Worthington-I am positive of it! Let him only get her, and he'll be as much a captain as ever."

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My dear madam, how harshly you misjudge me," said Frank, endeavouring to take her hand. "What can be a sacrifice when put into competition with your daughter?-yes, your daughter, Mrs. Worthington

for fair, surpassingly fair as Lucinda is-lovely, transcendently lovely as she is not for one instant could the man of fine clear comprehension fail to perceive that from you, and you alone, she derived those superlative charms of person, those inestimable qualities of mind, which render her altogether the most perfect specimen of female excellence ever beheld since her mamma was the same age."

If Frank made a decided hit in Othello at the Dublin Barracks' Amateur Theatricals, he most certainly made more than a decided hit in this elegant and well-timed flattery, for Mrs. Worthington, wholly overcome by it, gave him freely her hitherto coyly denied hand, which was instantaneously kissed by Frank, as she remarked, with a genial smile,

"Well, dear Captain Seymour, if those are your sincere sentiments, and the darling wishes

Mrs. Worthington could not conclude, for the arms of Lucinda were round her neck, the lips of Lucinda were glued to hers, the tears of Lucinda fell on her cheeks and into her bosom, and from deep and holy emotion the mother became speechless, and a general pause prevailed through sympathy with those two tenderly-entwined women; so much so, that Mr. Worthington set down his glass noiselessly on, the hard mahogany table, and Frank stole noiselessly up to them, and unwinding the arms of Lucinda from her mother's neck, wound them round his own, bending towards Mrs. Worthington, and whispering, "Bless us, my mother!"

And she did bless them; and then, as the evening was superb, she sent them for a walk that they might recover from the tumult and agitation of the past few hours; and she and her husband talk over calmly and deliberately the preparations for the wedding, when it should take place, and what he would give the dear young couple to commence life with-for it is to commence life when two separate interests are, by the magic of affection, transmuted into one. Mr. Worthington was for no unnecessary delay-Mr. Worthington was determined to be liberal, for all he really cared for was his child, all he had should purchase happiness for her. So it was agreed, "that after he had given the waters a fair trial, that they would all return to town together, and the marriage should then follow as quickly as possible; in the meanwhile, Frank must endeavour to amuse himself as well as he could among them." But was it probable that he could find that probationary month long? No, no; and although he continued to pay for Mrs. Dexter's front parlour regularly, she declared "that it was like making her a present of the two guineas per week, as he never occupied it; and, but for the look of the thing, she might easily underlet it and he never find her out, so constantly was he with her first-floor lodgers now that he had become a friend of theirs."

When they all stopped for the night at the Queen's Head Hotel, Worcester, on their way to Sackville-street, while his father-in-law that was to

be was busy studying the bill of fare previously to ordering dinner, "a labour of love" which he ever found did physic pain, Frank, à la derobée, assured the landlord of it that his bill, although not exactly of the pleasing nature of the one which so solely engrossed the attention of Mr. Worthington, was safe to be taken up the moment it was due. A

"I see, sir, I see-the young lady, an heiress a sweet creature, too— money and beauty-a rare combination could have sworn from the first that you were a gentleman born under a lucky planet-trusted you as such-do not forget to recommend the Queen's Head Hotel, Worcester, to your travelling friends, and, should you fancy it for the honeymoon, house, servants, and my humble self are profoundly and devotedly at your service."

A WINTER EVENING'S THOUGHTS IN METRE.
BY G. W. THORNBURY,

THE TITANIAD.

Fragment of a Fairy Epic.

Why hast thou so long tarried, O my child?"
Whispered the fairy mother to her son,

And peered into his eyes, that were exceeding bright;
But ere a
an answer yet he had begun,

Her anxious love was grieved to see he smiled,

And waved a spear, blood-stained, in the moonlight.
"Ah, wellaway," she cried, "untoward boy,

Can nothing wean thee from this cruel joy?"

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Mother," the stripling frowned, “these idle tears

Disgrace me in the sight of all my peers.

,』

"There's brave young Beeswing, who is not yet knighted,

He slew a tiger-moth with moony eyes,

And from his den he brought away, delighted,

Its broad dark wings stained with a thousand dyes;
Yet had the monster borne him to his nest,

Swift as an eagle would a bleating lamb :

He speared the cubs that clung around his breast,
Slew them as he had slain their giant dam.

Am I to waste my youth in feasts and dancing,
When the chase brings us pleasure so entrancing?

My shafts have pierced the beetle through his shard
And mail, rough-scaled with emerald and gold ;

I sought him in his lair-a rose's heart,

A glowworm on my helm, I tracked him to his hold.
Through winding ways to brain his savage brood,
I swam the weedy pool the eft to slay ;

I leapt upon his back, and javelin and spear

Forced through the yellow scales their bloody way,
Though many a dreadful water-snake was near.
Say, mother, say—and tell me, mother, right-

Don't deeds of derring do make up the perfect knight?

"The leather-winged bat was my dark steed
To chase the horned beetle through the air ;

No mare of Araby on desert plain

Could match my charger, swift and very fair.
Oh, but their claws were sharp, and they had swept
Me from my seat, had not this trusty blade
Sheared off their gauzy wings, and fiery eyes
Pierced through, till on the red earth laid,
They fed the glad birds when the sun did rise."

SNATCHES OF DRINKING SONGS.

Come, crush a cup, my fellows,
Of this dark flowing wine,
For strong, and rich, and mellow
Is the juice of Tokay's vine.
Now, in its crystal prison,

See how it flames and dances.
Bright as the dark eyes of a maiden,
Its glittering bubble glances.
Then chant a stave, good brothers,
A farewell to the night,

And scare the owl that he may hoot
A welcome to the light.

Let's drain this stoup, good brothers,
Before we rise to go.

God grant the sands of our own lives
Do not yet run so low.

Hark! to the owl, my brothers,

Or is it the song of the lark ? For I vow I saw two moons of fire Rise up out of the dark.

There is a change-house by the Rhine
Where gallants go to quaff the wine;
The wine is red, and when you sip,
It dyes with red the tongue and lip.
But redder than thy lip or tongue,
Or jewel from the bonnet hung,
Redder than Tokay's balmy liquor,
Or flames that in the ruby flicker, &c.

Fill, fill with wine

This cup of mine,

No skinker-fill it fairly;

Till the bubbles rise,

Like clustering eyes,

And glow and glisten rarely.

I swim in pleasure like the flower

That floateth down an Indian stream;

A glowworm as its pilot sits,

And guides it with its little beam.

My heart is dancing like a leaf

That waves and flutters in the sun ;
The sap is throbbing in the tree,
And spring is all anew begun.

CHANGE.

BY MARGARET CASSON.

CHAPTER X.

Up she rose with scornful eyes as her father's child might rise,
Spake she out right sov'reinly,

"My will runneth as my blood,

And 'tis my will, as lady free, not to wed a Lord of Leigh, but Sir Guy of Linteged, And a woman's will dies hard,

In the hall or on the sward."

THE following day the Stanleys left Arlingford. And now an additional gloom overshadowed Morton. Mr. Stanley was more grandiose and sublime than ever, yet withal was there a restlessness and anxiety mingled Ida had never noticed in him before. The existing state of things was most uncongenial to her nature; accustomed to the dear, warm, confiding love of her own once happy home, the cold grandeur of Morton, with its ungenial atmosphere and punctilious mode of life, was very trying to her. She was becoming one of the family now, and the little attentions lavished upon her on her first arrival, when she was a new guest, were rapidly dwindling away. Not that Ida was exigeante, or required to be amused or attended to, but Morton was relapsing into Morton, and ⚫ the kind courtesies, the thousand minor charities of life were so thoroughly unheeded there; no change, no variety, no sweet "home influences," all en grande tenue-clockwork regularity the order of the day. And the one day so completely telling another, until you could anticipate beforehand the very topics to be discussed, the very words which would be said; no variety, no freshness-no, not even in the conversation. Then Eleanor was so altered. She had become so distant and abrupt, so neglectful of poor Ida now. No more pleasant walks and sweet companionship-no more reading or studying together now-no music, no gay laughter. Eleanor spent most of her time in these deepening autumn days walking alone, on-on through the paths of the surrounding woods, apparently finding the sighing winds and the falling leaves more congenial to her soul than Ida's bright, gentle, gifted society. I fear I have scarce done justice to Eleanor. I have dwelt so upon her faults, I have hardly shown how charming she really was, how much there was excellent and winning about her, of the charm and power to enthral which floated around her; I have told of her coldness and her pride until I fear I have made her seem all coldness and all pride, but it was not so in truth. I have shown all the inward workings, all the struggles of her inward heart; few could have to battle and combat with temptation as she has had, and pass through unsullied; few, if any, would bear such scrutiny, this view invisible to the eye made clear, and not appear in an unattractive light.

If all the gentlest-hearted friends I knew,
Concentred in one heart their gentleness,
That still grew gentler till its pulse was less
For life than pity, I should yet be slow
To bring my own heart nakedly below

The palm of such a friend, that he should press
My false ideal and fickle woe

Out to full light and knowledge!