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 TO HIM I LOVE, & c.

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tion of having been destroyed by gunpowder, or something like it. ”

A neighbour now entered, panting for breath. He brought tidings that Hubb's House was totally demolished not one stone being left upon another! that fragments of the building were strewn about Goodman's Croft and the fields near it, and that all were blackened and burnt, as if the place had been destroyed by an explosion.

“How curious is it, “observed Kate, looking up through her tears, after an hour or two had elapsed, “that neither my unhappy parent, nor Anthony Ryecroft, should be here on this eventful morning, to learn that I became your wife three months ago! "

The opinion now entertained was, that Ryecroft had endeavoured to secure immediately that wealth for which alone he desired the heiress of the infatuated Howison; and that only a few hours previous to the marriage, when he might fancy that nothing could delay it, luring his luckless dupe, under superstitious pretences, to a lonely and shunned ruin, in the middle of the night, he there accomplished his destruction; having instigated him to light a pile of combustible materials, which contained, unknown to his victim, a quantity of gunpowder. The rustics of Wrekinswold, however, tenacious of the superstitions of their day and country, affirmed, that as Howison failed to perform the promise, his daughter being already married, the evil one had thought proper to carry off the soul of the unfortunate man in a tempest of sulphur and fire; leaving behind, to ensure the destruction of Ryecroft, the blackened and mangled corpse.

Ryecroft was, in the course of a few days, apprehended and securely lodged in Shrewsbury jail. Being convicted upon another serious and singular charge, he was sentenced to suffer the

extreme penalty of the law. An execution having been levied upon the rich Tony for debt, amongst his other property were found certain instruments, engines, and utensils, moulds, and metals, which clearly proved him to belong to a gang of coiners, for whose apprehension the magistrates of Shropshire had been long on the alert. He refused to betray his accomplices in “the divine art of transmutation; “and, to the last, persisted in denying with the most solemn asseverations, any implication in the murder of Howison, save that which had unhappily accrued to him by the fatal termination of a mere youthful frolic, got up, he affirmed, for the purpose of obtaining a wealthy alliance, and of creating a profound idea of his own knowledge and power. Leaving this mysterious subject still in darkness, thus died the crafty Ryecroft. But for some years after the catastrophe of our story, it was a tradition current amongst the inhabitants of Wrekinswold, that annually, upon the eve of All Saint's Day, those who happened to cross the site of Hubb's House at midnight, would behold the apparition of Howison; an elderly man, who appears with vain labour to be gathering and piling visionary stones, which sink down and disperse as soon as collected; when, should the startled wanderer on the Wrekin take courage to ask the phantom who he is and what he does, he will civilly and sadly reply-

“Friend, go thy way, and heap not up riches which thou knowest not who shall inherit. Beware, I say, of the chaff which flitteth away at the breath of the least wind, even as thou perceivest these stones to do, wherewith I strive for ever and for ever to erect an altar to the Goodman of the Croft; and from which I labour through everlasting years — but in vain — to clear the Field of my great master the FIEND! "

·

TO HIM I LOVE.

Ir ever the dew drop was loved by the flower, When panting it droop'd in its hot summer bower; If e'er to the peasant soft evening was dear,

When his calm cottage home in the valley was near;

If ever the heather was sweet to the bee,

Beloved thy affection is dearer to me!

If ever the eagle was proud of his might,

As his eye met the sun in his heavenward flight;

If ever old ocean was proud of his waves,

As foaming they roll'd over brave seamen's graves; If captive e'er triumph'd when ransom'd and free,

I am proud of thy truth thy devotion to me!

If ever the exile on far foreign shore

Sigh'd for friendship's kind smile, he might never see more;

If e'er the sweet nightingale wail'd in the grove,

When she miss'd the soft call of her answering love,

I pine for thy presence so blessed to me, And waste my young spirit in weeping for thee!

But still in my sorrow one ray pours its light,

Like the moon when it bursts on the darkness of night; If ever the bow spann'd in glory the heaven, If ever the bark through the blue deep was driven,

If ever the summer brought calm to the sky, Our souls are unchanged in their faith till we die!

TO FANNY.

“Twas for a season brief and fleet,

My eyes were charmed by sight of thee, But oh! the passing hour was sweet,

An age of bliss and love to me. I heard thee speak, thy liquid voice Excited many a blissful thought; But though thou art another's choice, Can I forget her whom I sought?

I never see thine eye of blue,

Or view thy heavenly moulded form, But think the angels must be few,

By whom such matchless looks are worn. Thou art my deity, my shrine, The star I love that beams afarShedding a radiance all divine, A guiding and a cheering star.

Oh! do not ask me to forget,

Or doubt but I must fondly cherish Those happy times in which we met, Nor cease to think but when I perish. And when thou'rt wedded to another, Howe'er my wretched heart be riven, Yet still my feelings I will smother, “And pray to meet thee but in Heaven. "