My cousin, daughter of my mother's sister!" cried the young man, wildly embracing her; "have I found at last your fate, your retreat?"

Genevieve stood back, utterly incapable of understanding his words, and almost alarmed, but blushing at his rapturous embrace.

"I have not told you all. When Alice disappeared I was four years old, and yet I remember her. She was my pretty aunt, my favourite, my sage playmate. I never forgot her. All mourned her. We searched for her in vain. Europe and America were ransacked for her. My father travelled from that hour until his death; and I, his youngest son, determined to search again for my mother's sister. I had little hope of find-|| ing her, but I was adventurous and ardent. I started for the West Indies. Providence has come to my assistance; I have found her child."

spero and the enchanted isle. The young girl, after leaving the grotto, turned into a path that led upwards along the summit of the cavern, and which soon brought them to a small pavilion, wholly sheltered beneath trees, and composed of three rooms. There was a bed-room, a music-room and sitting-room, and a dining-room. In front was a terrace, which was gained by a flight of steps.

Genevieve led her cousin over the whole.

"None ever come here but when invited by me," said she. "You are, then, wholly free and safe. Mariana will wait on you when I cannot come."

Oliver smiled, while Genevieve struck a huge gong, which soon brought Mariana to her. The astonishment of this person, a fine Spanish woman of five-andforty, was beyond all description; but a few words from her mistress were enough. She was a woman of education, and a lady, had been a prisoner fifteen years, and knew far more than the pirate's daughter.

Everything was thus settled, and by evening the cousins knew every phase of each other's existence. When they parted, Oliver Mildmay sat down to plan excuses to himself for no longer hating the pirate; while Genevieve returned to her home a changed being. A thousand emotions, ideas, desires, feelings, were awakened within her. Her silent and still life had no longer any charm; she had tasted of the fruit of knowledge, and she was unhappy-for she was discontented, restless, and knew her father's sin.

CHAPTER III.

SIMON MORRIS.

About two in the morning, a low report from the offing made Genevieve leave her bed, and hastily throw on her clothes. This done, she entered the common room of her father's residence, woke the negresses, and with them began to prepare a refreshing meal for Simon Morris, who always returned hungry, and glad both to eat and talk, no matter what the hour.

It was some time, however, before he came—indeed, it was nearly daylight.

"Him berry hebby load, me 'spect," said one of the negresses, with a grin. "Him massa gained a big battle dis time."

Genevieve shuddered.

"P'raps massa got business down hill," answered the other.

At this moment Simon Morris entered.

He was a tall, fine man, of fifty, of handsome face, with locks of raven black, already sprinkled with grey. His eye was sharp and piercing, and his whole mien was that of one used to implicit obedience, and to strong and violent emotions. There was little decidedly bad in the expression of his countenance; but it exhibited a fierceness and a tendency to scowl which showed that all was not perfectly still within.

Genevieve embraced her father, glad to see him, as

covery.

she always was, and forgot for a moment her sad dising scorn. I was too poor! And then I vowed hatred of this society which spurned me. I stole away your mother, and became far richer than those who had refused me, by warring on them. Yes, I am a pirate, and I regret it not."

"Ah! ah! a famous breakfast," cried the pirate, laying down sword, pistol, and gun, "and I have a famous appetite to meet it. Sit you down, Jenny, and help me to empty these platters."

Genevieve smiled, and sat down by her father. "As handsome as ever," said he; "go," he added, turning to the slaves, "fetch me the box you have without there. It contains some rich dresses for your mistress."

"Father," said Genevieve, sadly, when they were alone, "I cannot wear them."

Why?" asked Simon Morris, petrified with nishment.

"You must and will regret it, father. It is true, I can see it, that society has many false and hollow things in it; but I am sure it is wrong to make war on it for that. If my mother loved you, you could have fled to some retired spot

Your mother did love me, but would have stifled her feelings to please the world she belonged to. She, too, asked me to hide ourselves in some obscure village. asto-To slave! No! I vowed she should be as rich as they who rejected me, and she was."

"Because, father dear, they are not mine." The pirate dropped his knife and fork, and remained silent for some minutes. His surprise, rage, and almost despair, were fearful.

"And what mean you? What idle nonsense has been poured into thy silly ears, girl?"

"None, father," she said. "I know that you are what is called a pirate, that you are at war with society, and in constant danger of your life."

Begone!" cried Simon to the returning slaves, in a voice of thunder.

Genevieve signed them to obey.

66

And who taught you this?" said the old man, with a heavy sigh.

"Never mind, father. I know it. I love you, my dear father, as much as ever; but I, nevertheless, am aware of the infamy and shame of our life."

Cursed, thrice cursed, be he who told you all this "exclaimed the pirate, bitterly. "I was so happy! At least, to one person I was good and great; in her presence I forgot my existence, my errors, and my past life. But now I must blush before her. Curses.

"Curse no one," cried Genevieve, solemnly. "How could I remain in ignorance? Long have I been puzzled and perplexed. My reading, my studies surprised me. I felt there was a world beyond this, very different from what I knew of; and now, my intelligence fully awake, I see all."

Child, I am a pirate-my hand against every man, and every man's hand against me, even that of my men. But I regret not my trade. It is as good and honest as many for which men are made belted knights." 'Hush, father."

"But what enjoyment did the riches bring her, father; and what bring they to you?"

Simon Morris replied not, but sat moodily thinking. He could not explain to himself whence these ideas came, and they seemed a judgment of Providence on him. The pirate had not wholly forgotten his father's pious precepts, kept up despite himself by the influence of his wife. Despite his boastings, he knew that his career was one of crime, and that his old age, when once weak and powerless, would be one of despair and regret. But he had not courage to pause. His life intoxicated him. He loved its dangers and its excitements, which served, with good eating and good drinking, and gambling at night unknown to his daughter, to stifle conscience.

But his purest, his only real source of happiness, was gone-the innocent and unsuspecting smile of his child. To her he had been a noble and ideal being, an island king, living by hunting and the chase, often at war with his neighbours, but in this only imitating greater monarchs, whose superior position by no means made them a whit better.

But now she knew him a pirate.

"So you have learned to despise and hate your fa ther?" said Simon Morris, bitterly.

"I can never either despise or hate my father," answered Genevieve, reproachfully. "I shall only regret, and hope."

Hope what?

"That you will give up this life, dear father."

Tush, girl; to go hang in chains on a yard-arm? Hush, Genevieve," said he, sternly, "let me hear no more of this;" and, having finished his meal, he went to bed, for on board ship he rested little. A pirate captain can never trust his men.

Genevieve sighed, and soon after went away to narrate to Oliver Mildmay her conversation, and its result. Oliver approved highly of her conduct, and raised her courage.

Girl, you know not what you say. I was born with a great soul, and little means. I was meant for great things-I was able and willing to do them. I saw around me rich and wealthy men, with mean and little souls, who spent their riches in cards, and wine, and every vice. And yet these men were respected, and courted, because they were rich. I was despised, "Be sure, the first impulse of anger and regret crushed, trampled on, because I was poor. I was edu-over, your father will think. Then he is our own." cated well by my father, a poor curate, but he had no means of completing my education. Church, bar, physic, all were closed to the poor. I would not be a soldier, a sailor, and serve those men I hated. I became a merchant sailor, and, thanks to my education, became a captain. Then, a poor skipper, I dared to love thy mother. My father had been chaplain in the family, and was respected. Forgetting station and rank, and remembering only that she was a woman, and I a man, I proposed for her, and was rejected with wither

Genevieve shook her head. She knew what her father had been for twenty years, and could now appre ciate all her mother's heroic efforts during that time, and they had been unavailing.

CHAPTER IV.
PAOLO.

In the pirate village, at the north-eastern part of the island, was an inn, or rather tavern, where the men were in the habit of resorting to drink on their return from their expeditions. Here they ate, and

smoked, and gambled, and fought.

Never was tavern more disorderly, more riotous. Formed of huge logs of wood, it was only kept from being burned by great precautions on the part of Mother Meg, the old woman who kept it.

It had a bar-room, a parlour, a garden, and, at the bottom of this garden, a small cave scooped out in the rock, where the head men of the band met of an evening.

Two persons sat in it on the evening of the day of the brigantine's return.

One of these men was a Spaniard, the other an Englishman. The Spaniard was Paolo, the lieutenant of the pirate crew. The Englishman was Smith, the carpenter.

He looked more than

"We have first to marry the daughter, and then kill the father," continued Paolo.

"Exactly," said Smith, with a look of stupid admiration.

"I have made up my mind these two years," added the ruffian; "but I waited my time. It is come. Genevieve is a lovely young woman. has brought us to the verge of ruin. is marriageable—the father is killable.

"We!"

Paolo was a young man. thirty, but he was hardly so much. Crime, debauchery, and vice, had set their seal upon him. He had been a pirate since the age of fifteen, and for six years had been second in command. No inward monitor drew him from his trade. He revelled in it. The battle, the struggle, the capture of prizes, the booty, the spend-act." ing it on women and wine, were to him the pleasures of existence. Daring, cruel, and audacious, he kept the worst crew in order, and his ascendancy was so great that Simon Morris was compelled to keep him in his rank of lieutenant, despite his dislike for the man. Paolo had gained his position at first by the most consummate hypocrisy. He had devoted himself like a slave to Simon Morris, had watched him, and sought to please him by every subtle and cunning art. Once installed in his rank, he had shown so much energy and audacity, that he had made himself necessary.

Smith, the carpenter, was a sly, droll, sneaking fellow, with a dull, stupid look, which generally deceived the most acute.

"A bootless journey," said Smith, sipping his liquor.

"Bootless enough," replied Paolo, dryly. "But I am not surprised. "Why?"

"When mercy presides over piratical expeditionscaramba! one must expect to get but small offing."

'Captain Simon is a little chicken-hearted," cried Smith.

"Madre de Dios! he is as brave as a lion, and as strong as a bull; but his squeamishness about blood will make us swing one of these days."

"Luff! luff!" said Smith, "no falling-off lieutenant. The rope was never yet made that will hang me.

"Dom Smith is very confident," replied Paolo, sneeringly; "but I am not. When a freebooter lets his prisoners escape, instead of walking the plank, he gives up his neck. Do you think I don't want to see the world, friend Smith? How can I, if I meet living proofs of my trade at every corner?"

Simon Morris
The daughter
We must now

Exactly. You will kill the father; I shall marry the daughter. I can't do both." "I kill Simon Morris!" said the carpenter, with a look of alarm.

"What are you afraid of? You will have backers enough. Bill Smith, Jacopo, Andrè, Joe Potts, Abraham Levi, and a dozen others, will be behind. Rely on it, the danger is imaginary. I must be behind, to come up, and get in a great rage with you, and thus secure the thanks of Jenny.

"But I'd rather let Bill Smith do it," said the carpenter, shaking his head; "I'm afraid."

"You're a coward," replied Paolo, contemptuously, and Bill Smith shall do it." But you must back him."

"When shall it be?"

"To-morrow night. Listen-It is Simon Morris's birthday. He is wont, on that day, to send away his daughter to the hills, and receive us in the bower where I have so often seen this pretty Jenny. You will go up to make the usual speech, and while you are speaking, Bill Smith will blow his brains out. I will rush up in a great passion, storm, rave, and order Bill Smith into irons, and take the command. Jenny will thus be sure I have had no hand in the affair, and once back here, Bill will be free."

"A capital plan, and I approve of it wholly," said Smith, filling his glass.

"And won't we have a grand wedding! caramba?"
"Won't you dance?" said Smith, laughing.
"And you?

66 And Bill?

Won't Jacopo laugh," added Paolo, "when he sees old Simon cold?"

"He gave him a tremendous licking yesterday," replied Smith.

"And he cowed me before the men," cried Paolo, sullenly.

"He did haul aft your foresheets," replied Smith, with a laugh.

"Curse him! I hate him!" said the Spaniard,
"Fie! hate your father-in-law!" continued the car-

"In what?" exclaimed the carpenter, starting backpenter.

Towards dawn, Paolo and Bill Smith tottered home to rest an hour or two, while the carpenter fell heavily

More drink was sent for, Bill Smith came, and the || in a corner to sleep off his debauch. trio passed the night in laying their plans to murder the pirate chief.

DRYBURGHI ABBEY.-THE SEPULCHRE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

THERE AND BACK AGAIN.

BY JAMES AUGUSTUS ST. JOHN,

Author of "History of the Manners and Customs of Ancient Greece," "Margaret Ravenscroft," " Egypt and Mohammed Ali," &c. &c.

CHAPTER I.-THE DEPARTURE.

of that sort. I came to Switzerland, as I have said, out of partiality for Jean Jacques Rousseau, fully expecting to find at Vevay and Clarens the representatives, in feature and figure at least, of Julie and Claire.

THERE AND BACK AGAIN! Will you accompany to him by others have little weight with me. Perhaps, me, reader? If you do, we shall converse by the way indeed, the facts which provoke their anathemas conon many subjects besides the picturesque. The journey stitute the principal reason of my preference, namely, altogether was a strange one for me, because, not hav- that he was the great apostle and father of the Revoluing been a great traveller, I had not, and, indeed, have tion, that he wrote the "Contrat Sociale," and disturbed not yet, learned to view men and countries as common- the political creed of all noble and imaginative minds place because many other persons before me had be- throughout Europe. Let those persons who are really held them. In moving about the world, it is not al-wise take all due credit for it. I make no pretensions ways what we see, but what we feel, that is productive of most delight both to ourselves and others. Nature supplies the canvas, but we must bring along with us the colours, if we would call into being an original or even a true picture-true, I mean, for all those who have the same organization and sympathies with us. We used-my wife and I-to discuss these matters Every man has his own peculiar motives for travelling, seriously, because it was a rule with us never to reand, therefore, of course, I had mine; though you will main long in any place where the women were other probably become incredulous when I endeavour to ex- than handsome, or at least tolerably pretty. This plain what they were. It was not to behold lakes, may be set down to our love for the picturesque; for, glaciers, and mountains whose heads touch heaven, || after all, there is no combination of earth, wood, and that I had come into Switzerland; it was not in search || water, which can claim to be regarded as half so beauof poetical or other inspiration; neither, being per- tiful as a beautiful woman. Lakes are very magnificent, fectly well, was it with any view of improving my and so are forests and mountains; but if, with Milton, health, or acquiring animal spirits, with which, at the we were deprived of the power of beholding external time, I was literally overflowing. I had come purely things, it is the human face divine that we should most out of love for the memory of Jean Jacques Rousseau, earnestly desire to look upon again. Neither sun, nor and that I might stroll about at my ease over the scene moon, nor day, nor night, would awaken within us reof the Nouvelle Heloise. But why was the memory grets so poignant as the faces of dear friends now of Rousseau dear to me? Probably some one had for us blotted out for ever from the aspect of nature. breathed it into my ears before the dawn of memory, Ever since our passage of the Jura, I had been and rendered it familiar to me in that period of life visited by the suspicion that we had got among an inwhen to be familiar is always to be loved. The day on ferior race of human beings. France, heaven knows, which I first became acquainted with his writings I is not remarkable for female beauty, and yet one does remember most distinctly. It was in the midst of occasionally in that country see lovely faces and bright summer, when July had covered all the roads, and eyes flitting by one, especially in Normandy, and cersprinkled all the bushes in their vicinity, with dust. A tain provinces of the south. But in Switzerland, the cousin, who lived some five or six miles off, had just imagination immediately begins to flag for lack of exwritten to me, to say that he had got a copy of the citement. Rocks, and snow, and forests you have, no Confessions," which, if I would fetch them, he would doubt, in abundance; and, if you can be satisfied with lend to me. I started early, with one of my sisters as these, you may fancy yourself in Paradise. Nothing is a companion, all the way amusing myself with imagin- wanting but a finely and delicately organised humanity. ing what manner of things those "Confessions" could be. It seems, however, to be a general law, that, wherever We walked through shady lanes, over meadows strewed nature puts on gigantic dimensions, man is intellecwith wild flowers, crossing many a brook by the aid of tually dwarfed, for mountainous regions have seldom or a plank or small rustic bridge, and at length reached never given birth to great minds, or stamped a poetithe house in which the treasure lay. All clse con- cal character on their inhabitants. A seaport town, nected with this circumstance has faded from my me- embosomed in low hills, and a flat wool-combing place, mory but the book and my sister, and the way in which on a sluggish river, have produced the two greatest poets I read as we returned home. I sat on stiles, I reclined that ever lived; and if we traverse the whole earth in on green banks, beneath the chequered shade of oaks || search of beauty, we shall find it chiefly on plains, or and elms; I devoured the "Confessions." The names of|| in modest hills and valleys, like those of Great Britain, Geneva and Chamberi, and Madame de Warrens || Italy, and Greece. and Claude Anet, became engraven ineffaceably on my mind; and with the whole, the dust, sunshine, green meadows, shady groves, sparkling streams, and melting heat of July, were inextricably associated.

From that time to the present, Rousseau and I have been on good terms. The objections commonly made

It was night when we arrived at Vevey, and, therefore, we were compelled to defer till morning our search for the Julies and the Claires. Then, however, it being market-day, on which economical habits bring out nearly the whole female population, we went forth early, in the hope of realising Rousseau's delightful