and chide him back into thankfulness and hope? | sense of guilt. The report was good-Madeline And surely we ought to take account of the stars, and not look only at the blank spaces of sky between them. Ida had kneeled some time by Madeline's bedside in silent prayer, when a tap at the door aroused her. She softly opened it, and there stood dear uncle John with a candle in his hand. "My-my-darling," stammered he, " you'll be ill and tired. Go to bed, please, and let me sit up the rest of the night." Poor uncle John! he had a high-peaked nightcap on his head, with an odd little tuft at the top of it; he was quite tipsy with suppressed sleep, and he held the candle all on one side, and winked and blinked at it, as if he was trying to make it comprehend, by signals, that it ought to stand upright again. He wore a dressing-gown, with a huge flowered pattern, like a shawl gone mad, and he moved his feet about in his slippers as if there were pivots in them, and he was forever losing his balance. He looked like an owl that had been drinking punch, and felt cheerful, unreasonable, and impotent, after the unwonted carouse. I don't know what will be thought of Ida, but a sense of the ludicrous is the strongest of all the senses, and the most resolute in its disregard of time and place; and, in spite of her recent emotion and present sorrow, she fairly laughed in his face. It's no use trying to conceal the fact, though it will probably be thought "shockingly inconsistent;" but the misfortune is, that life is shockingly inconsistent too, and will mix the comic with the solemn whether we like it or not. 66 Ida propped up the candle with one hand, and coaxingly stroked the good man's cheek with the other. "You dear, kind uncle!" she said; 'you are talking in your sleep, you know; and so we must allow for your talking nonsense. Of course you must go to bed again, for there 's nothing else to be done; and I'm not in the least tired." "Well," exclaimed uncle John, a little more coherently, "I can't let you wear yourself out for all the Mrs. Chesters in the world. If you won't let me sit up with her, I shall go and call Melissa." Ida put up her hands and her eyebrows, and drew him a little further from the door, fearing lest they should disturb the invalid. "Oh, now you are quite mad!" cried she. "There is something very bad indeed the matter with you, I'm afraid. I don't know whether I had not better come and sit up with you, for you are evidently in a most dangerous state." They were here interrupted by aunt Ellenor, who, with equal kindness and a little more reason, had determined upon sharing Ida's vigil, and now came to take her place. Ida resisted as long as she could, but submitted at last, on the condition that she was to be roused immediately if any change took place in the patient. She was not roused, however, till the broad sunlight awakened her; and she sprang from her bed almost with a slept; she had roused once, appeared feverish, uneasy, restless, and Mrs. Aytoun had administered the second dose of opium. Ida stole to the bedside, satisfied herself that her friend's slumber was really profound and calm; and then, in obedience to a special summons from Melissa, descended to the breakfast-room, where the party was already assembled. Thrice she stopped on the stairs, and drew her hand across her face with a feeling of bewilderment. So many new, strange, painful thoughts were busy in her heart, that she felt quite overpowered. She said to herself that she felt ten years older for that one night. She felt almost a terror of encountering Madeline when she should awake; and she longed more intensely than ever for the presence of her father, who would, she was sure, set all right, if only he were there. Little Arthur sprang to meet her as she entered the room, and she could only by a strong effort keep back her tears when she stooped to kiss him. She had not perceived that there was any addition to the party; but when Melissa's sharp voice. softened as it generally was in company into an artificial hoarseness, saluted her with the words "Ida, my dear, come and speak to Mr. Tyrrell; he is a friend of your father's and particularly wishes to be introduced to you," she shrank back, feeling herself change color, trembling from head to foot, and almost ready to faint. It was true that she had heard that Mr. Tyrrell was expected, but she had forgotten it; and it seemed strange and terrible that he should actually be in the house. Melissa's hasty whisper recalled her to herself:-"My dear Ida, pray don't allow yourself to be shy; there is nothing so unlady-like as shyness." She moved forward with all her natural gracefulness, and if she was pale, and the hand which she put into Mr. Tyrrell's was somewhat cold and shook a little, it passed for the effect of her watching and anxiety, and was not otherwise noticed. Alexander was forward in his expressions of concern and interestit was shameful that she should have been suffered to tire herself-what would she take? She looked pale, absolutely pale-he would never forgive Mrs. Chester. And yet he could not call the paleness unbecoming; only it made him feel anxious. He would drive her out after breakfast, and the air would revive her. While he was pouring these protestations into her ear, Godfrey had silently placed before her his own untasted cup of coffee; and the timely stimulant just saved her from the commonplace resource of a young lady in difficulties-a hearty fit of crying. soon as she dared, she stole a hasty glance at Mr. Tyrrell. He was a tall, fine-looking man, rather older than she expected to see him; his dark hair was touched with gray, and the expression of his face, though very determined, had also great gentleness. The determination was in the mouth, which seemed the very index of a steadfast and inexorable will; the lips, finely cut and firm As ly closed, with a slight compression at the corners, melancholy gaze. She felt very nervous; there which there was no mistaking. But the sweet- was a slight movement in the room above—Madeness was in the eyes, which were, at the same line's room; she looked first at Mr. Tyrrell, then time, uncommonly penetrating, and which were at the child, then thought of the poor sufferer up fixed upon Ida's face with an expression of inter-stairs, and felt as if she could not bear the mysest so strangely deep and earnest, that she looked down almost frightened, and the ready blush mantled in her transparent cheeks. Perhaps Mr. Tyrrell felt that his gaze had been more fixed than good breeding permitted, for he shook off his reverie, and resumed the conversation which Ida's entrance had interrupted. He was speaking of his little boy. "I suppose I shall be thought rather strange," said he; "but, next to a sense of right and wrong, I confess I am principally anxious to develop in him a sense of beauty and ugliness-in other words, a true love of art. Few things would give me such pleasure as to see him an artist." 66 Mr. Tyrrell smiled. "Yes," said he, a little absently; we are learning, I hope, to know a little more than we used to do of the use of art. Revelation, Nature, Art-these are the three lights of life, though the first is, of course, a sun, and the others only stars." tery, and wonder, and pain, which had thus come upon her. Why did he look at her so? There must be some reason for it. She would have ran out of the room, but she encountered Melissa's eye, and she knew well that nothing so grievously disturbed that lady's equanimity as an irregularity at meals. So she sat still, though her head ached terribly, and in another minute Mr. Tyrrell addressed her, but certainly not in a manner calculated to restore her composure. "Is there not a Mrs. Chester who generally lives with you, Miss Lee?" he inquired, gently, but (so it seemed to her) with the air of a man who was suppressing some agitation ;- a friend, to whom you are very deeply attached ?" 66 66 Yes," replied Ida, almost in a whisper, and scarcely conscious what she said. "I am particularly anxious to be introduced to her. Shall I not see her?" pursued Mr. Tyrrell. Ida could not answer him. Luckily, uncle John spoke for her. "Oh, poor thing! she's in bed," replied he. "She's very ill--brain fever, or something of the sort. Ida sat up half the night with her." There could be no question that Mr. Tyrrell's face now expressed some very painful feeling, though it was immediately suppressed. “I hope she is better-likely to get better," said he, after a moment's pause, speaking hurriedly, and in an "I am heartily glad," cried Godfrey, with en- under tone to Ida, while the others were beginthusiasm, "that you don't talk like most people, ning to discuss something else. "I hope in a who seem to think that God Almighty never made | few days—” -" He stopped abruptly. "I don't anything except the Bible. There seems to be no infidelity so bad or so common as that which fails to perceive the divinity of all creation-the religion, if I may so speak, which exists in everything that God has made, which it is man's business to develop." know-I hope so." This was Ida's incoherent answer. Mr. Tyrrell said little more during the rest of breakfast. He seemed to be laboring under a depression which he could not shake off. Ida was thankful indeed when the moment arrived at which she might withdraw. Her brain was in a whirl. Was it possible that he suspected-that he had discovered? and if so, what a time, and what a manner of making the inquiry! It was surely impossible. And yet, what else could explain his behavior? When she entered Madeline's room, her thoughts were scarcely calmer or clearer than those of the poor invalid herself. God, the affairs of this country have been regulated, and everything goes on well, and for their benefit and that of their kingdom. How happy oughtest thou to esteem thyself, O kingdom of Scotland, to be favored, fed, and maintained, like an infant, on the breast of the most puissant and magnanimous king of France, the greatest lord in the whole world, and future monarch of that round machine, for without him thou wouldst have been laid in ashes, thy country wasted and ruined by the English, utterly accursed of God."-Monthly Review, vol. 61, 1779, [FRENCH PROTECTION OF SCOTLAND.] STEPHEN PERKIN, an ecclesiastic who wrote a description of England and Scotland in French, published in Paris, 1558, speaks thus of Scotland "This country, although it is in a bad neighborhood, being near a haughty, treacherous, and proud enemy, has nevertheless sustained itself in a manly sort by the means and assistance of the most noble king of France, who has many times let the English know what were the consequences of the anger of so great a monarch and emperor. But thanks to p. 12. Sheepscote, Nov. 20.-Annoyed by Dick's com- | never wearie mine; soe, if you please, deare Moll, we will goe to our lessons here everie morning; and it may be that I shall get you through y° grammar faster than Robin can. If we come to anie difficultie we shall refer it to Roger." Now, Mr. Agnew's looks exprest such pleasure with both, that it were difficult to tell which felt ye most elated; soe calling me deare Moll, (he hath hitherto Mistress Miltoned me ever since I sett foot in his house,) he sayed he would not interrupt our studdies, though he should be within call, and soe left us. I had not felt soe happy since father's birthday; and though Rose kept me Iclose to my book for two hours, I found her a far less irksome tutor than deare Robin. Then she went away, singing, to make Roger's favorite dish, and afterwards we tooke a brisk walke, and came home hungrie enough to dinner. panions, I prayed father to let me stay awhile with Rose; and gaining his consent, came over here yestermorn, without thinking it needefulle to send notice, which was perhaps inconsiderate. But she received me with kisses and words of tendernesse, though less smiling than usualle, and eagerlie accepted mine offered visitt. Then she ran off to find Roger, and I heard them talking earnestlie in a low voice before they came in. His face was grave, even stern, when he entred, but he held out his hand, and sayd, "Mistress Milton, you are welcome! how is it with you? and how was Mr. Milton when he wrote to you last!" answered brieflie, he was well: than came a silence, and then Rose took me to my chamber, which was sweet with lavender, and its hangings of y whitest. It reminded me too much of my first week of marriage, soe I resolved to think not at all lest I shoulde be bad companie, but cheer up and be gay. Soe I asket Rose a thousand questions about her dairie and bees, laught much at dinner, and told Mr. Agnew sundrie of the merrie sayings of Dick and his Oxford friends. And, for my reward, when we were afterwards apart, I heard him tell Rose (by reason of ye walls being thin) that how ever she might regard me for old affection's sake, he thought he had never knowne soe unpromising a character. This made me dulle enoughe alle the rest of the evening, and repent having come to Sheepscote however, he liked me ye better for being quiete; and Rose, being equallie chekt, we sewed in silence while he read to us y° first division of Spencer's Legend of Holinesse, about Una and the Knight, and how they got sundered. This led to much serious, yet not unpleasing discourse, which lasted till supper. For the first time at Sheepscote, I coulde not eat, which Mr. Agnew observing, prest me to take wine, and Rose woulde starte up to fetch some of her preserves; but I chekt her with a motion, not being quite able to speak; for their being soe kind made y teares ready to starte, I knew not why. Family prayers, after supper, rather too long; yet though I coulde not keep up my attention, they seemed to spread a calm and a peace alle about, that extended even to me; and though, after I had undressed, I sat a long while in a maze, and bethought me how piteous a creature I was, yet, once layed down, never sank into deeper, more composing sleep. Nov. 21. This morning, Rose exclaimed, "Dear Roger! onlie think! Moll has begun to learn Latin since she returned to Forest Hill, thinking to surprise Mr. Milton when they meet.' "She will not onlie surprise but please him," returned dear Roger, taking my hand very kindlie; "I can onlie say, I hope they will meet long before she can read his Poemata, unless she learnes much faster than most people." I replyed, I learned very slowly, and wearied Robin's patience; on which Rose, kissing me, cried, "You will There is a daily beauty in Rose's life, that I not onlie admire, but am readie to envy. Oh! if Milton lived but in y poorest house in the countrie, methinks I coulde be very happy with him. 66 Bedtime.—Chancing to make the above remark to Rose, she cried, "And why not be happy with him in Aldersgate Street?" I brieflie replied that he must get the house first, before it were possible to tell whether I coulde be happy there or not. Rose stared, and exclaimed, Why, where do you suppose him to be now?" Where but at the taylor's in St. Bride's Churchyard ?" I replied. She claspt her hands with a look I shall never forget, and exclaimed in a sort of vehement passion, "Oh, cousin, cousin, how you throw your own happinesse away! How awfulle a pause must have taken place in your intercourse with the man whom you promised to abide by till death, since you know not that he has long since taken possession of his new home; that he strove to have it ready for you at Michaelmasse !" Doubtlesse I lookt noe less surprised than I felt; -a suddain prick at y heart prevented speech; but it shot acrosse my heart that I made out y words "Aldersgate" and "new home," in y fragments of the letter my father had torn. Rose, misjudging my silence, burst forthe anew with "Oh, cousin! cousin! coulde anie home, however dull and noisesome, drive me from Roger Agnew? Onlie think of what you are doing-of what you are leaving undone!—of what you are preparing against yourself! To put the wickednesse of a selfish course out of y° account, onlie think of its mellancholie, its miserie-destitute of alle the sweet, bright, fresh well-springs of happinesse ;— unblest by God!" Here Rose wept passionatelie, and claspt her arms about me; but, when I began to speak, and to tell her of much that had made me miserable, she hearkened in motionlesse silence, till I told her that father had torn y° letter and beaten the messenger. Then she cried, "Oh, I see now what may and shall be done! Roger shall be peacemaker," and ran off with joyfulnesse; I not with holding her. But I can never be joyfulle more it. And you know well enough, Moll, that what father decrees, must be, and he hath decreed that you must come home now; soe no more ado, I pray you, but fetch your cloak and hood, and the Nov. 28.-Now that I am at Forest Hill agayn, horses shall come round, for 't will be late e'er we I will essay to continue my journalling. Mr. Agnew was out; and though a keene wintry winde was blowing, and Rose was suffering from colde, yet she went out to listen for his horse's feet at y° gate, with onlie her apron cast over her head. Shortlie, he returned; and I heard him say in a troubled voice, "Alle are in arms at Forest Hill." I felt soe greatlie shocked as to neede to sit downe instead of running forthe to learn y news. I supposed y parliamentarian soldiers had advanced, unexpectedlie, upon Oxford. His next words were, "Dick is coming for her at noone-poor soul, I know not what she will doe -her father will trust her noe longer with you and me." Then I saw them both passe the window, slowlie pacing together, and hastened forth to joyn them; but they had turned into yo pleached alley, theire backs towards me; and both in such earnest and apparentlie private communication, that I dared not interrupt them till they turned aboute, which was not for some while; for they stood for some time at y head of y° alley, still with theire backs to me, Rose's hair blowing in y cold wind; and once or twice she seemed to put her kerchief to her eyes. 66 66 "You seem as reach home. "Nay, you must dine here at all events," sayd Rose; "I know, Dick, you love roast pork." Soe Dick relented. Soe Rose, turning to me, prayed me to bid Cicely hasten dinner; the which I did, tho' thinking it strange Rose should not goe herself. But, as I returned, I heard her say, Not a word of it dear Dick, at the least, till after dinner, lest you spoil her appetite. Soe Dick sayd he shoulde goe and look after ye horses. I sayd then, brisklie, I see somewhat is the matter-pray tell me what it is. But Rose looked quite dull, and walked to y* window. Then Mr. Agnew sayd, dissatisfied to leave us, cousin, as we are to lose you; and yet you are going back to Forest Hill -to that home in which you will doubtlesse be happy to live all your dayes." "At Forest Hill?" I sayd, "oh no! I hope not." "And why?" said he quicklie. I hung my head, and muttered, I hope, some daye, to goe back to Mr. Milton." "And why not at once?" sayd he. I sayd, "Father would not let me." Nay, that is childish," he answered; "your father could not hinder you if you wanted not yo mind to goe-it was your first seeming soe loth to return, that made him think Now, while I stood mazed and uncertain, I you unhappie and refuse to part with you." I hearde a distant clatter of horse's feet, on y hard sayd, "And what if I were unhappie?" He road a good way off, and could descrie Dick com- paused; and knew not at y° moment what auing towards Sheepscote. Rose saw him too, and swer to make, but shortlie replied by another commenced running towards me; Mr. Agnew fol- question, "What cause had you to be soe?" I lowing with long strides. Rose drew me back sayd, "That was more easily askt than answered, into y house, and sayd, kissing me, "Dearest even if there were anie neede I shoulde answer it, Moll, I am soe sorry; Roger hath seen your father or he had anie right to ask it." He cried in an this morn, and he will on no account spare you to accent of tendernesse that still rings my heart to us anie longer; and Dick is coming to fetch you remember. "Oh question not the right! I only even now. I sayd, "Is father ill?" "Oh no," wish to make you happy. Were you not happy replied Mr. Agnew; then coming up, "He is not with Mr. Milton during y week you spent toill, but he is perturbed at something which has gether here at Sheepscote?" Thereat I coulde occurred; and, in truth, soe am I.—But remem- not refrayn from bursting into tears. Rose now ber, Mistress Milton, remember, dear cousin, that sprang forward; but Mr. Agnew sayd, “Let her when you married, your father's guardianship of weep, let her weep, it will do her good." Then, you passed into y hands of your husband-your alle at once it occurred to me that my husband husband's house was thenceforthe your home; and, was awaiting me at home, and I cried, "Oh, is in quitting it you committed a fault you may yet Mr. Milton at Forest Hill?" and felt my heart repaire, though this offensive act has made y full of gladness. Mr. Agnew answered, "Not difficultie much greater."-"Oh, what has hap- soe, not soe, poor Moll:" and, looking up at him, pened?" I impatientlie cried. Just then, Dick I saw him wiping his brow, though the daye was comes in with his usual blunt salutations, and then soe chill. "As well tell her now," sayd he to cries, "Well, Moll, are you ready to goe back?" Rose; and then taking my hand, "Oh, Mrs. Mil"Why should I be ?" I sayd, "when I am soe ton, can you wonder that your husband shoulde be happy here? unless father is ill, or Mr. Agnew angry? How can you wonder at anie evil that and Rose are tired of ine." They both interrupted, may result from y provocation you have given there was nothing they soe much desired, at this him? What marvell, that since you cast him off, present, as that I shoulde prolong my stay. And all y sweet fountains of his affections would be you know Dick, I added, that Forest Hill is not embittered, and that he should retaliate by seeking soe pleasant to me just now as it hath commonlie a separation, and even a divorce?"-There I stopt beene, by reason of your Oxford companions. He him with an outery of "Divorce ?" "Even soe," brieffe sayd, I neede not mind that, they were he most mournfully replyed, " and I seeke not to coming no more to ye house, father had decreed excuse him, since two wrongs make not a right." "But," I cried, passionately weeping, "I have given him noe cause; my heart has never for a moment strayed to another, nor does he, I am sure, expect it." "Ne'erthelesse," enjoined Mr. Agnew, "he is soe aggrieved and chafed, that he has followed up what he considers your breach of the marriage contract by writing and publishing a book on divorce; the tenor of which coming to your father's ears, has violently incensed him. And now, dear cousin, having, by your waywardness, kindled this flame, what remains for you but to-nay, hear me, hear me, Moll, for Dick is coming in, and I may not not let him hear me urge you to yo onlie course that can regayn your peace-Mr. Milton is still your husband; each of you have now something to forgive; do you be ye firste: nay, seeke his forgivenesse, and you shall be happier than you have beene yet." -But I was weeping without controule; and Dick coming in, and with Dick ye dinner, I askt to be excused, and soe soughte my chamber, to weep there without restraynt or witnesse. Poor Rose came up, as soone as she coulde leave the table, and told me she had eaten as little as I, and woulde not even presse me to eat. But she carest me and comforted me, and urged in her owne tender way alle that had beene sayd by Mr. Agnew; even protesting that if she were in my place, she would not goe back to Forest Hill, but straight to London, to entreat with Mr. Milton for his mercy. But I told her I could not do that, even had I the means for yo journey; for that my heart was turned against y man who coulde, for ye venial offence of a young wife, in abiding too long with her old father, not onlie cast her off from his love, but hold her up to ye world's blame and scorn, by making their domestic quarrel the matter for a printed attack. Rose sayd, "I admit he is wrong, but indeed, indeed, Moll, you are wrong too, and you were wrong first: and she sayd this soe often, that at length we came to crosser words; when Dick, calling to me from below, would have me make haste, which I was glad to doe, and left Sheepscote less regrettfullie than I had expected. Rose kist me with her gravest face. Mr. Agnew put me on my horse, and sayd, as he gave me ye rein, "Now think! now think! even yet!" and then as I silently rode off, "God bless you." I held down my head; but at y turn of y road, lookt back, and saw him and Rose watching us from y porch. Dick cried, "I am righte glad we are off at last, for father is downright crazie aboute this businesse, and mistrustfulle of Agnew's influence over you," and would have gone on railing, but I bade him for pitie's sake be quiete. The effects of my owne follie, the losse of home, husband, name, the opinion of y Agnews, the opinion of y° worlde, rose up agaynst me and almost drove me mad. And, just as I was thinking I had better lived out my dayes, and dyed earlie in St. Bride's Church-yarde than that alle this should have come about, the sudden recollection of what Rose had that morning tolde me, which soe manie other thoughts had driven out of my head, viz., that Mr. Milton had, in his desire to please me, while I was onlie bent on pleasing myself, been secretly striving to make readie y Aldersgate Street house agaynst my return,— soe overcame me, that I wept as I rode along. Nay, at y corner of a branch road, had a mind to beg Dick to let me goe to London; but a glance at his dogged countenance sufficed to foreshow my answer. Half dead with fatigue and griefe when I reached home, ye tender embraces of my father and mother completed y overthrowe of my spiritts. I tooke to my bed; and this is yo first daye I have left it; nor will they let me send for Rose, nor even tell her I am ill. January 1, 1644.—The new year opens drearilie, on affairs both publick and private. The loaf parted at breakfast this morning, which, as the saying goes, is a sign of separation; but mother onlie sayd 't was because it was badly kneaded, and chid Margery. She hath beene telling me, but now, how I mighte have 'scaped all my troubles, and seene as much as I woulde of her and father, and yet have contented Mr. Milton and beene counted a good wife. Noe advice soe ill to bear as that which comes too late. Jan. 7.—I am sick of this journalling, soe shall onlie put downe ye date of Robin's leaving home. Lord have mercy on him, and keepe him in safetie. This is a shorte prayer; therefore, easier to be often repeated. When he kissed me, he whispered, "Moll, pray for me." Jan. 27.-Father does not seeme to miss Robin much, tho' he dailie drinks his health after that of yo king. Perhaps he did not miss me anie more when I was in London, though it was true and naturall enough he should like to see me agayn. We should have beene used to our separation by this time; there w have beene nothing corroding in it. ** I pray for Robin everie night. Since he went, the house has lost its sunshine. When I was soe anxious to return to Forest Hill, I never counted on his leaving it. |