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premium-who were to form the Provisional Committee-whether there were any vacancies-and what attendance-fee would be given to a member of the Provisional Committee. Mr. Short winked at Mr. Walton, and held up one finger, to indicate caution and quietude under the fermentation of success. Mr. Walton rubbed his hands, and asked how soon Mr. Short intended to set out for Dublin, as he was resolved to accept his invitation for a few weeks.

Amidst these circumstances, added to some others, the relative positions of Archer and Mary were perplexing and painful. Archer's remittances also, had not yet arrived-the editor of the quarterly journal to which he contributed, was on the continent, though expected back daily; and the friend who had borrowed of Archer still delayed to send it according to his promise, which Archer thought very extraordinary behaviour. His landlady had meantime sent up her account for "three weeks' lodgings, and sundries," and would be glad to have her bill settled. She was quite an ordinary sort of woman, and had no delicacy. Archer could not bear to write to his uncle, nor, under present circumstances, could he apply to Mr. Walton. He shrunk even from telling Mary, feeling that he was in a position of paltry annoyance; and he was very much of Hazlitt's opinion (whose essay on the subject he forthwith read with unction), that the want of money is apt to make a man ridiculous. He had bought all Voltaire and all Goethe, a great bargain, and had left himself without a shilling, and owing for "three weeks' lodgings and sundries." It was equally contemptible and irritating-nothing in itself, but unbearable in its consequences. So much for external circumstances but how as a matter of feeling? To say the truth, Archer did not much wish to accompany them to Ireland. He did not object to Mary's going, as it was only for a short time.

The circumstances, and state of feeling in which Mary found herself, were no less perplexing. She did not like to allow her father to go without her, neither did she like to accompany him on his visit to Mr. Short, whose behaviour to her whenever Archer was not present, was of a kind very difficult to deal with, or to endure. He was preposterously polite, attentive, and most respectful; yet as he knew she was engaged, there was too much of all this. At the same time, he never committed himself in any particular instance that would warrant a reproof, or direct objec tion. As far as her own feeling was concerned, the temporary

separation from Archer did not weigh much. They had both been accustomed of late to depend more upon their own inward resources, than sympathies, which were unfortunately only partial; still she hardly felt it delicate towards Archer, to become the visitor of Mr. Short; neither could she say this to her father, as he would have pooh-pooh'd it, and asked for signs and tokens, none of which she could adduce, or would like to speak of, if she could.


Run up

Harding and Mr. Bainton now came to take their leave, not knowing if Mr. Walton and Mary would be likely to come to Ireland during their stay. Mr. Walton told them he had nearly made up his mind to come over to Dublin very shortly; he did not know if his daughter would accompany him. He shook hands with both of them, and wished them a fine voyage. Mary is up-stairs in the drawing-room," said he, "writing notes to Ellen Lloyd, and to her aunt Judith, and half a dozen more. and wish her good-bye." Mr. Bainton and Harding accordingly left the room, where Mr. Walton was reading the newspaper, and Mr. Bainton ascended the stairs. Harding loitered below in the passage then hastily advanced to the foot of the stairs. Mr. Bainton's heavy footsteps sounded upon the floor above, but Harding hesitated with one hand upon the bannisters, and looking down at his feet, he remained there till Mr. Bainton returned. "I thought," said Mr. Bainton, you were close behind me, coming up to wish Miss Walton good-bye! I told her below. Run up, man,-make haste! I wish to be off earlywhy, how pale you look! An't you well, Harding?"



you were

Oh, very well," replied Harding-"only a slight headache. It will go off directly I get out into the open air."

"But won't you

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No, I thank you-Miss Walton will excuse it, I know-we are late."

And Harding hurried out at the door, followed by Mr. Bainton, who was not sorry that he made no further delay. They left Portsmouth the same evening, accompanied by three shipwrights from Mr. Bainton's own building-yard, and a boy who was about to be apprenticed to the craft.

While this was transpiring, the acute and sensitive Mr. Short had become aware of a certain indescribable something in Mary's behaviour to him which made him see the wisdom of caution; he therefore resolved upon a fine touch of policy which should neutralise Mary's objection to coming as a visitor to his house. He affected

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to be greatly delighted with the society of Miss Lloyd, and divided his attentions equally between her and Mary for a few days. He then proceeded to give the balance a little in favour of Miss Lloyd; and he even went so far, one evening at tea, as to "make eyes at her across the table, just between the candlesticks and the urn. Miss Lloyd wondered what had happened to him, or to herself. Mary (being quite deceived by this ruse of the ingenious gentleman, and too happy to be relieved from his attentions) joked Miss Lloyd upon her conquest. Miss Lloyd felt a little uncomfortable at the thing, as she had a peculiar dislike to Mr. Short; both the ladies, however, laughed very much over the whole business, because Miss Lloyd did not fail to express her regret at the rapid "change" in Mr. Short's sentiments.

The clever and bold Mr. Short now went so far as to hint at including Miss Lloyd in his invitation. Their acquaintance being so recent, besides that she expected her sister Ellen would shortly arrive, she of course declined. Whereupon he requested Mr. and Miss Walton to press her warmly to accept the invitation, while he took an opportunity, when nobody else was present, of repeating the same to Miss Lloyd in the coldest manner. All worked to his wish, and the skilful Mr. Short soon found that Mr. and Miss Walton were to be his guests in Dublin.

Such was the state of parties and affairs when Ellen Lloyd arrived, under the simple-minded but safe convoy of David Williams. Amidst the bustle and preparation of Mr. Walton and Mary for going to Ireland, happening as it did so immediately after the fluctuating excitement of the amateur tragedy, and amidst the unsatisfactory state of mind and feelings experienced by Mary and Archer, added to the vexing circumstances of the latter, the arrival of Ellen Lloyd was felt a most refreshing and happy event. As she had not been present during any of the recent events, everybody forgot them for a time, and returned in imagination to their pleasant abode under the roof of the cottage in Wales, with all the soft and pastoral associations of the surrounding scenery. Ellen seemed to bring among them an innocence of all the affairs of the world, and a freshness and sweetness of nature, which renewed in every one the happy emotions of youth, and the dawn of hope and fancy. She looked rather pale, but was not sad; and when they asked her about her music, she smiled away the tinge of melancholy that was upon her cheek, and charmed them all with the pathos of her voice and expression in singing one of the melodies that had delighted them in Wales.

"If I had not almost sworn I would go to Dublin," said Mr. Walton, "I would stay here to enjoy the society of our young friend Ellen.” "I am sure, ," said Mary, "we shall all return the sooner for our own sakes, and I hope we shall be able to make amends to her for running away now."

In a few days Mr. Walton and Mary accompanied Mr. Short on a visit to Dublin. Archer was to follow, in all probability, next week, as he said. But the friend who was to have remitted the sum borrowed of Archer still remained silent, and the editor of the quarterly journal aforesaid had not returned from the continent. Archer thought this latter delay particularly hard, as he had written the leading article, and the editor had received several complimentary letters from parties who supposed it to proceed from the editorial pen, and were allowed to remain under that impression. There was no help for it. Archer would follow on to Dublin, if he could do so, in the course of a week; if not, it would scarcely be worth while, as Mary would be returning.

Meanwhile Ellen Lloyd remained with her sister in Mr. Walton's cottage, which he and Mary earnestly exhorted them to regard as their own, however unworthy the comparison, in a picturesque point of view, though the latter had even included the free use of his new boat, and his brass telescope.



ONCE on a time in England

The king o'er all did rule,

Whether he were a knave or knight,
A wise man, or a fool.

And the haughty barons feared him,
And bent before the crown;
None heeded then the stifled cry
Of the People trampled down.

When this king he went a hunting,
He sent his merry men

To drive the farmer from the field,
The shepherd from the glen;

And they razed each peasant's cottage,
In all the country round,
That the king might go a hunting
On a kingly hunting-ground.

He seized the strong man's castle,
By the right of the more strong;
And neither Priest nor womankind
Was sacred from his wrong.
What recked he of a woman's tears,
Or of a churchman's gown;
What heeded he the stifled cry,
Of the People trampled down?
Now this king he had a quarrel

With his cousin king of France;
So he called out all his merry men,
With sword and bow and lance;
And they fought full many a battle
On many a bloody plain,

And only rested from their strife,
To strive the more again.

Then the Barons they grew bolder,
And met at Runnymede

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"Thou 'st taught us war, oh King!
"And now we must be freed."
So the king he quailed before them,
Them and their stern appeal;
And he gave them Magna Charta,
And sealed it with his seal.

Next the Barons ruled in England,
With iron heart and hand;
And severer even than the king,—
Did they oppress the land.
For the fiercest was the noblest,-
That man was deemed the best,
Who drove his sword the deepest
Into a foeman's breast.

They fought full many a battle,
With Roses White and Red,

they cried,

That they might put a shadow's crown
Upon an empty head.

And their wars spread woe and wailing

Through country and through town;

None heeded then the stifled cry

Of the People trampled down.

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