LOVE'S MASQUERADING.

BY LAMAN BLANCHARD.

I.Love never less surprisesThan when his tricks are tried;In vain are all disguises,Himself he cannot hide.He came, the Masquerader,To conscious Kate, one day,Attempting to persuade her;He then was—far away!"Ah Love!" she cried, unfearing,"Take any shape you will,Strange, distant, or endearing,This heart would know you still."II.Then Love came clad like Sorrow;His robe was dark as night;But like a golden morrow,Flash'd forth his forehead's light;She knew him, as with languorHe play'd the wounded dove:Then fierce he frown'd—'twas Anger!But still she knew 'twas Love!III.Then came he wreathed like Pleasure;In vain he cried, "Rejoice!"And sang a laughing measure—She knew him, by his voice.He tuned his tongue to railing,Performing Envy's task;His scowl was unavailing,She saw him—through his mask.IV.Like cloak'd Revenge then stealing,With poniard bare he came,His limbs, his looks, concealing—Yet still he seem'd the same.Then he, his thoughts dissembling,With Jealousy's wild air,Stood raging, watching, trembling,—Yet Love alone stood there.V.Next came he garb'd like Malice;Yet wore his cheek the rose,No poison crowns his chalice,With wine it overflows.And then as Joy, arrayed inRare colours from above;He failed again—the maidenIn Joy saw only Love!VI.Then casting off his splendour,He took black Hatred's guise;But all his tones were tender,She knew him—by his eyes.In all he fail'd; when glancingLike Fear, afraid to stir;And when like Hope, half-dancing—For Hope was Love to her."In vain," she cried, "your powers,Take any shape you may;Are hearts less wise than flowers,That know the night from day?"

Love never less surprisesThan when his tricks are tried;In vain are all disguises,Himself he cannot hide.He came, the Masquerader,To conscious Kate, one day,Attempting to persuade her;He then was—far away!"Ah Love!" she cried, unfearing,"Take any shape you will,Strange, distant, or endearing,This heart would know you still."

Love never less surprises

Than when his tricks are tried;

In vain are all disguises,

Himself he cannot hide.

He came, the Masquerader,

To conscious Kate, one day,

Attempting to persuade her;

He then was—far away!

"Ah Love!" she cried, unfearing,

"Take any shape you will,

Strange, distant, or endearing,

This heart would know you still."

II.

Then Love came clad like Sorrow;His robe was dark as night;But like a golden morrow,Flash'd forth his forehead's light;She knew him, as with languorHe play'd the wounded dove:Then fierce he frown'd—'twas Anger!But still she knew 'twas Love!

Then Love came clad like Sorrow;

His robe was dark as night;

But like a golden morrow,

Flash'd forth his forehead's light;

She knew him, as with languor

He play'd the wounded dove:

Then fierce he frown'd—'twas Anger!

But still she knew 'twas Love!

III.

Then came he wreathed like Pleasure;In vain he cried, "Rejoice!"And sang a laughing measure—She knew him, by his voice.He tuned his tongue to railing,Performing Envy's task;His scowl was unavailing,She saw him—through his mask.

Then came he wreathed like Pleasure;

In vain he cried, "Rejoice!"

And sang a laughing measure—

She knew him, by his voice.

He tuned his tongue to railing,

Performing Envy's task;

His scowl was unavailing,

She saw him—through his mask.

IV.

Like cloak'd Revenge then stealing,With poniard bare he came,His limbs, his looks, concealing—Yet still he seem'd the same.Then he, his thoughts dissembling,With Jealousy's wild air,Stood raging, watching, trembling,—Yet Love alone stood there.

Like cloak'd Revenge then stealing,

With poniard bare he came,

His limbs, his looks, concealing—

Yet still he seem'd the same.

Then he, his thoughts dissembling,

With Jealousy's wild air,

Stood raging, watching, trembling,—

Yet Love alone stood there.

Next came he garb'd like Malice;Yet wore his cheek the rose,No poison crowns his chalice,With wine it overflows.And then as Joy, arrayed inRare colours from above;He failed again—the maidenIn Joy saw only Love!

Next came he garb'd like Malice;

Yet wore his cheek the rose,

No poison crowns his chalice,

With wine it overflows.

And then as Joy, arrayed in

Rare colours from above;

He failed again—the maiden

In Joy saw only Love!

VI.

Then casting off his splendour,He took black Hatred's guise;But all his tones were tender,She knew him—by his eyes.In all he fail'd; when glancingLike Fear, afraid to stir;And when like Hope, half-dancing—For Hope was Love to her."In vain," she cried, "your powers,Take any shape you may;Are hearts less wise than flowers,That know the night from day?"

Then casting off his splendour,

He took black Hatred's guise;

But all his tones were tender,

She knew him—by his eyes.

In all he fail'd; when glancing

Like Fear, afraid to stir;

And when like Hope, half-dancing—

For Hope was Love to her.

"In vain," she cried, "your powers,

Take any shape you may;

Are hearts less wise than flowers,

That know the night from day?"

BY BOWMAN TILLER.

CHAPTER III.

A rigid search after Mr. Heartwell was instituted under the superintendence of two of the most efficient officers of the Bow Street establishment. The evidence given by the coachman was proved to be strictly correct, except that a small portion of time was unaccounted for between the period of his having—as he stated—set the lieutenant down in Ormond Street, and his arrival at the coach-stand in Covent Garden, which according to the deposition of the waterman was much later than would have been required to traverse the distance between the two places. But Simpson's explanation was that, having by request driven his fare very quick to Ormond Street, he merely walked his horses to Charles Street in order to cool them.

Nothing whatever having been elicited that day which was calculated to throw any light on the mysterious affair, Mr. Brady with his witnesses appeared before Mr. Bond on the following morning at the time appointed, when the officers made their reports, and were instructed to persevere. The Bank Agent deposed that he had paid over to the lieutenant at the office of Mr. Brady, and in the presence of the lawyer and his clerk, a thousand guineas in gold, and bank-notes to the amount of fourteen thousand pounds, besides securities and deeds, relating to property supposed to be of considerable value in the East Indies, all which had belonged to the lieutenant's uncle, who had died without issue and intestate: he produced the receipt for the charge he had delivered, and stated that he had earnestly advised the lieutenant to deposit the whole in the hands of his professional man to invest for him to the best advantage; but though Mr. Heartwell perfectly assented to the propriety of such a step, yet he expressed himself so desirous of displaying his newly acquired fortune to his wife, that as a matter of course he (the agent) offered no further argument against it.

Shipkins, the clerk, corroborated the statement of Mr. Brady; but in addition, mentioned that the lieutenant had declared that it was his intention to resign his appointment to the seventy-four for the purpose of remaining at home with his family, but that it would be necessary for him in the first instance to visit Portsmouth.

The officers used their utmost vigilance, and the Secretary of State offered a large reward to any one who could render information of the fate of the missing officer. Ben was despatched to Portsmouth to make inquiry whether his master had been seen in that neighbourhood, or on board the ship; but no clue was obtained.

Days—weeks—months passed away, and Mrs. Heartwell experienced an unmitigated state of anxiety and suspense. Yet though doubts prevailed that she should never behold him again, she determined never to clothe herself in the semblance of mourning till she had proof that he was dead.

Young Frank partook of the feelings of his mother; but the elasticity of boyhood does not long retain the acuteness of sorrow; the delightful changes which Nature is constantly presenting to the ardency of youth and

"All is beautiful, for all is new,"

superseded the grief which preys upon more advanced age, when the heart knoweth its own bitterness; and whilst the mother was pining and weeping over her heavy affliction, Frank forgot in the joys of amusement that there was anything like unhappiness in the world. He was a bold, free-hearted, jovial lad, who loved to frolic over the gardens and grounds round the British Museum. Nor was Ben inactive in either promoting the mirthful indulgences of the lad, although there might be a little mischief in progress, or seeing that fair-play was exercised when pugnacity or wrong led to pugilistic encounters. It is true that the fond parent in her solicitude would expostulate, and on some occasions reprove; but the ready acknowledgment of error which Frank always made when in the wrong, and the argument of Ben, "Bless you, my lady, you can't never go for to rig out an ould figure-head upon young shoulders—besides, what's the odds, so as you're happy?" soon produced reconciliation and pardon.

It has been said "Sweet are the uses of adversity;" but it is hard to contemplate the approach of poverty with its train of evils that no mortal influence can subdue; and such was the case with Mrs. Heartwell. Daily she saw her resources decreasing—the pay of the lieutenant was stopped; she could not claim her widow's pension, for she had no proof of her husband's death; there were no relations to whom she could apply in her distress for assistance or counsel. Mr. Brady had sent in a heavy bill for law business, and pressed for payment; difficulties in short accumulated on all sides. One, and only one, of her former associates continued to visit her; and this was an elderly man of unattractive manners, who claimed a distant relationship. He seldom spoke but when addressed; and his remarks were generally of a caustic and misanthropic cast, rendering him an object not only of dislike to many, but of fear to some. He was poor, but how he lived no one knew; and yet on more than one occasion he had spoken of important affairs even in the state, that displayed a tolerably accurate knowledge of persons and things far above his station in society: in short, he was a mystery that set conjecture at defiance.

Such was Mr. Unity Peach; in age between fifty and sixty; a large round face, with a great bushy wig upon his head, and one eye covered over with a black patch, the other grey and cold without expression; he was stout made, short, and with limbs like a giant, though he complained of feebleness and debility. He seldom uttered one word of cheering kindness, yet when asked for his advice he would give it; and it was seldom known to fail in its beneficial results. To Frank and the seaman he was an object of aversion that they did not care at all times to conceal; yet, with a perverseness that seemed congenial to his character, if there was any individual to whom the old man could be attached, it was Ben Brailsford.

"You are hurrying on to ruin," said Mr. Unity Peach one day, inreply to a question from Mrs. Heartwell; "large house—lazy sailor—mischievous boy."

"But I would willingly quit the house, sir," returned the lady, "and strive by some means or other to provide for myself and child."

"Let lodgings—keep a school—make the boy a shoemaker—send that Jack Tar to sea," was the response.

"I have hitherto been guided in my conduct, Mr. Peach, by what I have supposed would be satisfactory to my husband could he witness my actions," replied the lady; "and yet—oh yes, I see there is no other resource, though I should prefer removing from this neighbourhood."

"Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall," quoted the old man; "Go on and starve—no help for it."

"I wish I had some friend to counsel me," exclaimed the afflicted woman, as the tears gushed from her eyes.

"Bah!—nonsense!—friends, indeed! Won't take counsel—good morning;" and Mr. Unity arose to depart.

"I meant no reflections upon you, Mr. Peach," returned the lady. "You have at times advised me, and well too—but indeed, sir, your harshness——"

"I know it,—I know it," bitterly replied the old man, interrupting her, whilst a malicious grin played upon his swarthy countenance; "you hate me—you all hate me."

"You do me great injustice to suppose such a thing," responded Mrs. Heartwell, mildly; "I would wish to entertain respect and esteem——"

"Bah! folly!" uttered Mr. Unity, preventing the concluding remarks of the lady. "No such things in the world as respect, esteem—all deceit."

"I have a better opinion of my fellow-creatures——"

"Better opinion!" interrupted the old man, with a taunting sneer. "Yes—right—husband murdered—lawyer threatening—abandoned in trouble—sinking in poverty—eat up with pride—idle boy—saucy sailor—fellow-creatures indeed!"

At this moment Ben entered, and though deference and respect for his mistress kept him silent, yet the clenching of his fist and the indignation of his look plainly evidenced that he would, if he durst, have given Mr. Unity Peach a thrashing. Nor did the old man seem insensible to what was passing in the worthy seaman's mind, for he turned upon him a glance of contempt and defiance that but ill accorded with the angular inclination of his body, which betokened weakness and decrepitude.

Mrs. Heartwell, endeavouring to suppress her agitation, turned with a look of inquiry to Ben.

"Why, my lady, I don't perticklarly want anything," replied the seaman somewhat confusedly, as he fidgetted about the room in his accustomed way when he had any communication of importance to make.

"Has anything occurred?" asked the lady with impatience.

"Bless you, my lady," ejaculated Ben, whilst a flush spread over his cheeks, and a tear stood trembling in his eye; "I ounly wish I was rouling in gould and I'd soon capsize the lubbers; but ounly speak the word and I'll do it now, though the unconscionable scamps have boarded us in the smoke."

"Of whom are you speaking?" demanded Mrs. Heartwell, as a thrill of sickly apprehension passed through her heart. But the seaman had not time to answer before the door of the room was opened, and in walked a corpulent but athletic man, whose very appearance announced his calling to be that of a sheriff's officer; whilst close behind him came his assistant, though he did not venture beyond the door-way. "Werry sorry, ma'am—werry sorry," said the officer, producing a writ of execution, "I al'ays likes to be civil to ladies, but must do my dooty you know—mustn't I, sir?" and he turned to Mr. Unity Peach, who, bent down and leaning heavily on his stick, which he seemed to grasp convulsively, nodded assent.

"What is all this?" demanded Mrs. Heartwell, looking first at the officer and then at Mr. Peach, and then at Ben, who, though it was the height of summer, had got hold of the poker, and was busily stirring the white paper shavings that ornamented the grate.

"Oh, it's not werry much, ma'am," replied the officer, displaying the official document; "it's only a writ as I've got to sarve, and in course must trespass upon your family for board and lodging till the matter's settled—that's all."

"I do not understand it, Mr. Peach," said the distressed lady; "pray explain it to me."

"Bailiff!" replied the old man, pointing to the officer in an introductory manner; "come to seize furniture—some of your fellow creatures:" and then, mimicking the manners of the official, he wound up with the same exclamation—"that's all."

"That's all, ay, and enough too!" mumbled Ben as he made the room echo with rattling the poker in the grate; "I ounly wish my lady 'ud give the word, I'm blessed if it should be all; I'd larn 'em to seize furniture; and it arn't best for their health that they clap a flipper upon it whilst I'm here."

"Go to sea," muttered Mr. Unity Peach. "Work for your living—don't lazy away your time here!"

"I tell you what it is, ould genelman," exclaimed Ben, all the feelings of the tar aroused within his breast. "You're an oncantankerous scamp with your spiteful tongue. But bless you, my lady, ounly say the word and I'll clear the decks of the whole boiling of 'em afore you can look round you;" and the seaman flourished the poker in a menacing attitude at the officer and his follower, but the next instant he felt his arm restrained as if it had been fixed in the gripe of a blacksmith's vice, and by his side stood Mr. Unity Peach.

"Put that poker down," said the old man in a tone of command as he grasped the seaman's wrist; "obey the laws."

"All werry right, sir," uttered the sheriff's officer; "not as I'm afear'd of being attackted, but arter all there's nothing like obeying the law, and it shows as you're a man of sense. I must do my dooty, howsomever unpleasant. There's the writ, ma'am."

"At whose suit?" demanded Mr. Peach, who quietly took the weapon from Ben's hand, and replaced it within the fender.

"At the suit of Muster Jocelyn Brady," replied the officer, "attorney-at-law,Lincoln's Inn. Debt and costs one hundred and seventeen pounds, six shillings, and eightpence."

"The villain!" uttered a voice, half suppressed, from some part of the room, but from whom it proceeded it would have been difficult to say.

Poor Mrs. Heartwell was almost overwhelmed, and Frank coming in from school and staring wildly at the spectacle, added to her distress. On seeing his mother's tears, he threw his arms round her neck and kissed her; and then, turning round with flushed cheeks and a fierceness that he seldom manifested, demanded of the officer "what business he had there?"

This Mr. Peach explained in as few words as possible, but not without instilling venom into what he did say, to the great anger of Ben, and the increased dislike of the boy.

But there was no avoiding the instrument of the law, nor any means to get rid of its agent. The execution was served, and the bailiff remained in charge. The almost heart-broken Mrs. Heartwell waited upon the lawyer, but he refused to see her; the furniture was sold; and it racked her heart to part with things which time and circumstances had endeared to her; and now she, who had been within a few minutes of attaining affluence, was reduced to the verge of destitution.

A small, ready-furnished apartment received the mourner and her son; but her money was gone, she knew no one to whom she could apply. Ben had expended every shilling that he possessed; but the worthy fellow would not desert his mistress; he got employment in a rigging gang to fit out East Indiamen, and, reserving a bare subsistence for himself, he devoted all that he could spare to the use of Frank and his mother. Nor was this all; for after his hours of labour were over in the week days, and each Sunday, he was constant in his attendance, to perform every kind office that he could without failing in the respect he had ever manifested towards his mistress. Nor did Mr. Peach forsake the afflicted lady, though his visits were not so frequent as before; and he was incessant in his complaints of bad health, decaying strength, and growing poverty.

"Mrs. Heartwell procured needlework, and toiled day and night to keep Frank at school, and to obtain him food and clothes." Nor could she even have done this but through the generosity of some unknown friend, who regularly transmitted her thirty shillings a month without note or comment. She believed her benefactor to be a kind and wealthy lady who had formerly taken an interest in her welfare; but it was evident the donor did not wish to be openly known.

Thus progressed another twelve months. Ben and Frank were inseparable companions as often as they could be together; and though Mr. Peach was constantly persuading his mother to bind the lad apprentice to a shoemaker, he still continued improving in his education, and the hard-toiling seaman often went without indulgences himself that he might secretly supply his young friend with pocket-money. At length to her great astonishment, Mrs. Heartwell received by post under a blank cover a note of the Bank of England for £100. Tears of joyous gratitude filled her eyes. The following day was devoted to recreation—the first she had known since the loss of her husband. And now came the consideration as to the best mode of employing the gift to the most advantageoususe. At first the feelings of the mother directed her sole attention to young Frank, and she thought of appropriating a large portion to putting him out in the world; but Mr. Peach, who was consulted on all important occasions, advised her to take a respectable house, furnish apartments, and let them to a respectable tenant: nor did he forget to insist upon his usual proposition of making Frank a cordwainer. In every particular, save the last, the advice was followed.

CHAPTER IV.

Never was there a more instructive lesson issued to the nations of the earth than that which marked the origin, progress, and termination of the French Revolution, with all its concomitant circumstances and final results.

England with free institutions, and increasing in population, industry, and commerce, had set a bright example of what may be achieved under constitutional means; and as the English were ardent lovers of liberty, it cannot be supposed that they were indifferent to its extension on the Continent. Nor were they inactive at home; the changes in France had caused a feverish excitement amongst the working classes here, which interested traders in politics were not slow in turning to their own advantage. In order to counteract and defeat the evil machinations of such men, the government took into pay a number of individuals to act as spies in the camp of the disaffected; and as their wages depended upon the continuance of commotion, it very naturally followed that in numerous cases they were the secret promoters of agitation. But the political movement was not confined exclusively to the lower ranks in life; many of the middle grade had joined in it, and amongst the active disseminators of revolutionary principles was Mr. Jocelyn Brady. But he moved in an elevated sphere, and was looked upon and treated with confidence by his party, both high and low. His legal practice was reported to be extensive, and he was said to be possessed of considerable property. He had both a town and a country residence, and he gave excellent dinners. But he was unrelenting in his avarice, vindictive when offended.

The principal associate of Mr. Brady in most of his political transactions was a Mr. Acteon Shaft, an acute intelligent man, whose grey hairs proclaimed him to be of an advanced age; and to him the lawyer was greatly indebted for much of the information and knowledge he obtained. Mr. Shaft had travelled far, and had visited foreign courts, and though his manners were rather uncouth, yet there was a charm in his conversation that rendered his society courted by men of talent. He was an ardent lover of rational liberty, and his generosity was the theme of universal praise.

Why two men so opposite in temper and disposition should form companionship must remain amongst those anomalies which every day's experience displays; even the pure metal requires a base alloy before it can be converted into sterling coin. But to return to Mrs. Heartwell, who had once more a comfortable residence, and devoted herself in every way to the improvement of her son. Frank, on his part, was most affectionately attached to his mother, whom he revered with an intensity of feeling that was truly gratifying to her heart, and she was pleased to see that heevinced a kindly and generous feeling towards his fellow-creatures. He was mirthful, but inoffensive, mild and forbearing, except when aroused by severe injury to himself or others, and then his rage was uncontrollable.

The first lodger that occupied Mrs. Heartwell's apartments was a Monsieur Polverel, a French deputy, who under the specious pretext of visiting and studying the institutions of England, availed himself of the opportunity to disseminate the doctrines of "liberty and equality;" nor was he long in finding an enlarged circle of congenial spirits—members of revolutionary clubs and corresponding societies, who, though advocating "equality," took especial care that no one below a certain rank should be admitted to their meetings; and the minister of liberty from France, Monsieur Polverel, finding that his black servant was accustomed to go out during his absence, actually locked him up in his room whenever he himself went in an evening to enjoy festivity amongst his friends, and to preach up the blessings of freedom.

Ben and Frank, however, could not reconcile such tyranny to their minds, and a duplicate key being procured, the door was speedily thrown open, and forth issued Sambo to join in their amusements, and many hours did the youth listen to the negro's narratives of his native place—Port au Prince, in San Domingo—but care was always taken that he was again placed in confinement before the time of his master's return.

Monsieur Polverel was one of those finicking, all legs-and-wings sort of Frenchmen who when in conversation throw themselves into attitudes not inaptly resembling the wooden harlequins of children whose members are put into motion by pulling a string, only that his body was more elongated and had something of the greyhound build; his head was very large, and when he stood erect he looked like a beadle's staff with a globe on the top; in fact, it would have been no difficult task to have doubled him up like a two-foot rule, or to have put his body between his legs like a clasp knife. Although a leveller, and affecting to despise distinctions, his clothes were richly ornamented and his fingers were brilliant with costly rings.

When he passed an evening at home without company, he generally contrived to get Frank and Ben, and the negro into his room, where, in broken English, he propounded to them the doctrines of republicanism. Sometimes Mr. Peach was admitted, and the discussions, whilst they afforded mirth to Frank, and offence to the seaman, tended to open the understanding of the youth to subjects to which he had hitherto been a stranger.

Frank had now passed his thirteenth year. His predilection was for the sea; but his mother, who still had numerous difficulties to contend against, and looked upon her child as her best hope and encouragement, endeavoured by earnest persuasion to prevail upon him to settle on shore. In this she was supported by Mr. Peach; but the lad's longings could not be overcome, though he was deterred from proclaiming them, and thus balancing between affection for his parent and the desire to become a sailor, he remained undetermined and inactive.

It was about this time that, to the great regret of Mrs. Heartwell, and the almost inconsolable grief of her son, Ben Brailsford was pressed; and disdaining to be anything but a volunteer in the service of his king and country, he entered for a ship-of-the line, then commanded by theHonourable Keith Elphinstone (afterwards, Lord Keith). He wrote to inform them of this event, hoped that he should make prize-money—wished Frank was with him on the quarter-deck as an officer—expressed sorrow at parting with them, but wound up all with his old expletive—"But what's the odds, so as you're happy?"

The youth fretted, and almost sickened at the loss of his old and faithful associate; he neglected his studies, became melancholy and restless, and adhered closer to Monsieur Polverel, so as to be noticed by a distinguished visitor to the deputy, no other than the Duke of Orleans, who had been prevailed upon to visit London, by Lafayette, in order to get him out of the way of doing mischief. Frank became a great favourite with the Duke, who treated him with much kindness, and made Mrs. Heartwell a very handsome present to assist in promoting the lad's welfare; and ultimately offered to take him to Paris and provide for him; but this was declined—the mother could not part with her child.

The beheading of the King of France excited a general feeling of horror and indignation throughout England. War was declared. The utmost activity prevailed in the dockyards; and a naval armament was put in motion. The aristocracy, the clergy, the corporate bodies, the landed proprietors, the merchants, the bankers, became alarmed, and took the lead in the re-action that ensued. The Sectarians looked upon the French as infidels, and hailed the approach of war as the mighty engine which was to restore religion and morality.

In this state of things the situation of Monsieur Polverel was not of the most pleasant description. He was well known to the French emigrants who crowded the metropolis; and on his returning one afternoon from a republican party, he was pointed out as a disseminator of those principles which had compelled them to abandon their country. A crowd collected, who vented their abhorrence in groans and hisses. He quickened his pace, but his pursuers increased as they progressed, till the deputy was urgently persuaded to run, by hearing the clattering of stones along the pavement, and feeling more than one or two hard blows on his back. Now it was that the length of his legs rendered him good service, and a chase commenced that caused roars of laughter to the spectators, who clapped their hands and shouted with delight. On reaching Mrs. Heartwell's he knocked and rung violently, but Sambo was locked up, and the maid-servant being busy, was in no great hurry to let him in. Frank, however, had been looking out at the window, and instantly suspecting the cause of the uproar, he ran and opened the door, and the Frenchman had just time to enter as his assailants were ascending the steps. It was at first feared that they would attack the house, but on being assured that Monsieur Polverel had taken his departure by the back way, the mob again set out in pursuit, but the deputy distanced them; for without waiting for bag or baggage, he hurried to Dover as fast as a chaise-and-four could convey him, and at this latter place he received a no very gentle intimation that his presence on British ground could be entirely dispensed with; and elated was Monsieur Polverel when he once more found himself within the gates of Calais.

Nothing could exceed the joy of Sambo at his master's departure—thedoor was no longer locked upon him—he was free. Since Ben's departure Frank had greatly attached himself to the negro, whose good humour and constant willingness to oblige rendered him a favourite in the house. Other lodgers came to Mrs. Heartwell's; and as Sambo had become useful, his services were retained.

Frank continued at school for a few months longer, when a new scene opened before him. He had heard of a seventy-four to be launched at Deptford, and never having witnessed a ship-launch, he went, accompanied by Sambo, to see it. But the press-gangs were abroad, and they both fell into their hands; for such was, at that time, the demand for men and lads to complete the complements of the ships of war, that respectable shopkeepers, who had formerly been to sea, were impressed at their own doors, and youths of "gentle blood" forced away by the gangs if found near the water-side.

Sambo would have resisted when he saw that Frank was seized, but the youth saw how unavailing it would be, and desired him to desist. He told the officer that he was the son of a lieutenant in the navy, and requested to be allowed to return to his home; but this was positively refused. He then entreated that some one might be sent to apprise his mother of his detention, and the officer promised that it should be done, and the lad, who suffered most on his parent's account, became more appeased, till on being put on board the Tender, off the Tower, a spectacle presented itself that filled his very soul with disgust.

The receiving-ship was an old sloop of war, and in her hold were not less than three hundred human beings crowded together on the shingle ballast, without a single seat except the bundles which some few possessed, and sat upon for safe protection. Here were crowded together seamen and landsmen, pickpockets, the refuse of the streets, and shabby-genteel gentlemen. Many a countenance was marked by sorrow, but the principal portion was composed of wild, reckless, and even lawless, men. The gratings were over the hatchways, above which sentinels were placed, and the atmosphere in the hold was hot and fetid. Several of the impressed men were in a state of intoxication, which produced repeated quarrels; and though there was scarcely room to move, blows were exchanged, and heavy falls upon the shingle or against the timbers in the side caused swollen and blackened eyes, and severe contusions. Some had received cuts and injuries in their contest with the gangs, and lacerated faces presented a hideous and sickening spectacle.

There was but little light during the day; but when night arrived, only a solitary lantern shed its feeble rays, and the prowling thieves commenced their work of plunder upon their unfortunate fellow-captives. Resistance was vain; cries of distress arose, but they were quickly subdued; two or three held down the victim whilst his pockets were rifled: the means of obtaining liquor were thus in the power of the abandoned; nor was it scantily, though stealthily supplied; and drunkenness increased the disorder that prevailed till a general fight took place, which was only quelled by an armed party of seamen being sent down to preserve order.

Frank and Sambo, attacked by Ruffians, in the hold of the Tender.

Horrible, indeed, was that night to poor Frank. To sleep was impossible. The noise was almost deafening; and his heart sickened at the oaths and imprecations he was compelled to hear. A miscreant had forciblygrappled with him and demanded his money; but Sambo, who had patiently borne with the jokes and the taunts, and even the mischievous pranks of his fellow-captives, would not endure this; he manfully resisted, exclaiming, "Me young massa good massa for me! Ye nebber for do him harm while Sambo here!" Nor did the youth tamely yield to the plunderers: his spirit was aroused, and placing himself in attitude, he not only repelled the attack, but with determined resolution he stood up to his assailants, whilst the negro dealt out sturdy blows and kept them in check. One fellow was struck down, but another immediately came on, whom Frank met with vigorous boldness; and thanks to the instructions of Ben, his opponent found that he had both courage and science to contend against; and having no love for fighting, and seeing Sambo come to the assistance of his young master, he drew back. But the thieves commenced another desperate attack. One of them rushed in and seized Frank by the throat; another gathered up a handful of shingle to throw in his face; whilst a third drew a large knife, and laying hold of the youth's long hair, was about to inflict a deadly wound, when a stout old man-of-war's man, who had been leaning against the mast, suddenly seized the cowardly rascal by the wrist, and twisting his arm round so as nearly to throw him on his back, exclaimed, "Avast there, you lubber! do you call that English fashion? bright blades again a countryman's fist? drop the knife, and let the lad alone—drop it, I say!" and another twist compelled the fellow to obey. The seaman gave him a kick in the stern that sent him flying away amongst the crowd, and then springing to Frank's rescue, the robbers were driven off.

"What cheer, what cheer, my lad, eh?" said the tar, taking the youth's hand; "you tackled to 'em bravely, the picarooning vagabones. But here, keep under my lee, and no soul fore and aft shall mislest you. Have you ever been to sea?"

"No," returned Frank, placing himself by the side of the seaman, "I have never been to sea, but I am the son of a sailor; my father was a lieutenant in the navy."

"Indeed!" said the tar, "and pray what name did he hail by?—the son of a British officer ought to have better usage."

Frank felt the justice of the latter remark, but he did not allude to it, and merely replied, "His name was Heartwell."

"What?" exclaimed the seaman, looking earnestly in the youth's face, "Heartwell,—Muster Frank Heartwell as was in the ould Robust?"

"Yes, he was the senior lieutenant of the Robust," responded the youth, who had through Ben's means made himself acquainted with his father's history.

"Then I sailed with him," rejoined the tar, "and a better officer never had charge of a quarter-deck. And what's become of him, my boy?"

The youth briefly related the circumstances of his father's disappearance, and a conversation ensued, the seaman fully performing his promise to preserve Frank from further molestation; he also praised the negro for standing up for his young master, and Sambo remarked, "Ah Massa Frank, dis no laand o' liberty board a ship."

Still Frank's wretchedness was great; he reflected on the delightful dictures of enjoyment from universal freedom and equality which MonsieurPolverel had powerfully delineated, and he contrasted them with the scene before him, where the defenders of their country were treated worse than brutes by the hand of power. It is probable that he would have sunk under the infliction, but the hope that he cherished of seeing his mother come to his rescue. Yet even that hope was mingled with many misgivings, lest the officer should not have communicated with her, and he might be sent away without being able to acquaint her where he was.

The morning came, a cutter was hauled alongside the Tender, and Frank and Sambo, with about one hundred and fifty others, were put on board; her sails were set, and with a fair breeze she was soon gliding down the river. But Frank, though aware that they were on the move, could see nothing of the proceedings; the impressed men were all confined in the hold, and so crowded together that to sit down was impossible.

At length they reached the Nore, and the impressed hands were transferred to a gun-brig that immediately got under-weigh for the Downs. Confinement was now at an end, the men were permitted to be on deck, and the refreshing breeze came delightful to the wearied frame of the youth. Provisions were also served out, and by the time they had reached their first destination he had in a great measure recovered his proper tone. But the brig did not anchor here; a signal was made for her to proceed to Plymouth, and without delay she made sail through the Straits of Dover. The noble white cliffs and the beautiful scenery of the coast delighted Frank. The sun sparkled upon the waves of the blue ocean, and threw its golden gleams upon the fertile land of his nativity, whose lofty barriers rose in grandeur to defend its shores, and whose "wooden walls" floated in pride to protect its commerce. The horizon was studded with the white sails of distant vessels, and the ships as they approached or passed, hoisting their ensigns, gave a bright break in the picture.

Still the thoughts of his mother's uneasiness operated on Frank's heart, and he determined to write to her as soon as they got to Plymouth; but even this satisfaction was denied to him, for when abreast of Torbay a seventy-four came out and received a draft of hands from the brig, amongst whom was the disappointed lad and the negro, and without communicating with the shore she spread her canvas for the Mediterranean.

This preyed upon the lad's mind, but no time was allowed him to indulge in dejection; he was ordered to go to the purser's steward and get supplied with sailor's apparel, which having dressed himself in, he was mustered before the first lieutenant, who questioned him as to his abilities in order to give him a station. Frank at once told him he was the son of an officer, and had never been to sea before; he named his father, and as the circumstances of his disappearance were pretty well known, Mr. Evans not only took the lad by the hand, but declared himself an old friend and messmate of Mr. Heartwell's, and the emotion he evinced plainly indicated what his feelings towards him were. He was requested to stand on one side till the muster was over, when the lieutenant introduced him to the captain, a noble and generous-minded seaman, who listened with attention and commiseration to Frank's narrative, inquired whether he wished to continue in the service, and finding the lad was desirous to do so he sent for the clerk, and the rating of midshipman was entered against the name of Frank in the muster-book.

It would be impossible to describe the varied feelings of Frank at this favourable change in his fortune, which he regretted he could not at once communicate to his mother. On the passage out, however, they fell in with a corvette homeward bound, and the newly-made midshipman having a letter ready written describing the events that had occurred, he was enabled to send it by this conveyance, and his mind became more tranquil, and his heart more buoyant.

As for Sambo, he was very soon reconciled to his lot, especially when he saw that his young friend and master was made an officer, and treated with kindness and respect. The negro was stationed in the main-top, and showed himself desirous to learn his duty.

History has recorded the events connected with the occupation of Toulon by the allied forces; and here it was that Frank first beheld a scene of warfare. Splendid was the spectacle to his young and ardent mind. There lay the combined fleets of England and Spain, their bright colours and floating pennants flashing in the sun; whilst in the background rose the almost perpendicular mountains of granite, relieved at the base by the white batteries and buildings of the town. As they approached the noble harbour, the smoke from the cannon and musketry proclaimed that active hostility was going on; and Frank felt his heart swell at the thoughts of being engaged with the enemies of his country.

They had scarcely moored the ship, when reinforcements were demanded for the shore; and a party of seamen and marines was landed under the command of Lieutenant Evans, and Frank was permitted to accompany him on duty in the town.

Here he had indeed opportunity of beholding all the pomp, the circumstances, and the cruelties of war; for scarcely a day passed that did not bring with it a skirmish with the enemy. It was not, however, till several weeks had elapsed that Frank was engaged in hostility. It was on the night of the sortie made by General O'Hara against the masked battery that had been constructed by Buonaparte to play upon Fort Malbosquet.

Armed with a cutlass, a brace of pistols, and a pike, the young midshipman accompanied his party to the attack. He felt that he was now an officer in the service of his country; and though his heart palpitated at the thoughts of going into battle, he determined not to flinch. The night was dark; and silently and stealthily they proceeded up the mountain.

This enemy had suspected the design, and were in readiness to receive them; and then began the terrible affray. Frank kept as close to Mr. Evans as he could; he had in some measure become used to the peals of musketry, but not to the consequences of the murderous discharge; and his heart quailed when he beheld body after body rolling down the declivity, and heard the shrieks of the wounded as they lay bleeding on the ground, or fell from crag to crag mangled and dying.

This dread did not last long, for he was hurled into the very thick of the mêlée, and desperation lent strength to his arm. Encouraged by Mr. Evans, who cheered on his men, he rushed forward with the advance, his spirit rising as the strife increased. For a short time he was separated from the lieutenant, but the tide of contest ranging back, he once more joined him at the moment that he had been brought to the earth by a blow from the butt of a French musket; and the soldier was about torepeat the stroke, when Frank with his pike charged with the utmost violence he could muster against the man; the sharpened iron entered his breast so as to throw the soldier off his balance, the blow descended short of the intended victim, and the weapon was shattered to pieces.

But the French soldier was not defeated; and snatching at the prostrate officer's sword he possessed himself of it, and prepared to take ample revenge on the stripling who had no other weapon to oppose to his gigantic strength than his cutlass. Frank gazed at his powerful adversary and believed his last hour was come; but he determined not to abandon the lieutenant. One thought—one moment's thought of his mother intruded—a pang of bitterness and anguish passed through his heart; and then placing himself on the defensive, and purposing if possible to elude his enemy by activity, he saw him advance. At this instant, however, a British corporal interposed, and lunged at the Frenchman with his bayonet; but the brave fellow had been previously wounded and his strength was failing him; still his spirit was indomitable, and a sharp conflict ensued, Frank occasionally getting a cut at the Frenchman, whose superior fencing gave him an admirable command of his weapon; and the youth with horror saw the sword of Mr. Evans passed through and through the body of the corporal: it was done with the rapidity of lightning, and the gallant man fell to the ground with one deep and parting groan.

A laugh—a horrible laugh of triumph issued from the enemy as he now considered his young victim safe to satiate his revenge. The body of the lieutenant lay between them; and as he began to give tokens of returning animation, the soldier seemed undecided whether he should attack the youth or give the officer thecoup-de-grace. Frank beheld him advance—he would not retreat, but with cool determination parried the thrust; but the superior strength of his opponent prevailed; his guard was beat down, and the sword that had so recently taken life was again wet with blood; the youth was borne backward on its point, and in all probability another second would have stretched him lifeless by the side of Mr. Evans, had not a bold athletic seaman flung himself against the soldier, who promptly recovered his blade, but not till he was staggered by a blow from the tar, who shouted in a voice that Frank instantly recognised, "Ware hawse, you lubber—puckalow that—what's the odds, so as you're happy?"—it was Ben Brailsford.

A cry of delight burst from the youth as he incautiously hailed his old companion; for Ben was not aware who it was that he had preserved; but on hearing the well-remembered tongue of his young friend, he turned suddenly round. The Frenchman instantly perceived his advantage, and made a pass that must have dangerously wounded if not killed the worthy seaman, but that the tar, intuitively sensible of his error, sprang on one side, and the sword of his antagonist did but graze his arm. For several minutes the conflict was desperate; Ben was unskilled in the practices of scientific fencing, but he was perfect master of the guards and cuts; and the Frenchman's vigour began to relax through the wounds he had received, and the excessive exertions he had undergone. At last finding resistance futile, the soldier dropped the point of his sword in token of surrender, and the seaman, after disarming him, hastened to the side of the youth, who had fallen to the ground inanimate.

At my friend the squire's, when he lived down at Grassby Farm in Cheshire, I was a constant visitor; and for nothing was that pleasant hospitable house more remarkable than for the eccentric animals that found their way into it, whether as guests or as servants. Of both classes, in the course of a very few years, there were several queer specimens. I laugh as I recal them to mind.

Delightful Grassby, what joyous hours have rolled away there! Well content should I have been to have remained a welcome guest there for ever, if I could but have secured the privilege of dining as sparingly as I liked, and of taking just as few glasses of the old ale or the old port as suitedme, rather than my friend. But with the old-fashioned notions of hospitality prevalent there, the comfort of "enough" was out of the question. It was a word never used at the squire's table. If you desired to taste a second or a third dish, good bountiful Mrs. N. sent you a second or thirddinner; and not to eatallthat was placed before you, though already long past the point where appetite and desire cease, was to break through every principle of their establishment, and violate all their simple ideas of etiquette and good breeding. If you left the remaining wing of the turkey, they would be wretched for the rest of the day—"You didn't like it," "you were not comfortable." After a year or two, Mrs. N. did so far relax, and mingle mercy with her hospitality, as to say when placing two ribs of roast beef upon one's plate, "I hope if there's more than you wish for, that you won't scruple to leave it." The reader will be lucky if he can secure as much indulgence as this, at many country-houses where old fashions and principles yet prevail, and my Lady Bountiful reigns supreme.

Consequences the most alarming sometimes ensued from this sense of the necessity of consuming whatsoever was placed before you by your host. A travelling acquaintance of the squire's (one Mr. Joseph Miller) paid him a flying visit one morning; and as he could not possibly stay one moment, and insisted upon not taking any refreshment at all, he was let off with a tankard of ale, and some of the finest cheese in the county. The traveller threw upward a look of despair as he saw about half a magnificent "Cheshire" introduced to his notice; but as time was precious, he went to work, and ate with vigour for half-an-hour, when the postboy knocked to remind him of the necessity of completing that stage in a given time, or the journey would be fruitless. The answer returned was, that the traveller "would come as soon as he could;" and upon the cheese he fell again with increased energy. Another thirty minutes elapsed, when he paused to gaze, with evident symptoms of exhaustion, on the semicircle of Cheshire, not yet visibly diminished; a second rap now summoned him, but his reply was an anxious, hopeless look, and the faint ejaculation "Wait!" The attack on the cheese was once more renewed, but by no means fiercely. "Gad," cried the squire, at last, "had I guessed you could ha'staid so long, we'd a hastened dinner a bit." "So long!" exclaimed the traveller in a tone of despair; "let me tell you such a piece of cheese as that isn't to be got through so soon as you think for!"

Another case, and a still more piteous one, was that of a young and simple damsel from a neighbouring county, who brought with her to Grassby Farm the established consciousness (prevailing still over a large portion of the country) of the unpardonable rudeness of sending away anything presented by the host. Accordingly, one day at dinner, when cheese was sent round, and a plate containing several pieces was handed to the young lady, she presumed it to be meant for her, and as in duty bound devoured the whole supply. It so happened that she did not visit at the squire's again for some considerable time; and then, when remonstrated with for not calling upon her friends at the farm, she said, "Well, I will call, I shall be delighted to dine with you again; but—pray don't give me so much cheese!"

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