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nervousness was uncalled for. The sight looking at Miss Winter, as if doubtful of what he was about, and of the tender how she might take his strictures ; but she way in which he was handling the child, went on, without any show of dissent, drove all remembrance of his heresies “I shall try to get him work for my and contumaciousness in the matter of father; but I am sorry to find that psalmody out of her head. She greeted Simon does not seem to like the idea of him with frankness and cordiality, and taking him on. It is not easy always to presently, when he had given up his make out Simon's meaning. When I charge to the mother, who was inclined spoke to him, he said something about a at first to be hard with the poor little bleating sheep losing a bite ; but I should sobbing truant-came up, and said she think this young man is not much of a wished to speak a few words to him. talker in general ?”- she paused.

David was highly delighted at Miss “That's true, Miss,” said David, enerWinter's manner; but he walked along getically;“there ain't a quieter spoken or by her side not quite comfortable in his steadier man at his work in the parish." mind, for fear lest she should start the “I'm very glad to hear you say so," old subject of dispute, and then his duty said Miss Winter, “and I hope we may as a public man would have to be done soon do something for him. But what at all risk of offending her. He was I want you to do just now is to speak a much comforted when she bėgan by word to him about the company he seems asking him whether he had seen much to be getting into.” of Widow Winburn's son lately.

The constable looked somewhat aghast David admitted that he generally saw at this speech of Miss Winter's, but him every day.

did not answer, not knowing to what Did he know that he had left his place, she was alluding. She saw that he did and had quarrelled with Mr. Tester? not understand, and went on

Yes, David knew that Harry had had “He is mowing to-day with a gang words with Farmer Tester; but Farmer from the heath and the next parish ; I Tester was a sort that it was very hard am sure they are very bad men for him not to have words with.

to be with. I was so vexed when I “ Still, it is very bad, you know, for found Simon had given them the job; 80 young a man to be quarrelling with but he said they would get it all down the farmers," said Miss Winter.

in a day, and be done with it, and that “ 'Twas the varmer as quarrelled wi' was all he cared for.” he; you see, Miss," David answered, “And 'tis a fine day's work, Miss, for “which makes all the odds. He cum five men,” said David, looking over the to Harry all in a fluster, and said as how field; “and ’tis good work too, you he must drow up the land as he'd a'got, mind the swarth else," and he picked or he's place—one or t’other on 'em up a handful of the fallen grass to show And so you see, Miss, as Harry wur her how near the ground it was cut. kind o' druv to it. 'Twarn't likely as he “Oh, yes, I have no doubt they are wur to drow up the land now as he wur very good mowers, but they are not good just reppin' the benefit ov it, and all for men, I'm sure. There, do you see now Varmer Tester's place, wich be no sich who it is that is bringing them beer? gurt things, Miss, arter all.”

I hope you will see Widow Winburn's “ Very likely not; but I fear it may son, and speak to him, and try to keep hinder his getting employment. The him out of bad company. We should other farmers will not take him on now, be all so sorry if he were to get into if they can help it.”

trouble.” “No; thaay falls out wi' one another David promised to do his best, and .bad enough, and calls all manner o Miss Winter wished him good evening, names. But thaay can't abide a poor and rejoined her cousin. man to speak his mind, nor take his “ Well, Katie, will he do your own part, not one on 'em,” said David, behest ?”

“Yes, indeed ; and I think he is the been for years a proscribed person. She best person to do it. Widow Winburn lived up on the heath, often worked in thinks her son minds him more than the fields, took in lodgers, and smoked any one."

a short clay pipe. These eccentricities, "Do you know I don't think it will when added to her half-male clothing, ever go right. I'm sure she doesn't care were quite enough to account for the the least for him.”

sort of outlawry in which she lived. “Oh, you have only just seen her Miss Winter, and other good people of once to-day for two or three minutes.” Englebourn, believed her capable of any

“And then, that wretched old Simon crime, and the children were taught to is so perverse about it," said the cousin. stop talking and playing, and run away “ You will never manage him.”

when she came near them; but the “He is very provoking, certainly; constable, who had had one or two but I get my own way generally, in search warrants to execute in her house, spite of him. And it is such a perfect and had otherwise had frequent occasions plan, isn't it ? "

of getting acquainted with herin the course “Oh! charming, if you can only of his duties, had by no means so evil bring it about."

an opinion of her. He had never seen “Now we must be really going home, much harm in her, he had been heard papa will be getting restless.” So the to say, and she never made pretence to young ladies left the hay-field deep in much good. Nevertheless, David was castle-building for Harry Winburn and by no means pleased to see her acting the gardener's daughter, Miss Winter as purveyor to the gang which Harry being no more able to resist a tale of had joined. He knew how such contact true love than her cousin, or the rest of would damage him in the eyes of all her sex. They would have been more the parochial respectabilities, and was or less than women if they had not anxious to do his best to get him clear taken an interest in so absorbing a of it. passion as poor Harry's. By the time W ith these views he went up to the they reached the Rectory Gate they had men, who were resting under a large elm installed him in the gardener's cottage tree, and complimented them on their with his bride, and mother, (for there day's work. They were themselves well would be plenty of room for the widow, satisfied with it, and with one another. and it would be so convenient to have When men have had sixteen hours or the laundry close at hand) and had so hard mowing in company, and none pensioned old Simon, and sent him and of them can say that the others have his old wife to wrangle away the rest of not done their fair share, they are apt their time in the widow's cottage. to respect one another more at the end Castle-building is a delightful and harm- of it. It was Harry's first day with less exercise.

this gang, who were famous for going Meantime David the constable had about the neighbourhood, and doing gone towards the mowers, who were great feats in hay and wheat harvest. taking a short rest before finishing off They were satisfied with him and he the last half acre which remained stand- with them, none the less so probably ing. The person whose appearance had in his present frame of mind, because so horrified Miss Winter was drawing they also were looser on the world, beer for them from a small barrel. This servants of no regular master. It was was an elderly raw-boned woman with a bad time to make his approaches, the a skin burnt as brown as that of any of constable saw ; so, after sitting by Harry the mowers. She wore a man's hat and until the gang rose to finish off their spencer, and had a strong harsh voice, work in the cool of the evening, and and altogether was not a prepossessing asking him to come round by his cottage person. She went by the name of on his way home, which Harry promised Daddy Cowell in the parish, and had to do, he walked back to the village.

To be continued.

215

ALLS WELL

The long night-watch is over'; fresh and

chill Comes in the air of morn; he slumbers

still. Each hour more calm his laboured

breathings grew. "O God ! may he awaken free from ill; May this supreme repose dear life re

new !" She rose, and to the casement came, The curtain drew, and blank, grey

morn Looked pitiless on eyes grief-worn, On the dying lamp's red, flickering

flame, And, slowly through the wavering

gloom Searching out the shaded room, Fell on a form--the pillowed head So motionless, supinely laid. O, was it death, or trance, or sleep, Had power his sense thus locked to

keep? She turned, that woman wan . and

mild; She gazed through tears, yet hope-be

guiled; He was her son, her first-born child, Ah, hush! she may not weep.

While elder sons and daughters

thought What change in the playmate un

forgotten Time and foreign skies had wrought. Could he be like that fair-haired boy, With curly hair of golden hue, And merry-twinkling eye of blue, Whose tones were musical with joy ? For he had sailed all round the world, In China's seas our flag unfurled On Borneo's coast with pirates fought, From famed spice-islands treasure

brought, Had been where the Upas grew! But the long June day was closing

fast, And yet he did not come; And anxious looks and murmurs

passed.

Some gazed without, sate listless some; Down the hill-side, across the vale, Night-mists are rising, sweeps the

gale; But nought can we see through the

gloom; When, hark! a step at the wicket-gate, And the brothers rushed out with

call and shout.
Welcome, at last, though late!
And round him hurriedly they press,
And bring him in to the warm-lit

room,
To his mother's fond caress.

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Many a night, with patient eye,
Had she watched him—sight of woe!
Fever-chained, unconscious lie;
Many a day passed heavily,
Since met in glad expectancy
Round the cheerful hearth below
Young and old, a goodly show,
To welcome from the wondrous main,
Their wanderer home returned again.
The father's careful brow unbent,
The mother happily intent
That nothing should be left undone
To greet him best; the youngest one
In childish, bright bewilderment,
Longed, curious, to look upon
Her own, strange sailor-brother sent
Afar, before she could remember;

And thy brow burneth, and thy speech

doth fail. Hath some sore sickness thus thy frame

oppreste Or sinkest thou for want of food and

rest?

“All's well—I am at home; but make

my bed soon, For I am weary, mother, and fain would

lay me down.”

Ah! cursed Malay—I see his cruel eye; His hissing arrows pierce me? Must I lie, Weltering in torture on this hell-hot

brine; Not one cool drop my parching throat

to slake? Jesu have mercy! what a fate is mine!"

Even while he spake, he tottered, fell;
The heavy lid reluctantly
Shrouded the glazing, love-strained

eye. They tenderly raised him ; who may

tell, What anguish theirs? That smothered

cry! : They bore him up the narrow stair; They laid him on his bed with care; On snowy pillow,-flower-besprent, (Ah! for lighter slumber meant.) They knew some pestilential blight Lurked in his blood with deadly

might, And they trembled for the morrow. Thus in the smitten house that night,

All joy was changed to sorrow.

Yea, swift and near, the fever-fiend Had dogged the mariner's homeward

way. One ocean south, one ocean north, The ship from red Lymoon sailed

forth, But fast in her hold the dark curse

lay; In vain blew the cool west-wind. Week after week, he now, in vain, Had breathed his pleasant native air; For still with restless, burning brain, He seemed to toss on a fiery main, ’Neath a sky of copper glare. Under his window a sweet-briar grew, And fragrance his boyhood full well

knew, In at the open lattice flung; The thrush in his own old pear-tree

| sung. Young voices from the distance borne, Or mower's scythe at dewy morn, Cock's shrill crowing, all around Sweet familiar scent or sound, None could bring his spirit peace; None from wandering dreams release. He heard an angry surf still thunder, Crashing planks beneath him sunder, Tumults that, ever changing, never

cease.

Yet ever his mother's yearning gaze, Saintly sad, was on him dwelling; Could it not penetrate the haze Of phantasy, and, frenzy-quelling In heart and brain, soft-healing flow His sister came with noiseless tread, And, bending o’er the sufferer's bed, Lightly laid her smooth, cold palm Upon the throbbing brow; And with the touch a gradual calm Stole quietly, diffusing slow Sleep's anguish-soothing balm. Pain's iron links, a little while Relaxing, let his spirit rove In vision some Atlantic isle, Where waved the tall Areca palm; Fresh breezes fanned, and gushing

rills Murmured, as in green English grove They, winding, deepen from the hills. And momentary smiled, perchance, Dear faces thro' the shadowy trance, His unclosed eye saw not, though

near; Dear voices reached the spell-bound

ear,
His waking sense had failed to hear.
Only a little space—too soon
The fiery scourge, from slumber burst,
Swept like the tyrannous typhoon,
Gathering new rage, the last the

worst;
Till the pulse ebbed low, and life
Shrank wasted from the strife.

At length a dreamless stupor deep
Fell on him, liker death than sleep.
At eve the grave physician said :
“No more availeth human aid ;
Nature will thus his powers restore,
Or else he sleeps to wake no more."
Alone his mother watched all night,
In silent agony of prayer.
Whendimly gleamed the dawning light,
She thought, “Its ghastly, spectral

stare

“Look, look ! what glides and glitters in

the brake ? Is it a panther, or green crested snake ?

Makes his hue so ashen white."
But, when broadening day shone

bright, Froze to despair her shivering dread. None who have seen that leaden mask Over loved features greyly spread, “Whose superscription this ?” need

ask. Soft she unclosed the door, and said, “Come,” in whisper hoarse and low;

And silently they came, One by one, the same Who had joyous met by the hearth

below, Only three short weeks ago. They looked, “ Is it life, or death ?” She beckoned them in, and, with

hushed breath Standing around, they saw dismayed That living soul already laid The shadow of the grave beneath.

Kneeling beside his hope, his pride,
Felled in youth's prime, his sea-worn

son, Aloud the reverend father cried : "Submissive, Lord, we bow; Thy will be

done ; Yet grant some token ere my child

depart, Thy love hath ever dwelt within his

heart, And through the vale of darkness safe

will guide.” “Amen, amen," in faltering response

sighed Mother and children, watchers woe

begone. O mournful vigils, lingering long ! O agonies of hope, that wrong Solemn prayer for swift release, And the soul's eternal peace ! Now holy calm, now wild desire With sick suspense alternate tire, Till very consciousness must cease. Faint the reluctant hours expire ; The mind flows back; as in a dream Trivial imaginations stream Over the blank of grief, Bringing no relief.

Or careless whistler passing near-
May, unaware, pierce the dull ear,
And feeble, mystic wonder wake,
And straight the web of fancy break;
The awful Presence over all

Hovering unseen, a brooding pall. “O, look! what change is there ? can

hope revive ? Lift his head gently, give him air "

--As drive Strong winds through a thunder-cloud,

and shear
Athwart, on either side, its blackness,
Sweeping the empyrean clear ;
So, from the stony visage rent,
Instantaneously withdrew
The heaviness, the livid hue;
And the inward spirit shining

through
Serene, ethereal brightness lent.
His eyes unclosed ; their gaze intent
No narrow, stifling limits saw,
No aspects blanched by love and awe-
Far, far on the eternal bent.
Hark! from his lips the seaman's

cheer, Sudden, deep-thrilling, did they hear, “ Land ahead!The words of welcome

rose ;
Then he sank back in isolate repose.

What land ? O say, thou tempest-tost !
Whither hath thy worn bark drifted,
Seest thou thine own dear, native

coast-
Vision by strong desire uplifted-
Britain's white cliffs afar appearing;
Or art thou not, full surely, nearing
That unknown strand, that furthest

shore, Whence wanderer never saileth more? But hush ! again he speaks with sted

fast tone,
Let go the anchor.Now, the port is

won.
O happy mariner! at last,
Ocean storms and perils past,
Past treacherous rock and shelving

shoal,
And the ravening breakers' roll,
Securely moored in haven blest,
Thy weary soul hath found its rest,
Touching now the golden strand !
Before thee lies the promised land,

Haply some sudden sound without
A sheep-dog's bark, or schoolboy's

shout,
No. 9.-VOL 11.

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