society at length separated, as they usually do, into two vast masses; and the moral and political government of the town was vested in the two chiefs, whose purse or principles possessed this chemical power of attraction.

The Montague and Capulet of Mowbray were two elderly men, whose waxing fortunes increased inversely with their waning vigour. They could remember when their native place was little better than a rendezvous for fishing craft, and when the condescension of a Mediterranean bark in accepting the protection of its bay from a gale of wind, was matter of triumph for a month. The fortunes of the place were now mightily changed. The fishing village had become a busy, bustling port, with rich argosies, not only from the Continental towns, but from the West Indies, lying secure within her two quays, which clasped them like a pair of greedy arms. To the free trade, however, as it is called in contradistinction to the fair trade, Mowbray was beholden for a considerable portion of its wealth and importance; the coast being singularly well adapted for the running business, while as yet no port-blockade had been established. To the lawless habits introduced, and rendered familiar in such it was owing, that a certain wildness was exhibited in the character of the people, and that even in their most common transactions there was manifested a portion of the reckless and adventurous spirit which, on a great scale, furnishes materials for history, and on a small scale suggests hints for romance.

cases,

The Montague of this place was a Mr. Mortimer, and its Capulet Mr. Grove; the resemblance between the real and fictitious personages being further kept up by the circumstance of Mr. Mortimer having a son, and Mr. Grove a daughter. A bitter hostility had existed between the two families from time immemorial, whichin the chronology of a mushroom-town like Mowbray— means somewhere about twenty years, and had continued unabated up to the moment when the son and daughter of the rival houses had attained that period of life when boys and girls begin to think of love, and their fathers and mothers of matrimony. When old Mortimer cast his eyes around among his neighbours, in search of a fitting match for his son, his view was always intercepted by a great glaring white house, towering aloft among its brethren of the town, with an air of wealth and an assertion of supremacy, which made him sigh, as he reflected that it was the abode of Mr. Grove.

When old Grove, for a similar purpose, threw a keen and discriminating glance among the smoky mass of bricks and mortar around him, his wandering looks returned unconsciously to fix themselves upon a huge red house, looking grim and lowering upon its neighbours, and by its very absence of neatness exhibiting the careless superiority of acknowledged opulence. The old man groaned at the sight, for it was the dwelling of Mr. Mortimer.

When Frank Mortimer, posting himself near the

church door after the service, as was the custom of the young men of Mowbray, surveyed with a critical eye the blooming lasses of the town, as they tripped demurely over the stones, a quick bouncing of his heart and a flushing of his cheek proclaimed, almost before her appearance, the approach of Miss Grove; and Frank sighed as he reflected that so beautiful a creature was the daughter of his father's enemy.

When Ellen Grove, on such occasions, turned the angle of the church door, her proud step and swan-like motion were broken, and her tottering walk, rising colour, and conscious look, proclaimed that she was about to pass under the eyes of the boldest and handsomest youth in the county side,—and Ellen sighed at the thought that he was the son of the hated Mortimer.

The consequence of all this sighing may be conceived. The two fathers, far from being inconsistent in their conduct, only yielded, as usual, to the attraction of interest. Under this powerful spell their enmity was forgotten;—they shook hands, exchanged visits, and finally signed and sealed an agreement, by which Grove engaged on that day two years to give his daughter in marriage to Mortimer's son, with a portion of five thousand pounds; and Mortimer consented to add another thousand to the stock of the love-firm, in token of his good-will and further intentions. As for the young people, unlike the heroes and heroines of romance, they entered at once, with the most filial devotion, into the plans of their

parents; and this with so much zeal and spirit, that, on the very day of the introduction, Mr. Grove, on entering hastily the room to break the ice of a first tète-a-tête, was at once surprised and rejoiced to find Frank Mortimer at his daughter's feet.

Two years, all but one month, elapsed. Twenty-three of those true honeymoons which light up the paradise of love, rolled away. Frank Mortimer passed his nights in dreaming of bliss, and his days in enjoying it. The marriage-day was fixed; the promised-land of his heart was distinctly visible in the distance, its heights glittering in the morning sun, and its bowers and breathing groves sparkling with eternal green. One morning, at this epoch, a report arose in the town, no one knew whence or how. It was whispered by one to another, with pale lips and faltering speech; it made the round of the counting-houses like some watchword of terror and dismay, awakening an echo of alarm wherever it fell. A pause then succeeded-still-heavy-terrible; and in the evening of the same day this was followed by the expected crash—“all that the heart believed not-yet foretold!"

With heaviest sound a giant statue fell

the firm of Mortimer and Co. stopped payment!

The ruin of the house, occasioned by the misconduct of their agents abroad, was sudden and complete; old Mortimer, who was in declining health at the time, died almost immediately of the shock, and Frank became,

in the same moment, an orphan and a beggar. When his stunned and bewildered mind had somewhat recovered from the blow, he hastened to the counting-house to open the letters of the firm, among which he found the following, addressed to himself:

"DEAR SIR,

'Beg to condole with you on the melancholy occasion,—but death is a debt that must be paid by us all. Refer you to inclosed copy of agreement between the late Mr. Francis Mortimer, sen., and self,

by which you will observe, that your marriage with my daughter depends upon the clause being fulfilled, which provides for one thousand pounds being paid into the joint stock by you or the said Mr. F. M., senior. Have no objection to sign your certificate; but, as there appears to be some doubt of the said one thousand pounds being forthcoming on the twenty-third, previous the marriage-day, as per agreement, would rather decline till then, and till such time after as I may take to come to terms with a suitable partner for my daughter, the favour of your further visits.

"I am, dear Sir,

66 Your obedient servant,

"JOHN GROVE."

This third blow would have stunned beyond recovery a feeble or timid spirit; but it had the effect of rousing