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modestly mentions having some excellent balsams and plasters in her chest,' which proved of great service in the treatment of gunshot wounds. Noticing three prisoners who were bleeding profusely, she bound up and dressed their wounds, for which she was rudely rebuked by a minister named Palmer, with the military rank of Captain, who told her that his soul abhorred to see this favour to the enemies of God.' To which she replied, that she had done nothing but what she thought was her duty in humanity to them as fellow-creatures, not as enemies.' This same Captain Palmer was sorely scandalised by the Governor's leniency to his prisoners in inviting some of them to dine with him at his own table, and 'bellowed loudly against him as a favourer of malignants and cavaliers.' The one black spot against Colonel Hutchinson's name is his signature to the warrant for the execution of Charles I. No doubt, he acted according to his conscience, nor is there any reason to believe that his wife disapproved of this fatal error. They were both consistent throughout, and never flinched from the certain consequences of their conduct. At one time, indeed, after the Restoration, when it was plain that Colonel Hutchinson must not expect common justice, notwithstanding the powerful interest exercised in his favour by cavaliers whom he had obliged and benefited in their hour of trouble, Mrs. Hutchinson strongly urged her husband to flee to the Continent; but to no purpose. His resolution was fixed rather to suffer martyrdom for what he more and more felt to be the good cause,' than to purchase life by flight or any apparent renunciation of principles. He was accordingly arrested in his own house at Owthorpe, the Duke of Buckingham basely endeavouring to prove his complicity in what was called the Northern Plot, though it is tolerably certain that he had kept scrupulously aloof from, all political conspiracies of every kind after giving his assent to Monk's restoration of the monarchy. After patiently enduring much insult and annoyance the prisoner was sent up to London, accompanied by his wife and their two eldest children. Observing her sadness, for she knew better than he did what sort of men he would have to deal with, he bade her be of good cheer and show her thankfulness to God for His mercy in not dividing them one from another. On November 3, 1663, the travellers alighted at the Crown,' in Holborn, and on the following day Colonel Hutchinson was committed to the Tower on the charge of being engaged in treasonable practices. Not even then was he discouraged, but strove to comfort his afflicted wife by the assurance that there was still some great work in store for him. 'But alas!' as she pathetically exclaims, her divining heart was not comforted; she remembered what had been told her of the

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cruel resolutions taken against him, and saw now the execution of them. Some weeks, too, elapsed before she succeeded in obtaining permission to see him, and then only in presence of a keeper. Neither was it of good omen that the room assigned to him should be that in which, according to popular tradition, the young princes were murdered, and which was approached by the dark chamber where the Duke of Clarence was drowned in a butt of malmsey. In this gloomy cell Colonel Hutchinson was confined for close upon six months, without being once confronted with his accuser or even informed of the precise character of the accusation laid against him.

At length he was discharged from the Tower; but only to be removed to Sandown Castle, a fortress in ruins and reeking with damp. The garrison consisted of a company of foot from Dover, 'pitiful weak fellows, half-starved and eaten up with vermin, whom the Governor of Dover cheated of half their pay, and the other half they spent in drink.' The colonel boarded with the lieutenant in command for twenty shillings a week, exclusive of wine and various extras, and was allowed the company of his wife and children during the daytime. To enjoy this privilege, however, Mrs. Hutchinson had to trudge on foot to and from Deal, every day, with horrible toil and inconvenience,' but never failed in her duty. It is true, he needed neither solace nor encouragement, being sustained by the conviction that he was set apart to achieve the deliverance of the saints from their scorners and oppressors. His only reading was the Bible, of which he never wearied, his favourite portion, perhaps, being the Epistle to the Romans, which he annotated with great fulness. For amusement he 'sorted and shadowed,' with great skill and taste, the cockle-shells with which he was plentifully provided by his wife and children. At times, when her grief overpowered her, he would gently chide her and bid her trust in the cause, of which he was destined in God's own time to be an honoured instrument. And even were his life in danger, he believed that his death would advance the triumph of that cause by hastening God's vengeance upon his enemies. On one occasion, when she expressed some apprehension of his being sent off to Tangiers, he replied: God is the same at Tangiers as at Owthorpe; prithee, trust God with me; if He carry me away, He will bring me back again.' Indeed, his afflictions seemed to him a feason for rejoicing, inasmuch as they were a proof that he was counted among God's children. In the early autumn of 1664 Mrs. Hutchinson was compelled to return to Owthorpe to arrange their embarrassed affairs, when so confident did he appear of his early release that he gave her particular direc

tions about planting trees, and entered into various other details. Very shortly after her departure, however, he was seized with a severe attack of ague; and, when the eminent physician who had been summoned from Canterbury was informed in what part of the castle his patient was confined, he immediately exclaimed, 'That chamber has killed him.' In eight days death terminated the sufferings of the meek but fanatical regicide, and his last message to his wife was in accordance with his own habitual resignation. 'Let her,' he said, ' as she is above other women, show herself on this occasion a good Christian, and above the pitch of ordinary women.' In obedience to this injunction his sorrowing widow restrained her idle tears, and devoted herself to the vindication of his memory by writing a singularly interesting memoir of his life. Little is known of her own declining years, beyond the fact of her abiding veneration of her departed husband, and of her sedulous discharge of her parental duties.

JAMES HUTTON.

The Poet's Heason.

I'LIVE to write; and write,' good friend,

In part, I know, for you;

Though, while I do so, in the end

Myself it pleases too.

The world,' you think, 'may prize my rhymes!'

The world-who knows its mood?

It may; but long and long were times

I only deemed them good.

I like to write'? You're near the truth:

I like to talk as well;

And poems speak a part, forsooth,

Of what the soul would tell.

Ay, ay, the soul! With souls to meet:

How meet that these should see

Not poems, but the

poem sweet

That all one's life would be!

G. L. RAYMOND.

Juliet.

BY MRS. H. LOVETT CAMERON.

CHAPTER XXXI.

WATTIE ELLISON DECLINES AN INVITATION.

FLORA TRAVERS sat on the box seat of the 99th drag at the Eton and Harrow match.

The sun beat down fiercely upon the bright scene-upon the crowds of carriages, the sea of faces, the dazzling masses of pale and dark blue, which encircled the smooth open green sward in the middle, where every eye was fixed eagerly upon a handful of slender boys in white flannel.

I know not a more characteristically English scene than this same great annual cricket-match. In no other nation of Europe could such an intense excitement be created by so small a cause.

Merely a game between a few schoolboys! Yet it is a thing of national interest. There is not a heart in all that vast assembly that does not beat with intense apprehension as to the final result of that two days' game, from the grey-haired statesman who remembers his own Eton days, and proudly watches his slight grandson fielding among the light blue Eleven, down to the fat-cheeked ten-year-old Harrow boy in the lowest form in the school, who sits among his schoolfellows, hallooing and shouting he hardly knows at what.

And the ladies, bless them, are as eager as the men! Have they not all of them brothers, cousins, sons, or grandsons, in one or other of the two great schools? And, if these are wanting, the lover possibly was a 'Harrow man,' or at all events they have a pair or so of gloves on the result, enough to give to one and all a feeling of enthusiastic partisanship.

No game is to the uninitiated so uninteresting to watch as cricket; yet all this great mixed multitude, three-fourths of whom hardly know swift from slow bowling, and have not the remotest idea what is meant by longstop or short slip, sit out here for hours and hours in the shadeless sunshine, watching every ball in breathless and almost in silent suspense, as if their very lives depended on it.

Flora Travers sits on the box seat of the 99th drag in her dark-blue bonnet and white muslin dress, with a plate of cold salmon on her lap, and a glass of champagne in her hand. Captain Hartley is on one side of her, and another gallant Lancer clinging on between earth and heaven, one foot on the wheel and one on

some step midway, stands on the other side of her helping her to salad. Flora looks and laughs from one to the other, utters her little sallies, dimples over with pretty little smiles, registers her little bets, and looks and is supremely happy.

Every thought of Wattie and his displeasure has gone out of her head. It is very delightful to be where she is ; Captain Hartley is devoted to her; she is conscious of being well dressed in spite of the dark-blue bonnet; the sunshine is bright, the scene is all new to her, and she is seventeen! What more can she want? The young are very philosophical; the passing hour is of more value to them than the look-out of their whole lives.

And then in the very middle of it all, just as the day was nearly over-when in half an hour six o'clock would be struck on the big clock across the ground, and the wickets would be drawn-just as she was laughing her gayest and looking her brightest and happiest, down in the moving crowd below she catches sight of Wattie's face looking up at her, stern and displeased.

She half rose from her seat and made a little gesture to beckon him to her; but he only lifted his hat distantly and coldly, and passed on and was lost among the sea of black coats.

And all at once the sunshine and the brightness and all the freshness seemed to have gone out of everything, and nothing seemed pleasant or happy to her any longer.

When she reached home an hour later, Juliet met her at the door.

‹ Well, dear, have you had a pleasant day? have you enjoyed it?' she asked of her young sister-in-law. But Flora answered her dejectedly and wearily.

'Oh yes, I suppose so; it was very hot, and I am dreadfully tired;' and she passed languidly upstairs.

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'It was a delightful day, Juliet!' cried Mrs. Dalmaine, who had come home with her. You poor dear, not to have gone at all! There was Lord George wandering about in misery, looking for you. He had to come and console himself with me. Such lots of people! and such a splendid lunch we had! And there is no doubt about it that Jack Hartley is quite struck by your Flora; you may take my word for it, that will be a match!'

With all Mrs. Dalmaine's flirting propensities, she always took a true woman's interest in the making up of a match.

A marriage, she was in the habit of saying, often spoilt a man, but generally made a woman; and any addition to the sacred sisterhood of 'frisky matrons' was hailed by her as a benefit to the community at large. She looked upon Flora as a very hopeful sort of young woman-'really, you know, not bad for a girl,' she would say