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‘Theve must be no reserve ; we must cast all into the treasury, and hold back nothing. jtjgjfimall thing Hmt I give my life ; there is more. than life to be sacrificed â€"â€" happiness and home and all the holiest afiections of a man. “I leave my duties," he spoke musineg and dreamin now ; “I leave my childrenâ€"I leave my dear fond wife ” Hcr eym sparkled, through her cheek palcd. itxms sweet to be thus assouinted with him,110 matter what the purpose, no mattm‘ what the result. She would stand oriall, wommxlike, with her party, at all 11;mzlrds;that means, she would follow Falkland, right or wrong. She said as much, and he went on, more as it. sec-med 0 him- self than to her :â€" ‘Yes we must stand or [all now. The last appeal, which I would cheerfully have laid my head on the blouk to avoid. has been rc- sorted toY and by the decision of the God of battles we must now abide. War is surely excusable it it lead to peace. 0h, Peace ! Peace! I see her in my dreams, with her olivcrl-rlmch and her dovevlike eyes, and the skirt of her pure white robe dabbled with blood lrom the carnage through which she must pass. I stretch my arms to clnsp her round the knees, and implore her to remain, and she vanishes, and I weke~wake to what ? To see merry England devastated from sea to see, her quiet homesteads smok- ing‘ her lertilc valleys spoiled and trampled by the hoof of war. Widows and orphans ep- pealimz to my Sovereign and his advisers to restore them their lost protectors. Thank God for my countrymen I that the worst scenes of rapina and violence are spared itsâ€"that when the fight is over, men cannot at once forget that they come of the some stock, and speak the same language. But how long is this to last ‘! How long will it be ere some unavoid- able net of cruelty leads to reprisals, and all the horrors of ancient civil war are enacted over again ? ‘What will England be then Oh, that I for one may not live to see those times Eâ€"thet I may die like a. soldier under harness, and be spared u sufl'ering worse it thousand times than such a death l” HQLMBY HOUSE. “ But these calamities will be averted.” she exclaimed eagerly ; for her heart bid her believe tli-it Providence itself would inter- pose to save such a being as Falkland. “An- other victory or two, and the Parliament must succumb. Cannot Waller be cajoled ‘3 Is not Essex wavering ‘2 Have we not the wealth and the lands, and the old blood of England, all on our side ‘2 Are we not prepared, every one of us, to die if need be in the cause ‘2" And she would have died for it willingly then and thereâ€"she would have asked nothing better than to “seal her testimony," as her Puritan enemies would have termed it, “with her blood," but it must have been with her hand in Falkland’sâ€"with her eyes fixed on Falkland's face. Verily, a woman’s patriotism is influenced by other than the love of country. Never- theless, if not sincere politicians, they are un. failing partisans : and Mary was as staunch a. Cavalier as ever drew a sword. ‘And therefore it is that I must away to- gay before the sun is another hour higher up in the sky,’ said Falkland, with a rare smile that illuminated his plain features into actual beautyâ€"411st found its way straight to his companion’s heart. ‘If our fOI‘CJS should be engaged ; if the Parliament should be worsted, or we ourselves defeated ; in either case, Mistress Mary, you would not have me absent from my post i” ‘In either case,‘ she replied, w1t11 her voice trembling, her eyes deepening and mois- tening once more, ‘in either case, Lord Falkland, I would be the last woman on earth to bid you stay, Ay !â€"even if I had the Tight, the last. on earth, becauseâ€"I She hesitated, changed colour, and stoopo d to plck a rose, which she picked to pieces, unconscious What she did ; but she averted her looks from her companion. and seemed to count the tender pink petals as they fell noiselessly on the gravel path. Was he blind? was he totally ineensible .9 was the man marble, that hecofild proceed so calmly and unconsciously; “ Hold, my lord ‘." interrupted Mary, with anabruptness which, though it was lost on her companion, was none the less startling to herself, that her breath came quick and her heart seemed to Stop beatingâ€"“Hold! we have but little time before us ; let us attend to the business in hand. I have letters to show you here.” She drew a packet from her bosom as she spoke, one single missive detaching itself from the rest, and fluttering; unobserved to their feet. “ Letters from Jermyn ;letters from Walter Montague your old partner, my lord. in many a merry dance. There are traitors even in the court, there are traitors about the Queen. We want the clear head, and the true heart, and the ready hand. lead these, Lord Falkland, and tell us all what is to be done next.” He took the papers from her hand and per- used them attentively. Again the light from within seemed to break over his whole coun- tenance ; and he returned them to her, quiet. 1V remarking, with an inquiring look, “There still a link wanting in the chain, Mistress my. Have I seen them all ‘3” The fallen missive lay under the skirt of her robe. For an instant she hesitated, and moved so as completely to cover the spot where it lay, then stooped to pick it up. and blushing scarlet, placed it open in Lord Falk- land's hands. “ One more,” she said, “ from Lord Ger. ing ; here it is. He always writes so foolishly ; he is 90 wild and thoughtless. Do not think-I mean, you cannot sup- Her confusion overcame her completely. He did not seem to notice it. Ere he had perused a. dozen lines he gave it litulo start, and then his port became loiticr. his manner more courteous than ever, as he folded up the document and returned it to her, coldly observingâ€" “This letter is private, Mistress Mary ; and, pardon me for the remark, hxghly clmmcteris‘ tic of the writer. I was not aware you knew Lord Goring so well.” She could bear it no longer ; pride, reserve, prudence, decorumâ€":11] gave way before the force of that hopeless passionate love, sweeping in its headlong violence over every rational consideration, every Vearthly obstacle. ‘And you think I care for him i.” she sobbed ‘ out wildly ; ‘that profiigate, that adventurer â€"-that lieentious, bold. bad man. You think itâ€"that I care for him. Only say so ! -â€"-only let me hear it from your own lips. I, who have had but one idea] ever since I was a girl-â€"I, who have dared to worship the best, the noblest, the greatest of mankind.’ She had caught his hand while she spoke, covered it with kisses, and was pressing it almost fiercely against her own heart ; ‘I, who have loved the very ground you trod on for your sake ; I, who have been content to toil and scheme and suffer in the Cause, only to have a. share in your work, a claim to your notice. I, who have loved youâ€" yes, lmwl you, Falkland lâ€"and I tell you so now boldlv, for, come what may, I swear from hence- forth never to see your face againâ€"who have loved you for years fondly, madly, inithiully without hope of it return. And you think lightly of me at the last. 011 I what will be- ar e of me ; how shall I ever held up my ' ead again?‘ She burst into tears as she FDOliC. She clasped his hand with both of hers closer and closer to lwr heart, murmurng over it fond, broken, unintelligible words; then suddenly drawing her-elf up, looked him full in the face. “Falkland,” she said, “ from this hour we never meet again ; but for your sake I give myself wiolly and unresei‘vedly to the Gausefifor your sake I devote myself to it, body and soul ! She swept past him into the house with the stately bearing she .knew so well how to assume. The proud spirit bore her up the wide staircase and through the long passages to her own cham- ber. If she gave way when the door was locked. and she had to Wrestleit out unassist- ed with the one great fatality of her life, what is that to us ? “ Verin the heart knoweth its own bitterness.” We do not assert that from the corner of her window she did not watch ’him ride away on his eventful and fatal journey; but her oath was religiously kept from that hourY for on earth she never saw Lord Falklaud’s face again. And he paced once more up and down the terrace, and thought of the beautiful woman who had so unreservedly cast herself upon his generosity, and so frankly confessed to him her wild and hopeless love. Then he remembered :1 fond, faithful face at home; and n thrill of pain that throuin him as he reflected how he might never see that face again. “ Alas, alas I” he said, almost aloud. " it is even so ‘2 Is there no peace, no happi- ness on earth ‘2 Must there be nothing but conflict and sorrow, and envy and strife. in public as in private. Women’s hearts sore and breaking, men grappling at each other’s throats. Peace ! Peace ! must I look for thee in vain, save in another world ? Oh ! I am Weary of the timesâ€"God grant I may be out of the mere long I” They Were soon mounted for the journey, anda gallant Cavalcade they made. Lord Vsux himself, bareheaded. conducted his honored guest to the door. Grace Allonby pre- sented the stirrup-cup, at which good Sir Giles took at long and hearty pull. Habit is second nature after all ; and in those days men belted on their swords and thrust them- selves into their stout huff cents on the eve of an engagement with {LS few misgivings and as little ceremony as would precede a stag-hunt or a hawking match. Even Grace postponed her tears till after their departure, and accepted the ceremonious farewells of the Cavaliers, and admired the Cornet‘s sorrel horse, perhaps also the sorrel’s rider. as if her father were not bound oh a hazardous enterprise, and engaged in a sinking cause. Ah, we may prate as we Wlll of the prestige of success ; we may talk of the smile of prosperity, the favoring gale of fortune. It is pleasentest, no doubt, and easiest. too, to ride a winning race; but if we want to see. examples of unflinching en- durance, brilliant heroism, and superhuman devotion, we must look for them amongst the partisans of a sinking causeâ€"amongst the Bonapnrtists of 1814; amongst the Royalists of the Revolution ; amongst the adherents of weak, ehivulrous, misguided Prince Charlie, and amongst the loyal gentlemen who closed their ranks around his ill-fated ancestors, who grudged not to lavish their tremure and their blood in Support Of a. principle which their better sense told many of them, as it tohl Falkland, it was hopeless to attempt to establish. Cornet Bosville, however, was absent and preoccupied during all these courteous pre- parations for departure. To SirGiles’s pledge, which half emptied the stirrup cup, he gave but a cold return. To Lord Vaux’s hospitable cntreatiee that he would come back at .some future time, and improve an acquaintance so auspicionsly begun, he replied indeed in an eager ailirmetive, but left of? in the middle of his sentence, and looked about him with the air of a man who is expecting something or somebody thatjails to arrive, was won during: where the bright Vision of last night was hid? Why did she not appear to bid them farewell? Could she be watching them from the window of her chamber, and which was the happy window ? At least these roses were likely to become her peculiar cure. mid the Cornet plucked one from its stem and hid it away carefully in the breast of his buff coat. And Grace saw the movement, and Wondered why he did it? and blushed >llx‘ thoung of one or two possible “where-fares," and admired the sorrel more than ever. Cross purposes again. It is well we cannot look into one another’s hearts. ‘.Vould Grace have been pleased or mortified could those soft dark eyes of hers have pierced through the Cornet's huff coat, and point lace kerehief, and Flanders linen, to read the secrets hid beneath these de- fences? Would the young soldier himself have been gratified had he known which was really Mary Ceve‘s own chamber, and could he have looked through some four feet of stonework and seen with the eyes of the flesh that lady’s deep, wild, passxonatc disi- tress? \Vhy was he not up half an hour earlier, and in the garden, to overhear lur conversation with Falkland, and her last long farewell? Would it have altered the whole course of his after life, and nullified the vagaries which it is the author’s province to record ?â€"or is there no such thing as free will; and is the Comet like his fellows, but u well-dressed puppet in the hands of destiny? Sir Giles is right. after all. He attends to the business of the moment ; he returns to the stirrup-cup, which he finishes at e draught; he marshals his own and Lord Falkland‘s retainers in military order outside the court. “ God bless thee, Gracey ! Take care of ‘Dimnond,’ ’7 says the old man, in a broken whisper, and with tearful to his darling ; but his voice rings out manly and cheerful the next instant, as he addresses Lord Falkland â€"“Everything is prepared, my lord. There is no time to be lost; may I give the word to march ‘3” A trumpet sounds. A small pennon, with the royal arms upon it, is hoisted by an honest Englishâ€"looking yeomzm. Horses snort and trample; steel and stirrup-irons ring chem'ily; hats are waved and farewells exchanged once more, and the men ride off to fight and bleed, and the women remain to watch, and weep and pray. In the sheds and outbuildings of an old straggling farmhouse upon the outskirts of the quiet town of Newbnry, are quartered a squadron of Colopepper’s regiment of horse. Chargers are stamping, and snorting and munching the long yellow straw, of which they pull out and Waste at least as much as they consume. Strong, well-built yeoman- looking troopers are trumping about in their heavy boots, now in the dairy, now in the kitchen, jingling their spurs, cluttering their swords, grinning at their own broad jokes. and making them- selves very sufficiently at home. Buxom country losses, confused, yet not altogether displeased bytho number and fervency of their admirow, hustle here and there, with F ‘nrlot checks and laughing tones, and rustic rejoinoors to the rustic gallantrics of their guosta The good man of the house, one of those prudent intlividnals who aspire to run with the hare and hunt with the hOllndh, being a staunch king‘s man for tho nonce,ho- himself to draw his sirongwt ale and s , his fattest bacon fr tho refreshment of the troops. His noi nbor, n quarter of :l niilo Off yondwr, on 11. ; ipposite hill, has got Lord. Goring: for u lorlgcr and he blesses his stars to think what an orcnpe he has himself hall from buch a visitatioinund wonders whether neighbor Hodge has sent lll'bplctly daughters out of the way. Animitli or two {1:20 he had a visit of the same description from a few of \Vulkcr‘s godly cavalry, and lie reflects that notwithslmiding their rigid discipline. long faces, and pious ejaculations, the soldiers @f the Parliament were as eagcr to eat of the best and drink of the strongest as tho VOLXXU. BOOTED AND SPURRED CHAPTER VI noisy Cavaliers who are even now turning his house upside down. Nay, the exhortations and awakenings of the former were not con- fined exclusively to male converts ; and black- browed, red~elbowed Joan had administered such a slap on the face to a certain proselytizing corporal as sent him down on the dairy floor with the suddonuess and precision of a round.- shot. Verin the man of war, under what- soever banner he fights, is too apt to arrogate to himself the exclusive protection of beauty ; nor whatever might be the shortcomings and back-slidings of the Puritan party, could the Cavaliers be held entirely blameless on this score. Our acquaintance Dymocke, grave and ill- favored as is his long weatherbeateu visage, scored with the lines of more than forty years, has yet a dry confident way with him that Works wonders with the female sex. Let the daughters of Eve say what they will; there is no man in whom they take such an interest. as a confirmed, sarcastic old bachelor. He is a riddle to be road, a. rebel to be sub- jugntexl ; he begins by provoking, goes on to interest, and ends perhaps by tyrannizing over them most effectually. Joan's proselytizing admirer, notwithstand- ing his cropped hair and hideous scarf, was a. likely well-lookng youth enough, yet she knocked him down without a moment’s hesi- tation when his blundishments became too personal ; but to judge by the expression of that determined young woman’spllysioguomy, such an Lurgument is the last to which she would at this moment resort, even should her colloquy with sly, experienced Hugh Dymocke terminate in as hazardous an en- tm'prise as that which discomfited the unlucky corporal. “ More eggs,” said Joan, returning from a Visit to the hen-roost, with flushed cheeks and an apronful of the spoils -, “ eggs and bacond on strong aleabetter fare than you and your master get at home, I warrant me, and better than you deserve, for all your smooth speeches and come~ove1nme ways. Get along with you, do !” Get along with you, do !” Tliclutter ejaculation was consequent upon a practical remark made by Dymocke, with his usuai gravity, but which led to no further result than a. continuance of the flirtation on the part of the lady. “Aye, it’s all mighty well," continued Joan, setting both arms akimbo, and looking boldly up at her companion; “ you tell me this, and you tell us that, and you think we‘re fools enough to believe every word you say. Why now, for all your impu; deuce yau durs’nt look me in the face, and tell me you haven’t got a sweetheart at home I" “ Sweethearts hero and sweethearts there, my bonnie lass,” was the courteous reply: ‘ it isn’t often such a face as yours comes across us, fighting and marching, and rid- ing and conquering from one end of England to the other. There’s my master and the Captain as hungry as hawks 1 let’s have the eggs and bacon frizzling on the kitchen fire this minute, and you’ll see, if I‘m alive this day week, and taken notice of maybe by the King. (God bless him!) what sort of a story I’ll have to tell you then. Soh, my lass, gently with the frying-pan. Therg’s & face for it wedding-favor !’ And with these ominous words t1»! old soldier chucked the aforesaid face under the chin, and bore ofi the smoking dish in triumph for the rcpast of the two officers in the parlor. The expression which this fluttering sug- gestion called into Dymocke’s face was a study in itself. Cornet Bosville sat and mused in the wide chimney-comer, careless of the noise and bustle in the yard, careless of his servant's ceaseless interruptions,csreless of the comrade who occupied the some chamber, and who also seemed deeply engaged with his own thoughts, careless even of his supper,that iiu~ portant event in the military day. He had ridden far and fast since sunrise; he had shared in Sir Giles Allonby’s careless jests, and the deep poetry of Felklaud’s converse.- tion ; had listened absently and with equal hick of interest to both. He lied reported him- sell’ to Colepepper, and heeen complimented on his diligencwmd favoredwith the welcome news that an engagement was hourly immi- nent. His heart did not stir as it used to do at the intelligence. He had inspected his troop with military care and precision, no." neglected to see the good sorâ€" rel horse well fed and littered down ; and now that the duties and fatigues of the day were over, he sat in the chimney-corner and drew lines on the sanded floor with his sheathed sword, as if there were no other in- terest or occupation in life. Humphrey Bosville had insensiny passed the line of demarcation which separates light-hearted youth, with its bright anticipa- tions and merry thoughtlessness from ardent. reflective manhood, with its deep, absorbing passions, its strong ambition. the vague aspirations, the many cares and anxieties that wait upon a beard. Hitherto life had been to him a thing exclusively of the future, now there was a past on which to dwell and ponder. He had already learned to look back. Alas, that sooner or later the lesson never fails to arrive I that the time must come when we are too surely convinced by experience that the golden distance before us is but a mirage end a delusion ; that for all our discontent and unworthiness while it smiled, we have had our share of happiness here ; and that, like Lot’swife we cannot for- bear to turn round and gaze, yet, once upon the city We are leaving for evermore. So we turn und look, and it strikes a chill upon our hearts to think, that if we were never really contented there, how shall we be happy in the wide lonely desert stretching far away before us to meet the wide lonely sky? Bosville’s had been no uneventful life, yet hitherto he had borne his part in its stirring scenes and stormy vicissitudes with the frank carelessness of a boy at play. From his earliest youth he had been of a gentle chival- rous nature, which accorded well with his personal good looks and attractive physiog- nomy. As his exterior was fair and well-pro- portioned, adapted for proficiency in all sports and exercises, so was his disposition open, ardent and imaginative, prone to throw itself enthusiastically into the present, but lacking foresight to provide for the future, or reflecâ€" tion to deduce counsel from the past. He would have been a gallant knight in the olden times of chivalry, true to his God and his lady love, over ready to strike for the cause which he espoused, anzi nothing loth to oppose his single body against a host, if by sueii an act. of selfidevotion he could gain honor and renown ; but he never would have been capable of assuming a leader’s part in a gr :at enterprise. He might have charged alongside of Richard erur do Lion, but he never would have made a counsellor for Godfrey do Bouillon. Such a nature in the times in which he lived was sure to embrace the profession that in the seventeenth century as in the nineteenth was esteemed tho worthiost of gentle blood. As a matter of course he injured his patri- mony, rufflng it amongst the gallants at court ; equally as a matter of course he girde his father’s sword upon his thigh and took service in the low countriesâ€"that happy land, of which it seems to have been for centuries the privilege to afford an arena for other European nations to fight out their quarrels at their leisure. At the siege of a small town in Flanders the company of musketeers to which he was attached had fired a, few detached cottages, from which they had dislodged a superior RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, SEPT. 25, 1879, force of the enemy. A poor little child had been left behind, overlooked in the flight of the inhabitants, and was found helpless and crying amongst the ruins of what had at once been its home. The child’s mother, regard- less of the danger to which she was exposed, was seen frantically waving her arms to her lost darling, and was only prevented from rushing to its rescue and her own death by a couple of stout soldiers who held her back by force. The ground between the hostile parties was swept by a withering cross-fire ; Hum- phrey Bosville seixed the child in his arms, and an old halbcrdier who was near him avowed that the infant ceased crying at once when soothed by that kind face and gentle voice. Coelly, steadily, as if on parade. with measured step and slow. the young offi- cer, covering the infant with his body. paced that deadly interval till he reached the ranks of the enemy, placed the babe in its mother’s arms, first kissing the child’s wet cheek, and then, with a courteous how, the hand of the grateful woman. At the same pace, with the some bearing, he rejoined his own men, un- scathed and unmolested. The enemy did. not even strive to take him prisoner, but the soldiers who saw the deed, friends and foes, gave him a cheer that rose above the rattle of muskety and the thunder of great guns. The action was characteristic of the man. He was brave, generous, and devoted, but there was too much woman in his heart. Such a nature is made to be imposed upon, to be the tool and the cat‘s-paw of longer heads and less sensitive feelings; above all, to be made a fool of by that sex which is proverbially ad- dicted to " ride the willing horse too hard." His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Dymocke bearing the repast which it had cost him such an expenditure of gallantry to obtain, and which he now placed upon the table between the two officers with an expression of fatherly care and satisfaction on his lean long visage which seemed to say as plainly as words themselves, “What would become of my musterâ€"what would become of his friendsâ€"of Colepper’s brigadeâ€"of the armyâ€"of the King himselfâ€"- without the experience and forethought of sage Hugh Dymocke ‘3" Breaking from a profound fit of abstraction, and drawing his chair to the table, Bosville’s comrade proceeded to attack Joan’s triumph of culinary skill with all the energy of a prac- tical campaigner. Nor did the Cornet him- self, however engrossing may have been the subject of his previous meditations, seem to have lost the appetite which seldom forsakes a soldier living. as the cavaliers too often did, at free quarters. \Vhile the eggs and bacon are rapidly disappearing under the combined tritumtion of two very handsome sets of White serviceable teeth, and the large brown jug of strong ale is visibly approaching the ebb, we must take leave to introduce to our readers a gentleman of good birth and station, bearing the name of George Eifingham, and holdâ€" ing rank as a Captain of Horse in the Royal army. Cool, brave and resolute, Effingham had donegood service on more than one occasion. when the general laxity of discipline and mulâ€" tiplicity ol' commanders were creating disorder in the ranks of the Cavaliers. He possess- 11 the rare faculty of retaining his pre- sence of mind and imperturht‘bir 7 of de- meanor when all n wvere eager, 1excited and confused. Nor did per- sonal responsibility seem to effect his nerves one Whit more than imminent danger. Such qualities are invaluable to an oflicer,aud (Jolepepper’s favorite captain might have become one of the most distinguished com- manders in the Royal army. But Eifingnam’s heart was never thoroughly in the cause. Essentially an enthusiast, one of that class Whom persecution too surely develops into fmiatics, he was continually reasoning in his own mind on the justice of the quarrel in which he has engaged. V» His tendency to fatalism bade him argue that the constant reverses sustained by the Royal troops were so many additional proofs that they were warring against the will of Heaven ; and the same misfortunes which endeared the cause all the mom to Bosville's gefiorous nature, shocked Efiingham’s fidelity, anddestroyed his confidence in its justice. His early life had been spent in study for the law, a profession for which his acute pen- etrating intellect seemed especially to fit him ; but a physiognomist would have de- tected in the glitter of his dark deep-set eyes somewhat more of wild imaginative powers than is essential to the drawing of deeds or engrossing of pm‘chments, whilst the firm stung jaw, the well set-0n head, and bold bearing were more in character with the bufi coat than thejudge’s gown-â€"wlth the tramp of horses, the ringing of shots, and the wild alarming of a skirmish, than the hushed murmurs of a court or the somnolcnt dignity af the bench: He is very dark, almost swarthy, with few tures of classical regularity, and a, stern,fierce expression on his countenance, as of one whom no consideration would turn aside from the path which he had once resolved to follow. A child looking into that set dark face would burst out crying; his frame is large, square, and powerful, his very hand, white and wellâ€"shaped though it is, shows a giant’s energy and a giant’s grasp. Perhaps of all his comrades he likes Humphrey Bos- ville the best. Their characters are so antsg. oniatic. \Vith the exception of personal courage, they have not one quality in corn- mon. Their ideas are so different ; there is such trusting kindliness about the one, such harsh defiance in the other, that they cannot but be friends. Woe to the man. though, that crosses George Effiingham‘s path ; friend or foe, brother by blood or brother in arms, down he must go, without hesitation and without remorse ! He would not turn aside a. lmnd‘s breadth to avoid trampling down it wounded man in the battle ; he would not swerve an inch from his purpose to spare the mother that bore him in the career of life. ‘So Essex is marching parallel with our main body,’ said the Comet, setting down the ale-jug with a. deep sigh after a. hearty pull at its contents. ‘Now is the time to bring him to an action, and come down with our cav- alry upon his flank. Byron has brought his horse up fresh and ready for work. Our own brigade has rested for thirtyâ€"six hours, and will come out to-morrow like young eagles. The enemy must be weary and liamsb-ed ; now or never is our opportunity. \Vo shall not get such another chance of winning lau. rols in a, hurry. Zounds, Elfingham, wa ought to gather them by handsful this time !’ ‘ And we shall lose it,’ was the reply ; ‘lose it. as we have lost every opportunlty of ten» minating the struggle at a stroke; lose it, and hold up our hands and bless ouraelves, and call a council of war, and say, “Who’d have thought it ‘3". Humphrey, Providence is against; us ; we are fighting with invis- ible foesâ€"with carelessness. Lupinenesa, im- momllty ; we are “kicking against the pricks." Laurelsiorsooth ‘. what we lmu‘els after all ? â€"wceds, rubbish, refuse, dear to the una- wakened heart 1 And you, young one, what have you to do with laurels ‘3 I never heard you tall; so Defol'e.’ IE was true enough. The spark of ambi- tion ha , indeed, lain dormant hitherto in Bosviiiu’s breast. His daily pay (when he could get it), his highly quarters, his troop, his duty, his horses. and his arms, had till now been all sufficient for his wants and in- terests; this craving after laurels was something new and morbidâ€"a, fancy from “ You have found somebody to give them to," continued he, laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder, and looking kindly into his face. “ Poor boy, poor boy ! I thought you were safe, all alike in the Royal armyâ€"all fools together, Humphrey. Listen lad. I dreamed n, dream last night. I pray that my dream come not over true ! I dreamed that we broke VValter’s column, and were put- ing them man by man to the sword, when my horse fell, the old black horse, and the charge swept over me, and I rose to my feet light and unencumbered in an instant, and there luv George Efliingham on his back amongst the hoof-prints, with his black-muz- zled face deadly pale, and his sword in his hand, and his heavy horseman’s boots on, and a small round spot on his forehead, as dead as Julius Caesar. and I stood by him and cared not that he had ever belonged to without, so thought Effiinghamâ€"not an im- pulsgifrorru Within. He safidfis much. me. Then a. headless figure in a courtier’s dress, with a courtier’s rapier and ruffles and bravery, came and placed its thin white hand in mine, and a voice asked me tidings of the wife and children it had left, and the cause it had too warmly espoused, and the master who had betrayed it, and I answered it as I would answer you, “Widows and orphans; a failing cause, and a. doomed King.” Then we were in London, for I could not release myself from the grasp of that thin white hand, and perforce followed where it led, and we paused at the Tower Stairs, and the river was running red with blood, so we took boat and ascended to Whitehall, and the river was red with blood there too, and the thin white hand grasped mine so painiully that I woke. Read my dream, Humphrey Bosville ; ex- pound tome my vision, and I will confess that there is wit even below the buff coat and embroidered belt of an oilicer of the Royal army.’ “ I can read no dreams,” answered Hum- phrey, his face kindling ; “but come what may, if all the rivers in broad England must run red with the blood of the cavaliers, if I alone am left and they lead me out to the slaughter, as long as thev don’t bind my handal will fling my lnt m the air before every (muting Roundhcad of them all, and shout with my last gasp, ‘God and the King.’ ” Amelancholy, pitying smile stole slowly over Eflingham’s countenance. A kindly glance, painfully at variance with his stern, harsh expression, shone out from his deep eyes. Again he laid his hand upon Bosville’s shoulder, and leading him to the open winâ€" dow, bade him look forth and listen. The night was already dark, save for the glimmer of a few stars faintly twmkling in the solemn sky. All nature was hushed in peace and repose, but from Goring’s head- quarters on the opposite hill the night breeze bore the sounds of wassuil and revelry, the stamping of feet, the jingling of vessels; all the riotous sounds of an orgie, with a loyal chorus shouted out at intervals in no inhar- monious tones. ‘ ” And these are the men,” said George Effingham, “with whom we are content to cast in our lotâ€"with whom you and I must perforce be content to triumph, and content to die!” “ Hold. Goring I Twenty gold piecesâ€"â€" fifty, if you will ! ‘tis an even main and chance. I set the caster l” The speaker was a boy of some eighteen summers, tall and graceful, beautiful as Absalom, mid, in his present frame of mind, reckless as Lucifer ; his eyes shining, {ml his face pulc with wine, his long; silken love- locks floating disordered over his point-lace collar and embroidered doublet. his belts and apparel all awry, a goblet of canary in his h-Imd. and on his face the Wild joyous gleam om spirit that has never known misfortune or reverse. Goring smiled pleasantlyâ€"win- hing or losing he could always smile pleasantly â€"could betray a woman or run nmau through the body With the same good-humored exâ€" pression on his handsome, dissolute face. “ ‘Slife, Frank,” said he : “you’ve the devil’s luck and your own too. We can’t hold our way with the young ones, can we, Sir Giles? Nevertheless, fifty. my buy, if you will; just to oblige you this once.” In 3. hand white and soft as a lady's, he shook the box aloft, and the imprisoned cubes leaped out to mulct the young rouc of fifty gold pieces for the benefit of the old one. The boy laughed, and drained his glass to the dregs. What cared he for fifty gold pieces, with the inheritance before himâ€"tho golden inheritance of hope, that seems so in» exhaustible at eighteen ? “ Once more !” he shouted. flinging a heavy purse upon the table ; “one more set, Goring, and then for another smoking bowl, and un- other roaring chorus that shall rouse the crop-earcd knaves in.tl1eir leaguer out you- der on the hill ; and bring them down by day- break on the nest of hornets we have got ready for them at Newbury." “Softly, my lad,” interrupted Sir Giles Allonby, laying his heavy hand on the purse, which Goring seemed to look at already as his own, “you’ve had gambling and drink enough for one night; you’ll have a bellyful of fighting to-morrow,or I‘m mistaken. Taka an old soldier’s advice; turn in with your boots on, all ready for the Tave'illcc. Get a few hours‘ sleep, and so be up and alive to- morrow morning at daybreak. I was young myself once, lad, but I never could keep the bowl trundling all the game through as you do; I never could burn the candle at both ends, and ride all day with \Vilmot, to rest. myself by drink- ing all night with Goring.” “ Trust him to be sung and sober at this very minute,” said the latter worthy, between whom and Wihnot, rivals in ambition, dis- sipation, gallantry and war. were was a smothered grudge of many years' standing. “Wilmoi’s fighting. and drinking. and love- making. must all be done by the: square. Why, he never could fly a hawk in the mornâ€" ing if he had heard the chimes ring; never so softly over night.” “ Give the devil his due, Goring," observed Colepepper, a grim old. olficer, with a scar on his cheek that lent a sardonic expression to his whole countenance, and an inexhaustible power of absorption, such as the handsome laid at his elbow had got drunk in trying to emulate. “I’ve seen him fight as well as here and there one. You haven’t forgotten Roundway Down ; and as for drinkingoZWheu Wilmot really turns his attention to drinking, he is a better man by two bottles of sack than any one berg: as this table.” _ " Granted,” said Goring. in perfect good. humor, and still fingering the dice-box, as if loth to lose the chance of another cast. “All I maintain is, he can‘t do both. Give him two days of leisure to sleep it off and he’ll empty a hogshead ; put him. in a corner where he can’t run away, and he’ll fight like a. devil incarnate.” “Run away is a debatable expression. my lord,” said one of the guests w1t11 a grave tune, that at Ollce silenced the clamor and attracted the attention of the rest of the party. “The phrase, as applied to my friend, smacks somewhat of offence. I take leave to ask your lordship what you mean.” “ I mean what I say,” answered Goring, still assuming his pleasant smile, though it deepened and hardened somewhat about the lines of the mouth. “I always mean what I say, and say what I mean.” TEE REVILLERS IIAI-‘TEI’. VII Goring was one of those gentlemen who opine that there is no dishonor so long as the sword is ready to maintain that which the lips have spoken. and that a slander or n, falsehood can only afloat the character of the man who utters it when he is not prepared to vindicate It by shedding of blood. it is an ignoble creed, truly, and an unchristiun-like, yet on its basis are founded many of those sentiments which we so falsely term the essence of chivalry. Goring was the most placable of men when nothing was 1:9 be gained by animosity. He stretched his hand to Byron-â€"“ I said he‘d fight like a devil, Byron, and I meant it, when he can’t run away, surrounded, as he takes care to be, by a guard of honor of ‘Byron’s Blacks ?’ Faith I doubt if your fellows have ever been taught how to go to the rear.” “ Enough said, my lord," answered Byron completely apponscd by the compliment, and wringing Goring’s hand with ahem‘ty squeeze Whilst the handsome face hereditary in his family shone with 3. expression of gratified vanity. “The Blacks are ready for work at any time ; another bowl to our ‘next merry meeting with the Roundhoads.’ What say ye, gentlemenâ€"we haven’t drunk the King’s health yet ‘2" 5u:pcuuuu..ywu \vuv v.1.“ nuvll “A... uv.,wu in- his 139.1399} whose)flet. sistency was so often impugned, yet who never failed to carry out any measure “ Hold, gentlemen,” said Sir Giles, “reâ€" member our compact when we sat down. Goring only means that Wilmot is a practised tactician. You think so yourself, my Lord Byron ; is it not so?” “ Another bowl, by all means,” shouted the young Cavalier, already halfisobered at the prospect of more revelry ; " and Byron shall superintend the making of it, and we’ll have our host’s pretty daughters in to dance :1 measure, and one of the Black trumpeters to play us a couranto. Hurrah I“ Lord Francis was indeed burning the candle {it both ends, and seemed as determined to make the most of his life as though he could have foreseen how short would be its term ; as though he could have looked into the fu- ture scarce one brief lustre, and beheld a, dis- mounted nobleman selling his life dearly at Kingstonupon-Thames, brought to boy by some dozen Roundhead troopers, with his back against a tree, striking fiercely and manfully at; them all, scoutng the bare notion of surrender ; dying gallanily. hope- lessly, and devotedly for the King; a true Villiei‘s, “prodigal of his person” to the last. “ The pretty daughters are gone to be( ,” said Goring, Whom the immediate prospect of an engagement with the enemy had placed in an unusually amiable frame of mind, and whom aresidenee of twanty~four hours in the farm had made completely familiar with the intricacies of the establishment and the habits of the inmates. "It is hardly worth while to disturb their beauty-sleep for such a perform- ance as you propose. Let us fling a couple more mains, Frank. while the bowl is getting ready. You ought to have your revenge.” Lord Francis srimd the dice-box, nothing 10th, and while the two are occupied in the strangely-fascinating alternations ofhope and fear which render gambling so attractive a pastime, it is wm :51 while to examine the per. son and attribunes of that distinguished officer of Whom so many siories were afloat ; whose devotion to the King was more: than suspected. yet who did such {gm/d service on which he had thoroughly determined; whose general life and habits were esteemed so profligate, and yet who commanded the confidence of his masterâ€"a royal example of propriety â€"-and the obedience of his officers, of whom perhaps it would be unjust to make the same assertion. A man, in short, whose every quality, good or had, had been called in question, save his courage, and a greater part of whose life had been devoted to establishing the converse of the proposition which states that “faint heart never won fair lady ;” al- though, in justice to Mary Cave, we think it right to insist that, much as she may have appreciated his admiration, and freely as she returned him compliment for compliment, and gallantry for gallantry, she had never for an instant bowed her haughty head or turned her wilful heart towards wild George Goring. As he site now, the gayest of thatgay party, the stanchest reveller amongst all those barel- flgliting, hard drinking Cavaliers, thirstier than old Colepepper, more thoughtless than young Lord Francis Villiers, who would sup- pose that handsome well-combed head to con- tain a mess of intrigues and state secrets of which the simplest and least guilty might bring it ineontinently to the block? XVho would believe that kindly smile to mask a nature that never knew pity or remorse ; that never had the generosity to forgive an injury, nor to forego an advantage ; that never spared a woman who trusted it, nor a man who crossed its path? Already verging on middle age, he looks bright and fresh and debomiir as the youth whose money he is rap- idly winning with that easy smile. It re- , quires a keen observer to detect in the little1 wrinkles about the eyes, the deep hard lines around the mouth, years spent in dissipation and indulgence, years of reckless prefligaey and fierce excitement and bold defiant crime. He is beautiful still, in all the prime of man’s beauty, with his noble head and his white smooth brow, and his soft eyes. and the long curls of dark silken hair tiiat fall like a woman’s round his oval face. He is beautiful in his manly, Vigorous figure, on which his rich uniform sits so imminingly, which is formed alike for strength, activity, and grace, despite the liinp habitual to its gaitfla limp which, as some of his fair admirers think, does but add to the distinguished ease of his bearing, and the origin of which is a mystery whrreof a thousand rumors are afloat. He is beautiful still, but it is the beauty of the tiger or the panther ; the outward beauty that strikes upon the eye and commands the ad- miration of the vulgar, that seldom wins a heart worth the winning, and if it does, too surely breaks it, and flings it scornfully away. There he sits, keenlyintent upon the game, 1 yet noting every jest that passes. joining in i every laugh that rises amongst his guestsy sipping his wine at intervals, and bowing eourteously to the young nobleman whose gold he wins with such graceful ease. Goring is the Mentor to whom has been entrusted this young Teleniaehus, and these are the Circean droughts of pleasure in which he would initiate his mother’s son, were it to conduce in the remotest degree to his own advantage. He is playing the great stake himself; he has a high command, a proud position. Any day may make or mar him, may raise him to the pinnacle of ambition, or leave his saddle empty, and his title gone to the next-of-kin. Has he not enough to risk ? enough to interest him? (Jan he not leave untouched that half-fledged rufiler of the game ‘2 No! there are a few broad pieces still left at the bottom of the purse, and he must have them all I “ One more glass of canary,” says the tempbcr, filling his antagonist a. bumper wifih his own whim hand. “One more main. Frank, my 121d, just to give you {L chance; ‘ nd then for the {rush how] 01' punch, boys, and a rousing health to t1 0 King! \Vno knows where we shall be 67 1:; time to-morâ€" row i)“ The 93.13»; was emptied. The main was ulled and flung ; the nurse was emptied; and Goring, with :1. careless smile swept the young man’s lust Jacobus item the board. He was quite cool and sober; he had no excite- ment in the game, felt no devil roused in WHOLE N0.1,10~1â€"-NO, 16; M Teefy God help us all ! And yet this man was once a laughing, frankimarted childâ€"ones clasped his little hands and said his prayers at his mother’s knee ! The scene was worthy of the actors. A long low room, with a stone floor, and a Wide chimney, in which sparkled and smouldered the embers of a wood fire, a few' rough deal forms, over Winch the heavily-booted Cava- liers straddled and lounng in every variety of attitude; a wide, high-backed, carvedâ€"oak chair, the farmer’s especial throne, in which was established the giver of the feast ; a coarse rickety table, on which cluttered and jingled every description of drinking-vessel, from the deep stone jugs and black jacks 0f the farm itself, to the tall gilt goblets and massive silver flagons, richly chased and burnished, which formed the moveable canteen, perhaps the spoils of the Royal officers, and which had as yet escaped the melting~pot, sooner or later the destiny of such convertible valuables. All this seen throth clouds of tobacco-smoke. for the Virginian weed was even then in universal use, although it must he confessed but as the handmaid of debauchery, Whereas now she is now the domestic companion and consoler of many an honest man‘s hearth. Amidst her floating vapors could be discerned the graceful figures of the Cavaliers, manly and soldier- liko, wearingmne and all, the nameless stamp of highâ€"hirth and refinement of manners conspicuous even in the licence of a camp and the freedom of a drinkingâ€"bout. Here sat chivalrous Byron, with a calm contented smile smoothing his wellâ€"cut features, some- what flushed with wine. His thoughts were of the pleasnntestâ€"of his stanch,well-mountw ed troopei‘sâ€"â€"of his new peerage,so lately won by the swordâ€"of the dream of ambition open- ing so auspiciously on the daring soldier and devoted loyalist. There reclined old Cole- pepper, with his scarred cheek and grim war- worn face, his elbows resting on the table, his spurs jingling against each other as he mused on cavalry tactics and supplies of food and forage, and the re- mounts preparing in Yorkshire and the horse-breeding countries for his brigadeâ€" dry topics, which he took care to moisten with repeated applications to the goblet at his hand. him by the dehaueh. He was simply in his natural element, in the atmosphere of vice which was most suitable to his temperament and Ins umstitnfinn. To rob a friend of his money, tn enjoin him of his mistress, t0 fimssu 1mm out \ 1‘ his life should he presume Lu muiw nhjvct‘m-m fisuch were merely ‘the undrmux' ué' HmirU.‘ ‘the ways of the world ;’ L212 y wimd mm mm Goring admirably~the t!;)1!}«5\\i‘LS adaptml 1‘.» his stylv of play, and he gmcmfly l'osu :1, winner. What could be better? He would be the last to wish the Lrnmu was ml gum'mlly 1'0 better ‘3 He rules altered There was Sutherland, the young and gen- tle volunteer. attached as aide-de~camp to the King himself, and who, coming to Goring with despatches, had been prevailed upon to remain and partake of his hospitality. There was Carnarvon, the jovial kindly ~ hearted gentlemen, the ornament and delight of the Court, the finest horseman. the best hawker, the keenest sportsman of his day. the adept at all manly exercises, the lancer, the swords- man, the racket player, the traveller in strange countries, who had breathed himself with the most skilful fencers of France, had flung the joreed in ‘Old Gastile.’ had smoked his chibouque with the Grand Turk at Stam- bou], listening with breathless attention to his neighbor, Sir Giles Allonby, whose thoughts and whose discourse, far from the present scene of revelry, were resting on merry pastures and blue cloudless skies, and hawk and heron, and hood and jesses, and all the delights of the noble science of fal- coury, ' ‘Sé the match shall be made, good my lord,’ said Sir Giles, as sober as a judge not- withstanding his potations, and prepared Las 1 . ‘ . a: .- made for fifty gold pieces 3W pray you to my kinsman’s poor house of Bough- ton, where we will entertain you to the utmost of our humble means, and I will show you such a (light as shall delight your eyes in the pastures of his Majesty’s royal domain at Holmby, where I have had licence to fly my hawks since the days of his father, God bless him and save him ! for a dis- creet sovereign, and as good a sportsman as ever sat, albeit somewhat insecurely, in a. smldio.” Spain, a country of rabbits or conies. It was 0110.0 so infested with these animals that it sued Augustus for an army to destroy thmn‘ Europe signifies a. country of white com- plexion ; so named because the inhabitants were of alighter complexion than those of Asia and Africa. Asia. signifies between, 01' in the middle, from the fact that the geographers placed it between Europe and Africa. Africa signifies a land of corn or was culebmted for its abundance of all sorts of grain. Siberia signifies thristy or dryâ€"very appro- printe. Imly, a. country of pitch, from its yielding gram".- quuntitios of black pitch. Calubria, also, for the same reason. Gaul, modern France, signifies yellow- haiwd, as yellow hair characterized its 111- hulumnts. , 10 English of Ualodoniais ahigh hill. This was a rugged mountainous province in Scotland. Britain, the country of tin, great quantities beinvr found on it, and adjacent islands. The Greens called it Albion, which signifies in the Phu‘niciim tongue either white or high moun- tain. from the whiteness of its shores, or the high rocks on the western coast. Corsica, a woody place. Sardinia signifies the footsteps of men, which it resembles. Hibernia is utmost 01‘ last habitation. for beyond this to the westward Phwniciuns never extended their voyages. Rhodes, serpents or dragons, which are produced in abundance. Sicily, the country of grapes. Seylla, the whirlpool of destruction. Etna signifies a. furnace, or dark or smoky. There were 1,586 immigrants landed at Cas- tle Garden Sunday and Monday of this week, of whom 339 arrived by the “ Helvetia. ” from Liverpool. Included in , these latter were eight woll-toâ€"do English farmers and their families. 94: persons in all, who are on their way to Texas, where the majority Will settle in New Philadelphia. The men report that they left their homes in Yorkshire on account of the meat agricultural distress, the harvest prospects being the worst known for twenty years past. They say there are many others to follow. large numbers of their brethren in Yorkshire having made up their minds to leave soon as the nucossnry arrangements can be mudv. The present lot bring with them on an average, about £300 each, and as they have a good knowledge of farming, it is expected they will found a successful col- ony. Syn: wuso, bad flavor, so called from the unwholesome marsh on whichit stood. â€"An old farmer, the first time he ate an oyster stew, was asked how he liked it. “Well,” he answered. “I like the soup well enough, but I wish they‘d left out them polly- woga. â€"â€"Col. Edwin Lawrence Drake, \‘ “.0 sank the first oil well, is living in a moth . ' “we in Pennsylvania. He is disabled by mu. l r neuralgia, and, as he sits in an invalid’s chair at his doorway, he can “see the long tank trains carrying away the product of his dis- covery. His illness at an unlucky time pre- _vented him from making a fortune ; but he has a pension of $1,500 a. year from the State. llfll'i‘lflll FAIENBERS FOR TEXAS. MARIE!!! 0F (70 UN'I‘RIES. [To m: TINUEDJ ears. It corn and