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fect, tinged all over with its down of them all day long, and every day; but moss; and more and more Mary won- her heart was lightened out of its first dered and smiled at Zaidee, and asked agony. She no longer recollected what she could mean. They were aunt Vivian's first outburst of dismay, close friends; and Mary poured into or Philip's pale courageousness as he her companion's ear all her girlish posi- told his discovery, when she woke in tive opinions, her purposes and hopes; her little foreign chamber. Somewhile Zaidee responded with hints of times it was Mary, sometimes a good her own story, which any one who thought of last night's chapter, somehad the clue might easily have put to. times an anticipation of to-day's engether. But Mary had no clue, and ployments, which woke Zaidee in the like most others who, born to few morning, and her days were fall of cares, are fully disposed to make the pleasant occupation till the night most of what they have, she was oc- brought rest once more. cupied by her own affairs too much to Then there was a world of legends give a very nice attention to her com- in the little closet which Mrs Williams panion's. Simple Zaidee betrayed called her room ; and Zaidee became herself many a time. Mary, not less a living chronicle of the somewhat simple, wist not of the self-betrayal, faded glories of the antediluvian hoase and was none the wiser. They lived of Powis. By dint of sympathy, in great cordiality, a true pair of Mary too came to listen to these girlish friends; and Zaidee had als stories- began to see a little differmost forgotten now those bitter weeks ence between true romance and counand days which changed her life from terfeit-and to find out dimly that all that of the youngest child at home to poetry was not rubbish, nor all sentithe poor solitary governess at Mrs ment fudge. " Aunt Burtonshaw is Disbrowe's. She read that loving ad- always right-I wanted a companion dress to herself in the great newspa. - I had no one to tell me it was only per every night; she prayed for them mamma," said Mary to herself. But lovingly, name by name, when she it was consolatory to find out now had read her chapter, after the fa- that “ only mamma," and not all the sbion of her devout child's training, in minstrels and sweet singers of all her father's bible; she thought of ages were in the wrong.

CHAPTER XXVI.--JANE.

“ Well, chilt, you see, if this was such great money, he was persuaded. Sir Watkin's boy, he was a beautiful I saw the gentleman when I was a lad,-and his name was a great grand little child. He was a great squire, name, but not like the names we have and had great riches, and was mad in in Wales. The sweet Welsh, I never his temper, and six foot tall, and forget it; but you never know what great lands to the very sea. My fathem Eoglish ladies do call their ther did live in terror for him. He was boys. He was son to a pretty lady. a great man- he minded nobody; She was come from the south, and and Evan Williams was of the thought married to Rhys Llewellyn, Sir Wat the devil did have him-and red fire kin's youngest boy. So, when Rhys was in his eye. When my father did died, and the lady died, the small talk of him, the little children was child came home to Powisland, and scared, and durst not stay alone; and there he was bred, and my very eyes himself, once he was frighted with a did see him grow. My sister was waterfall, and came home like death, called Mary, and she was in favour and said the old squire had called to with my lady. Many's the thing him in the stream. You children, Mary did see of the family. We've will you husht, then? Does bad men all been in trust where we've been in ever come up to this world again, to service. I never did tell you of my scare us? No, sure; God Almighty father. He went out of Wales. Yes, takes thought for that." sure. Oh, it's an evil day when one " And what was the old squire of us goes out of Wales ! But he had called ?" said Zaidee. The girl was trembling with sudden interest. Every all them collars and laces; they've got old squire could not be Grandfather to be mended, and it's Jane, Jane, Vivian; but it was his character as there isn't ever another; and down well as his designation.

stairs it be nothing but calling of Mrs “ Called ? He was out of Wales, Williams, as if I was a fairy. Now, child. Your names is not like our can I go troubling among dust and names. It was a hard name to say. papers, and all that to do?I cannot think of it now. Ah, it is a “I am afraid I could not do it," good place where all is Williamses said Zaidee, looking wistfully at this and Joneses, and the gentry is old more delicate branch of occupation. blood, and so is the commons, and all “Will you let me try, and I will take are of one. Then there's kind ser- care of them? Will you let me see the vants and kind masters; and the one papers, Jane?" does well for the other, and both's 16 The papers is nothing to you, friends. It is a cold country where child," said the old woman." Will I every one has a different name-yes, put my laces in your hands ? No, indeed. And how can I tell what the sure-and what would the lady say if old squire was called? But he died. Jane was to fail her? There is not The Almighty takes thought, and Sa- one else in the house to be trustedtan gets his own. Husbt, children. not another. Go to your plays and When he's got their poor souls, your books, you children-that is all and carried them down below there, yon be fit for; and come to me anmaybe Satan has a poor bargain. I other day, when I do have time. Yes, tell you my thought; he did have his indeed, you be Solomon's lilies ; you hands full with that old squire, you do neither toil nor spin. But my wish take my word. My father was a big is toward my duty, like as it always man, though I be small. He was is in Wales." Evan Williams by name, and well The pragmatical old woman turned thought of in his own country ; but short round upon them and carried off the squire frighted him for all. No, her laces. As she left the girls, Mary child, I forget his name. It was a Cumberland laughed at her withname was reckoned a good name in drawal, but Zaidee only grew paler. Cheshire, and as old as they do be in A sligbt nervous tremor came upon the England. I have it somewhere. You young exile. Her mind was quite poscome to me in my room one day, and sessed with the idea that here again you shall see my papers. If a schol- was this dreadful Grandfather Vivian ard was to look over them, they'd interposing to bring ill fortune; and bring me riches, I do believe. My Zaidee, whose life had been shipwreckfather had some, my brother had ed by one document of his, had the some, and our Mary; for old Sir most overpowering anxiety to get posWatkin died, and there was a scatter session of any other scrap of his illat Powisland, and every one took omened writing, and destroy it at once. what useless thing was lying. I have True, it did not seem very apparent a housewife, Miss Mary, all violet and what harm could be done now by any gold, was made by my lady's hand. such discovery ; but Zaidee's mind Yes, sure; the grand old ladies they was not much given to logic, and she never did scorn to thread a needle, was full of an unconscious and visionary They had the use in their fingers, Miss superstition. The old squire was the Mary-yes, sure."

evil genius of the family, and the You forget I made a cap for you. thoughts of his descendant ran off I think you are not at all grateful, into mysterious marvellings. What Jane," said Mary Cumberland. if this wandering evil spirit him.

" You listen to me, child; 'twas for self directed her where to find these your own fancy,” said Jane, nodding unrepented wrongs of his, and made her head. “ When you was gone, I her the instrument of mischief again had to do another. That wasn't never and yet again! Poor Zaidee shook made for Jane, that wasn't. Well, and trembled, and her brown cheeks child, what was you saying? The paled into that chill dark pallor to papers? I'll show them to yon an- which any great pang brought them. other time. Look you here. There's She, poor innocent child, whose

humble love would fain have served are quite pale, and your hand trem. her family night and day, could bles. So cold too! Come beside the it be possible that this satanic influ. stove, my love. One can't say, come ence was upon her movements, and near the fire in this country. There, that, all unwittingly and against her Sylvo, get up, you great fellow, and will, she was the agent of a cruel spi- let this poor dear warm her fingers. ritual persecution-a warfare waged She has caught cold, poor child. Sit against the living by the unblessed down till I get something nice for you: dead? She did not hear the wonder- and you shall have a warm drink, and ing call of Mary Cumberland-she did go to bed." not see the astonished face of Mrs “I am not ill," said Zaidee. "I Burtonshaw, against whom she stum- was only thinking,—there is nothing bled in the passage; she fled hurriedly the matter with me." to her own little room, and threw her “Why are you so pale, then ? Nonself on her knees by the bedside. She, sense, child, I know better,” said Mrs who had no other friend nor counsel- Burtonshaw. “ Girls like you bave lor, had the use of bringing all her nothing to think of, that can make you complaints and trouble direct to the pale. Your head aches, I am sure. Heavenly Father. In her fright, with Mary, my love, close the piano. Sylre, her heart beating loud, this simple put the screen here, to keep off the child lost no time in thinking of it, but cold wind. There are always draughts came in haste to make her outcry of with these folding-doors; there is no fear and horror to the compassionate such thing as comfort in this country. ear of God. Becoming reassured and The footstool, Sylvo. Mary, bring comforted, she rose from her knees me that shawl. Now, my dear, are again, not delivered from her terror, you comfortable? And I will go and but full of a great hope and persuasion, see about some nice gruel. She looka which took away its pain. "You evil quite ill, poor child." spirit!” said Zaidee, with a glow in And Mrs Burtonshaw, who is now her eyes, “ perhaps you see what I in her vocation, steals away in noise do, but you cannot know my heart. less slippers, and closes the door with God will not let you harm them any the most elaborate caution. Zaidee. more. If I find any of your cruel obliged to be a patient against her papers, I will destroy them; yon shall will, sits with resignation in the easynot have power over me."

chair, her feet on a footstool, a shawl What was that that sounded round wrapped round her, a little table at the old German house? Only the her elbow to prevent her rising, and spring breeze, stirring the branches a large folding-screen to shut out all faintly, shaking the February rain- draughts behind. Sylvo has taken his drops from the budded leaves. To lazy length away ; Mary sits by the the excited ear of Zaidee it sounded patient's side, half sympathetic, half like a moan; and Zaidee could not cognisant of the true state of affairs, help trembling as she left her little and wickedly abetting Aunt Burtonroom once more.

shaw. To be nursed by the kindest Mary, who is “practising" down hands in the world, even for a fictistairs, looks up as she enters. Aunt tious illness, is no great misfortune. Burtonshaw, who has great patience after all; and Zaidee almost forgets with the practising, and thinks all the dread of Grandfather Vivian, Mary's music harmonious, comes and which caused her trembling. She is takes into her own Zaidee's cold better already, Mrs Burtonshaw says, hands. " What is the matter, dear?" when she returns with the gruel. See asks kind Mrs Burtonshaw. “You how good it is to take illness in time.

ONCE UPON A TIME.

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MY DEAR EUSEBIUS-You com- trains of thought without end plain that the frost has benumbed your threads fancy-drawn from the web faculties, that your mind is hyber- of truth. nating, while, bodily, you are under The present, with all its improvea sense of general discomfort. Win- ments and advantages, hath its visible ter hardens the heart-at least we and invisible vexations. It is envimay suppose so, if it be true, as roned with the cares and the fears of statisticians assert, that the greatest this world. It touches us too closely number and the worst of murders have to be a relief-we go about with as been committed during that season. many feelers as the polyp, and are Is there not a charming piece of a thousand times more sensitive. music -I think of Purcell's-of Love Many are the hours we would shun frozen beneath a mountain of snow, contact, and willingly retire out of and awakened by Beauty in the first reach of encroaching thoughts and spring, “What dost thou mean by encroaching people. Not that we sleeping here?" I was mightily moved would encourage a misanthropic spiwhen I heard it, and perhaps do not rit; it is not that at such times we speak of it accurately. Some such love the less, or hate the more, but talisman I must apply to your dor- that we are perplexed and weary of mant faculties ; let it be the old one, the too intimate pressure, and seek which has ever revivified you in your rest and alleviation without throwing most apathetic moods, the “Once off an atom of our common human Opon a Time." It is a charm which interest. Nay, let it be the stronger; hath kept the child awake even in for humanity, after all, has a wider the best of dormitories, the mother's range than this living world. The bosom, and has ever after enlivened dead, whom we believe to be still the man-child, nor failed of minister- living in a spiritual state, which we ing its elixir vitæ, even in extreme cannot conceive, and who are once age. It is that one specific good, for more to resume their substance, howevery evil has some beneficial ingre- ever changed, are, in real truthful dient, which was in the curiosity thought, a portion of ourselves; the that tempted first the mother of only difference being, that they act mankind; and maternal tenderness not now with us visibly, nor we with has called it from the sin, and used them; but they have left their influit lovingly, to this day. And the ences, and naturally we encourage, charm will work as long as time as from an instinct, the belief in a shall last. The traveller, on what communicative restoration. And if ever road of life, and on whatever we take the selfish, narrow, present speed intent, will stay his steps at view only, into what insignificance hearing the words. Their power is do we shrink and withdraw ourselves inevitable, as of the “ Ancient Mari- - what a very infinitesimal portion ner," and is embodied in his address, of the general humanity do we make! “There was a ship, quoth he."

The bulk of mankind, from the creaI know very well, Eusebius, that tion, still being, and in another state, you cannot have read so far with are those whom we call the dead out experiencing the working of the that great mass to whom we are charm; but that you may have it in dropping off daily, and whom, in our all its potency, feel it quickening your turn, we shall all join. It is always, imagination, invigorating your vir- then, interesting, and not without tues, and giving new impetus to all ulterior benefit, to keep up in thought your amiabilities, send to your book- this general relationship of humanity, seller for Once upon a Time, by and that through the citizenship of Charles Knigbt. These two little death. I say not brotherhood of volumes will supply you with infinite death, Eusebius; that is too near! amusement, both in what they con- What is strangest, this citizenship, tain, and in this, that they suggest which we acknowledge, feel, and enjoy,

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in its kinship, is ever freshest in its has called them up. I take in, and far-offness. The idea of death has of every scene, what I will, and no passed away by distance - it only more than I will. I am master of harts, wounds, and shocks by its the revels, choose my tragedy or closeness upon life-it recovers a comedy, and all the dramatis pervitality by time. Imagination brings sone. I can shift the scenes when I back the old world of any period, please. It is ever life, not death, and peoples it anew with its old inha- which is acted before me - life in its bitants after a new manner; for it wholesome, its perpetual action, makmakes selections, and, as upon a ing action its history,-unlike recent stage, throws to their proper dis- biographies, painful from the begintances the accessories and inferior ning, as rather a narrative of the actors. We have them at our will, course of death, whose stain and evil to play their parts again, to amuse, humour is in the first thread, and to teach, and to warn us; and, per- continuous to the end, to which it is haps, more clearly and distinctly than ever hastening, and darkening with they were ever known, removed as an almost malignant and morose they are from the many confusions gloom all noble aims and pursuits, which invariably invest time present. and convicting them of their nothingI suppose it is the case with every ness by the fatality that persecutes one, Eusebius; but for myself, if I and the death that overtakes them. may speak, I cannot think of any of In the long since past, all this is rethe dead whom I have ever actually versed-life is more life. All the known when living, even though I deadness is gone, and the pain of it have never conversed with them, affects not the imagination. Our without something of pain, and per- sympathies inflict no injuries upon haps of pity. They are scarcely freed us. Who is expected to love or to from bodily suggestion. There is de hate too keenly? Love and hate are cay - motionless, unknown, bodily become also imaginary to a degree, and deadness. The idea of sensation are therefore disinterested, and have hovers over substantially - tenanted virtue in them, and are pleasurable. graves. That which is above them. There is something good in not knowthe cold, the damp, the chill, the ing too much of individualities. Let gloom, the awe, or the disorder of poets and heroes be poets and heroes. situation all these penetrate through Would you not rather know Shakethought and feeling, and come back speare through his plays than be in upon me, and by that connection daily attendance with his physician, I unreasonably commiserate. The to note the progress of his last sickwonder of life, its sudden change, ness? Eusebius, you never think of and its mystery, have not passed off. Shakespeare as a dead man. He is The removal from the earth I look at living to you, and will live for all and tread, the skies I see, connect generations. In this respect are we the earth and skies of to-day with better off than they who knew him the darkness — with the invisible. personally? We have escaped melanVery different is it with regard to choly regrets. This removal of the the far-off, the generations whom I idea of death by time may be tested have never seen, never known, but another way-by, as I think, a natuas history,-I see them quite after ral instinct. Refer it to yourselfanother manner. In reality, this every man contemplates his own earth and these skies were and are change. There is something distressthe same; but they come not the ing in its immediateness ; removed to same upon the mind's vision--they an hundred years hence, it is nothing have gone into the background, and, -it has passed into a continuance of like as in pictures, are represented resuscitated existence-it is a thought with a difference, and imagined poeti- as of a freed being. And so with the cally, and always, inasmuch as they remembrance of those we have loved are of one's own making, appropri. -every year takes something from ately. Neither cloud nor sunshine the painfulness, and adds something are quite the same they are changed of the warm cheer of life. The perby the hue of the magic glass which manent idea of humanity is life. It

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