sudden slab-you will, I feel, treasure her as the nutriment of your very existence-love her, not grudgingly, nor weakly, but willingly and with a warmth such as her own to you-keep uncontaminate your affiance-and be her guide, guardian, cherisher, consoler, through life's vicissitudes, and in the trial of death."

"I will,” cried Villiers-"so help me, heaven!" And, thrilled together by some instant inward compulsion, they both knelt-down before him.

Morley's falsity established beyond cavil, the ascription to that manoeuvring scion, of Grace's query regarding Emile's pre-engagement, cost no vast labor. In an ante-room leant Harry himself. Not observing Villiers, he muttered, with a stamp" by! though it blast all!"

"What part now, Morley? King Cambyses' vein?A Roland for an Oliver'-or Archer, in 'The Beaux' Stratagem?""

It's vain to blink it: he was but a very beginner in what himself denominated "the necessary doctrine and erudition of a Christian man," for he had not yet all passions under subordination; but, then, here was perhaps the most trying

predicament to which he had ever been, or ever could be, subjected.

"May-be I'd better manage 'She stoops to conquer, or the Mistakes of a night.""

"Choose rather," responded Villiers, "a piece where I may second you-something that, with a Cantwell, combines a Credulous Easy."

"Oh! you'd have talent, I doubt not, to personify Congreve's 'fool with good-nature, a good memory, and some few scraps of other folks' genius'-'whose conversation' (proceeds the stagecopy) 'can never be approved, yet must sometimes be endured'-Witwoud—eh ?”

"You whip my pretensions," laughed Emile, "though I should never have dreamt of being your rival in Maskwell (of the same ‘Double Dealer'), nor deemed myself as 'at home' in the 'Cheats of Scapin.""

Morley ground his teeth.

"Villiers, is your language personal ?”

"Don't over-exert your imagination, Morley," was the haughty retort; "take what interpretation's uppermost-the readiest guesses are mostly the right."

"Calculation serves you," cried Harry, poising himself on the unfinished stride; "I can take no

more, then; you're not forgetful it's my uncle's house I'm in." And he looked derision, in reinforcement to envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness.

"Forgetful?" Villiers cried, contemptuous— "what! of anything in which the habile Harry Morley has figured? let my right hand forget her cunning first! And long stand every uncle's house that refuses to screen the inexpert designer!"

"Almost eloquent," sneered Morley-" but rather general for vulgar use."

"Then, in particular; on that universally agreeable topic-Satisfaction. Where injured by one who forgoes honor by fraud, duplicity, or any baseness—many might chastise: I would present, not my pistol, but what he might less expect (as less meriting), my pity and forgiveness. Good-bye, Morley !—you've now an insight into sentiments which, probably, you're not sorry to have so pleasantly cleared-up."

Morley stretched after him, some paces: then, stayed himself: then, hurried-on again: then, veered-round, seeing Villiers saluting the Colonel: vacillated: clenched both fists desperately:

gnashed, with violent gesture: and flung himself

on a lounger.

"Fool! to have growled where I can't bite! This is better-I

I should be self-ashamed.

must joke it off, and bite! Proud boy, Harry Morley shall yet be the arbiter of your fate, or there's not a hell beneath us!"

No. 7.-"He loves and he rides away."

To other regions!

SHAKSPERE.-All's well that ends well.

I hope my Reader is of fertile brain; for really I have not time for explanations. This place may apparently want correction-that, solutiont'other, enlargement. They're all right, however; and the best must be made of them. I'm athirst after my subject-matter's overwhelmingnesses.

Villiers, from a submissive boy, had, in a night, sprung to manhood. The first step trodden, retraction was become impossible; long-smothered energies had bounded into convulsive being, and

it had been as difficult to have re-entered into what he was but the day before, as for the new-born butterfly to re-shroud itself in its shell. However largely, even at present, filial inclination swayed him and however it was, by-and-by, to entirely predominate-still, raw from the exhibition at Woodley, it could not be but a wounded spirit of generous indignation should stir within him. Had he, indeed, exposed himself to such equivalent had he been deficient in obediencehad he resisted the despotism, or breathed reproach against the petrific invectives, under which he was wont to writhe-had he, even in idea, denied the affection which was almost hourly distrusted, and almost hourly trampled-on-or had he been sent a-drift for not evincing the kindness of a commonest humanity to Earth's out-criers he had now bowed in penitence, nor voiced one murmur: but it was otherwise-and lo! his guerdon!

And yet, only just as it had ever been, was it then-habituation dulling him to it hitherto; till his faculties like the flashed sheet from the deepvolumed silently-forming cloud-burst into abrupt expansion; and he at last could recognise, with fearful perspicuity, the paternal meed that had