the stump-was very tired, so throwing myself on my bed, I fell asleep in my dressing-gown and slippers, and awoke the next morning to find Roland at my bedside. A glance told him how I had spent the night; the candle burnt out, the books scattered over the floor, the dressing gown and slippers left me no chance of asserting I had slept well. I told the whole truth, not even omitting the pedigree incident. Roland said nothing, but I think looked sadder than ever all that day.

We went out shooting; a right merry party, save Roland, we were-all, save myself, being capital shots, and returned home, comfortably tired, to a good dinner at seven, with some fine old '24 afterwards. Leaving the wine-bibbers to their talk of "green seals" and rare vintages, wine and walnuts, my cousin and I strolled out across the park, cigar in mouth, and from that night began a most cordial friendship. A delightful companion (when forgetting for awhile that fearful family destiny), was my poor cousin Roland. From a boy he had always been a lover of literature, and at school and college had always shown himself to be a man not only of refined mind but vigorous intellect. A "noble mind" was indeed " overthrown" here by a fearful superstition, as you, reader, may call it, if you please; a life, which might have shed lustre on his age, was indeed wasted when Roland returned from Oxford to Beauchamp, where, leaving behind him the generous emulation and glorious thirst of knowledge of better days, he had nothing on which to fall back but field sports, hum-drum country society, and gloomy forebodings. I was a boy then-I fear I am little more now-and, boy-like, one of the first things I told my newly-discovered cousinfriend, was the history of a boyish love. Perhaps I told the tale well, perhaps earnestness atones for the power of narration; at any rate he seemed, as I thought, affected by what I said. I had jarred upon a weak chord, perhaps. I had always heard that Roland was a very Maskelyne in his nature-proud and reserved to a fault. It was not so.

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[pened, however, one night when the old farmer was away from home, that Roland was sitting in the farmer's kitchen without a light with Rachel at his side when, hearing a sound outside, he went to the window to listen, and had hardly sat down again, when in stalked an athletic young man with a gun under his arm, as Roland and Rachel could see by the moonlight streaming in through the open door. It was her brother George, who had, as was his custom, been out on some poaching expedition with some disreputable characters in the village as lawless as himself, and now returned from the Abbey Woods to find the heir of Beauchamp in his father's kitchen, at his sister's side.

"What means all this, young squire ?" asked Brooke boarsely. Maskelyne said nothinglittle could be said-ere the poacher went on in tones of fast-increasing passion:

"We may be poor folks, and you may be a fine gentleman come to ruin, if it is not already ruined, a poor girl's peace of mind; but may"here he swore an oath too fearful to be written down-" if this night I do not hear from your lips why you come. Speak-villain."

Maskelyne's sole reply was a scornful smile. "Speak, Rachel," went he on wildly, "why comes this young squire, when father is away, to sit here through the night with you ?"

She was too much ashamed to speak-she could not.

"And did I risk my life three years ago to save you from drowning in the miller's pool yonder but for this-for this-for my sisterthe living likeness of my poor dead mother to be

"Spare me, George," said she-when, hissing out through his teeth one bitter word, which brought the blood in one red blush to the young girl's brow, he felled her savagely to the earth. In an instant his throat was grasped by Rolanda fierce struggle ensued-Maskelyne was the more powerful man, and Brooke was every second getting the worst of the contest, when, by a sudden effort he shook off Roland's grasp, and rushed madly out into the field, shouting when he stopped:

"We shall meet again, Roland Maskelyne: curses, like birds, fly home to roost; take mine and remember the Abbot's."

This disgraceful scene had occurred, unknown to any but the actors of it, some three days before my arrival at Beauchamp-and Roland more than once hinted during our walk that he had little doubt but that George Brooke and he were likely between them to work out "the Abbot's curse at no distant day. He pointed Brooke out to me the next morning. The poacher passed us by with a steady look of determined hatred in his eye, but said nothing, and in a few days I almost forgot the circumstances connected with Roland's and his quarrel.

words, that he and George Brooke would soon work out "the Abbot's curse" between them. But little thought I, when Roland and I sat the following Sunday in the squire's pew under the marble monuments of the Maskelynes, to which I fear I paid far more attention than to the comewhat heavy discourse of the good rector of Beauchamp, how soon there would be a monument in the churchyard to one who combined with all that was good and noble in his ill-fated race, a fascination of mind and mien peculiarly his own. Let me not anticipate. Let me not selfishly mar what little interest this story may have for my readers by jumping to a sad conclusion thus early. It was the custom of my cousin and myself every evening to stroll out across the fields to enjoy a "quiet cigar," as smokers say; and one night, while returning home rather later than usual, we heard a gun fired-another-and then a man's head peered at us over the fence, and was rapidly withdrawn.

"Poachers," said Roland, without removing the cigar from his lips; "let us knock up the keepers, and see if we cannot secure some of these Diana's foresters." "

After a smart walk of some ten minutes we reached the keeper's cottage, and found him with two assistants preparing to start for the Abbey woods in quest of the poachers. Telling the keepers to go on first and reconnoitre, Roland said to me:

"You and I, William, will follow in their rear, and may possibly see some sport on our own ac count. I know the country, you don't; stick close to me, and"-here he stooped down and selected from a bundle of faggots by the moonlight two stout bludgeons-"now I think we are a match for any two of them, if they don't fire, which is improbable."

Although peaceably disposed, and at no time fond of risking life and limb for trifles, I am by no means averse to a little excitement in the way of skull-cracking when the occasion is a just one; and so without more ado I set off with Maskelyne, with the charitable view of correcting the erroneous ideas existing in the poachers' minds, as to the extent of the squire's meum and their tuum. By the time we reached the wood, the keepers had got into the middle of some brushwood, where they ambushed, awaiting the arrival of the marauders. Giving a very low whistle, which was immediately answered by our party, Roland and I proceeded onwards till we heard a crackling of dead branches, and a man rushed past us, followed by a lurcher.

"It is George Brooke's dog," said Maskelyne; "I would for his sister Rachel's sake that he were miles away this night. If I meet him hand to hand, I cannot shrink from an encounter; for if I do, he will think I fear him, and that no man could ever say of a Maskelyne; if we take him, it will only be through bloodshed-possibly loss of life-for George is a desperate fellow; was

tried, but acquitted, some years ago, for shooting old Giles, our late head-keeper, and knows that if he be again on his trial, he will assuredly be transported. I have almost a wish to go back; but no, here are the keepers. What news, Jack ?**

The head-keeper told us that he knew of the poachers' whereabouts-that there were four or five of them only, so that we were evenly matched, and that we had better at once come up with them and secure any we could. We had not far to go before we had an opportunity of testing our valour.

Grasping his bludgeon, Roland strode manfully up,to a group of men-stalwart fellows too for a midnight meleè-who had coolly halted, bent on giving the keepers "their suppers," as they elegantly phrased it, with a few oaths as expletives. Singling out one man, who seemed the most athletic of the party, Roland speedily felled him like a bullock by one heavy blow of his bludgeon. and, shouting to us to come on, struck out right and left more like a savage than that quiet, gentlemanlike, pensive cousin of mine, whose sadness I had vainly endeavoured to cheer the same evening. I, too, played my part well enough with my bludgeon, and was easily worsting by fist and stick, as opportunity offered, a clumsy bumpkin, whose knowledge of the noble art of self-defence was limited to a few furious kicks and awkward hits, when I received from behind a heavy blow on my head, and fell down backwards stunned. What went on during my short insensibility I hardly know even now; but when I came to myself, I found the hot blood trickling down my neck and face, the keepers were gone, and the moor shining clearly down through the trees full on the pale angry faces of two men, who were pausing for an instant's breathing time, ere they endea voured to crack each other's skulls. These were Roland Maskelyne and George Brooke; the latter had laid his gun on the grass, and was striking wildly at Roland with a stick dropped by a brotherpoacher in his flight. Feeling too weak to be of any use in a conflict like this, and beside possessing that almost instinctive love of fair play common to every true Briton, I contented myself by leaning on my elbow and encouraging Roland as loudly as I was able, to finish it quickly. My cousin was a splendid single-stick player; and, at this Brooke, though a wiry active fellow enough, stood little chance with one who, like Maskelyne, had learned the use of his weapon from the lifeguardsmen of Angelo's fencing rooms; so it was easy to see that the conflict must speedily end. With a dexterous twist of his wrist, Roland sent the poacher's cudgel flying some dozen feet into the air, and rushed on to secure his man, when Brooke, divining his intention, leapt lightly back, and recovering his gun which lay loaded on the grass, deliberately cocked and presented it at his antagonist's breast.

"Stand back, young squire," said the poacher hoarsely through his set teeth; "let me go in

peace home to my sister whom you have ruined, or by Him that made us, your heart's blood will sprinkle this grass to night."

And for a moment Roland did stand back; he thought, perhaps, how just a cause of anger might now be influencing Brooke against the seducer of his sister, and for her sake a momentary feeling of hesitation came over Roland's fiery heart. Alas! it was but for a moment.

'Brooke," said he sternly, "I said I would stop this poaching two years ago-I will keep my word."

Grasping his bludgeon once more, just as I was rising to stop him, Roland rushed in to grapple with the poacher, and succeeded so far as to be able to avert the gun's muzzle from his breast, when the keepers' voices were heard in the distance, and Brooke, wrenching the gun from Roland's grasp, fired it, and through the smoke I saw the poacher bounding by me like a deer, and my cousin lying bleeding on the grass. At this moment the moon shone out through a passing cloud; and, as I knelt down at his side, and saw the ghastly pallor of his face I knew his hours were numbered.

"William," said he very faintly, "I am a dying man, shout for the keepers-the Abbot's curse is here!"

Staunching the blood, which was dripping slowly from his side, with a handkerchief, I shouted long and loudly, till the old trees re-echoed back my words. The keepers soon returned after a bootless pursuit; we carried the dying man home across the fields he might never inherit to the Abbey. It was indeed a sight to soften the hardest heart, when we stopped at his father's door. Hearing our heavy footsteps, the old squire and his guests threw up the windows of the diningroom, and saw the bitter truth at a glance.. I will not dwell on the events of that night; my memory of them is too painful, even now that the grass is growing on my poor cousin's grave.

Morning dawned on the old man, the surgeon, and myself standing at poor Roland's bed side. From the first the surgeon expressed no hope of his patient's recovery; we knew that in a few hours all must be over, and the dying man knew this too, and prepared to meet his end with Christian fortitude. The rector came soon after daybreak, and administered the sacrament to himand greatly comforted us by saying (for we had all retired from the room by Roland's request during that interview) that my cousin's state of mind was all that could be wished. As I approached the bedside once more, Roland leant his head forward and murmured some few indistinct words. I bent my head over him, and he whispered

"Go for Rachel Brooke; I wish to see her ere I die. I have wronged her I would make some atonement. Tell my father it is my wish. He will not refuse."

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I briefly told the father his son's request; a flush of proud displeasure for a moment passed over the old man's brow; but he said, "Do as Roland desires."

I ran to the stable, vaulted upon a horse, and rode him, without waiting for saddle or bridle, with a halter, to Rachel. She returned with me -she knew the truth already too well-George had been home, and told her all ere he finally fled. Timidly, with her face suffused with blushes, crept poor Rachel, like a guilty thing, after me to Roland's bedside, where, overcome by her grief, forgetting the presence of all save him she loved, and he dying before her, she sank down sobbing bitterly at the foot of the bed. That proud, stern, melancholy Roland Maskelyne had not been so to her; she remembered a time when the cheek, now paling at the approach of death, had flushed as he told to her his passionate, sinful love-when the eye, so sad or stern in its glances on others, beamed with love on her, the poor little village girl, now breaking her heart at a dying man's bedside. What cared she for the stern wonderment in the looks of the haughty old squire? for the deprecating glances of the good surgeon? Love heeded them not; she was, to all intents and purposes, alone with him she lovedand he was fast nearing his eternal home. .

After a while she became calmer, rose from her knees, and glanced wistfully round the room. "Father," said Roland, "I have something on my mind-let me speak to this poor girl alone." Without a word of remonstrance or inquiry we all withdrew. I heard from Rachel's lips, after the funeral, what then occurred :

"Rachel, I was your destroyer-I sent for you to entreat your forgiveness ere I go hence into the presence of my Maker. We have both sinned grievously. Kneel down, and pray to God to pardon us, in this sad, parting hour!"

She obeyed. There was a long pause; his mind seemed wandering, and he well-nigh too exhausted to speak. After a while he continued,

"Doubtless, you know all; but I forgive him who wounded me, for I die by your brother's hand. I shall exact a promise, when we two have said our last farewell, from my father, that he will not seek to punish George, and that he will protect you for my sake. And now, good bye, my own dear girl! Forgive me, think kindly of me when I am gone, though I have been your ruin, for the sake of the love I bore you, and for the sake of our dead little one, whom I hope soon to meet in heaven!"

She knelt down once more, and wound her arms round her first-last-only love. Their lips met in one long, parting kiss; a murmured "God bless you, Roland, as Rachel does!" and the poor girl parted from him for ever in this world.

Well-nigh overcome by emotion, weak with loss of blood, Roland had still a sacred duty, as he deemed it, to perform. Mastering his feelings, he called his father to his bedside, and taking his

hand in his own, after desiring that his dying blessing might be transmitted to his brother and sister, he passed on to that which was nearest to his heart in his last moments.

"Father, I implore you by the love you profess for me to grant me these favours-these requests of your dying son; firstly, that you will never in any way, directly or indirectly, seek to punish George Brooke for the share he had in last night's tragedy; secondly, that you will ever think kindly in Christian charity, for my sake, of poor Rachel— (I cannot tell you her history now as regards me, cousin William here will, when I am dead)-and that you will settle, in my behalf, on her for life, such an annuity as will enable her to live respectably wherever she may wish."

For a while the father combated his son's merciful intentions towards the poacher, till, seeing delay pained Roland, he yielded, gave the required promises on the sacred word of a Maskelyne, and in a few minutes heard his son say solemnly,

"Father! I thank you, I die happy! Forgive me, if I have been wayward, and have clouded our house with a life-long sorrow. My presentiments are fulfilled! I pray God that he will avert the Abbot's curse from the next generation of our family, but I dare not hope it." The voice grew gradually weaker, and we knew that Death had come for him at last. Clasping my hand in his, with a prayer for God's forgiveness of his sins, he spoke these last, strange words,

"Scoff nevermore at the Abbot's curse!" And

the noble spirit of Roland Maskelyne so passed

away.

Let me draw a veil over the few days preceding his funeral. Such sorrow should be sacred, and any delineations of mine of sorrow like ours then, could but be painful to you now.

I saw the coffin of him I had known so short a time, yet loved so well, borne to the grave of the Maskelynes, and I know that while the beautiful ritual of our church was being read by the Rector

of Beauchamp, in a voice tremulous with hardly suppressed emotion, there was not a dry eye among all that rustic concourse of honest hearts from far and near in the old churchyard. And I own I shuddered (in superstitious awe, as a reader may think), when my eyes fell upon two saplings which Roland himself had planted in my presence some time before, in his own words, "to overshadow my grave when the curse is fulfilled!"

By the old man's desire I remained with him a week after his son's funeral. I told him the history of Rachel Brooke as regarded his son, omitting nothing, and had, ere that week expired, the satisfaction of being the bearer of a kindly note from Mr. Maskelyne to her, and have since heard that very shortly after my departure a handsome annuity was settled upon Rachel Brooke for her life. George escaped, and has never been seen since. His gang is broken up, and the Abbey Woods since that fatal night, seem to have few temptations for the Beauchamp villagers.

Once again, when the grass was growing green on my cousin's grave, did I pay a visit to Beauchamp Abbey. Old recollections made that so painful to me that I have never repeated it. I remember one night strolling through the churchyard when all the village seemed asleep; as I passed near the massive cross which marked Roland's resting-place, I heard a sound of sobs. I strode to the grave, and there, with her face I was startled, but quickly shaking off that feeling bent down to the turf, knelt poor Rachel. In answer to my questions she told me that since his death she had never omitted a nightly visit to her dead lover's grave—and there, I doubt not, she will some morning be found lying broken-hearted on the daisies which fold the tomb of him she loved so well. And now, dear reader, shall I confess it? whenever I hear men scoffing at narrations of this kind as " old women's tales," I feel a choking sensation in my throat, for my mind wanders back to the cross that tells at once the grave of my lost cousin Maskelyne, and the ABBOT'S CURSE.

▲ PARALLEL instance of rapid advancement cannot perhaps be found in history to that between the rise and present position of the cotton manufacture in Great Britain. Weaving is among the earliest authenticated facts; Eastern countries still retain much of their original superiority, and it is difficult even in this day to equal, or even rival some of the finest muslins of India; certain it is that among the higher ranks in that part of the globe their own productions of that peculiar description are still preferred to our own. In other countries, however, the taste for English goods has become so rooted, that they have a monopoly, though it is

is

somewhat, but very slightly, interfered with by America, and some few Continental manufacturers. The first mention of cotton spinning in England to be found in a paper dated 1641, when it was said to have been located, even at that period, at Manchester; but it was nearly a century afterwards before it became of the slightest importance, and it was not until about ninety-five years since that cloth wholly composed of cotton-a mixture of wool having been generally added-was an article of commerce. From about the year 1700 to 1760 the only manufacturers were weavers located in the various districts, who wove the thread during

Be

the day which their wives and children spun in the evenings and leisure hours; but at this period the raw material was sent to the operatives by agents from Manchester, who subsequently collected the manufactured article. Mechanical genius had long been directed to its machinery. In 1733, 1738, and 1753, patents were taken out for increasing the production by machinery; but the first grand step was in 1767, when the spinningjenny appeared. Two years afterwards Sir Richard Arkwright projected his invention, which, sixteen years subsequently, was declared by law to be void, but which had already created a new trade. Just before 1800 the power loom came into general use, by which the cotton trade greatly extended, and from that period to the present time, scarcely a week has elapsed, certainly not a new mill has been erected, without some improvement or other having been brought into operation. tween the years 1701 and 1705, the average yearly importation of cotton was 1,170,911 lbs.; between 1705 and 1720, it was 2,173,287 lbs., or had not doubled itself in the fifth part of the century; but even up to 1775, when three quarters of the centennial period had elapsed, it was on the average of the years previous years, but 4,764,589 lbs. However, when weaving by machinery became introduced, so did the importation of the raw cotton increase; showing, what it is very necessary to bear in mind at the present moment, that the supply can be made to equal the demand. From 1775 to 1780, the average was 6,766,613 lbs. ; from 1781 to 1785, it was 10,941,934 lbs. ; but in these, the two last were exceptional years, since in 1784, it was 11,482,083 lbs., and in 1785, when Arkwright's patent was thrown open to all who chose to avail themselves of it, it had reached as high as 18,400,384 lbs. From this particular point, we start; in 1800 the consumption was 56,010,732 lbs. ; in 1810, it was 132,488,935 lbs.; in 1831, it was 280,080,000 lbs. ; and again in 1841, it was 487,992,355 lbs.; in 1851, it was 757,379,749 lbs. To show the importance of the trade more particularly; the importation was, in

Increase in 82 years 1,019,121,939" Upward of one thousand of millions of pounds of cotton in one year! it seems almost incredible that such a quantity can by any possibility be consumed, yet stocks in the warehouses, and in the manufacturers' hands were low, and bear but a small proportion to the whole receipt at the commencement of 1857. Still, after making a most liberal allowance for waste, 1 oz. per lb., there remains a net quantity of yarn applicable to the production of goods of no less than 912,000,000 lbs. It has been noted above that other countries compete with us in foreign markets in goods, but part of this net product of yarn goes to Germany, Russia, Holland, Belgium,

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and Italy, so that even to our rivals do we supply the necessary materials upon which they work.

Its con

The real importance of the cotton manufacture and its consumption of other articles, are not represented by the foregoing statistics. sumption of flour is very large, and to this fact we owe the origin of the Anti-Corn-Law League, and the subsequent triumph of Free-trade. Some few years since, in a single establishment in Glasgow, the duty alone upon the flour used, amounted to little short of £1,000 per annum, and as the coarser description of goods required the larger quantity of this necessary ingredient to their manufacture, so of course was the total profit upon the whole working of the factory diminished. The Corn Laws then were discovered really to cripple trade, by enhancing the price of goods, while they crippled the power of purchasing; hence the fundamental reason of the agitation for this repeal. An extended cultivation of wheat in Bengal, and other parts of India, which upon its arrival here is taken for the cotton mills on account of its peculiar glutinous quality, has also resulted from this branch of business. There can be very little doubt but, that had it not been for the slow, uncertain, and expensive method of transit for goods between Liverpool and Manchester, the former being the importing and exporting place of business, the system or the principle of railways would not have been developed so extensively as it now exists. The first commercial line in England was between these two towns, and was projected upon a supposition that goods would be conveyed regularly at ten miles per hour. After a sufficient portion of the line was laid, a competitive trial was made of locomotives, in order to test the correctness of the calculation. The result was so far beyond what was expected, that Mr. Stephenson, the Engineer reported to the Directors, "I trust I shall not be digressing from the subject, when I add that in contemplating a speed of thirty miles an hour with passengers, and from fifteen to twenty miles an hour with a load of merchandise, at a cost of almost nothing, comparatively speaking, I can scarcely set a limit to the advantages which this country has a right to expect from this improved mode of intercourse, and even should no further improvements be made, and I doubt not, but many and important ones will follow-there has been sufficient to show that locomotive engines are capable of producing and maintaining a speed beyond any other means at present known." This bears date nine months before the line was opened in 1830.

Another important trade is co-existent with the manufacture of cotton-that of printing the cloth. The number of hands employed in this branch bears a considerable proportion to those engaged in the conversion of the raw material, and upon this also depend many minor branches. To the revocation of the Edict of Nantes we owe the introduction of this art, like many others, into England. The