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â€"“â€"-a¢lߢâ€"â€" » =5......:... l RflfiEBUD. 0 litlh maid in your roseluid-bower, Di'(-..l;iliiig of growing old, WVisliii '4 )‘llllill always would linger, a flower Never in ll :lii'o to unfold; Lift from flu- :illriw your suiisliiiiy head. Growing old is nothing: to dread. O litli’c illillll in lllL‘1'0~(' tree shade, See how i‘i . y bonglis shoot! The gruch It res full Lind the blossoms fade; vuth is a living rum. '0 :il buds in the old tree’s heart, .1: l l of spring to start. () lltLll’ maid, there is joy to seek“ Glory of earth and skyfi \Vlien Llw r:iscbudâ€"strcuk fades out of your cheek And the dcv gleam from your eye ;‘ Deeper and widerinust life take root ; ltedder and higher iiiust glow its fruit. O litil‘ inuid, be never afraid That youth from your heart will goâ€" Reach forth unto lieiiven,through showers and shade ! \Vehi'c always young while we grow. Brcaihe out in a blessing your happy breath ! | VOL XXII. under the name of Naseby Field, showed clear harvest was to be the gutheringofthe slaugh- tcr , while the towers and pinnacles of Holin- For love keeps the spirit from age and death. ~J.1u'y Larva/II. in St. Nicholas for September. mun»... scams: House. " What a country for a flight l" says Mary Cave, bringing her obedienthorse alongside of the old knight’swell~trained steed, and loosen- ing the jcsscs of the hawk upon her wrist, no unworthy rival to “Diamond” herself. “Look well to your laurels to-day. Sir Giles. 'Dewâ€" drop’ and her mistress are both bent on vic- tory, and I shall wear the heron’s plume to- night in my hair or never hawk again l” Ewn as she spoke the short shrill bark of a spaniel, and a rush of his companions to- wards u sedgy, marshy piccc ofground, startlâ€" ed Grace Allcnby and her pulfrcy out of the pleasant mutual understanding to which they had arrived. and a glorious wide-winged her- on rosc slowly into the air, flapping its way with heavy measured strokes, his long legs tucked behind him, his little head thrown back, his sharp scissorsâ€"like beak protruding over the distended crop, heavy with the spoils of last night‘s fishing excursion. Mary’s quick eye has caught him in an instant. Like lightning she has freed her hawk from hood and jesscs, and with the same movement that urges her horse to a center. ‘Dewdrop’ tossed aloft in the air. Sir Giles is not much slower in his arrange- ments. Like an old sportsman, lie is method- ical in all matters connected with the field, but ‘Diamond’ understands her master, and her master can depend on ‘ Diamond,’ so she is not three strokes of her wing behind her rival, and soaring at once high into the air, has caught sight of prey and competitor almost before the her- on is aware of his two natural and implacable foes. Too soon, however, it strikes him that his position is one of imminent and mortal dan- With ger. a grati ug harsh cry, a make, crake,’ of mingled discom- fort and alarm, he proceeds slowly to disgorge from his pouch the weighty spoils of his overnight‘s sport. The dead fish glist- cn white and silvery as they fall through the sunny air, and the lightened heron, whose instinct teaches him there is no safety but on high, wheels upwards by a series of gyrations fartlierand farther still, till he seems but a speck in the bright element to the strainingr eyes that are watching the flight from below. But there is another higher still than he is. and yet another wheeling rapidly upward to gain the desired point of ‘vantage’. The top. most speck falls suddenly headlong several hundred feet. past the pursued and his pur- suer, down, down, nearly to the summit of a huge old elm, but recovering herself. once more resumes her flight, with even greater vigor and determination than at first. "Pesto! elle a manquee !” exclaims Mary in the language of her youth, while a flush of vexation burns on her handsome features, and she admonishes her steed withhand and rein to make no more ‘mistakes’ like that last, at a time when earthly consideration should not be allowed to divert his rider‘s: at- iinniediatc vicinity. On their right a bank of that was cm long to cam its immortality of his time, whose air of self-possession and gravity was somewhat at variance with the and hard and checrless, as though its only general mirth and festivity of the other commenced the in duty bound courtiers, and himself measure, in which all were by Palace itself shut in the picture in the tojoin. It was a. foolish game, somewhat provoca- waving gorse hid all beyond its own wild tivc of levity, and calculated to have given lieautics with its sharp dark vei-durc, and its bttle yellow blossoms scattered like drops of a golden shower over its surface. Sir Giles plucked one as he passed with a sly smile, scandal to the Puritans of the time, involv- ing much dancing, changes of partners, and the infliction of quaint forfeits on those who failed in its complicated conditions. A vener- “thn the gorse is out of bloom, young able Lady of the Bcdcliamber was condemned ladies," quotli Sir Giles. “then is kissing out of fashion ‘2” blushed, and playfully bid her father “not to dance “a saraband” with a certain future Grace Allonby laughed and Chancellor, whose forte was scarcely bodily grace or agility. Ayoung maid of honor, talk nonsense z,” but Mary Cave, drawing her blushing to the tips of her fingers, had to re- liorse nearer to that of her gentle friend, commenced inoralizing after her own fashion on the old kniglit’s trite and somewhat coarse remark. ceive the homage, offered on their knees, of all the gentlemen there present. And lastly, Mary Cave, then attached to the person of the Queen. was adjudged to stand in the “ Yes, Graccy,” said she, smoothing back midst of the admiring throng, and accept a the folds of her rich brown hair, which shone chaste salute from an individual of the oppo- and glistcned iii the sun, “ Sir Giles is right. So it is, and so it has ever been. There is no day in the year when the blos- soin is off the gorse, from the brightest splen- dours of July to the bittercst snowstorms of December. There is no phase of life, from the triumph of success to the agony of dis- appon‘ltnicnt, which is not affected by we» man‘s influence and Woman‘s smile. I used to Wish, dear. that Iliad been born a man. I thank my fate now tliatI am a woman. I have more power as I am, and power is what I love best in the world. They are only pup i‘; pets, Griicey, after all ; and if we. are but true to ourselves, it is for us to pull the strings and set the figures moving at our will. I saw a pretty toy once at the French Court that was brought there in a box by a certain Italian juggler, in which little dressed-up dolls acted a mystery in a dumb show, and the juggler, sitting in his dark corner, manâ€" aged all the wires, and made each play its appointed part. Grace, I thought to myself, men are but dressed-up dolls after all ; it is women that have the strings in their hands if they will but use them. I have never let one go yet, my dear, and I never will. one‘s own way ‘3” “ I should think it must be,,’ Grace, who never could get hers, even with her horse; “ and yet itinust bea great responsibility, too," she added, with a look of profound reflection. would rather give way,that. is if I liked people; and I don‘t think I could like anybody very much that I wasn’t a little afraid of.” Mary‘s lip curled contemptuously, yet a pang shot through her too. Was there one be- fore whom her proud spirit would quail â€"for Confess~is it not delightful to have accounted a more Site sex, to be chosen by lot. ” No, sir I" said the Queen, as the future Chancellor, who imagined himself to be the happy man, stepped forward, with a gay and (Zrbonair demeanor, to exact the penalty ; “it is reserved for a younger . manâ€" and a better com-tier," she added, somewhat lower, but loud enough for the mortified candidate to overhear. “Stand forward, Marie,” she proceeded, laughing roguishly ; “and you, inilor l claim your rights l” It was the same young nobleman who had already been honored with her Majesty’s hand in the dance; who had acquitted himself with the ease and grace of an accomplished cavalier, but with a grave and preoccupied air, as of one whose thoughts were far away from scenes of mirth and revelry, and who now stepped forward with a profound reverence to claim from Mistress Mary love a penalty which anv other gentle- man in the presence would have readin given his best hawk. his best bound, or his best horse to exact. And this was the only man in the room on whom she would have hesituted far an in stunt to confer that which was in those time mark of courtesy on friendly regard. She would have offered her replied cheek to any one of them, from intriguing Hari'chrmyn to profligutc George Goring, without moving a muscle of her proud cold face; but when this young nobleman up- “I think I preached her with his chivalrous deference of manner, and his simple, courteous, self- possessed air, Mary felt her heart beat- ing, and she knew her check was blushing, as heart and check had never beat and blushed before. He was her master, and she knew it. whom that eager undisciplined heart would Slight as was their acquaintance, she had ache with a pain only known to a strong tame- less nature? It is the wild bird that beats itself to death against the bars of its, cage ; the wild flower that droops and withers in the close confinement of a hot-house. Woe to him whom Mary loved, if he lovcdher tool Nevertheless, she laughed merrily as she rc- olicd, “Nonsense, GI'RCOAâ€"Hffll’ld/ I never seen and been]. enough of him to be aware that his was a strong stern nature, keen of intellect and indomitable of will, which shohad no chance of ever sub- jugatingâ€"that his mind was of that superior order which breaks through the meshes of pleasure and dispels the illu- sions of romance. Her woman‘s instinct feared mortal thing yet, and least of all would told her that he nourished some lofty purâ€" [aman that professed himself to be my pose, which woman’s influence would never slave ; and yet, dear, I have my own ideas of be suffered to affect ; and simply because she what a man ought to be. Mind, I don’t say i know one that comes up to them. He should knew it was quite impossible that she could ever win his homage, like a very woman, she be proud as Luciferâ€"not in appearance and would have given her heart’s blood to poss- demeanoi‘â€"â€"far from it. I would have him courteous and kindly to all, gentle and chivalâ€" rous and conciliatory in his manners, but at tention from the business going on heart unimpi'ossionable and unyieldingbs above. (Du\var0p9 has indeed mad“ adamant. I would hav3_ hnn cherish amnure, and She seeks in vain to wipe on, some“ high ambition, to which he would! sacrifice all that was dearest to the disgrace, for " Diamond” has new gained the vantage point, and swooping down like a thunderbolt. beak and talons, and weight and impetus, all brought to hear at once on the devoted heron, brings him headlong with her through the air, turning over and over in their fall to that green earth from which he will never rise again. And now Sir Giles is riding for his life, spurring his good horse across the rusliy pas- tures, keen and happy and triumphant as a boy at his falcon‘s success ; whilst Mary dashes along by his side, inwardly provoked, though she is too proud to show it, at the failure of her favorite; and Grace, with fret- ting palfrey and secret misgivings, follows carefully at a less break-neck pace in the rear. It is a service of danger to take a heron from a hawk, or a hawk from a heron, even after the most prolonged and exhausting flight. The victim, breathless and stunned though he be, has generally sufficient strength and energy left to make good use of the sharp and formidable weapon with which nature has provided him ; and as the thrusts of his long beak are delivered with extraordinary accuracy, and aimed always at the eye of his captor, he is :1 formidable opponent even in the last struggles of defeat and death. “ A fair flight, Mistress Mary, and an honest victory,” said Sir Giles, as he plucked a long shapely feather from the dead bird's wing, and presented it with playful courtesy to his antagonist. “‘Diamond’ is still unconqucred and you shall wear the lieron’s plume tonight in your bonnie locks in token of forgiveness ! Said I well sweet heart .7" “ Sir Giles, I might forgive a fault, but I never forgive a failure," was the laughing re- ply ; yet to a keen observer the expression of her face, the curl of her ruddy lip as she spoke would have denoted more truth in the senti- ment than she would herself perhaps have been willing to admit. “ I am sorry for the poor heron,” was all Grace Allonby remarked, as they rcmouiited their horses to commence their lionicwai‘d journey. CHAPTER III. THE. QUARRY. And alevely ride they had over the wild moorland and the green undulations that waved between the wooded hill of llolmby, and the sweet fragrant valley along which the quiet None was stealing his silver way. Those were the days when the early morning air was esteemed the best cosmetic for the cheek of beauty, when ladies dill not sit over the fire till dusk and then flutter out like birds of night for a gentle stroll to the hot- houscs, er a lialfdiour’s saunter in a pony- carriagc. Our little party had breakfasted at daybreak, had been in the saddle since the sun was up, and had got their day's sport concluded by the time that we of the modern school would have finished breakfast. There is nothing like early rising. We have our- selves tried it, and we speak from experience when we insist that it is profitable, poetical, healthy, and invigorating; nevertheless can- dor compcls us to admit that for its system- atic practice we entertain a cordial detesta tion. ' A lovely ride they had. In front of them; extended the rich valley of the None, sinilin v , with cultivuion, dotted with trees and liedg .- l ’rrows, and standard thorns growing stunted and sturdy iH-rc and there. backed by the dis- tant buildings of Northampton and the light cloud of white v inokc that curled above the town. To tlu 12' left wide and uncultivated moorlands, with occasional stretches of vivid green pasture, and many a patch of gorse and, clump of aldcrs, swept away over the rising l eminence of Sprattcn (on the sky-line ofl which a string of packhorscs could clearly be i distinguished they neared the little hamlet Where they would stop and refresh), and melted into a dim haze of beauty under the crest of Ilazelbccch, crowned with a swartliy grove of giant forest trees, frowning down on him in life, ay, sacrifice me myself if he loved me to madness ; and he should smile when he did it as if nothing could wince or waver in his purpose. He must be clever, of course, and looked on with admires make him ’ ess it, if only for an hour. Ho stepped up to her, slowly and court- eously. He did not even take her hand ; but he lifted one of the long brown ringlets that fell heavily accross hcr bosom, pressed it to her lips, dropped it, and rctiredqwith another low reverence, and without ever raising his eyes to her face. [In slept calmly and peacefully that night. When he woke on the marrow, his thoughts were of the great Cause and the country’s good ; of measures and principles, and coun- tion and envy by his fellow-men, orlic would i scllorswof judicious laws and a happy peo~ be no mate for me ; and he must give way to me for an instant on no single point more than I would to him.” Grace opened her large dark eyes with as- tonishment : She had her mother’s eyes, as Sir Giles often remarked, dark and soft and full like a. fawn‘s. ” And if you observed Grace, were both obstinate," “ and you so very much, what would you do if you ‘ ti-al disagreed ‘3” “I would break my heart, but Iwould l a was the reply; “ or i the lip that had caressed her never yield an inch l” I would break his, to hate myself ever after- wards, and love him, perhaps, none the worse for that.” While she spoke a light broke ovcr Mary’s countenance which softened it into beauty such as Struck even her companion with a new and fervent admiration ; but it faded as it came, and her features soon recovered their usual joyous, careless, and somewhat hard expression of self-dependence and self- satisfaction. But Grace‘s womanly nature, true to itself, rcceiled from such sentiments as these. “ ln- deed, Mary,” she said, ” I think it would be very uncomfortable. If I liked anybody so much. I should wish him to like me too, andI would give in to him on every single point, and find out everything he wanted, and try to make him happy; and if I failed I should not be angry with him. but I think I should be very miserable, and I am sure I should sit down and cry. But I should not like him to be such a person as you describe. I would rather have him good-looking and good- uatui'cd, and cheerful, and brave certainly, and I should not mind his being a little hasty, and very loyal to the king, andâ€"like my father, in short, but younger, of course, and Adon’t laugh at me, Maryâ€"â€"I think I should like him to have dark eyes and hair.” ‘ Oh, Grace, what a child you are l” was the reply; and Mary put her horse once more into a center, and raised his mettle with voice and hand, turning and winding him at her will, and seeking vent for the ex- uberance of her spirits or the depth of her feelings ~for no mortal ever was allowed to penetrate her real sentimentsâ€"iii the de- lightful exercise of skilful equitation. But to give our reader some slight insight into the character of this young lady, still young in years and beauty, though matured in knowledge of the world, we must be per- mitted to recount a little scene that occurred at the royal palace of Hampton Court a year or two previous to the events we have now taken upon us to describe. One of the merry masks 0r pageants which were the delight of our ancestors, and which were keenly appreciated by royalty itself had just been concluded ; the great nobles of the Court had left the Presence ; the King him- self had retired to his apartments harassed and fatigued with the responsibilities of a ruler, and the many difficulties which in all ranks hedge in the movements of an ()plll- ionatcd man. None but the Queen and her immediate household, with two or three espe- cial favmites and high officers of the Court, were left ; and Hem'ictta’s French love of gaicty and natural llmv of spirits prompted her to seize the opportunity of relaxing for I half an hour the decorum and formality which have (J\'('1' been distinguishing characteristics of “1111‘;an 'sh (Court. “ A game at forfeits l. A carillon. l forfeit for the loser, to be decided ladhs and myself. That Will be charming,“ exclaimed her Ma- jesty, chipping her hands in the exuberance of her merriincnt, her keen eyes sparkling, and her little French person quivering with delight at the prospect. “ Danscz milor l voila lejuu qui continence! and a by my the sunny valley below; behind them, sharp cutting against the sky, 3, long level plain, and she gave her hand with much dignity; to the most accomplishcd young nobleman l pie ; of ancient sages and classic patrioism. ; a little of his fair young wife, whom he loved with a sober temperate and rational love ;â€" and he rose to pray carncstly for strength and means to carry out the great work on which his heart and soul were. bent. chr rest was fitful and broken, disturbed loved him , by strange wild dreams. of which the cen- figure was still a slight and ,Ll‘Jl‘VOllS form, dark intellectual face, compressed and resolute lip â€"â€" hair. She Illdl'l‘fllf‘l'lto l*f\[{lll0 ! < had detached that ringlet from the rest. and lay with her hands folded over it, and clasp- iug it to her bosom. When she rose, it was to a new and strange sensationâ€"to a wild keen thrill of pleasure, dashed with shameâ€" to a galling feeling of subjection, that had yet in it a dependence most delightful. She would have been torn in pieces rather than confess it even to herself, but she loved Falk- land, and it was a changed world to Mary Cave from that night for ever after i” The gambols of one of them are apt to dis- turb the cquanimity of all the rest of the equine race who are within hearing and sight of such vagaries. Nor was Grace Allonby’s palfrcy, on whom its mistress could never be induced to impose proper terms of coercion, any exception to this general rule of iiisubor- dination. Ere our little party had descended into the valley of Brampton, and reached the ford by which they were to cross the river, poor Grace was certainly no longer mistress of the animal she rode; and it was with a pitiable expres- sion of helplessness and terror on her counte~ nance, at which even her father and her com- panion could scarce help laughing. that she plunged into the ford, now somewhat swollen and turbulent from the late rain. ‘Fathor what shall I do ‘2 He going to lie down !’ screamed Grace, as the wilful pal- frcy, turning his head to the stream, plung- ded and pawcd into deeper water, that al- ready drenched his rider’s skirts to the waist. Mary Cave was ere this on the oppo- site side with Sir Giles; the latter,turning sud- denly to his daughter’s assistancc,chccked his horse so fiercely that the animal reared straight on end, and then struck his spurs so deep into its sides that the good horse grew restiin and refused to face the water on such terms; and Grace might at least have ex- pcrienccda very complete wetting, had it not been for the assistance of another cavalier, who, coming up at a smart trot from behind. dashed in to the rescue of the astonished girl, and himself guiding her palfrcy to the bank, brought her, with many apologies for his timely interference, in safety to her father‘s side. “\ Yell and promptly done, young sir,‘ said Sir Giles, as, uftl r wringing the wet from his daughter’s habit, and replacing her on her horse. he turned to thank the new comer for his unexpected assistance. ‘May I on- quirc to whom I have the honour of being so much indebted ‘3" added the courteous old cavalier. The stranger reincd his horse, and lifting his hat, made a profound bow as he replied, I ‘My name is Humphrey Bosville, cor‘ net in Colepoppcr‘s Horse, and a- bout to join his Majesty’s forces 1 at Ncwbui‘y. I have orders to proceed to Dauglitou, with dcspzitches for Lord Falkâ€" land. Am I in the right road ‘3” Mary’s eye sparkled and her cheek flushed. “ For Lord Falkland?" slic enquired -, “ is he, then, expected by Lord Vaux ?” The cornet made another profound bow as he replied in the affirmative ; but he too blushed to encounter the glance of those deep n blue eyes, and the self-possession with which he had commenced the interview seemed to y: have entirely deserted him, though he acceptecd , RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, SEPT. 18, 1879. willingly and courteously the hospitable invi- tation of Sir Giles to his kinsman’s house. “ You are just in time for dinner, sir. My lord will be well pleased to see you or any other gallant cavalier. Had we met you an hour sooner we could have shown you as fair 9. flight as seldom falls to a Sportsman‘s lot to behold. I can show you now the best hawk n Christendom. But you are in time for dinner, sir; and we will give you a hearty welcome, and drink the King‘s health after it in a stoup 0f claret worthy of the toast 1” As they mounted the hilltoward Boughton, the ladies, we may be sure, did not lose the opportunity of closely inspecting the person and general appearance of Grace’s new acquaintance ; and truth to tell, Humph- rey Bosville’s exterior was one of those on which the feminine cyc dwells with no slight complacency. A trifle above the midle size, well and strongly built. with a frame promising the vigor of manhood, added to the activity of youth, our coruet sat his strong chestnut. or, to use the language of the time, his sorrel horse, with the graceful ease 6E a man who has from boyhood made the saddle his home. Like a true cavalier, his dress and arms ex- hibited as much splendor as was compatible with the exigencies of active serviceâ€"B, good deal more of variety than in these days of Prussian uniformity would be permitted to a soldier. On his head he were a wide Spanish bat, adorned with a huge drooping feather, his buff coat was cut and slashed in the most approved fashion, and a rich silk scarf of deep crimson wound about his waist to mark the contour'of his symmetrical figure. His pistols were richly mounted, his sword of the longest, his spurs of the heaviest; all his appointments marked the gentleman and the man of war, dashed with the most inappro- priate or unpleasing coxcombry of youth. His oval face. shaded by the long curling lovelocks so much affected by his party, bore a Winning expression of almost feminine soft ncss, attributable to his large well-cut hazel eyesâ€"such eyes as belong to dispositions at once imaginative and impressionable rather than judicious and discerning ; but his liigh,rcgular features, straight eyebrows, and determined lip, shaded by a heavy mous- tache, redeemed the countenance from a charge of effeminacy, and stamped on him the bold resolute character of “ a man of action,” one that could be depended on when the brave were striking for their lives. “ lie is very wellfavored, your new friend,” whispered Mary Cave, with a roguish smile ; “ and Gracey, there must be ‘ something in it.’ Look if he has not got dark eyes and hair.” CHAPTER IV. . ‘ FALKLAND.’ Lord Vaux is pacing his old hall at Bough- ton, with a scroll in his hand, on which his attention seems but partially fixed. Ever and anon he lifts his eyes to the stained glass windows, through which the noonday light is streaming in floods of crimson. and purple, and orange ; but his thoughts are far from armorial bearings and ancestral pomp. Ever and anon he rivets them on the polished oak floar beneath his feet, but still he fails to derive the required inspiration for his task. Like the rest of his party, the cavalier is puzzled ‘3: tl-‘Hlicpclei.;;- ness of proving “two and two make five.” llis fine benevolent head, from which the long hair falls in clusters over his starched ruff and black velvet doublet, is that of a philosopher and a sage, one whose natural clement is study and contemplation rather than action, and conflict with his kind ; yet must Lord Vaux calculate men, and means, and munitions of war. ay, don breastnlate and backpiece, and if need be, leave the splendors of his home and the quiet retire- ment of his study for the hardships of cam- paigningâ€"the wild alarums of a stricken field. He listens anxiously for an expected foot- step. Like many another contemplative na- ture, he is prone to place dependence on those who show no hesitation in taking the initiative. He is capable of enthusiasm, generosity, and self-sacrifice, but an example must be set him for the exhibition of these virtues. Without some one to show him the way, his lordship would never move a step in any direction, right or wrong. How many such natures were forced into the stream of political strife by the exigencies of the times in which they lived ! How many were willing to suffer fines, humiliation and im- prisonment for a cause which they esteemed sacred solely because their fathers did. Old men of fourscore years were simple and enthusiastic as boys. Lord Vaux, now past middle age, found himself, at a. period of life when most men are willing to seek ease and repose, involved in all the intrigues of statesineuship and the labors of civil war. Cavaliers and Itoundheads, the two watch- words of party, had set merry England by the cars. The precise puritan, with his close- croppcd~huir, his sad-colored raiment, his long sword, and biblical phraseology, was up and in the field under the same discipline which scarce served to control the excesses of his roystering enemy, the swaggcring, dissi- pated, reckless, yet chivalrous cavalier, whose code of duty and morality seemed but to consist of two principles, if so they could be called, viz. to drink, and strike for the king. Such was the extreme type of either party, and to one or other must sober men of all ranks or ages more or less incline. But a step is heard in the outer hall, the tramp of horses strikes upon the ear, and bustle of servants marshalling an honored and expected guest breaks on the stillness of the well-ordered household, and a smile of inexpressible relief lights up Lord Vaux’s face as he advances to greet his guest with all the ccremonious cordiality of an old English welcome. " I have ridden far, my lord," said the new arrival, “to taste your hospitality ; and in these times we can scarce promise to repeat our visits to our friends. But, my lord, you seem anxious and ill at case. You have suf- fered no affliction at home, I trust? Youhzlve no bad news of the Cause ‘2” “ I am indeed harassed and at my wits’ end," was the reply, “ or I could scarce have failed to give your lordship a kinder and more hospitable welcome. But I am, in sooth, right glad to see you; for to your ingenuity and to your advice I must look in my present straits. This is no question of a crabbed Greek reading, or a complicated equation, such as we delighted in happier days to grap- ple withal, but a serious requirement of men, horses, and money for his Most Sacred Majes- ty ; a requirement that, with all our resources we shall be unable to fulfil, and yet without which the Cause is well-nigh hopeless. Docs Goring think I am like the alchemist we have read of, and can transmute these old oak carvings to unalloyed gold? 01' does that rock- less adventurer believe me to be even as himâ€" self ‘? to regard neither honor nor credit, mercy nor justice, and to fear neither God, nor man, nor devil ‘2” “ Goring is a useful tool where he is placsd. my lord,” was the reply ; “ and we could ill spare him in our present difficulties, though sad it is so fair 3. cause should require the support of such as he has proved himself. Nevertheless, permit me to look over the re- quirement. It may be that we can see our way more plainly by our joint cndeavors,than when we fight single-handed against that deadliest of fees, an empty military chest.” As he spoke he took the scroll from Lord Vaux’s hand with a courteous bow, and retir- ing into one of the deep windows of the hall, was soon busily engaged in the perusal of its contents. Lucius Carey, Viscount Falkland, was one of those men on whom no remarkable exterior stamps the superiority which they enjoy over their fellow-creatures. As he stands in the embrasure of that window, his countenance grave and heated, his dress disordered with riding, his gestures of surprise and vexation awkward and ungainly, the superficial obser- ver would pronounce him to be a mere ordi- nary, somewhat ill-looking mortal, plainly dressed, and bearing the marks neither of gentle birth nor mental culture. He is short and small of stature, of no imposing port, not even with the assumption of energy and bustling activity which so often characterises the movements of little men. His manner is unaffected and plain to simplicity ; he stocps and sways his body from side to side in ludi- crous unconsciousness, as wave after wave of thought comes rolling in upon his brain, pregnant with reflection, calculation, and re- source. When he speaks his voice is harsh and unmusical, his countenance dark and un- prepossessing, for he is laboring in mind, wrestling with a difliculty, and bringing all the powers of his mighty intellect to bear upon the struggle. And now he grasps itâ€" new the colossal enemy is overthrown, and as the words flow smoother and faster from his lips, as sentence after sentence pours itself forth, clearer, and more comprehensive, and more concise, the whole countenance changes as changes the aspect of a winters day when the sun breaks forth ; flashes of intelligence beam from those deep-set falcon eyes, and light up the stern, sallow face. Rapid and impressive action succeeds the slow awkward- ness of his habitual movements; the slight form seems to dilute and tower into dignity. as of one born to command, and the whole man is changed, by the mere influence of mind over matter. into a sage and a hero for the occasion. But the inspiration passes as quickly as it comes. The knot is now unravelled, the dif- ficulty is solved. He has seen his own way to surmount it, and more than that, has ex- plained it to the inferior intellect of his friend, and lie relapses once more into the ordinary mortal, while an expression of deep weari- ness and melancholy settles again upon his features, as of one who is harassed and dis- tracted with the disappointments and heart- buriiings of life ; who would fain cast away shield and sword, and turn aside out of the battle, and lie down and be at rest. Yet was it not always so with this young and gifted nobleman. His youth seemed to give promise of a. brighter future than is of ten accorded to mortal man. Bred in his father’s vice regal court of Ireland, he enjoyed opportunities of learning and cultivation which were not thrown away upon such a. mental organization as his. At eighteen years of age he was skilled beyond his fellows in all the exercises and accomplishments of the day. He was perfected in the Latin and French languages, and had already shown that energy and perseverance in the acquisi- tion of knowledge which formed so distin- guishing a characteristic of his afterlife. Added to this, he inherited already an ample fortune. independent of his fatherâ€"no eon- tcinptible advantage at an age when all the genei one and liberal feelings are still unwrap- ed and unstifled by the sordid cares of life. He was thus relieved from the manyanxieties consequent upon inadequate means which are too apt to embittcr the sparkling cup of youth, and had the more leisure to devote himself to these studies in which he took such dc- light. Firm and resolute to the verge of obstinacy when a point was to be gained, it is related of him that, wishing to obtain a thorough knowledge of Greek, he absented himself rigidly from London until he had acquired an intimate familiarity with that language. nor could all the persuasions of his friends, nor the intellectual temptations of the capital, induce him to forego the deâ€" termination on which he had once entered. The same disposition prompted him to marry an amiable and excellent young lady, in de- fiance of the wishes of his family ; and a genâ€" erosity, by no means unnatural in such a character, induced him at the same time to offer his whole fortune for the liquidation of his father’s embarrassments, he himself pur- posing to obtain a military appointment in Holland, and win his own livelihood and that of his family with the sword. In this scheme being disappointed, be abandoned the career of arms, and had chalked out for himself a. path of study and scholarship when the trumpet of civil war roused him from his dream of literary distinction to the absorbing realities of strife. He was an ardent admirer of real and con- stitutional liberty, and although his rigid love of justice and regard to truth commanded the respect of the Court party, as his affable dcnieanour and genuine kindliness of heart won him the affections of all men, it was only when the throne was really threat- ened in its justifiable prerogatives, that he declared himself openly and unrcsci'vedly for the king. When his part was once taken, Charles had no more devoted adherent, no more judicious adviser, than Lord Falkland ; but from that time. from the very date of his accepting office underthe Sovereign, a change was observed in the whole temperament and demeanor of the young nobleman. He who used to be so ready of wit, so fluent of dis- course, so afiable towards his associates, be tame reserved, morose, and taciturn. His countenance wore an aspect of continual deâ€" jection ; be neglected his studies, his amuse- ments, nay, his very dress. All things be- came distasteful to him save ceaseless exer- tion for the sake of his country. Like some classic patriot, some Roman augur to whom Fate had vouchsafcd a glimpse of futurity, he mourned, in anticipation, for those national woes which he already hoped he might die rather than live to behold. But even in civil war, in public distress as in private affliction, man must dine; nay, if he is one of the porcelain vessels of the earth, and has performed since daybreak a long journey on horseback, he must also dress for dinner; and therefore Cornet Bosvillc. when, as in duty bound, he had delivered his des- patches, bctook himself to the chamber Lord Vaux’s hospitality had provided for him and with the assistance of his faithful trooper and servant, Hugh Dymockc, proceeded to the im- important duty of adorning his already well- favored person. Dymocke disapproved much of such waste of time. One led horse, to carry his own and his master’s change of clothing, did not admit of his turning out the comet in such splendor as he himself thought befitting, and were it not that he had already discovered the advantages of Lord Vaux’s hospitality and the strength of his ale, he would probably have urged upon his master the necessity of proceeding on their journey directly their horses were fed and the tables drawn after the early dinner in the great hall. " And you must wear the pearl-colored hose, I warrant me, and the point-lace collar of which we have but one with us, and drip- ping wet it would be had I pushed on when you bid me, and followed that slip of quality into the river on a fool’s errand,” grumbled Dymocke, as he bustlcd about, unpacking his master's wallets, and vainly regretting certain splendid apparel and abcautiful Toledo walk- ingranier which the rebels had cased them of when Waller’s horse last beat up their quarters at Tewkesbury. “ They will serve directly, and the quality will be the comet in a bumper ; his head, drunk or sober. You remembcrwhut he said of \Vilmot‘s charge at Roundway Down ‘2 of the sweetest lips that ever belonged to a gentle philosopher, of the truth of which we have been the more convinced the more we have watched the vagaries and eccentri- cities into which its victims are drawn by that affection of the brain called by the wise folly, and by fools love. ment,” said our beautiful moralist, upon it one must be always bridled and sad- dled. the other always booted and spurred.” 0f the truth of this axiom experience has left not the slightest doubt ; but what a lesson does it convey as to the inherent selfishness of mankind, and the insufficiency of any earthly blessingr to confer perfect happiness The one that is “bridlcd and indeed "a jade’s time of it,” the one that is “booted and spurred" uses the latter instru- ments ruthlessly and without remorse. would be the loser in the game ‘2 not wish to hold the bridle and apply the spurs ‘1’ time when it will be unspeakable happiness to fuel that we have had all the suffering and all the sorrow, proudly conscious that we have been “bridled and saddled” all our lives, and are about to die honestly in our harness at the end. then. for evermoreâ€"«when a world’s wealth and age of longing cannot unsay the cruel word, nor recall the cold glance~when love is dead, and even wishng a bitter mockery, how much better to sleep peacefully beneath the daisies, WHOLE NO.1,103-â€"NO, 15. there, rustling in brocade and worst of humors, albeit said . Bosville answered nothing. her instead of her companion out of the brook, and wondering whether she would observe him at dinner, and converse with him after- wards; and reflecting. halfuuconsciously, on the important fact that pearl-silken hose and ad- juncts to the exterior of a wellvlooking young a point-lace collar were no unbecoming man. Many years afterwards that dinner was re- membered by more than one of the party. Happy Humphrey Besville, sitting next to Mary Cave, was delighted with the share of attention she vouchsafed to bestow upon him; was smiles, the very atmosphere of her beauty. He could not mark, nor would he have coin- prchended, the eager, restless glance she flashed ever and anon at the plain, reserved, dark man opposite to them, the pained ex- pression and forced smile that oversprcad her countenance when she failed to attract Falkland’s attention. His discourse was directed chiefly to his host and Sir Giles Alloiiby, and he left his lovely neighbor Grace ample leisure to observe the cornct‘s good looks and pleasant smiles. Three 0f the party at least were drinking in poison with their canary, laying up for themselves a store of future pain in the enjoyment. and fascination of the moment. It is better so ; if to-day must never mortgage to-morrow, what becomes of the fee-simple of existence ‘2 If the death’s head must be present at all our feasts, in‘the name of Bacchus, hide him away under the table, there to remain till next. morning at breakfast I So the party ate and drank, and laughed and talked, and the conversation turned upon the scandal of the court and the characters of the courtiers, and that prolific theme, the enormities and vagar- ies of wild Lord Goring. “ A good soldier l” said Sir Giles, pledging “and never loses You were there ‘2" The comet acquiesced in a modest affirm- ative, glad that Mary should know he had been present at that engagement,whilst Grace looked more interested in her new friend than ever. “ Rush in council,” observed Lord Vaux, still thinking of his morning's work ; "and totally unreasonable in his expectations and requirements.” “ A weak assailant,” laughed Mary; "be scaled a convent u; Bruges, and was repulsed with a broken leg, which gives him that limp you all think so charming. He should confine himself to cavalry operations. forlorn hope against nuns’ veils and stone walls." It is indeed a “Iliave heard him boast he never was foiled yet by man or woman,” said Falkland, abscntly fixing his dark eyes on Mary’s coun~ tenancc. She blushed allover her face and neck, seemed as if she would have spoken, then turned white and held her tongue; the while Sir Giles proposed a bumper to his old com- mander, gay George Goring. CHAPTER V. DRIDLED AND SADDLED . \Ve once heard a remark drop from a pair "In all cases of attach- “depend saddled” has \Vlio Who would And yet perhaps there may come a Woe to the “booted and spurred” one When the kindly face will be seen never again but in our dreamsâ€"when the fond heart we have wrung so often is at peace an wearied with the strife, subdued in the defeat, than to pluck them for a rembraiice which shall pass away indeed, but shall leave a blank more unendurable than the pain from which we prayed so fervently to be delivered. A pair are walking on the terrace at Brough- ton in the golden flush of a fine September morning ; one is “bridlcd and saddled,” the other “booted and spurred.” Mary Cave, we need hardly observe, was a lady of no undcviating habits, no precise ob- server of times and seasons. Some days she would idle away the whole morning in bed, reading her letters, stitching at her em. broidcry, and wasting her time; on other occasions she would bustle up with the lark â€"and when Mary was busy, no one in the house, not even studious Lord Vaux himself, could be suffered to remain quiet. On the morning in question she was un- usually wakeful, and this is the more unac- countable inasmuch as her sleep had been fitful and broken the whole night through, disturbed with dreams, and liarrassed w1tli incongruous thoughts and fancies. Was she ovei‘fatigued, poor Mary ! with her day’: hawking, and the rapidity of Bayard’s bound- ing movements; or was it that hard-fought game of chess played on till nearly midnight in the withdrmving-room, with many a false move, and many a smothered sigh? \Vliy will that image never leave her brain ‘2 The studious brow bent over the shining pieces, the slender hand clenched on the board’s edge, the long sheathed rapier meeting the point of its shadow on the polished oak floor, and the weary, weary look on that face when its eyes were raised to has in the intricacies of the game. \Vhy was he so weary ? \Vhat wasthc secret reason of this overpowering melancholy, so different from the character~ istic jollity of Sir Giles and the other Cava- liers '3 Could she ever pcncl rate it? Could she ever find her way deep, (hep into that great, proud, inscrutable heart? Had she already done so? A thrill, keen enough to be painful, shot through her at the thought. Up and dressed, she walked to her window and looked out at the fair, calm.joyous morn- ing, so full of hope and peace and happiness, so at variance with her own torn, restless, wayward mind. The sun was even now a band’s-breadth above the horizon; his light satins, and what not; eating and drinking of the best, and the Kirg’s troops starving, and merry England going to the Puritans and the devil l" added Dymocke, who was in his IIJOlllfiCLl to a cer- tain extent by recollections of the ale afore- Hc was comb- ing out his long love-locks, and thinking how bright were the eyes and red the lips of the lady who had scarcely looked at him during their short ride. and wishing he had dragged intoxicated with the radiance of her BI-m q l l , on the opposite had already tinged the darktops of the cedars lai‘. with a purple glow. 1. Patches of the undulating park were gilded with his beams ; a skein of wild fowl, disturbed in their quick min 1 down anion :st the osicrs, were wing- ill" .r arrowy ght, clear and distinct, . hi. the pczii ,. grey of the morning sky, 3 flushing here and there info a faint pink tinge. The deer, rising to shake the dew- drops from their flanks, were still in dusky shadow, while the woodpigcou, cooing softly from the topmost branches of a fir-tree, trimmed her sleek plumage in a flood of light from the morning sun. The fragrance of a hundred roses, clustered round the base- ment of the old Manor House, stole in upon Mary, soothing her with associations and memories of the past. What are all the chronicles of history, all the diaries of the most inveterate journalists, to the vivid reality that a simple strain of music, the scent of the commonest wildflower, can con- jure up at a moment’s notice ? Beneath her the smooth bowling-green, that necessary adjunct to every country-house in the olden time, stretched its sliavcn surface, innocent even of a daisy to mar its level uniformity, while bread terraces, with here and there a rough stone vase, and here and there a stand- ard rose-tree, carried the eye onward into the forest beauties, and wild irregularity of the thickly wooded park. A spare slight figure was already travers- ing these terraces, pacing to and fro with swift determined strides, buried deep in thought, and plucking ever and anon a blos- som or a leaf, which he crumpled nervously in his hand, and cast aside. Mary was this morning seized with an earnest desire to tend her roses. She stepped out upon the terrace, her white robe falling in graceful folds about her shapely figure, her brown hair waving in the breeze, her rich ripe beauty glowing in the sun, her proud head thrown back with an air of enforced in- difference, her whole gait and bearing stately and majestic as a queen. Yet she trembled as she approached that plain unpretending man ; and her voice shook audiny as she bid liiin “goodvmorrow,” and interrupted his solitary musings. “ You are early,my lord,” said Mary ; “and equipped, I see, for a journey. Must we, then, lose our guest so soon? It is not Lord Vaux’s custom to suffer his friends to depart after one night’s lodging ; and you will scarce get leave from any of us to bid farewell at such short notice.” Falkland vas courtesy itself, and the gravest of mankind has no objection to his meditations being disturbed by a pretty woman at any hour of the day or night, so he smiled as he replied : “ It would need no second bidding for a tired and unwilling soldier to remain in such pleasant quarters, and least of all from you, Mistress Mary, staunchest of loyalists, and kindest and oldest of friends.” Mary colored with pleasure, and her eyes shone and moistened while he spoke; her every nerve thrilled to the tones of that harsh impressive voice. “One more day," she said; ~‘ we will only plead for one more day. There is still much to be done. I have a long correspondence to Show you. There are traitors even about the Queen ; and we must play another game at chess l You know I never could bear to be beaten. I must have my revenge." How soft and tender was her voice, how irrcsolute her gestures, how different her manner from that assured self-possessed air with which she addressed every one else in in the worldl He could not see it; he noticed no change ;hc was not thinking about chess ; his was the great game played on the squares that were slippery with blood. “ It must not be, gentle Mistress Mary,” he replied. “ These are days in which we must all of us put our shoulders to the wheel. Alasl it need not have been so once. You know, none better, how the ruler of the ship has failed to shift his ballast, and to trim his sails. He saw the course'hc felt it was his duty to steer, and he scorned to turn aside for shoal crquicksand. Yetlcannot but revere the man, be he monarch or subject, who will sacrifice his all to a principle. The die is cast now, Mistress Mary; it is too late to look back. We must throw the belvc after tllll hatchet,and stand or fall together. one and all.’ [To in: CONTINUEDJ â€"â€"â€".â€"â€"â€"-.â€"â€" NE‘V l§Alhl£0AD LINE (From the Chicago Tribune, Sept. 6.) It is understood that an agreement was made yesterday between the Grand Trunk Railway Company and Mr. Vanderbilt for the purchase by the former of the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad, the “ missing link ” between Flint and Lansing, which Mr. Vanderbilt Obtained possession of some time ago, and which he now sells to the Grand Trunk. The contract has not yet been re- duced to writing in legal phraseology, but its terms are absolutely settled, and the formal transfer will take place certainly within a. fortnight. The terms of the sale have not yet been divulged. This action will render the building of a line from Flint to Lansing by the Grand Trunk superfluous, and the bids that have been made in pursuance to an advertisement will not be considered. As soon as the link from Valapaâ€" raise to Thornton is completed, which will be on the let of November, the Grand Trunk will be liable to run through trains from Portland, Me., and Buffalo to Chicago over a continuous line of its own. Ne arrangements have yet been made to bring the Grand Trunk into the city from Twenty- sixth street, the present terminus of the Northwestern Branch Grand Trunk Railway (Chicago 85 State Line), but it is almost cer- tain that it will come in over the Chicago and Western Indiana, if the latter secures the right of way from the Council. Should this road not be ready by the time the Grand Trunk is completed, the latter will probably come in over one of the already constructed roads, most likely the Illinois Central, which has signified its willingness to make an ar. rangcment with this company. It is now settled beyond a doubt that the Grand Trunk will run regular trains into this city before Jan. 1. 1880. +~vfi (‘URES 0F I’IIYBICIIL IDISEAHE. The American young lady who behaved that she had got a bristle of a. tooth-brush fixed in her throat got worse and worse, though there was no bristle there, till she was persuaded by her doctor’s ruse that he had extracted it, after which she recovered as rapidly. On the other hand there are very well attested cases, though none is quoted by the writer, in which merc fright, directed to the expected suffering of a diseased part, has caused a powerful but salutary revolution in the condition of the diseased organ. Dr. Carpenterâ€"if we mistake notâ€"in his “Mental Physiology,” gives a case of the com- plete absorption of some very dangerous tumor in a few hours, under the influence of mere terror at the prospect of the pain of the surgical operationâ€"it was before the days of chloroformâ€"whichhad been determined on to remove it. Here was a case where attention â€"-and attention of no hopeful kinda produced the very opposite effect to that which, in the American young lady’s case attention of the despondent kind had producedâ€"tho very same effect, indeed, which a remission of at- tention, when accompanied by the hope of cure, had in that case produced. ___...___.______.. â€"Tradition insists that corsets “acre first invented by a brutal butcher of the tin. ., with century as a. punishment for his wife. Lilo was very loquacious, and, finding that noth- ing would cure her, he put a pair of stays on her, in order to take away her breath, and so prevent her, as he thought, from talking. This cruel punishment was inflicted by other heartless husbands, till at last there was scarcely a wife in all London who was not “RENTAL ' condemned to the like affliction. The punish- ment became so universal at last that the ladies in their own defence, made ll fashion of it, and thus it has continued.