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"Dear Edward, how can you be content to vegetate in this spot ?" she would ask him-"in this spot where all the pleasures of life are as bounded as the view that for ever meets the wearied eye. This is a moral wilderness-a moral desert compared to your own noble country. What can detain you here?"

"Had you asked that question a few months ago, my dearest Helen, I would have answered, 'You were the magnet whose irresistible attraction compelled me to remain.' Would you not have me feel a sentiment of grateful regard for the country where I was so fortunate as to meet with you!

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"Thank you, Thornley, for the first part of your speech; but in answer to your question, I say, 'No.' There is a saying, 'Love me, love my dog;' but because you love me, I do not require you to love my country, since I must needs call this country mine. I confess (there is no harm in confessing it now) I should have been dreadfully disappointed had you gone away without me; but now that I may and can go with you, why should you remain in voluntary banishment? I do think it would be a lesser punishment to be sent to Botany Bay."

Thornley coloured violently, and, looking very uneasy, exclaimed, as if involuntarily:

"Botany Bay! God save me from-What made you think of— of that place? Pshaw! I mean, I—I should not like so long a voyage," he added, recovering his composure.

"I should not care about the length of the voyage," said Helen, “if that were all; I delight in being at sea. Let me hope, Edward, that you will be persuaded to take one voyage soon-a voyage to dear, dear England."

"Why, my dear Helen, will you always press this point? Consider, I have just got an estate and commenced the necessary improvements on it; I should be much to blame if I were to leave the island before these are completed."

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Papa can superintend these quite as well as you, and perhaps, from his long acquaintance with West Indian affairs, a little better than you, Edward. There is your objection done away with."

"One objection only, Helen; nor do I think you have quite done away with it. Surely I have no right, for my mere pleasure, to burden your father with the weight of my affairs. He has done enough for me already"

"It is for my pleasure, not for yours," interrupted Helen, "and I am quite willing to take all the obligation. Papa, I am certain, will cheerfully agree to any arrangement that is proposed by me."

Thornley looked blank, but after a moment's silence he said:

"We will grant that, for your sake, Mr. Ludlow would undertake all the trouble I am so unwilling to occasion him; there may be other objections to my returning to England soon-immediately, at least."

"Name them," said Helen, laughing, "and you will see how I will

overcome them."

"Would that you could!" ejaculated Thornley, with a deep sigh. "You know that I am on very unfortunate terms with my own family; that my father, who is of a most unrelenting temper, has never forgiven some youthful—indiscretions on my part, and that my nearest relations

choose to adapt their conduct towards me according to his feelings in a word, Helen, I have told you that I am disowned by the friends of my childhood. Can you, then, wish me to force myself upon them? To offer your acquaintance where, on my account, it would be unwelcome? You cannot ask it, you cannot wish it, Helen."

"I do not ask it, Edward. I would not have you make the most distant advance to such relations. I would avoid them all except your father. In seeking to reconcile yourself to him, you would not be degrading yourself; you would but be fulfilling a duty. And who knows if you returned now to your long-left home, if you sought your aged parent, and told him that you had repented of the follies which he had viewed in so severe a light-who knows but you might be received as was the prodigal son, and that you might hear these gladdening words: This my son was lost, and he is found-he was dead, and he is alive' ?" Thornley shook his head despondingly, but he did not speak. Helen answered his looks.

"You think your father would be inflexible. I cannot believe it. But, admitting that your family continue their injustice towards you, England is wide enough to hold you and them without the chance of your meeting. Why should we be exiled from Britain because you have unfortunately unkind and unreasonable relations ?"

"I entreat you, Helen," said Thornley, earnestly, "if you value my peace, do not press me on the subject of going to England-just now. If you have so set your heart on revisiting England-go; far be it from me to detain you, though I should deeply lament to part from you even for a short time; but, above all things, I wish your happiness, and therefore, dear Helen, go to England without me, and spare me the mortification of accompanying you to a country where I have relations to whom I cannot present you.'

"Without you I will not go, Edward; and since the idea is so un

pleasant to you, I give it up for the present. But let me ask you only one question" (Thornley looked alarmed)" nay, don't look frightened-I am not going to bring you to the confession of your juvenile misdeeds— have you resolved to forswear England for ever because you are at variance with your relations ?"

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Certainly not; time alters circumstances and feelings. The time may come, I trust, when I shall be able to return there with safe with pleasure. Ask me no more questions, dearest Helen, but believe that it shall be the study of my life to add to your happiness. We shall go to England by-and-by."

Helen groaned. "That 'by-and-by' will never come, I fear. I give it up, then, for this year; but promise me that we shall go next year; not the West Indians' next year-a year that never comes-but in reality next year."

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Perhaps."

"Oh! Thornley, not 'perhaps'-say yes-positively yes."

"Well, yes-if nothing unforeseen occurs to prevent us.'

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"Nothing can-nothing shall-if we live. How delighted I shall be to see dear England again! And here come letters from friends who have not forgotten me," she added, joyfully, as three or four packet letters were handed to her.

Helen retired to read her letters, and Thornley, left alone, muttered to himself:

"Curse England !-I wish it were sunk to the bottom of the sea!--I wish it were swept from the face of the earth! She will never rest until she drags me there-and then !— But let me not hint my thoughts; everything is buried in my own bosom; may I never be forced to throw off the mask I have thus far successfully assumed!" And, glancing round to make sure that no one had overheard his unwonted soliloquy, he hastened to forget his cares in the busy yet cheerful scene on his

estate.

Mr. Ludlow had not been pleased with his daughter's choice. Lionel Seymour was the man he had wished her to marry. He had known Lionel from his birth; had been particularly intimate with his father, and it had been a favourite scheme of the friends that the only son of the one and the only daughter of the other should marry when they grew up, and thus unite the contiguous and flourishing properties of which they were the sole heirs.

Lionel was but too well inclined to put his deceased father's wishes into execution; but Helen, as has been shown, felt very differently. Her father made no opposition to her choice, however little he approved of it; he was much attached to his daughter, and, moreover, he stood somewhat in awe of her. He therefore merely hinted at the imprudence of joining her fate to that of a stranger, of whose actual situation in the world, of whose birth, parentage, education, and previous life she knew absolutely nothing but what he himself chose to relate. He glanced at the singularity of some of the circumstances attendant on Mr. Thornley's stay in the island; his long residence as a guest at the Mackenzies'; his being so easily induced to become a proprietor in a place which he had at first visited only with the intention of spending a few idle weeks; his never receiving letters from any one in his native country; his seeming to be perfectly isolated in the universe; and his evidently shunning the society of all British strangers.

Helen denied that Thornley shunned strangers; it had so happened that he had always been indisposed when British strangers had visited the island; it was hard to blame a man for the dispensations of Providence. He did not correspond with his relations in England because they had used him ill, and he was not on good terms with them. Ilis attachment to herself had induced him to remain so long in the island, and finally to become a West Indian proprietor, she could not quarrel with him for that. And, if he were isolated in the world, if he had no one else to care for, so much the more devoted would be his affection for her.

Arguments are seldom wanting when the heart is set on the accomplishment of an object. Helen was determined to marry Thornley, and Mr. Ludlow, making the best of it, purchased Mosquito Bay for his sonin-law elect, and settled a handsome annual allowance upon the young couple.

The match gave occasion for a great deal of talking in the island. Many persons-principally gentlemen-wondering how Miss Ludlow could throw herself away upon an unknown adventurer; others principally young ladies-admiring Miss Ludlow's disinterested conduct, and July-VOL. CXIX. NO. CCCCLXXV.

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praising the agreeable manners of the handsome stranger. Mrs. Temple shook her head, but hoped she might be mistaken in her misgivings about Mr. Thornley. Geraldine felt anxious about her friend, but put great confidence in Helen's penetration and good sense; while Mrs. Montresor renewed her wearisome lectures upon "imprudence," as if her daughter, who was obliged to listen to them, not Helen Ludlow, had been the culprit.

Some strangers, however, and absentees had now arrived, whom it was impossible for Thornley to avoid. Among these were Geraldine's two sisters, Georgina and Mary. Georgina and her husband, Mr. Russel, had at length returned from America, and Mary had come for a short visit, while Captain Neville was on a cruise through the islands. After a time, he also came to St.- Geraldine was delighted to meet them all, and much pleased to find that Alicia's account of them was, in every respect, correct. It was impossible to be an hour in the company of Captain Neville or Mr. Russel without liking them, though the agreeable qualities of each were very different.

Captain Neville was the personification of that very charming character, a pleasant, well-informed, amiable naval officer. There was something of daringness and insouciance about him that well became the wanderer on the trackless deep, the mariner accustomed to brave

The battle and the breeze.

But, though you saw he had a soul of fire and a frame of iron, he was gentleness itself towards that sex whom sailors seldom treat with disrespect. He had a frank and joyous air, that made him look perhaps younger than he really was, and counteracted the withering effect of exposure to the weather in all climates and all seasons. He was not exactly handsome man, his features were not regular, and he was rather short, but there was a keen intelligence in his eye, a benevolence in his smile, that were worth all the mere beauty in the world.

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Between him and his wife there existed that cordial regard, that perfect friendship which ought always to be the attendants of married life: they did not merely jog on, as many a worthy couple do, in a sort of stupid intimacy arising only from habit; they possessed that sincere and rational affection, which could not fail to increase as they became more and more acquainted with the worth of each other's characters, and more assimilated in feelings and in tastes.

Mary was pretty and lively; but her vivacity was not the exuberance of animal spirits alone-a vivacity which soon becomes fatiguing to everybody, and unbearable to sober-minded people. She was sensible, clever, and well educated, therefore her gay conversation seldom failed to amuse; and Captain Neville partook of none of Mrs. Mackenzie's fears that he should be talked to death; on the contrary, he was uxurious enough to confess himself delighted with his wife's constant good spirits. Mr. Russel was in every respect as estimable as Captain Neville, but perhaps he was not so generally praised, for he had not the advantage of being "a man o' war buckra." Everybody who has been in the West Indies knows what favourites "men o' war buckras" are in all the islands. He was somewhat stricken in years, but he had none of the peevishness of age about him. He was a cheerful, hale old gentleman, extremely hospitable, extremely fond of young people, and delighting in promoting

their amusements; and his beautiful wife, who looked like his daughter, had her own way in everything, though she never took advantage of his kindness. He never dreamt of jealousy, and Georgina might dance and divert herself as much as she pleased. But though fond of gaiety, she could not be accused of levity in her conduct, nor had she one thought injurious to the indulgent husband, for whom she felt sincere affection.

Mrs. Montresor reflected with great satisfaction on the matches made by her three elder daughters, for the domestic unhappiness of one of them never caused her any qualms of conscience. But she was not a little anxious and uneasy about her youngest girl. Was Geraldine-one of the belles of the island-to be the old maid of the family? Mrs. Montresor groaned in spirit at the idea, and could not understand her daughter's apathy on the subject, while Mr. Montresor secretly rejoiced that Geraldine was not in a hurry to leave her home and him.

THE MORRIS-DANCERS.

BY W. CHARLES Kent.

A Choral Lyric: commemorative of a Pastime familiar long and long ago among our English Villagers.

COME gentle, come simple, haste forth where are seen
What frolics we mummers now foot on the green;
Leave tankard unlifted and goblet undrained,

The rosewood fruit-littered, the maple ring-stained,
Bringing pipes from the taproom and eke from the hall,
Forth! and smoke in the sweet evening air at our call-

Around

While we bound

Ere the ruddy sun sets,

While rattle

And prattle

Our shrill castanets.

Fair maid with lawn kerchief and bright cherry bows,

With lips red as sorrel and eyes black as sloes,

Fling open the lattice and lean o'er the sill,

Letting sweet eyes and lips there alike drink their fill

The one of the zephyr, the one of the sight,

Till lips brim with laughter and eyes with delight

About

As the rout

Of our merry mime swells,

While tinkle

And twinkle

Gay ribbons, gay bells.

Hail! old gossip Humphry, in apron of jean,
With a flaw in one eye like a crack in the pane;
Your queer mouth awry as it sucks the dudheen,

While the silver fumes puff jovial chuckles between

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