yer worst, 'tis all the same; ye cannot twist the rope, nor untwist it; 'tis done at the birth by a stronger hand than yours or mine. The will of God be done! The will of the blessed saints be done! So let it be! so let it be! And where will ye send my child, who has been twelve years this blessed day under your roof? I know where you will send her to St. Mary's. Oh that the poor maiden could be content there! but she won't, 'tis not her rede; and the time will come, as surely as there's a God in heaven, when those who look down upon her will be glad to eat at her table. Any way, I am content is she not in the Lord's keeping? I thought her time was done here when I heard who was coming; and many changes will come ere Rosalind Sydney again crosses the threshold of Sydney Pleasance. But my everlasting curse, the ban of a Murrough, shall be on you and yours if you put that child's life in danger. Look ye, Lady Sydney," and she advanced so close to the haughty dame that she felt the hot breath upon her cheek-"look ye, others can see sights, and dream dreams, and maybe spell the heavens, as well as you: 'tis not unknown to me what is in store for the dark-eyed maid of the Boyne water. Many's the prayer and many's the charm awaiting her above that sky that you strive to read (God enlighten you!) with eyes of flesh. Your blessing, this fine. morning, holy father," she continued, turning to Father Frank, apparently no longer mindful of Lady Sydney's presence; and after sinking on her knees before the priest, who gave the required benediction as quickly as possible, she stalked from the chamber without further ceremony or leave-taking of any sort.

CHAPTER III.

The world had never taken so full note

Of what thou art, hadst thou not been undone ;
And only thy afflictions have begot

More fame than thy best fortunes could have done;
For ever by adversity are wrought
The greatest works of admiration;
And all the fair examples of renown
Out of distress and misery are grown.

DANIEL.

"DOUBTLESS you are a brilliant fellow, and a gay; yet, methinks, for a court gallant, most wonderfully silent. What would the merrimakers of the court, or the jolly gallants of the camp, say to this mood of melancholy? or King James himself, right noble, right honourable as he is? You, his prime favourite, the spirited Cuthbert Raymond, the flower of his Irish chivalry, the youth who, according to his majesty's compliment, would as soon miss his sword as his mass-what, I say, would he say to this murky humour?"

"Go on, go on, Captain Basil Sydney, go on; merry be your heart; you are going home-home, where a kind father, a tender mother, will hail your coming as though it were a saint's day or a festival—heigh-ho!”

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Heigh-ho! art in love, man? It may be with a madonna then, or with thyself; but no, no, thou art esteemed by others far more than by thyself. What ails thee, Cuthbert ?"

"The cloud comes athwart the sky, yet we know not whence it comes; so cannot I tell how or why is my gloom. I am not often thus. Many a time have I cheered and chased your evil thoughts, and made you merry when those thoughts were sad. But the times are troublous, the people discontented; the change of the great officers, whereby the treasury was put into commission with two professed Catholics among them, my Lords Bellasis and Dover, has increased that discontent with the professors of your religion, Basil; and the appointment of my Lord Tyrconnel to succeed Clarendon as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, though delightful for us, is, methinks, sorry news for the Protestants."

"Granted, all granted, Cuthbert; we poor Protestants are likely to chew the bit, the poisoned bit, that has been kept for our exclusive use by the tender mercies of mother church-grandmother church I should say. But the scale will turn; see-saw, saw-see-so goes the world."

"And then we shall bite no more, but be bitten in our turn: pray ye, when this comes to pass, Captain Sydney, look with compassion on your poor friend Cuthbert, and suffer him to buff your belt-to brighten your spurs-to saddle your horse-that so he be not shot or starved by the avenger!"

There was a peculiar tone in this speech, and it was moreover accompanied by a smart blow of the riding-whip to hasten his horse's speed, which made his cooler companion pause ere he replied to it.

Cuthbert Raymond was an Irishman and a Catholic, and yet the chosen, cherished friend of Captain Sydney. He was brave, spirited, and daring; somewhat prone to contention, but, being in a quarrel, comported himself with a wild generosity which might not unjustly be termed romance. He was a great favourite of the king, and consequently looked upon with much jealousy by many of the Protestant officers, the majority of whom were strongly suspected of favouring the pretensions of William of Orange.

Cuthbert did not deserve either jealousy or suspicion; he was too brave, too reckless of consequences, to heed the signs and bearings of the times. He loved the toil and din of war, and the only thing that made him complain of the tented camp at Hounslow was the inglorious ease in which he lived. He was in all things a most rigid Catholic; his lofty mind dwelt with enthusiasm on the rites and mysteries of so poetical a religion; in sincerity and truth venerating the priesthood, constant in his confessions, and giving, with a liberality which deprived him of many of the enjoyments of his age and rank, to the masses and ceremonies so pompously patronised and shared in by the weak-minded but unfortunate James.

Basil Sydney was cast in a stronger but not a better mould; he cannot be described as a fervent Protestant, yet he despised Romanism and Puritanism with a most perfect contempt. Much of the wit and gallantry of the court of Charles haunted the camp of his Catholic brother, and though

the more dissipated were not men who could tarnish the high-minded Basil, yet few of the young are altogether proof against the perpetual and exciting jest which the reckless level at good principles. Angry and abashed they ever are at first; but it too frequently happens that the sentiment of the poet is reversed, and that those

"Who come to pray,
Remain to scoff."

Basil was, politically speaking, a decided Protestant; the term, to his ear, was pregnant with the freedom and glory of England. He was proud of being an Englishman, and he was proud of being a Protestant-he would have died for the name, though of the faith he knew but little the more it was endangered, the more did he hold to it-with all the tenacity of a generous mind, the stronger did he feel its claims upon his support. He would have given worlds that his mother had not been a Catholic, for then he could have hated Catholicism with a more entire hatred. He was, perhaps, over-fond of bantering his friend Cuthbert on the subject of fasts and feasts, and friars' sanctity and the pope's infallibility, and a host of other superstitious rites or opinions; he loved to draw him out-to excite his indignation, for then, as he would afterward say, he appeared to the best advantage. Basil Sydney would do this quietly and calmly, as if he were in earnest; and Cuthbert Raymond would reply hotly, after the fashion of his country-and then, when the heat was over, laugh at his own impetuosity. Basil, by his English prudence and forethought, had extricated Cuthbert from many a scrape; and Cuthbert had not spared the powerful interest he possessed in the Catholie court, for the benefit of his Protestant friend: thus, the young men were united by that strong bond of friendship, mutual service; and though Basil was generally grave and thoughtful, there were times, as we have seen, when he would relax therefrom, and change character with his more volatile associate.

"Cuthbert," replied Basil, after a long pause, reining up his horse and drawing closer to his friend," that was said somewhat bitterly; and let us resolve, now that the politics of our country are in such a distressful condition, to have no

chafing together on religious subjects. The time has been, and I fear me is fast returning, when every man's hand may be lifted against his brother; when-but I will not anticipate evil; upon its demon pinions it flies swiftly enough, and is certainly winging its way towards us. Only promise me, Cuthbert, that you will not moot this point, and, for the sake of the friendship I so dearly prize, I will be equally careful."

Basil Sydney extended his hand, which was eagerly grasped. Another pause ensued; and at a sudden turn in the bridle-path, the travellers reached a point where the route they journeyed was intersected by two cross-roads.

"A pretty puzzle," quoth Raymond, who held the rank of major in his majesty's forces; "we have crossed so far from Southampton well, left Culverly in its proper place, but this New Forest would puzzle a conjurer-vistas and paths and here we are. Now, gallant captain, your knowledge of the locale would be useful."

"This turn," replied his comrade, "is new to me. I have been so little at home that the memory of the by-roads fades from my remembrance; indeed the foresters are ever changing the ways. Jemmings!" calling forward one of the two servants who, well armed and mounted, followed their masters; "can you tell which path we are to take?"

The attendant touched his cap à la militaire, and was as much at fault as his master, though not by any means disposed to acknowledge it.

"There used to be a course somewhere hereabouts, your honour, leading to the Pleasance, because I particularly remember that by the old oak near Sydney park-gate lived Cicely Maynard's mother. Sydney park must be somewhat near, to my thinking—and the smoke used to come curling, curling up through the trees, just like the puff out of the great gun what we call Blue Bill,'-out of the wrong side of a compliment to the Prince of Orange, your honour. I always used to know when Dame Maynard was a-cooking, by the smoke."

"Very likely," replied Captain Sydney; " but I do not see what the smoke has to do with the case; there used certainly to be a road different from either of those, Jemmings."

"That's what I say, please your honour; not but what