when I like, and do what I like; and stir my own fire. Hey dame! and so now for a song.

Eliza opened the instrument, and passed her fingers over the keys: she paused, and then commenced playing; but it was so languidly, with so little of that animation her light heart generally lent to her rapid finger, that the strains instantly jarred on the nicely distinguishing ear of her uncle. "Nay, pri'thee, my girl! thou art as many steps behind in that merry march as an unwilling recruit, or as Nicholas Neelthorpe when he went to be married; people thought he looked as if he was going to a funeral-and so he was the funeral of his own peace. Nay, stay; your finger is not light enough for a mirthful measure to night,` and my heart is not heavy enough for a sad one; so come and sit by me instead, and tell me what your aunt has been doing to make such a melancholy nightingale of my cheerful morning lark."

"Nonsense, Henry," said Mrs. Davenant, "there is nothing the matter."

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Eliza crossed the room to her uncle, who raised himself from his recumbent posture, to make room for her by his Come, there is something, I am sure. Light foot and light heart ever go together, though their owner weigh twenWhat straw has laid across your path? What bubble has burst? What feather flown away ?"

ty stone.

Mr. Davenant took both the hands of his niece within his own, and drew her towards him something wet fell upon his hand; he started and looked earnestly in her face-she burst into tears, and hid them on his shoulder.

Mr. Davenant's tone of gaiety was instantly sobered down to earnest alarm. "Eliza, what is all this?"

Without speaking she put a letter into his hand, and, disengaging herself from him, left the room.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked

Mr. Davenant of his wife, "what has come to the girl?"

"Indeed I don't know, but bad news is soon enough learnt. Look at the letter; that will explain."

"There is evil within it," returned Mr. Davenant, examining both the superscription and the seal," it is her father's hand.”

"Goodness me! What can be the matter! my heart misgives me."

So did Mr. Davenant's, for he turned the paper over and over in his hands, and examined every curve of the letters, and twisted it round and round, delaying to open it; like a man who knows the hand-writing of an often delayed dun, and cannot find courage to face the battery.

"Nay, Henry, let us know the worst. I'm upon thorns till I know what it's all about."

Mr. Davenant was prepared for unpleasant news, but the contents of this letter

were far more disagreeable than his worst anticipations.

"Mr. Massenburg sends for our Eliza." "She sha'nt go! I'm sure she sha'nt go! what can he want with her!" "She is his daughter, not ours.'

"She may be his daughter, but she is our child! Wasn't she born with us! wasn't she bred with us! Havn't we brought her up from a baby! Has she ever been a day out of our sight! Hav'n't I watched over her like a mother! done for her like a mother! loved her like a mother! Is not she more ours than his !" "We may feel so, but he does not." "What can he want with her! what can he do with her! While he rambles about with his gay acquaintance, where should she be? Besides, he has no right to interfere between us. Her poor mother put her into my arms, and with her dying breath gave her to me. You know that she said to me, 'You have no children of your own, my dear sister, let mine be

yours. Love her and cherish her for her poor mother's sake.' And you know how I cried over her, and promised that she should be as my own: and she said, 'It is enough. I have more confidence in her safety with you than with myself; and with this promise I feel that it is better for her I should die than live. I have written to her father not to remove her from you, at least for many years, and I do not think he will deny me that. Take her from me, my sister, lest the sight of her should make me wish to remain. Poor little innocent!' and with these words she kissed her,' poor little innocent, it is soon for thee to be motherless and almost fatherless-but perhaps better now than later! Thou hast gained a mother and a father, that will do better for thee than those thou art losing, and it is too soon for thee to know any regret. Bless thee my babe, and a better blessing than mine be over thee.'

And then she laid her head back