FRIENDS, THOUGH DIVIDED.

A TALE OF THE CIVIL WAR.

CHAPTER I.

THE EVE OF THE WAR.

T was a pleasant afternoon in the month of July 1642, when three young people sat together on a shady bank at the edge

of a wood, some three miles from Oxford.

The country was undulating and picturesque, and a little more than a mile in front of them rose the lofty spire of St Helen's, Abingdon. The party consisted of two lads who were about fifteen years of age, and a girl of ten. The lads, although of about the same height and build, were singularly unlike. Herbert Rippinghall was dark and grave, his dress sombre in hue, but good in material and well made. Harry Furness. was a fair and merry-looking boy; good humour was the distinguishing characteristic of his face; his somewhat bright and fashionably cut clothes were carelessly put on, and it was clear that no thought of

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his own appearance or good looks entered his mind. He wore his hair in ringlets, and had on his head a broad hat of felt with a white feather, while his companion wore a plain cap, and his hair was cut closely to his head.

'It is a bad business, Harry,' the latter said, 'but there is one satisfaction, that, come what may, nothing can disturb our friendship. We have never had a quarrel since we first met at the old school down there, six years ago. We have been dear friends. always, and my only regret has been that your laziness has prevented our being rivals, for neither would have grudged the other victory.'

'No, indeed, Herbert. But there was never a chance of that. You have always been Mr Gregory's prize boy, and are now head of the school; while I have always been in his bad books. But, as you say, Herbert, we have been dear friends, and, come what will, we'll continue so. We cannot agree on the state of the kingdom, and shall never do so. We have both taken our views from our parents; and, indeed, it seems to me that the question is far too difficult a one for boys like us to form any opinion of it. When we see some of the best and wisest in the land ranging themselves on either side, it is clear that even such a wise noddle as yours-to say nothing of a feather brain like mine-cannot form any opinion. on a subject which perplexes our elders and betters.' 'That is true, Harry; but still-'

'No, no, Herbert, we will have no argument. You have the best of it there, and I fall back upon authority. My father, the colonel, is for the King;

yours for the Parliament. He says that there are faults on both sides, and, indeed, for years he favoured the Commons. The King's acts were unconstitutional and tyrannical, and my father approved of the bold stand which Sir George Elliot made against him. Now, however, all this has been changed, he tells me, and the Commons seek to rule without either King or Peers. They have sought to impose conditions which would render them the lords absolute of England, and reduce the King to a mere puppet. They have, too, attacked the Church, would abolish Bishops, and interfere in all matters spiritual. Therefore, my father, while acknowledging the faults which the King has committed, and grieving over the acts which have driven the Parliament to taking up a hostile attitude to him, yet holds it his duty to support him against the violent men who have now assumed power, and who are aiming at the subversion of the Constitution and the loss of the country.'

'I fear, also,' Herbert said, 'that the Commons have gone grievously beyond their rights, although, did my father hear me say so, I should fall under his gravest displeasure. But he holds that it is necessary that there should be an ecclesiastical sweep, that the prelates should have no more power in the land, that popery should be put down with an iron hand, and that, since kings cannot be trusted to govern well, all power should be placed in the hands of the people. My own thoughts do incline towards his; but, as you say, when one sees men like my Lord Falkland, who have hitherto stood among the foremost in the ranks