Thou and the earth, twin sisters, as they say,
In the old prime were fashioned in one day;

And therefore thou delightest evermore

With her to lie and play

The summer hours away,

Curling thy lovely ripples up her quiet shore.

If I had been humbled and ashamed of my-
self before if I had repented my disgusting
suspicions on seeing Maria's note, this explan-
ation of John Fraser's absence was very little
calculated to restore me to my former happy
state of self-approbation. Taking my friend
by the arm, and calling Neptune, I said, "By-
and-by, John, you shall be thanked as you
ought to be for all your kindness; but you
must first forgive me. I have been cruelly
unjust to Maria, to you, and to poor old Nep-
tune here. Come with me to Berkeley Square.
You shall there hear the confession of my past
rashness and folly; and when my heart is once
delivered from the burden of self-reproach that
now oppresses it, there will be room for the
expansion of those happier feelings which your
friendship and Maria's tenderness have ever-
lastingly implanted there. Never again will I
allow a suspicion to pollute my mind which is Sunlight and moonlight minister to thee;
injurious to those I love. The world's a good
world-the women are all true, the friends all
faithful, and the dogs are all attached and
staunch; and if any individual, under any
possible combination of circumstances, is ever,
for a single instant, induced to conceive an
opposite opinion, depend upon it that that
unhappy man is deluded by false appearances,
and that a little inquiry would convince him
of his mistake."

She is a married matron long ago
With nations at her side; her milk doth flow
year; but thee no husband dares to tame;
Thy wild will is thine own-

"I can't for the life of me understand, Lionel, what you are driving at."

'You will presently," I replied; and in the course of half an hour-seated on the sofa, with Maria on one side of me, with John Fraser on the other, and with Neptune lying at my feet-I had related the painful tale of my late follies and sufferings, and heard myself affectionately pitied and forgiven, and concluded, in the possession of unmingled happiness, the series of my day's reverses.


Blackwood's Mag.


O, if mine own beloved one

Would visit me, his maid, at even, "Twould be as bright as if the sun And moon were both at once in heaven.

But not so sweet, and not so soon,

Comes joy to me; for tell me whether
You ever saw the sun and moon
Bright shining in the heavens together?


Thy sole and virgin throne-
Thy mood is ever changing-thy resolve the same.

O'er the broad circle of the shoreless sea

Heaven's two great lights for ever set and rise,
While the round vault above

In vast and silent love

Is gazing down upon thee with his hundred eyes.

All night thou utterest forth thy solemn moan,
Counting the weary minutes all alone;

Then in the morning thou dost calmly lie

Deep blue, ere yet the sun

His day work hath begun,
Under the opening windows of the golden sky.

The spirit of the mountain looks on thee
Over a hundred hills: quaint shadows flee

Across thy marbled mirror: brooding lie
Storm mists of infant cloud,
With a sight-baffling shroud

Mantling the gray blue islands in the western sky.

Sometimes thou liftest up thine hands on high
Into the tempest-cloud that blurs the sky,

Holding rough dalliance with the fitful blast;
Whose stiff breath whistling shrill
Pierces with deadly chill

The wet crew feebly clinging to their shattered mast.

Foam-white along the border of the shore
Thine onward-leaping billows plunge and roar;
While o'er the pebbly ridges slowly glide
Cloaked figures, dim and gray
Through the thick mist of spray,
Watchers for some struck vessel in the boiling tide.

-Daughter and darling of remotest eld-
Time's childhood and Time's age thou hast beheld;
His arm is feeble, and his eye is dim;
He tells old tales again-

He wearies of long pain,

Thou art as at the first-thou journey'dst not with him.


The parents of my grandfather were stout
Hanoverians. Their professions of loyalty and
Protestantism were not merely lip-deep mat-

Stuart and Hanover, as will be supposed. Among these was a Mr. Campbell, a Scotsman by birth, a lawyer by education (he had retired from the bar on a small fortune), and as completely cased in Jacobitism as the King of Denmark was in steel, namely, "from top to toe."


spect for each other.

bour," learned, at the same time, to hate a Jacobite with all their heart and with all their strength. Their first lesson, when they got into three syllables, was to cry, "Destruction to the house of Stuart!" In other respects their education was not conducted on a strict plan. In regard to my grandfather, who was in his later years (I am so sorry to say) an occasional swearer-he always traced his infirmity to his having been encouraged at three years old to bawl forth, "Curse the Pretender!" He derived this small accomplishment from the stable-boy, and it was considered dangerous to attempt to extinguish it by reproof. "We may pull up the flower and the weed together," said his father;-so my grandfather remained

It is a little singular that this gentleman They were loyal and Protestant to the should have become the intimate friend of a backbone to the core of the heart-to- loyal Protestant, but so it was. Matters of opiwherever else the recess is where integrity (or nion, to be sure, interfered occasionally with rather falsehood) is supposed to lurk. They this intimacy, and political jars sometimes even drank the health of King George and the Pro- threatened to shake the foundations of their testant ascendency in endless bumpers of stern, friendship; but, on the whole, they went on March beer; they propagated their principles | pretty smoothly, and had a most sincere reamong their friends; they whipped them into their children; they taught them to their ser- As Mr. Stephen Bethel, the Hanoverian, had vants. Little tottering urchins, a foot high, a son (my grandfather), who was heir of his who were learning their "duty to their neigh-acres: so Mr. Campbell, the Jacobite, had a daughter, as fair as Eve, and the sole stay and solace of his home. What was to be expected in such a case? My grandfather fell over head and ears in love. He was at the mature age of sixteen; so he declared himself, and wasrefused! If the river Marden had been dep enough, the line of Bethel had perhaps been extinct. Fortunately, it is only a little rippling stream, and being (thereabouts) not more than four feet deep, was insufficient for the purposes of the most desperate of lovers. My grandfather probably felt this; for, after a week's deliberation, he postponed his intended suicide to an indefinite period, or, as the parliamentary reporters say, "sine die." In the interim he set seriously to study, and after two years of unflinching reading, he was sent abroad to travel, and remained in foreign countries two years more. Some time after his departure, Mr. Campbell was also called suddenly to Scotland upon some private business, relating, as he intimated, to a small patrimony which he possessed in that country.

a swearer.

In the year 1746 his parents dwelt, and had dwelt for some years, at the small town of Calne, in Wiltshire. At that day politics ran high, and in Calne they ran higher than in other places. The tailor, the butcher, the baker, were afflicted with the epidemic. The less people had to do with the matter, the more furious they became. A leash of tailors and a brace of bakers (stitched and kneaded up together, and called "The Club,") determined, to settle the question in favour of the house of Hanover. A bunch of gardeners opposed them on the Stuart side. Each man was for "the right," and for that reason they all neglected their business, and in twelve months were supported at the expense of the parish. This they called suffering for their country. They suffered on both sides for their country, which was odd enough. Yet their country never knew it till this moment, when I (unwillingly) proclaim its ingratitude. However, there were some more efficient adherents to the houses of


It was about this time (viz. in 1745) that the Chevalier, Charles Edward, made his unsuccessful attempt upon the crown of England. I am not about to fatigue you with the parti culars of this expedition; they are known to every one now, since the publication of the memoirs of Mr. Fergus Mac Ivor, and the cele brated Baron of Bradwardine. I must tell you, however, that among the adherents of the house of Hanover, there was not one so indig nant at this invasion of the country as the father of Mr. Walter Bethel. He strapped his sword (a huge Toledo) round his loins; furbished up a horrible, wide-mouthed blunderbuss; stuck a brace of huge brass-mounted


pistols in his belt, and swore frightfully, both | grandfather fell over head and ears again in by St. George and the Dragon, that he would love, and this time he was destined to be a cut off the ears of the first rebel who dared to conqueror. violate the sanctity of the county of Wilts. Had he lived farther northward, there must have been bloody noses between Mr. Stephen Bethel and the Jacobites. As it was, his anger exhausted itself in words; a fortunate event for the heroes in philibegs and tartans, and not altogether unlucky, perhaps, for my greatgrandfather.

During the absence of Campbell his daughter lived in the house of Mr. Bethel. My grandfather being at that time absent on his travels, there was no objection to this arrangement on her part; and the young lady being a Protestant (the religion of her deceased mother), Mr. Bethel felt no apprehension that his sober family could be tainted by the scarlet principles of the woman of Babylon.

When Mary Campbell rejected the hand of my grandfather, he was, as I have said, some sixteen years of age, and she herself being as old within six months, looked down, naturally enough, upon the pretensions of so young a lover. Two years, however, spent in studying books at home (during which time he forbore to see her), and more than two years devoted to the study of man abroad, converted Mr. Walter Bethel into a promising cavalier, and made wonderful alterations in the opinions of the lady. At the time of my grandfather's return, Mary Campbell was a resident in his father's house; and when the old gentleman, after embracing his son, led him up to his fair guest, with "You remember my son Walter, my dear Miss Campbell?" Miss Campbell was ready to sink with confusion. A little time, however, sufficed for her recovery, and she received my grandfather's courtesies as gracefully as anybody could be expected to do who had never seen the Louvre." Walter Bethel felt this. He saw a distinction—a shade, indeed, between his former favourite and the pretty Madame la Comtesse de Frontac and la belle Marquise de Vaudrecour; but, on the whole, he was well satisfied, and, it must be added, not a little surprised also. For time, which had been so busy in lavishing accomplishments on the head of Mr. Walter Bethel, having had a little time to spare from that agreeable occupation, had employed it very advantageously in improving the mind and person of Mary Campbell. Perhaps this might be for the purpose of once more entrapping her lover's heart. Perhaps but it is not easy to speak as to this. The result of her improvement, however, was very speedily seen.


He had not been four-and-twenty hours at home before his "Miss Campbell" expanded into "My dear Miss Campbell." This, in a week, dwindled into "Mary," which in its turn blossomed out into half-a-dozen little tender titles (such as are to be found in any page of Cupid's calendar), with very expressive epithets appended to them. I have heard him tell the story of his offering his hand and heart to my grandmother, while the good old lady sat with smiling, shining eyes at his side, listening to his rhapsodies, as pleased, I verily believe, as she could have been when the offer was actually made to her forty or fifty years before.

My grandfather had been returned about three months from his travels, and was absolutely basking in the sunshine of Mary's eyes, when Campbell, who had been long absent, returned suddenly and unexpectedly from Scotland. He had formerly been a tall, ruddy, athletic man; but he came back worn to the bone, pale, attenuated, and drooping. He had never given up the idea that one day or other the house of Stuart would be restored to what he called "its rights;" and when the invasion of the Pretender, which had excited such mad expectations, ended in the utter discomfiture of himself and his adherents, Campbell could scarcely bear up against his disappointment. It was asserted, and not contradicted, that his journey to Scotland had been a mere pretext; that he had been actually in the thick of the fights of Falkirk and Preston, and had been forced to flee for his life, and to hide in caves, and brakes, and desert places, from the insatiable fury of the English troopers.

He escaped at last, however, and arrived at Calne; not free from molestation, indeed, for within four-and-twenty hours of his return, news also arrived of the approach of a detachment, sent, as it was said, to scour the country of rebels, and charged with particular instructions to seize upon our unhappy Jacobite.

"Well, Walter, my boy," said Mr. Stephen Bethel, "what is to be done?"

"I think," replied Walter, "we had better send him off to my aunt's, at Hilmarton. If he were well covered with one of your wigs, sir--"

"Eh? what? zounds!" exclaimed the other, "do you think I'll be accessory--do you think that I, a Bethel! will help to conceal one of King George's rascally enemies? Do you think

-?" Mr. Stephen Bethel was lashing himself up with words as the lion does with his tail; and there was no knowing how long he would have gone on with his "do you thinks?" or, in fact, whether he ever would have stopped, had not my grandfather very naturally, and at the same time a little ingeniously, exclaimed, "Poor Mary! what will she not suffer?"

Mr. Stephen Bethel was calm in a moment. We have heard how a cannon-ball will suddenly put an end to the most violent discussion; how the ducking-stool will at once quell the else untamable tongue of the scold; but "Poor Mary!"-it was oil upon the ocean of his wrath. He was conquered and quiet in an instant.


To be sure," said he, faltering, "poor Mary!-poor girl!" added he, "'tis a pity that such a creature should suffer for the errors of her father. As to him a foolish, obstinate, headstrong Jacobite! But King George is at his heels-King George or King George's men; and now we shall hear whether he'll sing The Cammels are coming; or cry, King James and Proud Preston again!"

And so the old gentleman veered about from pity to wrath, from loyalty to friendship, and back again. Friendship, however, got the better at last, and he set about helping Campbell in good earnest. Walter was allowed to convey to Campbell an intimation of his danger: not that the father desired this in so many words, but as he did not absolutely prohibit it, his son interpreted his silence to his own purposes, and proceeded to the house of the unlucky Jacobite.

The first object that struck his sight on entering Campbell's house was Mary herself, evidently in deep distress. My dearest Mary!" said he, putting his arm gently round her



"Oh, Walter!" replied she, sobbing-"my father! my poor father! That unfortunate expedition of the prince

"Of the Pretender?" said Walter inquiringly.

"Do not carp at words," replied she; "what matter whether he be prince or pretender, now that the soldiers are coming for my dear father? Oh! he will be taken! he will be taken!" continued she, weeping and wringing her hands.


"I came to save him," said Walter. comforted. Where is he? Is he within?" "He is gone," answered she. "He received the news from a friend, and had just time to escape."

"Tell me where?" said my grandfather hastily.

"I cannot-I must not!" said she. "He charged me to keep his secret, and I must do so even from you."

"He will be found," replied Walter in distress. "He will be hunted by these rascals, and found. Let him trust himself to me. I know a place where he may hide for a time, and our well-known principles will assure his final safety. If the storm be once blown over, my father and uncle shall exert their interest with the duke, and all will be well. So take heart, my dearest, and tell me, without more ado, where your father is. Tell me, as you value his life."

And she told; and she did well to tell; for, besides that Campbell's hiding-place was speedily searched, and that nothing short of the character of the Bethels would have been sufficient to ward off the strict inquiries that were elsewhere made, it was well that the honesty of love should not be rewarded with distrust. Mary Campbell confided in her lover-not only her heart, but her father's life; and well was the confidence repaid.

I must now give up the task of historian, and let my grandfather tell you the rest of the story himself. It was one of his thousand and one anecdotes, and it was in these words that he was accustomed to tell it:

"The day," he used to begin, "on which the soldiers came on their man-hunt to Calne was memorable for many a year. Both men and the elements seemed quarrelling with each other. The scornful loyalist, the desperate Jacobite, stood front to front, in flaming open defiance. The thunder muttered, the wind went raving about, and the rains, which had been falling heavily all night and glittering in the lightning, now came tumbling down in cataracts and sheets of water. The little runnels had grown into brooks; the brooks were formidable rivers. The Marden itself, usually so unimportant, had swollen and panted long in its narrow bounds, till at last it burst over its banks, and went flooding the country round. Notwithstanding all this, the hunters prepared to pursue their prey.

"It is a fearful thing to chase even a beast that flies for its life, but to hunt the great animal, man, must surely thrill and strike an alarm into the heart of his pursuer. What!he whom we have smiled upon, whose hand we have clutched, whose cheer we have enjoyed! Shall we-if he do a desperate deed which some law forbid-strip our hearts at once of all sympathy, and track him from spot to spot,

through woods, and lanes, and hollows, and lonely places, till he fall into the toil? and then go home and be content with the abstract principle of justice, and forget that we have lost a friend for ever!

"I had got the start of the red-coats by almost a quarter of an hour; but I found that I had to encounter impediments that I had not foreseen. I had set off with scarcely any determined idea but that of saving Campbell at all events. I took the ordinary road to the brake, where I knew that he lay concealed; striding onwards at my best pace, sometimes running, sometimes toiling up slippery ascents, sometimes plunging along the plashy meadows, till my breath grew short and painful from excess of exertion. I still kept on my course, however, and had contrived to attain a lofty ridge of land, not very distant from the place of refuge, when all at once my eyes fell upon a broad waste of water, a vast turbid stream running at random over the country, and above which nothing appeared but an occasional tree, and the long narrow slip of wood and copse which crowned the elevated land, and in which, as I concluded, my friend was hid.

"If ever I felt real despair it was at that moment. I stopped for an instant (a dreadful instant) to think-I could not be said strictly to deliberate. Ithought quickly, intensely, with a pain piercing the very centre of my heart. In three or four seconds of time I had, with the rapidity which fear produced, considered half-a-dozen methods of passing the water. At last I recollected a sheep-path, traversing a narrow neck of high land, on the opposite of the inundation, which, although apparently quite covered by the floods, might nevertheless still enable me to reach the wood; but to arrive at this path it was necessary to retrace three parts of the space which I had already travelled. I turned my steps backward instantly, and with great efforts arrived at the bridge, on the skirts of the town, just in time to hear the roll of the drum hard by, which called the soldiers to duty. I fancied that I could almost hear the click of their firelocks as they examined them, previously to their setting out in pursuit of Campbell. 'Twas then I forgot everything. My legs were no longer cramped; my breath, pent up and labouring in my breast, seemed suddenly relieved, and I ran forwards with increased speed for almost a mile, when the footsteps of a person, about the size of Campbell, which had made deep impressions on a piece of soft soil, arrested my attention. I saw from the direction that this person must have


left the highroad at that spot, and taken to the fields. I erased the marks as well as I could. Thrusting the spike of my leaping-pole into the gravel of the road, I cleared the hedge at a bound, without leaving a single trace of my course, and took my way across the fields in pursuit of Campbell.

"For some time no steps were discernible, for my route lay over grass on which the rain was still incessantly falling. At last indications of a footmark encouraged me, and I continued to track it, sometimes readily, sometimes with difficulty, for it frequently disappeared, until it led me to the very edge of the flood. The man, whoever he was, must have plunged right through the waters. Perhaps he had been carried away. But there was no time for guessing; so feeling my way with my pole, I took to the water myself. To my surprise it was shallow enough for awhile, scarcely reaching above my knees. I got on, therefore, readily enough till I had arrived within a few yards of the wood, the object of my labours, when the land suddenly dipped, and I found myself in upwards of four feet water. A few more steps would, I knew, place me on dry ground: so I strained onwards across the current, which now ran with considerable force, and after a struggle or two reached the skirts of the wood in safety.

"I had just caught hold of some long grass to secure my footing, when my attention was arrested by a noise at some distance. I threw myself on the bank for a single minute's rest, and heard distinctly the withered leaves and brambles crackling under a heavy tread, and the hoarse thick breathing of some creature apparently in the last stage of exhaustion. The horrid guttural sounds which it gave out in its pain (I heard them at the distance of a hundred yards) ring in my ears to this moment. I remembered to have heard that in Indian or African hunts the enormous beasts which they pursue will sometimes thus breathe out their distress before they stand at bay and die. But no such creature could be here so I determined to follow. After a few steps I called out, 'Who goes?' All was still in an instant.

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'My way now lay across the middle of the wood to the dingle, where I hoped to find my friend. In my course I had to pass by a deep hollow, which was usually filled with water, and which was the haunt of the water-rat, the lizard, and the frog, who kept their court among the flags and rushes there. I had reached this place, and was passing on, when a slight noise induced me to turn my head. The sound was like the cocking of a pistol; so


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