board mitre, and his sister's night-gown for a pontifical robe, acting the Archbishop of Canterbury, and placing the crown upon my head !"

"And the game of Barley-break in the evening," said the Colonel, fairly carried away by the recollections of these old scenes, "when you and I, hand in hand, pretended only to catch the rest, and preferred to remain together thus, in what we called the hell, because we felt that it was a heaven to us.

66

Oh, fie, for shame!" said the old lady. "Ah, well, they don't have such times now-a-days."

No, indeed," said her husband; "old Noll came with his nasal twang and puritanical cant, and dethroned Mayqueens as well as royal kings, and his amusements were only varied by a change from a hypocritical sermon to a psalm-singing conventicle."

Thus the old folks chatted on merrily, telling old stories, which, although Virgnia had heard them a hundred times and knew them all by heart, she loved to hear again. She had almost forgotten her own sadness in this occupation of her mind, when her father said—

But, Bessy, we had almost forgotten, in our recollections of the past, that our little Jeanie needs cheering up. You should remember, my daughter, that if there were any serious cause for Mr. Hansford's absence, he would have

*The modern reader will need some explanation of this old game, whose terms seem, to the refined ears of the present day, a little profane. Barley-break resembled a game which I have seen played in my own time, called King Cantelope, but with some striking points of difference. In the old game, the play-ground was divided into three parts of equal size, and the middle of these sections was known by the name of hell. The boy and girl, whose position was in this place, were to attempt, with joined hands, to catch those who should try to pass from one section to the other. As each one was caught, he became a recruit for the couple in the middle, and the last couple who remained uncaught took the places of those in hell, and thus the game commenced again.

written to you. Some trivial circumstance, or some matter of business, has detained him from day to day. He will be here to-morrow, I have no doubt."

"I know I ought not to feel anxious," said Virginia, her lip quivering with emotion; "he has so much to do, not only in his profession, but his poor old mother needs his presence a great deal now; she was far from well when he was last here."

"Well, I respect him for that," said her mother. "It is too often the case with these young lovers, that when they think of getting married, and doing for themselves, the poor old mothers are laid on the shelf."

"And yet," continued Virginia, "I have a sentiment that all may not be right with him. foolish, but I can't-I can't help it ?"

kind of pre

I know it is

These presentiments, my child," said her father, who was not without some of the superstition of the time, "although like dreams, often sent by the Almighty for wise purposes, are more often but the phantasies of the imagination. The mind, when unable to account for circumstances by reason, is apt to torment itself with its own fancy and this is wrong, Jeanie."

"I know all this," replied Virginia, "and yet have no power to prevent it. But," she added, smiling through her tears, "I will endeavor to be more cheerful, and trust for better things."

"That's a good girl; I assure you I would rather hear you laugh once than to see you cry a hundred times," said the old man, repeating a witticism that Virginia had heard ever since her childish trials and tears over broken dolls or tangled hair. The idea was so grotesque and absurd, that the sweet girl laughed until she cried again.

"Besides," added her father, "I heard yesterday that that pestilent fellow, Bacon, was in arms again, and it may be necessary for Berkeley to use some harsh means to pun

ish his insolence. I would not be at all surprised if Hansford were engaged in this laudable enterprise." "God, in his mercy, forbid," said Virginia, in a faint voice.

"And why, my daughter? Would you shrink from lending the services of him you love to your country, in her hour of need?"

"But the danger, father!"

"There can be but little danger .n an insurrection like this. Strong measures will soon suppress it. Nay, the very show of organized and determined resistance will strike terror into the white hearts of these cowardly knaves. But if this were not so, the duty would be only stronger."

"Yes, Virginia," said her mother. "No one knows more than I, how hard it is for a woman to sacrifice her selfish love to her country. But in my day we never hesitated, and I was happy in my tears, when I saw your father going forth to fight for his king and country. There was none of your 'God forbid' then, and you need not expect to be more free from trials than those who have gone before you."

There was no real unkindness meant in this speech of Mrs. Temple, but, as we have before reminded the reader, she took especial delight in magnifying her own joys and her own trials, and in making an invidious comparison of the present day with her earlier life, always to the prejudice of the former. Tenderly devoted to her daughter, and deeply sympathizing in her distress, she yet could not forego the pleasure of reverting to the time when she too had similar misfortunes, which she had borne with such exemplary fortitude. To be sure, this heroism existed only in the dear old lady's imagination, for no one gave way to trials with more violent grief than she. Virginia, though accustomed to her mother's peculiar temper, was yet affected by her language, and her tears flowed afresh.

"Cheer up, my daughter," said her father, "these tears are not only unworthy of you, but they are uncalled for now. This is at last but conjecture of mine, and I have no doubt that Hansford is well and as happy as he can be away from you. But you would have proved a sad heroine in the revolution. I don't think you would imitate successfully the bravery and patriotism of Lady Willoughby, whose memoirs you have been reading. Oh! that was a day for heroism, when mothers devoted their sons, and wives their husbands, to the cause of England and of loyalty, almost without a tear."

"I thank God," said the weeping girl, "that he has not placed me in such trying scenes. With all my admiration for the courage of my ancestors, I have no ambition to suffer their dangers and distress."

"Well, my dear," replied her father, "I trust you may never be called upon to do so. But if such should be your fate, I also trust that you have a strong heart, which would bear you through the trial. Come now, dry your tears, and let me hear you sing that old favorite of mine, written by poor Dick Lovelace. His Lucasta* must have been something of the same mind as my Virginia, if she reproved him for deserting her for honour."

"Oh, father, I feel the justice of your rebuke. I know that none but a brave woman deserves the love of a brave

"Forgive you, my daughter?-yes, if you have done anything to be forgiven. Your old father, though his head is turned gray, has still a warm place in his heart for all your distresses, my child; and that heart will be cold in death before it ceases to feel for you. But come, I must not lose my song, either."

*The lady to whom the song is addressed. It may be found in Percy's Reliques, or in almost any volume of old English poetry.

And Virginia, her sweet voice rendered more touchingly beautiful by her emotion, sang the noble lines, which have almost atoned for all the vanity and foppishness of their unhappy author.

"Yes," repeated the old patriot, as the last notes of the

not loved thee, dear,

This is the language

sweet voice died away; "yes, 'I had so much, loved I not honour more !' of the truly noble lover. Without a heart which rises superior to itself, in its devotion to honour, it is impossible to love truly. Love is not a pretty child, to be crowned with roses, and adorned with trinkets, and wooed by soft music. To the truly brave, it is a god to be worshipped, a reward to be attained, and to be attained only in the path of honour!"

"I think," said Mrs. Temple, looking towards the wood, "that Virginia's song acted as an incantation. If I mistake not, Master Hansford is even now coming to explain his own negligence."