enjoyed her purest happiness, increased only when a letter arrived announcing his speedy return. And what joy was Dora's.

"And will he love me now," she thought as she looked in the glass, and fancied how much her face had been tanned by the sun. "And this plain dress, so different from those he saw me wear in Spain; and then I am so much older. But what is that”- as she looked out of her window "it is a chaise-it is Henry"— and in an instant she was in his arms. And how fondly did he gaze upon her! Virtue, and truth, and goodness, all united to perfect her beauty; and he looked gratefully on the vicar and his wife, feeling how much he was indebted to them for the change he saw. It was, indeed, a change, more apparent to him who had not seen Dora for three years, than to those who had gradually witnessed its developement.

Need it be said that Dora was happy. Her husband had returned, pale indeed from recent suffering, but with brightened prospects, and with those honours which his ever straight-forward conduct and courage had procured for him. During the month he was enabled to stay at the vicarage, there never was a happier party, and when he and Dora were obliged to quit it, it was with a promise that the party should assemble soon in

London, where Henry's new duties obliged him to reside.

The story is now nearly concluded. During a protracted life, the good vicar and his wife received the reward of their disinterested kindness, by the love, affection, and constant attention, of the orphan they had once fostered. He afforded a bright example that adversity is not without its blessings; that unusual benevolence is not always to be set down as the mere exercise of enthusiastic feeling; and that sound religious principles and good conduct will generally meet with their reward.

ETON, AND ITS PLAYING-FIELDS.

Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting in thy margent green,

The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
With pliant arms, thy glassy wave?

GRAY.

EVERYTHING in Eton and around it, is full of interest. On approaching it, the first thing which strikes a stranger is the gothic chapel, a handsome structure, with its fine buttresses, and beautiful windows. The mind then instantly reverts to the many eminent men, who, through a succession of ages, have either sat within its walls, or been buried in its vaults. Amongst these, Sir Henry Wotton is, perhaps, the first brought to recollection, not only on account of his talents and learning, but because the good Izaac Walton was

his friend and biographer, and from his having been the associate of Dr. Donne, Hooker, Herbert, and Sanderson. His "Reliquiæ Wottonianæ," is a proof of his talents both in prose and verse, and of the good and amiable feelings which pervaded his mind and character. Walton says of him, that "he died worthy of his name and family, worthy of the love and favour of so many princes, and persons of eminent wisdom and learning, worthy of the trust committed unto him, for the service of his prince and country." Sir Henry Wotton was, moreover, an angler, and this circumstance makes us look with more interest on the little neighbouring aits and banks of the river, where we may fancy him pursuing his quiet sport with his friend Walton.

And here I may take the opportunity of expressing my regret that a short biography, or even a list, of the several Eton worthies, who have done honour to the school, is not to be met with. A little trouble and research would do much towards its completion, and it might be added to from time to time. There is a good foundation for it in the Eton library, and many interesting portraits in the apartments of the Provost, which might serve to illustrate the work. Let me now record the name of one who is not generally known either as an Etonian or a poet, although he was an honour to the school in which he received his

"The

education, and left behind him a poem, Purple Island," which is, perhaps, not inferior to any of the time in which he wrote (1630), and which abounds in beautiful descriptions, and proves him to have been a true lover of nature. He also wrote "Piscatory Eclogues," of which Walton speaks thus

"There came also into my mind at that time, certain verses in praise of a mean estate and humble mind: they were written by Phineas Fletcher, an excellent divine, and an excellent angler; and the author of excellent Piscatory Eclogues,' in which you shall see the picture of this good man's mind: and I wish mine to be like it."

6

The library of Eton College is full of books and manuscripts of great interest as well as value. With reference to the latter, it is to be regretted that of the fine collection of Persian manuscripts, bequeathed by Mr. Pote to the libraries of King's College, Cambridge, and that of Eton, to be equally divided between them, there should not have been a proper selection made. At present, a portion of a Persian poem may be found at King's, and the remainder at Eton, and so it is with many of the manuscripts. As, perhaps, there is nothing equal to them in England, either for beauty or interest (I speak on the authority of a good Persian scholar), it is to be hoped that some steps will be taken to have them properly arranged.