Holiday stories


Material Information

Holiday stories
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 19 cm.
Kingston, William Henry Giles, 1814-1880
Hall, S. C., 1800-1881 ( Author )
Groombridge and Sons ( Publisher )
Groombridge and Sons
Place of Publication:
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1876   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1876   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1876
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London


Statement of Responsibility:
by W.H.G. Kingston, Mrs. S.C. Hall and other authors ; illustrated.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

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 - 002231600
notis - ALH1980
oclc - 20467200
System ID:

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CAVALIER, habited in a light suit of
armour, with breast-plate and back-piece,
Sa velvet cap and a waving plume on his
head, with a jewel-hilted sword by his side,
suspended by a rich scarf, was riding through the
streets of the ancient city of Antwerp. He was
followed by two stout men-at-arms, carrying sword,
and lance, and heavy pistols in their holsters. The
cavalier was young and handsome; the light moustache
on his lip, and his beardless chin, showed that he
had only just entered manhood. His bearing, how-
ever, was bold and free, and a fire burned in his bright
blue eye as he gazed around, which showed that he
was capable of daring and noble deeds.
The sun was already sinking low, as was seen by
the deep shadows cast even across the wider places of
the city through which he rode. He was approaching
a handsome house, from the open windows of which
sounds of revelry proceeded. As he drew near,
the heads of several persons were protruded. One,
especially, who had a wine-cup in his hand, which
he quaffed off catching sight of him, exclaimed-
"What! Do my eyes deceive me? Marnix of


Tholouse You in Antwerp? Stay stay I pray
thee! Stay I command thee. Come in hither and
drain a cup to our noble cause."
The young cavalier at these words drew rein and
looked up at the window. The speaker, however,
to enforce his arguments, had already quitted it; and
while Marnix was gazing up, wondering what had
become of him, he found his horse's head seized by
the former, who had at that moment issued from the
"I rejoice to s;ee you, my friend," exclaimed
the gentleman who had just come out of the house ;
" I thought you were still at college, going over the
dry tomes of the schoolmen, which I could never
abide. Come in, I say ; there are many friends who
will greet you, and you can tell us at the same moment
the cause of your appearance in this city."
Nay, Count Brederode, but that may not be
altogether what I desire to do," answered the young
cavalier. "I have an engagement, too, which I wish
to keep, and already the evening is drawing to a
close, and it is time that I should be at my hostelry.
However, I will tell you that I left college because I
consider that at the present time, those who love
their country ought to be preparing to use their swords
rather than their books and pens."
A noble sentiment, and worthy of you, Marnix,"
answered Count Brederode.
The last speaker was a man considerably more
advanced in life than Marnix of Thoulouse. Hard
living had already marked its lines on his countenance,
which was even now heated by the wine-cup. His
figure was tall and commanding, while a bold reckless
air and a loud hearty voice were the chief charac.
teristics of the man.


Nay, I would not detain you many minutes," he
continued, still holding Thoulouse's bridle. Come but
for an instant and show yourself among our friends.
Quaff but one cup, it will clear your brain rather than
confuse it, and then go your way and perform your
engagement. To-morrow I hope to see you here;
we have matters of importance to discuss, and your
clear head and unbiassed opinion will be of value."
The young cavalier, won over by the flatteries and
pressing invitation of his friend, called to one of his
attendants to take his horse, and, led by Count
Brederode, entered the house. He found himself
in another minute at the entrance of a banqueting
hall, in which a number of gaily-dressed cavaliers were
seated at a long table, with wine-flasks and cups and a
dessert of numerous rich fruits placed before them.
Welcome, Marnix of Thoulouse welcome !" cried
several, rising from their seats and warmly shaking
him by the hand. "You have come to join us, as
your gallant brother has already done. We wish he
were here to welcome you also. We want more of
the young and noble blood of the land, since so many
of the older ones stand aloof, or look coldly at the
cause of liberty."
Friends," said the young nobleman, I am ready
to devote my sword, my heart, my very life's blood to
the cause of my country! Though I do not remain
with you now, it is from no want of heartfelt sym-
pathy. I am one with you in any gallant work which
can tend to set our country free from the thraldom
which oppresses it."
Well said! a noble sentiment!" exclaimed several
of the guests. "We drink to your health, brave
Marnix." The cups were filled, and the guests
rising, emptied them as they spoke.


Young Marnix took a golden cup which

"I thank y


me. Life is sweet, but yet I once more say, that life
I will willingly sacrifice for the good of my country !

Again I thank you from my heart."

,put the cup to his


and drained

Saying this
it slowly,

placing it on the table. His attitude was graceful
and gallant. "I now bid you farewell," he added,
bowing as he spoke, and in spite of the appeals of the
count that he would stop and quaff another cup, he
retired from the room, and, remounting his horse,
continued his way through the city.
The period of which we are speaking, was the year
1565. Philip of Spain, at one time husband of Queen
Mary of England, ruled over not only Spain, but the
Netherlands and Low Countries; his sister, Margaret
of Parma, acting as Regent for him in the Netherlands.
Protestant principles had made great progress through-
out the latter part of King Philip's dominions, and he
had come to the resolution of stamping them out by
sword and fire, and every means in his power. The
means he took were not such as to win the hearts of

his people,

or indeed to gain his object.

One of those

means was the establishment of the

Inquisition, the

directors of


had power

to seize any

woman, or child in the country, and to consign them,
with a mere mockery of trial, to death, either at the
stake, by drowning, or strangulation. These and other
acts of the most cruel tyranny, had at length aroused

the spirits of a large portion
degrees. Although a few
their followers still remain(

a of the population of all
of the greater nobles with
i loyal to the king, a con-

siderable number of the lesser nobles, soon after this,
formed a League, by which they had bound themselves

handed him, and holding it up answered,
rou, gallant seniors, for the honour you do

3, he



to sacrifice their properties and their lives, in an
attempt to restore liberty to their country. The docu-
ment which the members of the League had signed,
was known as the Compromise. They had, however,
taken the name of the Beggars, in consequence of a
remark made by a certain Count Berlaymont to the
Regent, when the Compromise was first presented,
" Is it possible that your Highness can entertain
fears of these Beggars, or Gueux ? He spoke thus
contemptuously of the confederates, because many
of them were the younger sons of noble families, and
others were men who were already nearly ruined by
extravagance. The circumstances we are now describ-
ing, however, somewhat preceded that notable event.
Marnix hastened his pace-almost unconsciously-
his eye brightening, and a look of eagerness coming
over his countenance, as he advanced. Before him, on
one side of the Mere-a broad street in the centre of
the city-was a richly-ornamented house, at the deep
portal of which stood an armed man with halberd on
his shoulder, his buff coat showing that he was one of
the burgher-guard.
Marnix of Thoulouse drew up before the door, and
one of his attendants immediately riding up to his side,
he dismounted, Go to the 'Red Lion,'" he said,
" and order an apartment for me. I will sleep there
to-night, and should my brother or any other friend
come for me, say that I expect to be at the hostelry at
nine o'clock."


" WHo seek you here ?" said the sturdy burgher-guard,
placing his halberd across the entrance.
b 3





He is from home, and will
evening," said the man-at-arms.
Marnix hesitated.



not be back this

"I would pay my respects to his daughter, then,
the Lady Julie," he said, and his voice trembled some-
what as he pronounced the name.

The guard eyed him from head to foot.
"I will call the Major-domo then," he said;
can let no one pass without his permission when
Burgomaster is from home."
The soldier rang a bell, which was answered

a portly-looking personage,
house. His eye brightened

the usual porter of

as he caught


the young nobleman.
"Is the Lady Julie in ?" asked Marnix.
"Ay, she is, for she seldom goes abroad," answered

the porter; "I will call
think he will refuse yo



I do not

u admittance, although we

obliged to be very particular at these times.


not what is going to happen. Reports of all sorts are
flying about, as thick as snow in December."
Well, my good friend Peter," said Marnix,
"hasten, I pray thee, and get the required permission."
The old porter toddled away as fast as his some-
what bulky legs could carry him, and meantime Marnix




up and down the ball.

by the

He was



Master Cornelius, who, though not quite as stout as
Peter, was still of bulky proportions. The Major-domo
beckoned him upstairs through the door which Peter
had thrown open.
The young man sprang up the steps with a rapidity
which soon left the old steward behind. He appeared




We know

however, at length,


to require no guide indeed. He took his way along
a passage, at the end of which was an open door,
through which he passed into a handsome apartment
hung with rich damask. Vases of flowers stood on
the marble tables at the side between the silk-covered
seats which surrounded the room. At the further end
appeared a lady, tall and graceful, young, and fair as
any youth might wish to look on. Her light auburn
hair escaped in ringlets from beneath the golden band
which surrounded her head, while her costume was of
the richest and most elegant description. She had
risen from her seat as the footsteps of the young noble-
man had been heard on the stair, and she now advanced
across the room holding out her hands to meet him.
There was no coyness nor timidity in her manner;
indeed, had any spectator been present, it would have
been seen that a thorough understanding existed already
between the youth and the maiden. It would have
been difficult indeed to have found a couple of more
attractive personal appearance, or more suited to each
other. The Lady Julie was probably a year or two
younger than Marnix, but had already attained the
perfection of womanhood-in his eyes, at all events
-and those eyes kept looking into hers with an
expression which showed his devoted love and admira-
Thus they sat for some time, talking of matters of
deep interest to themselves, whatever the world at large
might have thought of them.
"The Burgomaster is as kind as he is generous
Snd noble," said Marnix. He will not, on account
of the troubles which have overtaken our country,
object to our marriage at the time we had hoped.
You will plead for me, will you not, Julie? The
feeling that I have you to fight for, and the right to


protect you, will nerve my arm and give wisdom
mind, should I be called to join the counsels

to my
of the

Yes, I will plead," answered Julie; for truly, so
occupied in the affairs of State is my father, that he has
but little time for my society; and I will tell him that

he will find far more assistance

from a son, than a

daughter can hope to afford."
It had been proposed that the marriage of the
young people should take place a short time from the
period of which we are speaking; but the Burgomaster
had of late shown an anxiety to put it off, on the plea
that the state of the country was not suitable for
marrying and giving in marriage. It had not, indeed,
hitherto been made known, except to the immediate
relations of the family.

The kind-hearted


his daughter

appeals, though
her, if not a

he would

Burgomaster was not

well knew,
rather ha,

more wealthy, an

to resi,

3t her

ve selected for




experienced husband than the young Marnix of
Thoulouse. Still, the gallant bearing, the generosity,
and intelligence of the young nobleman, had won upon
his affections, and already he had begun to regard himi
as his son. The young people, therefore, parted in the

evening without any serious
marriage would be deferred.

On reaching

the "(Red




that their

found his

brother, Philip of St. Aldegonde, a man considerably
older than himself, and one of the most accomplished

persons of his age.

He had already gained renown as

a poet of much imagination, and as

a prose writer

whose style was unsurpassed by any of his contem-
poraries. Trained to arms from his earliest youth, he


was an accomplished soldier, and at the same time
an ardent patriot.
"Congratulate me, my dear brother," said Marnix,
as he greeted him. "My happiness will soon be
secured, and with Julie mine, I feel capable of en-
countering all the foes of our country."
The elder brother smiled at the enthusiasm of the
I rejoice with you," he said, but-- "
Nay, but have no buts, brother," said Marnix;
"it is an expression I would were banished from the
language of mortals. Shall you be at the meeting
to-morrow with Brederode ? "
"Yes; but I would advise you, Marnix, to avoid
associating too closely with that man. He is honest, I
grant you, but he has no judgment, and he is more
likely to lead others into useless danger and difficulty,
than to advance the cause he so loudly advocates."
But I thought, my dear brother, that you your-
self were closely united with him. He surely is one of
the most conspicuous supporters of the Compromise,
which you yourself are said to have drawn up."
"C Yes, because we are not in a position to decline
the services of even so boisterous a supporter," said
Philip; but I would warn you rather to avoid any
private enterprise he may propose. Of the great public
object we all advocate, there is no doubt."
The young Marnix promised to be cautious. It
would have been well for him had he been so.
The next morning the two brothers attended a
meeting of the confederates at the house where Count
Brederode had taken up his abode during his residence
at Antwerp.
Marnix waited impatiently till it was over, that he
might repair to the house of the Burgomaster. H


entered without being announced, as the servants had
had the acuteness to discover that he was a welcome
guest. He was met, however, on the top of the stair by
Master Cornelius-the steward--whose countenance
wore a look of embarrassment.
"'There is a cavalier here," he said, a Spaniard
by his appearance, and his name-Don Alberic Lodron.
He is even now in the presence of the Lady Julie, and
our lord the Burgomaster. What is object is, I do
not know for a certainty, but I have been told that he
has watched the Lady Julie on several occasions when
she has ridden out, and cast looks of deep admiration
at her. He has come to the house more than once
without being admitted; and I know not why, but I
fear that something unpleasant may occur. I know
what these Spaniards are-very fierce and revengeful
if their wishes are opposed, and I tell you it is through
affection and respect for you, my dear young master,
that you may be prepared." Much more to the same
effect the old steward uttered, till, indeed, he some-
what tried the temper of Marnix.
"Fear not for me, nor for your young mistress,"
answered the young nobleman. I care little what
the audacious Spaniard may threaten or do. I beg
that you will announce me, that I may meet him face
to face.'
Somewhat unwillingly, therefore, the steward led
the way into the reception hall, where, on a high-
backed, richly-carved chair, sat Julie, the picture of
modest reserve. On one side sat her father-a digni-
fied, portly man of middle age, his handsome counte-
nance indicative of benignity and intelligence; while
on the other, holding his feathered beaver in his hand,
was a handsomely-dressed cavalier, who was at this
moment earnestly addressing the young lady. Her


eye brightened as she saw Marnix, and rising from
her seat, she advanced almost involuntarily towards
him. Then beckoning him to a chair near that of her
father, she returned to her seat. The Spaniard cast an
inquisitive and somewhat angry glance at the young
"Your brother, I presume ? said the Spaniard, in
a tone which sounded particularly impertinent in
Julie's ear.
"No, but a friend I esteem, Don Alberic,"
answered the young lady, somewhat scornfully.
"Don Alberic has come to invite my daughter and
me to a tournament, which is to take place at Brussels
in a few days, in honour of the marriage of the Prince
Alexander and Donna Maria of Portugal; but I know
not whether she is disposed to go. For myself, my
duties are so onerous, that in spite of the honour done
me by the invitation, it may be difficult for me to
accept it."
"But surely the young lady, with so gallant a
cavalier as the gentleman I see before me to attend on
her, will be able to come," said the Spaniard, bowing
towards the Lady Julie.
"We are not ungrateful for your courtesy, Don
Alberic," said the young lady, and as I have never
seen such a spectacle, I may possibly, with the attend-
ant you propose, be able to be present."
Don Alberic cast an inquiring glance towards the
Lady Julie, as if he could not clearly understand the
meaning of her remark. He, however, was too much
a man of the world, not to be aware that it was
time for him to bring his visit to a close. Rising,
therefore, and making numerous bows, he began to
retire along the room towards the door, followed by
the Burgomaster, who in courtesy attended him to the


foot of the stairs. The young people laughed heartily
at the way the Spaniard had been mystified. They

were little thinking

of the

evil feelings


been aroused in his heart.
"It will be truly, Marnix,
to see this grand tournament.
there ? said Julie.

a pleasant
Will you




Marnix promised to do so, for it was to occur some
short time after their proposed marriage; and now, as
young people are apt to do, they looked forward with
eagerness to that happy event.


THE marriage of Marnix of Thoulouse and the fair
daughter of the Burgomaster of Antwerp took place,
according to the Lutheran form, in the house of the


more lo)


velv still

Julie was always lovely; she looked
:1 and though her bridesmaids were

among the tairest
principal inhabitants
in beauty.
The gallant you
life of unalloyed ha




ot the I

of AntwerI

ing nobl
Lppy it is


air daughters

p, none


of the



in the company of
4 for man that he (





not know what is in store for him.

Marnix thought

not at the moment of the troubled state of the country,

nor that he himself was pledged to dra)
its defence, and that 'when the sword

w his sword in

is drawn,


man can tell in whose bosom it may be sheathed.
The Burgomaster, on second thoughts, had resolved
to attend the tournament, knowing that on account of
his religious principles his loyalty might be suspected,


r V
1'1 /r I n rr n


and wishing, therefore, to show all due respect to the
family of his sovereign.
Three days before the tournament, the Burgo-
master, accompanied by his daughter and son-in-law,
with several attendants, all handsomely attired, as
became his position as chief magistrate of the- important
city of Antwerp, set out for Brussels.
Brussels was then, as now, a fine city, containing
many magnificent palaces, and surrounded by forests
full of game.
The lists were formed in the great market-place
of the city; here all the principal persons then in
the Netherlands were present. Nothing could exceed
the magnificence of the arrangements. Seats covered
with damask formed a vast amphitheatre, while the
banners of the various knights and their retainers
were planted on either side. At one end, marked by
the richness of the banners. the judges of the jousts
took their seats. They wr / the Duke of Parma, the
Duke of Aershot, and Cc2it Egmont. In their midst
sat the lady of the lists, from whose fair hands the
winners of prizes were to receive their rewards.
Where there were so many great and noble people,
the Burgomaster of Antwerp and his family took but
a comparatively humble place, yet it was sufficiently
conspicuous to be seen from the lists, the Lady Julie
being seated between her husband and father. From
the richness and fashion of her dress it might have
been suspected that she was married, although her
wedding had been so quiet that the event might pro-
bably not have been known iirBrussels. Spectators
were thronging to their seats through the various en-
trances, while every window, and every spot whence a
view could be obtained from the surrounding houses,
were crowded with eager gazers. Now the trumpets


sounded, and

the knights,

in gorgeous armour, rode

into the lists. Among the most conspicuous was the



of Orange.

of Nassau, the brother


small of stature,

Dh of slight figure
he bore himself

r of the Prince
, and somewhat
with grace and

elegance on horseback,




over his steed.

Count Bossu appeared in a dark suit

of armour; stout of limb, and with fine proportions,
he appeared well able to do battle in the lists. Then,

too, came Philip
the commander

de Lannoy, Seigneur de Beauvoir,
of the Duchess's body-guard in

Brussels. He had already gained renown in arms,
and was a champion few but the most dextrous would

have wished to encounter.

Count Mansfield


into the lists accompanied by his son Charles, acknow-


among his compeers as one

of the

expert knights in the use of lance and sword.

There were Spanish as well as Flemish


the most gallant

Alberic Lodron,


de Lodrono;



by his fi

was Don


indeed, on this occasion,


of very opposite

parties assembled to encounter each

other, some, perhaps, anxious to meet on a more
bloody and desperate field, in the work of real
warfare. The Seigneur de Beauvoir made the most
splendid appearance, with his jewelled armour and his
attendant squires.

Now the trumpets sounded,

and Count Mansfield

and his son challenged one and all who might choos,
to engage in the mimic combat. Two knights
answered the challenge. Again the trumpets sounded,
and both the parties dashing forward the Count and
his son unhorsed their opponents. Among the Spanish

knights, Don Alberic Lodron bore himself gallantly.
Each knight was desirous to select a lady, I






the superiority of whose charms he was ready to do
battle. As the knights were seen riding round the lists,
gazing up towards the fair ones who were witnesses
of their gallantry and hardihood, Don Alberio drew
up his horse in front of the seats occupied by the
Burgomaster and his family. Bowing low, the Spanish
knight presented her with a bouquet, expecting in
return to receive her glove that he might fasten
it in his helmet. She declined, however, taking it
off, acknowledging his salutation only with a formal
Anger and annoyance were depicted on his coun-
tenance-the visors of the knights were raised for the
occasion, it should be said. Waiting for a moment,
as if to ascertain that he was not mistaken, he spurred
on his charger, and continued his course round the
The single combats having been brought to a con-
clusion, Count Charles of Mansfield being declared the
most successful, Count Louis of Nassau and Count
Bossu being but little behind him, preparations were
made for a general combat, in which all the knights
were to arrange themselves in two parties, under
respective leaders. More than once during the fights
Marnix had with difficulty kept his seat.
I would that I were among those gallant gentle-
men," he could not help exclaiming; and yet, after all,
it is but a mimic fight, and except to gain experience,
it may be folly to exhaust one's strength when it may
be required for the real work of war."
Julie smiled on her husband. "I am afraid that I
am the cause of your being a spectator instead of an
actor on the scene," she said.
No, no, indeed," he answered; I have had but'
little practice in such work, and I fear, Julie, you


would not have cause to be


of the prowess of

your true knight. I am happier far by thy side; still,
I own I should like to have broken a lance with that

haughty Spaniard who seemed so
that you would not honour him

your true

indignant just now


selecting him



While they were speaking,

the trumpets


sounded, and the two parties of knights, each consist-

ing of about thirty, one led by Louis of Nassar
other by Count Bossu, drew up on opposite sides.
Seigneur de Beauvoir and Don Alberic had arr;

themselves under the banner of the

Count of I

i, the

while Count Charles of Mansfield supported his friend
Count Louis of Nassau. Once more the trumpets
sounded, and the knights met in the centre of the

lists with a
and amid

i shock which made the very ground shake,
clouds of dust caused by the horses' hoofs,

they were seen struggling desperately; some unhorsed,
lay on the ground, others with spears broken were
waving their swords, which rung against the shields of

their opponents. The most co
was the gallant Count Louis

nspicuous for his activity

of Nassau.

His spear

had been broken in unhorsing his first opponent, and
now he was wheeling in and out, and dashing here and

there like a meteor, dealing blows which hurled


of the opposite party to the ground. As blunt weapons
only had been used, and the swords were pointless, no
desperate wounds had been inflicted, although many of
the knights were more or less bruised or otherwise hurt

by their overthrow.
The young bride
came to an end. They
with her taste. She h

was thankful

when the sports

were, in truth, not in accordance
Lad not expected to see so serious

a struggle as was taking place.
indeed, brilliant and exciting as it

The exhibition,
was, was too much


like a scene of

real warfare

to afford pleasure to a



The combats, however, were. very

different to those of former years, when sharp swords
and pointed lances were used, and many a knight lost
his life in the struggle.
A grand supper was given by the city of Brussels
in the Hotel de Ville on that evening, in honour of the
royal marriage, when the prizes gained at the tourna-

ment were bestowed on

the successful


Burgomaster and his family were of course among the
guests. Nothing could exceed its magnificence, but
amid all the apparent hilarity, many hearts ached

when thoughts of the unhappy
would unbidden arise.

state of the




morning, the Burgomaster, a
c and Julie, returned to Antw

proceeded some distance on their v
sound of horses' hoofs were heard b

accompaniedd by
erp. They had
vay, when the
behind them, and

a party of cavaliers was seen coming along the road.
The travellers drew up a little way on one side, to
allow the more active-moving cavaliers to pass, when
a loud, hearty voice proceeded from one of them :-

" What!

Marnix !

Is it true, then, that you have

become a Knight of St.

Benedict ?

Introduce me, I

pray, to your fair lady, and to her honoured father,
who, I conclude, I see before me."
It was Count Brederode who spoke. Marnix went
through the usual ceremony, the companions of the
Count at the same time doffing their plumed beavers
in token of respect.




"rC You are indeed a fortunate
rode, as he rode up alongside
sufficiently loud, however, for Ji
will, I fear, be less inclined th

ulie to h

said Brede-
in a voice
ear. You

an before to join

ranks of the patriots."
On the contrary, I have more to fight




answered Marnix.

"I am loyal to a right cause, and

hope that nothing will seduce me from it."

Probably the

Burgomaster would have been

to be rid

of his new companion,

but without discour-

tesy he could not either drop behind and beg

them to

proceed at a faster pace, or avoid them altogether.

Thus, towards evening,
Antwerp, and the intimacy

the whole party rode

of the


Burgomaster with

the plotting, boisterous Count Brederode was remarked
by many. It was indeed an anxious time for Antony
Van Straalen. He knew well all that was taking place
in the country, and felt very sure that ere long there
would be a fearful outbreak.

The young couple, however
joyed unmitigated happiness.
that disturbances were likely t(

, for a short time en-
They were well aware
o break out, but, with

the sanguine temperament of youth, they hoped that
the clouds would quickly be dispersed, and the sun

.shine forth again on their native land.

Thus, when-

ever they spoke of the future, they allowed their feel-
ings to colour it with bright and beautiful tints. Still,
to thoughtful minds, the present was truly dark and


To worship God according to the dictates

of conscience is one of the chief rights of man.

Of that

right Philip had been using every effort to deprive
his subjects in the Netherlands. The fearful Inquisi-
tion, as has been said, had been established throughout
the country, and, though occasionally its ministers



seemed to relax in their labours, every lull was sure
to be followed by a still fiercer persecution.
Prohibited from worshipping in the churches, the
people had sought the fields and open country, where
they might hear the preachers whose opinions they
followed, and where they might praise God and pray
as they were disposed. At those meetings, which
many thousands of persons attended, most of the men
were armed, to defend themselves against any attacks
of the officers of government. Even in the very
neighbourhood of Antwerp these camp gatherings were
held, when preachers of great power and ability ad-
dressed them. To these meetings, Marnix, on several
occasions, took his bride, and they tended not a little
to increase his enthusiasm, and to inspire her with the
same love of the truth and hatred of tyranny which
animated his bosom.
At length an event occurred at Antwerp which
was sure to draw down upon the inhabitants the
fury of the ruling powers. The mob arose, and
breaking into the churches, a small body of the
most determined attacked the images and ornaments
with which they were crowded, breaking them in
pieces, or utterly defacing them. Meantime the
League was gaining strength and numbers, and the
whole country seemed ready to rise in arms in defence
of its liberties. The Prince of Orange had for long
been watching with a calm and sagacious eye the
current of events. No more true patriot existed in
the country, but it had appeared to him that the time
of action had not yet arrived. There was indignation
and excitement enough, but union was wanting among
the people, and their oppressors were powerful. This
the latter soon showed by recommencing the system
of persecution. Once more, men, women, and even


children, were dragged from their homes, and, being
accused of heresy, were put to death by the authori-
ties of the Inquisition in the most cruel manner. The
preachers had to fly the country or to go into hiding.
Vast numbers of persons who could manage to escape,
left their native shores and went to England. The
larger proportion were manufacturers and artisans,
who took their talents and their arts to the country
which gave them an asylum, and there established
those manufactures which have contributed so much
to make England great, powerful, and free. There
were weavers in linen, in wool, and silk, paper manu-
facturers, workers in iron and all sorts of metals, who
not only practised the trade themselves, but instructed
the English in their own arts; so that not only were
the articles which England required produced in the
country, but she was able to supply foreign nations,
which had hitherto been furnished with those manu-
factures from the Netherlands. The Prince of Orange
already began to see that the time was fast approach.
ing when, if he would save his country from utter
destruction, he must draw the sword in its defence.
Other less cautious, or more enthusiastic persons,
began to take up arms. Among the foremost was
Count Brederode. The larger part of the population
of Antwerp was in a state of violent commotion, and the
Regent, fearful of a general outbreak, had entreated
the Prince of Orange to go to the city and endeavour to
quell it. Count Brederode had been scouring the neigh-
bouring country to collect an army, eager to be the
first in the field to oppose the Imperial forces. Already
he had assembled some thousand men, but they had
to be disciplined, and arms and ammunition were to be
collected. Their immediate object was to march to
the relief of the town of Valenciennes. That city,


pleasantly situated in a fertile valley, with the Scheldt
flowing through its centre, near the border of France,
was surrounded with strong fortifications and deep
moats. Here Guido de Bray, and Peregrine de la
Grange, two celebrated preachers, had been the means
of bringing the larger part of the population to the
Protestant faith. The government had insisted on
their receiving a garrison, which the inhabitants had
refused doing. It was therefore invested by an army
under Count Egmont and the Duke of Aershot, who
threatened utter destruction to the inhabitants for
their rebellion and heresy. Marnix of Thoulouse had
been longing to take a part in the struggle which was
about to commence. Again Count Brederode made
his appearance at Antwerp. Julie herself had become
as enthusiastic as her young husband. The cruelties
daily perpetrated on her countrymen had filled her
gentle breast with indignation.
"I must attend a meeting to-night at Count Bre-
derode's residence," said Marnix to her; "and, Julie,
if I am called upon to draw the sword, I can no longer
refuse. You would not wish me to do so, even though
I must thus be parted from you."
Go, my husband," said Julie, "I would that
women were more calculated to fight than they are,
for I would thankfully accompany you to the field.
My heart will go with you; my prayers will follow
The meeting at Count Brederode's was attended
by most of the more ardent patriots then at Antwerp.
They each wore a rough leather wallet, with a wooden
bowl and spoon attached to a belt at their sides, to
show that they belonged to the Gueux," or
"Beggars,"-a title given to the patriots by their
haughty oppressors, and which they had voluntarily


adopted. One and all agreed that the time for action
had arrived.
"I tender my sword and the best services I can
render to the cause," said Marnix, rising from his seat
after numerous enthusiastic speeches had been made
by the assembled members of the confederacy.
A few urged that they should wait until the Prince of
Orange was prepared to put himself at their head.
"He is so slow-moving and over-cautious, that
the time of action may have passed before he will
declare himself," exclaimed Brederode. If we wait
till he sets the example, we may wait in vain. Let us
march at once on Valenciennes, and then returning
victorious, we may dictate our own terms to the
Regent at Brussels. Marnix of Thoulouse, to you I
will commit the charge of our first recruits. Although
young in years, you will soon, I am sure, show that
you not only possess courage, but wisdom and fore-
The other speakers uttered similar expressions,
and Marnix agreed to take command of the first body
of insurgents which had been collected. The meeting
now broke up. Marnix was among the last to leave
the hall. Count Brederode had taken no precautions
to guard against treachery. He remained at the
entrance of the house for some time, detaining Marnix,
and explaining more fully to him the plans he had
"' I see, my noble young friend, you must be my,
lieutenant, my second in command, when once we
unfurl the standard of freedom. In a short time I
trust we may sweep our tyrants from the land. We
have too long submitted to their cruelties and in-
While they were speaking, Marnix caught sight of


a person stealing across the entrance of the hall. He
was evidently, from his movements, anxious to escape
observation. Marnix was on the point of springing
back into the hall to seize the man, when he darted by
him; and though he and Count Brederode instantly
made chase, the spy, if such he was, escaped them.
"It matters not," said Brederode. "Once in
arms with our forces collected, we may care little if
all the world knows our proceedings. And now, my
friend, you must be prepared to-morrow morning to
accompany me to the rendezvous I have appointed for
our recruits."
The parting between the young hero and his lovely
bride can be better supposed than described.
At an early hour the next morning, Marnix accom-
panied Count Brederode. They proceeded some way
down the banks of the Scheldt, till they arrived at a
spot where a vessel was waiting for them. On board
were a number of recruits, under the command of
a gentleman named Van der Aa, who had, a short
time before, been compelled by the Prince of Orange
to leave the city, in consequence of his activity in
collecting men for the proposed rebellion.
Van de Aa reported that several other vessels with
recruits were waiting a short way down the river, and
Brederode at once proposed, that when all were
collected, they should make a dash at the cities of
Flushing and Middleburg, in the island of Walcheren,
possession of which would greatly forward their cause.
They soon reached the expected vessels, which num-
bered about twenty small craft, and found that their
force amounted to about fifteen hundred men. They
were, however, without discipline, none of the officers
having had experience in actual warfare. Still, their
numbers gave them confidence, and they proceeded on


to Flushing. The citizens, however, had received
notice that Count Egmont, with a strong force, con-
templated advancing on the island of Walcheren.
They therefore, through fear, refused to receive the
liberators. Middleburg behaved in the same manner,
from a like cause, and at length it was determined that
the expedition should return up the Scheldt, and land-
ing in the neighbourhood of Antwerp, there await the
arrival of numerous other levies which were expected.

IT was of serious consequence that Marnix and Count
Brederode did not overtake the person they had
pursued, whom they saw escaping from their place
of meeting. He was a Fleming, one Bertram,
employed by Don Alberic Lodron as a spy on the
patriots. He hastened to his master, who had come
over to Antwerp in secret to ascertain what was
taking place. All the plans of the Count were thus
made known to Don Alberic.
"It is well," said the Spaniard, I can now wreak
my vengeance on the head of one whom I have cause
so heartily to hate. Do you, Bertram, join yourself to
the rebels, and make your escape as soon as you have
more important information to bring me. Come to
Brussels, where I will await you. Here are these gold
pieces for the present, but you shall receive a more
ample reward should you bring me information of
importance of which I can take advantage."
Don't fear me, Seigneur," answered the traitor;
and after some further arrangements had been made
he returned to his home, while, the next morning, Don
Alberic in careful disguise set off for Brussels.


Meantime, while Count Brederode was engaged
in recruiting throughout the neighboring country,
Marnix and his followers, proceeding up the Scheldt,
landed in the neighbourhood of Antwerp, at a little
village called Ostrawell, within sight of the city. The
young general, though without experience, had the
eye of a soldier, and selected his position with great
judgment. In his rear he had the broad Scheldt
and its dykes, which afforded ample protection from
any attacks likely to be made on him; on his right
and left, were other dykes as well as the village;
while he immediately ordered his men to throw up
a breastwork in front of the position, and to sink a
deep trench.
"We may here bid defiance to any foes who may
come against us, Count," said Van der Aa, who was
acting as his lieutenant. "The Spaniards will scarcely
dare to attack so strong a place; and if they do, our
brave followers will drive them back with disgrace."
"( Our followers sadly want training though," said
Marnix; "r we must lose not a moment in getting them
into discipline."
This judicious resolve was instantly put into execu-
tion, and those few who had seen service among them,
were appointed asw drill officers. It was hard work,
though, as many of the recruits were scarcely ac-
quainted with the use of firearms. Numbers, too,
came flocking daily into the camp, so that in the
course of a few days three thousand men had placed
themselves under the young Count's standard.
If any one by individual courage and energy could
have inspired his followers with enthusiasm, Marnix
of Thoulouse would have done so. Pointing to the
standard of revolt which he now hoisted, he addressed
them in eloquent and fiery words. He reminded them



of the treachery and falsehood of King

Philip, of his

bigotry and cruelties, and the fearful sufferings to which
their country had been so long subjected.
"We have now drawn the sword, my friends," he
added; we must never sheath it till our just and holy

cause has been gained.

We must be ready to sacrifice

our fortunes, our time, our strength, and
the attainment of that noble object."

our lives

Loud shouts burst from the throats of his followers,

and one and all vowed

to fight

bravely for the cause,

and never to yield while life remained.

Among those

who made themselves most conspicuous, was a man
of middle age, somewhat small of stature, whose torn
doublet and the general faded appearance of his costume

bespoke his poverty.

No one seemed to know from

whence he

had come, but his tongue showed

was a Fleming,


by his language it

that he



supposed that he was an ardent patriot. On presenting
himself before Marnix, he stated that he had seen some
service, and hoped that he might be employed in drilling
the recruits. It was evident, from the way he set to
work, that in that respect he was no pretender. Having
thus shown his talent, he requested that he might be
appointed an officer. Veteran soldiers being scarce,
Marnix, without hesitation, granted his request.
I regret," he added, that I am not able to pre-
sent you with a habit more suited to your rank."

"That matters little," was the answer.

" We are

all beggars here, and we may hope ere long to have an

opportunity of
the enemy."
In a few d

supplying our need from the spoils

ays he

had contrived to




into the confidence of Van der Aa, though the young
general himself was too acute an observer of his fellow

men to trust him altogether.

There was something



in the countenance of the man, and his constant profes-
sions of patriotism, which made him doubt his honesty.
By untiring energy Marnix had at length got his
followers into something like discipline; but still,
as he reviewed them, he could not help feeling that
they possessed enthusiasm alone to make up for their
yet great want of that necessary qualification of
soldiers. All this time, although so near the object
of his deepest affections, he had not ventured to leave
his camp. At length, however, unable to restrain his
feelings, he resolved to pay his beloved wife a brief
visit, leaving his lieutenant in charge, with orders to
maintain the strictest discipline, to send out scouts to
give timely warning of the approach of an enemy, and
to let no one leave the camp. Throwing a plain cloak
over his shoulders, and a hat which concealed his
features, as soon as darkness came on, he hurried away
towards Antwerp. His departure, however, had not
been unobserved, and in spite of the vigilance of Van
der Aa, one man at all events was found to have left
the camp, and though a party was sent after him, he
managed to elude them.
The Lady Julie was seated in her boudoir. Her
embroidery lay untouched by her side, her eyes were
resting on a book, but the page before her conveyed
no meaning to her mind. Her thoughts were away at
the camp at Ostrawell. Care and anxiety were at her
heart. She had heard accounts of the threatened dis-
turbances in the city. The inhabitants of all ranks,
but especially the populace, were taking up arms. The
Prince of Orange was in command, a post he had
assumed as hereditary Burgrave of Antwerp. Those
who knew him best were aware that he had already
resolved to support the cause of liberty, but the people
generally did not fully trust him.



Hoogstraaten, a brave and generous young

nobleman, who had like

tant, and who

as governor of the
in the command.

the prince

for some time


become a Protes-
a had been acting

city, was now associate


utmost to tranquillize the

together were
minds of the

Dd with him
doing their

and were ably supported by the Burgomaster,
Straalen, and other magistrates of the city.


Julie's quick ear caught a footstep on the stair.
She rose from her seat, and as she reached the door,
she found herself in the arms of her young husband.
I have been able to steal but a few moments from
my duties," he exclaimed, as he embraced her tenderly,
" and believe me, Julie, it has been a sore trial to keep
away from you so long; but you I know, my sweet wife,
sympathize thoroughly with me, and have shared my

"1 I would not ask you to desert your

Julie, looking

into his face


" but I would that

prince would give you more support, and allow the

many brave men who are anxious to

our gates.
"1 One
him," ansi

join you to leave

glorious victory gained, Julie, will decide
vered Marnix. For that we must earnestly

Brief was the conversation of the young couple.
"I promised myself but a few moments of hap-

piness," said

Marnix at length.

"I must leave you

now, Julie, and hasten back to the camp. I do not
wish my absence to be known, nor will I communicate
with any one in the city, not even with your father."

" Going

so soon ? "

Julie could not. refrain

It may be but for

a few short



her husband.

" Brederode hopes soon to join me with




a force of six thousand men, and together we may
then march forward to the relief of Valenciennes, and
afterwards to dictate a glorious peace at Brussels."
Marnix impressed an ardent kiss on his wife's
cheek, and unwilling longer to delay, with a weight at
his heart at being thus compelled so speedily to leave
her, he hastened from the house, and hurried back to
the camp. Still greater would have been his grief
had he known what was about to occur.
Scarcely had he returned, when his lieutenant
reported to him that the recruit who had been so
active in drilling the men was nowhere to be found,
and that it was supposed he had quitted the camp.
So in truth he had. He was no other than Bertram-
the spy employed by Don Alberic. The traitor made
his way, as fast as a horse he had in waiting could
carry him, to Brussels. He soon found his employer,
who seemed highly pleased with the information he
had brought him.
"If the camp were unexpectedly attacked, the
defenders, in spite of their enthusiasm and boasts,
might be speedily overcome," said Bertram. "If
taken by surprise, those ill-trained bands will be
unable to stand a moment against the disciplined
troops of Spain."
Don Alberic, on receiving this information, hastened
off with it to the Seigneur de Beauvoir. It is well
thought of," said De Beauvoir.
The latter officer at once went to the Duchess,
who was at the moment in consultation with Count
Egmont. The Regent listened to the proposal with
no little trepidation. If our troops are defeated, the
whole province will be up in arms," she answered.
"Defeat shall be made impossible!" replied De
Beauvoir. "I ask but for four hundred of the body-



and an equal number

of Count


veteran Walloons.
be certain !"

No time was lost.

With them under me, victory


De Beauvoir selected some

his most experienced officers, under whose charge were


the helmets,

bucklers, arquebuses, corselets,

spears, standards, and drums of the troops, and by
them were conveyed in waggons, supposed to contain
stores of provisions, to the Abbey of St. Bernard,

within a league of Antwerp.

The men, meantime,

were sent off in small bodies, to avoid suspicion, armed
only with sword and dagger. Before daybreak they
had assembled at the abbey, where their commander

and his officer met them.

and received

They were here

their accoutrements.


De Beauvoir then

addressed them:-

" MAy brave soldiers, true sons of

the church,

victory is certain; the heretics will be destroyed.
Understand that you are to march forward with furled
banners, and without beat of drum. Not till you can see
the faces of the foe, is an arquebus to be discharged,
The foremost section will then deliver its fire, and,

retreating to
will take its
our success is

the rear, load; while the


If these commands

secured, and

the wretched

next section
are obeyed,
rebels anni-


THE small army of Marnix of Thoulouse
spirits. Information was brought that

in Brussels were in

dismay, and


was in


the govern-
hat the whole

population of Antwerp were rising to join the patriots.




Many more recruits came to the camp, and the work
of disciplining them went on with unbated energy.
The young general had just stepped out of the
hut which served as his abode, although the dawn of
that March morning had not yet broken, when suddenly
an arquebus was fired by one of the sentries. It was
followed by others along the line.
Troops are approaching !" exclaimed Van der Aa,
hastening up to Marnix.
They must be, then, I trust, a detachment of
Brederode's army," he exclaimed; we will welcome
them joyfully." As he spoke, the trumpets of the
advancing force brayed loudly forth, while sudden
shouts rent the air.
The garrison hastened to their entrenchments to
return the supposed greeting. "Welcome to our
friends welcome !" was shouted along the line.
In a short time, however, the grey light of the
early dawn revealed the serried ranks of well-armed
men, while above them waved their banners, just then
unfurled, with crosses emblazoned on them.
"They are the Spaniards; they are our foes !"
cried the young general. My brave followers, fight
like men. You fight for everything we hold sacred.
Defend our breastworks, and we shall soon beat back
the hated foe. Wait till they are so close that not a
shot can miss its aim.'
With these and similar words Marnix flew along
the lines, endeavouring to inspire his followers with
the noble enthusiasm which animated his own bosom.
They came, some at a rapid pace, others lagging
a little, up to the lines, but the hearts of many began
to quail at the unexpected appearance of the well-
disciplined foe. Instead of firing deliberately, as their
general had urged them to do, many fired wildly over


the heads of their assailants, whose bullets, aimed too
well, struck them down immediately they appeared.
On came the Spaniards and Walloons in compact


The ditch was reached.

The veteran troops

dashed across

it, and now, with stern shouts, charged

over the breastwork.
In vain the patriots struggled, in vain Thoulouse
and his officers, setting an heroic example, attempted
to defend the fort. Many fought bravely desperately !
but what is bravery without discipline ? The bodies of

fell served as a rampart for the survivors.

Still the assailants a

ground they won.
driven by the Spa

advanced, keeping each foot of
Backwards the raw levies were


and Walloons, who, as they



cut down

all whom



that morning,

the 13th

of Marcl

a wild tumult was prevailing in Antwerp.

ten thousand men were up in arms.


i, 1567,
y, while

the shades of night were still lingering in the city, the

inhabitants were aroused by the sound

of drums and

trumpets, the sharp rattle of fire-arms, and the


of men engaged in furious combat.
They hurried to the. ramparts overlooking Ostra-
well, whence the sounds proceeded. Some climbed
to the roofs of houses, others to towers of churches,

till every
scene of

spot was occupied


could be



a view of the
Excited men

the streets, armed with lance, s
Some bore huge hammers, others

partisans, battle-axes,
of the previous century
the Red Gate, that tc


the night

and huge two-handed

They were rushing towards

)wards Ostrawell having




the command

those who


pike, or
had the
I swords



Shouts and cries came from the spectators on the
walls. Soon they broke into mournful wails. Our
friends are giving way! In vain they strive! The
hated foe are gaining the victory. On they march.
The patriots are flying. Alas! alas fearful is the
slaughter," These cries told too truly what was
taking place.
Meantime, a lady, young and graceful, was seen
moving amid the furious crowd.
"'Friends! townsmen! our countrymen are being
overpowered! Who among you, with the hearts of
men, will refuse to hurry to their assistance ? I will
lead you! My noble husband is striving for the
cause of freedom Your very existence depends on
the struggle !"
It was the young wife of Marnix of Thoulouse
who spoke. Her very nature seemed changed. Rising
suddenly from her couch at the sound of battle, and
hastily robing, she had hurried to the ramparts, and
there, with aching eyes, witnessed the commencement
of the fight. Her hair escaping from confinement
was waving in the morning breeze. Taking a sword
from a bystander, she descended from the ramparts
and flew from street to street, imploring her co-
religionists to save their perishing brothers, or avenge
their deaths. Many eagerly obeyed the call, but when
they reached the Red Gate, they found it shut.
As true a patriot as ever breathed, with a wisdom
and courage unsurpassed, issued the order prohibiting
any of the inhabitants from leaving the city. He had
observed what was taking place at Ostrawell. He
knew too well that the day was lost, and that the most
devoted heroism could not retrieve it.
The vast mob, indignant at being opposed, were
crying out for vengeance on the head of their truest


friend, declaring him a traitor to the cause of liberty.
When the tumult was at its height, two men of noble
mien rode into their midst; the one was the Prince of
Orange, the other his brave colleague, Count Hoog-
Die, traitorous villain !" cried a furious citizen
from among the mob, levelling an arquebus full at his
breast. "Thou art the cause that our brethren have
perished thus miserably in yonder field !"
The trigger was pulled, but another hand in the
mob struck up the weapon, and the missile, intended
to deprive the prince of life, flew wide of the mark.
Unmoved by the circumstance, the prince now
addressed the mob, with words calm and full of dignity;
and at length appeased, they consented to obey his
orders. A band of five hundred, however, sallied
forth to oppose the enemy. Their appearance caused
the death of many hundred prisoners whom De Beau-
voir had taken, for immediately ordering his soldiers
to shoot them, he advanced towards the city with
drums beating and colours flying.
The patriot citizens seeing themselves outnumbered
by the victorious enemy retreated, and De Beauvoir,
advancing close up to the city moat, planted the banners
of the unfortunate Thoulouse on its margin. No attack,
however, was made on him, and he marched away in
What words can picture the anguish of the Lady
Julie In vain she entreated to be allowed to go out
and search for her husband; but her father, with kind
force, restrained her, and at length, when it was
ascertained that the enemy had finally taken their de-
parture, a party were despatched to learn the truth.
They returned bearing a mangled corpse. It was that
of the brave young soldier who had thus fallen on his


first field, hewn almost to pieces by his barbarous

For some days the city remained in a state of the
most fearful disturbance, the larger part of the popula-
tion having taken up arms to destroy the Romanists
and all who might oppose them.
At one time, indeed, it seemed impossible that a
terrible scene of bloodshed could be averted. By
the boldness and discretion of the Prince of Orange,
however, at length the minds of the population were
tranquillized, and those who a short time before
had been thirsting for each other's blood, were now
exchanging friendly greetings.
The Calvinists, Lutherans, and Romanists laid
down their arms, and the artillery and other weapons
they had taken from the arsenals were returned. The
city was once more in quiet.


NEARLY a year had passed; grief had dimmed the
Lady Julie's eye, and paled her cheek, yet hope sus-
tained her. She looked forward to meet her husband
in another and better world, where strife, and the
miseries which sin has produced, are no more to be
found; where those once united can never part. She
had lived on with her father, and she found in the
exertions she made to support and comfort him in his
sorrow for the miseries and sufferings of his country,
a solace for her own anguish.
Events of importance had occurred. Valenciennes
had fallen when most of its inhabitants were bar-






from the confederacy, and was

disappointment and hard drinl
shortly afterwards took place.

dying, it

ing, an

Shad retired
was said, of
event which

of the


leaders had been captured and executed,


and village of

and in every

the Netherlands, executions of

numbers considered obnoxious e

J l. A .JL-A. NJ .. / h .1 'J V .L.A .jL 'A X. .i .1. . / m V V J m L V (.' J,. \J II. L J M.JV
Daily taking place.
The Duke of Alva, destined to

LJL.V NV V*.i- A ., I --

be the


the country, had


a strong body of veteran

at Brussels accompanied by
warriors, trained to commit

every atrocity which warfare can produce. Hope
might have deserted the breast of the most sanguine,
had not William of Orange at length come forward as

the champion of freedom, and he now, assisted

by his

gallant brother Louis of Nassau, by Hoogstraaten, by
the noble St. Aldegonde, and others, was collecting
forces to oppose the persecutors of his country.

The young widow

was seated by

the side of her



Van Straalen,

when a visitor was


A flash of annoyance

passed over her

countenance when Don Alberic Lodron entered the


He advanced with an air of confidence and

assumption, which



increased her indigna-

tion; yet the father and daughter were too courteous
not to receive the guest, even though an unwelcome

one, with propriety,
Alberic to be seated.

and rising,



"To what circumstance am I indebted

honour of a visit ?"
that the Spaniard

said the Burgomaster,
lid not commence the

for the

"I wish to pay my respects to one whose

and accomplishments




c Don

Alberic, bowing low to Lady Julie.






"Don Alberic Lodron might be aware, that one
who has lately suffered a heavy affliction, cannot desire
to see strangers, except on matters of importance,"
answered the young widow, in a cold manner.
To me it is a matter of importance," said the
Spaniard, with a boldness which he would not have
ventured to use unless he had supposed that those to
whom he addressed himself were in his power.
"I must request you, my father, to entertain this
gentleman," said the Lady Julie, rising. Such words
as he speaks annoy me, and I would avoid hearing
them." And bowing stiffly to the Spaniard, she glided
from the room.
"I have always been led to believe that the
Spaniards are a courteous nation," said the Burgo-
master. I cannot, therefore, suppose that you would
willingly annoy a lady who has sufficiently expressed
her sentiments towards you."
"A father has power to induce his daughter to act
as he may think fit !" exclaimed the Spaniard. I
must hold you responsible, Mynheer Van Straalen, if
my expectations are thwarted."
Even had I ever wished to exercise undue paren-
tal authority over my daughter, I should not do so
now that she is a widow," answered the Burgomaster.
" I must therefore entreat you, as a cavalier of honour,
not further to mention the subject. She has already
expressed her sentiments, and I have reason to know
that they will not alter."
At length, indignant at the refusal he had received,
where he had presumptuously expected success, Don
Alberic left the house, and not long after returned to
Brussels, with information on various matters which
he had contrived to gain in Antwerp. A short time
after this, the Burgomaster received a summons from

the Duchess of Parma, to repair to Brussels on impor-
tant matters of business.

" Oh,

my father! I dread your going there," said

his daughter; "rather sacrifice

position in
to England,

this city,



your fortunes and

be ensnared

Far better would

the land of




Id it be to escape
than fall into the

power of the enemies who hate us."
The Burgomaster, however, would not listen to the


of his daughter.

that I am a Protestant,

" Surely," he said, except
I have committed no act of

which the government can complain.

The Duchess

has sent for me in a friendly spirit, and were I to show
distrust it would go far to prove my guilt."
"Then let me go with you, my father," said Julie;
" you will very likely at all events have troubles and

annoyances, and I may tend to soothe your care if
can do nothing else."


The Burgomaster was resolved to go, and forthwith
gave orders for his travelling equipage to be got ready.
His coach, though equal to any of that day, was some-
what large and heavy. After sallying forth by the
Brussels gate, he, with Julie by his side, proceeded
towards his destination.

" Things will

go well, father,'

said his daughter;

" I know not why I was alarmed. I have become timid
of late. I think I niight even start at my own shadow."

They had proceeded some way, when, reaching



open hes
be found

ith near which

no human

habitations were to

, suddenly the coachman pulled up, uttering

an exclamation of terror.
What is the matter?" inquired

the Burgomaster,

putting his head from
A band of hors

the window.
semen are approaching,


master," was the answer.



Oh, fly my father, fly !" cried the Lady Julie;
"they are enemies! My worst forebodings are ful-
filled "
The coachman turned his horses' heads and galloped
back towards Antwerp. As they were wheeling round,
Lady Julie looked from the window.
"Alas !" she said, I see at their head Don Alberic
Lodron; I feared when he quitted us that his intentions
were evil, and now I know it too well."
The carriage had proceeded but a short dis-
tance when another party of horsemen were seen in
"They are Spaniards by their dress," exclaimed
the coachman. We are lost! Burgomaster, we are
The open country on every side precluded the
possibility of flight.
"We must sit still, my daughter, and submit to
our fate, whatever that may be," said the Burgomaster.
" For you, my daughter, I grieve the most, but Heaven
will protect you."
Scarcely had he spoken when the horsemen sur-
rounded the carriage. In the leader of one of the
parties, he recognized Don Alberic, and in the other
Don Sancho de la Lodrono, who had been one of the
combatants in the tournament at Brussels.
"Yield yourself, Antohy Van Straalen, as a prisoner,
in the name of King Philip, your lawful sovereign,"
said Don Alberic.
An authority I have never disputed," answered
the Burgomaster with dignity. "But, sir, I appeal
to you as a cavalier, and request that you will allow
my daughter to return to her home."
A request made by a prisoner I cannot accede to,"
answered Don Alberic. "My orders are to convey


you, Antony Van Straalen, and all who accompany
you, as prisoners to Brussels."
"Oh, let me accompany you,! let me accompany
you !" exclaimed the Lady Julie; "I would not be
parted from you, whatever may be the annoyances to
which I may be subjected."
Once more the horses' heads were turned towards
Brussels, and the unwilling coachman was compelled
to drive them along with a strong escort on each side.
Don Alberic several times rode up to the coach-window
endeavouring to engage the Lady Julie in conversation,
but the scornful silence with which she treated him,
compelled him at length to desist. On reaching the
neighbourhood of Brussels the carriage was again
Antony Van Straalen, you must accompany me,"
said Don Sancho; you will not be permitted to com-
municate with any member of your family. The lady
can remain in the carriage if she so wishes."
In vain the young widow entreated to be allowed
to accompany her father. The Spaniards declared
that their orders were peremptory; and at length,
Don Sancho, losing patience, seized the Burgo-
master's arm, and was about to drag him from the
"I submit," said the magistrate in a dignified
tone; and embracing his daughter, he descended from
the carriage, and mounted the horse which had been
prepared for him.
The Lady Julie, on her own account, was some-
what relieved when she saw that only four horsemen
were left as an escort for the carriage, and that both
the Spanish officers were accompanying her father.
Still, nothing could mitigate her anxiety for him. For
herself she cared not. The coachman drove but

slowly; more than once the Spanish soldiers urged
him to greater speed.
": My horses are weary," he answered, "and unless
you choose to change, and put your horses in, the
carriage cannot move faster."
Evening was rapidly coming on. Lady Julie had
lost sight of the calvacade which escorted her father.
At length one of the horses fell. The Spaniards
abused the coachman.
"It was no fault of mine," he answered.
"Dismount now, and assist in getting the beast up
While thus engaged, the Spanish soldiers abusing
the coachman, and the coachman returning their com-
pliments, their voices grew louder and louder. Sud-
denly there was a loud shout, and three of the horses,
the reins of which they had unwisely let go, flinging
out their heels, galloped off. The next instant a body
of men sprang out from a copse close at hand, with
reiterated shouts of "Vive les Gueux." The Spaniards
drew their swords, and endeavoured to defend them-
selves; but unable to parry the blows aimed at them,
those on foot were struck down. The fourth soldier
mounted his horse, and though many attempted to
stop him, with a blow of his sabre he clove the head
of one man, and cutting another across the shoulders,
escaped towards Brussels.
"Come, come, Peter "-for Peter the porter was
acting the part of coachman on this occasion,- "up
with your horse Is the Burgomaster in the car-
riage ? asked the leader of the party.
"Alas I no, but his daughter is; and if we cannot
save him, we must save her," was the answer.
The fallen horse was not so much injured as Peter
had pretended, and was quickly on its legs again, and


a number of Beggars running alongside at


accompanied the carriage back towards Antwerp.

" Stop !

Peter. Stop! my





sire to accompany my father," said Julie at length,
finding the direction in which they were going.
"Imnossible lady." answered one of the leaders

of the Beggars.
of the Beggars.

" You will not be allowed to com-

municate with him, and your own life will be placed
in peril. Those savages care not on whom they inflict
In vain Julie pleaded.

had proceeded some distance,


came to a wood where the roads branched off.

n they

of continuing back on the
they turned off on one side.

direct road

to Antwerp,

After what has occurred, it would be dangerous
for you to go back to the city," said the leader. We

are about to proceed

down the river to join a vessel

'which is to proceed to Brill, where

you will be secure.

intended to convey yc

we been successful in rescuing

the Spaniards.


is now there, and
protection. We f

)ur father thither, had
him from the hands of

ur brother-in-law, St. Aldegonde,
you can place yourself under his

are very sure that,

we are fulfilling the wishes

of the


in thus acting,
rgomaster, Van

Although Julie was still anxious to endeavour to
rejoin her father, even in prison, yet she was unable to
resist this proposal; indeed her somewhat rough pro-
tectors were evidently resolved not to listen to any
argument to the contrary. The carriage now pushed
on at a rapid rate. In a few hours the Scheldt was

reached, and she found herself

"Farewell, my good steeds !"


said Peter,

on board




We had


at his horses, but as I have no wish to hang or burn,
rather than remain with you, I will accompany my
young mistress."
The wind was fair, and the vessel rapidly proceeded
down the river. Brill was safely reached, and St.
Aldegonde did his utmost to console his sister-in-law.
The news soon reached them of the capture of the
Counts Egmont and Horn, and shortly after, of their
cruel and impolitic execution.

NOTWITHSTANDING the advice of St. Aldegonde, Julie
resolved to visit her father, and to attempt to obtain
his liberation. She took Peter into her counsels.
Although he knew well that he ran the risk of losing
his life, he was perfectly ready to assist his young
He obtained, by Julie's directions, the dress of a
female peasant for her, and that of an old countryman
for himself. Julie was to pass as his daughter, and
she hoped, thus disguised, to be able to reach Brussels.
Peter heard of a vessel about to proceed to Antwerp.
The night was dark, the wind blowing strong and
rain falling heavily. Notwithstanding the strife of the
elements, Julie and her faithful attendant issued from
the house, and making theirway down to the quay, got
safely on board the vessel. The captain, who had been
largely bribed through Peter, immediately got under
weigh. Though the voyage was boisterous, the vessel
reached Antwerp in safety. It was dark when Julie
and her faithful attendant landed. To her father's house
she dared not go. She had, however, several wealthy
friends in the city on whom she could rely. Still

fearing that should she appear in her peasant's dress

at one of their


suspicion would be aroused,

she resolved to go to the more humble
old nurse.
Peter knocked at the door.


of her

" Who are you ?


do you want

at this hour

of the night ?" exclaimed the good woman from within.
"Let us in, kind Margaritte, and we will tell you,"
answered Peter. "We crave a night's lodging, and
you will not refuse it when you see us."

seeing none near,


to add

a few

words of entreaty.

The bolts were quickly withdrawn,

but when the old woman's eyes fell on the seeming

peasant girl, she started back.
"Why, I thought it was --," she

gazing at her visitors.
And you are right," answered
ried into the house.



as she hur-

"( What

does it all



the old

woman. Then, recognizing the young lady, she put
her finger on her lips, and beckoned them into a room
on one side of the passage.
"I have lodgers," she whispered. They will over-
hear us."

Julie, in a few words, expla
turning to Antwerp.
"Protect you, I will, while
old woman. But oh, my dea:
a fearful risk you are running;"



d her object in re-

have life," said the

r young mistress, what

"Not greater than the object deserves," answered
Julie. "Had I the means I would proceed to Brussels
this very night."
Dame Margaritte, however, persuaded Julie to take
some rest.

" You shall lie down

in my bed,

and I will watch




over you as I have done many a time when you were a
little child," she said; "and since you must go, Peter
will to-morrow try and find a conveyance for you to
Before daybreak Peter went out, leaving her still
resting, with old Margaritte seated by her side.
The dame's lodgers had gone out to their daily
avocations before Peter returned. His muddy shoes
showed that he had had a long walk.
I thought my old horses would find their way back
to their accustomed meadows, and I was not mistaken,"
he observed, as he sat down to eat the breakfast placed
before him; I had some work to catch Old Longtails,
but I have cropped him, so that I should scarcely know
him myself again, and obtained a pillion from a friend
on which the Lady Julie may ride without fear behind
Poor Julie, bidding dame Margaritte farewell,
sallied forth with the old man, and proceeded through
the streets of Antwerp. They at length reached the
outskirts of the town, where they found a boy holding
a horse, with a pillion on its back.
Now, daughter, mount, and we will be on our
way," said Peter, giving the boy a small coin.
At length Brussels was reached. The most difficult
part of Julie's undertakings was now to begin. She
had only one acquaintance in the city on whose dis-
cretion she could rely. She resolved to visit her,
pretending that she and the old man had come up
about some business connected with their little plot of
land, and were anxious to obtain the interest of her
husband, who was a lawyer.
As soon as the servant had left the room, Julie
made herself known to her friend, who promised to
assist her by every means in her power.


"cMy husband knows the jailer of the prison in
which the Burgomaster is confined," she said. "He
has, I know, a daughter. If by any means she could
be induced to let you take her place, you would then
have an opportunity of visiting your father."
Julie's heart beat quickly at the suggestion. Her
friend forthwith sent for the young girl to her house,
and explained the object to be attained. She was for-
tunately of a romantic and generous disposition, and
though not ignorant of the risk she ran, promised her
assistance. Julie, furnished with a suitable costume,
which still however disguised her sufficiently, set out
for the prison with the jailer's daughter.
The shades of evening were closing over the city
when they arrived. The jailer was about to go his
last round for the night, to see that all his prisoners
were safe before the watch was set. Julie had just
time to change dresses with her new friend.
"Do not be alarmed," said the latter, my father
will not speak to you, and he is to suppose that it is I
who am accompanying him."
Poor Julie's limbs trembled as she followed the
jailer through the long gloomy arched passages of the
prison. After opening and shutting several iron-
plated doors, he arrived before one, which, after cau-
tiously glancing up and down the passage, he opened.
Julie gazed in. On a trestle-bed, covered with a few
heaps of straw, she beheld her beloved father. She
sprang in, forgetting her assumed character; but the
jailer took no notice. She was not aware that her
generous friend had conveyed a purse of gold, and
had promised another, to assist in blunting his faculties.
The door was closed, and the father and his daughter
were in each other's arms. The particulars of the in-
terview cannot be described.


In vain, Julie entreated that she might be allowed
to plead with the Duke for his life. He strictly for-
bade her.
"c No, Julie," he said, you have ever been a duti-
ful daughter, and for my sake I must enjoin you to
leave this unhappy place without delay. If the Duke
has resolved on my death, no power on earth can avert
my fate; but I am in the arms of One more powerful
than man. Go back, my beloved daughter, and again
place yourself under the care of the generous St. Alde-
gonde. When I know that you are safe, then the
thoughts of once more having beheld you, will bring
joy to my heart, and you must rest satisfied that you
have acted as a brave and loving child."
The old man and his daughter were not aware how
rapidly those precious moments had flown by, when
the door again opened, and the jailer beckoned to
Julie to accompany him.
"We must hurry on with our tale.
In obedience to her father's commands, the next
morning, having resumed her peasant's dress, Julie
set off for Antwerp, and at length, escaping numerous
risks, arrived at Brill. St. Aldegonde, admiring her
courage and filial love, uttered no words of reproach,
but received her as if he had himself fully sanctioned
her undertaking.
Every day news came of the continuance of the
hanging, burning, drowning, and beheading of persons
of all ranks throughout the country. But why dwell
on this dreadful subject ? At length a messenger
arrived with the sad news that four persons of distinc-
tion were condemned to be beheaded. The most
worthy of them was the distinguished Burgomaster of
Antwerp. It was said, however, that even the Blood
Council, in sending the case to Alva for his sentence,


had felt some compunction at the impending fate of so
meritorious and excellent a man, and had recommended
him to mercy. In vain. It fell unheeded on the
tyrant's ear, and after having been subjected to fearful
torture on the rack, to elicit information, the venerable
magistrate was bound upon a chair, being unable to
stand, and with his companions was thus carried to
the scaffold, where all four were beheaded.
St. Aldegonde broke the information as gently as
he could to Julie. For some time he dreaded lest she
would sink under the blow, but though heart-broken,
the consolations of religion supported her. A vessel
was about to sail for England, with two ladies, whose
husbands had suffered on a previous occasion. St.
Aldegonde persuaded his sister-in-law to embark with
them, knowing the danger to which she would be
exposed should she return to Antwerp, and believing
that a total change of scene would'alone restore her to
tranquillity of mind. Numerous Flemings, who had
escaped from the persecutions of King Philip and his
ready instruments, had already taken refuge in that
country. Among them the Lady Julie found sym-
pathizing friends, and there she passed the remainder
of her life, engaged in assisting, with the wreck of
her father's fortune, which had been secured for her,
those of her countrymen who, ruined by the tyranny of
their oppressors, had escaped with their lives alone to
the land of freedom, and where, under the wise and
beneficent rule of Queen Elizabeth, they had found
protection and liberty.


ne hi Vi



P---- T I.-

'ORl sham
away t(
S exclaim


James !

Sthe Panu
ed Mrs. Le

yououught to have been
iles half-an-hour ago,"
)eson to her husband, as

room, to il

from Mouun

she threw open the window of her dressing-
lale the rash of fresh sweet air that swept
t Ephraim over the beautiful and varied

Common of Tunbridge Wells.

You naughty
came here to drink


the sweetest,

Jim !"

she continued.

the old-fas


" You

;hioned waters, and
air in all-beautiful

England; you were commanded to go to bed
and to rise early, and it is now past seven."

Mrs. Leeson had

left her room at six,




dressed, written a letter to her mother, and thought
it time to awaken Mr. Leeson, who, truth to tell,

had no

passion for

ill, or imagined he w

early rising. He was eitl
as ill; and the one feeling

almost as depressing as the other.
/f /-T-t 1~ L >.- 11_


He was fond
21]1 .... .

u iiiiu UII 1S iitL i d Iteen a c u ess marriage,
which he considered particularly unfortunate, as he had


1 V C l a tI U

. v



written a good deal on infant education, and very
nearly quarrelled with a cousin, who was rector of a
parish in Essex, because he would not adopt his
theories, and put them into practice in his admirably-
managed church school.
Mrs. Leeson had paused, and then half whispered to
herself, -"Now, I will say something that I know will
stir him up, for he will not be able to avoid con-
tradicting it:-There is nothing so out of harmony
with the sight of a beautiful landscape as the laughter
and shouts of children."
There was a decided smile on her lips as she
turned her head towards the bedroom door, waiting
for the contradiction that did not come; but it faded
quickly away at the prolonged silence, and she walked
rapidly into the room.
"Absolutely stolen a march on meV!" she exclainied.
Up: and out, without my knowledge." And so, to
her astonishment, it actually was.
She put on her bonnet and shawl; but instead of
taking the road leading to the Town and the Wells, she
followed a little winding path-such a pretty path
-now half hidden by a thicket of golden furze, then
creeping in and out among those wonderful rocks
that give so much interest and beauty to the delightful
locality. The path then struck for a little way boldly
across the common, looking in the sunshine like a
band of silver set in emeralds, so deeply green was the
grass. Then it stole round a magnificent lime, the
parent of many spriggish little limes, which the young
cricketers sometimes attempted to appropriate. There
are two habits inseparable from boys of all ages-
cutting sticks and throwing stones. I say nothing of
their propensity for stuffing their pockets with twine,
and marbles, and every clean or unclean thing they


can force into those receptacles. But at that early
hour the common was free from boys. The birds
and a few sheep had it to themselves. A little
further on was a single rock, split, as it were, by some
violent freak of nature, from the top to within about
three feet of the bottom. Before Mrs. Leeson reached
it, she perceived that a gentleman was examining the
fissure very intently, for he was stooping into it, so
that only his legs and waist were visible. As she drew
nearer, she thought, Surely those are my husband's
legs. But what can he find to examine there ?"
Mrs. Leeson was right. The legs belonged to the
Rev. James Leeson, and he was stooping over some-
thing within the rift in the rock.
Although Mrs. Leeson was certain it was no other
than Mr. Leeson who was investigating the rift,
she stole almost on tip-toe close to him before
she spoke. She would have spoken sooner, but she
certainly heard a kitten mew. Some unfortunate
cat," quoth the little lady, "who has her kittens in the
bottom of the rift. I am sure of it. ell! let James
alone for finding out young animals. But positively I
will not have another cat in the house, and I will tell
him so at once. James," she exclaimed, "I have
found you out. Let the cat and her kittens alone. I
will not have another kitten in the house," she re-
peated, again and again. I told you so the last time
you brought home one in your fishing-basket, and cer-
tainly that kitten is growing the greatest torment that
ever entered the Vicarage." After a little pause, she
added, in a lower tone, "' I wonder he has not told me
it was not properly educated." She then advanced,
and with the handle of her parasol gave a little gentle
tap to Mr. Leeson's leg.
"You, Lucy !" he exclaimed, looking round, "I


am so glad you are here.
This is indeed fortunate."

kittens ?"

you my shawl !"


to envelop

Give me your shawl, dear.

she exclaimed

a parcel


; my

Kittens !" repeated the gentleman;
of kittens but you ?"

"C who talked

" Talk

of kittens," repeated

in her turn the

"Why, not only have I heard the mew, but at this

moment there is a kitten's head cropping up close
your elbow-such a fussy furry-headed kitten."


Mr. Leeson did not seem to heed his wife's words,
but dived deeper into the rift, and produced a bundle,
to which she now saw the kitten cling. Hold your
shawl, Lucy," said Mr. Leeson; and Mrs. Leeson, with-

out another word, unclasped her shawl.

moment she exclaimed,
baby, as well as a kitten

The next

" Why, dearest, there

is a

Oh, James, where did it

come from ?

Who does it

belong to ?

What shall we

do with it? Let me look at its eyes; but it i

stupid or sleepy to open them. What lo:
lashes it has. Oh, what a pretty little
mouth! "

ng, dark

All this time Mr. Leeson kept diligently enfolding
both kitten and baby in his wife's shawl; he seemed to

done up, and rolled it so carefully.


The kitten's little

soft head, that looked like a ball of grey wool, poked
itself out, and nestled close to the baby's chcek-a
baby child and a baby kitten in a soft cashmere shawl
of many colours!
"And what are you going to do with them ?"
questioned Mrs. Leeson, as her husband turned home-

"Do with them,

my dear !" repeated Mr. Leeson.


s too
of a

have a positive

instinct as to how the baby should


" Keep them-cherish the infant and not separate it
from its kitten. I consider it a providential gift. How
fortunate I got up early this morning, and stole out,
only thinking how I should surprise you. Suppose,
my dearest love-only suppose anyone else had dis-
covered it !-just imagine !-only fancy this little angel
in the arms of a policeman, who would have taken it
"The station-house," added Mrs. Leeson. Sup-
pose we go there now, and set inquiries on foot to
discover its unnatural parents ?"
"To what purpose? they have been so heartless
as to abandon it, and are therefore unworthy of the
gift they received. But, on second thoughts, it is a
duty both to ourselves and this poor infant to set
inquiries on foot to discover, if possible, why it was
left here, it might be, to perish. Suppose, my dear, it
had rained last night?"
Now you must be told that though Mrs. Leeson
was really a kind amiable woman, and would give the
children her husband was very fond of inviting to
spend the day, or to take tea, any quantity of the best
preserves, and tarts, and "fingers," or sweeties," yet
it was generally a relief to her when they went home.
She did not quite understand them, and she often
wondered how Mr. Leeson could keep up games with
them, hour after hour, and really long for a next
meeting. Moreover, she was very neat and exact in
her domestic arrangements, and had all things kept
in good order. She did not like her sofa cushions
tossed about, or her books and table-ornaments dis-
placed; but after the retreat of what she playfully
called one of her husband's juvenile brigades," she
soon restored things to their proper places. As she
walked over the common, it must be confessed, she was


not well pleased at what certainly would be the result
if the parents of the poor infant were not discovered:
Mr. Leeson decidedly would adopt it. For some months
it would not be able to do any mischief; and once
when it opened its large soft eyes, instead of crying,
began to coo and laugh, and play in its fubsy aimless
way with the kitten's ears, Mrs. Leeson felt assured it
would not be a crying baby. A child in their house-
hold had so long been Mr. Leeson's desire, that
despite her dread at having such a new element
introduced into her home, the desire to please her
husband, aided by her own womanly instinct, overcame
her objections; and before they had arrived at the
garden gate, she had kissed the object of his solicitude,
said it was "a dear little pet," and offered to carry it
into the house. But to this Mr. Leeson would not con-
sent. His wife laughed, and told him he was like a
child with a new toy.
Mrs. Wilks, the landlady of the pretty house where
the Leesons lodged, was a fat, short, roley-poley of
a woman, blessed with such a sweet sympathetic face,
that every child who came near her wanted to kiss her
immediately. The dogs in Tunbridge Wells wagged
their tails when they caught sight of Mrs. Wilks, and
every cat set up its tail, purred, and sidled against her
dress, as she "waddled" along from shop to shop.
She used to say that when her first baby came, she was
afraid to handle it for fear of its head dropping off;
but before the number amounted to nine, all fear had
vanished, and she tumbled and tossed them about in a
way that was fearful to witness. She was never like
"the little woman who lived in a shoe, and had so
many children, she did not know what to do." She
always knew what to do with them while they were
children, and the greater portion being boys, they had

been early sent out into the world, and the girls (only two
out of nine were girls) had married; and poor Mrs.Wilks
complained bitterly, that the eldest who had gone to
Australia had plenty of babies--" they were no comfort
to her; she could not get at them;" but Mopsy, who
lived near her, was childless-that was her great
grief-she was so fond of babies, that had she been
consoled by occasionally nursing a grandchild, she
would have been the happiest little dumpling of a
woman" in Tunbridge Wells! The "coo," or the
"cry" of a baby alike arrested her attention, and
claimed her sympathy. She had a fair share of prac-
tice among her neighbours; for whenever an infant
was ill, or wanted to be taken care of for an hour or
two, Mrs. Wilks would be sure to be sent for, or it was
transmitted to her door, with the certainty of an affec-
tionate reception. But as she often explained, while
round tears coursed each other down her cheeks, it
was very nice, in a way, to have other people's darlings
to look after, and far better anybody's baby than no
baby; but still nothing was like one's own baby-it
was such a pity that babies could not be kept babies
for ever !"
The saucy lads and lasses of Tunbridge Wells
called her "Mrs. Lovebaby," instead of Mrs.
Wilks," at which she pretended to be very angry;
but I believe she enjoyed the name, and she had cer-
tainly earned it. You must understand that it was
to babies Mrs. Wilks was so especially devoted;
when the nurslings were fairly on their feet, able to
run alone, and get into all sorts of mischief, Mrs.
Wilks withdrew her more particular attentions. She
had a pet phrase: Excuse me-excuse me," she
would say; but I am devoted to helpless innocents
only. As to the renegades that have the use of their


legs, and fists, and tongues,



finger, or a biscuit, or some sweeties,
but they are out of my care." She s

giving them a
excuse me,
aid this; but

every doctor in the
with punishment if s
neighbours' children,


-he persisted



in stuffing"
hev admitted


never treated them improperly.
Her -house was the cleanest, her

her attentions

the most judicious of

cook the best,
all who "let

apartments" in Tunbridge Wells; so you may judge
how more than pleased Mr. Leeson was at Mrs. Wilks'

delight when he showed her the treasure he

had dis-

covered in the rift in the rock.
It really was a most fortunate circumstance for the


that the landlady

of their present residence

was not only fond

of babies, but so well understood

how a baby ought to be managed.
Mrs. Leeson had great skill

in birds

, squirrels,

dormice, puppies and kittens; but she, as Mrs. Wilks
said, with a shrug approaching contempt, and a very

heavy sigh, "was quite ignorant concerning babies.


nice lady, too," as she observed-" mighty pretty to
look at, but no knowledge-no knowledge at all-quite

The introduction of this
the house, gave Mrs. Wilks

poor, deserted infant

new life.


Mr. Leeson-

whom she had described as a freaky sort of a gen-
tleman; who fancied he was sick-a sick man, indeed !
standing six foot one, weighing fourteen stone; eating
and drinking well, and saying he had a bad night's
rest unless he slept eight hours without a turn "-was
now elevated in his landlady's estimation, into a noble
gentleman, with more brains in his head than she ever
thought a gentleman's head could carry; it was beau-
tiful to see how he loved that sweet, deserted angel.





She onI Ij rayed that no one would ever find anything
out about it. What consequence was ib to whom it be-

longed ?

They did not care for it, the wicked, unnatural

brutes Police find out ? Not they; or if they did,
they were all fathers of families, and could tell when
a blessed baby had got a golden spoon in its precious
little mouth! They would not tell; they had human feel-
ings, and would not spoil the sweet innocent's fortune,
bless its little heart !" And then, after a moment's
pause, she would add, "Excuse me, but observe how


it twiddles

its dear fingers

and toes,

precious it wants to put its foot into its rosy posy cozy
of a mouth What a clever diamond it is, I never

saw so young a baby try to do that before !"
"Then, Mrs. Wilks," inquired Mrs.

meekly, for she was conscious of her

"C at Nwhat age


a baby



own ignorance;
its foot in its

mouth ?"
Oh, deary me !" replied the baby-lover. "Excuse
me, but it's wonderful to see how a lady like you knows

so little about humankind.

You know how old

pies and kittens ought to be when their eyes open, and
when young birds should take the wing, and yet you

don't know-bless its little heart,

how it sucks its

little fist !
no time."
"1 Find

and there's

a kick !

it will

find its feet in

its feet !" repeated Mrs. Leeson;

has not lost them."
Mrs. Wilks cast

another contemptuous



poor Mrs. Leeson, who at the moment was longing
to open the baby's eyes to ascertain their colour.
" Dear madam, excuse me, but do let its eyes alone;

the lashes are black

is brown.

but the bit of hair

It has lovely

on its head

large hazel eyes-exactly

like your own, madam !-a sweet baby;





and, I must


say, has been well washed and tended, though deserted
at the last."
Its age for some time was a matter of serious
dispute; but as one tiny tooth was making its way
through its gum, Mrs. Wilks' opinion as to its being
about five months, settled the question.
Whether asleep or awake the baby would not
relinquish the kitten's companionship. Sometimes
pussy wanted a frolic on its own account; but though
the infant's eyes would follow its movements, and it
would even laugh at its gambols, yet soon the lip
drooped, and her little arms were held out to receive
the truant. The kitten also was in good condition, and
had been well cared for; it really was a bonny little
cat, with those peculiar blue eyes, that often indicate
deafness; but this pussy was not deaf-not it, indeed;
it had even more than cat-quickness in everything.
Of course the finding of this child created a sen-
sation in the neighbourhood. Before mid-day, Mr.
and Mrs. Leeson, particularly Mr. Leeson, had selected
for it a greater store of garments than it could require
for the next twelve months, and the proprietor of the
baby-linen warehouse wished that babies could be lost
and found on their beautiful common every morning of
the month. Romantic young ladies wandered over
Tunbridge common, and even invaded the more sacred
precincts of the "high rocks," poking their parasols
into every rift" that could hardly conceal a swallow,
in the hope that they, too, might discover a baby The
police were more than usually energetic, the inspector
himself inspecting the baby and the kitten with great
gravity, and such numbers calling to make inquiries
about the little stray, who had found such friends, that
at last Mrs: Wilks locked the gate, and refused ad-
mittance to any one she did not know. Excuse me,"


was her reply, "but babies must sleep, and if the pre-
cious creature was shown to everyone who is so good
as to be curious about it, which is only natural, I
might as well bring the dog-kennel round to this front
gate, and seat myself and the baby in it, from sunrise
to sunset, and something before and after---. Have
we heard who it belongs to, did you ask, madam ? No,
madam, we have not; and you'll excuse me, but I hope
we never shall. I consider it like a female Moses in
the bulrushes, discovered by one far better than any
princess of Egypt. Not a bit of a black-a-moor, but a
fair-faced English gentleman, a Christian clergyman,
with a heart as tender as a chicken's, and a banker's
book as thick as Johnson's Dictionary, before those
mean abridgments came into fashion to please the
spectacle-makers and eye-doctors. Yes, he is every
inch a gentleman, and his wifes another----. You'll
excuse me, ladies, but I'm wanted," added the good
woman, half closing the door; "I said to Mrs. Leeson
to-day, I said baby must have an 'at home day' like
the rest of the gentry. That will be the only plan to
satisfy the visitors. She cannot receive at all times,
for babies are only babies after all, either before or
after teething," and Mrs. Wilks made her dip curtsey,
and shut-to the hall door with more than her usual
determination that it should keep shut.
"A pack of riff-raff, madam," she said to Mrs.
Leeson. You'll excuse me, but there wasn't one of
them fit to wipe our baby's shoes-when she gets
them! Vulgar curiosity, which I hate. I'll lose the
key of the front gate, and you won't mind, madam,
going through the garden to the back gate, until the
excitement dies out. Wombwell's Menagerie comes
to-morrow, madam, and they were talking this morning
at the butcher's about a donkey with two heads; that


will draw off the attention of the people from our baby
-indeed, one lady in the shop said she would not be
surprised if it was discovered that some of the Womb-

wells had left the precious creature in the rift!


nothing," she added, some people won't say, particu-

larly when they have nothing to tell."
Still, even after the excitement had

" died

the event was talked

of, and Mrs.

adding up and down, "baby's" el
floating gracefully over her arm (it
immediately), and its mite of a face e
covered with a white gauze handk

Wilks, when par-
mbroidered cloak
was short-coated
and pretty bonnet
:erchief, that also

overshadowed by a pale

green parasol,

" the best

its sweet eyes, the precious "-Mrs.


was fre-

quently stopped by her neighbours, anxious to know
how "baby got on; and Mrs. Wilks' invariable reply,
with its preface of Excuse me, madam," was, "I may

say she is flourishing.
ever had on my arm.

The sweetest tempered babe


No, madam, not yet christened;

its friends are still waiting, and as I say may wait.

Yes; she is never happy without

her kitten.


me, ladies, but you must not uncover her face,it
might wake her; some other time, when she is taking

her morning walk;
Mr. Leeson felt
plans for nursing
and even snubbed

happy to show it then."
it rather hard that his systems and

by Mrs

be so completely set aside,
. Wilks. She only let him

have 'the baby at stated times; he really was enthusi-
astic in his love for babies. Men, in general, like
babies when they are sufficiently old to enter into
bo-peep, or, better still, a game of romps; but he took
to them from the very first "squall," and was never


of their heads


and such

dropping off, or any accident
of his lady friends as were

blessed with babies, always trusted them to
son without a cautious, "Don't let it fall."

Mr. Lee.





Time passed, as it always does, whatever we may
think-swiftly; but, despite all exertions and inquiries,
no light was thrown on the mystery of the rift in
the rock. Once, indeed, Mr. Leeson and Mrs. Wilks
feared that one of its parents might be discovered.
A respectable-looking woman, who ssid she resided
near Canterbury, called at Mrs. Wilks, and asked,
not to see the baby, but the kitten. She had heard
of a baby and a kitten being found in a rift of the
rock on the Tunbridge Wells common, and was
curious to see the kitten. At first, when the animal
was brought to her, she shook her head, but after a
moment, she.explained that she had forgotten kittens
would grow. Yes; she believed the kitten had been
hers, but she had sold it. This was her story:-
Her Angora cat had kittens-one black and
white, and this one grey-like Chinchilla: its mother
was grey. The cat and her kittens lay in a basket in
the window of her little parlour. She was very fond
of, as well as proud of, her cat. She did not attempt
to deny it. She was not a rich woman;. and though
no sum would tempt her to part with her cat, she had
no objection to sell her kittens, and there was a pretty
little flag-a pink silk flag-waving over the basket,
with these words-" To be sold "-embroidered on it.
" She did not," she said, "like doing things in a
common manner." She had observed a tall, thin
foreign-looking gentleman looking in at the window,
and once he stopped, and, as it were, flirted his fingers
at the kittens. He passed away, but the next day he
came again; and this time he knocked at the door
and inquired the price of the grey kitten. He told me
that his baby was very fond of a kitten that had come
with it from abroad, but it had died, and nothing
could pacify her. She was restless all day and all


night for want of her
kitten was like that "



So he thought,

had died,

it was


as my

his little Milly might take to it."
Mr. and Mrs. Leeson and Mrs. Wilks
caught at the name.

" Milly '
" Yes,"

Was she certain he had said Milly ? "

she was certain.

name because she loved
had been called Milly."

" He haggled,"



She remembered

A dear


the strange:

deal about the price, and at last I said,


of her own

r, a good
" I am sure

if your

baby's mamma was here,

pacify the darling,
for the kitten.'

seeing that it is to

she would not grudge
And then he answered

died the day after she was born.

"c Poor

little dear,'

father would not




'then I


to g

what I ask
her mother

am sure its
ive it plea-

"' Its


he replied,

' died



before its birth '

"' Oh!


not its father ?'

dear !



And he answered,

' ;

' then
To; it

care. I am its nearest relative.'

"Well, at last we


he took the kitten away with

way witl
say, 'I
would ta

about the price, and
him; and I was well

for he stroked it gently. He had a gentle
h him, though a sly look, and I ventured to
should like to see if the poor parentless baby
ike to the new kitten.' But he took no notice

of that, but continued stroking it, and walked away."
The woman remembered the date of the day
she sold the kitten, and it was ten days previous to
that on which the child had been found with her little

puss-friend in the rift

in the rock.

Here was a clue, at all events.

Mrs. Leeson



is in



C )



peated her statement to the police inspector, who, with
Mr. Leeson, after writing and re-writing the whole
statement, drove to Canterbury that very day. The
man was described as, not quite what she (the
woman) could call a gentleman, taking care of a
baby; but, though several persons, from the de-
scription, said they had seen him pass, no one knew
where he lodged. It was singular that the kitten
should be identified, and not the child. Mr. Leeson
would not have been so anxious to unravel the mys-
tery but from what he accepted as a fact, that the
baby had lost both its parents. And in whatever
degree of relationship the purchaser of the kitten
stood to the child, he had evidently determined to
preserve the tie.
Then, the very abridgment of her name was a
perplexity to Mrs. Wilks, who declared she was in a
twitter ever since the strange woman had entered the
"Look at it in every direction, my dear madam,"
she said to Mrs. Leeson, and it's the same. Milly
is short' for Millicent, and short for Amelia. If
she's christened Millicent, it may make more confusion
hereafter. If she's christened Amelia-you'll excuse
me-but it's confusion again; and it's time she was
christened. That's all I have to say. What name
can she have when Milly is 'short' for two ?"
"Both names, IMrs. Wilks," said Mrs. Leeson.
"She shall be called Millicent-Amelia."
"Well, madam," exclaimed the good little woman,
clasping her hands, excuse me, but you are clever.
I should never have thought of that, never. The very
thing; and pretty, too. Millicent-Amelia !' There
is not so sweet a name on the church books. Of
course, we shall call her Milly."


So the little maid was


Ame ia,"

Mr. and

Mrs. Leeson

The child had become

Mr. Leeson's
shoot or hunt.

one of

kind and amiable

IH was fond



the great objects
life. He did i

of his parish and



of his

garden, kind and gentle to every human being, and to
all of the animal world that came within his influence.

The serene way in which

Mrs. Leeson gave in to

his manifestations of care and affection

for the

waif who had been presented to his care, was a beau-
tiful proof of how much those who live together can
increase each other's happiness by giving in-yielding
with willing cheerfulness--to the little harmless whims
and fancies of their associates.

I said one day to a friend, who

domestic life much

had really in


to endure, and was a model of

patient cheerfulness, What a great deal you
and it does not make you fretful or unhappy."
"How could it ?" she replied, when the


)re is so

much triumph, so much happiness, in FORBEARING."
I have not forgotten the reply, and I trust I never

shall forget
remember it.

it; and my young friends

will. I

I have so often proved its truth.

It was a great trial to Mrs. Wilks to part with


Milly, but Mr. Leeson's ho
fields and sweet pastures of

me was amid


that his residence at Tunbridge


He be.

Wells had

benefited his health, but his duty called

him to return.

Mr. Leeson had a small living

in Cheshire

that had

long been in his family, c
people. His brother wa

was Mr
was, bu

and he loved the place and the

is also "in the Church."


. George Leeson. They believed their youngest
, Mr. Alfred Leeson, was living : they hoped he
t of this they were not certain. He had caused




"1, Millicent-



his elder brothers great anxiety, but they still hoped
he would return to the old fold where they had been
brought up together; for their father had been Vicar
of Alderly, and they were all born beneath the
Vicarage roof. During Mr. Leeson's occasional ab-
sences in search of health, Mr. George Leeson attended
with affectionate solicitude to his brother's parochial
duties. The brothers were tenderly attached to each
other, and lived, as it were, together-the Vicarage
was the home of both; but Mr. George did not antici-
pate with any degree of pleasure the coming of little
Milly to the Vicarage. He was a confirmed bachelor,
and believed that true happiness consisted in the
absence of children from the domestic hearth. That
was almost the only subject on which the brothers
differed. Besides, if there was anything in the world
he disliked more than babies-it was cats! Babies
were bad enough-cats were worse! And the baby
and the cat were coming together.
My readers must now imagine the arrival of Milly
and her protectors at the Vicarage. The awe in which
Mr. George Leeson stood of the creeping child-who
soon made him do everything he did not intend to do,
and to whose fancies he at last submitted in the most
patient manner-changed rapidly into warm affection
for the little maid; indeed, she tyrannized over Uncle
George" in a way she never attempted towards her
I have observed that the first baby in a house is
always inclined to be a little tyrant. Not only do
I agree. in the opinion, where children are concerned,
of the more the merrier," but add, the more the
better for parents and children."
I have brought them all-baby, kitten, and all-to
Mr. Leeson's pretty and pleasant Vicarage, and now


you must suppose that nine years have since passed
and that Milly is-well, she is about nine years old.


I DO not think that kindness ever really spoiled any
body, or any thing; and certainly by the time Millicent
Amelia Leeson attained her ninth year, she was con-

sidered oi

ne of the most love

able girls in the neigh-

She returned the care and

attention she

had received with the greatest warmth and tenderness.

Mr. George



had become so impaired

that he was often


of the guidance

of his

" Miss

Mrs. Wilks was by no means exempt from


fun," when at Christmas she paid her

usual visit; and even her cat Pedro, now a particularly

grave, dignified, and self-satisfied animal, put
his young mistress's gambols, with more than

Mrs. Leeson had quite forgotten that she

up with



found it possible not to love children, and she was not
a little proud of Milly's pretty natural manners; but
while she yielded her kind heart to their influence, she
was anxious to preserve the little girl from one fault
which, above all others, threatened their happiness and
her own.
Now you shall hear about Milly's fault.

Two or three families in the neighbourhood


children who were occasionally at the Vicarage, and
Milly sometimes visited them. She was a favourite

wherever she went, but, poor child,

she had, among

some small de
She was very


one great one to contend with.
ts. She felt her heart throb

if Mr. or Mrs. Leeson, or Mr. George, caressed any




other child; though she would generously give up
her playthings, or indeed anything she had, to amuse
her juvenile visitors, yet a very unpleasing expression
would disfigure her pretty face if Mr. or Mrs. Leeson
bestowed caresses or smiles upon them. She did not
object to their giving presents to other children, but
she was made unhappy if they were petted or praised
by "papa, mamma, or Uncle George." As she grew
older, this jealousy painfully increased. One morning
Lucy Crail came bounding into the room, full of glee
and mirth, and after bestowing sundry kisses on her
friend Milly, invited her to spend her birthday with her.
You must come, Milly," said her energetic friend.
"We shall have lots of pleasure, and you must come
early. You and Lady Kate Bufoy, and Carry Langdale,
mamma says, are to spend the whole day, and they
are to bring their ponies, and my birthday present is
to be a lovely cream-coloured pony, with black mane
and tail, side-saddle, bridle and all. We begin our
sports by riding round the lawn for an hour. Have
you a pony ?
No," answered Milly. "I have only Jenny, and,
as you know, she is the sweetest donkey that ever was
"Born !" interrupted Lucy, laughing. "Now, if
my brother Ned was here, he would call you 'very
green to talk about a donkey being born! You should
say foaled."
"It is much the same thing," said Milly, in a
rather offended tone.
"What a funny thing you are, Milly! But one of
us will lend you a pony for a canter; you will not be
able to endure the little short pit-a-pat of a donkey,
when once you have had a good canter on a pony.
But perhaps you would be afraid ?"


Afraid !" repeated Milly (it is not polite to repeat
a last word), "afraid! Why, I rode Uncle George's
Brown Bess three miles "
Oh, yes," retorted Lucy, "but Brown Bess is a
pokey old thing; only she does very well for Mr.
George, who is so blind."
Now, any allusion to her dear, kind, uncle's infirmity
distressed Milly. She knew he was nearly blind, bat

she could not bear to think it, or say it,

She felt

or hear it said.

herself colour up to the roots of her


neck, face, and brow, and tears filled her great grey
eyes. "Something," fortunately, hurt her throat,"

or she


have said what would

have been rude,

particularly in her own home, and at the moment Mrs.

Leeson entered. Si
her kind invitation
peated), and said she

ie kissed
to Milly
should c

Lucy, thanked
(which Lucy

her for


certainly accept it.

asked Lucy to play something on the piano, and


complied at once, picking out the notes of her tune in
the stiff way children do at the beginning. After she
had finished, Mrs. Leeson said to Milly-
"Ever since your fingers were strong enough to
press the keys you have learned music, Milly, yet we

are obliged to ask you


and again

to play when

any stranger is present. Lucy's readiness in
ing at once with my request made the little
played doubly charming."

"My mamma always says," quoth Lucy,
little girl's music is worth asking for twice."
There, Milly, you hear that ?" said Mri
And she kissed Lucy again.


air she

'that no

s. Leeson.

Poor Milly !

until she
" She was

hhe turned,

Her jealousy mounted


looked out of



the window

felt she could speak, and then she said,
very much obliged to Lucy, but she would


rather not go. She wished her many happy returns
of her birthday all the same."
That was said in a tremulous voice.
Oh, but, Milly, you must come," exclaimed Lucy;
", and then I will come to you on your birthday, and
we shall all be so jolly."
Poor Milly, this was unfortunate. She became
quite pale, and hung her head.
Milly," repeated Lucy, you must come. Mrs.
Leeson, please tell her she must come," repeated Lucy
again and and again.
Mrs. Leeson, with her usual tenderness, stooped to
kiss Milly, but the child jerked herself angrily away,
and rushed out of the room.
I did not mean to say anything to vex her," said
Lucy, whose bright black eyes were suddenly suffused
with tears. We heard that you had not been well,
and were going abroad to some foreign baths. And
mamma said she hoped Milly would come and stay
with us."
Thank your mamma very much," replied Mrs.
Leeson, but Mr. Leeson's brother will be here. He
never could bear children until Milly came, and now
he is never happy without her. She must stay with
him, and be his little housekeeper."
But will that not be very dull for Milly-all day
long attending to an almost blind gentleman."
Where there is love there can be no dullness,"
answered Mrs. Leeson.
Very soon Lucy went home, and Mrs. Leeson
found Milly in her own room, weeping as if her heart
would break. In reply to Mrs. Leeson's questions, she
sobbed out, I am happier at home. I don't want
to go anywhere-and-and-you kissed Lucy sweeter
than you kiss me-now! And why did she talk about


my birthday ?-every little girl in the world but I has
a birthday. She must know I have no birthday. All
the people know it-and some pity me-others-"
and unable to find words for her thoughts, with a
violent burst of grief, Milly flung herself into Mrs.
Leeson's arms, sobbing again and again. You don't
kiss me sweet, and love me dearly, as you used to do !"
This was the most convincing proof of the poor
girl's jealous nature Mrs. Leeson had received; and it
gave her great pain. She showed her she had no
proof whatever that her affection had diminished on
the contrary, it had increased, and would increase still
more, if she combated this feeling-a feeling that, if
encouraged, would embitter her life.
"I do not see why any one should pity you, dear
Milly; your birthday to us, my dearest child, has been
the day dear papa found you in the rift in the rock-
you and poor Pedro, who is now a sober old gentle-
man, while you, when you are good, are still a frolick-
some, happy child. I could not date that, however,
as the day of your birth, which I do not know-because
it would not be true. Mrs. Wilks told you the story
of your discovery long before we intended you should
know it; and certainly it ought to make you love us
more than if we had been really your parents."
"Yes, I do love you dearly, dearly, you and papa
and Uncle George," still sobbed the girl, dearly I love
you. Only one of the children, at Mrs. Lane's, where
I spent last Monday, got jealous, because I kept up
the shuttlecock longer than she did, and called me a
foundling; and her mamma heard her, and was very
angry, and turned her out of the room; and no one
would tell me what a foundling was, and-and, I was
afraid to ask you,.because I thought it was something


Mrs. Leeson kissed the child tenderly. No,
darling, it means nothing naughty; it only means a
child that, being lost or deserted, is found--"
As I was in the rift in the rock," interrupted
Milly, brightening up. Surely that is nothing
naughty; I was too little to lose myself there; but
she looked so spiteful when she said it, all because I
kept up the shuttlecock seventy-two times; and she
could only do so twenty-four."
That was jealousy, darling. See how unjust and
hard it makes those who yield to it. She was jealous,
and found something to say which she thought would
give you pain; she had no right to do so-indeed
whether deservedly or not, we have no right to return
pain for pain. You know, I think, who it was that,
when He was reviled, reviled not again."
"Yes; Uncle George told me long ago," answered
Milly, looking very serious.
""We are all subject, my darling, to many evil
tempers and passions. I believe that which works
the most evil to ourselves and others is jealousy. It
was jealousy which caused that child to say to you
what she hoped would vex you, in revenge for such
a silly thing as keeping up a shuttlecock longer
than she could do. Jealousy is very insidious; it
creeps into the heart when not so big as a grain of
mustard seed, and grows and grows, and swells, until
it displaces and distorts everything, and is the cause
of evil to all within its sphere. Sometimes it causes
tears to overflow eyes that should beam with cheerful-
ness and happiness; at other times it flushes cheek and
brow, and----"
Please, mamma dear," interrupted Milly, don't
say any more. That's me, I know."
"That is curious English, darling; but I under-


stand what you wish me to understand.

You confess

that you are a jealous-pated little monkey, and do not
like to have your mamma, papa, or Uncle George, pet
or love, even in a small degree, any other child. I

saw you, last night,


down old Pedro from

papa's knee, and seat yourself in
Pedro !"

his place.

Poor old

"Mamma, I do not-indeed I do not-think I was

jealous of Pedro;

but I do like to-to--

"To what, dearest ?"
"To be sure you love me best of all the world,.

" Then, Milly,
" Mamma !"

I do not."

"No; I love your papa better."
Milly changed colour. She even




And papa loves you better than he does me ?"
"I have never asked him, but I suppose he does."
"' But, mamma, would this be so if I was your own,
own child ?"
"CI believe it would. But we are capable of giving
very different degrees of love without one affection in
the least subtracting-that is, taking away-from the

other; and

this is seen in the

animal world. Kittens

puppies each receive the same amount of atten-

tion and affection
think they quarrel

from their parents, and I do
with each other about which

ceives the greater number of
know, is the animal kiss. At


licks-which, as you


your jealousy

is simply silly;
creases, it will
to you and to

but take care.

If it grows and in-

be a source of continued









mn proof


my dear Milly that I love her dearly; and if she
looks back at the past, she may well trust us for the




Mrs. Leeson then told Milly she was going away
for health's sake, and when she returned, she hoped
to find that she had been loving and obedient to
Uncle George, and tried hard to conquer her jealous
Milly parted from Mr. and Mrs. Leeson with deep
sorrow. The invitation she had refused was not re-
peated then; but after a lapse of some time, during
which Lucy frequently called on her, and they under-
stood each other better, she graciously accepted one
to another little fete, though she did not like to leave
Uncle George even for half a day. Her devotion to
him was admired by every one, more particularly as
his blindness was rapidly increasing-so much so, that
as his brother's and Mrs. Leeson's return was, he told
Milly, unavoidably postponed," he engaged a clergy-
r an to perform the service in Alderly Church.
Uncle George drove with Milly to her young
friends', and they agreed to walk home in the moon-
light, as the juvenile party was to separate at eight
o'clock. What would town-bred little girls say to such
early hours ?
One of Lucy's friends, Carry Langdale, was so ill-
bred and narrow-minded, that she affected to sympa-
thize with Milly for having "no parents of her own,
own;" and asked her "if, when she went to Tun-
bridge Wells, did she ever look at the rift in the rock'
where she was found ?"
Milly had sufficient self-command to answer that
Papa and Mamma Leeson were to her as own, own
parents; and that she always went to look at the rift '
when she went to Tunbridge Wells, and called it 'her
first cradle. "
Carry Langdale, who certainly desired to torment
Milly, called out to her, when Lucy insisted that she



have a canter with

the other young ladies,

"That she could not be expected to manage a pony,
who never was accustomed to ride anything better than
a donkey !"
Milly sprang into the saddle without replying, and,
giving Creamy her head, soon distanced the other

The lawn was of considerable

extent, surrounded

by a carriage-drive. On one side was a delicious
shrubbery, extending to a wood, which in the spring-

time was almost carpeted by

in th

on the <




side of the

ted by a pond,
it was the refuge




flowers ;

was a sloping
extensive that

of a variety of

a pair of magnificent swans claimed

it as

their home.

Milly cantered on, and the exhilaration of

the exercise repressed the tears her susceptible feelings

had called forth.

The memory of one of her mamma's




"C Never

be ashamed

of the

"Why," she thought,
having been discovered in
riding a donkey ? She wo
ashamed of either," and a

" should she be



the rift in the rock, or of
uld show Carry she was not
, the moment she arrived

at this laudable determination, a piercing shriek struck
on her ear, rapidly followed by another. Looking
back, she saw that Lady Kate had reined up her pony
on the edge of the green bank, and heard her call as
loudly as her weak voice permitted, "Help, help !" and
below in the water was the other pony, apparently

enjoying a swimming-bath towards the opposite shore,
while Carry Langdale was struggling in the water,
and the swans, resenting the intrusion on their terri-

tory, were flapping their wings, and approaching Carry
as fast as they could. Swift as lightning Milly turned



Creamy and rode to the rescue. The canter sprang into
a gallop, back over the drive, and then down the bank,
and splash into the water. She managed to keep her
seat, though she bent from the saddle, and seizing
Carry's long floating hair, she lifted her head out of
the water. Lady Kate, a delicate fragile little thing,
did not attempt to enter the pond, but never ceased
screaming, and this attracted the attention of one of
the gardeners, who soon relieved Milly of her burden,
and laid the fainting form of Carry Langdale on the
grass. By this time Lucy, and her mamma and the
servants had arrived, and Carry quickly recovered.
Well," exclaimed the gardener, that young
lady owes her life to Miss Leeson. How she did hold
her head up to be sure! If she had let go, the swans
would have been a-top of her; and if they did not
drown her all out, they'd have battered her sore. They
broke the leg of James Lowrey's setter, who only went
on t'other side for a bathe, poor brute, and is in splints
ever since. Them swans are warlike to man and beast,
when the laying season is on."
Neither of the young ladies could tell how the
accident occurred; it was the work of a moment. Of
course Milly was praised, and caressed, and thanked,
and exalted into a heroine, and modestly asserted that
Creamy deserved the greater praise.
"If," repeated Milly over and over again, "Cshe
had been restive, or kicked, or turned, or had done any-
thing but what she did, I should not have been able to
hold Miss Langdale up."
Carry threw her arms round the neck of her pre-
server. There was great contrast in the size of the
two girls. Milly was slight and small-delicately and
gracefully formed. Her uncle George used to say she
was "an Italian greyhound of a girl;" but Carry was


and strong, unrefined

in looks and manner,

so inclined to say and do what was rude and


that she was no favourite

with her play-

In the evening she

came to where Milly had kept

up a game of cup and ball with Lucy for a long time,
each laughing and enjoying it. Carry stood quietly by,
looking from one to the other, as the balls flew up

and down.



was decided

in Lucy's


Carry advanced and
laid it on her own.

took hold of Milly's


Such a tiny hand," she said; not half as large
as mine; and yet I do not think mine could have held
on as yours did if it had been twined in your'hair, and
you as heavy as I am. It's very queer, I never liked

you until now, for

Nichols, my maid, you know, said

' you were not a born lady, and she wondered'---"
For shame, Carry!" interrupted Lucy, how can
you hurt Milly's feelings, and repeat the impertinent
words of a servant ? Mv mamma would not nprrmhi, snuh


to be made on my friends. She would

discharge any maid who

presumed to speak in such a

"It may





slight form to its full height-" it may i
not born a lady, and it may be that I am.

uI), )J. I IIUy nLu. .. U. nuu wvisn rto visit any one,
and my papa and mamma would not, I know, like
any one to come to see me, who would think meanly of

drew up her
be that I am
Time may

me, because I was found

in a rift of a rock on the

common of Tunbridge


I have been ashamed

of it because I have been whispered about and pointed

at, as if I had no right to be where I am.
George told me, only last evening, he
that has happened to me nrnvi-o T n

- % --%' r L wL rVJLXJ

But Uncle
thought all
1 cared for







T ,,- 1_

n-P im n ov -n nt

J_ 1


- L . -



by God, and that HE led papa to find me, and put
it into all their hearts to love me. I do not care for
any other love."
Oh, Milly !" was exclaimed by the young voices
of all around her. Oh, Milly do not say that."
"We have all snubbed her a bit at times," ex-
claimed another little voice, "but we love her now."
"I shall never forget," said Lady Kate, "how
she dashed into the water, and hung from the saddle
and caught Carry's hair, for her head and face were
under the water-indeed they were-and held her.
Oh it was wonderful !"
If praise could have filled a young heart, Milly
had abundance of it during that half-hour, and she
certainly was gratified. But her "young heart beat
more quickly when Uncle George came for her, and
was surrounded by the children, all vying with each
other who should tell the first tale of Milly's bravery.
It was very charming to feel his hand on her head,
and to feel that he drew the head close, and more
closely to his heart, and kept it there; and then,
when hand in hand, they walked home in the moon-
light, she guiding his footsteps with so much tender-
ness and care, watching so that he avoided the large
stones, and holding back the entrance-gate-the
heavy entrance-gate-with such firm hands, though
Uncle George said he thought she could not do it.
All this was delightful, more than delightful-for he
made her tell all about Carry's rescue, and inquired
how it came into her head to do such a thing,
and was she sure she had not strained her back, or
sprained her wrists by such exertion. She could not
tell how it came into her head; and as to her wrists,
she was sure they would like to do it again.
The moon made it seem like a tranquil day, it was


so bright

as they paused in the pretty porch of the
The noble oak, whose branches spread

over the lower part of the lawn, cast its

the grass; but
what looked like


shadows on

despite the thickness of its foliage,
little silver arrows of moonlight shot

through them-now glistening, and the next moment


" Good !" said Uncle George, as he sate down in his
)urite corner of the porch. Indeed, that porch might
e been called a "flower drawing-room." It faced

the south, and the sides and roof were glazed. Winter
and summer roses, and myrtles, and such beautiful jas-
mines put forth buds and blossoms there, regardless of

the season.

Indeed, frequently when snow rested on

its roof, and crystallized the trees, the roses within its

shelter laughed

the winter to scorn, and blushed and

bloomed, looking more fresh and "rosy" than in sum-
mer, from the contrast that existed between the within
and the without.

" Mr.


the daytime there

corner" was
was abundant

chosen because



glare of sunshine; there were also a table and a low
garden-seat that Milly claimed as her own, where Uncle
George sate down. Milly was soon seated nearly at his
feet; her old cat had been watching for his mistress,

and was quickly purring on her knee.
would have made a pretty picture. I
had removed his hat, the air felt so so


a direct

Milly saw

line of light rested on

it, and watched it

approaching to reverence.



The group
Uncle George
ft and balmy,
3 placid brow.

a feeling

The light seemed to her

young imagination to come direct from her
soft brown hair, silvered more by suffering
timelook d uk a pae gloy inthe ovel li t-


ven; his
than by

time, looked like a pale glory in the lovely light; and
she wished-as indeed she always wished when she

without the




saw anything

beautiful-that dear




had been there to see it also.

" Uncle,"

she said, after a longer pause than usual

Milly's tongue was very active in general-

"uncle, shall

you be

able, do you think, to

them when they come home that I have not been a

naughty-that is, a very
absence ?



" Uncle," she continued, do you think

jealous as I used to be ?"
I cannot tell, Milly;


you have had nothing

am as

to be

Pedro ;

of lately, unless you are jealous of my petting

; but you

may have something to excite your

jealousy soon, and then you can come and ask me the

"What is it, Uncle
tone of anxiety.

George?" inquired Milly,

Well, dear, I will not tell you just yet.
have patience."



You must

Dear uncle !" exclaimed Milly, flinging her arms
round Uncle George's neck, do tell me what it is,
and I will not tell, indeed I won't.
I shall not have any sleep to-night," she added,

plaintively, and I am so very, very tired.


all night

what the


I shall

can be, and

I be

myself to death guessing."
"Do not do that, Milly."
"Do what, uncle ? "

"Fret yourself to


before morning.

would give us breakfast-old Pedro ?"
"Now you are laughing at me, Uncle George."
"Indeed I am not. I should never know the right
proportion of cream to put with Pedro's milk."
"I do not think you would," replied the girl,

laughing in earnest.


if I am not to know, I







think we

had better

have prayers

and go to bed;





shall not sleep,


of this



memory was enriched

by such a

number of beautiful prayers, that Milly said he could
repeat two or three new ones every day in the year,
and, as she grew older, she began to believe that he
made them, as she confided to Mrs. Wilks, every one
out of his own head." Milly always opened the Bible

with becoming reverence, morning
read whatever chapter her uncle de

and evening,
>ired, and then

All persons, rich a.r l poor, who came to the Vicar-
age, were impressed by Milly's tender, watchful care
of her uncle; it was such a curious mixture of childish
playfulness and womanly wisdom. She anticipated
his every wish, and did everything possible to enliven
the loneliness of his blindness, as the clouds thickened

over his large, affectionate eyes.
She watched and caught at e
cheer him. by little playful details


rery opportunity to
of what either had


place, or was about

to take place.

grave or gay, as suited best his mood, yet always tried
by every means in her power to enliven him; and what

proved more than anything else how she


to conquer the jealousy which, as she grew older, she
felt was the great fault of her nature, was, that she
invited constantly'one or other of her little friends to
share her care and endeavours to amuse and interest
him. This, Milly, at times, felt to be a severe trial,-she
would rather have had him all to herself; yet she did

not shrink

from it, though, when alone, she could not

restrain the tears she could hardly account for.

was a hard trial to see any one do

uncle that she could

do. In the

anything for her
absence of those








parents who had adopted her into their hearts and
home, he was dearer to her than ever.
Poor Milly Often and often when those who
thought about her at all would have believed her to
be fast asleep, the child was seated at her bed-room
window gazing up at the stars, and wondering if they
were really worlds, and if they were peopled; and
could they be heaven ? and were her dear, as she called
them, "first parents" there? You see, she was what
would be called a romantic child, as "' only children
generally are.
But it is right to record what blessings came from
that long and close companionship of old and young.
As his infirmity increased, the more pleasure Uncle
George experienced from the society of the grate-
ful aid affectionate child. Youth owes a wealth of
information and happiness to its elders and teachers,
but they also owe a great deal to their own children,
or the children of friends. There is a breezy freshness
about children-I mean children who are not spoiled
by early frivolity, affectation, or that blight of this
age, "fastness." I do not know anything more re-
freshing than the playfulness and up-springing intelli-
gence of a bright child. And Uncle George hardly
felt his blindness when Milly read or played to him,
or visited "his poor," as he lovingly called the cot-
tagers of his brother's parish. Then his mind was so
stored with such a variety of beautiful knowledge-I
do not mean school-book knowledge, though that is
very valuable-but he knew such lovely poems, and
such pretty stories. And if he thought his little
favourite had been rather hard-worked over a long
sum, or had a rather long lesson from Miss Crossy at
the piano or the globes, he would walk her off at
another favourite seat, beneath the grand old oak, to


the end of the lawn, which I told you looked

tiful in the moonlight,

so beau-

and tell her charming


But even then Milly had a serious trouble during
the first month or two of the absence of Mr. and Mrs.


Whenever there was a word in their letters

to Uncle George which
with his strongest glas

he could not decipher, even
ses, he gave the letter to her

to make

it out;

but since then,

when poor


George's difficulty of sight increased so that he could
not read the letters at all, instead of asking Milly to
do so, or to answer them, he went to an old friend, a

Mr. Herbert, who resided

in a lovely dell, near the

picturesque church of Gausworthy, called Herbertlea,
and employed his eyes to read, and his hand to reply
to those letters.
It was a great trial to Milly when Uncle George
would lay the foreign letters beside his plate at break-

and tell Milly to order

the pony-chaise,

as he

must drive over to Herbertlea.
Uncle-perhaps there is a little letter inside that
for me-"

Well, dear, if there
return from Herbertlea."

is I

will give it you when I

" But, uncle- "
"Well, darling ?"
"Could you not look now ?"
" No, dearest."

" I used sometimes to

them, for you."
"Yes-but I
there is'a reason f
you should know (

read the letters, or bits


do not wish you to read them now;
or it. I will tell you all it is fitting
)f the contents when I return from

After such a little scene as this, Milly would go to



her own room, and indulge in a flood of indignant
tears; and often a painful idea would take hold of her
mind. Oh, if Uncle George was my own born uncle,
and Papa and Mamma Leeson my own born papa and
mamma, they would let me see all their letters. Oh,
they do not love me as if I was their own, own!
Why need Uncle' George go to that Mr. Herbert! I
wish there was no such place in the world as Herbert-
lea! No, they are long away, and are forgetting to
love their little adopted child; and Uncle George trusts
that Mr. Herbert more than he does me!"
You see, though dear Milly was not as jealous
as she used to be, still she was given to jealousy. It
was so very very foolish. Children seldom read their
parents' correspondence; it is not withheld from them
from any lack of love or want of confidence, but be-
cause the letters they receive contain matters beyond
iheir comprehension, or the secrets of friends. There
are few things more sacred than a letter, and the
young seldom understand the silence and fidelity with
which a letter should be received.
When Uncle George returned from Herbertlea he
gave Milly a little note-a cobweb note," she called
it, the paper was so very thin. There, darling,"
he said, "I think, judging from my own letter, you
may find something new and interesting in that--"
Milly curled herself up on the window-seat-which
was always called hers, though indeed it was divided
between her and Pedro-Pedro occupying one corner
and Milly the other, while her work-basket and books
and sundry belongings filled up the centre-prepared
to enjoy mamma's letter. As she opened it her small
fingers trembled with joy-it was so long and so full;
but before she had read it half through she sprang
up, rushed across the room, and throwing her arms


round Uncle George, burst into loud

violent as to
was alarmed.
denied never


the kno



be almost convulsions. Uncle George
Those to whom the blessing of sight is
feel their helplessness so painfully as
wedge of how much they could do if

the heavy cloud of blindness had not rested on them,

comes to them suddenly.
Uncle George entreated
again and again the cause
her by every means in hiQ

Milly to be calm, inquired
of her agitation, soothing
-nnowr hnut she did not

reply, though at last her sobs became less violent, and
at intervals she exclaimed, Oh, uncle! oh, dear uncle !
I shall never be happy again, never be happy again.
You will all forget to love me. I could not bear it,

indeed I could not.
love-your love--m


go to Mrs. Wi

And I


It's no use to try; of course-their
ist leave me." A long pause. I
ilks; I will go and be her little

do love you all so dearly.

I daresay

she is much better than I am."

There were pauses,

some longer, some shorter, between these sentences;
pauses with sobs, which however died away, leaving the
poor child in a state of exhaustion, her eyes and lips

swollen, and her little

Then she reproached
have known it. Oh,
never to tell. Oh, it I

frame trembling with emotion.

Uncle George, saying he
yes, he was sure to know it.
was so cruel, cruel! "



Now, Milly," said her kind uncle, taking both her
hands in his, what is cruel ?"
Why this is. You all of you bring me up, as if I
was your own child, and now they bring another home,
a foreigner, I daresay, that will speak French and eat
frogs, and think it will give me great pleasure. Give
me pleasure, indeed !-a strange child to come and

steal their hearts away.
Milly exclaimed

I shall hate it !"
Uncle George, in a tone of


" y %/ TV I - . .. %. . -- .



serious displeasure, is it possible you can feel and
express anything so wicked? Hate it; hate what
they desire you should love ? But you will find it im-
possible to do so; nay, you will, I am sure, be inclined
to look upon it with too much affection, to make ex-
cuses for its faults, to expect it to be loved, and treat
it perhaps with more consideration than it deserves."
I am sorry to say that Milly repeated, "I shall
hate it."
", Oh, Milly, I am ashamed of you."
Poor Milly, she read and re-read the letter, and

not only herself passed a most unhappy day, but made
all in the house unhappy.
After tea, when Milly had in a degree recovered
her self-control, Uncle George asked her to read him
one of his favourite chapters, and when that was
finished, she drew her little stool to his side, and
nestled her head on his knee.
"And now, Milly," said Uncle George, "if you
will be a good little girl and not cry, I will tell you a
story. You know that for some time before your papa
and mamma left the Vicarage, mamma had been very
unwell, and the physicians wished her to go to the south
of France and to the Eaux-Bonnes, in the hope that the

waters there
go alone, so
always heard
the only two
-to look at,
so wild and
great deal c
your papa;

would serve
dear papa
us speak as
sons of the
the flower oj
so wayward
)f anxiety.
papa was

youngest son. Your
weary boy-was like


her. Of course, she could not
went with her. You have
if your papa and I had been
family, but there was a third
F the flock-I am sorry to say,
that he caused his family a
He was especially dear to
the eldest and Alfred the
apa devoted himself to this
father to him; for we lost

our parents just as your papa came of age.

They died


of the

same fever



had very



its violence injured my si
covered. Alfred also had

in a way it never re-

it severely, and for

than a year was deprived of the use of his limbs.


your papa's

affection still more closely round

him; but I grieve to say, that as soon as he got
better, he did not behave as he ought to have done,
he quite cast off the authority of his good brother, and
left us altogether. We never heard from him after

that desertion, until he came of age, and then
simply to state how he desired his property
sent to him: that was all."

"He must have
grateful," said Milly.

it was
to be

been very hard-hearted and un-

"It would seem so," replied Uncle George.

" We

ought all to pray against evil influences, and avoid bad


company, le was arawn into tnat., I Iear, Ior in mis
youth he was a very sweet affectionate lad, only sadly

* 1 *

fond of having

his own way; and I fear even more

easily led to do wrong, than right.
We both endeavoured to trace him, for his silence

made us very unhappy.
abroad in the hope of i
covered was, that at Mui

the English chap:
nounceable name.

lain to
It w

Both my brother and I went
ending him; but all we dis-
nich he had been married by
some lady, with an unpro-
"ould seem they left Munich

after the ceremony for the Tyrolean Alps, and


we lost all trace of our youngest brother. Some years
afterwards one of our friends-who being abroad, and
knowing our anxiety about him, always inquired if any
one of the name of Leeson was known at the various
places he visited-heard at Nice that an English gentle-
man of that name had buried his wife there. They
said she was a Bavarian lady; and it was talked

about a great deal--for in a short time

afterwards he




a French



brother, a very wild

man, was a physician.
three took their dep

Soon after the marriage


from Nice,


the doctor

saying, that both his sister and brother-in-law were
in delicate health, and he could not leave them. Some

one, I cannot remember
the French lady was swe

who, told our friend

2et and amiable, and


by all who knew

her; I believe

they wan-

dered over the Continent, and at last our brother

found a stone marked

with his name

age in the Protestaut burying-ground at Rome.

His wife also
a child."

is dead-died some years

ago, leaving

" And,"'



while tears


her eyes, "they have found that child !"
They have," replied Uncle George.
Milly commanded herself as well as she could, but
inquired in a low broken voice, Is it 4 boy or a girl ?"
"A girl."
For a long time Milly made no observation; at last

she said, "Uncle
been a boy ?"

George, would you not rather it had

" No, my dear, I would not.

people like ourselves, it



is more desirab

, for elderly
le it should

be a girl. What boy would be so tender and so careful
of a blind uncle as you have been of me ?"

" Oh, dear uncle !" she exclaimed,

"a boy would

be more worthy of
me-learn quicker,
poor stupid little t]

the care you have
and retain better.


no boy could love you bel
of than girls."

bestowed on
I am but a

after all; though I am sure
tter. Boys are thought more

" They are thought differently

ferent natures, different



duties to perform;


natural qualities are different; but I do not think they








either learn quicker or retain better, though I doubt
if you could learn or retain many of the things that
belong almost exclusively to us. God fitted boy and
girl for the performance of different duties, and I hope
my dear Milly will remember the lesson, and do her
duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God

to call her.'

I would not exchange my little Milly-

wayward and jealous as she is, or used to be-for the
brightest boy in England."

Milly's sobs were the only


" But-but,"

she said at last, papa and mamma will not think so.
I daresay she is a bright, beautiful girl, speaking

French and

Italian, not such a little dark

am, picked like a
Uncle, what is her


name .

out of

a rift in

thing as I
a rock.

Of course her name is

They have not told you her Christian name ?"

" No."
" Uncle


do you

think they will want

keep me when they have found a niece ?"

" Their


is big

enough, their hearts large


their purse long
Why should they

not want to keep you ?"
But, you, dear Uncle George, she is your own,
own," and then came a gust of weeping, and Milly,
throwing herself on her knees beside him clasped her
hands fervently together, and exclaimed, "Oh, uncle,
you are so good, and God, I know, loves you, pray for
me, pray for me, dear Uncle George, pray that the
wickedness and jealousy may be taken out of my heart,
for if it is not, oh, how I shall hate her !"
Her uncle pressed his hands on her head, and
reasoned with her against such thoughts-soothing
and caressing her, and answering her numerous ques-
tions, until the arrival of prayer-time, followed by




"TBedtime," certainly, but for Milly there was no
sleep. She endeavoured, like the good girl she really
wished to be, to overcome the jealousy which, under
all the circumstances, was, at first, natural; but after a
time, her grateful heart suggested that what must be
a source of happiness to those dear kind parents who
had protected and loved her for so many years, ought
to be a source of thankfulness and joy to her-that
was a comforting reflection, and led to other thoughts.
" How old was this addition to their household ?" "Was
she pretty ?" Perhaps she hardly spoke English."
She would like that, for she could teach her English,
and they might exchange instruction. If she was
a kind young lady, she would be a companion to
her-that was another comforting reflection, but then
the sad spirit of evil that is so ready to enter into our
hearts, wickedly suggested that perhaps she would
look down upon her, because she was found in the
rift of a rock, and be as others had been, haughty
and insulting. If she was-well, if she was, she would
not complain of her.' No, she was no "waif;" she
was the child of their wandering but much-loved
brother, and to find fault with her would but make
them unhappy. So she would bear it as long as she
could, and when she could bear it no longer, she would
go to Mrs. Wilks, who would find her something to do.
These thoughts brought on another fit of weeping.
How could she live without the lovingness of those
precious friends ? How learn to keep good without
the tender admonitions of dear Uncle George ? And
Uncle George, how could he do without her, she who
knew all his ways." He used to call her his little
bright eyes." Slowly and sadly she undressed herself,
and then she bent her knees and sobbed forth, first her
usual prayers, and then grace and power were given


to her to frame a petition in harmony with her distress.
No sound escaped her swollen lips, but her simple
prayer ascended to Him whose ears are never closed
to petitions that well up from the heart of old or young.
Poor little one! She fell asleep on her knees, her
arms crossed on the bed, and her head resting on her
arms. She started from her slumbers just as a lark
was pouring forth its matin song, but the exceeding
beauty of the early morning astonished her, and the
twittering and rustling of the small birds who sheltered
in the climbers that rendered the Vicarage a bower of
beauty and fragrance, awoke the cheerful sympathy
which youth feels with the freshness of nature.
She almost forgot how chilled she was, and ad-
vanced to the window ; and, as it commanded a view
of the garden and the paddock, she saw her favourite
Jenny standing at the door of her shed, doubtless
watching until the sun had wooed the dew from the
grass. Suddenly her troubles flooded back upon her.
Would mamma give Jenny to "that new girl." But
hardly was the question asked than she felt ashamed
of herself. Mamma was never guilty of injustice.
Jenny was hers." With a flushed cheek and a beating
heart she crept quietly to bed, and slept soundly until
eight o'clock-an hour past her usual time. At break-
fast Uncle George told her he thought papa and
mamma would be home in a week. A day or two ago
the news would have made her wild with joy, but now
her wildness was saddened by the knowledge of an
expected stranger.
"Uncle," she inquired, did mamma say what
room was to be prepared for-for her ?"
"No, my dear. Will it not be time enough to
arrange that when they arrive ?"
"Oh, no, uncle; everything must be arranged


Fresh curtains
curtains in ma
thought we i

and fresh


amma's room with pii



I shall tie up the
nk ribbon, and I

a pretty arch
it with everg

over the
'reens and


I am sure the school children would like

meet them, and

strew flowers before them.

Shall I

tell them about-about-what shall I call her, Uncle
George ?"
Miss Leeson !"


Leeson !"



" Two


How strange that will sound !"

, then, say nothing

about it.

The surprise

will be the greater when the story is told."
"But about her room, Uncle George.

"Will you

kindly give directions about that, please ? I am deter-
mined to decorate her room, to make it as pretty as

ever I can.
prayed for m

And, Uncle George, I am sure you have
.e very much, for I think I shall like Miss

Leeson. I only hope she will
so like to be loved. Do you t:


me; for, oh I do
she will love me?

But, uncle, you have not told me where
her. Is she tall or short of her age ?

they found
I wonder if

she likes croquet ? I suppose she is too old fbr dolls ?
Uncle George, I hope you do not think I am too old
for dolls. Do tell me."
"I do not think you too old for dolls."

" Oh! I am so glad.

You remember my doll Mel-

pomene ?

You gave her to me.

She wheeled beau-


Well, now she can only go on one side.


you think Miss Leeson is too big to set her to-rights ?
Tell me, dear Uncle George."
Uncle George covered his ears with his hands.
"You have asked me a dozen questions at least.
which am I to answer first ?"

" Oh, uncle, I do not know.

I wonder if she





give me a g<
Uncle George,
good kiss ?"


kiss ?

Do you think

she will?

do you really think she will give me a

" Which 'she,' Milly ?"
" Oh, I know mamma will;
" Miss Leeson." repeated

I mean Miss Leeson."



"CC no, I

do not think she will."

" Then you think she is a cold, disagreeable thing? "

"I never said so, my dear.

I hear, by

Pedro's moaning, that you have disturbed him."
"Well, I did disturb Pedro. You know,



George, I
Pedro the

had one corner of the



sofa, and

Now when Miss Leeson comes, if

she does not want the whole of the

window sofa, she

will certainly require one corner, and I wanted poor
Pedro to give up his, so as to get accustomed to it;
but he objects."

"Let the cat alone, Milly,

and sit

down on your

Or suppose we go and call on two or three of

the cottagers, and see if
arrived at the girls' school.'
This was a happy idea;

new black-board


it was a fresh occupation.

In truth, Milly was enduring a very severe struggle,
and it was a singular proof of determination in so
young a child to do right and conquer a great fault,
that she arranged a better room than her own for the

stranger, and even despoiled

her own chamber of

some of its choicest ornaments to decorate the chimney-
piece and little fantastic dressing-table.

le," she

expected arrival. How m
how pretty the room looks."
And then she flunu he


said, the morning of
uch I wish you could


on Lis neck,

whispered, "Though she will be better than I am
will always love me, uncle."




" Oh, dear unc




What a restless fairy Milly was all that day; how
she tormented the gardener; by asking if he did not
hear carriage-wheels at eleven o'clock, though Mr. and
Mrs. Leeson could not arrive until four; how she added
branch to branch, and flower to flower on the arch over
the gateway, and how she worried servants and school-
mistress with questions, rushing up to her room at
intervals to have a c good cry in the refuge of
" alone," fearful to believe she was not glad, though
her poor little heart and head were throbbing with un-
defined feelings, which she knew not how to overcome.
At last the hour arrived, the carriage drove up.
The school-children hurraed," and the porch and the
avenue to the Vicarage was covered with flowers. The
people called to each other that Mrs. Leeson never
looked so well. Milly trembled to such a degree,
that had she not clung to Uncle George, she must
have fallen. In another moment she was folded in
the embraces of Mr. and Mrs. Leeson. Mr. Leeson
held her face steadily between his hands, and gazed at
it for almost a minute. When they were fairly in the
hall, Milly said, "But where is she ?"
Where is who ?" inquired Mr. Leeson.
Where-is-is Miss Leeson ? All is ready; her
room is so pretty."
"It always was pretty," said Mr. Leeson; at
least, we tried to make it so."
"But where is she ?" repeated Milly.
HERE," was the reply, and Mr. Leeson clasped
her closely in his arms. You, darling, you are--m
BROTHER'S CHILD. We have discovered all, and have to
thank God for directing me to the RIFT IN THE ROCK
at Tunbridge Wells."
"It is too much for her," said Mrs. Leeson; see,
she has fainted."


"I never will accept another secret,"




"It is all your doing,

sister ;

always were so fond of SURPRISES !"

And now you must know how all this came about.

Mysteries are sometimes -

thus it was.
son found a

You remember


very simply solved; and
that Mr. and Mrs. Lee-

of their brother's death

in the

Protestant burying-ground at Rome, and that Mr.
George told Milly his wife also was dead, leaving one
child; but he did not tell her how that was known.

It was


in this manner.


Mrs. Lee-

health was sufficiently re-established to permit

her return to England, they
brother had died at Rome.

Mr. I

only knew that their
When they arrived at

the innkeeper came to their room, and asked


if he was a clergyman, and would

a person he thought was seriously ill, and who had
heard his name by chance. Mr. Leeson accompanied

him at once to the sick



person, who was really ill, told
her of Mr. Alfred Leeson's sE
husband had entreated her, s

In a few words,
him he was the


wife ;


death, to seek his relations at Alderly Vicarage, in
Cheshire, tell them how much he regretted his conduct

to them,
him, and
death he

and he

felt assured they

show her every kindness.


would forgive
That after his

his sister on her journey to

England, where she determined to go; that she was
taken ill at Calais, where a little girl was born, and
after a short time the poor mother died. Before her

death she

gave him

directions to take the


into Cheshire, and prevail on its relatives to adopt
-it, for she said she could not, knowing his wild

nature, leave the baby to his care.

She also told him





that while in expectation of the birth of her child, she
had written to her brother-in-law, saying what she
intended to do in case of her death, and also what valu-
ables and money should be sent with it if it lived.
That letter Mr. Leeson never received, but the faithless
guardian of the infant, though he had no desire to keep
the child, could not bear to part with its inheritance.
He confessed that he had met with some of his
old companions, who drew him into bad ways. He
gambled with them, and quickly was despoiled of the
property that belonged to the poor baby. At last,
he was obliged to dismiss the nurse, and resolved,
as he could no longer provide for it, and did not dare
to take it to the Vicarage, because of his wrong-doing,
he would find some mode of disposing of the child.
By chance, when at Canterbury, he ascertained that
the Leesons were at Tunbridge Wells. But, though he
dared not take the child to its relatives openly, lest
they should call him to account because of the money
he had squandered, he determined to place it in
their way, intending to leave it in Mrs. Wilks' garden,
but there was a party in the next house, who, he
feared, might detect him, and so he placed it in the
"rift." The next day Tunbridge rang with the story
of the fortunate foundling, and he left the town fear-
ing the discovery of his dishonesty, and satisfied that
the child would be well cared for. Relieved of all
anxiety on its account, he passed from one mode of life
to another, spending one day the often ill-got gains
of the other, until, overtaken by a disease which his
profession told him must end in death, he relieved
his mind when he found Mr. Leeson in the same
hotel, and entreated his forgiveness.
Mrs. Leeson did love, as Uncle George said, a
little mystery, but in keeping the secret from Milly,


both Mr. and Mrs. Leeson desired


see if she


be able to overcome the

position, and

open her


jealousy of her
and arms to

newly-found relative.
You may imagine the joy of all at the Vicarage
that happy evening, and the tender caresses that
were lavished on their own, own Milly-their actual

and true niece as well as their adopted

whose happiness was not quite ]
Mrs. Wilks had arrived at Alderly.


until kind

Poor Pedro was,

however, sadly inconvenienced by this fresh discovery,
for Milly insisted on his wearing a garland of flowers,
tied with a bow of very rich blue ribbon, which she


was continually


up between his

tufted ears.

At last Mrs. Wilks removed it, and Pedro again enjoyed
undisturbed repose in his corner.
And that is my story of









T was already late, and yet the restless hum
of the great city was not stilled. Passen-
gers were walking hurriedly along the
narrow streets; jaded horses in cabs and
omnibuses were still plying their weary way. One
might almost imagine that night, with its rest and
peace, never descended upon the crowded thorough-
fares; that there was no cessation of toil for the
thousands of human beings who inhabited the wretched
houses which surrounded the large warehouses, the
docks, and wharfs of the wealthy city which is the
scene of our story.
It was still daylight, the cold daylight of a long
March evening, but the gas lamps were being lighted,
and people were gradually collecting round the different
public-houses, with which that part of the city is
amply supplied-the(" Lower Town," as it is some-
what contemptuously called by the gentry. and
wealthier inhabitants. Groups of miserable-looking
women stood talking loudly at the corners of the
streets, and knots of sailors were loitering together
near the quay, while others sat smoking on coils of