moaning to himself-and in the morning would require the utmost persuasion to induce him to go out and see his patients. He was worse than ever, after consulting the lawyer whom he had employed to conduct the prosecution. There was, as Margaret was brought unwillingly to perceive, some mystery in the case; for he eagerly took his letters from the post, going to the door as soon as he heard the knock, and concealing their directions from her. As the week passed away, his nervous misery still increased. One evening the candles were not lighted --he was sitting over the fire in a listless attitude, resting his head on his hand, and that supported on his knee,-Margaret determined to try an experiment, to see if she could not probe, and find out the nature of the sore that he hid with such constant care. She took a stool and sat down at his feet, taking his hand in hers. the heart she loved so dearly, and she meant to strive to lighten the life, and to conceal for ever that she had heard of the burden; but now she thinks-0, my husband! how you must have suffered—” as he bent down his head on her shoulder and cried terrible man's tears. "God be thanked!" he said at length. "You know all, and you do not shrink from O, what a miserable, deceitful coward I have been! Suffered! Yes-suffered enough to drive me mad; and if I had but been brave, I might have been spared all this long twelve months of agony. But it is right I should have been punished. And you knew it even before we were married, when you might have drawn back." me. "I could not: you would not have broken off your engagement with me, would you, under the like circumstances, if our cases had been reversed?" "I do not know. Perhaps I might, for I am not so brave, so good, so strong as you, my Margaret. How could I be? Let me tell you more: We wandered about, my mother and I, thankful that our name was such a common one, but shrinking from every allusion "Listen, dearest James, to an old story I once heard. It may interest you. There were two orphans, boy and girl in their hearts, though they were a young man and young woman in years. They were not brother and sister, and by-and-by they fell in love; just in—in a way which no one can understand who the same fond silly way you and I did, you remember. Well, the girl was amongst her own people, but the boy was far away from his, -if indeed he had any alive. But the girl loved him so dearly for himself, that sometimes she thought she was glad that he had no one to care for him but just her alone. Her friends did not like him as much as she did; for, perhaps, they were wise, grave, cold people, and she, I daresay, was very foolish. And they did not like her marrying the boy; which was just stupidity in them, for they had not a word to say against him. But, about a week before the marriage day was fixed, they thought they had found out something-my darling love, don't take away your hand-don't tremble so, only just listen! Her aunt came to her and said:- Child, you must give up your lover: his father was tempted, and sinned, and if he is now alive he is a transported convict. The marriage cannot take place.' But the girl stood up and said:-'If he has known this great sorrow and shame, he needs my love all the more. I will not leave him, nor forsake him, but love him all the better. And I charge you, aunt, as you hope to receive a blessing for doing as you would be done by, that you tell no one!' I really think that girl awed her aunt, in some strange way, into secrecy. But, when she was left alone, she cried long and sadly, to think what a shadow rested on VOL. I. has not been conscious of an inward sore. It Then recollection of my father. I remembered him | dimly, but always as angry and violent with my mother. My poor, gentle mother! Margaret, she loved my father; and for her sake I have tried, since her death, to feel kindly towards his memory. Soon after my mother's death I came to know you, my jewel, my treasure!" After a while he began again. "But, O Margaret! even now you do not know the worst. After my mother's death I found a bundle of law papers-of newspaper reports about my father's trial. Poor soul! why she had kept them, I cannot say. They were covered over with notes in her handwriting; and, for that reason, I kept them. It was so touching to read her record of the days spent by her in her solitary innocence, while he was embroiling himself deeper and deeper in crime. I kept this bundle (as I thought so safely!) in a secret drawer of my bureau; but that wretch Crawford has got hold of it. I missed the papers that very morning. The loss of them was infinitely worse than the loss of the money; and now Crawford threatens to bring out the one terrible fact, in open court, if he can; and his lawyer may do it, I believe. At any rate, to have it blazoned out to the world,-I who have spent my life in fearing this hour! But most of all for you, Margaret! Still-if only it could be avoided! Who will employ the son of Brown, the noted forger? I shall lose all my practice. Men will look askance at me as I enter their doors. They will drive me into crime. I sometimes fear that crime is hereditary! O Margaret! what am I to do?" What can you do?" she asked. "I can refuse to prosecute." "There!" she said, passing it to her husband; "he will see that I know all, and I suspect he has reckoned something on your tenderness for me." Margaret's note only enraged, it did not daunt Crawford. Before a week was out every one who cared knew that Doctor Brown, the rising young physician, was son of the notorious Brown the forger. All the consequences took place which he had anticipated. Crawford had to suffer a severe sentence; and Doctor Brown and his wife had to leave their house and go to a smaller one; they had to pinch and to screw, aided in all most zealously by the faithful Christie. But Doctor Brown was lighter-hearted than he had ever been before in his conscious lifetime. His foot was now firmly planted on the ground, and every step he rose was a sure gain. People did say that Margaret had been seen, in those worst times, on her hands and knees cleaning her own doorstep. But I don't believe it, for Christie would never have let her do that. And, as far as my own evidence goes, I can only say that, the last time I was in London, I saw a brass-plate with Doctor James Brown upon it, on the door of a handsome house in a handsome square. And as I looked, I saw a brougham drive up to the door, and a lady get out, and go into "Let Crawford go free, you knowing him to that house, who was certainly the Margaret be guilty?" "I know him to be guilty." "Then, simply, you cannot do this thing. You let loose a criminal upon the public." "But if I do not, we shall come to shame and poverty. It is for you I mind it, not for myself. I ought never to have married." 66 'Listen to me. I don't care for poverty; and as to shame, I should feel it twenty times more grievously if you and I consented to screen the guilty, from any fear or for any selfish motives of our own. I don't pretend that I shall not feel it, when first the truth is known. But my shame will turn into pride, as I watch you live it down. You have been rendered morbid, dear husband, by having something all your life to conceal. Let the world know the truth, and say the worst. You will go forth a free, honest, honourable man, able to do your future work without fear." Frazer of old days-graver, more portly, more stern I had almost said. But, as I watched and thought, I saw her come to the dining room window with a baby in her arms, and her whole face melted into a smile of infinite sweetness. THE EXCHANGE. We pledged our hearts, my love and I, - Her father's love she bade me gain; ROBIN HOOD AND HIS MERRY MEN AT SHERWOOD FOREST. The merry pranks he play'd would ask an age to tell, Of archery they had the very perfect craft, At long-buts, short, and hoyles, each one could cleave the pin. No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way, To him before he went, but for his pass must pay. The widow in distress he generously relieved, DRAYTON. THE STORY OF MARULLO. [Charles Shirley Brooks, torn 1815, died in London 23d February, 1874. He studied for the bar, but adopted literature as his profession. He began his literary career as a dramatist, and produced a number of successful plays, amongst them Honour and Riches; The Cole; The Lorther Arcade, &c. He was even more successful as a novelist, and Aspin Court, The Gordian Knot, The Silver Cord, and Sooner or Later obtained a large share of public favour. In 1854 he visited Russia, Turkey, and Egypt; and the letters descriptive Morning Chronicle, were afterwards collected and published in Longman's "Travellers' Library." For years he was one of the principal contributors to Pench; and on the death of Mark Lemon. he succeeded him as editor of that journal. Mr. Brooks wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine a series of Tales from the Old Dramatists, and has succeeded in imbuing with new life several of the works of our early play-writers. The following is one of the tales, and in this, as in all his writings, will be found humour, delicacy, and vigour.] of his travels, which first appeared in the London I purpose, with the aid of an old friend, to tell an old story. But I have reasons for thinking that it will not be old to all who may do me the honour of reading it. If I satisfy myself at the end that I have not quite spoiled my friend's tale, I will mention his name; if I do not, I shall only say, "Ah, but you should hear him tell it." A A great many years ago, in a certain magnificent island, rich in all that nature can do for islands, and richer in a race of brave men and virtuous women-take note, if you please, that this is not a satire, nor an allegory, but a story-there was great alarm, confusion, and trouble. For which, this was the reason. strong nation, that dwelt at some distance from the island, but not too far for war-ships to cross a sea, and throw an overwhelming force upon the coast, coveted larger empire than it possessed, and sent forth a powerful fleet against the islanders. It is convenient to give the island a name, so we will call it Sicily, and we may as well call its ambitious and greedy enemy Carthage. The beautiful city in which most of the incidents of our story occurred, we will name Syracuse. ought not to defend themselves when attacked, or that a government with false economical principles had starved their armaments, for they lived a great many years ago, and had not arrived at that point of enlightenment. But the fact is, that the Syracusans were rich and luxurious; and though, as has been told, the island was rich in brave men and virtuous women, it abounded aiso with men and women who were neither rich nor virtuous, and these had given the tone to public opinion, such as it was. They had splendid houses, lovely gardens, beautiful equipages, and large wealth; and while they could enjoy these things, all good in their way, they cared nothing about the general welfare. There was a show of an army and a navy, and the services were favourites, especially with the ladies. The naval and military reviews enabled the young officers to display themselves in gorgeous uniforms, and to look like heroes; but the heroic spirit was wanting. When the time came for the hard and cruel work of war, the Syracusans shrunk froin it, and felt that they had no chance against men with whom soldiering meant business, and not an excuse for delightful and picturesque spectacle. I need not say that everybody, at the crisis, began to lay the blame of the helplessness on everybody but himself, and rushed about declaring that the people who had brought the island into such a shameful condition ought to be burned; but such declarations, though they might be true, did very little good. The Carthaginian fleet was coming, and people told one another of the terrible cruelty of the nation, and how captives were put to death by prolonged tortures when Carthage wanted a particularly pleasant holiday. Some little comfort they found (while the better among them were showing a good example, hastily fortifying, drilling volunteers, and acting the part of brave men, who would not go down without a fight) in saying that the Carthaginian admiral was but a weak young fellow, named Gisco, whose life had been passed in admiring himself and making ladies admire him, and who would be seized with a headache if he wore his helmet and plume. That was not much. But there was better comfort for them. The wiser men among them had met in council, and had resolved on sending to ask aid from another The Syracusans, I say, were in a state of great alarm. For not only did they know that the Carthaginian fleet was a very strong one, manned by skilful sailors, and bringing soldiers of extraordinary fierceness and admir-state-let us say Corinth. The Corinthians able discipline, but they knew that they themselves had much neglected the duty of being armed against an enemy. It was not that any Syracusans were of opinion that people had a great general and a fine army, and their rulers were not deaf to the argument that if Carthage took Sicily, Corinth would be in danger; for in those days statesmen looked ahead a little, and were not content with keeping matters smooth for their own time. But the Corinthians imposed certain very stringent conditions. They were not going to fight for an ally that might rain them by imbecility. If they sent Timoleon, their general, with his army to help Syracuse, the islanders must accept him as a dictator for the war-time, and submit to whatever he chose to ordain for the good of the cause. This the vainer part did not like at all, but they were overruled by the wiser part; and General Timoleon arrived to take command in Syracuse, and to defy the Carthaginians. starved, no consideration was paid to their comforts: they were left without food till their owners had wearied themselves out at their banquets, and were obliged to lie about on the floors or the stairs until, perhaps far into the night, their tyrants had done their revel, when woe to the slave who did not spring at the first call to be ready with the torch and the carriage. They were oppressed more than was prudent, to rest the case no higher, for they murmured and repined, and made no secret of their joy that the Carthaginians were coming | to reduce the haughty Syracusans to the same condition as that of their unhappy slaves. Among them was a tall, handsome, and clever man, named Marullo, whom the prætor had bought as an attendant on Cleora's carriage, or to aid in carrying her litter when she chose that means of visiting. He did his duty well, but there was danger in his eye. He was never beaten: Cleora would not have permitted that, and if she would, I think that the angriest master would have thought twice before rousing Marullo's blood. The Corinthian general came, and all the So much for public affairs; now for private ones. The Prætor or Mayor of Syracuse was named Archidamus, and he had a son called Timagoras, and a beautiful and spirited daughter named Cleora. This young lady was of the kind to which the best women of all ages belong. She could love devotedly, but her love must rest upon a noble cbject, and she would be her lover's friend, confidante, and helpmate, not his toy and slave. She was as chaste as fair, and her nobility of nature was well known throughout Syracuse. The show-great folks of Syracuse assembled in the senatesoldiers and the fops and idlers knew better than to ask her in marriage, but there were two men, either of whom she might have wedded without self-sacrifice. One of these, at this time, had been got rid of. His name was Pisander, a gallant gentleman from Thebes, who was every way worthy of her. But her brother Timagoras favoured another suitor, Leosthenes, who was also a gallant soldier, but of a jealous and suspicious nature, though not a mean one. Whether the young lady had cared for Pisander or not does not matter now; he had been sent back, not over civilly, to Thebes, through the influence of the brother over the father. Leosthenes now found things in his favour, for Cleora had all admiration for the brave men who rallied for the defence of Syracuse, and he meant to win her love by some desperate achievement against the Carthaginians. On the whole, therefore, the brave Leosthenes was the only man who was altogether pleased with the condition of public affairs-such is the power of love. house to receive him. He was already a fav ourite with the ladies, by reason of his renown and by reason of his being a novelty; and while they sat waiting for him, some of the friskier matrons declared that they should be happy to kiss him. We may be sure that Cleora joined in none of this vulgar flippancy. She rejoiced that Syracuse was to be defended, but she felt with her father, and other grave men, that the terms of Corinth were humiliating to the Syracusans. Timoleon came, and after a proper reception he addressed them in a very stern way. He declared that he would not take the command unless they ratified the agreement that he was to be absolute. He was so far from kissing the ladies that the frisky sort pronounced him a bear, and set themselves against him. But the Syracusan authorities could only submit, and he was made absolute lord. Then did Timoleon make them a still sterner speech, pointing out how while they had spent worlds of gold in folly and luxury, and to please their wives (here more scowls from the matrons), they had neglected their defences and starved their sol ordered that all money in the possession of private people should be brought into the public treasury. Here it must be mentioned that in Syracuse the domestic institution of slavery existed, and the unfortunate slaves were generally ill-diers. This they could not deny. He then treated. Of course there were exceptions to this rule; there were some kind masters and mistresses. But for the most part the slaves were beaten on the least provocation, or without any; they were treated worse than beasts, for they were neglected and starved, or if not A terrible outery arose, but the dictator crushed opposition. He pointed out that they might deny the money if they liked, but that |