having motioned to his friend that he should step through the open door into the ante-room.

"The governor desires his respects, and begs a few moments! conversation with you," said the man as he entered the room.

"Then why does he not come himself?

Pray does he think that I am to be ordered about in my own castle, to attend to his whims ? Go back and tell him that I will come at my leisure."

The man turned to leave the room, when he was recalled by Sir Philip, who, remembering the adventure of the last night, thought it prudent to keep on good terms with one who, never friendly, had now so good a hold by which he might take his revenge. "I will follow you," he said now; "the sooner my business is over in that quarter, the better." So saying, he left the room.

Arrived in the apartment of Farren, he was somewhat surprised at the nature of his communication. After telling him that he had been informed of the arrival of De Vere, (though from what source he did not mention,) the governor proceeded to command his immediate departure from the castle. "You know," added he to De Warholme, "how unwilling I should be to do any thing contrary to your wishes, but the arrival of De Vere cannot long be kept a secret from my soldiers, and thence you may be sure it will soon travel to the Protector."

"We must set about, therefore, arranging our plan in good earnest," said De Warholme, after having given his friend an account of his interview with the governor. "Come, we will meet in Mordaunt's'

Dr. Hewet is, I believe, already there ;-he, you know, is a most active champion in our cause.'

On entering the chamber of the invalid, they found him sitting up in bed, in close conversation with Hewet, who sat by his side.

"What now!" exclaimed De Warholme, laughing, as he opened the door; some arch-treason going on there, I suppose. This is certainly a good return for my kindness, that you should corrupt the gentlemen of my household."

"I am afraid," replied Mordaunt, "that he was too far gone before, to receive any injury from me."

“Well, I think you are right; that old traitor has long been trying to convert me into a rebel. But here is Sir Francis de Vere; Ibrought him to bid you adieu, as he leaves the castle immediately.** "Immediately!" exclaimed Hewet; "what calls him away in such haste? Any commands from London or the continent ?"

"No, much more urgent command than would have come from either of those places;--only a gentle dismissal from the opposite turret." "From Captain Farren!" again reiterated Hewet. "How did he get to know of his arrival ?"

"I know not; but it's very certain that he does know, and our friend's horse is now preparing in the yard below; so if you have any commissions, deliver them quickly."

Hewet left the room, and returned in a few minutes with a small packet. "You will meet the Marquis of Ormond very soon, I suppose," said he to De Vere; will you give him this packet, it contains various communications from our friends in the north.

"Most willingly; but if I remember right, I received a letter for you in London, under rather strange circumstances: it was slipped into my hand as I was walking through the street, and the bearer had disappeared among the crowd before I could turn round. There were a few lines with it, in a hand which I did not know, intimating that the writer, understanding my destination, begged that I would convey this to you, the communication by post being dangerous."

De Hewet professed his total ignorance of the hand-writing, but breaking the seal, and having looked to the end of the closely written letter, he exclaimed-" Monk!—is it possible-General Monk!"

"What, General Monk!” re-echoed De Vere and De Warholme, crowding round him; "he surely cannot be coming over to us?"

"I will tell you what he says, after perusing it," said Hewet, returning to his seat.

"Amidst all this hurry," said De Warholme, turning to his friend, "you appear to have forgotten the primary cause of your visit: when must the attempt be made on this place ?"

Why, this unfortunate affair of Mordaunt has thrown us all out. It would be dangerous, I should think, for any body of men to be seen in the neighbourhood. I must send my own little party back in different directions. Your only plan at present will, I think, be to keep quite quiet till you hear from me, occupying yourself, meanwhile, in unfolding the affair to the most trustworthy of your tenantry, and obtaining their promise of co-operation. I shall go direct to the Marquis of Ormond, and remain quiet till the fame of this rencontre has blown over. And now I will bid you adieu; my servant and horses are, I suppose, ready?"

"I gave orders to that effect before I came up again," said De Warholme.

"You will join us in London, soon as your health permits? temptation to remain prove too I hope when next you see me here it will be to restore the place to its rightful lord."

Mordaunt," inquired De Vere, "as Unless," added he, laughing, "the strong to be resisted. Good bye

So saying, he left the room, accompanied by De Warholme, and the clang of the falling of the portcullis soon announced his departure

HAROLD'S ADDRESS TO HIS SUBJECTS BEFORE THE
BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

ARM, brave English, rouse and arın

With your chieftain, for the war !

Sound the note of shrill alarm

Through the land, from shore to shore.

Quit, O Thane, thy castle wall,

Gird thee with the avenging sword;

Franklin, hasten from thy hall,

Peasant, follow with thy lord.

Haste ye all, to battle go,
To repulse the hanghty foe!

Look upon your beauteous isle,
Gained by Hengist, wise and bold;
See the fields which round you smile,
Handed from your sires of old.
Will you let those fertile lands,

Bought with blood and earned with toil,
Pass into a stranger's hands,

And be the ruthless Norman's spoil?
Spurn the thought! To battle go,
To repulse the haughty foe.

Ye, who loosed at length have been
From the thraldom of the Dane,-

Ye, who happiness have seen

In an English monarch's reign,
Freedom will ye now resign,

Which ye scarce have learned to prize,

And in abject bondage pine,

Slaves beneath your native skies?

Will ye not to battle go,

To repulse the haughty foe?

Ye, whose arm the Dane has felt,-
Ye, who have the Pict repelled,-
Ye, who have subdued the Celt,

And beneath your sceptre held;
Dread ye now these paltry foes,
Beardless Normans, coward Franks,
Such as William would oppose
To your sturdy English ranks?
Fear them not, to battle go,
And repulse the haughty foe.

By the Saxon blood which, flowing
Pure and warm through every vein,
Fills your breasts, with valour glowing,
Let not William o'er you reign.
By your sires of high renown,-
By the fields in which they bled,
Let not now the English crown
Rest upon a stranger's head.
Haste ye all, to battle go,
To repulse the haughty foe!

AN ADVENTURE IN WALES.

"I had a dream which was not all a dream."-BYRON.

IN one of the most romantic vales of Merionethshire, there stands an old rambling house, built no one knows when, and now used as an inn. Its varied style of architecture shows it to be the structure of

different periods, and one end, containing a few old-fashioned apartments, stands partly detached. These rooms are connected with the rest of the house by long, gloomy passages, which seem, like the labyrinth of Crete, to have been constructed with the sole intention of bewildering any unfortunate wight who may have the ill luck to entangle himself in their intricate mazes.

In this building, and in this part of it, it was my fortune to be staying for a short time in the summer of 183—, whilst on a rambling expedition with a party of friends, to explore the beautiful scenery in the neighbourhood. I had for some nights occupied a sofa in a lower apartment, as an affection of the chest prevented my sleeping in bed. On the evening in which the event occurred I am now going to relate, I retired to my couch as usual, and was soon wrapped in pleasing slumbers, and wandering in an elysium partly the work of unassisted imagination, and partly called up by the power of unrestrained fancy, remoulding and presenting to the mind, in lively colours, the scenes of the day, whilst she added new beauties of her own creation. At one time I was walking in a lovely valley, midst woods and rocks and spreading lawns, soothed with the songs of birds and the murmur of rippling waters, and surrounded by all the delusive joys which a busy imagination could heap together. At another, I found myself standing on some towering eminence, and surveying the charms of a widespread landscape which was constantly varying its beauties like the shifting scenes of a panorama.

But suddenly

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream."

A cloud seemed to pass over my mind,-the gay visions faded,a strange sort of oppression began to creep over my senses, and I was groping in horrible, lonely darkness. At last I seemed to be wandering amid the dark passages I have described, bewildered and overwhelmed with horror. Suddenly I faucied that I saw a dark form steal towards me,-a hand was pressed upon my mouth,— I attempted to shriek,-I struggled and awoke. But it was only to new and worse horrors: there was indeed a hand upon my mouth; but almost before I became perfectly conscious, it was removed. I could yet scarcely credit my senses; I thought my dream had had a strange power over my feelings, and tried to persuade myself that it was but a dream. But it would not do,-I was soon indubitably convinced to the contrary; a real form of flesh and blood was slowly creeping across the room, where he crouched down under the opposite window. It was the dead of night,-all was still,-I could almost hear my own heart beat. Again I tried to believe that it was all a delusion; but no, that rustle among the curtains told me too surely that this was no phantasin of the imagination, bnt stern reality.

How shall I describe the feelings of the next quarter of an hour, which I spent in an agony of suspense, expecting every moment that my mysterious foe would again advance upon me; but there he remained still and motionless, and it was only now and then by a slight rustling that I was assured of his presence. At last I heard a noise

in one of the passages, and a sound of approaching footsteps coming nearer and nearer. A light shone under the door, and a low whispering, as if in consultation, was carried on for some minutes. Then the door was gently opened, and there stepped into the room a grinvisaged fellow, whose countenance, as it glared beneath the light of a small taper he held in his hand, immediately struck me as one which would not have disgraced the blackest ruffian that ever dipped his hand in deed of blood. I gazed wildly on his rude features, with a sort of fascinated stare. At length he glided softly back,-the glimmering of the light faded away,-the steps receded, and their last echoes died away on the ear.

Once more I was alone with my mysterious visitor, whom I had almost forgotten in the excitement of the new comers. But he soon again engrossed my attention and my fears. Rising from his hidingplace, he sat down upon a chair which stood against the window, and though all the rest of the room was in perfect darkness, I could thus distinctly see his figure and even his countenance, which appeared to me to have an expression absolutely diabolical.

After a while he rose, and began to creep across the room. My heart beat quicker and quicker,-I felt a sort of faint sickness creeping upon me, my eyes swam, and for a moment I was unconscious. When I next looked round I was alone; he had stolen silently out through the door, which was just at my head. I was somewhat relieved, but still in great dismay, not knowing where this apparently dark drama would end. There was no lock on the door, and I could not venture to leave the room, fearing to trust myself in the labyrinth of dark passages, where I supposed new horrors awaited me. Another long, long hour passed tardily away in unbroken silence, except that once a lumbering waggon rolled heavily by, and, when its last dull sounds were lost in the distance, caused the deadly stillness to be doubly oppressive.

I had lain some time longer, beguiling the weary moments by thinking over all the stories of midnight murders and deeds of darkness which I could call to mind, when again I heard the footsteps and the whisperings as before, and again my blood ran cold in the expectation of fresh terrors. But this time they passed on towards a room lower down in the passage, and I heard no more of them.

At length the day began to break, and the first beams of the morning sun were just struggling through the blinds, when, completely worn out by the excitement of over-wrought feelings, I fell into a sound sleep. I awoke with confused images of terror on my mind, and it was many days before I entirely recovered from the horrors of that night.

And now I think my readers will scarcely guess the cause of this strange mystery. It was none other than one of those agreeable plots which that mischievous little god-shall I not rather say imp?—— Cupid, is for ever weaving, as if his only business on earth were to set all the world in confusion. I shall never forget the mistress of the house, (a fiery little Welshwoman,) when I began, the next morning, to tell her of the events of the preceding night. A ma-a-a n