Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Chapter I: Companions, not...
 Chapter II: A retrospect
 Chapter III: An unexpected...
 Chapter IV: The two brothers
 Chapter V: A free offer
 Chapter VI: The lonely dwellin...
 Chapter VII: A contrast
 Chapter VIII: The remonstrance
 Chapter IX: The mysterious...
 Chapter X: The scroll
 Chapter XI: Stern measures
 Chapter XII: The lonely captiv...
 Chapter XIII: Warning
 Chapter XIV: Flight
 Chapter XV: A daughter's angui...
 Chapter XVI: On the waves
 Chapter XVII: The rainbow in the...
 Chapter XVII: The rainbow on the...
 Chapter XVIII: Fears and hopes
 Chapter XIX: The traitor’s...
 Chapter XX: Conclusion
 Back Cover

Title: Christian love and loyalty, or, The rebel reclaimed
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00026285/00001
 Material Information
Title: Christian love and loyalty, or, The rebel reclaimed
Alternate Title: Rebel reclaimed
Physical Description: 200 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. ; 18 cm.
Language: English
Creator: A. L. O. E., 1821-1893
Brown, T ( Engraver )
Gall & Inglis ( Publisher )
Publisher: Gall & Inglis
Place of Publication: London ;
Publication Date: [1872?]
Subject: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Love -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Stepsisters -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children and death -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Pride and vanity -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Brothers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Loyalty -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1872
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
Statement of Responsibility: by A.L.O.E.
General Note: Illustrations engraved by T. Brown.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00026285
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002238789
notis - ALH9313
oclc - 58796165

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
    Table of Contents
        Page 4
    Chapter I: Companions, not friends
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Chapter II: A retrospect
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Chapter III: An unexpected visit
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    Chapter IV: The two brothers
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Chapter V: A free offer
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    Chapter VI: The lonely dwelling
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
    Chapter VII: A contrast
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
    Chapter VIII: The remonstrance
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    Chapter IX: The mysterious errand
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    Chapter X: The scroll
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
    Chapter XI: Stern measures
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
    Chapter XII: The lonely captive
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    Chapter XIII: Warning
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    Chapter XIV: Flight
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    Chapter XV: A daughter's anguish
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
    Chapter XVI: On the waves
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    Chapter XVII: The rainbow in the cloud
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
    Chapter XVII: The rainbow on the cloud
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    Chapter XVIII: Fears and hopes
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
    Chapter XIX: The traitor’s departure
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
    Chapter XX: Conclusion
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


^ */(A

oL. '
I -r

,,c~id ~~1 i,,, ~~~~8 1L
d,-iui a~h n~i .l-: ll YieL~.C.. 1




Qe gthe g~elnaime.

A. L. O. E.

A nl now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity.









'IF I choose to go and see the volunteers reviewed
upon the downs, you are not likely to be able to
stay me !' exclaimed Liberia Braburn, shaking her
auburn locks with an air of defiance.
I was not speaking for myself, I should like
to go very much,' said Grace Vernon, as she bent
down to tie up a carnation; 'but what your
father said this morning made me think that
he wished us to keep in the grounds.'
Liberia burst into a merry laugh. 'My father
and I take different sides in politics,' she cried;
'he would not care if all the volunteers, officers,
men, drummers and fifers, were packed off to the
rock of Gibraltar My father's half a Frenchun

at heart, and, I believe, thinks more of Chief Consul
Bony, than of good King George, Queen Charlotte,
and all the Royal Family of England.'
'You should not say so,' observed Grace Vernon,
'you might get Mr Braburn into trouble.'
'How absurd you are!' exclaimed her companion;
'as if my father, Mr Jaspar Braburn, had not
published his republican notions widely enough
when he called his only daughter by such an
outlandish name as mine, merely because she
happened to be born in the year of the French
Revolution, 1789. I'm only too lucky,' she
added, with a laugh, 'not to have had "Robes-
pierre," "Danton," or "Marat," tacked on after
"Liberia," or perhaps "Miss Guillotine Braburn"
might have been selected as a title more novel,
original, and unique. But whatever name I might
bear, it would not prevent my being as good and
loyal a subject of King George as any in this Isle of
Wight; and if I'd only been a boy instead of a girl,
I'd have gone as a volunteer myself !'
'Names do not always suit their wearers,' observed
'No, indeed, or your parents would never have
made such a blunder as to give you yours !' cried
Liberia: though it may not have been a blunder
after all,' added the saucy girl, with a laugh, 'for,
considering what an odd-looking shrimp you are,
"little Grace" suits remarkably well.'
The subject of the very uncourteous jest scarcely

deserved it, even as regarded mere personal appear-
ance. Grace Vernon was small, indeed, for her age,
but delicately formed, and with more refinement,
both in manner and language, than her free-spoken
companion. Liberia, though only fourteen, appeared
a woman in height, being some six inches taller than
Grace; but her plump rounded cheek, her childish
petulance of manner, and the youthful style of her
dress, shewed that she had not yet emerged from
the school-room. Liberia's auburn locks were not
drawn up, fastened over a cushion, bedaubed with
pomatum and powder, or surmounted with a small
round hat, after the fashion which our grandmothers
followed, but with a freedom which suited her name,
were allowed to fall all over her shoulders in long
and rather untidy ringlets, curled, as she said, by
the sea-air and the salt-water of the Channel. For
Liberia lived with her father and his step-daughter
in a large house on the coast, near St Catherine's
Point, in the south of the beautiful Isle of Wight.
Often would she climb to the top of some cliff, and
look out over the blue waters, and point to the
quarter in which she knew Cape Barfleur to lie,
though at a distance too great to be visible even
through a telescope. Liberia always expressed a
hope that the French would make their intended
invasion of England from that point, and that they
would take the Isle of Wight in their way, and land
in the little bay on whose shore stood Braburn
Castle, conspicuous from afar by the disproportioneo

height of its tower. Liberia, a bold, enthusias~er
girl, felt no fears as to the result of an invasion; she
firmly believed one Englishman to be a match for
six men of any other nation, and with proud delight
watched the volunteer corps exercising on thedowns.
For the period at which my story opens is the event-
ful year 1803, when the Peace of Amiens had been
broken, and England plunged again into a bloody
war with our neighbour across the Channel. The
startling news, that Napoleon, then First Consul,
had detained in France all Britons travelling through
the dominions of the Republic, the accounts of
struggles by sea and by land, the expectation of an
invasion, had roused national feeling to the highest
pitch of enthusiasm. Hundreds of thousands of vo-
lunteers were enrolled all over the country,-the
very boys were eager to enlist; God save the
King" resounded alike from hall and cottage, and
whoever dared to oppose the current of popular ex-
citement, ran some risk of becoming its victim.
Under these circumstances, Mr Jaspar Braburn had
thought it prudent to refrain from any expression
of sympathy with France or French principles; he
had removed the faded tri-color cockade which had
surmounted a framed print of Napoleon which was
hung in his room, and had replaced the print itself
by a likeness of King George the Third. A large
Bible (seldom indeed opened) was now a conspicuous
ornament of his saloon, and he had even subscribed,
as ostentatiously as he could, tc a patriotic fund.

That, however, which best served to cover any dis-
loyalty on the part of Jaspar, was the lustre shed on
the name of Braburn by the exploits of his younger
brother. Captain Braburn, of the navy, had in his
frigate, the Aurora,' sustained and repelled the at-
tacks of two French vessels, both larger than his
own, and carrying heavier guns: after a long and
severe conflict, he had forced his opponents to strike
their flags, and had succeeded in bringing both ships
as prizes safe into an English port. Liberia was ex-
ceedingly proud of the fame of her uncle, 'fighting
Braburn,' though, owing to family differences, she
had never yet seen the hero.
Well,' Liberia continued, returning to the subject
from which she had made a diversion, 'I want you
to come with me to the downs, for Martha is too
busy to-day.'
I do not think that I can go,' answered Grace.
'You don't think that you can go 1 what a round-
about way of refusing can't you speak plain Eng-
lish!' cried Liberia, with impatience.
I don't think that either of us ought to go, as
Mr Braburn did not wish us to do so.'
'He is not your father,' said Liberia.
Grace felt secretly thankful that he was not, but
she only quietly made reply, 'He stands to me in the
place of a guardian, and in these things I ought to
obey him.'
Oh! you're one of the meek, tame, milk-and-
water characters, that are born to be ordered about,

and knocked about, and kept down like the slavies
in the Indies! But what better could one expect
from the daughter of a clerk!' exclaimed Liberia
laying a scornful emphasis on the last word, which
brought the blood not only to the pale check of
Grace, but mantling over her brow.
My father was an honourable, a good, a holy
man!' exclaimed the orphan, her usually soft grey
eyes almost flashing through the drops that were
gathering on their lashes; he is now in a happy
place-I am proud of being his daughter!'
'How like you are to your mother said Liberia,
especially when you take to crying.'
'I wish that I were like her!' exclaimed Grace
fervently; and the poor bleeding heart added what
the lips did not speak, 'And I wish that I were with
her-in Heaven!'
Liberia only shrugged her shoulders, but there
was most provoking meaning in that shrug; it
seemed to the indignant Grace to express the con-
tempt for a step-mother, when dead, which Liberia
had too often shewn towards her when she was
living. Fierce anger, like a sudden flame, flashed
up in the heart of the young girl, quiet and gentle
as she usually appeared, ana it was only by a pair.-
ful effort that Grace kept down the passionate words
which rose to her tongue.
'Are you going with me to the downs or not
asked Liberia, recurring to the original question.
'No,' answered Grace, with decision.

'Then you are an idiot for your pains!' cried
Liberia, who was provoked and disappointed by the
r-sistance of Grace to her imperious will. Bold as
was the daughter of Jaspar, she did not choose to
venture alone so far from home in the midst of
strangers, even for the pleasure of seeing a volunteer
review. Liberia also wished some one to share with
her the displeasure of her father, if, as was more than
probable, he should be angry at his wishes being
disregarded. It was, therefore, with a feeling of
irritation that she turned from her companion, veil-
ing her annoyance at the firmness of Grace, under
an affected contempt for her weakness.
As soon as Liberia was out of sight and hear-
ing, Grace sank down on a rough garden seat, half-
surrounded by thick-growing laurels, put her slender
hands before her face, and burst into bitter weeping.
SOh! what a miserable, miserable life I lead here!'
she exclaimed; with no one to care for me, no
one to love me, my existence embittered by the
pride, and unkindness, and selfishness of one who
tormented my precious mother while she was yet
with us, and who treats with disrespect the memory
of those whom she is not worthy to name !'
Fast fell the tears of the orphan upon the black
dress which she still wore for her mother, though
Liberia had for months cast aside the mourning
which she had been obliged to put on for her father's.
wife. The heart of Grace was very sad, a sense of
desolation oppressed her; she seemed to have ,no

hope or object in life, and the daily cross which was
laid upon her appeared to be heavier than she could
bear. It was well for the lonely girl that she had
been taught from her early childhood, that in God
the fatherless have a tender Father ; that, when all
earthly stays are removed, there is yet a Rock upon
which the weary can rest, and the heavy-laden lay
down their burdens. Grace was young, and was
rather feeling her way towards God than seeing it
clearly ; she had little experience and little strength,
and she had not yet found joy or peace in believing;
but her face was turned towards the light, and if
clouds seemed to hide from her the Sun of her soul,
the edges of these clouds were silvered with His
While Grace is weeping alone in the shrubbery,
we will take a short review of the circumstances
which had brought her into her present position as
a resident in the home of Jaspar Braburn, and a
companion of his proud and self-willed daughter.




THE earliest recollections of Grace Vernon were
connected with the darkened sick-room in which
her gentle mother had for many years nursed a
suffering husband. Her first lesson, when she had
been little more than an infant, had been to 'sit
quiet and make no noise,' and Grace had early learned
to amuse herself without giving trouble, or disturb-
ing even by her soft prattle the stillness of the
chamber of sickness. The innocent glee of child-
hood was hushed, the joyous laugh, the merry romp
with little companions-these had never been en-
joyed by Grace Vernon. The child grew up like a
pale flower that has been shut in from the light.
She was thoughtful, quiet, grave, full of tender care
for others, fearful of giving pain, and very sensitive
to the lightest word of rebuke. The first pleasure
which Grace could recall to her mind, was that of
Atrewing crumbs for the sparrows which twittered
about her window, and her earliest ambition had -
been to possess a red-breast of her own, which would
feed from her lips, nestle in her bosom, and warble
sweet songs from its perch on her shoulder. Such
ambition could not be gratified, and little Grace had

to content herself with sending whispered messages
by the sparrows to children whom she could see at
their romps in a neighboring play-ground which
was overlooked by Mr Vernon's lodging. Little did
those merry children dream how their sports were
watched by a pale young prisoner in the dull brick-
house whose blinds seemed to be always down, or
what fanciful names were given to each of them by
the child, who knew well which was fleetest of foot-
which was strongest of arm-which most ready to
quarrel-and which most willing to oblige. Some-
times a feeling of envy came over Grace as the glad
voices rose from below. She wished-oh! how fer-
vently she wished I-that God had given to her a
sister, one who would have shared her little amuse
ments, talked over her childish fancies, and returned
her fond clinging love! But the possession of a
sister seemed to be a good yet more unattainable
than that of the coveted red-breast; Grace locked
up the wish in her heart, and only a quiet sigh some-
times told that it lived there.
When Grace was about seven years old, her
father's long sufferings were closed by death, and
the little girl became the all-in-all of her widowed
mother. But with bereavement sharper poverty
came, and Nina Vernon, almost before her first deep
anguish could be softened by time, had to think of
some way of earning a subsistence for herself and
her orphan child. Being a woman of a cultivated
mind, the lady found employment as a daily gover-

ness. But this engagement involved many hours of
absence from her little daughter, and the life of poor
Grace Vernon became even more lonely than before
It is true that she now found interest in books, and
that Mrs Vernon well knew that the plan laid out
for the studies of her child would be scrupulously
followed out in her absence, Grace timing her vari-
ous occupations by the chime of a neighboring
church-clock; but still the widow felt with pain that
the childhood of her solitary Grace was brightened
by none of the pleasures natural to youth. When
the wearied mother came home in the evening, the
sight of her pale, pensive, joyless child, ever gentle
and uncomplaining, sent a pang through her heart.
It was for the sake of her daughter-it was to give:
to Grace the protection of a father, the blessing of a
comfortable home, that Mrs Vernon, after five years
of widowhood, took the one foolish step of her life,
and without sufficient knowledge of his character,
became thewife of Jaspar Braburn. The world con-
sidered that the daily governess-the needy widow of
a clerk-had made a brilliant marriage; Jaspar was,
it was said, of good family, and had inherited a for-
tune from his father-his appearance was attractive,
his abilities brilliant-what more could be wished
for in a husband? Had Nina Vernon taken counsel
of God rather than of the world-had she asked for
more wisdom from on high-she would have seen
that all outward advantages weigh but as dust in the
balance against the two essentials-good principles,

and good sense! It was not until the irrevocable
vow was taken, that the painful suspicion was forced
upon Nina that her husband was wanting in both.
A new sparkling fountain of joy was opened in
the heart of Grace Vernon, when she first heard of
the approaching event which would so alter her
position in life. It was not so much because
poverty was to be exchanged for comfort-a dull
lodging in a town for a beautiful home in one of
earth's loveliest isles-that the change was to her
so full of promise; but because her long-cherished
desire was at length to be fulfilled, and the union
which would give to her mother a protector, would
give to her also a sister. Grace was never weary of
hearing Mr Braburn describe his only daughter,
which he often did, colouring his picture with
many a fanciful hue. It was a peculiarity of
Jaspar's mind to magnify all that belonged to
himself. Grace, accustomed to hear simple truth,
was not prepared to make allowance either for
parental partiality, or an exaggerated style of speech.
Jaspar's glowing account of Liberia-her auburn
ringlets her sparkling eyes-her talents-her
spirit-her warm, overflowing affections, almost
realized to Grace Vernon her idea of an angel upon
earth. On a sandy foundation the poor girl built
up her fabric of hopes In all her day-dreams-
.and the lonely child had been too much given to
day-dreams-Liberia, the beautiful, the gifted, the
good, then shone out as the central figure. Grace

Vernon counted the days that must elapse before
she could have the happiness of first beholding the
sister whom her young warm heart was so well
prepared to love.
At length the long-expected day arrived, and the
carriage, containing the newly-wedded pair, and
Grace Vernon, drove up to 'Braburn Castle'-such
was the high-sounding title given by Jaspar to the
home which his father had named 'Summer Lodge.'
The first glimpse which Grace caught of Liberia.
as she stood in the porch, gave a chill to the warm
hopes of the expectant girl. Liberia appeared
good-looking indeed, and tall-rather formidably
tall; but her rough hair blown back by the wind-
her untidy dress-and above all, the expression of
a face on which some curiosity might be seen-
but nothing like kindness-made her so unlike the
picture which fancy had drawn, that Grace could
scarcely believe that this was indeed the Liberia
of her day-dreams! Grace reproached herself for
so hasty a judgment; but when, a few moments
after, she saw Jaspar's daughter receive, with cold
haughtiness, the proffered kiss of his bride, and then
felt that Liberia's keen eyes were surveying herself
from head to foot, with a scrutiny neither kind nor
courteous, pleasant expectation was changed to
undefined fear, and Grace shrank within herself
like a sensitive plant that is rudely touched by the
'Why, papa said that you were twelve years old,

I should scarcely have taken you for eight,' was
Liberia's first remark to Grace as she led her into
the dwelling. Grace glanced up timidly at her tall
companion, and knew not what to reply.
While Jaspar shewed the castle to his bride,
Liberia took Grace, who would far rather have kept
beside her mother, into the pretty sitting-room which
the young lady considered her own. Here books,
work, bits of ribbon, and sea-weed, mingled with
sugar-plums and shells, lay scattered about in utter
disorder. Liberia did not ask her shy guest to sit
down, or to take off her bonnet, but watched her
timid movements with curiosity, regardless of the
pain which such scrutiny gave. At last Miss Bra-
burn burst out laughing, and said,' You seem afraid
to move or to speak, you poor frightened little
creature! I think that your mother must have
starved you, or kept you in terrible order! She'll
not try that game upon me, or she'll get as good as
she gives !
Had Grace's future fortunes depended on her
calling that rough bold girl her sister, she could not
at that moment have done so.
Then followed close cross-questioning, which
painfully embarrassed and perplexed the daughter
of Nina. Liberia was full of curiosity, and no deli-
cacy of feeling prevented her from gratifying it to
the utmost. Jaspar Braburn had only informed
his family of his engagement to 'a beautiful and
accomplished lady, niece of Viscountess Laurie, and

the widow of a gentleman of Hampshire.' This was
by no means sufficient to satisfy Liberia, who was
resolved, as she said to her maid, to get everything
out of the girl.'
What was your father ? Where did you live ?
How many servants did you keep? Had you a
carriage ?' Such were the interrogations with which,
like a volley from small-arms, Liberia harassed
poor Grace, who readily perceived that each answer
forced from her reluctant lips, tended to lower her
beloved mother in the eyes of the daughter of
'Oh mamma!' she exclaimed, bursting into tears,
when Mrs Braburn visited her little room at night,
I am so much disappointed in Liberia, and so much
afraid that I have done a great deal of harm already.'
Of harm, my darling V' repeated the mother, in
gentle surprise.
'Oh I have told Liberia so much, which I am
sure that she ought not to know, but she asked
me so many questions, and I could not help giving
an answer.'
What did she question you about, my dear
'Everything that you can think of, mamma: where
we lived, and what we did, and oh I'--Grace hid
her glowing face in her mother's bosom-' when she
heard that you had gone out as a daily governess,
she raised her eyebrows, and drew in her lips, as if
she were going to whistle, and then burst out into

a hateful laugh, and exclaimed, So much for the
niece of Viscountess Laurie !"'
'There was nothing for her to laugh at, or for
you to be ashamed of,' said Mrs Braburn, and yet
she sighed as she spoke.
'Mamma, her laughter made me feel savage, more
angry than I ever had been in my life; and then
came the miserable thought that I had let out your
secrets, and put you in an uncomfortable position;
for I am sure that this odious Libcria will tell all
the world that you went out teaching for money.'
'If she can say nothing worse of me,' replied Mrs
Braburn, I may well be thankful, my Grace.'
Then you are not vexed, dearest mamma?'
The lady paused a little before she made answer,
'I should have been far more vexed, my love, if
any false shame on your part had made you swerve
from the truth.'
Mrs Braburn could not, however, avoid feeling
sensitively the annoyance to which she was exposed
from that day, from the disrespectful, disobedient,
and undutiful conduct of her step-daughter. Liberia,
who had never been accustomed to obey, openly ex-
pressed her resolve never to stoop her neck to the
yoke, or to yield the slightest submission to the wife
of her father. She prided herself upon her indepen-
dence, and took delight in opposing the will, and
contradicting the opinions of her step-mother. Grace,
to whom a look had been a law, was surprised, dis-
tressed, ii.lg;,ii.it.; insults to her mother, far more

than unkindness to herself, made her entertain
something like rooted dislike towards Liberia Bra-
burn. The gentle loving girl could hardly endure
to hear her parent spoken of as my new governess,
or with more mocking scorn, 'the niece of Viscoun-
tess Laurie,'-and it cut her to the soul to see the
flush called up on the cheek of her mother by
Liberia's saucy retorts, or direct disobedience to her
But whatever Mrs Braburn had to suffer from
the wilfulness of Liberia, or the secret, but more
painful trial brought by increasing knowledge of
the character of one whom she had vowed to honour
and obey-these sufferings did not last long. In
less than a year after her second marriage, the
gentle lady was suddenly called to her rest. Her
death was to Grace an overwhelming blow-one
from the effects of which the stricken girl thought
that she could never recover. Her agonised grief,
and perhaps a latent feeling of remorse, moved even
the heart of Liberia. For more than a week the
proud girl was softened and subdued-became
almost caressing in her manner-and when Grace
saw even tears upon her cheek, the half-broken-
hearted child of Nina tried to forgive and forget the
past. Jaspar Braburn gave passionate expression
to his sorrow ; but, if violent, it was also brief. He
first solaced himself by writing an ode on the death
of his wife, which, printed on black-bordered paper,
he circulated amongst his friends. Very pathetic

was the poem-a master-piece in its way, and the
praises which it drew forth did much to console its
author for the melancholy nature of its theme.
Then the bereaved husband perceived that travelling
was absolutely necessary to relieve his distracted
mind; and, crossing the Channel, he remained for
several months in France. When Jaspar Braburn
returned to his home, shortly before the declaration
of war, it was evident to all who knew him that he
had left his grief behind; the cure had been per-
fectly successful. The only evidence by which the
widower shewed that his gentle wife was remem-
bered, was giving her name to a very tall tower
which he immediately added to his castle, and
which looked from a distance-as his neighbours
observed-like the chimney of a manufactory.
Perhaps it was intended by the bereaved husband to
answer the purpose of a monument; it is certain
that Nina had no other, save the willow over the
lowly grave which Grace Vernon constantly strewed
with fresh flowers.
Liberia's sorrow had been even more transient
than that of her father. She soon ceased not only
to shew grief herself, but to respect that of her
companion. The wild spirits of Jaspar's daughter
rose higher than before, after their brief depression,
and she grew. impatient of the enduring sorrow of
Grace. The mourner, indeed, returned to her usual
round of studies, because she knew that such would
have been the wish of her mother; she pursued


them with regularity, as if a loved voice could
direct them still; but she pursued them in a
listless, joyless spirit. All that gave Grace any-
thing like comfort was visiting her mother's grave,
and carrying little presents to an afflicted widow,
whom Mrs Braburn had often visited. Grace talked
on her fingers to the widow, who was deaf, and who
was the only person with whom she could bear to
converse on the subject closest to her heart. There
was something sweet to the orphan in the sympathy
of one who had known and honoured her mother.
On one point, and only one, Grace and Liberia
had any unity of feeling. They both loved their
country and their king; they both warmed with
patriotic ardour at the sight of the gallant bands
that gathered to defend the land from invasion.
When Liberia expatiated with enthusiasm on the
gallant deeds of her uncle, she found a ready listener
in Grace; the quiet melancholy girl was quite as
ardent in the cause of her country as her more ex-
citable companion.
Having thus briefly related the events which had
occurred at Braburn Castle before the time at which
my story opens, I will return to Grace Vernon
whom we left in tears, seated on the bench amidst
the laurels.




'LIBERIA !' said a deep musical voice, so near to
Grace, that she started at the unexpected sound,
and glancing up through her tears saw a manly
form beside her, dressed in the blue and silver uni-
form of a naval officer. The stranger's sunburnt
countenance looked worn, as if by suffering or hard-
ship, and his left arm was fastened up in a sling,
but very pleasant and bright was the expression of
the blue eyes that looked down so kindly on Grace
'My brother's child and I must not meet as
strangers,' continued the officer, as with almost
fatherly tenderness he took the young girl's hand in
his own.
'Oh! Sir-you mistake-I am not Liberia!'
stammered forth Grace, shrinking back from kind-
ness which she knew could not be intended for her-
Is not Jaspar Braburn your father?'
'He is a kind of father, but' -- Grace stopped
'Then let me be a kind of uncle, without the
but,' said Captain Braburn, smiling, for he guessed


that his brother's step-daughter was before him, and
her tearful eyes and timid, shrinking manner raised
in his breast a feeling of compassion for the orphan,
and a desire to cheer and befriend her. Grace
could not but return the smile, and it seemed to
her like a ray of sunshine that had suddenly crossed
her path.
You must let me take an uncle's privilege,' con-
tinued the officer, resting himself on the bench, and
making Grace sit down beside him, 'you must tell
me your little troubles, and see whether a friend
cannot find out some way of making matters look
The voice of kindness had of late become so
strange to poor Grace, that it had now the effect of
making her tears flow faster. Before she could
command her voice sufficiently to make reply to the
Captain, Liberia burst in upon them, rushing along
the gravel-walk, her face in a glow with excitement.
My uncle-it is my uncle! exclaimed the girl,
throwing her arms round the Captain's neck with a
greeting so hearty, that he bit his lip with pain, for
her roughness had sent a thrill of agony through
his wounded arm.
'Why did you not tell me that he was here?'
cried Liberia, turning almost fiercely towards Grace;
'it was just like you, and when you knew that I
have been dying of impatience to see him '
Liberia's manner and tone gave Gilbert Braburn
at once an explanation of the tears of Grace Vernon.

He had an intuitive perception of character, kept in
constant exercise by intercourse with those whom
he had to command; and the Captain had not been
two minutes in the society of Liberia, ere he read
something of her proud and domineering disposi-
tion, and comprehended the daily trial which it
would be likely to inflict on her gentle companion.
This was the first time that Gilbert had seen his
young niece, and he knew that it might very pos-
sibly be also the last; he longed, even in this brief
interview, to impart to her some word of counsel
that might connect remembrance of him with
thoughts that might promote her own lasting wel-
'Your young sister had no time to announce my
arrival,' said the Captain, answering for Grace; it
is but a few minutes since I came into this shrub-
bery. On finding that my brother was not at his
home, I sauntered out into the grounds to await his
return, not without some hope of there meeting
Liberia. And I was more happy than I expected
to be, for I looked for but one niece, and I discover
that I have two.'
Liberia was about to deny the relationship of
Grace, but she instinctively felt that to do so, would
not raise herself in the eyes of her chivalrous uncle.
The refined courtesy of the officer's manner had the
effect of subduing the one girl, while it encouraged
the other; and when Gilbert resumed his seat, with
Liberia on his left hand, and Grace on his right, the


timid child felt almost more at her ease with him,
than did her far bolder companion.
Nevertheless, it was Liberia who, as usual, led
the conversation. Grace sat quietly listening, while
the eager girl tried to draw from her uncle an ac-
count of his late triumph over the enemy; Liberia
declared that she could not rest till she had heard
from his own lips the glorious story from beginning
to end. The Captain, however, had no disposition
to be the historian of his own exploits; his answers
were simple, and as short as politeness would
permit. He had merely done his duty, as any other
British seaman would have done, and God had
granted him success.
Baffled in her first attempts to draw out her
uncle, and puzzled by finding his disposition so un-
like that of her father, Liberia changed her subject
of conversation to that of the volunteers. She wa,
eager to make a display of her loyalty and patriotism
to an officer who had freely risked his life and shed
his blood for his king and country.
Ah uncle Gilbert, now that you have come, I
shall never again be prevented from going to see
those gallant volunteers. Do you not think, as I
do, that we ladies ought to have a corps of our own,
and that we should do good service if ever an enemy
landed ?'
A smile was on the Captain's lips, but his eye,
which rested on his niece's bright young face, wore
a thoughtful expression. There is one volunteer

force,' he said, 'and happily not a small one, in
which women, girls-even children are enrolled
and do good service.'
Liberia looked surprised. It is strange that I
should never have heard of it she cried. 'Where
do these volunteers serve ?'
Wherever the right has a struggle against the
wrong,' said Gilbert: 'wherever the invader, sin, is
repelled from without, or the rebel, passion, kept
down within.'
'I was not speaking of such things cried
Liberia, who had no desire to be drawn into con-
versation upon spiritual subjects. I was speaking
of volunteers who wear a uniform, and are ready to
fight for their king.'
Gilbert Braburn was not so easily to be beaten
from the position which he had chosen to take up.
' I, too, spoke of volunteers,' he said, who are ready
to fight, and do fight for their King, Liberia, and
who wear a uniform likewise.'
'What uniform can you mean !' exclaimed the
girl, perplexed by the words of her uncle.
For what purpose is any uniform worn?' said
Gilbert, answering her question by another.
'To distinguish a corps,' replied Liberia, to shew
to whom it belongs.'
'The uniform then of Christian volunteers is
brotherly love; since their Heavenly King hath said,
By this shall all men know that ye are My dis-
ciples if ye have love one to another.' As the

Captain ended, he glanced at the despised Grace
A feeling of astonishment at hearing the Bible
thus quoted kept Liberia silent for several moments.
She had indeed received religious instruction from
her step-mother ; but Mrs Braburn's words had been
lightly regarded, and Jaspar's daughter, too much
resembling her father, had grown up with an idea
that piety is for the sick, the sad, or the dying, a
kind of disagreeable remedy for trouble, to which
none would have recourse in days of youth and glad-
ness. It was very strange to Liberia to hear an
officer, in the prime of his manhood, the noon of
his fame, thus openly avow his opinions ; and con-
science made her shrink from the term 'brotherly
love,' as if it implied a rebuke. From any one but
Gilbert Braburn, the proud girl would have turned
in disgust, had he dared to speak thus to her on re-
ligion; but a hero was privileged to say what he
would, and there was a charm in the Captain's tone
and manner that kept his niece riveted with fixed
attention to his side.
'And Christian volunteers,' resumed Gilbert
Braburn, 'have their exercises to go through, their
daily duties to perform. Can you tell me, my child,
what chapter of God's Word contains full directions
for the constant practice of His people ?'
Liberia was quite confused by the question;
without pressing it upon her, the officer turned and
repeated it to Grace.

In a very low tone the young girl replied, Per-
haps-the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians.'
You are perfectly right,' said the Captain:
'from that beautiful chapter we learn all that a
Christian hero should be.'
'I will learn it by heart to-night!' exclaimed
Liberia, anxious to gratify her uncle, and jealous
even of the slight attention paid by him to her com-
'It takes a life-time so to learn it by heart, as to
bring its lessons into practice,' said Gilbert; 'indeed
its difficulties are far beyond what mortal powers
can master. No man can even fully comprehend
that chapter, till he has been shewn by God's grace
what is a Christian's motive for obedience, and
whence comes the power to obey.'
'I do not see any difficulty at all in finding out a
motive for obedience!' cried Liberia. Of course
when we do good, it is because we wish to go to
Heaven when we die '
'Is that what you think, my young friend ?' asked
Gilbert, again addressing himself to Grace. As she
hesitated in giving an answer, he went on, 'Do you
think that the hope of winning Heaven by good-
ness, is the Christian's motive in trying to do good ?'
Grace silently shook her head.
Can you give me a verse from the Bible which
shews a higher-a purer motive, the only motive
worthy of a Christian, or fit for a sinner whom
mercy hath redeemed ?'

In a voice so low and timid, that the Captain
stooped his head to catch its accents, Grace Vernon
made reply, The love of Christ constraineth.'
Right, most right cried Gilbert Braburn, and
then in an earnest, solemn tone, he continued the
quotation from St Paul's soul-stirring exhortation:
'Because He died for all, that they which live
should not henceforth live unto themselves, but
unto Him which died for them and rose again.
Here is the Christian's glorious motive for obedience,
and whence comes the Christian's strength ?'
Is it not God's Spirit given in answer to prayer ?'
murmured Grace, who was encouraged by the
stranger's manner, and cheered by finding that he
was treading in the same path as both her parents
had trod. My dear mother's favourite verse in the
Bible was this: If ye being evil know how to give
good gifts unto your children, how much more
shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit
to them that ask Him.'
'You have been well-instructed, my child,' said
Captain Braburn, laying his hand gently on the
shoulder of Nina's young daughter, and may God
grant you grace never to forget the counsels of such
a parent. Remember that while in ourselves we are
nothing, in the Lord have we righteousness and
strength; and if we be His, we must shew that we
are His, by a life of obedience and love.'
A step was now heard on the gravel-path.
Here comes papa !' cried Liberia Braburn.

Grace glanced at the Captain, who instantly rose,
and she fancied that she saw emotion on his face;
this was natural enough, as the brothers had not
met for many years, but then the emotion did not
seem of a pleasurable nature: and when Jaspar, turn-
ing a corner in the shrubbery, suddenly came in
sight of Gilbert, he started and stood still with an
air of awkward embarrassment that greatly as-
tonished Grace and his daughter.
Gilbert walked forward to meet his brother, and
silently held out his hand. Jaspar took it, retained
it but for a moment, and then stammered forth
something which he meant for a welcome, followed
by an inquiry as to how his visitor had come.
My vessel, the Aurora," lies in Sandown bay-
we sail at dawn to morrow. I thought I would gallop
across and see you; it is long-very long since we
have met. There are also some subjects on my
mind on which I am anxious to converse with you,
The Captain's manner was grave almost to stern-
ness; that of Jaspar was flurried and restless ; Grace
could not help fancying that the latter regarded
with uneasiness the idea of a private interview with
his brother.
'We had better come into the Castle,' said Jaspar,
turning to lead the way.
Gilbert gave a parting smile to each of the girls,
but it was not so bright as that which had lighted
up his features when he had first addressed Grace

Vernon. There was kindness in it still, but
mingled with sadness, and it was exchanged for a
look of anxious thought, as he followed his brother
into the dwelling.
'What a strange meeting !' exclaimed Liberia,
as soon as they were out of hearing; 'one might
think that they had not been on good terms I I do
not believe,' she added, in a lower tone, that my
father does care much for my uncle, for he never
used to speak of him to any one, until all the place
was ringing with the fame of fighting Braburn,"
and then he felt proud of him. But I don't know
how any one could help liking the Captain, he looks
so noble and so kind; what a rich-toned voice he
has-what deep searching eyes, one feels at once
that he is born to command and to conquer; he
would be just my idea of a hero if-if he did not
talk like a methodist parson !'
'I am sure that what he said he felt,' observed
'And what you said he praised,' said Liberia with
a mocking laugh: 'I daresay that uncle Gilbert
thought from your size that you were quite a child,
and wondered that you knew anything beyond
A BC But,' added Liberia, in an altered tone, 'I'll
learn that chapter to-night as I promised that I
would. You must tell me where to find it, I hope
that it is not a long one.'
'It is the chapter that begins, Though I speak
with the tongue of men and of angels, and have

not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a
tinkling cymbal.'
Oh I remember, it is all about charity, the
easiest virtue in the world to practise!' cried
Liberia, who was liberal to prodigality. 'How
strange in uncle Gilbert to say that it takes a life-
time to learn it, and that mortal powers cannot
master it! He shall see how fast I can learn it,
and how well I can practise it too !'
'Giving money to the poor is not the only kind
of charity,' said Grace.
Oh I suppose that you consider talking on
your fingers to a stupid deaf body like Widow Wel-
ling, as something much higher and more un-
common; but, depend upon it, she would prefer a
silver half-crown to all your ridiculous twirling of
fingers and thumbs.' And Liberia made a mocking
imitation of the art which she had never taken the
trouble to acquire.
Grace held a different opinion, but she saw no
use in expressing it.
'I suppose,' asked Liberia, that you know that
chapter by heart already ?'
'No,' replied Grace, 'though it'is very familiar to
me. I intend to learn it by heart, but slowly, a
very small portion at a time, that I may think over
it well, and really try to understand and follow its
Liberia shrugged her shoulders, a common habit
of the young lady when she wished to express

contempt for something uttered by her companion.
But as Grace's plan seems to me to be a good one,
and it is to Christian faith, as shewn in Christian
conduct, that I wish chiefly to direct the attention
of my readers, I shall head each succeeding chapter
with a short portion of that description of Charity,
which contains full directions for the daily practice
of the children of God; seeking to exemplify in my
story, as far as I am able, the lesson of holy obedi-
ence which that portion is intended to convey.




Charity suffereth long.

I MUST again revert to the past, to give a sketch of
the character of one whose erratic course I shall
have to follow throughout my tale.
Jaspar Braburn, the father of Liberia, had had
the misfortune of being regarded from his cradle
as a prodigy, both as regarded intelligence and
beauty. He was 'a wonder' before he could walk,
' a wit' as soon as he could speak. Strangers who
met him, would stop to admire the splendid boy,'
and visitors at his home never appeared to be weary
of listening to his amusing prattle.
'Depend on't, this boy will be a distinguished
man !' was the unfortunate speech once made by
a baronet, as he laid his hand on the child's curly
head; and the saying was dwelt upon and repeated,
till Jaspar's parents, and Jaspar himself, gave it the
weight of an oracular prediction. The boy's father
was exceedingly proud of his first-born, and brought
him forward upon every suitable and unsuitable
occasion. Jaspar was called in to amuse company,
sipped the gentlemen's port, cracked their nuts, was

laughed at and petted by the ladies, recited pieces
of poetry before them, and heard his own flippant
sayings repeated as very clever things. It is not to
be marvelled at that vanity-the love of approba-
tion, became the very mainspring of the character
of the boy.
Master Jaspar, he be like the flies, he can't have
too much of the sugar till he be smothered in it
entirely,' was the observation of his old Irish nurse,
when she saw how eagerly her little charge drank
in the sweet poison of flattery.
At school, Jaspar's talents scarcely fulfilled the
promise of his childhood. He was a sharp, clever
boy, it was owned, but wanting in steady applica-
tion. Jaspar retained, however, the most unlimited
faith in his own powers; he could do whatever he
chose to do, he did not require to plod like ordinary
boys, he was persuaded that he could at any
moment outstrip all competitors with ease. Whether
he gained prizes or failed in obtaining them, Jaspar
was convinced that he was on the road to become a
distinguished man; and on the strength of his anti-
cipated greatness, he gave himself airs which often
rendered him the laughing-stock of his companions.
As the school-boy knew that the lives of great men
are read with interest by the public, he thought that
his own could not be too soon commenced; he there-
fore set about writing his autobiography in a style
of which the first sentence may serve as a sample.
'As the world,' wrote young Jaspar, 'often wants

to know more than it can of men that have erected
for themselves a niche in the Temple of Fame, of
their private considerations and public ideas, I
think it the best plan to begin a journal at once.'
This journal happened to fall into the hands of
Jaspar's schoolfellows, and was read aloud amidst
roars of laughter; it won for its ambitious author
the nick-name of' Jaspar of the Niche,' and he was
often jestingly asked the way to the Temple of
At the age of twenty-one Jaspar succeeded to his
father's property in the Isle of Wight, burdened
with an allowance to be regularly paid to his
younger brother and sister. Braburn now thought
it time to begin his distinguished career, and looked
aut for some means of making his name historical.
His first attempt to win celebrity was writing a long
epic poem on the story of Brutus. Strangely
enough, the world did not appear to care for epics,
and though Jaspar's friends applauded the work to
the echo, his publishers' shelves were crowded with
dainty volumes for which no purchasers were to be
found. Jaspar, reckless of expense, at the sugges-
tion of his young wife, Liberia's mother, caused the
poem to be translated into French, and numbers of
copies were secretly transported across the Channel,
and found their way to-bakers' ovens! Jaspar
never owned to a failure; on the contrary, he was
persuaded that his Brutus had had great effect in
bringing about the French Revolution, and con-

sidered this as a remarkable example of the influ-
ence of poetry on the destinies of nations !
Jaspar's next effort to distinguish himself was
an attempt to enter Parliament. Once admitted as
a member of the Senate, he had little doubt of
eclipsing the fame of Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, or Burke.
He made long, exciting, eloquent speeches, kept
open house for all who came, almost ruined himself
by election expenses, and lost his seat by a minority
of one. This failure was thought to have broken
the heart of his wife, a giddy, extravagant young
creature, whose chief hold on her husband's affec-
tions had been that her opinion of his high talents
and wonderful destiny had quite coincided with his
Jaspar, who had been very lavish in his expendi-
ture, and ostentatious in his manner of living, began
now to find himself seriously embarrassed in his
means. It was exceedingly inconvenient to have
regularly to pay the allowances bequeathed to his
brother and sister, and Jaspar soon adopted the ex-
pedient of ceasing to pay them at all. This occasioned
high words between Jaspar and Gilbert; the young
sailor might have passed over a wrong done to him-
self, but the injury done to Mary set his spirit on
fire. The brothers parted in anger, not to meet
again for many long years.
Time rolled on, Jaspar was not yet a historical
character, was not yet a distinguished man; all his
attempts to hollow out his niche, had only brought

dust and rubbish about him. His next fancy was
that of building and decorating : he believed him-
self to be possessed of great architectural talent;
his 'Lodge' must be transformed into a castle,
nothing less than a castle could be a befitting resi-
dence for so remarkable a genius. So gothic porch
and mullioned windows, marble hall and castellated
battlements, soon changed the style of the country
mansion, till the whole edifice became as incon-
gruous and pretentious as the character of its
owner. Jaspar found himself with long bills to pay,
and as far as ever from his coveted niche in the
Temple of Fame !
While the vain egotist was wearying himself with
pursuing that which, like his own shadow, always
appeared to fly before him, Gilbert, who thought
more of duty than of fame, guided by the one, was
followed by the other. While Gilbert in his earlier
years was ever manly, straightforward, and gene-
rous, his views on the subject of religion were not
what they afterwards became. He was deemed a
just and a noble, but rather a stern man; one in-
tolerant of any deviation in another from his own
high standard of honour. He might forget a wrong,
but an insult he would not forgive. Respected by
all, he was loved but by few-the few who knew what
depths of tender affection lay under his somewhat
cold demeanour. Of these few, Gilbert's sister was
one. Mary and Gilbert had been from childhood
fondly attached to each other, and their affection and

mutual confidence had but increased with their years.
There was but one thing which the young officer
carefully concealed from his sister, and that was
Jaspar's refusal to pay-as in honesty bound-the
bequests of their father to them both. Gilbert de
nied himself every indulgence, that Mary might
never suffer from Jaspar's neglect; nor feel the pang
which a sense of wrong must have inflicted on one
so loving. Mary never guessed that she owed her
comforts to the strict self-denial of Gilbert; he
wanted no thanks, he would have shrunk from
praise; it was quite sufficient reward for him to see
her bright joyousness of spirit unclouded.
But a thousandfold did the unconscious Mary
repay her debt to her brother. It was from the
dying lips of his sister that Gilbert first gained that
knowledge of spiritual truths which changed the
whole aspect of his life. Gilbert had ever set
duty before him, but it was a cold, frigid, lifeless
thing; when duty warmed into devotion, when
conscientiousness was raised into piety, it was as if
a cold statue had suddenly become instinct with
life There was still the same lofty form of virtue,
but it was virtue coloured with hope, breathing out
prayer, warm with the pulse of grateful love. Gil-
bert's eyes were opened like those of the dead man
of Nain, and he fixed them at once, and for ever,
upon the Saviour who had given him life. There
was a simple loyalty in his faith, which made it the
moving-spring of his actions. Gilbert loved the

Lord as his Redeemer, and therefore obeyed Him
as his King.
And with Gilbert's change of feeling towards
God, came a change of feeling towards man. Justice
and a high sense of honour had ever been conspicu-
ous in his character, but justice had sometimes over-
shadowed mercy, and honour been another name
for pride. When Gilbert saw how much he himself
had been forgiven, he saw that he must also forgive;
a knowledge of his own guilt before God, rendered
him more indulgent towards others. Gilbert now
for the first time comprehended something of the
nature of that Charity which suffereth long. His
conscience reproached him for the bitter resentment
which he had long nourished towards his only
brother; there had been no patience, no gentle for-
bearance, he had put no curb on his indignation;
who could tell whether more kindness might not
have won back Jaspar to a sense of his duty ? Gil-
bert, in obedience to the command of his Master,
resolved to take the first opportunity of being recon-
ciled with his brother. He wrote to Jaspar, but re-
ceived no reply, wrote again-there was still no
answer; and years elapsed before the sailor, who
was employed upon active service, could revisit the
place of his birth. At last, as we have seen, the
time arrived, and the Captain having galloped over
from Sandown, alighted from his horse at a little
inn very near the home of his fathers.
What is that high tower that I see above the


trees ?' he inquired, as he threw the rein to the
ostler. The man grinned as he made reply, That's
what the Squire calls Nina Tower," Sir, but the
folk hereabouts call it "Jaspar's Folly." It's the
west end o' Braburn Castle.'
Braburn Castle !' repeated Gilbert; 'I know of
no place of that name.
'It's the Squire's new name for the old place,
Sir,' said the man, he's for everything that's new-
fangled: folk say as how that there high tower
ben't his only folly, and that he's no sound English-
man at heart. I can't tell how that may be,' added
the ostler, 'but unless he learns the way o' paying
bills as well as running 'em up with brick and
mortar, he'll find himself some fine morning in a
place as it's easier to get in than out of.'
Gilbert bit his lip, and proceeded with rapid
strides towards the house. The ostler's words pain-
fully confirmed reports that had reached him at
I say, Ben,' cried the landlord to the ostler, as
he watched the retreating form of Gilbert, you'd
better keep a prudent tongue in your head, and
not talk after that fashion of your betters. I
shouldn't wonder if that there naval officer were
"fighting Braburn" himself; he'd something of
the family face.'
'And I mind me that he held the bridle in his
right hand,' exclaimed Ben, and had the other
tied up in a sling! Can it be Captain Braburn of

the Aurora;" I wish I'd bit my tongue off ere I'd
spoken a word against his brother afore him !'
In the meantime Gilbert pursued his way through
the grounds in which he had so often sported when
a boy ; they, at least, were but little altered. There
was the old elm against whose rugged trunk he and
his brother had fixed their target; how well he re-
membered how Jaspar had left his arrow sticking
in the bull's eye for days, till dew and rain spoilt
its feather, that all might see that he had succeeded
in hitting the centre of the mark There was the
grass-plot on which Mary, when a child, had ga-
thered so many daisies, to form a chain from tree
to tree : the grass was spangled with daisies still,
so was the turf over Mary's grave! Gilbert gave a
sigh of tender remembrance; but another feeling
was excited in his mind when he raised his eyes to
the edifice before him, in which he could never
have recognized the home that he loved so well.
Tower and battlement, arch and buttress, a modern
imitation of what owes its interest to antiquity, the
new piecing the old in a manner that offended his
taste as well as his feelings-Braburn Castle reared
its pretentious front before the indignant Captain.
'He might have spared our mother's room,'
muttered Gilbert, as he stood still to gaze, with
compressed lips and a darkening brow. Then
sterner thoughts rose in his mind, and made him
almost resolve to turn his back for ever upon the
dwelling of Jaspar Braburn. Was that tower a

monument of folly alone; did it not stand a dis-
graceful memorial of debts unpaid, of a father's
will disregarded, of a sister and brother defrauded
of their rights? Anger and resentment were re-
kindled in the heart of Gilbert, but they were not
now suffered, as they once had been, to rise into
fierce glowing flame. Charity suffereth long. Gil-
bert silently prayed for grace to forgive as he had
been forgiven, to pity where he could not respect.
He recalled boyhood's pleasant days, he tried to
find excuses for the weakness of his brother, till,
with just indignation against sin, was mingled in-
dulgence towards the offender. Then, with feelings
softened and anger subdued, Gilbert went to the
entrance of the Castle, and on there learning that
Jaspar was out, but soon expected to return, he
wandered into the shrubbery, where he first met
Grace Vernon.




-and is kind.

JASPAR and Gilbert Braburn stood together in the
recess of a bay window in the stately saloon of Bra-
burn Castle. They looked earnestly into each
other's faces, as if to trace there what changes time,
toil, and bereavement had made. A stranger might
have thought that the brothers resembled each
other; both were of commanding height, both had
the same regular cast of features, though Gilbert's
brow was broader and more sunburnt, and his eyes
of deeper colour than those of his brother. A
stranger, as I have said, might have thought the
two men alike, but one who knew them intimately,
would have traced scarcely the faintest resemblance
between them, so dissimilar were they in all to
which the soul gives its stamp.
There was an uneasy pause. Each seemed to
find it difficult to begin a conversation. Strange
as it may appear, the feelings of Gilbert towards
his brother were more kindly than those of Jaspar
towards him. There is much knowledge of human
nature shewn in the lines-
'Forgiveness to the injured both belong;
He never pardons who hath done the wrong.'

At length Jaspar made an effort to speak. 'You
see some improvements in the old place,' he said,
glancing around the apartment which was his
especial pride.
I see many alterations,' answered the sailor.
Jaspar was not well pleased with the reply, for he
read, or fancied that he read, in the frank manly
countenance before him, a reproof that his vanity
ill could brook. He did not choose, however,
to appear to notice it; and raising his eyes to
some lightly draperied figures painted in fresco on
the wall, he observed, I flatter myself that I've
shewn some taste in these decorations; I took the
idea from the palaces in France.'
'I could wish, Jaspar, that you had taken fewer
ideas from France.'
'And why so ?' asked Jaspar, quickly.
Because,' said Gilbert, with the air of one who
wishes to relieve his mind of a burden that presses
heavily upon it, because I own that I have been
made uneasy by reports which reached me at San-
down,-reports which I would fain disbelieve, and
to which I trust that you will enable me to give
an indignant denial.'
'What may these reports happen to be ?'
inquired Jaspar, taking a pinch of snuff from an
enamelled box, with an affectation of careless
'They relate to your last visit to France,-
and to the interviews which you are said to have

had with the Chief Consul,' replied Gilbert, fixing
his eyes searchingly upon the face of his brother.
'Pshaw! that was before the breaking out of
the war I' cried Jaspar, as he threw himself down
upon an arm-chair, and motioned to Gilbert to
seat himself likewise, that they might converse
more at their ease. 'Bonaparte is a man of talent,
and understands what metal other men are made
of; he does not confine his attention to diplo-
matists, nor think that a man must be destitute
of brains, unless he has received a king's commis-
sion. He chose to be civil, that's all; there's no
disgrace in having made a favourable impression
upon the first man of the age!' Jaspar leant
back on his chair, and folded his arms with an air
of self-complaisance.
Gilbert leant forward and said in a low tone, It
is well to warn you, Jaspar, that our Government
regards your conduct with suspicion.'
'Our Government !' repeated Jaspar, angrily
stamping his heel on the floor; 'what has Gov-
ernment ever done for me, that I should be at the
beck of its hirelings Government leaves talent to
starve in the shade; and if a man will not submit
to neglect, and starve quietly with folded arms, he
becomes a dangerous character, forsooth,-and
Government regards him with suspicion !'
Gilbert saw how bitter was the spirit of the
proud, disappointed man; he saw that it would be
utterly vain to attempt to convince Jaspar that.

the neglect of which he complained was the natural
result of the course which he had taken. The
Captain strongly suspected that the pressure of
debts, not the less heavy because wilfully incurred,
might at this moment be exposing Jaspar to the
temptations of an artful foe. His vanity would
easily be worked upon; if to this should be added
the fear of poverty,-perhaps of the disgrace of a
debtor's prison, who could say to what means of
escape so unstable a mind might be driven!
Gilbert doubted-and with reason-the loyalty of
Jaspar; he felt that his brother's honour was ii
peril, and but one way presented itself to his
mind of staving off the approaching danger
Jaspar's tie to his country and to his family must
if possible, be strengthened; he must not feel him-
self to be a ruined man, with everything to gain,
ind nothing to lose, by any political convulsion.
Charity is kind as well as long-suffering,-and
when Gilbert, after some minutes of reflection,
again addressed his brother, it was in the spirit of
self-denying kindness.
If you desire, as you naturally must, an oppor-
tunity of employing your talents to advantage, I will
make every exertion in my power to procure you an
honourable post in England. Late circumstances,'
(Gilbert thus slightly alluded to his owr services,)
' have given me, perhaps, some claim to the Mini-
sters' hearing.'
Jaspar's pride was touched by the offer, and he struck

the table beside him. 'I would not accept a place
from Government,' he cried, 'if the highest were
placed at my disposal, and if '-here he glanced at
a file of papers with a gloomy smile-' if I were not
unable at present to quit this little island.'
Fettered by debts,' thought Gilbert. 'And shall
I see my brother have need, shall I know him to be
exposed to temptation, and leave him to struggle
alone? Shall I remember his faults, and forget
his necessities?' Jaspar,' said the Captain, drawing
his-chair nearer to Braburn, 'let us converse frankly
on this subject-as brothers. I believe that you
are at present involved in some difficulties: the late
affair off the French coast has placed some prize-
money in my hands,' (he mentioned a considerable
sum)' I will give you a cheque on my banker to
the amount, and let the matter never again be men-
tioned between us.'
The frank generosity of such an offer from a
brother whom he had neglected, wronged, defrauded,
almost startled even Jaspar into gratitude. It was
as if a momentary flash had revealed to him the
selfish baseness of his own conduct, in contrast to
that of the Captain. He wrung Gilbert's hand with
emotion. No,' he exclaimed, 'never will I touch a
farthing of the money earned by your peril and
your blood! Already have I too much'-Jaspar
stopped short in his sentence, for self-love was too
strong within him to suffer him to stoop to confes-
sion of wrong. He rose, and paced the apartment,

while he continued, in broken sentences, 'You are
mistaken in thinking me involved,-at least to any
serious extent; I see my way clear before me, I need
be beholden to no man; nothing on earth would
ever induce me to accept any money from you !'
Such a declaration came strangely from one who
was, at the moment of uttering it, deep in debt to
the very man whose gold he now scrupled to touch.
But Gilbert saw that it was worse than useless to
press the matter. He took out his watch; the brief
time which he could spare for the visit had almost
expired, but he was resolved not to go until he had
spoken a few words to his only brother on a subject
of yet deeper importance. 'Charity to the soul is
the soul of Charity;' and it is in his yearning desire
-his earnest efforts to draw others towards God,
that the Christian above all is kind.
Jaspar,' said Gilbert, rising from his seat, 'it is
now almost time for us to part. In a life so un-
certain as this, to those in my profession especially
uncertain, who can say whether we shall meet again
upon earth !' Jaspar's attention was arrested, and
he listened in silence, as Gilbert went on: I would
fain hope that all our family may be united, un-
broken, in that eternity to which every hour is
bringing us nearer, but we must be steering
Heavenward if our haven be Heaven. Some time
since, I was myself, if not thoughtless on the subject
of religion, yet grievously mistaken in my views,
and the remembrance of my own errors makes me

anxious to speak a word of warning when oppor-
tunity offers, to those who may hold them still.
Jaspar, it is but of late years that I have learned
that religion is not a dry course of duties which man
may perform or neglect at his will, but the very life
of the soul, which, without it, must hopelessly perish.
It is "personal love to a personal Saviour," loyal
devotion to a Heavenly King. In following that
Saviour-that King, we abandon a wrecked and
foundering ship for the only vessel that can ride
the storm, carry us through the breakers, and bear
us in safety and triumph to port. The Bible'-here
Gilbert laid his hand on the large volume which
rested on the table-' the Bible tells us that one thing
is needful; that thing is-living faith in a dying
Redeemer. Our parents possessed it, our dear sister
possessed it, and when the floods of death swept all
else away, that remained, a sure support, a safe
refuge, an earnest of life never-ending! My brother,
is that living faith ours ? Without it, all that the
world can give, fame, rank, wealth, are as bubbles
on the billow, or foam-flakes that melt on the
beach; with it, we have all that can satisfy an im-
mortal soul-hope, peace, security here, and God's
blood-bought gift of eternal life in the bright Here-
after before us !'
Gilbert spoke rapidly and earnestly, for his soul
was in his words, and brotherly affection warmed
his heart with a fervent desire to win back one who
was wandering in a dangerous path. But Jaspar


was too strongly hedged in by prejudice and
vanity to be easily led back to the straight
'Gilbert,' he said, not looking at his brother
as he spoke, I do not choose to enter on
these subjects. You and I do not-never can
think alike. There are some minds that cannot
follow the beaten track prescribed by others,
and it is generally the destiny of such minds
to be misrepresented and misunderstood. You
meant well, and I thank you, but never speak
to me thus again. Can you not stop here for
the night?'
Captain Braburn shook his head. 'I must
be off, for we sail early to-morrow. My horse
is ready at the inn. Jaspar, my brother, God
bless you and yours !' again their hands met,
and the grasp was kindly. 'Give my loving
remembrance to Liberia and to her sweet young
friend,' added Gilbert, as with a burdened
heart he turned from his childhood's home,
and the brother whom he had vainly attempted
to serve.
A rumour of the Captain's arrival had spread
through the little hamlet, and the space before
the inn was thronged with eager expectants.
Jaspar, who had accompanied Gilbert as far as
his own gate, was at a loss at first to imagine
what could have brought so many people
together. But the loud cheer which burst

from the crowd, as soon as 'fighting Braburn'
appeared, the hearty welcome given to the
loyal and brave, soon explained to him the
cause. Jaspar turned back to his castle, with the
shouts ringing in his ears, and bitter emotions
rankling in his breast.




Charity envieth not.

HAPPY they who have never felt the serpent fang
of envy As the eye dazzled by looking on the
sun sees, when turned away from it, dull spots
blotting every thing that it rests on; so envy, from
the very brightness of its object, draws the dimness
that oppresses and almost blinds it. The envious
cannot rejoice with them that do rejoice; the
pleasure or honour of another seems to be so much
taken from themselves. With just cause, indeed,
are envyings counted amongst those works of the
flesh which are opposed to the fruits of the spirit,
and incompatible with Christian love. Envy car-
ries its own punishment with it.
Had Jaspar seen Gilbert in danger or distress,
an instinct of fraternal kindness might have stirred
within him, and led him to aid a brother in need;
but to find the Captain possessed of what he most
coveted for himself,-independence-honour-a his-
torical name,-was as gall andwormwood to Braburn.
'Let them shout, the senseless rabble! let them
shout!' muttered Jaspar to himself, as he strode
through the shrubbery, 'none but fools care for

the vain breath of popular applause! They shall
one day also know me; they shall watch my going
forth, not perhaps with joy,-not with looks of
welcome,-I would not stoop to court their favour !
but they shall find that I am not the cipher that
they deem me,-that I will leave my mark on the
age; better to be hated than despised,-better to
be feared than forgotten !' Jaspar fancied that
there was greatness of mind in this thought, being
too much blinded by self-love to perceive that it
was nothing but the expression of mortified vanity,
and the envy of a frivolous soul.
'Oh! what are the people cheering for?'
exclaimed Liberia, running from the shrubbery
walk at the back of the Castle, followed by Grace,
who, like herself, was attracted to the front by the
sound. She met her father on the gravel path,
and eagerly repeated her question.
'Your uncle is riding away,' said Jaspar, shortly.
Riding away-oh! no-I hope not!' cried
Liberia with a look of disappointment. I thought
that he would stay with us for days. Grace and I
were just gathering flowers to form a triumphal
arch for our hero Surely, surely he has not left
us so soon, and without even bidding me good-bye !'
He left a message of love for you, Liberia
Remember that your uncle is not his own master;
his time is not at his disposal; he wears the king's
livery, and must do his work'
I am sure that it is an honourable livery, and a


glorious work!' cried Liberia. 'My uncle may well
be proud of the service,-and the service proud of
my uncle !'
Jaspar was little pleased at the enthusiasm of
his daughter, but he rarely shewed anger towards
her. If there were anything noble and tender
in the nature of Braburn, it was his affection for
his motherless child. Not that even paternal love
was unmixed with selfishness: Jaspar was proud
of Liberia,-he regarded her as superior to all other
girls, chiefly as being his own: the daughter of
Jaspar Braburn must be a different being from the
children of ordinary men. Thus her pride was in
his eyes 'high spirit,' her self-will decision of
character,' and when she shewed talent or quickness
of perception, the self-complacent comment of the
parent was ever, how much that child takes after
me!' Jaspar, therefore, instead of shewing any
symptom of displeasure at Liberia's admiration
for an uncle who held ideas so contrary to his own,
only resolved by more than ordinary indulgence to
make her forget her disappointment, and fix her
gratitude upon himself: He must have his
daughter's exclusive devotion, and this, Jaspar
thought, could only be secured by peculiar marks
of affection.
'Liberia, my child,' said Mr Braburn, laying his
hand caressingly on his daughter's shoulder as they
entered the porch, while Grace followed unnoticed
and forgotten, 'you are now of an age to know the

value of a privilege reserved for my girl alone. In
this cabinet'-they werenow in the spacious saloon-
' I keep what I regard as most precious. In this
drawer, the silver key of which I now place in your
hands, are some of my unpublished manuscripts; of
them it would not become me to say more than that
I have enshrined in them some of my favourite
thoughts, and I believe that their perusal may afford
some gratification to a mind like yours.'
Oh I papa,' exclaimed Liberia, greatly flattered
by this proof of confidence, 'I shall delight, I am
sure that I shall, in reading anything written by
'And I will give you another, and a different
token of my affection,' said Braburn, looking fondly
at the beaming countenance of his girl, as he drew
from his finger a diamond-ring of which Liberia had
often admired the beauty. This was your mother's,
my child, and has never left my finger since I lost
her; this shall now be yours,' and tenderly the father
placed the bright gem on the finger of the delighted
Oh how can I thank you enough! how I shall
prize my precious ring !' cried Liberia, embracing
her parent again and again. Is it not beautiful ?'
she asked, turning with an air of triumph to Grace,
and proudly holding out to her gaze the hand
adorned with the diamond ring.
'It is beautiful indeed,' said Grace Vernon.
SAh it will be a long time before anything like

that falls to your lot !' laughed Liberia; 'you won't
pick up jewels like that in the dirty cottages of the
poor. While you are twirling your fingers to deaf
Widow Welling, I shall be deep in the valuable
papers,-they are only for my eye, you know! How
rich and happy I am, with an uncle so famous by
his sword, and a father so glorious by his pen !'
Rich and happy 1' repeated Grace to herself, as
she quitted the room and the dwelling; 'yes, Liberia
is rich and happy, while I am desolate and poor.
She has a father to whom she is all-in-all, who can
refuse her nothing, who looks upon her as if she
were perfection; and I-I whose nature is so cling-
ing, I have lost both the parents whom I loved so
fondly, I have no one who cares for my happiness
while I am living, or who would shed a tear for me
if I were dead! Liberia's noble uncle, he spoke
kindly to me to-day, his words went so warm to my
heart; but even he had a message of remembrance
only for his niece,-Grace Vernon was not worth
a thought Oh! why are joys so unequally given!
-why are some pampered with every delight, while
others are born to be neglected, pushed aside, trampled
under foot! Is this the care of our Heavenly Father?'
The shadow of temptation was upon the soul of
Grace. In the heart of the young girl, as in that
of her step-father, was fixed the rankling tooth of
the serpent, envy.
But here lay the difference between the man of
the world and the child of God, however erring and

weak: while the one fostered the secret foe, the
other shrank from it with self-reproach and fear.
Grace felt that in her thoughts there was sin, a
bitter spirit towards her fellow-creatures, a repining
spirit towards God. She who sought to obey the
whole law of love, remembered that Charity envieth
'Oh! what a selfish, ungrateful heart is mine!'
such was Grace Vernon's silent reflection; 'how
true were the words of the Captain that it takes a
life-time to learn that one chapter, so as to practise
its difficult lessons! Why should I complain be-
cause Liberia has blessings which I do not enjoy-
why should I indulge a wicked desire that her cup
of pleasure should not be so full! What right have
I to think myself one of my Lord's faithful band,
when I have not that brotherly love which is the
badge of His own ? How unlike I am to Him who
was all gentleness, meekness, and love How shall
I bring into daily practice graces so contrary to my
nature! and I cannot be a real Christian without them.
How often have I wondered at those words, Though
I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though
I give my body to be burned, and have not Charity,
it profiteth me nothing! I see more of their mean-
ing now. It would be harder for me to put away
all malice and hatred and uncharitableness from my
heart, than to do much and suffer much for the
sake of my Heavenly King. The rebel within is
more difficult to be conquered than the invader


from without, and both must be opposed, both must
be subdued. Oh the battle is too hard for me-
Lord help me! Give me the Holy Spirit, whose
fruit is love and joy, for love and joy I need. Well
did that good man say that in ourselves we are
nothing, be Thou my righteousness and strength !
Make me more than conqueror, 0 Lord! for my
trust is only in Thee !'
Thus, while quietly pursuing her way along a
path which led to a poor neighbour's cottage, Grace
was silently struggling-wrestling hard with the
enemy of her soul, she was fighting the good fight
of faith. Little would any one who passed the
gentle, rather sad-looking child, as, with eyes bent
on the ground, she traversed the narrow rocky path,
have guessed the strife in which she was engaged.
There is many a battle fought of which the world
knows nothing, but which He who made the world
watches with loving interest-there is many triumph
gained of which nothing is said by man, but which
witnessing angels hail as a victory gained by faith.
Those who have never experienced what it is to
have a secret struggle with sin, to feel the strength
of indwelling corruption, may well doubt whether
they have ever yet been enrolled in that host which,
in the strength of the Lord, contends against the
world, the flesh, and the devil.
The scene through which Grace Vernon was pass-
ing was one of great wildness and beauty. The
path, rugged and steep,led part of the way up a

bold romantic cliff, whose front was mantled with
such a profusion of rock-plants and wild-flowers,
that only here and there a bare jutting crag caught
the rays of the afternoon sun that was scattering
over the blue sea beneath myriads of sparkling
dancing brilliant! Fresh came the breeze from
the sea, rustling amongst the foliage, lifting the
leafy tresses of the trees, which, deep rooted in clefts
of the rock, in some places overhung the way.
Nestling underneath a beetling crag was a little
stone-built dwelling, very lonely and very poor.
The path seemed to end at its door; but Liberia and
Grace well knew that beyond it, even where there
seemed to be no track even for the goats that
browsed upon the steep, quite hidden by a screen of
brushwood, there was a little secret way, which led
to a hollow in the cliff, which Braburn's daughter
called her cave. The girl had taken great pleasure
in the discovery of this retreat,-a spot so quiet and
obscure that she doubted whether even Widow
Welling, who lived so near to it, knew of the little
grot. Liberia was wont to boast that she had a
hiding-place in which none could find her; where
-should the French come over-she would conceal
her fatller's money and plate.
But it was not to Liberia's cave that Grace now
directed her footsteps; she stopped short at the
entrance to the cottage, and gently opened the door.
Grace did not knock-no knocking would have been
heard; for the effects of a fearful fall had so com-

pletely deprived the widow of one of her senses, that,
had a musket been fired close to her ear, she would
only have felt vibration, without being conscious of
Rachel Welling had stood on a point of rock,
watching the boat of her husband as he strove to
gain the shore in a violent storm, not many weeks
after their marriage. She had seen the little skiff
founder-bearing with it him whom she loved into
the depths of the seating waters In that moment
of unutterable agony her senses had failed her-she
fell crashing over the cliff, and was found at the
bottom so terribly hart, that her life hung but by a
thread. Of the injuries which she then received,
Rachel would carry the effects to her grave-incur-
able deafness and lameness. Gradually the young
widow awoke to a consciousness of her terrible afflic-
tions,-bereavement-poverty-and that awful si-
lence which no human voice ever could break Her
burden at first seemed more heavy than she could
bear, and in her anguish Rachel lamented that life
had been spared when all that could sweeten life
had at one stroke been taken away! But Rachel
had sought God in the time of her happiness, and in
the hour of her affliction He did not forsake her.
Man could not comfort-but He gave consolation;
He taught her to glorify God in the fires, to feel
the presence of a loving Saviour in the midst of the
burning fiery furnace. Earthly bonds alone were
destroyed; Rachel came forth from her terrible trial

more meek, more full of gratitude and faith, more
willing to bear the cross here, and press on to the
crown hereafter.
Rachel had now been for many years a widow,
but scarcely yet did a silver thread gleam in her
smooth black hair, to shew that she no longer was
young. She was sitting at her usual employment,
making fishermen's nets, by which she earned a
scanty subsistence. Her face was turned towards
the door-for she made sight as much as possible
supply the place of hearing-and her eye had caught
Grace's shadow on the floor, before she saw the form
of her guest. Her smile of glad welcome cheered
Grace, who had often come to the little lonely home
on the cliff, less to give comfort than to receive it.
Grace would not suffer the cripple to rise on hei
entrance. Motioning to Rachel to keep her seat
and go on with her netting, in which her practised
hands had no need of her eyes, the young lady sat
down on a three-legged stool-loosened the string
of her bonnet, for the afternoon was warm, and then
commenced talking on her fingers. Habit had ren-
dered Grace so expert in this art, that she expressed
herself as readily thus as she would have done with
her tongue. Rachel watched her quickly-moving
hands with interest and pleasure, as Grace gave to
her an account of the visit of Captain Braburn, not
omitting his conversation with his niece and herself
in the shrubbery.
rom what you tell me of this officer,' said

Rachel, when Grace stopped, and rested her clasped
hands on her knees, I think that he must be a
faithful servant of God as well as of the king.' The
widow's voice was peculiar, from the circumstance of
her never being able to hear it herself, and so regu-
late its tones; but it had not lost its original sweet-
ness, and her eyes were so bright and expressive,
that she seemed to speak with them as well as to hear.
'Rachel Welling looks happy,' thought Grace,
'and yet how much greater have her sufferings been
than those which I have to bear! She has found
the secret of peace in the midst of trouble. It must
be that her heart is so much better than mine; that
she has none of those "rebel" passions, which are
always disturbing my rest.' Grace glanced round
the lowly abode, brick-paved, scantily furnished, ex-
posed to the winter's blast, and now oppressively
warm with the glowing heat and glare of an autumn
sun. The widow's dress was patched and thread-
bare; and Grace well knew how hardly earned was
the pittance which supplied her daily food. Abruptly
unclasping her hands, Grace asked on her fingers,
'Are you never tempted to envy the happier lot of
A shade of sadness passed over the widow's
features. 'I was once sorely tempted,' said she,
'God forgive me for the sin. When my cousin came
to visit me, and sat where you are sitting, with her
babe in her arms, and her husband at her side, oh!
I was tempted to repine, when I looked out on the

waves, and thought what lay beneath them! But
all those feelings are passed now,' she continued, as
she looked upwards at the light fleecy clouds which
flecked the clear blue sky; I know that he is happier
than I could have made him, and I would not dare
wish to call him back from his home in the kingdom
of his Father!'
'Yes, your husband is happy,' said Grace; 'but
you whom he has left here so lonely, poor, and afflic-
ted, does not envy come into your heart when you
think of others enjoying blessings which never again
can be yours?'
'I have been taught a cure for such envy,' an-
swered Rachel.
Oh! teach it to me!' said Grace, her fingers
trembling with emotion, as they formed the words,
while unbidden tears rose into her eyes.
'It is a very simple cure, dear young lady, it is
simply looking unto Jesus, as we are told to do
in the Bible. Instead of thinking of other poor
sinners, who seem more favoured than myself, I try
to fix my mind upon Him who was a man of
sorrow and acquainted with grief. Shall I com-
plain if He bid me taste of the cup which for our sakes
He drained to the dregs My lot is better-oh! how
much better!-than what the Lord of Glory chose for
Himself, when He came to dwell amongst men. My
home is a poor one indeed, but He had not where to
lay His head! my ears are deaf, but were not His
filled with the scoffs, the evil-speaking of the crea-

tures whom He had made! God gives me friends,-
like yourself, dear lady, and your blessed mother be-
fore you,-to feel for my troubles, and help me to bear
them ; my Lord and Saviour in His terrible anguish
was surrounded by mocking foes! When I remem-
ber Him-what He suffered-and that He suffered
for me,-when I think that His love appoints my
trials, and will turn them at last into joy, my heavy
heart is lightened, and I cannot-I dare not repine !'
'Yes,' said Grace on her fingers, 'if we were
always looking unto Jesus, I dare say that we could
bear up bravely through all the storms of life; but
then we are often like Peter-we look away-and
begin to sink When you cannot help seeing the
prosperity of others, and fixing your thoughts upon
them, tell me, Mrs Welling, is not even your mind
sometimes troubled with envy?'
The widow paused for some moments, as if to
search into her hidden feelings, then with a placid
smile replied, 'I think not, dear Miss Grace. If the
happy ones are God's people, I rejoice in all their
prosperity, just as I love to watch the fine ships,
though nothing in them belongs to me; and if I
can't help fearing that they are not yet God's people,
it is not envy but pity that I feel. A slave in chains,
with God's love, is richer and happier than a king
on his throne without it !
Grace left the little lonely dwelling on the cliff
with a spirit refreshed. Rachel Welling, in her
poverty and trial, had been able to give a cup of cold

water to a weary and thirsting soul. Grace, as she
pursued her homeward way, listened with pleasure
to the cry of the sea-mew, the gentle plash of the
waves, the bleating of the sheep on the cliff, all the
pleasant sounds of nature, and rejoiced that her ears
were not closed to such sounds, like those of the
widow. Oh! but she is happy,' thought Grace,
'and hers is a happiness which even I may hope one
day to know What indeed are earthly pleasures,
or wealth, or comfort, to the blessing of being per-
mitted to call the Lord-Our Father which art
in Heaven !'




Charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up.

WHEN our great enemy is baffled in his attack on
one side, how ready is he to change his ground,
and suddenly assail us on another Those who are
on their watch against some besetting sin, are often
thrown off their guard by temptation coming from
some unexpected quarter.
Grace was not a little surprised on passing through
the shrubbery which surrounded Braburn Castle, to
see a splendid carriage, with four bay horses, stand-
ing in front of the porch. Not that it was by any
means uncommon at that period for persons of dis-
tinction to drive four in hand, but there were not
many in the Isle of Wight whose means enabled
them to do so, and with none of these wealthy indi-
viduals was Jaspar Braburn acquainted. His circle
of friends was not large, and Grace had never, since
coming to the Castle, seen the smooth gravel-drive
marked with the print of so many hoofs. Curious
to know who the guest could be who paid visits in
such state, Grace hurried to the porch, and saw a
coronet emblazoned on the panels of the carriage,
and embossed on the silver trappings of the horses.

Grace met Liberia in the hall, who looked flus-
tered and excited.
'Oh! I'm glad that you've come,' she exclaimed.
'Papa is out, and I didn't like to have to entertain
the grand lady all by myself.'
'Who is it-do tell me ?' cried Grace.
'It is Viscountess Laurie herself,' replied Li-
beria, with a comical expression on her face, as she
pronounced the name which had so often been the
theme of her jests, that she had at last almost
persuaded herself that the peeress was only a
'What can she have come for?' cried Grace.
Come for why she has come to see her dear
niece's daughter, of course. You were asked for at
the door, and I've been hunting all over the Castle
to find you. The lady has been exercising her pa-
tience for the last ten minutes in the saloon,-I did
not choose to face her again by myself!'
It was evident that Liberia had been employing
the ten minutes in something besides searching for
Grace, for she appeared in an elegant dress of pink
and white, of a delicate fabric, which had been a
gift from her father; and her unruly tresses had
for once been smoothed into something like order.
Grace would gladly have run upstairs to take off her
old black straw hat, and improve her appearance a
little before entering the presence of the peeress,
but Liberia was so urgent with her not to keep
Lady Laurie longer waiting, and was so resolute not


to enter the saloon without her, that Grace gave up
her first intention.
Grace would have been amused by Liberia's fit
of unusual shyness, had she not also been shy herself.
For once the companionship of Bradburn's daughter
was a comfort to the bashful girl, as she timidly
opened the door, and went forward to meet her re-
But all feelings of embarrassment were removed
when Lady Laurie advanced towards Grace, and
took her into her arms. The guest was an el-
derly lady, quietly though richly attired, according
to the fashion of the age. Her manner combined
courtly polish, with the kindliness inspired by a
gentle loving nature. Tenderly she embraced Grace
Vernon, pressing kisses upon her brow, and then
with graceful politeness the peeress held out her
hand to Liberia.
From Braburn's tall daughter, in her showy
attire, the lady turned to gaze with interest on the
countenance of Grace. 'I should have known you
anywhere for my Nina's child,' she said, 'you have
just her soft dove's eyes: yet the forehead is like
your father's-you can scarcely remember him, my
'Oh! yes,' faltered Grace, 'I never can forget
him I'
But you do not remember him as I do,-before
his long terrible illness,' said the lady, resuming her
seat on the sofa, and making her young niece sit

close to her side; 'I never saw a countenance in
which intellect was so powerfully marked;' here
she addressed herself to Liberia: 'Mr Vernon was
a very superior man; had his health been spared, I
believe that he would have attained to great eminence
in the literary world.'
Liberia could only utter a little Oh !' She had
never before heard the praises of him, whom she
contemptuously termed 'the clerk!' for both Grace
and her mother had shrunk from naming their loved
one in the presence of a girl who held him in little
reverence. Lady Laurie went on to speak of her
niece in terms of tender affection; she regretted
that many years of absence in Germany had separated
her from one who had been her special favourite;
but it would be, she said, her pleasure and privilege
to shew to dear Nina's daughter some of the love
which she had borne to herself. Liberia, notwith-
standing her elegant dress, found herself for the first
time an insignificant person in her own father's
house: Lady Laurie was very courteous to her in-
deed, but all her interest, her tenderness, her loving
looks, were lavished on the governess's child.
The Viscountess made inquiries regarding the
progress of her young niece in her studies: had
she inherited the tastes of her mother-had she yet
attempted drawing? On Grace's replying in the
usual phrase 'a little,' the lady pressed to see
her sketches. Shy, and yet pleased at the interest
shewn in her, Grace brought a portfolio containing


Liberia's drawings as well as.her own. In doing so,
her motive was far from unkindly; Liberia was con-
sidered by her father to have a remarkable talent
for the art; often had Jaspar expatiated on the
vigour and spirit shewn in her sketches, and con-
trasted them with what he called 'the tame spe-
cimens of mediocrity,' carefully drawn by Grace.
Jaspar believed that, with a little pains and practice,
Liberia would become a distinguished artist,-but
practice and pains were exactly what his daughter
never could endure. Liberia expected to leap at
once to excellence, over all the troublesome steps by
which less gifted beings reach it, and, as might have
been foretold, the attempt only resulted in a fall!
Her drawings were so incorrect in outline and
unfinished in style, that Lady Laurie, who had a
cultivated taste, and who, though courtly, was not a
flatterer, quietly passed over each at a glance, and
reserved all her praise for the delicate sketches
of Grace.
As no names written on the margins marked
which of the girls owned the drawing, the lady could
not be accused of partiality, and Liberia's heart
swelled with mortified pride, while Grace, let the
truth be confessed, became not a little elated. Admi-
ration was to her a luxury so new, that it is scarcely
to be wondered at if she found it to be somewhat
intoxicating,-and we may fear that an ungenerous
emotion of triumph over a rival, gave an added zest
to the draught. It may seem strange that a young

Christian, who had so lately been struggling against
envy, should be so easily puffed up by praise; but
do we not find in our own conduct things just as
strange and inconsistent? Vanity and pride are so
congenial to the human heart, that they require but
little watering to make the weeds grow fast.
Grace sometimes gave a hasty glance at Liberia,
and was more diverted than she ought to have
been at the expression on the proud girl's face,
as Lady Laurie went through her examination of
the drawings. Liberia could scarcely contain her
disappointment. She had been accustomed to
regard Grace Vernon as in everything her inferior.
She was surprised as well as angry at finding the
clerk's daughter taking a higher position than her-
self in the estimation of a lady of rank, who seemed
to be a representative of that high society in which
Liberia was ambitious one day to shine.
She cannot help admiring my bandit," however,'
thought Liberia, 'Grace never did anything equal
to that !'-A bandit with a long pointed hat,
expiring in the arms of his wife, was what Liberia
considered her chef-d'ceuvre. At last, when Lady
Laurie quietly turned over, without a word of
remark, this favourite effort of genius, the proud
girl could bear her humiliation no longer, but rose
and flounced out of the room, to which she had the
rudeness not to return till after the peeress had
taken her departure.
Grace Vernon could dispense very well with the


company of Liberia. Delightfully sped the time
in the society of Lady Laurie, whose visit seemed
only too short. The peeress gave her young niece
a beautifully illustrated copy of Shakespeare, and
a great many kind words and kind promises, which
opened a new world of hope and pleasure to the
lonely orphan. When the grand carriage had been
driven away, Grace returned to the saloon in a
state of dreamy delight, and lingered before a
French mirror, longer than she had ever done before,
to look at the 'soft doves' eyes' now so radiant with
pleasure, and the white intellectual brow, which
was thought to be like her father's. Grace started
and moved from the glass, on hearing the quick
step of Liberia, who entered in a manner more
rough and boisterous than usual.
'So the fine dame has gone at last!' she
'Oh! is she not charming and kind!' cried
Grace; see what a beautiful present she has left !'
'You don't mean to say that's for you!' ex-
claimed Liberia, taking the well-bound volume
into her hands with anything but amiable feelings.
Only look at the lovely pictures Lady Laurie
is so fond of pictures She says that she will take
me to London some day, and shew me the galleries
'Take you to London !' echoed Liberia. Grace
could not avoid seeing that her words had raised
jealous emotion, and with a little pride and ma-

lice she took pleasure in increasing Liberia's
'That is not all that she promised. Lady Laurie
has a house at Windsor, not far from the Royal
Castle; and she often goes there and sees the
King and the Queen walking on the terrace with
their children. They sometimes invite her to the
Castle, and treat her quite as a friend. Lady
Laurie says that when I come to pay her a visit,
she shall take me with her to the terrace, and
introduce me to the Princess Sophia,-and perhaps
to the Queen herself! Only think, Liberia, only
think, what a delight and honour that will be!'
The mind of Grace had rambled on yet farther
through the fields of pleasure opening before her;
even the idea of being adopted by the peeress, cast
its rainbow brightness over her prospects. Liberia
had never seen her companion in such elevated
spirits, and she determined to bring her down.'
How easily your little head is turned she said,
coldly; I daresay that fine lady is like many
others, all polish outside and emptiness within.
You don't suppose that she'll trouble herself farther
about you,-mere promises cost her nothing.'
What two delightful visitors we have had to-
day !' exclaimed Grace; Lady Laurie and Captain
'Don't name them together!' cried Liberia, her
temper quite giving way, 'don't compare a mere
titled woman of fashion, with the hero of the

"Aurora." I would not give my glorious uncle for
ten thousand of your furbelowed grandees And
this reminds me,' she added, as if to break off the
conversation at once, 'that I have not yet fulfilled
my promise ;-I'll look out that chapter and learn
it directly.' So saying, Liberia rose from her seat
with such rough haste, that the flounce of her
dress was torn by her chair. She stamped her foot
on seeing the rent, with an exclamation of im-
How slight an incident will sometimes suffice
to change the tenor of our thoughts! Liberia's
casual mention of that chapter,' had in a moment
brought back to Grace a whole train of ideas
which the excitement of hope and gratified vanity
had banished for a while. She was reminded how
ill, during the last half hour, she had acted up to
the principles of Christian humility and love.
' What childish vanity has been mine!' thought
Grace; 'how little have I of the Charity that
vaunteth not itself is not puffed up I have been
ready to murmur and complain at being neglected,
and the first attentions that I receive are more
than my foolish mind can bear. Envious one
moment, and proud the next, I can well see now
why God has denied me pleasures that would
prove temptations. His wisdom has kept me in
the shade, because I could not bear the sunshine !'
These reflections passed more rapidly through
the mind of Grace than they have done before the

eye of the reader. She had had a glimpse of a
weakness in her own character, of which, till then,
she had not been aware. Grace had been wont to
think of the worldly and vain as those with whom
she had nothing in common; that she had faults
she would readily have owned, but they were not
such, she had believed until now, as would make
society a snare. Grace had thought herself lowly
in spirit, having had nothing hitherto to draw out
into exercise the latent pride lurking within her.
Grace had often wondered how those who look for-
ward to wearing a Heavenly crown, could care much
for the petty distinctions of earthly position; and
how the followers of a crucified Master should so
eagerly desire the pomps and vanities of that world
by which He was rejected. She now found that she
herself was not free from the weakness which she
had condemned, and that she too could easily
be dazzled by grandeur, and intoxicated by
Grace no sooner detected her own folly, than she
took the simplest means of humbling her pride.
She had been glorying over Liberia-she would now
act as her servant.
Wait a moment till I have threaded a needle,
she said, 'and I will soon mend that rent in your
I wonder how the great-niece of Viscountess
Laurie can dream of stooping to such an office!'
cried Liberia, in an ironical tone: to think of em-

playing those lovely doves' eyes, and talented fingers,
in the work of a common drudge !'
Grace only smiled in reply; and the next minute
she was down on her knees on the floor, busily re-
pairing the flounce !
The action, trifling as it was, was the one best
calculated to restore the good-humour of Liberia.
Her jealous pride had been roused by Lady Laurie's
attentions to her companion, and yet more by the
self-gratulation with which those attentions had
been received. Liberia could not endure to see, as
she muttered to herself, the clerk's daughter giving
herself airs,' because she was noticed by a lady
who happened to be the bearer of a title. But when
Liberia looked down and beheld the relative of a
peeress at her feet, she felt that she could almost
forgive Grace the crime of being the great-niece of
Viscountess Laurie.
Grace also was pleased, for in this trifle she had
won a victory over herself. She had tried to exercise
one of those graces which belong not to fallen
nature-which are parts of that Christian love
which vaunteth not itself, and is not pufed up.




Doth not behave itself unseemly.

THERE-your dress will look as well as ever,' said
Grace Vernon as she rose from her knees.
'You're a capital hand with your needle,' ob-
served Liberia; 'I suppose because you've always
been obliged to do a lot of stitching and mending.'
The remark was not very courteous, and Grace
had to think again of the lowly character of Charity
to prevent its making her angry. Liberia, either
not noticing the flush on her companion's cheek, or
attributing it to her late stooping posture, went on
in her easy off-hand style-
'I care less about this dress, though it is pretty,
because I shall soon have another, and one made of
real French silk.'
'How can that be ?' asked Grace, who had re-
sumed her seat; 'since the breaking out of the war
such a thing cannot be bought in any shop in the
'Shop! I daresay not!' replied Liberia, with a
little laugh; 'but there are ways and means of
getting pretty things without going near any shop,

I shall buy a French dress to-night with the guineas
which papa gave me last week.'
To-night !' echoed the astonished Grace Vernon.
'Why, yes,' replied Liberia, lowering her tone,
and glancing at the door; I'll tell you how it is, if
you'll be secret. Just before Lady Laurie's carriage
was driven to the gate, I was standing in the
shrubbery looking through the bars, when old
Judith, the fisherman's mother, came up from her
cottage on the beach. She walked at her creeping
pace, yet with the air of one who is hurried, glanc-
ing from side to side, in a stealthy, sly sort of way.'
'I never feel as if I could trust that old woman,
said Grace.
'Oh her son is well known to be a smuggler, he
was in prison a few years ago. But to return to
old Judith. She seemed to me to be watching for
some one, and yet afraid lest she should be caught
watching; and it strikes me,' observed Liberia, as
the idea suddenly occurred to her mind,' that we've
had more of the Government people about our place
lately, than we had ever before?'
'Doubtless on account of the war,' said Grace,
'our bay would be a convenient place for a landing.'
'Oh I wish that the French would come over,
and see what a warm reception we would give
them But they'll wait till the "Aurora" has passed
down Channel, lest the guns of fighting Braburn
should make fine havoc with their flat-bottomed
boats !'

In the meantime, perhaps you will tell me about
Judith,' said Grace.
Where was I at in my story? Oh! I remember,
I left the old creature hobbling up to the gate. She
had caught sight of me where I stood, so putting
her withered face against the bars, she said, in a
croaking kind of whisper, If Miss will come alone
to my cottage after dark-not afore, she shall see
something worth the seeing. The boat has arrived
from t'other side o' the water, and there's a sight o'
pretty things in it."'
'Of course you will not go,' said Grace.
'Of course I shall!' exclaimed Liberia.
'Alone-after dark-to a smuggler's ?'
'Why, silly child, the cottage is not fifty yards
from our gate, and I knew old Judith long before
I had ever heard your name. This won't be the
first time that I've ventured. You remember my
dainty green scarf, and the pretty kid gloves that I
shewed you? They were bought in that cottage,
after dusk, and for about half the price that would
have been charged for them in any shop in the
But I wonder how you, who are so loyal, can
have anything to do with those who defraud the
king of his due! Government needs money to
keep up the army and navy to defend us, ministers
to direct, and judges to maintain good order in the
land We, who are safe and quiet at home, have
no reason to complain if taxes and customs make


us pay a little more than we should otherwise do for
the luxuries that we may fancy !'
What fun it is to hear a little shrimp like you
talking political economy !' laughed Liberia.
'I don't even know what those long words mean,'
replied Grace; but the question on which we were
speaking seems to be very simple. If the Government
has a right to lay duties upon goods from abroad, is
it not our duty to pay them? Is it not to render
unto Ccesar the things that be Ccesar's, and to
honour the king, as we are told to do in the Bible ?'
Honour him! I do honour him with all my
heart and soul, and would die for him to-morrow !'
cried Liberia.
'You would die for him,' said Grace Vernon
archly, 'but not give up for his sake a pair of
French gloves, or a piece of French ribbon.'
Tut what can my buying a few smuggled ar-
ticles matter to the king?' cried Liberia.
'It may matter to yourself,' said Grace.
'It does matter so far,' laughed Liberia, 'that I
ilress better, and spend less money than I should,
had I your ridiculous scruples; while the beef-eaters
at Windsor Castle won't have one inch less of gold
lace on their coats, for all the French silk that I
I wish that I could explain myself better,' said
Grace, who found difficulty in putting into words
what was perfectly clear to her own mind, 'I meant
that this seems to be a matter of simple honesty, as

well as loyalty. It is not right to cheat a subject,
nor is it right to cheat the king. He may be none
the worse for our doing so, but surely we cannot
possess with an easy conscience anything for which
we have not paid all that it is our duty to pay.'
Oh my conscience does not trouble me on that
score,' said Liberia.
And do you think it well done to encourage men
to break the laws of their country, and risk their
own lives by smuggling goods across the sea? Is
not your buying what they have no right to sell,
actually tempting them to ruin? If Judith's son
were killed by the officers in some night struggle,
would you feel quite clear of his blood ?'
Liberia looked a little graver. 'Men must run
some risks,' she observed; 'you might as well say
that we should never taste fish, because some fisher-
men are drowned in the sea,-nor use coal, because
some miners may be stifled in the pit.'
''Oh no,' exclaimed Grace, with earnestness,
'the cases are by no means the same. There is no
sin, no dishonesty, no disobedience to the laws of
God or man in the calling of a fisherman or miner.
Remember that the poor smuggler hazards not only
his life but his soul!'
I can't stand that kind of talk,' cried Liberia;
'it's nothing but nonsense and cant. People must
take care of their own souls; if they do wrong for
the sake of gain, it is their concern, and not mine.'
Grace could not press the question farther, though

Liberia's words strangely reminded her of those
of Cain, 'Am I my brother's keeper?' There is no
cruelty like that which the selfish so often shew,
when for their own amusement or profit they tempt
astray the souls over which their position gives
them influence. The master who makes his servants
break the Sabbath, the shopkeeper who puts a lie
into the mouths of his young men, the buyer who
receives goods that he suspects to have been pilfered,
will they have anything to answer for upon the great
day of account? Will not their brother's blood be
required of them then ?
There is another reason why you should not go
to-night,' said Grace, in the hesitating tone of one
who is fearful of giving offence.
'What may that be ?' asked Liberia.
'Do you think that it is proper-right-for young
girls such as we to go out after dark quite alone ?'
'What's the harm?' inquired Liberia, abruptly.
It does not look seemly,' murmured Grace, afraid
to glance at her companion as she uttered the word.
But Liberia, instead of being angry, only burst out
'It is easy to see what a prim old-fashioned school
you have been brought up in,-you are starched like
one of Lady Laurie's fine ruffles What do I care
how things look,-if I myself know that all is
right ?'
'But people might say'-
SLet them say what they like!' cried Liberia,

proudly shaking her auburn tresses; 'I'll not he
robbed of my freedom,-I'll not be tied down by
the absurd rules that society makes for itself.'
Oh! Liberia, it is not society alone,-that would
indeed be a poor guide; but my dear mother used
to say that we are commanded to think of what-
soever things are of good report, that we must not
behave ourselves unseemly,-and that every girl
should so act as never to be talked of, or only
talked of with respect.'
'Keep your advice to yourself!' exclaimed Liberia
with flashing eyes, 'I'll neither be lectured nor
guided by you! I'll do what I like,-and go where
I please; you really take a mighty deal upon you,
on the strength of being noticed by a lady with a
handle to her name! I'm quite as good a judge of
what is seemly and becoming, as even the great
niece of Viscountess Laurie I' and darting a glance
of mingled anger and contempt at her companion,
the haughty girl quitted the apartment.
I am sure that my mother was right,' thought
Grace, as she sat by the window in pensive mood,
for the exhilaration caused by the visit of her aunt
had now passed away. How often has she told me
that a bold forward girl is like a rose stripped of its
moss, or a fruit with its down rubbed away She
said that a Christian maiden should be known at a
glance by her sober dress, and her modest manner.
One of the verses which she most often repeated
was that which bids women adorn themselves in

modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety.
It seems as if many forget that there is such a com-
mand in the Bible, they are so free and so bold I
Oh that I may always be guided to act as she
would have wished her child to have acted, and
keep not only from great offences, but abstain from
all appearance of evil '




Doth not behave itself unseemly.

AT the social meal, Jaspar Braburn was unusually
silent and absent. Perhaps he was thinking of his
interview with his brother; perhaps private anxieties
and cares were pressing upon him, for he who was
usually talkative and lively, scarcely opened his lips.
He helped himself from the dish before him, without
asking others if they would partake of it, and then
sat for minutes with the heaped plate before him,
forgetting to taste the food. Liberia had twice
to address her father, before she could gain his
attention, and then he turned towards her with a
bewildered start, as if she had roused him from
Liberia was impatient for the end of the meal,
not only because her father's silence and gloom
oppressed her, but because the shades of evening
had now closed in, and she was eager to keep her
appointment with Judith. She coughed, fidgetted,
tried to hurry her parent, who lingered long at the
table; and at last, her patience being quite worn
out, rose and quietly slipped out of the room.


The iron gate of the shrubbery, open during the
day, was always locked at sunset; but as the key
hung in the hall, it offered no obstruction to
Liberia. She was soon gliding along the gravel
path bordered with dark bushes, with a dull sky
above her, where here and there, through rifts in
the cloudy canopy, glimmered a twinkling star.
The heart of Jaspar's daughter beat a little faster
than usual as she turned the large key in the lock,
and pushed open the heavy gate, which, creaking
on its hinges, seemed to resist her exit. Though
Judith's cottage was so near that Liberia, even in
that faint light, could trace its outline cutting the
straight horizon line of the sea, dim and indistinct
as both appeared, she felt that it was an adventurous
thing to quit the shelter of her father's grounds,
and go without any protection to a smuggler's
dwelling on the beach. Liberia hoped that no one
would see her from the village, whose glimmering
lights she left on the right, as she took her way
to the left, crunching down the ridges of pebbles
which lined that part of the bay.
But Liberia delighted in an adventure, and the
very fact of a pleasure being a forbidden one, made
her more eagerly pursue it. This was partly owing
to her neglected education-the total want of that
discipline which forms the mind, trains the reason,
and brings the passions into control; and partly
from the wilfulness of her own wild and headstrong
nature. Liberia prided herself on her freedom from

' slavish notions,' her courage and independence.
Even in regard to her father, she disliked the idea
of subjection. Liberia loved her parent affection-
ately-she believed that she loved him devotedly
-she believed that for him, as for her king, she
would willingly give her life. But it is far more
easy to talk of dying when our courage is not
likely to be put to the proof, than to use daily
self denial in what appears to be trivial things.
And if it was thus with Liberia's loyalty and
filial duty, yet more striking was the contrast in
religion between her profession and practice.
Faith was something which Liberia knew that
she ought to possess, which she believed that she
did possess; but it was a cold, dead faith, which
had no power to direct her actions, or to humble
her heart. It was not the faith which lays hold
on salvation. In her present night expedition
Liberia did not ask herself whether she might not
be doing that which was opposed to her duty to her
parent, her loyalty to her king, her obedience to
the law of her God; she thought merely of the
pleasant excitement of an adventure, the acquisition
of what she coveted, the indulgence of her own
inclination. Obedience is the best test of love;
true obedience must include self-denial; but obe-
dience and self-denial were unknown to the
headstrong Liberia.
The fisherman's cottage was reached. There
were shutters to the windows, which were closed,


so that no light was visible from without. Liberia
went round to the front, which faced the sea, whose
hissing moan, as each little wave broke and retired
over the pebbles, sounded like a sigh from nature,
rising through the stillness of night. Liberia
tapped at the door,-no answer was heard from
within. Then a sense of loneliness came over the
girl, and she felt that the sea-breeze was chilling.
Liberia was almost inclined to return at once to the
Castle, but this her pride forbade. She tapped
again, and more loudly; and then was certain that
she heard the noise of some one moving in the cot-
tage. Presently a bolt was withdrawn, and the
door was slowly opened just far enough to permit
old Judith to peer into the darkness, without letting
much of her own form be seen.
'Who be's there?' asked her harsh, croaking voice.
'I, Miss Braburn,' was Liberia's reply;' don't keep
me out here in the cold.'
'Are ye alone?' said the woman; and on
Liberia's answering in the affirmative, Judith
Wayland admitted her into the cottage.
It was a relief to the young lady to find that it
was occupied only by the old woman; but the as-
pect of the place was by no means inviting. Liberia
had visited it on a former occasion, when soft moon-
light had streamed in on a tempting display of
satins and silks, delicate gloves and exquisite lace;
now nothing of the kind was to be seen. The
cottage was close, and smelt strongly of spirits and

fish; strings of the latter hung from the smoky
rafters; heaps of nets yet damp with salt-water
encumbered the floor; an old sail, thrown care-
lessly into a corner, might indeed conceal some
smuggled goods, but one could scarcely look for
anything costly or delicate in a place so dirty and
mean. Liberia could, however, see nothing distinctly,
as the only light came from one tallow candle, which
flickered and guttered as the opening of the door let
in a draught of air from the sea.
You told me that the boat had come in,' said
Liberia, looking around her in disgust.
SAy, ay,' answered the woman, nodding her head
as she closed the door.
'Where is your son ?' asked Miss Braburn.
He couldn't bide here,-he's had to make off,-
the sharks were on the scent,' answered old Judith,
in a low hoarse whisper.
'Had he brought anything from France ?'
'Ay, ay, brandy!' said the old woman, laying
her skinny finger on her wrinkled lips, and nodding
again as she spoke.
Brandy !' repeated Liberia, becoming painfully
aware how unseemly indeed it was to be in such
company, in such a place, and at such an hour.
She was afraid to say aloud all that she felt, but
inquired, with some displeasure in her tone, 'Why
did you bring me here, Judith? You told me that
you had something to shew me.'
The crone repeated her 'ay, ay,' and hobbled up

to the sail. Fumbling under it with her hand, she
drew out something which seemed to be a basket.
I wish,' thought Liberia, that I were fairly out
of this scrape. No one shall ever persuade me to
come here again after dark.'
Neither me nor my son could venture up to the
Castle with this,-too many eyes-too many sharp
eyes !' said Judith, as, holding the basket, she
hobbled back to her guest; I thought as how you
would carry this here to the Squire, and say nothing
about it to no one.'
'Do you mean that I should take this to my
father asked Liberia.
'Ay, ay.'
'But my father does not know of my coming
here.' Liberia uttered the words with a sense of
shame,-she was humiliated at having to confess to
the old woman that she was acting the mean part
of concealment.
'Ye're afraid, dearie, of the father's being an-
gered V'
The tone of disgusting familiarity roused the
anger of Liberia, but she dared not openly resent
it. She saw that she had put herself into a position
in which she had no right to expect respect.
'But he'll not be angered, dearie,' continued
Judith, as Liberia made no reply: 'he's a-looking
for this, and he must have it, and he'll not be the
man to ask questions. Say old Judy sent it, that's

'What is in it asked Liberia, taking the basket
into her hand.
'It's not for me to say,' replied the woman,
'mind ye don't open it to see:' and lowering her
voice to a mysterious whisper as she griped the
girl's arm with her bonny fingers, she added, If ye
lose it, or look into it, or leave it ahind ye, ye'll
be the very ruin of your father !'
Liberia glanced with alarm at the mysterious
basket which she held. It was made of closely
woven rushes, and was neither very heavy nor
large; but the lid was carefully fastened down with
twine, on the knots of which were seals of red wax,
which, to the excited mind of the girl, looked like
great drops of blood. As Liberia grasped it she
felt, or fancied that she felt, the basket stir as though
life were in it,-and this startled her so much that
in her alarm she almost let it fall on the floor !
'Mind ye carry it safe,' said the smuggler's
mother, as she re-opened the door to let her guest
'I'm afraid to take it,-there may be some
danger,' faltered Liberia, oppressed by a vague
suspicion that she might be doing something which,
in some way that she did not understand, might
injure the parent whom she loved.
'None, none, if you give it him quietly,-not
afore the servants, dearie; 'ware of the eyes; 'ware
of the eyes; I tell you the sharks be out 1' And
with this not very comprehensible warning, Judith

closed the door after Liberia, and bolted it as if to
prevent her return.
Oh! that I had never come here, never had
anything to do with this horrid underhand business:
thought the bewildered girl, as she stood alone
in the night air, holding the mysterious basket,
which she feared either to take or to leave. 'Oh 1
there it moves again I I'm certain that it holds
something alive!' and Liberia trembled with
an undefined fear, caused by the mystery, the
darkness, and above all by the knowledge that she
had placed herself in a position in which no lady
ought ever to be found. Shall I take it to my
father, or leave it here on the beach, and say
nothing to any one of the affair ? Judith said that
to lose-or leave-or look into it would be to ruin
my father! What can he have to do with smug-
glers How strange was his manner to-day, as if
some cloud were resting on his mind! What
if I should be like one carrying a spark to light up
a conflagration Oh! that I knew what to do!
Shall I consult with Grace Vernon ?' The pride of
Liberia revolted from the thought. 'I must just
do the old woman's bidding. I have known her for
years, she can wish us no harm, and I do long to
get rid of this basket !'
So, summoning her resolution, Liberia made the
best of her way up the shingley ridges, the pebbles
sliding and slipping from beneath her feet and
rolling down with a noise which alarmed her

while they impeded her progress so much that she
felt like one in a night-mare, struggling to get on,
yet unable to move.
Liberia's mind became easier as she at last
approached her father's iron gate. It was such a
relief to have encountered no one, to have been
challenged by none of the preventive men of whom
Judith had spoken as sharks.' Curiosity now
became stronger than fear. What would be the
end of so strange an adventure,-what could that
mysterious basket contain? Liberia stood still,
put it to her ear and listened, and fancied that
there was a slight fluttering within. She longed
to break open the seals and look, and hoped that
her father would at least open the basket in her
presence. Full of these thoughts, Liberia put the
key, which she had carried with her, into the lock
of the iron gate; but scarcely had she turned it,
when, to her terror, the massive gate seemed to
open of its own accord, and the girl started
and gave a faint scream as she indistinctly saw
some figure behind it.
'It is only I-Grace,' said a low sweet voice; 'I
have been waiting anxiously here. I thought
that if you were in any trouble, I could hear
your voice from the gate.'
I wish that you would mind your own affairs,
and not trouble yourself about me !' cried Liberia,
who was vexed at having been startled into shewing
any sign of alarm; 'you will only draw attention

to my being absent;' and pushing rudely past her
companion, Liberia ran through the shrubbery
into the Castle. Scarcely had she entered the door
when she met Jaspar himself in the hall.
'Liberia, where on earth have you been ?' he
asked, in a tone of displeasure.
Liberia held out the basket-' Judith bade me
give this to you,' she said, afraid that the next
question might be, How dared you at such an
hour go near the cottage of Judith ?'
But Jaspar, as the old woman had foretold, asked
no more questions of his daughter. He uttered
an exclamation which sounded like a gasp, then
hastily caught the basket from Liberia: as he
did so, his hand chanced to touch that of the
girl, who was startled at its icy coldness. Liberia's
curiosity, more strongly excited than ever, was not
at this time to be gratified, for her father at
once carried off the basket to his private apartment,
in which he remained for the rest of the night.
Liberia puzzled herself for a long time by trying
to unravel the skein of mystery before her, making
the wildest guesses as to what the basket might
hold. At last, wearied by her vain efforts to find
the end of the clue, she resolved to amuse herself
by reading, and, taking up Shakespeare, (which
Grace had laid down for a few minutes in order to
carry some tea to Mr Braburn,) she was soon so
deep in the contents of the volume, that Judith's
mysterious errand was for the time forgotten.

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