tience and courage, the whole fleet were driven back to the shores of Hol. land in confusion and disarray, and wide-spread alarm took the place of confident hope and expectation.

At the Hague, prayers were hourly offered up in all the churches for the safety of the expedition, and, throughout the whole of Holland, anxious hearts invoked the special intervention and aid of the Almighty. Nor were the prayers unheard. Not a single soldier, not one individual, not one ship, was lost in the storm; and almost before the court at Whitehall had heard of the disaster, all damage had been repaired, and the fleet set sail once more.

66

'By-the-bye," said Russell, "do you recollect the spy whom we discovered at the Hague? I find that amongst the papers which we took from him, and which I have since carefully examined, is a note from your brother Reginald; it is signed R. St. V., meaning, I presume, St. Victor, as he is generally known by that name now. Here it is," he continued, opening his pocketbook, and selecting from a bundle of papers a small note, and handing it to Henry.

"No!" said Henry, "I will not read it. It is my brother's, and ill-judged as I consider his conduct, and little as I know of his appearance and character from my own knowledge of late years, still he is a brother, and let his faults be sacred in my eyes."

66

"Right," said Russell, warmly; 'right, my dear Oakwood. But this note concerns him not; it relates but to the designs of the Queen, who purposes to leave London should the Prince land, and your brother seems in her confidence. The conclusion also throws some light on another subject:-'If the Marquis be not altogether convinced by what I have already said, tell him that Miss Oakwood has two brothers, and that one at least will promise to him his aid and assistance.'

Henry Oakwood started up, and

paced the narrow confines of his cabin hurriedly.

"Reginald promise Lucy's hand to Di Paleotti ! Di Paleotti engaged in negotiations with James and with William! What a depth of treachery!

"I always distrusted him," said Russell, "but this is convincing."

"It is plain, then," said Oakwood, reseating himself, "that while he had almost won on me to give my consent to his marriage with my sister, he had played the same game with Reginald; so that, whichever cause triumphed, he was certain of success."

66

Italian-like," said Russell; "but he has been foiled."

"Great cunning and duplicity often overreach themselves," replied Henry. But, no more of this; let us but think of our country now-of this hereafter."

66

"The noblest motive is the public good," quoted Russell, adapting the oftrepeated line of Virgil to the moment. "Let us to work." And soon the table was covered with plans, charts, and maps of the coast.

Meanwhile, and as the gallant fleet bore steadily on their destined course, from the dark, heathery Borderland of Scotland to the white-breasted cliffs of Dover, from the high top of Snowdon, already whitened with the wintry snows, to the low swamps and fens of Lincolnshire, from the Peak of Derbyshire to the mines of Cornwall, whereever the spirits of the true, the brave, and the good of England met that night, arose to God the prayers of the mighty nation. It was as if the soul of freedom were panting to escape from its prison, and to return to the times when the stern Protector gave liberty to the people, wrung from the faithless Stuart.

A People as true, a Stuart as faithless-a People as valiant, a Stuart as weak-a People as earnest, a Stuart as insincere were now again before the world. Again was the battle of freedom to be fought; and, throughout the length and breadth of England,`for those long, drear November nights, thousands and thousands watched and waited for the signal which should tell them the Deliverer was nigh,

He came. Upon the anniversary of the day when the Three Estates of the Realm had been saved from the destruction prepared for them by Fawkes and

his co-conspirators-upon that day did William of Orange land upon our shores.

The morning of the 5th November 1688 was misty and cloudy, and fears were entertained on board the fleet that the expedition could not land. Oakwood had seen that wonderful spectacle, so eloquently described by our greatest living historian, when the coasts of France and England, Picardy and Kent, were covered with multitudes of anxious gazers on the progress of the

fleet; he had seen the squadron passing the straits, he had heard the music of warfare on the bosom of the deep, and all the spirit of his father rose within him, and he despaired not.

The sun arose, his beams dispersed the clouds and mist, and, to use the words of Macaulay, "under the mild light of an autumnal noon, the fleet turned back, passed round the lofty cape of Berry Head, and rode safe into the harbour of Torbay."

MACAULAY'S Lays.

FROM the bold heights which surrounded the clear, deep, blue waters of Torbay, and from a spot where an opening in the hills commanded a complete view of the noble harbour, and where a small wood crested the summit of the range, did one of the most ardent cavaliers, who supported the Stuart cause, gaze on the landing of the troops of William of Orange. With one hand resting on the saddle of his horse, which stood patiently beside him, and with the other shading his eyes to behold the arrival of the fleet, stood Reginald Oakwood, with no companion save his page, who rode beside him. For four November days had he watched the progress of the fleet from the silver-edged shores of Kent, by the headlands of Sussex, passing the Isle of Wight, the Needles, and St. Alban's Head, and he now beheld them safely riding in Torbay.

The November sun, as it lit the fair scene before him, and fell on his anxious face, revealed to him the magnitude of the forces, and the extent of the danger; and never before had his naturally gay and light heart been so depressed and sad, or his feelings so desponding.

His little page, who rode beside him, and whose gay court dress was now changed for a sad-coloured livery, looked upon the scene with far different emotions-the inspiriting sounds of the martial music, the gaiety, colour, and glitter of the uniforms, the voices of the

BYRON.

soldiers, the waving of the standards, the clash of arms, the variety of the vessels, all attracted his eyes and captivated his ears, while he could scarcely refrain from joining in the shout of exultation which broke from the mighty multitude as the Prince landed from his boat, and planted his standard on the shores of Devonshire.

66

Silence, sir!" said Reginald Oakwood, angrily, as he heard the half-uttered cry of his attendant. "Silence, boy. Remember what those men areeither traitors to their king, or invaders of our country."

The boy bit his lip, and replied not ; yet still his heart swelled with pleasure at the sight, for there is something very captivating to a youthful mind in the pomp, glitter, and pageantry of war; and boyhood stops not to inquire whether the cause be right or wrong, if his senses be gratified, and his feelings, not his reason, appealed to.

Reginald watched for some minutes longer. He saw boat after boat leave the vessels, he beheld the peasantry hastening in crowds to the beach to join, not to repulse, the invaders, and he felt that there was not a moment to be lost.

"To horse, sir!" he cried, addressing his page, and spring into his saddle. "To horse, sir! To-morrow's noon must see me at Whitehall." And setting spurs to their horses, they soon left Torbay behind them.

By the woods of Chudleigh and the spires of Exeter, through the fair fields of Honiton and the silver streams of Wellington, did those horsemen pursue their anxious way; and ere the shades of night fell over the landscape, they had crossed the boundaries of Somersetshire, and had entered Wilts.

They had changed horses at Wellington, and their new steeds were already beginning to flag. "We must change horses again," said Reginald to his page. "I think we must be near Wilton; yet no! we are some miles above it. We are nearer the Avon than the Wily."

66

"There is a little hamlet on the Avon, Heathcote, where we may procure horses for the journey," replied the page, "but it is close to Sir Arthur Sackville's, and it might be dangerous." Oh, no!" replied Reginald, carelessly; "the South were not prepared for a rising, and most probably Sir Arthur Sackville is with the Prince. For Heathcote, then; but which road do we take ?"

As he spoke, they had arrived on the banks of the Avon, and the road branched into two very different directions the one crossed the river by an old gray bridge, the other wound along the bank, and through the shade of thick woods.

"The bridge, sir," replied the page, "for I remember being here once when I served Lady Sackville; the other is the road to the Hall."

So saying. they crossed the river, whose waters were scarcely revealed to them by the struggling light, and proceeded on their way to Heathcote.

They hed scarcely aroused the landlord of the little inn, explained their requirements, and had the horses preparing, when the trampling of cavalry, and the glitter of arms, was apparent, coming down the long street of the village; and Reginald had barely time to mount the fresh horse, when a body of cavalry, commanded by Sir Arthur Sackville, rode past the inn door.

The light enabled their leader to discern the two horsemen, Reginald and the page, the latter just mounting, and, with the rapidity of lightning, he turned his horse's head towards them.

Reginald Oakwood felt that if Sir Arthur arrested him, and prevented the intelligence of the landing of the Prince

of Orange reaching Whitehall, that much would be gained by the adherents of William, and lost to the cause of the King.

He hesitated not a moment, but driving the spurs deep into his horse's side, he leaped the fence which divided the inn garden from the street, and dashing down the slope, a few bounds brought him to the river. The river forded, he found himself on a level road, and at a hard gallop, the noise of the pursuit still sounding in his ears. A moment's consideration assured him that he was still at the right side of the Avon, and eagerly and anxiously he pursued his midnight way. Half an hour's hard riding brought him to the borders of Hampshire, and he slackened rein to pause and listen. No sound broke the tranquillity of the night, save the roaring of the wintry wind through the leafless branches of the forest, and he concluded that the pursuit had been given over when his young companion was captured, for he had seen Sir Arthur seize upon the page as he attempted to follow his master towards the river.

On, and on, and on, through fertile Hampshire, by the towers of Farnham into the broad fields of Surrey, and then the waters of the Wey were crossed, and Brentford was in sight. Twice had he exchanged horses since his adventure at Heathcote, and now, travel-stained and weary, he approached the termination of his journey.

ing a private drawer in his cabinet, he produced a copy of the Prince's mani

festo.

The bishops looked at each other, and White, the Bishop of Peterborough, assured the monarch that the declaration was not genuine ; while the mild Sancroft, moved with indignation, recounted to the Roman Catholic King the sufferings of the clergy of the Established Church. "I will sign no document," he concluded, "of a political nature."

All the bishops persisted in their refusal-the King lost his temper. He commanded them to sign on their allegiance; and seeing that they remained firm, he cried, "I have done; I will urge you no further. Since you will not help me, I must trust to myself and my arms. Leave me !"

Scarcely had the words been spoken, and as the bishops, glad of their escape, were retiring, when a hurried step was heard in the antechamber, the door was

flung open, and Reginald St. Victor Oakwood knelt before the King.

My Liege!" he cried the Prince has landed at Torbay ;" and then, overcome with his fatigue and his long and ceaseless exertions, he fainted at his monarch's feet. It was done. Noon had indeed told the news in Whitehall, and more than one of the bishops, as they heard it, and looked on the King, trembling and pale with emotion, secretly thanked God that it was at length true, and that their religion would now be secure from insult, and themselves from persecution.

And he, the sovereign of the fair realm of England, how did he feel as the intelligence smote upon his heart, and as he beheld one of his favourite officers lying senseless at his feet? A voice seemed to ring in his ears, saying, “The sceptre and the crown are thine no longer-thou art a king no more!"