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toil; the Fancies, then, of course rebelled, and now they throw the burthen down. So soon as recreation becomes business, let the game be changed.

But these same Fancies,-these same sporting Jacks, that, while they have been carrying their Green about, have been endeavouring to entice men to follow in their course, have not, we think, been injudicious in the selection of a path whereon to roam. They have led a merry dance over many a flowery field: now and then they may be pardoned if they have thought right to cross the dusty common road; for ourselves, we think they have not favoured it too much. In sooth, we have all tripped merrily along, and if those who have danced with us have been as happy in our company as we in theirs, the frolic has not been a dull one. Now, however, we turn soberly aside into the world's high road, with its carts and its horses; for we have seen a pretty spot to which the road appears to lead, and wish to reach it.

Nov. 28, 1842.

For the rest, we had one or two things serious to say; but why be serious? Are we not talking of our gambols? True it is, of gambols that must end directly; but when the players separate only by their own consent, by ancient rule the game ends merrily.



APRIL, 1842.


A Romance.




FATHER FRANCIS, in returning to his peaceful Ellerton, enjoyed the glories of a triumph. Not more triumphal was the proud entry into London of the conqueror king, when the acclamations of devoted subjects rang within his ears, than were the testimonies of affection that greeted the old priest's return. The village bells rang forth their joyous peal-the children flocked around his palfrey's feet, and echoed the blessings they had heard their parents utter. With the trophies of his noble achievements the victorious monarch was surrounded; nor less glorious were the memorials of deeds that the old priest had done. Here stood two, who in bitter rivalry had once been foes, and as they looked upon the pious father, they recalled to mind the day when he had sown peace between them; and now each grasped the other's hand with honest warmth, for the seed had grown and ripened to a goodly fruit. There, by a fond suitor's side, stood a maiden, once the coquette of the village; the old priest's gentle face brought his counsels to her mind, and she cast upon the favoured suitor a kind glance, that made him happy. A child, that once by wayward ingratitude had torn a mother's heart, remembered as it gazed on the old man his earnest lessons; and nestling fondly in the bosom that it once had pained, imprinted on the mother's lips, for a thousandth time, the

kiss that told of a renewed affection. Happy couples, happy families, stood in the village road, or within the gate of their cottage garden, and looked with love upon the pious father; a wife, that he had taught to live in peace and love, rested upon her husband's shoulder, and blessed the man who had made their household happy; and many a soul, that he had saved, called down from on high rich blessings on the good priest's head. These were the trophies, this was the triumph, that greeted the return of Father Francis to his happy family at Ellerton; and the old man, when, once more in his cottage, he retired to offer thanks unseen to Him who had supported him through recent trials, and rescued him from the hand of persecution, shed tears such as those that angels seek when they gather dews upon earth to nourish the pure flowers of heaven.

Mat Maybird, in the mean time, proceeded with Heringford to Westrill's now dilapidated cottage, for the purpose of carrying out their design. Willie Bats stood already at the door.

"She is here!" cried he; "she is here! After all, my charmer is in the house! O Cicely! who ever was so faithful as thou! My charmer! my charmer! If thou art thus as a servant, what wilt thou be as a wife?"

The thought of matrimony and Cicely that his last word provoked, called a blush to Willie's cheek. "See," cried he, suddenly, as the plump form of his adorable passed from an inner door, "there she is!"

Cicely came forward with joy when she found who was at hand, and from her Edward obtained all needful information. Andrew Westrill was absent. Kate was in confinement; and it was in hopes of finding means to set her free that Cicely had remained hidden about the house.

"O Master Edward," exclaimed she, "my poor mistress will be heart-broken soon! I watch her sometimes with tears in my eyes as she sits at her window, and looks so sad and gentle. And Spenton visits her; she sees no one else; I have lain me down outside her door, and have heard her sob and breathe thy name until I could not listen for sorrow. I dared not tell her I was there, lest she should send me away. O Master Edward, thou

wilt save her!"

Edward pressed the honest Cicely's hand. "I will end this trouble," said he; "fear not-remain here while I go to set the imprisoned free."

Willie started at the idea of being left with his Cicely, but there was no alternative, for Edward was already half way up the stairs. Passing through several well-remembered rooms, Heringford soon paused before Kate Westrill's door: it led to an inner chamber, opening not into a passage, but into another apartment, in which now Edward stood, His voice soon made his presence known: the sound of a struggle was the only answer, until a tone, evidently feigned, hazarded reply. There was another scuffle.

"Be not deceived," exclaimed the voice of Kate Westrill, who appeared to have gained momentary freedom from restraint; "Spenton is here! Thou comest in good time!"

"So!" said a man from behind where Edward stood: "the trap is baited now, and, lo! our prisoner !"

Edward turned and beheld Andrew Westrill with Sir Richard Ellerton standing in the passage; the face of Curts was peeping from behind.

"We waste no time again in parley," added Andrew, smiling; "and so I commend thee to the lock, Sir Edward. Courage, brave hero of Harfleur!"

Before Edward had recovered from his astonishment, the door was closed, bolted, and fastened from without, and he was left alone. He heard barricades added for increased security, and then, Curts being left as guard, he listened to the retreating footsteps of Andrew and Sir Richard. Thus fallen into the hands of his enemies, Heringford was consoled by the assurance that Kate Westrill stood within hearing, and that the wretch Spenton had been made inadvertently a sharer in their captivity.

Short time, however, was left for Heringford to make any reflections upon his prospects, for the shrieks of Kate Westrill, demanding aid against Spenton, prompted him to immediate action. Dashing his whole person impetuously against the door that separated them, he found it resist his strength; the cries of Kate urged him to persevere, until, at length, the lock gave way, and the door flew violently open. The terror-stricken figure of Spenton, with a hand upon Kate Westrill's arm, stood for a moment before him ; the next instant it was dashed to the ground, where the ruffian lay bleeding and senseless.

"Do him not harm," said Kate, restraining Heringford; "he is not worthy thy resentment."

"I will not harm him, Kate," replied Edward; "let me but prevent his farther interference."

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