The little oaken table had been placed beneath the porch, which the vine was beginning to cover with its lithe and light tendrils, and its small glistening green leaves opening in that shortlived and delicate perfume which exhales from the early blossoms of the grape. She had fried an omelet, fragrant with aromatic herbs; and her father filled a pitcher with claret, of the color of the ruby, and the coolness of the pearl.

The sun set into one of those beautiful and purple evenings, which Langhorne has depicted as sweetly as poet well could

"Twilight with gentle hand did weave
Her fairy web of night and day,"—

when Edward bent his steps to take a last look at a place haunted by Beatrice's earliest years, and of which every record would, he rightly deemed, be so precious to her memory.

The roof

Time destroys not half so ruthlessly as man. was entirely gone-only a rude skeleton of the house remained in the scorched and falling walls—a few traces of the black and white pavement were still left near one of the windows. It had been Beatrice's favorite seat, for the sake of a vine which had clustered luxuriantly around. Great part of the tree had been burnt-a few green shoots were now expanding, but they trailed upon the ground. A large oak had been entirely burnt; and this, with the destruction of some smaller trees, had laid poor Donna Margaretta's little garden open to view. There stood the stately ilex-all else was changed. The bees had deserted the hives, which were overgrown with thick creeping plants, that effectually excluded the air; the fountain was choked up with rubbish; and a few bright flowers mocked with their glad colors the desolation around.

Edward turned mournfully homewards: the scene of destruction pressed heavily upon his spirits; it was too nearly connected with what his Beatrice had suffered. He felt impatient to extend towards her that security and protection which it is man's to give to the woman he loves. The distance to Naples seemed immeasurable; and again and again did he lament that he had ever been persuaded to leave her. The next morning the dew lay like silver on the leaves, when he bade Alvarez and his daughter a kindly farewell.

Minora gained by the visit-a marriage portion, which made her lover's father as polite to the heiress as he had been cold to the beauty. He had negatived the features which his son had most eloquently pleaded; but he had nothing to say against the pistoles.

Edward had just turned out of the village, and was preparing to take the road to the left, when his further progress was intercepted by two cavaliers, one of whom politely requested he would go to the right. He was so civilly arrested, that at first he was unsuspicious of the fact. He then did what people usually do in such cases-complied with what he could not resist.

One of the officers was tall and silent-the other short and communicative, and most particularly polite in his mode of information. From him Lorraine learnt that he was arrested on a charge of treason; and his obliging companion finished with observing, "I hope they will not hang so handsome a cavalier as your excellency. I would recommend letting you off with a few years' solitary imprisonment. May I ask if the Senhor considers himself lucky? much depends on good fortune in such cases."

With this encouraging remark, they stopped at the house of the judge of the district. Edward, as soon as he entered, saw that his case was hopeless. The judge was seated in a large armchair, by which stood a little black boy with a huge fan of white feathers: a flask and a silver goblet were on a table beside him, both empty; and their proprietor was looking round with the bewildered air of one just awakened from sleep. The shorter officer approached, and made some statements in a whisper.

"There, there, you have spoken; and I have heard quite enough. Strange that people should use so many more words than their intelligence needs! Bring the prisoner!"

Edward advanced.

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Young man, what were you doing at Don Henriquez de los Zoridos' yesterday evening?"

With a very safe conscience Lorraine could reply "Nothing."

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"Nothing! that's no answer-refuses to reply. Who did you expect to meet there?"

"Nobody."

"That's no answer either! What brought you here?" "The beauty of the country-I am travelling for amuse

ment."

"Ah, one of those wandering gentlemen who think every country better than their own the very people for mis chief. You saw Donna Beatrice when you were here before: where is she now?"

"I can scarcely be supposed to control that lady's actions."

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"I don't consider that any answer either. Where is Don Henriquez?"

"I do not know."

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Young gentleman, it is a maxim of mine always to say as little as possible, which saves a great deal of trouble. I have asked you all the necessary questions. Answer them today with your tongue, or tomorrow with your head."

"Neither, if you please," said Lorraine, firmly. "I am a British subject, and have in no way interfered with your government. I cannot reply to questions of which I am ignorant. I place myself under the protection of the British ambassador, and appeal to the governor of the province."

"A great deal of unnecessary trouble. I take you at your word. I am sending despatches to our governoryou shall go too. I wish you a pleasant journey."

Again he said a few words to the shorter officer, and turned in his chair with the air of one prepared for a luxurious nap.

It was late in the afternoon when Lorraine arrived at the seaport where the governor of the province resided. Don Manuel was exactly the poetical idea of a Spaniard : something like a portrait of Vandyke's-a clear olive complexion; large dark eyes, rather melancholy in their expression; coal black hair and mustaches; a tall and noble figure; and that stately courtesy, which seems to say, "I owe it to myself to do no wrong."

Lorraine immediately resolved on what indeed was his only plan of conduct. The sleepy yet shrewd judge was the antipodes to confidence, but to Don Manuel he felt no hesitation in frankly stating his actions and their motives, from his first arrival in Spain to the present time. The governor heard him with the most kindly attention.

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Truly, as a Spaniard and a gentleman, I can only say that at your age I should have acted even as yourself. My official situation is here at variance with my feelings. I cannot be blind to the advantages your detention may give VOL. II.-20

to the pursuit of Don Henriquez. If I set you at liberty, you are in a condition to materially forward his escape. I must not trust you at Naples. However, all you will have to endure is a temporary restraint: it shall not be a very severe one."

For about a fortnight he remained prisoner on parole in the governor's house. It would have been, under any other circumstances, a pleasant visit. One advantage was, that he certainly derived from it much juster views on the state of Spain than he would ever have obtained from Don Henriquez. At length a vessel was to sail for England, and on board this the governor informed him he was to embark.

"I am sorry," said Don Manuel, "to place such delay between you and Naples; but I consider it indispensable. My only consolation is, that no lady's constancy is the worse for being tried."

Edward thought he would as soon not have tried it. Nevertheless, for England he was forced to embark, and in England he arrived without incident or impediment.

We might sail round the world without an adventure now a days. Once in his native country, business obliged him to visit London; and at his banker's he found several letters from his brother, all full of regret, affection, and despondency. The contents of the last two were such as to induce him to depart forthwith for Etheringhame Castle.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"Memories of boyhood! how crowded and thronged are thy images-how pleasant, how painful! What has become of the companions of our studies, our sports, of our rivalries and reconciliations, of our sudden quarrels and more steady friendships? How remain the haunts of those early days? by what footsteps, and with what feelings are they trodden? The wood with its wild cherries-are the trees still there to tempt the adventurous climber? Who now lives in the moment, and dreams, if ever dream come, of futurity, as of a vision of glorious enterprise and assured reward?"

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W. JERDAN.

Ir was a broken but beautiful sky-one on which to look was to imagine. The eye could scarcely dwell on the mingling light and darkness, the infinite variety of shadows, that came down from Heaven to cast their deeper semblance on earth, without conjuring up in the mind those analogies by which humanity loves to link itself with inanimate nature. There were those bright gleams which have so often been likened unto hope those depths which have been so happily compared to futurity-those changes to which the heart says, "Such are mine own." The stars came out, few and scattered, and from the far parts of the sky. We hold not now the belief of old: we know that in their mystic characters nought of our destiny is written. Philosophy has taught a lowly lesson to our pride; and no longer do we single out some bright and lovely planet, and ask of it our fate; till, from asking, we almost hope that Night will send on her winds some answer, whose words are from the mystic scroll of our destiny.

Foolishness of mortality! to deem that the glorious and the lofty star, which looked not on us who watch its beauty, should have been placed in that mighty firmament to shed its radiance on our birth, and chronicle in its bright page our sin, our suffering, and our sorrow!-and when have not these three words told the story of our life? And yet this linking that vain life to the lofty and the lovely, what is it but one of the many signs of the spirit within us-that which day crushes, but kills not-that spirit which looks