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future-the strong, true, manly soul of D’Lisle leading the affectionate nature of his sister to higher and holier things; and, as he clasped her to his breast, and bade God bless her, he felt that if death should meet him on the raging waters, or in the battle-field, or in whatever shape, he could bear it the better now. All that his brotherly nature could suggest he said to her in that parting hour; and, when the grey light of morning entered the room, it found them still beside the loved one's bed. The doctor had just left them, and informed them that no danger need be apprehended, the dagger had not taken a vital direction. D'Lisle had recognised Henry, and endeavoured to speak to him, but, faint as he was from want of blood, the emotion was too much for his feeble state, and the physician for bade the exertion.

"I must leave you now, Lucy," said Henry, sadly; "but I part from you with less regret than I would have done yesterday." At that moment the Princess entered the chamber ever ready to do good, ever willing to comfort the afflicted, in this case she sought to do more; for, loving Lucy Oakwood sincerely, and admiring Hugo D'Lisle's character much, she had long guessed how near had their two hearts been to each other, and, as she kissed her favourite on the cheek, and extended her hand to Henry, she smiled in her own kind and heartfelt way on D'Lisle, and inquired considerately after him. "May I speak to you alone, Mr. Oakwood?" said Mary, leading the way to the window. "I have somewhat to ask you;" and then she explained that, in the event of the Prince's departure immediately, she intended to remain in the utmost privacy in the palace, and assured him that she would take especial charge of D'Lisle and Lucy. "What I want you to do," she continued, "is to deliver this packet to my sister Anne as soon as possible after your arrival, and see her. And, my dear Mr. Oakwood, if my father falls into the hands of my husband, use your influence to let him escape. Would to God," said Mary, "that I could be spared this trial!"

Henry Oakwood felt how poignant was her distress about the probable result of the expedition, and knew how strong was her affection for her father (for truly she loved him throughout, whatever interest

ed and biassed historians falsely represent), and how great the regard and admiration she entertained of her husband, though that husband did not know or feel, until years after, how much she loved him. And, fas she tried to still the sobs that broke from her overcharged heart, while delivering the letters for the Princess Anne to Oakwood, he felt how great was the struggle through which her soul was passing, and he admired her the more from thenceforth for the unselfish kindness she had extended, at that time of doubt and danger, to his sister and D'Lisle.

The last embrace was given, the last farewell uttered, and Henry Oakwood left the Palace in the Wood, saddened in his affectionate heart, yet looking with hope and confidence to the issue of the great expedition in which he now engaged, heart and soul, for the delivery of his country from the tyranny of a weak and incapable king. In that hour, as he thought over the words of Sir Arthur Sackville, which had formed the turning point in his career, perchance there came a memory of the low voice of Florence to cheer him on his way.

Under his command were about three hundred men-some fifty of his own faithful retainers, who had followed him to the Hague, about one hundred Germans, and the remainder mercenary troops from every nation. His plate and valuables he had converted into money for the use of the army, and he had thus very materially assisted the projects of the Prince of Orange. As he was now overseeing the embarkation of these on board the large vessels Bentinck had engaged, he could not help observing how varied the countenances of his little band were, and how many dissimilar religions he had in his troop. Standing on the quay, and overseeing the boats as they went to and from the vessels, his attention was attracted by a conversation on the other side of the stone wall which divided the pier, and, a word catching his ear, he stopped to listen.

"How can you go on this expedition against your religion?" were the words; and there was a sweetness in the tone and accent which arrested him.

The reply was from a trooper, laconic and gruff

"I am paid."

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Paid! but we pay better."

First come, first served." "But your religion?" pursued the interrogator.

"My soul belongs to God, but my sword to the Prince of Orange!" said the trooper, using the same words that afterwards met James himself when he asked a similar question; but Henry had heard enough-some agent of James was manifestly tampering with his soldiers-the evil was apparent, the tempter must be taken. He leaped the wall, and stood beside the speakers.

The trooper he recognised as a Flemish Roman Catholic mercenary, the other he knew not. Muffled in a horseman's cloak, and dressed in the usual fashion of the day, his head was averted. Oakwood touched him on the shoulder. "I arrest you!" said he. The stranger started at the words, and, casting one glauce on Henry, bounded from the quay into a boat which lay there, and, before another could be loosed from its moorings, he was beyond pursuit, lost in the number of boats which were perpetually crossing and recrossing the river. Henry Oakwood was annoyed at the escape: though, in the moment of the arrest, he had grasped the cloak, and it remained in his hands, it afforded no clue as to who the stranger was, and the trooper could not give any information; he had met the stranger only that moment.

Oakwood, afraid that others might not show the same fidelity as the sturdy Fleming, hastened the embarkation of his detachment, and, ere the night closed, all were safely on board. He had returned to the Hague to give some last directions to his merchant banker, when, walking through one of the narrow streets of the quaint city, he heard the same voice which had attracted him before. The words came from a room on the ground floor of one of the long, gaunt houses he was passing. "We must sail to-night, ere they get under weigh. The intelligence must be given, and this is dangerous. To-day I was nearly taken, but fortunately escaped. I saw it was one of William's chief officers."

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"Who was it?" was the reply of a second voice, in French; "Bentinck, Russell, or- -?" Here the speaker's voice sunk, and Oakwood could not hear further.

-?"

"No! I know not," was the answer. "But, have you seen my sister or— the voice again was lowered, and, though Oakwood paused to listen, he could hear no more. He looked through a chink in the shutter of the house from which the sounds proceeded, and saw, seated at a table, the speakers in the half-heard conversation.

The room contained but two, but those two fully armed and equipped; however, he hesitated not, but, cautiously undoing the fastening of the shutter, which bolted outside, he attempted quietly to open the window.

"Hark! did you not hear something?" said the younger of the two to his companion. "The wind," said the other; "faith, if this lasts, England need not fear."

The fastening was undone, the bolt had fallen, Henry Oakwood looked cautiously in. The inmates of the apartment still seemed unaware of his vicinity. At the same moment, two or three gentlemen passed up the street. "Ha! is it you, Russell ?" said Oakwood, in a whisper. "You can aid me." A conversation in an undertone succeeded, in which Oakwood informed young Russell of the importance of seizing the two strangers, and theu reconnoitred them through the window again. They were on their feet, listening, as if attracted by the sound of voices and the movement of the shutter, and now, with hands grasping their pistols, they were bent toward the window in an attitude of attention. "Now or never !" said Oakwood; and, flinging back the shutter, he threw up the window and jumped into the chamber, followed by Russell. The window dropped, and, at the same instant, two pistols were discharged. "Yield yield!" cried Henry Oakwood, grasping one of the strangers by the neck, while Russell was engaged in struggling with the other. Oakwood and his antagonist had twice rolled upon the floor before Russell's attendants had succeeded in breaking open the window, which had fastened with a spring, and which, for five minutes or so, had resisted all their efforts. Russell and his foe had fought their way out of the room, swords in hand, to the passage; and, when the two servants leaped in at the window, the Frenchman, with whom Henry Oakwood was in close contest, had just con

trived to extricate a dagger from the folds of his dress, and was about to plunge it into Henry's side; but the danger was but for a moment, for, placing a pistol to his ear, one of the scrvants shot him dead. The arms relaxed their hold, the dagger dropped from his nerveless grasp, and the spy fell heavily on the floor.

As if aware of the fate of his companion, the other, who had successfully escaped the thrusts of Russell-an admirable swordsman-yet who had been slightly wounded, rushed upon him with all his force, and drove him back into the room, then taking advantage of a turn in the hall, and the darkness of the spot, escaped up stairs.

gained the roofs of the adjoining houses, and was beyond their reach.

Returning to the scene of the conflict, they found the Frenchman quite dead; and having searched his body, on which they found a few papers of little consequence, and a commission from James the Second, they were preparing to leave the house, when Henry's eye saw, glancing on the floor, a small ring.

He lifted it to the light, and what memories thronged through his heart, as he looked on it! Years ago had he placed that gem on Lady Sackville's hand, often and often had he seen it on the taper finger of Florence, and now he found it in that scene of blood and Russell and Oakwood pursued him, horror in that old house in the Hague. but found their way stopped by a double Yes! clear, and bold, and distinctly door on the staircase; and before they traced, he read the word engraven on were able to break it open, he had its golden circlet-"FIDELITY."

(To be continued.)

HERE AND HEREAFTER.

"For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face."-1 Cor. xiii. 12. ›

A BLIND man, groping o'er a fair child's face,
Feels all the features, smooths the curling hair,
But lost to him is every changing grace,
Upon a sunlit lake, like waves of air.

So, over Inspiration's truths, our touch

Seeks to reveal their godlike shapes of thought,
Fondly believing-when we've wondered much-
That all their glories to our mind are brought :

When what we grasp is but the outlined form,

Hid from our sight, Expression's varied play,

By time's thick mists, our own heart's darkening storm,
Clouds, which the whirlwind Death will sweep away;

Then, in the agonies of joy's new birth,

When mighty thoughts are swelling in the brain,
All will be clear which once was dim on earth,
Ages of pleasure for a moment's pain.

Creation's mysteries, by Love revealed,

Will then delight the free, unfettered mind;

Which, with rapt gaze, when opening the long-scaled,
Will in "I see," forget it once was blind!

R.L

A PEDESTRIAN TOUR IN THE HIMALAYAS.

(From the unpublished Journal of an Officer in the 26th Regt., Bengal Native Infantry.)

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PART I. THE START-RAIN-OUR FIRST ENCAMPMENT-FAGO0-PARILLA-OUR SUITE KOTE-KHYE-HILL-SIDE ROYALTY SCENERY- THE TORRENT-THE BROKEN BRIDGE—THE DANGERS OF THE ROAD-CONDUCT OF THE NATIVES— THE CATARACTS.

HAVING obtained a general six months' leave, I found myself, about the middle of April 1846, at Simla, enjoying the glorious scenery of its mountainous neighbourhood, so delightful after a long and monotonous residence in the detestable plains. Three months passed by rapidly in the pleasant and gay society of this charming spot, and it was not until the month of August that I resolved to penetrate into the mountains of the Himalayan range.

Saturday, 8th Aug. 1846.-Having made arrangements with S- -n, of the 3rd Dragoons, for making an excursion into the interior of the Himalayas, we this day left Simla, at twelve o'clock, on pony-back, the rain falling in torrents, but our departure had been delayed so long, waiting for favourable weather, that we determined at length on getting under weigh, and running all risks. We had not proceeded many miles when we found ourselves thoroughly soaked, and, to keep up the circulation, we dismounted and walked. Late in the evening, we arrived at the first stage of our route, in a most miserable condition. All our baggage and provisions in the rear, and no chance of their reaching us till morning. Events, however, are never so bad but they might be worse. Fortunately, all my bedding and a carpet-bag had been despatched some days before, and, by covering ourselves up in the blankets, &c., we were enabled to cast off our wet clothes. The name of this place is Fagoo, and the Government has been liberal enough to build a bungalow for the accommodation of travellers, for the use of which, for every day, or part of the twenty-four hours, the charge is one rupee. We bought a lot of wood, and, lighting a blazing fire, made ourselves as comfortable as it was possible under the circumstances. Our situation, though not the most enviable, had its pleasures. We had given up all hopes of getting anything either to cat or

drink, when, to our delight, a coolie arrived, bearing on his shoulder S-n's canteen, containing coffee, tea, sugar, brandy, cups and saucers, &c.; and perhaps we did not look a happy couple, as we sat over a thundering big fire, rolled up in blankets, and with a bowl of reeking hot coffee before each of us! Our original appearance afforded us ample topic for conversation and amusement. The scene outside was very differentthe night dark as pitch, the rain falling as if from buckets, lightning and thunder, and the verandah of the bungalow crowded with natives endeavouring to escape the horrors of such a night; but, poor wretches! it gave them little or no shelter, for, the wind being high, the rain was driven into every corner. We sate up drying our clothes for the morning, until a rather late hour, and then, spreading our blankets as close to the fire as possible, lay down, and went to sleep.

Sunday, 9th.-The rain continued to fall without intermission during the whole of the night, nor did it cease till about four o'clock this evening. Our servants all came up to-day, like so many drowned rats, and our traps also in a horrid mess. S-n being rather an adept in the art of cookery, the management of the table is left altogether to him; and never will I forget the splendid basin of soup he made, almost from nothing, for our dinner to-day. My office is that of paymaster and writergeneral for the expedition, as S――n, being crippled by a severe sword-cut in his right hand, from Moodkie, can do nothing in the way of writing. We passed the day drying our clothes. Fagoo is situated on a ridge higher than that of Simla, and distant about fourteen miles from the latter place. In consequence of the very unfavourable day, I can give no description of the appearance of the country between Simla and Fagoo, for throughout the march, heavy clouds rolled up the valleys, and

hung over the mountain sides, making it impossible to see more than about a hundred yards before one. About half way, we passed through a dense forest of pine trees, and there is a bungalow belonging to Colonel Chadwick built on the crest of the hill above the forest.

Monday, 10th.-At an early hour we left Fagoo for a place called Parilla, about nine miles distant, and situated a little above the Girree river. We were obliged to send our ponies back to Simla to-day, as we were not able to get them across one of the torrents; this puts an end to our riding, and now we must trip it along on foot. When within about two miles of Parilla, we passed a spot on the road called Synge, where one of the hill Ranas has his residence, a miserable-looking building, of stone and wood, and close to the water's edge. The road branches off at Synge into two or three directions, one of which is to a hill seen from Simla, and called the Chorree-Dhai; from thence it leads across the mountains to Mussvorie. I observed many beautiful flowers growing on the hill-sides in today's march, and also a peculiar kind of long, coarse grass, which emits a most agreeable perfume. The mountains between Fagoo and Parilla are rather destitute of wood, and covered with long, rank grass, but the valley is well cultivated, more especially round about the villages. The road commences with a very steep descent, which continues for about two miles, then crosses a rapid torrent by a rotten bridge, and then an ascent. Again descending for some time, we were brought up by another torrent, and here it was that our ponies could not manage to climb the opposite bank, but had to be sent back. The road after this is pretty level until it reaches Parilla. We put up in a sort of square building at this place, intended for the accommodation of travellers; but, as few Europeans ever visit this part of the country, the room had been converted into a house for cows, sheep, &c., and, although we had it well swept out, it was far from clean, and, before we could provide against it, we found ourselves swarming with abominable insects, which covered in thousands the walls, doors, and rafters. Ere I proceed further, I may as well give you some idea of the manner in which our bag

gage, &c., is conveyed. The provisions are packed into long shaped baskets, called kiltas, wide at the mouth, and ta pering towards the bottom. These are slung on the back, with ropes passing under the arms and over the shoulders, and, by this means, the carrier has the free use of his hands to assist him in climbing up the rocks. Our clothes, again, are carried in the same manner, but packed in small square boxes, about two feet by two, commonly made of wood, covered with leather, but sometimes of tin. These are called pitarahs, and are very convenient articles for carrying things on both hills and plains. Our bedding, consisting of a number of blankets and soft rugs, is rolled up in a bundle, with an oil-cloth covering, and conveyed from place to place in like manner. We have one small tent between us, and this is carried by two coolies. We are obliged to provide three men, also, for the servants; and, altogether, we employ from eighteen to twenty men daily-viz., three to carry the servants' luggage, six for carrying the cooking-vessels, dishes, and stores, two or three for the tent, two for the bedding, three for three pitarahs, one to carry the canteen (a small square box), and two extra men for the guns. We have, also, the following servants :

two table attendants, two valets, two washermen, one tent-pitcher, and one sweeper. In all, our staff is about thirty. The coolies are changed at every station, or day's journey; and each man receives the sum of four annas for the day, with which they seem very well satisfied; but the hill country, in general, is so thinly populated, that we find much difficulty in procuring fresh hands; the old ones never like to go beyond the one day's trip. Ther mometer in the house, 73°.

Tuesday, 11th.-Before sunrise, we marched from Parilla for Kote-Khye, a journey of about thirteen miles. This day's march was an ascent the whole way, and we found it very fatiguing. About a couple of miles beyond Parilla, we crossed the Girree by a wooden bridge, which had been rendered rather dangerous by late rains. The river here was a good width, and the bridge much sunk in the centre. Above the bridge a short distance, the two torrents forming the Girree meet,

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