sion. For this I had toiled and thought; had studied the face of nature like a book; had culled from poet, from fiction, and history, that I might cast and spread around and about her the loveliest, brightest, truest, purest things which were writ in the pages of creation, which had been uttered by the heart or mind of man; and they were drunk in, and inspired, and re-issued in the pure tones and pure breathings of a maiden spirit. I had sown, that another might reap. Ingrate thought! Didst thou reap nought? Did heart ever thus feed heart without enriching itself? Did not the thoughts and truths thus gathered and given, throw back and reflect their purity on the giver? Did they not often after, in the hour of trial and temptations, arise with guardian power? Did they not, in many an hour of sadness and loneliness, shed a brightness on the hearth, and clothe the spirit with strength? Yes; the giver ever receives some guerdon in return. It is the law of being and the will of God.

The evening was deepening into night, and all knew that the parting hour was near. We had retired

under the portico, where the light from the drawing-room shone upon us, and little salvers with cake and wine were being handed round, when suddenly Quamino appeared, with a scared air and that ashy look which fear or fright imprints on the negro skin.

"Ah!" said Gerald, "Quamino has seen the ghost in the Lady's Meadow again.'

Our first impulse was to laugh at this; but another look at the man's face checked all merriment. There was a serious message on it. Moving up to his master's side, he whispered in his ear; yet the whisper, low though it was, vibrated and thrilled among us. Massa, John's son is come, saar-your nephew, saar; him waiting at home, saar."

To those most nearly concerned, Gerald and Rose, it was but an untoward circumstance, this arrival, which might interrupt and break the pleasant meetings. To those who knew its meaning, it bore a dark boding, a shadow of coming evil, and shot with a lurid light through the bright unclouded sky, in which many a happy heart that night had seen a future.

The evening, so pleasant and so delightful in Penhaddoc Park, was a hot and dusty one to the inhabitants of the half village, half town of Dunbrook. They sat in their back parlours or courts, trying to catch a little air from the garden or opening beyond, and were not to be attracted even by the sound of the guard's horn announcing the arrival of the mail. Up the street it rattled nevertheless, and there was the usual apparition of Boots, the usual uncoiling of ostler and stable-boys, the usual dismounting of coachman and guard to compare way-bills and stretch their legsa programme familiar enow in those days, but which will be to the next generation strange and curious as the unrolling of a mummy, or the description of Olympic games. One passenger only descended. The barmaid of the Queen's Head rather approved of the dark handsome gentle

man with the crisp curly hair, and made no exception at the rather thick lips and full fleshy skin, but smiled and curtsied her welcome, and summoned Boots to take the gentleman's portmanteau to No. 2,

about the extent of the Queen's Head accommodation. "No," said the stranger, with a drawl half Yankee, half West Indian; "I don't want a room. I'm going to Mister Trevenna's; he lives hereabout, I believe." The barmaid backed out, and the Boots scraped in-for sixpence was sixpence to him, wherever he carried the portmanteau.

Very smart and very grand was that stranger. Of the extremest fashion and newest cut were his clothes. Brummel would have sneered at his brooches, and rings, and cane, yet they were only a little, a very little, exaggeration of his own, so narrow is the boundary betwixt

fashion and vulgarity, taste and pretension. Onwards strutted the stranger, on through the street, and up by the churchyard. Here at the wall Quamino was having an evening gossip with his friend the sexton.

"So, Massa Will, you see de ole Caenzou vault open at last me tink him neber going home-him berry ole."

"Yees; I have put he into his winter quarters: he was the last of his breed; and 'twas pretty near time too, for there wasn't much more room. I've see'd every vault now, 'cept the Grenfells', and they tell me that's an uncommon fine roomy place, all paved and floored quite grand. The old Squire was buried afore my time."

"Me hope you neber see him, Massa Will. P'haps you see wedding first. Dat more better than burying. More beer, more beef, more dance, more guinea, den." And he grinned and chuckled at the thought of the feasting and merriment to

come. At that moment the stranger turned the corner, and, playfully appealing to the sensitiveness of Quamino's shins with his whip, shouted out, "Hallo, nigger! is this you? you're jist the man I want. Where's your master-where's Mister Trevenna?"

The black fell back against the wall, his limbs rigid, his eyes staring, and his mouth agape. Another touch of the whip made him start.

Come, you fellow, is this the way you treat your master's nephew? Show me the house, nigger."

"Yes, saar; yes, young Massa John; dis way, saar-here him is," gasped out Quamino as he led the way, looking back furtively over his shoulder, ever and anon, as though he hoped the dread apparition might vanish, and turn out a delusion. The gate closed on them, and presently Quamino again issued forth, to carry the unwelcome tidings to the party at Penhaddoc.

The breakfast at Trevenna's next morning was not a cheerful one. All were embarrassed and uneasy save the nephew, who was quite at home, criticising the place, suggesting his own plans and improvement, talking of his own doings, and bringing deep blushes and frowning shades on Rose's face by coarse praises of her beauty. The father was scanning his features eagerly and anxiously. There was a likeness of the brother of his youth, but it was the likeness of the worst times: there was a trace of the same beauty, but it was coarser, more sensual; the creole blood, too, showed itself in the dark, almost tawny complexion, in the stiff curls of the dark hair, and the fulness of the lips; and there was a lurking expression of cunning and of strong passion which gave little promise of character. Trevenna's spirit sank at the survey-sank at the thought how much of his fate might be in this man's hands; and he shuddered as he looked on Rose, and saw in dread the dark heavy cloud

which even then might be lowering over the light on his hearth.

The Squire's advice on a former trial was still potent, and he girded up his heart to meet the evil, to test its reality, and then to encounter it as he best might. The first point was to ascertain whether that fatal foolish compact, made and attested in former days, was in existence whether it would be enforced, and whether his nephew's coming had any connection with it. It was a point on which his fate turned-a question which tried his strength to the uttermost. That_compactthose damning clauses, how should he meet them? Evade them? No. His honour recognised their validity binding were they by conscience, not by law. The full penalty should be paid. Rose sacrificed? No, no, God forbid, God forbid, his soul cried in its wrestlings; that can be averted. The wealth shall go-the wealth, the lands which were toiled for, coveted, let them go. We can be poor again, poor as when life began; but still

there may be there will be-light on the hearth; and then the thought of the last night's talk, of the visions then raised, came across him; how were they to be realised? Might not the blight of a faded heart still fall on his child?

There were moments of agony in which these thoughts and questions came whelming on his mind. It was a sore, stern trial, but his soul rose to meet it, strong and calm.

When the meal was ended, Trevenna proposed that his nephew should walk over the grounds with him, and tell him all about himself, and his belongings, and the old property.

"Time enough for that, uncle," said he in reply. "I think I would rather have a stroll with my pretty cousin Rose here. It is time that we should get a little acquainted. Why, she scarcely knew my name, or that there was such a fellow in the world. Did you, Rose?"

Trevenna, with a sigh of reluctance, assented. The delay of a resolve is ever bitter to strong hearts. Rose and her cousin went forth into the garden together, and made the tour of her flower-beds and small greenhouse. These interested him little, and her pure spirit was ever and again repelled by some coarse thought or familiarity of admiration.

"Hallo," he said, as they came back to the old hawthorn, pointing to a mound of turf underneath its boughs, "you've been making a churchyard of your lawn, cousin. What have you buried here?"

Ah," answered Rose, "that's poor old Domingo's grave. It was the spot he always loved to lie on latterly, and so we buried him here."

"And who the deuce was Domingo, cousin?"

"Oh, the old dog, the faithful old bloodhound, that papa brought home with him; he was a true old servant, and we all missed him when

he died."

Yes, I recollect now something about him. Wasn't that the dog that saved uncle's life when that chap of his made the stab at his throat?"

Rose shrunk back almost in horror at a grossness of feeling so strange and revolting to her, and then, recovering herself a little, said—

"Old Domingo did us much service; he was always devoted to me; and 'twas he, too, who pointed out where my poor brother lay in the river; he never recovered himself, after being carried away by that terrible flood, and was very much broken from that time, and grew older and feebler very fast, until one day, after licking my face as usual, he lay down at my feet, and I felt his weight grow very heavy, and called Quamino: when he came to lift him up, the poor old fellow was quite dead.'

Why, surely that isn't a tear in your eye, cousin Rose? You can't be crying for a dog? Well, if that ain't about the queerest thing ever I saw."

"Ah-him, bery good ole fellow, Domingo," chimed in Quamino, who had now joined the group; "not bery social p'haps, but berry fond of Missey Rose. Me feel quite lonely when he's gone."

"I wonder, Rose," said her cousin, as they sauntered on down the path toward the gate," that you allow that nigger to be so familiar; those fellows ought to be kept well under."

"What, Quamino! who has nursed and tended me ever since I was born? Dear old Quamino," said Rose, with a laugh. "You would not have me treat him like a servant."

'Well, I know that if I had him with me, I'd cowhide the impudence out of him. There's nothing like cowhiding for those scoundrels." And as he spoke there grew a savage scowl on his face that made Rose tremble.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY

OF JAMES,

SON OF ROGER TREVENNA, 66 FOUND DROWNED."

PEACE TO HIS SOUL.

Rose looked sad, as she always did when she came there, and the cousin muttered between his teeth, "He's well out of the way, at any rate.”

Old Beelzebub stood at the gate as they went out, grinning sardonically, and making an obeisance to Rose, the humility of which perhaps might be attributed to the fact of his having seen a cask of cider just carried into Trevenna's house.

"Thank you, Will; thank youthis is my cousin from the West Indies."

"He may be yer cousin in blood, but he ben't your cousin in beauty," growled the old fellow as he shut the gate; and then went away muttering, I don't like the looks of that chap." In the evening the whole family from the Park made a sally on Trevenna's house; I had joined them on the road. There was a look of secret satisfaction on all their faces, which I could not understand. The Squire was evidently big and bursting with some design. Gerald looked radiant with happy thought, and several times slapped me on the back, or smiled in my face with some happy impulse. We found our friends sitting out on the lawn. The introduction was rather stiff and constrained. The West Indian was abashed at first, and cowered in the presence of gentle breeding. Rose was startled and fluttered, Trevenna grave and anxious. After a while the conversation became a little more easy, and the old tone was resumed with most of us. Rose would give a little shudder now and then when a vulgar thought dropped from her cousin, and Gerald's fist would clench and his eye flash when her name came on his lips; but the visit seemed pleasant enough to all, and was evidently pregnant with some purpose to most.

"Now then," said the Squire, "we must be wending homewards, Roger, but we will first sit a little, and trespass on you for a biscuit and a little wine and water."

In we all went all save Gerald and

Rose, who, as it appeared to me, were left, by some preconcerted arrangement, alone under the old hawthorn. The Squire looked back on them as we entered, and giving me a poke in the ribs, said "All right; we shall give that fellow the cross-buttock yet."

And he chuckled long and loudly at the success of his diplomacy. Pardon me, oh august body of diplomats ! Chuckle-did I say chuckle in connection with diplomacy? Pardon again, most grave and reverent seignors-a half-smile, a rise of the eyebrows is, we know, the greatest demonstration that could ever be allowed in that august science. But the Squire's diplomacy was of the rudest kind. What could be expected of a man who felt?

And Gerald and Rose were alone under the hawthorn tree - alone with "the rich and balmy eve,” alone with their own hearts.

Happy hour! happy young hearts! Love was breathing around themhope was before them-youth welling within. There was little need to tell what each had felt and known long long since. Yet it was sweet to hear and sweet to tell-sweet from loving lips to give the utterance of pent-up treasured hope. Sweet to Rose's ear was the full, fervid voice of her beloved; sweet to his the half-whispered, half-spoken murmurs of virgin love. The moonlight beamed softly, the stars shone brightly out, and the breezes swept sweetly and musically through the trees, as the word was spoken, the troth plighted, which bound heart to heart for evermore.

Sweet incense must these vows have wafted to the guardian presences which waved and floated around, for if there be a thing sweet to celestial natures, it must be the pure true breathings of young love.

The Squire laughed and rubbed his hands with glee, as he looked on the bright eyes of Gerald and the flushed face of Rose, when they rejoined the party; and there was more than usual heartiness in the grasp he gave Trevenna's hand at parting-more than usual warmth and fondness in the kiss he pressed on Rosa's cheek, and in the " God bless thee, my

child!" with which he said goodnight.

Good-night-all had gone, and Rose was kneeling with her head in her mother's lap, telling with timid joy and sobbing utterance all her heart's happiness; telling with pride the brave manly truthfulness of her lover in seeking her troth; how at once, ere changes came, that in weal or woe she might be his, he hers; and how his father and dear mother had chosen her for their daughter, and had prompted him to this-telling, half in pride and half in bashfulness, of the love that glowed in her own

heart, true and tender, strong and enduring; and the mother's arms were gathered softly then around her child, and her kisses fell warm upon her cheek, and her blessings were prayed and prayed upon that loved head.

Good-night-Rose lay down to sleep-sweetly breathed prayers on her lips, soft sweet hopes in her soul; happy, happy peaceful thoughts in her heart.

The light was bright on the hearth that night. Were there to be clouds in the morning?

The morning came, and Trevenna and his nephew were walking alone in his garden. The hour of explanation had arrived. They had talked of the family-of his mother, his brothers-and were discussing the property.

So your estate answers very well, uncle, does it. Your agent must be a sharp fellow. I know that ours isn't a very paying concern. Fact is, I am preciously driven to make it pay at all, we have had such losses lately. Our niggers seem to be always dying, or falling sick, or getting maimed; and the crops have failed for two or three years from the want of hands; and mother is so extravagant, that we must mortgage or sell soon if things don't mend. 'Twas this property partly that brought me over. I thought you might help us." Trevenna's face brightened the request for help seemed to indicate that there was no power of demand. "Surely I will help," he said quickly, "in all that I can; but how do you propose that my assistance should be applied?"

Why, we thought," was the answer, "that as your estate is in such order, and the niggers all healthy and in good working state, that if you were to give me the management of that, one plantation might help the other, and so we might contrive to go ahead a little, and get straight again."

The clo at was peeping forth

"Well, I cannot see, if you don't make one estate pay, how having another on your hands will mend matters. I should rather recommend that yours should be put under management a while. Well governed it must pay, for the land is more productive and better than mine. If ready money be wanted meanwhile, why, I can advance it."

"Why, you see, uncle, we consider that our failures are owing to the bad condition of the niggers. They were always bad-bad, as you know, when you left, and they are getting worse and worse, and the land is falling back every year from want of labour. Now, if we could work your people in with ours, and change 'em about a little, they might come round; and once in fair working order, we should raise value from the land."

"No, no," answered Trevenna, firmly, and almost sternly. "I will never do this. Once in my life, already, is my conscience charged with injustice to these slaves. Once have I sacrificed them to my selfish interests, and forgotten my responsibilities. Never again. My orders for their government are just, I believe, and imperative. Never will I transfer my power over them to another, until I surrender the trust into God's hands."

"That's all very fine, uncle Roger; but you will, I expect, have to turn 'em over to some other hands one day, if there is any law in this little docum here;" and as he spoke he prodrom his pocket a small,

2 R