rience-a mortal shame! So young Louis used to come to my dame and I, and tell us the whole of his sorrows, and cry so bitterly sometimes, that he used to set my old Margaret upon the same course. The poor lad used to play wi' my boys, ay, and work wi' 'em too! and many a time has he weeded our front garden, and looked after the flowers, of which he was vastly fond, and he were all the happier for the exercise. He was fond, too, of his book-ay, and taught my daughter Rose how to read and write much better than the schoolmaster himself, Things went on thus, until Louis turned his fourteenth year, when the continued ill treatment he received at home caused him to run away. Poor boy! I shall never forget the last day, when he looked at me so earnestly in the face, and said, 'Good bye, farmer!' I little thought then what was passing in the boy's mind. Dang it! when I found how things were, I fairly

cried-a thing I hadn't done since my old mother died!"

The honest farmer seemed to have the scene present to his mind, for he changed colour, and put his finger to his eyes, dashing off a tear that forced its way. "Dang it!" exclaimed he, "I loved the boy- he was a fine and lively youth: I felt for him as though he were one of my own."

The stranger, who had listened with the deepest attention to the story, hemmed twice or thrice, as if he endeavoured to rid himself of some weighty feeling preying on his heart. "Is it known," said he, in tones of broken utterance, "what became of the runaway?"

No, sir," replied the farmer; "the boy was never heard of from that time. We were excessively alarmed at the occurrence. I took the liberty of waiting upon Sir Andrew respecting the affair, but he contented himself by shewing us a state

ment made by the waiter of an inn at Falmouth, certifying that he had seen young Louis taken away by an elderly gentleman, and conveyed to London."

"Surely Sir Andrew must have repented of the harshness he exercised towards his son, on finding he had disappeared?" said the stranger.

"He shew signs of repentance!" exclaimed Ballard, with a contemptuous expression, "no, no, Sir Andrew rejoiced at the matter-a mortal shame of he!"

"For my part," observed Simon, willing to put in his remarks, "I have often wondered how Sir Andrew could rest easy in bed at night, knowing that his son is wandering about the world, or, what is assuredly worse, rotting in the dungeon of some foreign inquisition."

"Then your wonder must cease," replied Ballard, "for Sir Andrew had a motive for rejoicing at the event."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the stranger.

"It is a shocking thing to remember," said Ballard. "Sir Andrew, on casting the boy's nativity discovered that his own life was to be attempted by the hand of this very son! and this, too, when Louis attained his fourteenth year -ay, sure enough, at the very time that he disappeared from his family.

Sir

Andrew made also another discovery of the like kind, by means of the stars, and and which imported that Louis would even attempt the life of his brother Charles, when the latter arrived at the age of twenty-five or thereabouts."

"I never heard of this-I mean- was this openly reported by Sir Andrew ?" enquired the stranger, apparently in a state of high perturbation.

"It was; though not until Louis had disappeared. Sir Andrew had, perhaps, some reasons for keeping it a secret-but, bless my heart, sir! you are unwell!" The farmer rose in some alarm from his chair,

at observing the stranger's face change to a ghastly paleness.

"It is merely the heat of the room-it was too much for me-I am better now —in fact, I am recovered-pray continue on with your story, for I am interested in it."

Thus assured that the other suffered no further pain, the honest farmer continued. "It was for the reasons I have before told you, that Sir Andrew said, when he understood his son was not to be found, Thank Heaven! I am deceived in my calculation this once!'The housekeeper heard him say it, and she told my dame, who almost cried her heart out at this fresh proof of the Ba-' ronet's rancorous hatred towards the unoffending boy."

"Merciful Providence!" exclaimed the stranger, highly agitated; "could my-I mean-could he then carry his detestation of his eldest born to this