and the mingling of kindred sympathies, alone fill the mind. Yet, in all its saddened tenderness, how few there are who would not seek to protract the ebbing moments of the parting scene. What solemn attachments swell the heart when, with the last fond look, and the last thrilling pressure of the hand, our friend is hurried from our embrace for ever. With what a heavy sigh we retract our aching sight from the distance in which he is lost, and what a relief it is if the big, choking weight of sorrow on the heart is distilled, and melted away in tears.

Again the scene is changed. Calthon, having finally concluded the infamous bargain, had returned home. It was midnight his daughter had retired to rest and he was sitting at the fire, with his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his shrivelled hands, when a low knocking at the door suddenly startled him. He rose up silently at the noise-for it sounded strangely in his ears-and, stealthily approaching the door, he dubiously asked, "Who is there?" "It is I," said a deep voice in an unknown accent; but it spoke no further, and Calthon, unable to know by the curt reply the character of the person seeking admission, trembled at the bold voice and grew pale.

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Pray, who-are you?" he faltered. Open the door, Vaughan Calthon," demanded the deep voice, and at the same moment another heavy knock smote Calthon's ears. Such a knock he thought he had never before heard. It sent the blood icy through his veins, and awed him to submission. Then, with a heavy heart, he put forth his palsied hand and withdrew the bolt.

"I beg pardon for my untimely intrusion, old man," said a tall figure, in a plumed hat and flowing mantle, as

he entered without further ceremony, and, doffing the latter appendages, displayed a form of fine masculine symmetry, arrayed in a suit of jewelled splendour.

Calthon blanched ghastly pale, but he did not answer.

The stranger then drew over a seat to the fire with the air of an established guest, and detaching a small bag from his girdle, threw it with a metallic clash upon the table; then, stretching himself in a comfortable position before the pleasant blaze, he remarked, with a suspicious shrug, "You have a daugh

ter ?"

Calthon trembled, but heeded not, for he was thinking on the sound the bag had made when falling on the table. Surely, he thought, it must be gold.

"Are you lock-jawed, old dotard?" asked the stranger harshly.

Calthon stared vacantly at him. "You have a daughter?" again thundered the stranger, as he struck the table with his clenched fist, and leaped to his feet.

"Yes; I-I have," at length faltered Calthon, but the words seemed to scorch his lips.

"Una of the golden locks," said the other, with a sarcastic grin, as he resumed his seat.

"Ay-ay-and you-who are you?" groaned Calthon.

“Ha ha! ha!" laughed the stranger, hoarsely. "I am a friend of Red

mond O'Sullivan's." "O'Sullivan !" "Yes, O'Sullivan. The young man whose happiness you have blasted." Calthon seemed waning away.

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Now," continued the stranger, leaning his elbows on the table, and crossing his feet with greater leisure upon the warm hearth, now that we somewhat understand each other, let us to the business that brought me here."

Calthon still stared aghast. "Take a seat," calmly requested the stranger.

The other complied.

"This is all yours," he pursued, loosing the cord which fastened the curious bag, and pouring forth its contents upon the table. "This is all yours, provided you bestow the hand of your daughter upon my young friend O'Sullivan."

Calthon gazed long and silently upon the huge pile which lay basking in the flickering lamp-glare upon the table. It was all gold; it could not be a dream, for he lifted one of the pieces, felt its weight in his hand, bit it with his teeth, rang it violently on the deal table-no, it was not a dream.

"I-I have already made a bargain," said Calthon, looking up.

"I know the whole of its infamous details," replied the other, coolly, "but it must be cancelled."

"If it is broken, Shinkwin's wrath will for ever follow me," he pursued. "But I have power to protect you," said the mysterious stranger, "and you may rest safe in my charge."

The old man felt a peculiar force in the latter argument; so much so, indeed, that he readily accepted the conditions of the bargain, and signed a document, presented by the stranger, according his consent to the nuptials of his daughter and Redmond O'Sullivan on the following evening.

The remainder of that night passed away, and the chequered light of day now streamed through the latticed window upon Calthon. He sat, as we have already described him, at the same little table; the fire had burnt down to a charred and smouldering mass, with the exception of a few sickly blue flames, which every now and then lengthened up into flickering gleams from the expiring ashes. His face was blanched and dismal; his eyes, unvisited during the night by sleep, seemed glazed and dim, and his hand still grasped the treasured purse which he had now deposited in his bosom for further secrecy. Oft, during the night, he had counted over its contents, each time thinking them more diminished when compared with the broad lands of Shinkwin; and he would still have held his bargain with that individual inviolate, had he not feared some hidden potency would be brought to bear by the mysterious visitor, whose wonderful control over him he could not readily account for. He felt too well that his stranger guest was not to be trifled with; and, rather through dread of invoking his wrath, than in the just fulfilment of his contract, he carried out the stipulated arrangements. In fear of Shinkwin, he had adopted a plan to blind that blinded person's eyes to the true

Evening came. Night had fallen upon the lake; the stars were mirroring their bright forms upon it; and Nature,, in her sublime solitude, reigned over the earth. A little skiff, containing four muffled forms, shot from the bay, and curved forward with a graceful sweep, leaving in its wake a mimic eddy, dancing like a string of pearls in the full moon's silver fulgency. It will not require a minute description to introduce those persons to the reader. Two of them, Una and Redmond, have already occupied the greater part of our attention, and the remaining two were intimate friends of the lovers. They were all yielding to the repose of a soft and dreamy reverie, so very sweet to their youthful hearts. The soft winds, the overhanging trees, watching, like sentinels, the repose of the limpid lake, the tall mountains, like immense moveable shadows, towering in the distance, and the gentle ripples of the water as the skiff crept timidly along, all wore a heavenly sanctity, and seemed to blend with the fugitive impressions of their entrancing sentiment. Redmond plied the oars with slow and measured stroke, rather in order to admit the vagrant rambling of his thoughts than prolong the short snatches of conversation. There was a strangeness in his present position which was bewildering to his understanding. Although he still loved Una with the same unaltered affection, he did not feel the same endearments drawing his soul to hers; and his contemplation, instead of, as formerly, sleeping on her loveliness, was now sighing among the overhanging trees, then, floating on the ripples of the water, and anon, walking with the stars through heaven. This sudden con

cession in their once thwarted love had destroyed its romance-that was all. While they listened, the dash of oars broke discordantly on the sombre magnificence of the hour, and the distant hum of voices was distinctly audible. Fearful of being perceived, Redmond gave two or three vigorous strokes, and the frail bark shot, like a frightened bird, into the distance. At length they arrived at Inisfallen, when mooring the skiff in a small inlet fringed with thick foliage, they disembarked, and tearing away the dry brambles and brushwood which choked up the entrance of a scarcely defined footpath, they walked from the umbrageous shade to the green sward which it encircled. The measured stroke of oars which awoke their fears now sounded nearer, and they deemed it prudent, before seeking the abbey, to await the approach of the advancing object, in order to learn whether it boded good or evil. In a few moments two well-manned skiffs curved round the point, and lay before them in the middle of the stream. Angry voices prefaced their approach with deep-mouthed mutterings, and shaggy eyebrows knit in fierce wrath to avenge the insult of their master and present leader, Valentine Shinkwinfor it was he who now came to claim an explanation and a reckoning from Redmond O'Sullivan.

"Pull on, brave hearts!" cried the old man, scowling in fierce wrath, as he placed one foot on the side of the boat, and prepared to spring ashore; but, at the same instant, his soul sank back, hushed and terror-stricken, as the awe-inspiring O'Donaghue, the phantom king of the lakes, rose up from the bosom of the cleft wave, like an emissary from an entombed region, glittering in armed panoply, and mounted on a milk-white horse, whose silver shoes pressed the unruffled waters as tenderly as the virgin water lilies which bathed their beauty at the charger's feet.

His lips curled in a derisive smile, and a flush of stern and awful majesty mantled his brow as he waved the old man back-but fear had chained him to the spot. In an instant the gauntletted palm of the imperious water king clashed the hilt of his sword, and the clang of the smitten metal sunk like iron into the soul of the subdued usu

rer, as he fell back into the arms of his followers with a groan which he could not, which he did not repress. The affrighted party on the island turned away, and, when they looked again, their deliverer was gone; they listened, but the surging of the waters with the laboured oar-strokes of their routed enemies was the only sound that met their ears. They then proceeded to the abbey, where the marriage ceremony was duly performed, and, after receiving the aged official's benediction, they returned to land. In the meantime, while these events were transpiring, old Calthon repaired to his own apartment in order again to reckon his gold. As he drew forth the cherished bag, and threw it with a ringing clash upon the table, although his heart quailed, lest the sound should enter some forbidden ear, and betray his secret, it also leaped with joy, for the metallic clang it gave forth was the choicest music to his shrivelled heart. Loosing the cords which bound it, he emptied forth its contents upon the table, but instead of the same clear sound, a damp, rustling noise now met his ear, and his heart beat wildly as he gazed on the treasured pile before him—now a heap of withered arbutus leaves.

"It is the doing of the O'Donaghue," he fiercely exclaimed, while his face grew livid with deep, concentrated rage. He caught up a handful of the dry leaves, and clutched them so tightly between his fingers, that the nails entered his hands. His shoulders gathered up, his neck stretched painfully forward, and his whole frame seemed to swell with the labourings of his passion. Gradually his features grew paledeadly pale. His lips twitched nervously, and his eyes rolled back in their sockets till the balls were almost hidden. Then, with a deep groan, he fell back.

Some time afterwards Una and Redmond entered the apartment. They came to seek the old man's blessing. They approached him, but he did not turn to meet them. Una saw a terrible strangeness in his features. With a piercing scream she sprang forwardshe took his hand, but it felt stiff and rigid-she laid her hand upon his breast, but his heart no longer beat. The old man was dead! W. J. H.

We have often observed a stout gentleman stepping out of an omnibus, in eager haste to reach the footway, most careful to protect himself from wet feet, and, if it be raining, from the weather. Yet, nine out of ten such stout gentlemen, if attacked by ruffians, or insulted by their equals, will, in all probability, be as brave and resolute in self-defence from their assailants, as they are oldwomanish in guarding themselves from the trifling evils of a damp pair of boots or a wet coat.

John Bull is such a one. He is the stoutest of all stout gentlemen; and he knows it too. He is continually slapping his hands on his breeches pockets, as much as to say, you know what's there; except, alas, when he has to put his hands into them—a not unfrequent occurrence. He is always cooking himself, and taking physic-sometimes political, and at other times substantialwituess the pills of Morison and Parr; and always looking out at the weather, in a tumult of anxiety whether or not it is going to rain Frenchmen to-morrow. But if he is attacked or insulted, then see him putting forth his strength; throwing off his coat and waistcoat, and standing coolly to ward off the blows of his enemy and when, after watching his opportunity, it comes at last, then he crushes his puny opponent as a millstone grinds corn to powder. But, fortunately, he is not always aware of his strength. He is liable to attacks of the blue devils, which he attributes to his stomach, or liver; during the continuance of which, too, he is of ten heard to complain that he is completely knocked up; that he can't stand alone any longer; that he'll never be good for anything again, that he won't -and that's all about it. Nothing, during these attacks, does him half so much good as a hearty rousing thwack: then he is himself again, ready to fight any man for five shillings. He always prefers, too, the good old English weapon of the fists to any other. He has Lord Clare's objection to dueling, because he is such a good mark, on account of his size; and thinks close quarters are both fairer and more manly. One of the most remarkable peculiarities of the old gentleman is his tender-heartedness. After he has given a rascal a sound thrashing-par

ticularly if he has knocked him downhe begins to think the fellow, after all, was in the right, and has been badly treated; and helps him up out of the dirt with many apologies and expressions of good-will. By this means he has encouraged several ill-conditioned persons, who have at sundry times annoyed him with their impertinence, to renew their insolence at the next opportunity; and it is only when he is thoroughly convinced of their incurable ingratitude, that he gives them such a beating as they can never recover from.

What John Bull, as a historical character, is now, he was, one hundred and fifty years ago. At many different times, during the last century, England has been engaged in continental wars of the first magnitude. She was forced by the Revolution of 1688 into a defence of her national existence, against Louis the Fourteenth; and having maintained it at a greater cost of life and treasure than had ever been known to her before, after nine years of war she returned to her more congenial pursuits of buying and selling, and making and unmaking laws. But this could not last. John Bull was neither so old nor so experienced then, as he has since be. come; he was only making his fortune, and had not begun to enjoy it; he was then a rich merchant, who had ample means to carry on his trade-he is now a millionaire, infinitely more “ respectable," and able and willing, on occasions, to talk big.

The state of England at the very commencement of the eighteenth century was curious. It was generally supposed that the country had been very much exhausted by the war, and was growing poorer. The country gentlemen had, not long before, obtained a parliamentary committee to inquire into the cause of the fall in rents; the offspring of which was the oldest of all the corn-laws, in the shape of a bounty on the export of grain. A change had been made in the currency, in the year 1696, to obviate the evils of a depreciated coinage. The practice of clipping shillings and sixpences had been going on to such an extent, that there was not more than ninepence worth of silver in the average of shillings in circulation. The result of the alteration was a general fall in prices; for, after