had marked her career since she parted from the band with Lord Haverdale. "At last he left me," she continued; "he, for whom I had forgotten all, forsook me for another. I knew that his love had died away, and I hated him. I knew her-the new companion of his shame-and I was content to be deserted; his treatment I felt full well would be punishment enough for her!" "You let him off uncommon easy, to be sure," said Shingle, with a sneering laugh; "that warn't like our old pal; your spirit was higher nor that when you lived along of us in the greenwood." 'No vulgar retaliation would have satisfied me," she said; "and besides, there was still a link which withheld the stroke-I had a child, a daughter." "Well!" said Shingle, as Ayesha faltered for the first time in her recital, "what become of her?" "She was taken from me, and to what hidingplace I could never learn. I have sought her in the prison and the palace, in the hovel, and on the road, but in vain," continued Ayesha, rising and pacing the miserable chamber with agitated strides in vain; and that was his work, and that has given spur to my revenge. No common fate shall hunt him down; his own deeds, laid clear as day, must bring his proud head to the block. That hour will be sweet-I have unsheathed the knife ere now to kill him as he slept; but the thought of that hour arrested my arm, and I flung the weapon away, and reclined my cheek by his, waiting until the minutes ripened to lull him to his fate." Shingle lay a silent listener amid his loathsome straw; the sternness of her last sentences had established in his mind the sentiment of her former supremacy. "Do we understand each other now?" she concluded suddenly, in her former impassive tone. "You are poor and sick, here is money; you are in danger, I will make you secure." "Real goold!" exclaimed Shingle, jingling the coins she had poured beside his pillow, real goold. I am yours, my queen; and we'll be true to our clan as we were in the old time." "Then remove from this execrable den with all speed, and meet me a week hence on London Bridge at midnight: I shall have work for you, and pay-remember-pay!" 66 Aye! aye! my queen, I'll be there-real goold, real goold!" And once more he chinked the accursed metal, that has brought so many human souls to infernal deeds; and the recollection of his illness and all sorrows else died away as he listened to its ring. "I'll be there, my queen." But she was gone! CHAP. XV. THE RIVER GLIDES INTO THE TROUBLED SEA. Who so happy as Marie, sad and forsaken no longer! The forlorn old mansion was a paradise now; if the wind sighed along its corridors, 'twas with Eolian sweetness; if the rats made holiday in the wainscot, or chased each othe down the echoing stair, 'twas mirthful company for happy Marie, and she laughed at their frolics until her dark curls danced again. So glad was the lone spirit that had found a mate. Jerningham scarcely understood the sentiment that bound him to her. It was not love: she was too young in mind and manner to give birth to it. Nor was it a lawless fancy, she was too innocent; nor the affection of a brother, that was too cold. He only felt that a pretty helpless child looked up to him for support amid the storms of life, clinging himself round his heart like the dependent vine around an oak, and for the present he inquired no further. Among the motives that had swayed him at first, there was one indeed less unselfish than the chivalric sense of protection. His purse showed no extraordinary plethora; and inexperienced as he was, the necessity of economy presented itself more and more strongly as his slender means diminished. For several days after his arrival, he had wandered through the great city, down streets that seemed endless, amid teeming multitudes that none could count, in order to gain a knowledge of the chief thoroughfares, as well as in the vain hope of stumbling over Revel. Face after face had Jerningham studied, still believing that the next or the next night be that of his friend. More than once he had run with breathless speed after a distant passer-by, only to meet with disappointment and an insolent stare. Half broken-hearted, he had given up the pursuit at last, consoling his regret with a determined belief that fate would bring them in contact again when they least expected it, and perhaps when fortune had begun to shine upon one or both. Fortune! The world was all before him where to choose. He had fixed upon this very morning to make the first essay to encounter that struggle with life, which is the penalty man pays for its possession. - So Marie had trudged forth, basket in hand, looking very important and matronly, as one charged with a great trust, and she purchased their déjeuner, and concealed the change mysteriously like a thrifty housewife; and now she was laying out the viands upon a ricketty three-legged stool in the cobwebbed drawing room. "There!" she said, as Jerningham entered from the apartment which he called his bedroom, though the bed consisted of a scanty blanket full of holes, and a moth-eaten military cloak, "there's the breakfast at last. But I wasn't lucky this morning: a woman ran up against me, and spilt some of the tea round the corner; and then the herrings, too--they're up again, threepence each!" And Marie raised her dark eyes. "Never mind," replied our hero; "we must pay for luxuries; and when we can't afford them any longer, we will console ourselves with the reflection, that those who want little are most like the gods, who want nothing:' there's philosophy for you, Marie." "And there's the bread-and-butter," said Marie, offering him the plate" they cut it hinner every day." "Small by degrees and beautifully less,' he murmured pensively; but to-day shall set us going, Marie; my very soul's in arms today,' as Revel would quote if he were here: poor fellow! you should have known him; such a capital hand at Shakspere." " There she is again!" exclaimed Marie suddenly, pointing to a female who stood on the other side of the street; "that's the woman who ran after me and spilt the tea-how she stares!" And she did stare, in a way that could not be mistaken, at the window by which they sat, and at them. Pressing her hand over her forehead, she turned away at last, muttering and shaking her head; and they followed her with their eyes until a turning hid her from their view. "She seemed poor like ourselves, and more wretched," said Jerningham; "but lest I, too, should utterly sink into the Slough of Despond, it is time to begin business." And while he arranged his toilet, and Marie brushed his hat, as if his success in life depended upon its smoothness, the stern Ayesha strode away upon her homeward path from her interview with Shingle. Why had she looked so long and so wistfully upon the bright countenance of Marie ? Speedily forgetting their mysterious visitant, Jerningham finished the arrangement of his attire, and started down the creaking stairs upon his first essay in life-but not alone. Though Marie was bound by her tether, and dared not leave the house to accompany him, he bare in his bosom something not less cherished -a companion that had soothed his schoolboy leisure, a creation of his fecund brain, a mental child, which he loved with all the fondness of paternity. During his listless hours at Vandersplutter Academy, he had written a farce; and now retouched, revised, it was folded in the breast-pocket of his coat, and oh! how the bosom throbbed as it pressed against his heartstrings! He kept his hand upon it, lest it should escape from its asylum, and walked forth with the air of a father carrying his first-born. ception, decided him even more firmly in favour of an appeal to Greville. Not, however, in his former haunts was the brilliant writer to be discovered; not in the snug little box beside the Thames, where he had poured forth the dazzling treasures of his intellect, and entertained such pleasant little coteries of "merrie fellows" at the festive board. Misfortune had fallen upon Greville with the iron hands of the law. Thirty years since the press was still in fetters, and genius must tread very gingerly when it approached the hallowed fanes of power. So the eagle had been brought down from his eyrie, and it was in Temple Place, within the rules prescribed by soi-disant justice, that Jerningham found his friend. On being shown up, however, into his presence, he did not find his case to be as utterly deplorable as he had anticipated. The apart ment was gay and elegant in its adornments; nothing was wanting, even to the extent of a profusion of exotics and flowers to cheat the captive into oblivion of his captivity. Greville himself was sitting at a table covered with piles of letters, papers, proofs, and writing materials; and two or three printers' devils, looking very demure and dirty, were waiting before him with their paper-caps in hand. His eyes might have been a shade more thoughtful, and the dark curls more thinly scattered round the clear expansion of his head and brow; but otherwise time, while adding dignity, had reft no softer grace away, and there still played round his lips the humour that had marked his earlier day. He gave a warm welcome to Jerningham, and laughed heartily over the evasion of the Vandersplutters, and his subsequent adventures. When the recital was concluded, our hero went on to explain his views with regard to the adoption of a literary career; and then, and not till then, Greville assumed a more solemn tone. He urgently endeavoured to dissuade him. "You had better be a grocer than a literateur," said Greville; " you will stand a better chance of dying worth a plum!"" "I am afraid the die is cast," replied Jerningham. "Look at me!" continued Greville; "after working a quarter of a century in the ranks of literature, I am here. Like myself, you may become famous and penniless. Think of the many inevitable hours of sorrow and sickness, when the mind will not do its spiriting gently,' but must be goaded to its task with painful effort, or still more direful stimulus. A breath may disturb the equilibrium of those mental powers which form your stock-in-trade; an indigested piece of beef may lay them prostrate: no, no, my dear fellow, do not trust for your liveli hood to well-turned phrases and pointed epigrams; avoid, as Hamlet says, words, words, words!'" The object of his journey was to procure an interview with Greville, who might, he felt, be better trusted with the secret of his present position than the lofty Lord Haverdale. Indeed the conduct of his titled guardian, in leaving his remonstrances unheeded, had graven no agreeable sentiments in our hero's mind; and the "Fame is something-something for which doubt of finding him in town, and the still men have died, but which never, believe me, greater uncertainty regarding his probable re-added a charm to life; and as to country "But fame and one's country are something," urged Jerningham. “Aye, man is wedded to his country!" And that is the reason man always quarrels with her," replied Greville; "the harmony of wedlock is proverbial. But we literateurs cannot forget that men of letters are encouraged in every state of Europe except the greatest; even in poor stricken Italy literature is respected-in England it starves!" Greville spoke with some degree of asperity, for he was conscious of great services which ingratitude had left unrewarded. Happily, since his time literature has found its proper patron in the People, and no longer need court the approval of rank or royalty. Before they had proceeded further in their colloquy, the door opened, and a third party entered the sanctum sanctorum of the editor. He was a tall, spare man, with a dark, watchful eye, and a gait suspicious and stealthy, and a profusion of roguish corkscrew curls clustered over the shrewdest and most scampish countenance in the world. Greville introduced him to Jerningham as Mr. Michael Brent, and they saluted each other accordingly. Sorry I'm so late," he said; " but the fact is, there were some children playing upon the scaffolding at Drury Lane, and as everybody seemed to think they would fall and kill themselves, I waited to write the article." "No accident occurred, I hope," exclaimed Jerningham. “Unfortunately not!" responded Mr. Michael Brent. "A nice heart yours must be !" thought Jerning ham. Yet he misjudged him; for Michael Brent, who got his living by miscellaneous uses of the pen, contemplated human misery, even as a doctor doth, with the eye of business. And just as your leech beholds nothing in a broken leg but the bill to be charged for setting it, so Michael Brent viewed an alarming accident in the light of so many columns at so much a line. When he had finished his business with the editor, Jerningham's prospects were duly discussed. The farce having been produced, it was handed over for perusal to Michael Brent, who took great pains to make himself agreeable to our hero, and offered to show him everything that was worth seeing, and put him up to every known dodge under the sun; and with the intent of commencing this proceeding, he proposed taking him that evening to a soirée at the suburban mansion of the Baroness Flamingo, a literary lady of fashionable celebrity. CHAP. XVI. THE CONSPIRATORS. It was midnight upon old London Bridge, and the solemn rays of the lamps shone faintly and fitfully from its dim recesses along the gliding river below. The wayfarers were few, and they went and came with the noiseless tread of impalpable shadows, for the howling wind bore away the sound of their footsteps upon its wings, and the flickering light only defined their forms at uncertain intervals. The streets of London always impose something like awe upon the disturber of their nocturnal solitude. Even the drunken brawler, who would hiccup forth the chorus of a bacchanalian song, feels his voice die away in gloomy echoes that revenge the profanity. And now the passers by moved on as silently under night's mournful influence as if they were mere dark reflections of hovering clouds, or phantoms of traitor-citizens whose heads had been impaled upon the bridge's buttresses in times of civil feud. As the minutes flew on, these late loiterers were seen no more, and but one figure was discernible, besides the occasional watch-it was Shingle, who leaned over the parapet, listening to the rush of the flood-tide as it whirled through the narrow arches; and ever and anon he looked restlessly around, with the impatience of one who is compelled to remain inactive while all his powers are nerved for enterprise. He was subsiding into angry fretfulness at the delay, when the measured splash of an oar rose from the river beneath, and a boat grated against the landing-place. The dark form of a woman was visible in the prow. She scanned narrowly the outline of the bridge, and as Shingle stood upright upon the ledge, she recognized him, and made a signal, which he immediately obeyed, by descending to the water side. She motioned him to enter, and in another instant he was borne up the stream sitting by the side of the stern Ayesha. "It's a dark night," said Shingle; as if he sought to relieve the oppressive gloom by the sound of a human voice. "Dark as the doom that must fall on those we hate!" returned Ayesha in a low tone, that was distinct to him, but inaudible to the rowers; "are you prepared to serve me faithfully and without faltering?" 66 Aye, aye! the needle as guides men along the sea shan't be truer I can't forget the old time, my queen." "You will have to leave England," she continued. "Well, I shan't sorrow for that," he replied; "there ain't much safety for me here, and it isn't pleasant to sleep in the softest bed with one's head in a noose; besides, wine and pleasure is cheaper in forin parts." "In France money will gratify every wish," she answered; "so if that is all your desire, you may rest content." "And don't it bring no pleasure to you?" said Shingle; "if I was rich, I'd make much of myself, as the great folk does, and try if there wasn't happiness to be found in fine houses and broad lands. Oh, it must be rare to ride in a coach, and eat off silver, and be sarved by waiting-men in state, and then have nothin' to do but rest-one wants quiet when the blood of youth is coolin'." "Rest!" responded Ayesha; and for the first time during their colloquy her voice subsided into a tone of aching sadness. There is no rest for me in this life-no, no more, no more !-when one fever is lit in a woman's heart, it burns the frame away before it dies. There is no hell like disappointed love thirsting for revenge." She bowed her head between her hands in an attitude of such dire despair as forbade interruption; and Shingle lolled back upon his seat, pondering over the strange prospects that the future seemed likely to reveal. So completely was Ayesha's character altered, that the sentiments of love which had once swayed him were utterly extinct. The lover, who had not hesitated to attempt the removal of a rival by murder, now looked upon his desired mistress with nothing but an interested view to his own benefit, and a kind of awe at the stern passions which time had given birth to in her bosom. There was, moreover, a craven taint in Shingle, which bowed before Ayesha's dauntless soul as a familiar spirit might quail before the magician who commanded it. She held him securely by the two strongest bonds that can chain a cowardinterest and fear. Stoutly plied the rowers, and onward flew the boat, gliding darkly over the darker waters; and as the wind moaned round them in funereal gusts, Ayesha slowly rose again from her declining attitude. Her agitation was brief, for it had been consuming. In her former calm tone she proceeded to instruct him in the part he was to play; and though she unfolded little, there was enough to rivet her listener, and convince him that if profit were to be reaped, danger must also be incurred. She concluded by giving him a small slip of paper, which was to serve as a pass, and before he could summon words either for remonstrance or reply, the rowers rested upon their oars, and the boat glided to a deserted landing-place in the neighbourhood of Battersea Fields. 66 "Here it is!" replied Shingle, mayhap you can read it ;" and he showed him the pass provided by Ayesha. "I wasn't brought up a scholard myself; but them as gave it me made it all right, no question." "Aye, aye! there are few lingos as I ain't got a smatterin' on, and not much credit due neither; a man ought to larn something after goin' the long voyage for thirty year and more; here, Seacat, lend a hand here with a lighthallo! Seacat ahoy!" The roar of the seaman's final hail was followed by the speedy appearance of a man similarly attired, who bore a dull hazy lantern in his hand. Like the other, he showed all the characteristics of the confirmed tar-a race easily distinguishable from the amphibious animal, half landsman, half sailor, only found navigating about the coasts. As soon as this latter son of Neptune could steady himself, which was ma naged with some difficulty, by propping him up in a corner-much extra grog having disposed his body to lurch-the rays of the lantern were brought to bear upon the paper, and they proceeded to scrutinize it together. "It seems all right," said the former, "though it ain't easy to read with the glim a dancin' about like the will-o'-the-wisps in these here cursed morasses; just heave-to, here, Seacat, while I show it to him!" "Bear away!" hiccupped the other, "and I'll keep spell. These are queer dockerments to be found in a ship's papers, but it's all fair sailing and honest colours, no doubt; yes," concluded Seacat, sagaciously waggling his head, and winking his drunken eyes, "I says it's all above board, cos why-I judges men's principles by their grog; if you can trust 'em in their brandy, you may trust 'em with untold ship's pay; now their brandy was good, so in course their colours is honest." Obediently to her direction, Shingle landed. By the time Seacat had contrived to deliver alone, and made his way through the damp himself of this brandy-and-water soliloquy, the grass and mud to a gloomy building that stood less inebriate sailor returned, and beckoned about a hundred yards from the river. The Shingle to enter. Having secured the door, house, or hut-for it was little better-appeared he then led the way to an upper apartment, uninhabited; the shutters were closed, the win-which was so sparely lighted that at first the dows rattled neglectedly in their frames; and when he knocked at the weather-worn portal, the appeal had no other effect than waking the birds whose nests were in the chimneys and on the slanting eaves. He knocked again, and again there was no response save the flutter of the awakened swallow and owl hovering about him ominously. No glimpse of light was visible, nor could he hear the echo of any sound from within; and he was about to retreat to the boat, under the belief that a mistake had occurred, when on casting a final glance at the impenetrable door, he was startled to find it wide open, and a rough sailor fellow standing before him on the threshold. "What's in the wind now, mate?" exclaimed the man bluffly; "it's strange land hereaway to be wandering in, when the night's dark and the moon hid in dirty clouds-what's your busi ness?" various objects it contained were indistinguishable. A minute or two, however, accustomed him to the gloom, and he saw that some twenty men, principally foreign in their mien and attire, were spread about the room, conversing in groups. Their language, though he could not follow it, he knew to be French, the character of the sounds having become familiar to him during the wanderings of his involuntary exile, and the style of their beards, and their aspect generally, were familiar to him as those of a large number of malcontents then existing among our volatile neighbours. His further observations were disturbed by a summons to present himself at the lower end of the room; and at length he stood before an individual, whose name was destined not long after to waken emotions of love and pity in the mind of France. He was an old man, yet older in the wear and travail of life than in years; and he had the restless eye and furrowed cheek which denote a spirit accustomed to resolute scheming. He bent a searching gaze upon Shingle from the orbs deep set beneath their penthouse lid. "You received this from Milor Haverdale," he said at last, glancing for a moment at the written pass. Shingle nodded assent, as he had been instructed. And do you know," continued his questioner in a marked Gallic accent, "what purpose has brought you here?" 66 Pretty well, but not entire," replied Shingle; howsomever, that's nothing-I owes his Lordship such a good turn as don't make me particular;" and he laughed a devilish laugh: "gratitude ain't quite dead and buried yet, and I owes him more than even this will pay back!" "The ship lies below," said the first speaker; "and in another hour the tide will serve that bears her hence-you will be ready!” With these brief orders he waved him away, and Shingle was led by his former conductor to the lower part of the house. There, in the dusky hall, he found Seacat busily discussing the cognac and a pipe; and he and the other sailor were not long in following his example. The liquor was at the last ebb, and so was the sobriety of the revellers, when the arrival of half-a-dozen more men, with a couple of shallops, at the anchorage opposite the house, warned them that the time for departure had arrived. The assemblage from above filed on before, and seated themselves in the boats; the sailors took their positions beside the oars, and Seacat, wrought to perfect self-command again by the magical word Duty, placed himself at the helm of the foremost boat. As Shingle stepped on board, he saw Ayesha's skiff floating a little distance from them in the midway stream; and she waved her hand to him with a gesture of triumphant adieu. At the same moment the old man, his questioner, leapt beside him; and while the rowers obeyed his signal for departure by bending to their oars, he placed another pass in the hand of Shingle. It was signed Paul Didier! (To be continued.) Shall I gaze on the landscapes in needle-work traced? Those records of Woman's skill, patience, and taste! Yet why should I dwell on a limited part world! The gathering nations have answered our call; Hail, Palace of Industry, destined to prove By the highest and noblest, and best of the land, A FAREWELL TO THE CRYSTAL PALACE. BY MRS. ABDY. Farewell to the Palace, gay, crowded, and bright, That I know not where last to bestow my farewell. CANZONET. LOVE. HOPE. Dost thou seek love?-thou fliest Wild harmonies enchant thy heart-thou diest Comes there a hope ?-thou sailest Forth in a crescent boat of sapphire dyes, To where sweet climes attract thee; The sea is molten emeralds, and thou hailest The home of flowers, whose fragrancies distract the With gladsome shout, and soul-upheaving sighs. ALFRED L. HUXFORD, |