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circumstance, too, attracted my attention. Little experienced, doubtless, in the horrid office of a headsman, he had wounded himself very severely. The axe, in falling upon the head of the King, had wounded the left hand of his executioner. What shall I say to you ? Providence had so willed it, that I should meet that monster once more, and that my eyes should be able to penetrate the new mask by which he has sought to conceal not only his face, but his very life-that under the appearance of an ardent loyalist, and as the protegé of Lord Shaftesbury, I should meet again the assassin of Whitehallthe executioner of the King of England. " You grow pale, Sir," he said, turning to Sir Charles Luttrell, "and you have a right to do so-for the man who shrunk not at the commission of a horrible crime-he who became the courtier of the son, after he had been the murderer of the father- that man that God has been pleased to mark with an ineffable brand, in order that sooner or later punishment might overtake, that man is-yourself; and as tothe proof-" John flung himself upon Sir Charles, who was petrified with horror and fear-he seized the left hand of the wretch, and pointing to a long scar, which seemed almost to divide it, he exclaimed"Here it is !"

almost affianced bride -then casting his eyes to the carth for a moment, he replied66 Father, do not consent to do any such thing." The Colonel stamped with rage, and then in an angry voice exclaimed"What means this ridiculous puerile obstinacy ?" "It proceeds from a source at once sacred and for ever to • be respected," was the reply of Mr. Clark. " A son cannot, without being guilty of a crime, declare himself the partisan of his father's enemy." Sir Frederick heard these words with astonishment, and said, "Then who and what are you ?" "I am now known," was the answer, " merely as Mister Clark, a plain country gentleman ; but a few years ago, I was known as- Richard Cromwell."* " Oh ! now, indeed, I understand you," said the old Cavalier, greatly moved at this aspect of modest grandeur, and at the sight of a man who had preferred mediocrity to power-repose to fame ; and who had voluntarily abandoned the pomp of Windsor for the solitary vale of Cheshunt-" I honor the pious sentiment that has dictated your refusal-and the most zealous servant of Charles the Second accepts, without hesitation as a son-in-law, the grandson of Oliver CromF. well."

CHAPTER IV. RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE. TAKEN thus completely unawares, struck to the earth by the simple words of the old servant, which came upon him as the echo of the Divine command, Sir Charles Lutttrell lost at once his coolness and his courage. Seeing in an instant, too, that a strict examination into his past life would speedily expose the dreadful part he had acted in 1649, this man, whose real name was Stoup, and who at a subsequent period was Colonel of a Swiss Regiment in France, taking advantage of the general horror and astonishment that pervaded the company, fled from the house before his indignant host thought of giving orders for his arrest. When Sir Frederick had recovered a little from the emotion and agitation, consequent on the preceding scene, he shook hands first with his old servant, who had saved him from never-ceasing misery, and then turning to his old neighbor, he exclaimed66 My word is now secure. I have had a terrible lesson-and it is for you now to make certain the happiness of our two children. I impose but one condition- it is that you will consent to drink his Majesty's health." "Oh! do consent, Sir," said the poor Clara trembling. The person thus addressed turned toward his son, and observed" Do you speak, Richard-what ought I to do ?" The young man cast a look of affection upon his

How warm this woodland wild recesses ! Love surely hath been breathing here. And this sweet bed of heath, my dear! Swells up, then sinks with fain caress, As if to have you yet more near. Eight springs have flown, since last I lay On sea-ward Quantock's heathy hills, Where quiet sounds from hidden rills Float here and there, like things astray, And high o'er head the skylark shrills. No voice as yet had made the air Be music with your name ; yet why That asking look ? that yearning sigh? That sense of promise every where ? Beloved! flew your spirit by? As when a mother doth explore The rose-mark on her long-lost child, I met, I loved you, maiden mild! And whom I long had loved beforeSo deeply had I been beguiled. You stood before me like a thought, A dream remember'd in a dream. But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wroughtO Greta, dear domestic stream ! Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep, Has not Love's whisper evermore Been ceaseless, as thy gentle roar ? Sole voice, when other voices sleep, Dear under-song in Clamour's hour.-COLERIDGE.