?"

"Faith, but a little matter as this world goes," replied his friend; “and yet one which would have been considered mighty some ten years ago. Now men draw two straws for the longest, or toss up a crown piece to know which party they will choose, whether they will fight for their rightful king or his rebel parliament

"

"Not quite so, Francis," replied Charles Walton, seriously: "with me, at least, the question would ever be a serious one-whether I should draw my sword for the representatives of the people of England, when fighting for the just liberties of the land, or for a sovereign who has somewhat infringed them? even if the case stood exactly as the parliament puts it, but”

"I am glad you have added those words, Charles," interrupted the cavalier: "for on them hangs all the rest. The king is willing to do ample justice to all men. Granted that he has committed faults-and who has greater cause to complain than I have?-granted that he has had bad advisers-granted that he sacrificed Strafford

"A terrible fault, indeed," replied Lord Walton.

"Granted that his exactions were unjust-ship-money a breach of the best and soundest laws the starchamber an iniquitous tyranny; still these errors were a part of his inheri tance, and perhaps if we looked closely, we should find that our fathers who