success and bravery of the thousands of brave men, and he shared too in the sufferings, for he was severely wounded. He was brought home by easy stages and landed at Hull; in a very easy carriage he made the journey to Medlicott. Sad were the faces that received him. Dingrose had superintended the journey from Hull. When he went home to his

farm, he told Anty,—

'Maaster Frank has come home to dee. I can see it in his face, and he'll never come to be the lord after all.'

The old lord was quite as much grieved and anxious as for his son. Mr Temple was constantly with him, and poor Mary spent many hours at his bedside, calm and still, and tearless, cheerful and bright outwardly, and always anticipating his wishes. He himself was as bright as possible, even joyous. He talked of what he would do when he recovered in order to cheer others. He entered into all schemes so far as his strength allowed. He lived on for a year, and the 18th of June came round again. He was much as usual, and some hopes of his recovery were entertained; but they proved fallacious, and to all it was evident he was gradually growing weaker. The end came at last very peacefully. All those he loved were with him. He addressed them all, and thanked them for all their love, each in turn. He said,—

'I have done my duty, I hope, to my country, to

my family, and to my God. I desire now to be at rest and go beyond death to those joys everlasting.'

The scene of sorrow we need not picture, but the calmness of the dying man threw a solemnity over those present. At last he said,

'I am going now, both my dear fathers! Father Philip! John! dear Mary! we shall meet again.’

And so he slept for a while, and still sleeps. After his death a sadness seemed to hang around everything. Lord Marshalsea, now by right the possessor, took little pleasure in anything, but everything was done according to Frank's known wishes. Mary seemed to regain a portion of her happiness, as if she felt her beloved cousin nearer to her, and looked forward to meeting him where we are neither married nor given in marriage.

Mr Temple seemed to find some similar comfort. He delighted to talk of his lost son, and lived on comforting many hearts.

Poor John Dingrose to outward eyes suffered most. He seemed to pine away, and so gradually sunk into a shadow of himself. He said to Anty,

'They all be gan-my mother, Bridget, t' gaumless lad, and all; maaster Frank abune all. I must gang too. I have no heart to live.' And so he did die, respected and honoured by all, and at his request was buried very near the family vault of 't'ould family.'

Anty continued to carry on the farm, and married

a wife rather late in life. His friend and partner was always his example of the best man he had ever known, and after him was Frank.

When the old lord died, the property passed into the hands of a distant relative, and the title became. extinct. Father Philip retired into a religious house, and Mary Carfax did the same.

Gradually the good effects of all that had been. done to improve the tone of the working men were seen, and the tale we have told in some of its parts lingers still in the memory of those well advanced in life, who can for many hours wax eloquent on what happened in the smuggling days seventy years or so ago in Hillsland.

THE END.

COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

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