FITZHERBERT.

CHAPTER I.

"Thy forest, Windsor! and thy green retreats,
At once the monarch's and the Muse's seats,
Invite my lays. Be present, sylvan maids!
Unlock your springs, and open all your shades."

РОРЕ.

Ir was a glorious evening in June, one of those rich, soft, mellow evenings which have a cheering influence on age and sorrow, but which fill the heart of youth and hope with a rapture scarcely of this earth. Such a sky would have lent beauty even to a desert; but what pen, what pencil could pourtray its loveliness while it canopied the rich varied foliage of Windsor forest, the graceful deer reposing in the shade,

and the grey time-worn turrets of the castle which flung over the present beauty of the scene all the halo of the past! There was that soft hazy mist over the distance, which, like beauty's veil, induces fancy to imagine brighter charms than it conceals. The silence was unbroken, save by that distant hum which reminds one that none are near.

The start and flight of a princely stag indicated that his quick ear had caught the sound of a footstep, and the next moment a youth, whose gentlemanly appearance announced the Etonian, pushed aside the thick boughs and appeared in the open glade.

He paused for a moment, struck with the beauty of the prospect; nor were his graceful figure and enthusiastic countenance out of keeping with the scene.

Though tall and finely proportioned he did not appear above seventeen. A foraging cap, placed on one side, left uncovered enough of his head to display its classical outline, and its rich natural ornament of thickly curled auburn hair.

His white forehead formed a curious contrast to his sunburnt cheek. His face was such as painters give to Narcissus; but the animated expression of his large black eyes redeemed it from the effeminacy of that dreamy youth.

Such in person was Henry Fitzherbert, and the proud frankness of his countenance answered well to a heart open as the day, and a mind that knew no disguise.

After walking rapidly for some time, he arrived at a little cottage covered with honeysuckles and the rose des quatre saisons. He tapped at the window, and hearing the desired "Come in!" found himself the next moment in the centre of a humble group. In one corner sate a widow, who looked not, in the common cant, as if she had seen better days, for the traces of those of far deeper suffering were on her pale cheek. Two or three little children crowded round Henry, and a pretty blue-eyed girl blushed and curtsied and wiped down the best chair for "Master Harry."

The widow did not seem much pleased with

the visit; but who could not have read a different feeling in the deep blue eyes of Fanny? "Mrs. Wilson," said Henry, "I am come to bring you good news; I leave Eton tomorrow." The widow looked pleased; Fanny turned very pale, and the children began to cry.

"I wish you well, Sir, go where you will," said Mrs. Wilson somewhat abruptly.

“And the sooner I go the better, I suppose," he replied. "However, I could not leave without settling old scores, and bringing a keepsake or so for Fanny and my little friends."

The children were already busied in peeping into a little basket Henry had brought with him, and their mother as active in chiding them. Fanny, unmindful of the basket and its contents, only said in a short sobbing voice,

"Are you really going, Master Harry?" "I am indeed, my good girl; but go where I will, I shall remember your pretty face and kind heart. Mrs. Wilson," he added, hastily placing five pounds in her hand, "you must not refuse this from an old friend, or foe, which you will.

Do not hesitate, it is a debt; and I should have paid it long ago but for my empty pocket and a promise of secresy. Know then that the ducks, the turkey and the apples you have so often and so feelingly bewailed were filched by me when a luckless fag. I cannot but glory even now in the dexterity with which I so often outwitted your lubberly cowherd, and even milked the cows he was keeping at the command of my tyrant. But I always meant to repay you this, and you must not refuse the last favour I shall ask you."

"Well, the Lord bless you, Master Harry, for a noble young gentleman, though a clever thief," said Mrs. Wilson, tremulously grasping the welcome note.

"Here," continued Henry, taking out some toys well packed in paper, " here, my little fellows, you must not open these till I am gone,' (foreseeing that curiosity would prevent the boisterous grief he wished to escape.) "But where is Fanny?"-" In the garden," said lit tle Tom, quite engrossed by his toy.